Spike loved a good fight. The feel of his fist striking flesh was a huge adrenaline rush. The dance with an opponent, the risk of not knowing the outcome, of pitting his skills against another. He lived for it.

None of Angelus' nancy-boy terror and torture for him. In all the years he'd run with Angelus, the great poof had never learned that people would say and do anything under the threat of pain.

It was unreliable and as entertainment, frankly, it was boring. Angelus would always win out over his trussed victim. Now where was the fun in that?


open_on_sunday — challenge #63: david bowie songs: lust for life