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No need to worry. I *like* driving. It’s fuuun.
God, but he was a wanker. Should have known it would turn out this way. He really should’ve known. One woman, one woman left in the whole stupid, arsed-over world, and of course- of COURSE- she winds up fucking Angel. Why would it be any other way?
Because the woman in question happened to be a lesbian? Bah. Sexual preference is no match for Captain America and his Wonder Wank of Doom. The Wonder Wank knows no limitations.
Never mind the fact that Spike had been the one to kill the fox and steal the chocolates and be all subtle and kind and romantic-like. If there’s one thing the women in his life should’ve taught him by now, it’s that kindness and romance never ever get you laid. Especially when the Wonder Wank is there, ready and willing to bag you in the back of a van while curious onlookers bugger about in the front seat.
It was appalling really. Spike would’ve been embarrassed if he weren’t so incredibly pissed off.
Not that he’d wanted or expected Willow to sleep with him. It hadn’t even occurred to him as a possibility, and that was what he liked about her. That’s what made her special. She was a woman, and she could be his friend, and there didn’t have to be any of that sort of wondering or tension or misery. But Angel had taken that away from him, just like he took everything, eventually.
He turned the volume down a bit to gauge the progress of the miraculous union, and was somewhat vindicated that it seemed to be finished already. Perhaps the wank was tired from over-use.
Still, there was no escape. The entire van reeked of sex. It made him sick, even as it made him hard.
He risked a glance in the rearview mirror and saw Willow, sleeping peacefully under the blanket. It didn’t look like Angel was in the bed with her anymore, and in fact, soon enough Spike felt him climbing back up front, into the passenger seat.
There was so much bile ready to fly out of his mouth in every possible direction, but he knew it was best not to say anything at all. The last thing he wanted to do was create some sort of ridiculous scene and make a complete ass of himself. End of the world or no, Spike still had some modicum of dignity.
“Want me to drive now?” Angel asked.
“No,” Spike snarled. “I like driving. It’s fun!”
All right, maybe not so much with the dignity.
“Um…okay,” Angel said with a stupid shrug. Then he started to ramble, in his dreary monotone, about things Spike had no concern for whatsoever; how much gas they had left, and how long before they’d have to stop again, and what state they were in, and where they might find flashlights because flashlights were always good to have. On and on he went, and Spike began to fantasize about killing him.
Nobody would ever find out. He could dump the body on the road, tell Willow some big nasty’d gotten him while she was sleeping. It would be easy. Angel would never see it coming.
There was a sudden pause in the boring monologue, and Spike realized he was being asked a question.
“You still talking?” he asked snappishly.
“Huh?”
“Just shut up, would you?”
“What the hell’s the matter with you, Spike?”
He still smelled like her. Her skin and her mouth and her cunt, and it wasn’t fucking fair. It just wasn’t fair. Spike stared out onto the road with hard eyes and licked his lips.
“What do you think is the matter, Angelus?”
“Is this about Willow?” he asked, and the idiot actually sounded surprised, actually sounded like he hadn’t expected this reaction in the slightest. “And don’t call me that,” he added lamely.
Spike refused to dignify either stupidity with a response. He drove on in silence until Angel finally said, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
And he was. Fucking Christ, of course he was, and he wasn’t even sure why, or of whom. It was all very uncomfortably familiar. Some things would never change, it seemed.
“You took advantage of her,” he whispered angrily. “Of her-her vulnerability, and her innocence, and her grief.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes! Yes you did. You-you hypnotized her. You must’ve done. Hypnotized her with your-your sick, magic sex juju.”
“My what? Spike, are you drunk?”
He knew he sounded like an imbecile. This was why he hadn’t wanted to talk at all in the first place. But now he’d started, and he had to finish.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he insisted. “Just like you did with me.”
“Like I did with you? I didn’t hypnotize you, you idiot. You begged me to fuck you!”
Well, technically that was true, but it was only because he’d been under the spell. The curse. The magical whatever the fuck it was that made every sentient being in the known universe want Angel’s dick. It was the only explanation for Willow.
“Look,” Spike said. “I’m not the issue here. The point is, I’m disgusted by what you’ve done to that…that poor, sweet girl. And right in front of me, like some kind of sick, sicko pervert. You oughtta be ashamed.”
“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had,” Angel sighed and rubbed his face. “Since when did you become a puritan? Is your soul Amish or something?”
“Oh, sod off. Don’t need to be a puritan to know it’s wrong, seducing little girls in public like that.”
“I didn’t seduce her. And this isn’t public. And she’s not a little girl! She’s the same age as Buffy, and you-”
“Don’t. Don’t even talk to me about Buffy. Don’t even say her name.”
Now he was just being irrational. They’d already spoken about Buffy at great length. They talked about her in the woods, by the fire as Willow slept, and a little bit that night at PlethoCorp before…
They’d mourned her together, shared memories with a somewhat shocking lack of rancor, and Spike had confessed as much as he could bear about the relationship he’d had with her, and how it had ended, and the terrible things he’d done. And Angel had surprised Spike by revealing the guilt he felt about being with her in the first place- stealing her youth and then leaving her to pick up the pieces, to try and heal wounds that were barely scarred over by the time Spike got to her.
They’d reached a peace around her memory, and it had helped Spike deal with his feelings of sorrow and loss and self-loathing, and he had no idea why he felt compelled to try and break that peace right now.
“You’re being very immature,” Angel informed him glibly. “This is really the last thing you should be worried about.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should be worried about?”
“Well, it’s silly. I mean, there’s not even anything to be jealous about. If you like her I’m sure she’d…I mean, she’s not averse to you or anything.”
Great, now he was offering her up, like some kind of apocalyptic pimp. Disgusting.
“Not averse?” he sneered. “That’s rich, you know. You’re a real bloody romantic, Angel.”
“Romantic?” Angel laughed sharply and shook his head. “Romance is dead, William. I’m just trying to keep us all sane.”
“Well, good show, mate. Really. I don’t know how you manage.”
“Spike, you need to stop driving now.” His tone had changed, somehow, and suddenly there were fingers on Spike’s thigh. Trying to work that damn sex juju again, and he was still fucking hard. “You need to let me take over for awhile, all right?”
“Don’t tell me what I need. What do you know about it anyway?”
The hand crept closer to his lap, and Angel leaned in and said, “I think you need to come.”
And there it was, like a damn light switch. He was on, and he was glowing, and all he could think about was Angel. Angel on him. Angel in him. How did he *do* that?
“Pull over,” he whispered, and Spike swerved off the road and stopped the van. He stepped out, into the fucking endless night, and wondered if he’d really lost his mind for good. Sometimes he thought this whole thing might be a massive hallucination. Sometimes he thought he might be in the basement still, huddled in a corner, jibbering to himself. In some ways it was a nice thought. It might just be better if that were the case.
Then Angel was pressing him against the side of the van, kissing him hard and long and sticking his hand inside Spike’s surgical scrubs, and all thoughts of the basement vanished from his mind. All thoughts in general, actually, which Spike supposed was the point. It was bribery of a sort. It wasn’t the first time someone had used sex to shut Spike up, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. It was pathetic, really, how easy it was. But Angel was getting on his knees, dammit.
Spike could count on one hand the number of times Angelus had done this to him, and each time had been a subtle form of torture- a method of humiliation. But fuck, the bastard was good at it, and Spike wasn’t about to turn away from a ridicule-free opportunity to get it.
“You want this, don’t you, boy?” Angel purred, rubbing his cheek against Spike’s crotch. All he could do was groan and look up at the sky. At the stars. There were still stars. That was vaguely comforting.
Angel tugged at his drawstring and pulled his trousers down to his knees. “It’s all right. I’m gonna take good care of you,” he said, and then ran his wicked, beautiful tongue up the side of Spike’s cock.
There was still Angel. Angel’s mouth and Angel’s hands, and Christ! The things he could do with them. And that was comforting too, in it’s way. Part of him always figured it would turn out like this- him and Angel, lingering on while everyone around them died, clinging to each other because there was nothing else left. It wasn’t a future he’d particularly looked forward to, but then he hadn’t bargained on Willow. Willow made it better. Willow gave them a purpose, but right now Willow was gone from his mind.
Everything was gone. It was his cock, and Angel’s lips, sliding up and down, the flat of Angel’s tongue, caressing and curling around him, and there really was nothing else.
It was different, though, and not just because of the circumstances. There was the soul. That made everything different. Made him cry the first time Angel touched him, at PlethoCorp, because no one had ever touched him like that with a soul. Made him burn inside with a mysterious ache when they were done, and Angel told him, “You’re like me now. I’m not alone anymore.” Made this feel less like a seedy bribery of a blowjob on the side of the road, and more like a genuine connection.
Stupid soul was turning him into a blithering sap. More so.
Well, fuck it. Fuck it all. What did it matter now?
He sighed and slid his fingers through Angel’s hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it felt. No sticky, poncey hair gel here in hell. It was nice, and he brought his other hand up as well, massaged Angel’s scalp and thrust mindlessly into his mouth.
When he looked down, he saw that Angel was stroking himself, that it was turning him on to do this, and that was enough to send Spike sputtering and groaning into oblivion.
Angel stayed in place long enough to swallow every drop he spilt, and when he was done there was more kissing, and Spike thought he might come all over again, tasting himself on Angel’s teeth.
He groped blindly for the bulge pressing into his stomach, but Angel grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“Don’t, Spike, it’s all right.”
“You don’t want it?”
He shook his head, but kissed Spike again, hard enough to slam the back of his head into the side of the van.
“I want it,” he murmured against Spike’s lips. “But we have to get moving again.”
Spike didn’t understand his insistence that they keep moving all the time. Where were they going anyway? But he didn’t want to argue anymore. Didn’t want to ruin this relatively pleasant moment.
Angel backed away, took his face in his hands, and kissed him softly on the forehead.
“I’m gonna drive now. Why don’t you go back there and talk to her,” he said, and then he was gone.
Spike pulled up his pants and got back in the van.