PART 21 - Carte Blanche
*'Make yourself at home.'* Spike grinned wickedly. "Don't mind
if I do," he said to himself. He searched the pockets of his duster for
his smokes and a lighter. He also had a couple of joints left. This was as good
a time as any to smoke 'em.
He went into the bathroom and stepped under the shower, briskly
scrubbing off the worst of the dirt and washing the grime and muck out of his
hair. Only then did he set about to fix himself a nice hot bath - a rare
luxury. He didn't like stepping into the water all filthy, something he had
picked up in Japan. He sniffed several bottles before deciding on a coconut
scented bubble bath. He poured a liberal amount in and watched the foam build. *Yeah,
gonna have lotsa bubbles.*
Next he gave the apartment a quick search, oblivious of the fact that he
was dripping all over the place and leaving wet footprints everywhere. Anya and
Xander would have been horrified to see how quickly he found their valuables.
In just over a minute he unearthed their wallets, banking slips, checkbooks,
Anya's list of computer passwords (which he memorized), jewelry and a small
bundle of cash. Plus a dozen of photographs of Anya, which Xander wouldn't want
to share with the rest of the world. *Bonus!* Spike's brows rose
appreciatively. *I wonder if he'd notice if I keep one?* But, in the
end, he only nicked the spare key to the apartment. *S'pose I can always
rob'em blind some other time,* he told himself. *I'm evil, not daft.*
*'Make yourself at home.'Oh Yeah!* The kitchen cupboards were next. He
opened each and every one, studying the contents. He helped himself to a bag of
chips and emptied them into a bowl, not really bothered when some landed
outside the bowl. Then he checked the fridge. He sniffed the contents of a
casserole dish. *From the smell of it Anya is NOT the world's greatest
cook.* He pushed it back in and continued his search. Apart from a six pack
of beer, and several plastic bags of blood the contents of the fridge were not
exactly up his alley.
He snatched two blood bags. "Lucky me!" he muttered, noting
the hospital labels. Trust Anya to be able to organize just about anything. He
tossed the bags on the kitchen counter and hunted for that Spiderman mug. He
heated the first pack and drained it straight away. *Bless you, Anya,*
he thought, as the coppery taste brought his vampire features to the fore. So
much better than pig's blood. And so much more expensive. It was hard to
believe that Anya hadn't balked at the expense.
He made a mental note to be extra nice to her, at least for a while.
Contrary to popular belief Spike was well able to remember if someone did him a
good turn. If she was that hospitable, perhaps he should mention hot chocolate
and marshmallows some time. He hadn't had any since Joyce passed away. He was
momentarily sad at the thought of her, but then he shook the feeling off.
Wherever she was now, she was probably a happy camper. Heaven supposedly bein'
a nice place and all that.
He checked out the Harris video collection - *No porn flics? I wonder
where they keep them...* - nodded a few times, shook his head just as often
and decided to borrow a couple. He briefly considered moving the TV set and VCR
into the bathroom. *Next time, perhaps.* He took the kitchen radio
instead and carried it into the bathroom, with his beer and chips. Seeing that
the tub was full he turned the water off and cautiously tested the temperature.
"Ow!" Too hot.
Well, he could wait a bit for the water to cool and dump his clothes in
the washing machine. While he was at it, he could pick up the shirt he had lent
Xander. He looked around and spotted the laundry basket. He went through the
things in there, found his T-shirt, shrugged and grabbed a few other dark items
that felt like cotton to him. He also came across a couple of lace panties and
bras in black and burgundy red. *Veeery pretty!* He'd love to see Anya
wearing those some time.
*Threesome, ey?* He considered the closed bedroom door and the two
human lovey doveys behind it. "Should be fun..." But first things
first.
Carrying the bundle of dirty laundry under one arm and holding a packet
of detergent in the other, a smoking cigarette dangling from his mouth, he left
the apartment and wandered nakedly around the building until he found the
communal washing machines in the basement of the complex.
He followed all the instructions, then realized he didn't have any
coins. *The things I have to do.* He went back to the apartment, picked
up Xander's tools and began to work. Two minutes later he had plenty of coins
but no pockets to put them in. He inserted enough to pay for the washing, and
hid the rest underneath the machine. He'd need them later for the dryer.
Whistling a jaunty tune he returned to the apartment to find his bath
almost perfect. He downed his second mug of warm blood and started on the beer.
He turned the radio on and chose a channel that played music of the Sixties and
Seventies - quietly, so as not to disturb the humans in their sleep. To the
sounds of Jimi Hendrix's "Hey Baby", he finally stepped into the tub,
sighing contentedly as the hot water instantly began to chase the coldness of
death away.
Spike couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good. There hadn't
been a great many good moments in the past few years. And most of them had a
big "but" attached to them. Walking in the sun with the ring of Amara
on his finger had been good - but a brief pleasure because rather than enjoy it
he had concentrated on fighting Buffy and lost the ring to her. Smooching with
Buffy had been hot. But only very retrospectively. And proposing to her on his
knees, well, that memory still made him cringe. Some of the fights he had
gotten into had been fun. His reunion with Dru had felt good, too, because for
a brief moment it had filled him with the hope of returning to a simpler kind
of existence, but afterwards? *What a mess!* Seeing Buffy alive again -
a good moment. Having her – even better. But the morning after… He pushed the
memory of her words away…
Now THIS had been a perfect night so far. Real human blood, even though
not straight from the vein, beer, a few joints, a hot bath, good music, a good
fight with the odds stacked against him, and some valuable loot, to boot. *Oh
and did I mention it? I got laid, too!* But most of all he had what
Hannibal Lecter had called 'a view'. A window instead of a keyhole. A 'make
yourself at home' instead of a 'get lost, Spike'.
He opened the second bottle and lit himself a joint.
He let his thoughts wander, but they didn't get very far. In fact they
just stopped outside the bedroom door of the apartment. It didn't require a lot
of imagination to sense them in his head, all warm and snug, probably in each
other’s arms. Breathing slowly, their heartbeats calm and regular, smelling
nice. *Totally edible.* He paused. *Or not. Let me rephrase that:
totally shaggable.*
He could recall very well the first time he had thought of them not so
much as Happy Meals but as worth a second thought... or a third.
In Xander's case it had been the night before the Gentlemen came to
Sunnydale, when Spike had been forced to spend the night tied to Xander's
armchair. Sitting there, inhaling the prey's scent, listening to his heartbeat,
watching how rapid eye movement made the human's lashes tremble, bored beyond
belief with nothing but his imagination to keep him company, well, Spike had
ended up with a bit of a hard-on. Only days later had he realized that by the
end of the night his sexual fantasies had far outweighed the murderous ones.
In Anya’s case things had progressed a bit further…