30 Days - Day 9, 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
DAY 9
Spike aches. Everywhere. And it’s good.
The pain is a bittersweet reminder of the night before as Spike rolls over. Immediately, he is met with a wall of pale flesh, and he all he wants to do is caress and place soft kisses on that skin. The big lug barely shifts, but Spike is almost sure his name left Angel’s lips as he settles against him. They drift for a little bit longer, but the sound of people above them, apparently trying hard to wake them up finally accomplishes that goal.
Slipping out of the bed, Spike walks out of the bedroom nude … only to find a camera in his face.
“Oi!” he hollers, swatting at the giant lens, “Watch it, mate!”
Tom says nothing and barely moves out of the vampire’s way.
“Thought we lost you for good. Bloody shame you found your way back here.” Spike spares a thought about bludgeoning the human with the heavy camera, realizes it won’t come to fruition anytime soon, and suddenly his good mood is replaced by gloom, bitterness, and guilt.
A - bloody - gain.
Growling to himself, he pads on quiet feet to the kitchen and prepares two mugs of blood. A small smile on his lips, he shakes his head at the notion of being domesticated. In truth, at this moment, he’s okay with being temporarily tamed. He has his sire for a little while and he knows that he is wanted. After a century of doubt and feeling like he was always less, it’s good to know that you belong somewhere…to someone.
The new microwave dings and Spike laughs, wondering when His Anal-Retentiveness bought it, as he removes the mugs and returns to the bedroom, shutting Tom out.
Angel is asleep again, but the smell of blood brings him up quickly and before Spike has set breakfast on the nightstand, dark eyes are staring at him. He grins.
“Room service, my lord,” he says and gives a deep bow.
Angel smiles back and tugs Spike closer for a kiss. It’s slow and gentle and he’s savoring Spike like he’s the most delicious thing ever, but eventually the awkward position makes the blonde lean away. He hands a mug to Angel.
“Thanks,” he says and takes a huge gulp. Spike sits next to him. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah, till your pets started their own version of Lords of the Dance up there.”
Angel swallowed the rest and sighed. “They forget.”
“Yeah, I bet I could give them a reminder they’d never forget.”
Angel smacks the back of his head, messing up Spike’s curls more. “No punishing the humans,” he growls but it lacks menace. He’s enjoying this…time with Spike and they’re aren’t arguing or insulting each other. He thinks he’s seeing the Spike that Drusilla knew and loved. He could get to like this version. A version that likes him.
He contemplates the chance that he can pay the producers to not remove the soul. Or maybe just eat that shaman.
The silence stretches on a while longer why they both sip on their mugs and for once, it’s not strained or full of words left unsaid. It’s easy, nice … way more than Spike could have hoped. Now would be the time he would normally be over thinking things, looking at it from every angle and trying to detect hidden agendas - but he refuses to do that. Instead he closes his eyes, finishes off his mug of blood, and just … sits against the headboard in silence.
Eventually, the mug is taken from him and he cracks open an eye to see Angel heading to the sink then hears the water running. With a sigh, he gets up and finishes getting dressed.
“So how’s this gig work, then?” Spike asks, leaning one hip against the counter and lighting a cigarette.
“How’s what work?”
“This gig,” Spike says gesturing upstairs. “Princess sees those in danger and you go runnin’?”
Angel takes his time drying and putting away the mugs, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that simple.”
“’Course not, you’re leadin’ ‘em,” Spike says, though no hint of meanness were in the words. “Seen those cards though, ‘Angel Investigation - We Help the Hopeless’. Not exactly rollin’ in it, are you?”
“That’s not the point,” Angel says, a hint of impatience in his voice. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Spike actually has no idea what it is he does, and while truthfully he’s not been at it long himself, it seems as though it should be obvious to others, but apparently it’s not. “We help those that are unable to help themselves because they are over their head, in danger, or otherwise in need.”
“Sounds a bit like a charity, pet.”
He’s not explaining it right, he knows he’s not, so instead he motions Spike to follow him upstairs where he is sure Wesley is still pouring over old tomes looking for a way to ward one of his client’s homes from outside mental intrusion.
Wesley peeks up when he hears the lift open up and smiles. “Ah, Angel. Good afternoon. Hello Spike,” he adds when the blonde slips out from behind the other vampire.
“Hey Wes, where’s Cordy?”
“Late lunch.”
Angel glances at his watch. “Late or long?”
“Both,” Wesley grins.
Spike is walking the parameter of the office, being nosy, but is very tuned in to the little lovefest going on between Angel and this watcher. They should shag and be done with it.
“You two should shag and be done with it,” Spike blurts from across the room, not even looking at them to see their outraged reactions.
“What?!” they both yell.
“Spike, what’s wrong with you?” Angel barks.
“I assure you there’ll be no….shagging,” Wesley sputters and Spike laughs.
“Sorry, all the pheromones in the air make me say some bloody weird shite,” he offers weakly.
Angel takes a deep breath and gets to the reason for coming upstairs early…which he is now a little afraid to do. “Umm Wes, I was hoping, you know, that you could maybe show Spike the ropes, how we operate. Everything so he can be an active member of the team?”
For a few seconds everyone freezes and Angel’s certain that despite all their progress Spike is about to blow a gasket. Or Wesley is. Instead, the Spike just nods at Angel and sets down at Cordelia’s desk, staring intensely at Wesley.
“I’m all yours, pet,” he drawls, loving the sudden burst of pheromones.
Wesley attempts to ignore the leer in the words and instead turns to the books he has laid out around him. “It seems a young lady -“
“’S always a lass,” Spike interrupts.
“No, not always - there are just as many men-“
“He prefers the bints though, yeah?”
“What? Who?”
“Angel. He prefers the helpless fainting waif types.”
“Well, I couldn’t say, but we’ve had a fair amount of men who are in need-“
“It’s his thing you know, going for the chits, being the hero type.”
Shaking his head, Wesley is clearly unsure where this is going and why he is actually participating in this conversation. “As I was saying,” he gives Spike a pointed look, making it clear he intends to get back on topic, “a young lady is in need of our help. It seems as though she is being mentally attacked in her own home. First we must rule out the usual suspects, hauntings, poltergeists, and other non-entities. Then we must -“
“Did she call then?” Spike asks, interrupting again. He watches as the color begins to creep up Wesley’s face and can’t help but enjoy it a bit. It’s true, he’s genuinely curious, but this is a much better way than listening to him rattle on for hours.
“Did who call?” Wesley asks, annoyance finally tingeing his voice. He glances pleadingly at Angel who’s trying not to smile.
“This lady in trouble, did she call?”
“Oh, well, as a matter of fact, yes, she did call.”
“Got one of them 800 numbers then? 1-800-help-me?”
Wesley frowns. “That’s not enough digits.”
Spike is frowning as well, mentally counting the letters before smiling. “Bloody right you are. Well, enough of this dawdling, let’s save the girl.”
From this moment on, Spike seriously listens to Wesley explain the case, and delves into the research with ease. Quickly translating the a few Greek passages Wesley is duly impressed.
“Where did you study?” he asks.
Spike is deep in thought, concentrating on the book in his hands, and answers without thinking. “Cambridge.”
“Ah, a Cantabrigian.” Wesley’s stare is contemplative and intent as the vampire realizes he has revealed a piece of his past.
He leans forward. “Yeah, but don’t tell Angel. Wanker thinks he’s smarter than me. Let the big Mick have his delusions.”
There’s a gleam in the others man’s eyes as he replies, “Of course. It’ll be out little secret. But only if you tell me all about your studies there.”
Settling back in his chair, Spike pouts. “Not the pushover I pegged you for, Watcher.”
“Not by a longshot,” he confirms. “And not a watcher any longer either. Now, where shall we start?”
~~~*~~~
Not much research gets done after that. Wesley spends an hour picking Spike’s brain, taking notes, until Angel is heard coming up the lift again. By unspoken agreement they both smoothly change the subject and Spike is beginning to like this one.
For a moment, Angel stands just outside the lift and looks around the office, a distinct frown on his face, as though he forgot something.
“’What’s wrong?” Spike asks, when Angel still hasn’t moved.
“Has Cordelia been back yet?” he asks.
“No,” Wesley says, shaking his head. He stands up quickly and moves to the phone just as Angel asks, “Has she called?”
“No one’s rang,” Spike says, looking between the two of them. “But isn’t this the bird’s thing?” He waves vaguely. “Not comin’ in unless she feels she ought to?”
“Not like this. It’s been hours,” Angel practically growls, barely dodging the camera man as he goes to stand by Wesley as he attempts to reach Cordelia.
“Nothing,” Wesley says gravely. The three of them look to the windows, seeing twilight has fallen over the city.
Quickly gathering a few weapons, all three of them leave the office and climb into Angel’s car. The tension’s thick as they worry for Cordelia and no one is talking, not even Spike. They drive across downtown and wind through a middle-income neighborhood until they come upon Cordelia’s building. Angel slows to a crawl, and they do a drive by, looking in at her darkened windows.
“What shall we do?” Wesley asks as Angel drives around the block and parks the car. They sit in silence for a moment, watching and waiting.
“Stay here,” Angel says, and gets out of the car. Immediately, Spike climbs out behind him. Cameraman Tom gets out of his own van, approaching with his gear. Groaning, Angel turns on them and motions them both back into the vehicles.
“What part of stay here don’t you get?” he hisses, shoving Tom back while Spike shoulders past him.
“The part where I actually stay.” Spike glances around, nostrils flared. “I smell a Drudam, Angel. Do you wanna argue or find the girl?”
~~~*~~~
Pride and control-freak issues put aside, they find and save the girl.
Said girl is lying on Angel’s sofa, an icepack resting precariously on the lump on her head. “I hate this job.” She picks at the crusted slime in her hair and makes a face.
“Yeah, well maybe next time don’t be so anxious to meet up with a fake producer alone at your apartment,” Angel suggests.
“Really, Cordelia, what were you thinking?” Wesley has disapproving face and Cordelia want to smack it. Hard.
She sits up, catching the icepack as it slides. “I was thinking I hate this job and need more money, hence my lucrative career in commercials. Duh! Do you even know how much Manolo Blahniks costs?”
“Is that a demon?” Angel is confused.
Spike perks up, wincing at the wound in his leg. “There’s this demon bird, over on Crenshaw. She gets them off the truck so to speak. Can get you a deal if you like.”
“Really?” Cordelia’s almost forgotten her headache. “Wait. Why do you have the designer hook-up?”
“Dru. Dressed a bit odd, but she liked the shoes of this time.”
Angel steps up. “I hate to ask, but why didn’t you just kill someone for them? Or at least steal them.”
“Did steal ‘em, you nonce. Can’t now, can I?”
Gathering her things, she rolls her eyes. “Well, as usual, I have the best darned time with you guys. Thanks for the saving. Again.” She hops in the lift and slams the gate shut. “Oh, I’ll expect some extra hazard pay in my check this week.” And she’s gone, not giving Angel the chance to protest.
Wesley stands to leave as well. “And that’s my cue as well.” He glances at the vampires, at an injured Spike in particular. “I’ll pick up more blood on my way in tomorrow.”
“Thanks Wes.” Angel walks him up the stairs, instead of waiting for the lift to return. They say good night and Angel locks up, warning the cameramen not to bother him in his home, before coming back down. Spike is now sprawled on the sofa that Cordelia recently vacated.
“How’s your leg?” It is a deep and ragged slash, bandaged now, but he can smell fresh bleeding so it isn’t even close to closing up.
“It’s fine.” He sips his cooling mug of pig blood. “Be right as rain in a few days.” He gazes at Angel over the cup. “Or could be all healed by morning…Sire.” His voice is deep now and Angel can feel that word flowing through him, making him hard.
He feels sort of dazed as he nods and offers Spike a hand up from the couch. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”
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
DAY 9
Spike aches. Everywhere. And it’s good.
The pain is a bittersweet reminder of the night before as Spike rolls over. Immediately, he is met with a wall of pale flesh, and he all he wants to do is caress and place soft kisses on that skin. The big lug barely shifts, but Spike is almost sure his name left Angel’s lips as he settles against him. They drift for a little bit longer, but the sound of people above them, apparently trying hard to wake them up finally accomplishes that goal.
Slipping out of the bed, Spike walks out of the bedroom nude … only to find a camera in his face.
“Oi!” he hollers, swatting at the giant lens, “Watch it, mate!”
Tom says nothing and barely moves out of the vampire’s way.
“Thought we lost you for good. Bloody shame you found your way back here.” Spike spares a thought about bludgeoning the human with the heavy camera, realizes it won’t come to fruition anytime soon, and suddenly his good mood is replaced by gloom, bitterness, and guilt.
A - bloody - gain.
Growling to himself, he pads on quiet feet to the kitchen and prepares two mugs of blood. A small smile on his lips, he shakes his head at the notion of being domesticated. In truth, at this moment, he’s okay with being temporarily tamed. He has his sire for a little while and he knows that he is wanted. After a century of doubt and feeling like he was always less, it’s good to know that you belong somewhere…to someone.
The new microwave dings and Spike laughs, wondering when His Anal-Retentiveness bought it, as he removes the mugs and returns to the bedroom, shutting Tom out.
Angel is asleep again, but the smell of blood brings him up quickly and before Spike has set breakfast on the nightstand, dark eyes are staring at him. He grins.
“Room service, my lord,” he says and gives a deep bow.
Angel smiles back and tugs Spike closer for a kiss. It’s slow and gentle and he’s savoring Spike like he’s the most delicious thing ever, but eventually the awkward position makes the blonde lean away. He hands a mug to Angel.
“Thanks,” he says and takes a huge gulp. Spike sits next to him. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah, till your pets started their own version of Lords of the Dance up there.”
Angel swallowed the rest and sighed. “They forget.”
“Yeah, I bet I could give them a reminder they’d never forget.”
Angel smacks the back of his head, messing up Spike’s curls more. “No punishing the humans,” he growls but it lacks menace. He’s enjoying this…time with Spike and they’re aren’t arguing or insulting each other. He thinks he’s seeing the Spike that Drusilla knew and loved. He could get to like this version. A version that likes him.
He contemplates the chance that he can pay the producers to not remove the soul. Or maybe just eat that shaman.
The silence stretches on a while longer why they both sip on their mugs and for once, it’s not strained or full of words left unsaid. It’s easy, nice … way more than Spike could have hoped. Now would be the time he would normally be over thinking things, looking at it from every angle and trying to detect hidden agendas - but he refuses to do that. Instead he closes his eyes, finishes off his mug of blood, and just … sits against the headboard in silence.
Eventually, the mug is taken from him and he cracks open an eye to see Angel heading to the sink then hears the water running. With a sigh, he gets up and finishes getting dressed.
“So how’s this gig work, then?” Spike asks, leaning one hip against the counter and lighting a cigarette.
“How’s what work?”
“This gig,” Spike says gesturing upstairs. “Princess sees those in danger and you go runnin’?”
Angel takes his time drying and putting away the mugs, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that simple.”
“’Course not, you’re leadin’ ‘em,” Spike says, though no hint of meanness were in the words. “Seen those cards though, ‘Angel Investigation - We Help the Hopeless’. Not exactly rollin’ in it, are you?”
“That’s not the point,” Angel says, a hint of impatience in his voice. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Spike actually has no idea what it is he does, and while truthfully he’s not been at it long himself, it seems as though it should be obvious to others, but apparently it’s not. “We help those that are unable to help themselves because they are over their head, in danger, or otherwise in need.”
“Sounds a bit like a charity, pet.”
He’s not explaining it right, he knows he’s not, so instead he motions Spike to follow him upstairs where he is sure Wesley is still pouring over old tomes looking for a way to ward one of his client’s homes from outside mental intrusion.
Wesley peeks up when he hears the lift open up and smiles. “Ah, Angel. Good afternoon. Hello Spike,” he adds when the blonde slips out from behind the other vampire.
“Hey Wes, where’s Cordy?”
“Late lunch.”
Angel glances at his watch. “Late or long?”
“Both,” Wesley grins.
Spike is walking the parameter of the office, being nosy, but is very tuned in to the little lovefest going on between Angel and this watcher. They should shag and be done with it.
“You two should shag and be done with it,” Spike blurts from across the room, not even looking at them to see their outraged reactions.
“What?!” they both yell.
“Spike, what’s wrong with you?” Angel barks.
“I assure you there’ll be no….shagging,” Wesley sputters and Spike laughs.
“Sorry, all the pheromones in the air make me say some bloody weird shite,” he offers weakly.
Angel takes a deep breath and gets to the reason for coming upstairs early…which he is now a little afraid to do. “Umm Wes, I was hoping, you know, that you could maybe show Spike the ropes, how we operate. Everything so he can be an active member of the team?”
For a few seconds everyone freezes and Angel’s certain that despite all their progress Spike is about to blow a gasket. Or Wesley is. Instead, the Spike just nods at Angel and sets down at Cordelia’s desk, staring intensely at Wesley.
“I’m all yours, pet,” he drawls, loving the sudden burst of pheromones.
Wesley attempts to ignore the leer in the words and instead turns to the books he has laid out around him. “It seems a young lady -“
“’S always a lass,” Spike interrupts.
“No, not always - there are just as many men-“
“He prefers the bints though, yeah?”
“What? Who?”
“Angel. He prefers the helpless fainting waif types.”
“Well, I couldn’t say, but we’ve had a fair amount of men who are in need-“
“It’s his thing you know, going for the chits, being the hero type.”
Shaking his head, Wesley is clearly unsure where this is going and why he is actually participating in this conversation. “As I was saying,” he gives Spike a pointed look, making it clear he intends to get back on topic, “a young lady is in need of our help. It seems as though she is being mentally attacked in her own home. First we must rule out the usual suspects, hauntings, poltergeists, and other non-entities. Then we must -“
“Did she call then?” Spike asks, interrupting again. He watches as the color begins to creep up Wesley’s face and can’t help but enjoy it a bit. It’s true, he’s genuinely curious, but this is a much better way than listening to him rattle on for hours.
“Did who call?” Wesley asks, annoyance finally tingeing his voice. He glances pleadingly at Angel who’s trying not to smile.
“This lady in trouble, did she call?”
“Oh, well, as a matter of fact, yes, she did call.”
“Got one of them 800 numbers then? 1-800-help-me?”
Wesley frowns. “That’s not enough digits.”
Spike is frowning as well, mentally counting the letters before smiling. “Bloody right you are. Well, enough of this dawdling, let’s save the girl.”
From this moment on, Spike seriously listens to Wesley explain the case, and delves into the research with ease. Quickly translating the a few Greek passages Wesley is duly impressed.
“Where did you study?” he asks.
Spike is deep in thought, concentrating on the book in his hands, and answers without thinking. “Cambridge.”
“Ah, a Cantabrigian.” Wesley’s stare is contemplative and intent as the vampire realizes he has revealed a piece of his past.
He leans forward. “Yeah, but don’t tell Angel. Wanker thinks he’s smarter than me. Let the big Mick have his delusions.”
There’s a gleam in the others man’s eyes as he replies, “Of course. It’ll be out little secret. But only if you tell me all about your studies there.”
Settling back in his chair, Spike pouts. “Not the pushover I pegged you for, Watcher.”
“Not by a longshot,” he confirms. “And not a watcher any longer either. Now, where shall we start?”
~~~*~~~
Not much research gets done after that. Wesley spends an hour picking Spike’s brain, taking notes, until Angel is heard coming up the lift again. By unspoken agreement they both smoothly change the subject and Spike is beginning to like this one.
For a moment, Angel stands just outside the lift and looks around the office, a distinct frown on his face, as though he forgot something.
“’What’s wrong?” Spike asks, when Angel still hasn’t moved.
“Has Cordelia been back yet?” he asks.
“No,” Wesley says, shaking his head. He stands up quickly and moves to the phone just as Angel asks, “Has she called?”
“No one’s rang,” Spike says, looking between the two of them. “But isn’t this the bird’s thing?” He waves vaguely. “Not comin’ in unless she feels she ought to?”
“Not like this. It’s been hours,” Angel practically growls, barely dodging the camera man as he goes to stand by Wesley as he attempts to reach Cordelia.
“Nothing,” Wesley says gravely. The three of them look to the windows, seeing twilight has fallen over the city.
Quickly gathering a few weapons, all three of them leave the office and climb into Angel’s car. The tension’s thick as they worry for Cordelia and no one is talking, not even Spike. They drive across downtown and wind through a middle-income neighborhood until they come upon Cordelia’s building. Angel slows to a crawl, and they do a drive by, looking in at her darkened windows.
“What shall we do?” Wesley asks as Angel drives around the block and parks the car. They sit in silence for a moment, watching and waiting.
“Stay here,” Angel says, and gets out of the car. Immediately, Spike climbs out behind him. Cameraman Tom gets out of his own van, approaching with his gear. Groaning, Angel turns on them and motions them both back into the vehicles.
“What part of stay here don’t you get?” he hisses, shoving Tom back while Spike shoulders past him.
“The part where I actually stay.” Spike glances around, nostrils flared. “I smell a Drudam, Angel. Do you wanna argue or find the girl?”
~~~*~~~
Pride and control-freak issues put aside, they find and save the girl.
Said girl is lying on Angel’s sofa, an icepack resting precariously on the lump on her head. “I hate this job.” She picks at the crusted slime in her hair and makes a face.
“Yeah, well maybe next time don’t be so anxious to meet up with a fake producer alone at your apartment,” Angel suggests.
“Really, Cordelia, what were you thinking?” Wesley has disapproving face and Cordelia want to smack it. Hard.
She sits up, catching the icepack as it slides. “I was thinking I hate this job and need more money, hence my lucrative career in commercials. Duh! Do you even know how much Manolo Blahniks costs?”
“Is that a demon?” Angel is confused.
Spike perks up, wincing at the wound in his leg. “There’s this demon bird, over on Crenshaw. She gets them off the truck so to speak. Can get you a deal if you like.”
“Really?” Cordelia’s almost forgotten her headache. “Wait. Why do you have the designer hook-up?”
“Dru. Dressed a bit odd, but she liked the shoes of this time.”
Angel steps up. “I hate to ask, but why didn’t you just kill someone for them? Or at least steal them.”
“Did steal ‘em, you nonce. Can’t now, can I?”
Gathering her things, she rolls her eyes. “Well, as usual, I have the best darned time with you guys. Thanks for the saving. Again.” She hops in the lift and slams the gate shut. “Oh, I’ll expect some extra hazard pay in my check this week.” And she’s gone, not giving Angel the chance to protest.
Wesley stands to leave as well. “And that’s my cue as well.” He glances at the vampires, at an injured Spike in particular. “I’ll pick up more blood on my way in tomorrow.”
“Thanks Wes.” Angel walks him up the stairs, instead of waiting for the lift to return. They say good night and Angel locks up, warning the cameramen not to bother him in his home, before coming back down. Spike is now sprawled on the sofa that Cordelia recently vacated.
“How’s your leg?” It is a deep and ragged slash, bandaged now, but he can smell fresh bleeding so it isn’t even close to closing up.
“It’s fine.” He sips his cooling mug of pig blood. “Be right as rain in a few days.” He gazes at Angel over the cup. “Or could be all healed by morning…Sire.” His voice is deep now and Angel can feel that word flowing through him, making him hard.
He feels sort of dazed as he nods and offers Spike a hand up from the couch. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”