Jan 27, 2009 17:02

Pairing: Angel/Spike
Genre: Angst with a twist
Rating: R
Summary: Soon after the events of Lovers Walk Angel had met Spike in LA... At least Spike thinks so.
Word Count: 1374
A/N: This is my first attempt at slash. Written for grazieprego Spangel ficathon. Much thanks to lynnenne who encouraged me, helped with plot and characters' voices, fixed my errors. Without her support I wouldn't dare to write Spangel! Thank you for organizing the event, Lynne!
Disclaimer: Joss owns the boys. I just play with them.

"I can't understand. They're so different."

Angel cast a furtive glance at Buffy who stared absently at the ocean as they were driving along the Route 101 in the night. "A hundred years together is a tough bond to break..." Off Buffy's bewildered gaze he murmured: "We're talking about Spike and Dru, aren't we?"

"Actually I was talking about dad and Dawn."


Angel focused on the road again. The top of the convertible down, wind rushing by, the distant sound of waves, Buffy's closeness - for a moment, it felt like freedom. But of course it wasn't. It was just a brief trip to Hank's place to retrieve Buffy's sister.

After Spike's ill-fated visit to Sunnydale Buffy told Angel she wouldn't be coming back and he accepted it. But this was an emergency. Joyce left for New-York on gallery business, Buffy and Dawn had a bitter quarrel and Dawn ran away to her father in Los-Angeles.

"I can't understand why she went to him. Not that they have much in common. Dawn's so wild and dad's so organized. Dawn's so noisy and annoying and dad's always so calm and imperturbable."

Angel shrugged. "Sometimes opposites attract."

Buffy smiled sadly. "Is it good if they do? Some of them shouldn't. Like, vampires and slayers." She hugged herself and Angel quickly raised the top of his car. "It's wrong that opposites attract and similarities alienate. Similarities should attract, right? Right. Then why two people who have a lot in common rub each other the wrong way?"

"I don't have anything in common with Spike - except that we're both vampires and..."

Buffy looked at him funny.

"I mean - me and Faith. Apparently, cats aren't herd animals..." She hesitated, then said in a small voice: "If you want to talk about Spike..."

Angel carefully drove around a bump on the road. "I don't want to talk about Spike."

Buffy frowned and fell silent.

When they arrived at Hank's, Angel refused to go in. While Buffy and Dawn were settling matters he decided to patrol the neighborhood. He dusted several vamps, destroyed the lair of chaos demons and was about to return when he smelled a familiar scent. The trace led him to a sleazy demon bar where he discovered drunken Spike nursing a glass of burbon, perfecting his art of looking wicked.

As soon as Spike noticed Angel, he smirked cockily.

"Missed me, Peaches?"

"One can always dream," Angel said darkly.

"That true? Then why are you here?"

"I had to drive Buffy to her father. She came for Dawn." Not that he needed to explain himself to Spike, damn him.

"What? Nibblet run away? Good for her! Splitting from the company of losers..."

"None of your business, Spike. It's family stuff."

Spike flashed a "come-and-get-me" smirk.

"Right. Family stuff. Like you and me."

Angel felt his cock twitching. "Let's take a walk."

In the alley Spike sniffed him, laughed contemptuously and handed him a flask.

"You need to unwind. Seriously, man. She'll destroy you the way she destroys me."

Angel frowned.

"Why would Dru destroy me?"

Spike crinkled his brow.

"What's Dru got to do with it? I'm talking about your bloody Slayer. Dru said I was all covered with her. Dru was looking at me and all she saw was your Slayer, floating all around me, laughing...."

Angel felt a growl beginning in his chest. "Stay the hell away from Buffy, Spike! Do you understand me?"

He turned away. Maybe it wasn't wise to expose his back to Spike but he couldn't face him. Because Dru always knew. She cried and refused to go to the village where they met the gypsy clan. She dressed up and did her hair that night when they ran into the Immortal in Rome. She picked up Spike out of a million young idiots. She knew.

Angel's outburst made Spike giggle. Sonofabitch.

"Come on, Peaches, tell me about that cute blonde Slayer of yours. I always suspected that the only thing better than killing a Slayer was fucking her..."

"Shut up."

"She should be quite a little passionate thing..."

"I said shut up!" He punctuated his words with a punch it Spike's jaw.

"God, Angel, how much sexual tension is crammed up your arse!" Spike giggled helplessly as he tried to stand up. "Not a single lay all these years?"

"Shut up," Angel whispered. With a growl he grabbed Spike, pushed him up against the wall and claimed his mouth, bitter with desperation, anger and jealousy. The salt on his lips awakened his memories about young William, and the dam broke. Suddenly Spike's hands were unbuckling his belt and soon, all control lost, Angel pounded into him, hard, in vain attempt to quench the unquenchable lust. Spike laughed and wept and cussed but nothing mattered now, at the edge of oblivion...


"...The white-haired vampire told me you have copulated," Illyria says. "I wish to know if he is a good lover."

"What?" Angel stares at her with bleary eyes.

"Spike and I - we both like when I cause him pain. I wonder if he will enjoy physical pleasure."

They are at Spike's basement apartment. The battle against Wolfram and Hart is a few hours away. Tomorrow they'll be dead and the last thing that matters is Spike's stupid fabrication. How very Spike, telling foolish lies just to annoy Angel...

"He told you we were lovers?" he asks, incredulous.

"He told me you were never intimate except one occasion," Illyria informs him. "He was reluctant to reveal details but I forced a confession out of him. He said it happened five years ago in a back alley between Broadway and Brooks Avenue."

Angel laughs mirthlessly. But of course. Spike doesn't know.

"It was just an illusion of intimacy," he says.

The moment the Orlon window broke he realized it. Buffy didn't have a row with Dawn, he didn't drive her to L.A., she never hugged him afterwards and didn't whisper "I don't know what I would have done if you wouldn't have been here for me".

It's one of those false memories monks inserted into their heads.

But Spike doesn't know, because the Orlon window affected only those who were around. Spike's false memories are intact - memories that include Dawn's escape from Sunnydale, Buffy and Angel's trip to Los Angeles, and their desperate, hungry sex.

"...just an illusion, Illyria - nothing more."

"All people are slaves of illusions." She cocks her head. "Spike told me you abhor that moment of intimacy. Is it true?"

He remembers. Remembers his cock buried between those rock-hard cheeks, ripping into Spike, filling his emptiness. Remembers his fangs tearing into Spike's throat, blood screaming in his ears, lacerating his conscience. Remembers the horror at the thought that it could be Buffy, thrashing, impaled deep on his cock, her life pouring down his throat. Remembers the whole universe dangerously throbbing between his legs until it exploded in rapture and guilt.

"I... I don't abhor," he murmurs.

"Then tell me."

"It was... sweet," he says reluctantly. "Spike is a... a very tender lover. Nobody is as tender as Spike. If you want to make him your lover you should be nice to him. He loves nice gals."

Illyria's stare is cold and impenetrable. Angel looks away. Could a nice Illyria, please, stand up? It would be unfair if she strangles Spike or tears his head off in the throes of passion on the eve of the final battle. Spike always wanted to go down fighting. He has to survive sex with God King of the Primordium.

Illyria shakes her head. "I don't understand. He loves women... gals - who are stronger than him."

"He does. But you know what's the best thing about strong people? Their softness. Kindness. Generosity of their spirit. That's why he loves them."

"He loved you for your softness, kindness and generosity of your spirit?" Illyria deadpans.

No, Angel thinks. He loved me in spite of not having any.

He sags in his chair. "Well, actually... Yes. I guess, yes. So - be kind to him, Illyria".

"You were kind and soft."


He sighs hopelessly. What difference does it really make? It's just a figment. Several non-existent minutes of 124 years, 7 months and 22 days they know each other.

spangel, fanfic

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