Gods And Monsters

Chapter Eighteen:

A/N: ^ some shirtless Spike for your viewing pleasure ;)

The front door of Spike's crypt flew open wide, smacking against the wall. Hel swung the door shut behind her, sauntering through the front parlour, past the pair of matching olive-green armchair and a shirtless, unsuspecting Spike.

She sat herself on the lid of the nearby tomb, cross-legged. "Got any vodka?"

"Most people knock." He stared at her pointedly, unperturbed by his own state of undress. "But then you're not most people I suppose." He shrugged, a black t-shirt dangling from the hand at his side.

Her eyes were incapable of avoiding his half-naked body as he lifted the t-shirt over his head.

She gawked at the ripple of lean muscle as the taut sinews of his abdomen and chest were flexed. Spike tugged the fabric down, unfortunately covering his torso, and Hel tore her gaze away.

She waited while he searched the floor beside the fridge in pursuit of alcohol, chewing her lower lip contemplatively and tapping her fingernails against the stone. The silence was broken by glass clanging against glass.

He returned after a short moment with a tall, narrow bottle and two shot glasses, handing her the bottle. Its contents were clear. "Here, it's the last of my stash. This is your lucky day."

Without so much as a second's hesitation, she brought the mouth of the bottle to her lips and tipped her head back. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around the neck, she downed a good gulp or two of vodka before breaking for air. Unflinching, despite the harsh elixir, Hel lowered the bottle. The pink tip of her tongue flicked out to lick any remaining droplets from her lips.

Spike gaped across at her in bewilderment, speechless, but took the bottle she relinquished to him. "What brought this on?"

"Sorry?"

"Is something wrong?" He asked, dark eyebrows furrowed and eyes widened in concern.

"Nothing a lot of alcohol won't fix." She answered wryly.

He leaned forward, his unwavering gaze sincerely "If you ever need anything..."

She rolled her eyes. "Spare me your pity, I'm fine."

He ignored the cold bite in her tone. Pouring himself a shot and setting the bottle down, Spike raised the rim of the tiny glass to his lips. The drink burned a trail down his throat and stung his nostrils.

Hel took the bottle, filling an accompanying glass to the brim. Her drink vanished immediately, and it wasn't long before the pair of them were throwing back shots in record time.

The next thing they knew, they had wandered into the bedchamber downstairs.

Lightheaded, her footing was a bit off-balance as she meandered over to the sleek, black grand piano that was tucked into the far corner of the space. "Do you play piano?" She halted directly before it, head cocked off to one side ever-so slightly.

"Indeed I do, m'lady." He joined her side. "Here," he sat down on the antique, mismatched dark oak bench in front of the keys. "Sit with me."

She accepted his invitation, taking a seat and scooting in until her shoulder grazed his.

He looped his lean, muscular arm behind her, hovering both hands above the ivory piano keys. His fingertips delicately composed a melody, applying intervals of pressure with the flawless fluidity that comes with many years of practicing the art.

"Alright, now it's your turn." Spike covered her hands with his, guiding her fingers along the keys while he showed her how to play. "Not bad, for a rookie." He sent her a cocky, lopsided smile.

Rolling her eyes, Hel gave his shoulder a deliberate shove, and he slid off the end of the bench.

With an "oof!", he fell smack on his backside. Spike gaped up at her in disbelief, sprawled out on the compacted, solid dirt floor and drunkenly dazed. "What in the bleedin' hell was that for?" He exclaimed.

"Moron." She wore a triumphant, intoxicated smile.

"I'm sorry?" Chuckling, he raised his eyebrows while propping himself up on his elbows.

"No apologies necessary." She slurred. "I need a drink. You want a drink? I'm having a drink."

"I oughta cut you off." He pointed his index finger at her accusingly. "You're hammered."

Standing, she made her way to the dresser and picked up the alcohol placed there. "Please, I'm fine." The bottle secured in her surprisingly firm grip, Hel took another swig of vodka.

She then put it down, spotting the black duster that dangled from a stationary coat hanger. Crossing the few paces of distance, she grabbed his long coat. The cool leather engulfed her slight figure as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Spinning around, Hel held her arms straight out at her sides and looked at him expectantly. "What do you think?"

"Very pretty." He remarked smugly, smirking at her as he strode over.

Watching him walk, she decided that she liked the way he moved. His confident swagger complemented an arrogant demeanour.

He carried himself as if he were simultaneously the centre of the universe and inferior to it. She alone knew that his exterior attitude was a diversion. He paraded a facade of flippant disregard to mask his fear of rejection, of not belonging.

She pouted, glaring up at him through long, thick black eyelashes. "I don't want to look 'pretty', I want to look otherworldly and vaguely threatening."

"Well," a slow, seductive smile curved his mouth, "then you're scary and sexy."

Hel rolled her eyes, smiling incredulously. "Oh, shut up."

He bit his full lower lip and closed the remaining space between their bodies, close enough now that she could feel his breath brush her skin as he leaned in.

"Make me." Spike murmured sensuously into her ear, raising the hairs on the nape of her neck.

Startled, she staggered backwards. Her cheeks warmed with the heating of her blood and her pulse thundered in her ears. She regained her footing, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat. "Pop your shirt off, quick as you like."

He arched a dark eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?"

He smirked. "Touché." Reaching behind his back to grasp the hem of his black t-shirt, he tugged it up and off.

The sight of his naked skin and sculpted body captured her full attention. Her eyes explored every last inch of him, admired each ridge and dip of his muscles. Spike was lean, compactly built. The sinews of toned flesh beckoned her closer, begged to be touched, stirred a primal aching within her.