The olive branch or how Angel didn’t manage to come out
Written to honor the Mini Nekid Guest over at nekid_spike : the Buffy bot. Then again, it's always about the Spangel. Jeez, I'm so predictable...
Title: The olive branch or how Angel didn’t manage to come out
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Spike/Buffy bot, probably not Angel/Buffy bot
Rating: R
Words: about 1.100
Summary: Spike gives Angel a present. Pity Angel’s not interested in women.
Warnings: disputable English since I'm not a native speaker and beta-less
Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn.
Angel briefly wonders if he’s supposed to slip his hand into her tiny white cotton g-string when strong fingers lift her rose pleated skirt, laying her nearly bare. In the end he doesn’t do it because he’s afraid all he’ll get for his trouble is the smooth chilliness of latex and lube oil smeared all over his fingers and, eventually, his expensive silk shirt and exclusive furniture. No pussy’s worth stains on a Mies Van Der Rohe couch.
“You wanna fuck her, sire?”, Spike purrs seductively, pressing his wiry body against the other vampire and tracing a wet path with his tongue along Angel’s ear, the little shit.
Swallowing hard, Angel tries to suppress the shiver running through his body when Spike bites down on his earlobe. He wriggles furtively, trying to adjust his growing hard-on without touching. Spike’s grinning lips against his neck make his skin crawl. Damn.
“Knew you’d like her,” Spike laughs throatily, breath ghosting along Angel’s neck. “Bird’s programmed to please me bit if I tell her I’d like to have a threesome she’s game. Right, luv?”
The Buffy bot nods enthusiastically. “Everything you want, Spike.”
“That’s my girl,” Spike says, opening the zipper of her skirt and watching it slide down her long, firm legs. Slayer legs. A slayer pussy too, getting wet under his touch, nimble fingers playing against damp cotton.
“Strip.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
“What’s all this about?” Angel asks, pretending to push his insolent childe away and averting his eyes when the Buffy bot’s bra slips to the ground.
“It’s a present, silly” Spike answers cheerily, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. “An olive branch. In the form of the slayer. Well, a duplicate but still. No risk to loose that ugly smelling soul of yours when you fuck her raw. The perfect sex toy.”
“Classy.”
“You won’t be that anal when you’re inside her tight, wet hole. Or her mouth. God, that mouth.” Spike grins obscenely at the robot, who’s imitating the movement of Spike’s tongue. At least there’ll never be unwanted lipstick on her incisors.
Anal. Angel blushes. Right.
“I. Uh.” Finally overcome my archconservative Catholic upbringing and am a proud gay ma-vampire now. Took me hardly 250 years to come out of the closet. A vampire who wants nothing more than fuck his childe, including chains and crosses and said childe - you, always you - calling me “daddy”. Or me calling you “master”. But I think I’m not there yet. But damn I come so hard thinking about you fucking me into submission when jerking off. Yes, I’m constantly sore. Thinking of you hurts in so many ways. Hurts so good. Always did. Always will.
Instead he says, “I know you love her.”
Spike snickers, middle finger buried deep inside the slayer duplicate’s folds and circling her clit, making her breath harder, and looks at Angel while two fingers slip into the mechanics of her vagina.
“Unsouled demon here, remember? Me loving anyone would be kind of a logical error of the really embarrassing kind, don’t you think sire?”
Angel briefly closes his eyes. Got to feel the pain. It’s all you’ve got. All you’ll ever get. Pain.
“So why did you order this monstrosity?” Angel asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Because it’s so much more fun to fuck her before I’ll fuck her over. Fuck her to death. It’s gonna be so…,” Angel feels Spike trembling beside him. He knows he should be disgusted but he isn’t. A dark stain soils his immaculate anthracite slacks. Some things just never change.
Spike giggles viciously. “Come on, Gelus, don’t tell me you don’t want it too. Showing her her place. Ripping her in two like it should be, hunter and pray without all the lovey-dovey shit.” Spike’s fingertips trail along the inside of Angel’s thighs, scratching oh so good, oh so close, while his other hand makes the robot gasp and roll her hips. “Don’t tell me you don’t imagine fucking her without that pesky soul of yours. Don’t tell me all that happiness shit didn’t cripple you. We’re animals, Gelus, not lovers. Blood and tears.”
Angel knows he should protest. He did love her. Then. Somehow. It was perfect. It was. The perfect image of Liam, loving and loved by a woman. It was a first. It was a last. Above all, it was a lie. The sweetest lie.
Angel finally watches the Buffy bot, naked, covered in a sheen of artificial sweet, one hand leaving bruises on her own thigh, the other one a fist in her mouth while Spike’s fingers fuck her mercilessly.
That’s not his innocent virgin. But Spike. Spike’s the luscious bastard he’s always been, seductive even before he knew it. Manipulating and vicious when he finally got it. Devil without caring for the disguise.
God. Angel’s so hard it hurts. Spike’s fingers are teasing him, running up and down his thigh, always stopping before he reaches Angel’s balls or leaking cock, the movement becoming jerky when he concentrates on the bot’s orgasm, groaning and thrusting in sync with the machine.
Angel’s head falls back, his eyes closed as he concentrates on Spike’s groans, trying to fade out the robot’s, his thigh and groin tense and on fire, images of Spike splayed out beneath him, begging. Above him, demanding, humiliating him, playing out in Technicolor on his retina.
Then, suddenly, the touch is gone. The Buffy bot groans in frustration and Angel opens his eyes, dazed. Spike’s standing beside the robot, wiping off the artificial woman’s juices on his black denims and whispering in her ear loud enough for Angel to hear every word.
“I want you to please my sire here. Be a good girl and do everything he wants you to. Struggle a little and tell him no. Do the virgin act. Pray while he fucks you, ole Gelus likes that. But over all, tell him you love him despite all. Make him happy.” Spike locks gazes with Angel and sneers “s too late after all.”
He winks at Angel and turns to leave. Before Spike closes the door, he says without looking back “enjoy yourself, sire. I don’t expect there anything to be taken back in one piece.”
Before Angel can protest, Spike lifts his hand to shut him and his soul’s protests up and slams the door shut. More than one door.
Angel finally looks back at the Buffy bot when he feels strong thighs straddling him and hips rolling against his straining erection. He looks up to find his former girlfriend’s eyes look hungrily at him, pupils blown, the bot’s hands rubbing the bulge that tents his slacks. Angel closes his eyes and sighs exhaustedly.
Pussy. Great.