Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Angel/Spike, Buffy/Spike
Spoilers:Some from Season 6, but the story is mostly AU.
Disclaimer:Characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc. Grrr. Argh.
Summary:Buffy's bad behavior with Spike has an unexpected witness-and even more unexpected consequences.
Notes: Even though this story is technically complete, it drops off in a wicked place. Just so you know before you begin-don't kill me! It will have a sequel. The next story is called "Ashes" and will be my last for the fandom. I hope to get it out as near to mid-May as possible and before the series ends its run in the US. Soundtrack:"Wash" by Pearl Jam.
Archive:I would be most flattered if you'd like to, but please let me know before.
Dedication:For Andrea and Karen, the goddesses of feedback and encouragement.
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Spike:
Sometimes he wondered if she was even aware of him.
True, she always held his gaze with fixed ferocity whenever she was alone with him - touching him or not - but there was still something vacant about that stare. She seemed to not only be seeing inside him, but seeing around and through him. It was unnerving in an addictive way. Spike desperately wanted to know what the slayer saw when she looked at him.
He'd known she was coming that night, even though she had no real pattern to her visits. Certainly, she never made plans with him. She came whenever she needed his rough touch. She came when she needed to be hollowed out and filled up again. She came whenever she felt out of control because she liked that feeling, and being with Spike took her to the next level of abandon. Everything slipped out of her grasp when she was with him. Everything drew away. Thing was, Buffy had no idea that was why she came to him. He could tell she hadn't given it any thought at all. The only thing that mattered to her was the freedom she felt when he entered her. The only thing she focused on was the way he moved inside her. Buffy's attention was plain and bare and intense, but it was still completely empty.
That night, knowing in his bones that she would show, he actually straightened the place up a bit. He'd gone out right after the sun went down and knicked some fresh flowers from the market. Buffy was deeply affected by flowers. She probably didn't realize it, but she would always stop and smell them when they were out patrolling together. If they passed a grave where the flowers recently left by the loved ones of the deceased were askew, she would right them. Flowers meant something to Buffy, even though Spike wasn't sure what. He had the feeling it had something to do with the day her mother died, but he never felt safe enough to ask her. Most intimate subjects were totally off limits with her, even to the man who was currently her lover.
The flowers he'd procured were a mixture of Gerber daisies, roses and alstromaria. The alstromaria reminded him of Drusilla because she used to love them. They grow like mad in England and she used to call them Peruvian Lilies. Dru would tell him about the wildflowers in her mother's garden and how the lilies used to speak to her with voices like tiny bells.
Spike put those flowers and the daisies in two salvaged vases on either side of the bed. Then he carefully tore the rose petals off the stems and scattered them around on the sheets. They rarely actually got to the bed during their sexploits, but he liked the way it looked nonetheless. It gave the impression of civility and romance. Two things that were almost never present when the slayer came to avail herself of Spike's many talents.
It was nearly 9:00 and he knew she'd be along momentarily. He had a quick wash then dressed in a silky button down shirt she once said she liked on him. He didn't think she much cared what he wore-at least not judging by how quickly she divested him of his clothing when she arrived. The thought of how she pawed him impatiently until he was naked every time made Spike smile until his cheeks ached. His fingers went to some left over scratches from their last encounter, tracing them with his short, neat fingernails. He shivered from the slight tenderness of the shallow wounds and then he heard her above at the crypt door.
He decided not to go upstairs, to stay put until she came down. She knew he was there, waiting. In a moment, she sprang down the narrow steps and moved toward him as though she were being chased. In a way, Spike reckoned she was. Buffy was chasing herself and running like hell to get away.
*************
Giles:
The telephone startled him because of the hour. Phone calls after 11:00 on weeknights were never good news.
"Hello?" he said tentatively. The line was full of background noise- traffic, it sounded like - and then there was the crisp, deceptively boyish sound of Angel's voice.
"Giles?"
"Yes. Hello, Angel."
"I'm sorry to bother you so late."
"That's quite all right," he said, feeling the inevitable tension squeeze his throat. "I'm afraid Buffy isn't here, though. If . . . you're looking for her, that is."
"I am," the vampire said. "She's not at home, either."
"She's most likely still out patrolling," Giles offered. His forehead creased with concern, though. It was quite late. Where was she if not at home with Dawn? "Did her sister answer at the house?"
"No, Willow did," Angel told him. "She sounded a little shaky. Is she okay?"
Taking a deep breath, Giles frowned, not knowing how much he should say about Willow's recent struggles. "She's . . . been battling a tough virus for a while now," was what he came up with. He knew Angel would hear the lie.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the vampire said, his tone indicating he had indeed heard. But he was also not going to push. "Well, I need to talk to Buffy. Maybe I'll take a look around. Do you know where she was going to patrol tonight?"
"She said she planned to concentrate on the cemetery," Giles informed him, pleased to have something true to say. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Angel's turn to lie. "Nothing for you to worry about. I just need to speak to her."
Giles thought it best to return the not-pushing favor. "Right. Then I suggest you try the cemetery. And . . . let me know if I can help."
"You have," Angel said. "Thanks a lot. Good night."
The line went dead and Giles stared at the phone for a moment before hanging it up. His chest suddenly felt heavy with foreboding. He knew something was awry in Buffy's personal life-something deep that she wasn't sharing with anyone. Some symptom of her resurrection, no doubt. Since he'd returned from England, he'd been trying to connect with her, to talk with her, but she was always just out of his emotional reach. Giles had been very worried. Now, with Angel in town and needing to speak to her on some mysterious subject, Giles felt certain that whatever was troubling his young charge-it was very serious, indeed.
Sighing, he sat down at the desk and took out his journal. For some reason, he felt like he should make a record of his thoughts at that moment-for future reference.
************
Angel:
Shadows stretched out across the manicured lawn around the Alpert crypt. Shadows made by the lights flickering inside. Angel could smell Spike, as always, but he could also smell Buffy.
For a long time, he stood just outside the crypt door and listened. His acute ears picked up a million sounds near and far, but he focused mostly on the sound of her breathing. Her heartbeat. Her moans.
Angel touched the door with his pale fingers and closed his eyes. The pain and jealousy washed through him like a wave and he let it- knowing it would run its course and wane in a moment. It's not like he didn't know this would happen. He had known. In a way, he had willed it to happen. He kept refusing to bring Spike with him to LA because he wanted the young one here. He wanted him to look after Buffy. But as the reality of this new situation registered in his soul, Angel was gutted by it.
Through the door, he heard a soft thumping that grew quickly into distinctive pounding. His mind sifted through the various sounds, their depth and distance, and he concluded the pounding was against one of the lower crypt walls. And then, he heard Buffy scream.
His hand was on the doorknob instantly. He'd actually opened it. It was the creak that brought him back to himself. No. He did not want to go in there. Instead, he moved away from the door and walked around the back of the crypt-back where the long, narrow windows faced the opening in the floor. He pressed his ear to the cold stained glass and closed his eyes again, listening with every pore, every ounce of energy.
She was groaning in time with her breath and the pounding kept on. Her back must have been hitting the wall because her voice jumped repeatedly. God, he was really pummeling her. But the raw, supplicating sounds she was making made it quite clear that pummeling was what she wanted. He could hear Spike's deep, wholehearted moans. He loved that sound. Angel knew the young one well enough to know that those particular moans indicated he was right on the edge. Angel waited, knowing that the next sound he heard from Spike would be a whimpering gasp as his orgasm ripped through him. Angel counted the rhythmic beats of their bodies, listening to them quicken and shorten until the anticipated sound came. Spike's face must have been buried in her neck because the gasping moan was muffled, but it was still the same sound he'd made for over a century. Angel shivered and felt his cock fill with blood. That wave of pain and jealousy coursed through him again, but that time . . . that time he was jealous of Buffy.
Turning around, he leaned against the cold wall of the crypt and kept listening to them as they wound down. He had no idea how long she'd been in there. No idea how long she'd stay. All Angel knew was that he didn't want her to know he'd found out. Not yet. He needed time to process and organize all this pain. No doubt, he needed lots of time.
Sliding down with his back against the wall, he sat in the cold grass and rested his head on his knees. With his eyes closed, Angel waited and listened . . . listened while his little girl love and his beloved vampire childe had each other two more times. By the time they were gasping through the last of their pleasure for the night, Angel was trembling all over.
He stayed where he was when he heard Buffy leaving. She and Spike had said nothing to each other the entire time. No words, just commanding grunts, insistent growls and surrendered moans. And now she was simply leaving.
He waited until he knew she was well away, then he forced himself to stand on his wobbly legs and went back around to the crypt door.
That time, Angel went inside.
***************
Spike:
The dream was so vivid, he felt like he was watching a film in his mind. But it was more than a dream, really - this was a memory. His eyes scanned the landscape around the abbey ruins and he could smell the wet grass and mud. The river whispered off to the right and the spring stars twinkled madly overhead. The constellation Leo was directly above and he was looking at it, following the bright dots that made the shape of the lion in the sky.
Drusilla was laughing somewhere and the sound was trapped and cavernous. She was inside one of the large storage rooms that was still standing. Her laughter was joined by Angelus' and together they started singing a lilting nursery rhyme, raising their voices loud to create more of an echo in the enclosed space. He stood where he was, staring up at Leo and listening to the merry combined tones of his two lovers. The night wind swirled, carrying the crisp scent of the water and the green scent of the earth.
"Leo," Darla said from right in front of him. She was looking up, too. The starlight was so bright, he could see the lovely turquoise color of her eyes. He smiled at her.
"You're so beautiful," he told her and his voice was very loud in his own ears.
Darla raised up on her toes and kissed his mouth. He could feel it all through him like prickly warm shocks. He wanted to moan in appreciation, but found he couldn't make a sound. Something was constricting his voice suddenly. Still tingling from Darla's sweet kiss, he tried once again to speak, but now the constriction at his throat had weight, mass. It hurt.
Spike lifted out of the dream so suddenly, he thought he heard wind rushing by his ears. His hands came up and grabbed the strong wrists at his throat and he looked up with shocked, wounded surprise into the eyes of his sire.
Angel was crying. His strong hands squeezed Spike's throat viciously and he was shaking. The pinkish tears streamed down his contorted face as he vainly tried to wring out Spike's unlife in that manner. Trying to ignore the searing pain in his compressed bones, Spike searched the other's eyes . . . searching for any sign of the reason for all this. He tried to speak, but couldn't. And then, all at once, Angel let go.
Falling over on his side, Angel collapsed on the bed and grabbed up two big handfuls of the rumpled covers. The rose pedals Spike had scattered for Buffy flittered through the air in the sudden upset, then landed again in new places. Angel buried his face in the bed clothes and sobbed into them.
Bone-weary from his intense exertions with the slayer, Spike was unable to move at first. His throat was bruised and tender, but that would pass. The surprise of waking up to his Angel strangling him had been far worse than the act itself. Spike had thought they were past all that.
Angel continued to weep, his face covered by the blankets. His long legs drew up to his torso like they always did when he had these crying fits. Wet grass clung to the bottoms of his expensive shoes. Spike waited, gingerly rolling onto his side to face his newest guest. He could tell by the sound of the sobs that this particular emotional detonation was wearing itself out. Then finally, after almost ten full minutes of crying, Angel fell silent.
Spike sat up, wincing from multiple sore spots all over his body. Reaching over to the night table, he grabbed his trusty flask and twisted off the cap. Keeping a suspicious eye on his unstable visitor, he settled back against the pillows and took two deep drinks of whiskey.
"From the nature of your greeting," he said. "I'm guessin' you're aware that my relationship with the slayer has evolved."
Angel didn't move. He lay curled up on his side, his face still pressed into the blankets.
Taking another drink, Spike sighed. "Maybe you'd like to beat on me some more? You always make it hurt so good."
The brunette shifted slowly, as though his whole body was also in pain. He folded his legs Indian-style and sat up with the blankets still in his hands. Pressing them to his face once again, Angel's brow knit in confusion.
"You won't smell her there," Spike told him. "We have a tendency to miss the bed."
Angel let the blankets fall, then he wiped his tear-streaked face with the backs of his hands like a little boy. Finally, he looked up with red-rimmed eyes and an expression that made Spike want to pull him into the tightest hug he could muster.
"For fuck's sake, peaches," he said miserably. "Don't look at me like that. You make me wanna stake myself." Spike considered the situation then and a new conviction fueled his next statement. "And I've got nothin' to feel guilty about here."
Angel sighed and shook his head. "I can't believe this."
"Can't you?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows. "Come on. You always knew I wanted her. And when have I not got the birds I wanted? No matter who they were." He held out the flask and Angel took it, tipping it against his lips for a long, much needed drink.
Looking at Spike with a cold glint in his bloodshot eyes, Angel said, "your luck wasn't all that before Dru turned you, momma's boy."
Spike glowered. "That'll do." He reached for the flask and Angel handed it to him. After he took another drink, he said, "who told you, anyway?"
Angel let out an exhausted sighed and tipped forward until he was lying down on the mattress right beside Spike. "I heard you," he said. "I was looking for her and Giles said she'd been patrolling in the cemetery. I came here to ask if you'd seen her."
"Yeah," Spike said, fighting a cocky smirk. "I've seen her, all right."
Angel lifted his chin and his fangs connected with the tender flesh on Spike's side. He bit hard and tore at the new gash roughly. Spike flinched, but knew better than to pull away. He'd be damaged much less if he remained still. The pain was sudden and white hot. His eyes teared.
When the burst of fresh anger ebbed, Angel withdrew his teeth with agonizing slowness, licking his blood-coated fangs clean. "I'd watch that smart mouth, boy," he said. "I'm a little cranky tonight."
Sighing, Spike looked down at the fresh tear in his body and grimaced. "So I've noticed, you bleedin' ponce!" He dabbed at the torn flesh with his fingers, then touched the bloody digit to Angel's lips. "Go on, then. Stitch me up."
Angel's eyes fixed him for a long, still moment, then he licked the blood off his lips and covered the wound he'd just made with his mouth. Spike shivered when he felt the brunette's tongue slide over the torn punctures, lapping the blood, cleaning the flesh, saturating the tear with healing sire saliva. Unconsciously, he slipped his fingers into Angel's hair, stroking it, petting it lovingly. He smiled to himself when he saw Angel's eyes closed. He knew how sweet he tasted to his sire. Angel loved sucking his blood. Spike caressed the brunette's soft earlobes very gently while the licking went on, knowing Angel would soon warm to his touch. He always did.
Glancing up at the lamp beside the bed, Spike was reminded of an evening he and Angel spent together in Europe-back in the "old days", when they were still discovering each other's deepest pleasures. He sighed and rested his head back against the pillows, his fingers still working softly in Angel's hair as he tended Spike's injury.
"Remember when you found that beautiful dagger in Paris?" Spike said, keeping his voice low, seductive.
Eyes still closed, Angel kept licking and gently sucking the sore punctures. "Mm hm . . ." he breathed.
Using his fingers to tickle the short hairs at the back of Angel's neck, Spike said, "you couldn't get enough of the pretty little cuts it made in my flesh . . . over and over you kept slitting me open and licking me closed . . ." He chuckled deep and soft. "Such a wicked daddy, you are . . ."
With a final kiss on the then closed wound, Angel shifted on the bed until he was lying alongside Spike's body. He poked an impish knuckle into the tender spot with his finger and Spike flinched.
"Oi-bastard!"
Angel's face brightened in a devilish grin and Spike was very relieved to see it. He sighed.
"You all right, then? Cuz if you really wanna dust me, pet, quit muckin' about. I've got a stake right under my pillow."
Angel's brow furrowed deeply. "Tell me that's not a sex toy."
Spike chuckled. "Like I said, we rarely make it to the bed. The stake is for protection. Lots of rude beasties about who make a point of barging in on me when I'm napping."
Apparently needing validation, Angel worked his hand under the pillows behind Spike's back until he pulled out the bit of wood in question. Frowning at it, the brunette held it up in the light from the bed table lamp.
For an uncomfortable instant, Spike wondered if the petulant Irishman had changed his mind. He scowled, watching the older vampire examine the stake with far too much interest in its potential. "Now, peaches . . ." he said warily.
Angel breathed a laugh, then tucked the stake back under Spike's pillow. "Good to know it's there. Just in case I decide I've had enough of you once and for all."
"Right," Spike said, reaching for his sore neck with his hand. "You know, if you really want to strangle someone over this, go choke the sodding slayer. This is her doing."
Angel stared at him in flat disbelief.
"Well, it IS," Spike insisted. "She comes to me, mate. Not the other way. Well, not mostly." He hit the flask again, feeling the need to look away from Angel's penetrating eyes.
"This was all her idea?" he said incredulously. "You had nothing to do it? No influence, no flirting, no nothing. You're completely innocent."
Spike pursed his lips but said nothing.
"You're too much, buddy," Angel grumbled, his voice still slightly nasal from crying. "You really expect me to believe Buffy started this? Buffy Summers?"
Keeping his voice low for his own protection, Spike said, "you don't know her anymore. She's different since . . . she came back."
"I've seen her since she's been back," Angel snapped irritably. "She seems the same to me."
Spike took a deep breath, realizing he was asking for another pummeling by continuing along this line. Still, he soldiered on. "Did you see her with me, Angel? Or did you just listen? Can't quite get the whole picture if all you did was listen."
Angel's dark eyes narrowed coldly and his lips drew into a straight line. "Are you trying to make me pull your arms off and beat you with them?"
Setting the flask on the table, Spike threw the blankets off his naked body and rolled toward Angel so his sire could see the marks on his thighs and belly. "Look," he said, pointing to a deep circular bruise just inside his hipbone. "That's a fresh bite mark, mate. As much as I'd love to be able to bite myself on or around that spot, it's just not physically possible. You can take a dental impression if you don't believe me. Your innocent schoolgirl did this just a little while ago."
Scowling hard, Angel leaned forward and examined the mark in question very closely. He touched it, pulling the skin taut around the purple crescent with his fingers. He looked at the bite for a long time and Spike watched the subtle changes in his expression. In a matter of minutes, Angel's face had gone from total disbelief to mild amazement.
"She really did this?" he said, looking up. His eyes were almost all pupil then, glassy and black. Spike knew what that meant. It meant Angel was struggling with his baser needs. Primal chemicals dumped into his veins, coursed through him. Angel was virtually filling up with animal.
"She really did." Hoping to encouraging his sire's primitive urges, Spike rolled onto his back and lifted his right thigh to show a series of long scratches running the length of the inside. "This, too. That actually bled quite a bit."
Angel's expression went slack. "She made you bleed?"
Spike spoke slowly, seductively, with a soft, even tone. "She's done that a few times, actually. I don't even think she realizes. She just gets so wrapped up in what I'm doing . . . that she starts clawin' on me." He grinned secretively. "And then she makes with the biting."
"She's not . . ." Angel trailed off, his eyes closing for a minute.
"What?" Spike asked suspiciously. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Angel was thinking.
"She's not . . . drinking from you, is she?"
"No," he said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. "The slayer's still the slayer. The idea of sucking blood makes her delicate, girly skin crawl. Doesn't mean she won't draw it, though. That doesn't seem to bother her a lick." He reached for the blankets to pull them back over his body, but Angel stopped his hand. Spike squinted at him. "What, now?"
Angel continued to look at Spike's naked body on the bed, his dark golden eyes moving slowly up and down the blond's legs and torso. His intent gaze stopped on Spike's flaccid cock and fixed there. After a long moment, Angel leaned forward very slowly until his nose brushed the sensitive skin on Spike's belly, just above his pubic hairline. He rubbed his face back and forth, tickling the skin with sensation as he breathed in and out, taking in the myriad scents lingering there. Spike couldn't help but smile a little. There was something so raw and sweet about the gesture.
Angel moved forward, resting his weight on his elbows as he leaned over Spike's hips. He wet his lips, then extended his tongue, running a slow line of saliva along the inside of the long bone-right where Buffy's teethmarks were. He licked the curved bruise, then kissed it, as though he were trying to kiss her through the wound she'd made.
Spike sighed and slipped his fingers into Angel's hair, petting him gently again. "You know what this reminds me of?" he whispered.
Angel nuzzled the blond's pubic hair, then pressed his nose into it, inhaling deeply. He didn't respond to the question, but Spike knew he was listening. He continued with his thought.
"Remember that night in London you sat outside the bedroom and watched me with Dru?"
Angel murmured acknowledgement, but didn't look up. His eyes were closed and his mouth opened low on Spike's thigh, licking, tasting the skin greedily. It tickled like hell but Spike forced himself to sit very still. He expected to be bitten again any second. Angel's tongue stroked insistently into the soft crease at the top of his thigh, right where the leg met the hip. The flesh was tender and vulnerable there. He could feel his sire's sharp fangs scraping along his skin and the sensation made Spike's nipples itch. Absently, he ran his fingers over the tight nubs of flesh, bringing up the sensation.
Those teeth scraped his skin again and their fierce intent brought him out of his sensual reverie. In an attempt to distract the brunette from any further infliction of pain, Spike kept talking.
"She didn't know what to do with you," he said, the memory of Drusilla in that London hallway so many years ago flashing in his mind as clear as day. Spike thought of that night often. It was the first time he realized with utmost certainty that Angel had become addicted to him. Darla had warned them both it would happen. She hadn't been wrong.
Angel moaned as he nuzzled and lapped the insides of Spike's thighs, breathing in big lungfuls of air to capture what was clearly a delectable scent to him. Spike shivered when he felt his sire's tongue stroke over his balls, lifting them with each long, firm lick. His fingers played in Angel's dense hair, tugging it a bit roughly where it was thickest.
"Do you remember what you did, luv?" Spike said, his voice wobbly from all those delicious sensations. He was a bit amazed to find himself getting hard again, after everything Buffy already put him through that night. How she'd drained him repeatedly.
After a few more minutes of possessive licking, Angel finally looked up at him, his eyes slitted with lust. "This is incredible," he breathed.
"What's that?" Spike said, running the pad of his thumb covetously over the brunette's full, slightly swollen bottom lip.
"This . . ." He licked the blond's belly, then nipped the skin there with his teeth softly, hungrily. "The smell . . . and the taste of you together. It's incredible. I can't . . . stop . . ." He lowered his head again and Spike's skin broke out in pleasure bumps when Angel's tongue slid down between his butt cheeks.
"Oohhhh . . . oooohhhh . . . my god, that feels . . . ooohhhhhh . . . ." He sank back into the pillows and opened his legs wide, sighing as his whole body began to tingle. It wasn't just the sensation of being licked that was turning him to so much mush, it was the voracity behind Angel's ministrations. He couldn't get enough of the taste and Spike felt like he was being devoured lick by lick. The hungry little nibbles of Angel's teeth only increased the spinning pleasure and soon Spike was panting with arousal.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, Spike could see Drusilla again on that long ago London night pressed against the wall in the hallway outside their bedroom. Angel was kneeling before her, his face buried between her legs, growling and sucking at her juicy private parts. Dru's big eyes focused across the room to the bed where Spike was lying on his back, panting and covered in sex sweat, watching their sire have his way with Spike's girl.
It was just the same as this moment-just the same intensity in Angel's actions. But that time in London Angel was mining for Spike's fluids and this time, he mined for Buffy's.
"I need to fuck you," Angel growled, moving off the bed to remove his clothing.
Spike looked down at him, his chest heaving. "Peaches, listen to me."
Angel didn't look up until he was naked and then he pounced on the bed wildly, grabbing Spike's legs and pushing them open. "What?" he said, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Just . . ." Spike reached out and cupped Angel's chin in his hand, forcing the brunette to make eye contact. "Go a might easy on me. Your innocent little girl already explored my dark regions tonight. Twice. I'm a bit on the sensitive side."
Dark eyes gleaming with angry delight, Angel grinned. "Awww," he said in a tone oozing sarcasm. "Did the slayer hurt you, boy? Did she strap on a big dildo for you?"
Spike sighed, knowing he was seriously in for it. "It wasn't like that," he mumbled, and then he lay down obediently, took a deep breath and gripped the sheets with his fingers for support. Struggling wasn't an option, that was sure. It would only make things worse.
"What was it like?" Angel demanded in hissing whisper. "Did she shove a burning candle up your ass?"
Spike didn't answer. He looked in Angel's eyes, deep into them, and waited.
Holding the eye contact, Angel pressed his stiff cock into Spike's raw opening, shoving with insistent hips until he was inside. Again, Spike's eyes watered and he clenched his jaw, feeling the muscles in his torso lock up protectively. He had to will himself to relax his anus. Not that Angel cared. His own pre-come was plenty of lubricant for him to get going-and go, he did. He groaned and sighed, then began a sharp, snapping motion with his hips that had Spike whimpering in only a few seconds. Knowing Angel was hurting him for his own jealous pleasure would normally have increased Spike's enjoyment of this sort of dominance game, but that night . . . Buffy had already made him especially sensitive. He wished Angel would stop and just lie down with him, talk it out-yell, if they needed to. But this . . . this wasn't going to solve anything. This was only about venting.
Fine, he reckoned. If the big git needed it, fine.
But, looking up into Angel's face, Spike felt like his heart might burst. Drops of sweat beaded across this smooth forehead and his eyes were squeezed closed. He was concentrating, remembering, hearing all those horrible sounds over and over in his mind-Buffy's gasps of pleasure, her raw, guttural screams-pleasure and pain that Angel's childe was delivering. Spike could see all these things in Angel's face. His expression was a mask of agony. And then there were the tears that kept rolling down his wet cheeks. Spike didn't even think he knew he was crying again.
Gritting his teeth from the shredding sensation, Spike tried again to force himself to relax. He breathed hard, and closed his eyes, trying to think of something, anything that would ease the ripping, stinging pain. He actually prayed it would end before he passed out from the intensity. And then, suddenly, Angel stopped.
Opening his eyes, Spike looked up as the brunette let go of Spike's legs then covered his face with his hands. Angel's well-defined belly tightened and hardened and then he started sobbing again. He cried for almost a full minute before he dropped forward, his thick cock mercifully slipping out of Spike's tortured hole. Angel collapsed onto Spike's belly, his head resting on the younger vampire's chest.
"I can't do this," he said. "I don't know why I'm doing this to you."
Still breathing hard, Spike wrapped his arms around his sire's shoulders and held him tight. "Shhhh . . ." he whispered. "I know why, luv."
"I don't want to hurt you," Angel murmured, his voice weak from crying. "I just want . . . I just . . ."
"Shhhhhh," Spike whispered again. "Just be quiet." He brought his fingers up into Angel's hair and pet him, soothed him with light caresses. His own body still hummed with the pain radiating from that most intimate opening, but he wasn't concerned. He felt fairly certain the worst was over.
Angel sniffled and his body quivered with another, much smaller sob. He wiped his face, then put a gentle, almost submissive kiss on Spike's belly before lying his head down again. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I . . . I'm really sorry. I'm . . . all fucked up inside."
"Don't give it another thought," Spike purred. "Just rest. You've had quite a jolt. Gotta let yourself adjust." He kept petting Angel's dark hair, concentrating on the subtle relaxation he felt in the brunette's body. Little by little, Angel's tension began to melt away and after a long while, he finally became still.
Exhaustion and the good weight of his sire's body on top of him drew Spike down to sleep again. But when he woke just after sunrise, Angel was gone.
****************
Willow:
I hear her come in and go to her room, but I know she'll be back out in a minute to brush her teeth. No matter how late Buffy gets in, she always brushes her teeth before bed.
I have to tell her in person. Somehow, leaving a note taped to the fridge saying "Angel called" just doesn't seem right. I wait until I hear her finish up in the bathroom, then I grab my robe and creep down the hall. Don't want to wake Dawnie.
The door is still open and I tap on it quietly with my finger, but it still startles her. She whips around and gives me that wide- eyed `you scared the crap outta me' look and I give her my usual sheepish smile.
"Sorry," I say, keeping my voice low.
Buffy sighs, relieved. "I don't know why I'm so jumpy. It's late, Will. You okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, knowing my expression is way too chipper. It's always a dead give away that things are nowhere in the vicinity of fine. "I just wanted to tell you that . . ." Now, I'm standing there, and I'm afraid I can't tell her. Well, I can tell her, I just don't want to be in the room when she hears it.
"Tell me, what?" she says, her brow wrinkling with concern. She walks toward me until we're right in front of each other, then she reaches around me to close the door. She doesn't want to wake Dawnie, either. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I am," I say, mucho more convincing that time. "I just didn't want to leave you a note about this. It seemed wrong to do that."
Her perfect face goes from concern to worry to mild panic. "What?" she says.
"It's just that . . ." I swallow and try to remind myself that Buffy isn't big on killing messengers. "Angel called," I finally blurt. "He's in town. He wants to see you. He called about four hours ago and asked where you were."
Her reaction is completely different than I imagined. She blinks at first, her eyes flit away from me, then flit back to me and away again-shifty-like-and then she takes an awkward deep breath. "Wow," she says. "Did he say what he wanted?"
Now I'm concerned. She's acting squirrelly. "No, I only spoke to him for a minute. He asked me where you were and I said I thought you were out patrolling, but that he should ask Giles where you went exactly, since . . . I just figured you would have told Giles where you went."
She shows me this super-odd synthetic smile that reminds me so much of the bot for a second that it gives me the wig, and then she turns toward the bed. "You're right as always, Will. I did tell Giles where I was. I guess Angel didn't call him, Will, because . . . clearly, I didn't see him." She sits on the bed and clasps her hands between her thighs, wringing them and crossing her feet over each other. Buffy does this when she's freaked. She fidgets and smiles too much, she stammers and says my name way too many times in sentences.
"Okay," I say, looking at her sideways. "He didn't say where he was staying or leave a number. But, he didn't sound like there was anything, you know, apocolypty going on. Maybe he's just passing through town and wanted to have coffee with you."
Buffy sighs and then looks at me with a slightly less bizarre expression. In fact, she looks almost normal. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . strange to know he's here and I don't know how to get in touch with him."
"I'm sure he'll call back," I say, not at all sure he will. One never knows what the hell to expect from Brooding Boy.
"Yeah," she says. And then she does what she always does when she doesn't want to talk about something anymore-she shifts gears entirely. "So, did you and Dawn get up to anything fun tonight?"
I'm used to this, so I don't even blink. I just smile and reply. "Same old stuff. Vids, pizza, strip poker."
We both giggle, which is good. Takes some of the tension out of all the things we're not saying to each other.
"It was quiet around here," I conclude. "How was patrol? Any beasties about?"
She shrugs. "Nah. All quiet on the Sunnydale front." Then she looks at me again and her voice gets softer, more intimate. "Will . . . I'm sorry about not being around much."
This comes completely unprompted and out of the blue and that makes me sort of gape at her for a second. "Buffy, don't worry," I say, meaning it. "It's good for me to be home with Dawn. I like it. It keeps me focused. Keeps me from . . . you know, stressing out about other stuff. Besides, you have huge things to do."
Buffy sighs. "I know, but I just feel like I'm dumping on you."
"You're so not. Really. In fact, you're helping me by giving ME something important to do." I smile cheerily knowing it looks lame, but actually meaning the sentiment behind it. "So, no worries. Okay?"
Finally she gives me a real smile-the smile that has always made me feel warm from top to toe. Funny, how your best friends' smiles can do that.
"Thanks, Will. You're the best."
There's something really sad in her tone and I wish I could ask her about it, but she's making like she wants to go to sleep. It is late, after all. I have class in a few hours, myself.
Instead, I just smile back and hope it makes her feel the same way her smile made me feel. I tell her good night and close the door for her.
I'm half way down the hall when I hear her start crying but I know I can't go back in there. The sound she's making is jagged and dangerous like a crack in the ice on a big lake. It's a sound that says I know you can hear me, but I am unable to be consoled. Please don't try. You might get hurt. And it will only make things worse for me.
As hard as it is, I know I have to let her be. Pulling my robe around me, I go back down the hall to my room and close the door, really hoping Buffy's crying doesn't wake Dawn.
*****************
Dawn:
Everyone is still asleep when I go downstairs. Willow and Buffy have never been morning people. I like the kitchen like this, though. All quiet and stuff. It makes me feel like it's mine, kinda. Like I'm the owner and the kitchen is mine. I don't know, I can't explain it.
I make a bowl of cereal and take it into the livingroom to watch some TV while I eat. I was trying to be quiet, but that goes all kerflooey when I drop the bowl on the floor and it shatters nice and loud. I do this because there's a guy sleeping on the couch. A guy I've never seen and don't know.
The crash of the bowl wakes the guy up and he doesn't only flinch, he lurches off the couch and faces me with the gnarliest brown eyes I've ever seen. He's damned pale, too. Totally hot, but incredibly white.
"Who the hell are you?" I say, but just as I say it, I realize. He's Angel. Buffy's long lost boyfriend that she never let me meet, never even let me look at through the window when he'd bring her home after their dates. She and Mom didn't want me to know him at all for some reason. They totally kept him away from me.
But here he is. Asleep on the couch in my livingroom.
"Dawn?" he says, holding his hands out all peacable-like. "Don't worry. It's okay. I'm sorry I scared you." He moves forward to help me clean up the broken bowl and it's then that I really see his face. Man, he is totally beautiful.
He gives me a shaky smile as he gathers the chips of bowl covered in milk and Lucky Charms. "We haven't really met," he says. "I'm Angel."
"I figured," I say, making a cup of my hands so he can put the broken pieces in them. "Sorry to freak, but Buffy didn't tell me you were coming."
"She didn't know," he says. "I got in really late and I didn't want to go upstairs and wake her." He puts the last of the bowl bits into my hands and I stand up to take them to the kitchen. He follows me and grabs the paper towels while I ditch the glass in the trash. Before we can go back out to clean up the wet part of the mess, Buffy appears in the kitchen doorway. The noise must have woke her. She looks totally exhausted and all rumpled, but still completely gorgeous. She's such a wench like that.
"Hi, Buffy," I say, all sweetness and light. "Look who's here."
They're staring at each other hard, not like they're shocked to see each other, but like they're trying to read each other's minds or something. Why don't they just say hi and hug? What's their deal?
"I . . ." Buffy starts, but Angel talks over her.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming. I surprised Dawn and she dropped her cereal bowl." He points out the kitchen door with the roll of paper towels, indicating we were just about to go clean it up.
My sister shakes her head. She still looks like she's trying to scan his brain. I wonder what she's looking for in there. "It's okay," she finally says. "Will told me you called and said you were in town."
"Yeah," he says. "I got in last night. Giles told me you were out patrolling but I-" Now he looks over at me and stops himself from saying whatever he was going to. I hate it when that happens. Adults going all clammed up because "the kid" is in the room. Like they could say anything that would really shock me. I'm not THAT naïve, you know.
Buffy looks at me and gives me that prissy smile. "Dawnie, could you give us a second?"
I sigh and take the paper towels from the tall, cute vampy guy. "Fine. I'll just go swab the deck."
Out in the entry way, I tear off some towels and start cleaning up the spilled milk and cereal. I can sort of hear them still, though, so I try to keep quiet. The way the house is set up, the kitchen is around the corner and on the other side of the dining room from where I am-plus, the stairs are sort of blocking the doorway, too. I can't really hear everything they say, but I can make out certain words. The words I do hear make me freeze and hold my breath.
Spike. Fucking. Believe. Jealous. Tool. Game. Bitch. Asshole. Lover.
And then the kitchen door slams.
I go back in and Buffy's standing by the door, looking out at the back yard. Angel is apparently gone.
"Where did he go?" I say, all worried. "Isn't he gonna burn up out there?"
She keeps watching for a few more minutes, but I can see she's holding her breath. "I guess he worked something out," she tells me.
I go and stand next to her, looking out the kitchen door at the back yard. Nothing there but the trees and lawn furniture. "I heard him say something about Spike," I say and look at her face to see her expression. It's blank, like always, when she doesn't want me to know something huge. Feeling snarky, I say "maybe he borrowed Spike's blanket."
Buffy just looks at me but she isn't seeing me. Her mind is a mile away. Or more. She's thinking about whatever they just said to each other, thinking about it and hurting over it.
I mean, whatever happened in here, it must have been bad. Bad enough to make a vampire run out into the morning sun just to get away from my sister.
************
Angel:
Working from memories of when he used to live in Sunnydale, Angel made it into the sewer pipe just in time. He'd pulled his coat over him and run out into Buffy's backyard, then ducked into the trees until he came to the sewer cap between her block and the next. Once down in the cold, damp darkness, he realized his skin had started smoldering.
He dusted off his clothes and sorted his disheveled hair with his fingers, then he took a series of stabilizing deep breaths.
That conversation had NOT gone well.
Angel knew that the failure to communicate he and Buffy had just experienced was in large part his own fault. He just wasn't ready to talk about this yet. Why he'd gone to her house when he knew he wasn't emotionally prepared was anyone's guess. Now, he'd started a row and they probably wouldn't have a civil word for each other for months. That couldn't be further from what Angel had wanted.
Trudging through the muck along the sewer floor, he made his way to the set of pipes that lead across town to the cemetery. Spike would be sleeping then. In fact, sleeping sounded really good to Angel. Sleeping with Spike sounded even better. For some reason, Angel got so much rest when he was able to snuggle next to his William. Maybe after he got some sleep, he'd know what to do.
When he finally reached the pipe below Spike's crypt and started up the metal ladder, Angel stopped and listened intently. Someone was in there with the blond. Someone whose tone of voice was similar, possessed of the same lilt. Another Englishman. Climbing up a few more rungs on the ladder, Angel pressed his ear to the metal sewer cap that would lead into Spike's lower rooms.
He could hear them clearly, then. The other man in the room was Rupert Giles.
Pressing the cap up and open with his hand, Angel emerged into Spike's sleeping quarters. The two Brits were upstairs. He dusted off his clothing again, then went up to the crypt level.
"Oh," Giles said when Angel appeared in the room. "There you are. I was just asking Spike if he'd seen you. Is everything all right?"
Spike turned to him with his eyebrows raised, but he didn't say anything. The expression said it all.
"Everything's fine," Angel lied. He looked at Spike directly, making it clear he didn't want Giles to know anymore than was necessary. Spike sighed and turned back to the watcher.
"Well, here he is, then. Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Of course. Sorry to disturb." Giles slipped his hands into his pockets and offered Angel a polite, yet stilted smile. "Were you able to find Buffy last night?"
"I just left her house," Angel said. "Thanks."
Spike looked back at him again, eyebrows arched even higher. Angel glowered in return, punctuation his desire to keep the topic between them.
"Ah," Giles said, obviously picking up on the clumsy telepathics between the vamps. "I trust you found her well?"
"She's fine. She's a little angry at me, but she's fine, otherwise."
"I see," Giles said, then his stilted smile spread into a completely forced one. "I'm sure you'll sort it out. Well, I'll be off, then." He turned to the crypt door and while his back was to them, Spike mouthed the words "what did you do?" to Angel.
Angel rolled his eyes and wished the young one would just leave it.
Giles took hold of the metal door handles, then glanced back at the others, letting them know he was about to let in the bright morning light. They both stepped back out of the reach of the sun. Giles wished them a good day and left, pulling the crypt doors closed tightly after him.
Angel and Spike waited until they heard the watcher's footsteps go all the way back to his car parked at the curb, then Spike moved right up against Angel's body, looking in his eyes.
"What the hell did you do, peaches? Did you break her door down?"
"I just went to see her," he said, his brow wrinkling from the memory of how bad it had all gone.
"Uh huh," Spike said sarcastically. "And how did that work out for you? Did you talk some sense into her? Make her see the error of her wicked ways?"
"Shut up," Angel grumbled, but he didn't move away. Spike smelled delicious, like sleep and sex and Buffy and like any number of potential pleasures. Angel licked his lips and in the next instant, Spike was kissing him.
Suddenly, that was all that mattered. All he wanted in the world. He was awash with the sated feeling of familiar comforts. With that one simple connection, Angel was completely at ease.
He put his arms around the younger vampire's waist and drew him close, pressing their bodies together until he felt Spike sigh. The boy loved to be held tight and crushed with hungry kisses. Angel realized his childe's skin was warm-hot almost. He pulled back and looked in Spike's eyes curiously.
"Why are you warm?"
Spike blinked. "I was peckish, I came up for a snack. There's plenty left, if you fancy a taste."
Angel brushed his nose over Spike's hot lips, then bit them gently with his teeth. They were kissing again, wet, sucking kisses and he had that plump bottom lip in his mouth. He felt Spike shiver and then he put his arms around Angel's neck, offering himself for any pleasure Angel had in mind.
Spike's sire had only one pleasure in mind and he took it, driving his fangs into the tender, heated flesh of that succulent lip. Spike whimpered slightly from the sudden pain, then he moaned as the sucking began. He was trying to say something against the kiss . . . murmuring and whispering, trying to make sense when Angel wouldn't let go of his mouth.
"Mmmm . . . wait . . ." Spike said, warm fingers tugging the hair at the back of Angel's neck. Tugging until they found purchase, then he pulled the brunette's head back.
"What?" Angel said, his mind cloudy with hunger and desire.
Spike licked his punctured, bleeding lip and frowned. "By `snack', I meant I'd heat you up a bag of O-Neg in the microwave." He touched his lip with his finger, wincing slightly. "Ouch," he complained. "You're too emotional for rough play right now, peaches. I don't trust you with your sharp and pointies near my tender bits." He pulled away from their embrace and walked to the little kitchen, opening the frig door. "Are you hungry?" he asked, glancing back at Angel who was still standing near the stairs to the lower rooms.
Angel licked his blood-wet lips and shivered from the taste of Spike's fluids there. That was all he wanted. That was what he needed.
"Please," he said so quietly-practically inaudibly. But not quiet enough. When Spike looked at him, he found he couldn't meet the blond's gaze. He was suddenly mortified by his desire-afraid of it. Angel shook his head and covered his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore how good the blood tasted in his mouth . . . trying to ignore how much he wanted more.
"Hold on," Spike said, closing the frig and walking back over to where Angel stood. "Unless I'm losing my hearing, I could swear you just said `please'." He reached up for Angel's hands and gripped them tight, making sure Angel couldn't pull away. "Is that what happened?"
Again, Angel couldn't bring himself to look at Spike. He clenched his teeth and frowned, wishing he had the power to just disappear. He felt totally exposed under Spike's gaze at that moment and all he could do was sigh.
"Angel?" Spike whispered his name with such sweetness, he almost looked up-but not quite.
When he couldn't get eye-contact to happen, the blond stepped forward again, pressing his body flush against Angel's. He used his nose to raise the brunette's chin, finally forcing him to look up.
"Well?" Spike whispered.
"I just . . ." He sighed again, tense with frustration and longing. "You taste so good . . . I want to feed from you. Just a little. I won't hurt you . . ."
"Right," Spike said, his deep voice cracking slightly as he smiled. "What happened to just taking me, mate? Since when does my sire ASK for his pleasures, all polite-like?" He nudged Angel's nose with his own, kissing his lips very gently. "Hm? Where's our fierce daddy now?" More kisses that led to nuzzling that led to purring moans and then they were pressed against each other again, lips crushed together and sliding on blood and saliva, tongues licking and stroking, devouring. "Feed if you want," Spike said into the kiss. "But don't wreck it for me by bloody asking. Take me, Angel. Just because I don't trust you right now, doesn't mean I don't want you to do what you do best."
Not needing to be told twice, Angel wound his arms around Spike's taut, narrow lower back and crushed their bodies together. His fangs tingled and lengthen and then they were driving into the soft flesh of Spike's neck, just under his ear. The blood gushed into his mouth, sugary and thick, flooding his senses with ravenous pleasure. He sucked hard and violent and he smiled when he heard Spike cry out in pleasure.
Angel closed his eyes and drank deep, relishing the delicious fluid as it slid down his throat over and over. He drank until he felt Spike tremble and then he eased the young one down on the floor, spreading his weakening body out on the cold stone. He drew his fangs out of Spike's neck then tore the blond's worn black t-shirt open roughly, bending over to take one pink nipple into his mouth. He sucked the morsel of flesh through the space between his extended canines, scraping it with the jagged edges of the shorter teeth. Spike whined and sighed and lifted his hips, wantonly rubbing his swollen cock against Angel's hard belly.
Eyes still closed, he covered Spike's body with his own, feeling his long coat billow out around them both like a tent. Lowering his head until his mouth pressed flat against Spike's smooth, tight chest, he bit again into the flesh below that tense nipple. The skin was salty there, ripe and savory. The taste made Angel moan.
Cool fingers slid into his hair at the back of his neck and held on just enough to maintain a bit of control. He knew Spike wouldn't pull him off, not until Angel indicated he was finished feeding. And at that moment, he thought he might never finish, the boy's blood was so scrumptious. It was flavored with everything Spike was feeling- honey for desire, copper for uncertainty, ginger for abandon and lust, musk for his love for Angel, roses for his love for Buffy, salt for sadness and longing, and licorice for passion. Spike's blood tasted like life.
Angel heard himself growling softly, felt his chest heaving with aroused breaths and he felt his cock itching and straining in his trousers. The insistent press of Spike's erection against his belly inflamed him until he was pulling at their clothing, demanding skin on skin contact. His coat slipped to the side and they rolled on top of it, but Angel managed to keep his teeth buried in Spike's flesh. He never stopped sucking while they scrambled to get naked.
Angel's recollection of the next few minutes was a blur as they rolled over and over across the floor, knocking into the furniture Spike had gathered to warm up the crypt. They smashed into the easy chair nearest the door and the seat cushion flopped onto the rough floor beside them. Angel rolled them over until Spike's head came to rest on the cushion and then he hovered over the younger vampire, staring into his sparkling blue eyes.
They were both flushed and gasping, their reflexive breaths pulling in and out of their lungs noisily. Spike licked his lips and smirked playfully, running his fingers up Angel's sides, feeling the bones and sweat-moist skin. He lifted his chin, asking with his body to be kissed again and Angel lowered his head to respond, but he didn't quite make contact before they heard the slayer speak.
***************
Buffy:
Okay.
Right.
This makes sense, doesn't it? In fact, if Giles were here, he'd be polishing his glasses with his tie and telling me that I'd know about this if I'd just done the goddamned reading he always asked me to do.
But I hadn't done it. I never did half the stuff Giles wanted me to do. So, now my punishment for my free spirit is to be standing here, at this moment, so completely shocked that I think my heart has stopped.
There they are-no mistaking it. Angel and Spike. At first, I thought I was seeing things. I thought Spike had some really tall brunette ho' in for a little afternoon delight-but he doesn't like tall girls. He likes petite, frail-looking women who wear lace and play with eyeless dolls and kill things for sport. He would never pick a girl that was bigger than him.
So I blinked and blinked and then my eyes just wouldn't stop showing me the truth.
Angel and Spike.
Naked. Grinding their hard, yummy, straining boy parts on each other. Moaning and kissing. Kissing!
Sex, for god's sake. They are having sex. Right in front of me. My first love and my current lover-and I am totally unable to move.
I mentioned that, didn't I? The not being able to move thing? Right. There I am. Riveted to the spot, just staring. I believe Giles would characterize my current posture with the phrase `knocked for six'. Six what, I have no clue, but yep. That's me. The slayer aghast.
Clearly, they didn't see me when I first came into the crypt. I've been standing here for almost two whole minutes just watching them . . . they were kissing like crazy when I came in but then they started pulling off their clothes and rolling around on the ground. Angel is feeding from Spike . . . I can see the blood running in dark rivulets down that perfect chest . . . all over him, smearing. Making his nipples look like ripe cherries. Angel is swallowing and swallowing, groaning and panting. God, Spike must taste amazing. I wonder if he's getting high from the blood. He told me that, once. Angel said sucking blood from a member of one's own vamp family was like doing heroin. The older the vamp, the better the buzz. Or something.
For some reason, they just stopped and they're looking into each other's eyes now . . . like enraptured lovers. And then Spike has to mess up the `Gone with the Wind' moment with that smirk. He lifts his chin `cause he wants more kissing and just as Angel leans over to oblige, I decide now might be a good time to announce myself.
"I figured I should come by and make sure you didn't rip him in half," I say to Angel and they both look up at me. Two pairs of the prettiest eyes in the world, all round and gaping at me. They're so surprised, it almost makes me laugh. "Am I too late?"
Spike gets it. He laughs out loud, like he always does at my quips. But Angel just blinks at me. For some reason, the fact that he doesn't react is terribly funny to me. I bust out laughing and now me and Spike are both laughing. We know it's just tension release, but still-it feels good. It feels fun. We laugh harder. Laugh until our eyes water.
And then, Angel sits up and all the laughter in me just sort of peters out.
His naked chest is covered in blood, his chin is dripping blood, his eyes flash like wet obsidian and his fangs glisten in the low light coming through the stained glass windows. He just looks at me, sort of showing himself in his current state. He's making sure I see him very clearly. He's making sure I don't miss anything about this moment.
Angel licks his lips slowly and I watch his tongue track over his bloody fangs. Yeah. He's made his point, all right. Just in case I was having too much fun giggling like an idiot with Spike, I am completely and utterly reminded that the two lovers I have most enjoyed in my life are both monsters.
"Want a taste?" he says and his voice is low, gritty. "He's delicious." Angel is mad at me. Considerably mad.
But I'm not in the mood to be scolded-especially not by him. The big shit. The things he said to me in my kitchen. He doesn't deserve to have me all cowering and scared now. Screw him.
"No, thanks," I say. "I've had breakfast."
Spike tries to sit up, but Angel's hand splays across that chest I love and presses him back down.
"Oh, come on, peaches," Spike says. "Don't get cranky with the little girl. We've all seen each other's knickers now. Why don't we take the high road and have a drink together or something?"
Angel keeps staring at me, still so very pissed off. "I was having a drink," he whispers and he clearly intends to come off sinister. It works well.
I hug myself defensively, protecting my heart with my arms before I can think better of it and then he stands up, making like he's going to come over and try to eat me or something. I'd like to see him try. In my experience, boys don't fight well naked.
As he approaches me, I'm reminded of another time I had to fight Angel-when he wasn't himself. When he was evil. He looked very much like he does now-wet, menacing, injured, on the edge of doing some sort of major damage. I stand my ground and look up at him, just like I did that time, while the sprinklers soaked all those exploded bits of the Judge on the mall floor.
I remember something else about that moment, too. Back then, I was still sore inside from making love with him when I had to drop him by kicking him in the balls. It's weird, but most of my strongest memories are like that-some horrible mixture of extremes.
When he gets right up to me, he stops and just . . . looks at me. He's angry and hurt and he always gets surly when he feels like that. I'm waiting for him to say something wretched and hateful- something worse, that is, than he already said to me in the kitchen. And then, his face sort of goes slack. All the menace drains out and for a second . . . he's my Angel again. Wounded, brooding, sexy, fierce and lovely. Lovely. That's a Spike word. I guess he is influencing me a little.
"Buffy," he says and his voice is all scratchy and broken. "Look, I'm sorry about . . . that fucking scene at your house. Really. I didn't think that one through."
I take a deep breath and actually try not to let my eyes comb his naked, blood streaked body. God, he is so beautiful. Always was. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that his erection has gone down, but his cock is still full and heavy. I swallow all the saliva suddenly in my mouth and try to behave.
"Well, I guess I understand," I say. "I mean, you're upset. Totally surprised. Kinda like me, right now, with this." I glance down at Spike who is still lying on the floor. He's lounging more than lying- long legs stretched out, hands folded behind his head showing off those sexy puffs of golden hair under his arms. He's watching us like we're a live soap opera, the big spaz. I stick my tongue out at him and he smiles. He winks back.
Angel follows my gaze and looks back at Spike, too. "This," he says. "Is just . . . well, you should know about this stuff. All vamps do this. We've been doing it for over a century."
I just look at him with my eyes wide. "Wait," I say, feeling my brow crinkle. "You're saying . . . you two have been boinking like rabbits ever since Spike was made?"
"Not exactly from the beginning," Spike says, his blue eyes sparkling with snark. "Daddy had more fun trying to kill me for the first bit, there. Guess he was working up his appetite. Took him awhile to succumb to my advances."
Angel actually chuckles. "Oh, please. You completely threw yourself at me."
"Uh huh," Spike says, all snide and rude, just like I like him-but I'd never, EVER tell him that. "The way I remember it, pet, you were pressed against a wall whimpering like a puppy while I had my way with you."
I suddenly become personally aware of the derivation of that cliché about your jaw dropping-that's exactly what mine does. "You mean," I look all bug-eyed at Angel. "Spike tops you??"
Again, Spike busts out laughing.
Angel glares at him. "Oh, pretty words you're teaching her," he complains. "Are you gonna have her swilling Jack Daniels and cheating at kitten poker next?"
"He's not TEACHING me," I yell and barely stop myself from stomping my foot. "I'm not four! You think the only place I ever learn anything is from the vampires I sleep with?"
This makes them both frown at me with grave disapproval-just as I'd planned.
"Let's try to remember that my best friend is a lesbian," I say, as if that gives me an automatic membership into the club of all knowing sophisticates. Feeling the need to qualify, I go on. "I know lots of things about sex. Stuff you'd never imagine." God, now I SOUND four. Probably time to shut up.
"Buffy," Angel says patronizingly. "You can't possibly understand what it's like between me and Spike. There's . . . anatomy things working. You're not male."
"Right. Or dead, for that matter," I point out, just to be a brat and match his bitchy tone.
His lips get all thin like they do when he's annoyed. This makes me laugh again because I'm totally giddy at this point. Arguing with Angel has always given me a weird charge. I don't know why that is. Maybe I should give that some thought.
"All right," Spike says, finally getting off his ass. He walks over to us with his hands up like a referee and again, I try not to drool over his completely fabulous body. "Let's just simmer down, children. There's really no reason to quarrel."
Angel and I look at him, both of us waiting to see what he says next. We've pretty much said too much already, so hopefully he's got something better.
Reaching out, he touches both our arms and passes a sultry look back and forth between us. "Why don't we go downstairs where we can be more comfortable?"
When he says that, something weird happens inside me. I know what he means. We all know what he means. I also know how I should react- the way I should APPEAR to react-but the way I actually do react is quite a surprise to me. To them, too, I'm sure.
"Okay," I say and I let my eyes have a nice feast on both of them. Spike likes this. He grins like a naughty little boy.
None of us say anything, we just go down the narrow stairs to the lower room-the bedroom-and Angel sprawls out on the bed, fluffing up the pillows at the top so he can lean against them. He's in the very center of the mattress and he opens his arms on either side, inviting us both to come to him.
For some reason, now is when I freeze. I had no problem coming down here, knowing full well what I was agreeing to by doing so. But now- now that I'm actually standing at the foot of the bed and looking at them both-I suddenly feel like I'm going to faint.
Spike must sense this. He slips in behind me and sort of shores me up with his body . . . that beautiful, hard, cold, naked body. I feel him brush his lips over my neck, right below my right ear. That always gets me and he knows it. I lean back into him and let him hold me up. He whispers to me.
"Don't do anything that doesn't feel right, slayer," he purrs. "I'll pull a chair up for you, if you'd rather. I just thought we'd all be more comfortable down here. No one's pressuring you, luv."
My eyes are half closed but I can see Angel there on the bed . . . watching us. If he had X-ray vision, he would see my heart pounding so hard it's shaking my ribs. He would also see my blood racing like crazy because Spike is so close to me. I don't know what it is about this peroxided smartass. He gets all my juices boiling in seconds flat. His body, his eyes, his open, vulnerable face. His scent. That's probably the worst trigger. That and the way those curls at the back of his neck cling to his skin there . . . God. For a dead guy, Spike is so damned hot.
"I just want you both to come and sit with me," Angel says, his voice all soft and seductive. "Keep your clothes on, Buffy. I can't touch you, anyway. Not like that."
After a few more seconds, Spike moves carefully away from me, but I feel his hand on the small of my back making sure I'm steady. I give him a wan smile. He walks over to the bed, crawls across it like a big pale cat and slips gracefully under Angel's right arm. Their bodies mold together with fluid familiarity and I find myself wishing I could suddenly be invisible again. That way I could just watch them and not have to be involved. I could just look and look for as long as I wanted.
Angel kisses Spike's forehead softly and that makes Spike lift his chin up for a kiss on the mouth. When their lips meet, their eyes slide closed and I feel like I'm going to faint again. Best to get off my feet so I don't crack my head open. I sit on the end of the bed as gently as I can because I don't want to disturb them. For a few seconds, I get to watch them kissing. It's very different from the mad grope-fest I caught them doing a few minutes ago. These are soft kisses-soft, but still hungry. I did interrupt them before they came, after all. They're still full.
I figure I'm safe there where I'm sitting. I'm about five feet away from them. I can see them, but not really smell them, which will help. I know that if I get too close, all my good judgment will simply snuff out like a tea light on a window sill.
Those greedy, sensual kisses go on for a while longer and when they finally finish and turn to look at me, I can feel the heat in the cheeks. I must be blushing like a schoolgirl. Too bad I'm not one anymore.
Spike takes a breath and smiles at me with his pretty blue eyes. "Are you all right, luv?"
"Yeah," I lie. "Right as rain. But I think I'll stay down here, if it's all the same to you."
Angel frowns slightly, clearly unhappy that his little group hug isn't going to go as planned, but then he seems to acquiesce. His fingers slip gently along Spike's naked back, stroking the skin for what appears to be his own pleasure. Spike is really ticklish. He doesn't usually like being touched like that. But he seems fine with Angel's touch. In fact, he seems completely soothed by it.
"I guess we have a problem," Angel says.
"What problem?" Spike's brow knits quizzically.
Angel looks at me and I blush even harder. So hard, I have to look away. He's right. We do have a problem.
But it's not the one he thinks.
The End?