Chapter 5 - Angel's Next Day

Angel isn’t sure whether he was glad when the phone rang or not. It stopped Spike’s… stopped the unthinkable….

He’s fairly sure he would have gone along with this unthinkable thing that Spike was so clearly thinking—fairly sure, but not… entirely…. He watches Spike, still lounging on the bed, as he dresses.  He knows his look is combatant and sees the same expression on the naked figure.

‘What are you going to do?’

Spike shrugs and rolls onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.  ‘Lie here and think about you.’

The lack of cynicism in this reply totally throws Angel.  But he feels the anxiety in Wesley’s voice calling to him, so with a small, confused nod, he leaves. 

He feels… rumpled, which is so unlike him that he focuses on this and not on the fact that he’s been fucking Spike’s brains out all night. That is clearly too freaky to think about at all, so he doesn’t.

The door slides open, and there’s Gunn—abashed, shocked, but Gunn.  Illyria folds her arms and looks interested in Angel’s reaction.  ‘This is the one you wanted.’

Angel folds his arms, too, not entirely happy about the knowing expression in her eyes. ‘Gunn.’

The man nods uncertainly.

Wesley, who’s not let his gaze leave Illyria, says softly, ‘I think we may have to answer for this.  She… punched him free, so to speak.  The Senior Partners may take offence to being… punched.’

‘Let them.  Go get checked….’

Gunn shrugs off the offer and pushes past them to the door. ‘I’m okay, Man.’ 

Illyria follows him, a curious look on her face as if a specimen spoke.

Angel runs his fingers through his hair, wincing as they get stuck. He tries to tell himself it’s dried sweat, but he knows it’s not.

‘Tell me this is good, Wes. This is good, right?’

Wesley is staring at the air that Illyria breathed.  ‘I’m not sure. Of course, having Gunn back is good, but punching, in my experience, gets you in trouble.’  He turns and eyes Angel slowly, head to toe.  ‘So, how is your demon-watching going?’

Angel sees himself turn away embarrassed, and is then surprised when he hasn’t done this, when he’s standing there facing Wesley down, not at all fazed by the knowing examination.  ‘It’s been revelatory.’

Wesley purses his lips and nods. ‘Good. You will need Spike, I think, when the senior partners… punch back.’

Angel smiles.  ‘Spike isn’t the demon I’ve been studying, Wes.’  He turns and puts his hand on the phone.  ‘I have some things I need to do.  I want Illyria watched. She’s stretching—testing her power.’

‘Actually, I think she’s testing ours, but I agree that she needs to be watched.  ‘What are you going to do?’

Angel perches on the edge of the desk and regards him carefully. ‘I’m not sure.  I’ve been offered something, but I’m not sure I’m ready to accept it.’

If this confuses Wesley, he doesn’t show it.  He nods. ‘Does the choice have consequences—for us?’

‘Us?’

For the first time, Angel sees a flicker of doubt in the man’s eyes. ‘Yes, Angel. Us. Your friends: Gunn, Lorne… me….’

Angel smiles inwardly. He heard a more intimate reply to this in the human’s mind.  ‘It might.’

‘And you’re tempted to accept this… offer?’

Even thinking about accepting Spike stiffens him, so he doesn’t dissemble. ‘Yes. I’m very tempted.’

Wesley turns his head back to the space Illyria left.  ‘Then, as it’s very possible we’re all going to die soon, I think you should give into temptation for once.  Desperate times blur reality, Angel. And, as I said, you will need Spike soon.’

Angel tips his head to one side, wondering if Wesley’s comment is as perceptive as it appears. Wesley blinks and turns back to him.  Their eyes lock for a moment.

‘I have no intention of any of us dying.’  For the first time since he made the deal to give Connor his new life, he actually believes this.  It’s hard to admit, but he thinks thumping into Spike all night has stiffened him in other ways, too.

Wesley smiles sadly. ‘Perhaps that’s even more reason to take what you want. We all need motivation to keep fighting.’

‘What’s yours?’

Wesley laughs, a deflection of Angel’s too perceptive comment.  ‘I watch Illyria. At the moment, that seems to be my only motivation to do very much at all.’

Angel nods and picks up the phone he realises he’s been stroking softly.  As he watches Wesley’s retreating back, he dials and then speaks swiftly and sharply.

He’s not sure whether he’s using the wait for his orders to be carried out as an excuse not to go back up to the apartment, but he’s annoyed that even when they are, he still hesitates.

At last, he grabs the newly delivered bags and travels back up.

The apartment appears empty, but there’s singing coming from the shower.

This moment defines the purpose and the determination that have hijacked him since he began this thing with Spike—a moment of standing there with bags full of new clothes for his childe and the domestic sound of this childe sharing his living space. 

He wants this.

He wants this now, and he’ll want it tomorrow.

He’s very unwilling for that tomorrow to be short.

He wants his eternity, and he wants it with Spike.

Without too much hesitation, he strips off and joins Spike in the shower, an initial embarrassment silencing them both until he turns Spike to the wall and runs his hands over water-slick skin.  He takes the soap out of Spike’s hands and drops it to the floor.  ‘I just want skin.’

Spike tips his head back, his neck stretched and vulnerable.  ‘Take it, Sire….’

Angel growls, and his whole body shudders when he transforms.  As he bites deeply into Spike’s neck, he shoots cum over the tight backside, his cock dancing and swaying independently under streaming water.  Disbelieving, he pulls away, grunting with annoyance. 

Spike spins around, blood tracing a delicate path around his collarbone—a necklace of possession.  His eyes wide, he stares at Angel’s bloodied mouth then falls to his knees and takes him in, moaning on the still twitching penis.

Angel’s knees weaken at the sensation of being sucked so soon after coming, but he hardens almost immediately, and then there’s only one thing he wants. He drags Spike to his feet.  Before he can turn and enter him though, he catches Spike’s expression, and what he wants suddenly changes.  He fastens onto Spike’s lips as if this kiss under the water is his eternity.  They push and stumble around the stall, grunting with the effort to touch and taste. 

Spike’s the tallest person he’s ever kissed—the strongest and the hardest—and it’s primitive, an edge of violence just beneath the need. 

They fall from the enclosed space to the bathroom floor, water spilling with them.

The back of Angel’s head connects with the coldness, but he drags Spike onto his belly and demands his mouth again, the kiss beginning to ease back into something that actually resembles soft touch of lips to lips. 

Angel blinks and suddenly they’re not kissing. They’re lying on the wet floor and waiting for the other to make the first move.

Angel purses his lips.  Spike lifts an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

Angel frowns, just a little, as if something still puzzles him, but he draws up his legs.

Spike looks down and swallows, and when he looks up his eyes flicker with panic. Angel smiles and cups a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him close.  Spike closes his eyes to the intimacy of a kiss then increases their intimacy considerably.

Angel tenses.  Spike kisses harder.  Angel cries out softly. Spike holds the strong jaw and twists wide-open-mouth wet kisses on him. 

Suddenly, he snaps his eyes open.

Angel teeters on the edge of those deep, blue holes once more, but this time he opens his arms wide and surrenders.  The dive is slow—flying not falling—every inch of Spike’s entry as good as he’d always known it would be.

It’s the final thing he had to learn—from his demon study.  One hundred years of denial, yet here on the bathroom floor, he finally explores his deviance.

Spike isn’t moving, and Angel wants him to.  He lifts his hips, and Spike cries out, bracing his arms either side of Angel’s strong shoulders, spreading his fingers out on the wet tiles.  Still looking down to where they’re joined, he jerks his hips forward, jutting his cock deep into Angel’s rectum. They both cry out, and Angel clutches at Spike’s back, his body quivering.  Slowly, Spike puts a hand under one of Angel’s thighs and lifts it.  Then he jerks his hips forward again.  Their sharp sounds mingle to one gasp of pleasure, and it’s strong enough to break through the paralysis.  Spike makes an incoherent sound of pure lust and lifts the other thigh, leaning into the fucking, ramming in and out.  Angel claws at his back, as waves of pleasure are driven straight from Spike’s cock to his balls. 

He thought the pleasure was all for the one doing the fucking. He thought for the other it was all about surrender and finding something self-revelatory in capitulation.  He had no freaking idea that it felt like this. 

Totally pissed that he’s wasted over a hundred years of Spike’s cock, he wants to make up for it now and clenches hard, lifting up, angling Spike onto the place that pleasures him so.

Spike starts a loud, panting cursing. 

And then, for the first time, Angel sees his childe’s orgasm. 

With a huge intake of breath, Angel arches, digging into Spike’s back and ejaculating between them. It’s under such pressure that the arc of cum hits his chin and cheeks, rolling down like spittle from an enemy.

Spike is still moving inside him when he finishes.  With a grunt of disbelief, Angel arches to a second hardness.  Spike’s eyes flick wide, and he thumps hard and fast, bringing them both quickly back to a peak of need. 

This time as he ejaculates, Spike collapses onto Angel’s body, clinging desperately and they shudder against each other, moaning piteously from pleasure.

Angel separates them when the cold bugs him and the hard floor starts to make his back ache.  It’s been a number of hours, so he doesn’t feel too guilty.

Even then, Spike resists being extricated.  He pouts as Angel disentangles them and lies on the floor, watching him.

Angel shakes his head and holds out his hand.

Spike’s reaction to the clothes doesn’t surprise Angel. He listens to the derision and snarky remarks, hearing the genuine delight beneath.  He doesn’t let any of them be touched until Spike’s showered, and to ensure that this actually is a shower, he pushes him back to his own apartment.

His is suddenly too empty.

As he showers, he feels gently around his body. It’s not entirely his anymore. He knows this, and it’s incredibly strange to experience variation in his body after so long.

Spike’s sperm drained out some time ago and now pools slick on the floor with his—magical DNA mingling—but he’s still stretched and aching.  His butt is taking longer to heal than one or two near amputations he’s had, and this amuses him, not at all anxious over the delay.

He laughs out loud when he can’t decide which he enjoyed more: the fucking or the being fucked.  He hears a soft, ‘What’s so funny?’ and turns to find a stranger watching him. 

Spike seems embarrassed and looks down crossly at the new pants. ‘Bloody poofy things.’

They cling, low-slung and tight on his slim waist. The T-shirt seems designed to display defined biceps, a second skin over rippling abs.

Angel’s breath hitches with desire, and he steps out. 

‘Hey! You’re all wet… don’t….’ Angel hasn’t listened to Spike for a century; he sees no reason to start now.

The pants are no less attractive lowered around Spike’s thighs as he fucks him bent over the bed.  In some ways, they’re improved, and Angel studies the framing of the slim, hard butt as he pleasures them both. 

He reckons he’s never going to solve the puzzle—which activity he likes the best—so he’s going to have to keep trying them both.

There’s not enough interaction, and he pulls Spike up by the waist, wrapping his arms around the tight T-shirt, nuzzling into his neck.  Spike twists his head around, and they kiss awkwardly, both smiling into the attempt.  Spike slides his hands back around Angel’s hips, and for a moment, they slow it down, rocking rather than thrusting, kissing slowly.

‘Good?’

‘Fuck, yeah….’

‘I miss you inside me.’

‘Be back in there soon, Mate.’

‘I think, in some ways, you’ve… always been there.’ He feels Spike try to pull away and holds him on. ‘Is that why I’ve never heard you, Spike? Have you always been buried too deep inside me?’

‘Nah, you’re just daft wanker, that’s all, Angel.’

He pushes Spike away, but falls with him to the bed, crushing him and laughing, and it’s so much more like fighting than fucking that it’s over far too quickly.  They lie on their backs, spinning from pleasure.  A soft, amused voice brings him back to the cum-smelling bed.

‘So, what do you reckon… when we were fighting for that damn cup of perpetual piss-off… did you want to do this as well?’

‘What do you think?’

Spike chuckles. 

Suddenly, Angel turns to him, propping his head up on his elbow.  ‘Will you want this in the fight that’s coming, Spike? Will you want it enough to win that fight, too? Will you survive with me?’

Spike turns his head slowly, locks eyes with him, but doesn’t speak. 

Angel smiles.