Won't Back Down, Ch 7-9
Title: Won't Back Down
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: eventual NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU, punk!Spike and whitetrash!Angel find love in the snark with a little meddling from their best friends, Willow and Faith
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please, I am a fan of the constructive criticism! whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger!
beta'd by celticseductres, thanks doll!
Previous chapters here
Chapter 7
Faith rolled over and looked at the red digital readout. 3:40 in the morning. Who in the fuck was pounding on her door at 3:40 in the morning. Flipping the light switch and grabbing her metal baseball bat, she pulled open the motel door as far as the chain would allow.
It was Angel, looking…shocky. Like a car wreck victim. She shut the door and undid the chain, pulled him into the room. He didn’t look hurt, physically.
“Angel,” she shook him a little. “Angel what happened? Do we need to call the cops, come get your dad?” His dad hadn’t beaten him in years, not since he bulked up enough to stop it.
“He kissed me,” he murmured, sounding dumbfounded.
“What?” she said sharply, “Your dad kissed you??”
That seemed to snap the big guy back to the here and now. “No…eeww. Um, Spike. His car broke down…he kissed me. Really kissed me.” Her lips quirked up at the expression on his face, all surprise and confusion and a little wonder. He touched his lips like he was making sure they were still there, eyes flitting around the room blindly. “He really…really kissed me.”
“So…what you’re saying is…he kissed you,” she teased. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. The chuckle bubbled up and exploded into full, throaty laughter. She laughed harder at the indignance and annoyance that marred his features.
“This. isn’t. funny.” he declared in the steely, threatening voice that didn’t intimidate her a bit.
She finally wound down and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’re right, it’s tragic. Completely unexpected.” She tried for dry but another laugh blurbled up and ruined the effect. But she tamped it down as he started to look genuinely pissed. He sometimes appeared to be slow on the uptake, but she had known him her whole life. The hamster wheels of anxiety were running overtime when he looked his most blank. Sighing, she pulled on his hand and led him over to the still-warm sheets. So much for her night’s sleep. Crisis of sexual identity to solve.
“Alright, come on over here, curl up, and Mama Faith will make it all better,” she grinned fondly at his pacified expression. “Won’t even say I told you so.”
~*~*~*~
Angel felt better. Angel always felt better after talking things through with Faith though. She was…his woobie. Had been for as long as he could remember.
So, he had the hots for Spike. It had thrown him a little at first, admittedly-ok, a lot. But he never expected to be attracted to a guy. It’s not that he was a bigot like his father. He wasn’t hateful of people who didn’t fit the bolthole. Hell, he didn’t fit the bolthole, and not just for this. And he knew a lot of gay and bi kids in this town…nothing else to do around here other than sex, and not enough of a population to keep the goings-on secret for long. Having sex and going to the Bronze to find sex, that was the social scene. If he ever really thought about it at all, it was to mentally congratulate the bisexuals for being enterprising enough to double their odds of finding it. So, no homophobia. He had just never, personally, wanted another man. Didn’t expect that to pop up at this stage of the game (no pun intended). He’d been a little shell-shocked that it had…and how.
After Faith took out that anxiety and petted it (for some unfathomable reason, she called them hamsters…she thought she was being cute. God save him from Faith Evans’ sense of humor), he’d felt a little better, like the event was a little less earth-shattering. And sure, Spike was…a little problematic, but clearly he wasn’t all bad. Willow adored him (although, as the Devon incident had proven, Willow would adore Ted Bundy given the chance). Oz liked him enough to hang, regularly, and that was really saying something.
Faith had made a crack that maybe if he switched teams, he would ‘stop attracting soul-sucking leaches from hell…no offense.’
So Angel felt better. Back to himself. Alpha. His lips quirked as he thought of Willow. Wonder what she’d have to say about this-they’d sure be getting along now.
Faith had reminded him that this wasn’t so different from pursuing a woman (‘hell, he fits your physical profile’), except maybe he could be a little rougher, and the things that were different could be good (‘bet he gives great head. that boy has an oral fixation’). But he didn’t think this was going to be a quick one-off fuck, like Spike seemed think. Nope, this was gonna happen on his terms...even if he wasn’t quite sure what those were yet. He needed a plan, to put the ball back in his court. And he had one.
All of the freshman and sophomores poured around him towards the line of yellow buses, their Monday over. He strolled over to the gym wall. He’d known Spike would be there, getting his nicotine fix as always. Wandered up, feeling smug at Spike’s confusion at his directness, and lit up a cigarette. Took a long drag.
Spike studied Angel. This wasn’t what he expected. He figured Angel for avoiding him or confronting him, pissed as hell. But Angel just walked right up to him, looking large and relaxed and self-assured. Exuding the kind of confidence he had displayed when his hands were on Spike’s engine. Oozing well-being and watching Spike right back, square in the eye. It was hot as hell, but it creeped him out a little. Wasn’t the plan.
“So, I’ve got good news and bad news.” pause. “About your car.”
“Oh, right.” That’s why he looks so at ease. Denial it is, then. He smirked. He could work around denial.
“Part’s not in Sunnydale. It’ll take 10 days to get it in from our supplier in L.A.” Brown eyes watched him coolly, assessing.
“Bugger.” His mind began to sift through possible alternative for getting himself to the show this weekend. Didn’t want to take Willow and have to explain the process of fun all weekend. Didn’t want to take Devon and babysit his high. Didn’t want to take Oz now that Spike had set his mind to making he and Willow a reality. His girl deserved a good man, so he needed to stop monkeying around with Oz. Which meant no hanging around him until the seeds were planted. Temptation was too much…you’d think the boy didn’t have a gag reflex. That pretty much exhausted his supply of people he’d be willing to spend a whole weekend with. “Wait, what’s the good news then?”
“Good news is, I’m willing to drive you into L.A. tomorrow to pick up the part from another parts supplier I found.”
“We’ll never make it before 5, even if we leave right after school.”
“That’s why we’re gonna ditch.”
Spike squinted at him, suspicious. “Why would you do this for me? What’s the bloody catch?”
Angel smiled slowly, a toothy grin that suddenly made Spike feel like the mouse to his cat. Then, more suddenly, he was pressed back against the brick wall with Angel’s big palm pressed warmly against his now-racing heart. And Angel was looming over him, close enough for their clothing to brush. Woah.
Angel smelled like smoke and aftershave. He leaned down, lips brushing against Spike's ear. His voice, when it came, was low, and kind of smooth. “Catch is, I want another taste. How bout it…William?” Spike shivered. Who told the bloke his given name? He quaked a little again when Angel closed his teeth over Spike's earlobe and pulled down in a long slow draw. Panted, even. “I’ll let you know when.” Tongue grazing the curl of his ear. Spike's breath hitched.
And then Angel took a large step back, ground out the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Pick you up at 10am. In the tow truck.” Sauntered away, with a smirk on his face.
It wasn’t until his forgotten cigarette singed his fingertips that Spike realized…he’d been had. Bastard had turned the tables on him, and now when it came time for the argument about topping, he had no idea what was going to happen.
“Bugger.” Literally.
Chapter 8
Spike was standing outside by a row of neatly landscaped hedges, finishing a cigarette, when Angel pulled up in the tow truck. He was wearing a black wifebeater, which was kinda ironic, because Angel had opted for a clean white cotton t-shirt today. A little role reversal was good for the soul. As Spike had discovered. He smirked as he remembered yesterday’s incident behind the gym, but smoothed out his features into a smile as Spike swung up into the cab by the big handle in the doorframe.
“Hey, mate,” he said in a mocking version of pleased surprise, “See you managed to get both hands on an actual shirt today. Good on you.”
Angel just gave him a look and flipped through the radio stations as he pulled out of the circular drive. Settled on classic rock, which earned him a small snort, but obviously it wasn’t displeasing enough to His Highness’ ears to demand a change. They were pulling onto the freeway when Angel decided to make a stab at civil conversation. There was only one topic come to mind that might make that possible.
“So, Willow and Oz?” he asked, sliding Spike a sideways glance. “You think that’ll work?”
Spike was staring absently out the passenger window. “Red needs someone to show her how hot she is. And they’re sweet on each other. Oz is a good bloke. Good in the sack, too. He's a giver.” Spike's tone was too deep--a smug purr.
Angel took his eyes off the road and stared at him incredulously, suddenly angry at the casual reminder that he was pursuing the world’s biggest man-whore. “Is there anyone at Sunnydale High that you haven’t screwed in the past 4 months?”
Spike smirked. “Yeah. You.” He let that hang between them for a moment. “And the witch, ‘course.” Angel glared at him a little. “Cool your jets, O’Connor, if I wanted in her knickers, I’d be in ‘em by now.”
Angel grunted. That was true enough. God knows he had no shame about that kind of thing. So much for Willow being a neutral topic. Angel was a little surprised by what Spike said next.
“So you really care for her then, in that Knight-in-Shining-Mobil-Home way of yours. Not just usin’ her for her big brain and makin’ fun of her behind her back.” His voice lifted a little in question at the end. Angel looked over and saw that Spike was more than a little prickly at the idea. He turned back to the road.
“Willow has a good heart. She’s spent hours helping me get by in class,” he said easily, fibbing a little about his grades. “It's not her fault the sheep can’t see past her…fuzzy wardrobe choices. That girl’s going places, and she’s sweet enough to think she can take the likes of us with her. She has a real good heart.” Angel pressed his lips together in a tight line, sure he’d said too much. Revealed the soft underbelly to someone with claws.
“Looks like we can agree on something after all, then,” Spike said quietly, after a moment. “Girl made me promise last night that we’d both come back whole, so maybe we should call a cease-fire. For her sake.” They shared a sidelong glance before lapsing into silence that was more companionable than awkward.
Three miles down the road Angel thought, this is no good. The whole point of the little trip was to find out something about Spike, truth behind the rumor. Cease-fire meant Spike wouldn’t snark as much, right?
Angel cleared his throat. “So, how come you guys moved to Sunnydale, anyway?” He knew the rumors. Spike had killed someone in a drug-induced rage and they were running from British law. Spike had given syphilis to his entire student population and half of London and his family had to move, shame-faced. Spike had gotten in with a baby-eating cult and they had to move halfway around the world to break their hold on him. He snorted. People were morons.
“Mind if I smoke?” Ok, it looked like Spike was just going to ignore his question altogether.
“Go ahead, but crack the window. I bring this thing back reeking of cigarettes, my uncle will have my hide.” And Spike went back to staring out the window, taking drags off the cigarette. So much for conversation.
“Folks decided I was a bad, rude man,” Spike started suddenly, “and I’d be better foisted off into the countryside halfway ‘round the world than in the same city as my pop’s business connections. Rumors of my indiscretions were interfering with his god-complex.” His accent teased and lingered over the last word. Angel was surprised that Spike answered the question at all, much less so frankly. Spike was still facing the window. “He’s trying to start up a branch in L.A., tucked me down here out of the way, but close enough that he can pretend to be a good father when it suits.”
Angel took in the information, struggling to formulate a question that wouldn’t make Spike clam up. The natural thing would be to make a poor-little-rich-boy crack, but that would violate the cease-fire. And maybe reduce his chances of eventually getting laid. Gotta keep one eye on the prize, he laughed at himself.
“What does your dad do?” Neutral enough question, he congratulated himself.
“Buggered if I know,” Spike turned to grind the cigarette out on the sole of his boot before tossing it out the window. “Gets his arse kissed by pissants who worship him 80 hours a week. CEO of something astoundingly boring.”
“Least he makes good money. Keeps you and your mom comfortable.” He was a little miffed by Spike’s attitude. He just received a snort in reply.
“So…” he tried again, curious. “What did you do. The final straw that got you stationed out here.” Angel was side-eyeing the other boy when Spike turn toward him. Studied him with clear blue eyes, heavily kohled. The gaze was assessing and made Angel feel a little warm under the scrutiny. Eventually, a hand with heavy silver rings came up to card through the spikey white-blond hair, pausing to scratch the back of his head.
“Good old dad found me in the middle of a good hard fuck on his four-poster mahogany bed.” Spike paused, watching the brown eyes widen a little. “I think the male-male-female threesome was the real kicker.” Spike wanted to laugh at the expression on Angel’s face, knew he was currently grinning so broadly his eyes were all crinkled at the corners. He watched Angel struggle with what to make of the confession. He was sure the shit-eating grin wasn’t helping him assess its validity.
Was true, of course, but Angel didn’t need to know that for certain. Also, he’d left stuff out.
Left out the part where the boy and the girl were beloved children of two of his father’s most powerful business associates.
Left out the part where said business associates were standing on either side of his red-faced father when they were found.
Left out the part where the boy was slated to inherit a sizeable fortune and marry some vapid blond bint and pop lots of pretty pink babies, which he refused to do now because, oops, turns out he liked it up the butt.
Left out the part where he only avoided an arrest for possession of illicit substances and two counts of distribution to a minor because his father covered his ass by pulling every connection he had. They’d been willing, they had, but a little ecstasy helped to nudge them along. After all, the jumper-and-loafer set tended to be a little stuffy about an orgy.
At the time, Spike was trying to prove a point to his father, that it was best not to fuck with his social life by forcing him to take the baby yuppies and ‘keep them entertained during our meeting.’ Poor choice of words, that. And not Spike's best plan, come to think of it, as it had landed him here, in this American backwater, sadly sober and devoid of dosh.
He could see Angel almost settling on discounting the story as a lie. “What, you expected it to be the baby-sacrificing bit?”
Angel smiled. It was nice, that. “No, I just expected it to be something more…” he trailed off. “Caught one too many times with dilated pupils.”
“Nope, mate, when I bugger something up I do it with flare.” He looked out the window briefly. “Sides, my father never cared about any of that unless it hurt his business.”
He brushed aside the funny look from Angel. Grinned. “So what’s this I hear then, about you bein’ a regular potato-growin’ Mick. Look more like one of those loomin’ Mediterranean types to me…” Spike pitched his tone more at teasing than insulting to honor their peace treaty, and changed the subject.
Chapter 9
“Well that was painless then,” Spike babbled as they left the auto parts supply, “Can’t believe that would have taken a week.”
Angel shifted a little uncomfortably as he slid onto the truck’s bench seat. Faith assured him, in these circumstances, all lies to lull Spike into wanting more than sex were white ones. Still…
“Hey,” Angel said, trying for casual, “As long as we’re here, wanna go down to the beach, grab a dog and a cone? Seems like a shame to waste the nice weather rushing back to Sunnydale.”
Spike was squinting at him skeptically. “Sounds suspiciously like a date, Peaches. ‘M not gonna wear your pin.”
Angel blanched. He was hitting a little too close to the truth. During their diabolical brainstorming session, he and Faith had decided that Spike would never agree to anything sounding remotely like a date. Thus, the ruse.
By luck, a parts supplier in the city had the distributor for the classic car in stock, and he could have easily gotten the part overnighted for a little extra money. But then, he wouldn’t have learned about the orange tabby that Spike had left behind in London (‘Sid, cuz he was vicious’) or had the chance to tell him about the time Faith tried to pull her own tooth by tying the other end of a piece of dental floss around a branch and jumping out of the tree (‘Jesus, I always knew she was a crazy bint’). And he wouldn’t know that, as it turned out, he and Spike were perfectly capable of easy laughs and comfortable small-talk.
“Umm…it’s not like that, of course not. I’m just…hungry," he finished weakly.
Spike smiled to himself. So, the poor sod thought to wine him and dine him in the suave way of ‘parkies everywhere: with a hot dog at the boardwalk. It was kind of cute, really.
“‘Salright, mate, I was just kidding. What would you and I do on a date anyway?” Spike winked. Instead of blushing like he expected, Angel flashed him a surprisingly wicked grin instead. This just kept getting more interesting. Bloke had a way of teetering back and forth between blushing virgin and wicked dom that was intriguing. Made him want to suck away the hard shell to lick the gooey center.
Christ, his mind was now dwelling in a place of poetic candy porn. Always thought that owl was a ruddy pervert.
“Onward, Jeeves.”
~*~*~*~
The cone was good. He stood at the edge of the seawall, waiting for Spike to get his ice cream, watching the ocean. It was comforting to him, the rhythmic rush of the waves. Something that couldn’t be stopped by the force of man.
“Figures you’d get vanilla,” a voice commented behind him. “No bloody imagination.” Good-natured teasing. He turned back toward the leaner man.
“This way I don’t stain the shirt.” Snort. “Hey, some of us have to do our own laundry. Being a mechanic, my whites don’t exactly stay white.” Spike sniggered, probably because Angel sounded like a prissy housewife. “What kind did you get then, with all of your imagination.”
Spike just watched him intently, eyes hooded, and dragged the flat of his tongue in a broad lick up the side of the pastel-colored scoop. The ball of his tongue ring collected a thick glob of the confection, and Spike curled his tongue slightly to hold it in place as he pulled the treat back into his mouth. He smirked, no doubt at Angel’s rapt attention.
“Peaches and cream.” Voice low. Tongue flicked out to catch a little drizzle on his lower lip.
Fuuuuck. Angel's mouth went dry and he had nothing to say to that. He held the blue gaze. One thing’s for sure, his imagination was now working overtime. Spike was evil.
Angel cleared his throat. “Let’s head back towards the car, I should get the tow-truck back to my uncle before the evening commute.”
They wandered, chatting easily, their arms brushing together every so often as they walked. This sure as hell felt like a date, even if Spike didn’t want to call it that.
They ditched the rest of their ice cream cones in the trash can by the car, and without meaning to, Angel followed Spike around to the passenger side, focused on the lean muscle mass in his shoulders and the single brown mole on the pale scapula, revealed by the cut of the black wifebeater.
“Oi, Peaches, I know you fancy this a date, but no need to open my car door like I’m one of your bloody birds.” Spike's blue eyes were a little miffed. Angel grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the door of the truck, smirking a little as Spike’s eyes widened.
“Not about good manners.” Angel crowded him a little. Lifted the surprisingly dainty chin with one crooked finger. “Told you I’d say when.” Angel enjoyed, immensely, lowering his head to stop the angry protest to that with his mouth.
The kiss escalated a lot quicker than he intended. His tongue slid into the peach-flavored mouth that was still cool, the metal of barbell still frosty from the ice cream. He sighed. Spike tangled his tongue forcefully against Angel’s, strong fingers on the back of his neck holding him close.
Angel leaned in with his hips and pinned Spike to the car, letting out a little moan. They were both hard. One of Spike’s hands slid under the white cotton of Angel’s t-shirt to toy with the sensitive skin of his lower back. The slide of skin on skin, accentuated by the cool scrape of Spike’s rings, made his heart race. He shuddered, and began to reflexively rock his hips against Spike, rubbing erection against erection through their jeans, and for at least one of them, boxers.
God, Spike didn’t wear underwear.
Angel needed air, was too light-headed. He pulled his lips from Spike’s and panted, still rhythmically applying the friction where they both needed it most. Meeting Spike’s heavy-lidded, nearly-drugged gaze, he leaned down to scrape his teeth over the juncture of neck and shoulder in a love bite that earned him a pained little moan.
A loud sound over Angel's shoulder drew his attention and he froze, looking up at a man in a loud floral-print shirt, doing the slow-clap on the curb, staring unabashedly and grinning.
“You boys are so pretty, you could make good money doing that on stage.” Campy voice. The man actually reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Just give me a call if you’re interested. I’d cut you a good deal.” Angel just stared blankly at the card as the man walked away.
Spike burst into laughter, a broad, unhindered throaty sound he didn’t use very often. They’d just been propositioned by a strip club owner, and Angel was gasping like a fish out of water.
“This…he…we…” The poor git took a surreptitious glance around, suddenly realizing how public their little display had been.
Spike pulled Angel down and pressed a quick kiss against his still-shocked lips. “This is L.A., mate. And with the way we were carrying on, the pair of us, musta looked like some bloody pornographic version of West Side Story.” Not that he’d watch something as poncy as a musical about dancing street thugs. Ok, just that one time. But Willow made him, and asked him questions about big city life with wide eyes.
“…And we are awfully pretty.”
That got Spike going again with the laughter. Made Angel smile, really smile, big handsome row of teeth against his tanned skin, arms flexing under the white shirt as he braced his hands on either side of Spike’s head. This one’d do. For a little while.
“C’mon then, we’d best get back. And next time you jump my bones, do it in private.”
gimme more!
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: eventual NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU, punk!Spike and whitetrash!Angel find love in the snark with a little meddling from their best friends, Willow and Faith
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please, I am a fan of the constructive criticism! whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger!
beta'd by celticseductres, thanks doll!
Previous chapters here
Chapter 7
Faith rolled over and looked at the red digital readout. 3:40 in the morning. Who in the fuck was pounding on her door at 3:40 in the morning. Flipping the light switch and grabbing her metal baseball bat, she pulled open the motel door as far as the chain would allow.
It was Angel, looking…shocky. Like a car wreck victim. She shut the door and undid the chain, pulled him into the room. He didn’t look hurt, physically.
“Angel,” she shook him a little. “Angel what happened? Do we need to call the cops, come get your dad?” His dad hadn’t beaten him in years, not since he bulked up enough to stop it.
“He kissed me,” he murmured, sounding dumbfounded.
“What?” she said sharply, “Your dad kissed you??”
That seemed to snap the big guy back to the here and now. “No…eeww. Um, Spike. His car broke down…he kissed me. Really kissed me.” Her lips quirked up at the expression on his face, all surprise and confusion and a little wonder. He touched his lips like he was making sure they were still there, eyes flitting around the room blindly. “He really…really kissed me.”
“So…what you’re saying is…he kissed you,” she teased. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. The chuckle bubbled up and exploded into full, throaty laughter. She laughed harder at the indignance and annoyance that marred his features.
“This. isn’t. funny.” he declared in the steely, threatening voice that didn’t intimidate her a bit.
She finally wound down and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’re right, it’s tragic. Completely unexpected.” She tried for dry but another laugh blurbled up and ruined the effect. But she tamped it down as he started to look genuinely pissed. He sometimes appeared to be slow on the uptake, but she had known him her whole life. The hamster wheels of anxiety were running overtime when he looked his most blank. Sighing, she pulled on his hand and led him over to the still-warm sheets. So much for her night’s sleep. Crisis of sexual identity to solve.
“Alright, come on over here, curl up, and Mama Faith will make it all better,” she grinned fondly at his pacified expression. “Won’t even say I told you so.”
~*~*~*~
Angel felt better. Angel always felt better after talking things through with Faith though. She was…his woobie. Had been for as long as he could remember.
So, he had the hots for Spike. It had thrown him a little at first, admittedly-ok, a lot. But he never expected to be attracted to a guy. It’s not that he was a bigot like his father. He wasn’t hateful of people who didn’t fit the bolthole. Hell, he didn’t fit the bolthole, and not just for this. And he knew a lot of gay and bi kids in this town…nothing else to do around here other than sex, and not enough of a population to keep the goings-on secret for long. Having sex and going to the Bronze to find sex, that was the social scene. If he ever really thought about it at all, it was to mentally congratulate the bisexuals for being enterprising enough to double their odds of finding it. So, no homophobia. He had just never, personally, wanted another man. Didn’t expect that to pop up at this stage of the game (no pun intended). He’d been a little shell-shocked that it had…and how.
After Faith took out that anxiety and petted it (for some unfathomable reason, she called them hamsters…she thought she was being cute. God save him from Faith Evans’ sense of humor), he’d felt a little better, like the event was a little less earth-shattering. And sure, Spike was…a little problematic, but clearly he wasn’t all bad. Willow adored him (although, as the Devon incident had proven, Willow would adore Ted Bundy given the chance). Oz liked him enough to hang, regularly, and that was really saying something.
Faith had made a crack that maybe if he switched teams, he would ‘stop attracting soul-sucking leaches from hell…no offense.’
So Angel felt better. Back to himself. Alpha. His lips quirked as he thought of Willow. Wonder what she’d have to say about this-they’d sure be getting along now.
Faith had reminded him that this wasn’t so different from pursuing a woman (‘hell, he fits your physical profile’), except maybe he could be a little rougher, and the things that were different could be good (‘bet he gives great head. that boy has an oral fixation’). But he didn’t think this was going to be a quick one-off fuck, like Spike seemed think. Nope, this was gonna happen on his terms...even if he wasn’t quite sure what those were yet. He needed a plan, to put the ball back in his court. And he had one.
All of the freshman and sophomores poured around him towards the line of yellow buses, their Monday over. He strolled over to the gym wall. He’d known Spike would be there, getting his nicotine fix as always. Wandered up, feeling smug at Spike’s confusion at his directness, and lit up a cigarette. Took a long drag.
Spike studied Angel. This wasn’t what he expected. He figured Angel for avoiding him or confronting him, pissed as hell. But Angel just walked right up to him, looking large and relaxed and self-assured. Exuding the kind of confidence he had displayed when his hands were on Spike’s engine. Oozing well-being and watching Spike right back, square in the eye. It was hot as hell, but it creeped him out a little. Wasn’t the plan.
“So, I’ve got good news and bad news.” pause. “About your car.”
“Oh, right.” That’s why he looks so at ease. Denial it is, then. He smirked. He could work around denial.
“Part’s not in Sunnydale. It’ll take 10 days to get it in from our supplier in L.A.” Brown eyes watched him coolly, assessing.
“Bugger.” His mind began to sift through possible alternative for getting himself to the show this weekend. Didn’t want to take Willow and have to explain the process of fun all weekend. Didn’t want to take Devon and babysit his high. Didn’t want to take Oz now that Spike had set his mind to making he and Willow a reality. His girl deserved a good man, so he needed to stop monkeying around with Oz. Which meant no hanging around him until the seeds were planted. Temptation was too much…you’d think the boy didn’t have a gag reflex. That pretty much exhausted his supply of people he’d be willing to spend a whole weekend with. “Wait, what’s the good news then?”
“Good news is, I’m willing to drive you into L.A. tomorrow to pick up the part from another parts supplier I found.”
“We’ll never make it before 5, even if we leave right after school.”
“That’s why we’re gonna ditch.”
Spike squinted at him, suspicious. “Why would you do this for me? What’s the bloody catch?”
Angel smiled slowly, a toothy grin that suddenly made Spike feel like the mouse to his cat. Then, more suddenly, he was pressed back against the brick wall with Angel’s big palm pressed warmly against his now-racing heart. And Angel was looming over him, close enough for their clothing to brush. Woah.
Angel smelled like smoke and aftershave. He leaned down, lips brushing against Spike's ear. His voice, when it came, was low, and kind of smooth. “Catch is, I want another taste. How bout it…William?” Spike shivered. Who told the bloke his given name? He quaked a little again when Angel closed his teeth over Spike's earlobe and pulled down in a long slow draw. Panted, even. “I’ll let you know when.” Tongue grazing the curl of his ear. Spike's breath hitched.
And then Angel took a large step back, ground out the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Pick you up at 10am. In the tow truck.” Sauntered away, with a smirk on his face.
It wasn’t until his forgotten cigarette singed his fingertips that Spike realized…he’d been had. Bastard had turned the tables on him, and now when it came time for the argument about topping, he had no idea what was going to happen.
“Bugger.” Literally.
Chapter 8
Spike was standing outside by a row of neatly landscaped hedges, finishing a cigarette, when Angel pulled up in the tow truck. He was wearing a black wifebeater, which was kinda ironic, because Angel had opted for a clean white cotton t-shirt today. A little role reversal was good for the soul. As Spike had discovered. He smirked as he remembered yesterday’s incident behind the gym, but smoothed out his features into a smile as Spike swung up into the cab by the big handle in the doorframe.
“Hey, mate,” he said in a mocking version of pleased surprise, “See you managed to get both hands on an actual shirt today. Good on you.”
Angel just gave him a look and flipped through the radio stations as he pulled out of the circular drive. Settled on classic rock, which earned him a small snort, but obviously it wasn’t displeasing enough to His Highness’ ears to demand a change. They were pulling onto the freeway when Angel decided to make a stab at civil conversation. There was only one topic come to mind that might make that possible.
“So, Willow and Oz?” he asked, sliding Spike a sideways glance. “You think that’ll work?”
Spike was staring absently out the passenger window. “Red needs someone to show her how hot she is. And they’re sweet on each other. Oz is a good bloke. Good in the sack, too. He's a giver.” Spike's tone was too deep--a smug purr.
Angel took his eyes off the road and stared at him incredulously, suddenly angry at the casual reminder that he was pursuing the world’s biggest man-whore. “Is there anyone at Sunnydale High that you haven’t screwed in the past 4 months?”
Spike smirked. “Yeah. You.” He let that hang between them for a moment. “And the witch, ‘course.” Angel glared at him a little. “Cool your jets, O’Connor, if I wanted in her knickers, I’d be in ‘em by now.”
Angel grunted. That was true enough. God knows he had no shame about that kind of thing. So much for Willow being a neutral topic. Angel was a little surprised by what Spike said next.
“So you really care for her then, in that Knight-in-Shining-Mobil-Home way of yours. Not just usin’ her for her big brain and makin’ fun of her behind her back.” His voice lifted a little in question at the end. Angel looked over and saw that Spike was more than a little prickly at the idea. He turned back to the road.
“Willow has a good heart. She’s spent hours helping me get by in class,” he said easily, fibbing a little about his grades. “It's not her fault the sheep can’t see past her…fuzzy wardrobe choices. That girl’s going places, and she’s sweet enough to think she can take the likes of us with her. She has a real good heart.” Angel pressed his lips together in a tight line, sure he’d said too much. Revealed the soft underbelly to someone with claws.
“Looks like we can agree on something after all, then,” Spike said quietly, after a moment. “Girl made me promise last night that we’d both come back whole, so maybe we should call a cease-fire. For her sake.” They shared a sidelong glance before lapsing into silence that was more companionable than awkward.
Three miles down the road Angel thought, this is no good. The whole point of the little trip was to find out something about Spike, truth behind the rumor. Cease-fire meant Spike wouldn’t snark as much, right?
Angel cleared his throat. “So, how come you guys moved to Sunnydale, anyway?” He knew the rumors. Spike had killed someone in a drug-induced rage and they were running from British law. Spike had given syphilis to his entire student population and half of London and his family had to move, shame-faced. Spike had gotten in with a baby-eating cult and they had to move halfway around the world to break their hold on him. He snorted. People were morons.
“Mind if I smoke?” Ok, it looked like Spike was just going to ignore his question altogether.
“Go ahead, but crack the window. I bring this thing back reeking of cigarettes, my uncle will have my hide.” And Spike went back to staring out the window, taking drags off the cigarette. So much for conversation.
“Folks decided I was a bad, rude man,” Spike started suddenly, “and I’d be better foisted off into the countryside halfway ‘round the world than in the same city as my pop’s business connections. Rumors of my indiscretions were interfering with his god-complex.” His accent teased and lingered over the last word. Angel was surprised that Spike answered the question at all, much less so frankly. Spike was still facing the window. “He’s trying to start up a branch in L.A., tucked me down here out of the way, but close enough that he can pretend to be a good father when it suits.”
Angel took in the information, struggling to formulate a question that wouldn’t make Spike clam up. The natural thing would be to make a poor-little-rich-boy crack, but that would violate the cease-fire. And maybe reduce his chances of eventually getting laid. Gotta keep one eye on the prize, he laughed at himself.
“What does your dad do?” Neutral enough question, he congratulated himself.
“Buggered if I know,” Spike turned to grind the cigarette out on the sole of his boot before tossing it out the window. “Gets his arse kissed by pissants who worship him 80 hours a week. CEO of something astoundingly boring.”
“Least he makes good money. Keeps you and your mom comfortable.” He was a little miffed by Spike’s attitude. He just received a snort in reply.
“So…” he tried again, curious. “What did you do. The final straw that got you stationed out here.” Angel was side-eyeing the other boy when Spike turn toward him. Studied him with clear blue eyes, heavily kohled. The gaze was assessing and made Angel feel a little warm under the scrutiny. Eventually, a hand with heavy silver rings came up to card through the spikey white-blond hair, pausing to scratch the back of his head.
“Good old dad found me in the middle of a good hard fuck on his four-poster mahogany bed.” Spike paused, watching the brown eyes widen a little. “I think the male-male-female threesome was the real kicker.” Spike wanted to laugh at the expression on Angel’s face, knew he was currently grinning so broadly his eyes were all crinkled at the corners. He watched Angel struggle with what to make of the confession. He was sure the shit-eating grin wasn’t helping him assess its validity.
Was true, of course, but Angel didn’t need to know that for certain. Also, he’d left stuff out.
Left out the part where the boy and the girl were beloved children of two of his father’s most powerful business associates.
Left out the part where said business associates were standing on either side of his red-faced father when they were found.
Left out the part where the boy was slated to inherit a sizeable fortune and marry some vapid blond bint and pop lots of pretty pink babies, which he refused to do now because, oops, turns out he liked it up the butt.
Left out the part where he only avoided an arrest for possession of illicit substances and two counts of distribution to a minor because his father covered his ass by pulling every connection he had. They’d been willing, they had, but a little ecstasy helped to nudge them along. After all, the jumper-and-loafer set tended to be a little stuffy about an orgy.
At the time, Spike was trying to prove a point to his father, that it was best not to fuck with his social life by forcing him to take the baby yuppies and ‘keep them entertained during our meeting.’ Poor choice of words, that. And not Spike's best plan, come to think of it, as it had landed him here, in this American backwater, sadly sober and devoid of dosh.
He could see Angel almost settling on discounting the story as a lie. “What, you expected it to be the baby-sacrificing bit?”
Angel smiled. It was nice, that. “No, I just expected it to be something more…” he trailed off. “Caught one too many times with dilated pupils.”
“Nope, mate, when I bugger something up I do it with flare.” He looked out the window briefly. “Sides, my father never cared about any of that unless it hurt his business.”
He brushed aside the funny look from Angel. Grinned. “So what’s this I hear then, about you bein’ a regular potato-growin’ Mick. Look more like one of those loomin’ Mediterranean types to me…” Spike pitched his tone more at teasing than insulting to honor their peace treaty, and changed the subject.
Chapter 9
“Well that was painless then,” Spike babbled as they left the auto parts supply, “Can’t believe that would have taken a week.”
Angel shifted a little uncomfortably as he slid onto the truck’s bench seat. Faith assured him, in these circumstances, all lies to lull Spike into wanting more than sex were white ones. Still…
“Hey,” Angel said, trying for casual, “As long as we’re here, wanna go down to the beach, grab a dog and a cone? Seems like a shame to waste the nice weather rushing back to Sunnydale.”
Spike was squinting at him skeptically. “Sounds suspiciously like a date, Peaches. ‘M not gonna wear your pin.”
Angel blanched. He was hitting a little too close to the truth. During their diabolical brainstorming session, he and Faith had decided that Spike would never agree to anything sounding remotely like a date. Thus, the ruse.
By luck, a parts supplier in the city had the distributor for the classic car in stock, and he could have easily gotten the part overnighted for a little extra money. But then, he wouldn’t have learned about the orange tabby that Spike had left behind in London (‘Sid, cuz he was vicious’) or had the chance to tell him about the time Faith tried to pull her own tooth by tying the other end of a piece of dental floss around a branch and jumping out of the tree (‘Jesus, I always knew she was a crazy bint’). And he wouldn’t know that, as it turned out, he and Spike were perfectly capable of easy laughs and comfortable small-talk.
“Umm…it’s not like that, of course not. I’m just…hungry," he finished weakly.
Spike smiled to himself. So, the poor sod thought to wine him and dine him in the suave way of ‘parkies everywhere: with a hot dog at the boardwalk. It was kind of cute, really.
“‘Salright, mate, I was just kidding. What would you and I do on a date anyway?” Spike winked. Instead of blushing like he expected, Angel flashed him a surprisingly wicked grin instead. This just kept getting more interesting. Bloke had a way of teetering back and forth between blushing virgin and wicked dom that was intriguing. Made him want to suck away the hard shell to lick the gooey center.
Christ, his mind was now dwelling in a place of poetic candy porn. Always thought that owl was a ruddy pervert.
“Onward, Jeeves.”
~*~*~*~
The cone was good. He stood at the edge of the seawall, waiting for Spike to get his ice cream, watching the ocean. It was comforting to him, the rhythmic rush of the waves. Something that couldn’t be stopped by the force of man.
“Figures you’d get vanilla,” a voice commented behind him. “No bloody imagination.” Good-natured teasing. He turned back toward the leaner man.
“This way I don’t stain the shirt.” Snort. “Hey, some of us have to do our own laundry. Being a mechanic, my whites don’t exactly stay white.” Spike sniggered, probably because Angel sounded like a prissy housewife. “What kind did you get then, with all of your imagination.”
Spike just watched him intently, eyes hooded, and dragged the flat of his tongue in a broad lick up the side of the pastel-colored scoop. The ball of his tongue ring collected a thick glob of the confection, and Spike curled his tongue slightly to hold it in place as he pulled the treat back into his mouth. He smirked, no doubt at Angel’s rapt attention.
“Peaches and cream.” Voice low. Tongue flicked out to catch a little drizzle on his lower lip.
Fuuuuck. Angel's mouth went dry and he had nothing to say to that. He held the blue gaze. One thing’s for sure, his imagination was now working overtime. Spike was evil.
Angel cleared his throat. “Let’s head back towards the car, I should get the tow-truck back to my uncle before the evening commute.”
They wandered, chatting easily, their arms brushing together every so often as they walked. This sure as hell felt like a date, even if Spike didn’t want to call it that.
They ditched the rest of their ice cream cones in the trash can by the car, and without meaning to, Angel followed Spike around to the passenger side, focused on the lean muscle mass in his shoulders and the single brown mole on the pale scapula, revealed by the cut of the black wifebeater.
“Oi, Peaches, I know you fancy this a date, but no need to open my car door like I’m one of your bloody birds.” Spike's blue eyes were a little miffed. Angel grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the door of the truck, smirking a little as Spike’s eyes widened.
“Not about good manners.” Angel crowded him a little. Lifted the surprisingly dainty chin with one crooked finger. “Told you I’d say when.” Angel enjoyed, immensely, lowering his head to stop the angry protest to that with his mouth.
The kiss escalated a lot quicker than he intended. His tongue slid into the peach-flavored mouth that was still cool, the metal of barbell still frosty from the ice cream. He sighed. Spike tangled his tongue forcefully against Angel’s, strong fingers on the back of his neck holding him close.
Angel leaned in with his hips and pinned Spike to the car, letting out a little moan. They were both hard. One of Spike’s hands slid under the white cotton of Angel’s t-shirt to toy with the sensitive skin of his lower back. The slide of skin on skin, accentuated by the cool scrape of Spike’s rings, made his heart race. He shuddered, and began to reflexively rock his hips against Spike, rubbing erection against erection through their jeans, and for at least one of them, boxers.
God, Spike didn’t wear underwear.
Angel needed air, was too light-headed. He pulled his lips from Spike’s and panted, still rhythmically applying the friction where they both needed it most. Meeting Spike’s heavy-lidded, nearly-drugged gaze, he leaned down to scrape his teeth over the juncture of neck and shoulder in a love bite that earned him a pained little moan.
A loud sound over Angel's shoulder drew his attention and he froze, looking up at a man in a loud floral-print shirt, doing the slow-clap on the curb, staring unabashedly and grinning.
“You boys are so pretty, you could make good money doing that on stage.” Campy voice. The man actually reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Just give me a call if you’re interested. I’d cut you a good deal.” Angel just stared blankly at the card as the man walked away.
Spike burst into laughter, a broad, unhindered throaty sound he didn’t use very often. They’d just been propositioned by a strip club owner, and Angel was gasping like a fish out of water.
“This…he…we…” The poor git took a surreptitious glance around, suddenly realizing how public their little display had been.
Spike pulled Angel down and pressed a quick kiss against his still-shocked lips. “This is L.A., mate. And with the way we were carrying on, the pair of us, musta looked like some bloody pornographic version of West Side Story.” Not that he’d watch something as poncy as a musical about dancing street thugs. Ok, just that one time. But Willow made him, and asked him questions about big city life with wide eyes.
“…And we are awfully pretty.”
That got Spike going again with the laughter. Made Angel smile, really smile, big handsome row of teeth against his tanned skin, arms flexing under the white shirt as he braced his hands on either side of Spike’s head. This one’d do. For a little while.
“C’mon then, we’d best get back. And next time you jump my bones, do it in private.”
gimme more!