Backup, Chapter 9
Title: Backup: the Won’t Back Down sequel
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU sequel to WBD, the boys learn how to be men and face the world together. Um, some less pretty things are gonna happen here. I’m just sayin’.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please :)
Won’t Back Down and related ficlets are here
banner by the lovely sueworld2003
oh, and this is nom'd at the Forbidden awards.
Chapter 9
Angel awoke the next morning to find himself curled around Spike’s back. He sighed happily and snuggled closer. This was how they woke up most mornings, and he loved having Spike all warm and sleepy against him. Any minute now, Spike would roll over and initiate some lazy naughty touching, and they’d start the day off right.
So Angel was confused for a moment when Spike stirred awake and immediately stiffened in his arms. When Angel remembered everything that had occurred the night before, the reaction made a whole lot more sense.
They had fought. Right. Time for making up. Spike had been so prickly, the last few days.
Angel’s hold tightened on Spike when the other boy tried to move away. Spike struggled briefly, and then sighed, exasperated. “Let me go, you big berk.”
Angel’s response was to squeeze him tighter, and lightly brush his lips over the back of Spike’s neck. He smiled a little to himself when Spike jumped at the touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
When that got no reaction, Angel imagined that Spike was scowling at the wall in a snit. He tried again, brushing little kisses over the most sensitive areas of Spike’s neck, where the skin always seemed the thinnest. Spike’s magic hot spots, which always made him squirm and pant. Spike didn’t react quite as he should, but after a while, he sort of melted back against Angel with reluctant compliance. When Spike was lax and loose, Angel tried to apologize again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was applying to college. It’s not exactly a subject you’re all that crazy about anyway, and it’s just…I’ll be embarrassed enough for Willow to know, when I get rejected.”
Spike sighed and then grunted half-charitably, arching his neck without subtlety for more attention. “You’re not gonna get rejected, you dumb bastard.”
His tone was grudgingly affectionate, at utter odds with the gruff words. Angel grinned against Spike’s hair, where the grumpy boy couldn’t see and get annoyed with that Angel found humor in the situation.
Angel nipped at the offered neck. “Oh, sweetheart, darling, pookie, love-butt. Stop it, you’re embarrassing me with your steadfast belief in me, and your flowery compliments.”
Spike rolled over with a lopsided, exasperated grin. “You’re an arsehole,” he laughed. His eyes went wide when Angel reached down and squeezed one butt cheek.
“Actually, I’d rather you bottom for now. I don’t know if I feel up to using mine just yet.” When Spike immediately reached for his sweatpants, Angel grabbed his hands, chuckling. “Tonight. You’re dad’s leaving today. Be a good boy and wait until tonight, and I’ll promise to talk dirty, the way you like.”
Spike gave him a long look, impatience mingling with interest. “Deal.” He hopped out of bed. “Let’s see if the wanker needs help getting out the door. Sooner he’s gone, the sooner I’ll be greased up with lube, doing the happy prostate dance.”
~*~*~*~
And that’s how Spike had honestly believed it would happen. How else could it have possibly gone, other than waving goodbye to his father in the drive and then going inside to spend the remainder of his Sunday getting gleefully shagged rotten by his boyfriend?
Later, Spike would try to dissect how the whole thing had gone arse over tit so quickly, given how well the morning had begun. It’s funny how that could happen. One small spark falling on a waiting stack of powder kegs, and the whole bloody warehouse goes to pieces in a ball of flame.
One little spark, if the wind was right.
~*~*~*~
Spike’s dad slammed the boot of the car on his suitcase. “Alright, William, you can expect me next weekend, barring an emergency at the office.”
Spike rolled his eyes. His father had announced his intention to come home more often this morning when he’d brought up the subject of Angel’s legal guardianship. Spike would believe it when he saw it. His dad was always promising to come home every weekend, yet this was the first he’d seen of him in two months.
“Funny how your ‘emergencies’ always come packaged with mounds of silicon and a pathetic understanding of anything that happened before the mid-80s.”
With an annoyed and put-upon look that Spike felt sure his father rehearsed in the mirror, Spike was dismissed. Thomas turned to Angel, who shook his hand vigorously as Thomas confirmed that paperwork would be forthcoming.
“Thank you again, sir, I really can’t say it enough. You really don’t have to-” Spike tuned out as Angel continued to gush, as he had all morning. The old man looked nearly as uncomfortable as Spike felt himself. He understood Angel’s gratitude-of course he did-but that didn’t stop it from curdling in his stomach like bad milk. He didn’t want Angel to like the man, since Spike could hardly stand to look at him. Spike had decided to forget last night’s strangeness, but he found he couldn’t quite let it go. He wanted to, but….
They finished their farewells-Thomas’ stiff, Spike’s caustic, and Angel’s overly-enthusiastic-and then Spike’s father climbed behind the wheel of his Midlife-Crisis Mobile and drove away, probably not to be heard from again until September.
Spike grabbed Angel’s hand and dragged him inside, shouting gamely at his father’s retreating car, “Good bloody riddance. Finally!” Spike had no doubt Thomas heard. The top was down.
Angel in hand, Spike abruptly detoured to the kitchen and began to dig around in the refrigerator for Hershey’s syrup and other fun assorted items. If he had waited this long to fuck, they were going to make it extra mind-numbingly good.
Angel gave a little sigh behind him. “You really shouldn’t do that, you know.”
“Do what, luv?” Spike called from the depths of his expedition, arms full of tasty smearable condiments. “If you’re worried about the bleeding sheets, we can just do this right here in the kitchen. Tile, see? Quite moppable. I’ll even do the honors, since I’m feeling charitable.”
“No. I mean, talk to your dad that way.”
Spike popped his head out of the fridge, and he deposited the items onto the island counter, kicking the fridge shut. He frowned a little. “And I really don’t think you should tell me how to relate to the wanker. Come on now, let’s get you out of those-”
“I just think with everything he’s done, you should try to be a little more civil with him.”
“You don’t have a bloody idea what you’re talking about, Liam.” Spike interrupted. He braced his arms against the counter, and tried not to lose his grip on the matter at hand. Anger was beginning to bubble up over his good mood, and it was clouding his desire to shag. “Just drop it.”
Angel pressed his lips together, and Spike knew right then that he wasn’t going to let the matter rest. Couldn’t the git pick a fight later? In the afterglow, even. Fine, whatever. “He’s a good man, Spike. He cares-”
“Yeah, well, he has a real fine way of showing it! Must be hidden under all that disgust and disappointment.”
“I know it looks that way,” Angel said calmly. His tone was so sodding reasonable that Spike wanted to shake him. “But I don’t think that’s how he really feels about you.”
“Yes, it is.” Spike bit off. The cold from the icebox was creeping up through his fingers to the base of his skull. He felt a headache coming on. “It looks that way, because it is that way. The man can’t leave well enough alone.”
Angel snorted. “Oh yeah, like he’s the only one? Maybe if you would stop being a brat around him for five minutes the two of you could-”
Spike gaped at him. “A brat. A brat?? So this is all on me, is it?” He could feel his voice getting shrill, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe his ears. Why in the bloody hell would Angel take his father’s side in all this? He felt cold, and very suddenly not in the mood any longer. The devil must be lacing up his ice skates.
“No,” Angel said firmly, with a touch of irritation. “I didn’t say it was all you. I’m just saying, your dad’s a reasonable man, if you’d just-”
Spike laughed. “That’s fucking rich, Angel. You’ve known him for 48 hours, and you, frankly, don’t know shit. That man? Is not reasonable. Not to his own flesh and blood, cuddly as he may have been with you.”
“You’re really not giving him enough credit, Spike,” Angel said in this world-weary tone that, honestly, made Spike want to punch him in the face. His temper escalated sharply.
“Just which one of us are you shagging anyway?” Spike shouted. He threw his hands up before yelling “Oh, that’s right, it sure as hell isn’t me! Because God forbid, we let Spike get a leg over!”
This time it was Angel’s jaw that hit the floor. “That isn’t my…I’ve been fucking injured, you ass! God, you are such a fucking spoiled little kid. You never try to see things from the other side. Always thinking about yourself.”
Spike scoffed in disbelief. His blood was boiling. “I am always thinking about myself. I am. You have some fucking nerve, Liam. I have done nothing but tip-toe around you for a fucking month and a half while you sulked. And if I’m a spoiled brat?!?” Spike jerkily scooped up the food on the counter top and shook a bottle at Angel, chucking the stuff back in the fridge. “You sure as bloody hell haven’t minded taking advantage of it.”
Spike’s hands were shaking. Some dim, reasonable corner of his mind was telling him he hadn’t really meant that, but the rest of him was cheering to get a direct hit back at Angel, who now looked as pissed as Spike felt.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was such a goddamn burden to you! Wake up and see how freaking lucky you are. Some people would kill to have a dad like yours, as hard as it is for that concept to bore through that concrete you call a skull!” Now Angel was shouting too, and looked prepared to get right in Spike’s face about it.
Spike’s jaw clenched, and words flew out, completely apropos of coherent forethought.
“Yeah. Well, if you love him so much and find him to be Ward fucking Cleaver, you can keep him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to step in and play father for a sodding nancy-boy like….”
Suddenly Angel looked so stricken, the rest of the flippant taunt died away. The look on his face was so…injured, it made Spike play back his own words, to find what had made Liam look as though he’d been slammed over the head with a two-by-four. When it all clicked into place, Spike’s breath stuck in his lungs until they burned. His shoes were wedged into the tile.
Angel opened his mouth to speak and then slammed it shut again. He looked enraged and wounded in equal measure, and Spike felt like shite, even though he hadn’t meant it like that. Just a stupid throwaway dig, but right now it didn’t seem stupid, because Angel looked poised to either hit him or cry. Maybe both.
“Angel….”
The words all stuck in his throat, catching there and tearing the tissue like sharp little cogs. He was too…sorry, or angry, or shocked, or…something, to get the apology out. The moment stretched on and Angel’s face settled into something impenetrable, and Spike didn’t know how to fix it. Angel had said a lot of things, a lot of really fucking hurtful things, and Spike was meant to apologize, for something he hadn’t even intended to be hurtful?
Bollocks to that.
And besides, the moment had passed and now Angel looked like he’d spit at the next word that came out of Spike’s mouth. What the fuck had just happened? They were meant to be halfway to orgasm by now.
Instead, the air in the kitchen was oppressive, and he felt utterly out of options. Angel hardly looked like Angel. He looked…unwelcoming, and cold.
So Spike turned and walked away. Just turned away and buggered off. He felt sick with the certainty that everything was suddenly different, and the only thing he could think to do was slam as many doors between himself and Angel as possible.
Because the things they’d said to one another were the kinds of things you couldn’t take back.
continued here
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU sequel to WBD, the boys learn how to be men and face the world together. Um, some less pretty things are gonna happen here. I’m just sayin’.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please :)
Won’t Back Down and related ficlets are here
banner by the lovely sueworld2003
oh, and this is nom'd at the Forbidden awards.
Chapter 9
Angel awoke the next morning to find himself curled around Spike’s back. He sighed happily and snuggled closer. This was how they woke up most mornings, and he loved having Spike all warm and sleepy against him. Any minute now, Spike would roll over and initiate some lazy naughty touching, and they’d start the day off right.
So Angel was confused for a moment when Spike stirred awake and immediately stiffened in his arms. When Angel remembered everything that had occurred the night before, the reaction made a whole lot more sense.
They had fought. Right. Time for making up. Spike had been so prickly, the last few days.
Angel’s hold tightened on Spike when the other boy tried to move away. Spike struggled briefly, and then sighed, exasperated. “Let me go, you big berk.”
Angel’s response was to squeeze him tighter, and lightly brush his lips over the back of Spike’s neck. He smiled a little to himself when Spike jumped at the touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
When that got no reaction, Angel imagined that Spike was scowling at the wall in a snit. He tried again, brushing little kisses over the most sensitive areas of Spike’s neck, where the skin always seemed the thinnest. Spike’s magic hot spots, which always made him squirm and pant. Spike didn’t react quite as he should, but after a while, he sort of melted back against Angel with reluctant compliance. When Spike was lax and loose, Angel tried to apologize again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was applying to college. It’s not exactly a subject you’re all that crazy about anyway, and it’s just…I’ll be embarrassed enough for Willow to know, when I get rejected.”
Spike sighed and then grunted half-charitably, arching his neck without subtlety for more attention. “You’re not gonna get rejected, you dumb bastard.”
His tone was grudgingly affectionate, at utter odds with the gruff words. Angel grinned against Spike’s hair, where the grumpy boy couldn’t see and get annoyed with that Angel found humor in the situation.
Angel nipped at the offered neck. “Oh, sweetheart, darling, pookie, love-butt. Stop it, you’re embarrassing me with your steadfast belief in me, and your flowery compliments.”
Spike rolled over with a lopsided, exasperated grin. “You’re an arsehole,” he laughed. His eyes went wide when Angel reached down and squeezed one butt cheek.
“Actually, I’d rather you bottom for now. I don’t know if I feel up to using mine just yet.” When Spike immediately reached for his sweatpants, Angel grabbed his hands, chuckling. “Tonight. You’re dad’s leaving today. Be a good boy and wait until tonight, and I’ll promise to talk dirty, the way you like.”
Spike gave him a long look, impatience mingling with interest. “Deal.” He hopped out of bed. “Let’s see if the wanker needs help getting out the door. Sooner he’s gone, the sooner I’ll be greased up with lube, doing the happy prostate dance.”
~*~*~*~
And that’s how Spike had honestly believed it would happen. How else could it have possibly gone, other than waving goodbye to his father in the drive and then going inside to spend the remainder of his Sunday getting gleefully shagged rotten by his boyfriend?
Later, Spike would try to dissect how the whole thing had gone arse over tit so quickly, given how well the morning had begun. It’s funny how that could happen. One small spark falling on a waiting stack of powder kegs, and the whole bloody warehouse goes to pieces in a ball of flame.
One little spark, if the wind was right.
~*~*~*~
Spike’s dad slammed the boot of the car on his suitcase. “Alright, William, you can expect me next weekend, barring an emergency at the office.”
Spike rolled his eyes. His father had announced his intention to come home more often this morning when he’d brought up the subject of Angel’s legal guardianship. Spike would believe it when he saw it. His dad was always promising to come home every weekend, yet this was the first he’d seen of him in two months.
“Funny how your ‘emergencies’ always come packaged with mounds of silicon and a pathetic understanding of anything that happened before the mid-80s.”
With an annoyed and put-upon look that Spike felt sure his father rehearsed in the mirror, Spike was dismissed. Thomas turned to Angel, who shook his hand vigorously as Thomas confirmed that paperwork would be forthcoming.
“Thank you again, sir, I really can’t say it enough. You really don’t have to-” Spike tuned out as Angel continued to gush, as he had all morning. The old man looked nearly as uncomfortable as Spike felt himself. He understood Angel’s gratitude-of course he did-but that didn’t stop it from curdling in his stomach like bad milk. He didn’t want Angel to like the man, since Spike could hardly stand to look at him. Spike had decided to forget last night’s strangeness, but he found he couldn’t quite let it go. He wanted to, but….
They finished their farewells-Thomas’ stiff, Spike’s caustic, and Angel’s overly-enthusiastic-and then Spike’s father climbed behind the wheel of his Midlife-Crisis Mobile and drove away, probably not to be heard from again until September.
Spike grabbed Angel’s hand and dragged him inside, shouting gamely at his father’s retreating car, “Good bloody riddance. Finally!” Spike had no doubt Thomas heard. The top was down.
Angel in hand, Spike abruptly detoured to the kitchen and began to dig around in the refrigerator for Hershey’s syrup and other fun assorted items. If he had waited this long to fuck, they were going to make it extra mind-numbingly good.
Angel gave a little sigh behind him. “You really shouldn’t do that, you know.”
“Do what, luv?” Spike called from the depths of his expedition, arms full of tasty smearable condiments. “If you’re worried about the bleeding sheets, we can just do this right here in the kitchen. Tile, see? Quite moppable. I’ll even do the honors, since I’m feeling charitable.”
“No. I mean, talk to your dad that way.”
Spike popped his head out of the fridge, and he deposited the items onto the island counter, kicking the fridge shut. He frowned a little. “And I really don’t think you should tell me how to relate to the wanker. Come on now, let’s get you out of those-”
“I just think with everything he’s done, you should try to be a little more civil with him.”
“You don’t have a bloody idea what you’re talking about, Liam.” Spike interrupted. He braced his arms against the counter, and tried not to lose his grip on the matter at hand. Anger was beginning to bubble up over his good mood, and it was clouding his desire to shag. “Just drop it.”
Angel pressed his lips together, and Spike knew right then that he wasn’t going to let the matter rest. Couldn’t the git pick a fight later? In the afterglow, even. Fine, whatever. “He’s a good man, Spike. He cares-”
“Yeah, well, he has a real fine way of showing it! Must be hidden under all that disgust and disappointment.”
“I know it looks that way,” Angel said calmly. His tone was so sodding reasonable that Spike wanted to shake him. “But I don’t think that’s how he really feels about you.”
“Yes, it is.” Spike bit off. The cold from the icebox was creeping up through his fingers to the base of his skull. He felt a headache coming on. “It looks that way, because it is that way. The man can’t leave well enough alone.”
Angel snorted. “Oh yeah, like he’s the only one? Maybe if you would stop being a brat around him for five minutes the two of you could-”
Spike gaped at him. “A brat. A brat?? So this is all on me, is it?” He could feel his voice getting shrill, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe his ears. Why in the bloody hell would Angel take his father’s side in all this? He felt cold, and very suddenly not in the mood any longer. The devil must be lacing up his ice skates.
“No,” Angel said firmly, with a touch of irritation. “I didn’t say it was all you. I’m just saying, your dad’s a reasonable man, if you’d just-”
Spike laughed. “That’s fucking rich, Angel. You’ve known him for 48 hours, and you, frankly, don’t know shit. That man? Is not reasonable. Not to his own flesh and blood, cuddly as he may have been with you.”
“You’re really not giving him enough credit, Spike,” Angel said in this world-weary tone that, honestly, made Spike want to punch him in the face. His temper escalated sharply.
“Just which one of us are you shagging anyway?” Spike shouted. He threw his hands up before yelling “Oh, that’s right, it sure as hell isn’t me! Because God forbid, we let Spike get a leg over!”
This time it was Angel’s jaw that hit the floor. “That isn’t my…I’ve been fucking injured, you ass! God, you are such a fucking spoiled little kid. You never try to see things from the other side. Always thinking about yourself.”
Spike scoffed in disbelief. His blood was boiling. “I am always thinking about myself. I am. You have some fucking nerve, Liam. I have done nothing but tip-toe around you for a fucking month and a half while you sulked. And if I’m a spoiled brat?!?” Spike jerkily scooped up the food on the counter top and shook a bottle at Angel, chucking the stuff back in the fridge. “You sure as bloody hell haven’t minded taking advantage of it.”
Spike’s hands were shaking. Some dim, reasonable corner of his mind was telling him he hadn’t really meant that, but the rest of him was cheering to get a direct hit back at Angel, who now looked as pissed as Spike felt.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was such a goddamn burden to you! Wake up and see how freaking lucky you are. Some people would kill to have a dad like yours, as hard as it is for that concept to bore through that concrete you call a skull!” Now Angel was shouting too, and looked prepared to get right in Spike’s face about it.
Spike’s jaw clenched, and words flew out, completely apropos of coherent forethought.
“Yeah. Well, if you love him so much and find him to be Ward fucking Cleaver, you can keep him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to step in and play father for a sodding nancy-boy like….”
Suddenly Angel looked so stricken, the rest of the flippant taunt died away. The look on his face was so…injured, it made Spike play back his own words, to find what had made Liam look as though he’d been slammed over the head with a two-by-four. When it all clicked into place, Spike’s breath stuck in his lungs until they burned. His shoes were wedged into the tile.
Angel opened his mouth to speak and then slammed it shut again. He looked enraged and wounded in equal measure, and Spike felt like shite, even though he hadn’t meant it like that. Just a stupid throwaway dig, but right now it didn’t seem stupid, because Angel looked poised to either hit him or cry. Maybe both.
“Angel….”
The words all stuck in his throat, catching there and tearing the tissue like sharp little cogs. He was too…sorry, or angry, or shocked, or…something, to get the apology out. The moment stretched on and Angel’s face settled into something impenetrable, and Spike didn’t know how to fix it. Angel had said a lot of things, a lot of really fucking hurtful things, and Spike was meant to apologize, for something he hadn’t even intended to be hurtful?
Bollocks to that.
And besides, the moment had passed and now Angel looked like he’d spit at the next word that came out of Spike’s mouth. What the fuck had just happened? They were meant to be halfway to orgasm by now.
Instead, the air in the kitchen was oppressive, and he felt utterly out of options. Angel hardly looked like Angel. He looked…unwelcoming, and cold.
So Spike turned and walked away. Just turned away and buggered off. He felt sick with the certainty that everything was suddenly different, and the only thing he could think to do was slam as many doors between himself and Angel as possible.
Because the things they’d said to one another were the kinds of things you couldn’t take back.
continued here