Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Angel/Spike
Spoilers:Some from the episode entitled "The Yoko Factor" in Season 4. Also, spoilers present from my own stories, so if that sort of thing bothers you-be aware that they're here.
Disclaimer:Characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc. Grrr. Argh.
Summary:Giles gets an earful from Spike and learns a great deal about his relationship with Angel, including the origin of that tattoo. This is a structural B-side to my story "Fluids", though not a sequel in any way.
Soundtrack:"#1 Crush" by Garbage.
Archive:I would be most flattered if you'd like to, but please let me know before.
Dedication:For Ghostsforge and Shara Nesu for all your encouragement and support, both behind the scenes and in the middle of things. You two have kept me afloat in this fandom more times than either of you know. Cheers.
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Giles:
Squinting over a well-worn first edition of Henry James' Portrait of a Lady, Giles was fully engrossed when the knock sounded. He frowned irritably and got up, not bothering to ask who was there before opening the door. As soon as he laid eyes on his caller, he wished he had.
"At least you're not singing again," Spike said.
Glowering, Giles said, "what do you want?"
"I need to borrow a tenner."
"Absolutely not. Push off." He tried to close the door, but Spike smacked it open with his hand.
"Come on, old boy. It's only ten bleedin' bucks. I just need to get a cheap bottle of wine or something."
Knowing he was only increasing his already screaming regret, Giles said, "and why do you need that?"
Spike tilted his head, eyeing the librarian skeptically. "Why the hell do you care?'
"I must say that I really don't," Giles sighed. "Asking was simply a knee-jerk reaction from years of exposure to polite society. Truthfully, I couldn't possibly care one bit less why you need a cheap bottle of wine and I want you to leave." He tried again to close the door, but Spike stood fast. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, each challenging the other's resolve.
"Rupert," the vampire said, his caramel voice oozing with false emotion. "I'm depressed. I need to drown a few sorrows. I'm sure you can sympathize with that, at least. Can't you be a bit charitable?"
Giles blinked. Then he set his jaw, heaved another irritated sigh and took out his wallet. "If it will rid me of your presence, it will be money well-spent." He fished out a ten dollar bill and shoved it into Spike's cool hand. "Now, please. Make yourself gone."
Letting go of the door, Spike muttered petulantly. "Jeeze, all right! Try being a bit MORE surly, mate!" He stomped off into the night and Giles shut the door with a solid click.
"Pillock," he grumbled. Spike always annoyed him to the bone, even if the encounter was short. He ran his hands through his hair to collect himself, then went to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
Over an hour later, he had managed to regain his relaxed state and was once again reclined on the couch with a fresh cup of Darjeeling and his Henry James. When the knock came the second time, he made sure to ask who was there.
"Still me," Spike muttered from outside.
Shaking his head, Giles opened the door to find Spike on the porch with a nearly empty bottle of red wine in his hand. His lips were stained from the dark grapes and his blue eyes glittered with mild intoxication.
"What is it, now?" the watcher said, but he said it a bit gentler than he'd intended. Spike really did look quite forlorn.
For a moment, the vampire didn't answer. He weaved slightly in the doorway, then steadied himself with his hand on the doorjamb.
Giles ventured a guess. "I suppose you need more money? One bottle wasn't enough?"
Spike shook his head and frowned, seeming to wrestle with himself about what to say next.
"What, then?" Giles pressed.
Raising the bottle to his lips, the vampire drained the remaining wine then handed the empty container to Giles. "I'm sure a PC bloke like yourself recycles," he said.
Turning around, Giles carried the bottle into the kitchen and tucked it with some other cans and bottles into a yellow bin under the sink. When he turned around, Spike had his frig door open and was rummaging through the contents.
"I did NOT invite you in," Giles stated.
"Sure you did. Months ago." Spike pulled open the freezer door and his boyish face broke into a giddy grin. "Perfect!" he chirped, taking out a frosty bottle of vodka. He walked out to the living room and flopped into a chair near the window.
"Spike, you are not staying," Giles said. "Take the vodka, if you must, but go. I'm busy."
"No, you're not," the vampire contested. "You're reading. I've been watching you for an hour." He nodded at the curtainless window above his head. "Reading isn't being busy. Reading is sitting on your ass. Which, I might add, you do with aplomb."
Pursing his lips, Giles leaned on the breakfast bar and glowered at his unwanted guest. "Just tell me what you want and get the bloody hell out of my house."
Opening the vodka, Spike brought the cold bottle to his lips and drank deeply as though the liquid were water. Giles' brow knit with curiosity as he watched the creature do this.
"Don't you get those headaches from drinking cold liquids quickly?" he inquired.
Spike squinted at him. "What, you mean brain-freeze?"
"Mm."
Smirking, the vampire said, "think about that, mate. My body is room temperature, remember? I've been outside in the crisp February night. This vodka and my blood are only a few degrees away from each other, so, no-brain-freeze isn't likely."
"Hm," Giles said. "Fascinating." He walked around the bar and back to his seat on the couch, closing his book gently. The century old cover was gritty and nicely cracked. It felt wonderful in his hand. Giles loved the weight and texture of old books. "Right, then. You're obviously here for a reason, so why don't you just get to it. I'm in no mood for games tonight, Spike."
With his pale, handsome face fixed in a childish scowl, the lithe demon remained slumped in his seat, the vodka bottle balanced against thigh. He seemed to be reconsidering his choice about being there, which didn't bother Giles one bit. With any luck, Spike would just pick up and leave so he could get back to his book.
"You heard about Angel and soldier boy meeting in an alley, right?" he said, his deep voice low, almost a whisper.
Giles nodded. "Buffy told me Angel came to Sunnydale to apologize for his behavior in Los Angeles."
"Yeah," Spike muttered. "Well, the great poof was here for a couple of reasons. Not the least of which was showing proper tail-between- legness to the slayer. I can't believe the way he acts sometimes- especially to people he loves."
Brow furrowing deeper, Giles waited for Spike to go on. He was suddenly quite curious about what might be on the neutered beast's mind.
Spike took another deep drink of the cold vodka and that time he did shiver a bit, but Giles was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the temperature of the beverage.
"He spent so much time hurtling testosterone grenades at Riley that the stupid git ran flat outta night," he said. "He had to spend the day somewhere, and since Buffy's bed is no longer an option to him, guess where he landed?"
"I didn't realize you two were once again on speaking terms," Giles said, leaning forward to pick up his cup of tea. "Last I recall, you and Angel were trying quite vehemently to kill each other."
Spike shrugged. "Kill, kiss, thrash, tickle, bite, suck, snuggle. It's all the same for Angel. Always was. Sensation's the thing."
"I see," Giles mused, his thoughts cluttering with images describing each of Spike's words. Sometimes he hated having such a vivid imagination-especially being in this line of work. "So, he stayed over with you?"
Spike drank again, deeply, his pale face creasing with a mixture of sadness and irritation. "Stole the covers all day, he did," he said under his breath. "He's always such a needy ponce when he gets shaken."
Giles was momentarily thrown off by the extremely clear image in his head of Angel and Spike sleeping under the same blankets. He'd had a dream like that once. A dream full of images that still haunted him to that day. Taking a deep breath to clear his head, he looked at the blond vampire again. "Angel was shaken?" he asked. "In what way?"
Spike cocked a snide eyebrow. "Did you miss the bit about soldier boy and peaches in the alley? Old beau facing off with new beau. Much belligerence shared by all. Keep up, would ya?"
"I know about all that, " Giles said with an annoyed sigh. "But my understanding of that exchange made it seem that Angel was being quite aggressive and that they fought as a result of him damaging some of Riley's associates."
"THAT's what Buffy told you?" Spike said with intense incredulity.
"Well, yes. She would have no reason to embellish or hide anything."
"Oh, right," Spike said. "She's never done that before, has she?"
Not wishing to recall any unpleasant memories, Giles tried to ignore the comment. But he was unable to stop himself from thinking of the conversation he had with Buffy about the incident in question. Turning the words over and over in his mind, he had to admit that she may have left out a few things. Nothing crucial, hopefully, simply things she felt he might not have been interested in knowing. Personal things.
Spike sighed as though he were trying to explain a simple concept to a blithering idiot. "Oh, please, Rupert! That fight was all over the girl, mate. Angel is the most jealous bastard I have ever met. As soon as he caught a whiff of Buffy on that lad, he went straight into pound an' pummel mode."
"Right," Giles said. "And I have no doubt that Riley, being the actual current beau, had no problem accepting the challenge."
Spike smirked. "Bloody right. From what I hear, Big, Dumb and Khaki gave Angel a proper run for his money. He sure had bruises in all the wrong places." A tiny sparkle of mischief twinkled in those cold blue eyes and then Spike took another drink. "Few nice juicy cuts, too."
Giles flinched. "Please. Don't give me any more information than I require, if you don't mind. An image like that will keep me awake for a week."
Chuckling wickedly, Spike said, "Oh, don't act all prissy, watcher. I know you. You've had a past, just like the rest of us. I was there for part of it. And further more, you LIKE hearing about stuff like that."
"Oh, do I?" Giles said, wincing because his tone was in fact quite prissy. "And what on earth brought you to this conclusion?"
Spike's expression smoothed into one of knowing playfulness. "Don't even bother lying," he said, swigging the vodka again. "Angel told me everything that happened during his little confessional with you. Not that I couldn't see it with my own eyes. It's bloody obvious you fancy him."
Feeling certain Angel had divulged everything he and the watcher had ever discussed, Giles knew he couldn't deny this allegation. "All right," he acquiesced, his jaw tightening. "When he's not evil and trying to flay me, I'll admit that I rather enjoy speaking with Angel. He's had a fascinating journey and spins a good yarn about it."
"Uh huh . . ." Spike droned disdainfully.
"And I might have found the more salacious bits of particular interest. So what? It's human nature to be titillated by such things."
Spike's eyes widened and then he laughed crisply. "Good god, Rupert! What's this? Is that you flashing your dark and naughties?" He offered a snarky wink. "You should do it more often. Improves your countenance immensely."
Rolling his eyes, Giles shifted on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Piss off, Spike."
"Oh, careful, sweet cheeks. Rough talk like that isn't very stiff- upper-lip of you. I'm sure the Watcher's Council would frown."
Again, choosing to ignore the wretched beast's remarks, Giles forged ahead with his plan to extract Spike from his house. "Am I to assume you've come by this evening to give me an earful of your own sordid tales of woe?"
The vampire licked his lips and then smiled slightly. Seeming to think over the question carefully, he finally shook his head. "As much as I'd love to watch you squirm trying to hide your stiffy, I think I'll keep my own dark and naughties to my dark and naughty self." He raised the bottle again and drank, but that secretive smirk never left his face.
Surprised by his own disappointment, Giles uncrossed his arms and reached for his book again. "Then, it sounds as though you don't need anything else from me. I'm sure you can show yourself out." He opened the Henry James to the place where he'd left off and stared at the page, but he wasn't really seeing it. What he saw instead was the image of Angel and Spike from his long ago chilling dream . . . an image of them tangled in each other's arms, naked and sleeping under a rich red velvet blanket. So much pale skin, smooth over taut muscles . . . Secretly, Giles had always wondered what it felt like to be taken sexually by a vampire. If he were being completely honest, what he'd really always wondered was what it was like to be taken by Angel.
Once again, he took a deep breath to clear his head, wishing with all his might that Spike would simply leave. His own perverse thoughts were rotten enough company without the added indignity of this petulant killer in the room with him. When he looked up to give further emphasis to his dismissal, Spike was smiling at him. Smiling in the most maddening of ways.
"Why are you still here?" Giles said coolly.
"I think I've changed my mind," the vampire said. "I think making you wiggle a little might be just what this weary demon needs to sort him out. In fact . . ." Spike stood and set the bottle on the floor by the chair while he slipped out of his long black leather coat. "I think I will give you a little blow-by-blow, so to speak, of last's nights events at my place. You think Angel's a good storyteller, wait `til you get a load o' me."
Chest tightening with a hundred different emotions, Giles bit the insides of his cheeks to steady his nerves. "And what if I said I don't want to hear your revolting tale?"
"Then you'd be lying." Spike tossed his coat over the arm of the chair and sat down again, reclaiming the vodka bottle as he crossed his lean legs. "Don't you at least want to know why I'm so depressed?"
Giles merely sighed to demonstrate his apathy.
"All right, clearly you don't give a sodding damn. But that's what I'm going to tell you about, anyway. And you'll be interested because it has to do with your most precious, fascinating and extraordinary Angel." His tone was thick with sarcasm, envy and completely unbridled love. Spike was just drunk enough to have stopped caring that he was being seen out in the open with his feelings showing.
That, in itself, was enough to pique Giles' curiosity.
Closing the nicely aged Henry James once again, he gave his bothersome visitor his reluctant attention. "Fine. Regale me, then. The sooner you finish, the sooner you'll go."
Spike seemed to perk up at the invitation. He actually smiled. Settling into the chair, he cradled the bottle of vodka against his thigh, then rubbed his pockets looking for his cigarettes.
"Regale me without smoking," Giles said, his expression making it clear he would brook no rebuttal.
A slight frown creased the vampire's brow, but it passed quickly enough. "Right," he muttered, taking another drink. For a moment he seemed to be wading through possible starting points for his story, then he brightened and leaned slightly forward. "Do you know how Angel got his tattoo? Is that bit of knowledge in any of those tedious diaries?"
Trying to contain his growing interest, Giles stretched and gave the appearance that he might actually yawn. "No, it's not. Do tell. How did Angel get his tattoo?"
"You've seen it, right?" Spike said.
"Not . . . well, no. Only sketches. It's described in great detail in the diaries."
Those cold blue eyes twinkled again as Spike grinned. "But you've never actually seen it."
Annoyed, Giles said, "no, Spike. I haven't had many occasions to view Angel shirtless. Well-beyond the once . . . and he was facing me the whole time." Giles felt his cheeks burn with both anger and embarrassment upon recalling those endless hours of torture Angel inflicted on him only a short time ago. Spike had been right there, a more than willing participant, but the fact remained that he never once laid a hand on Giles himself. Not that it was much consolation, but it was something.
Looking around the room, the vampire stood up then and went to the breakfast bar where he grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. Spike stood there drawing on the pad with confident, sweeping strokes, then he handed the product of his efforts to Giles.
"This is it," he said. "I'm sure those written descriptions are missing a few bits and bobs."
"Buffy described it to me, as well," Giles said softly, turning Spike's rendition around in his hand to examine it. He looked at all the little parts, all the details of the simple, but intricate Celtic gryphon. While he studied it, Spike went back to his seat and flopped down with the bottle again.
"The `A' doesn't stand for `Angelus', you know," he said.
Giles looked up. "Personally, I never thought it did. No one-not even a being as conceited as he-would get their own name tattooed on their body."
"Right," Spike agreed.
"I always assumed the `A' represented `Aurelius'."
Spike raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed, watcher. That's very well-deduced."
Squinting at the drawing again, Giles turned it right-side up and looked closely at the details of the letter in question. "Clearly he had this done after he was changed."
"Hm. In fact, the Master did it himself."
Again, Giles looked up. "Really? He applied the tattoo with his own hand?"
"Well, he applied the stencil." Spike chuckled coldly and took another drink. "In the form of a branding iron, that is. From what Darla told me, it was quite a moment. Angel was being marked to sit at the Master's side, as I'm sure you've heard."
"Yes," Giles said. "I'm sure the curse that restored Angel's soul was a dreadful irritation to the Master. He'd found the perfect henchmen, hadn't he?"
Spike looked down, thoughtfully fiddling with his belt buckle. "I reckon so," he said quietly.
"I'm assuming you weren't born yet when this branding ritual occurred."
Spike nodded. "This took place only a few weeks after Angelus was made. Darla trotted him out to the Master like a gilded pony because she was so proud of her choice. `Look what I found. Isn't he pretty? Isn't he soooo very evil?' She knew it would make the wrinkled old fuck happier than a holiday in hell. Darla loved being the Master's favorite. She thrived on it. Giving him Angel was a great coupe for her."
Setting the drawing on the cushion beside him, Giles looked at Spike curiously. "You're making a big deal out of this tattoo. What's it got to do with the story you're going to tell me?"
The vampire frowned peevishly. "I'm not saying it's a big deal," he muttered. "I'm just telling you where he got it cuz you didn't know. Seemed like somethin' a watcher would want to have in his repertoire."
"Mm hm," Giles replied, beginning to feel like he really should have a drink. He stood up and went to the kitchen where he prepared himself a scotch on the rocks. Looking down at the glass and thinking about what was likely in store for him over the next few hours, he decided to make it a double.
Returning to his seat, he found Spike sitting quietly in the chair, eyes down, with an expression on his face that closely resembled pouting. Giles took his seat, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He waited until Spike looked at him before he spoke.
"You're really quite upset, aren't you?" he said. "Did you and Angel quarrel?"
"No," Spike said. "He just . . ." Frowning, the vampire seemed to rethink what he almost said and redirect his thoughts accordingly. "It's just bloody frustratin'. Angel can't decide what he wants."
"What do you mean?" Giles asked, a million horrific ideas forming in his head of what Angel might want.
Spike fidgeted uncomfortably, his own thoughts seeming to poke him with sticks from the inside. He took in a needless breath, then sat forward regarding Giles directly. "He shows up, right? Comes burstin' in right before sunrise, almost smoldering, the stupid ponce- and he asks if he can stay over. `I need somewhere to sleep,' he says. Well, of course I'm gonna take him in. Always do. That's my own fault, I know. Next time I should just bleedin' turn him out. Let him roast in the dawn's early light, like he deserves."
Giles sipped his drink and watched Spike's face closely. The vampire's blue eyes were clouded with melancholy and his pervasive love for Angel hovered over his features like a mist. Giles wondered why, in all the times he'd interacted with Spike, he had never noticed this before. It seemed as much a part of the creature as his nose or his voice or his ever-present sarcasm. Perhaps he'd never really listened to Spike before. Perhaps he'd never been given the chance.
"You won't turn him out," Giles observed, speaking softly. "You not capable of it, are you?"
Spike seemed unable to look him in the eye so he just sat back in his chair and took another big swig of vodka. "Someday I will," he said with sad resolve. "But not last night. He was too . . . there was something about him, the way he was looking at me." The vampire shook his head. "Nope. Last night, there was no way in this hell or any other that I could turn him away. Even if I truly, sorely wish I had."
Giles settled into his seat and waited with great interest for what he knew would be quite a tale, indeed.
*********
Spike:
Just about ready to turn in for the morning, Spike stopped in his tracks when he heard the crypt door rattling. He froze, waited and listened and then the door flew open in a glaring gush of gray dawn.
It was so obviously Angel, even though the slumped figure rushing into the crypt had his full-length jacket pulled over his head. The height, the carriage, the slight clumsiness-all pure Angelus, no doubt. Spike sighed.
"What the `ell are you doing, peaches? Trying to incinerate yourself? Didn't they explain the whole sunlight-equals-big-pile-of- dust thing to you in little vampire's school?"
Brushing off his jacket and running his fingers through his hair, the tall brunette offered a sarcastic smirk. "I got busy," he said. "Lost track of time." Glancing around the dim, dusty room, Angel's brow wrinkled. "Man, you need a maid."
"As you can see, I need loads of things," Spike grumbled. "What do you want, anyway?"
Angel looked at him directly, dark eyes glimmering in the low light. "Can I stay? I sort of ran out of night."
With the door closed, the air began to settle and Spike's senses were suddenly overcome with the delicious awareness of Angel's presence. Scent, vibration, sound-not to mention the never-painful visual. In that cluster of sensations, one thing was glaring like a white flame- blood. Fresh, exposed, running blood.
"You're hurt," Spike said, licking his lips unconsciously. He moved toward his grandsire with instinctive velocity and then they were standing only inches apart. He reached up and tugged the tails of Angel's black shirt until the buttons gave way, and then he slipped his hands in under the soft black t-shirt that was flush against the brunette's body. Smooth, fine hairs below his navel, silky, silky skin leading to his chest and there-just below the ribs on the right- was a long, deep gash.
"Yeah, some asshole stabbed me," Angel said, swallowing. He was licking his lips, too.
"Were you breakin' heads at Willy's again?" Spike pushed the t-shirt up and out of the way, exposing that luscious cut to the air.
"Actually, I was defending myself in an alley. Buncha demon-hunting soldiers descended on me."
"Oh," Spike groaned. "You ran headlong into The Initiative. Sunnydale's own Demon Welcome Wagon. How did they get a line on you?" The tantalizing scent of the cut distracted him for an instant and he inhaled hungrily. Assessing the splayed pattern of smaller cuts and bruises decorating Angel's taut torso, Spike said, "Jesus, look at you. Did any of them get up again?"
"Not right away," Angel replied. "But eventually. They started it. Got what they deserved."
Leaning closer to that gorgeous wound, Spike's mouth flooded with saliva and his stomach growled. "I can have that, right?" he said. "It's been ages since I had blood in my mouth that didn't come from a plastic container."
"Yeah, I heard about the chip," Angel said, slipping his fingers into Spike's hair and pulling him gently forward in response to the request. "Same guys did that, right?" Angel stood still while the blond lapped at the long, deliciously dripping gash on his belly. "Take all you want," he said in a soft, rough voice. "I love it when you lick me."
At first, Spike just stroked the cut with his outstretched tongue, savoring the scrumptious sire blood sparkling along his tastebuds. He would have been content to do that all day long, but then Angel moaned very softly and the entire field of play was changed. Moaning like that was its own sort of launch sequence. Moaning like that meant they were both going to be naked in a matter of minutes.
Dropping to his knees, Spike nuzzled Angel's soft tummy then opened his lips over the cut again, drawing the torn flesh into his mouth for sucking. Nothing on earth tasted as good as Angel's fluids did to him. Nothing felt so good in Spike's mouth, sliding down his throat. He purred as he suckled, making sure he kept his fangs retracted. No biting, just a moist, nursing mouth. All his nerve- endings kindled and ignited with feeling as that succulent blood slicked over his tongue. His nipples contracted into tight peaks under his shirt and his cock engorged.
Angel's fingers stroked his hair softly at first, then as the sucking grew more intense, his nails came out and slowly scratched Spike's shoulders and neck. "Oohhhh . . . Christ . . . . . I always forget . . . how fucking good this feels . . . ."
That was it. Spike's fingers worked on Angel's trousers, unbuckling and unbuttoning, unzipping and tugging, until they were off, along with those polished shoes, and then the big, strapping lad was naked from the waist down.
"You forget because you go too long between," Spike whispered, his voice hoarse with urgency. "You need to come for a fix more often." He pulled off his coat and his shirt, whipped away his own trousers and shoes and threw them all in a pile on the crypt floor with Angel's clothes. Their garments made a bed on the cold stone and Spike pulled the brunette down on top of him, smashing their mouths together in a greedy kiss.
The blood in Spike's mouth mingled with their saliva and Angel growled deep in his chest at the taste of it. The growl became a low moan and that became a harsh, panting sigh as the kiss gathered intensity. Spike's hands traveled all over Angel's naked body, stroking his skin, feeling all the defined muscles there and over the smooth expanse of his back. Legs intertwined, arms and hands reaching for each other, Spike sighed and breathed in, smelling and tasting his fierce lover all at once. He knew he was murmuring, speaking, saying something as his desire surged and mounted. Spike didn't care what he was saying. All he cared about was this sweeping take-over of his senses.
Angel held him down, pressing his shoulders into the floor with his hands. Panting to take each other in, they stared into the other's eyes for a moment, searching, learning, knowing, wondering . . . remembering. Angel's expression shifted as they looked at each other- making a subtle journey from intense passion to concern, then back again. It seemed as though he didn't want Spike to see that. Instead, he licked his full lips and bent down again for more of those bone-jarring kisses.
It took a while, but finally Angel did what Spike was waiting- practically dying all over again-for him to do. Those big, powerful arms slipped beneath him and gathered Spike's body close, pulling them together so hard their ribs felt near breaking. Angel's fingers found that one spot on Spike's back-right above the tailbone-and dug into the pale flesh there, scratching it with his nails until the chills became so intense that Spike almost screamed. The sensations shot out all over his body like volts of electricity and his only defense against the blissful onslaught was to draw even closer to Angel.
Legs up, thighs opening wide, he grabbed Angel's hips in a tight hold. Their cocks found each other inside the crush of their writhing bellies-rubbing, stroking, wetting each other with quickly flowing lubricant. Spike groaned and felt his fangs lengthen inside his mouth. Against his neck where Angel was kissing and gnawing the flesh like a hungry baby, he felt the inevitable prick of his grandsire's deadly teeth. Arching up as Angel squeezed him, Spike's head dropped back when the pain came. He felt the first pull-so deep and starved-and then the darkness behind his eyelids exploded with colors.
Suddenly there was nothing but feeling. No more noises, no more images, no more flavors-only sensations. Dizzying pleasure, rocketing chills in his veins as Angel drew his blood along . . . pulled at it, devoured it.
He moaned, but he couldn't hear his own voice. He only felt the vibration of it in his throat-the familiar diphthong hum that produced the sound of Angel's name to the ear. Over and over he felt the vibration of it as his flesh burned with pleasure. Over and over he felt the rush of his own blood as it raced out, into his ravenous lover's sucking mouth. Over and over he swooned, clinging, grasping, moaning, panting . . . until his hips had a mind of their own and moved on their own . . . pressing and rubbing, demanding the friction that would release the unbearable pressure he felt in every pore.
Then, Angel's hands were cradling his face and they were looking at each other again. Eyes sharp and golden with heightened desire, they stared . . . fixed, seeing every thought and feeling reflecting back as only vampires can with one another. Spike begged to be kissed and Angel kissed him. Spike grabbed for the brunette's hair at the back of his neck and pulled his head to the left, exposing the veins in his long, muscular throat. Fangs reaching almost of their own volition, he bit . . . tore . . . sucked . . . licked . . . groaned as he swallowed . . . swooned and swallowed more . . . sucked and sucked until he felt the blood racing in him, returning to him so wonderfully enriched from being inside this older, magnificent being.
Angel's voice was scratchy against his ear as he moaned in rhythm with the sucking . . . hips sliding up and down, caressing cock against cock . . . the space between their bellies was soaked with blood sweat and pre-come and it was warm there . . . warm from the friction. So warm, in fact, it felt like velvet . . . like the soft stroking crush of masturbating against the fine velvet coverlet on his mother's bed . . .
Spike's mind flooded with this image as his orgasm chased him down. His recall of sexual pleasures was always strong, but this one was almost . . . aggressive. As though it were showing itself now for a reason far greater than simply being a reminder. As Angel began to tremble on top of him, he wondered if Drusilla's sire could see this image, too-it was so strong in Spike's mind, he figured Angel must be able to see it. There would be no escaping it during a blood exchange. For some reason, Spike needed to know he could see it . . . he needed to know they were completely connected at that moment.
With his inner voice, he spoke to Angel directly . . . a soft whisper sent specifically into the mind of his most impactful lover . . . "do you see that? Can you feel the velvet?"
And then Angel was shuddering and crying out on top of him. Hard wet splashes of fluid mingled and mixed between them and Spike's fangs slid out of Angel's neck from the thrashing they were doing. Their sounds were so primal, so like the noises of wild beasts. Coming, growling, they were covered in blood and semen, sweat making them grab at slick skin with greedy fingers, desperate to maintain their connection. Desperate to never break it. Desperate to hold on.
Spike was vaguely aware of the crackling of dried leaves on the stone floor under them as they rolled over on each other, kissing their way through the last of the zinging contractions. He felt a sharp branch cut the skin of his right shoulder at one point and then that same branch caught him again on the outside of his thigh as they rolled back across that spot on the floor.
Finally, as they began to calm, they stopped and leaned against the polished stone side of a sarcophagus. Both naked and still panting for no reason other than reflex, their fingers touched lightly as they sat propped up next to each other. Squints of daylight snuck into the crypt under the door and around the edges of the iron window coverings. Spike knew that none of those strands of light ever got strong enough to be a problem in there-at least as long as no one came to visit any of the bodies inhabiting the crypt. Members of the Alpert family, they were. There had been no guests at all since Spike had taken up residence there, so he assumed most of the relatives were either planted there already or lived in other parts of the world.
"I'm really tired," Angel said softly.
"So get some sleep." Spike tried to move, but his limbs were still vibrating and wobbly from his orgasm. Better to stay where he was for a minute. Easier, anyway.
Angel leaned forward and gathered up their discarded clothing, rearranging them into a pile beside the sarcophagus. "We're safe in here, right?"
"Safe as houses," Spike replied, watching the brunette make a little nest for them to sleep in on the floor.
Angel spread out his own coat on the bottom, then rolled up their trousers and shirts for pillows. He stretched out on the floor and pulled Spike down in front of him, never even asking if the blond vampire wanted to cuddle up and snooze that close. Of course he did want to, but it wouldn't have hurt Angel to ask.
The brunette covered their naked bodies with Spike's coat and they pressed against each other under the soft leather. Familiar curvature of bone, sweet, secure pressure of powerful limbs. Sleeping with Angel was one of the greatest pleasures Spike had ever known-but he'd be further damned if he ever told the poncy bugger that.
Wishing he could stay awake a little longer to enjoy the physical sensation, Spike tried to will away his own impending fatigue. The fallout of that deep orgasm wasn't helping matters much. More than anything, he wanted to lie there and revel in the simple delight of being near Angel-of having him all to himself. But sleep came for him too soon, giving him no choice but to surrender to it.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, Spike heard Angel murmuring against his neck.
"I felt the velvet," he said, very softly. And then there was darkness.
*************
Giles:
"Your connection is incredibly strong," he mused, hoping his strange jealousy wasn't obvious.
"Mm," Spike agreed, once again drinking from the vodka bottle. "It's that sire/childe thing. Makes everything physical really intense between us. Vamp chemistry and all. It's like a really excitin' drug."
"Yes, I've heard that."
Spike looked at him directly. "What, from Angel?"
Giles nodded. "He spoke to me at length about you-on several occasions. It was always my feeling that he wished your relationship was . . . well, different. Not quite so muddled and angry."
"Tch!" Spike rolled his blue eyes. "Yeah, right. If he wishes that, then why did he just up and-" He stopped himself again, frowning so hard his smooth face resembled the demon mask he wore when he was feral and ready to feed.
"Just up and what?" Giles said. "What did he do that upset you so?"
Glowering like a bratty child, Spike looked across the room at Giles. "You don't care. Why are you bothering?"
"Because I'm curious. You've told me all these intense personal details already, why stop now? At least finish." Giles was trying not to sound sympathetic, but the truth was a small part of him was. In a way. When he really thought about it, the only reason he was alive at that moment was because Spike had repeatedly intervened during Angelus' torture session. Over and over Spike had derailed Angel's anger just before the soulless beast was about to end Rupert Giles' life out of pure spite. Granted, Spike was never going to be one of Giles' favorite creatures, but he did feel a slight twinge of obligation. Enough so that he was willing to be sounding board that night.
Spike eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. "I woke up before him tonight," he said softly. "Just a bit ago, in fact. He'd got himself turned over on his belly sometime while he was sleeping and his naked back was just there . . . all smooth and lovely. I don't know why I've got this thing for his back, but I do. I love the way you can see the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. The way the skin's so polished and satiny. I love to touch that tattoo." He looked up at Giles again. "That's why it was on my mind, I reckon. I just spent intimate time with it a few hours ago."
"Right," Giles said. The image Spike was describing was once again so very clear in his mind-Angel naked and sleeping under the black leather cover of Spike's coat. Relaxed, at ease, lips parted, long fingers gently curled. He didn't know why he could see that all so clearly, but he could. Almost as though the recollection were his own.
"I woke him up cuz I was touching it," Spike continued. "With my finger." He lifted his left hand to demonstrate, tracing faint lines in the air. "He's a bit ticklish so he woke up and that's when . . ."
"When, what?"
Slumping down in the chair until he was almost lying flat in it, Spike seemed to be physically shying away from his own memory. He stared at the half empty vodka bottle accusingly as though it were the source of his discomfort. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly squeezed and his tone that of a cranky child. "We talked about the chip and about how it was better for me to stay here, under the slayer's nose, since she knows about it. She won't kill me because I'm handicapped. He told me the name of a guy to see at the butcher's, you know, for fresh blood. And then . . . I asked him . . . if he would stay for a bit. You know, just to . . . I mean, not for any reason, or anything. Just to stay for a bit."
Giles watched the vampire's expression crumple to the edge of tears, but he collected himself right before any could actually be shed. Spike took another drink before he went on.
"Angel said he couldn't be so near Buffy," Spike grumbled. "As though she cares what he's doing, anyway, now that she's rompin' with soldier boy. I told him as much. I said `she's not your bird anymore, mate. She's in love with someone else and she's done pining for you.' Well, he went all broody, like he does. And then he said he just didn't think he could handle staying in Sunnydale."
"It makes sense, really," Giles said. "I mean, especially since he would have to see Buffy and Riley together and that would likely . . . well, I assume it would be quite painful for him."
Spike's eyes flashed petulantly. "Needs to grow up, he does! Move on! She has."
"Well, yes, she has. But she did so mostly because Angel forced her to. If you recall."
Rolling his eyes, Spike slumped down even further. "Yeah, yeah. I remember. It was all very tragic and Romeo and Juliet. But he needs to realize that she's moved beyond him. If SHE can, he can. And therefore, he'd have no reason why he couldn't stay with me for a few sodding days." He heaved a sigh and his brow furrowed in frustration again. "Selfish bastard. He's meant to look after me if I need him."
"Did you suggest the possibility of going back to Los Angeles with him?" Giles said tentatively.
Spike's jaw clenched visibly and Giles thought the vampire might not reply. But then he fixed the watcher with a gaze so wounded, Giles actually felt like reaching a hand over to comfort him. Of course he refrained, but the urge was quite strong for a moment. That expression was excruciating.
"I suggested it, yeah," Spike said. "He said no."
"Just like that? I'm sure he gave you a reason."
Again, Spike took so long to reply that Giles thought he might not at all. But then he took another sip of the vodka and sat up just a little. "He said he couldn't take me with him. Not now, anyway. He said his life in LA was too . . . he used the word `cluttered'. Whatever that means. Still adds up to no. He just kicked me to the curb, like he does. As if he owes me nothing." The vampire's voice had been growing steadily softer and softer as he spoke and by the time his last sentence came out, he was barely whispering. "It's just sad, is all," he concluded.
"I'm sure it is," Giles said gently. "But perhaps Angel doesn't feel it would benefit you if he brought you with him at this time. Perhaps his life is too complicated, er, cluttered. The possibility exists that he said no for your own good, Spike."
Sighing, the vampire set the bottle down on the floor beside the chair and rubbed his pockets for his cigarettes again. Once he found them, he took them out along with his big silver Zippo and then he stood up on wobbly, drunken legs. Weaving, he reached for his coat and slipped into it, then he picked up the bottle again and trudged toward the door.
Giles watched him move behind the couch and stop at the door for a moment, as though he were going to say something else. When nothing came, Giles thought it would only be considerate to nudge him a little.
"Are you going to be all right?"
Spike mumbled something that sounded like an affirmation and then he reached for the doorknob. Over his shoulder, he said "right, then. Thanks for, uh . . . lettin' me unload. Was decent of you."
"No bother," Giles said, then he felt compelled to offer one more little kindness. "To tell you the truth, you do have a bit more flare for storytelling than Angel."
Spike breathed a weary laugh. "Told you." Then he stepped outside and closed the door.
For a long time Giles just sat on the couch in his quiet living room, thinking about the amazing strength of love. Even for creatures who had been robbed of their souls, love overpowered all other emotions- at least, if other emotions were present in the first place. Even pure evil was a hybrid of love. One could not truly hate without being fully acquainted with its opposite.
Glancing at the closed door, Giles couldn't help but wonder what would ultimately happen to Spike. He had become a creature who belonged nowhere. Not a man, not a functioning demon . . . but still haunted by his own intense humanness. When broken down so simply, Giles imagined it must be awful for him.
At the beginning of the evening, he had been annoyed with Spike's disruption of his quiet time. Now, in the aftermath of what the vampire had shared-Giles felt fortunate that he'd been home that night.
***************
Spike:
It was the very middle of the night when he made his way back to the cemetery. As he approached the dark crypt, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up. Someone was inside. Someone uninvited.
The closer he got, his senses reached out even through the alcoholic haze he'd put himself into. If he hadn't been thusly impaired, he may have realized much sooner who his intruder was. But in his current state, Spike had to get to the steps before all the pieces clicked into place. And just as he reached for the heavy iron door, it opened and Angel blinked at him with startled eyes.
For a moment they just looked at each other as though they might suddenly begin to brawl and then Spike sighed and moved passed the older vampire in the doorway.
"I thought you'd gone," he muttered.
"I am going," Angel said. "Now. I thought you'd be with Giles a little longer."
As he walked into the crypt, Spike's eyes adjusted to the change in lighting inside the room. There were thick, tall pillar candles placed around on the window ledges and on the largest sarcophagus in the center. Warm golden light flickered on the narrow stained glass windows and on the dusty floor.
"You knew I was there with him?" Spike said.
"Yeah." Smiling a bit sheepishly, Angel said, "he's a good listener."
"Mm." Something caught Spike's blurring eyes on the floor and he staggered toward it.
Next to the sarcophagus were three large plastic bags that appeared to be stuffed with goods. Spike squinted at the bags curiously, stumbling slightly as he bent over to investigate their contents.
The first contained two large fleecy sleeping bags and a plastic tarp for the ground to prevent moisture. The next bag had pillows in it and brand new linen cases still wrapped in plastic. The next bag had several new bottles of scotch and two fresh cartons of Morleys.
"I know you need everything," Angel said softly. "I just thought . . . I'd get you some basics. At least you'll be a little more comfortable in here."
In that kneeling position, Spike's drunken legs didn't have much strength and they soon gave out on him. He plopped on the dirty floor in the same spot where he and Angel had slept the day away and leaned his back against the sarcophagus. For a moment, they just looked at each other, but neither of them spoke for a long time.
Finally, Angel looked away, then out into the night. "I've really gotta go."
"So you keep saying," Spike said, not caring much that his tone was so miserable. "Shove off, then."
Angel looked at him once again and his dark eyes glittered in the candle light. "I'm always nearby."
"Yeah. Usually when I least want to see you." Spike patted his pockets for his cigarettes again and took out the pack. With some effort, he extracted a fresh smoke and lit it, looking up to the doorway as the flame glimmered in his hand.
It was no surprise to find that Angel was gone.
"Typical," he complained. "Bleedin' ponce. Always has to make the big dramatic exit."
He was too drunk and out of sorts that night to open the bags of goodies Angel had left him, so he just curled up on top of them and passed out. When he woke up the next night, his head was splitting and his heart felt like it had exploded into burning, ragged bits of flesh inside his chest.
Hunger drove him out around 9:00 and the streets in town were especially crowded with couples and people walking around selling roses. At first, it didn't register, but then when he passed by the hardware store and saw the calendar in the window, he remembered. It was Valentine's Day.
Standing in front of the window that did not offer him his own reflection, Spike let out a deep, heavy sigh. "This is just too bloody much," he mumbled. "Where's the sodding bar?"
Trudging off down the street, Spike disappeared into the cold February night, completely unaware of the dark figure behind him-a figure whose nature was part man, part lion, part eagle, part angel- keeping a close watch on his wayward childe.
the end