"Bugger all! Feeling a tad content, are we now?"
Knife embedded in his arm, Angel spits out, "Don’t flatter yourself, Spike." Movement. Blood on imported tile.
Mouth set, arms folded. "Right then, tell yourself what you like. You can stop now, yeah?" Spike grabs, sets the knife down.
A two-month one-off. Old times became all the time. Supposed to be a zip, ta, off to Europe. Never got farther than Angel's bed.
"Not a tourist here, love. Let's get you cleaned up so you can play Captain Courageous tomorrow."
Angel shudders. New scars lattice above the old. Time to heal.
Well, it seems my unconventional is a little too conventional (as in ho-hum, been there, have the CD and the DVD, this is *so* last year). Dunno. To be honest, I'm not too happy with it myself. Maybe inspiration will strike and I'll think of something brilliant before midnight tomorrow (hah!)
Lo, the sound of crickets chirping in my comments section...the LJ knell of what? oh, let's just say...death.
Just for the record? I suck.
::whines:: *pouts like a little girl*