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Faded BlueAngel sat on the edge of the lumpy old couch, Spike's torn and bloody duster clenched in his hands. He listened to the water running in the bathroom, trying to decide if it had been on too long yet, and whether he should get up to find out. Part of him wanted to check. The other part didn't want to piss off Spike any more than he already was. The demise of his coat always irked him, even if he did have a dozen more just like it thanks to the Roman branch of Wolfram and Hart with their apparently vast fashion connections. The water went off with a squeak. Angel stood and dropped the coat to the floor on top of Spike's shirt, which had suffered a similar fate in the fight. Though the senior partners tried to drill it into them that killing clients was bad for business, sometimes their souls just wouldn't let them do anything less. Tonight had been one of those times. Spike held his own, usually. That's why Angel put up with him. That's what he told himself. Over and over again. Spike was a valuable ally, a powerful fighter, that's all. Never before had he been so badly injured that Angel had to help him back to his apartment. Or help him out of his clothes. Spike let him get the duster, boots, and shirt off before pulling away and staggering into the bathroom. The sight of Spike's back covered in blood from the wound on his shoulder had scared Angel more than the fight itself. It wasn't going to kill him, but he just couldn't remember when he'd ever seen Spike that hurt before. As he'd closed the bathroom door, Spike muttered that Angel could go, but of course he hadn't. He wanted a look at Spike with the blood cleaned off so he could assess the damage and see if it was safe to leave him alone. Angel paused outside the bathroom door, knowing that Spike would know he hadn't left. He opened the door without knocking. Spike stood in front of the sink with the medicine cabinet open, rummaging around for his hair gel. A white towel, stained pink in spots from the shower-diluted blood, hung around his neck catching the little drips of water that fell from his hair. Though his wet hair was flat on top and plastered to his head, it had already started to spring up in little ringlets across the back of his neck and behind his ears. The gash from the demon's claw stood out sharp and red across Spike's shoulder blade, reaching almost to his spine. Another inch and Spike might have found himself back in a wheelchair. It had already stopped bleeding, but he'd still have the mark, and then a scar, for at least a few days. A human would have been dead in minutes. Still, it was looking better than when Angel first got Spike's shirt off. He could have sworn he had seen all the way down to the bone. Spike grabbed his gel and closed the cabinet. He stared into the mirror as though it could show him the vampire hovering in the door behind him. "What?" Angel took this as the invitation it wasn't and stepped inside the small room anyway. "Just checking." "I'm alive." "No, you're not." The urge to contradict Spike at every turn couldn't be overcome, even now. Though Angel couldn't see Spike's face any more than Spike could see his, he could practically hear the roll of his eyes. "Go home, Angel." Angel reached out, touched the wounded shoulder, just above the top of the gash. Spike shivered, but didn't pull away. "It's bad," he said. "Had worse." "Yeah? When." Spike counted off on his fingers, "Buffy, the Initiative, Glory, that demon in Africa, the amulet," he turned around, "you." Angel flinched. Spike snorted and turned back towards the mirror. "Relax. Not playin' the blame game tonight, but you asked." "I'm sorry anyway." "Yeah. Well, don't bother. Think I don't have a few evil bits from the soul-free days I'd like forgiveness for? I'm not gonna get it though. Why should you?" The question was rhetorical. Angel watched Spike squeeze a glob of gel into his palm and rub it expertly through his hair. He couldn't believe it didn't hurt to move his arm that way, but Spike didn't miss a beat. Spike wasn't naked, he noticed. A pair of light blue boxers hung low on his hips. They were very ordinary cotton boxers that had seen a few too many washings and now had tiny pills in the fabric making the surface fuzzy instead of smooth. Finished applying the gel, Spike turned again and caught Angel staring at his shorts with a mild surprise. Mistaking the look, he scoffed, "Well, they don't pay us all enough for the black silk variety. Got to make do with what I have these days. Been having cash flow problems, what with the lack of victims' wallets to clean out." Angel said nothing. He had simply been surprised to discover that the other vampire had taken to wearing under-shorts at all. He wondered what else had changed since he and Spike had parted ways all those many years ago. He also wondered how Spike knew about his preference for black silk, but tried not to dwell on it. He tried not to dwell on the shadow of soft, dark hair that graced Spike's lower stomach and disappeared into the shorts either, but had a harder time with that. His eyes were drawn to the sharp angles of Spike's hips as they rose above the top of the boxers and then swept inward towards his trim waist. Spike turned away, put his hands on either side of the sink, leaning on it heavily. His back glistened with the leftover moisture from his shower that wouldn't evaporate in the steamy room. "What's on your mind, Angelus?" "Angel," Angel corrected automatically. What was on his mind was the slight swell of buttocks visible through the thin fabric covering Spike's ass. Not that he was going to admit that, but he didn't have to. Spike sighed. "I can smell that, you know?" Angel blinked, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Then he noticed the tightness in his pants. "Oh. Sorry." "Guess I should be flattered. After all this time, still got a taste for ol' Spike, huh? Is it the part where I'm wet and naked, or that I'm hurt that's got you all excited?" "No! Ok, yes. All of it. It's just... it's been a long time." "Well over 100 years," Spike agreed, not turning around. "No, well yeah, but I mean, for me. At all. With anyone." "Right. Me too." "Harmony..." Angel began. "Hardly. Doesn't count when you don't get to finish 'cause the bitch goes psycho and tries to kill you right in the middle of things." Angel took a risk, reached out and brushed his fingers across the dampened skin of Spike's back, just above the waistband of his shorts. Spike stiffened. "Never said I planned to break the slump with you." Angel slid one finger between Spike and the top of the boxers, gave a little tug, and the worn out elastic put up no resistance. The shorts slid down Spike's legs, landing soundlessly on his feet. Angel took a step closer so that the front of his legs touched the back of Spike's. He leaned in, careful to keep his shirt from touching the wound, and put his hands on the sink just behind Spike's so that they bent forward at the same angle, Angel's body covering his reluctant boy's. "Never did take no for an answer, did you, Angelus?" "You telling me no?" Angel asked, his mouth brushing Spike's earlobe, his voice low and not without a hint of threat. "Would it matter?" The bitterness in the question was not lost on Angel. He straightened up, breaking contact, aware for the first time, that in spite of the lust he could smell on Spike, the other vampire might not want this. "Yes." As much as the idea of recreating a bit of the past with Spike had him turned on, he knew he couldn't force him if he refused. Not this time. Spike shuffled his feet, kicking his shorts away. They slid over near the tub and quickly began absorbing the small puddle of water there. He yanked the towel off of his neck and threw it in the same general direction. "God, Angel. You're such a pansy sometimes." Ignoring Angel's indignant sputtering, he swung open the medicine cabinet one more time and tossed a small tub of petroleum jelly over his shoulder. Angel caught it and stared at it for a moment before the implication sank in. He glanced at Spike who had resumed the same position over the sink, a position which now looked a whole lot different and more promising. Knowing better than to ask further questions, Angel got undressed as fast as he could manage and tore the top off of the jelly. He remembered a time when he might not have bothered with such pleasantries, but for once, he truly did not want to hurt Spike any more than he already was. Half expecting Spike to turn around at any moment and call the whole thing off, Angel reached out, hesitated briefly, and grasped his hips, pulling him closer. Spike adjusted his position accordingly, and did not run away laughing and calling Angel a stupid poofter, as he had feared. Angel looked down, watching as the tip of his cock pressed against Spike's ass, parting his cheeks and bumping up against the resistance within. Still Spike did not move or object. Seeing their bodies like this, on the verge of being one again after so long, Angel had to hold himself steady, trying not to shake, trying not to think of the past and things that usually led up to them being in this position. Those things had pleased the demon in him, repulsed his soul, but neither had any place in what happened now. Not good, not evil, neither right nor wrong, but just something which had to be, Angel pushed forward, sliding smoothly into Spike's ass, body shaking in spite of his best efforts. The porcelain sink groaned under Spike's grip, and a crack spread out from under his fingers. Angel gasped, holding still for a moment. When he recovered slightly, he pulled back and then eased in again, his mind racing to remember if he knew all this time how good this would feel. Of course, he did. But like so many other memories from his Angelus days, this was a forbidden subject to dwell on with any pleasure, though he could no longer remember why that should be the case. After a few minutes, instinct overcame the shock of their coupling and they were able to continue with a semblance of natural movements. The sink cracked again from the pressure of the silent vampire and Angel whispered, "Let it out." His gentle command was accompanied by a not-so-gentle thrust and finally Spike let out a half-choked groan. "God, Angel. Why don't we do this every day?" "You hate me." "Right." As the pace increased ever so gradually, their voices became solely occupied with wordless grunts and moans, leaving no room for further conversation. Their motions reopened the edge of Spike's wound and a trickle of blood ran down his back. Already not fully in control of himself, Angel vamped at the sight and smell, barely resisting the urge to dip his head and lick the blood back to its source. Spike sensed the change in the demon behind him. "Just... not where they can see it," he said, between gasps for unneeded breath. Though Spike had mistaken his intent, Angel found room in his state of ecstasy for a little hurt that he would be ashamed to bear Angel's mark where their friends would notice. It was ridiculous, of course. Neither of them would be advertising what went on in that bathroom, but logic wasn't really the most well-functioning part of Angel's brain just then. He released one of Spike's hips, brought his own wrist to his mouth, and tore into it viscously with his fangs. When it was good and bloody, he reached around and offered it to Spike. As much as Angel wanted to be the one gulping a few mouthfuls of something red and salty while he pounded into his boy's perfect ass, he wasn't the one who needed it. Recognizing the significance of the presented wrist, Spike let go of the sink, grabbed Angel's arm with both hands, brought it to his mouth and began to lick the self-imposed wounds. Angel sucked in his breath when he felt the tongue on his skin. Knowing he was close, he wrapped his free arm around Spike's waist and took hold of his hard, neglected cock. Spike made an appreciative noise and then locked his lips around the cut on Angel's wrist, draining all he could get from it while Angel stroked him and fucked him. The taste of the blood, the feel of Angel filling him - wanting him again, the delicious friction on his cock, brought Spike to orgasm faster than he might want to admit later. He released Angel's wrist so he could let out a shuddering groan as he came over Angel's hand and into the sink. Angel reclaimed both of his hands and seized Spike's hips again to steady himself as he ended with several particularly violent thrusts. He stilled then, his cock buried in Spike, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Inevitably, they parted after a few moments. Spike turned, flicked his blue gaze up to Angel, who wouldn't look at him. He licked a bit of Angel's blood from the corner of his mouth. "Guess I'll be needing another shower then." He gestured towards the open door. "Ya mind?" Angel looked at him then, anguish creasing his forehead. "Spike..." Spike cut him off. "No worries, Angel. Still hate you." The words were harsh, but blue eyes crinkled at the corners and a tiny smirk pulled at one side of the blood-smeared mouth. Letting out a breath he didn't know he held, Angel nodded. "You too, Spike." Back |
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