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Pairing: S/A
Rating: NC-17
Summary:  Angel comes to town to get rid of Buffy's Spike problem.
Disclaimer: None of the characters herein belong to me.  They are Joss's.  Though he in no way, shape or form deserves them lately.
Notes:  Oh boy, was THIS cathartic.  SPOILERS for the entirety of S2/S5 on Angel and Buffy, respectively, including 'Epiphany' and 'The Body.'  Don't you think it would be more fun if it turned out this way?  
Thanks for the encouragement, Donna!






Cryptic


by
Pet



They didn't understand.  None of them did.  Oh, they prattled on about long life and times past and history, but none of them knew what it was like to live in the same head, the same body, for two hundred and forty-seven years.  Not counting the mortal time, and for a lot of it he hadn't really been in charge, but he'd been THERE.  It was a long, long time.  

They said he wasn't communicative?  He'd said everything there was to say, in three different languages, at least fifteen times.  They said he wasn't fun?  Well, when you've partied your way across every continent on the planet, and done everything that could possibly be considered fun an infinite number of times, it just got old.  Unless you had someone really creative along.  
Spike had always been good for that.  Fighting was still interesting, just because every opponent was different, and there was always the lurking possibility of disaster.  He suspected that was why he was so good at it.

He'd done everything.  He'd made up with people who were angry with him before, for one reason or another.  He'd fixed mistakes he'd made.  He'd fucked Darla so many times it was almost habit, even after a long hiatus.  He'd hit bottom and come back up, in the old familiar pattern, and every thought followed a deep, well-grooved path.  So under it all, all the grovelling to Cordelia and Wes and Gunn, the existential crises that just never. fucking. ended, he was weary.  Bored and weary.

This was new, though.  Not the basic circumstance itself--retrieving his idiot childe from some scrape or other was so familiar it was almost soothing.  No, when he'd gotten the call from Giles, he'd almost known what was coming.  Spike had been out of trouble for a while now, as far as he knew, and he'd been past due.

"Angel?"

"Giles.  What's...is it Buffy?"

"No, no, everything's...well, actually, it rather is, though she's fine at the moment.  As well as can be expected, at any rate."

"What's going on?"

"Well, it's almost embarrassing, really.  You see, Spike's developed this...fixation on her."

"Spike?  On BUFFY?"

"Er, yes.  We were all startled, as you can imagine.  In any event, he's been stalking her, declaring his love, generally making a
complete nuisance of himself.  And right now...with Joyce..." his voice had trailed off.  Angel had nodded, one hand pressed to his eyes.  He'd liked Joyce a great deal, and he knew how deep the family bond had gone between her and her daughters.  He was helpless, here, though...couldn't comfort Buffy, couldn't stand by her, couldn't even send a card that didn't make his teeth itch with the inappropriateness of it all.  So he'd done nothing, and hated himself for it, and even the hatred was old and tired.

"I was wondering..."  Giles had sounded almost hopeful.

"Can I help?  Yes.  I'll come get him.  The last thing Buffy needs right now is anything...else..."

"Thank you, Angel."  The relief was almost tangible, and Angel could hear the wear in the Watcher's voice.  "And don't..."

"I won't let her see me.  I'll be in and out tonight."  Because Angel himself fell into the anything...else...and he knew it.

So here he was, outside the crypt that Spike still, stubbornly, called home.  It smelled of him.  Cigarettes and whiskey and Spike.  And hints of others...there was Buffy's soft summer-scent, and the dark blood-smell of Drusilla so THAT'S where she got to, and another vampire, female, who had bled here.  Dawn, Dawn? peaches and childish light perfume.  It seemed his childe had been entertaining, lately.

He pushed the door open, alert as always in the presence of Spike.  He was just too unpredictable.  One minute kissing you, the next heaving a crowbar at your head...he grinned at the memory.  

"Spike?"

"'allo, Peaches.  What brings you 'round these parts?"  drawled soft and slurred, from an armchair in the corner, and yes, there was that blond head, shining in the darkness.

"Slumming."  He shrugged, stepped further into the crypt, and swung the door shut behind him.  He had a feeling this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Right, well slum your giant arse off somewhere else, then.  I hear there's a quite pretty piece of tail three doors down.  Oh, wait, wouldn't be interested in that, now would you?"

There was something...off...about Spike's voice.  The edge was still there, but the underlying ever-present humor seemed to have vanished completely.  Something was definitely wrong here.  Was Spike...depressed?  It couldn't possibly be, and yet...even when he'd been shoving pokers through his sire's side, or getting slammed into a wall by said Sire countless times, or bitching about that chip in his head, there'd always been an underlying glee in his approach to life.  It was gone now.

"Giles called.  It seems you've been making quite a nuisance of yourself lately, m'boy."

"I'm not your bloody BOY, Angel, and that Watcher can just sod off and DIE, for all I care."  But Spike didn't get out of the chair or even move.  Didn't even put any heat into it.  Angel moved closer, and could see Spike's eyes.  Closed.  He took a swig from the black-labeled bottle in his hand, and slumped even further into the chair.  His face was turned up, more fine-drawn even than usual under the porcelain skin, highlighting his cheekbones and the line of his jaw.  So beautiful...

"Spike...you can't stay here, not now.  Come on.  I'm taking you back to LA."

"You're takin' me exactly fuckin' NOWHERE, you trotting nancyboy."  And if there still wasn't heat, at least his eyes were open.  So very blue, but dark now.

Angel sighed.  They could work this out later.  

"Yes I am, Spike.  Don't make this hard on yourself."  He was worried, he'd admit it.  He just wanted to get Spike out of here, now, by whatever means, before the younger vamp decided to take a morning walk.  He wasn't far from it.  Angel had seen this before, in others.

"Gerrof, you wanker.  Go bother someone else. 'm sure the Slayer would be happy to see your face."  Bitter twist of lips, and another drink from the bottle.

"I'm not here to see Buffy, Spike.  She has enough to deal with right now.  I'm here to get you, and you ARE coming, whether you want to or not."  

"No."

"Spike..."  Sigh, and one long step, and he had Spike up and out of the chair and yelping, dangling from the hand around his throat.

"Reflexes, m'boy.  What have I told you about drinking?"  Angel was snarling through his fangs now, right up against Spike's face, and was ready for anything.  Punches, kicks, a lunge for his neck with teeth, but not the tears.  Spike just hung there, looking defeated, and...tears.  Oh, shit.




Spike was expecting anything, really.  A backhand to the face, a disgusted sneer, to be dragged out of the crypt.  NOT to get hauled into the Great Poof's arms while he sat down in the chair, or to be rocked while he buried his face in the scent of leather and soap and Sire, and sobbed.  

Fuck, he was a disgusting demon.  He didn't know what had been happening to him lately.  First the INSANE thing with
the Slayer.  He'd never been able to decide whether he'd rather shag her senseless or bathe in her blood, but since he only had one option these days, he figured he'd rather fixated on it.  He understood, but it still sickened him.  

And the abuse from her pathetic gang of children, and him not even able to strike back...and Drusilla, and
Harmony, and wasn't THAT just a ball-breaking little scene?  And over everything, through everything...the soddin' chip in his skull that stopped him killing and, by weakening his demon that way, reduced him, day by day, to as near to human as made no difference.  He couldn't stand it anymore.  

He cared about things...well, he always had, really, bein' the utter wanker he'd been before he was turned...but now they were different things.  HUMAN things.  Like company.  And comfort.  And security and belonging.  Fuck.  He was through with this.  He'd finish off his bottle of JD, have a little toast to his unlife, and go outside to wait for the sunrise.  

Just as soon as he finished huddling into the arms of his Sire, and cryin' like a baby.




Spike...Spike was curling into him with his whole body, and shuddering with great, heaving sobs that sounded like they were
tearing his throat.  Angel could feel the demon growling low in his chest something has hurt someone that is MINE but he just held the body in his arms, and rocked him.

"Shhh.  Hush then Will, none 'o that now...Hush.  It'll be better soon, boyo."  He heard himself slipping into the old accent, memories pulling at his voice until he couldn't help himself.  He ran one hand through white, smooth hair, and marveled at the feel, and the sight of his long fingers in among the curls.  Stroked, smoothed it back, and again.  And started to purr, that low, rumbling comfort-sound that had been the only thing that would calm Dru's hysterics, or Darla's rages, or Spike's hyperactivity.  So long ago.  The sobs slowed, gentled, but he kept up the petting and the purring, just holding his Will.  And it felt wonderful.  Like home.

Finally there was a last little breath, like a hiccup, and Spike was still.  And rested for just a moment, hands still tight in Angel's coat, face pressed hard against his chest.  Then he stood up with a jerk, pulling Angel's fingers out of his hair, and wiped at his face with a hard hand, turning away.

"Feelin' better then, lad?"  Angel kept his voice low and unamused, though he was a bit surprised to hear the accent still.

"Sod off, Angelus."  Apparently, even vampires got that hoarse, tight after-tears voice.

"Come now, Will.  Ye'll not be thinkin' I'm after leavin' you here now?"

"I said sod OFF.  An' stop with that bloody accent, it's makin' my head hurt."

"I think that's more likely the whiskey."  Angel surveyed the floor, littered with empty bottles and one half-full one.  But he tried, and managed, to get his voice back to normal.  "Spike" ...and it was always Spike, without the Irish... "come home with me."

"For what?  So I can arse about your place instead of here, starin' at your broody mug at all hours?  That would be a huge fuckin' improvement, thanks mate.  It's all the SAME, Angelus, no matter where I go."

"No.  Come home with me.  Keep me company.  You can work with me, if you want, when I'm out slaughtering demons.  It's LONELY, Spike..."

"You've got your pet humans keepin' you company.  Don't need me about to do it."  But Spike's voice had gone softer, uncertain, and he'd turned a little from where he stood, facing the wall.

"They don't understand.  They don't know what it's like to have seen it all, done it all.  And they BOTHER me.  Frankly, sometimes I just want to kill them, they annoy me so much."

Snort, and Spike turned a little more.  "An' like I wouldn't?"

Angel grinned, sensing victory.  "Well, with you, life's never boring."

"Too true, mate."  Spike grinned back at him, facing him fully now from across the room.

"The SLAYER, Spike?  Really."

"Like YOU'RE one to talk, y'great poof."  But there was that damned uncertain tone again.  "I actually...maybe love her, a bit."

"I know."  Angel stood, and crossed to his side.  "It'll pass, eventually.  She's not for us."

"I know."  Spike sighed, and leaned into him a little.  Daring greatly, Angel wrapped one arm around his waist.  Kissed him lightly on the temple.  "It was just...a thing.  Something to think about, to keep m'self from goin' totally 'round the bend, here."  But his arm crept up to circle Angel's midsection, under the coat, palm flat against his side.  Angel struggled not to start purring again.

"I think it got a little out of hand when you chained her in your cellar, Spike."

"Probably.  Watcher told you about that, eh?"

"I got the whole story.  Spike...why didn't you call me?  I thought things were ok for you here."

"Well, last time I saw you didn't go so well, did it.  An' word on the street was, Angelus was on his way back in.  Torturing lawyers, or some such rot.  Figured your hands were a bit full, at the least, an' if that raving nutter was back I wanted no part of it.  He's gone a bit off, y'know, since the whole curse thing."

Angel knew.  He remembered the things he'd done in Sunnydale and cringed.  Some of it was standard Angelus, true, but some of the things he'd done had been beyond even the normal normal! demonic pale.  Especially when it came to his childer...

"No, he's not back, though it was a close thing.  Even had a fling with Darla, if you'll believe that."

"You shagged that bitch?  Sounds like you should've been the one calling me."  Spike huffed.

"Spike..."  Warning growl, habit.  Spike's hatred for his grandsire was epic, and had never been tolerated well by Angelus.  Spike ducked his head, leaning it against Angel's shoulder, and the older vampire was struck by their odd position.  Standing in the middle of a crypt, almost-embracing, and this truly bizarre conversation...

"Still...does this mean the whole curse bollocks is over?  Angel's back, an' let everything with two legs an' a crotch beware?"  Spike bumped his hip against Angel suggestively, and Angel grinned.

"Not...quite.  The Host-"

"The WHO?"

"The Host.  He's a demon seer who runs a karaoke bar in L.A., and he'll be delighted to meet YOU.  Just watch your backside around him, or it'll get pinched."  Angel grinned harder at Spike's little disgusted sound.  "Anyway, he thinks my soul stuck because for one thing, she didn't make me happy-"

"Coulda told you THAT, mate-"

"SPIKE.  For another, because I felt guilty about her existence to begin with, and thirdly, because I never forgot the curse, or my penance, or my destiny."

"Sod your bloody destiny.  I just wanna know if we can shag."  Spike was peering up at him through thick dark lashes, still spiky and damp from tears, and the glee was back.  That little-boy, completely adult look that told Angel that if he didn't want to have his suddenly VERY tight pants around his ankles in about two seconds, he'd better step away.  He stood still.

"I...Spike, JESUS."  Because Spike had turned to face him, and in those ridiculous old boots, he could stand on tiptoe and bump his crotch RIGHT against Angel's.  Always direct, his boy.  

"Now now...no blasphemin', Peaches."  He could hear the grin in that deep voice, even though his eyes were closed, even as shivers of pleasure ran from his groin to his fingertips and set him tingling.  Clever fingers were at his belt, working the buckle without ever breaking contact, and pulling his shirt up and out of the way.  His pants were at his knees and his shirt open and pushed off, with his jacket, before he even really registered what was happening.  Clever, clever Spike.  Who was now pressed up against him, full-body, mouthing his collarbone in that way he'd always adored, and pushing jeans-clad hips against his aching cock.  He fisted fingers in that icy hair, drew Spike's head away from his body, and dove into the kiss.

They both froze.  This was not normal.  Angelus had kissed Spike four, perhaps five times over the course of their long...whatever it had been.  It hadn't been about love then, not really, though Spike had worshipped him and he had pampered and indulged his Most Favored.  The return to Sunnydale had been all rage and pain and vengeance.  And since then...pokers, taunts and fists.  This was...new.  And unexpected.  And utterly delicious.  Angel couldn't imagine why he'd been denying himself this mouth for so long.  He parted Spike's rigid lips with his tongue, slipped inside, and sighed
a little with the pleasure of it.  




Angel...Angelus...his Sire was kissing him!  Long deep strokes, and little nibbles at his lips, and Spike groaned and threw himself into it with everything he had.  Curved his hands up around that dark, ridiculously moussed head, felt strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him up into that heavy body, and this was bliss, sod the girliness of the position.  There was a hand under his shirt, perfect body temperature, flat and hard against his spine, and fingers fluttering up and down.  He suddenly felt overdressed.  

Shirt off first, then frantic fingers at his jeans bloody button fly, hope some enterprisin' vamp eats that lot over at Levi's, never once breaking the contact of mouth on mouth.  And then skin on skin, and a long sigh of pure pleasure when he felt his cock rubbing in the coarse hair at Angel's groin.  All that smooth skin under his fingers, and hard brown nipples that peaked when he touched them, like he knew Angel liked it.  Angel sucked in a breath, and rubbed against him harder, and fucked his mouth with his tongue.  Oh, this was the bloody bollocks.  This was fuckin' great!  Slayer who?  

Angel grabbed him hard around the waist and lifted him, Spike's legs automatically wrapping around his body, crossing at the ankles.  Might as well be consistent, since he'd been actin' the chit all night so far already.  They stumbled over to the bed, and then Spike was flat on his back with two hundred-plus pounds of horny, grabby Sire pressed against him.  He wasn't complaining a bit.




Cool, pale skin against his, long legs tangled around his thighs and pelvis arching up and blue eyes shining into his own, and Angel knew he'd better concentrate on his sins and penance HARD if this was going to work.  So much more than Darla...his boy was life and light and energy, and despite everything, not tainted with despair.  He trailed his lips down that elegant throat, pressed his teeth gently to the clean blade of collarbone, the swell of muscle on his chest.  

"Sire..."  Spike was gasping now, wiggling beneath him, begging him with eyes and body and grasping hands for more.  He ran a finger down one cheek, the bone beneath his hand as delicate as china and strong as steel.  He'd always loved Spike's cheekbones.  His childe flushed a little under the intensity of his eyes, and turned his head, exposing his throat.  "Sire, please...."  Where Angelus had made his mark.  Angel's eyes darkened, then went gold, as he felt his other face slipping on like a mask.  One snake-strike down, and his mouth was full of Spike's sweet blood, blood that tasted like magic and
passion and eternity.  And Angel wasn't bored.  Not even a little.




OH!  There was a strong hand fisting his cock now, and he didn't know how much longer he was gonna last...especially not with Angel's fangs in his throat and his big, hard body driving him down into the mattress...but he wanted more.  Wanted to belong again.  "Angel...more..."  And the little girly gasps weren't helpin' him any in the image department, but fuck it.  Just fuck it.  He wanted Angel.  He canted his pelvis up, as much as he could under the weight, and pulled at Angel's hips a little desperately, settling him where he wanted him.  Felt Angel's erection, drooling wet and sliding between his legs, up and down the crease in his ass with the movement of his hand and his body.  FUUUCK!  Why wasn't he gettin' bloody ON with it?

Angel pulled his teeth out of Spike's skin, lapping at the puncture wounds with his tongue, holding the smaller body motionless with hands and voice and tongue.  "Be still, William.  There isna a reason in the world to rush."  And smirked down into Spike's frustrated eyes.  

"Yer great ponce...fuck me already, Angelus!"

"As ye wish, boy.  As ye wish."  And there it was, pushing big and solid at him, and he whined a little and wrapped his legs around Angel again.  Opening himself completely.  Take me, you bugger...it's on offer, an' all!  Torturously slow entry, inch by inch, as that great bloody rod rearranged his insides in the best possible way.  One long last push and he was IN, and he could hear Angel chanting something about remembering sins, but he'd lost his mind and couldn't pay attention.  
The hard head of Angel's cock was knocking against his protate with every twitch he made, and he was twitching a lot, bucking up off the bed and pulling Angel down into him even further.  He wanted MORE, dammit, wanted to be fucked into
the mattress, fucked till he couldn't walk, and Angel seemed happy to oblige.  The hard, pounding strokes were starting now, and Spike's back arched right off the bed, and the pleasurepainpleasure was making him dizzy.  It had been so bleedin' long, and THIS was what he had been looking for, this strength and power and hard white beauty above him, making him scream and beg and submit.  No wonder he'd gone moonin' after the Slayer.  Considerin' Angelus' version of foreplay, one too many smacks from the little blond bint an' he'd been ready to go.

But that was too much thinking, and this was too good to miss.  IN and slow withdraw, and IN again, and Angel was screwing him raw, twisting his hips and changing angles, and yeah, he was screaming now, and begging to be touched, and there was a hand on him, and his brain melted.  Hot silver feeling behind his eyes and down his cock and pulsing warmth and he was shaking as he came, tossing his head back and howling, and pushing down on Angel with everything that was
in him.  He felt Angel go rigid between his legs, those huge hands gripping at his thigh and arm and nails drawing blood...and felt the pulses inside him, long and one after another after another.  His sire collapsed down onto him, still inside him, and this time it was Spike who stroked soft hair that was tickling his chest.




Oh, FUCK that was good.  Better than anything.  Better than I remember it, and I've got perfect recall.  Demon perk.  But
this...this was just amazing, and I'm surprised I've still got my soul.  It's in there, I can feel it.  Plus, I'm not currently flaying
Spike's skin from his bones for daring to touch me without my permission, which would have been a tip-off.  He's stroking my hair.  It feels wonderful.

Angel slid over to his side, taking Spike with him, curling his body around the slender one in his arms.  Grinned into Spike's smirk, and kissed those perfect lips.  

"So, you're coming with me, then?"

"Already did, mate."  Smugly.

Angel rolled his eyes.  "To L.A., brat."

"S'pose I might do, yeah.  Ponce."

"Well, we've got, he checked his watch, "four hours left before daylight.  We should go, to be on the safe side.  Pack your things, let's go."  He smacked a bare white cheek, and rolled off the bed to look for his clothes.  

"Angel..."  Spike was picking at the bedspread with nervous hands, and Angel stared at him, shirt in hand, as he lay sprawled and touseled on the bed.  "How...long should I expect to stay?"

Whatever had changed in his childe was deep and serious.  He'd even slipped back into his upper-class accent, and the doubt that he was welcome was loud in Angel's ears.  And completely uncharacteristic, coming from that arrogant mouth.

"Will...I'm hopin' ye'll stay on as long as y'like.  An' I'm hopin' ye'll like to stay a long, long time."  He smiled.  Saw the
insecurity dammit, Buffy! fade and the grin grow, and Spike bounced off the bed like he'd expected him to right away.

"Right then.  Clothes, fags an' duster, and I'm good."  He gathered said items, shucked into his jeans and boots, ran a quick hand through his hair, and was ready.  Still grinning.

"That's it?"  Angel looked around the crypt, into the open hole leading to the tunnels.

"Nothin' more for me here, mate."  Spike shut the cover to the hole decisively.  "Are we going, or are you gonna stand about an' brood some more?"

Sigh.  Maybe boring had its unexplored merits..."No.  Come on."

And he led the way out to the car, and home.





The End




Pairing: S/A
Rating: NC-17
Distribution:  Ask and I'll say, 'You WANT it?'  But then I'll say yes.
Summary:  Buffy's Spike problem is now ANGEL'S Spike problem.
Disclaimer: None of the characters herein belong to me.  They are Joss's.  Though he in no way, shape or form deserves them lately.
Feedback:  Please, yes.
Notes:  Sequel to 'Cryptic'.  SPOILERS for S2/S5 on Angel and Buffy, respectively, including 'Epiphany' and 'The Body.'  The thought of Angel working for anyone makes me giggle.  
Lar, Kass and Donna are goddesses.  That is all.



Caustic



"Come home with me," he'd said, like it was that damn simple.  God, after all these years he could still surprise himself with his own stupidity, sometimes.  Spike was still a vampire.  Unsouled, essentially evil, and, despite numerous setbacks, humiliations and defeats over the years, frighteningly used to getting his own way.  Angel was tempted to blame himself for this, but he knew for a FACT that there hadn't been a thing Angelus hadn't tried towards the ultimate goal of beating the willfulness ha! right out of his childe.  

And a hundred years or so of complete autonomy hadn't helped a bit.  Spike was driving him slowly insane.  And they'd only been in the car for an hour.  The black ribbon was winding away under the tires and headlights, and Angel found himself pressing harder and harder on the accelerator, as if getting home faster would help.  You invited him to LIVE with you.  NO sex is worth this...

"I am the anti-CHRIST!  I am an anarCHIST!"  There was headbanging happening.  In Angel's convertible.  The fact that the radio wasn't on didn't seem to have deterred the younger vampire a bit.  He was reclining happily, dusty boots on the dash, cigarette hand dangling over the side of the door, blond head bobbing to music only he could hear.  That he was busy translating for his sire's abused ears.

Angel didn't know whether to laugh in relief that his Loki-childe was back, as annoying as ever and apparently not permanently scarred, or to reach over and smack him hard enough to make him SHUT. UP.  He'd told him, no feet on the dash.  He'd told him, no smoking in the car.  And he'd DEFINITELY told him no singing.  Spike had stared at him as if he'd gone insane.  So much for proper deference.  He contented himself with a hard glare.

"Oh, wot?  Not another ride in a car with some wanker what can't appreciate proper music..."  Spike was grinning at him, but there was a dark memory there, Angel could hear it in his voice.  

"Another?"  He asked mildly.  Just wanting to know.

"Slayer doesn't fancy the Ramones, much..."  Spike trailed off into silence, and stared out into the night, quiet.  Finally.

"Well, I can't say as I blame her, really."

"NATurally.  Not your golden girl, oh heavens, horrors no."  Angel almost winced at the bitterness.  Jesus, Spike, what HAPPENED to you?


"Spike...not THAT.  The Ramones give me a headache, that's all."

"Really?"  Spike perked up again, swinging his gaze from whatever was so fascinating in the black emptiness at the side of the highway back to Angel.  Who clenched his jaw and set his teeth, knowing what was coming, staring straight ahead.  Had to concentrate on the road, after all...

"TWENNYTWENNYTWENNY FOUR HOURS TO-GO-O-O, I WANNA BE SEDATED...NOTHING TO DO-"

He actually had a nice voice.  Angel decided to concentrate on that.




His sire'd never been a great one for light conversation, but this was getting beyond boring.  Angel was pretending very hard that he was makin' this road trip all alone, in his traditional broody silence.  Spike was HAPPY.  He wanted to play, and the poof wasn't cooperating a bit.  Of course, he wasn't pushing TOO hard...he didn't want to end up chucked out on the side of the road, two hours to dawn an' noplace to go.  Noplace else to go anyway, really, unless he wanted to head back to good ol' Sunnyhell and his bottle an' the Slayer an'...no.  Not going back there, ever.  He broke off the song, lyrics touching just a mite too close to home.  Sighed, and dropped his feet to the floor.

Angel actually looked at him, startled.  No glare, this time.

"Fine, you great sod.  Since hells know you're too uptight to enjoy music, an' you keep sayin' no to THIS-" he reached over and cupped Angel's crotch with one hand, had that hand, predictably, swatted away, "-talk.  What's this nonsense about lawyers?"

"It's...complicated."  Spike could see those big white hands tightening on the steering wheel.  Oooh, complicated ain't the
word...


"We've got nothing but time here, 'less you've figured out a way to make this crate go any FASTER with your foot on the floor."  Angel flushed a bit, eased up on the gas, and relaxed.  Just a little.

"There's this law firm...Wolfram and Hart.  They're demon owned and operated, and they've been around, well, forever, as far as I can tell.  Basically, they brought Darla back as human, hunted up Dru, she TURNED Darla, they tormented me till I went a little insane, and I fired Cordelia and Wesley and Gunn, and then I set Dru and Darla on fire, then I fucked Darla, realized I'd almost lost everything, and now I'm trying to make it better."  It was a good thing he didn't have to breathe, Spike thought.  That was the most words together he'd ever heard out of Angel's gob.

"Sweet fuck.  So, what happened?  Did you take 'em down?  Fire an' lightning an' the wrath of Angel?"  Maybe L.A. WOULD be fun.

"No.  I've given it up."

"They screwed about with your head, an' all that, an' that's IT?"

"Yeah.  I've got to get back to basics."  Angel sounded determined, and even a little wistful.

"I'll give you basics...they oughtta die, slow an' painful."

"A lot of them already did."  Heavy guilt.  Spike snorted, and leaned back again.  WHAT a fuckin' nancyboy.  Oh, an' like you're any better?  So damn pleased to see your Sire again, to have him want you around, that you practically wagged your tail when you saw 'im?  He looked over, saw that big graceful body, strong hands, perfect face...no pride, me, but I'm still not complainin'.  So.  Don't make him toss you out before you even get home, Will...

"Right then.  Best thing for 'em, I say.  What about your pets?"

"What pets?"

"The HUMANS, you sod."

"I, er...fired them, like I said."

"And..."

"And I was, well, unpleasant to them for a while."

"So..."

"Well, they decided to take me back.  Provisionally."

"WHAT?  THEY're takin' YOU back?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of...working for them, now."  Angel was hunched up even more than usual, ducking his head down between his shoulders.  That kicked-puppy look on his face that Spike had only ever seen around the Slayer, before.

OK...no makin' fun, now.  Might be nice to not be the only bollocksed-up one of a pair, for a change.  Seems the ponce has been havin' troubles of his own, an' who are you to-  Nope.  Didn't work.




Angel looked irritatedly over at his convulsed childe.  Spike was literally gasping for unneeded air, hooting, trying to make words.  It wasn't THAT funny.

"You're working' (gasp) for Cor- (gasp) Cor- (gasp) CORDEEELIA?  BAHhahahahahah!"  He lost it again.

"She's matured a lot, you know.  And there's Wesley, too-"  OK, obvious mistake.  Spike just howled louder.

"Spike, knock it off.  SPIKE."  The younger vampire finally wiped tears from his face, giggled, and straightened up.  Sniggered.  Was silent.  Laughed, once and hard.  Silence.

"Er, Peaches?"

"What?"

"Can't fault your stones for tryin', but do you really think that's gonna work out, an' all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well...have you ever HAD a boss?  Someone orderin' you around, tellin' you what's what?  Never mind who, though that dozy mare an' Wussly are just icin'."

"Well, there was Darla..."

Spike scoffed.  "Who was so busy ridin' you into the ground, she never had a chance to tell you what to do.  No, like a REAL boss."

"I guess not."

"Hate to tell you this, luv, but you're not the sort to take direction well."

Angel pondered that for a moment, still staring out into the night.  He could see the lights of Los Angeles on the horizon, reflected off the bottom of the ever-present smog.  Rather like Hell, he thought.  Spike was right, this wasn't going to be easy.  More like torture, in fact.  He sighed.

"Well, I'll just have to learn."  Which sent Spike off again.  

"Spike, it's not FUNNY!"

Spike unexpectedly sobered.  "No, it ain't.  Rather pathetic, but there you have it.  Dunno if you'll be able to swing it, but it
should be interestin' to watch."  He lit another cigarette.  Angel hoped he wouldn't ash on the floor.

"Um, about that, Spike..."  He steeled himself.  This would NOT be pleasant, but had to be said.

"Yeah?"

"I think it might be better if you...didn't.  Watch."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, things are a little...delicate right now, with Cordy and the rest.  And if I show up for," shudder, "WORK, with you in tow...the last time you were in town you tried to kill us all.  It would just make things difficult."  And there's no way I'm going to tell them I'm SLEEPING with you...

"You're gonna lock me in the cellar, then, an' drag me out when you got an itch to scratch, I take it?"  Spike's voice was low, and he couldn't read it at all.

"Well, I was thinking, a nice apartment...?"  That little forgive-me smile had worked on Wesley, maybe it would on Spike...

"Stop the car."

"Spike, we're on the high-"

"I said STOP the BLOODY FUCKIN' CAR."

"Can we just TALK-"

Spike lunged for the door, hauling himself up over and bracing his feet on the seat He WOULDN'T oh SHIT! and was almost tossed out when tires screeched and burned as the convertible fishtailed to a halt at the side of the highway.  He hopped over the side, and started walking.  Towards L.A, true, but Angel wasn't counting on that meaning anything.  Oh, he had really fucked this up.

"Spike, get back here."  He could hear the feet retreating, could still see the glimmer of blond hair in the lights of the occasional passing 18-wheeler.  "Spike, I'm sorry, please?"

GodDAMNit.  "Spike..."  He got out of the car and ran, catching up easily.  Fell into step, shortening his strides.  Time was, I would have made him stretch...

"If something happens to my car, I'm never going to forgive you."  Anything, just to say something.  He got no reaction.

He'd forgotten.  Spike's priorities had always been simple, straightforward, and all-encompassing.  Love, feed, fight, and
entertain himself (by means other than the first three), in that order.  And he'd never been able to accept, or understand, when those around him didn't quite live according to those rules.  

"Spike, you know I don't want to hide you away.  I'm not ashamed of you."  Well, maybe a little when you sing in public.  "I've just got...responsibilites.  Besides you."

"That what I am?"

"You KNOW you're more than that."  At least he was talking, no matter how short and clipped.  I have NEVER been good at this.  I am SO BAD at this.  Oh, help.  "I need you around.  I need you to help me.  I mean, who better than you to show me how to be the worst employee the world's ever seen?"

Spike flashed him a grin, but kept walking.  OK, more grovelling?  Much more of this and he was going to lose his spine entirely.  This sucked.  He HAD been dealing with humans for too long.  He let his gameface flicker on, felt the rumble in his chest.

"And, most importantly, I. AM. YOUR. SIRE.  Boy.  Get back to the car before I remind you of EXACTLY what that means."

Spike stopped, stared at him for a long moment.  Angel tensed for the strike.  Spike just stared.  Smiled again, and nodded.

"Right, ducks.  Just makin' sure you weren't a COMPLETE pansy, these days."

And he turned around and strolled back towards the car.  Whistling.  Leaving Angel gaping after him.

Boredom.  What was so terrible about boredom, again?




"I don't care WHAT your soddin' boss thinks, I am NOT gonna be put up in some flat like a high-priced whore!  That was Darla's gig!"  The rest of the trip had been fairly peaceful, what with his sire holdin' his hand the whole way, but the minute they stepped in the door and Spike admired the size of the place...

"Cordelia is NOT my boss, Spike, and I...am not going to have this conversation with you."  He stomped up the stairs, out of the lobby, and Spike looked after him.  Right.  Time to go shag some bollocks back into the bugger, before all this soul-boy crap made him heave.  He chased Angel up the stairs, and burst through a closed door.  Angel smirked at him from the bed.  The giant bed with the wine-dark sheets and the black satin comforter...Spike swallowed hard.

"Took you long enough."

"Oh, you're a flamin' comedian tonight, you are."  Spike paced nervously, found the bottle he knew Angel always kept around, unscrewed the top and took a long swallow.  Single malt.  Always the best.

"William, come here."  And there was that Sire-tone, drawing him over to the bed like he was on a string.  Angel pulled him between his knees from where he sat, and rubbed long strokes up and down the backs of his legs, hips to knees, and back up.  An' how long had it been, since a lover had known where to touch?  Too bloody long.  He sighed, capped the bottle, and set it on the floor, and pushed Angel back till he was laying flat.

"Spike, I do want you here."

"I want you here too, luv."  Leer, because it was always easier to just get to the sex.

"No, more than that.  I'll tell Cordelia and Wes and Gunn you're here, if you want me to.  And you can stay here if you want, though you WILL obey house rules.  I want you to stay."

"You always such a pushover these days, Peaches?"

"I guess so."  And Spike was drowning in smiling brown eyes, bet he doesn't smile enough, lately, and so damn happy he was afraid he was gonna GET a soul.  Some backwards-magic thing that he couldn't quite think about clearly enough to work through.  Oh yeah, the Big Bad, me.  Haven't felt this good in a hundred years, though Dru an' I
tried.  He's safety, he's home, an' he's not chuckin' me out...
 He sighed a little, and leaned down, and pressed the softest kiss onto his Sire's lips.  Lips that kept smiling, and parted, and let his tongue in to play.  Hands came up and pulled lightly at his ears, moving back into his hair to clutch and bring his mouth closer.  That sweet dance, between his lips, as Angel sucked at the lower one, then ran his tongue around inside, and oh the taste.  It had only been a few hours, but the TASTE...

Spike heard himself making little kitten sounds, and couldn't bring himself to care.  He was settled neatly between Angel's thighs, and those huge hands were holding his head still, and all he could do was rock and moan, rock and moan, against him and into his mouth.  They were still fully clothed when Angel rolled him over and came down on top of him, still just pushing at each other with their hips, and this time there WASN'T a rush, and Spike felt himself relaxing completely, for the first time in a very long time.  Almost boneless when Angel stripped him gently, kissing down his body with little nips that made him shudder and gasp and breathe.  And pliant when Angel rubbed hands down his body, hard enough not to tickle, how he'd
always loved it.  He felt sharp teeth just resting on his hipbone, cool breathless mouth against his skin, and just savored it, lying still for an instant.

Then he was up and moving, rolling and dragging a startled Angel fully onto the bed, and the peace disappeared as he just threw himself at his Sire.  He spared a brief moment to wonder if it would always be like this, desperate and a little insane, and then he was lost.  




Even when he'd been just-turned, Angel didn't remember Willian NEEDING him like this.  His small hands were everywhere as he pulled Angel down into him, running down his back in quick strokes, fingers digging into his buttocks and leaving marks, then curving around to hold his waist, grab at his arms.  Legs twining with his hard enough to hurt.  Spike's eyes were a little wild, blue almost filled with black, now, and his hair was standing on end in white-blond curls...he looked about fifteen years old.  

"Will...easy now..."  He gentled his childe with his voice, like he'd always been able to, and reached down between them to where their cocks were rubbing together, burning him.  Held them both together.  "I wilna leave you again, Childe, I swear it."  And he knew he wasn't Angelus, knew he wasn't the sire Spike remembered, but maybe this would do, maybe it would be enough...

It seemed to be what Spike needed, because he unwound again, just a little, and let himself be kissed.  Angel ran a tongue down his long throat, feeling the absence of pulse under his lips and how that felt just RIGHT, letting his weight bear down and press the smaller vampire into the mattress.  He stroked the throbbing lengths in his hands, hard and sure, and caught the up-BUCK of Spike's hips in the cradle of his own.  

"Aye, boy, that's it now.  Let me in."  He was talking the Irish again, and couldn't help himself, not with his cock in his hand and his boy underneath him, and he needed this as much as Spike, he knew suddenly.  Needed to be needed, needed to be understood and accepted, and  FUUUCK oh FUUU-  needed to be let in, just. like. this.

Years of practice, and he knew that body better than he knew his own, and apparently it went both ways, since Spike had managed to lift his hips and guide Angel into his body in one long move.  The cool, tight slickness around him, not burning him like a human but JUST right, taking his whole length in a push down that had Angel's hands fisting in the coverlet, his weight on his forearms, as Spike pulled and clutched with both hands at his hips.  He reared up, eyes burning gold, and grabbed those clever little hands, pinning them to the bed above their heads.  Spike wanted to be fucked?  Far be it from Angel to deny him that.

He slammed himself home and Spike yelped, fangs dropping as he twisted, helpless underneath Angel.  Sometimes it is SO good to be the bigger one...  He hauled Spike's legs up over his shoulders, opening him completely, angling him right...and started the rhythm.
 
Decades of fucking Spike, and this never got old.  In and out, and the tight muscles pulling at him, holding him like he belonged there...out and IN and IN and oh jesus Will was making that noise again, the high, animal one he always denied, after, but that made Angel hard, harder, was that even POSSIBLE?  

"Sire...Angel...ohgodohFUCKANGEL!  Angelussss..."  Hissed through sharp teeth, and Spike was stroking himself because Angel couldn't remember how to move his arms, just his hips in this in and out and sweetness...strong pale body under him, so beautiful, muscles rippling and bunching as Spike tried to sit UP under the force of his strokes, and pulled hard at his own jerking, drooling cock--looked hard enough to cut glass--and Spike was staring into his eyes and clamping down inside and spurting and howling and Angel was drowning in gold snapping teeth shut in that white throat and commmmiiiinnggggg....




Christ in a racecar, he thought he'd lost his mind.  Last one was good, this one much better, an' if they kept on improving like this, Spike was gonna end up fucked literally to death.  He just knew it.  He purred a little, complete satisfaction rolling through him as his Sire hauled the covers up around their bodies, still touching, and curled himself around his childe.  His.  Spike knew it, had always known it no matter how he kicked and screamed and battled against it.  Soul or not, blood was blood, and he was fully owned by the demon currently petting him like a cat and lapping at the holes in his throat.  He knew it, the demon knew it, and for the first time in a hundred years, all was right in Spike's world.

"Angelus?"

"Hmmm?"  Still licking at his throat, and he could feel a deeper purr starting behind him.  Oh yeah, the ponce was lovin' this too.

"I still say you're gonna be a piss-poor workin' man."  And this little exercise in domination was Exhibit A...

"I'll have to get promoted fast then, won't I?"  And Spike grinned, and laughed a little, and curled into strong arms, to sleep the day away.





The End





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