*******
Angel awoke from a dreamless sleep. Tensing under the covers, he listened for whatever might have had awakened him but heard only a silence that echoed loudly in his sensitive ears. Telling himself that his sleep had been disturbed by nothing but his imagination, he commanded his body to relax and started to drift back into sleep. When the hollow thudding began a moment later, he leapt from the bed wide-awake and ready for a fight.
As he walked into the living area the sound became louder, more rhythmic and seemed to be coming from... He looked up. The garage...? His brow furrowed for a moment before a look of panic crossed his face. The car!
Not wanting the sound of the elevator to alert the thieves, he raced up the back steps. Bursting through a side door, he skidded to a stop and quickly ducked, as a basketball seemed to float out of the darkness and sail over his head. A faint swooshing noise from above caused the vampire to look up in time to reach out and reflexively catch the ball as it dropped through the net suspended over the doorway.
Angel looked from the ball in his hands to the net above his head and back, pondering the reality of his wakefulness. He didn't have a basketball net in his garage. He had a car. He studied the darkness in front of him -- where there was no car -- and nearly jumped out of his skin when a disembodied voice greeted him with tremendous exasperation.
"D'ya mind, mate? I've got ol' Mikey Jordan down by two an' I'd really like to keep it that way."
"Spike?"
"No," Spike drawled sarcastically as he emerged from the darker shadows along the far wall. "What was your first bloody clue?" He held up his hands and impatiently gestured for the ball. Angel unthinkingly responded and tossed the basketball back to his childe.
"Wait-- What--?" Angel stepped to the right as the ball shot towards the net. "Spike?" Angel snatched up the bouncing ball and waited as the younger vampire pumped his fists into the air and mimicked the sound of a large roaring crowd. "Spike?!" Angel finally shouted. "What the hell are you doing here? And... Where's my car?"
"I moved it out onto the street. I needed room to play in here."
"You needed--" Angel stared at his childe in confusion, growing less certain by the moment that he wasn't dreaming. "You parked my car on the street? In the middle of an abandoned warehouse district? In downtown LA?"
Spike darted forward and stole the ball. Dancing back to the imaginary free throw line, he waved Angel out of the way. "'skay, mate. I parked it right next to a sewer grate; you should have no prob-- Ah. Damn..." Spike paused in the act of shooting the ball, and shook his head.
"What?"
"I think I left the top down."
Angel groaned and said a silent goodbye to his car.
"Nice shorts, peaches." Spike winked.
Running his hand through his hair, Angel struggled to make sense of all that had happened since he had been awakened. Looking down at himself -- at the bright Kelly green, satin shorts he wore -- he grimaced, but told himself that at least he was wearing something. "They were a gift," he mumbled in defense. "Doyle gave them to me for Saint Patrick's Day."
"Ah. The wearing o' the green for your favorite lil' leprechaun, eh?" Spike unerringly sent the ball toward the hoop.
"Spike!" Angel gathered his thoughts together as he jumped up and blocked the shot. "What the hell are you doing here? You've got to know by now that the Gem of Amara was destroyed."
"Pish-posh, pop." Spike snickered at the inanity of his own words as he scooped the rolling ball up off the floor. "Yeah, I know." He shook his head sadly, letting Angel know just exactly what he felt about the destruction of the Gem. He smiled and with voice full of bright saccharin said, "I just needed a place to spend the day. You know? Hang out, relax, catch up on some news, shoot a few hoops... I figured why not head on over to dear old dad's place, hmmm?"
"But... I don-- didn't have a net," Angel answered lamely as he gestured toward the hoop and backboard now suspended above the door. "Where did you get that?"
"Pulled it off a garage in the Valley." He shook his head at Angel's unasked question. "No, you great poof. No one was harmed in the acquiring of that hoop." He grinned. "Getting the ball however..."
"Spike!" Angel snapped testily. "Go away. Now."
Spike stuck his lower lip out in an outrageous imitation of a pout. "Don't wanna. The sun's up and I don't got nowhere to go," he whined.
"Spike," Angel advanced on the blonde. "You broke into my home, threatened my friends, imprisoned me, had me tortured--"
"Made fun of you behind your back, told you that your girlfriend is sleeping around, went through your personal items, mocked your excessive hair styling products--"
"Oh, and your hair is just naturally bleached and sculpted?!"
"Hey." Spike recoiled. "That hurt."
"Spike?" Angel sighed tiredly. "Go away."
"C'mon, Angelus," Spike laughed. "Face it. You never feel so alive as when I'm around fucking up your brood boy routine. I shake things up for you, remind you of past misdeeds, of who you were, and what," his voice became a heroic cartoon boom, "you must never become again!" His tone swiftly changed and became wheedling, "Play one game with me, *daddy* and I'll go."
"No."
"You know you want to." Spike fired the ball toward Angel, who caught it with a grunt.
"Spike? I don't play games. Not with you. Not with anyone. And," he looked down at the ball in his arms, "I sure as hell don't play basketball."
"Please?" Spike let his eyes grow annoying large and limpid.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Angel snorted.
"Three bottles of tequila, a bottle of vodka, and a half a bottle of J.D. You want some?" Spike gestured vaguely toward the rear of the garage.
Angel groaned. Spike sober was bad enough. Spike drunk? Well, actually he was usually a lot more fun to be around when-- "Go away, Spike." He tossed the ball back to his childe and Spike immediately went into game mode.
Dribbling and dancing around the empty garage, Spike suddenly spun and launched the ball toward the hoop. He yelped in glee as the ball whispered through the net. "Two points!"
Angel frowned up at the gently swaying net, then down at the ball bouncing to a roll at his feet. Scooping up the ball, he nodded. "Alright. Short and sweet. First one to twenty points wins. And then?" Angel jabbed a finger at Spike. "You're gone."
Spike nodded eagerly and leapt forward to steal the ball. Angel, now wary of his childe, began to dribble and dodge. Jumping lightly, he effortlessly dunked the ball through the hoop. Spike scrambled for the ball, retrieved it, and spun to shoot, but instead of net, he found Angel's large frame blocking his shot. Cursing he danced back and to the side.
"Carrying!" Angel yelled.
"Fuck you!"
***
An hour later the "short and sweet" game was sixteen to eighteen, in Angel's favor. He swiped at a trickle of blood near his left brow while noting, with great satisfaction, the large purpling bruise swelling Spike's jaw. Angel's size had given him an advantage in blocking the younger, slighter vampire's shots, but Spike was fleeter of foot and quicker at stealing and dodging than his Sire. And, now, Spike held the ball for the tieing throw.
Angel tensed as Spike charged with a deadly gleam in his eye. Drawing on all the rage and frustration he felt for his childe, he braced himself for the impact, prepared to defend the hoop at all costs. He grunted loudly as Spike's shoulder caught him in the chest. He went down hard, but took Spike with him in a tangle of feet.
Angel tilted his head back and watched as Spike's throw went high... then perfectly arched into and through the net. He cursed as Spike howled and scrambled to his feet.
Standing over his sire, Spike began to pound his chest in an imitation of King Kong, hooting in triumph. As the ball rolled past, he dropped to retrieve it, straddling Angel's hips in the process.
"You still are as cocky as ever Spike. Time we change that." Angel grinned wickedly at his childe.
Spike clutched the ball to his chest. A perplexed look crossed his features, then settled in to stay as he blinked down at his Sire. An uncomfortable pause stretched out until Angel dropped his eyes and began to fidget.
"What?" the younger vampire finally asked.
"I-- uh, said that, uh, you're still as cocky as ever--," Angel muttered, his body rigid with embarrassment. "Get off me!" He shoved Spike off and scrambled to his feet, the clinging shorts doing little to hide the effect that Spike's body, rocking against his, had created.
Spike began to laugh. Rolling around on the floor, clutching the basketball, he laughed until tears ran down his face, until Angel had to fight the urge to kick his childe around the garage. Soccer. Now, *that* was a sport!
"Oh, shit," Spike gasped. "Oh shit! Get something straight, *Angel.* I hate you with a violent intensity that borders on the psychotic. I only have to think of you, and I'm one twenty over eighty. Do you have any idea what it's like to suddenly have blood pressure? After two hundred years? You wanna talk migraine?! I can't fucking see when it happens. There's a filmy red haze that covers my eyes and I'm pretty certain I gonna have an aneurysm one of these days." Spike rolled to his feet. "My head is just gonna split open and flames are gonna shoot sixty feet into the air--" He stopped talking and gingerly patted the back of his head.
Walking in silence back to the free throw area, he turned and faced his brooding Sire who stood off to the side, his arms across his chest. "Look, if you want a short little truce, and spend a rainy day fuc-- Oh?" Spike's grin was nasty as he caught Angel's look. "Did I forget to mention it's raining out there? Yeah, and they say it never rains in California..." He chuckled and shook his head as he brought the ball up. "Anyway, if you're up to a little old fashioned slap and tickle with your pal Spike, just say so. But, save your Nancy-boy pick-up lines for someone who can appreciate them. Like a... deaf, mute... corpse. Or your secretary. Or, 'Paddy,' even. But, if you wanna fuck? Just say so."
"Do you want to fuck?"
"Sure," Spike grinned. "Just let me toss this ball on in, and I'll be right with you."
Angel growled, uncrossed his arms and stepped between Spike and the hoop. Spike laughed. "Okay." He nodded and lowered the ball slightly. "Let's make it interesting. I make this shot? I win. I win? You're my cute little bottom. All...day...long." Spike made a show of slowly licking his lips.
Angel sneered, but nodded shortly. "But," he added, "you blow this shot?" He paused and waited until he had Spike's full attention. "And you'll be blowing me. All...day...long." Angel's grin matched Spike's for sheer viciousness.
With a grim nod and an attempt at a laugh, Spike brought the ball back up, coiled his lean body...
Angel's muscles tightened imperceptibly as he readied to block...
Spike rocked back, and with a snap released the ball toward the net...
"Fuck!"
***
End-ish.
Nyeah! Use your own frickin' imagination. I gotta go back to work.