Rating: NC-17
Spoilers:Only very general, the story is mostly AU. Please see notes in headers for the first three parts.
Disclaimer:Characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc. Grrr. Argh.
Summary:Healing can be such a pain.
Archive:I would be most flattered if you'd like to, but please let me know before.
Notes: This is the fourth and final part of a series. Unfortunately, it won't make sense without the first three stories.
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Angel:
He didn't mean to, really, but he punched Spike's incompetent minion hard and once the guy fell down, he stayed there. Angel stepped over him and went down the stairs to the main room.
He heard Drusilla's voice in the bedroom and went toward the sound. The door was open, a bright fire burning in the small fireplace. Candles on every flat surface made the room dance and glimmer with golden light. Everything had halos and shimmered with heat. He knew he was delirious as he leaned against the doorframe.
Spike was on his back with his wrists tied to the headboard. Drusilla had left him naked, but she'd cleaned the blood and come off his skin. She sat beside him on the rumpled sheets, stroking his exposed belly gently with her fingers. A tiny gray kitten slept on the covers beside her. Angel blinked at the little creature a few times before it registered. For some reason, the kitten looked terribly out of place in the scene.
"I think I damaged your gatekeeper," Angel said. "Sorry about that."
Dru merely smiled at him. "Not to worry. There are plenty more where he came from." She extended her hand and beckoned for him to come to the bed. "Daddy, you look dreadful! Come here and lie down."
It took him a moment to coordinate his movements again, but finally Angel stepped away from the door and into the warm bedroom. He took his jacket off and let it drop to the floor, not really caring much where it landed. That damned sweater had to come off next but he had trouble negotiating the best way to remove it. Drusilla saw him struggling and came to his aid, tugging the soft garment over his head for him.
Angel leaned against her, feeling dizzy and hot. His skin tingled and felt like it was crawling and his senses were once again flooded with Spike's delicious, spicy-sweet scent. So close, he was . . . just there on the bed . . . a sumptuous buffet of tasty flesh.
Next thing he knew, he was creeping along the mattress on his hands and knees toward the captive blond vampire, their eyes locked on each other. He felt something grab his ankles and glanced back to see Drusilla gently taking off his trousers. Apparently, she preferred to have them both naked. Angel didn't mind. Naked was good. Naked was expedient.
He straddled Spike's body and leaned over him without a word. Kissing was the goal and kiss, they did. Hard and ravenous, wet and sucking. The first contact sent a jolt of electricity through him that made him whimper, but then his body remembered the pleasure it would soon feel and all Angel could do was sigh.
"Why are you tied up?" he asked, biting at Spike's damp, delicious neck.
"I was . . . trying . . . to . . . claw my skin off . . ." he said, eyes closed, chest rising and falling trying everything to touch Angel's body. "Christ, I forgot what this is like. Why the fuckin' hell did I let you start this?"
"LET me?" Angel said. "You sent Dru to beg me. You need it." He lowered his hips and nuzzled Spike's throat, sighing from the luscious smell of him. "We both need it." He inhaled greedily, rubbed his quickly swelling cock on Spike's hot belly and moaned as he let his hungry teeth find their mark. Into the tender flesh they sank, deeper, deeper, until the blood began to stream into his mouth. Ginger, honey, copper and salt. So sweet . . . so unbearably sweet.
"Be careful, now," Drusilla said gently. "You're both so weak. Don't take too much from each other."
Angel heard her, but could not have cared less what she said. His body throbbed and hummed as he swallowed and Spike's husky pleasure sounds drove him into a carnal frenzy. In a haze, he reached for the leather straps tied around Spike's wrists and began to undo them. Drusilla smacked at his hands with a sharp crack and he growled at her viciously.
"Untie him!" he demanded, feeling his face go through that familiar, fierce change.
"No," she said simply, never one to be bothered in the least by Angel's temper. "Got to keep him still. He tried to hurt himself before."
"Because he needed ME!" Angel roared. He shoved her back and went for the ties again, fingers shaking as he struggled with the tight bonds. "I'm here now," he breathed. ". . . have to . . . get these off . . ."
Sitting back against the pillows, Drusilla crossed her arms over her chest. She watched in silent resignation as Angel got the ties loose and Spike grabbed him frantically, mashing their bodies together. Angel could feel how weak the young one was. His grip was intense but unstable. His blue eyes were misty and dull and he seemed unable to fix his gaze on Angel's face.
"Spike," Angel said, his voice soft, calming. "William . . . look at me." He waited while the blond struggled to focus, but the struggle was hard. He reached for Angel's neck, trying to hold onto it, but his hands slipped limply away.
Looking up at Dru, Angel said "has he fed?"
"Only on you, Daddy. Wouldn't take the blood when I offered it."
"Bring some now." He looked down again, trying to find Spike's focus. "Look at me," he whispered. "I need you to see me." And then they were kissing again. He was aware of Dru getting off the bed and leaving the room, but only very distantly. His body simmered with desire as he tasted Spike's sugary mouth.
Moaning, Spike sucking Angel's lips languidly. "Mmmmmm . . . you're sooo yummy, Daddy . . . so, so yummy . . ."
Sharp teeth scratched Angel's bottom lip, then pierced it. He shivered, his nipples hardened and his cock stretched and throbbed. Drusilla had been right, they were both terribly weak, but that was doing nothing to stop the hunger. He sucked back, licking at Spike's hard fangs. He could feel their tips inside his lip and he pressed on them through his wet flesh with his tongue. Feeling his arms tremble slightly, Angel rolled onto his side, taking Spike with him. He wrapped his arms around the young one's body, drawing him near and holding him as tight as he dared, taking care not to press on his spine too much.
Drusilla returned, sitting on the edge of the bed again. She touched Angel's neck with her cold fingers and he looked up at her distractedly.
"Here," she said, holding a silver goblet in her hand. "It's warm, but it won't be for long. Get him to drink it if you can."
Angel made himself sit up, holding Spike close to him and sitting him up, too. The young one slumped against his chest, nuzzling Angel's neck and stroking his naked thighs softly. The light touch had less to do with affection than it did with Spike's own tactile pleasure, but Angel didn't care. Those little strokes were making him tingle all over. He took the goblet in his unsteady hand and supported Spike's neck so he could drink. Pressing the goblet against those full, beautiful lips, Angel kissed Spike's forehead almost reflexively.
"Drink," he whispered. "Come on, boy . . . you need to feed."
Spike's eyes fluttered as he inhaled the scent of the warmed blood in the goblet. He sat up just enough to allow Angel to tip the goblet against his lips and dribble the contents into his mouth. One sip, then another, then Spike reached for the goblet with his own hands, holding it like a child with a plastic cup as he drank it all down. Once he'd finished, he simply dropped the goblet on the bed and collapsed back against the pillows. His naked chest looked like polished gold in the firelight and the dusting of pale blond hairs on his arms glistened like tinsel. Such an inviting morsel, he was. For as long as Angel could remember.
In an unconscious act of affection, Angel pet Spike's bare belly with his fingers. "Better?" he said.
Licking his lips, Spike closed his eyes, but he smiled a little. "Yeah," he said, eyes opening to follow his grandsire's stroking hand. "Now, stop pettin' me like your sodding lap dog and come down here. This little puppy needs to bite the flesh that feeds him."
Leaning forward, Angel slipped his hand under Spike's back and scratched his nails over the skin right above his tailbone. Spike bit his own bottom lip and held back a pleasure-gasp. Again, Angel could feel the young one's frustration at not being able to wrap his legs around Angel's hips. Spike-William-used to love doing that back when things were new. He would sit in Angel's lap for hours, kissing and nibbling until they were both so aroused they were practically clawing each other apart. Spike loved to be held very tight and Angel's body was just large enough to make it feel like the hard loving squeezes he never got from his father.
Angel licked his way up Spike's tight, rippled abs, stopping to taste the pink nipples just enough to make them perk up, then he met Spike's open mouth with his own and drove his tongue inside. The bite came suddenly and in an unexpected place-the very center of his tongue-and Angel's eyes teared from the pain. It wasn't enough hurt to slow them down, though. He swooned when the sucking began, like he always did, sighing and growling, cock twitching and beginning to drip in anticipation.
Spike's fingers raked over Angel's sides, digging into the bones of his ribs until he squirmed from the pressure. He growled again, knowing full well that his protestations would only make the young one scratch and suck harder. Spike liked everything rough-especially things having to do with love.
Angel glanced up to see if they still had an audience but Drusilla was long gone. She'd taken the silver goblet and left them to their own devices. Just as well. Angel was too tired and wrung out to struggle with her jealousy. The sun would be up soon and he wanted to sleep there with Spike in a tangle of limbs, breathing in the warm scent of the petulant blond's skin. Angel didn't mind if Drusilla joined them. She was lovely and soft in all the right places. But he wanted to be closest to Spike. He wanted to be the first thing the ailing young vampire tasted when they woke the next night.
And the next night was likely to be quite something-it being Buffy's birthday and all.
******************
Spike:
Many hours later, he woke after a long, intensely deep sleep. His body felt wonderful-calm and limber like he'd just had a massage-but when he tried to move, he was instantly reminded of the broken places. Bright flashes of cold agony shot up his back from the left side of his pelvis and he froze for a moment until the pain subsided. Angel slept beside him on the bed, gently molded against him in his slumber. The fire had died down to embers that shed only the tiniest bit of orange light into the room. Angel's handsome face was relaxed as he slept, full lips parted gently, dark eyelashes resting on his smooth cheeks. His eyes moved slightly under their lids and Spike had to wonder what he was dreaming about. That stupid schoolgirl, no doubt.
For a long time, he just lay there watching Drusilla's sire sleep. Angel the virtuous. Angel the duplicitous. Angel the lover. Angelus the mad beast. Despite every intention to loathe this creature, Spike could only feel a continuous current of warmth as he watched that peaceful face. He'd been at Angel's side for decades of ghastly carnage, fought beside him, fucked him, kissed him, screamed dutifully while Angel strapped him with leather, fought against him, idolized him, hated him and always, always needed him. Spike would lie to say it didn't hurt him someplace down deep to know Angel's cursed soul was in constant pain. He wanted Angelus back and he was willing to bet everything that Angel did, too. Angelus may be an evil, ruthless killer, but at least he was pure. He burned with only one hard, bright flame. There was something perfect about that. Something beautiful.
"Take more if you want," Angel whispered, but he never opened his eyes. "I'm just resting."
"Knackered?" Spike asked.
"Extremely. But I'm ready if you want more."
Angel's hand rested on the pillow near his face, fingers curled in relaxation. Spike leaned forward and nuzzled the soft curve of the pinkie finger, rubbing his nose against the creases between the last knuckle and the palm. Those lines meant something . . . was it something about the number of children you would have? Spike couldn't remember exactly, but he wondered if such tricks of fortune telling were really applicable to vampires. He licked the soft flesh of Angel's wrist, feeling for the vein with his tongue. Tracking the protruding vessel under the skin, he licked it over and over, feeling its density and length. Then he stabbed it with his sharp lower fangs and the sweet, heavy blood sprang forth in a room-temperature gush, filling his mouth with the delicious taste of . . .
"What?" Angel said lazily, his voice a rasping whisper. "What do I taste like?"
Spike lapped at the wound, stroking the torn part with his tongue as it continued to reward him generously with the nectar of sire blood. His cock hardened against his leg, reaching for Angel's body. As his arousal grew and began to swirl inside him, he considered the question . . . the taste. Angel's blood tasted like . . . Sundays.
He didn't realize he'd said it out loud, but he must have. As he licked and sucked at the wound he'd made, he looked up and found Angel's dark, golden eyes watching him.
"Sundays?" the older vampire said.
Spike kissed the bloody wound again and again, swallowing the dense liquid as it ran from Angel's wrist. He closed his eyes again and tried to articulate the thought he was having, but it was hard to think clearly. Even though his healing was commencing well and the ravenous lust for Angel's blood had eased, it was still a tremendous intoxicant. The taste of that blood had always reminded him of the same thing, ever since the very first time he'd had it over a hundred years ago in Yorkshire.
"Something from . . . when I was a child," he said between soft little sucks. "My mother used to cook breakfast on Sundays . . . with everything on, you know . . . fresh eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes. And these lovely sticky rolls . . . they had . . . pecans . . . and loads of honey." He kissed the giving wound appreciatively then sighed, lying back down against the pillows. Angel's blood rushed through his body so quickly, he swore he could see it moving in the darkness behind his eyelids. It seemed to find all his most sensitive parts and tickle him there.
Shifting beside him, Angel pulled closer on the bed and increased their contact. He wasn't cuddling exactly, but damned near. Spike felt so good, he didn't mind. Not that he ever minded, really. Contact for them was based much more on the pleasure of touch than on affection.
"You taste the way the house smelled on Sundays," he went on in a quiet voice. "A perfect combination of the savories and the sweets." Licking his lips again, he grinned. "Makes my mouth water. Bloody lovely."
"I taste like Sundays even when you're not broken?" Angel murmured. His tone was slightly vulnerable but that may have been only because he was tired. Spike didn't care. He liked the idea of Angel being vulnerable. It made his cock leak.
"Yeah," Spike replied. "But when I'm not broken, it's more savory. Like there's more butter on the sticky rolls. Less honey. You taste sweet when I need you to heal me. For some reason."
Angel didn't respond for so long, Spike thought he'd fallen asleep again. But then the brunette raised up on his elbows and looked at Spike directly. For a moment, he didn't say anything-just stared. He did that for so long, it made Spike uncomfortable.
"Wha'?"
"Why won't you two leave Sunnydale?" he said. "If you'd get the fuck outta here, Buffy would just let you go."
Spike blinked, then frowned and said, "Dru doesn't want to."
"Dru doesn't? Or you don't."
Sitting up gingerly, Spike ran his fingers through his hair then reached over to the night table for a shining silver flask there. When he picked it up, he was pleased to feel the weight of it. Drusilla had been kind enough to fill it before she left them earlier. He drank a few sips of the good scotch, then offered it to Angel.
"I don't give a fuck where we are," he said. "As long as she's happy. And she likes it here."
"Does she?" Angel said, tipping the flask to his lips and drinking. "Why?"
Spike shrugged, irritated. "I dunno. Never asked. I reckon she gets a charge off bein' so near the Hellmouth. Who knows with her. As long as my girl is happy, I'm happy, and she's happy here in SunnyD."
Nodding, Angel sat up and leaned against the pillows. He took another sip from the flask, then passed it back. "I bet she'd say the same thing. In fact, I bet she couldn't care less where you lived, as long as she was with you."
Spike just looked at him, waiting for him to get to the point. Angel could be such a sodding windbag when left unchecked.
"I bet if you took her away, she'd go without a word of protest," he went on.
"And why the fuck do you care?" Spike said, his brow knitting in the center.
Angel looked down at the rumpled sheets under them and picked at the edge of one of the pillowcases. "I don't," he muttered, lying badly as always. "I'm just saying. If you'd leave, the slayer wouldn't stand in your way."
"You don't know that," Spike said. "That snippy little bint's got a hard-on for me."
"That's a two-way street," Angel reminded him coolly.
Shrugging, Spike said, "it's nothing personal, mate." He swigged from the flask again and tasted Angel's lips on the metal rim. "I'm sure she's a lovely girl. But a slayer's a slayer's a slayer. If I've got anything to say about it, first chance I get-down she goes." He offered the flask again, but Angel shook his head. "You know I'm gonna keep coming for her until I kill her. Why don't you take HER someplace else?"
He breathed a laugh. "Yeah, right. You can take the slayer out of the Hellmouth, but you can't take the Hellmouth out of the slayer. She's here because it's her destiny. She has to stay."
Spike spread his hands. "Ergo, YOU stay. See? We're both love's pathetic bitches. It's bloody sad." He set the flask on the table again, then tried to stretch his legs. His toes wiggled, but would not reach very far without causing him intense pain up his spine. He wiggled, anyway, wishing the healing would go faster.
"This is good," Angel said. He stretched out on the bed beside Spike's prone body with his head near the blond's feet. Reaching out, he softly tickled the instep of the right foot, looking up at Spike's face for a reaction.
Raising a sarcastic eyebrow, Spike said, "yeah, it tickles. Stop doin' that."
Smirking, Angel moved to the left foot and very lightly stroked the instep there with his fingertips. Spike could feel it, but not as much as on the right and he frowned. Angel curved his fingers and used the nails to scrape the left instep again. That time, Spike got chills from the touch and flinched slightly.
"That's even better," Angel said. "You have a lot more sensation that you did last night. A few more days of my yummy blood and you'll be fit for a good ass-kicking again."
"Tch. I bet you can't wait for that," Spike muttered. "Wanker."
"Hey, nine times out of ten, you start it, buddy. What am I supposed to do, just lay there while you pummel me?"
Grinning, Spike reached out and stroked the inside the Angel's long, muscular thigh. "If you ask me, THAT's what you're really doing here. Giving me your healing sire blood so I get my hips back." He traced a teasing line down the big vein on Angel's heavy cock. "I know what you want, Daddy. Can't hide from ol' Spike."
Angel chuckled softly but made no argument. Couldn't really. It was plain as the nipples on his chest. Rolling onto his back on the bed, he let his long legs fall open invitingly and Spike mouth watered again. In that position, he could see the succulent crease of Angel's butt cheeks right below his heavy ballsack, all decorated with silky brown pubic hair. Such a dish, and he bloody well knew it. Tosser.
Spike shifted on the bed as best he could, resting on his belly and leaning over Angel's naked hips. With his eyes on that smug, handsome face, Spike extended his tongue and licked a slow wet line up the inside of Angel's left hipbone.
"You can't fuck me, peroxide boy," he said, scratching Spike's back with his nails. "No sense torturing me."
"Awwww," Spike said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "What's the matter, peaches? That stinking soul make you lose your taste for a little playful suffering? Funny." He grazed that vulnerable hip bone with the tips of his teeth. "Makes me want to torture you even more."
"Big surprise." Angel's hand dropped down to Spike's lower back and stroked the skin there lightly. Bastard always did know just how to get the motor running.
Angel's fingers made tickly circles up and down Spike's spine, teasing the skin and the fine hairs there with maddening softness. He barely used his nails-just enough to make Spike's nipples hard and make him shiver all over. Angel was enjoying the touch, too, that was clear. That big cock kept growing and thickening and looking like it really needed to be tasted.
Supporting his weight on his arms, Spike opened his lips over Angel's cockhead and gave it a long, slow licking. He swallowed the salty moisture at the tip, then stroked the slit with his tongue, coaxing out more. He loved that musky fluid. It had the flavor of true pleasure. Filling his mouth with lubricating saliva, Spike took Angel's cock into his mouth as deep as he could and sucked it slowly, thoroughly. It expanded in his mouth as it engorged with blood and he relaxed his throat as much as he could. He wanted it all the way in. All the sensitive spots inside his cheeks and at the back of his throat tingled as that big organ wriggled in his mouth, reaching for more contact with Spike's tongue. He lifted Angel's tensing balls and rolled them in his fingers, inhaling the savory scent of his silky pubic hair.
In a bit of a haze, Spike realized Angel was petting him again-that time at the back of his neck, right below the hairline. His long fingers caressed the skin there, both to encourage more sucking and to enjoy the satiny blond hairs that fanned out across the nape of Spike's neck. Drusilla loved that spot, too. She always said he looked so vulnerable there-so like a little boy. When she bit him there she said the spot tasted like cherries.
All he knew was that being touched there made him tremble with lust. He felt those little strokes all over his body and he sighed from the pleasure. Angel was careful to keep his nails back and just use the silky pads of his fingers . . . so luscious. It felt like being tickled with dove feathers.
"God, you are soooo soft there . . ." Angel breathed. "I can't believe it. You're the most ruthless killer I've ever met but you have places on your body that feel like this." He moved under Spike and sat up, carefully helping turn the blond over on the bed. More kisses followed, but they were soft kisses . . . deep, wet and hungry, but still full of tenderness.
At first, Spike resisted Angel's blatant affection. Receiving it always ended badly. He would let himself open up and then he would say something bloody stupid or his body would reveal some deeply private something worse and then everything would go straight to hell. Angel would snigger and jest, teasing him about what a schmoopy, romantic lover-boy he was. It was all too much. Not worth the humiliation.
"What's this?" Spike said into those sentimental kisses. "You're not goin' all luvvy on me, are you? I hate it when you do that."
Angel never stopped kissing. He never even opened his eyes. Ignoring the weak objection, he moved on the bed so he knelt over Spike, his strong, lean body pressing down in all the most delicious places. His cock was still damp from being sucked and it slid against Spike's belly impatiently as he continued his gentle attack of kisses.
Swollen lips, sweet saliva, tickly, stroking tongue . . . and that beautiful body . . . silky skin . . . covering him . . . everywhere at once. Spike groaned, knowing he was done in. There was no way to deny his reaction to Angel the lover. No way to deny the emotional cliff he always tumbled off when the touching got like this. In truth, there never had been. Angel . . . sire, nemesis, protector, enemy, beast. Lover. Christ, it always came back to that.
He stroked Angel's long, well-muscled back, digging his fingers gently into the flesh along the right flank where he knew the tattoo was. Spike adored that tattoo. He was suddenly overcome with a memory of a night in Paris, lying in a huge bathtub with Angel, spending hours tracing every tiny line of the Celtic gryphon with the tip of his tongue. Thinking of those times-back when Angel was more his than he had ever been-Spike began to recoil from his escalating emotions again.
"Oi," he murmured into Angel's succulent mouth. "Oi, wait."
Angel raised up enough so they could look at each other, his prominent brow creased slightly. "What? Am I hurting you?"
Spike looked into those sparkling dark eyes and tried not to be reminded of every time he had ever been in that exact position-on his back under Angel's naked body, lips swollen from kissing, the flavor of that intoxicating blood lingering in his mouth. Instead, he closed his eyes to try to keep from seeing.
"I . . . just think maybe . . . you should push off," Spike said, but he sounded full of shit even to his own ear. "I don't want to do this-all this . . . affection crap. You're job is done here, Daddy. I'm healing nicely. You can go back to blondie-girl with her big toothpicks." He tried to move under Angel's weight, but the older vampire held his position. Normally, Spike would have been able to just heave him aside like a rag doll, but his injury hemmed in almost all his strength. And what little was left was being seriously compromised by his traitorous emotions.
Angel watched him for a moment, dark eyes scanning his face, looking for the truth hiding so poorly there. Spike knew he was being totally transparent and he also knew there was next to nothing he could do about it. He could never hide from Angel anymore than Angel could hide from him.
"Is that really what you want?" the brunette whispered. "You don't want to-just once? For old time's sake? I can get on top."
Spike frowned at him irritably. "Old time's sake? Which old times would that be, oh Champion of Justice? Like in that bloody church? Or last year in the sewers? How about the time you tied me to the back of a wild horse and sent me out into the sodding desert to implode in the sunrise?" His tirade was for his own benefit and it was having the desired effect. Spike managed to push Angel away and move to the end of the bed where he sat with his temporarily useless legs over the side.
He felt Angel move on the mattress behind him and then the older vampire was walking to the dresser where Drusilla had put his clothes. Spike watched as Angel dressed himself, his movements slow and measured from his weakness. He'd let Spike have almost all his blood during the night without a single complaint. It was that big dose of healing elixir that had stilled the feral craving for each other-but it hadn't managed to do a thing to quiet the real longing.
"Why don't you just take Dru and go?" Angel said, his voice strained and broken. "You know I can't protect you in Sunnydale."
Spike's teeth clenched and the muscles in his belly tightened. "No one bloody asked you to, white hat," he growled. "I'm only going to be in this sodding chair for a little while longer-and then I'll be right back in your face, Angel. Right back where I belong-reminding you of what you really are. Making you shake with envy because you're not here with me, killing with me."
When Angel turned around, Spike expected to see an angry grimace on that handsome face-but it wasn't there. Angel's expression was simply forlorn.
"I don't need you to remind me how much I miss this," he said softly. "Thanks, anyway." Turning back to the dresser, he pulled that fuzzy white jumper over his head again. The garment worked as a sort of theatrical wardrobe change-at once he was naked and glowing with raw power and sexual heat, and then with that simple addition, he was transformed into Buffy Summers' boyfriend. Defender of all things righteous, guardian of the downtrodden.
Spike rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed. "I hate to ruin your dramatic exit, but you can't go out there now. It's day."
"I'll manage." Angel slipped on his leather jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling for his chosen style by touch. He turned to Spike one last time and offered a crooked smile. "Well- it's been fun."
Spike pursed his lips. "Not as much as it could have been."
Shrugging, Angel turned to the bedroom door and opened it. "I guess I'll be seeing you soon."
"Yeah." He sighed, wishing Angel would just go already. It was killing him having to watch the departure in such slow motion.
When the door opened, two of Spike's minions were scurrying outside in the main room, laboriously hauling more of those strange shaped boxes. Spike watched the back of Angel's head, just waiting for the inevitable.
"What the hell ARE those?" he said, stepping out into the main room. He glanced back at Spike with his eyebrows lifted. "You two are up to something that's gonna make me nuts, aren't you?"
Unable to help it, Spike chuckled. "At least we're consistent."
Angel sighed but he didn't ask anymore questions. He simply turned around and headed toward the stairs that lead outside. Spike scooted to the edge of the bed again and reached for the wheelchair, pulling it close so he could get in. One of the less annoying minions came to the bedroom door and cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, sir. Would you like me to help?"
"No," Spike grumbled. "On second thought, bring me a pair of trousers. In there." He nodded toward the wardrobe at the foot of the bed and the minion went there directly. "How many have we got now?" Spike asked, taking the black jeans when they were presented and wiggling into them.
"We only need two more," the minion who's name Spike didn't care to remember replied. "They're coming in tonight from Singapore."
Nodding, he slipped into the chair, not bothering to put on a shirt. "Where's your mistress?"
"She's asleep, sir. In the guest room."
"Right. Don't disturb us, then." Spike wheeled toward the door and out into the main room, trying to ignore how heavy he felt inside.
He opened the door to the guestroom carefully, not wishing to wake his lover if he could help it. He saw her there on the bed, the velvet blankets drawn over her lean, pale shoulders. Rolling silently into the room, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the bed.
It took some effort to get himself in beside her with very little jostling, but he managed after a bit. Drusilla was so still. Her large eyes were closed and her thick black lashes reached for her pale cheeks like greedy raven feathers. She was naked under the heavy blankets and he folded his body against hers, moving into one of their favorite sleeping positions-his head tucked under her chin, left cheek pressed to her breasts.
She stirred only slightly, just enough to put her arms around him and gently stroke his hair. When her fingers found the back of his neck- the `cherry spot', as she called it-her hand stopped and froze there for a long moment. He knew she was picking something up from his skin. He knew she could see something about Angel.
"He wanted to make love with you," she murmured. "But you refused him."
Spike closed his eyes, wishing she would just let the subject go.
"Why did you refuse him, my darling? You need to make love with him. You miss him so much."
"Never mind that, baby," he said against her soft breasts. "I'm so tired. Can't we just rest now?"
Drusilla was quiet for a while, but her fingers continued to trace over and over the cherry spot as though she were reading Braille. Spike didn't want to know what she was seeing in her touch. He wished he didn't know what was there to see.
More than anything, he wished Angel would come back-come back and stay with them. Come back and make it like it was before.
"Be patient, my darling," Dru purred and then she pulled him close to her in a comforting embrace. "Daddy will be home soon. He's got some errands first. There are prickly willow branches and a cold crowned heart to wade through. He's coming, though. Be assured. Angel's coming home."
Against Drusilla's voluptuous body, Spike's eyes opened and he stared into the darkness under the velvet blankets. If his heart were able to beat, it would have just begun to dance.
(end)