What Was Needed
Tuesday, August 29, 2000
Spike cast one more look at the sleeping lump on the bed, then left the motel
room. The sun was bright in the sky, and he squinted as he surveyed the parking
lot while searching his pockets for his sunglasses. It was only noon -- way too
early for him to be awake -- but he had to get out of the motel room. The
cloying smell of sex had been making his stomach turn.
Normally, sex was sex was sex was sex. Spike could care less as to who, what,
when, where, and how, as long as he got his rocks off. This encounter, though,
had left a bad taste in his mouth, and not from going down on the elf. It had
been almost like a chore, and although he'd well-pleasured his partner and had
been equally pleasured, it hadn't been enjoyable.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Sunglasses in place, Spike climbed on the Honda and kicked her into gear. The
Hawk's engine purred sweetly, and he tore down the street, away from the
disquieting sensation emanating from the motel room. But despite physically
leaving the motel, his mind had stayed to dwell on the problem.
His thoughts swirled in his brain as fast as the pavement passing under the
wheels of the bike. Was it him? Was it his choice of partner? Was it his Not
Concern over Xander's actions last night? Was it his Not Concern over the cold
shoulder he'd been getting from Xander? Did he catch a case of Brooding from
shagging his sire? Could he be any more of a woman?
Spike's growl blended in with the growl of the engine as kicked up the speed.
Maybe what he needed was a good kill, to feel flesh bruising with his hits, to
hear bones breaking under his Docs, to taste the blood as it spurted like a
fountain from his victim's throat. He hardened beneath his jeans and his
nostrils flared in anticipation. Yes, he thought. A good kill was exactly what
he needed.
End
