Vanity :: a Spike/Angel ficlet.
Title: Vanity
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Warnings: R! Not worksafe. Manpire-on-Manpire sex, blood, and bodily fluids.
Summary: Hundreds of years in the future, Angel realizes that he and Spike are going through some changes.
There had never been a time in all his centuries of vampiric unlife that Angel had been as glad to not be able to see his own reflection as he was now. As he raked a hand through his hair and felt clumps come away in his palm, Angel could no longer deny that his physical appearance had changed. Spike actually attempted to reassure him that he appeared normal when Angel had asked.
If Spike is trying to raise my self-esteem, Angel thought as he stared at the brunette locks laying against his now pallid, waxy flesh, then it has to be pretty bad.
Angel knew his fangs had permanently distended, and yet he couldn't remember exactly when it had occurred. He vividly recalled when it had happened to Spike, however, mostly because the younger vampire had freaked out the moment he couldn't retract his canines. Touching the skin around his mouth with his clawed fingertips, Angel felt the deep divots of heavy wrinkles and wondered how long it would be before he had nothing left of his human appearance.
Hearing the battered pickup truck ramble up the gravel driveway, Angel grabbed his book from the couch, trying to ignore how his sharp nails easily tore into the paper, wanting to appear at ease as Spike entered the cabin.
Carrying several grocery bags, Spike pushed the door open, the hood of his sweatshirt hiding his face in shadow. He dropped the bags onto the coffee table and shrugged off his hoodie, revealing his white complexion and elf-like pointed ears. Spike's brow was beginning to show signs that his gameface would soon be permanently visible like his grandsire's, and the skin on the tip of his nose had pinkened and was a little more upturned than it had been a century earlier. At least he still had all of his hair, much to Angel's dismay.
"Have any luck?" Angel asked, peering into the grocery bags.
Spike nodded, "There's a fella that the local hunting lodge that can get us some more blood." He took out a carton of cigarettes and a six pack and put them both in the fridge, "Gave me a decent price too."
Sighing heavily, Angel leaned back, "That's good news. Maybe we can stay here for a few months."
"That'd be better than our other stints at any rate," Spike picked up his computer and settled on the couch next to his beleaguered companion.
The world had changed, and it was becoming clearer that it was leaving the two vampires behind. They were withdrawing out of necessity more than any want to do so. For the first time, Angel sympathized with the Master, imagining that all the bluster about paying homage to the ancient vampires by remaining underground in sewers and abandoned caverns was really about hiding his countenance away from the reminders of what he once was. Had the Master been a handsome man? Did he really embrace the day that he could no longer easily slip between the worlds of the living and the dead?
It had been nearly seventy years since either vampire had found another of their kind or any other demons at all. Tales of vampires and monsters were once again part of campfire stories and old world superstition, and Angel only found camaraderie in Spike. They argued. They drank. They fucked. They fought. They fucked some more, and in the end they would just sit on mattresses, hotel beds, couches, crates, even a beanbag or two over the years, and they would talk about all manner of things until they both fell asleep.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" Spike's long nails tapped against the screen of his hand-held computer. "Daruma-Plex has that werewolves-in-the-navy flick as a free download tonight..."
Angel closed his book and asked, "You want to just fuck for a while?"
Thinking it over for a moment or two, Spike nodded, "Yeah, okay."
"Try not to sound so enthusiastic," Angel groused as he shrugged off his shirt, watching as Spike undressed.
Kicking off his jeans, Spike let out a short laugh as he laid back on the sofa and reached over to pull Angel on top of him, "Hey, don't get your knickers twisted because I don't beg for your cock like a trained poodle every time you get the urge."
Angel placed a hard kiss on Spike's neck as his fingers lazily trailed down over the expanse of smooth flesh until he was cupping his hand over the smaller man's sex, gently squeezing. Letting out a soft gasp, Spike rested his hands on Angel's shoulders, feeling the playful bites and nips along his jawline.
"You're not wasting any time, are you?" Spike teased as Angel's head sunk lower placing kiss after kiss down his torso.
Angel ignored the taunt, biting down on Spike's left hipbone and licking along the shallow curve of his pelvis as blood trickled across his skin in small rivulets. Maybe it was the fear that Spike would leave him that made Angel so keen to give pleasure first before receiving it; maybe after years of being one another's sole companion that Angel found his feelings had deepened more than he would ever admit. It wasn't love, couldn't be, but it might be something akin to it. Love's distant yet sexy cousin, perhaps.
Gripping Spike's ass hard enough to leave little pinprick gouges from his nails, Angel lifted the blonde's hips, swallowing down Spike's hardened length. Spike moaned loudly, thrusting himself deeper into Angel's mouth.
"Damn," Spike hissed and thrashed a bit when Angel's fangs sliced into tender flesh.
Blood beaded from the scratches, dripping onto the tattered tartan couch cushion while Angel began tonguing Spike's slit as precum bubbled up to mingle with salvia and sangre. The very tip of a sharp canine dipped into that tiny opening, and Spike arched his back as his orgasm (he hoped only the first of many for the night) jolted through him. Angel roughly grabbed the back of Spike's head and forced a kiss, using his tongue to push all of the blonde's own spendings into his mouth. Sputtering and choking, Spike finally gave into the forceful, penetrating kiss, tasting his spunk, blood, and Angel's spit.
Spike pouted, looking terribly put out, "I call dirty pool, old man. You topped me over too quick!"
Angel smirked as he pressed his body on top of Spike's, stealing yet another fangy kiss, "All's fair, Wills... Besides, we have all night... and all day, actually."
It was during another round hours later that Angel noticed something different about Spike's eyes. Though his right eye was still a bright, cornflower blue, a splash of red had bloomed nearest the pupil of the left. In another year or two, Angel would only have memories of what those eyes truly looked like, memories that would become flowery and distorted as the decades flitted by, and he idly wondered how Spike remembered his eyes. Did the poet recall a deep, chocolate gaze or a stare the color of raw earth? Angel couldn't remember if Spike had ever pointed out the transition in eye color; it wasn't likely that he ever had as Spike preferred to ignore the fact that they were both physically more monstrous. They had only each other to gage the effects of vampiric aging as Spike had crushed the webcam on his computer with the pad of his thumb long ago, and neither had had their photo taken if they could avoid it.
"What are you doing, you great poufter? Trying to have a soulful staring contest?" Spike wiggled around beneath Angel's weight, feeling a tad weirded out by the sudden scrutiny.
Placing a clawed hand playfully over Spike's mouth, Angel answered good-naturedly, "Shut up and spread your legs."
"Bet you say that to all the blokes," came a very indignant, muffled reply.
The physical changes would continue to come, but they hadn't changed much personality-wise. Angel took great comfort in that as he and Spike were settled in bed as the sun began to rise over the woodland, though stories of vampires with cloven feet did keep him awake.
"Would a vampire with hooves have to be shoed like a horse?" Angel muttered to himself in a half-awake state.
Spike lifted his head, his peroxided hair sticking up in messy curls, and mumbled, "Whatever you've smoked, you should have shared," before falling back to sleep.
Angel reached down to stroke Spike's hair, wishing he could stop time from progressing. It was vain and selfish of him, but he didn't want to be ugly, didn't want to watch Spike lose his handsomeness, and didn't want to be relegated to living in a dank sewer to hide away from the world like the Master. At least this was one thing he and Spike could share and not fight over.
x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike.
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Warnings: R! Not worksafe. Manpire-on-Manpire sex, blood, and bodily fluids.
Summary: Hundreds of years in the future, Angel realizes that he and Spike are going through some changes.
There had never been a time in all his centuries of vampiric unlife that Angel had been as glad to not be able to see his own reflection as he was now. As he raked a hand through his hair and felt clumps come away in his palm, Angel could no longer deny that his physical appearance had changed. Spike actually attempted to reassure him that he appeared normal when Angel had asked.
If Spike is trying to raise my self-esteem, Angel thought as he stared at the brunette locks laying against his now pallid, waxy flesh, then it has to be pretty bad.
Angel knew his fangs had permanently distended, and yet he couldn't remember exactly when it had occurred. He vividly recalled when it had happened to Spike, however, mostly because the younger vampire had freaked out the moment he couldn't retract his canines. Touching the skin around his mouth with his clawed fingertips, Angel felt the deep divots of heavy wrinkles and wondered how long it would be before he had nothing left of his human appearance.
Hearing the battered pickup truck ramble up the gravel driveway, Angel grabbed his book from the couch, trying to ignore how his sharp nails easily tore into the paper, wanting to appear at ease as Spike entered the cabin.
Carrying several grocery bags, Spike pushed the door open, the hood of his sweatshirt hiding his face in shadow. He dropped the bags onto the coffee table and shrugged off his hoodie, revealing his white complexion and elf-like pointed ears. Spike's brow was beginning to show signs that his gameface would soon be permanently visible like his grandsire's, and the skin on the tip of his nose had pinkened and was a little more upturned than it had been a century earlier. At least he still had all of his hair, much to Angel's dismay.
"Have any luck?" Angel asked, peering into the grocery bags.
Spike nodded, "There's a fella that the local hunting lodge that can get us some more blood." He took out a carton of cigarettes and a six pack and put them both in the fridge, "Gave me a decent price too."
Sighing heavily, Angel leaned back, "That's good news. Maybe we can stay here for a few months."
"That'd be better than our other stints at any rate," Spike picked up his computer and settled on the couch next to his beleaguered companion.
The world had changed, and it was becoming clearer that it was leaving the two vampires behind. They were withdrawing out of necessity more than any want to do so. For the first time, Angel sympathized with the Master, imagining that all the bluster about paying homage to the ancient vampires by remaining underground in sewers and abandoned caverns was really about hiding his countenance away from the reminders of what he once was. Had the Master been a handsome man? Did he really embrace the day that he could no longer easily slip between the worlds of the living and the dead?
It had been nearly seventy years since either vampire had found another of their kind or any other demons at all. Tales of vampires and monsters were once again part of campfire stories and old world superstition, and Angel only found camaraderie in Spike. They argued. They drank. They fucked. They fought. They fucked some more, and in the end they would just sit on mattresses, hotel beds, couches, crates, even a beanbag or two over the years, and they would talk about all manner of things until they both fell asleep.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" Spike's long nails tapped against the screen of his hand-held computer. "Daruma-Plex has that werewolves-in-the-navy flick as a free download tonight..."
Angel closed his book and asked, "You want to just fuck for a while?"
Thinking it over for a moment or two, Spike nodded, "Yeah, okay."
"Try not to sound so enthusiastic," Angel groused as he shrugged off his shirt, watching as Spike undressed.
Kicking off his jeans, Spike let out a short laugh as he laid back on the sofa and reached over to pull Angel on top of him, "Hey, don't get your knickers twisted because I don't beg for your cock like a trained poodle every time you get the urge."
Angel placed a hard kiss on Spike's neck as his fingers lazily trailed down over the expanse of smooth flesh until he was cupping his hand over the smaller man's sex, gently squeezing. Letting out a soft gasp, Spike rested his hands on Angel's shoulders, feeling the playful bites and nips along his jawline.
"You're not wasting any time, are you?" Spike teased as Angel's head sunk lower placing kiss after kiss down his torso.
Angel ignored the taunt, biting down on Spike's left hipbone and licking along the shallow curve of his pelvis as blood trickled across his skin in small rivulets. Maybe it was the fear that Spike would leave him that made Angel so keen to give pleasure first before receiving it; maybe after years of being one another's sole companion that Angel found his feelings had deepened more than he would ever admit. It wasn't love, couldn't be, but it might be something akin to it. Love's distant yet sexy cousin, perhaps.
Gripping Spike's ass hard enough to leave little pinprick gouges from his nails, Angel lifted the blonde's hips, swallowing down Spike's hardened length. Spike moaned loudly, thrusting himself deeper into Angel's mouth.
"Damn," Spike hissed and thrashed a bit when Angel's fangs sliced into tender flesh.
Blood beaded from the scratches, dripping onto the tattered tartan couch cushion while Angel began tonguing Spike's slit as precum bubbled up to mingle with salvia and sangre. The very tip of a sharp canine dipped into that tiny opening, and Spike arched his back as his orgasm (he hoped only the first of many for the night) jolted through him. Angel roughly grabbed the back of Spike's head and forced a kiss, using his tongue to push all of the blonde's own spendings into his mouth. Sputtering and choking, Spike finally gave into the forceful, penetrating kiss, tasting his spunk, blood, and Angel's spit.
Spike pouted, looking terribly put out, "I call dirty pool, old man. You topped me over too quick!"
Angel smirked as he pressed his body on top of Spike's, stealing yet another fangy kiss, "All's fair, Wills... Besides, we have all night... and all day, actually."
It was during another round hours later that Angel noticed something different about Spike's eyes. Though his right eye was still a bright, cornflower blue, a splash of red had bloomed nearest the pupil of the left. In another year or two, Angel would only have memories of what those eyes truly looked like, memories that would become flowery and distorted as the decades flitted by, and he idly wondered how Spike remembered his eyes. Did the poet recall a deep, chocolate gaze or a stare the color of raw earth? Angel couldn't remember if Spike had ever pointed out the transition in eye color; it wasn't likely that he ever had as Spike preferred to ignore the fact that they were both physically more monstrous. They had only each other to gage the effects of vampiric aging as Spike had crushed the webcam on his computer with the pad of his thumb long ago, and neither had had their photo taken if they could avoid it.
"What are you doing, you great poufter? Trying to have a soulful staring contest?" Spike wiggled around beneath Angel's weight, feeling a tad weirded out by the sudden scrutiny.
Placing a clawed hand playfully over Spike's mouth, Angel answered good-naturedly, "Shut up and spread your legs."
"Bet you say that to all the blokes," came a very indignant, muffled reply.
The physical changes would continue to come, but they hadn't changed much personality-wise. Angel took great comfort in that as he and Spike were settled in bed as the sun began to rise over the woodland, though stories of vampires with cloven feet did keep him awake.
"Would a vampire with hooves have to be shoed like a horse?" Angel muttered to himself in a half-awake state.
Spike lifted his head, his peroxided hair sticking up in messy curls, and mumbled, "Whatever you've smoked, you should have shared," before falling back to sleep.
Angel reached down to stroke Spike's hair, wishing he could stop time from progressing. It was vain and selfish of him, but he didn't want to be ugly, didn't want to watch Spike lose his handsomeness, and didn't want to be relegated to living in a dank sewer to hide away from the world like the Master. At least this was one thing he and Spike could share and not fight over.
x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike.