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“He took you back to his place, didn’t he?”
You swear you’ve never seen him look so pissed.
You didn’t believe in Andy at first. A bounty hunter who doubled as an actual cowboy? Who rode around on a horse and donned the hat and everything? There was just no way. It sounded like too good of a laugh to be true. So you poked at and teased Spike all you could before Ed proved the existence of such a character. But even then, you had a hard time taking the claim seriously. Not with all the grumbling and mumbling Spike did about the infamous ‘Andy the Cowboy.’
That was until you and Faye ran into him a couple of hours ago.
Now you’ve got a good feeling of why this Andy guy was kicked out of his organization so quickly. And you’ve also got a general feeling of why Spike doesn't like him so much too. Every minute spent went with the little blonde prick felt like a minute too long. But now that you’ve back from the lion’s den, it seems like your troubles are far from over.
But that’s just the name of the game.
Sometimes, you really want to believe that Sometimes, it seems a little hopeful to say that you know Spike. Little things can make him annoyed. Big things can make him uncaring. Never a reason, never a rhythm, never a rhyme with him. That’s just how it’s always been. But you do live with him. You’ve seen him happy, sad, and annoyed before. Angry, tired, sleepy, or hungry too. It’s what you go through being aboard a ship like the Bebop for days and days and days.
But the way he clenches his jaw at you this time is fierce. The way rigid and stiff way he holds himself is demanding of attention. Authority. And the flame that lives in his eyes? Somehow it burns brighter than you’ve ever seen it before. And you’ve seen danger before. You live it every day by being a bounty hunter. It’s just what you’ve lived for. Though now that you’re home, you thought you could let your guard down. You thought you could skate by the rest of this tiring ordeal once you’ve gotten to lay down your weary head and rest for the night.
If only you knew how wrong you were going to be.
He cornered you on your way back to your room. He moved silently. Waiting until the moment you were out of sight from the others to pin you against your door. Like he was stalking prey. Completely unlike the carefree and lazy Spike you’ve grown close to after all this time. In fact, you hadn’t even heard him get up after you announced to the rest of the crew that you were changing out the clothes you had borrowed. Just how closely was he following you back there? Why weren’t you able to see and hear him? You know all his tricks. You know all his moves. So why…no, how were you unable to detect him?
“ Well?” He’s prompting you after you spend seconds searching his face as if it could provide you with the answer in complete silence. The word is half-baked into a snarl. Something ugly and mean. Something scary and cold and almost feral. Something you don’t want to mess with. And yet… “He took you back to his place, didn’t he? ”
Something that excited you like you couldn’t believe.
“He did.” You try slowly, clearly pronouncing your words despite your quiet tone of voice. You tread carefully. As of right now, you’re only vaguely aware of what’s gotten him so pissed off. To you, Spike has always been a wild card. Always unpredictable, and always just a step ahead of you and the others. So while this sudden change in personality has gotten you intrigued, you can’t help but feel the need to be cautious. “Is that a problem?”
He doesn’t answer you. Not at first, at least. Did this side of Spike always exist? A side of him that was less playful and quick to laze around. A side of him that was more intimidating than you thought possible of the man who never failed to make you smile? You couldn’t be sure. For now, you’re counting the seconds from when the last words left your lips. You’re biting your tongue, adverting your eyes, and trying hard not to think of how he’s pressed against you. How your chests match each other’s rise and fall. How he’s leaning over you, arm pressed against the wall above your above. How his breath tickles your ear as he leans closer and closer and somehow, impossibly closer.
“ Did he hurt you ?”
That’s it. That’s all he manages to utter out against your ear and that’s it. You don’t like how he doesn’t give you a clear answer. You don’t . But what you like even less than that is the way the low hum of his voice sends you gasping quietly into the dark corner of the hallway he has you trapped in. And the way the hand ghosting over your hip sends your heart beating like you’re some type of school girl. In fact, you hate it. You hate it, you hate it, you hate it.
“He didn’t. He-” You find yourself starting before cutting yourself off halfway through your sentence as your thoughts take a turn. It’s your turn to square your jaw and gives a glare. Does he know? Does Spike know ? Is he aware of all that he’s doing to you right now? Is he aware of how he makes your heart race with just one smile? Or how he makes you feel the safest you’ve ever been just being by your side? Does he know? You can’t rule it out. There’s a chance he’s toying with you- all because of his ego. There’s a chance that all the times and signs you thought were bringing you closer to him were just because he was bored. There’s a chance none of it was real. But you don’t know that. You won’t know that. Unless you set him off. “ Andy… Andy was nothing short of a gentlem-”
“ Don’t .”
It’s a sharp word. Perhaps even sharper than the knife that weighs heavily on your leg. But somehow, it’s at its sharpest when coming from the mouth of one with a silver tongue. It’s whispered harshly. Full of anger and defeat. Though when you look at his face, you can tell what emotion grows stronger? Which emotion grows deeper? The only hint you’re given is that he’s shaking. In fury or frustration, you can’t tell. That unreadable expression of his gives you no mercy as his stare holds yours. Dark brown eyes that hold secrets. Dark brown eyes that hold stories. And maybe, just maybe…
Dark brown eyes that will give you answers to all your questions too.
“ Don’t what, Spike? ” Your question just barely leaves your mouth in a hushed breath. “Spike… don’t what? ”
He’s shivering. His breath comes out in stutters, and his eyes are screwed shut as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Due to your words. Due to your closeness. Due to his restlessness, you can’t tell. You just can’t . You’ve seen him happy and sad and angry and tired. You’ve seen him every kind of way but it’s never been like this. Never . He’s unpredictable. He always was. But at the end of the day?
He’s still your Spike.
“Don’t say anyone else’s name.” Especially his . The request is implied, but you have more to think about now that the answer finally emerges from him. The white flag raises itself. It surges forward from his lips as a final plea. Prisoner’s last rites. It dips and traces it away across your neck, giving in and choosing honesty. And you let it happen. You let all of it happen. Even the hand above your head that teases its way into your hair. Even the long fingers find their home there, tangling themselves in the mess left over from a masquerade party-turned terrorist event. Even the hand that no longer floats above your hip but rather holds on to it as if nothing else is left for it. Nothing left but you… “Don’t say anyone’s name but mine.”
“Even if they’re good to you.”
…And the kiss he’s dangerously close to playing on your lips.