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The Darkling Plain
Episode 1
Chapter 4
Spike watched his friends' expressions in the elevator, wanting to see the change
when they saw the new place.
He wasn't disappointed. They walked slowly out of the gloom into the bright
light and stood with their heads thrown back, their mouths hanging open. Jordan
was the first to recover, and he raised an eyebrow at Spike and came closer.
With a grin, he began to undo Spike's shirt, button by button. They heard a
chuckle, and then Sam slid around behind him, easing the shirt off his shoulders.
They hissed and ran their hands over the pale flesh, now illuminated in sunlight
for the first time. Sam splayed his fingers on Spike's back, then circled him
and trailed them around to the front, resting them lightly over his nipples.
He looked down at Spike's face. 'You're perfect.'
Spike gave him a "well, yeah" look, and they kissed, amused.
Sam pulled away from the light kiss and dragged his hands down to Spike's waistband,
undoing the button, while he stared at the intense blue eyes. Jordan eased around
behind Spike and, as the jeans loosened, lowered them to the ground.
Sam glanced down and hissed with anticipation, falling to his knees as if the
sight of the hard, leaking cock had collapsed them. Spike looked down dispassionately
then tipped his head back to the sunshine to enjoy being pleasure from top to
bottom. As a mouth descended on him, he felt someone parting his cheeks, a tongue
seeking him out, and he groaned in bliss as every part of his body was pleasured.
Sam worked slowly, and Jordan matched the languid pace, licking around Spike
until he was ready and then inserting one finger very gently. Spike held onto
Sam's head, running his hands through the dark hair, easing him further on,
holding him on just a little longer than the human wanted. It was very quiet,
only the soft sound of wet skin and the occasional murmur of pleasure disturbed
the air. Spike tried to last out longer, but when Jordan eased a second finger
in and began to stroke over his prostate, he cried out, his harsh shout of release
shockingly loud in the muted atmosphere. He shuddered and tore at Sam's hair,
filling his mouth, releasing shot after shot of cum down the willing throat.
The fingers in him became fast and frantic, and extended the orgasm until he
sank to the warm floor and lay helpless in the intense light. Sam tipped over
and lay alongside him. Jordan propped himself up on one elbow, watching Spike's
soft relaxed face, and then nodded and turned on his back to match them.
Suddenly, Sam dug in his pocket and produced a pair of shades. He put them on
with a sigh and folded his arms behind his head. Spike turned his head, chuckled
and took them off, holding them reverently for a moment then putting them on
himself.
His sigh of utter bliss made the others chuckle, and they sat up. 'Shit, I wish
I had a camera.'
Spike ignored him and stretched, naked and happy on the sun-soaked wood.
Glancing around, Sam got up and scratched his belly. 'I've gotta pee.'
He wandered off, and Jordan began playing gently with Spike's nipple. 'In case
you've not noticed, Lover, Sam and I are both still hard.'
Spike only smiled and adjusted his position to get out of Jordan's shadow.
'Because, if you were interested….'
Sam came back across the main apartment and went toward Angel's room.
'… then I've got some cool things I've been saving up, yeah? Someone I thought
you'd like to….'
Sam crossed back and went into Spike's room.
'… screw. I've been working on some new….'
'Okay. I give in. Where the fuck is it?'
Spike twisted his head around. 'Where the fuck is what? Oh.' He climbed to his
feet and began to laugh.
Sam looked incredulous. 'Oh, come on…. Don't tell me he didn't…. Fucking vampires!
Right. My place. NOW!'
Spike frowned. 'Go in the….' He saw the reception to this suggestion before
he'd even made it and sighed, pulling back on his clothes.
They trooped back into the elevator, Spike grumbling slightly, and then stomped
across the agency toward the basement. Spike hardly noticed that Angel wasn't
there.
Angel returned to the apartment and immediately stripped off his clothes, pushing them all into the washer and turning it on. Naked, he went to the shower and began to run scalding hot water over his hair and skin, rubbing vigorously.
It hadn't struck Spike
until he stepped into Sam's place how similar it was to their new one. Smaller,
normal roof, but the similarity of the open plan look and the dominance of soft
wood was unmistakable. Sam saw the look and, as he made a dash for the bathroom,
slapped Spike on the back in glee. 'I know you thought we were fucking, but
honestly, we were only looking at style pages.'
Spike hit him back and got a satisfactory yelp for his pains. He sauntered over
to the kitchen and poured them all drinks then turned and eyed Jordan speculatively.
'So, new faces, huh?'
Spike stepped out of the elevator, immediately frowned at the odd noise and
then realised for the first time that they had a washer. He nodded his approval
and then heard the water running in the shower. With a grin, he stripped off
his clothes and sauntered into. He gagged and waved his hands theatrically in
front of him. 'Fucking hell, Angel! Steam!'
Angel was nothing more than a blur, but the blur came closer, pushed past him
and went out. Spike pouted and followed him.
Angel was standing by the bed, vigorously towelling down. Spike went closer.
'Bad day?'
Angel kept his eyes lowered but shrugged. Spike felt something jolt deep inside
when he saw how washed out and tired Angel looked. For the first time since
Spike had known him, he seemed to have aged. He went closer and held out his
hand for the towel.
Angel suddenly pushed past him again. 'Can't you fucking pick your own clothes
up?' Rather hypocritically, he threw the towel onto the bed, grabbed a pair
of sweatpants, and went to his own room, not actually slamming the door, but
sliding it shut hard enough to rattle the frame.
Spike stood with his hand outstretched for a moment before he lowered it to
his side.
He looked around, and suddenly, for one sickening moment, everything lurched.
In that moment, everything he took for granted shifted: who he was, what he
was, memories of his past, expectations for the future. Everything seemed threatening
and unsure. He tried to shake off the feeling and, glancing up at the ceiling
with an annoyed look, went into the gloom of his own room. Maybe it was the
sun. He was a fucking vampire, after all.
He climbed up to the raised bed and sat on it cross-legged, his head hung down,
thinking. With a sigh, he put his head into his hands. It wasn't the sun. He'd
done what he'd promised himself he would never do again: he'd begun to need
Angel. It was all Angel: the agency, the apartment, the way of life, his soul.
All Angel. He needed Angel like he had needed him the first few days of unlife
- like a mewling fledgling, seeking succour.
He needed Angel, and that would be okay…. Okay, that was, until Angel withdrew
his affection and shut him out. No Angel: no anything.
Spike tipped his head back and let out a stream of curses. Everything he'd achieved
since coming to LA had been lost when he'd lost his soul. He'd lost his confidence,
and in his grief, he'd turned to Angel to be succoured once again. Spike shuddered
and had the intensely disturbing thought that Angel might turn on him in this
needy state as Angelus had done to the fledgling William.
He sat for a long time in the calm of his room - the room Angel had chosen for
him, paid for and decorated.
Eventually, he went back to their shared bed, grabbed a pair of jeans and walked
reluctantly across the warm wood. He hesitated then knocked on the door.
The pause was significant, but eventually, he heard a soft, 'Yeah.'
Angel was sitting in one of the uncomfortable looking green leather armchairs.
He didn't look up as Spike came in.
Spike pulled a coffee table over in front of the brooding figure and sat down.
He waited for some encouragement. When it was unforthcoming, he said, 'Aren't
we supposed to share things now, Luv? 'S kinda what living together is all about?'
Angel pursed his lips but still didn't look up.
Spike sighed and tried again. 'You're shutting me out.'
This seemed to cause Angel some considerable pain, and he blinked once or twice.
Spike hedged forward then thought, "Fuck it," and sank to his knees. Not allowing
any resistance (but not finding much anyway), he pulled Angel's head down onto
his shoulder.
He felt Angel's emotions: dark and intense, and stroked his back softly. 'Hey….
Don't, Pet, please.'
Angel shook his head and then sat back in his chair, shading his eyes. Suddenly,
he rose and pulled Spike to his feet. Keeping hold of his arm, he led him toward
the bed. He lay down and pulled Spike to him. Running his hands over Spike's
face, staring into the blue eyes, he said sadly, 'I'm sorry.'
Spike assumed he was apologising for shutting him out and just kissed him, smiling.
''S okay. Now, how's about we give this sunlight something real good to illuminate….'
Without waiting for Angel's compliance, he slid seductively down the half-naked
body. When he reached the elastic of the sweats, he gave it a small ping then,
laughing, pulled it out and over the prominent erection. He glanced up, impressed.
'Someone's been thinking 'bout me.'
Angel threw an arm over his face and allowed Spike to continue in his fiction.
Punishment, guilt, revenge, hatred, love, need, fear, desperate longing and
loneliness - no wonder it had seemed so dark in that bright elevator: they'd
been overwhelmed by emotions that had lain dormant for so long.
'I should kill you,' had only been greeted with anguished consent.
He'd thrust the pliant human into the wall. He picked up one of the bags and
hurled it after him, causing a cry of pain. In fury, he'd snatched at his arm
and dragged him out and into Spike's apartment, kicking the door closed behind
them.
The blue eyes had been so wide, so fearful, so full of something else that Angel
could not afford to see. He'd backhanded him, and the human had crashed through
the door to the bedroom, falling wildly with a cry.
Blood. Angel tipped back his head and smelt all the blood he had bathed in over
all the centuries. It was what he was - why did he fight so hard against it?
Spike sensed Angel's thoughts were not entirely on the blowjob and eased off
the stiff penis, letting a small trail of precum hang like a delicate necklace
between his lips and the soft, swollen tip. 'What's wrong?'
Angel looked down and suddenly pulled Spike up for a kiss, rolling them, urgently
running his hands through the blond hair. 'Love me.'
Spike frowned. 'You know I do. Angel, what's…?'
'Make love to me.'
Bowing to Angel's strange mood, Spike nodded and gently turned him over. He
kissed into Angel's hairline as he ran a hand down his spine, seeking him, opening
him up. 'I'll always love you, Angel.'
Angel twisted his head from side-to-side as if denying his right to this kind
of commitment.
It was the twisting of the head that had done it. He'd come to the human like
a shadow of death, had lain on him and taken his face in his hands, the power
to twist the head off so sure, so certain, but the human had thrashed… and moaned…
and begged. Wesley had begged for the very death that Angel threatened, and
that had changed everything.
He caught at the man, and the shirt had torn, buttons rolling to the floor.
Dark hair escaped through the opening, and as if in a trance, Angel had put
his hand to it.
Wesley had thrown an arm over his eyes and cried out, 'I can't go on like this.
I've died. I think I've died.'
His hand had stilled and pity washed over him: how desperately he wanted to
say, "Come home. Be with me again."
Instead, he'd told him he was a traitor.
Wesley had surrendered to the accusation, collapsing like a straw man.
Angel had wanted to nuzzle into his warmth for comfort and tell him how much
he'd missed him.
Instead, he told him he wanted to kill him.
Wesley had put both hands to his face to cover his distress. Angel wanted to
pull those hands to him, uncover the face, let the man see his eyes as he made
soft, slow love to him.
Instead, he'd ripped the hands away, pinned the man down, and took him in anger
and bitterness.
One immovable, preternatural hand, holding fragile human wrists…. The other
tearing at the frail coverings that kept him out…. The human crying, denying,
begging…. The scent of blood and the darkness in his eyes….
Spike heard Angel and slowed the gentle penetration. He didn't know what to
do: tears were not the norm when they took each other. He swallowed and began
to pull out, but a strong hand shot around and held him in. Angel began to raise
and lower his hips, and after that, Spike heard not another sound from him.
He sped up, wanting it over for them both: there was no real pleasure in it,
other than the physical.
With a grunt, he emptied into the cool receptacle and then eased out, reaching
around to see if Angel had come too. His hand was captured and returned to its
own side of the bed, and Angel curled into a ball with the sheet pulled over
him.
He'd deliberately drawn it out. He had taken the human for a very long time,
until the soft tissue had split and bled. He'd held his jaw still, made him
watch, prised open his eyes when he'd tried to find some escape in a private
darkness. He'd told him the things that Spike had done; revelled in the descriptions
of the fear and the crying; told him of a baby tortured; of a mother, forced
to watch; of the murder of the priest; and finally, when the human was hoarse
from begging him to stop, he'd told him of Spike's pain. He'd not told anyone
of this; they'd hardly spoken of it between themselves, but now he told this
traitor. He spared no detail: not the cutting of the body, not the tearing to
take out his soul, not the fear or the way he had come running back to his sire.
He told how Spike couldn't live on his own now; how when they made love, Spike
did it because he felt he owed his sire for saving him. And, last of all, he
told him of the humans that Spike fucked. Bending down, whispering in the almost
senseless man's ear, he told him how this made him feel: knowing what Spike
was doing but being utterly unable to tell his childe of the pain it gave him.
All this he spoke with words and with the force he used on the weak body.
He didn't grace the human with his demonic blessing but pulled out and spilled
to one side on the faded carpet, holding himself and groaning, still forcing
the man to watch.
Spike hesitated. He reached over to the resistant shoulder, refused to be refused,
and pulled Angel into his arms. With a sigh, he held him and stroked through
his hair until he sensed that Angel was no longer faking sleep.
When Angel woke, Spike was deeply asleep alongside him, one hand thrown carelessly
over him, as if his childe had fallen asleep still stroking. He turned and lay
on his back, staring up at the faint stars above them.
He'd lain down alongside the crying man.
He'd thrown an arm over his eyes, but he couldn't hide in darkness either.
Wesley had only stopped his painful release of tears when he'd heard Angel's.
Then he'd turned his head and watched the dark figure alongside him.
Hesitantly, he'd laid just one finger on the material of Angel's shirt and whispered,
'I deserve death. This is nothing, Angel. Please don't.'
Angel had turned his glistening, dark eyes on the human. He'd risen to his feet.
'Don't try to escape me to the old land, Human.'
Stepping over the man, brushing down his clothes and putting himself away, he'd
left.
Angel sat up noiselessly, tucked Spike in more so that he would not feel his
absence and went to sit in the dark of his own room.