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Balancing Act

Chapter 6

Spike was too drunk to cope with microwaves, so Angel heated some blood for them both as Spike stood under the shower, trying to vomit. He smiled fondly at the cursing and retching and counted three empty wine bottles scattered around, the glass from the one that had nearly hit him making four.

When Spike came out, Angel suspected he felt better than he was going to admit, so just handed him a mug of blood and started to peel off his own shirt. His leather pants were completely stuck to him now, the dried cum coming away with a considerable amount of hair, and this seemed to cheer Spike up enormously. He grinned and watched the process with great interest.

Angel cursed and dropped them to the floor, stretching and taking his turn in the shower.

When he came out, Spike was wearing a pair of faded jeans, and he handed Angel another pair with a raise of one eyebrow. Angel huffed, 'Yeah, like those'll fit me.'

Spike threw him a clean towel, and Angel wrapped it around his waist and took his blood to the couch, stretching out his long legs to the fire.

Spike sat next to him, leaning back against one arm, his legs crossed loosely in front of him. 'I'm glad you came, Angel. I didn't think you would.'

Angel glanced over at him, smiling ruefully. 'That's makes two of us. How do you feel?'

'Pretty stupid, if you must know.' He waved his mug of blood. 'But I'm perking right up.'

Angel's eyes dilated fractionally and grazed down the impossibly defined abs to the unbuttoned jeans. He swallowed, and a stab of pleasure coursed through them both at the thought of what lay ahead. Spike put down his mug and slid off the couch. He crawled over to Angel and knelt between his thighs. Slowly, he slid his hands along them to the hem of the towel, then under.

He lowered his eyes, then glanced up from under the lowered lids with a look of seductive supplication. 'I've never done this before.'

Angel opened his mouth to reply but suddenly swore, fumbled with the towel, grasped the back of Spike's head and jerked him forward. Something hit Spike above the eye, dripping down onto his cheek as another splash wet his lips.

He looked up at Angel incredulously, semen dripping off his pale face. Angel made a small noise, and whether it was shock or embarrassment, they didn't know, for it turned into laughter. 'Sorry.'

Spike wiped his face in Angel's towel and pouted. 'Spoil sport.'

Angel continued to chuckle and shook his head. 'Those damn eyes of yours!'

Spike couldn't totally repress his smile of pleasure at the extremely rare flattery and crawled back onto the couch, closer to Angel, close enough to lean over and demand a kiss, which Angel gave him willingly enough.

Spike was the first to pull away. He smiled lazily at Angel, and picked up his cooled mug of blood.

Angel smiled, too, but said quietly, 'I should go.' He made no move, however, to leave.

Seeing this, Spike replaced his drink on the floor and, locking eyes with Angel, slid his hand down the firm belly and unhooked the towel. Angel protested with a frown, but Spike continued, parting the folds. With a yank, he pulled it free and tossed it to the floor, leaving Angel stretched and naked in the firelight.

Angel seemed to feel his nakedness acutely and was clearly resisting the desire to glance furtively behind him. Spike leant in once more and nuzzled into the hollow of his throat. Angel breathed a soft, 'Yeah,' and held Spike's head as he worked his way slowly over the perfect skin. Angel stretched his legs and arched to the touch, his body coming alive under Spike's tongue.

Eventually, Spike reached a nipple. He hesitated then bit it. Angel came off the couch, gasping. Spike glanced up. 'Mmm, like that, do you?'

'Oh, yeah.'

Spike grinned and bit again.

Angel moaned and crushed him closer, running his fingers through the short blond hair. 'Jesus, Spike.'

Spike murmured around the small bud. 'You gonna come again?'

Angel groaned and arched, trying to force Spike's mouth to pleasure him, grinding his lips to him. Spike obliged, biting again and twisting Angel's other nipple between strong fingers.

He glanced down and saw Angel's hands jerk to his groin, and watched avidly as the softness was revived. He turned the biting into deep sucking, pulling Angel's nipple into his mouth, wetly mouthing around the aureole then blowing on the glistening swelling. Angel's hands became increasingly frantic, stretching and jerking, his whole body stretched like a bow.

Spike sat back and watched Angel's face. For one moment he thought that Angel was oblivious of his presence, but then a hand shot out and clasped him around the neck, jerking him forward into a kiss. Angel's mouth raped him: his tongue plunging in, his ragged breath carrying the taste of blood. Spike moaned at Angel's need for him, but twisted his mouth away, wanting to watch Angel come, letting Angel bite and mouth at his cheek as, with a harsh cry, spurts of cum shot out from the red wetness in Angel's fist to land with audible splats on the smooth chest.

Angel shuddered his body back onto the couch. He kept Spike crushed to him, burying his face into his neck, as if suddenly realising what he'd done: jerking off in front of him, abandoned, wanton, noisy. Spike pulled out of his grasp though, and ran his finger through the spills of cum shinning on Angel's belly. Holding his finger up to the firelight, he teased it over his tongue. Grinning quietly to himself, he swirled his whole hand around in the mess, and then pushed his fingers into Angel's mouth, making him lick them, kissing him so they were nothing but mouth and fingers and cum. Angel caught Spike's hand and kept two fingers in his mouth, running his lips sensuously up and down them. Only an infinitesimal space away, Spike breathed deeply at the pleasure, his eyes dilating until they resembled a spill of ink from Angel's pen.

Finally, Angel eased the fingers out and kissed down the inside of Spike's wrist. As he passed the most sensitive area, where the skin was thin, and pale with blue streaks visible beneath, he slipped into game face and slashed a thin red line across the blue: patterns of lust and dominance on the smooth flesh. Rolling his face back to human, he lapped the trickle of blood, never once letting his gaze drop from Spike's. Slightly shadowed, the ink eyes had turned almost black now, but Angel knew they were merely heavy with pleasure and lust, the bloodletting their shared narcotic, their special release. Softly, he climbed over Spike slightly and offered him the wrist, making him drink his own blood, their tongues lapping together at the wound, greedy predators needing the red fluid after so much pale white.

Eventually, Spike draped his wounded arm over Angel's shoulder out of reach and kissed him deeply, a kiss of gratitude that Angel understood. He nodded and then murmured softy, 'I need to go now.'

Spike nodded and fell back, his hand just holding Angel's fingers, playing with them. Angel sighed, gently disentangled himself and walked naked to the shower.

When he came out, Spike was drinking a glass of water, leaning against the stove. The sight was so incongruous - Angel couldn't remember that he had ever drunk water - that he paused naked and wet, rubbing his hair. Shaking his head ruefully, he held out his hand, and Spike came over, their fingers entwining. 'I have meetings all day tomorrow. I have to go.'

Spike shrugged. 'I know.'

Angel looked down at their fingers, running his thumb over the wound on Spike's wrist. 'You'll be okay?'

'Oh, no, I was gonna hang myself from the old cum tree out there… despair… loneliness… that kind of thing.'


Spike poked him in the ribs then dodged to one side. 'I'm gonna go to bed with a good book and nurse my hangover. Bugger off, okay?'

Angel slapped at him, then bent and picked up his pants, eyeing them disgustedly. With a wince, he dragged them on, slid into his shirt, and then looked at the door. He glanced at Spike, touched his fingers briefly, and then left.

Spike mentally followed him down the path and into the car, and did not really believe he was gone until he could hear the faint trickle of water in the pond as if it was a waterfall, so silent did the room suddenly become.

Angel was into his third meeting the next day. It was a relatively easy one: Wesley, Fred, Gunn, Lorne- his friends, old colleagues. He could sit and look rough and be grumpy without attracting any suspicion at all. They were well into discussing company business, when he looked up to see Spike lounging in the lobby, ostensibly talking to Harmony. He was talking to her, but he was looking at him.

Angel rose and came around his desk. He murmured, 'Something's wrong. I have to go.'

Wesley looked concerned. 'Wrong?'

Angel nodded. 'I can sense it.'

Gunn got to his feet. 'Need us, Angel?'

Angel waved him down. 'This won't take long.'

He strode out. 'Emergency?'

Spike nodded very intently. 'Yes. Emergency.'

They turned and strode down the hallway, glancing into offices as they passed, their steps becoming increasing speedy.

Finally, they passed a maintenance closet. Angel glanced up and down the empty hallway and shouldered Spike in. They didn't know whether to laugh or kiss, and ended up doing neither particularly well. At last, Angel pulled away, holding Spike's shoulders. He looked him over so intently that Spike felt he was being tasted. Angel put his hand to him and cupped him lightly. 'They won't miss me for a few minutes….'

Spike removed his hand gently, his face a mask of unwilling resolution. 'Not here.'

Angel leant on the door, effectively locking it. 'Quite safe….'

Spike shook his head. 'I didn't mean here. I meant here: this bloody firm.'

Angel looked at him thoughtfully, and then trailed his finger down one cheek. He nodded. 'Okay.'

Spike breathed a very small sigh of relief and perched on a stack of toilet rolls. 'So, what ya doing?'

Angel let his chin fall to his chest theatrically. 'Meetings.'

'Boring. Wanna go kill something?'

An eyebrow flicked up, then fell. 'I can't. I've been scheduled.'



'Oh, well, I've got a busy day. Better be off….'

There was a pause, and Angel said resolutely, 'I'm not going to ask.'

Spike wheedled. 'Go on… it's no fun if I can't tell you….'

Angel sighed. 'Freaking hell. Go on then.'

'Well, I'm gonna go and lounge on my couch for while… then I'm gonna lounge on the floor… then….' Angel stopped him with a kiss. It quickly became… heated. They pressed back against the Danger: Wet Floor signs, moaning softly.

Spike finally pushed him off, breathing heavily, 'Jesus, Angel. We're gonna be fucking in a broom cupboard in a minute….'

Angel groaned and bent over for a moment then straightened. 'Three meetings to go. Deep joy.'

Spike did a bad job of repressing his smirk, checked the coast was clear, and then emerged from the closet, casually lighting a cigarette and striding cockily down the hallway.

Angel hunched into himself, looked furtively around and sidled back to the meeting, reassuring everyone that the emergency was taken care of.

Spike didn't open either of the bottles of wine he'd bought, or consequently drink them. He pottered, not watching the falling darkness. He lit a fire and did not look at the couch. He had just about achieved a perfect state of not thinking about whether Angel would come, when the door was pushed open, and Angel came in carry two large grocery bags.

Spike turned away to hide his grin.

Angel strode past him and dropped the bags by the stove.

Spike came closer a little hesitantly. 'What's this?'

Angel didn't reply at first, he held Spike off by his shoulders and grazed his eyes down the low-slung combat pants and tight, black T-shirt. Slowly, he pulled Spike to his mouth, finding a matching heat, a matching desire to explore with tongue and lips. Only when things began to heat up too quickly once more, did he reluctantly pull away and reply, 'I thought I'd cook.'

Spike smiled. 'Well, okay.' He uncorked the wine, poured them both a drink and took his happily to the couch with an imperious wave. 'Crack on then, Mate.'

Angel shook his head despairingly, and unpacked the bags, searching to see what pots and pans Spike owned.

Spike picked up his book and leant back into the soft cushions, supposedly reading, but actually watching Angel.

Angel shifted under the scrutiny, smiling down, trying to concentrate on the cooking. Without turning around, he murmured, 'I could taste you all afternoon.'

'Run out of coffee?'

Angel twisted his head around and gave him an intense look. Spike groaned and buried his head in his book.

When things were progressing on the stove unassisted, Angel brought his wine over to the couch and flung himself down.


Angel nodded. 'I think we massacred a whole demon tribe today.'

'That's… good?'

'Or they could have said… merged with… I wasn't really listening. It's all the same, I guess.' He rolled his head over and sighed. 'I don't want to talk about work. Not here. In fact….' He shifted closer. 'I don't want to talk at all.'

They were smiling as they came together for the kiss, and the emotion carried into the way they teased and played with each other's lips and tongues.

Angel's hand slipped under Spike's T-shirt, and with a soft, 'Fuck,' he pushed him back and lay over him, the hand now seeking lower, under the loose waistband.

Spike murmured with pleasure and stretched out, flattening his belly to give Angel better access.

He was lying thick into the top of one pants' leg. The thin cotton tented when Angel's hand slid down, and a small damp stain appeared. Spike swore and flung his arm over his eyes, Angel swore too and slid down the thin body until his tongue tasted the damp spot.

Spike's voice rose in pitch as he swore again. Angel's dropped as he murmured his appreciation and opened his mouth wetly on the cotton. He swivelled his eyes up to Spike's face and said, muffled, 'Like that?'

'Oh, yeah. I'm leaking…. Christ! Am I leaking?'


Spike muttered, disgusted, but Angel only sucked the whole wet area into his mouth. Very slowly, he worked Spike's zipper down, notch by notch.

With a deep sigh of contentment, he parted the sides and freed the heavy erection. 'Oh, yeah.' He looked up, thumbing the side of the head, smirking slightly at Spike's expression.

'So, what did you do today?'


Angel shook his head. 'Wrong.'

'Huh? Oh! Oh! I thought about you….'

Angel grinned and licked across the leaking head. 'Correct.'

'Yeah, I wondered if you'd come… thought about you all day, coming through… coming… you… coming….'

Angel pushed his wet lips over Spike's wide head to reward him and flicked his tongue over the hole.

'Oh, fuck, yeah…. I pictured you lying here, naked, that fucking huge cock of yours….' At that, the head of his cock discovered Angel's throat.

Angel grunted; Spike jack-knifed up at the waist and shouted, 'Off!' Angel only dug his fingers into the thin waist and began to swallow as Spike shook and shuddered beneath him.

Long after Spike finished, they lay, not moving on the couch, Spike's soft penis still in Angel's mouth, still being gently pulled and sucked. Spike groaned slightly every time the pleasure edged over into pain.

Suddenly, Angel sat up and gripped him urgently. 'If this is a spell, Spike, don't give me the antidote….'

Spike sat up. 'Huh?' He eased his pants back up his hips and fastened them, rubbing annoyed at the dampness. 'What the fuck does that mean?'

Angel stood up and strode back to the stove, busying himself with something that didn't need it. 'I've done all this before, Spike. The fucking happiness, the thinking that everything was okay- that I was okay. It was all a fucking dream to take my soul. I woke up and everything was back to the shit it was before.'

Spike wandered over, topped up their glasses and then hopped up onto the counter. Angel kept his face lowered and stormy as he took his angst out on the food. Eventually, he stopped prodding it and laid down the fork. 'Well?'

Spike jumped slightly. 'What?'

'Aren't you going to tell me I'm being dumb and prove this isn't a spell?'

Spike pouted. 'How do I know? It could be, I guess.'

'You think I'm still under that spell? That all… this… is false?'

Spike shrugged. 'Yeah. I think it probably is. But, shit, I'm not complaining. Better than my real life.'

Angel came to stand between his legs, leaning into him. He made him put his glass down and then held his chin. 'This is not a spell, Spike. I knew that it was last time. It felt so wrong, even though it felt so good.' He glanced down and then ran his fingers through his hair. 'This is insane, it doesn't feel entirely right all the time, but it is real. Okay?'

Spike wobbled his hand. 'Okay.'

Angel turned away and went back to his cooking more contently. Spike shook his head ruefully at the broad back, smirked and then hopped down and went back to the couch.

They ate outside, sitting on the edge of the small pond. It was hot, and Spike was barefoot, trailing one foot in the cool water. Angel didn't eat much; he just sat and enjoyed watching Spike eat, enjoyed listening to him talk.

He did accept a cigarette, and they smoked quietly, talking of times past, people they had known, places they had been.

Every word that Angel spoke, Spike like heard like a tick tock in his head: tick tock, I have to go now….

He kept saying the words in his head, so that when he heard them for real he would nod and shrug and say I know- for he did know. In that, this was so very real. If this was a spell, he'd keep Angel here forever, but Angel existed in that other world now: a world of steel and chrome.

He carried the plates inside, trying not to think of the clock ticking. He knew he was talking too much, trying too hard, wanting to fit everything into this short space of time: an eternity needed, a few hours offered.

Angry with himself, he picked up an empty grocery bag to toss it in the bin when he frowned and peered inside. He sensed Angel coming in behind him and murmured, 'Leave some things out, Pet…?'

Angel came over and wrapped his arms around Spike's waist, propping his chin on the bony shoulder. He reached into the bag and hesitantly removed some eggs. 'I thought I'd cook breakfast, too- if that's… okay?'

The tentative offer was accepted with a long, low groan of pleasure.

For the first time that evening, they let the simmering passion between them out completely. No slow, exquisite unzipping: pants were ripped and flung away so skin could find skin. Angel made it very clear what he wanted. He shoved Spike back onto the couch, push by push, until they crossed the space and fell heavy, panting. He half-knelt on Spike, one leg still on the ground and eased two thick fingers into Spike's mouth. He let Spike wet them for a while then murmured, 'Ready for your first time?'

Spike replied by biting the fingers, hard enough to make Angel wince and then harden, until his heavy, veined thickness lay flat against his belly.

When his mouth was coated with Angel's blood, Spike let go the fingers and ducked his head, licking up the exposed underside of Angel's erection, a thin chain of blood and saliva hanging between them as he pulled away.

He returned eagerly to the sensitive nerve endings around the rim, tonguing them wetly. Angel moaned and tried to push the head into Spike's mouth. 'Take me in….'

Spike let the thick, solid flesh enter his mouth. Angel tipped his head back and pushed, holding Spike's hair in one hand, thrusting into the wet warmth of this virgin mouth.

Suddenly, Spike arched and twisted away. He tried not to cough, but a small, strangled sound emerged. Angel frowned and shifted his weight on Spike's chest, and Spike came back to the wavering cock determinedly. Angel grunted and pushed in again. This time, Spike reared back, shaking his head.

Angel clenched his fist but only thumped the couch. 'What?'

Spike lay back with his head on the arm of the couch and lifted his face up miserably to the ceiling. 'Sodding hell! This isn't how I imagined it!'

'Me neither!'

Angel began to climb off, but he stopped, staring at Spike. 'Don't move.'

Spike lowered his face. 'Huh?'

Angel eased his chin back up to stare at the ceiling and then circled around until he stood at Spike's head. He looked down at him. Spike blinked, but stretched his neck back some more and opened his mouth.

Angel slid into a tunnel of warm flesh that was perfectly straight from the lips to the stomach. Spike stretched his arms up and caught him around the hips, and he dictated the pace, pulling Angel inch by inch into his throat.

The pleasure was so great, that Angel felt a rippling around his face, and an intense sexual charge as he slipped into his demon face.

He watched the head of his cock bulging the smooth lines at the top of Spike's throat, like a second Adam's apple. Spike's grip on his buttocks increased, urging him deeper.

Spike was drowning in Angel, drowning in his male flesh: balls rubbing his nose, crushing his face; an impossible thickness in his throat; and Angel's panting and cursing and ragged encouragement in his head. He dug his fingers into Angel's solid arse again: fuck me more… and Angel got the message, grinding in further until hair brushed Spike's lips.

Spike groaned, and the sound reverberated through the meat filling him.

With a huge shout, Angel reached orgasm. He rose up high and began to pound straight down, rubbing himself off on Spike's hot, slippery inner flesh. He used Spike's face to grind his balls, make them clench and set off the chain-reaction he sought.

Shouting loudly, a stream of incoherent curses, he released. Fast shots of sperm hit the sides of Spike's throat, and when he swallowed, Angel only cried louder and jerked more.

At last, Angel's thighs began to tremble, and he staggered back, his shaft still joined to the swollen lips by a last delicate chain of milky cum. He sat heavily in an armchair and did not realise he was still swearing until the ringing in his head stopped, and his own voice was loud in the otherwise silent room.

Spike kept his face tipped back and licked his lips. He stared at Angel from his upside-down position for a moment before rolling off, flat on his face on the floor. Angel chuckled and slid over to him, turning his face to one side, as if putting him into the recovery position. 'So…?'

Spike replied, but Angel only frowned. Spike sat up and tried again. He frowned this time and grabbed his throat, his eyes widening theatrically. Angel began to laugh. Spike continued to try and speak until he was shut up with a kiss and a murmured, 'Sorry.'

Spike glared at him and mimed something painful.

With a small glance through lowered lids, Angel lifted his wrist to his mouth and sliced it neatly. He slid back into human face and held the dripping blood tantalisingly out of Spike's reach. 'Does your throat feel… used?'

Spike nodded with a you think? look.

Angel took pity on him and stopped teasing. 'Tip back again.' This time, he rose over Spike and dripped his blood in, watching the crimson crystal drops falling onto the swollen flesh.

Spike grabbed his wrist and took over, feeding with strong, erotic sucks. Angel wrapped them together, a twist of pale flesh in the firelight. He watched the flames as his blood was pulled out of his body. When they began to turn black and flicker strangely, he reluctantly pulled his wrist out of the insistent hold. They stayed closely entwined though, neither one wanting to lose the moment.

Eventually, the fire went out, and Spike glanced behind them. He untangled himself and murmured in a hoarse whisper, 'Bed?'

Angel turned in his arms. 'Are you inviting me in?'

Spike suddenly realised that this omission had not escaped Angel's notice: the bed had yet to be used.

He took a deep breath and nodded. 'Yes. I am.'

They rose together and walked to it, but Angel hesitated and flicked his eyes over at the shower. Spike shrugged, 'Help yourself,' and climbed onto the bed, clearly not intending to join him.

He listened to the sounds of Angel washing, sitting on the bed. That seemed way too presumptuous, so he climbed off and stood in a nonchalant pose by the sink. He leant on the counter just to add to the this is totally normal look. His hand slipped on some water though, and he jerked back up, glancing around, mortified. He decided he'd be reading when Angel came out- that wouldn't look so needy. Oh, it's you… let me just finish this page….

He fetched his book and climbed in, arranging the sheet over his lap. Immediately, he climbed back out and threw his book viciously into a corner- that had been the nerd waits to be fucked look.

With a flash of inspiration, he stoked the fire up a little, emptying his lighter onto it to speed the process, and lounged in front of it, looking… like a total prat. He rose and paced. Another flash of brilliance, and he decided to be outside, smoking. That activity was so inherently cool anyway he knew he was onto a winner. Then Angel could ask him to come to bed; Angel would have to beg him. He really liked that idea and fished out a cigarette from his coat pocket and went out to lean provocatively on the wall. Perfect. He clicked his lighter. He shook it. He stared at it and then swore colourfully.

Skittering back in, he flicked the stove on and lit his cigarette from there. Smoking casually in bed… that would look ultra-cool…. He climbed back in and tried some positions. All he managed to achieve was I'm lying here waiting to be fucked and sod off, I'm having a fag, neither of which was exactly what he was going for. Angrily, he stubbed the useless prop out on the wall behind him and hopped out again.

Suddenly, he heard chimes from somewhere in the old house. With a curse of remorse, he pulled on his jeans and left.

Angel leant his forehead against the shower wall, wondering how long he could stay in there before Spike came to find him. He'd had longer showers, but they usually involved more enjoyable activities than… hiding. Hiding- he knew he was doing it, and he didn't like it.

It was just a bed.

He'd shared a bed before….

He'd bought the damn eggs…! He'd wanted this. The bed had mocked him every time he'd come here. He doesn't trust you that much yet. Excuses to leave… wanting to be asked to stay. So… he was here now. And Spike would be waiting for him in that bed. Waiting and expecting….

Angel shivered. He went through it one more time in his head… kiss, turn him over, some… touching… then… in….

He began to lather the soap frantically and wash again… places he was sure were clean but seemed critical to the whole enterprise.

He could do this.

He was a champion.

He swallowed, kept his order of events in his mind and strode masterfully to the bed.

He'd climbed in before he realised Spike wasn't there.

He flicked his eyes around the apartment as if, in its openness, there was anywhere Spike could hide. He even lowered his eyes to the large space under the bed, but refused to sink so low as to actually look. He did climb out and go out into the courtyard, sure he would be out there, smoking.


Angel stood naked in the hot night, wondering if it had been a spell after all.

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