Counting The Ways - 7

It quickly became clear to Spike that some culling of the humans had to be done and, whilst he secretly enjoyed imagining doing this for real, he contented himself with suggesting that Fred thin out to Gunn's until the funeral. She was utterly incapable of hiding a single emotion, and he despaired of her maintaining the fiction for even one night. Connor also went with them, so that only left the demon, him and Cordelia. Cordelia agreed to stay away from work for a day or two, so that left the hotel occupied only by demons. Spike eyed Lorne out of the corner of one eye.

'I'm staying right where I am, honey. No one reads me. Your secret's safe.'

Spike didn't look convinced, and Lorne only laughed. 'You're the one Angelpie's gonna be blocking his ears to; you've got "sneaky plan" flashing like a neon sign on your forehead.'

Spike needn't have bothered worrying. Angel did not return to the hotel that day, that night, or the next day. The others gathered in the lobby for the journey to the cemetery. Angel had still not made an appearance. Spike thought it best not to mention Lorne's suggestion that Angel might be off topping himself in some guilt-ridden orgy of self-destruction. He was glad he hadn't, for Angel appeared suddenly from the basement. He glanced at the assembled humans in their sombre clothes and paused on his way up the stairs. Lorne stepped forward.

'Funeral, sweetiepie. You coming? It's the least … ya know?'

Angel tipped his head back slightly and looked from one to the other, his gaze resting longest on Spike who was having trouble with his lighter and was bending over try to light it, his hands shielding his face as if in a strong wind. Angel nodded faintly and trailed out after them.

Gunn, Cordelia, Fred and Connor travelled in the car they had booked. Lorne and Spike were left going with Angel. Spike immediately jumped into the back seat and Lorne, after glancing at Angel's face, climbed in next to him, smoothing out a slight rumple this manoeuvre created in his suit.

'My, don't we all look just fabulous in black… but what am I saying? You always look good in it, sugar.'

Spike shook his head fractionally to shut him up, but Lorne completely ignored him and carried on a particularly inane conversation with himself all the way, as if deliberately attempting to annoy both vampires.

The service started. They stood alongside the grave. Angel stood a little to one side, his head bowed, his hands folded together, silent, reserved.

A short reading, some prayers, and Spike began to look around anxiously. He was supposed to be here by now. Some more prayers, some mumbling, which he took to be prayers as well, and where the bloody hell was he? He felt the other's eyes on him and resolutely kept his eyes cast down to the coffin. The coffin got lowered, and he was beginning to panic. Timing in his plans was important, and this was going badly wrong. Throwing on of the earth began. Angel came forward, knelt and took a handful of the soft brown, dusty earth. He stood alongside the open grave, staring down at the wooden box. Spike glanced up at him through his lowered lids and caught a small sob-like sound. Angel threw the soil and turned away as if too moved to have people see his grief. His shoulders shook slightly, but he regained self-control and took his place behind the others waiting for them each to pay their respects.

Panic had begun to set in. Spike could feel it. No one wanted to throw soil. Everyone wanted tearful reunions and a happy ending. Spike actually looked around the dark cemetery, trying with his enhanced vision to pluck Wesley out of the darkness. Another small sob-like noise from Angel was the only sound heard in that silent place.

The service finished. They trailed back to the hotel. Nothing else had been done or planned, as there wasn't supposed to be a wake. They stood in the lobby, shuffling their feet and waiting for Angel to go so they could vent their fury on Spike. Angel didn't go, but he did repeat the small sob he had made once or twice that night.

This time at the sound - without the distraction of waiting for Wesley to appear - Spike looked up sharply. When the sound came again, he took a step back. Everyone turned to look at him. He was pale, even for him, and for some reason was easing out of his duster and hedging towards the open door.

One more sob and, bizarrely, Spike made a dash for the door, saw his way blocked by Angel, looked frantically around and flew up the stairs, shouting something that sounded like 'Help,' but that was lost to the screech that came out of Angel, as he took up pursuit of the disappearing vampire.

It had all happened so quickly, no one had time to take it in. Gunn started to go after Angel, but Lorne put a hand on his arm and shook his head. 'Let's just say there's about to be some fur an' feathers flying, hon, an' you surely don't want to be there to see that.'



Spike swore under his breath as he crouched in one of the disused lift-shafts. The bastard had known. Fucking sobbing? The git had been laughing! He tipped his head on one side trying to hear any pursuit and, when it was silent, crawled out of the gap between the lift and the doors. Fuck knows where he was: one corridor in this hideous place looked like any other. He set off cautiously, convinced he'd hear Angel if he were anywhere near. The place was very, very dark and very, very… he shook himself slightly, wishing he'd not watched "The Shining" quite so many times.

He'd begun to relax fractionally but turned a corner and found Angel lounging up against the wall, one leg bent up, a baseball bat dangling from one hand.

Spike froze. Nowhere to run really. Angel turned to look at him. Spike held his gaze. 'Is he dead?'

Angel did not reply, but he licked his lips slightly as if remembering something particularly tasty. Spike pursed his lips, considering his options. 'We don't have to do this, Angel.'

'I do,' and with that Angel launched himself off the wall and the bat connected with Spike's arm, shattering his elbow. Spike howled in pain, but wrenched the bat from Angel as the vibrations loosened it from his grip slightly. He took it in his good arm and swung it at Angel's head. Angel went down hard and unconscious for a brief moment. It was all Spike needed, he hit him again, raised the bat for a third swing, but his ankle was seized in an iron grip. He wrenched free and ran. He found some stairs and took them two at a time; his broken arm screamed at him, but he ignored it and tried to orientate himself to the maze of corridors and rooms. Another staircase. He heard a bellow behind him and the sound of something being broken. He took a firmer hold on the bat and descended some more.

A set of double doors appeared in front of him, and he flung through them and found himself in a huge, dark, abandoned kitchen. He cursed and turned to find a better escape when a dark figure appeared in silhouette behind the doors. He'd seen "Jurassic Park" lots of times, too; he skittered away behind one of the long metal counters and hunkered down out of sight. He knew Angel knew he was in there, but he only needed one more good shot, and he might be able to knock the fucker out for long enough to make a more permanent escape.

Angel came in through the swing doors and stood just to one side, listening. He advanced. Almost close enough. Another step. Spike shot up and swung the bat. Angel ducked and caught Spike on the side of his head with a broken table leg. Spike felt blood pouring down his cheek and slithered away over another counter and dived through another door. He stopped. Fuck. He'd come into an old cold store. No way out. Not now anyway: Angel had come in after him and shut the door.

They had an area about the size of a bedroom. They made good use of every inch: almost every inch got splattered by vampire blood. The floor ran with their blood, as it poured off them. Blow after blow made with the weapons they held, dropped and wrenched from each other. No one heard the screams of pain; no one heard the cursing or the taunting. Once more, Angel began to fail first, but Spike was unlucky; at one particularly hard blow to his head, he thought he felt his chip move slightly and was utterly panicked by the idea of it shifting through his brain. He faltered for a second, put a blood soaked hand up to the bloody pulp of a face - and Angel saw his opportunity. He flung himself on Spike and pinned him down by force of his superior weight. Spike was trapped, and he knew it. Face to face, they lay still; Angel's blood and sweat dripped onto Spike.

Angel's voice was ragged, harsh after the shouting and screaming. 'Give it up now, Spike; your plan's failed.'

Inches between them, Angel's blood flowing over him, Spike grinned. He slid a hand between them and cupped Angel. 'Oh yeah?'

Angel hissed and rolled off onto his back alongside Spike. He did not comment on Spike's hand still cupping him. He just put a hand down to join him. Hard. He was achingly hard. His penis strained to be free… so he freed it. His balls throbbed in their confinement. He swore, and ripped his pants off entirely, kneeling up, his head tipped back, eyes closed, lost to the urgency of needing to cum. Spike took his hand away and watched Angel jerking widely on his erection. Angel began to pant slightly and moan as he felt his orgasm cresting. He bent over with one hand braced on the bloodied floor and shot a powerful bullet of cum down to mix with the swirling red. Over and over again, sperm shot from Angel's penis. He emptied himself and collapsed heedless into the puddle on the floor when he was done.

He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down disbelievingly: still hard. He looked at Spike. Spike grinned and fell on him, his mouth returning to that penis as if one hundred years had not passed. Covered in blood and spent cum from the floor, Angel tasted like Spike's unlife: all the hunting, all the feeding, all the torturing, all the sex and all the endless flowing of the blood… all here on this thick column. Spike groaned as he sucked, and the groaning brought on another swift release from Angel. He grasped Spike's head and forced him lower; he shouted out his name as he came just as powerfully as the first time, but for longer now, encased in the soft temptation of Spike's mouth.

Spike didn't pull away when he had drunk all he could of Angel's sperm: he started to clean him. He licked around his cock, over his balls, teasing through the soft wiry hair with his tongue. Another swell, another groan from Angel, and he pushed Spike back onto his shaft, as a weaker orgasm rose in him and jetted out into Spike's mouth.

Exhausted, shuddering slightly, Angel pulled Spike up onto his shoulder and held him close for a long while.

Broken bones began to heal, wounds stopped bleeding. Angel's whole body hurt with a dull agony that felt… exquisite. He wanted more, so relished the pain that he felt himself swelling once again. He took Spike's hand in his and worked himself with both, using Spike's hand to play and fondle with his balls as he concentrated on the tip of his foreskin that he liked to pinch and tease. Another orgasm - almost painful this time, as he had so little sperm left to lose. He let his cock drop from his hand and brought the small quantity of cum up to Spike, rubbing it in his face and around his hair, marking him.

He nuzzled into the scent, nibbling and preparing Spike for the penetration, and to Spike's blissful, whispered 'Yes,' Angel pierced Spike's pale skin and began to drink him in greedy swallows of childe blood. Spike stretched out to the feeding, to the claiming, to the love. He travelled with his blood to Angel and played around in that body for a while, reacquainting himself with his sire's demon. This time, Angel did not drain him dry; he fed deeply but only for a short time, and then pulled away and loomed over Spike, as he lay languid, peaceful, and in pain on the floor.

Angel took Spike's face in both of his battered hands and tried to speak but found it too difficult to say what he wanted to. The blood and sweat had stopped dripping, but now Spike felt cool drops that smelt of salt and grief dropping onto him. He pulled Angel down onto his chest and held him tightly. He had sensed that Angel had not cried much over Connor's loss and feared the power of the grief washing over him now… but Angel didn't let his grief overwhelm him. He pulled away and regained his self-control, lying beside Spike, staring up at the featureless ceiling.

Spike broke the silence first by repeating his soft question. 'Is he dead?'

Angel turned to look at him.

Spike nodded as if this answered him. 'How did you know?'

Angel smiled, and it was the first genuine smile of amusement that night. 'I'm supposed to be a private investigator, Spike.'

'Oh.'

Angel shook his head in disbelief. 'Did you not think I might go there?'

'Duh, I'm not that stupid; that's why he left.'

'He'd cleaned the place, and there were flowers, Spike.'

'What! Fucking poof.'

'Hardly the actions of a man about to hang himself from the freshly washed sheets off his newly made bed. Oh, and he used a credit card to book the hotel, Spike… duh again?'

'Fuck. So… you went there, too?'

'Yes.'

'You did see him?'

Angel sighed. 'Yes, I did.'

'Is he dead, Angel? Will you just tell me.'

'He would have been, Spike, but…'

'But what?'

'But... the room was full of stubbed out cigarettes. Yours.'

'Ah. So…?'

Angel propped himself up on one elbow and began to unbutton Spike's shirt. He made no comment on his actions, just continued a slow inexorable removing of Spike's clothes. He looked up and caught Spike's eyes in his powerful gaze. 'I knew if I killed him, I'd lose you.'

Spike blinked slowly, pleased, and smiled shyly back at Angel. 'And that would be a bad thing?'

Angel laughed and bent his tongue to Spike's exposed belly. He trailed the cool tip across Spike's ridged muscles and poked it into his belly button a little, casting him seductive looks through lowered lids. 'I think it would be, yes.'

Spike hissed at the simple eroticism of Angel's actions, his hole throbbing slightly in anticipation of where they would lead. He sat up and leant back on braced arms to watch as Angel worked on his jeans, undoing them and pulling them off when he had freed them from his boots. Naked now, Spike removed Angel's shirt.

Angel began to play with Spike's body, exploring him, turning him around, examining him like a cat with a live mouse it was too full to bother killing. Spike melted to Angel's hands, allowing every opening and probing, every close inspection until his sire was totally satisfied that nothing had changed; all was as it had been when it had been given.

Finally, Spike had to ask: Angel had not volunteered the information. 'You know, don't you?'

'Your smell was so strong on him, it would have hurt me to hurt him.' Angel spoke but did not look up from Spike's body.

'So?'

'What would you do, Spike, if I made you choose?'

Spike hesitated. 'Choose, I guess.'

Angel looked up briefly and grinned. 'Good answer. Okay, then, let's cut to the chase. Who would you choose?' Although Angel's voice was steady, and his face showed nothing but suppressed amusement, Spike knew his sire better than that. He didn't bother with words as a reply; he pulled Angel up to his face and placed a kiss, soft and submissive, on his lips. He cast an amused smile up at Angel's pleased face, and then reared up, pushed Angel onto his back and began to ravish his lips and plunder his mouth in possessive kisses. Angel laughed and pushed him away, returning to his slow, detailed worshiping of his childe's body. Spike folded his arms under his head and relaxed to the adoration. He let Angel explore and play for a while, but then returned to his question.

'So?'

Angel smiled. 'Could I make you choose? I can't remember a time when you've ever done anything I've asked, ordered, begged or tried to trick you into doing.'

Spike pouted. 'A bit harsh, mate. Hypothetically then, if you didn't make me choose?'

'What do you think, Spike? Do you really think I'm going to let you fuck Wesley on the side?'

'Uh huh.'

Angel stopped and sat up alongside Spike. 'Is that all. Uh huh?'

'Angel, are you going to give Connor up?'

'What? What do you mean, Spike. Connor is my son, I can't… won't ever give him up… again.'

'So... uh huh. And I'm supposed to do what - while you spend hours every day with him, do things with him, spend most of your time with him. Shall I take up fucking knitting or something…?'

Angel didn't reply at first. He was staring thoughtfully at his childe. Eventually, he said neutrally, 'I hadn't thought of it like that.'

'No, I know you hadn't.' Spike sat up and patted his pockets until he found his cigarettes, lit two and passed one to Angel. Angel took it absentmindedly, and smoked it from force of long-forbidden habit. They sat crossed legged across from each other, smoking contentedly until Spike suddenly poked Angel in the belly.

'Hey!'

'Angel… just fucking say yes. You should try it, mate; he's so bloody warm and… floppy.' Angel laughed and Spike poked him again. 'Not like that; I mean, jees… like a bag of blood… ya know, when it's warm from the microwave… you know how it sits in yer hand, and you can cup it and rub it 'gainst yer face… he's like that.' Spike caught Angel's amused expression. 'And I ain't gonna explain it any more. I just want him, Angel. He'll give me something to do when you're off with the lad.'

'I can't see Wesley agreeing to being your puppy-in-a-pocket.'

Spike knew he'd won.

He tried to keep a gleeful expression of triumph and anticipation off his face, but without success. 'Wesley ain't gonna know, is he?'

Angel gave him a fond squint through the smoke and moved a hand to stroke the slim thigh.

'Wise. You know I won't tolerate him coming back here.'

'Never thought you would.'

'The others seem to think that's what it was all about.'

'What'd' they know, pet? They're just humans.'

'True. Connor…'

'He's a brick, that one, luv. He'd do anything for you.' Angel looked down shyly, as Spike continued. ' All he wanted was for you to be a bit happier, mate. Stop angsting over 'im. He's okay - lies like a trooper.'

Angel tipped back his head as if seeking for strength. 'So, Wesley stays away from here.'

Spike nodded. 'In more ways than one, pet, promise.'

'When I want you, you'll be here?'

Spike hesitated. 'When I want you, will you be here?' Angel looked at him sharply but then nodded as if understanding the true import of Spike's question. 'I'm sorry. You're not my property any more, Spike. I can't have it both ways, can I? Human child and vampire childe.'

Spike shook his head slowly. 'No. You can't.' He lit another cigarette from the stub of his previous one and took a long drag. 'You can have me as just… vampire.' He looked around at the blood and flecks of skin on the walls and floor. 'You can have me as just this... vampire.'

'When you fit me in between Wesley's… floppier turns.'

Spike laughed. 'He wasn't the only one floppy when I got here, Angel. Don't forget that.' He cast his eyes down to Angel's lap provocatively, then up again to his face. He flicked up one eyebrow. 'Why don't you take that for a proper test drive, Angel, and we'll work me shag-timetable out later.'

They threw away their cigarettes simultaneously. Their mouths met and tasted of nicotine and sex. Angel pushed Spike onto his back and slid a hand up the underside of his thigh, lifting it as he stroked. He bent to Spike's hole and licked it in preparation, pushing his tongue in, wetting all around the edges. He pulled away for a moment and looked around their concrete room. 'Do you want to take this upstairs?' Spike shook his head and pushed Angel's face back.

There was no desire in either of them for foreplay; there was no mystery; there was nothing to discover. They had known this pleasure a hundred thousand times, and the memories were acute for each of them. Angel knew exactly when Spike felt pain from his penetration, for the pale column of his childe's shaft rose and betrayed him. He knew when he had found Spike's prostate, for he could sense a slight clenching of the anus holding him tight.

Spike watched Angel's face. The eyes flickered shut and opened slowly, as the pleasure of mounting his childe started to overwhelm him. He saw the clenching of the jaw, which he knew would soon lead to a cool washing of his bowels and the beloved sound of Angel cuming in him. Angel put one hand on Spike's belly in exactly the same place he always put it when he was about to cum… and came… a strong flooding wash and rapid jerking inside the familiar body.

Spike jettisoned his load onto his belly, relishing the spasmodic jerking of his cock and the satisfied grunts from Angel as some of the sperm hit him. He was even more delighted when Angel bent his face to the fresh pool and began to lap at it, for he knew what would surely follow. Fangs went deep into his belly and fed from his stomach and chest - Angelus attempting to find his heart to rip and tear. The agony made him scream and harden once more, and Angel clamped a strong hand over Spike's mouth so his childe could bite into his palm and make him rise again, too. Angel's penis swelled deep inside Spike's anus, as his tendon was sliced by powerful fangs and another orgasm washed out and into the slim pale body writhing beneath him.

Angel licked and nuzzled into the wound he had made on Spike's belly, now the only fresh one on his battered body. He rubbed his shredded hand over Spike's face, absentmindedly, as he licked and probed with his tongue. Spike turned his face and purred to the marking and the claiming and the scenting, and groaned when Angel withdrew to fall alongside him in the dark.

After a long while, Spike heard Angel's voice, thoughtful and quiet in the still air. 'It's what this was all about, wasn't it, Spike. Blood and pain.'

Spike propped himself up on his elbow and played idly with Angel's now flaccid cock. 'Did you want to stay like this forever, mate? Jees Angel… flaccid. It scared me. But it was so bloody obvious what you needed.' He turned Angel's face to him and spoke very slowly and very clearly as if to someone slightly mentally impaired. 'You - are - a - vampire. You - get - off - on - pain.' He sank back, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. 'You actually told me you held a baby's soddin' hair to yer face, luv. I mean… come on…'

Angel rolled over onto his belly, not liking the way this conversation was going. 'You wouldn't understand, Spike. You don't have a soul; you've never been a father.'

'True and true. But I know you, Angel. You're in me, luv - you made me. Soul or no soul, you can't be human. You can't deny the dark side, Angel.'

'Don't romanticise it, Spike. This is not an episode of some damn epic space war. There is nothing good or noble about being a demon.'

'Ooh. Don't tell me you've actually heard of the electric theatre, Angel…'

'Shut up, Spike. I've been trying to get up-to-date… stuff Connor might like.'

'Yeah, well. Don't make no difference what you say, Angel; what you do kind of proves my point, don't it? One smack with that old baseball bat and your balls were rocking 'round the clock, weren't they… oh, and that's a modern tune, pet.'

'Fuck off, Spike.' Spike might have been more offended by this if he hadn't have heard the underlying amusement in Angel's tone. He crept a hand over to Angel's resistant back and began an irritating tickling down one side.

'Stop that.'

''Fraid I'm gonna find some fatty bits?'

Angel flipped over and pinned Spike on his back, rearing over him furiously. He saw Spike's face and dropped his head onto his chest. 'You do it every time, don't you, Spike? You push my buttons like I'm your own personal keypad.'

'Yeah, an' it works every time, too, luv.' As if to prove his point he cupped Angel's hanging balls lightly in one hand and began a soft working of them. Angel hissed, and then bent lower to Spike's ear.

'Hurt me again.'

Spike hissed in response and, sliding into game face once more, wrenched the soft sac hard, and then ground it up into Angel's pelvis. Angel screamed at the glorious pain and ripped into Spike's neck, tearing at his ear.

They fought as if to the death - snarling, naked demons whose pale bodies glowed faintly in the ambient light. They only stopped when Angel came once more into Spike's torn body and even the effort of pulling out was too much. They slept curled together, embedded, sated, and in a kind of pain that sent them into fearful, but longed-for dreams.

Angel woke first, stuck to Spike. The peeling off woke Spike.

Angel sat with his head lowered into his hands. Spike rummaged for their clothes and threw Angel his.

'What's happened here? What happens now?'

Spike pulled Angel to his feet and started to dress him. 'We've got back to where we should be, that's all, Angel.' Angel stilled Spike's hands on him and took his face between his hands.

'This is what you want? This is how it's going to be now? You go and see Wesley; I stay here with Connor, and when you come back... we do this?'

Spike didn't catch Angel's eye, but continued doing up Angel's shirt for him, as if engrossed in this simple act. 'It's called fucking, Angel. And yeah, that's exactly it… we don't have to do it in here though… bit too cell-like.'

Angel shuddered. 'No. But this is it then. Vampires.'

'Yep.' He finally looked up. 'What else did you expect?'

Angel didn't reply, but turned towards the door, casting a final, shuddering glance around the tiny locker. 'I'm going to shower.'

Following him out, Spike shrugged his shoulders. ''K. I'm going to Wesley's.'

It was said. It tested the waters. The dam held. Angel merely shrugged slightly, too, and went up the stairs.

Spike pursed his lips; he kicked at something with the toe of his boot; he lit a cigarette but threw it away unsmoked. He looked in the direction Angel had gone, clenched his jaw, looked once more at the floor, then spun on his heel and went out to see whether it was day or night.