| After: Origin by Shiver |
| Pairing: A/S Spoilers: Up to “Time Bomb” (AtS: S5) Notes: This is going to be a multi-part leading up until the end of the series describing the slashy goings-on between Angel and Spike between the episodes, also with flashbacks. - - - - - Angel stepped into the darkened bedroom and heard Spike’s voice weakly from the bed. “Don’t turn on the light.” “I won’t,” Angel said, his eyes already adjusted. He crossed to the bed, took off his jacket and draped it over the footboard, sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes. “How long did you stay with her?” “Till she broke my arm. Don’t worry,” Spike said when Angel gave a start. “One of your sawbones waved his magic stethoscope over it, said I’ll be fine tomorrow.” “Let me see,” Angel said, and with a roll of his eyes, Spike dutifully held out his arm. “I’m fine,” Spike assured him. With a nod, Angel lowered the arm and stood, crossing to the wardrobe. “Let me change. I’ll be right back.” When Angel returned, Spike was dozing, and he slid into bed carefully so as not to disturb him. He laid one hand on Spike’s stomach. “Missed you last night,” Spike said quietly. “Sorry about that. Had some things to kill.” “Right,” Spike said. “How is your boy?” Angel spluttered awake. “My what?” “The kid you were looking out for. What’s-his-name.” “Connor,” Angel said. “Yeah, him. With the hair,” Spike said. “How’d things go with him?” Angel smiled in the dark. “Really well. Better than I ever could have hoped.” “Good,” Spike said. “And don’t worry. We’ll figure out something for Gunn tomorrow.” Angel’s buoyant mood suddenly deflated. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope so.” He put his arms around Spike and pulled him close, and Spike gave a hiss of pain. “Sorry,” Angel said, and put him carefully down. “I’ll be better tomorrow,” Spike repeated. “I think I’m starting to find her weaknesses.” “You’re not going back in with her?” “The hell I’m not. That’s the best time I’ve had since you opened that envelope with me in it, broken bones and all.” Angel shook his head, pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “Come here,” he told Spike. “Lie in my lap.” Spike gave him a look. “What are you up to?” he said, but turned to rest his head against Angel’s thigh. Angel stroked his hair fondly, then shifted into the face of his demon and tore into his own wrist with sharp fangs. “You don’t have to…” Spike began, tried to move away, put too much weight on his wounded arm, stopped. Angel pressed his bleeding wrist against Spike’s lips. “Just drink,” he said. - - - - - William let the latest empty bottle slip from his senseless fingers to join the others on the floor. He and Angelus had moved into this Montmartre flat three days before when the previous occupant, a Bohemian painter, had fallen in with “two gentlemen of questionable character.” Much to the vampires’ delight, the painter had had something of a reputation among the free-spirited young ladies in the area, and so far seven of the young things had come calling. William and Angelus had eaten like emperors and had not had to venture out even once. At this rate, William thought, Darla might very well believe he and Angelus had left Paris and move on herself. They might successfully avoid her for months, with any luck. William blinked through his drunken muddle to see Angelus carefully arranging their latest prey alongside the others, her skin still fair and clear, unlike some of her sisters who’d spent a few more hours in that fell sergeant’s embrace. Angelus’s plan, such as it was, was to leave their victims in such a way as to make it seem the Bohemian did the murders and then poisoned himself. The scandal would be a sensation for months, perhaps leading to a spate of “imitators” in the district. Satisfied at last with his work, Angelus sank down onto the divan. He turned towards William with a goatish leer and stroked one hand over his crotch. “Why don’t you come and sit in my lap, boy,” he said. “Can’t. Knackered,” William slurred. His eyes fell shut, so he didn’t see Angelus spring from his seat, haul him up with a shake that made his teeth rattle. “You’ll damn well do as I say,” Angelus roared, and he flung William across the room and into the cold fireplace, where the younger vampire collided with the andirons and tumbled into a heap in the ashes. He came to cradled by Angelus, who had apparently entered into the remorseful phase of his current intoxication. “Oh, William, lad, I’ve broken you,” he sobbed. “It’s the absinthe, always gets my blood up.” William took a breath to tell Angelus not to be such a sloppy fool, felt several broken ribs stab into his lungs, and managed only a pathetic whimper. “You’re still with me,” Angelus crooned. “Here, little one. I’ll take care of you.” He tore at his wrist with sharp teeth, pressed the wound to William’s mouth. “Drink, now. A sire’s blood will heal whatever ails you.” - - - - - Angel’s blood hit Spike’s nervous system like pure white Chinese heroin. He’d only been allowed to drink it on a few rare occasions in the past, and the rush was always the same. It had now been over a century since it had last passed his lips, but the effect had not dulled in the least. The pain in his arms evaporated, color flooded his vision, and his ears roared. Every inch of his skin tingled like an electric shock ran in his veins, and his cock felt as hard as glass. Time seemed to expand, the seconds stretching into hours, but still, when Angel pulled his wrist away Spike mewled like a needy kitten. When his head began to clear, Spike found himself curled in Angel’s lap, his arms round Angel’s shoulders as he nuzzled the older vampire’s throat. He know only his own instinct for self-preservation had kept him from biting. Spike gave a jerk of surprise and embarrassment, but Angel stilled him with a gentle touch and soft words. He examined Spike’s arm, which was now whole and smooth. Pleased, he guided Spike’s mouth to his and kissed him, each kiss growing in passion. Spike pressed himself into Angel’s kisses, and rotated his hips to grind against the older vampire’s growing erection. Both moaned at the sensation. Spike pulled away and turned his attention to Angel’s cock. “Oh, God, I want this,” he said. Angel moved back. “No, Spike, you don’t have…” Spike took Angel’s chin in his hand, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Stop it, Angel,” he said. “Your blood is vibrating inside me. I need this connection with you.” He reached down and lifted Angel’s shirt up and over his head, then moved down the bed and pulled off his pants. Angel turned away, but Spike took him gently and laid him down on his back. “Just lie still, then,” Spike said, his voice husky with desire. “Let me…” He trailed off and stripped out of his own pajamas, then made to get out of the bed. “No,” Angel said. “I moved it. It’s in the nightstand now.” Spike grinned and leaned across Angel’s body, pulled open the drawer, removed a tube of scented gel. “Made a few advancements in the last hundred years,” Spike noted, squeezing some into his hand and slicking it over Angel’s cock. Angel groaned and arched his back, and Spike moved to straddle him, splaying his fingers over Angel’s chest. He lifted himself up on his knees, and guiding with one hand impaled himself on Angel’s cock. Both vampires gave drawn-out sighs of pleasure, and after a moment Spike began to raise and lower himself. Angel looked up at him, Spike’s white skin reflecting the orange light from the city below, his eyelashes dark smudges against his cheeks. Angel rested his hands on Spike’s thighs, felt the muscles shift under his palms. Angel’s head tipped back and he cried out, “William,” as he came. Spike followed with a long, wordless “ah,” and he took hold of Angel’s hands. - - - - - Angel woke the next morning to the very pleasant sensation of his bare skin against Spike’s, and he took a few moments to examine the younger vampire while he slept. In repose, Spike looked vulnerable, almost innocent, his delicate features not set in their usual studied toughness. Reluctantly, Angel slipped out of bed, tucked the covers around Spike, and repaired to the kitchen where his newspaper and coffee were waiting. The L.A. Times morning delivery to his kitchen table had begun the first day he’d taken residence, and as closely as Angel could determine, it was teleported in hot off the press. The coffeemaker, too, always seemed to be finishing up its brewing just as Angel awoke, no matter the time of day or night. Maybe Wolfram and Hart had a few brownies on the payroll, he mused. Spike padded in about twenty minutes later, stretching and twisting his back. He gave Angel a grin that went straight to the older vampire’s groin, and helped himself to a mug of coffee. “Now that,” he declared, taking the seat opposite Angel, “was a good night.” “I’m glad you approve,” Angel said. “I’m paying this morning, of course,” Spike went on. “Your arm?” Angel looked up, concerned. “Arm is fine. Never better,” Spike confirmed. “I was actually referring to a more… intimate injury. Stop looking like that. It happens. There’s nothing to be done.” “What do you mean, ‘it happens?’ You’re hurt every time?” Spike shrugged. “I was turned a virgin,” he said, deceptively casual. “It’s always the first time for me. You’re doing the look again. I told you to stop that. It doesn’t matter. It’s part of what I am. Who I am.” “I never thought,” Angel said. “I shouldn’t have…” “Shouldn’t have what?” Spike interjected. “Turned me? Fucked me? Ever, or just last night?” “Spike…” “You’re ridiculous,” Spike said. “You think I would give up being with you, the *pleasure* of being with you, over a little discomfort? We’re *vampires.* The pain is part of the package.” “Yeah, but…” “Just shut up, Angel,” Spike said, but with no heat in his voice. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll screw you to the mattress next time.” As soon as the words left him, Spike realized what he’d said, and his head shot up, his mouth open as though to call the words back. Their gazes met, and Angel saw Spike’s eyes widen, startled, even as he felt his own go dark with lust. “I’m holding you to that,” Angel said. Spike, clearly rattled, dropped his gaze, mumbled something even Angel couldn’t hear, made a retreat to the bedroom to dress. Angel took another sip of coffee, and turned to the hockey scores. |