by Saber ShadowKitten
Nightdreams 15

Spike jumped up and into a fighting stance the moment the hotel door crashed open. He had been dozing quite pleasantly, half-sitting, half-laying on the bed, his arm thrown over his eyes. Now he was geared to defend himself, but he lowered his defenses when he saw who it was.

"Cor, Angel, didn't your mum teach you man-"

He never saw it coming.

Spike spun around with the force of the blow to his jaw. He caught himself with his hands on the bed, the only thing preventing him from falling to the floor. His body arched when a fist was driven into his lower back.

"Fuck," he swore, lashing back with his bare foot. He connected with Angel's thigh, but it wasn't hard enough to push his sire away. A second blow landed on his lower back, then his hair was grabbed and he was forcefully thrown against the open door. The handle-like doorknob cut into his skin right under his ribs.

Spike spun around and blocked Angel's next punch and the next. He countered with a solid hit to his sire's face, blocked another swing and threw yet another punch. Angel caught his fist, grabbed his wrist and threw him face first onto the floor. His arm was being held straight up behind him and he felt a heavy foot in the middle of his back. Then he felt excruciating pain as his shoulder was ripped from its socket. His arm thudded uselessly to the floor.

"Bloody fucking hell, Angelus!" Spike snarled as a booted foot connected with his side. The cracking of his ribs rang out loudly in the room. On the next kick, his still working arm lashed out, his hand catching Angel's ankle and pulling with all his strength. However, the other vampire kept his balance and shook his leg roughly until Spike lost his grip.

He managed to turn over and sit up. Angel's next kick hit his dislocated arm. He was up on his feet before his sire could strike again.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?!" Spike growled, positioning himself so his back was to the wood of the open door. He examined the anger -- no fury - on his sire's face, and for an instant, he was very afraid.

"She's mine," Angel snarled, his words barely distinguishable over the purely animalistic sound.

A look of complete bewilderment crossed Spike's features. "Who's yours?"


Spike snorted. "Sorry, mate, you gave her up. And haven't you heard of a little thing called Women's lib?"

Angel went to punch him again, but he was prepared. "Would you get off!" he spat, shoving Angel back. "I haven't touched the bloody Slayer, other than fighting with her!"

"I smelled you all over her," Angel growled. He sniffed the air and his eyes narrowed to deadly slits. "And I smell her all over you!"

Angel attacked Spike again and the blond lost his footing, falling out into the hallway. Doors to the others guests' rooms opened as Angel dropped down on one knee and punched Spike in the face again -- once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

Spots began to dance in front of his vision and Spike knew if he couldn't get Angel to see reason, he could very likely be clogging the runner in a few minutes.

"Angel, stop! I didn't fucking touch her," Spike ground out. "I fucking want to more than any damn thing, but I haven't got the bloody knackers to do it! Bloody hell, Angel, the chit is still in love with you!"

Spike noticed the crowd of spectators and lowered his voice. "Now, do you think we can take this inside before they throw us in a cell until we burn to ashes?"

Angel stood abruptly and glared down at him. "Stay away from her," he spat, then stormed down the hallway. The sound of the fire door slamming open echoed throughout the hall.

Some brave soul ventured from his room to offer Spike a hand up. The vampire had to force himself not to sink his fangs in the man's neck. "Thanks," he said, then limped into his room and shut the door.

He entered the bathroom, turned around and slammed his shoulder against the doorjamb. A loud snarl of pain emanated from him as the joint popped back into place. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the doorframe. Thirty seconds later, he was on the cool floor of the bathroom, the adrenaline disappearing from the fight. It was replaced by the harsh pain from his injuries and, foregoing his confusion over what just happened, he happily succumbed to the black oblivion of unconsciousness.

End 1