The Artifact: Chapter Twelve
Spangel! Sorta. I think of this chapter as a gift to all of you for enduring the sorrow-inducing previous chapter.
<-- Previous Chapter
Chapter One Here
Chapter Twelve: That Dear Old Sire of Mine
Spike was completely fucked any way you looked at it, dangling helplessly from Angel’s fists. So there was no time like the present to see if he could hit demons. Spike smashed Angel’s face with his forehead.
Spike felt the impact, that sting in the sinuses. It felt surprisingly good, even as he was thrown across the room to land half on a stone sarcophagus. Spike laughed and licked blood from his lip. “It’s good to be home.”
He launched himself back at Angel with all the pent-up fury and frustration of a decade restrained. Angel looked stupefied for the first two punches and only just got his feet back under himself to parry the next kick.
Angel vamped out. “I knew you were still evil.”
“Because I ever said different?” Spike punched him right in the fangs. “Chip never cared about vampires.” Apparently, neither did Wrella’s mojo-men. Whether it was design or oversight, he owed those perverts at least one small favor.
He got in another good shot to the snout. “Soul or no, you’re still a demon.”
Angel was on the defensive, backing up, getting low, bleeding from his great big forehead. Spike could hardly contain his joy. He delivered a spin-kick, and another, and fetched out the stake from his back pocket.
That’s when Angel swept his legs out from under him. Spike tumbled to a stop against the wall and tucked his legs under to spring again when Angel growled, “Stay down!”
***
Angel had not expected Spike to come at him with such passion and anger. He almost wondered what it was he’d done this time - surely Spike didn’t know about him setting Drusilla on fire, did he? And even then, well, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d done to Spike. Not even the worst thing he’d done that year. That was definitely the post-Gem-of-Amara beat-down and Angel wasn’t proud of how far he took that, but Spike hadn’t acted like it mattered to him the last time they butted heads.
Whatever it was, Spike was fighting with purpose and vengeance and this was not going to end with a snappy one-liner. Angel was doing all he could just to keep his guard up. He saw an opening and got some separation at last. He couldn’t survive another assault. Spike had wood in his hand. “Stay down!” He growled, not expecting to be obeyed, but expecting it to shake the other vampire.
To Angel’s surprise, Spike froze, crouched. His eyes were burning with hatred - gas flames lined in black coal. “What do you want?” Spike snarled.
“What’s gotten in to you? Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Because normally we’re such chums?” Spike side-stepped, still in a crouch.
Angel tracked with him, hands out. “Drop the stake.”
Spike winced like he’d been kicked. The stake hit the ground. Spike sat down where he was, holding his head and swearing a blue streak. Angel was more than a little confused.
But not so confused he didn’t kick the stake away and immediately jump out of striking range. Spike didn’t react. Spike had a ponytail. When had he gotten a ponytail? Angel asked, “Are you… okay?”
Spike gave him a look full of sarcastic pity. “I’m out of blood and cash and I can’t bite people and you’re here, and oh yeah, Joyce Summers is dead. So yeah, I’ve had better days.”
Angel had never thought about Spike and Joyce, aside from that one time he’d had to rescue Joyce from Spike and Spike had been all but singing songs at him behind her back. Had he misread that entire thing?
“Fine fucking buggering miserable fucking situation. I can’t even- fuck!” Spike punched his palm. He looked miserable.
Come to think of it, Spike had always had a soft spot for mothers. Like that time he wouldn’t let Dru kill the headmistress at that orphanage. Of course, Angelus had killed her anyway.
Angel coughed, uncomfortable, and found a place to sit on the floor in front of Spike. “Joyce never liked me.”
“Yet another example of her excellent taste.” Spike picked at polish on his nails. It was silver, an unusual color for him, but then Angel never understood Spike’s choices in costume.
They just sat there for a moment, which was weird. Spike stopped muttering curses and started to just look… bored. Angel noticed a hole in Spike’s earlobe, looking raw, where an earring had been taken out. There was a slight scent of blood. Angel didn’t understand why any vampire would get a piercing - the hole stayed raw while pierced and healed up as soon as you removed the jewelry. It must have been removed recently. That made Angel think about Spike’s skin and piercing it and blood and… he had to stop thinking down those lines. Spike had succulent little earlobes. Not that Angel was going to tell him that. All… earlobe appreciation had been pre-soul. If you didn’t count that submarine incident. Which Angel totally didn’t.
Spike scowled at him.
Angel cleared his throat and quickly looked away. “So, um, how are-“
“For the love of Pete. If I let you shag me, will you please just leave?”
Angel very briefly lost the ability to draw in breath to speak. Spike smirked. “Oh look at that. I broke your wee brain.” He leaned onto one hand, and then the other, a stalking cat-crawl toward him. “Poor Angelus. That souled life is lonely and dry, I’d wager.” His mouth hung open after the second syllable of “wager” like he was tasting the air.
Fifty percent of Angel (mostly below the waist) thought this was an excellent development, but enough blood remained in his primary head that he realized something was very wrong with this picture. Spike didn’t flirt with Angel. Spike didn’t stop fighting. Usually not even when he was beaten. Especially not then. Spike also didn’t crawl into Angel’s lap and kiss him lightly, like it was something he did all the time. Even that one time, when Angelus had used every trick of manipulation to coerce William just because consent made it so much more humiliating… he hadn’t gotten a kiss out of it.
And now he was inappropriately turned on, mind lagging behind body as he gathered up handfuls of lithe delicious body. Such nice lips. He remembered the heady feeling of having a confused young William completely at his mercy, apologizing for not wanting to do what he didn’t want to do. Just that hint of tears in the air. So young and firm and virginal and…
Wait, how had he gotten on this thought track?
Oh right. That tongue in his mouth. No, there was no world, no scenario he could imagine where Spike would willingly kiss him.
Angel held Spike out at arm’s length. “What are you planning?”
Beautiful blue eyes rolled skyward. “Well, first I was going to nefariously wriggle in your lap, then you were going to shag me and leave, but if you prefer, we could go back to the fighting. It was working so well for you.”
“This isn’t… this isn’t like you.”
Spike tilted his head. “You want me to be me?” He rocked back on his heels and got to his feet in a fluid motion that had Angel leaning forward to follow, his lips almost touching the tantalizing sliver of abdomen that peeked out between black t-shirt and black jeans.
And then Spike kicked him in the head. Angel sprawled face-first on hard concrete.
“Get out of my house,” Spike said.
Continued -->
<-- Previous Chapter
Chapter One Here
Chapter Twelve: That Dear Old Sire of Mine
Spike was completely fucked any way you looked at it, dangling helplessly from Angel’s fists. So there was no time like the present to see if he could hit demons. Spike smashed Angel’s face with his forehead.
Spike felt the impact, that sting in the sinuses. It felt surprisingly good, even as he was thrown across the room to land half on a stone sarcophagus. Spike laughed and licked blood from his lip. “It’s good to be home.”
He launched himself back at Angel with all the pent-up fury and frustration of a decade restrained. Angel looked stupefied for the first two punches and only just got his feet back under himself to parry the next kick.
Angel vamped out. “I knew you were still evil.”
“Because I ever said different?” Spike punched him right in the fangs. “Chip never cared about vampires.” Apparently, neither did Wrella’s mojo-men. Whether it was design or oversight, he owed those perverts at least one small favor.
He got in another good shot to the snout. “Soul or no, you’re still a demon.”
Angel was on the defensive, backing up, getting low, bleeding from his great big forehead. Spike could hardly contain his joy. He delivered a spin-kick, and another, and fetched out the stake from his back pocket.
That’s when Angel swept his legs out from under him. Spike tumbled to a stop against the wall and tucked his legs under to spring again when Angel growled, “Stay down!”
***
Angel had not expected Spike to come at him with such passion and anger. He almost wondered what it was he’d done this time - surely Spike didn’t know about him setting Drusilla on fire, did he? And even then, well, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d done to Spike. Not even the worst thing he’d done that year. That was definitely the post-Gem-of-Amara beat-down and Angel wasn’t proud of how far he took that, but Spike hadn’t acted like it mattered to him the last time they butted heads.
Whatever it was, Spike was fighting with purpose and vengeance and this was not going to end with a snappy one-liner. Angel was doing all he could just to keep his guard up. He saw an opening and got some separation at last. He couldn’t survive another assault. Spike had wood in his hand. “Stay down!” He growled, not expecting to be obeyed, but expecting it to shake the other vampire.
To Angel’s surprise, Spike froze, crouched. His eyes were burning with hatred - gas flames lined in black coal. “What do you want?” Spike snarled.
“What’s gotten in to you? Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Because normally we’re such chums?” Spike side-stepped, still in a crouch.
Angel tracked with him, hands out. “Drop the stake.”
Spike winced like he’d been kicked. The stake hit the ground. Spike sat down where he was, holding his head and swearing a blue streak. Angel was more than a little confused.
But not so confused he didn’t kick the stake away and immediately jump out of striking range. Spike didn’t react. Spike had a ponytail. When had he gotten a ponytail? Angel asked, “Are you… okay?”
Spike gave him a look full of sarcastic pity. “I’m out of blood and cash and I can’t bite people and you’re here, and oh yeah, Joyce Summers is dead. So yeah, I’ve had better days.”
Angel had never thought about Spike and Joyce, aside from that one time he’d had to rescue Joyce from Spike and Spike had been all but singing songs at him behind her back. Had he misread that entire thing?
“Fine fucking buggering miserable fucking situation. I can’t even- fuck!” Spike punched his palm. He looked miserable.
Come to think of it, Spike had always had a soft spot for mothers. Like that time he wouldn’t let Dru kill the headmistress at that orphanage. Of course, Angelus had killed her anyway.
Angel coughed, uncomfortable, and found a place to sit on the floor in front of Spike. “Joyce never liked me.”
“Yet another example of her excellent taste.” Spike picked at polish on his nails. It was silver, an unusual color for him, but then Angel never understood Spike’s choices in costume.
They just sat there for a moment, which was weird. Spike stopped muttering curses and started to just look… bored. Angel noticed a hole in Spike’s earlobe, looking raw, where an earring had been taken out. There was a slight scent of blood. Angel didn’t understand why any vampire would get a piercing - the hole stayed raw while pierced and healed up as soon as you removed the jewelry. It must have been removed recently. That made Angel think about Spike’s skin and piercing it and blood and… he had to stop thinking down those lines. Spike had succulent little earlobes. Not that Angel was going to tell him that. All… earlobe appreciation had been pre-soul. If you didn’t count that submarine incident. Which Angel totally didn’t.
Spike scowled at him.
Angel cleared his throat and quickly looked away. “So, um, how are-“
“For the love of Pete. If I let you shag me, will you please just leave?”
Angel very briefly lost the ability to draw in breath to speak. Spike smirked. “Oh look at that. I broke your wee brain.” He leaned onto one hand, and then the other, a stalking cat-crawl toward him. “Poor Angelus. That souled life is lonely and dry, I’d wager.” His mouth hung open after the second syllable of “wager” like he was tasting the air.
Fifty percent of Angel (mostly below the waist) thought this was an excellent development, but enough blood remained in his primary head that he realized something was very wrong with this picture. Spike didn’t flirt with Angel. Spike didn’t stop fighting. Usually not even when he was beaten. Especially not then. Spike also didn’t crawl into Angel’s lap and kiss him lightly, like it was something he did all the time. Even that one time, when Angelus had used every trick of manipulation to coerce William just because consent made it so much more humiliating… he hadn’t gotten a kiss out of it.
And now he was inappropriately turned on, mind lagging behind body as he gathered up handfuls of lithe delicious body. Such nice lips. He remembered the heady feeling of having a confused young William completely at his mercy, apologizing for not wanting to do what he didn’t want to do. Just that hint of tears in the air. So young and firm and virginal and…
Wait, how had he gotten on this thought track?
Oh right. That tongue in his mouth. No, there was no world, no scenario he could imagine where Spike would willingly kiss him.
Angel held Spike out at arm’s length. “What are you planning?”
Beautiful blue eyes rolled skyward. “Well, first I was going to nefariously wriggle in your lap, then you were going to shag me and leave, but if you prefer, we could go back to the fighting. It was working so well for you.”
“This isn’t… this isn’t like you.”
Spike tilted his head. “You want me to be me?” He rocked back on his heels and got to his feet in a fluid motion that had Angel leaning forward to follow, his lips almost touching the tantalizing sliver of abdomen that peeked out between black t-shirt and black jeans.
And then Spike kicked him in the head. Angel sprawled face-first on hard concrete.
“Get out of my house,” Spike said.
Continued -->