Compatible Faults 9
Okay I can't finish writing something and wait a second to post it. It's a weakness. So here's the latest CF!
WARNING: Those of you who want Happily-ever-after Spike/Angel? Just accept that 8 was the LAST chapter. I'm dead serious. Angel begins his descent into absolute Dick-Dom here.
Previous Chapters Here
Chapter Nine: Why We Fight
Spike had a moment of panic, waking in a bed not his own, a lifeless arm heavy across his chest. Always the same most fearful thought: Did I kill someone?
But it was just Angel. Angel, whose smell he’d know in the last stages of senility, and the bed was soaked in it like an unwashed whore in cheap perfume. He let himself relax into the soft bedding, the smells of familiarity and sex, the well-used lassitude aching in his joints. “Well,” Spike said, “Waking up with someone. That’s a rare and pleasant experience.”
Angel stirred, then blinked at him with fuzzy-headed slowness. His gelled hair was a wild mess. Spike had to stifle a laugh.
“Spike?”
“Yes, Peaches. Memory coming back or do I need to give you a play-by-play? Short story: we shagged.”
Angel ran a hand over his face. He slowly sat up, checked the bedside clock, and then put his feet on the floor with a sigh. “Getting too old for these long nights.”
“Ha bloody ha.”
Angel groaned. “At least you get to sleep in. I have to get downstairs in an hour.”
He trudged to the bathroom scratching his bare behind. (Which was quite a cute little rump roast, Spike observed.)
Spike watched him go. Was this it? Was he just going to rest the day away, here, in Angel’s bed?
It seemed more than a little weird.
The water in the shower turned on, and Spike didn’t feel the least bit sleepy, so he got up and poked around Angel’s things for a bit before finding his clothes and putting them on.
His clothes were mostly right by the lift, which made for an amused chuckle and memory. How indecent a pile of fabric could look, bathed in cheery morning light. Especially with Angel’s pants dragged over his.
Denim felt very rough on sore skin, but that was part of what Spike liked about jeans. Roughness. He ran his fingers through his hair to gauge the level of poofy curl. It was probably a Fauntleroy scale 8. Fortunately, finding hair gel in Angel’s apartment was like trying to find water on the ocean floor.
Angel came out of the shower with a cloud of steam while Spike was still feeling over his head to make sure it was right.
Angel threw his towel on the bed. “Why do you do that?”
“You know why.”
Bare, warm and soap-scented arms wrapped around Spike’s dirty t-shirt. “Go back to bed,” Angel said.
Spike laughed. “Not tired, you poof. Besides, dodging the sun it takes nearly an hour to get to my place from here.”
Angel’s arms tightened. “Your place?”
“Yeah. My flat. Apartment. Four walls surrounding my clean pair of pants.”
Angel wasn’t moving. Spike twisted in his embrace, coming nose-to-nose with a very petulant Angel. “For fuck’s sake WHAT?”
“I don’t want you going back to Lindsey’s apartment.”
Spike said, “It’s not like he’s going to be there.” It came out with more venom than he realized he felt.
Angel’s eyes softened. He leaned in for a soft kiss, which Spike started to avoid but didn’t. “Just stay here,” Angel said. “Take a shower, go back to bed. I’ll have someone get you fresh clothes, or even wash these while you wait.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, but I got things to do.”
Angel leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “I have a TV.”
Spike scowled. “You think all it takes to buy me is telly?”
Angel shrugged. “Well, that and I’ll be coming back up here for lunch. And you’ll be naked.”
“Oh, will I?”
“Mmm,” Angel nodded, his smirk widening into dark lasciviousness. “If you don’t want to buy new clothes you will be.”
Spike leaned back against the comfortable support of Angel’s big hands on the small of his back. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ll just… take a shower and go back to bed.”
Angel kissed him on the nose. “TV’s in the front room. Remote’s in the wet bar.”
“Wet bar?”
“Behave,” Angel said, and disentangled to go to his closet.
***
Angel’s TV was larger than some cinemas Spike had been to. A wooden panel slid off the wall to expose it and in no time he found a satellite sports channel to give him all the info he could ever want on the current state of football.
It’d been a long time since he paid attention - a soul and an apocalypse and lack of cable could really cut into a sport fan’s knowledge. The names of the players had all changed on him, and teams that sucked were now doing well.
It occurred to him suddenly that he must have spent a solid decade, all told, just watching football.
And it was pointless.
The whiskey soured in his mouth. He took another long swallow and shook his head. Brooding was Angel’s game. He shifted forward on the couch, clasping his hands and really concentrating on the game. It wasn’t pointless. Timeless. The drama of athletic achievement and chance. This was life. Life on a grassy field with endorsements.
And didn’t he deserve a little time off after the day he’d had? The scars on his heart were as fresh and painful as the bruises Angel had left on his arse. Surely this called for high-quality liquor, high-definition television, and a butter-soft leather couch.
By the time Angel came home for lunch, Spike was in a decidedly good mood.
***
Angel stood stunned as the doors to his apartment opened.
Spike leaned back on his couch, arms tucked behind his head. “Isn’t this what the vampire ordered?”
Angel made a small, strangled sound at the back of his throat and dropped his briefcase. “I said… naked… thought that would mean…”
Angel looked to the undisturbed bed, and then back to Spike in all his glory.
He hadn’t realized that couch had the perfect color to offset his pale musculature. And Spike had obeyed his request - his hair was in soft, bedraggled curls, washed and un-gelled.
Angel had planned on talking, seriously. Maybe they were rushing things. Maybe it was just the grief throwing them together and…
Spike tilted his head back, long expanse of throat stretched out, open, ready, one dark eyebrow arched.
Angel lost all ability to think. Fortunately, his body still remembered how to unfasten his tie and step out of his shoes as it stumbled forward, drawn by what felt like a hard, tugging hand on his dick.
Or that could have been his own hand. Huh. He’d gotten his pants off.
Spike’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he rose to help Angel divest himself of his last pieces of clothing. “Figured if I was going to play ‘kept boy’ for the day, I’d do it right.”
Angel was all fumbles, but he couldn’t wait. His mouth, his hands, his cock all need to touch skin NOW.
They tumbled off the side of the couch and knocked the coffee table away, grabbing, wrestling for leverage and dominance.
“Ow! Angel! Wait! You prick! Wait!”
Angel had both his hands curled into the curve of Spike’s ass and had to lift himself on his elbows to meet Spike’s scowling face. “What?”
“I’m sore, you daft git. Remember last night when you tried to rip me in two with those giant mitts of yours?”
Angel let his fingers trace more carefully along that smooth curve of skin. He felt the delightful rough patches - still stinging to his own senses - where the cross had burnt into the otherwise smooth skin, and he felt something slick and pleasant all around the rosy hole when he dipped his fingers in. “You prepared.”
“Yeah, but I’m still sore. Let up, let’s not do that yet, all right?”
Spike looked honestly pained, so Angel withdrew his fingers, brought his hands up and around to stroke his bare sides instead. “Okay,” he said, and, with an effort that felt like swallowing his own face, he stilled his wild lust and leaned down for a soft, exploratory kiss, which was gratefully and sweetly answered.
Spike gathered up his erection and squeezed it. Angel moaned his appreciation and humped the blonde’s fist. “There now,” Spike said, “Not so horrible is that? Let me take care of you, sugar daddy.”
Spike’s deft tongue brushed his jaw and Angel felt a twitch generated in his gut and all the way down to his toes as he nearly came right then.
But Spike was holding him tight, keeping him from shooting off just then, and his legs were sliding up Angel’s, satiny smooth and damn he loved that feeling of ankles hooking behind his calves while teeth nipped at his neck. He felt the velvet-over-steel of Spike’s cock against his. Spike was holding him, rocking. The delicious texture of his abs lifting and undulating, playing him gently - too gently.
With a roar he threw the blonde back onto the couch, on his stomach. He grabbed legs, pushed them apart.
“Wait… Angel!”
“No waiting.” Angel slid home with one hard thrust.
It was relief. A cool balm on a hot itch. Angel sighed and relaxed against Spike, who was stiff and still under him, hands gripping deep into the leather upholstery.
In a shaking voice, he said, “I said no.”
“Spike, you like it rough. Just shhh… relax… relax it’s going to feel great.” Angel made small circles on Spike’s back with his thumbs.
It was easy to take it slow now. Angel shifted his hips, enjoying the tight flesh around his cock while he stroked and soothed Spike. The younger vampire trembled a little, at first, but those passed, and he sighed, seeing his shoulders adjust and his hands not gripping so hard anymore. Spike pushed back. “Okay… okay that’s just… you can move. Come on.”
“Sh,” Angel teased, still stroking and playing all along his back and sides and stomach and chest. He rubbed Spike’s nipples and rubbed his stomach, he kissed his neck and felt his returning erection. “We have a whole hour baby. Just relax.”
That sweet round bum pressed harder against his groin. “What happened to rough?”
“You made yourself gorgeous and laid yourself out for me and then told me I had to wait. Turnabout is fair.” Angel tickled the soft indent below his ribs and Spike shifted his weight to one hand so he could turn and slap him.
Angel caught his wrist and pushed it back into the pillowed back of the couch. “Behave or you won’t get any.”
He couldn’t see it, but somehow he knew Spike was rolling his eyes. So he shifted his hips, pulling ever so slightly out and back in again. Spike hissed, one fist curling up to bang the back of the couch. “Fuck.”
“Eventually.”
“Not gonna beg. Prick.”
“You will. Eventually.” Angel let his fangs come out and scrape over the nape of Spike’s neck. The younger vampire shivered and bucked. “But first, I’m going to taste every inch of you.”
Spike’s head tilted down, exposing his long, lovely nape. He shivered as fangs pierced his skin.
Angel took his time, tasting the salt of sweat the bitter tang of soap, the sweet body underneath it all. And as he traveled over neck and shoulders and down to the succulent ribs, he rocked, gently, ever so gently fucking, keeping himself hard, drawing the pleasure out like slow taffy.
It was a soft pleading whine that broke him, coming from Spike’s parted lips as Angel scored the underside of his left arm. Angel felt a shudder and had to hold still a moment.
When he no longer felt like any slight movement would tip him over the edge, he grabbed hard to Spike’s shoulders and fucked for all his worth.
It didn’t take long before they were howling, seized together like malfunctioning engine parts, flesh compressed as far as it could go as finger bones clung to hip bones and the whole system shuddered, shuddered, stopped.
***
“I’m not going to walk right for a week, you giant yob.”
Angel looked up from re-fastening his pants. “Is that even a word?”
“It is, and I could use worse ones, poof.” Spike winced as he reached for his duster.
Angel stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt. “You’re putting on your coat?”
Two slow blinks, two raised eyebrows. “No. Just thought I’d rub my backside with leather.” He shrugged the rest of the way into the coat and lovingly smoothed down the lapels.
Angel frowned, a little confused, but he kept buttoning. “I’ll be off work around five. Usually. Sometimes six.”
Spike shifted awkwardly, not quite looking at Angel. He ran a hand over his head. “You want…?” He looked up and sighed. “Do you want to leave separate, like? So people don’t know?”
"I thought you'd stay up here."
The vulnerability was so clear in his liquid blue eyes. Angel crossed the room in two quick strides and had his arms around Spike before the last was done. He kissed him. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Get off,” Spike slapped him lightly. The vulnerability was gone, his usual irritating punk mask back in place. “’M not some blushing maiden.”
“You want me to tell the others? We’ll call a board meeting.” Angel ducked his head and smiled playfully. “Lorne might start attending them more regularly with announcements like that.”
Spike tilted his head, expression softening, his lips parted and Angel thought he was going to kiss him, but then he just shook his head and stepped back. “Nah. Thanks for offering, love. It means a lot. But… let’s wait a bit, yeah? We’re so fucked up. Could just be one real bad day and a couple shags we both sorely needed. No sense up-ending the whole apple cart, right?”
Angel wondered why he felt rejected, having thought much the same things. “Right. Still.” He laid his hand on the soft, familiar leather on Spike’s forearm. “Let’s walk down together and let them talk.”
“We could do that,” Spike acquiesced, and allowed himself to be lead to the elevator.
Angel was a little disappointed there was no one around when he and Spike stepped off his private elevator into his office. Spike gave him a knowing smirk and sauntered out of the office with a rolling gait that was at least fifty percent sore-bum limitation.
Which, yes, he could admit it, filled Angel with glowing, smug pride. He settled into his desk and hit the intercom to let Harmony know he was back.
***
Five o’clock found Angel watching the clock and his office door alternately.
Harmony came in with the last of the day’s reports and asked if she could go. For the first time in days he nodded, sending her home on time. She fairly skipped all the way to the door, telling him he was, “An awesome bossy! And don’t let anyone say you’re always mean!”
He tried to read all of the papers she had given him before looking up at the clock again. He succeeded until 5:12. He finished the papers at 5:26, having checked the clock many, many times in the interim.
He thought about going to the break room on the other side of the floor for a quick blood, but worried Spike might come in just as he was gone.
So at 5:30 exactly (having waited for the clock to reach that milestone) he went up to his apartment.
He almost expected to find that Spike had snuck past him somehow, and was waiting on the sofa. But the room was dark and uninhabited. Even the air was mostly clear of their morning’s exertions. The cleaning staff at Wolfram and Hart were definitely one of the more frightening forces Angel had ever encountered.
He poured himself a tall glass of blood and settled down to catch the pre-show of the Redwings game. He unbuttoned his shirt and shifted around until he thought he was in an at least moderately sexy pose.
On the commercial break he altered his slouch, bringing his leg up on the couch. Yeah. That was a sexy pose.
But when the lift doors opened, he jumped up anyway, tossing the remote as he turned the TV off.
But it wasn’t the long-awaited platinum blonde who stepped forward, smirking. Angel dropped back, folding his arms sullenly. He tried to control his expression.
“Hiya, chief. Aw, come on. Don't tell me you don't recognize me. Spend time in the tube, should know your crew like the back of your hand.”
“Lawson,” Angel said through gritted teeth.
“You see there? I'm touched. Aren't you gonna ask me how I got in here?”
This was going to be good. Spike would come in any moment now and the two of them would beat this embarrassing by-blow into a more aesthetically pleasing shape. Angel relaxed back in the comfortable couch cushions. “Nah. You'd be amazed how many people break into this building on a regular basis.”
***
It was just after midnight when Spike returned to Angel’s office. “Well,” he said, stepping through the broken window that used to separate the office from Harmony’s reception area. “Really ought to do something about security. They'll let anybody in here, won't they? Fred gave me the Cliff Notes. So sailor boy finally came back for a yo-ho-ho, did he?”
“Finally came back,” Angel agreed, turning back to staring out the window.
“What was he after?” Spike strolled up to stand next to Angel, following his gaze to the view. “If it was revenge, it took him long enough. Best served cold? More like frozen.”
“He said he wanted a reason. A mission.”
“And?”
Angel shrugged. “And I staked him.”
“Now, peaches, we both know it wasn’t just like that.”
“Just like that.”
Spike rocked on his heels. “You had a soul then. I mean, you did, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You dick.”
Angel punched him.
Spike fell against the desk, a hand against his cheek. It wasn’t the pain… he barely had gotten over the shock enough to feel the pain. It was the dismissal of the gesture. He sucked in his breath, hoping to suck back the tears that started forming on their own; what, did he think a couple shags would buy him Angel’s undying love?
“Are you finished?” Angel asked.
“No.” Spike rubbed his sore jaw. “You made a vampire-of-convenience, and now you’re sore, why? To have it pointed out what an arse you are, even with a soul?”
“I did what I had to do for the greater good.” Angel flexed his fist. He stood over Spike, glaring in a way that dared him to try and stand. “What were you doing? Going to ‘free virgin blood parties’.”
Spike pulled himself up against the desk, keeping a wary eye and a crooked arm between him and Angel. “You kicked him out of the sub. And me! To take our chances against the sun.”
“You were vampires. You would have eaten the crew.”
“Don’t know why I expect different. You were probably a dick when you were alive. Why can’t Lawson have redemption? Are we any better than him?”
“The world doesn’t need any more ‘good’ vampires. It needs no more vampires, period.”
“Then why don’t you just go stake Harmony, then.” Spike gestured wildly, angrily at the door. “Girl gets your blood every morning, schedules your appointment. Any so-called good you get done in this hell-hole relies directly on her work, but she’s on an all-liquid diet so let’s just kill her, yeah?”
“Give me an excuse,” Angel said.
“You’re un-be-fucking-lievable, Angelus. Excuse me for trying to offer some comforting words.” Spike shifted his coat back into place and started for the lobby.
He was thrown back toward the windows, landing in a startled pile.
Angel’s nostrils flared with hard breaths. “Maybe if you had been here,” he said, “I wouldn’t have had to stake Lawson. Maybe Fred and Wes and Gunn wouldn’t have been strung up in risk of their lives. Maybe I wouldn’t have to beat you right now.”
Spike blocked Angel’s kick with his forearm and scrambled away from the follow-up punch. He backed toward the lobby, frowning in confusion. “Is that what this is? Angry because I didn’t come running to suck your dick soon as the clock struck five?”
“Where were you?” Angel tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a sudden thought. “With Harmony?”
“No! Not with Harmony, you jealous poof! My god, is there no one you won’t…”
Spike was too startled by the ludicrous claim to catch the next punch.
He blinked away the stars while Angel paced in front of him. “You so much as lay a finger on my personal assistant I’ll have human resources lock you from the building.”
Spike’s mouth set into a narrow line.
Angel only realized he was on the floor when the hem of Spike’s duster fluttered over him. “Fuck you, Peaches. I’m going home.”
Continued in Chapter ten
WARNING: Those of you who want Happily-ever-after Spike/Angel? Just accept that 8 was the LAST chapter. I'm dead serious. Angel begins his descent into absolute Dick-Dom here.
Previous Chapters Here
Chapter Nine: Why We Fight
Spike had a moment of panic, waking in a bed not his own, a lifeless arm heavy across his chest. Always the same most fearful thought: Did I kill someone?
But it was just Angel. Angel, whose smell he’d know in the last stages of senility, and the bed was soaked in it like an unwashed whore in cheap perfume. He let himself relax into the soft bedding, the smells of familiarity and sex, the well-used lassitude aching in his joints. “Well,” Spike said, “Waking up with someone. That’s a rare and pleasant experience.”
Angel stirred, then blinked at him with fuzzy-headed slowness. His gelled hair was a wild mess. Spike had to stifle a laugh.
“Spike?”
“Yes, Peaches. Memory coming back or do I need to give you a play-by-play? Short story: we shagged.”
Angel ran a hand over his face. He slowly sat up, checked the bedside clock, and then put his feet on the floor with a sigh. “Getting too old for these long nights.”
“Ha bloody ha.”
Angel groaned. “At least you get to sleep in. I have to get downstairs in an hour.”
He trudged to the bathroom scratching his bare behind. (Which was quite a cute little rump roast, Spike observed.)
Spike watched him go. Was this it? Was he just going to rest the day away, here, in Angel’s bed?
It seemed more than a little weird.
The water in the shower turned on, and Spike didn’t feel the least bit sleepy, so he got up and poked around Angel’s things for a bit before finding his clothes and putting them on.
His clothes were mostly right by the lift, which made for an amused chuckle and memory. How indecent a pile of fabric could look, bathed in cheery morning light. Especially with Angel’s pants dragged over his.
Denim felt very rough on sore skin, but that was part of what Spike liked about jeans. Roughness. He ran his fingers through his hair to gauge the level of poofy curl. It was probably a Fauntleroy scale 8. Fortunately, finding hair gel in Angel’s apartment was like trying to find water on the ocean floor.
Angel came out of the shower with a cloud of steam while Spike was still feeling over his head to make sure it was right.
Angel threw his towel on the bed. “Why do you do that?”
“You know why.”
Bare, warm and soap-scented arms wrapped around Spike’s dirty t-shirt. “Go back to bed,” Angel said.
Spike laughed. “Not tired, you poof. Besides, dodging the sun it takes nearly an hour to get to my place from here.”
Angel’s arms tightened. “Your place?”
“Yeah. My flat. Apartment. Four walls surrounding my clean pair of pants.”
Angel wasn’t moving. Spike twisted in his embrace, coming nose-to-nose with a very petulant Angel. “For fuck’s sake WHAT?”
“I don’t want you going back to Lindsey’s apartment.”
Spike said, “It’s not like he’s going to be there.” It came out with more venom than he realized he felt.
Angel’s eyes softened. He leaned in for a soft kiss, which Spike started to avoid but didn’t. “Just stay here,” Angel said. “Take a shower, go back to bed. I’ll have someone get you fresh clothes, or even wash these while you wait.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, but I got things to do.”
Angel leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “I have a TV.”
Spike scowled. “You think all it takes to buy me is telly?”
Angel shrugged. “Well, that and I’ll be coming back up here for lunch. And you’ll be naked.”
“Oh, will I?”
“Mmm,” Angel nodded, his smirk widening into dark lasciviousness. “If you don’t want to buy new clothes you will be.”
Spike leaned back against the comfortable support of Angel’s big hands on the small of his back. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ll just… take a shower and go back to bed.”
Angel kissed him on the nose. “TV’s in the front room. Remote’s in the wet bar.”
“Wet bar?”
“Behave,” Angel said, and disentangled to go to his closet.
***
Angel’s TV was larger than some cinemas Spike had been to. A wooden panel slid off the wall to expose it and in no time he found a satellite sports channel to give him all the info he could ever want on the current state of football.
It’d been a long time since he paid attention - a soul and an apocalypse and lack of cable could really cut into a sport fan’s knowledge. The names of the players had all changed on him, and teams that sucked were now doing well.
It occurred to him suddenly that he must have spent a solid decade, all told, just watching football.
And it was pointless.
The whiskey soured in his mouth. He took another long swallow and shook his head. Brooding was Angel’s game. He shifted forward on the couch, clasping his hands and really concentrating on the game. It wasn’t pointless. Timeless. The drama of athletic achievement and chance. This was life. Life on a grassy field with endorsements.
And didn’t he deserve a little time off after the day he’d had? The scars on his heart were as fresh and painful as the bruises Angel had left on his arse. Surely this called for high-quality liquor, high-definition television, and a butter-soft leather couch.
By the time Angel came home for lunch, Spike was in a decidedly good mood.
***
Angel stood stunned as the doors to his apartment opened.
Spike leaned back on his couch, arms tucked behind his head. “Isn’t this what the vampire ordered?”
Angel made a small, strangled sound at the back of his throat and dropped his briefcase. “I said… naked… thought that would mean…”
Angel looked to the undisturbed bed, and then back to Spike in all his glory.
He hadn’t realized that couch had the perfect color to offset his pale musculature. And Spike had obeyed his request - his hair was in soft, bedraggled curls, washed and un-gelled.
Angel had planned on talking, seriously. Maybe they were rushing things. Maybe it was just the grief throwing them together and…
Spike tilted his head back, long expanse of throat stretched out, open, ready, one dark eyebrow arched.
Angel lost all ability to think. Fortunately, his body still remembered how to unfasten his tie and step out of his shoes as it stumbled forward, drawn by what felt like a hard, tugging hand on his dick.
Or that could have been his own hand. Huh. He’d gotten his pants off.
Spike’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he rose to help Angel divest himself of his last pieces of clothing. “Figured if I was going to play ‘kept boy’ for the day, I’d do it right.”
Angel was all fumbles, but he couldn’t wait. His mouth, his hands, his cock all need to touch skin NOW.
They tumbled off the side of the couch and knocked the coffee table away, grabbing, wrestling for leverage and dominance.
“Ow! Angel! Wait! You prick! Wait!”
Angel had both his hands curled into the curve of Spike’s ass and had to lift himself on his elbows to meet Spike’s scowling face. “What?”
“I’m sore, you daft git. Remember last night when you tried to rip me in two with those giant mitts of yours?”
Angel let his fingers trace more carefully along that smooth curve of skin. He felt the delightful rough patches - still stinging to his own senses - where the cross had burnt into the otherwise smooth skin, and he felt something slick and pleasant all around the rosy hole when he dipped his fingers in. “You prepared.”
“Yeah, but I’m still sore. Let up, let’s not do that yet, all right?”
Spike looked honestly pained, so Angel withdrew his fingers, brought his hands up and around to stroke his bare sides instead. “Okay,” he said, and, with an effort that felt like swallowing his own face, he stilled his wild lust and leaned down for a soft, exploratory kiss, which was gratefully and sweetly answered.
Spike gathered up his erection and squeezed it. Angel moaned his appreciation and humped the blonde’s fist. “There now,” Spike said, “Not so horrible is that? Let me take care of you, sugar daddy.”
Spike’s deft tongue brushed his jaw and Angel felt a twitch generated in his gut and all the way down to his toes as he nearly came right then.
But Spike was holding him tight, keeping him from shooting off just then, and his legs were sliding up Angel’s, satiny smooth and damn he loved that feeling of ankles hooking behind his calves while teeth nipped at his neck. He felt the velvet-over-steel of Spike’s cock against his. Spike was holding him, rocking. The delicious texture of his abs lifting and undulating, playing him gently - too gently.
With a roar he threw the blonde back onto the couch, on his stomach. He grabbed legs, pushed them apart.
“Wait… Angel!”
“No waiting.” Angel slid home with one hard thrust.
It was relief. A cool balm on a hot itch. Angel sighed and relaxed against Spike, who was stiff and still under him, hands gripping deep into the leather upholstery.
In a shaking voice, he said, “I said no.”
“Spike, you like it rough. Just shhh… relax… relax it’s going to feel great.” Angel made small circles on Spike’s back with his thumbs.
It was easy to take it slow now. Angel shifted his hips, enjoying the tight flesh around his cock while he stroked and soothed Spike. The younger vampire trembled a little, at first, but those passed, and he sighed, seeing his shoulders adjust and his hands not gripping so hard anymore. Spike pushed back. “Okay… okay that’s just… you can move. Come on.”
“Sh,” Angel teased, still stroking and playing all along his back and sides and stomach and chest. He rubbed Spike’s nipples and rubbed his stomach, he kissed his neck and felt his returning erection. “We have a whole hour baby. Just relax.”
That sweet round bum pressed harder against his groin. “What happened to rough?”
“You made yourself gorgeous and laid yourself out for me and then told me I had to wait. Turnabout is fair.” Angel tickled the soft indent below his ribs and Spike shifted his weight to one hand so he could turn and slap him.
Angel caught his wrist and pushed it back into the pillowed back of the couch. “Behave or you won’t get any.”
He couldn’t see it, but somehow he knew Spike was rolling his eyes. So he shifted his hips, pulling ever so slightly out and back in again. Spike hissed, one fist curling up to bang the back of the couch. “Fuck.”
“Eventually.”
“Not gonna beg. Prick.”
“You will. Eventually.” Angel let his fangs come out and scrape over the nape of Spike’s neck. The younger vampire shivered and bucked. “But first, I’m going to taste every inch of you.”
Spike’s head tilted down, exposing his long, lovely nape. He shivered as fangs pierced his skin.
Angel took his time, tasting the salt of sweat the bitter tang of soap, the sweet body underneath it all. And as he traveled over neck and shoulders and down to the succulent ribs, he rocked, gently, ever so gently fucking, keeping himself hard, drawing the pleasure out like slow taffy.
It was a soft pleading whine that broke him, coming from Spike’s parted lips as Angel scored the underside of his left arm. Angel felt a shudder and had to hold still a moment.
When he no longer felt like any slight movement would tip him over the edge, he grabbed hard to Spike’s shoulders and fucked for all his worth.
It didn’t take long before they were howling, seized together like malfunctioning engine parts, flesh compressed as far as it could go as finger bones clung to hip bones and the whole system shuddered, shuddered, stopped.
***
“I’m not going to walk right for a week, you giant yob.”
Angel looked up from re-fastening his pants. “Is that even a word?”
“It is, and I could use worse ones, poof.” Spike winced as he reached for his duster.
Angel stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt. “You’re putting on your coat?”
Two slow blinks, two raised eyebrows. “No. Just thought I’d rub my backside with leather.” He shrugged the rest of the way into the coat and lovingly smoothed down the lapels.
Angel frowned, a little confused, but he kept buttoning. “I’ll be off work around five. Usually. Sometimes six.”
Spike shifted awkwardly, not quite looking at Angel. He ran a hand over his head. “You want…?” He looked up and sighed. “Do you want to leave separate, like? So people don’t know?”
"I thought you'd stay up here."
The vulnerability was so clear in his liquid blue eyes. Angel crossed the room in two quick strides and had his arms around Spike before the last was done. He kissed him. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Get off,” Spike slapped him lightly. The vulnerability was gone, his usual irritating punk mask back in place. “’M not some blushing maiden.”
“You want me to tell the others? We’ll call a board meeting.” Angel ducked his head and smiled playfully. “Lorne might start attending them more regularly with announcements like that.”
Spike tilted his head, expression softening, his lips parted and Angel thought he was going to kiss him, but then he just shook his head and stepped back. “Nah. Thanks for offering, love. It means a lot. But… let’s wait a bit, yeah? We’re so fucked up. Could just be one real bad day and a couple shags we both sorely needed. No sense up-ending the whole apple cart, right?”
Angel wondered why he felt rejected, having thought much the same things. “Right. Still.” He laid his hand on the soft, familiar leather on Spike’s forearm. “Let’s walk down together and let them talk.”
“We could do that,” Spike acquiesced, and allowed himself to be lead to the elevator.
Angel was a little disappointed there was no one around when he and Spike stepped off his private elevator into his office. Spike gave him a knowing smirk and sauntered out of the office with a rolling gait that was at least fifty percent sore-bum limitation.
Which, yes, he could admit it, filled Angel with glowing, smug pride. He settled into his desk and hit the intercom to let Harmony know he was back.
***
Five o’clock found Angel watching the clock and his office door alternately.
Harmony came in with the last of the day’s reports and asked if she could go. For the first time in days he nodded, sending her home on time. She fairly skipped all the way to the door, telling him he was, “An awesome bossy! And don’t let anyone say you’re always mean!”
He tried to read all of the papers she had given him before looking up at the clock again. He succeeded until 5:12. He finished the papers at 5:26, having checked the clock many, many times in the interim.
He thought about going to the break room on the other side of the floor for a quick blood, but worried Spike might come in just as he was gone.
So at 5:30 exactly (having waited for the clock to reach that milestone) he went up to his apartment.
He almost expected to find that Spike had snuck past him somehow, and was waiting on the sofa. But the room was dark and uninhabited. Even the air was mostly clear of their morning’s exertions. The cleaning staff at Wolfram and Hart were definitely one of the more frightening forces Angel had ever encountered.
He poured himself a tall glass of blood and settled down to catch the pre-show of the Redwings game. He unbuttoned his shirt and shifted around until he thought he was in an at least moderately sexy pose.
On the commercial break he altered his slouch, bringing his leg up on the couch. Yeah. That was a sexy pose.
But when the lift doors opened, he jumped up anyway, tossing the remote as he turned the TV off.
But it wasn’t the long-awaited platinum blonde who stepped forward, smirking. Angel dropped back, folding his arms sullenly. He tried to control his expression.
“Hiya, chief. Aw, come on. Don't tell me you don't recognize me. Spend time in the tube, should know your crew like the back of your hand.”
“Lawson,” Angel said through gritted teeth.
“You see there? I'm touched. Aren't you gonna ask me how I got in here?”
This was going to be good. Spike would come in any moment now and the two of them would beat this embarrassing by-blow into a more aesthetically pleasing shape. Angel relaxed back in the comfortable couch cushions. “Nah. You'd be amazed how many people break into this building on a regular basis.”
***
It was just after midnight when Spike returned to Angel’s office. “Well,” he said, stepping through the broken window that used to separate the office from Harmony’s reception area. “Really ought to do something about security. They'll let anybody in here, won't they? Fred gave me the Cliff Notes. So sailor boy finally came back for a yo-ho-ho, did he?”
“Finally came back,” Angel agreed, turning back to staring out the window.
“What was he after?” Spike strolled up to stand next to Angel, following his gaze to the view. “If it was revenge, it took him long enough. Best served cold? More like frozen.”
“He said he wanted a reason. A mission.”
“And?”
Angel shrugged. “And I staked him.”
“Now, peaches, we both know it wasn’t just like that.”
“Just like that.”
Spike rocked on his heels. “You had a soul then. I mean, you did, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You dick.”
Angel punched him.
Spike fell against the desk, a hand against his cheek. It wasn’t the pain… he barely had gotten over the shock enough to feel the pain. It was the dismissal of the gesture. He sucked in his breath, hoping to suck back the tears that started forming on their own; what, did he think a couple shags would buy him Angel’s undying love?
“Are you finished?” Angel asked.
“No.” Spike rubbed his sore jaw. “You made a vampire-of-convenience, and now you’re sore, why? To have it pointed out what an arse you are, even with a soul?”
“I did what I had to do for the greater good.” Angel flexed his fist. He stood over Spike, glaring in a way that dared him to try and stand. “What were you doing? Going to ‘free virgin blood parties’.”
Spike pulled himself up against the desk, keeping a wary eye and a crooked arm between him and Angel. “You kicked him out of the sub. And me! To take our chances against the sun.”
“You were vampires. You would have eaten the crew.”
“Don’t know why I expect different. You were probably a dick when you were alive. Why can’t Lawson have redemption? Are we any better than him?”
“The world doesn’t need any more ‘good’ vampires. It needs no more vampires, period.”
“Then why don’t you just go stake Harmony, then.” Spike gestured wildly, angrily at the door. “Girl gets your blood every morning, schedules your appointment. Any so-called good you get done in this hell-hole relies directly on her work, but she’s on an all-liquid diet so let’s just kill her, yeah?”
“Give me an excuse,” Angel said.
“You’re un-be-fucking-lievable, Angelus. Excuse me for trying to offer some comforting words.” Spike shifted his coat back into place and started for the lobby.
He was thrown back toward the windows, landing in a startled pile.
Angel’s nostrils flared with hard breaths. “Maybe if you had been here,” he said, “I wouldn’t have had to stake Lawson. Maybe Fred and Wes and Gunn wouldn’t have been strung up in risk of their lives. Maybe I wouldn’t have to beat you right now.”
Spike blocked Angel’s kick with his forearm and scrambled away from the follow-up punch. He backed toward the lobby, frowning in confusion. “Is that what this is? Angry because I didn’t come running to suck your dick soon as the clock struck five?”
“Where were you?” Angel tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a sudden thought. “With Harmony?”
“No! Not with Harmony, you jealous poof! My god, is there no one you won’t…”
Spike was too startled by the ludicrous claim to catch the next punch.
He blinked away the stars while Angel paced in front of him. “You so much as lay a finger on my personal assistant I’ll have human resources lock you from the building.”
Spike’s mouth set into a narrow line.
Angel only realized he was on the floor when the hem of Spike’s duster fluttered over him. “Fuck you, Peaches. I’m going home.”
Continued in Chapter ten