The Artifact: Chapter Nineteen
Now, at one time, this was the LAST CHAPTER. But you will all be very happy to see I added another chapter after it, which I will post (hangover allowing) tomorrow. Past-me could be almost as much of a dick as Angel, who is really a solid phallus in this piece.
<-- Previous Chapter
Chapter One Here
Chapter Nineteen: Happy Ever After?
Spike had no choice but to sit while Angel wove angrily through the thickening traffic. He’d barked a “Don’t even think about it” the minute Spike had lifted his ass from the seat to jump. Bastard. He hated orders not to think about something. They were the fucking worst. Your mind couldn’t help itself, could it? And so your lines of thought kept jerking back on themselves and making you feel like you were going crazy.
And speaking of crazy, Angel kept complaining, “Of course, it would never be because you liked me. Because we had a connection. History. It’s some goddamned spell. That’s the only reason you’d kiss me.”
It was almost adorable… if Spike weren’t very aware of how much trouble he was in. He licked dry lips and ventured, “Get this curse off me and I promise I’ll give you a big wet one.”
“You couldn’t just tell me, either! I had to figure it out.”
What a great detective he must be. “Obviously, I was afraid you’d take advantage. Like say kidnap me and turn me into your love slave.”
The scowl lifted just a bit. “I’m not saying I’m not considering it.”
“You can stop considering it. You’re one of the white hats now, remember?”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. My epiphany. Good and evil aren’t black and white - there is no black and white. Sometimes you can do a bad thing for a good reason, and sometimes actions are just, well, actions.”
Spike wondered why Angel couldn’t have an epiphany about not being a huge cunt. “You’re supposed to have a soul.”
“You’re supposed to NOT. And shut up.” Angel laughed. “GOD that feels good. I could almost be perfectly happy, being able to shut you up at will. No,” He held up a finger as Spike drew in a breath, “I’ll tell you when you can talk again.”
Bugger.
***
Buffy paced near the blinds in Xander’s living room, resisting the urge to peek through them again. The lights were off and the room was hot with everyone’s breath and sweat. They were anxious, and Tara was babbling, and where was Giles? He said he was going to get a freakin’ van!
Had he said that, exactly? He’d said not to worry… but he’d been so distracted.
Xander came back from the kitchenette. “Still no answer from Giles’ apartment. Did he say where he was going?”
Tara cried out, “The light! So blue! I’m falling! I’m…”
“Shush,” Willow said, “honey… baby… shush.”
“Stop,” Tara said, brushing Willow’s hands away. She stood up, frowning around herself. “When did I get here? Why are the lights out?” She turned in a circle. “W-why are you all looking at me like I grew a second head?”
Willow grabbed her hand. “How do you feel?”
“Hot,” Tara said. She sat down again. “I was… oh god, Glory!” Her eyes went to Buffy.
“Yeah. Glory knows,” Buffy said. The moonlit parking lot was remarkably free of information. Xander had moved his car to a parallel spot on the street to leave room for whatever vehicle Giles brought, and Buffy found herself staring at the bare pavement like it would spontaneously produce an RV.
She was sure Spike would have had no trouble stealing the crappy old Winnebago that had been rotting in Celebrity Dan’s Used Car Lot for the past… forever. They’d be on the road, already. Was Glory tracking them? Did she know about Xander’s apartment?
Tara said, “What happened to me? I was in the park.”
Willow said, “Do you remember anything else? Oh, baby. You were freaking out and you pointed at Dawn and no one blames you, not one bit!”
“But Tara’s okay now!” Dawn said. “Does that mean… what does that mean?”
Anya brushed against Buffy’s shoulder, trying, like her, to peer at the sliver of window between the blinds and wall. “Could it be because Glory doesn’t need to find the key anymore?”
“None of the other crazies recovered,” Xander said, under his breath and with an anxious glance back at the witches on the couch.
“Maybe we should run without Giles,” Anya said. “Glory isn’t after him. We can fit six in the Pontiac if we cram.”
“Not and have a driver whose leg can move,” Xander said.
Buffy paced. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” A flash of headlights washed through the blinds. She ran to peek. “That’s Giles’ car!” She carefully smoothed the blind and picked up her ax. “Stay here.”
“If we’re goin in that we’ll have to take two cars,” Anya said.
Buffy hurried to the door, which Xander unbolted and, she was pleased to hear, bolted again behind her.
Giles got out of his car unhurriedly, stopping to put his keys in his pocket and adjust his shirt like this wasn’t the end of the world.
Buffy ran up to him. “What’s going on, Giles?”
“Oh, Buffy. Are the others all here?”
“You know they are. What’s the plan? Do we have a plan?”
Giles closed the car door. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “Glory is no more.”
Buffy almost dropped her ax. “Giles? How? What? How?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets. “My trance. It unlocked… well, a secret. A weakness Glory had hidden by magical means.”
Buffy did drop her ax. “You should have told me. I… you took her on yourself? What if you were killed?”
“I couldn’t know that you would be able to see through the spell, and I had to act quickly. Heaven only knew how long my clarity would last.”
There was something scary about Giles just then. Buffy couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was a cold vibe that warned her away from asking more questions.
Still she had to ask, “Is Dawn safe?”
He sighed, suddenly looking very tired. “As safe as any other teen in Sunnydale. Come, let’s tell the others they can come out of hiding.”
***
Angel knew right from wrong, really he did.
He knew exactly how Wesley would react to him sneaking Spike into the Hyperion via the loading dock, taking him up to his room and undressing him. He knew WHY Wes would react that way.
He just couldn’t quite remember why he cared.
He had to see, and touch, and there was something thrilling about the way Spike stood there, letting him. The old wound on his eyebrow looked raw again. Angel wondered about that. He kissed it, touched the copper sweetness with his tongue.
Spike closed his eyes and stretched his neck, exquisitely expressive, even in silence, he let Angel know he was annoyed, thought Angel was being a girl, but was willing to play along if he got a gentle nuzzle on his cheek.
Spike could write pages with a head-tilt.
The marks on his torso told a different story. Angel tore off the black tee to find violence haphazardly applied. Angel felt like an artist finding his fresh canvas covered in toddler’s fingerprints. He kissed each wound. An ugly bruise was darkening over one of the floating ribs. Angel pressed, checking the break. Spike groaned, long and eloquently. “That hurts, but stop fussing you mother hen,” that groan said. Angel led him to the bathroom.
“Off with these stupid tight jeans,” Angel said, tugging the waist. Spike made toeing off his boots look like an act of defiance.
He smelled delicious - torture and sex and - was that Giles’ soap? Yes. Bayberry rum or something like that. He could smell it on Spike’s skin and in the bandages. The watcher always had a streak of darkness. Had he done this?
Angel removed all the bandages and washed the wounds fresh with his own soap. Spike rolled his eyes and, as Angel wrapped gauze around his ribs, patted Angel’s hair.
Sarcasm without words. Well, Angel was feeling indulgent. The sweet swell of Spike’s ass against his palm did that to him.
Fuck he was hard. It was torture not to thrust into that compliant, silent body. He cold order him to bend over, grab the sink-edge.
Spike’s hand on his cheek calmed him. Spike looked calm, himself, serious. Like he was asking a question. What question?
Spike kissed him, a slow, gooey kiss, like warm caramel. Angel ached. He whimpered.
But, no. He knew right from wrong. Angel chose to believe it was affection, more than compulsion, that had Spike follow him to the bed and lay down beside him. So pale on the black sheets, and just as silky, Angel let his hands wander up and down all the undamaged skin.
He didn’t go further, though. He knew right from wrong. And they would have time.
He pulled Spike against his chest and held him. It felt so good just to have someone else, someone to hold, who wasn’t going to ask for anything in return. The sweet torture of gentle touch on his aching cock.
Angel kissed Spike’s nape. “Relax,” he said. “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Have some blood.” He laced his fingers through Spike’s and brought the hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Live happily ever after.”
Spike huffed, but didn’t say anything else.
Continued -->
<-- Previous Chapter
Chapter One Here
Chapter Nineteen: Happy Ever After?
Spike had no choice but to sit while Angel wove angrily through the thickening traffic. He’d barked a “Don’t even think about it” the minute Spike had lifted his ass from the seat to jump. Bastard. He hated orders not to think about something. They were the fucking worst. Your mind couldn’t help itself, could it? And so your lines of thought kept jerking back on themselves and making you feel like you were going crazy.
And speaking of crazy, Angel kept complaining, “Of course, it would never be because you liked me. Because we had a connection. History. It’s some goddamned spell. That’s the only reason you’d kiss me.”
It was almost adorable… if Spike weren’t very aware of how much trouble he was in. He licked dry lips and ventured, “Get this curse off me and I promise I’ll give you a big wet one.”
“You couldn’t just tell me, either! I had to figure it out.”
What a great detective he must be. “Obviously, I was afraid you’d take advantage. Like say kidnap me and turn me into your love slave.”
The scowl lifted just a bit. “I’m not saying I’m not considering it.”
“You can stop considering it. You’re one of the white hats now, remember?”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. My epiphany. Good and evil aren’t black and white - there is no black and white. Sometimes you can do a bad thing for a good reason, and sometimes actions are just, well, actions.”
Spike wondered why Angel couldn’t have an epiphany about not being a huge cunt. “You’re supposed to have a soul.”
“You’re supposed to NOT. And shut up.” Angel laughed. “GOD that feels good. I could almost be perfectly happy, being able to shut you up at will. No,” He held up a finger as Spike drew in a breath, “I’ll tell you when you can talk again.”
Bugger.
***
Buffy paced near the blinds in Xander’s living room, resisting the urge to peek through them again. The lights were off and the room was hot with everyone’s breath and sweat. They were anxious, and Tara was babbling, and where was Giles? He said he was going to get a freakin’ van!
Had he said that, exactly? He’d said not to worry… but he’d been so distracted.
Xander came back from the kitchenette. “Still no answer from Giles’ apartment. Did he say where he was going?”
Tara cried out, “The light! So blue! I’m falling! I’m…”
“Shush,” Willow said, “honey… baby… shush.”
“Stop,” Tara said, brushing Willow’s hands away. She stood up, frowning around herself. “When did I get here? Why are the lights out?” She turned in a circle. “W-why are you all looking at me like I grew a second head?”
Willow grabbed her hand. “How do you feel?”
“Hot,” Tara said. She sat down again. “I was… oh god, Glory!” Her eyes went to Buffy.
“Yeah. Glory knows,” Buffy said. The moonlit parking lot was remarkably free of information. Xander had moved his car to a parallel spot on the street to leave room for whatever vehicle Giles brought, and Buffy found herself staring at the bare pavement like it would spontaneously produce an RV.
She was sure Spike would have had no trouble stealing the crappy old Winnebago that had been rotting in Celebrity Dan’s Used Car Lot for the past… forever. They’d be on the road, already. Was Glory tracking them? Did she know about Xander’s apartment?
Tara said, “What happened to me? I was in the park.”
Willow said, “Do you remember anything else? Oh, baby. You were freaking out and you pointed at Dawn and no one blames you, not one bit!”
“But Tara’s okay now!” Dawn said. “Does that mean… what does that mean?”
Anya brushed against Buffy’s shoulder, trying, like her, to peer at the sliver of window between the blinds and wall. “Could it be because Glory doesn’t need to find the key anymore?”
“None of the other crazies recovered,” Xander said, under his breath and with an anxious glance back at the witches on the couch.
“Maybe we should run without Giles,” Anya said. “Glory isn’t after him. We can fit six in the Pontiac if we cram.”
“Not and have a driver whose leg can move,” Xander said.
Buffy paced. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” A flash of headlights washed through the blinds. She ran to peek. “That’s Giles’ car!” She carefully smoothed the blind and picked up her ax. “Stay here.”
“If we’re goin in that we’ll have to take two cars,” Anya said.
Buffy hurried to the door, which Xander unbolted and, she was pleased to hear, bolted again behind her.
Giles got out of his car unhurriedly, stopping to put his keys in his pocket and adjust his shirt like this wasn’t the end of the world.
Buffy ran up to him. “What’s going on, Giles?”
“Oh, Buffy. Are the others all here?”
“You know they are. What’s the plan? Do we have a plan?”
Giles closed the car door. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “Glory is no more.”
Buffy almost dropped her ax. “Giles? How? What? How?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets. “My trance. It unlocked… well, a secret. A weakness Glory had hidden by magical means.”
Buffy did drop her ax. “You should have told me. I… you took her on yourself? What if you were killed?”
“I couldn’t know that you would be able to see through the spell, and I had to act quickly. Heaven only knew how long my clarity would last.”
There was something scary about Giles just then. Buffy couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was a cold vibe that warned her away from asking more questions.
Still she had to ask, “Is Dawn safe?”
He sighed, suddenly looking very tired. “As safe as any other teen in Sunnydale. Come, let’s tell the others they can come out of hiding.”
***
Angel knew right from wrong, really he did.
He knew exactly how Wesley would react to him sneaking Spike into the Hyperion via the loading dock, taking him up to his room and undressing him. He knew WHY Wes would react that way.
He just couldn’t quite remember why he cared.
He had to see, and touch, and there was something thrilling about the way Spike stood there, letting him. The old wound on his eyebrow looked raw again. Angel wondered about that. He kissed it, touched the copper sweetness with his tongue.
Spike closed his eyes and stretched his neck, exquisitely expressive, even in silence, he let Angel know he was annoyed, thought Angel was being a girl, but was willing to play along if he got a gentle nuzzle on his cheek.
Spike could write pages with a head-tilt.
The marks on his torso told a different story. Angel tore off the black tee to find violence haphazardly applied. Angel felt like an artist finding his fresh canvas covered in toddler’s fingerprints. He kissed each wound. An ugly bruise was darkening over one of the floating ribs. Angel pressed, checking the break. Spike groaned, long and eloquently. “That hurts, but stop fussing you mother hen,” that groan said. Angel led him to the bathroom.
“Off with these stupid tight jeans,” Angel said, tugging the waist. Spike made toeing off his boots look like an act of defiance.
He smelled delicious - torture and sex and - was that Giles’ soap? Yes. Bayberry rum or something like that. He could smell it on Spike’s skin and in the bandages. The watcher always had a streak of darkness. Had he done this?
Angel removed all the bandages and washed the wounds fresh with his own soap. Spike rolled his eyes and, as Angel wrapped gauze around his ribs, patted Angel’s hair.
Sarcasm without words. Well, Angel was feeling indulgent. The sweet swell of Spike’s ass against his palm did that to him.
Fuck he was hard. It was torture not to thrust into that compliant, silent body. He cold order him to bend over, grab the sink-edge.
Spike’s hand on his cheek calmed him. Spike looked calm, himself, serious. Like he was asking a question. What question?
Spike kissed him, a slow, gooey kiss, like warm caramel. Angel ached. He whimpered.
But, no. He knew right from wrong. Angel chose to believe it was affection, more than compulsion, that had Spike follow him to the bed and lay down beside him. So pale on the black sheets, and just as silky, Angel let his hands wander up and down all the undamaged skin.
He didn’t go further, though. He knew right from wrong. And they would have time.
He pulled Spike against his chest and held him. It felt so good just to have someone else, someone to hold, who wasn’t going to ask for anything in return. The sweet torture of gentle touch on his aching cock.
Angel kissed Spike’s nape. “Relax,” he said. “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Have some blood.” He laced his fingers through Spike’s and brought the hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Live happily ever after.”
Spike huffed, but didn’t say anything else.
Continued -->