Compatible Faults 13
*rubs hands with glee*
Spike has a very very bad day, though it starts out good. Hints of non-con, some general nastiness, oh, and Lindsey!!
Previous Parts here
Chapter 13: Underneath
Spike awoke pillowed in comfort, unsure where he was. He raised one arm and a chain fell against his wrist, dangling broken from a leather cuff.
That’s when he remembered, and he groaned, covering his eyes. He reached across the bed and felt the rumpled depression where Angel had slept. His other wrist was bare, that leather cuff having given out before the chain.
He sat up and looked at the showplace of a room. All neat and tidy and designed for him. Red, black, white, chrome. He unbuckled the leather cuff and tossed it into the white shag carpet. If it was going to be his room, time to start messing it up.
He looked over the shelf of albums again, the orgy of entertainment, and sighed heavily. Maybe, if it wasn’t so much… but no, he couldn’t accept it even if it was Harris’ old closet and a couple 8-tracks, it was bought with tainted money, all of it. Satan’s apple, Persephone’s pomegranate seeds, however you looked at it, this was the honey-trap to hell.
He closed the door and headed toward the shower, which he could hear running.
Angel had his back to him when he entered the bathroom, his tattoo and the livid scratches and bites from the night before visible through the fog-free glass. Spike admired the gentle motion of his shoulders as Angel washed his front, the stretch of his neck as he moved his head back to let the water run down his chest. He really was beautiful, and Spike didn’t look forward to the pout he was going to get when he said he wasn’t staying after all. He reached for the shower door and Angel glanced back, just then, and saw him. A smile bloomed over his face and he turned to open the door and pull Spike in with large, soap-covered hands.
Angel wrapped around him like a hot comforter. He kissed and nuzzled his neck, the inside of his mouth cooler than the outside, and drew Spike under the water. “Morning,” he said, when he’d finished exploring every inch of his left side.
“Yeah,” Spike said, gasping a little and chuckling. “Poof.”
Angel’s open mouth skimmed over his and dipped to caress the right side of his jaw. “Go ahead, call me ‘poof’, call me ‘Peaches’. You’re staying, that’s all that matters.”
“Fuck,” said Spike, and he blinked up into the shower spray. “Angel…”
“I missed you, missed… this.” Angel ran his hands over Spike’s sides, his face a picture of grateful awe. “Having someone. Living with someone. I lied to myself, said I was used to being on my own, even that I liked it. I don’t. I’ve missed you, William.”
“Fuck. Don’t.” Spike wriggled out of Angel’s embrace. “You’re really makin’ things hard.”
“Right,” Angel moved his hands to Spike’s hips and sighed. “I know. You don’t like being called ‘William’. But it’s your name. I like knowing that so few people know your real name,” Angel added with a seductive smile, running the back of his fingers up against Spike’s cheek. “You can be everyone else’s Spike,” Angel stepped close, hands turning possessive, “but you’re my William.” He reached for the shower gel and started washing Spike. “And neither of us,” he kissed the side of his face, “ever has to be alone again. Why did I ever fight this?”
Spike groaned. “Washing” was more of a euphemism than description for the way Angel passed soap and fingers gently over him, teasing and caressing every sensitive spot. He wasn’t going to walk out, Spike realized, and they weren’t going to have any more serious talking.
Angel spread his legs, bent his knees and hunkered down to kiss and nibble all around Spike’s throat and chest while his hands worked soap less and less randomly. “You were right; I was repressing, I was denying, I was a million things stupid, Spike. I don’t deserve this.”
“Damn straight you don’t, poofter. You going to be uncharacteristic and actually use lube this time?”
Angel groaned. He picked Spike up and turned him to the wall. “Tell me when you’ve had enough,” he said, one big, flat thumb circling Spike’s entrance.
“It’s just a shower, Peaches. No reason to put on a grand production every time we… fuck, do that again.”
Angel chuckled and went to work in earnest, massaging Spike’s firm round cheeks and pressing diligently, oh so carefully, oh so skillfully between. Just so, opening him up, pressing the sides where it felt so good, thrusting now with just one finger.
He made sure Spike was thrusting back, cursing a blue streak and making filthy promises before he finally fucked him.
Angel was late to his second meeting, and missed the first entirely. Harmony started to lecture, then got a whiff of him and just said, “Oh. OH. Well, at least someone’s getting some around here.”
***
Spike felt odd, coming down from Angel’s apartment to grab a quick lunch at the commissary before the Executive Staff Meeting of Team Angel.
The commissary had beer - which was fortunate. Spike hadn’t been to a business meeting before in all his hundred and fifty-some years of existence, but he was pretty sure they would go much smoother if one had a beer or three on hand.
That, and he had to do something rebellious to counteract the positively schmaltzy expressions Angel was turning on him every time they passed. Poof.
The meeting started with Percy and Charlie-boy and Fred all reading off laundry-lists of grey-area compromises and decisions. Angel frowned at Spike. “Spike? Something you want to say?”
Spike set his beer down. “Yeah, there is. You’re all arguing about the lesser of two or three evils here, the lesser of two evils there. Problem is, they’re all still evils, aren’t they? When are we going to stop treading evil, as it were, and get to the bad guys?”
Wesley leaned forward on his elbows, “You’re new to this, Spike. The situation is complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it. Shouldn’t we be trying to find out about these senior partner wankers? Aren’t they the powers that bugger around here?”
There was an awkward silence.
“Yes,” Angel said, straightening in his chair. He tossed his pen down. “Let’s do that. What Spike said.”
“Angel, you sure you aren’t,” Gunn scratched the top of his head. “You know, letting yourself be influenced.”
“Spike and I are together,” Angel said, and smiled a little as if shocked and pleased at his own words. “We’re together, but that doesn’t mean I’m biased to his opinion. His point is valid. We should start being pro-active. Right now. Executive decision.”
The table erupted in objections; Charlie talking about ‘impending litigation’ and Fred gushing about ‘my experiments’. Wesley just frowned, deeply.
When a pause arrived, it was Wes who said, “We have no means of learning about the senior partners. In many ways we are as far removed from them as when we were based at the Hyperion.”
“What about the cat?” Angel looked at Charles.
Gunn shifted in his seat. “Can’t ask the cat for everything, Angel. I don’t know if he’ll even talk to me again. It’s not - it’s not a giving sort of entity.”
“We do know someone who knows the powers,” Fred said, hesitantly. All eyes turned to her. “Uh… Eve?”
***
Angel and Spike walked away from Eve’s apartment. It was hard to feel heroic after threatening a frightened, skinny little girl. It was even harder to deal with what she’d offered them. They made it to the elevator in silence.
“Lindsey,” Spike said.
Angel looked straight ahead, his face revealing nothing. “That’s what she said.”
“Peaches, don’t do the stoic shtick on me now. We’re talking about springing the not-Doyle. A man, you may recall, who spectacularly fucked with both of us.”
The elevator reached the ground floor and Angel walked out, face forward. “No, Spike. All the fucking was with you.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Damn it, Angel. How are we going to do this thing if you can’t focus.”
“I’m focused,” Angel said. He adjusted his jacket and strode to the Viper. “More than focused. We have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. I’ve done that. I’m good at that.”
Spike saw the tight line of Angel’s jaw as he settled behind the drivers seat. He sighed and opened the passenger door. “I’ll give you that,” he said.
***
Of course Hell was suburbia.
Hell was Lindsey smiling at them, tanned, content, easy in his stance: relaxed as Spike had rarely seen him. And with the aid of alternate dimension light, he saw those glittering eyes in the sun.
Spike wanted to yell at him, wanted to ask why - wanted something. But this Lindsey just smiled blandly at him, not a hint of recognition on his face.
Yep, this was hell.
***
Spike was hurt pretty bad. Angel heard the rasping sound of him breathing, the bubbling of blood in perforated lungs. It would be less painful if he just didn’t breathe, but Angel didn’t have time to tell him that.
Spike was bundled off to the infirmary and Angel had the dubious honor of leading Lindsey to his new holding cell.
“You want my help to get to the senior partners,” Lindsey laughed like it was the greatest joke, his head hanging loose while Angel muscled him into the elevator. “Well, stud, I can’t say I’m not willing. I hate them almost as much as you. And given how much I’ve pissed them off, any chance of taking them out is one I gotta take.”
“Don’t forget how much you pissed me off,” Angel said, leaning too close to Lindsey’s ear.
“Yeah, but you’re a white hat. Worst I have to worry about from you? Is this.” Lindsey raised his shackled hands and leaned his head back, false coy, almost brushing his lips against Angel’s cheek before Angel flinched away. “And I can live with this.”
Angel’s arm shot past Lindsey and jammed the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a halt.
“What are you playing at, Lindsey? I have you in chains. I have you at my mercy. You think I won’t kill you? I won’t make you wish you were dead? You know what I’m capable of, or have you forgotten?” Angel pressed against Lindsey. “How about a reminder? There was a wine cellar? Even Drusilla couldn’t stomach eating you.”
“Is that what this is about? Or is it about maybe I made you question your super-special place in the world. Huh, hero? Maybe Spike’s more a champion than you’ll ever be.”
Lindsey gasped as he was thrust hard into the elevator wall, Angel trembling with rage behind him. “You don’t speak his name.”
“What?” Lindsey struggled to breathe. “What the fuck?”
“You were nothing to Spike, understand? Nothing. You could never take my place. Not with him.”
“Oh my fucking god, this is too rich,” Lindsey coughed. He pushed off the wall with his knees and elbows, fought Angel for the space to turn slightly. Shoulder pressed hard into metal, he could breathe free and stare at Angel’s angry mask of a face. “You tellin’ me I had this big, elaborate plan to take you down, but all I really had to do was fuck your boy?”
Lindsey laughed as Angel gave him his answer with a hard shove. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
Lindsey noticed there was no objection to calling Spike his boy. “Yeah? Want to hear how when I was buried balls-deep in that tight, firm little ass of his, he swore he’d never felt anything better? Think he was implying something about you, hoss?”
Lindsey laughed again as Angel threw him across the confined space. He looked up, licking a split lip. “Love starved, that’s what he was. Absofucking starved for it. One little stroke,” Lindsey held up his hand, marveling at some memory, “one tiny hint of affection, and he was my bitch. Oh, don’t look like that, Angel. You only have yourself to blame.”
Angel’s next punch knocked Lindsey out.
Angel stood, breathing hard through his nose, a long while, looking down at the sprawled, unconscious form, before he remembered where he was and released the emergency brake on the elevator.
***
Spike was in the infirmary, lying on his stomach while a technician blotted blood from his back.
“We’ve just given him some anesthesia, Mr. Angel,” the nurse said. “It will take some time to get all the bullets out.”
“He’s coming with me,” Angel said. “Spike, get up. Get your clothes on.”
Spike blinked drug-clouded eyes at Angel. “Wot? Peaches?”
Angel grabbed his bicep and pulled him off the gurney. Spike fell and scrambled to get his feet under him.
“Mr. Angel! The procedure…”
“Can wait. He’s a vampire, isn’t he? Spike?”
Spike fumbled with his shirt, but got it on. He listed like a drunk man, shrugging back into his perforated duster.
“Wot’s this ‘bout? Was having a lovely time.” Spike squinted at the floor, watching his feet. He had a headache growing, the dull feeling of coming out of the anesthesia, the burn returning slowly to his body - back, front, all along the inside. He was a bloody sieve.
Angel said nothing until they got to his office. He let Spike go, then, and Spike gratefully sank against the side of one of the office chairs while Angel locked the doors and hit the switch that darkened the windows to the lobby.
These were not good signs. Spike coughed up a little blood, and swallowed it. “Think this could wait ‘til I’m up to par? Yeah? Whatever’s gotten you, Peaches, it…”
“I was just talking with Lindsey,” Angel said, quietly, calmly.
“Oh.”
“You’re a whore, Spike.”
“Angel, just listen. I knew you’d react this way, so I…”
Angel threw him across the room. Half bent-over, he roared, “You lied to me!”
“Technically,” Spike groaned, crawling up against the couch, “didn’t. I said it didn’t matter. Never said it didn’t happen.”
Angel picked him up before he could get to his own feet and pressed him, hard against the wall, caging him with his body. “Whore.”
“Angel…”
“Did you do it for the rent? Is that it? For the apartment, for food? What was it, Spike?”
Spike brought his arms up between them, breaking Angel’s hold. He tried to push the vampire away, but Angel was heavier, and his arms felt airless, empty from the fight already passed.
“Answer me,” Angel said, face falsely calm, he resumed his hold.
Spike gave up. Too tired to fight, he let himself hang from Angel’s grip. “You had no trouble believing I was just so fucking stupid and lonely when it was me on top. Why is this so important to you, Angelus?”
Angel stepped back and pushed him, hard, to the floor. “Don’t call me ‘Angelus’,” he said, eyes sparking fire. “You betrayed me.”
“Maybe if you told me these fuckin’ arbitrary rules of yours ahead of time I wouldn’t break them!” Spike struck the floor with his fist.
Angel slapped him. The sound carried in the room, the sting burned on his cheek, somehow worse than a closed fist, dismissive. Angel stood impassive. “Did he do you good, Spike? Is that why you were willing to take a bullet for him?”
“I took a SPRAY of bullets for YOUR plan. To save the bastard who fucked me over. So you can stop being jealous of Lindsey fucking Mcdonald, you self-righteous prick!”
Angel turned on his heel and walked back to his desk. He sat against it, ankles crossed. “Are you done?”
Spike was near hysterical. “Done? You mean are you done beating me over this bullshit?”
Angel shook his head slowly. “You betrayed me. You lied…”
“I told you…”
“You willfully misdirected. You knew how I felt, and instead of coming right out and dealing with this, you had to let me find out from Lindsey. Fucking. Mcdonald.”
Spike shook his head, sure, somehow, that he wasn’t in the wrong here, but unable to form the argument anymore. “All right. Angel, I’m sorry. Should have… told you, I guess.”
He looked up to see Angel unmoved, his face unreadable. The prick expected more? Spike sighed. His lungs burned when he breathed, still riddled with holes. He coughed and sat back, on his heels. “What do you want? Blood? Have it, it’s yours.”
“Yes, Spike, it’s mine.” Angel stood, and smiled slightly when Spike winced at the motion. He took lazy strides to close the space between them. “Every drop in your veins.”
Spike knew what was coming, he started to scramble back as Angel hauled him up, struck at him like a viper, hard, unmindful where he hit, fangs sinking deep, separating sinew and bone as the older vampire sucked and breathed hard against Spike’s neck.
Spike twisted and pushed, panicked as what was left of his strength was sapped. Angel threw him down.
“That’s mine,” Angel said, gasping a little for breath. He wiped his mouth. “And I can take it back. What didn’t pass from me through Drusilla you drank from my refrigerator. My stores. Bought with my money.”
Spike closed his eyes. “It always comes back to that, don’t it?” He felt Angel’s shoe against his knee, felt the weight of his shadow over him.
“Back to money. You whored yourself.”
“No,” Spike shook his head. “Blood, not money. It’s always blood.”
“For blood. For money. To trick yourself into thinking for half a second that someone wanted you. You whored yourself, Spike. Say it.”
Spike shook his head.
Angel smacked him again, with the back of his hand this time. “Say it. You are a whore.”
“No. I told you, I was lonely and he… he was good to me.”
“And you wanted him to keep on being good to you.” Angel’s thumb passed roughly over Spike’s jawline. His fingers curled on his throat. “So you fucked him. Spike, you’ve always been a whore. It’s such a part of you, you can’t even see it. You fucked Dru for the half-minded attention she gave you. What was it with Buffy? Blood? Protection? Or did you just like feeling like you had a use?”
Spike flinched when he said “Buffy” - it felt like a blow, and wasn’t the truth worse? “What do you want me to say? Tell me and I’ll say it.”
Angel let go of his throat, and he involuntarily sank onto his haunches. “I told you,” Angel said. “I’ll forgive you, Spike. I’ll forgive you everything. But you have to confess.”
“You sick bastard.”
Angel walked away. Spike watched the carpet, listened to him settling in his big desk chair, the creak of the leather and the squeak of the wheels. He was so tired, physically, emotionally. He was worthless, so why bother fighting? Why bother even getting up from this rather comfortable section of carpet? He was sore, bleeding, and just plain tired.
Angel’s chair squeaked. “I’m prepared to give you everything, Spike. Hell, I already did, didn’t I? A home. Sustenance. A mission. A reason to exist. And my forgiveness. Or you can go. You know where the door is.”
“Angel…”
“I don’t want to hear it. Unless you’re ready to really apologize, I have work to do.”
Spike laughed, brokenly, to himself. He knew what Angel wanted, and he knew that he was just desperate enough to give it. The price had been set, hadn’t it? Would Angel see the irony?
He crawled forward, because it hurt to do so, because he didn’t want to say it too loud. He rose up on his knees. “Angel. I’m a whore. I’m everything you said. Forgive me, please just forgive me.”
He hated himself for saying it. He held still, not wanting to breathe, not wanting to smell any reaction from his sire, not wanting to hear. It was done; he’d sold his pride once again. He wished he could just fade to black, now, wake up tomorrow.
Angel was walking toward him. “Say it again.”
No, you fat sod, Spike thought to himself. Wasn’t once enough? Angel’s face was almost quivering - he was holding back. Spike took in a short breath, and even over the blood in his nose he smelled arousal. Angel was a sick fuck and he knew it. Worse, Spike felt a small thrill in himself, a twitch in his groin that was almost relief; this was almost over. One more nudge and Angel would be over the edge. It wouldn’t be Spike’s problem anymore. “I’m a whore,” Spike said, and both men shuddered a little.
Angel’s hand skimmed down Spike’s shoulder, took hold of his arm, fingers pressing leather hard into his bicep, he pulled Spike’s hand up and pressed it into his straining erection. He forced the hand up and down, briefly, pressing the fine wool of the slacks into himself. He breathed hard, sharp, through his nose.
Spike didn’t look up, didn’t resist, but didn’t move on his own, either.
Angel dropped his hand. “When you’re ready to stop being a whore,” he said, “Come upstairs.”
Angel’s voice had a quivering edge to it, and his steps were stiff as he made his way to his private elevator. Spike wanted nothing less than to follow him, to be alone with him in this mood.
Spike sat alone, wondering what he could possibly do. He had nowhere to go.
Slowly, he stood, and walked to the elevator. When the doors closed behind him, he felt strangely sure they would never open again.
Continued -->
Spike has a very very bad day, though it starts out good. Hints of non-con, some general nastiness, oh, and Lindsey!!
Previous Parts here
Chapter 13: Underneath
Spike awoke pillowed in comfort, unsure where he was. He raised one arm and a chain fell against his wrist, dangling broken from a leather cuff.
That’s when he remembered, and he groaned, covering his eyes. He reached across the bed and felt the rumpled depression where Angel had slept. His other wrist was bare, that leather cuff having given out before the chain.
He sat up and looked at the showplace of a room. All neat and tidy and designed for him. Red, black, white, chrome. He unbuckled the leather cuff and tossed it into the white shag carpet. If it was going to be his room, time to start messing it up.
He looked over the shelf of albums again, the orgy of entertainment, and sighed heavily. Maybe, if it wasn’t so much… but no, he couldn’t accept it even if it was Harris’ old closet and a couple 8-tracks, it was bought with tainted money, all of it. Satan’s apple, Persephone’s pomegranate seeds, however you looked at it, this was the honey-trap to hell.
He closed the door and headed toward the shower, which he could hear running.
Angel had his back to him when he entered the bathroom, his tattoo and the livid scratches and bites from the night before visible through the fog-free glass. Spike admired the gentle motion of his shoulders as Angel washed his front, the stretch of his neck as he moved his head back to let the water run down his chest. He really was beautiful, and Spike didn’t look forward to the pout he was going to get when he said he wasn’t staying after all. He reached for the shower door and Angel glanced back, just then, and saw him. A smile bloomed over his face and he turned to open the door and pull Spike in with large, soap-covered hands.
Angel wrapped around him like a hot comforter. He kissed and nuzzled his neck, the inside of his mouth cooler than the outside, and drew Spike under the water. “Morning,” he said, when he’d finished exploring every inch of his left side.
“Yeah,” Spike said, gasping a little and chuckling. “Poof.”
Angel’s open mouth skimmed over his and dipped to caress the right side of his jaw. “Go ahead, call me ‘poof’, call me ‘Peaches’. You’re staying, that’s all that matters.”
“Fuck,” said Spike, and he blinked up into the shower spray. “Angel…”
“I missed you, missed… this.” Angel ran his hands over Spike’s sides, his face a picture of grateful awe. “Having someone. Living with someone. I lied to myself, said I was used to being on my own, even that I liked it. I don’t. I’ve missed you, William.”
“Fuck. Don’t.” Spike wriggled out of Angel’s embrace. “You’re really makin’ things hard.”
“Right,” Angel moved his hands to Spike’s hips and sighed. “I know. You don’t like being called ‘William’. But it’s your name. I like knowing that so few people know your real name,” Angel added with a seductive smile, running the back of his fingers up against Spike’s cheek. “You can be everyone else’s Spike,” Angel stepped close, hands turning possessive, “but you’re my William.” He reached for the shower gel and started washing Spike. “And neither of us,” he kissed the side of his face, “ever has to be alone again. Why did I ever fight this?”
Spike groaned. “Washing” was more of a euphemism than description for the way Angel passed soap and fingers gently over him, teasing and caressing every sensitive spot. He wasn’t going to walk out, Spike realized, and they weren’t going to have any more serious talking.
Angel spread his legs, bent his knees and hunkered down to kiss and nibble all around Spike’s throat and chest while his hands worked soap less and less randomly. “You were right; I was repressing, I was denying, I was a million things stupid, Spike. I don’t deserve this.”
“Damn straight you don’t, poofter. You going to be uncharacteristic and actually use lube this time?”
Angel groaned. He picked Spike up and turned him to the wall. “Tell me when you’ve had enough,” he said, one big, flat thumb circling Spike’s entrance.
“It’s just a shower, Peaches. No reason to put on a grand production every time we… fuck, do that again.”
Angel chuckled and went to work in earnest, massaging Spike’s firm round cheeks and pressing diligently, oh so carefully, oh so skillfully between. Just so, opening him up, pressing the sides where it felt so good, thrusting now with just one finger.
He made sure Spike was thrusting back, cursing a blue streak and making filthy promises before he finally fucked him.
Angel was late to his second meeting, and missed the first entirely. Harmony started to lecture, then got a whiff of him and just said, “Oh. OH. Well, at least someone’s getting some around here.”
***
Spike felt odd, coming down from Angel’s apartment to grab a quick lunch at the commissary before the Executive Staff Meeting of Team Angel.
The commissary had beer - which was fortunate. Spike hadn’t been to a business meeting before in all his hundred and fifty-some years of existence, but he was pretty sure they would go much smoother if one had a beer or three on hand.
That, and he had to do something rebellious to counteract the positively schmaltzy expressions Angel was turning on him every time they passed. Poof.
The meeting started with Percy and Charlie-boy and Fred all reading off laundry-lists of grey-area compromises and decisions. Angel frowned at Spike. “Spike? Something you want to say?”
Spike set his beer down. “Yeah, there is. You’re all arguing about the lesser of two or three evils here, the lesser of two evils there. Problem is, they’re all still evils, aren’t they? When are we going to stop treading evil, as it were, and get to the bad guys?”
Wesley leaned forward on his elbows, “You’re new to this, Spike. The situation is complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it. Shouldn’t we be trying to find out about these senior partner wankers? Aren’t they the powers that bugger around here?”
There was an awkward silence.
“Yes,” Angel said, straightening in his chair. He tossed his pen down. “Let’s do that. What Spike said.”
“Angel, you sure you aren’t,” Gunn scratched the top of his head. “You know, letting yourself be influenced.”
“Spike and I are together,” Angel said, and smiled a little as if shocked and pleased at his own words. “We’re together, but that doesn’t mean I’m biased to his opinion. His point is valid. We should start being pro-active. Right now. Executive decision.”
The table erupted in objections; Charlie talking about ‘impending litigation’ and Fred gushing about ‘my experiments’. Wesley just frowned, deeply.
When a pause arrived, it was Wes who said, “We have no means of learning about the senior partners. In many ways we are as far removed from them as when we were based at the Hyperion.”
“What about the cat?” Angel looked at Charles.
Gunn shifted in his seat. “Can’t ask the cat for everything, Angel. I don’t know if he’ll even talk to me again. It’s not - it’s not a giving sort of entity.”
“We do know someone who knows the powers,” Fred said, hesitantly. All eyes turned to her. “Uh… Eve?”
***
Angel and Spike walked away from Eve’s apartment. It was hard to feel heroic after threatening a frightened, skinny little girl. It was even harder to deal with what she’d offered them. They made it to the elevator in silence.
“Lindsey,” Spike said.
Angel looked straight ahead, his face revealing nothing. “That’s what she said.”
“Peaches, don’t do the stoic shtick on me now. We’re talking about springing the not-Doyle. A man, you may recall, who spectacularly fucked with both of us.”
The elevator reached the ground floor and Angel walked out, face forward. “No, Spike. All the fucking was with you.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Damn it, Angel. How are we going to do this thing if you can’t focus.”
“I’m focused,” Angel said. He adjusted his jacket and strode to the Viper. “More than focused. We have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. I’ve done that. I’m good at that.”
Spike saw the tight line of Angel’s jaw as he settled behind the drivers seat. He sighed and opened the passenger door. “I’ll give you that,” he said.
***
Of course Hell was suburbia.
Hell was Lindsey smiling at them, tanned, content, easy in his stance: relaxed as Spike had rarely seen him. And with the aid of alternate dimension light, he saw those glittering eyes in the sun.
Spike wanted to yell at him, wanted to ask why - wanted something. But this Lindsey just smiled blandly at him, not a hint of recognition on his face.
Yep, this was hell.
***
Spike was hurt pretty bad. Angel heard the rasping sound of him breathing, the bubbling of blood in perforated lungs. It would be less painful if he just didn’t breathe, but Angel didn’t have time to tell him that.
Spike was bundled off to the infirmary and Angel had the dubious honor of leading Lindsey to his new holding cell.
“You want my help to get to the senior partners,” Lindsey laughed like it was the greatest joke, his head hanging loose while Angel muscled him into the elevator. “Well, stud, I can’t say I’m not willing. I hate them almost as much as you. And given how much I’ve pissed them off, any chance of taking them out is one I gotta take.”
“Don’t forget how much you pissed me off,” Angel said, leaning too close to Lindsey’s ear.
“Yeah, but you’re a white hat. Worst I have to worry about from you? Is this.” Lindsey raised his shackled hands and leaned his head back, false coy, almost brushing his lips against Angel’s cheek before Angel flinched away. “And I can live with this.”
Angel’s arm shot past Lindsey and jammed the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a halt.
“What are you playing at, Lindsey? I have you in chains. I have you at my mercy. You think I won’t kill you? I won’t make you wish you were dead? You know what I’m capable of, or have you forgotten?” Angel pressed against Lindsey. “How about a reminder? There was a wine cellar? Even Drusilla couldn’t stomach eating you.”
“Is that what this is about? Or is it about maybe I made you question your super-special place in the world. Huh, hero? Maybe Spike’s more a champion than you’ll ever be.”
Lindsey gasped as he was thrust hard into the elevator wall, Angel trembling with rage behind him. “You don’t speak his name.”
“What?” Lindsey struggled to breathe. “What the fuck?”
“You were nothing to Spike, understand? Nothing. You could never take my place. Not with him.”
“Oh my fucking god, this is too rich,” Lindsey coughed. He pushed off the wall with his knees and elbows, fought Angel for the space to turn slightly. Shoulder pressed hard into metal, he could breathe free and stare at Angel’s angry mask of a face. “You tellin’ me I had this big, elaborate plan to take you down, but all I really had to do was fuck your boy?”
Lindsey laughed as Angel gave him his answer with a hard shove. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
Lindsey noticed there was no objection to calling Spike his boy. “Yeah? Want to hear how when I was buried balls-deep in that tight, firm little ass of his, he swore he’d never felt anything better? Think he was implying something about you, hoss?”
Lindsey laughed again as Angel threw him across the confined space. He looked up, licking a split lip. “Love starved, that’s what he was. Absofucking starved for it. One little stroke,” Lindsey held up his hand, marveling at some memory, “one tiny hint of affection, and he was my bitch. Oh, don’t look like that, Angel. You only have yourself to blame.”
Angel’s next punch knocked Lindsey out.
Angel stood, breathing hard through his nose, a long while, looking down at the sprawled, unconscious form, before he remembered where he was and released the emergency brake on the elevator.
***
Spike was in the infirmary, lying on his stomach while a technician blotted blood from his back.
“We’ve just given him some anesthesia, Mr. Angel,” the nurse said. “It will take some time to get all the bullets out.”
“He’s coming with me,” Angel said. “Spike, get up. Get your clothes on.”
Spike blinked drug-clouded eyes at Angel. “Wot? Peaches?”
Angel grabbed his bicep and pulled him off the gurney. Spike fell and scrambled to get his feet under him.
“Mr. Angel! The procedure…”
“Can wait. He’s a vampire, isn’t he? Spike?”
Spike fumbled with his shirt, but got it on. He listed like a drunk man, shrugging back into his perforated duster.
“Wot’s this ‘bout? Was having a lovely time.” Spike squinted at the floor, watching his feet. He had a headache growing, the dull feeling of coming out of the anesthesia, the burn returning slowly to his body - back, front, all along the inside. He was a bloody sieve.
Angel said nothing until they got to his office. He let Spike go, then, and Spike gratefully sank against the side of one of the office chairs while Angel locked the doors and hit the switch that darkened the windows to the lobby.
These were not good signs. Spike coughed up a little blood, and swallowed it. “Think this could wait ‘til I’m up to par? Yeah? Whatever’s gotten you, Peaches, it…”
“I was just talking with Lindsey,” Angel said, quietly, calmly.
“Oh.”
“You’re a whore, Spike.”
“Angel, just listen. I knew you’d react this way, so I…”
Angel threw him across the room. Half bent-over, he roared, “You lied to me!”
“Technically,” Spike groaned, crawling up against the couch, “didn’t. I said it didn’t matter. Never said it didn’t happen.”
Angel picked him up before he could get to his own feet and pressed him, hard against the wall, caging him with his body. “Whore.”
“Angel…”
“Did you do it for the rent? Is that it? For the apartment, for food? What was it, Spike?”
Spike brought his arms up between them, breaking Angel’s hold. He tried to push the vampire away, but Angel was heavier, and his arms felt airless, empty from the fight already passed.
“Answer me,” Angel said, face falsely calm, he resumed his hold.
Spike gave up. Too tired to fight, he let himself hang from Angel’s grip. “You had no trouble believing I was just so fucking stupid and lonely when it was me on top. Why is this so important to you, Angelus?”
Angel stepped back and pushed him, hard, to the floor. “Don’t call me ‘Angelus’,” he said, eyes sparking fire. “You betrayed me.”
“Maybe if you told me these fuckin’ arbitrary rules of yours ahead of time I wouldn’t break them!” Spike struck the floor with his fist.
Angel slapped him. The sound carried in the room, the sting burned on his cheek, somehow worse than a closed fist, dismissive. Angel stood impassive. “Did he do you good, Spike? Is that why you were willing to take a bullet for him?”
“I took a SPRAY of bullets for YOUR plan. To save the bastard who fucked me over. So you can stop being jealous of Lindsey fucking Mcdonald, you self-righteous prick!”
Angel turned on his heel and walked back to his desk. He sat against it, ankles crossed. “Are you done?”
Spike was near hysterical. “Done? You mean are you done beating me over this bullshit?”
Angel shook his head slowly. “You betrayed me. You lied…”
“I told you…”
“You willfully misdirected. You knew how I felt, and instead of coming right out and dealing with this, you had to let me find out from Lindsey. Fucking. Mcdonald.”
Spike shook his head, sure, somehow, that he wasn’t in the wrong here, but unable to form the argument anymore. “All right. Angel, I’m sorry. Should have… told you, I guess.”
He looked up to see Angel unmoved, his face unreadable. The prick expected more? Spike sighed. His lungs burned when he breathed, still riddled with holes. He coughed and sat back, on his heels. “What do you want? Blood? Have it, it’s yours.”
“Yes, Spike, it’s mine.” Angel stood, and smiled slightly when Spike winced at the motion. He took lazy strides to close the space between them. “Every drop in your veins.”
Spike knew what was coming, he started to scramble back as Angel hauled him up, struck at him like a viper, hard, unmindful where he hit, fangs sinking deep, separating sinew and bone as the older vampire sucked and breathed hard against Spike’s neck.
Spike twisted and pushed, panicked as what was left of his strength was sapped. Angel threw him down.
“That’s mine,” Angel said, gasping a little for breath. He wiped his mouth. “And I can take it back. What didn’t pass from me through Drusilla you drank from my refrigerator. My stores. Bought with my money.”
Spike closed his eyes. “It always comes back to that, don’t it?” He felt Angel’s shoe against his knee, felt the weight of his shadow over him.
“Back to money. You whored yourself.”
“No,” Spike shook his head. “Blood, not money. It’s always blood.”
“For blood. For money. To trick yourself into thinking for half a second that someone wanted you. You whored yourself, Spike. Say it.”
Spike shook his head.
Angel smacked him again, with the back of his hand this time. “Say it. You are a whore.”
“No. I told you, I was lonely and he… he was good to me.”
“And you wanted him to keep on being good to you.” Angel’s thumb passed roughly over Spike’s jawline. His fingers curled on his throat. “So you fucked him. Spike, you’ve always been a whore. It’s such a part of you, you can’t even see it. You fucked Dru for the half-minded attention she gave you. What was it with Buffy? Blood? Protection? Or did you just like feeling like you had a use?”
Spike flinched when he said “Buffy” - it felt like a blow, and wasn’t the truth worse? “What do you want me to say? Tell me and I’ll say it.”
Angel let go of his throat, and he involuntarily sank onto his haunches. “I told you,” Angel said. “I’ll forgive you, Spike. I’ll forgive you everything. But you have to confess.”
“You sick bastard.”
Angel walked away. Spike watched the carpet, listened to him settling in his big desk chair, the creak of the leather and the squeak of the wheels. He was so tired, physically, emotionally. He was worthless, so why bother fighting? Why bother even getting up from this rather comfortable section of carpet? He was sore, bleeding, and just plain tired.
Angel’s chair squeaked. “I’m prepared to give you everything, Spike. Hell, I already did, didn’t I? A home. Sustenance. A mission. A reason to exist. And my forgiveness. Or you can go. You know where the door is.”
“Angel…”
“I don’t want to hear it. Unless you’re ready to really apologize, I have work to do.”
Spike laughed, brokenly, to himself. He knew what Angel wanted, and he knew that he was just desperate enough to give it. The price had been set, hadn’t it? Would Angel see the irony?
He crawled forward, because it hurt to do so, because he didn’t want to say it too loud. He rose up on his knees. “Angel. I’m a whore. I’m everything you said. Forgive me, please just forgive me.”
He hated himself for saying it. He held still, not wanting to breathe, not wanting to smell any reaction from his sire, not wanting to hear. It was done; he’d sold his pride once again. He wished he could just fade to black, now, wake up tomorrow.
Angel was walking toward him. “Say it again.”
No, you fat sod, Spike thought to himself. Wasn’t once enough? Angel’s face was almost quivering - he was holding back. Spike took in a short breath, and even over the blood in his nose he smelled arousal. Angel was a sick fuck and he knew it. Worse, Spike felt a small thrill in himself, a twitch in his groin that was almost relief; this was almost over. One more nudge and Angel would be over the edge. It wouldn’t be Spike’s problem anymore. “I’m a whore,” Spike said, and both men shuddered a little.
Angel’s hand skimmed down Spike’s shoulder, took hold of his arm, fingers pressing leather hard into his bicep, he pulled Spike’s hand up and pressed it into his straining erection. He forced the hand up and down, briefly, pressing the fine wool of the slacks into himself. He breathed hard, sharp, through his nose.
Spike didn’t look up, didn’t resist, but didn’t move on his own, either.
Angel dropped his hand. “When you’re ready to stop being a whore,” he said, “Come upstairs.”
Angel’s voice had a quivering edge to it, and his steps were stiff as he made his way to his private elevator. Spike wanted nothing less than to follow him, to be alone with him in this mood.
Spike sat alone, wondering what he could possibly do. He had nowhere to go.
Slowly, he stood, and walked to the elevator. When the doors closed behind him, he felt strangely sure they would never open again.
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