30 Days - Day 8, Spike/Angel
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Title: 30 Days
Authors: writtenbyfates (femailofthespecies and claudia6913)
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Modeled after the FX original series 30 Days. A bored Spike gets to spend 30 days with a soul and living with Angel. Will this give him the perspective he needs to understand Angel?
Disclaimer: We neither own Angel, Spike, nor the show 30 Days. That all belongs to their respective owners and we are merely borrowing to play.
Warning: Silliness and gratuitous vampire sex. Just so you know.
Prologue
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
DAY 8
Seconds pass, stretching into long minutes that seem to never end. Somewhere in Spike’s mind, he feels time ticking away as he waits, head tilted to the side, his blood drying, crusted on his skin where only moments ago - or maybe hours, he’s not quite sure - Angelus’ fangs had been, threatening and promising to build him anew.
Finally, Spike opens his eyes, surprised to find himself in the bathroom - alone. Looking around quickly, he sees that he is completely naked, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Only a towel and some wash products on the sink. He’s a little miffed that he fainted like some fragile bint for Angel to move him and strip him like that without his knowing.
“Gotten naughty in your old age, Peaches,” Spike says to the empty room, a small smile on his face as he turns on the water.
For a moment, Spike contemplates taking a long bath, making Angel wait for him. The punishment for making the other vampire wait has a 50/50 chance of being something he will enjoy. However, Spike knows that already things are being planned for him. The thrum of excitement floats heavy in the air, along with the ever present smell of Angelus.
Stepping under the shower, he tilts his head back and proceeds to scrub away the smell of the woman lingering on his skin.
He gets every crevice, knowing it’s not going to be enough. Angel’s nose is too finely tuned for one washing to clear away the odor of the girl he shagged, but he tries anyway, expecting an E for effort.
Angel’s offer is swimming in his head, a notion that is so far-fetched and welcome that he has trouble wrapping his mind around it. To be drained and turned as a human is one thing. In that state he had been powerless to stop what had happened, but now he is as strong as Angel, in theory. To allow the older demon to pull his life from him, bring him to the edge of existence and then fill him with his own strength and essence is an act of trust that Spike is not sure he is capable of performing.
Tired of the thinking and pretty much done with the washing, Spike shuts off the shower and steps out, water dripping as he dries off with the towel. Unsure of what is about to happen, he squares his shoulders and leaves the bathroom; his still wet feet leaving a trail of prints behind him.
The air is still and quiet around him, and Spike slows, cautious now and unsure of what move will come next. Angel, always a puzzle, has become more unpredictable as of late and sussing out just what he is up to is quite the chore for Spike. Immediately, he ignores the living room and kitchen and heads straight for the one room of the apartment that is sure to contain all the excitement charging the air now.
Padding barefoot, quiet as can be, Spike steps into the room, his senses swiftly adjusting the dimness around him. He smiles, until his sharp eyes settle on the empty bed.
“Soddin’ no good-“
“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” a silky voice asks from directly behind him. Strong arms wrap around Spike’s small waist and pull his damp flesh against cool dry skin.
“Depends.” Spike’s voice is deep, smooth as the smile returns to his face.
“On?”
“Whether you’re planning on stripping off skin or shagging me blind,” he mutters, leaning back, flush against the strength behind him.
Angel bites down on his neck with human teeth, his tongue dancing lightly over the twin holes that are almost healed now as the lithe form in his embrace presses upward, wanting it, too proud to say it.
“I think …” he licks along the pale expanse of Spike’s neck, making wet kisses across the silky nape hairs, tasting the cloudy days and coal-filled air from one hundred years ago. “… I can achieve an amiable compromise.”
Finally, unable to take the slow torture of Angel’s barely there teasing, Spike turns in the arms encircling him and dives for lips he’s been dying to taste again. Their teeth clash under Spike’s force. His lithe arms snake around the broad expanse of back, making their way slowly to Angel’s hips, and he pulls them closer, their straining erections pressing painfully against each other. Spike hears him gasping and moans softly into his mouth.
“Got a proposition for ya, mate.” Spike leans back just enough to talk and nip at Angel’s lips.
“And what is that?”
“This prick.” Spike grabs hold of Angel’s hard, swollen cock and squeezes, “That bed, an’ this arse.” He leads Angel’s hand to his backside.
Angel laughs. “I’m getting that anyway, Spike. Gotta do better than that.” He thrusts into Spike’s hand, groaning when he tightens around him, tempting him to take his offer right now and forget any real punishment.
Dazed, but starting to get what the little shit is up to, Angel stills. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Spike?”
Thick as wood, this one. “Never,” he shakes his head and puts on baby blue puppy eyes that would surely have had Drusilla dropping to her feet. “Just need you, Sire.” He almost chokes on the words, but manages to keep it together, burying his face in Angel’s chest to cover the smile he can’t hide. “So bloody much.”
“How much?” Angel asks, feeling the round globe in his hand, trailing a finger along the line separating one cheek from the other. When he receives no answer other than a sharp pull on his dick, Angel slips a finger between the crack, letting the tip push against the hidden hole. “How much, Spike?”
Spike can’t stop the urge he has to push back on that finger, wishing all the while it was the rod he held in his hands. “Bloody hell,” he curses, capturing Angel’s mouth in another brutal kiss. “Just soddin’ fuck me already.”
Pulling away, Angel shakes his head. Spike’s jaw drops, clearly surprised by this reaction.
Amused, but refusing to let his desire for Spike sway his mission to have him begging colorfully, Angel moves out of the blonde’s grasp and to the bed, where he lays down, his arms crossed behind his head.
“Do you know what I went through? Waiting for you to come back? Wondering if you were okay?” He says all this while staring at the ceiling, his tone affecting boredom. “My feelings were hurt, Spike. I’m your sire and just the idea of another, a human no less, touching and tasting what’s mine disturbs me to no end.”
Spike smirks and comes closer. “You know I’ve always been a terrible childe, Angel. Nothing’s changing that, not even this cock up of a soul.” His knee settles on the mattress as he leans over his elder. “But I make up for it in other ways.”
Slithering down Angel’s body until his mouth is even with that thick cock that ruled his existence for so many years, Spike speaks low against the cool skin, his voice deep and rich. “Beat me, if you like … I’ll scream for you in the end. I always do.” Something in him is shouting yes, please, tear me apart. “Or make use of my other considerable talents.” Licking away the dribble of precum, he peeks up at Angel, who has shifted up onto his elbows, needing to see Spike’s mouth.
Always fascinated by that mouth, the scathing words, beautiful sighs, hungry kisses and sharp teeth, Angel adores those lips and what they can do.
However, as much as he wants those lips around him, Angel has other plans and grabs the damp, platinum curls, pulling Spike up to his mouth. He turns them so that he is atop, bearing down with all his weight. The idea of draining Spike near to death, and filling him up again has been running through Angel’s mind ever since he had suggested it, burning away, making him want it more with each passing minute.
Nuzzling the slender neck, Angel groans, smelling blood and smoke just under the surface.
“Let me make this right,” Angel whispers, almost begging, but knowing he will have his way in the end. “Let me do this the way it should have been done in the first place. Let me fix this mistake.”
Spike swallows and begins to breathe. “Is that what I am to you? A mistake?” He has thought that Angelus wished he had never been made many times, but to hear it, breaks his heart. He frowns, angry at the soul for making him feel like this, and struggles to be free.
“No! You aren’t the mistake. But it should have been me, from the beginning. I’m fixing that now and I suggest you relax and go with it.” His eyes cloud over for a few seconds and a grin spreads across his face. “Or fight me. That would be fun too.”
Spike is glaring at him, glad to know he wanted him around back them, but not willing to let it show. This soul is already making him into Super-Pansy #2, only marginally outshined by the Wonder Wuss that is Angel. He relaxes somewhat. “I’m thinking a little wiggle here and there, just to get the blood up, of course.”
Grinning ferally, Angel snakes down Spike’s body, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. Looking up through his lashes, he see that the other vampire thinks that Angel will pleasure him, take that cock into his mouth, but that is not the plan.
“Oh, I’ll get the blood pumping,” Angle promises. His face shifts, revealing the ridges and fangs of his demon side, glistening in the light coming from the hall. Without warning, Angel strikes, hitting deep and true into the fleshy part of Spike’s thigh.
Spike howls, pain mixed with sadistic pleasure as Angel takes gulp after gulp.
He feels the semi-hard prick throb against his cheek, twitching with every swallow of blood.
“Bloody fuck, Angelus,” he grunts, feeling his blood slipping out of him, his dead veins emptying and collapsing. The pain is searing and cold and wonderful, a reversing of the lightening storm that occurs inside in when he drinks. Bringing his hand up to his cock, he tries to stroke it, hoping to cum, but his is softening from severe blood loss and it falls limp to the side.
“No more,” his voice is raspy and soft, so quiet, more so than Angel remembers hearing and he is tempted to keep him in this state for a while, just to hear that sweet, helpless sound.
Yet Spike is not so close to dusting that Angel feels the need to stop so he continues to drain him, slowing his intake to draw it out, while running his hands over limbs that are becoming icy and still.
So dead, so perfect.
Hearing a soft rasping sound, Angel looks up, lifting his fangs from the puncture holes in Spike’s thigh. He is beyond pale, but ashen, grayish in color, and for a moment, Angel panics, thinking he has taken too much. The normally vibrant blue eyes are vacant, the lids of Spike’s eyes unable to close because they have shrunken. The beautiful sharp, chiseled features are ghoulish in appearance. Dead indeed.
Hurriedly, Angel makes a gash in his wrist with his teeth, then presses the wound to the slack mouth. He can’t see him swallowing, he can’t see anything moving.
“Please, Spike, drink,” he urges, real panic in his voice. Angel squeezes at his wrist, forcing more of the blood through his lips, but he doesn’t swallow. A trail of blood begins to flow from the corner of Spike’s mouth.
“Damnit, William!” Desperately, Angel massages Spike’s throat, hoping to force the life saving liquid down.
It works, causing Spike to swallow reflexively, and is enough to spark that willful demon in him back to life. He pulls on the blood, taking small weak sips at first, but they gradually become deeper draughts and soon his hand clasped around Angel’s wrist, keeping him in place.
Blue eyes start to focus again and he glares up at Angel, all anger and self-righteous indignation. Too soon in Spike’s opinion, Angel’s pulls away. It’s not easy since he has a grip on him that gets stronger with every greedy gulp, but he gets his arm back eventually and stares at his childe. Finally, truly his.
Spike licks his lips lazily and Angel waits.
“You are out of practice, Peaches. Nearly dusted me for real, wanker,” he snarks, but it lacks bite and he flops back onto the mattress, tired and hungry, the urge to hunt rising up like a quiet tsunami.
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Angel sits back on his haunches, looking at the pale offering laid out before him.
“Come here,” Angel says gently.
Unsure, Spike gives him a sharp glance, unwilling to quite trust his elder just yet. His body is still weak, embarrassingly so, and it takes him several long seconds to push himself to a sitting position.
Thinking that Spike needs his help, and still feeling contrite over the draining, Angel reaches for Spike and pulls the small frame into his lap. He holds him tight, emotion overcoming him for a moment.
“Drink,” Angel says softly, turning his head to expose his neck.
Spike freezes, blue eyes locked on that space of flesh that should be throbbing softly under his intense gaze, then meets Angel’s eyes, questioning. The drinking he had done a few moments before was amazing, but the brilliance of it was clouded by his need to be whole again, to bring what had been taken away, back home. Angel is now offering something so much more astounding and frightening, but Spike doesn’t hesitate another second.
His features shift and he bites down, moaning as precious Sire’s blood explodes on his tongue and spills over, leaking a crimson trail down Angel’s back.
Angel can literally count the number of times he had let his boy drink from his neck on one hand - two fingers to be exact. Now, however, the feel of it running through him, he wondered why he had not done it more often. Of course he realized that being the Sire did not lend him to such things, having had to save face and such, as well as keep a firm hold on this unruly one. Such drinking, such abandon would have undermined his authority over the creature in his arms.
A soft sigh escapes Angel as he feels him grow stronger in his arms with every swallow. Spike is being oddly gentle, letting the blood flow to him instead of harshly sucking at it like a fledgling. Of course, he isn’t a new vampire, not really, just been given to share a much closer connection to the demon in Angel that he had before.
“Spike,” he pants, his hands busy touching pale skin in a decidedly horny fashion.
The sound of the elevator stops them both and Spike pulls off, fangs glistening with blood as he tracks the noise and assesses the situation.
Angel’s fucking pets.
“Bloody, sodding, buggering Hell, Angelus. Kill whoever it is and shag me now!”
The lift stops and Angel knows by the cadence of the heartbeat that it is Wesley. Spike climbs off and Angel stands, looking for a pair of pants or sweats and settles for Spike’s discarded towel.
Slipping the towel around his waist, Angel secures it, and then races out of his bedroom, realizing a little too late that Spike has made it out before him. The slim vampire, his fangs still glistening with blood, is now growling at Wesley who has frozen in fear inside the elevator.
“Spike, stop it now!” Angel yells, pushing Spike to the side.
“I - I didn’t mean to interrupt -“
“Well, might want to head back up then,” Spike says to Wesley, reaching to pull the door to the elevator closed. However, a large hand pushes him away.
“Go get dressed, Spike,” Angel says, knowing that Wesley would not have ventured down without reason … he hoped.
Spike watches the man’s face turn pale and scents his fear, his demon delighting in causing such a reaction. But in, five, four, three, two …
“Oh, bloody hell, mate, I’m sorry for being such a prat. AUUUUGH!” he yells before clamping his hand over his mouth until he gets his wimpy conscience under control. “I am not sorry, I am not sorry! I’m a vampire, for Satan’s sake!” he growls storming away to the bedroom.
Wide-eyed, both Angel and Wesley say nothing until the door slams behind him. Turning to his employee, Angel tries to smile like nothing happened.
“So what’s up?”
Wesley pushes out his bottom lip slightly and lifts his chin, glaring at Angel all the while. “Your libido, I’d wager.”
“Which is none of your business,” Angel replies darkly.
Blinking quickly, Wesley takes an unconscious step backward, clearly aware he had stepped over some boundary. “I mean to say, that is, that … Cordelia’s had a vision.”
“Bloody fuck!” a yell sounds from Angel’s bedroom. Both men turn to look as Spike walks out of the bedroom, a pair of black jeans, slung low around his hips. “The bint have radar? Always interruptin’ somethin’.”
He sees the bones in Spike’s spine, wants to touch them again, bruise him. Shaking his head, Angel turns back to Wesley. “What was the vision about?”
“No doubt some stupid damsel in distress,” Spike grumbles.
“Yes, something of the sort.” Wesley focuses on Angel. “It seems that there is some trouble at a local hospital.”
Without another word, Angel turns back to his bedroom and quickly dresses. On his way to the elevator, he tosses Spike his shirt, socks, and shoves his boots in his arms. “Come on.”
Together, the three of them take the short ride upstairs. They arrive in time to see Cordelia downing a handful of Advil.
“Shot’d do ya more good, pet,” Spike suggests, pulling the shirt over his head.
“Already got the hangover,” she says wearily.
“What did you see?” Angel moves in to sit next to her on the couch. He pulls a blanket off the back and wraps it around her then begins massaging her neck, trying to help relieve the pressure in her head. Spike watches all this without comment, but with a keen eye.
“Mmm?” Cordelia mutters, her head hanging down.
“Your vision,” Angel prompts, stopping his massage, afraid she’ll fall asleep before she gets to the trouble at hand.
“Oh, all right.” She sits back and nods a thank you to Wesley as he hands her a cup of hot cocoa. “There was this woman in hospital scrubs, and there was something … misty? … around her. I don’t know. Lots of gurneys with lots of ripped white sheets. Not much else. She was backing up from something, afraid and screaming.” Cordelia looks at Angel and shrugs. “Not much to go on, really.”
Angel frowns. “Did you see anything in the hospital? Any signs on the walls, a name tag?” Closing her eyes, she thinks on it, trying to recreate the vision in her head. “Yeah, ICU is painted in big red letters on the one wall and there’s an elevator…” She’s very still for a few seconds before blurting, “It’s on the 4th floor!”
“Wes…”
Wesley moves quickly to the computer. “On it,” he replies before Angel finishes. Within a few moments he’s smiling. “Okay, two hospitals in Los Angeles have ICU on the fourth floor. Good Samaritan and Cedars Sinai.”
“Well, Good Samaritan’s closer so we’ll try there first.” Angel looks to Spike who’s only half dressed. “You coming?”
The blonde rolls his eyes and mumbles, “I wish,” before sitting down to put on his boots.
~~~*~~~
The sewers leading to Cedar Sinai are more odorous than usual. Good Samaritan had been all quiet and Angel feels like he should have known that the Powers would never make it easy for him and let him kill the bad guys on the first try. Instead, he’s approaching the basement, not breathing at all, in a funk because he’s pretty sure he knows what kind of demon their dealing with,
Trakgins.
Horribly smelly, and hard to kill. He only has a sword and stakes, as does Spike. But Trakgins have armored torsos and necks. The killing blow must carefully dealt under the arm pit and into the heart.
Spike takes great joy in kicking in the doors from the underground garage. It is completely unnecessary and the resulting scowl from Angel is worth it, really. Together they, along with Gunn, move to the elevator and wait. Impatiently, Spike points at the door labeled STAIRS.
Grunting Angel says, “The elevator was in the vision, might be an important place to be.”
Spike rolls his eyes, but waits.
The ding of the elevator is loud and echoing. It is a bit of a match to see who will go in first. Angel, of course, assumes that role, as always. And just as always, Spike seeks to usurp him. It ends in them squeezing through shoulder to shoulder with Gunn trailing behind shaking his head. Spike presses the number four before Angel and up they go, light jazz leading the way.
Spike’s glancing up, gazing at the numbers as each lights in turn, and Angel can’t help but think that he looks a little cross-eyed. He’s about to say as much, when there’s a ding and that weird sinking feeling happens as the elevator stops.
“Fouth floor… lingerie, shoes, accessories,” Gunn announces with fake cheer as he exits, happy to be out of the small, tension-filled box. The vampires follow and are immediately accosted by Tom and a camera in his face, causing them to stop short.
“I don’t f-ing believe this!” Angel shoves the camera away and Tom stumbles backward. Jeffrey is a few feet away and Angel hears the lens as it zooms. “How’d you find us?”
“That girl, Cordelia,” Jeffrey replies while Tom struggles to resituate his equipment. “So where’s the action?”
Spike takes a deep breath and let’s his head swivel to the left. “This way. And try not to get killed.” He definitely doesn’t want to feel anymore guilt over these stupid humans.
~~~*~~~
Bruised, battered, but victorious, Angel, Spike, and Gunn make their way back to the office. They’d gotten there just before the ritual had started. Spike had taken great joy in killing the demons - his soul blissfully silent. He is still bouncing on the balls of his feet, making the other two wish they knew where his off switch is.
Cordelia awaits them in the lobby, a question on her face.
“It was bloody brilliant!” Spike exclaims.
“Where are the camera men?” Cordelia asks, somewhat put out that she has gotten all made up in the hope that the contrast between her pristine appearance and the filthy guys would make her shine all that much brighter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast,” Gunn says chuckling, mimicking one of the cameramen running from the scene of the fight, complete with girlish scream and everything.
“Yeah and how about when Jeffrey was crying for his bloody mum?” Spike joins in, his giggle slightly maniacal, but completely genuine.
“Oh right! ‘Mama! Mama Help!’ That shit was hilarious. I almost dropped my axe.”
Smiling, Angel slips past them as they linger at the entrance, retelling the entire fight for Cordelia. The weapons cabinet is still open and he is an about to turn around and yell at Spike for not securing it, but stops himself. He is smiling, enjoying the company of humans, and Angel doesn’t want to interrupt that for anything. This is what he’d hoped for when he agreed to participate in the show - that one vampire in all the world will know what it’s like to be him, and for him to see people as more than food. He’s thinking that Spike just might be on his way to that revelation so he grabs one of the rags and some cleaning solution from a drawer and begins to wipe dried blood from his own blade while listening to their camaraderie.
It takes a while, but eventually Cordelia says goodnight and Gunn follows shortly after. Somewhere along the way Spike had gotten a cloth of his own and is gently cleaning his sword. There is a slight upcurve to his lips, a somewhat hidden smile. Quietly, Angel replaces his sword and the cleaning supplies and makes his way over to Spike who peeks up, a bit of mirth still lingering.
“Good fight,” Angel says taking the weapon and the cloth. He puts those away too and turns back to his childe.
“Too right, mate.” Spike stands and gives a little head jerk towards the elevator.
A nod from Angel is all that is needed and they make their way quietly down to Angel’s apartment. There is less tension and more anticipation in the air between them. It’s like electricity running through them and Spike starts rolling from heel to toe as Angel opens the doors and precedes him into the living area.
Angel goes to the right, heading for the kitchen and his supply of blood. Spike considers feeding, but is feeling excessively grimy and wants to get clean. He also has hopes of getting more of that succulent blood. The thought of it has his mouthwatering as he strips off his filthy clothes. Unsurprisingly, his cock is filling as well and he rolls his eyes at how predictable his body is. Blood, in thought or reality, makes him hard. It’s a vampire thing he supposes, because he knows Angelus reacted the same way, whether he acted on it or not being a totally different matter.
Turning on the faucets in the shower, Spike gets in under the spray, enjoying the heat and pressure. He ponders this new, perplexing version of his sire and how they will manage once his soul is removed and he gets back to slaughtering without remorse. Because he plans to do just that. Can’t wait to snap a pretty neck…maybe turn Cordelia just to anger the King of Misery in the other room. Grinding his jaw, he keeps himself from screaming out, enraged as his little guilt machine kicks into gear and makes him feel bad for wanting to turn that tart-mouthed cheerleader.
“Bloody fucking hell!” he hisses into the water.
One moment, Spike is ducking his head under the water, cursing the moment he agreed to this hellish nightmare of a soul, the next his elder is there before him, a dark shape in the steam. He watches Angel move closer to him, being revealed slowly as his own hand drifts down his stomach towards the hard length. He smiles when he sees Angel’s eyes dutifully following the southern decent.
Eyes hungry for more snap up to meet his and they both groan as Spike gives his water slickened shaft and hard tug.
Before Spike goes for another long pull, Angel is there, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in for a rough kiss. They battle, dancing to an old tune of power and lust. Angel backs them up to the cooler tile and Spike hisses at the feel of it.
“Got somethin’ in mind?” Spike asks. Already he has forgotten his moment of soul-sorrow. Instead of answering, Angel grinds his cock into Spike.
Nodding, Angel hunches over, his forehead pressing into the smaller man’s neck as he ruts against water-warmed skin. “Lift your leg,” he tells Spike and then he’s helping him do just that and his fingers slide along the crack there.
Spike sighs, his head falling back, wet golden locks plastered to his face, and reaches between them to wrap strong fingers around Angel’s hardness. Stroking lightly, he asks, “Lube?” Angel shakes his head barely, but it’s enough and Spike knows this is going to be done the old-fashioned way. There’s a demon inside him, grinning happily.
Slipping a finger inside the tightness, Angel groans and is teased by Spike showing him just how in control he is of certain muscles. Unable and unwilling to wait a moment longer, Angel grabs both cheeks and lifts Spike up as his boy automatically wraps his arms and legs around a broad back and narrow hips.
For a moment everything is suspended, Spike and Angel lock eyes and Angel lets go. Strong as he is, Spike suspends himself a moment longer and lowers himself until the tip of Angel’s cock is pressing against his opening. Without warning, Angel grabs his hips and pushes down quickly. They both howl, Spike in blissful pain and Angel from guilty pleasure.
Skin slaps against skin, but it is drowned out by the moans and curses coming from the pair. Spike leans back against the tile, angling himself and cries out when Angel hits the one spot that makes him see stars.
“Jesus, Angel…” he pants, clawing at Angel desperately. He doesn’t want to scream, not yet. They have hours for those games. And he knows he will end up a quivering wreck before this is done. Angel’s hands on him like he owns him and it’s a century ago and the other vampire is Spike’s entire world, consuming him in ways Drusilla never could. She had his heart, but Angelus knew just what to do to take him apart. And not much has changed in that respect as Angel fucks up into Spike, gripping hips so tightly that demon nails are piercing pale skin. Water tinted pink, is pooling at their feet and the scent of blood hits them both like a drug, compelling them to drop all pretenses of humanity.
Here, in this place, all alone, for one night, they can be themselves. Predators, Beasts. And souls only mean that they come away slightly less battered.
Title: 30 Days
Authors: writtenbyfates (femailofthespecies and claudia6913)
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Modeled after the FX original series 30 Days. A bored Spike gets to spend 30 days with a soul and living with Angel. Will this give him the perspective he needs to understand Angel?
Disclaimer: We neither own Angel, Spike, nor the show 30 Days. That all belongs to their respective owners and we are merely borrowing to play.
Warning: Silliness and gratuitous vampire sex. Just so you know.
Prologue
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
DAY 8
Seconds pass, stretching into long minutes that seem to never end. Somewhere in Spike’s mind, he feels time ticking away as he waits, head tilted to the side, his blood drying, crusted on his skin where only moments ago - or maybe hours, he’s not quite sure - Angelus’ fangs had been, threatening and promising to build him anew.
Finally, Spike opens his eyes, surprised to find himself in the bathroom - alone. Looking around quickly, he sees that he is completely naked, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Only a towel and some wash products on the sink. He’s a little miffed that he fainted like some fragile bint for Angel to move him and strip him like that without his knowing.
“Gotten naughty in your old age, Peaches,” Spike says to the empty room, a small smile on his face as he turns on the water.
For a moment, Spike contemplates taking a long bath, making Angel wait for him. The punishment for making the other vampire wait has a 50/50 chance of being something he will enjoy. However, Spike knows that already things are being planned for him. The thrum of excitement floats heavy in the air, along with the ever present smell of Angelus.
Stepping under the shower, he tilts his head back and proceeds to scrub away the smell of the woman lingering on his skin.
He gets every crevice, knowing it’s not going to be enough. Angel’s nose is too finely tuned for one washing to clear away the odor of the girl he shagged, but he tries anyway, expecting an E for effort.
Angel’s offer is swimming in his head, a notion that is so far-fetched and welcome that he has trouble wrapping his mind around it. To be drained and turned as a human is one thing. In that state he had been powerless to stop what had happened, but now he is as strong as Angel, in theory. To allow the older demon to pull his life from him, bring him to the edge of existence and then fill him with his own strength and essence is an act of trust that Spike is not sure he is capable of performing.
Tired of the thinking and pretty much done with the washing, Spike shuts off the shower and steps out, water dripping as he dries off with the towel. Unsure of what is about to happen, he squares his shoulders and leaves the bathroom; his still wet feet leaving a trail of prints behind him.
The air is still and quiet around him, and Spike slows, cautious now and unsure of what move will come next. Angel, always a puzzle, has become more unpredictable as of late and sussing out just what he is up to is quite the chore for Spike. Immediately, he ignores the living room and kitchen and heads straight for the one room of the apartment that is sure to contain all the excitement charging the air now.
Padding barefoot, quiet as can be, Spike steps into the room, his senses swiftly adjusting the dimness around him. He smiles, until his sharp eyes settle on the empty bed.
“Soddin’ no good-“
“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” a silky voice asks from directly behind him. Strong arms wrap around Spike’s small waist and pull his damp flesh against cool dry skin.
“Depends.” Spike’s voice is deep, smooth as the smile returns to his face.
“On?”
“Whether you’re planning on stripping off skin or shagging me blind,” he mutters, leaning back, flush against the strength behind him.
Angel bites down on his neck with human teeth, his tongue dancing lightly over the twin holes that are almost healed now as the lithe form in his embrace presses upward, wanting it, too proud to say it.
“I think …” he licks along the pale expanse of Spike’s neck, making wet kisses across the silky nape hairs, tasting the cloudy days and coal-filled air from one hundred years ago. “… I can achieve an amiable compromise.”
Finally, unable to take the slow torture of Angel’s barely there teasing, Spike turns in the arms encircling him and dives for lips he’s been dying to taste again. Their teeth clash under Spike’s force. His lithe arms snake around the broad expanse of back, making their way slowly to Angel’s hips, and he pulls them closer, their straining erections pressing painfully against each other. Spike hears him gasping and moans softly into his mouth.
“Got a proposition for ya, mate.” Spike leans back just enough to talk and nip at Angel’s lips.
“And what is that?”
“This prick.” Spike grabs hold of Angel’s hard, swollen cock and squeezes, “That bed, an’ this arse.” He leads Angel’s hand to his backside.
Angel laughs. “I’m getting that anyway, Spike. Gotta do better than that.” He thrusts into Spike’s hand, groaning when he tightens around him, tempting him to take his offer right now and forget any real punishment.
Dazed, but starting to get what the little shit is up to, Angel stills. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Spike?”
Thick as wood, this one. “Never,” he shakes his head and puts on baby blue puppy eyes that would surely have had Drusilla dropping to her feet. “Just need you, Sire.” He almost chokes on the words, but manages to keep it together, burying his face in Angel’s chest to cover the smile he can’t hide. “So bloody much.”
“How much?” Angel asks, feeling the round globe in his hand, trailing a finger along the line separating one cheek from the other. When he receives no answer other than a sharp pull on his dick, Angel slips a finger between the crack, letting the tip push against the hidden hole. “How much, Spike?”
Spike can’t stop the urge he has to push back on that finger, wishing all the while it was the rod he held in his hands. “Bloody hell,” he curses, capturing Angel’s mouth in another brutal kiss. “Just soddin’ fuck me already.”
Pulling away, Angel shakes his head. Spike’s jaw drops, clearly surprised by this reaction.
Amused, but refusing to let his desire for Spike sway his mission to have him begging colorfully, Angel moves out of the blonde’s grasp and to the bed, where he lays down, his arms crossed behind his head.
“Do you know what I went through? Waiting for you to come back? Wondering if you were okay?” He says all this while staring at the ceiling, his tone affecting boredom. “My feelings were hurt, Spike. I’m your sire and just the idea of another, a human no less, touching and tasting what’s mine disturbs me to no end.”
Spike smirks and comes closer. “You know I’ve always been a terrible childe, Angel. Nothing’s changing that, not even this cock up of a soul.” His knee settles on the mattress as he leans over his elder. “But I make up for it in other ways.”
Slithering down Angel’s body until his mouth is even with that thick cock that ruled his existence for so many years, Spike speaks low against the cool skin, his voice deep and rich. “Beat me, if you like … I’ll scream for you in the end. I always do.” Something in him is shouting yes, please, tear me apart. “Or make use of my other considerable talents.” Licking away the dribble of precum, he peeks up at Angel, who has shifted up onto his elbows, needing to see Spike’s mouth.
Always fascinated by that mouth, the scathing words, beautiful sighs, hungry kisses and sharp teeth, Angel adores those lips and what they can do.
However, as much as he wants those lips around him, Angel has other plans and grabs the damp, platinum curls, pulling Spike up to his mouth. He turns them so that he is atop, bearing down with all his weight. The idea of draining Spike near to death, and filling him up again has been running through Angel’s mind ever since he had suggested it, burning away, making him want it more with each passing minute.
Nuzzling the slender neck, Angel groans, smelling blood and smoke just under the surface.
“Let me make this right,” Angel whispers, almost begging, but knowing he will have his way in the end. “Let me do this the way it should have been done in the first place. Let me fix this mistake.”
Spike swallows and begins to breathe. “Is that what I am to you? A mistake?” He has thought that Angelus wished he had never been made many times, but to hear it, breaks his heart. He frowns, angry at the soul for making him feel like this, and struggles to be free.
“No! You aren’t the mistake. But it should have been me, from the beginning. I’m fixing that now and I suggest you relax and go with it.” His eyes cloud over for a few seconds and a grin spreads across his face. “Or fight me. That would be fun too.”
Spike is glaring at him, glad to know he wanted him around back them, but not willing to let it show. This soul is already making him into Super-Pansy #2, only marginally outshined by the Wonder Wuss that is Angel. He relaxes somewhat. “I’m thinking a little wiggle here and there, just to get the blood up, of course.”
Grinning ferally, Angel snakes down Spike’s body, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. Looking up through his lashes, he see that the other vampire thinks that Angel will pleasure him, take that cock into his mouth, but that is not the plan.
“Oh, I’ll get the blood pumping,” Angle promises. His face shifts, revealing the ridges and fangs of his demon side, glistening in the light coming from the hall. Without warning, Angel strikes, hitting deep and true into the fleshy part of Spike’s thigh.
Spike howls, pain mixed with sadistic pleasure as Angel takes gulp after gulp.
He feels the semi-hard prick throb against his cheek, twitching with every swallow of blood.
“Bloody fuck, Angelus,” he grunts, feeling his blood slipping out of him, his dead veins emptying and collapsing. The pain is searing and cold and wonderful, a reversing of the lightening storm that occurs inside in when he drinks. Bringing his hand up to his cock, he tries to stroke it, hoping to cum, but his is softening from severe blood loss and it falls limp to the side.
“No more,” his voice is raspy and soft, so quiet, more so than Angel remembers hearing and he is tempted to keep him in this state for a while, just to hear that sweet, helpless sound.
Yet Spike is not so close to dusting that Angel feels the need to stop so he continues to drain him, slowing his intake to draw it out, while running his hands over limbs that are becoming icy and still.
So dead, so perfect.
Hearing a soft rasping sound, Angel looks up, lifting his fangs from the puncture holes in Spike’s thigh. He is beyond pale, but ashen, grayish in color, and for a moment, Angel panics, thinking he has taken too much. The normally vibrant blue eyes are vacant, the lids of Spike’s eyes unable to close because they have shrunken. The beautiful sharp, chiseled features are ghoulish in appearance. Dead indeed.
Hurriedly, Angel makes a gash in his wrist with his teeth, then presses the wound to the slack mouth. He can’t see him swallowing, he can’t see anything moving.
“Please, Spike, drink,” he urges, real panic in his voice. Angel squeezes at his wrist, forcing more of the blood through his lips, but he doesn’t swallow. A trail of blood begins to flow from the corner of Spike’s mouth.
“Damnit, William!” Desperately, Angel massages Spike’s throat, hoping to force the life saving liquid down.
It works, causing Spike to swallow reflexively, and is enough to spark that willful demon in him back to life. He pulls on the blood, taking small weak sips at first, but they gradually become deeper draughts and soon his hand clasped around Angel’s wrist, keeping him in place.
Blue eyes start to focus again and he glares up at Angel, all anger and self-righteous indignation. Too soon in Spike’s opinion, Angel’s pulls away. It’s not easy since he has a grip on him that gets stronger with every greedy gulp, but he gets his arm back eventually and stares at his childe. Finally, truly his.
Spike licks his lips lazily and Angel waits.
“You are out of practice, Peaches. Nearly dusted me for real, wanker,” he snarks, but it lacks bite and he flops back onto the mattress, tired and hungry, the urge to hunt rising up like a quiet tsunami.
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Angel sits back on his haunches, looking at the pale offering laid out before him.
“Come here,” Angel says gently.
Unsure, Spike gives him a sharp glance, unwilling to quite trust his elder just yet. His body is still weak, embarrassingly so, and it takes him several long seconds to push himself to a sitting position.
Thinking that Spike needs his help, and still feeling contrite over the draining, Angel reaches for Spike and pulls the small frame into his lap. He holds him tight, emotion overcoming him for a moment.
“Drink,” Angel says softly, turning his head to expose his neck.
Spike freezes, blue eyes locked on that space of flesh that should be throbbing softly under his intense gaze, then meets Angel’s eyes, questioning. The drinking he had done a few moments before was amazing, but the brilliance of it was clouded by his need to be whole again, to bring what had been taken away, back home. Angel is now offering something so much more astounding and frightening, but Spike doesn’t hesitate another second.
His features shift and he bites down, moaning as precious Sire’s blood explodes on his tongue and spills over, leaking a crimson trail down Angel’s back.
Angel can literally count the number of times he had let his boy drink from his neck on one hand - two fingers to be exact. Now, however, the feel of it running through him, he wondered why he had not done it more often. Of course he realized that being the Sire did not lend him to such things, having had to save face and such, as well as keep a firm hold on this unruly one. Such drinking, such abandon would have undermined his authority over the creature in his arms.
A soft sigh escapes Angel as he feels him grow stronger in his arms with every swallow. Spike is being oddly gentle, letting the blood flow to him instead of harshly sucking at it like a fledgling. Of course, he isn’t a new vampire, not really, just been given to share a much closer connection to the demon in Angel that he had before.
“Spike,” he pants, his hands busy touching pale skin in a decidedly horny fashion.
The sound of the elevator stops them both and Spike pulls off, fangs glistening with blood as he tracks the noise and assesses the situation.
Angel’s fucking pets.
“Bloody, sodding, buggering Hell, Angelus. Kill whoever it is and shag me now!”
The lift stops and Angel knows by the cadence of the heartbeat that it is Wesley. Spike climbs off and Angel stands, looking for a pair of pants or sweats and settles for Spike’s discarded towel.
Slipping the towel around his waist, Angel secures it, and then races out of his bedroom, realizing a little too late that Spike has made it out before him. The slim vampire, his fangs still glistening with blood, is now growling at Wesley who has frozen in fear inside the elevator.
“Spike, stop it now!” Angel yells, pushing Spike to the side.
“I - I didn’t mean to interrupt -“
“Well, might want to head back up then,” Spike says to Wesley, reaching to pull the door to the elevator closed. However, a large hand pushes him away.
“Go get dressed, Spike,” Angel says, knowing that Wesley would not have ventured down without reason … he hoped.
Spike watches the man’s face turn pale and scents his fear, his demon delighting in causing such a reaction. But in, five, four, three, two …
“Oh, bloody hell, mate, I’m sorry for being such a prat. AUUUUGH!” he yells before clamping his hand over his mouth until he gets his wimpy conscience under control. “I am not sorry, I am not sorry! I’m a vampire, for Satan’s sake!” he growls storming away to the bedroom.
Wide-eyed, both Angel and Wesley say nothing until the door slams behind him. Turning to his employee, Angel tries to smile like nothing happened.
“So what’s up?”
Wesley pushes out his bottom lip slightly and lifts his chin, glaring at Angel all the while. “Your libido, I’d wager.”
“Which is none of your business,” Angel replies darkly.
Blinking quickly, Wesley takes an unconscious step backward, clearly aware he had stepped over some boundary. “I mean to say, that is, that … Cordelia’s had a vision.”
“Bloody fuck!” a yell sounds from Angel’s bedroom. Both men turn to look as Spike walks out of the bedroom, a pair of black jeans, slung low around his hips. “The bint have radar? Always interruptin’ somethin’.”
He sees the bones in Spike’s spine, wants to touch them again, bruise him. Shaking his head, Angel turns back to Wesley. “What was the vision about?”
“No doubt some stupid damsel in distress,” Spike grumbles.
“Yes, something of the sort.” Wesley focuses on Angel. “It seems that there is some trouble at a local hospital.”
Without another word, Angel turns back to his bedroom and quickly dresses. On his way to the elevator, he tosses Spike his shirt, socks, and shoves his boots in his arms. “Come on.”
Together, the three of them take the short ride upstairs. They arrive in time to see Cordelia downing a handful of Advil.
“Shot’d do ya more good, pet,” Spike suggests, pulling the shirt over his head.
“Already got the hangover,” she says wearily.
“What did you see?” Angel moves in to sit next to her on the couch. He pulls a blanket off the back and wraps it around her then begins massaging her neck, trying to help relieve the pressure in her head. Spike watches all this without comment, but with a keen eye.
“Mmm?” Cordelia mutters, her head hanging down.
“Your vision,” Angel prompts, stopping his massage, afraid she’ll fall asleep before she gets to the trouble at hand.
“Oh, all right.” She sits back and nods a thank you to Wesley as he hands her a cup of hot cocoa. “There was this woman in hospital scrubs, and there was something … misty? … around her. I don’t know. Lots of gurneys with lots of ripped white sheets. Not much else. She was backing up from something, afraid and screaming.” Cordelia looks at Angel and shrugs. “Not much to go on, really.”
Angel frowns. “Did you see anything in the hospital? Any signs on the walls, a name tag?” Closing her eyes, she thinks on it, trying to recreate the vision in her head. “Yeah, ICU is painted in big red letters on the one wall and there’s an elevator…” She’s very still for a few seconds before blurting, “It’s on the 4th floor!”
“Wes…”
Wesley moves quickly to the computer. “On it,” he replies before Angel finishes. Within a few moments he’s smiling. “Okay, two hospitals in Los Angeles have ICU on the fourth floor. Good Samaritan and Cedars Sinai.”
“Well, Good Samaritan’s closer so we’ll try there first.” Angel looks to Spike who’s only half dressed. “You coming?”
The blonde rolls his eyes and mumbles, “I wish,” before sitting down to put on his boots.
~~~*~~~
The sewers leading to Cedar Sinai are more odorous than usual. Good Samaritan had been all quiet and Angel feels like he should have known that the Powers would never make it easy for him and let him kill the bad guys on the first try. Instead, he’s approaching the basement, not breathing at all, in a funk because he’s pretty sure he knows what kind of demon their dealing with,
Trakgins.
Horribly smelly, and hard to kill. He only has a sword and stakes, as does Spike. But Trakgins have armored torsos and necks. The killing blow must carefully dealt under the arm pit and into the heart.
Spike takes great joy in kicking in the doors from the underground garage. It is completely unnecessary and the resulting scowl from Angel is worth it, really. Together they, along with Gunn, move to the elevator and wait. Impatiently, Spike points at the door labeled STAIRS.
Grunting Angel says, “The elevator was in the vision, might be an important place to be.”
Spike rolls his eyes, but waits.
The ding of the elevator is loud and echoing. It is a bit of a match to see who will go in first. Angel, of course, assumes that role, as always. And just as always, Spike seeks to usurp him. It ends in them squeezing through shoulder to shoulder with Gunn trailing behind shaking his head. Spike presses the number four before Angel and up they go, light jazz leading the way.
Spike’s glancing up, gazing at the numbers as each lights in turn, and Angel can’t help but think that he looks a little cross-eyed. He’s about to say as much, when there’s a ding and that weird sinking feeling happens as the elevator stops.
“Fouth floor… lingerie, shoes, accessories,” Gunn announces with fake cheer as he exits, happy to be out of the small, tension-filled box. The vampires follow and are immediately accosted by Tom and a camera in his face, causing them to stop short.
“I don’t f-ing believe this!” Angel shoves the camera away and Tom stumbles backward. Jeffrey is a few feet away and Angel hears the lens as it zooms. “How’d you find us?”
“That girl, Cordelia,” Jeffrey replies while Tom struggles to resituate his equipment. “So where’s the action?”
Spike takes a deep breath and let’s his head swivel to the left. “This way. And try not to get killed.” He definitely doesn’t want to feel anymore guilt over these stupid humans.
~~~*~~~
Bruised, battered, but victorious, Angel, Spike, and Gunn make their way back to the office. They’d gotten there just before the ritual had started. Spike had taken great joy in killing the demons - his soul blissfully silent. He is still bouncing on the balls of his feet, making the other two wish they knew where his off switch is.
Cordelia awaits them in the lobby, a question on her face.
“It was bloody brilliant!” Spike exclaims.
“Where are the camera men?” Cordelia asks, somewhat put out that she has gotten all made up in the hope that the contrast between her pristine appearance and the filthy guys would make her shine all that much brighter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast,” Gunn says chuckling, mimicking one of the cameramen running from the scene of the fight, complete with girlish scream and everything.
“Yeah and how about when Jeffrey was crying for his bloody mum?” Spike joins in, his giggle slightly maniacal, but completely genuine.
“Oh right! ‘Mama! Mama Help!’ That shit was hilarious. I almost dropped my axe.”
Smiling, Angel slips past them as they linger at the entrance, retelling the entire fight for Cordelia. The weapons cabinet is still open and he is an about to turn around and yell at Spike for not securing it, but stops himself. He is smiling, enjoying the company of humans, and Angel doesn’t want to interrupt that for anything. This is what he’d hoped for when he agreed to participate in the show - that one vampire in all the world will know what it’s like to be him, and for him to see people as more than food. He’s thinking that Spike just might be on his way to that revelation so he grabs one of the rags and some cleaning solution from a drawer and begins to wipe dried blood from his own blade while listening to their camaraderie.
It takes a while, but eventually Cordelia says goodnight and Gunn follows shortly after. Somewhere along the way Spike had gotten a cloth of his own and is gently cleaning his sword. There is a slight upcurve to his lips, a somewhat hidden smile. Quietly, Angel replaces his sword and the cleaning supplies and makes his way over to Spike who peeks up, a bit of mirth still lingering.
“Good fight,” Angel says taking the weapon and the cloth. He puts those away too and turns back to his childe.
“Too right, mate.” Spike stands and gives a little head jerk towards the elevator.
A nod from Angel is all that is needed and they make their way quietly down to Angel’s apartment. There is less tension and more anticipation in the air between them. It’s like electricity running through them and Spike starts rolling from heel to toe as Angel opens the doors and precedes him into the living area.
Angel goes to the right, heading for the kitchen and his supply of blood. Spike considers feeding, but is feeling excessively grimy and wants to get clean. He also has hopes of getting more of that succulent blood. The thought of it has his mouthwatering as he strips off his filthy clothes. Unsurprisingly, his cock is filling as well and he rolls his eyes at how predictable his body is. Blood, in thought or reality, makes him hard. It’s a vampire thing he supposes, because he knows Angelus reacted the same way, whether he acted on it or not being a totally different matter.
Turning on the faucets in the shower, Spike gets in under the spray, enjoying the heat and pressure. He ponders this new, perplexing version of his sire and how they will manage once his soul is removed and he gets back to slaughtering without remorse. Because he plans to do just that. Can’t wait to snap a pretty neck…maybe turn Cordelia just to anger the King of Misery in the other room. Grinding his jaw, he keeps himself from screaming out, enraged as his little guilt machine kicks into gear and makes him feel bad for wanting to turn that tart-mouthed cheerleader.
“Bloody fucking hell!” he hisses into the water.
One moment, Spike is ducking his head under the water, cursing the moment he agreed to this hellish nightmare of a soul, the next his elder is there before him, a dark shape in the steam. He watches Angel move closer to him, being revealed slowly as his own hand drifts down his stomach towards the hard length. He smiles when he sees Angel’s eyes dutifully following the southern decent.
Eyes hungry for more snap up to meet his and they both groan as Spike gives his water slickened shaft and hard tug.
Before Spike goes for another long pull, Angel is there, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in for a rough kiss. They battle, dancing to an old tune of power and lust. Angel backs them up to the cooler tile and Spike hisses at the feel of it.
“Got somethin’ in mind?” Spike asks. Already he has forgotten his moment of soul-sorrow. Instead of answering, Angel grinds his cock into Spike.
Nodding, Angel hunches over, his forehead pressing into the smaller man’s neck as he ruts against water-warmed skin. “Lift your leg,” he tells Spike and then he’s helping him do just that and his fingers slide along the crack there.
Spike sighs, his head falling back, wet golden locks plastered to his face, and reaches between them to wrap strong fingers around Angel’s hardness. Stroking lightly, he asks, “Lube?” Angel shakes his head barely, but it’s enough and Spike knows this is going to be done the old-fashioned way. There’s a demon inside him, grinning happily.
Slipping a finger inside the tightness, Angel groans and is teased by Spike showing him just how in control he is of certain muscles. Unable and unwilling to wait a moment longer, Angel grabs both cheeks and lifts Spike up as his boy automatically wraps his arms and legs around a broad back and narrow hips.
For a moment everything is suspended, Spike and Angel lock eyes and Angel lets go. Strong as he is, Spike suspends himself a moment longer and lowers himself until the tip of Angel’s cock is pressing against his opening. Without warning, Angel grabs his hips and pushes down quickly. They both howl, Spike in blissful pain and Angel from guilty pleasure.
Skin slaps against skin, but it is drowned out by the moans and curses coming from the pair. Spike leans back against the tile, angling himself and cries out when Angel hits the one spot that makes him see stars.
“Jesus, Angel…” he pants, clawing at Angel desperately. He doesn’t want to scream, not yet. They have hours for those games. And he knows he will end up a quivering wreck before this is done. Angel’s hands on him like he owns him and it’s a century ago and the other vampire is Spike’s entire world, consuming him in ways Drusilla never could. She had his heart, but Angelus knew just what to do to take him apart. And not much has changed in that respect as Angel fucks up into Spike, gripping hips so tightly that demon nails are piercing pale skin. Water tinted pink, is pooling at their feet and the scent of blood hits them both like a drug, compelling them to drop all pretenses of humanity.
Here, in this place, all alone, for one night, they can be themselves. Predators, Beasts. And souls only mean that they come away slightly less battered.