30 Days - Day 6
Okay, when I put day 6 in my memories, it was a link to writtenbyfates which is flocked so I'm adding it again to my memories under my own journal. Capisce?
Title: 30 Days
Authors: writtenbyfates (femailofthespecies and claudia6913)
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Modeled after the show 30 Days. 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.
Day 6
Spike stands next to the bed, staring down at the girl laying there. She isn’t even a woman, not yet. Kyra is young and foolish, and Spike feels like he has taken advantage of that, twisting it to serve his own purpose. He is quick to blame Angel for this, leaving his soul only mildly bruised by this tryst. It is Angel’s fault for pushing him away and not being the Sire Spike needs him to be. He doesn’t know exactly what he needs, but he knows that Angel should.
Bending over, he begins lacing up his boots, intent on not thinking about how only days before, he would’ve drained her, maybe even turned her if the mood had struck him. Instead, he focuses on getting out of there before she wakes up and his soul tortures him into apologizing for the shag.
Slipping out of the hotel room quietly, Spike quickly makes his way back out onto the streets. The night is still young and he thinks that drowning his soul in some cheap liquor is just the thing he needs right now.
It’s Los Angeles and it only takes a few minutes of walking around to find a bar suitable to his tastes. This one has a small, dusty dance floor and music pumping out of an old, beat-up, jukebox sitting in the back corner. Fortunately, no one is dancing and the song is some old classic rock that he can stomach without riling his demon too much.
“Tequila … double,” he says as he slides on the barstool. A few people stare at him while pretending not to, but he is used to that. The bartender nods and wipes at the space in front of Spike with a rag that smells of too much bleach. He waves the guy away and with a shrug he stops and goes to pour the blond’s drink.
Glancing up, the bartender doesn’t see his customer in the mirror and turns around quickly, wondering how he got away that fast only to find blue eyes staring at him, amused.
“What the fu…” he says, swinging his head back and forth.
Spike just rolls his eyes. “My drink?”
“But …”
“Vampire, and if I don’t get my bloody tequila soon, I may get thirsty for something else.” Even saying the words, with no intent to follow through, has him feeling slightly bad about it all, but he just wants to get a little drunk before the inevitable … returning to his Sire.
Spike pays no attention to the still flustered bartender, but is thankful when his drink finally comes. Taking the small glass in hand, he downs it quickly, his vampire constitution doing nothing to help him get drunk.
“Leave the bottle,” Spike says. The bartender does, and then backs away quickly, leaving him to his drink … just as Spike likes it.
Their argument was something Spike had been wanting to get out in the open for a while now … years in fact, and somehow, he is the one shunned and put out. He realizes, a little too late, that he probably shouldn’t have left, that he should have stayed there, fought it out with Angel.
Spike snorts to himself, unmindful of the few patrons that look at him briefly. Angel proved earlier to Spike that he knows nothing of how he feels, and probably never would. Thick-skulled as Angel is, and Angelus was, it is highly unlikely that anything Spike says will make a difference.
Possibly, that is what he is doing wrong, Spike thinks. It could be that he needs to show Angel how he feels, how hurt he is by the rejection and secrets, how much it pains the younger vampire to be hidden away.
Now, he just has to figure out how to show Angel that he needs him, now more than ever.
He looks up suddenly, like a deer in the headlights. “Oh God, he whispered. “I’ve become a brooding pansy like Angel. Oh! Someone please stake me.”
Snagging the bottle, he leaves the bar, very tempted to crush the voice box of the bartender as he insists that Spike pay. He storms out, determined not to pay. A little rebellion is forming in his mind, against the soul, against the dreaded realization that, with the guilt and the conscience, he will be, by the end of the 30 days, nothing more than a simpering, brooding, pansy arsed, blond version of his Sire. That, he vows, will not happen.
“I’m a bloody demon, for Satan’s sake.”
With his new attitude and enough liquid to get him to feeling better soon, Spike strolls down the street, intent on finding trouble.
*****
“Well he’s not here anymore,” he replies curtly before pressing the “end” button in his little cell phone. Kate intercepted a 911 call about a vampire stealing a bottle of tequila and immediately called Angel Investigations. Cordelia took the information and passed it on to her boss who is now hovering in the dim bar, taking in Spike’s lingering scent.
“He your friend?” the bartender asks.
“Friend is a little too strong a word,” Angel says. Already he can see the man gathering the nerve to ask him to pay for the liquor Spike stole.
“You’re not … like him are you?” the guy asks.
“What do you mean?”
The bartender looks behind him to the mirror, but Angel is not standing directly in front of it, hence no reflection, though, the guy takes a deep breath an exhales it.
“What did he say?” Angel insists.
“He wanted some tequila, only when I turned to get it, I didn’t seem him sitting there in the mirror behind my bar,” the guy says pointing unnecessarily to the reflective glass. “I go to ask him what’s up, and he … well,” he drops his voice, “he says he’s a vampire.”
The guy gives a nervous sort of laugh, expecting Angel to join in, but the vampire doesn’t.
“There’s no such thing,” the guy says, trying to calm himself down. “I mean, vampire’s? Just a bunch of hogwash if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well I’m not.” Humans are asinine when it comes to denial.
“Huh?”
“Listen, did he say where he was going?”
“Nope, just said something about a brooding panty angel and left.” He eyes Angel for a second then goes for it. “He owes me $38 for the bottle. You covering him?”
“What do you think?” Angel steps closer so that his reflection would be there if he had one and points to the mirror, smiling when the guy turns and bangs his hip on the bar trying to get space between them.
“Help!” he yells to the other customers who pay no attention.
Rolling his eyes, Angel considers tossing a couple of twenties to the man, but he’s annoyed by his stupidity now. Instead, he hums a jaunty tune as he slips out into the night and takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed and his mouth open.
And there, faint but unmistakable, is the scent of his Childe.
“Always did like the chase, didn’t you boy,” Angel says to himself, and takes off in the direction his senses tell him Spike went.
**********
Normally, days would seem like only minutes in the infinitely long life of a vampire, but as Spike sits on a park bench, drinking his Tequila, he thinks about how long he’s had a soul, how long it’s been since his last kill. Even now, sitting there, crying over that camera guy, Spike still remembers the hot taste of it sliding down it throat and chokes back a sob as he thinks he’d like to taste that again.
Thankfully, however, the park is fairly deserted and he rarely hears anyone walking by this late at night. Which means there’s no one there to hear him, or see him, and quite frankly, he’s fine with that. No humans mean no temptation, and no temptation means his soul can rest, if only for a bit.
“What the fuck’ve I gotten myself into?” he asks the empty space around him.
“I don’t know, Spike, but it’s always entertaining.”
Spike looks up and sees Angel smirking at him while leaning on a tree. With his vampiric vision, he can also see a huge trail of ants slithering around said tree, but keeps that to himself.
“So pleased to amuse you, Angelus,” he replies, his voice dropping an octave, and then he frowns. “And how the bloody hell did you find me? You got a GPS on me?”
Angel crosses his arms and his eyebrows meet in a scowl. “A what?”
“G.P.S. One of those satellites tracking thingies and who the soddin’hell am I talking to. Sorry Captain Cavebrow, wrong millennia.”
The older vampire shrugs and rubs at an itch on his neck, wondering how he can live with this creature and not get half of what he says.
“Plan on staying out for the remaining 24 days?” Angel asks, conversationally. His mind isn’t made up yet as to whether or not he wants the younger vampire to return with him. There’s so much about Spike that he doesn’t understand, and probably never will, that co-existing with him, no matter for how short a time, is an effort. Spike deconstructs, while Angel tries to build something of their relationship … no matter how thin the thread that still binds them.
“Might. ‘S not bad out here, plenty of fresh air,” he inhales deep and lets the air out in a rush, “got a pub down the street an’ a little take out on the corner. Everythin’ a bloke needs.”
“Except cash.”
“Well, don’t need it, do I?”
“The bartender reported you to the police. You’re lucky I know someone at the station. She called me-“
“She?” Spike asks, intrigued, cutting Angel off.
“Yes, Kate. She called me. She always does when it looks like their may be something … other-worldly going on.” He let his eyes roll, silently indicating just what he thought of the term.
Spike stands and hands the bottle to Angel. “So let me get this straight. You’ve a bint on the force who calls on you when the big bad is a real big bad?”
Wondering what Spike’s point is, Angel scratches his shoulder and agrees. “Something like that, only she’s not a bint, she’s a …what do you call them? Oh yeah, a chit, a bird otherwise known to the rest of the world as a capable woman. Why?”
“And you just don your cape and come running. The big strapping hero. I bet you haven’t even gotten any yet.” Spike is chuckling now and Angel is irritated.
“It’s not like that.”
“Hmm, it bloody well better not be like that, Pouf.”
Angel pushes off from the tree and scratches his arm. “Spike, I don’t know why I … crap! Something’s on me!”
“You mean other than an incredibly big chip?” Spike says, trying hard to stifle the laughter bubbling in his gut.
“Yes!” Turning wildly, Angel swats at the things crawling along his skin. He turns and looks at the tree he’s been leaning against. There, barely visible in the dark, were thousands of tiny little red ants. Whirling around, he glares daggers at Spike as the blond doubles over in laughter.
“You knew!” Angel accuses, still swiping at his skin and clothes. The ants are everywhere, itching and biting, and it is driving him mad.
There is no way Spike will be able to talk now because he cackling, and bent over at the waist.
Turns out he doesn’t need to because, running at a trot, shouldering their cameras with professional ease, are Jeff and Tom. Both cameraman stop a few feet away, filming the entire scene as Angel swats and wiggles around, yelping here and there.
Spike glances at them and falls to the ground, weak with the giggles. Tom turns his camera on him.
“This is gonna be great.” Jeff tells his co-worker who nods, grinning like crazy.
“Turn … that thing … Off!” Angel yells, reaching for the camera closest to him. Jeff steps back, ready to run.
From the ground, Spike manages to inhale enough to speak. “No … don’t … really.” Then he collapses again in fresh wave of belly laughs.
“I … damn well hope … you’re laying in them!” Angel yells. Unfortunately, he sees the colony situated just under the tree and guesses that his Childe isn’t in their line of fire.
“Bloody priceless,” Spike gasps, trying to wipe at the tears streaming from his eyes.
Finally, pissed off at both Spike and the ants, Angel reaches down and picks Spike up by the lapels, thrusting him hard into the tree, holding him there.
“Not so funny now, is it?” Angel asks, twitching with every new bite, but he refuses to let Spike go.
“Oi! Let go of me!”
“Are you coming back with me?”
“If you think this’ll get me to go back to that dank basement you call an apartment, you’re denser than I thought.”
The ants are eager to sink their tiny ant teeth into fresh flesh, well 120 year old flesh and Spike squirms around in Angel’s grasp.
“My place isn’t dank. I use a really good dehumidifier and the incense keeps it smelling nice,” he says, slamming Spike into the ants, which enrages both the creatures and the blond.
Spike glares at the camera. “See that America. In the midst of battle, my Pouf of a Sire is talking good housekeeping. All we need is the lisp.”
“Are you coming with me!?” Angel growls loudly, backing Tom and Jeffrey up several feet.
“You know that’s always been up to you, Daddy,” Spike replies.
With a frustrated growl, Angel picks Spike up and tosses him over his shoulder, too pissed off now to pay the ants much attention. He struggles to keep Spike from wiggling too much on his shoulder.
“Fine,” Angel says. “You’ll come back and I’ll fucking lock you in a God damned room until that soul is gone and chuck you out.”
With Spike this close to him, he catches the scent of something and tosses Spike to the ground.
“What the hell have you done?”
Being tossed around like some rag doll is not Spike’s idea of a good time and he hauls himself up from the ground, swatting at the ants that still roam his body.
“Left my liquor back there,” Spike says petulantly, walking back towards the bench, but he is stopped by a beefy hand to his chest.
Spike raises an eyebrow and pushes past Angel. “Don’t let them see this half, Angelus,” he tells him, nodding toward the humans. “It’s not pretty.” A possessive Sire can really be a nuisance.
Angel grabs him again, yanking him close enough to smell him up. “I don’t give a shit about them. I am seriously debating on eating them before this is over. And that Morgan guy. So who have you been screwing, Spike?”
“Why Angel, I didn’t know you cared, pet,” he laughed, and then brought his elbow up into Angel’s gut with enough force to dent metal. Meaty paws released him and he skipped away backwards, not taking his eyes off his Sire.
“Nevermind,” Angel says, turning away from the blond, thinking this was just another game to get him to torture and punish Spike. Well, Angel isn’t going to fall for it. Instead, he begins walking towards home. “You know where I am if and when you grow up, Spike.”
“What, no goodbye kiss?” Spike asks, a pout forming on his face.
“I don’t know where you mouth’s been.”
“Like you’d soddin’ care anyway.”
“I do care!” Angel yells, turning around. “That’s the problem. I do, and I shouldn’t. So, go fuck whoever you want Spike, but don’t you dare fucking think you can crawl back into my bed.” He turns again, finished with the conversation, and the vampire.
“You bloody hypocrite!” Running, Spike catches up to Angel and spins him around by the shoulder right before landing a punch to his Sire’s face.
Angel reels backwards, stumbling, but stays upright. He wipes at his mouth, tasting the blood there before charging at Spike at full speed. Tumbling into the dirt and leaves, they roll around, each trying to get the upper hand until Angel’s mass and age win out and he pins the blond to the ground. Spike is even more incensed and rages at him.
“You want me, but won’t say it. Won’t let your precious pets know it … Won’t even admit it to your own thick-skulled self. You hate that you want me. Like it’s your cross to bear, you bloody need to possess everything about me.”
Angel is panting as he hovers over Spike, soil dropping from his hair every time the younger vampire wiggles in a bid for freedom. “You don’t know anything about me Spike.”
“No, I don’t, not a lot. But I know that you expect me to sit and wait to be called and polish your knob like a good little fledge.”
“See, Spike, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t want anything from you.” He pauses while Spike scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I want nothing more than you want to give. Then you gave it, didn’t you? I think it’s you that can’t stand the thought of us. But, know this, I’m not going to sit idly by, twiddling my fingers while you try to figure this out. My days with you are limited as it is. 24 days, Spike, that’s it, then after that, you’ll be gone, just as you always were.”
Scowling, Spike stares at Angel. This is the most Angel has said to him about their relationship - ever - and he is making sense, telling truths. That, however, was not what Spike expects from his Sire, so he tries to bolt.
“Bloody let me go,” Spike growls, pushing up on Angel. Standing up, Angel lets him get up and watches as Spike turns and walks away.
“You know where I’ll be,” he calls to the back of Spike’s head.
“Yeah, and if I was up your arse you’d know where I am.”
And then Spike’s gone, running almost faster than Angel can see and the older vampire turns to the camera guys standing there, partially shocked by the whole scene and partially frozen in fear of the one that’s left with them.
“Can either of you translate idiot?”
Title: 30 Days
Authors: writtenbyfates (femailofthespecies and claudia6913)
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Modeled after the show 30 Days. 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.
Day 6
Spike stands next to the bed, staring down at the girl laying there. She isn’t even a woman, not yet. Kyra is young and foolish, and Spike feels like he has taken advantage of that, twisting it to serve his own purpose. He is quick to blame Angel for this, leaving his soul only mildly bruised by this tryst. It is Angel’s fault for pushing him away and not being the Sire Spike needs him to be. He doesn’t know exactly what he needs, but he knows that Angel should.
Bending over, he begins lacing up his boots, intent on not thinking about how only days before, he would’ve drained her, maybe even turned her if the mood had struck him. Instead, he focuses on getting out of there before she wakes up and his soul tortures him into apologizing for the shag.
Slipping out of the hotel room quietly, Spike quickly makes his way back out onto the streets. The night is still young and he thinks that drowning his soul in some cheap liquor is just the thing he needs right now.
It’s Los Angeles and it only takes a few minutes of walking around to find a bar suitable to his tastes. This one has a small, dusty dance floor and music pumping out of an old, beat-up, jukebox sitting in the back corner. Fortunately, no one is dancing and the song is some old classic rock that he can stomach without riling his demon too much.
“Tequila … double,” he says as he slides on the barstool. A few people stare at him while pretending not to, but he is used to that. The bartender nods and wipes at the space in front of Spike with a rag that smells of too much bleach. He waves the guy away and with a shrug he stops and goes to pour the blond’s drink.
Glancing up, the bartender doesn’t see his customer in the mirror and turns around quickly, wondering how he got away that fast only to find blue eyes staring at him, amused.
“What the fu…” he says, swinging his head back and forth.
Spike just rolls his eyes. “My drink?”
“But …”
“Vampire, and if I don’t get my bloody tequila soon, I may get thirsty for something else.” Even saying the words, with no intent to follow through, has him feeling slightly bad about it all, but he just wants to get a little drunk before the inevitable … returning to his Sire.
Spike pays no attention to the still flustered bartender, but is thankful when his drink finally comes. Taking the small glass in hand, he downs it quickly, his vampire constitution doing nothing to help him get drunk.
“Leave the bottle,” Spike says. The bartender does, and then backs away quickly, leaving him to his drink … just as Spike likes it.
Their argument was something Spike had been wanting to get out in the open for a while now … years in fact, and somehow, he is the one shunned and put out. He realizes, a little too late, that he probably shouldn’t have left, that he should have stayed there, fought it out with Angel.
Spike snorts to himself, unmindful of the few patrons that look at him briefly. Angel proved earlier to Spike that he knows nothing of how he feels, and probably never would. Thick-skulled as Angel is, and Angelus was, it is highly unlikely that anything Spike says will make a difference.
Possibly, that is what he is doing wrong, Spike thinks. It could be that he needs to show Angel how he feels, how hurt he is by the rejection and secrets, how much it pains the younger vampire to be hidden away.
Now, he just has to figure out how to show Angel that he needs him, now more than ever.
He looks up suddenly, like a deer in the headlights. “Oh God, he whispered. “I’ve become a brooding pansy like Angel. Oh! Someone please stake me.”
Snagging the bottle, he leaves the bar, very tempted to crush the voice box of the bartender as he insists that Spike pay. He storms out, determined not to pay. A little rebellion is forming in his mind, against the soul, against the dreaded realization that, with the guilt and the conscience, he will be, by the end of the 30 days, nothing more than a simpering, brooding, pansy arsed, blond version of his Sire. That, he vows, will not happen.
“I’m a bloody demon, for Satan’s sake.”
With his new attitude and enough liquid to get him to feeling better soon, Spike strolls down the street, intent on finding trouble.
*****
“Well he’s not here anymore,” he replies curtly before pressing the “end” button in his little cell phone. Kate intercepted a 911 call about a vampire stealing a bottle of tequila and immediately called Angel Investigations. Cordelia took the information and passed it on to her boss who is now hovering in the dim bar, taking in Spike’s lingering scent.
“He your friend?” the bartender asks.
“Friend is a little too strong a word,” Angel says. Already he can see the man gathering the nerve to ask him to pay for the liquor Spike stole.
“You’re not … like him are you?” the guy asks.
“What do you mean?”
The bartender looks behind him to the mirror, but Angel is not standing directly in front of it, hence no reflection, though, the guy takes a deep breath an exhales it.
“What did he say?” Angel insists.
“He wanted some tequila, only when I turned to get it, I didn’t seem him sitting there in the mirror behind my bar,” the guy says pointing unnecessarily to the reflective glass. “I go to ask him what’s up, and he … well,” he drops his voice, “he says he’s a vampire.”
The guy gives a nervous sort of laugh, expecting Angel to join in, but the vampire doesn’t.
“There’s no such thing,” the guy says, trying to calm himself down. “I mean, vampire’s? Just a bunch of hogwash if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well I’m not.” Humans are asinine when it comes to denial.
“Huh?”
“Listen, did he say where he was going?”
“Nope, just said something about a brooding panty angel and left.” He eyes Angel for a second then goes for it. “He owes me $38 for the bottle. You covering him?”
“What do you think?” Angel steps closer so that his reflection would be there if he had one and points to the mirror, smiling when the guy turns and bangs his hip on the bar trying to get space between them.
“Help!” he yells to the other customers who pay no attention.
Rolling his eyes, Angel considers tossing a couple of twenties to the man, but he’s annoyed by his stupidity now. Instead, he hums a jaunty tune as he slips out into the night and takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed and his mouth open.
And there, faint but unmistakable, is the scent of his Childe.
“Always did like the chase, didn’t you boy,” Angel says to himself, and takes off in the direction his senses tell him Spike went.
**********
Normally, days would seem like only minutes in the infinitely long life of a vampire, but as Spike sits on a park bench, drinking his Tequila, he thinks about how long he’s had a soul, how long it’s been since his last kill. Even now, sitting there, crying over that camera guy, Spike still remembers the hot taste of it sliding down it throat and chokes back a sob as he thinks he’d like to taste that again.
Thankfully, however, the park is fairly deserted and he rarely hears anyone walking by this late at night. Which means there’s no one there to hear him, or see him, and quite frankly, he’s fine with that. No humans mean no temptation, and no temptation means his soul can rest, if only for a bit.
“What the fuck’ve I gotten myself into?” he asks the empty space around him.
“I don’t know, Spike, but it’s always entertaining.”
Spike looks up and sees Angel smirking at him while leaning on a tree. With his vampiric vision, he can also see a huge trail of ants slithering around said tree, but keeps that to himself.
“So pleased to amuse you, Angelus,” he replies, his voice dropping an octave, and then he frowns. “And how the bloody hell did you find me? You got a GPS on me?”
Angel crosses his arms and his eyebrows meet in a scowl. “A what?”
“G.P.S. One of those satellites tracking thingies and who the soddin’hell am I talking to. Sorry Captain Cavebrow, wrong millennia.”
The older vampire shrugs and rubs at an itch on his neck, wondering how he can live with this creature and not get half of what he says.
“Plan on staying out for the remaining 24 days?” Angel asks, conversationally. His mind isn’t made up yet as to whether or not he wants the younger vampire to return with him. There’s so much about Spike that he doesn’t understand, and probably never will, that co-existing with him, no matter for how short a time, is an effort. Spike deconstructs, while Angel tries to build something of their relationship … no matter how thin the thread that still binds them.
“Might. ‘S not bad out here, plenty of fresh air,” he inhales deep and lets the air out in a rush, “got a pub down the street an’ a little take out on the corner. Everythin’ a bloke needs.”
“Except cash.”
“Well, don’t need it, do I?”
“The bartender reported you to the police. You’re lucky I know someone at the station. She called me-“
“She?” Spike asks, intrigued, cutting Angel off.
“Yes, Kate. She called me. She always does when it looks like their may be something … other-worldly going on.” He let his eyes roll, silently indicating just what he thought of the term.
Spike stands and hands the bottle to Angel. “So let me get this straight. You’ve a bint on the force who calls on you when the big bad is a real big bad?”
Wondering what Spike’s point is, Angel scratches his shoulder and agrees. “Something like that, only she’s not a bint, she’s a …what do you call them? Oh yeah, a chit, a bird otherwise known to the rest of the world as a capable woman. Why?”
“And you just don your cape and come running. The big strapping hero. I bet you haven’t even gotten any yet.” Spike is chuckling now and Angel is irritated.
“It’s not like that.”
“Hmm, it bloody well better not be like that, Pouf.”
Angel pushes off from the tree and scratches his arm. “Spike, I don’t know why I … crap! Something’s on me!”
“You mean other than an incredibly big chip?” Spike says, trying hard to stifle the laughter bubbling in his gut.
“Yes!” Turning wildly, Angel swats at the things crawling along his skin. He turns and looks at the tree he’s been leaning against. There, barely visible in the dark, were thousands of tiny little red ants. Whirling around, he glares daggers at Spike as the blond doubles over in laughter.
“You knew!” Angel accuses, still swiping at his skin and clothes. The ants are everywhere, itching and biting, and it is driving him mad.
There is no way Spike will be able to talk now because he cackling, and bent over at the waist.
Turns out he doesn’t need to because, running at a trot, shouldering their cameras with professional ease, are Jeff and Tom. Both cameraman stop a few feet away, filming the entire scene as Angel swats and wiggles around, yelping here and there.
Spike glances at them and falls to the ground, weak with the giggles. Tom turns his camera on him.
“This is gonna be great.” Jeff tells his co-worker who nods, grinning like crazy.
“Turn … that thing … Off!” Angel yells, reaching for the camera closest to him. Jeff steps back, ready to run.
From the ground, Spike manages to inhale enough to speak. “No … don’t … really.” Then he collapses again in fresh wave of belly laughs.
“I … damn well hope … you’re laying in them!” Angel yells. Unfortunately, he sees the colony situated just under the tree and guesses that his Childe isn’t in their line of fire.
“Bloody priceless,” Spike gasps, trying to wipe at the tears streaming from his eyes.
Finally, pissed off at both Spike and the ants, Angel reaches down and picks Spike up by the lapels, thrusting him hard into the tree, holding him there.
“Not so funny now, is it?” Angel asks, twitching with every new bite, but he refuses to let Spike go.
“Oi! Let go of me!”
“Are you coming back with me?”
“If you think this’ll get me to go back to that dank basement you call an apartment, you’re denser than I thought.”
The ants are eager to sink their tiny ant teeth into fresh flesh, well 120 year old flesh and Spike squirms around in Angel’s grasp.
“My place isn’t dank. I use a really good dehumidifier and the incense keeps it smelling nice,” he says, slamming Spike into the ants, which enrages both the creatures and the blond.
Spike glares at the camera. “See that America. In the midst of battle, my Pouf of a Sire is talking good housekeeping. All we need is the lisp.”
“Are you coming with me!?” Angel growls loudly, backing Tom and Jeffrey up several feet.
“You know that’s always been up to you, Daddy,” Spike replies.
With a frustrated growl, Angel picks Spike up and tosses him over his shoulder, too pissed off now to pay the ants much attention. He struggles to keep Spike from wiggling too much on his shoulder.
“Fine,” Angel says. “You’ll come back and I’ll fucking lock you in a God damned room until that soul is gone and chuck you out.”
With Spike this close to him, he catches the scent of something and tosses Spike to the ground.
“What the hell have you done?”
Being tossed around like some rag doll is not Spike’s idea of a good time and he hauls himself up from the ground, swatting at the ants that still roam his body.
“Left my liquor back there,” Spike says petulantly, walking back towards the bench, but he is stopped by a beefy hand to his chest.
Spike raises an eyebrow and pushes past Angel. “Don’t let them see this half, Angelus,” he tells him, nodding toward the humans. “It’s not pretty.” A possessive Sire can really be a nuisance.
Angel grabs him again, yanking him close enough to smell him up. “I don’t give a shit about them. I am seriously debating on eating them before this is over. And that Morgan guy. So who have you been screwing, Spike?”
“Why Angel, I didn’t know you cared, pet,” he laughed, and then brought his elbow up into Angel’s gut with enough force to dent metal. Meaty paws released him and he skipped away backwards, not taking his eyes off his Sire.
“Nevermind,” Angel says, turning away from the blond, thinking this was just another game to get him to torture and punish Spike. Well, Angel isn’t going to fall for it. Instead, he begins walking towards home. “You know where I am if and when you grow up, Spike.”
“What, no goodbye kiss?” Spike asks, a pout forming on his face.
“I don’t know where you mouth’s been.”
“Like you’d soddin’ care anyway.”
“I do care!” Angel yells, turning around. “That’s the problem. I do, and I shouldn’t. So, go fuck whoever you want Spike, but don’t you dare fucking think you can crawl back into my bed.” He turns again, finished with the conversation, and the vampire.
“You bloody hypocrite!” Running, Spike catches up to Angel and spins him around by the shoulder right before landing a punch to his Sire’s face.
Angel reels backwards, stumbling, but stays upright. He wipes at his mouth, tasting the blood there before charging at Spike at full speed. Tumbling into the dirt and leaves, they roll around, each trying to get the upper hand until Angel’s mass and age win out and he pins the blond to the ground. Spike is even more incensed and rages at him.
“You want me, but won’t say it. Won’t let your precious pets know it … Won’t even admit it to your own thick-skulled self. You hate that you want me. Like it’s your cross to bear, you bloody need to possess everything about me.”
Angel is panting as he hovers over Spike, soil dropping from his hair every time the younger vampire wiggles in a bid for freedom. “You don’t know anything about me Spike.”
“No, I don’t, not a lot. But I know that you expect me to sit and wait to be called and polish your knob like a good little fledge.”
“See, Spike, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t want anything from you.” He pauses while Spike scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I want nothing more than you want to give. Then you gave it, didn’t you? I think it’s you that can’t stand the thought of us. But, know this, I’m not going to sit idly by, twiddling my fingers while you try to figure this out. My days with you are limited as it is. 24 days, Spike, that’s it, then after that, you’ll be gone, just as you always were.”
Scowling, Spike stares at Angel. This is the most Angel has said to him about their relationship - ever - and he is making sense, telling truths. That, however, was not what Spike expects from his Sire, so he tries to bolt.
“Bloody let me go,” Spike growls, pushing up on Angel. Standing up, Angel lets him get up and watches as Spike turns and walks away.
“You know where I’ll be,” he calls to the back of Spike’s head.
“Yeah, and if I was up your arse you’d know where I am.”
And then Spike’s gone, running almost faster than Angel can see and the older vampire turns to the camera guys standing there, partially shocked by the whole scene and partially frozen in fear of the one that’s left with them.
“Can either of you translate idiot?”