"Spike is not an object!"-day °°° chapter 3
Maybe some of you remember “Spike is not an object!”-day (better known as the day out of hell Spike actually wore clothes, heaven forbid) and the great lengths Angel and Wesley went to prevent it to happen again. Or what happened when they failed.
So, here’s the sequel…
Title: “Spike is not an object!-day” (3/no idea how long it’ll take me to clear this mess up)
Pairing: Spike/Lindsey, (Spike/Angel)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2645
Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn.
Summary: Everybody hates Angel but Spike who’s too engaged otherwise.
Warnings: language (mine, I’m not a native speaker, no beta).
Angel’s used to not being particularly popular. Or at all. He’s the boss. It’s his job not to be popular. Besides, nobody loves a grumpy demon. It's not fair but he’s perfectly O.K. with it. Doesn’t care in the least. Never did. Being feared and hated means he's doing fine.
And damn, am I doing fine today, he thinks frowning when he runs past two young lawyers glaring stakes at him on his way to the daily team meeting. Stopping at his chief secretary’s desk to pick up his liquid breakfast he barely sees Harmony all in tears being escorted by a consort in the direction of the ladie’s room. Women. He hopes he won’t be bothered with her ridiculous problems, whatever they are. Snatching the warm mug, he enters the conference room to find all of his employees present already. With a short, salutatory nod he takes a seat at the top of the table, grasping at nothing when he wants to skim through the table of contents Wesley usually provides. Deciding to be generous and still feeling awkward in Wesley’s presence after the incident in Spike’s closet, he condones the lapse, hoping that today’s meeting won’t be as embarrassing as the one the day before. Then again, he doesn’t think that this is possible anyway, picturing his spunk’s graceful trajectory that ended accurately in Wesley’s face.
“So, a verbal introduction today, Wes?”
Wesley looks up and Angel instinctively flinches. There’s hate in the English man’s gaze, a kind of rage Angel’s never seen there before and then, not much of a surprise, something that looks like the cold clutch of shame before Wesley averts his glazed eyes. Fred clasps his lightly trembling hand and squeezes it reassuringly, making Angel wonder if Wesley had told her about their attempt to prevent “Spike is not an object”-day.
Trying to find out what’s wrong, Angel looks around but only finds the mirror image of Wesley’s rage on the other’s faces. Uncertainly, he holds on to the mug and takes a sip, buying time, but violently disgorges the repulsive liquid the instant it hits his taste buds. “Fuck! What the hell…”, starring at the cup disgustedly, he spits “that’s reptile! Putrid, dead for ages reptile - Harmony!”
Gesticulating wildly at the others, he yells “the bitch wants to poison me!” but only reaps the unchanging reproachful and silently furious glances of four pairs of eyes. Angel briefly recognizes that Spike’s missing.
“O.K., what’s wrong?”
Wesley, Fred, Gunn and Lorne stay silent, just deepening the aversion written all over their faces if at all possible. Angel swallows, his instincts telling him to run away. Fast.
Trying to regain control he orders as authoritative as possible “say something!” and then, after more furious glares and a low growling sound emanating from Lorne, or maybe Gunn, he adds meekly “please?”.
Without a word, the four of them simultaneously snatch each a beer can from below their chairs, open them with a poignant sizzle and take long sips, then bang them noisily on the table. Except Wesley, that is, who’s obviously determined to drown his beer with one gulp. At nine o’clock in the morning. Looking closely at Wesley’s dishevelled appearance, Angel wonders if it’s his first drink today and what exactly the little scene reminds him of.
Leaving the cans on the table, they leave in a huff, abandoning Angel baffled.
“That’s mutiny!” he cat-calls at them angrily and briefly considers to follow them but is distracted by the mighty headache that’s taking over his head. Subsiding into his chair feebly, he pinches the brig of his nose and wonders who he can call to ask what’s going on but nobody springs to mind. In fact, he realizes, that’s what he does all day - calling Wesley to tell him what’s going on and then killing something if needed. That and looking good in a suit. But now, Wesley’s juiced up and hating him so Angel has to figure this out on his own. Damn. What do people do these days if they have to find out something? Angel’s head begins to throb, a vast desert of shimmering nothing spreading in his mind’s eye. They ask their computers! Of course, that’s it! Extremely pleased with himself, Angel turns to his laptop, launching the only program he knows and checks his e-mails. Among the flood of messages, there’s only one that arouses his attention.
To: staff@wolframandhart.com
From: Spike@wolframandhart.com
Subject: Blame the poof!
No shaggin’ the company anymore. Big important CEO won’t let me. Said, he’d dust me otherwise, the possessive git.
Honestly sorry for you all.
Spike
Percy - there’s nothing wrong about wanting to take it up the arse and asking your girl to do it. ‘s certainly better than letting your boss fuck you in the proverbial closet, huh? You can do without that. And hey - tits!
Luv - buy a harness, O.K.?
Mouth agape, Angel stares at the monitor, reading the mail again. And again. Spike’s dust. Fine-grained, bleached gray, smoke and leather-smelling dust. Growling menacingly, Angel jumps up and yells “SPIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!” loud enough to shake the very foundations of the dimension.
°°°
Slowly trailing lazy fingers along a smooth, perfectly curved spine, Spike nuzzles into Lindsey’s neck, carefully avoiding to fall off the small cot. The human’s tanned skin’s still slightly sweaty and he’s breathing hard, just coming down from his orgasmic bliss.
“Fuck, Spike, that was… fuck.” Lindsey shakes his head lightly and smiles goofily.
“Yeah”, Spike replies, nibbling at the Texan’s earlobe and hugging him close, taking one last deep breath, again and again surprised that no matter how long he’s been caged in the holding cells of Wolfram & Hart, the cowboy still smells like the sun-baked, whiskey-soaked open range of a mythical south that only exists in the daydreams of people who have never lived there.
After some quite moments, pressed close to each other, their damp skin cooling Lindsey’s remaining heat down, Spike coughs lightly, steeling himself to do the inevitable.
“Lindsey?”
“Hmmm?” A murmur like honey, sated and content.
“Gotta tell you something, cowboy. ‘s not nice.” Bollocks, this is hard. Spike feels an enormous lump forming in his throat when Lindsey turns his head, trying to look at Spike. The vampire stays safely nuzzled into the crook of Lindsey’s neck, not trusting himself to actually say it if he looked into those hypnotizing azure eyes.
“Not gonna visit you down here any more, luv.”
Lindsey sounds casual but Spike feels him tensing up. “You’re saying…*
“No sex anymore, Linds, no seeing each other.” He briefly hesitates, then mumbles “‘s easier like that.”
Freeing himself from Spike’s embrace, Lindsey sits up and brushes his hair out of his forehead. “Why, are you fed up with being everybody’s whore?” he spits.
“Yes, you git, I soddin’ am. ‘m fucking fed up with being a set of convenient holes and a walking dildo for a group of bastards to whom I mean nothing more than quick relief.” The rant begun noisily, but in the end it’s nothing more than a whisper and Spike rubs his face, wondering if he really said this out loud and suddenly and for the first time since he’s put his glorious plan to win his Sire back into practice feeling kind of dirty.
They’re quiet for some long, awkward moments, before Lindsey breaths “that’s not what you are to me”, his voice hardly audible.
Biting his bottom lip, Spike briefly closes his eyes and whispers “I know”.
“So”, Lindsey says, his voice slightly shaky but determinedly cocky again, “you’ve finally got your happy end with Angel. Congratulations. And they lived happily ever after… what a fucking fairy tale.”
“No.” Once more Spike wonders why he admitted Lindsey, traitor and liar, of all people into his confidence - after being seen through like glass, that is - but then again, the cowboy hadn’t betrayed him again since their first overdue kiss after Lindsey’s return from yet another suburban hell dimension though there would have been more than one way to blackmail Spike.
“What, no?”
“No happy end, no big romance, soddin’ ponce hates me as ever.” With a pleading gaze, Spike asks Lindsey to understand. “Just don’t want to go on like that. ‘s just not me. ‘s not how I work. Or what I want. I won’t lie to you and pretend I didn’t enjoy it, did it for a fuckin’ long time but it simply… didn’t work.”
Swallowing, Lindsey nods. “I see.”
“You do?”
Smiling tensely, Lindsey bends down to place a chaste kiss on Spike’s cheek. “I do. Knew this had to happen from the first moment I realized what you’re doing.”
Returning the smile shyly, Spike sits up to, his naked feet already on the floor, his back towards Lindsey. “See, I didn’t want to shag’ when I came here. Didn’t want to scam one last fuck with you before I- But then you looked at me with that special smirk and kissed me this stunning way of yours and I simply couldn’t-“
Embracing the blond tightly from behind and resting his chin on a bony shoulder, Lindsey breaths “it’s O.K., baby., it’s O.K.” Spike tries to get a grip on himself but lets himself fall back into the embrace when a warm, damp tongue ghosts over the sensitive skin behind his ear and Lindsey breaths “but after you got your last time, knowing it is, gimme mine. Please.”
Turning his head to look at the human, Spike stares at him unbelievingly. “I won’t change my mind, Lindsey. I love Angel.” Damn, did I really say this out loud?
“’I know,” Lindsey mumbles reluctantly, biting Spike’s earlobe a little too hard, “just want to experience every second of this last time consciously.” Looking Spike directly in the eyes he says genuinely “don’t make me beg”.
Nodding, Spike turns around to lie on the narrow cot again and hugs Lindsey close, happy that the human can’t see the inner fight obvious on Spike’s face. Yes, he is fed up with fucking around without any real emotion, fed up with frenzied, mechanical copulation and passionless humping and thrusting but right now, he has to wonder if this hasn’t merged unnoticeably into something different, something unwanted and dangerous. Pushing the thought aside, his hands begin to explore Lindsey’s body again, but the human stops him. “No. Just let me.”
Spike surrenders to Lindsey’s hands and lips completely, allowing the man to brand every curve of muscle, every mole and every faded scar into the memory of his fingertips, his tongue and his eyes. Lindsey explores every square millimetre of smooth pale skin, mapping Spike’s body like newly discovered terrain and leaving a shivering vampire in his wake.
Whenever Spike tries to take charge, to kiss Lindsey or roam his own hand’s over the man’s muscular body, he’s tenderly forced to stop his actions until Lindsey brings Spike’s arms above his head and grabs his wrists only to let them go the next moment, softly repeating “just let me”. And so Spike does.
For the first time in months he feels seen, cherished, and the stark contrast between the rough fucks and the affectionate consideration Lindsey is lavishing on him now, reacting attentively on every moan and every shiver, touching again where it feels so good and biting a little harder where needed as if Spike’s body was an instrument he’s been playing since childhood days, makes him ache deeply within.
When Lindsey sucks at a nipple while he runs tender fingertips up his sides, Spike briefly tries to imagine that it is Angel’s tongue playing with the hard, sensitive nub but refrains instantly from the fantasy. More than a century, countless fucks but he can’t remember one single moment that has been like what’s Lindsey doing to him now. All those lovers, all those fuck-buddies, all those strangers but he’s never known that this is what he wants, what he needs. Though not from the man that’s currently making him feel so good. Spike clenches his eyes shut. He’s not exactly sure what it is exactly that hurts, but it does. Violently.
Every muscle’s taut, his skin more gooseflesh than not and his hard cock’s permanently leaking precum, desperately begging for attention while Lindsey slowly makes his journey up and down his over-sensitized cool flesh, nibbling at a toe, caressing the crook where thigh and abdomen join with feather-light touches, a broad palm roaming and scratching over the rippled abs, an eager tongue licking up Spike’s inner thighs until he finally - finally! - spreads Spike’s legs. Lifting them so the blond is exposed to Lindsey’s gaze, the Texan softly bites an ass cheek before his tongue explores Spike’s pucker thoroughly, dipping the tip of his tongue into the hole and making Spike hiss before he licks up his perineum, along his tight balls and up the whole length of his silky, hard cock until he playfully kisses the head.
“For fuck’s sake, Lindsey, I can’t stand this any more!” Spike moans, fighting hard to stay passive, but knowing that he won’t be able to hold back any longer. Looking up and locking gazes, Lindsey whispers with a wide smirk “be brave, baby” and with one swift motion swallows Spike’s cock, sucking it in hard until it scratches the back of his throat. Arching up, Spike moans hoarsely, sure he’ll come but Lindsey grips the base of his cock, denying him his orgasm.
“Sorry”, he mumbles, his lips still around the hard shaft. “Just gimme a little more time, baby.”
Sighing, Spike tries to relax while Lindsey plays just a tad too slow, too light with his cock, licking, teasing, kissing, until the pressure in Spike’s balls finally is too much too bear and he desperately groans “can’t hold back anymore, cowboy, I really really can’t”. Watching him intently Lindsey’s sliding up Spike’s body, licking a drop of precum off his swollen lips, and locks eyes with the vampire when his fist encloses the damp shaft, jacking it one last time before thick jets of cool semen spurt between their bodies, leaving white flecks on their bellies and chests.
Spike feels the eruption deep inside his abdomen, feels his orgasm flood him like a wave, but for a split second, the sensation is nothing more than background because there’s this feeling, short-lived, more like a memory coming back than an actual emotion, of being one. Being whole. It’s like his Sire’s bite. It’s what love could be like.
Fighting the urge to fall asleep contentedly, Spike hugs Lindsey, rolling him on his back so that Spike’s on top and trails his hand down the man’s body. Before he reaches Lindsey’s half-hard cock, he’s held up one more.
“No, that’s not what this is about.”
Smirking, Spike wriggles his hand free. “Just want to make you come for me, Texas.”
“No.” Lindsey’s features are stern. Spike raises a brow in question and Lindsey kisses the tiny scar there. “Go.”
“But-”
“You really want to go? Do it now.”
Sighing, hesitating, Spike finally gets up because he knows there’s nothing he can say to make them feel less miserable and dresses swiftly, feeling Lindsey’s gaze all over his body. He doesn’t want this. Not at all. Right now, he’s longing to simply let himself fall back in the cowboy’s arms, kissing them both better, and forget his soddin’ Sire for good. But he knows he can’t.
Not daring to steal a final kiss, Spike heads for the heavy door, knocking at it to call a guard. When it opens, he turns around and looks at the naked man, wrapped in the grey blanket, smiling tensely at him, the too long strands of hazel hair falling in his eyes. Spike wants to say “goodbye” but knowing that his voice would break, he only nods and leaves.