Happy Birthday deborahmm!!!!!!
So I'm wishing a very
Happy Birthday deborahmm!!!!
Yayness of all yayness! ::throws confetti and party streamers::
To one of my most favouritest people on LJ, so giving of your time and a brilliant, intelligent, astute fic writer and lovely person in general, I hope you have a wonderful day!
Here is a very tiny something, that I hope you enjoy:
Title: Between You and Me
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: early Season 5 AtS (after Conviction)
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: R (for language)
Disclaimer: I do not own Joss’ or ME’s toys.
A/N: Thanks so much to yourlibrarian for the beta who put up with all sorts of email bombardment from me today ::hugs::
Written in celebration of deborahmm’s birthday.
Between You and Me
Angel strode down the corridor with a purpose only the CEO of Wolfram and Hart, LA branch, could possess. Newly appointed CEO too. Brimming with potential and freshness, the possibility that everything could change, could start over, could …
He peered over his shoulder with the innate impression, honed over a hundred years of skulking down alleyways, that he was being followed. But when he looked there was nothing. Or nobody. A cavernous corridor filled with -
“Evenin’.” Spike’s ghostly form spluttered into view, following the sound of his voice.
Angel ground his teeth and turned around. He was determined to carry on with his mission of snooping through Wesley’s files.
“Oi! Pillock! I wished you a good evening. I’m told it’s customary, even in the most savage of tribes, for that to be acknowledged.”
Angel raised his eyes to the ceiling calling on whatever force of nature might be out there to give him strength. “What do you want, Spike?” His voice grated like steel on steel.
“Ooooh-oooh,” Spike taunted. “Somebody’s up to something naughty. And doesn’t want me to go telling tales outside of school.”
Angel bit down on his tongue to stop a damning remark flying from his mouth uncensored. There were more than enough moments in their history where a taunt from Spike might have allowed him a mini-victory - even if Spike was oblivious to it. And this was not to be one of those moments.
“You can follow if you want, but it won’t be interesting. And then you’ll start complaining about how boring I am, say something offensive about my hair, then storm off in a cloudy wraith.”
Spike levelled a blank gaze at him. “See you got the whole night planned out then, eh?”
“Well, I do like to remain open to possibility.”
“Bollocks!” Spike erupted, throwing his head back into a gale of laughter. “You like to plan everything down to the minutiae of the minutiae. Which still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck in a corridor on your way to do some kind of private dicking in someone’s office. And at 2 o’clock in the bloody morning. My guess is it’s Mr Stiff and Upper Crusty. You two don’t seem to be with the care and share at the moment. Reckon you wanna get the inside scoop - ”
Angel turned his back on Spike and continued toward Wesley’s office.
“It is Watcher Boy. You wanna know all about him! But you’re too afraid to ask. Poor woebegone Angel!” sing-songed Spike, the excitement enthusing his words. He ran forward and overtook Angel. “Well, if it was intel you needed all you had to do was ask.” He made a bowing gesture with his front arm, as if he were a Renaissance courtesan giving Angel the keys to the capital.
Angel started forward again and Spike raised a watery-thin pale hand to Angel’s elbow, an ineffective grab, which passed through Angel’s body to the other side. They both watched in disturbed silence.
Angel looked down at his feet, the Armani shoes encasing them (that probably needed shining if truth be told) and changed his mind. He turned back and headed in the direction of his office and thus the private elevator to his apartment.
Despite Spike's ghostliness, Angel still sensed him following.
Stepping into the apartment was like stepping into an itinerant hotel room, alien and unwelcome, the pristine cleanness uncomfortable and unknown. Everything was too ordered in the room, too set down in stone.
Sighing he sat down on the end of the bed and bent over to take his shoes off. From the corner of his eye he saw Spike glide through one of the walls.
“Interesting trick,” Angel said.
“Been perfectin’ it,” replied Spike, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Given his inability to lean against a wall, light up a cigarette or even connect a punch with Angel’s forehead, Spike took to standing in the middle of the room and staring at Angel.
“That’s unsettling,” Angel remarked, after a period of time, his voice cool and removed.
“Yeah. I know.”
Angel shucked out of his jacket and then his shirt, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. He picked up the clothes and walked over to his closet, pulling out wooden coathangers and hanging his clothes on. He undid his pants and repeated the routine, pulling out a pair of black cargo pants to change into.
“Bit lonely up here,” Spike pointed out. “Big room, big bed. Got no-one to fill it with.”
“You’re here now,” Angel observed, his voice muffled as he pulled on a gray sweater. He walked back toward the bed and sat on it.
“True,” nodded Spike, “only I’m not am I? Big Bad Umber’s come to town.”
Angel cocked his head and raised an eyebrow in annoyance. “We’ll find a way, Spike.”
“You won’t, ponce. Girl beaverin’ away in her lab might. Or the good for nothing Powers that Bloody Be might. Or even the blokes pulling your puppet strings up on high could have plans. But you,” Spike said, jabbing a translucent finger at Angel, “will have nothing to do with it whatsoever.”
Angel pursed his lips and then asked, “Finished?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
The corner of Angel’s lips tweaked ever so slightly, before he hauled himself back over the bedcovers and until his back met the wall. Leaning over, he picked up a file of papers from his bedside table and started rifling through them.
“That what you do to amuse yourself then? Read dull treaties on what evil you can or cannot get up to?” Spike wandered over toward Angel, so that he was standing in the line of his vision to the window. “Or is it more information-gathering on Watcher Boy? You wanna have your way with him and you’re devising a plan to get to him.” Spike wandered back and forward in front of the window, staring out at the view. “You always were one for plans, weren’t you? Evil mastermind. End of the world and all that. Mind you, I could spare a thought or two for Watcher Boy - nice blue eyes he’s got, hasn’t he? Bit dreamy. Course you’d rather fuck him over bureaucratically than the old fashioned way,” snickered Spike.
Angel raised his eyes up at Spike and said, “No. For kicks I lie back and think about taking your bum, running my hands over the marble-like smooth white softness of it and breaking that beauty by ramming my hardened cock into that perfection of a hole.”
Spike’s form flickered in and out of vision, like a film reel at the end of a projector. His voice was soft and indiscreet. “You do?”
“No, Spike. I was only … Spike?” The window behind Spike fluttered resolutely into view as he faded out. “Spike?”
The lights of LA winked at Angel as he contemplated the space where Spike had been. It was a nice view of the city, he could see to the hills from the window, and it infused him with a feeling of power. The kind of power that when you contemplate it, you see all that lies in front of you and the potential you have in taking it over. It was only with the foresight of a soul, that Angel recognised that that kind of power is illusory, flickers at you like Spike did, out of control and no longer yours.
He sighed and flipped open another file wondering if Spike would come back and visit him again that evening so he might be able to make right on his little joke. With the luck he was currently having, probably not.
Finis
Happy Birthday deborahmm!!!!
Yayness of all yayness! ::throws confetti and party streamers::
To one of my most favouritest people on LJ, so giving of your time and a brilliant, intelligent, astute fic writer and lovely person in general, I hope you have a wonderful day!
Here is a very tiny something, that I hope you enjoy:
Title: Between You and Me
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: early Season 5 AtS (after Conviction)
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: R (for language)
Disclaimer: I do not own Joss’ or ME’s toys.
A/N: Thanks so much to yourlibrarian for the beta who put up with all sorts of email bombardment from me today ::hugs::
Written in celebration of deborahmm’s birthday.
Between You and Me
Angel strode down the corridor with a purpose only the CEO of Wolfram and Hart, LA branch, could possess. Newly appointed CEO too. Brimming with potential and freshness, the possibility that everything could change, could start over, could …
He peered over his shoulder with the innate impression, honed over a hundred years of skulking down alleyways, that he was being followed. But when he looked there was nothing. Or nobody. A cavernous corridor filled with -
“Evenin’.” Spike’s ghostly form spluttered into view, following the sound of his voice.
Angel ground his teeth and turned around. He was determined to carry on with his mission of snooping through Wesley’s files.
“Oi! Pillock! I wished you a good evening. I’m told it’s customary, even in the most savage of tribes, for that to be acknowledged.”
Angel raised his eyes to the ceiling calling on whatever force of nature might be out there to give him strength. “What do you want, Spike?” His voice grated like steel on steel.
“Ooooh-oooh,” Spike taunted. “Somebody’s up to something naughty. And doesn’t want me to go telling tales outside of school.”
Angel bit down on his tongue to stop a damning remark flying from his mouth uncensored. There were more than enough moments in their history where a taunt from Spike might have allowed him a mini-victory - even if Spike was oblivious to it. And this was not to be one of those moments.
“You can follow if you want, but it won’t be interesting. And then you’ll start complaining about how boring I am, say something offensive about my hair, then storm off in a cloudy wraith.”
Spike levelled a blank gaze at him. “See you got the whole night planned out then, eh?”
“Well, I do like to remain open to possibility.”
“Bollocks!” Spike erupted, throwing his head back into a gale of laughter. “You like to plan everything down to the minutiae of the minutiae. Which still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck in a corridor on your way to do some kind of private dicking in someone’s office. And at 2 o’clock in the bloody morning. My guess is it’s Mr Stiff and Upper Crusty. You two don’t seem to be with the care and share at the moment. Reckon you wanna get the inside scoop - ”
Angel turned his back on Spike and continued toward Wesley’s office.
“It is Watcher Boy. You wanna know all about him! But you’re too afraid to ask. Poor woebegone Angel!” sing-songed Spike, the excitement enthusing his words. He ran forward and overtook Angel. “Well, if it was intel you needed all you had to do was ask.” He made a bowing gesture with his front arm, as if he were a Renaissance courtesan giving Angel the keys to the capital.
Angel started forward again and Spike raised a watery-thin pale hand to Angel’s elbow, an ineffective grab, which passed through Angel’s body to the other side. They both watched in disturbed silence.
Angel looked down at his feet, the Armani shoes encasing them (that probably needed shining if truth be told) and changed his mind. He turned back and headed in the direction of his office and thus the private elevator to his apartment.
Despite Spike's ghostliness, Angel still sensed him following.
Stepping into the apartment was like stepping into an itinerant hotel room, alien and unwelcome, the pristine cleanness uncomfortable and unknown. Everything was too ordered in the room, too set down in stone.
Sighing he sat down on the end of the bed and bent over to take his shoes off. From the corner of his eye he saw Spike glide through one of the walls.
“Interesting trick,” Angel said.
“Been perfectin’ it,” replied Spike, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Given his inability to lean against a wall, light up a cigarette or even connect a punch with Angel’s forehead, Spike took to standing in the middle of the room and staring at Angel.
“That’s unsettling,” Angel remarked, after a period of time, his voice cool and removed.
“Yeah. I know.”
Angel shucked out of his jacket and then his shirt, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. He picked up the clothes and walked over to his closet, pulling out wooden coathangers and hanging his clothes on. He undid his pants and repeated the routine, pulling out a pair of black cargo pants to change into.
“Bit lonely up here,” Spike pointed out. “Big room, big bed. Got no-one to fill it with.”
“You’re here now,” Angel observed, his voice muffled as he pulled on a gray sweater. He walked back toward the bed and sat on it.
“True,” nodded Spike, “only I’m not am I? Big Bad Umber’s come to town.”
Angel cocked his head and raised an eyebrow in annoyance. “We’ll find a way, Spike.”
“You won’t, ponce. Girl beaverin’ away in her lab might. Or the good for nothing Powers that Bloody Be might. Or even the blokes pulling your puppet strings up on high could have plans. But you,” Spike said, jabbing a translucent finger at Angel, “will have nothing to do with it whatsoever.”
Angel pursed his lips and then asked, “Finished?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
The corner of Angel’s lips tweaked ever so slightly, before he hauled himself back over the bedcovers and until his back met the wall. Leaning over, he picked up a file of papers from his bedside table and started rifling through them.
“That what you do to amuse yourself then? Read dull treaties on what evil you can or cannot get up to?” Spike wandered over toward Angel, so that he was standing in the line of his vision to the window. “Or is it more information-gathering on Watcher Boy? You wanna have your way with him and you’re devising a plan to get to him.” Spike wandered back and forward in front of the window, staring out at the view. “You always were one for plans, weren’t you? Evil mastermind. End of the world and all that. Mind you, I could spare a thought or two for Watcher Boy - nice blue eyes he’s got, hasn’t he? Bit dreamy. Course you’d rather fuck him over bureaucratically than the old fashioned way,” snickered Spike.
Angel raised his eyes up at Spike and said, “No. For kicks I lie back and think about taking your bum, running my hands over the marble-like smooth white softness of it and breaking that beauty by ramming my hardened cock into that perfection of a hole.”
Spike’s form flickered in and out of vision, like a film reel at the end of a projector. His voice was soft and indiscreet. “You do?”
“No, Spike. I was only … Spike?” The window behind Spike fluttered resolutely into view as he faded out. “Spike?”
The lights of LA winked at Angel as he contemplated the space where Spike had been. It was a nice view of the city, he could see to the hills from the window, and it infused him with a feeling of power. The kind of power that when you contemplate it, you see all that lies in front of you and the potential you have in taking it over. It was only with the foresight of a soul, that Angel recognised that that kind of power is illusory, flickers at you like Spike did, out of control and no longer yours.
He sighed and flipped open another file wondering if Spike would come back and visit him again that evening so he might be able to make right on his little joke. With the luck he was currently having, probably not.
Finis