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As It Was, Shall So It Be - Chapter 8

Angel almost felt his dead heart skip an imaginary beat.  He couldn’t bear to turn around.  He’d tripped over Fred’s weapon.  It had gone off.    

‘Bloody hell.  Oh… bloody hell.  Hey, bloody hell, pain's gone.  Yey!’ 

These incoherent comments floated over to Angel in the dark as he turned slowly around to find Spike struggling to sit up against the wall.  He flew to his side and took his face in his hands.  ‘Spike?’

'Hi, mate.  How ya been?' The casual reply was utterly belied by Spike's drawn, desperate face.

Angel's relief threatened to overwhelm him; he bent down and picked up the rubber sabot in wonder.  He looked at the bleeding impact area on Spike's temple.  'This hit you right in the head?'

'Seems to have, luv.  Good shot, hey?'

'And your chip's stopped firing off?'

'Yeah.' If Spike added 'for now' in his head, he didn't say it out loud to Angel.  Although he had been in the worst agony he'd ever known, he had not been unaware of Angel's actions or Angel's intentions.  He studied Angel now, looked closely at his face, looked deeply into his eyes, but he kept his own counsel on what he saw there.

Angel took Spike's arm and tried to lift him to his feet.  Spike brushed him off with a light laugh, 'I'm not a bleedin' invalid, luv.'

Angel nodded and let go, but his whole body spoke of deep, unrelieved anxiety.  Spike started towards the door.  'Am I likely to bump into Fred?  I am... err… naked.'

'She's with Cordelia today, recovering.'

''k then.'

When Spike reached the door of his own room he paused, turned to Angel, and said, 'I feel a bit shaky, mate.  Think I'll lie down for a bit.'  When Angel moved to accompany him, he added forcibly, 'Alone.'

Angel recoiled as if hit.  'Look, Spike, we need to talk about what just happened… what was going to happen.'

'Err… no we don't, luv.  You might… I most definitely don't.  I'm utterly cream-crackered, luv, so leave it, hey?'

Angel reluctantly acquiesced and left Spike alone.  Spike lay down on the bed and spread his limbs out to the four corners, flexing and curling his fingers, testing his muscles.  All seemed fine.  Other than a slight muzziness, he felt fine, which was pretty bloody incredible given that ten minutes ago he'd have staked himself to end the agony.  He'd never experienced pain like it.  It had taken away his defences, stripped him bare, made him weak and cowardly.  The demon in him had been silenced and whatever was left that was human had been terrified and alone.  He never, ever wanted to experience that again, but now felt weak and vulnerable because he knew, theoretically, he could.  How hard a blow to the head would it take?  How accurate would the blow have to be?  How could he defend himself against such an occurrence?  He couldn't.


Spike turned and curled into a ball.  He was prevaricating, procrastinating, and he knew it.  He knew what he'd really wanted to think about, knew why he'd brushed Angel off to come here alone.  He wanted to think about Angel.  He'd witnessed Angel's whole reaction, from the early concern and helplessness to the self-destructiveness that had led him to take them both up to that quiet, dark room and end it.

Since the spell, Spike had been concentrating so hard on Angel as his sire, Angel as his new lover, that he had forgotten there was also an Angel who was a complex, souled being: a being whose very soul set him apart from other demons.  It was that Angel he had nearly destroyed tonight.  He'd met this Angel before, in very different circumstances, and Spike was angry with himself that he had forgotten the impact of that earlier encounter.  He recalled it now… Angel with his shirt ripped open, his chest blistered from the holy water Dru had tortured him with…that Angel had tried to trick Spike into staking him, so his sire blood could not be used to restore the dark, vampire queen.  Spike had laughed at him, seen through his ruse, but Angel's attempted self-sacrifice had shocked him profoundly.  For the first time he had seen just how set apart the souled Angel was from the sire he remembered.

Lying on the bed now, Spike stared in sightless fear at the empty room.  He had no doubt whatsoever that Angel would have staked himself after dispatching his helpless childe.  It fitted the pattern. 

Spike turned his head slightly and looked at the light seeping around the thick, protective curtain.  He had one more thing he needed to think about, but that was the most painful of all.  He needed to think carefully about the future… his future, or lack of it with Angel.  The events of the last few hours had thrown their strange relationship into stark relief.  Spike knew things could never be the same between them again….

He didn't get a chance to even complete that thought.  Angel came hesitantly into the room .

'I have to leave.  Cordy's had a vision.  Will you be okay here on your own?'

Spike made a show of checking slowly down his body.  'Yep, definitely all grown-up, Angel.  Think I can stay a few hours on my own!'

'Maybe you should come?  Just in case.  You know… in case it's only a temporary reprieve.'

'Cheers for that happy thought.'

Angel's face looked dark.  'I don't want it to be; I'm just saying… it might be.'

'I'll come along then.  Why not?'

Angel hesitated.  He was torn between the security of having Spike with him and the worry of taking him into potential danger.  Fear of leaving him won out.  'Come on then, get dressed.'

Spike swung his legs off the bed and nodded at the curtains.  'So, how we gonna get there?'

'Through the sewers, the vision showed something spawning in the sewers.'

Spike dressed, they collected weapons, and went together through the tunnels to the pre-arranged rendezvous with the humans.  They were both unnaturally quiet.  Angel glanced nervously at Spike's face every so often expecting to see the fearful agony returning.  Spike glanced at Angel, continuing in his head his thoughts about their future.  Angel's sad, anxious face did not help his deliberations run on happy lines.

After a while, Spike slowed Angel with a light hand on his sleeve.  'Hey, poof, I just wanna say this….'

Angel looked away immediately, perhaps having a premonition of what was to come.  'Don't, Spike… don't say it… don't commit it to spoken words, please?'

Spike knew his heart was dead.  He knew his body was dead.  He knew he was supposed to be a demon just inhabiting this body and using these memories, so he knew the pain that Angel's face gave him could not be real.  Dead things can't feel pain, can they?  He used the thought to steel himself, released Angel's sleeve, and continued on through the tunnel, but as Angel caught him up, he said quietly to the murky floor, 'I was just gonna say thanks, pet… for what you were gonna do.' 

Angel's voice cracked with relief when he replied.  'Fuck, Spike… I thought you were going to say….' Whatever he was about to add was cut off by the ear-splitting scream that came from just ahead of them. 

They ran into a desperate battleground.  The insect-like demon had recently laid a number of eggs that were hatching.  Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn, and Fred were systematically attacking them, and the demon mother was attempting to prevent them.  Cordelia had been hit by a stinger in the demon's tail, her scream bringing the vampires in at a run.  Wesley and Gunn were protecting Fred who was using a small, but effective flame-thrower on the last few remaining eggs.

Caught completely unawares, the demon lost ground when the vampires attacked together from the rear.  Spike caught the creature a near-fatal blow to the side of its saliva-dripping mandibles.  It hissed and rounded on him, catching him by one arm and shaking him like a rag doll.

When Angel saw this, he lost it completely.  All his fear for Spike, all his love for Spike, all his pent-up helplessness from watching Spike in so much pain came pouring out into a burst of adrenalin that made him pure demon.  He ran up the creature's back and, balancing on its shoulders, implanted an axe deeply into the thing's skull.  The demon screamed, dropped Spike, and flicked up its tail to swat Angel off.  He landed heavily on the slime-encrusted ground.  Gunn shouted a warning, but it was too late; the demon slashed at the prone vampire with a claw, opening him up from chin to groin.  Angel screamed; Wesley snatched the flame-thrower from Fred and aimed it at the demon's face, blinding it.  Hissing in fury, the creature backed away, and it was then relatively easy for Gunn to chop at its neck until it fell dead and twitching to the ground.

They picked Angel up and cradled his head as they looked at the wound.  He managed to say, 'Spike?' in a weak voice, and smiled when he heard the familiar accent.

'I'm okay, luv.  I'm right here.'  Spike's voice was flat, almost neutral, and Fred cast him an anxious look.  She sensed that something more than this demon attack on Angel was behind his monotone reply, but she couldn't read his face at all.  He helped carry Angel back to the hotel.  He was silent the whole trip, not even responding to Fred's gentle reassurances.  Wounded as he was, Angel was entirely unaware that he was the focus of Spike's whole attention and thoughts. 

By the time they got back, Angel's wound had started to heal over, and he had stopped bleeding.  He insisted on walking unaided to the lobby and eased himself gratefully onto one of the couches.  He watched Spike run upstairs with an inward groan of despair.  All he wanted was to be alone with him now. 

He dismissed the others, reassured them of his recovery by parting his ripped shirt and letting them individually inspect his belly and, when they left, tracked Spike down to the room he'd been given. 

He stood in the doorway, saw Spike's shoulders tense slightly as he became aware of Angel's presence, but watched as Spike continued calmly packing his bag.

'What are you doing?' The question sounded fatuous even to Angel, but it was all he could come up with.

'Going home,' was the brief, cold reply.

'Ah.  It's only Friday.  Why?'

'Cus I want to.'

'Oh.  This is because of… you're… it's what I….'

Spike turned and faced Angel, a completely unreadable expression on his face.  'Partially, yes, but it's not what you think, Angel.  I'm going back to get me chip checked out, that's all, no other reason.'

'Oh, checked.  How?'

'Some bleedin' geeks in Sunnydale.  Had them look at it before; they can run their loser gizmos over it again and compare the results or summit.  Dunno, don't care… all I want is an okay it's not going to happen again.'

'Good, that's excellent, wait up then, I'll come, too.  We can have our weekend at your place.'

Angel didn't see the expression that crossed Spike's face - he was turning to go to his room - but Spike's voice stopped him.

'Nah, mate.  I… I'm… look, I'm still really shagged… err, tired, luv.  There'll be other weekends, 'k?'

'No, it's not okay, Spike.  This is not okay.  You're running away for some reason; we need to talk about what happened… what nearly happened here today.'

'No, I told you, I don't.  It's the last thing I need to talk about, so just make this easy, Angel, and let me have a bit of space, hey?'

Spike tried to push past him, but Angel caught his arm, pressing him up against the wall.

'Don't.'  Spike tried to turn his face away from Angel's insistent kisses, but Angel caught his face and held it firm, opening his mouth gently and provocatively against Spike's.  Few could have resisted that seductive ploy, but Spike did.  He pushed Angel away from him and held him at arm's length, his eyes angry.  'I said don't, Angel.  Don't you ever bleedin' listen?'

Angel's eyes reflected back that anger.  'What the fuck is this, Spike?  Why are you shutting me out like this?'

Spike gave an exasperated hiss of annoyance and started to leave, his whole body tense, his shoulders hunched.  'Angel, I've just nearly had me head blown open from the inside; I need to get it checked out; I want to go on my own, not have a bloody… not have you hanging around me when I do.  So lay off the guilt trip, will you?'

Angel trailed after him down the stairs.  He felt he was being pathetic, but couldn’t help it.  It was like watching a bright light fading, leaving him in darkness, and he was helpless to stop it.

Finally, he stopped on the stairs and just watched Spike's retreating back.  He left without another word and without a glance over his shoulder.  Angel sat down heavily on the step.  There was so much he'd needed and wanted to say to Spike.  He knew it could wait until next weekend, but couldn't shake the feeling that there might not be another weekend if he waited.  He felt an urgent need to say it now.  With a grim nod of his head, he ran back up to his room, dug out his writing paper and a pen, and sat on his bed.  He didn't even take his usual time to compose his thoughts or plan what he was going to say; he just wrote swiftly and with a passion he had rarely tried to put into words before.

"Okay, you bastard, you won, I let you go alone, and now I've the whole weekend to get through on my own.  I had some fun activities planned, too… and not all of them horizontal.  (or vertical with thrusting involved)  (although most of them were)

So, get that chip checked out and come back early, hey?  Why not come again on Thursday.  Maybe this time we'll keep away from Cordelia and Co. and shut up shop for the whole three days.  That would be good, yes?

My stomach's completely healed now.  Sitting here I can only see a faint red line where that creature got me.  Vampire healing powers.  Still, I was kind of hoping you'd be here for a bit of TLC.  Maybe I'd have got you to lick the scar for a while.  What do you think?  Think you could have managed that?

What did you think of my humans tonight then?  Pretty good, aren't they?  I lost track of how we eventually killed that thing, but I do remember Fred wielding the flamethrower and Wes swinging around a huge axe. 

I don't remember any humans from the past, do you?  I sometimes feel as if this soul has slowed down time for me.  Humans don't seem insignificant blinks of an eternal eye.  Each day here with them is good.  (in that weird hellmouth definition of good, I guess)

Did I describe them well in my first letter to you?  Do you like them?  Do you think you'll come to love them one day…when you live here?  I'm saying 'when' there because I've heard that if you state something enough times as a certainty, eventually it comes true.

Wouldn't it be good if you were here all the time?  Okay, no more 'yey, it's the weekend' explosive shags, but, hey, we could have 'yey it's Tuesday' explosive shags, or 'yey it's a day with a 'y' in it' explosive shags. 

See…it's what I've been trying to tell you, Spike.  I think I've worked it (us) out.  I think I've worked out a way for us to come to terms with what we have here. 

I am your sire and do you know the only thing that seems important to me about that is Willow's spell.  If I were not your sire, she could not have brought me back to you two weeks ago.  If I had not come back to you two weeks ago, I would still be here, estranged from you, hating you and being scared of you.  There, I've said it…I've admitted it.  I was scared of you.  You had the power to bring me down in front of those I was desperately trying to impress.  You always did that to me.  I never needed a reflection because you were there, my mirror, showing up all my pretensions.   I remember once saying that killing was an art; that the skill was all in the artistry of the kill.  How you laughed at that pomposity.  And then there you were, suddenly in Sunnydale, knowing what you did about me, about what we had done in the past and I was scared.  Can you imagine Buffy's face if you'd told her what her would-be boyfriend had done with you a hundred years before?  Yeah.  Great. 

That fear of you came here with me to LA.  I'd more to lose here.  So when I stretched out my hand to stroke your back, it wasn't because of what I had just done to you as Angelus, it was because I realised that I didn’t care anymore about what these short-term humans thought about me, about us.  Okay, I blew it almost immediately when Buffy caught us, but I'm good at angst, remember, it's my most impressive achievement of three hundred years. 

But why am I having to explain all this in a letter, Spike?  Come back early, hey?  Let me tell you in person.

What do you say?


Or earlier?

By the way, let me know what your geeks say as soon as you know."

Angel sealed up this utterly unsatisfactory letter and went down to put it in the mail out tray.  He had not said the things he had wanted to.  He had not been able to capture in the ink the feelings he had for Spike.  He only hoped that Spike would be able to read between the lines.

Spike's reply, when it arrived, was not exactly what Angel had been hoping for.

Didn’t see the geeks.  No point.  The fucking chip is what it is.  It's not what I came back early for, as you probably guessed.

Sorry, mate, but it's just not working for me.  I got your letter, read all the sentiments, blah, blah blah.  Hey, Angel…you really need to get a life.  You think too bleeding deeply about all this shit.  It was just a shag.  I wasn’t getting one here, you came along; so I shagged you…don't make it out to be more than that.  I just wanted to experiment a bit…this is bloody California, after all.  Wanted to know what it would be like to shag a man and wanted it to be a pretty one, ya know?  And after all, you had nothing I hadn't seen before…best to start with what you know.  But that's it for me.  Too bleeding poofy…I'm not a fucking poof, I'm a demon.  No love, no complications.  Sorry if you thought it meant more.  But come on Angel…you know me, you must have known I was faking it.

I guess the witch knew better than she wrote.  As it was…  I'm taking us back to how it was before she did that bleeding spell.  You stay in LA, I'll stay here.  Oh, and remember, that bolt'll be in place to you now.  Don't come here, you won't be welcome.

Just stay away, Angel.

As it was, so shall it be.

Spike did not particularly expect a reply to this, but he went out of town for a few days to avoid one if it did come.  He had the irrational belief that if he were not in Sunnydale, then a letter addressed to him could not be either.  He was annoyed, therefore, on his return to find a letter waiting for him at the shop.  He took it to his usual place in the alley and took out his lighter.  He flicked up a reassuring flame and held it close to the bottom of the letter…but then suddenly decided he needed a cigarette first.  By the time he had lit, smoked, and ground out two or three, he was so hyper he actually itched to read what Angel had said in response to his letter.  Letting his metaphorical bolts slide open, he ripped his finger under the flap and pulled out the single piece of closely written paper.

That was the most welcome letter I've ever received…thank the God who doesn't seem to like me much.  I tried, too, Spike.  I even tried to rationalise it in my letter to you…but who was I trying to kid?  It wasn't working, was it?  You distracted me with your needy, clingy ways too much…I mean, 'tests', Spike…as Cordelia would say…duh!  It's just not me!   I was just trying to recapture a feeling I had for you once as your sire and I ended up having to nursemaid you.  You're too all consuming, Spike…how does anyone in Sunnydale put up with you? 

I don't love you…shit, most of the time, I don't even like you.

I've got a good life here now.  Okay, I admit, I was lonely and for a split second as I lay beside you in that bed I thought fondly back to the old days.  But Spike, I wanted you to shine my shoes, not take over my life.

So, don't worry about fastening that bolt too tightly, believe me, I won't be testing it. 

But I'm not bitter, Spike, I had a couple of good orgasms and that's not to be dismissed these days, is it?  So, have a good life…I mean that.  Look me up sometime if you want to, I can always use an old acquaintance. 

Believe me, Spike, I really don't hate you, I just don't think about you much at all.

It was fortunate it was day.  Spike was prevented from a furious, passion-releasing run through town.  He had to make his way cautiously back through the usual demon-infested tunnels to his crypt…but his fury did not abate, and by the time he reached the lower levels, it had settled into a cold, hard lump in his dead stomach.

Fuck you, you fucking arsewipe, Angel.  I hate you.  I'm not gonna fucking 'look you up', you git.  What do you think this is?  I said 'as it was'…I didn't fucking think about you before EVER and I'm not gonna think about you now. 

Stuff your bloody sympathy.  And I'm not needy or clingy, you fungus.  And I'm not all consuming…I hardly even started with you, you only saw the tip of the bleeding iceberg of my capacity to love.  I just didn't want to waste it on you!  And iceberg is a shit…whatsit…anthology, cus it's too cold, my love is definitely not COLD…oh fuck off, Angel…go get your hair styled or something.

Spike stayed away from the Magic Shop after sending this.  If he didn't go to fetch letters, then he would not have to read Angel's bloody missives.  He was incandescent with rage when the next day Harris stopped by with Angel's reply.  Harris' smirk did not help Spike's restraint, the fact that he couldn't punch the grinning oaf only added to his overwhelmingly black mood .  Illogically, now the letter had reached him, Spike felt he had to read it.  It didn't take long.


Needless to say, the dead occupants of the Sunnydale cemetery were favoured by an increase in their vocabulary that evening.  When Spike stopped ranting, raving, and swearing, he scrawled a reply.

Bugger off, Angel!  Don't write to me again.  I won't go to the shop, I won't unbolt my door to bloody helpful postmen and I won't read them and if you can only be bothered to write one fucking word, then don't bother at all.

He needed supplies from the Shop.  No other reason to go there.  Had to hang around just to check up on happenings, didn't he?  So if a letter arrived whilst he was there, was it his fault? 

Not just one word then?  What shall I write about?  Fred misses you.  I've been restless for some reason and I painted the room I gave you.  Now you won't be needing it, I thought I'd refurbish it a bit.

Spike wrote his reply to this one immediately, sitting at the Magic Shop's research table.

What colour?

He went purposefully to the Shop for the whole of the next day, waiting for the reply.

Blood red.  Floor, ceiling, walls.

On his way over, he had half-inched some postcards depicting the Sunnydale mortuary, which he knew Angel would appreciate the irony of.  He used one of these for his reply.

Bloody hell

By the time he received Angel's response, "Quite", he had already composed his next in his head.

So he committed himself and actually wrote it down.

I'd like to see that

He got the reply he was hoping for.

Why don't you then?

Fear is paralysing… but love is more so.  Spike had never experienced the second of these emotions, until now.  When he tried to reply, he was overwhelmed by the feelings that had led him to leave Angel in the first place, so his first letter was torn up and another sent in its place.

No, I told you.  As It Was.  Angel, you don't need me in your life, I'm a liability.  I'm damaged.  Come on, mate, I watched you going down cus you were too busy thinking about me.  You nearly lost the plot.   What if Fred had been offed?  What if vision-bint bit the dust, cus you were nancying around me?

He did not really expect a reply to this.  How much could he expect Angel to forebear?  Apparently more than he had given his sire credit for.

You didn't see my life here before Willow's spell, Spike.  I've been fucked over so much since I got here.  I've been tortured (and not the few hot pokers between friends sort you amused me with), I've been to hell and back (literally); I've killed, maimed and lost loved ones.  Hell, Spike, Friday was a good day.  Cordelia only 'nearly' got killed; I only got one stomach wound.  A really good day for Angel Investigations, believe me.

Spike felt Angel was not getting with the programme and decided to make it clearer for him. 

Okay...but I saw you, Angel, when I was on the bed in fucking agony…I was still able to hear and see…you were losing it, Angel.  You were suffering too, and I don't want that.  Fuck, you were gonna stake yourself…and don't deny it.  I'm not coming back, and that's that.  Stop writing to me.

He waited all day for the reply he had said he didn't want and was not going to read. 

Spike, that level of angst and pain was a good day's level.  Yes, I was going to stake you, then me.  That's a normal Friday night for me (thinking about staking myself, that is, not you)  (thinking about staking you is what I do on Sunday mornings when I'm doing laundry) (And not with a stake of a wooden kind)

Spike wasn't sure what was happening here.  He was so confused by Angel's quiet insistence, despite all his best attempts to drive him away, that his reply was the most painful letter he'd ever written.  It was like sending Angel his heart.  Once sent, he could not control the outcome of his life.

So, you didn't mean what you said in your letter about finding me too clingy, too needy, not liking me.  Not loving me?

He carried Angel's response around in his pocket for some days before he had the courage to open it.

What letter?  The letter I sent in reply to your completely genuine 'I'm going to drive Angel away because I'm afraid for him' letter?  Was that the letter you were referring to?  Spike…did you really think I would believe you???  But I am glad to see you guarding your perimeter at last.

Spike's relief was so mixed with righteous anger that he didn't know whether to laugh or scream, whether to kiss the paper, or tear it into shreds and cast it to the night air.  

You fucking git, Angel.  You knew.  You knew my letter was all bollocks?  You knew and you sent me that pissing letter of yours which had me all fucking miserable and poofy like you.  You are in so much bleeding trouble, mate.  That fucking room's gonna be blood red of a more interesting kind when I get there…my perimeter's gonna be riding your sorry arse for hours.


Spike didn't get this last, long, thoughtful letter, because he had already left for LA.  He got there late at night, went straight up to his room, smiled at the bloodbath-in-an-abattoir effect that Angel had achieved and turned, making his way to Angel's room.  He hesitated in the doorway, sensing that Angel was fully awake in the dark.  He went in silently and shed his clothes slowly, as he knew he was being watched.  He slipped into the sheets and turned to Angel.  He wanted to return seamlessly to the provocative kisses that Angel had used to try and make him stay, as if the last weeks apart had not happened. 

He opened his mouth slowly and gently over Angel's, ran his tongue over the soft, full lips, gained entry, and deepened the kiss.  Angel responded and turned slightly, too, wrapping his arms tightly around Spike's back, running his hands over the bony, hard spine.  Spike arched in delight and groaned at the intimate stroking, and Angel tightened the hold, pulling Spike to lie on top of him.  Spike placed his hands into the almost warm hollows of Angel's armpits and pushed the strong arms up to stretch them over Angel's head.  Then he ran his hands up in delight over the whole length until he reached Angel's wrists and took them in a firm grip.  He looked down at Angel imprisoned under him and smiled.  It was his first smile since Wes' party, and it felt good.  Holding Angel's wrists in only one hand, he leant over and removed the lube from the bedside drawer.  He didn't take his eyes from Angel but took some and rubbed it over his erection.  He groaned again and had to close his eyes for a moment.  The anticipation of being inside Angel was almost too much for him.  He let Angel's arms go and just lay for a moment with his head on the broad chest, trying to still his swelling erection, trying to will back the seed that was threatening to spill out so early.  He had almost managed to prevent his explosive orgasm when he felt Angel tug his hair slightly and heard a quiet, low whisper in his ear, 'Let it come, Spike; I want to watch you.'

Spike raised his head and looked at Angel.  They were both thinking about the spell, both remembering how Angelus had watched his childe pleasuring himself.  Only Spike remembered that even then it had been thoughts not of Angelus or Buffy that had brought him off, but thoughts of Angel.  Being watched then had not embarrassed Spike, now it did, but knowing that he could be embarrassed by Angel made Spike strangely pleased.  He felt, yet again, that this was a new beginning for them.  The exploring of their lies and fear through the letters had cleared away the last detritus of the past.  They were finally free. 

He nodded slightly and sat up straddling Angel's belly.  He took his cock in his hand, feeling the cool gel slick under his fist.  He looked down as he started to work it, but Angel put up a hand and tilted his chin up, making him look him in the eye.  Angel raised one eyebrow seductively, and Spike gave a small, embarrassed grin.  Angel rubbed his thumb over Spike's cheekbones, and Spike leant into the caressing hand gratefully.

He continued to pull on his cock, rubbing his palm over the sensitive tip, and then running it down into a tight fist around the root.  He kept this movement up, watching Angel's face, but it was only when Angel put his other hand on Spike's thigh that Spike felt the cold seed swelling in his balls ready for release.  Angel only meant to rest his hand lightly on Spike's leg, but as his fingers touched the solid, hard, all male muscle, he looked down in wonder.  For the first time it hit him that this was a male body with male needs and male desires, just like his.  He ran his hand up from knee to groin, pushing it into the soft nest of curls, engaging with Spike's hand but pulling away to run back down the almost steel-like muscle.  Spike was lost in wonder at Angel's pleasure in this simple act.  It gave him his release.  With a grunt of pleasure, he pumped his seed out onto Angel's chest.  He put his hand onto Angel's shoulder, leant over him, and emptied all his pent-up need onto the smooth, hard flesh.  Angel sat up slightly, too, his hands now frantic on Spike's thigh, as if he were helping to pump the seed out.  He watched fascinated as the tiny hole in the blood red cockhead swelled and glistened as it released its copious load onto him.  He looked up at Spike's face contorted in sheer pleasure, and groaned a deep, lasting, heartfelt groan.  Spike looked up, and it was this groan of pleasure from Angel that took them both to a place where there was only desperate urgency and a frenzy to have each other's bodies.

Angel pushed Spike off onto his back and surged over him, rubbing their chests together, spreading the cool, drying cum between them.  Spike thrashed his head from side-to-side; it was like the tide rolling over him, enveloping him; he could smell the deep ocean essence of the gel, smell his own cum, smell Angel's freshly washed hair, feel Angel like a vast ocean wave riding against him.  He pulled his legs up and draped them over Angel's shoulders.  The unexpected invitation made Angel groan once more, and he pushed the hard thighs higher until Spike's entrance was lifted up for his inspection.  He pressed his face into the sweet puckered flesh, licking, biting, and moaning.  Spike pressed on the back of Angel's head, wanting more friction, more penetration, just more of Angel.  When Angel's cool tongue pushed in, Spike hissed in gratitude and started lifting his hips up in rhythm with Angel's probing.

Spike knew Angel would be desperate for release, and he wanted that release inside him where he could feel its cool surging on his walls.  He snagged his fingers into Angel's hair and pulled his face away.  He sat up a little and took Angel's cock in his hand, leaving no doubt in Angel's mind where he wanted it.  Angel found the discarded tub of lube and liberally spread Spike's cheeks and hole with it then, with no other preparation, he drove into Spike, hard, urgent, and desperate.

A deep groan escaped his lips at the intense pleasure of Spike's tight channel, but it was more than that, it was being able to look down onto Spike's washboard belly, to see his beautiful face contorted in pleasure for once not pain, to know what he was feeling in this deep, total penetration.  Angel embedded his entire cock into Spike until his nest of dark curls brushed Spike's smooth, hard backside.  Then he ground himself from side-to-side for a while, revelling in the feel of his foreskin being dragged over the tip of his cockhead.  Then he pulled out an inch and eased back in, pulled out two inches and pushed back in, eased out three and thrust back, eased out all the way and slammed in hard, unstoppable.  Spike's scream of delight drove Angel to a peak of desire he'd never felt before; he pounded Spike, smashed into him, relished the angular, hard, male body beneath him.  In his mind he could hear a deep, surging sound like surf rolling up on endless shingle shores and knew, with an explosion of delight, that it was his blood surging through his dead body.  It was as close to a pulse as he had felt for three hundred years.  He threw back his head, went rigid against Spike, and staring fixedly at something above him on the ceiling. He cried out an impassioned 'Yes' as his whole body joined in the intense relief at the transferral of his seed into Spike.  The sense of having a pulse and a circulation only intensified, as he felt a pricking sensation in his toes at the intensity of his orgasm, felt his balls tingling, swelling, and pulsing, felt his belly cramp as long dead muscles participated in the overwhelming release.

To complete the illusion of life, Angel began to pant, slow heaving attempts to catch unneeded air into uncaring lungs… and still his seed continued to flow into Spike.  They were awash with it, they bathed in it as it poured out of Spike's stretched and used hole.

Angel grabbed one of Spike's hands and pushed it into the hollow of his neck as if he wanted Spike to try and feel this coming back to life through the penetration of his body.  Spike only laid the back of his hand gently onto Angel's cheek as if to reassure him that he understood Angel's need.

The last jet of cum left Angel, and he sank back onto his knees just looking in awe at his cock still embedded deeply in Spike.  It was angry, red, raw looking: in stark contrast to Spike's flawless, pale skin.  Spent cum trickled slowly out between them; he put his finger to it, rubbing it up towards Spike's sac.  Spike groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to watch.  Angel started a slow thrusting once more into the soaked passage, this time working lightly onto Spike's swollen gland.  He knew he'd found it when Spike groaned and put a hand to his cock.  He let Spike work his own cock again; he wanted to watch once more.  He doubted he'd ever tire of this sight, and he knew with a deep sense of contentment and anticipation that it was something he was quite likely to be able to watch many times a day now.

Angel continued to transfer the leaking cum to Spike's sac, rolling his balls lightly between his fingers as he coated the soft skin covering them.  As Spike's fist came down to the root, their hands met and, for a brief moment, they looked at each other with a sense of wonderment that they should be here like this.  Angel leant harder into Spike, squashing his sac, causing Spike's fist to tighten on his cock.  Angel knew Spike was about to cum; he saw the thick vein on the underside of Spike's cock twitch and swell; he saw Spike throw back his head in preparation for that almost painful release and, instinctively, he bent down and softly placed his lips over the plum red cockhead, loving the swelling warmth in his mouth.  Spike groaned out a low, intense sound that had no meaning in any spoken language and came sharply and delightedly into Angel's mouth.  He sat up and clamped Angel's face to his groin.  He jerked his hips, thrusting into the welcome, but unexpected vessel.  He kept flooding Angel with far more cum than he could ever have been expected to swallow, and it flowed freely out and down onto Spike's dark curls glistening like early morning dew on the grass. 

As he shot the last drop of cum out, Spike flung back onto the bed, his penis slipping out of Angel's mouth into the cool air.  Angel dropped onto him and rested his head on the damp, musky curls.  He nuzzled in slightly, wanting to imprint the scent of his childe's release deep into his brain.  He heard Spike chuckle and lifted his nose out of the intimate place.

Spike lifted his head and peered down at Angel, 'You love that smell, don't you, poof?'

Angel smiled up at him.  'I heard a pulse, Spike, like the tide, as I… as I came inside you.'  He looked over at the now empty jar, 'Passion of the Sea, hey?'

'Seems it's been more like passion of the fucking storm since I left, pet.'

Angel knew Spike was trying, in his own way, to explain why he had sent the letter.  Angel only smiled reassuringly back at him.  'It's the perfect storm then, in the long run.'

Spike shook his head, trying to make Angel understand.  'No, it was like I was lost Angel, I was so, so scared.'

'I was, too, Spike.  Until I got your letter.'

'What?  My 'fuck off and die' letter was good?'

'Well, I wouldn't go that far, but when I read it I knew we were going to be okay.'

'But how?  How did you know it was all fucking lies?  How did you know I was only trying to drive you away, to.…'

'To save me?'

'Yeah, guess I trying to save the saviour.  Sad hey?  So, how did you know?'

'Because every word you wrote cried out to me that you were lost and that all you needed was for me to find you.'

Spike lay back on the bed and folded his arms under his head, staring sightlessly up into the dark room.  He thought about how Angel had responded to his letter; how he had subtly led Spike on to write again, eventually teasing out the root of the problem.  What he didn't understand was how Angel knew he had been lying in the first place.  He'd thought he'd made his letter pretty devastating.  He'd have believed it.  'Okay, you saw through me, so how did you do that?  How did you know I was lost, and how did you find me?'

'I used the map you left me.'

'Map?  Where?'

Angel turned over so he, too, was lying on his back, but kept his head on the hard, seductive belly.  He stared up at the ceiling.  'You're looking at it now.'

They both lay studying the evidence of Spike's love for a long time until the faint glowing stars gave up their borrowed light, even to perceptive vampire eyes. 

Angel appeared to have drifted off to sleep until he turned over and moved up Spike's body with a series of soft kisses.  Spike thought with an inward groan that Angel would make him do some more self-analysis.  It was just too exhausting for a simple demon.  All he wanted to do was plan how he was going to move all his stuff to LA and what he was going to do with the blood-red room to make it entirely his.  Important things to decide now that he had decided his entire future lay here with Angel.  He waited for Angel to ask where they were going again, waited for the conversation about love, waited for heavy angst and brooding and apparently rhetorical questions that he would nonetheless feel obliged to try and answer.  It scared Spike; it seemed to him that what was to be said now would set the seal on their future relationship; determine how they were to be together. 

Angel finished his long, slow journey of kisses and leant over Spike.  He placed a kiss on the hesitant mouth and whispered into Spike's ear, 'So, you think I'm pretty, do you?'


The End

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