TITLE: Plus One

AUTHOR: vic_amy_z

EMAIL: [email protected]

LIVEJOURNAL: www.livejournal.com/users/vic_amy_z

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere I post. Anywhere I already said 'yes' to.
Anyone else just let me know and I'll gladly let you have it... I
even gift wrap at no extra charge!

PAIRING: Angel / Spike.

RATING:  NC-17 for sexual content and language.
 
SUMMARY: There's an important Wolfram & Hart function. Angel
needs a date and Spike isn't making it easy for him. Will Angel make
it to the ball…?

NOTES: For the 'Forging Ghost' List - Challenge #26. It's
silly and it's fluffy and I'm making no apologies for it, 'cause it
was a helluva lot of fun to write!

SPOILERS:  Nothing specific, set early AtS season 5.

DISCLAIMER: My story but no, I don't own them. If I did, they'd
spend more time naked! All owned by a wonderful genius named Joss who
should be encouraged to rethink their clothing situation. I get
nothing from writing this, apart from a warm fluffy feeling…

FEEDBACK:  Yes, please! Needed like a needy thing with needy
wheels on!

DEDICATION: To Ghosts Forge, for setting us some brilliant
challenges, and for being a generally marvellous list-dad - *Very*
belated Anniversary and Birthday wishes! Thanks also to Michelle, for
the rapid beta.

~~~~~~~~

Angel swiped the key card and the door to their suite opened. He'd
barely got a few steps in when he was practically bowled over by
Spike rushing in from behind.

'Holy fuck, Angel! This room's bloody enormous!'

Angel closed the door behind his childe, carefully set down his bags
and took a look for himself. The master bedroom was indeed verging
on 'cavernous', with a vast four-poster bed in the centre. It was
decorated in the darkest forest green with gold trimmings, and every
window and poster was dripping with heavy velvet and damask drapes.
In short, it was exactly what Angel would have chosen himself.

He briefly wondered if there was some sort of enchantment at work -
he'd heard that Wolfram & Hart sometimes used hotels with simple
charms placed on the rooms, to subtly alter their appearances and
fittings to better suit the occupant. Whatever it was, Angel liked it
a lot. It was just a shame that he had to share it with… where *was*
Spike, anyway?

'Fuck me sideways!'

In the bathroom apparently…

'This is fan-fucking-tastic! Check out these facilities, Peaches!

Angel took one look into the en-suite bathroom, and knew at once that
if there *was* an enchantment working, then it had definitely tuned
into Spike for this room. It was done entirely in black and white
marble, with the biggest sunken hot tub that Angel had ever seen,
filled to the brim with hot, scented, bubbling water.

Angel sighed, feeling every one of his two hundred and seventy-odd
years, and retreated back to the bedroom… where somehow, Spike was
already bouncing on the bed - still in his boots and duster, which
gave him a look not unlike a demented vampire bat.

'Hey! Get *off* my bed, you imbecile!' Angel growled at him. Why the
hell he couldn't go and bounce on his own… and then it dawned on
Angel. One room meant one bed!

'I think you'll find that it's *our* bed, mate,' Spike replied as he
climbed off it, more than aware of the situation.

'No. Absolutely not. No way,' Angel stated firmly, 'I am *not*
sharing a bed with you.'

'Well, I'm not sleeping on the floor, so you better get used to the
idea.'

Angel shook his head. 'Never gonna happen…'

'Oh, unclench!' Spike said with a look of pity. 'If this bed were any
bigger, it'd cross an international time zone. In fact, you could
have brought the entire team and there'd *still* be more than enough
room.'

Sensing that they'd reached a stalemate for the time being, Angel
began to carefully unpack his bags. Spike finally took off his duster
and threw it across a chair. Then he shucked off his boots and socks.
Angel tried not to watch him. Then he pulled his t-shirt over his
head and dropped his jeans.

'What the hell are you doing?' cried Angel in horror.

'Going in the hot tub, dumbass!' Spike replied as he picked up his
clothes and shoved them into the chair too.

'So? Do you *have* to get undressed out here?'

Spike turned around very slowly to face Angel, unashamedly treating
him to a full-frontal view of his nakedness. 'Like I have *anything*
you haven't already seen…' Then he sauntered casually to the
bathroom, swinging his hips as he went.

Angel couldn't help but watch every step.

For the next hour, Angel tried to read his book and was treated to a
soundtrack of splashes and enthusiastic singing of songs that he
would pretend later he didn't know, as Spike thoroughly tested out
the hot tub.

Eventually, he closed the book and lay back on the bed, doing nothing
more than listening to his childe. In the comfort of the dark drapes
and the subtle scent of the water, Angel was transported back to the
times he had shared with Spike after his turning…

He remembered the big town house on the south coast of England that
they'd lived in with Darla and Dru for a number of months before
they'd left again for Budapest. He remembered how Spike would come in
at dawn; dirty and bloodied from the kill, and how Angelus would wait
in the bedroom, listening to his childe splashing and singing in the
tin bath… How Spike would come crawling across the bed to him; warm
and damp and naked, to spend the day curled in Angelus' arms, being
taught the many ways in which a sire and childe could pleasure each
other…

'Damn it!' Angel cursed softly to himself, realising that he was now
as hard as a rock, and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do
about it.

~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, and Spike was methodically devouring the
contents of the mini-bar, wrapped in an outrageously fluffy, black
bathrobe and scanning the many hundreds of channels available on
inter-dimensional cable television. Strangely, there was still
nothing worth watching.

Angel had shut himself away in the bathroom for an inexplicably long
time, straight after Spike had finally dragged himself away from the
hot tub. He was now freshly showered and had disappeared into the
small dressing alcove, because heaven forbid he should spend any time
around Spike with less than five items of clothing on!

Pretending to be engrossed in an episode of M*A*S*H* dubbed into
Fyaral, Spike leant back on the bed and carefully watched his sire
out of the corner of his eye. He found Angel totally confusing these
days, to say the least. For all the world, he acted as though Spike
was nothing to him, as though their shared history amounted to little
more that a few minutes of polite conversation. Yet when Spike had
realised that he'd been singing some of the songs he used to sing,
when he and Angelus were much more than just friends, he could have
sworn that he'd caught the faint scent of Angel's arousal.

The man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma…or possibly just a
dickhead!

Angel came back into the bedroom, fully dressed in an elegant tuxedo
and looking every inch the company executive. Whatever anyone might
say about Angel, and Spike was usually the first to say it, the man
was one damn fine clotheshorse.

'Spike!' Angel said, irritably. 'Would you *please* get ready? We
have to be there in twenty minutes!'

'Then in nineteen minutes and thirty seconds time, I will,' Spike
replied as he flicked channels again.

'Do you even know what you're wearing?'

'Of course I do…! Jeans and a t-shirt.'

'You're not funny Spike…'

'Sorry, Angel… *Clean* jeans and a t-shirt, obviously.'

'SPIKE!' The warning tones were genuine this time.

Spike got up from the bed. 'Oh for fuck sake, lighten up Angel! Or I
shall have to bend you over…!'

'What?'

'Well, how else am I supposed to remove that GIGANTIC STICK FROM UP
YOUR ARSE?!'

The punch caught Spike completely unawares, snapping his head back
and momentarily making him see stars. Sudden tears filled his eyes
before he could begin to stop them. Not from the pain - he and Angel
had beaten each other half to death before now, without a single tear
being shed - but from the horrible realisation that *this* was all
they had left, and no matter how hard Spike tried to re-build their
bridges, it would always end like this. It hurt Spike more than any
physical blow, and he hated himself for it. He tried to laugh at
Angel, to show that he didn't care, but it came out sounding hollow
and bitter.

'I'm going downstairs. You do what the hell you want, Spike, you
always do. 'Cause in the end, it's always about you, isn't it? What
you want. I don't know why I thought that this could possibly work!

The door slammed behind Angel.

~~~~~~~~

If there was anyone who hated Angel more than he hated himself at
that moment, he'd have been very surprised.

He stood at the bar, downed his third whisky in as many minutes and
wondered if he was actually the biggest shit on the face of the
planet.

What the hell had made him yell at Spike like that? He hadn't even
meant half of it. And why on earth had he punched him? Okay, so Spike
often made him mad enough to want to smack him one, and usually when
he did, Spike smacked him straight back. So how come this time he
just stood there, with that look on his face… Like he was going to
cry, or something… Fuck!

Ever since Spike's enforced stay at Wolfram & Hart, and his
subsequent decision to stay, Angel had been hoping that somehow they
could manage to start putting their past behind them. But this was
not the way he'd wanted to do it. He been so wound up over this
weekend, that he really hadn't wanted to have to deal with Spike as
well. And now his fears had proved to be right - he'd lashed out
without thinking, and done even more damage. Another case of one step
forward and two steps back…

He ordered another drink and steeled himself for the long night
ahead.

The hotel's ballroom was a vast, beautiful room, decorated in
midnight blue with hints of silver. Its high, canopied ceiling was
studded with thousands of tiny lights, making it look like the night
sky. Mingling within the room - and allaying Angel's worst fears that
everyone would be parading around in twos, attached at the hip - were
well-dressed humans and demons from every city in every dimension.

He placed his empty glass back on the bar, and launched into the
obligatory 'meet and greet'. As he couldn't tell the invitees from
their 'plus one's, Angel was sincerely hoping the fact that he was
alone would go unnoticed.

For the next fifteen minutes, he worked his way dutifully across the
room, speaking with those he knew and being introduced to those he
didn't. He managed to successfully field a few awkward questions
about the whereabouts of his 'date', but after his seventh
conversation on the economic climate of 'god-knows-where', Angel
found himself wishing that Spike *was* with him - at least he'd liven
things up!

During a particularly boring conversation between the head of Wolfram
& Hart's Moscow office and the newly appointed CEO of the Kosthia
dimension, Angel's attention was drawn by some of the conversations
happening around him…

'…see those eyes? Wasn't he just…'

'…mind sharing with that one! Whoever brought him is one lucky…'

'…from LA? I think that's what…'

Politely excusing himself, Angel turned to scan the room. There was a
flurry of activity to his left and the crowds parted to reveal… Spike?

Angel felt his jaw literally fall to the ground, as every single
coherent thought completely evaporated from his brain and his feet
rooted him to the spot.

Spike stood less than fifteen feet away, chatting politely to a
number of Wolfram & Hart executives as though it was the most natural
thing in the world, but it was a Spike that Angel had never seen in
his life.

He wore a completely black suit: jacket, pants, shirt and everything,
which he carried off effortlessly, even with his usual black boots.
His blonde hair was less severely slicked back than usual, and it
fell into soft curls around his face. And his eyes… Angel couldn't
stop staring. They seemed bluer than they'd ever been, with a hint of
black eyeliner that highlighted them even more. The whole look was…
mesmerising.

And not just to Angel, it seemed…

People seemed to be drawn to Spike like the proverbial moths to a
flame, and Spike seemed to be loving every minute of it. Probably the
last thing he wants is to see me, thought Angel, and turned away
regretfully.

'Angel! There you are…'

Angel turned back so quickly that he practically gave himself
whiplash, not even sure that it was Spike he'd heard. His eyes met
those of his childe, and Spike held his gaze very solemnly for
several seconds before flashing him a huge grin.

'Spike…?' Angel didn't know what else to say.

'Sorry I took so long, but you know me - late for everything!' Spike
crossed to him, unmindful of the people surrounding them, and kissed
him lightly on the cheek. Angel's eyes flew around the room,
terrified of what others might think of such a display, but those who
were actually paying them any attention at all seemed to be smiling
in approval.

'Spike…?' He was starting to feel like a broken record.

'Hang on…' Spike craned his neck over towards the other side of the
room. 'I think they're bringing us through to dinner. Let's go and
find our seats, Angel, I'm starving.' And with that, Spike said his
goodbyes to his new acquaintances, he grabbed hold of Angel's arm and
dragged him off towards the banqueting hall.

Angel was still working on something beyond, 'Spike…?'

~~~~~~~~

Spike was having a fantastic time.

He and Angel were seated opposite each other at the table, as all
the 'couples' were, which meant that he could watch every reaction
and look on his sire's face. At the moment, Angel was managing
nothing more than variations on 'shock', 'incredulity'
and 'disbelief', which he interchanged with gawping like a spawning
trout.

Spike, for his part, continued to be charming to everyone around
them, and soon proved to be the hit of the table. The men listened
intently to his tales of their work at Wolfram & Hart, and the women
giggled coyly as he made a point of chatting them all up.

His success also reflected well on Angel, with people complementing
him on his choice of partner. Spike wasn't exactly sure what people
were reading into their relationship, but as Angel certainly wasn't
going out of his way to correct anyone, Spike went along with it.

He allowed himself a small moment to relax between courses.
Everything seemed to be going well. He was being more or less the
perfect date, which in turn made Angel look good, which made the LA
branch look good. Yes, everything was going well…

A hand languidly stroked the back of Spike's neck, closely followed
by a sensuous purr of, 'See, this is the one I was telling you about.
Isn't he just gorgeous?'

And then there was a growl…

Yes, everything was going… a bit *too* well.

~~~~~~~~

For the most part, the meal passed in a blur for Angel.

It was all he could do not to let his jaw dangle in his soup as he
watched Spike, the one-man publicity machine, swing into action.

Angel desperately wanted to be able to talk to him - to tell him that
he was sorry, to tell him that he hadn't meant what he'd said, to
tell him how great he looked,  and to thank him, but there was never
an opportunity.

Yes, everything was a blur… right up until the point that someone
actually touched Spike.

Angel had actually noticed a few vampires in the room earlier, but he
didn't know them, nor had he been introduced to them. Now one of them
had his hands all over Spike, he was keen to know as much about them
as possible - particularly what his insides would look like when
Angel was wearing them as a hat!

He had decided, somewhere between his twelfth and thirteenth glass of
red wine, that he might possibly have a couple of control and
possession issues when it came to Spike… which was probably why he
appeared to be growling.

'So, you're the new CEO in LA, huh?' continued a voice like liquid
sex.

Spike looked up at the vampire who was leering at him and made a kind
of 'glurble' noise. Angel cleared his throat pointedly. Then kicked
Spike under the table. Hard.

'Er… no, actually,' Spike stammered before finding his voice. '*This*
is our CEO in LA.' He gestured towards Angel who rose to his full six
feet plus, introduced himself and politely shook the vampire's
proffered hand… without ripping it off, either!

'Oh. *This* is the famous Angel?'

Angel gave a nod that said: Yes, and you would be…?

'Marco. I'm part of the cross-European Special Projects division.
This is my partner, Alex,' he said, introducing the vampire next to
him.

It was then that it finally dawned on Angel… that Marco and Alex were
*actual* partners… that they were both well-dressed, attractive
vampires… that they were both exuding arousal like it was going out
of style…and that Spike hadn't taken his eyes off them yet…

'Nice to meet you both,' said Spike, shakily, still not looking away.

'So, *you* would be Angel's…?' purred Alex.

'Yes. He would.' Angel stated, in a tone that invited no further
questions.

'I see,' said Marco with a slight smile. 'Well, if you ever get tired
of him… *Spike*…' He practically tasted the name as he spoke it. 'Or
if you're not getting tired enough…' he left the last comment hanging
as he slipped a small, black business card into Spike's top
pocket. 'Ciao, bella…' Marco kissed two fingers and touched them
softly to Spike's cheek before slipping his arm around Alex's
shoulders and sauntering away.

There was an awkward silence around their table, and Angel realised
that he was still standing. He took his seat again and made a
conscious effort to unclench his fists.

'So, I'm your what…?' asked Spike, smiling innocently.

'Don't tempt me.'

'Fine, Angel,' he sighed wearily, 'you win. Have it your way.'

Cryptic speech apparently over, Spike stood up and calmly walked out
of the room.

 

 

 

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