Because Cavemen Have Fire, the Sequel. Chapter 2.
And here you go, chapter 2! Should I warn for cliché abuse?
Chapter 1 here, and previous installments of the 'verse here.
Summary: There are always consequences.
Setting: Post-NFA. (And Buffy never dated The Immortal.)
Rating: Mild R.
Pairings: S/B/A.
Word count: Just under 1600 words.
Feedback: Yes please...
Disclaimer: I am not Joss and do not own these characters! [/obvious]
Chapter 2
It had been more than a week, and Buffy was torn between worrying about her vampires' welfare and worrying about what to do when they came back.
Then finally, late one February night, her two Champions returned.
They appeared unharmed, although they had that haunted and exhausted look that they had displayed when she’d first found them... And they were drunk. (Which, to her great relief, meant that she could postpone any questions she might have been working on.)
Spike was carrying several bottles full of green liquid that he very carefully - trying not to trip over the words - explained was called Absinthe.
"Didn't it kill Toulouse Lautrec?" she asked, as she gave them both a sleepy hello kiss, having just fallen asleep when they waltzed through the door.
"Yeah - 'twas banned f’years. Thank fuck ’s not anymore..."
Angel nodded assent and grabbed a bottle for himself before sinking into the sofa.
“Spike's right, 's very good stuff - Buffy, d’you want some?"
She shook her head mutely, and prayed that their vampire constitution meant that they weren’t going to throw it all back up.
“Did you record 24?” Spike asked, dropping down next to Angel, and she pointed to the pile next to the TV.
“It’s all clearly marked. Just turn the sound down, OK? It’s not like you don’t have super hearing...”
And she shuffled back to bed, thinking what a marvellous thing two boyfriends were, since otherwise she’d have needed to fend off drunken pledges of affection and clumsy kisses that’d end in snoring and not sex. This way they could argue about Jack Bauer with each other, and then fall asleep in a pile on the sofa.
***
Some hours later - she wasn't sure how many - she woke up again, and, noticing that they hadn't come to bed yet, thought she'd check on them. Or rather - make sure that all the curtains were drawn. Waking up to grilled vampire was not something she relished.
Silently opening the bedroom door a fraction she heard their voices, but the sitting room appeared to be empty, and only a small side lamp was still on.
Frowning she took a step in, scanning the room - and then froze.
They were on the rug on the floor, mostly covered from her viewpoint by the sofa, and - as far as she could tell - naked. The lonely lamp illuminated their faces and the part of their upper bodies that she could see, and they almost shone against the darkness of the room. Spike was on his back, hands under his head, and Angel was on the far side of him, perched up on his elbow and slowly running his free hand through Spike's hair. And they’d obviously done their best to finish the bottles they’d brought.
"Why'd ye 'ave t'ruin it, William..." Angel asked, words slurred and with the particular sorrowful intonation of the very drunk. And sounding more Irish than Buffy had ever heard outside of mostly forgotten dreams.
"Twas so pretty when i‘twas long..."
He tugged at Spike's short platinum locks and sighed.
"And t'colour 's awful! Should grow it out."
He looked at Spike solemnly, and Spike looked back, indifferent.
"Yeah, but 'm a rebel, so... I don' listen to what Irish pooftersh tell me."
Buffy stared, speechless. Apparently they were discussing Spike's hair... but why were they doing so on the floor? And - well, what exactly were they doing on the floor? Naked? Without her...
"Sire!" Angel countered. Then, after a beat. "Granshire. Whadever... Ye should do ash ye're told, boy! An' I shay ye're prettier with yer hair long. Liked... liked the ponytail..."
Spike grinned up at him, and Buffy knew the cheeky, impish look far too well.
"'M pretty, am I?"
The effort of holding Angel's eyes obviously too laborious, he let his head fall to the side, and, in the longest double take Buffy had ever seen, realised that she was there.
"Buffy..." he said, with neither surprise nor particular interest and as though he expected her to evaporate any moment.
Slowly he turned his head back to gaze at Angel, who didn't even look up.
"Don' want Buffy..." he said in a voice so petulant that Buffy would have laughed if she hadn't been so shocked.
"Want my speshial, my pretty boy."
He carefully followed the line of Spike's cheekbone from temple to chin with his finger, before slowly stroking his lower lip - his eyes never leaving Spike’s face, drinking in the sight of him. Then with a sudden dark smile, moving with much greater speed than anyone that drunk had the right to, he pulled himself on top of Spike and proceeded to kiss him hard. Spike, having obviously forgotten everything about Buffy the second his eyes left her, responded in kind, his hands fisting in Angel’s hair as he closed his eyes in pleasure.
Buffy felt like all air had been sucked out of her. This was every worry, every dismissed nightmare she’d had in the last week playing out in front of her eyes. And yet... The few times she’d asked what their deal was they’d always warned her that she didn’t want to know - hinting at all sorts of dark things in their past. A rather good strategy since it had made her back off, unsure at what they could be hiding.
This had certainly never occurred to her.
Spike was Angel’s ‘Special Boy’? Angel was telling Spike that he was pretty?
Although... how much of this was ‘real’ and how much the alcohol? Or... was the alcohol revealing truths otherwise hidden?
She wanted to run away; wanted to scream at them to stop, to explain... but found herself frozen in place, unable to move, butterflies of lead settling in her stomach.
Then Angel pulled away, and their eyes locked together once again. There came on their faces a look that Buffy recognised far too well... and yet it had a different kind of undertone to it.
Angel brought up his hand to Spike’s mouth, and Spike proceeded to lick and then suck the fingers, before the hand moved out of frame again and Spike took a sharp breath, biting his lip.
Then Angel moved - slowly, slowly - as both their expressions hovered between elation and delicious ache.
Lying perfectly still together for a moment they held each others’ eyes, and then Angel spoke; voice barely above a whisper, the intonations so odd that Buffy had a feeling he might be speaking a different language.
“Ye - be mine?”
There was a beat, as Spike drew a deep breath, face unreadable. Then he smiled the strangest, softest smile.
“Yours... Sire.”
Angel’s response was a wide and joyful grin, unguarded and open... and yet at the same time fiercely - uncomfortably - possessive.
They started moving together; fluidly, gracefully, and Buffy had to put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. They were so beautiful - almost like wild animals, she thought; golden shimmering bodies outlined against the blackness.
Her feelings were so confused that she didn’t know what to think. Part of her was turned on - very turned on - another part felt betrayed as painful memories resurfaced unbidden, their hollow ghosts mocking her. A completely different part was trying to work out what it was she was seeing - she remembered Dawn talking about all sort of things like vampire mating rituals, claiming, blood rites and the like. Was that what this was?
Then Spike’s face contorted.
“Oh fuck... Angel!” he breathed, in a voice she could barely recognise. The tiniest fraction later Angel was in full game face, burying his fangs in Spike’s neck, and Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth.
Spike was clinging onto Angel, face caught in rapture, as they both trembled to their completion. It was such an intensely private moment that Buffy felt like an unlawful intruder, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
‘We’re vampires and it’s... different,’ Angel had told her once. And... it was. She shared a part in it, she knew, the demony darkness a part of her that she would never give up, even if she could. But still this was... alien.
At the back of her mind she could hear all the voices she’d tried to block out for the past few months... ‘It’s unnatural’, ‘It’ll never work’, ‘Get out Buffy before they break your heart again’, ‘I know they love you, but threesomes just aren’t very stable’, ‘They worked for W&H you can’t trust them’, ‘Buffy... I don’t want to be a killjoy, but are you sure?’...
And then, one voice stood out.
‘Listen B, if you ever feel like sharing, you know I’ll be there in a heartbeat, right?’
It wasn’t so much the lifted eyebrow or the dirty laugh, but the knowledge that the other Slayer knew and understood the darkness she was choosing, and would have made the same choice herself - the only one who grasped the strength of the bonds tying Buffy to the vampires in question.
She desperately wished that Faith could have been there with her.
In silence she watched Angel slowly roll off, then pull a near-unconscious Spike into his arms, nesting Spike’s head on his shoulder, before finally planting a soft kiss on his messed-up hair.
Asleep in moments, they didn’t notice her as she spread a blanket over them - a blanket she knew that they didn’t need.
Then she walked back to her bed, which was large and cold and lonely, caught between the terror of everything falling apart and the sudden urge to kill something.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 1 here, and previous installments of the 'verse here.
Summary: There are always consequences.
Setting: Post-NFA. (And Buffy never dated The Immortal.)
Rating: Mild R.
Pairings: S/B/A.
Word count: Just under 1600 words.
Feedback: Yes please...
Disclaimer: I am not Joss and do not own these characters! [/obvious]
Chapter 2
It had been more than a week, and Buffy was torn between worrying about her vampires' welfare and worrying about what to do when they came back.
Then finally, late one February night, her two Champions returned.
They appeared unharmed, although they had that haunted and exhausted look that they had displayed when she’d first found them... And they were drunk. (Which, to her great relief, meant that she could postpone any questions she might have been working on.)
Spike was carrying several bottles full of green liquid that he very carefully - trying not to trip over the words - explained was called Absinthe.
"Didn't it kill Toulouse Lautrec?" she asked, as she gave them both a sleepy hello kiss, having just fallen asleep when they waltzed through the door.
"Yeah - 'twas banned f’years. Thank fuck ’s not anymore..."
Angel nodded assent and grabbed a bottle for himself before sinking into the sofa.
“Spike's right, 's very good stuff - Buffy, d’you want some?"
She shook her head mutely, and prayed that their vampire constitution meant that they weren’t going to throw it all back up.
“Did you record 24?” Spike asked, dropping down next to Angel, and she pointed to the pile next to the TV.
“It’s all clearly marked. Just turn the sound down, OK? It’s not like you don’t have super hearing...”
And she shuffled back to bed, thinking what a marvellous thing two boyfriends were, since otherwise she’d have needed to fend off drunken pledges of affection and clumsy kisses that’d end in snoring and not sex. This way they could argue about Jack Bauer with each other, and then fall asleep in a pile on the sofa.
***
Some hours later - she wasn't sure how many - she woke up again, and, noticing that they hadn't come to bed yet, thought she'd check on them. Or rather - make sure that all the curtains were drawn. Waking up to grilled vampire was not something she relished.
Silently opening the bedroom door a fraction she heard their voices, but the sitting room appeared to be empty, and only a small side lamp was still on.
Frowning she took a step in, scanning the room - and then froze.
They were on the rug on the floor, mostly covered from her viewpoint by the sofa, and - as far as she could tell - naked. The lonely lamp illuminated their faces and the part of their upper bodies that she could see, and they almost shone against the darkness of the room. Spike was on his back, hands under his head, and Angel was on the far side of him, perched up on his elbow and slowly running his free hand through Spike's hair. And they’d obviously done their best to finish the bottles they’d brought.
"Why'd ye 'ave t'ruin it, William..." Angel asked, words slurred and with the particular sorrowful intonation of the very drunk. And sounding more Irish than Buffy had ever heard outside of mostly forgotten dreams.
"Twas so pretty when i‘twas long..."
He tugged at Spike's short platinum locks and sighed.
"And t'colour 's awful! Should grow it out."
He looked at Spike solemnly, and Spike looked back, indifferent.
"Yeah, but 'm a rebel, so... I don' listen to what Irish pooftersh tell me."
Buffy stared, speechless. Apparently they were discussing Spike's hair... but why were they doing so on the floor? And - well, what exactly were they doing on the floor? Naked? Without her...
"Sire!" Angel countered. Then, after a beat. "Granshire. Whadever... Ye should do ash ye're told, boy! An' I shay ye're prettier with yer hair long. Liked... liked the ponytail..."
Spike grinned up at him, and Buffy knew the cheeky, impish look far too well.
"'M pretty, am I?"
The effort of holding Angel's eyes obviously too laborious, he let his head fall to the side, and, in the longest double take Buffy had ever seen, realised that she was there.
"Buffy..." he said, with neither surprise nor particular interest and as though he expected her to evaporate any moment.
Slowly he turned his head back to gaze at Angel, who didn't even look up.
"Don' want Buffy..." he said in a voice so petulant that Buffy would have laughed if she hadn't been so shocked.
"Want my speshial, my pretty boy."
He carefully followed the line of Spike's cheekbone from temple to chin with his finger, before slowly stroking his lower lip - his eyes never leaving Spike’s face, drinking in the sight of him. Then with a sudden dark smile, moving with much greater speed than anyone that drunk had the right to, he pulled himself on top of Spike and proceeded to kiss him hard. Spike, having obviously forgotten everything about Buffy the second his eyes left her, responded in kind, his hands fisting in Angel’s hair as he closed his eyes in pleasure.
Buffy felt like all air had been sucked out of her. This was every worry, every dismissed nightmare she’d had in the last week playing out in front of her eyes. And yet... The few times she’d asked what their deal was they’d always warned her that she didn’t want to know - hinting at all sorts of dark things in their past. A rather good strategy since it had made her back off, unsure at what they could be hiding.
This had certainly never occurred to her.
Spike was Angel’s ‘Special Boy’? Angel was telling Spike that he was pretty?
Although... how much of this was ‘real’ and how much the alcohol? Or... was the alcohol revealing truths otherwise hidden?
She wanted to run away; wanted to scream at them to stop, to explain... but found herself frozen in place, unable to move, butterflies of lead settling in her stomach.
Then Angel pulled away, and their eyes locked together once again. There came on their faces a look that Buffy recognised far too well... and yet it had a different kind of undertone to it.
Angel brought up his hand to Spike’s mouth, and Spike proceeded to lick and then suck the fingers, before the hand moved out of frame again and Spike took a sharp breath, biting his lip.
Then Angel moved - slowly, slowly - as both their expressions hovered between elation and delicious ache.
Lying perfectly still together for a moment they held each others’ eyes, and then Angel spoke; voice barely above a whisper, the intonations so odd that Buffy had a feeling he might be speaking a different language.
“Ye - be mine?”
There was a beat, as Spike drew a deep breath, face unreadable. Then he smiled the strangest, softest smile.
“Yours... Sire.”
Angel’s response was a wide and joyful grin, unguarded and open... and yet at the same time fiercely - uncomfortably - possessive.
They started moving together; fluidly, gracefully, and Buffy had to put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. They were so beautiful - almost like wild animals, she thought; golden shimmering bodies outlined against the blackness.
Her feelings were so confused that she didn’t know what to think. Part of her was turned on - very turned on - another part felt betrayed as painful memories resurfaced unbidden, their hollow ghosts mocking her. A completely different part was trying to work out what it was she was seeing - she remembered Dawn talking about all sort of things like vampire mating rituals, claiming, blood rites and the like. Was that what this was?
Then Spike’s face contorted.
“Oh fuck... Angel!” he breathed, in a voice she could barely recognise. The tiniest fraction later Angel was in full game face, burying his fangs in Spike’s neck, and Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth.
Spike was clinging onto Angel, face caught in rapture, as they both trembled to their completion. It was such an intensely private moment that Buffy felt like an unlawful intruder, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
‘We’re vampires and it’s... different,’ Angel had told her once. And... it was. She shared a part in it, she knew, the demony darkness a part of her that she would never give up, even if she could. But still this was... alien.
At the back of her mind she could hear all the voices she’d tried to block out for the past few months... ‘It’s unnatural’, ‘It’ll never work’, ‘Get out Buffy before they break your heart again’, ‘I know they love you, but threesomes just aren’t very stable’, ‘They worked for W&H you can’t trust them’, ‘Buffy... I don’t want to be a killjoy, but are you sure?’...
And then, one voice stood out.
‘Listen B, if you ever feel like sharing, you know I’ll be there in a heartbeat, right?’
It wasn’t so much the lifted eyebrow or the dirty laugh, but the knowledge that the other Slayer knew and understood the darkness she was choosing, and would have made the same choice herself - the only one who grasped the strength of the bonds tying Buffy to the vampires in question.
She desperately wished that Faith could have been there with her.
In silence she watched Angel slowly roll off, then pull a near-unconscious Spike into his arms, nesting Spike’s head on his shoulder, before finally planting a soft kiss on his messed-up hair.
Asleep in moments, they didn’t notice her as she spread a blanket over them - a blanket she knew that they didn’t need.
Then she walked back to her bed, which was large and cold and lonely, caught between the terror of everything falling apart and the sudden urge to kill something.
Chapter 3.