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Counting The Ways - 10

In the quiet of the attic retreat, Spike would not let Angel move. He held him in an embrace so tight, Angel was glad he did not have to breathe. 'Thanks, pet.'

Angel smiled and tried to kiss him, but he couldn't move enough even to do that. 'You're welcome, Spike. I am honoured to be included in one of your schemes for once rather than being the victim.'

'Never a victim luv, always just the reason.'

'The reason? I don't get it.'

'Yes, you do, Angel, frequently now, and usually for a considerably long time.'


'You're the reason, luv. You aren't the victim of my plans, you're the reason for them… the reason for me... just being, I guess.'

They were quiet for a while, Spike just stroking Angel's back until he heard Angel's soft question. 'Do you think he got it?'

Spike kissed into his hair. 'I think he did, Angel. How could he not?'

'Good. I wouldn't want…'

'What, luv? For him to be hurt?'

Angel hesitated and being aware of his hesitation and the cause of it, only became more vehement in his lie. 'No! He deserves whatever comes to him, but I wouldn't want him to be…'

'What, Angel?'

'Trying to take you from me.'

Spike let Angel go and pulled him into a sitting position. 'Angel, look at me.' Angel couldn't and kept his face averted. 'Angel! Look. Feel.' Spike put Angel's hand on his arm, on his leg, on his belly. 'I can't be taken, Angel. I'm strong, and I'd fight back. I'm not being taken anywhere. You're stuck with me now.' He giggled slightly, and Angel looked at him a little confused. 'I'll be here while you're changing your grandkids nappies… hell, when you're potty training yer great-grand kiddies maybe. Just as I am now, Angel… only maybe I'll work on me abs some more… just to keep reminding you how fat you are.'

Suddenly, Angel gave him a strange look. He scrambled off the bed and dived for the door. He was gone only a minute… but enough time though for Spike to feel the icy hands of his ghosts trying to pull him down. Angel came back; he flung himself onto the bed. 'Here.' He shoved an open book into Spike's hand. Spike took a long smoke of his cigarette, tried to appear unconcerned, but looked down.

The hundred-year-old number, scribbled in the margin of Angel's book, had been crossed out and a bold "16" in new ink had been written and underlined. Spike smiled and tossed the book carelessly to one side. 'Poof. Whose counting?'

Angel pulled the book back. 'I am, Spike. We did everything as vampires. We've done everything as sire and childe... but now this.'

Spike looked at him and pursed his lips; he knew what Angel meant, he just wanted to hear it.

Angel understood. 'Everyday's most quiet need, Spike... that's new for us, isn't it?'

Spike smiled, pleased with Angel, and pleased with his unlife. He pulled his lover down into his arms, whispering half to himself, 'This is our calm surrender to the rush of day.'

Angel pulled away, looking at him questioningly. Spike chuckled, 'Don't worry, pet, more modern poetry just saying the same thing, 's all. Just know, Angel: right now, for tonight, for eternity, it's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you.'

He saw Angel's face, felt the almost overwhelming intensity of Angel's need for him and tugged at Angel's hair lightly and mockingly, 'Come on poof. You'll be tellin' me you'll love me better after death at this rate.'

Angel ignored the mocking tone. He climbed over the slim, chuckling body. He rubbed his hands over the hard muscles of Spike's belly, flaring his palms over his nipples and up under his arms. Spike stretched and watched the magnificent body above him. Suddenly he began to laugh openly. 'Angel, take a shower.'

Angel groaned and lowered his head onto Spike's chest. 'No. Please, don't make me.'

Spike pouted, even though he knew Angel couldn't see it. 'I call that pretty rich from someone who's just professed to love me more than his soul.'

'Don't misquote, and you know I hate it.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Angel. No one will come in - I've got me "Spike's Room: Vampires Shagging - Bugger Off" sign up. You know I won't watch... look, I'll read this 'ere poetry book. 'K? So, shower. Now.'

Angel gave in. He wanted Spike: he wanted to cum in Spike. If being watched as he showered would get him inside that tight body and have it writhing beneath him, well he'd do it. He stomped over to the odd arrangement and pulled the chain that let the hot water cascade down from the large showerhead. He shivered slightly, even though the water was hot, feeling as if many eyes, peering from the shadows of the room, were on him.

There was only one pair of eyes on him. Spike flipped over onto his belly on the bed and swung his legs contentedly, watching Angel. Angel was worth watching. It was now the body he remembered; hell, maybe it was the body his body was recreating: regular, hard, prolonged sex with him was clearly doing Angel good. He doubted - if push came to shove - whether he would be able to defeat Angel now. Each muscle was honed to perfection. Every inch of flawless skin glistened under the water. Every movement only showed the body off to more advantage.

Spike didn't stay on the bed for long. Angel knew he wouldn't. He felt eager arms encircling his waist, an erection pressing against his belly. No wall to brace against, Spike just bent over and Angel slipped into his body as if sliding his hand into a glove. Spike grunted as Angel rammed deeply in, he lost his balance slightly so reached over for the rim of the large, Victorian tub. Spread, now braced, Spike became a vessel for Angel's passion. He rode into Spike's body with ever increasing force. His urgent panting filled the spaces in the large room - Spike's moans a low counterpoint to the sound of Angel's breathing. Angel wanted to cum deep inside Spike. He loved it when Spike took him, but this was... this was what he really needed. He heaved Spike up from his spread position, lifting him up slightly, and then ramming him down onto his hard cock. Spike cursed at the increased penetration and managed to groan out, 'I'm cuming, fuck; I'm cuming.'

Angel put his mouth to Spike's neck and, as he shuddered his orgasm up into Spike's body, he sucked Spike's blood out through a savage tear in his neck. In all ways, too many to count, he loved Spike, as their bodies melded in that dark room.

However much he wanted to, however much he got Wesley to take on more cases, Angel could not stay all day and night in the attic with Spike; he had a life and a job, both of which were gradually returning to as normal they as ever would be for him. Occasionally Spike stirred himself enough to help on a case, but usually he lounged with an impressive knack of doing nothing remotely useful for hours on end. Angel didn't complain too much, he liked the constant smell of cigarette smoke that had invaded his home, and the trail of mess that usually led to Spike's location. One day he slid quietly out of the office towards one of the couches in the lobby, smiling at the thin trail of smoke that drifted lazily up. He glanced around to check they were alone, then leapt with a screech of delight over the back and onto the reclining figure.

Connor screamed.

Angel screamed, but louder and angrier when he saw the hastily hidden cigarette.

'What are you doing?'

Connor looked mutinous. 'You can't tell me what to do.'

'I haven't told you anything yet. Give that to me.'

'I can easily get another.'

'Connor, that's not the point. Smoking is bad for you and will kill you. Besides, it's totally addictive, if you start…'

'Spike smokes, and you don't stop him.'

Ah. Angel sighed. 'Spike is an adult; he's not my son, and he's already dead.' Angel was pleased with this decisive argument and held out his hand. 'Now give it to me, and we won't talk about this again.'

Connor threw the cigarette onto the floor and stormed off.

He came down later that day, smoking again.

Angel flew at him and ripped the cigarette away. Connor just laughed and took out a packet from his back pocket, waved it at him and ran out, pausing on the threshold in the sunshine. He stood in the sun and lit up, watching Angel carefully through the smoke.

Angel picked up a chair and threw it furiously in his direction and stormed down to his training room.

'That was mature.' Spike sat down on the steps, watching Angel kicking the wall.

Angel replied between gritted teeth. 'He's only a boy; he's not supposed to be mature.'

Spike laughed and lit up. 'I wasn't talking about him.'

Angel paused and came up to him, ripping the cigarette from his mouth. 'It's your damn fault, Spike. If you didn't…' he stopped and sat next to him on the step. 'Sorry.'

Spike relit and offered it to Angel who took it gratefully. 'What am I going to do, Spike?'

Spike took hold of Angel's wrist and made him hold the cigarette for him, too. He blew a cloud of smoke up, thoughtfully.

'Want to leave it to me?'

Angel looked at him. 'Is this going to be another cunning plan?'

Spike huffed. 'Duh.'

Angel still looked dubious. Spike grinned, patted him patronisingly on the head and jumped up. 'See ya.'

The next day, Connor came into Angel's office looking sheepish, slightly mutinous still, but with an obvious air of a teenager on a mission. Angel didn't look up.

'I'm sorry.'

'What for, Connor? For smoking when I expressly asked you not to?'

'No. For using the sunlight against you.'

Angel looked up sharply. Connor flushed; Angel could smell his blood heating in his body as clearly as he could see the warm glow spreading out on the boy's cheeks. He nodded, and looked back down.


'What, Connor?'

'Will you buy me a motorbike? Spike's teaching me to ride his.'

Angel paused and wished he needed to breathe. He sighed deeply anyway and looked up. Before he could reply, Connor came closer and sat on the edge of the desk. 'See, we have to ride together now, but if I had my own, we could…'

'Connor, how did we get from you having a lingering death through smoking to me buying you an instant death machine?'

Connor frowned and wondered, not for the first time, if this strange father of his was slightly dense. It seemed very clear to him… had been even clearer when Spike had explained it. 'Well, I'll help pay for the bike by not buying cigarettes… think how much money I could save.'

'You were stealing the cigarettes from Spike.'

Connor had the sense not to point out that Spike had been giving them to him freely. 'Yes, but I would have had to buy them soon enough… smoking is very addictive, father, and I would have been on… oh, sixty or seventy a day by now if Spike hadn't let me ride his bike. So, can I have one of my own?'

Angel smiled and, without thinking, put a hand on Connor's hair and ruffled it a bit. Connor blushed once more, but didn't move away. He took the affection as a positive sign and made a big show of not smoking for the rest of the day.

Spike, exhausted from his efforts on Angel's behalf, had taken himself off to bed for a vampire day. Even Angel had been forced to admit that the bed had been a good buy. It was large enough for interesting games, soft enough to sleep the sleep of the undead and, with all the blankets and quilts Spike had insisted on, it was a womb-like lair that shut them off from the world. It was also an Angel magnet, and Spike grinned quietly to himself when he felt the edge depress slightly.

'It's still day, Angel; shouldn't you be out earning our living somewhere? Ow! Bloody hell!' Angel smacked him again, the marks of his hand livid on Spike's naked backside.

'Fucking stop that! I'm not a bleedin' baby, stop with the smack… Ow!'

Angel knelt alongside Spike, his hand raised for another smack. He looked at Spike. Spike turned and looked back at him. Their eyes dilated, and Angel fell on him with a groan, blows raining down over the pale, writhing body.

Angel came over Spike, Spike came into the mattress, and they lay tangled in the spent fluids, their bodies shuddering with post-orgasmic delight.

Angel chuckled. 'I was supposed to be furious with you. I was driven up here by fury. I remember getting onto the bed wanting to smash you, hurt you, and punish you. What happened?'

Spike propped himself up on his elbow and looked at him. 'I'll look after 'im, luv. I'd never let 'im get hurt; you know that - not now. It'll be good for 'im.'

'They're dangerous, Spike. He'll get killed.'

'Life is dangerous, Angel; you can't keep him from it. If you do, you'll drive him away.'

'But a motorbike, Spike!'

'Buy him a car then.'


'Angel! Buy him a car. Buy him a car an' teach 'im to drive.'


Spike ran his finger lightly up Angel's cheek. 'I can't give you his childhood back, Angel. I would if I could. But bloody hell, mate, you'll be missing all this if you don't lighten up. Buy him a fuckingly cool car, and teach him to drive!'

Angel laughed and rolled onto his back. He eyed Spike speculatively. 'Sorry about the smacking.'

Spike laughed. 'No you're not. Wanna try it again?'

Angel sat up. 'That's not us anymore, though, is it, Spike? We did vampire; now we're doing this. Every hour's most quiet need, remember? This is love? Hey! What? Shut up! Hey! No, you can't smack me! I'm your sire! Spike!'

Spike didn't stop. He brought his hand down hard and repetitively onto Angel's backside, the cool, solid flesh hardly shaking under his onslaught. Angel stopped complaining when the pain made him swell. He wanted to be inside Spike again, his penis aching to return to those tight walls - but Spike didn't let up. He continued to beat Angel until he came himself, in a shuddering orgasm over flesh he had bruised and bloodied. He lay down on top of Angel, rubbing his cum into the hot, stinging flesh. Angel groaned at the coolness of Spike's body on the unnatural heat and came into the mattress, his penis jerking and twitching its release until he took it in one hand and directed the flow.

Spike was silent for a while until Angel felt him slide off and make his way to one dark corner of his room. He turned his head to watch Spike's naked journey and frowned when he came back with something held behind his back.

Angel turned over, wincing a little at the unpleasant dampness in the bed. 'Am I going to like this, Spike?'

Spike grinned. 'Are you a vampire, pet?'

Angel smiled. 'I used to be, I think. I'm not sure what I am these days. I don't seem to get a lot of time to think about it.'

Spike sat on the bed and shook the hidden object slightly, flicking up one eyebrow. It jingled.

Angel made to see what was there, but Spike shifted back out of the way. He shook it again, this time lifting his eyes to the rafters above them.

Angel followed his gaze.

'Me, or you?'

Angel looked at Spike, debating his reply.

'Come on, Angel. The choice is yours… this time. Give pain, or receive it?'

'I thought we had moved past this, Spike.'

'We've moved back to it, luv. It's not all we are anymore, but we can do it because we choose to. So, decide.'

Spike hung from the manacles, twisting slightly in the filtered light of his room. The stretch made his broken, beaten body seem unnaturally thin, only contrasting more the size and urgency of his erection. He hung his head, waiting for Angel to begin again, longing for the pain that fed his demon and made it happy.

Angel stood slightly to one side, not looking at his victim, smoking - as if he were doing this merely as a pause in the torture. He grinned: this was the new torture - and how utterly appropriate it was. He put the glowing tip to Spike's red-tip and nearly came himself when Spike's scream rent the air. The smell of burning, preternatural cockhead just engorged him more.

He held Spike's body still to him and took another drag on the cigarette, reheating it, and then applied it to one raised nipple. Before Spike could gasp, Angel pressed his cool mouth to the burn and salved it with cool saliva. Spike moaned and tried to press his erection to something, but Angel avoided the contact.

He moved around to Spike's back and regarded the slim, swaying figure.

Each knob on Spike's spine was then decorated by a small circular burn. It was beautiful, so much so, Angel added some more across his shoulders. He was going through the pack of cigarettes very quickly and wanted one more mark before he finished. Spike had stopped screaming a long time ago. His head hung down, lost to the intensity of his pain. His cock, which had spewed its release so many times to the punches and the snapping of his bones, bounced softly and limply to one side of his thigh. Angel had not allowed himself to cum. He had saved up the power Spike's pain had given to his erection, savouring the final pain he wanted to share with his childe.

He took a deep drag of the last cigarette; lowered Spike slightly so he could stand and bear his own weight, spread his cheeks and put the slim, hot column to Spike's soft entrance. He hadn't expected it to go in, but it burnt the puckered skin; it seared the fragile nerve endings; it brought a fearful scream from Spike… and a begging for more.

When he had burnt Spike as much as he could, Angel pushed through the blistered edges of the hole. He rode on Spike's burn, tearing it open and making it bleed profusely. He reached around to hold the body still so he could penetrate it fully and found Spike engorged and needing release once more.

Unable to thrust without making Spike sway agonisingly away from him, Angel was forced to brace his legs in a half-crouch, thrusting up into Spike, lifting his limp body off the ground with each push. He didn't last long. The pleasure of taking Spike - unconscious, limp, bleeding and broken - broke Angel's reserve. His demon screamed; a flood of intense relief swept through his dead body, and he shuddered and jerked his release into the receptive body.

He carried Spike to the bed and laid him on the stained sheets. He fetched cool water and bathed the burns. He inspected each livid mark that matched exactly the spread and shape of his hand. He felt the broken bones over. Frowning at the damage he had done, he pulled Spike into his lap and, in a familiar and delightful gesture, sliced open his own wrist and began to feed his healing blood to his childe. It didn't take long for Spike to latch on himself and cling to the narcotic effects of the rich liquid. When he was sure Spike could manage on his own, Angel took care of Spike's erection for him, grasping firmly on the cockstem, pulling at it, squeezing the soft balls, teasing over the burnt and healing slit. Spike's groan against his wrist and the way he lifted his hips slightly to cum made Angel's penis twitch once again, but he willed it down, wanting to enjoy the sight of Spike's cum plopping gently out of the red, swollen tip.

Spike didn't speak as he came. He just shuddered, and then curled on his side slightly away from Angel and fell into a deep sleep, not waking when Angel pulled him closer. Intending to brood on what had happened between them, Angel drifted off to the smell and feel of Spike's hair against his face. Exhausted from inflicting so much pain for so long, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he was alone. Spike was not there anymore. He sat up with a jolt of fear almost as intense as when Connor's lie had sent him spinning in despair to Spike's room. He peered into the gloom, felt a cool draft on his face and looked up to the open dormer window at the top of the stairs.

Spike sat in his favourite small area of flat roof, his knees drawn up, wrapped in a rug, smoking thoughtfully. Every inch of his body hurt. He had only just been able to crawl out of bed to retrieve his emergency pack of fags before hauling his sorry ass up here into the cool night air. He looked over the spectacular view from his God-like position and felt… complete. His unlife was perfect. This moment was perfect. If he could stop, he would want to stop now, before it all changed again. For that was the problem… his whole life - everything he had - depended upon Angel. No Angel… no hotel. No Angel… no money. No Angel… no mind-blowing, gut-shuddering orgasms… and all right, he had to admit it… no Angel, no… love... nothing. Angel was everything: Spike's demon bits, his human bits, his unique just-Spike bits… they were now all captivated, entranced, and surrendered to Angel.

So, small problem… Spike needed Angel to be happy. To be happy, Angel needed his strange family around him, supporting him... and it was nearly all there... it was nearly perfect… except for that one missing link… and it was an important link; Spike could see that. He'd been wrong to think the watcher was the only one who could advise and counsel Angel, there was someone else… someone powerful, resourceful and brave.

Spike smiled as he lit another cigarette from the stub of his previous one. He had to admit - this last plan was not just for Angel. He wanted it himself: it wasn't often he met anyone who could see right through him to his core and still so obviously like him and approve of him.

So, Spike began to plan… but his expression changed the instant he realised Angel was watching him from the window ledge.

'You're planning again, aren't you?'

Spike smiled and shook his head sadly. 'I wish I was as good as you give me credit for, Angel. Sorry to disappoint you... thumb's up bum and coasting in neutral here, mate.

Not at all sure of the meaning of this, and intrigued to see if it was meant literally, Angel climbed out and crawled over to join Spike. He placed his back a little too firmly against the wall, peering anxiously over the edge.

'Must you do this here?'

Spike laughed and pretended to push Angel over the edge. He received another blow for his troubles and couldn't hide the wince as Angel's playful punch landed on his still aching body.

Angel took Spike's face in his hands. 'Are you okay with… what I did?'

Spike gave him an incredulous look and leant back against the wall, manoeuvring Angel's head down to his lap. 'Luv, I'm a vampire; I thrive on having a burnt willy.'

Angel sat up from the offending part and began to peel away Spike's blanket. 'Let me see.'

Spike gave him an outraged look and slapped him theatrically on the hand. 'Piss off. I'm not letting you see my willy!'

'Spike! What the hell are you…'

'Angel. That was the bedroom, this is the kit… err, roof. It's totally inappropriate.'

Not too sure that he wasn't just having the piss taken out of him, Angel allowed Spike to pull him back onto the soft blanket.

Grinning to himself, Spike stroked Angel's hair, running his fingers through the soft locks, occasionally sharing his cigarette with the quiet vampire in his lap. Angel tried to stay quiet, but after a few moments he said between gritted teeth.

'Stop it!'

'What, pet? This stroking annoying you? Too West Hollywood for you?'

'You're plotting. I can hear the cogs grinding from here.'

'That's your fat belly rumbling, mate; I'm not doing anything.'

Angel fell into a light doze as the soporific effects of Spike's hands on his face soothed his tired body.

'Angel... 'been thinking 'bout that old meat locker.'

Abruptly woken, Angel's groan did not escape Spike's ears. 'The meat locker?'

'Yeah, the one we...'

'I know what we did in there; why are you thinking about it?'

'It was sound proof, wasn't it?'

Angel sat up. 'Spike, what we do in your room is… separate to the rest of my life here. It's just us up here… private. No way are you having a torture chamber in the basement of my hotel.'

'Angel! I wouldn't call it torture; I quite like your singing.'




'Don't what?'

'Don't even go there, Spike.'

'Oh, come on Angel. Even you've got to admit what a great club you could have in those old kitchens, and think of the benefits for the lad - he'd learn to get along with demons a bit, wouldn't he?'

Angel had buried his face into Spike's groin, had his hands over his ears and was humming so he couldn't hear. Spike ignored him and carried on, a hand on the strong back, circling his will into Angel's resistance.

'Yeah, a demon club. Might even bring in custom to the agency. Course, you'd 'ave to find someone to manage it, like...'

The End

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