DISCLAIMER: I am still not Joss.
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: A/S
DISTRIBUTION: If you have other slash-fic of mine, you can take this, too.
FEEDBACK: Would be nice.
DEDIS: To Jeannette, as usual, for the site... to my oh-so-patient list-members, for that same patience... and to Vic, for asking when I'd do more and not bitching when I said 'in a while'.*VBG*
NOTES: some spoilers for S6:B and S2:A, but mostly my own world. Angel writes in his journal...
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He sat silently in his room, listening for the sounds of his friends an co-workers leaving. Wes was finally okay again, which was nice, although he wasn't sure he entirely trusted the man. Gunn and Fred had plans, of course, which made things easier, and Cordy... well, Cordy was still off wherever she and her 'friend' had gone to.
All of which was something of a balm to him. Silence was his friend these days, after too many weeks of loud voices, and small cries... but he wasn't going to think about that. There was nothing he could do, after all, other than wait. They'd researched to the best of their ability, and... no.
He shook his head, and slowly picked up his pen, writing down the memories from the night and morning just past... the dream.
~ I'm laying there quietly, nothing on my mind at all, and that doesn't seem even a little bit strange. My fingers rub softly over the dark sheets, and I sigh quietly, feeling more alone than anything else. That's when I feel it.
I feel the mattress dipping behind me, hear the subtle sound of smooth knees dragging across the sheets. One pale, elegant hand reaches around me, lowering to cover my own hand, and I know exactly who it is.
I'm not disturbed by his presence. It feels... right, for some ungodly reason, and when he stretches out behind me, his cool, chiseled chest against my back, I press back into him, wanting to feel him... to know I'm not alone anymore.
That's when I remember. He's been with me ever since the chip. I heard about it, and I went to him, and I brought him back to LA. I brought him home.
And it is home. For both of us. Just as much as he is-- to a greater extent-- home to me.
It took over a month to entice him, to make him admit that he still wanted me as much as he did when newly-made. Weeks of small, simple touches whenever I passed behind his chair, weeks of being sure to change from my demon-encrusted clothes when I was convinced he was watching. It was an odd sensation, being the one who had to seduce him, and not the other way around, but... I threw myself into my self-appointed mission with a single-mindedness that might have been frightening to me before he was in my life again.
Those days and weeks paid off, too, on the night he finally let me kiss him again, and it was... No, it wasn't. It wasn't anything like the first time. That was all about dominance, and control, and showing him whose he was. This time was different.
I walked behind his chair, as I did more than twenty times a night, my shirt hanging open. My fingers rested lightly on the back of his neck for a moment, and I sighed softly at the smooth coolness of his skin. And for the first time since I'd brought him home, he let himself respond. His neck arched slightly, the short hairs at his nape brushing my fingers, and I froze, hoping and even praying to whatever God might listen that this time, he might...
His hand covered mine, and he turned his head, his eyes hooded and confused. 'What are you doing, Angel?' he said quietly, all that fierce energy of his gone from the earlier battle we'd engaged in. He'd slain four different demons, all by himself, and the fierce pride I felt in my boy, my Spike, had me glowing. 'What is all this, Sire?'
I shook my head, drowning in the need to see those wide blue eyes, and leaned down, meeting them full-on. 'It's what always should have been, Will,' I told him, and if I'd needed to breath, I'd have been entirely out of luck. I watched him process those words, and I couldn't keep from speaking further. 'It's what we are. What we need. It's what I threw away when I got all souled.'
He could have made me beg him, in that moment, and he knew it. He didn't, though. Instead, he stood, releasing my hand, and a sly little smirk formed on his lips when he heard me sigh unhappily. 'Comfort, then?' he demanded quietly, moving around his chair to stand in front of me, 'A bit of the childe to release the strain?'
I saw how much he wanted to believe that, saw how deeply he feared the true feelings we both had, so I just nodded and let him. One hand rose to cup his firm jaw, and the other rested lightly on his shirt-covered ribs as I slowly pressed my lips to his.
It started as a soft brush of flesh on flesh, a small, tender touch-- almost chaste, in its way. Then his lips opened to me, and that soft, wet tongue met mine, and...
Hands, and teeth, and flying cloth, and it had been too long, too long ago that I had last felt this. Felt him. His arms around me, his teeth nipping at me, his tight, toned shape straining mightily for my own. His fingers digging deep into my flesh, the growl building in his chest rumbling against my skin. Those long, haired legs trying so desperately to carry me off. It had been far too long, and it was exactly what I'd been yearning so roughly for, so I let him.
I let him pull me towards my room, let him drag me inside. I let him press me towards the bed, and the hours of sublime pleasure and pain I knew we would find there. And only moments later, I let him take me deep into that perfect hole I'd been thinking about for weeks. I let him buck and heave beneath me, his long, thick shaft pulsing away in my hand, and I let him take me to the place only he had ever known how to find for me, and...
And I let him show me again the things that only he could do to me.
Of course, that was then, and this isn't the time to lose myself in those memories, because he's behind me.
His fingers are laced with mine, and his breath is cool against my shoulder, and when his other hand slips beneath my waist, and he fondles my sac, creating even more tension within me, I really don't want to be lost in remembering. No, I really, really don't. I want this, more than I ever knew before, and having him again is the only thing holding me to this existence, I think. I felt so empty and cold before I brought him back here, and... I don't anymore.
I feel even less empty as his hand releases my fingers, then slips down to encircle my throbbing cock. Oh, my boy... my boy is amazing to me.
I can't help rocking against him, just to feel his seeping tip hard against my skin. I also can't help smiling when he moans softly. My own moans echo his as he shifts against me, that thick head slowly nudging its way between my cheeks.
'Let me in, Angel,' he sighs, and damned if I'm not going to. I bend one knee, resting the sole of my foot against the sheets, and I groan as I feel him positioning himself. I groan again, with a slight needy whimper, I know, as I feel him rubbing that seeping fluid over my yearning hole, and when he finally, finally, works just the head of himself inside me, I feel... at peace.
This really is what should have been, just as I told him all those months before. This is what I never knew I could have after the Gypsies. And this... this is what I've spent more than a century looking for, only to find it in the only place it is. In Spike.
My arm rises, slipping behind me, and when I feel him slide slowly, and fully, and deeply within me, my hand rests on the base of his spine, holding him there, motionless. I can feel him pulsing just a bit already, feel the thick, needy breaths aching to burst from him. I can feel the truth of what we're doing her, and the fact that he knows... 'It's not just comfort,' I tell him, gazing over my shoulder to meet his telling eyes.
And they are telling, because his every emotion is clear in those wide blue orbs. 'It's never been just comfort, Will,' I go on, because I think it's time. I can't keep doing this, not when I haven't told him. I don't know if he even wants to hear it, but I won't deny my own feelings anymore. Not even for him.
He's staring at me, like he's trapped by my gaze, but that's fine, because he's long, and hard, and deeply imbedded within me, and that's exactly where he belongs.
'I always loved you,' I tell him softly, so quietly that he wouldn't hear it if not for his demon. 'Even when I hated you for being free.' My hand lets go of him then, and if he wants to leave, I won't stop him. Angelus will. And I'll let him. I can't let this end, not now, not ever. He's my childe, yes, and the fact that I have him deep inside me is a violation of the rules, but I don't care. My demon doesn't care. This is right, and this is truth, and... I almost let go of the demon when my Will pulls back, but he doesn't go far.
No, he simply pulls away a bit, but stops when just that perfect tip remains inside me. I can see him swallowing hard, feel his hand moving a bit faster on my turgid shaft, and... he nods. He nods, and slips himself fully into me once more, and I may be wrong, but I think that's a tear in his eye. He pulls his gaze from mine, and bows his head against my back as he slowly, oh-so-slowly, drives himself within me. 'I know,' he finally sighs, and that's enough. For now, it's enough.
I'm breathing hard myself, in loud, rasping gasps, as he moves faster. His fingers stroke, and squeeze, and his other hand is busy rolling my tightened balls in its palm, and I don't want this to ever end. I want him filling me, taking me, plundering my willing shape... constantly. Of course, I also want to be the one doing those things to him, so I stop thinking of our completion as an ending. A small break, maybe. An intermission, perhaps.
I hitch my leg up higher, reveling in his groan when that motion opens me further to him, and he's prodding repeatedly at that gland within me, and I just know it won't be long before...
He grunts loudly, then growls, and I feel the ridges form on his face, and I feel his suddenly jagged teeth against my skin, and all I can do is shout 'Yes!' as they sink in, and I feel him swelling inside me, feel him exploding violently within me, feel that thick, rich seed shooting wickedly against that same gland, and I can't help but push myself back harder against him as I spew great, spurting streams over his hand, and onto our sheets.
He's my childe, my Will... he's the one thing I've done right in this
existence, and I will never let him go again.~
Angel set the pen down with a sigh, then leaned back into his couch, the cold air suddenly less of a comfort than it had been when he'd started writing. He stared at the ceiling, thoroughly disturbed by the images his sleeping mind had been creating for almost a month now. The images he'd been keeping a careful record of.
Him. And his childe. Spike. Together. Together in ways they hadn't been in over a century. It was more than disturbing, it was wrong.
It was made even more wrong by the fact that he actually wanted the dreams to continue. He wanted to know that feeling. That he was something... important to someone. Not because he was their pet vampire, or because he helped the hopeless, but because... he was Angel. Because he was necessary to someone's happiness. Yes, he wanted the dreams to go on; Hell, even his demon wanted them. He could feel Angelus inside him, yawning in hopes of sending him to bed.
And it wasn't a bad idea, he admitted as he rose and stripped the clothing from his tense flesh. He pulled back the sheets on his bed and crawled between them, laying back in the darkness as his hand wrapped slowly around his throbbing cock.
A large part of him wished the dreams could actually be real. That he could be, once again, with the childe he'd never stopped loving. Because that was the truth. Even when Spike had been trying to get that ring back, even while that bastard Marcus had been torturing him, he hadn't hated the boy. He'd been angry, of course, and maybe... just a bit aroused, but he'd never hated him.
Still, he knew the dreams were just that. Dreams. After all, there was no way his bad-ass childe could still care for him, chipped or not. No, a souled Angelus was repulsive to the boy; that much was obvious.
Angel sighed and closed his eyes and ears against the silent darkness. His hand moved faster, stroking, tugging, squeezing, as he lost himself in remembering the sensations from the latest dream, and his own hand became slightly smaller in his mind, a little more pale. He made himself hear those small grunts and moans, imagined the feeling of that long shaft piercing his tight hole, the softness of that skin as it slid in and out, in and out, and when he finally came, it was with that name upon his lips. "Will!"
His eyes remained closed, and he held his softening cock lightly as he slipped into slumber, hoping for yet another perfect vision of a life that would never be.
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She'd dumped him. The sodding bitch had bloody well dumped him. Him! Like he wasn't good enough for her, or some such shit.
Well, and maybe he wasn't, he admitted to himself. It didn't hurt as much as it could have, though, mostly because... Well, yeah, he loved her. But not more than anything. It just hadn't been clear to him at first.
It had been just over a month ago, he knew, that he'd discovered the truth. She'd walked away just that morning, leaving him in his blasted-apart crypt. Everything was gone-- his records, his clothes, hell, even his bed was a bloody lost cause.
So he'd gathered the few things that were still relatively unharmed, and he'd found himself a new place. It wasn't quite as good as the old one had been, but it wasn't too shabby. He'd arranged the place to his satisfaction, then set about exploring, and it had been then that he'd found it. The book.
Seemed his new home had once been a witchy gathering-spot, 'cause that was what the handwritten words seemed to indicate, and he'd read them all-- carefully. Spells. All sorts of spells. Good ones, and bad ones. Light and dark. He'd only tried one on a lark.
'To Showe the Truthe of Affection', it had been called, and... He'd been stunned by what it had showed him, because it for damned sure hadn't been the Slayer. It had actually taken him almost a week to admit the truth of his vision to himself, but... There was no denying it. And once he had understood, he'd realized just why he was so over-the-moon about Buffy. He loved her, yes. Because his Sire had.
He'd left her alone after that, for the most part. He still helped out from time to time, though. After all, the little gang had become... well, almost his friends. They were the closest he had to it, anyway, if you disregarded his poker-buddies, and how many sodding kittens did one vamp need, after all?
So, all in all, that first spell had been a real eye-opener. Then again, so had the second.
Spike smirked wickedly, even as he stripped off and crawled into bed. The dreams were wearing the pouf down, he thought... or it seemed like it, anyway. One more week, he decided, even as he blew out his candle and closed his eyes. One more week, and he'd take the bull by the horns. He'd go to LA, and...
With any luck, it wouldn't be just dreams he and the pouf shared after that.
His smirk softened, becoming a quiet, happy smile as he slipped into slumber and found himself beside the long, chiseled shape of his Sire. He reached out, skimming one finger lightly down the older vampire's side. "Hullo, pet," he murmured quietly, "Nice night..."
End.