Title: Smoke
Author: Inca
Rating: NC 17 for m/m slash, darkish
Angel/Spike
Summary: Angel's angsty, Spike offers deliverance
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to play with them
Feedback does my body good [email protected]
~~~~~~~~
Angel�s dreams used to be intangible. Like smoke, there for a frozen moment, then destined to float away, dancing to another time.
They never used to feel so real.
But now, he can feel the blood and gore, slick on his hands. He can sense the madly thought prayers and he can taste the sweat.
Taste the fear.
They never used to feel so real.
Whispers of emotion trapped in an hourglass of quiet madness.
Flashes of brilliance, distorted images, faces, places, things blurred together in the darkness.
The darkness didn�t leave though.
There's still darkness.
He can�t escape it.
He dreams of people known and lost and killed.
Names remembered and forgotten.
He dreams of dark lust and purple sunsets. Of desiccated flesh and roses not used to proclaim love, but for the pain of thorns.
He dreams.
Drusilla, her thin, pale arms chained to the headboard. She smells like smoke and blackberries. Of decay and frangipanes. She smiles, cooing, inviting him to her. Writhing seductively. Rolling her hips on the sombrely sheeted bed, in the black painted room.
Then she stops, and Angel can see the fear shining in her widening eyes, can smell it on her stronger than any smoke or flower perfume.
Silence.
A lone blood tear streaks down her thin, blue veined cheek and Angel can smell it. It smells of fear.
He walks to her and trails hes fingers along her flour white legs and smiles at her pleas.
He licked her stomach to feel the fear quivers under his tongue, and kissed her face to taste the bloodied tears drawing ruby lines on her face.
She stared at the ceiling and whispered prayers to an uncaring god as he climbed on top of her.
She pulled weakly, with dead eyes, at the manacles around her slender wrists while he ran his hands over her dead flesh. He pulled her knees further apart and began a harsh rhythm, pounding into her.
�Angelus�please�no�
As desire took over, she struggled more and more, pulling at the cuffs until red lines circled her wrists.
He kept thrusting into her until her screams deafened him and cast him to silence, until she bled from the inside out, blood coating their bodies and dripping down, crusting in the black sheets beneath them.
Until she cried all the water encased within her, down her cheeks to sodden the pillows and dampen the mattress. Until she bled all her blood, until she was an empty shell, unmoving, inert, a cadaver that could whisper, he thrust into her, breaking her, enjoying the pain, relishing the fear, remembering the tears.
With no release. It was torture.
Her fucked her until the sun rose and blistered her colourless skin, and burnt her bones to ash. Only then, after he had stolen her essence, her soul, her hope, could he come. After the final substance had been depleted from vitality, could he feel anything.
It is in the taking of life that I gain mine
His body collapsed onto the dust as it began to blow away and he came, spilling onto the empty darkness, furiously as he too burned to cinders under the daystar, leaving only the come, sweat and blood drenched sheets.
Angel woke to the smell of scarlet life and spent seed and the sound of his own panting, echoing in his ears.
He blinked his sweat stung eyes quickly as if to ascertain he was really awake. The room swam in the twilight, bluish glow, underwater.
((Angelus�please�no))
He suddenly leapt up, stripping the bed sheets off so harshly, the ripped into sweaty stained rags.
He stood, gasping, staring at the black graveyard sleeper, clenching the strips of insane dreams and wasted spend, sweating and shuddering with � the realness, of it all.
He felt the dream
((Angelus�please))
Disappear like a curl of grey smoke into the darkest recesses of his mind.
((Angelus�))
And he dropped the tatters and raised his hands to shelter his eyes, hoping to shut out the red-drenched images forming in front of them. Angel shook his head to clear it of all the dusty cobwebs of forgotten places and times.
As he ripped his fingernails down his face, he heard nighttime screams of souls he found unworthy of life.
The blood dripped down his face and into the crease of his lips. The salty sweet taste of it brought the dream back into crystal-clear clarity; it made him scratch harder. His skin tore and the pain ((cleansed)) needled down his neck and across his bare shoulders with silk-sweet claws. His flesh itched to be ((purified)) torn. He dropped against the wall and drew his knees close to his chest so he can run his fingers down his legs and scrape up them as well.
He bowed his head as if presenting himself to some idle, unremembered god, and reached with his long arms to spread the silver threads of pain across his back as well.
He was disappearing into the pain again.
So easy, to disappear. To dissolve.
He breathed in through his nose to smell the rose-salt scent of his vital fluid, but something underlaid it.
Someone.
He froze, with his hands wrapped around the back of his neck.
He should have known he would come.
He should have known he would smell the blood and the decay and the utter despair, and he would follow.
Like some fucking English bloodhound, trained to track down wounded game.
Angel heard the bedroom door open and he kept his head down, knowing what this intruder would see, ashamed of what he would see.
He smelt cigarette smoke and old leather.
�Bad day Love?� a cheery, cockney voice asked from the doorway.
Angel didn�t reply. He started scratching his neck, feeling the rejected skin and blood under his fingernails.
So much blood.
Footsteps. Angel heard him walk over and crouch next to him.
Cold hands settled on his own and pulled them away from there insistent scratching. Angel growled. An almost pitiful sound.
He heard smoke being exhaled and saw the white ghost of it, dancing and twisting past his eyes. Mesmerising him.
A chuckle.
�You�re impressed by that? I can also blow smoke rings.�
A demonstration.
Angel didn�t reply. It was as if his voice box had been ripped out.
He rested his chin on his knees and looked, for the first time, towards the smoker.
Spike was looking at the end of his lit cigarette with pained interest. His long leather coat draped off his shoulders and pooled on the floor.
Alabaster white skin, luminescent in the window of twilight thrown on the floor.
Spike looked towards him and examined the myriad of cuts marring his face.
�Nice scratches. You do those yourself?�
He reached out with one ivory finger and wiped it across a cut. Angel hissed softly as the white skin turned crimson.
He scrutinised his finger for a moment, then slid it into his mouth, savouring the taste with closed eyes.
Angel could see the faint movement of his jaw as he licked his digit, and he dipped his head again.
Spike drew the finger out and shifted his body so he was on his knees at Angel�s hunched side.
He yanked Angels� head up, found a deeper gash, and clawed at it drawing out the red essence.
Spike leant towards him and tenderly licked the wound clean, to the sound of Angel�s quiet whimpers.
Spike�s licking traversed to cover the extent of Angel�s scratches, showing his true face as he delicately lapped at each one.
He hauled Angel up and led him to the denuded bed, as he flicked his cigarette into the corner of the inky room.
Angel knew what was happening. He couldn�t stop this blond demon even if he wanted to. He let himself be seated and pushed back onto the bearth.
He let the blue eyed devil lick and flick and kiss and caress his body.
He let him bite and feed. He didn�t care.
Feeling pain was better than feeling nothing.
Spike had lost his boots and coat somewhere between the time he had come in and now, Angel was drifting and he didn�t know when.
Spike had stopped; he was sitting, straddling Angel�s belly, completely still. Spike was watching him. Spike�s ice-blue eyes were boring into his own, searching for something. Anything.
He closed his eyes when he saw Spike smirk. He felt some movement on him and then a lick near his lips, and a breath of cold air.
He could feel Spike�s bare chilled chest lying on his own.
He could feel Spike�s frozen lips pressed to his own, his tongue seeking sanctuary between Angel�s lips. He parted them and Spike�s tongue swept in, lazily fighting with his own, as Spike�s hands pulled Angel�s arms above his head.
Spikes gripped his wrists as his fangs sliced Angel�s tongue, drawing red-raven ichor. He squirmed as he felt Spike suckling within his mouth, but whimpered with pleasure all the same.
Angel felt tired and weak and he didn�t want to fight. He wanted to lay down and die.
This English demon, with a cocky smile and biting eyes had sucked all the energy from the room as soon as the vampire walked in. He had turned it black when he saw Angel.
Saw him hurting. Saw him wanting to be hurt.
Spike released his death grip on Angel�s hands just to move down to pinch harshly at his nipples, as he slid off Angel�s belly.
�Hold on Pet,� He smacked Angel�s leg, hard �Don�t go anywhere.�
Angel heard him leave the room. He opened his eyes and looked down his naked frame to see he was painfully erect.
Angel felt like smoke. Twisting in the wind. He felt like a dream, forever in darkness, never waking. His world had flipped, his dreams were now life and his life, dreams. Or had it always been that way?
Confusion wrapped in dark hurt.
He had his arms above his head and his legs spread, where Spike had positioned him
((Don�t go anywhere)) and he couldn�t move.
He knew what he looked like. A sacrificial victim splayed out for some god. Or a devil.
He stared at the ominous ceiling.
�You didn�t move. Good boy.�
He looked towards the door and saw Spike entering, nude, erection jutting proudly in front of him.
He was holding a half-empty bottle of vodka, cuffs, and a long length of rope. Angel vaguely wondered if the items belonged to him or if Spike had smelled defeat and brought them with him as a final push into despair.
He closed his eyes.
He heard Spike walk over and put the vodka on the table near his head. He felt his arms being tied with the rope, and his wrists being cuffed. He knew he should fight this.
�Just in case you change your mind Nonce, about being so agreeable. Don�t really feel like getting me head beat in during sex, is all. Well�not tonight.�
He pulled at the restraints, checking. They didn�t budge. He pulled harder. Nothing. Nothing.
Angel�s arms were going numb.
((Angelus))
He heard Spike take a swig of the vodka.
�Aah. Vodka. The only thing Russians ever did right.�
Why wasn�t he shutting up?
A cold wetness pooled on his stomach. At first he thought Spike had spat on him, he wasn�t surprised, and surprisingly unaffected by the supposed degradation, but then, the tang of alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he realised Spike had poured the vodka on him.
He felt him Spike climb on the bed and lap at the liquid, flicking his tongue in and out of Angel�s belly button, no doubt mimicking an action to be performed later.
Angel sighed.
�Bit depressed then. Gotta tell ya, not feeling that appreciated.�
At this, Angel opened his eyes and tried wildly to pull away from his cuffs, hurting himself.
Spike jumped off the bed and watched with a fascinated smile as Angel pointlessly struggled to free himself on the bed.
He snapped and twisted and turned and managed to get himself over onto his knees, his arms crossed in front of his face, still held by the bonds.
He saw then, that Spike had actually attached him to links set in the wall behind him with the rope.
He growled at the darkness swirling in front of his eyes, and tried to wrench his arms away from the wall but he couldn�t get any leverage. He whined, a sound deep in his throat.
The twilight was fading fast into darkness and the room looked surreal. Spike�s white body, standing away from the bed, caught every dim streak of light and reflected it back, making it look to Angel as if the blond vampire was glowing.
He was chuckling.
�You done?�
Angel dropped his head onto bound arms and sensed him walk over and felt his hands run along his broad shoulders.
The fingers were tracing sanguine lust patterns lower and lower on his back and then started massaging his lower spine.
He felt one of the hands disappear and the �shluck� of fingers being wet in Spike�s mouth.
He fidgeted but a hand on his hip pressed down and held him still.
The fingers left little moist traces around his entry and one pressed inside.
Angel snarled and tried to move away from the invader. It was just a reflex. All he could do was make animalistic noises and struggle against his own darkness and the alabaster skinned darkness who was who was taking pleasure in this contest with sanity.
Spike aimed a short hard blow at the small of Angel�s back to make him stop moving.
�Stop it� he warned.
Another finger, slicked up, slid in.
Another breached the tight ring of muscle, burning Angel with its presence.
�Relax, Love�
Angel wished he could see Spike�s face. To see if the face, with its pale prominent cheekbones and light pink lips, was contorted into a sarcastic smirk or a caring grimace.
The fingers started forcing in and out of him, and the other hand reached down and spread Angel�s knees apart on the bed. The fingers traced across his inner thighs and reached his erection, pulling on it.
As his passage relaxed Spike slowed the pace and finally pulled out altogether, leaving an empty lust buried in Angel.
The other hand also stopped at its task and Spike placed them on the older vampire�s hips to help ease Angel around on the bed so he was off his knees and on his back.
His arms felt better now.
He opened his eyes and saw the bleached blond hair burning in the darkness.
�Oh we�re awake now are we?� Came a whispered voice floating out of the obscure obsidian.
As Spike reached across him to grab the vodka bottle, he alighted a small wet kiss on the corner of Angel�s mouth.
�Lift your legs.�
Angel obediently did as he was asked, lifting his long legs up slightly for Spike who caught them and threw them over his shoulders.
�Good boy.�
He tipped the bottle so the liquid spilled down Angel�s stomach and hardness, and slipt down between Angel�s legs, wetting his entrance.
Spike leant forward and heard Angel grunt with the pressure of being folded on himself. He licked Angel�s lips and stroked his aching biceps for a moment before straightening up and positioning himself.
He slowly drove himself inside aided by the vodka and previous preparation.
Angel panted at the painful sensation, feeling as though he was being fucked with graters instead of flesh.
Spike groaned at the vice like grip around his cock and clawed at Angel�s thighs, drawing blood. He pushed until his stomach rubbed up against Angel�s cool skin, and he could feel himself completely buried inside him.
He began a slow rhythm, put one of his hands on Angel�s hips to pull him closer with each thrust and gripped Angel�s cock with his other hand.
Angel�s pain was lessening with each thrust against his prostate. Each connection with the blond haired, blue-eyed demon.
Angel started moving his hips against the thrusts, sweat glossing over his pale chest.
Spike took this as an excuse to speed up, beginning a harsh tattoo between Angel�s legs. The sounds of growls and groans mingled in the ebony, a sweet cacophony of lust.
The movement, and pressure, on his hard length also increased. So much that Angel howled with the pleasure of it, throwing his head back as Spike rammed into him relentlessly.
Spikes thrusts started becoming irregular, signalling his oncoming climax, and he removed Angel�s legs from his shoulders spreading them wide so he could watch himself drive into him.
Angel recognised this beacon of voyeurism, and he felt himself beginning to tighten as his orgasm approached beneath Spike�s skilled hand.
He felt a second of calm, then came over Spike�s tightened still moving hand, and over himself, in a moment of flashing brilliance, rivalling the sun.
Seeing Angel�s release triggered Spike�s own and he pumped, hard, once more, and spilled deep into Angel�s passage, coating the walls.
He jerked Angel�s cock until he felt the squirm beneath him, of the dark haired vampire trying to move his hips away from the unrelenting hand.
He collapsed on him, stroking Angel�s sweat dampened hair. He reached up and undid the ropes around Angel�s arms releasing them.
His arms stayed above his head, until Spike pulled them down and embraced the silent demon, wrapping his arms around him.
Spike heard a low purr emanating from his sire�s chest. He joined the resonance, his higher rumble mixing harmoniously with the deeper one, and the sound drifted through the open window to be caught in the wind as forgotten to other people and their lives, as a ghost of smoke drifting away to another time.