ANGEL Fic: Hard Time (4/?) -- A/S
Title: Hard Time
Author: Magz
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Angel/Spike, Spike/Andrew, brief mentions of Forrest/Fem!Jonathan, Adam/Andrew, Wood/Xander, & Gunn/Scott Hope.
Summary: Violently cracktastic porn AU. Spike's a computer hacker who's just received a ten-year prison sentence. He's taken under the wing of Angel, who agrees to protect him from the bigger and stronger inmates than himself in exchange for sex. It's like every prison porn movie ever made. Only with more sex.
Warnings: Wildly OOC, rape/attempted, character bashing, violence, mild BDSM, gratuitous use of sparkly pink butt plugs, feminization of a male character
Prologue · 1 · 2 · 3
FOUR -- SURPRISED FISHES
11.02.
Spike sat cross-legged on the floor of the jail cell, reading a book, a look of almost childish innocence on his face. His toes tapped against the concrete floor and his nose scrunched when he came to parts he didn't like. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loose on either side of him, and his feet were bare.
Every once in awhile, he'd look up at Angel, who was watching him intently, charcoal scratching across his sketchpad. Then he'd go back to his reading once more.
11.17.
Spike was asleep, lying on his side, his face soft and relaxed. His lips were slightly parted and his eyelashes fluttered a bit as he dreamed. Soft breaths moved in and out of his nostrils, which flared just the tiniest flare as he inhaled. There were stray curls lying on his forehead, but Angel didn't move them. Instead he glanced at his sketchbook, then down at the sleeping figure he was crouched before, and found another flaw in his art.
11.30.
There was a small tattoo on Spike's lower back, standing out starkly against the smooth paleness of his skin. A miniature griffin with an ornate letter A, and there was no denying what it symbolized. His torso rose and fell and the sheet covering his buttocks slipped down a little more with each breath. Angel focused on the planes and angles of the younger man's back in the drawing, fading out to the edges of the paper, accentuating shadow and light as he drew. He looked at the sketchbook for a long time before awakening the slumbering man on the bed.
12.12.
Spike's hands rested on his bare belly as he stared up at the ceiling, pensively. His fingers framed his navel and overlapped one another. His slow, even breathing was almost hypnotic to Angel as he drew. He stared at the hands resting on the belly that he'd itched to lick and kiss for weeks now, transferring every detail of those hands onto his paper. There was a torn cuticle on Spike's left thumb. He had a scar on the back of his right hand between his ring and middle fingers. These were the hands that touched Angel every day, but only when he needed a sexual release.
Angel wished that Spike would touch him more often.
By December thirteenth, Spike had given up his guilt and disgust about getting off with another guy. It was just harmless, albeit frequent, sex. Right? Right. He'd be completely straight again when he got out of jail.
So they fucked. And they fooled around. And they fucked some more. And Spike was perfectly fine with that arrangement. He got off a whole lot more often than he ever had in his life, and even if he was taking it up the ass ninety-nine percent of the time to do it, it wasn't a bad deal.
And now here they were, Spike with his back against the wall, legs wrapped around Angel's waist, head tilted back and mouth open as he gasped and moaned and licked his lips. And Angel was thrusting into him at a hard, fast pace, but all of his concentration was focused on those two little silver balls that held Spike's tongue ring in place.
Angel wondered what they'd feel like against his own tongue. He wondered if those little balls would taste like metal, or they'd taste like Spike. He wondered what Spike would taste like.
He leaned in slowly, hovering with his cheek so close to the blond's that their faces were nearly touching. His breath rushed through his lips as he turned his head slowly, his mouth grazing across one sharp cheekbone. Spike seemed not to notice. Angel withdrew and his hands slid up Spike's sides, down his arms, finding his hands. He lifted the younger man's arms and draped them over his shoulders, then cupped his ass again and thrust with more vigor.
"Fuck, yeah... feels so..." Spike groaned, rolling his head to the side. "Yeah, give it me good..." He righted his head again, panting, and that damn pink tongue with those damn silver balls came out again to lick his damn perfect lips. Angel really wanted a taste.
"Spike," Angel said, sliding a hand behind the blond's head.
"Gnurgh..." said Spike.
"Spike," Angel said again, slowing his tempo.
"Mmm... yeah..." the blond said, rotating his hips down into Angel's and dragging the weeping head of his cock against the older man's abs. When the thrusts in his ass slowed down even more, his eyes popped open. "What are you - don't stop..."
Angel gripped Spike's hips firmly as he ceased all motion. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Spike," he said a third time.
"What is it, you pillock, that is so important that you 'ave to stop buggerin' me?" Spike snapped. His nostrils were flaring, and there was another fire in his eyes, just beneath the heat of arousal. It was perfect.
Angel leaned in and kissed him.
As first kisses go, this one left much to be desired. Spike hadn't been expecting it and his expression took on the characteristics of a surprised fish - all bugged-out eyes and tightly-puckered lips - and he was unresponsive, by in large, to Angel's ministrations. He broke away from the older man's mouth with a sharp squeak, retaining the wide eyes, and licked his lips. Huh. Angel taste.
No, it was the second kiss that did them both in. This time, Spike was ready, and his mouth opened under Angel's as the older man's tongue stroked along the seam of his lips. They both exhaled on little sighs as their tongues met and mingled, and it was only then that Angel started thrusting again.
Spike cupped the back of Angel's skull with his left hand, much like Angel cradled Spike's head, and there wasn't a trace of the surprised fish left anywhere in the building as his tongue twisted around the dark-haired man's. He rocked his hips down into the older man's, panting against his lips, and clutched at his shoulder with the hand that wasn't buried in his hair.
Angel moaned into the kiss, palming Spike's ass cheeks as he raised and lowered him on his cock. He drank in the taste of the blond, flicking his tongue over Spike's, and tasted the metal balls on the long, pink organ. He couldn't taste a difference between the tongue ring and Spike's mouth. And his mouth tasted every bit as good as Angel had hoped it would.
The blond wasn't sure who had broken the kiss. He only knew that Angel's lips were attacking his throat as if he wanted to sink his teeth in and leave a mark, and that the older man's tongue flickering over his pulse points was one of the hottest things he'd ever felt. His head fell back against the wall and he moaned. "Fuck..." He ground his ass down, taking more of Angel's cock inside, and humped against the dark-haired man's abs. "Unh, yeah! Harder... fuck me!"
Angel spread Spike's ass wider and fucked up into him harder. His mouth traveled across the younger man's shoulder, licking and sucking his collarbone. He wrapped one arm around Spike's waist and snaked the other hand between their bodies, fisting the blond's throbbing cock. "You're wound up so tight, aren't you...? Getting so hot for me..." he murmured, pumping his fist.
Spike groaned and bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on tightening his ass around Angel's pistoning shaft. He released his lip with a grin as Angel gasped against his shoulder. Then he clenched down again. "So fuckin' hot," he whispered harshly. "Feel so big inside me. Fuck me hard... Make me cum..." He found Angel's lips with his again, kissing him heatedly.
Angel groaned low in his throat and dove headfirst into the kiss, thrusting his tongue against Spike's as he pounded up into him. Both of his hands tightened a bit on the blond's flesh. His thumb roughly brushed over the head of Spike's cock and the smaller man shuddered against him.
Spike nipped at Angel's lower lip, then grasped it between his teeth and pulled back slightly. When he released it, it snapped back. Then he leaned in again for another kiss, hips jerking up against Angel's hand and down against his pelvis in a mindless rhythm. They kissed again and again, and Spike didn't care that his bare back was being abraded by the cold, cinder-block wall or that he probably wouldn't be able to sit down for awhile after the hard fucking that Angel was giving him. "Gonna cum," he warned, covering Angel's hand with his own.
"Me too," Angel said. He kissed Spike again, this time a bit sloppily. When he pulled back, he pressed Spike harder against the wall, staring into his eyes and daring him wordlessly to climax first. His tongue snaked out and licked across Spike's lips, and his harsh breaths mingled with Spike's in the few inches of space between their faces.
"Ohgodohfuck..." Spike moaned, his head rolling back again and resting on the wall. "Fuck... yeah... gonna... nnghohgod..." He thrust up into Angel's fist and cried out when Angel's lips descended on his throat, sucking at his Adam's apple. "Unh! Ungh! Hungh!" he grunted, jerking his hips up once, twice, and a third time as his balls drew up. His fingers bit into Angel's shoulders as he came, spilling all over the older man's hand and belly. "Yeah... fuck..."
Angel's lips parted with a hoarse cry as Spike's hole clenched tightly around him. He slid his clean hand down, fondling the blond's ass and gripping it hard. "Sp - agh - aaaahnghuagh!" he screamed as he slammed Spike down and his hips up, locking himself in place as his cock pulsed and flooded the condom.
Spike slumped against Angel, languid, panting harshly. His face was mashed to Angel's shoulder and he felt the older man's body trembling as he rode out his climax. Angel's weight held him to the wall and he hoped that they wouldn't start to slide.
Finally Angel was still, and he pulled out [too soon!], unwrapping Spike's legs from around his waist. His hand and belly were sticky with Spike's cum, and he wrapped his cleaner hand around the base of the condom, holding it in place on his softening cock. "You alright?" he asked, and Spike nodded.
The blond's knees buckled when his feet hit the floor. He leaned back heavily on the wall, breathing hard, waiting for his pulse to steady and feeling to return to his limbs before walking over to the sink to get cleaned up. He looked over at Angel, who was calmly wiping himself dry after a quick scrubbing with a washcloth, then returned his attention to the sink. He picked up a cloth, dampened it with warm water, and wiped up most of the lube that had run out of his still-open ass and down his legs. When he was completely clean, he made his way to the bed, flopping down on his side and covering himself with a blanket.
Angel decided to forego the nightly ritual of drawing Spike in his post-coital languor. Instead, he slipped into bed beside him and turned onto his side to face him. "You didn't mind, did you?" he asked.
"Mind what?" Spike questioned in return.
"That I kissed you," Angel said. He looked toward his toes. "If you did, I won't - "
"I didn't mind," the blond interjected.
"Oh. Well, good, then, because - "
Spike cut him off with a kiss. When he withdrew, he said, "Did you mind?"
Angel laughed.
"It occurs to me," Spike said, "that we've been shaggin' for well over a month now, an' I don't know the first thing about you." He rolled onto his back on the bed, folding back the business section of the newspaper, and scanned the stock quotes. "I mean, I know your last name an' that you're a good lay, but that's all."
"Well, it's not like we're dating," Angel said. He set his part of the paper aside. "I didn't think we needed to know anything about each other."
"Never mind then," Spike mumbled into the stock quotes.
The dark-haired man immediately sat up, looking contrite. "Hey," he said, pulling down the paper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you actually wanted to, you know, get to know me."
"Just a habit, I s'pose," Spike admitted. "If I don't learn about the person I'm shaggin' ahead of time, I try to by the two month mark. Never really been one for anonymous sex."
"I caught that by how reluctant you were your first day in," Angel said. He lay back again and stacked his hands behind his head. "Liam Angelus Killarney."
"What?" Spike set down the paper and turned his head to look at the man lying next to him.
"Me full name. Liam Angelus Killarney, son of Connor and Maeliosa Killarney; born on August the nineteenth, twenty-eight years ago, in Galway, Ireland. I've got a little sister named Catherine, a pretty lass o' twenty. Havena seen her for goin' on seven years." He got out of bed and picked his sketchbook up off the foot locker, then lay back down and flipped through the pages. "Here. This is Cathy."
Spike took the book from Angel, studying a drawing of a dark-haired girl about twelve or thirteen years of age. "You must miss her," he said, handing the book back to Angel. "Have you written to her?"
Angel shook his head. "When I came t' America, seven years ago, m'father cut all ties wit' me. I've heard naught from me family since I left Galway."
"Ye're a good-for-nothin' layabout, ye are!" Connor Killarney overturned his son's dresser drawers as he packed. "Goin' off to *America* t' be an *artist*. Ye bring shame on yer father, Liam. I wanted a son. Someone t' pass on th' good name of Killarney. Instead, I have a fairy that's no' worth my blood."
"I'll be gone soon enough, father, an' you won't have to look upon m' shameful face anymore," Liam said, biting down on the inside of his cheek and blinking furiously to keep the tears that were welling up in his eyes from falling.
"Go then," Connor said in disgust. "I want you out o' my home, Liam. Dinna expect me to take ye in again."
He winced and closed the book. "Mayhap I should speak 'f my experiences after I left Ireland," Angel said. "They're far more pleasant t' remember."
"Did you go straight to California?" Spike asked. "Or did you end up somewhere else first?" He moved to his side and slid one leg slightly in front of the other.
"Where else would th' stereotypical Irish immigrant artist go, mo rún," Angel asked, "but New York City?"
"You're hardly stereotypical," Spike muttered under his breath.
"I got m'self a tiny flat in the Bronx, set up a studio in th' kitchen, an' met a girl. Her name was Dru, an' a fairer lass I'd never seen. Eyes dark as night, skin pale as ivory, an' long, soft hair that begged to be touched. T'was about th' only touchable part of her, but I loved her just the same." He shifted, settling on his side and facing Spike.
"Was she the one - "
"That broke m' heart an' caused me to nearly commit murder?" Angel finished. "She's th' one. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself now. Within a few weeks, she'd moved into th' flat with me. Moved 'er drugs in, too."
"So she gave you the drugs..." Spike trailed off and shook his head sadly.
"Five months after I met Dru, I was addicted t' heroin. Look," he said, holding up his arm. There were very faint marks on his inner elbow where needles had pierced the skin, again and again. "If there's one thing positive I can say 'bout prison, it cleaned me up."
Spike touched the track mark scars lightly with his fingertips. "Didn't it hurt?"
"Only when I didn't have any," Angel said. "Ah, but you've never done anything so foul to yourself, have you, mo mhúirnín bán? That's good. Don't hurt yourself like that."
"Why did you cover up your accent?" the blond asked. He hadn't removed his hand from the older man's arm. "The American is so bland, an' it sounded almost forced."
"Th' same reason I didn't tell my father that I liked the boys in my classes a bit more than th' girls," Angel replied. "It's easier t' blend in than to stand out."
Spike made a face. "I've always liked standin' out, m'self," he said with a gesture toward his head. "Though, I'm in desperate need of a touch-up."
Angel chuckled, then looked down at Spike's hand on his arm. "We should see about gettin' you a bottle o' fingernail varnish," he said. "I noticed that your nails were black when you first came 'ere."
Spike shrugged. "I could do without," he said. He looked down at his fingers, then moved his gaze back up to Angel's face. His hand slid slowly up the older man's arm as he leaned in to kiss him.
Author: Magz
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Angel/Spike, Spike/Andrew, brief mentions of Forrest/Fem!Jonathan, Adam/Andrew, Wood/Xander, & Gunn/Scott Hope.
Summary: Violently cracktastic porn AU. Spike's a computer hacker who's just received a ten-year prison sentence. He's taken under the wing of Angel, who agrees to protect him from the bigger and stronger inmates than himself in exchange for sex. It's like every prison porn movie ever made. Only with more sex.
Warnings: Wildly OOC, rape/attempted, character bashing, violence, mild BDSM, gratuitous use of sparkly pink butt plugs, feminization of a male character
Prologue · 1 · 2 · 3
FOUR -- SURPRISED FISHES
11.02.
Spike sat cross-legged on the floor of the jail cell, reading a book, a look of almost childish innocence on his face. His toes tapped against the concrete floor and his nose scrunched when he came to parts he didn't like. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loose on either side of him, and his feet were bare.
Every once in awhile, he'd look up at Angel, who was watching him intently, charcoal scratching across his sketchpad. Then he'd go back to his reading once more.
11.17.
Spike was asleep, lying on his side, his face soft and relaxed. His lips were slightly parted and his eyelashes fluttered a bit as he dreamed. Soft breaths moved in and out of his nostrils, which flared just the tiniest flare as he inhaled. There were stray curls lying on his forehead, but Angel didn't move them. Instead he glanced at his sketchbook, then down at the sleeping figure he was crouched before, and found another flaw in his art.
11.30.
There was a small tattoo on Spike's lower back, standing out starkly against the smooth paleness of his skin. A miniature griffin with an ornate letter A, and there was no denying what it symbolized. His torso rose and fell and the sheet covering his buttocks slipped down a little more with each breath. Angel focused on the planes and angles of the younger man's back in the drawing, fading out to the edges of the paper, accentuating shadow and light as he drew. He looked at the sketchbook for a long time before awakening the slumbering man on the bed.
12.12.
Spike's hands rested on his bare belly as he stared up at the ceiling, pensively. His fingers framed his navel and overlapped one another. His slow, even breathing was almost hypnotic to Angel as he drew. He stared at the hands resting on the belly that he'd itched to lick and kiss for weeks now, transferring every detail of those hands onto his paper. There was a torn cuticle on Spike's left thumb. He had a scar on the back of his right hand between his ring and middle fingers. These were the hands that touched Angel every day, but only when he needed a sexual release.
Angel wished that Spike would touch him more often.
By December thirteenth, Spike had given up his guilt and disgust about getting off with another guy. It was just harmless, albeit frequent, sex. Right? Right. He'd be completely straight again when he got out of jail.
So they fucked. And they fooled around. And they fucked some more. And Spike was perfectly fine with that arrangement. He got off a whole lot more often than he ever had in his life, and even if he was taking it up the ass ninety-nine percent of the time to do it, it wasn't a bad deal.
And now here they were, Spike with his back against the wall, legs wrapped around Angel's waist, head tilted back and mouth open as he gasped and moaned and licked his lips. And Angel was thrusting into him at a hard, fast pace, but all of his concentration was focused on those two little silver balls that held Spike's tongue ring in place.
Angel wondered what they'd feel like against his own tongue. He wondered if those little balls would taste like metal, or they'd taste like Spike. He wondered what Spike would taste like.
He leaned in slowly, hovering with his cheek so close to the blond's that their faces were nearly touching. His breath rushed through his lips as he turned his head slowly, his mouth grazing across one sharp cheekbone. Spike seemed not to notice. Angel withdrew and his hands slid up Spike's sides, down his arms, finding his hands. He lifted the younger man's arms and draped them over his shoulders, then cupped his ass again and thrust with more vigor.
"Fuck, yeah... feels so..." Spike groaned, rolling his head to the side. "Yeah, give it me good..." He righted his head again, panting, and that damn pink tongue with those damn silver balls came out again to lick his damn perfect lips. Angel really wanted a taste.
"Spike," Angel said, sliding a hand behind the blond's head.
"Gnurgh..." said Spike.
"Spike," Angel said again, slowing his tempo.
"Mmm... yeah..." the blond said, rotating his hips down into Angel's and dragging the weeping head of his cock against the older man's abs. When the thrusts in his ass slowed down even more, his eyes popped open. "What are you - don't stop..."
Angel gripped Spike's hips firmly as he ceased all motion. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Spike," he said a third time.
"What is it, you pillock, that is so important that you 'ave to stop buggerin' me?" Spike snapped. His nostrils were flaring, and there was another fire in his eyes, just beneath the heat of arousal. It was perfect.
Angel leaned in and kissed him.
As first kisses go, this one left much to be desired. Spike hadn't been expecting it and his expression took on the characteristics of a surprised fish - all bugged-out eyes and tightly-puckered lips - and he was unresponsive, by in large, to Angel's ministrations. He broke away from the older man's mouth with a sharp squeak, retaining the wide eyes, and licked his lips. Huh. Angel taste.
No, it was the second kiss that did them both in. This time, Spike was ready, and his mouth opened under Angel's as the older man's tongue stroked along the seam of his lips. They both exhaled on little sighs as their tongues met and mingled, and it was only then that Angel started thrusting again.
Spike cupped the back of Angel's skull with his left hand, much like Angel cradled Spike's head, and there wasn't a trace of the surprised fish left anywhere in the building as his tongue twisted around the dark-haired man's. He rocked his hips down into the older man's, panting against his lips, and clutched at his shoulder with the hand that wasn't buried in his hair.
Angel moaned into the kiss, palming Spike's ass cheeks as he raised and lowered him on his cock. He drank in the taste of the blond, flicking his tongue over Spike's, and tasted the metal balls on the long, pink organ. He couldn't taste a difference between the tongue ring and Spike's mouth. And his mouth tasted every bit as good as Angel had hoped it would.
The blond wasn't sure who had broken the kiss. He only knew that Angel's lips were attacking his throat as if he wanted to sink his teeth in and leave a mark, and that the older man's tongue flickering over his pulse points was one of the hottest things he'd ever felt. His head fell back against the wall and he moaned. "Fuck..." He ground his ass down, taking more of Angel's cock inside, and humped against the dark-haired man's abs. "Unh, yeah! Harder... fuck me!"
Angel spread Spike's ass wider and fucked up into him harder. His mouth traveled across the younger man's shoulder, licking and sucking his collarbone. He wrapped one arm around Spike's waist and snaked the other hand between their bodies, fisting the blond's throbbing cock. "You're wound up so tight, aren't you...? Getting so hot for me..." he murmured, pumping his fist.
Spike groaned and bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on tightening his ass around Angel's pistoning shaft. He released his lip with a grin as Angel gasped against his shoulder. Then he clenched down again. "So fuckin' hot," he whispered harshly. "Feel so big inside me. Fuck me hard... Make me cum..." He found Angel's lips with his again, kissing him heatedly.
Angel groaned low in his throat and dove headfirst into the kiss, thrusting his tongue against Spike's as he pounded up into him. Both of his hands tightened a bit on the blond's flesh. His thumb roughly brushed over the head of Spike's cock and the smaller man shuddered against him.
Spike nipped at Angel's lower lip, then grasped it between his teeth and pulled back slightly. When he released it, it snapped back. Then he leaned in again for another kiss, hips jerking up against Angel's hand and down against his pelvis in a mindless rhythm. They kissed again and again, and Spike didn't care that his bare back was being abraded by the cold, cinder-block wall or that he probably wouldn't be able to sit down for awhile after the hard fucking that Angel was giving him. "Gonna cum," he warned, covering Angel's hand with his own.
"Me too," Angel said. He kissed Spike again, this time a bit sloppily. When he pulled back, he pressed Spike harder against the wall, staring into his eyes and daring him wordlessly to climax first. His tongue snaked out and licked across Spike's lips, and his harsh breaths mingled with Spike's in the few inches of space between their faces.
"Ohgodohfuck..." Spike moaned, his head rolling back again and resting on the wall. "Fuck... yeah... gonna... nnghohgod..." He thrust up into Angel's fist and cried out when Angel's lips descended on his throat, sucking at his Adam's apple. "Unh! Ungh! Hungh!" he grunted, jerking his hips up once, twice, and a third time as his balls drew up. His fingers bit into Angel's shoulders as he came, spilling all over the older man's hand and belly. "Yeah... fuck..."
Angel's lips parted with a hoarse cry as Spike's hole clenched tightly around him. He slid his clean hand down, fondling the blond's ass and gripping it hard. "Sp - agh - aaaahnghuagh!" he screamed as he slammed Spike down and his hips up, locking himself in place as his cock pulsed and flooded the condom.
Spike slumped against Angel, languid, panting harshly. His face was mashed to Angel's shoulder and he felt the older man's body trembling as he rode out his climax. Angel's weight held him to the wall and he hoped that they wouldn't start to slide.
Finally Angel was still, and he pulled out [too soon!], unwrapping Spike's legs from around his waist. His hand and belly were sticky with Spike's cum, and he wrapped his cleaner hand around the base of the condom, holding it in place on his softening cock. "You alright?" he asked, and Spike nodded.
The blond's knees buckled when his feet hit the floor. He leaned back heavily on the wall, breathing hard, waiting for his pulse to steady and feeling to return to his limbs before walking over to the sink to get cleaned up. He looked over at Angel, who was calmly wiping himself dry after a quick scrubbing with a washcloth, then returned his attention to the sink. He picked up a cloth, dampened it with warm water, and wiped up most of the lube that had run out of his still-open ass and down his legs. When he was completely clean, he made his way to the bed, flopping down on his side and covering himself with a blanket.
Angel decided to forego the nightly ritual of drawing Spike in his post-coital languor. Instead, he slipped into bed beside him and turned onto his side to face him. "You didn't mind, did you?" he asked.
"Mind what?" Spike questioned in return.
"That I kissed you," Angel said. He looked toward his toes. "If you did, I won't - "
"I didn't mind," the blond interjected.
"Oh. Well, good, then, because - "
Spike cut him off with a kiss. When he withdrew, he said, "Did you mind?"
Angel laughed.
"It occurs to me," Spike said, "that we've been shaggin' for well over a month now, an' I don't know the first thing about you." He rolled onto his back on the bed, folding back the business section of the newspaper, and scanned the stock quotes. "I mean, I know your last name an' that you're a good lay, but that's all."
"Well, it's not like we're dating," Angel said. He set his part of the paper aside. "I didn't think we needed to know anything about each other."
"Never mind then," Spike mumbled into the stock quotes.
The dark-haired man immediately sat up, looking contrite. "Hey," he said, pulling down the paper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you actually wanted to, you know, get to know me."
"Just a habit, I s'pose," Spike admitted. "If I don't learn about the person I'm shaggin' ahead of time, I try to by the two month mark. Never really been one for anonymous sex."
"I caught that by how reluctant you were your first day in," Angel said. He lay back again and stacked his hands behind his head. "Liam Angelus Killarney."
"What?" Spike set down the paper and turned his head to look at the man lying next to him.
"Me full name. Liam Angelus Killarney, son of Connor and Maeliosa Killarney; born on August the nineteenth, twenty-eight years ago, in Galway, Ireland. I've got a little sister named Catherine, a pretty lass o' twenty. Havena seen her for goin' on seven years." He got out of bed and picked his sketchbook up off the foot locker, then lay back down and flipped through the pages. "Here. This is Cathy."
Spike took the book from Angel, studying a drawing of a dark-haired girl about twelve or thirteen years of age. "You must miss her," he said, handing the book back to Angel. "Have you written to her?"
Angel shook his head. "When I came t' America, seven years ago, m'father cut all ties wit' me. I've heard naught from me family since I left Galway."
"Ye're a good-for-nothin' layabout, ye are!" Connor Killarney overturned his son's dresser drawers as he packed. "Goin' off to *America* t' be an *artist*. Ye bring shame on yer father, Liam. I wanted a son. Someone t' pass on th' good name of Killarney. Instead, I have a fairy that's no' worth my blood."
"I'll be gone soon enough, father, an' you won't have to look upon m' shameful face anymore," Liam said, biting down on the inside of his cheek and blinking furiously to keep the tears that were welling up in his eyes from falling.
"Go then," Connor said in disgust. "I want you out o' my home, Liam. Dinna expect me to take ye in again."
He winced and closed the book. "Mayhap I should speak 'f my experiences after I left Ireland," Angel said. "They're far more pleasant t' remember."
"Did you go straight to California?" Spike asked. "Or did you end up somewhere else first?" He moved to his side and slid one leg slightly in front of the other.
"Where else would th' stereotypical Irish immigrant artist go, mo rún," Angel asked, "but New York City?"
"You're hardly stereotypical," Spike muttered under his breath.
"I got m'self a tiny flat in the Bronx, set up a studio in th' kitchen, an' met a girl. Her name was Dru, an' a fairer lass I'd never seen. Eyes dark as night, skin pale as ivory, an' long, soft hair that begged to be touched. T'was about th' only touchable part of her, but I loved her just the same." He shifted, settling on his side and facing Spike.
"Was she the one - "
"That broke m' heart an' caused me to nearly commit murder?" Angel finished. "She's th' one. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself now. Within a few weeks, she'd moved into th' flat with me. Moved 'er drugs in, too."
"So she gave you the drugs..." Spike trailed off and shook his head sadly.
"Five months after I met Dru, I was addicted t' heroin. Look," he said, holding up his arm. There were very faint marks on his inner elbow where needles had pierced the skin, again and again. "If there's one thing positive I can say 'bout prison, it cleaned me up."
Spike touched the track mark scars lightly with his fingertips. "Didn't it hurt?"
"Only when I didn't have any," Angel said. "Ah, but you've never done anything so foul to yourself, have you, mo mhúirnín bán? That's good. Don't hurt yourself like that."
"Why did you cover up your accent?" the blond asked. He hadn't removed his hand from the older man's arm. "The American is so bland, an' it sounded almost forced."
"Th' same reason I didn't tell my father that I liked the boys in my classes a bit more than th' girls," Angel replied. "It's easier t' blend in than to stand out."
Spike made a face. "I've always liked standin' out, m'self," he said with a gesture toward his head. "Though, I'm in desperate need of a touch-up."
Angel chuckled, then looked down at Spike's hand on his arm. "We should see about gettin' you a bottle o' fingernail varnish," he said. "I noticed that your nails were black when you first came 'ere."
Spike shrugged. "I could do without," he said. He looked down at his fingers, then moved his gaze back up to Angel's face. His hand slid slowly up the older man's arm as he leaned in to kiss him.