Embarrassingly late b-day present for purplefeen

I swear this was 90% finished before your birthday, but then... well I won't bother with the excuses, but just know I wasn't pulling your leg when I said I would write you something. Hope you like it!


Title: Off He Goes
Author: heather
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I write for love of Spike, not money. Alas, he and his friends belong to Joss & Co.
Summary: Spike gets tired of being brushed off by Angel and tries unsuccessfully to get what he needs elsewhere.
A/N: Dedicated to the lovely purplefeen of course!
Much thanks to jennillu for the beta and encouragement.




Spike sat slouched in his usual chair in a dim room full of warm, bare flesh. He took another pull from his third bottle of whiskey and set it back on the grimy table in front of him, accidentally upsetting an overfull glass ashtray in the process. Orange filters and ash scattered across the surface, some rolling away onto the sticky floor. Spike didn’t notice. His eyes were on an exotic brunette coming his way in response to the $20 bill he waved at her.

This one called herself Raven; she was his favorite and she knew it. Reaching his table, she gave him a wink and then leaned forward to accept his offering, using only her bare breasts. He held the bill in front of his face, a trick he used often, and she smiled at him as her nipples came a hairs-breadth from brushing against his lips. Plucking the twenty from her cleavage, she stashed it somewhere out of sight, a move that Spike, even with his preternatural senses, still hadn’t totally deciphered.

The current song was about to end, so Raven bent over far more than necessary to straighten up Spike’s table, killing the half a minute until she could begin her performance. The tattoo on her ass caught Spike’s attention, mostly because it was currently positioned right at his eye level. It was a small, colorful butterfly that appeared to have perched just south of her hip.

Spike snorted, thinking he should get a tattoo on his ass that said, “No Poofters”, or just “Keep Out”. He’d love to see the look on Angel’s face if he showed up with one of those. He frowned, cursing the direction of his thoughts. He’d come here specifically to NOT think about Angel and he was ruining his own plan. He reached around the stripper for his bottle and gulped the rest of the whiskey, determined to wash the other vampire from his memory.

The next song began and Raven turned around to face Spike. She stood only inches away and stretched her arms up over her head, her body slowly undulating to the music. If the song had lyrics, they didn’t penetrate the alcoholic fog in Spike’s brain. He heard only a steady thumping of the bass and saw only smooth, honey colored flesh.

Raven ran her hands down her body, pausing in all the interesting places, making sure her customer stayed riveted to her movements as her fingers fluttered around the edge of her g-string, deliberately giving false hope that it might be removed. She came closer, straddling Spike’s legs when he leaned forward with a dollar bill and let him run a hand up her thigh before tucking the cash away. Bending her knees until she was sitting in his lap, Raven continued her sensuous movements, rolling her body forward and back, and draping her arms around Spike’s neck, only to pull away a moment later. He put his hands on her spread legs and ran his thumbs up the inside of her thighs until they met at the thin, shiny fabric that barely covered her. They each cast a glance at the security guy standing by the bar, but he was looking the other way.

Everyone at the club knew about Spike and Raven’s little arrangement. They didn’t like it, but they liked the idea of tossing out someone associated with Wolfram & Hart even less. So, when the place wasn’t too crowded they usually let it slide. Only once had Spike been very politely asked to tone it down for fear that he was giving the other customers the wrong idea about the girls. Tonight, there were plenty of empty tables around and no one was going to stop him.

His fingers easily pushed aside the flimsy barrier of the g-string and slipped inside Raven’s pussy. She was already wet for him and he bit his lip, stifling a moan that accompanied the anticipation of getting her alone later. For her part, Raven moved her hips to the music, fucking herself on his fingers, though anyone not looking too closely would just see a stripper giving a lap dance.

Spike and Raven had met at the club five months earlier. It was right after Angel and Spike had first used the table in the conference room for something that certainly didn’t count as official corporate business. It had just happened. One minute they were arguing like always, getting up in each other’s red faces and all but throwing punches. The next, they were kissing, biting lips, sucking tongues, the whole bit. The minute after that, Spike was on his back on the table, his feet on Angel’s shoulders, being fucked by his worst enemy and loving every moment of it.

As soon as they’d regained their senses, they’d gone right back to arguing and finally left the conference room, having spoken not a single word about the tryst. Spike had taken the fastest route to the club and blown a week’s pay on liquor and lap dances, mostly from Raven.

The chemistry between them started right at the beginning. Though most of the girls at the club had dealt with at least one customer who assumed that a few extra dead presidents would get them some extra privileges, Spike had never offered her money for sex. He’d simply been himself – a guy who could walk into any bar in the world and walk out with the chick of his choice on his arm, ready and willing to spread her legs for him. That a guy like him took such an interest in her was flattering in a way that she didn’t know she was still capable of falling for. When he asked her what time she got off, she surprised herself by giving an honest answer instead of the typical rude brush-off.

She told Spike after they made love that first night in a hastily rented hotel room that he made her feel beautiful. He told her that she should feel beautiful every time she looked in a mirror, but she just laughed and said that, being a guy, he could never understand.

Phone numbers were not exchanged. Neither of them held any expectations of seeing the other again. Raven knew that guys didn’t come to strip joints looking for relationships. No matter how special he had made her feel that night, it was likely that the next morning he’d be waking up next to some other woman who he’d simply had a fight with and needed to hurt a little by being with her.

The song ended and Spike removed his hands from Raven’s body long enough to produce another $20 to keep her at his chair. For this song, she turned around to sit with her back to him, grinding her ass down on his aching erection, giving him some payback for getting her so hot and bothered when they couldn’t get any real relief. When she arched her back and put her face near his, he asked her the usual question. She told him her shift was over in half an hour. He could wait, just barely.

Angel never asked Spike where he’d been that night after the conference room incident, but when he showed up late the next morning, Angel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widened, and he had to ask Wesley to repeat what he’d been saying. He knew. And Spike knew that he knew. Back then, it didn’t matter much. A violent quickie in the middle of a busy day after 100 years of rivalry and hate didn’t give Angel the right to ask questions and they both knew it.

The problem was that things like the conference room kept happening. Sometimes it happened in the middle of an argument, sometimes right after a big fight with some nasty demon. Whenever their adrenaline was up, they couldn’t seem to keep their pants zipped. After three weeks and over a dozen incidents, Spike walked into a scheduled meeting and saw that Angel was the only other person in the room. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Angel had planned it that way and that he wanted to talk about what was going on between them.

It didn’t go well. It had suddenly occurred to Angel that Spike might get it in his head to use their dalliances to his advantage. Maybe threaten to tell the whole company if Angel didn’t do what he said. He followed up his theory with a lecture full of warnings of how it could go badly for Spike if he tried anything stupid. During the entire speech, Spike never said a word. When Angel finally shut up, he just walked out, never verifying or denying the accusations. That night, as it turned out, Raven was working again.

It was Angel’s fault that he kept going back to her. Spike would have been more than happy to be faithful to Angel, but the problem was that Angel didn’t want him. Not really. He liked the sex, liked the feeling of dominating someone so completely in a way that his soul wouldn’t normally allow. But it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like Spike.

Surprisingly enough, Angel had apologized that next morning, even though he clearly knew what Spike had been up to again. He said that he’d been wrong, that Spike’s reaction had convinced him that blackmail had never been his intention. Though Spike never officially accepted the apology, that night, after they’d staked the last of a nest of vamps and Angel pushed him against the wall of the lair, crushing their bodies and their lips together, Spike didn’t shove him away.

A month or more passed in the same way. Spike started to think they might go on that way forever. Fighting and fucking, but never talking about it. That was fine with him. Not the ideal scenario, but when it came to Angel, he was used to just settling for what he could get.

One late night after doing nothing but paperwork for hours, Angel was about to give up and go home when Spike sauntered into his office asking if there was any action to be had. Angel shook his head and got up to leave, inviting Spike to accompany him to the penthouse almost as an afterthought. He accepted before he’d even fully grasped the implications of the offer. That night they had sex in Angel’s bed for the first time.

It had been different, Spike thought. And not just because Angel had finally given him a blow job. That part hadn’t even been all that great since Angel was hardly an expert. But taking their time, not worrying that someone was going to see them or that more demons were going to show up to kill them, that part had been amazing.

By the time Spike woke up the next morning, Angel had already left for work. Unlike the previous day, there seemed to be an emergency every five minutes and the two vampires didn’t have a moment alone together again until quite late. That’s when Angel decided that he and Spike needed to have another talk. He worried that he’d given Spike the wrong idea. He wanted to make sure Spike understood that what was between them was just physical, that it could never be anything more, and that if Spike was looking for more there would be no hard feelings if he wanted to call the whole thing off.

Spike had told him that if he got any more full of himself, his head would get stuck in the elevator. Then he had left to find Raven. He’d become supremely drunk waiting for her to finish her shift and got in a fight with another customer who tried to argue that he was entitled to a turn with her. Security tossed him out. When Raven ran out to check on him, he pulled her around to the alley behind the building, tore off her thong and fucked her up against the wall. She loved it, telling him she’d never done anything so daring before. Wishing he could share her enthusiasm, Spike settled for giving her his coat to wear so she could get back inside and then going home to nurse his hangover.

It became a pattern. Things would be fine for a few weeks, then Angel would decide they needed to “discuss” something about their non-relationship, which would only succeed in pissing Spike off and sending him looking for Raven. Once, she had been on vacation and he’d settled for a toss in the hay with a blonde bint who called herself Cherry, but somehow he hadn’t felt right about that one afterwards.

Spike didn’t know if Angel was actually so stupid as to not be able to put the two things together, or if he just enjoyed the pain that those one-sided talks caused. How could he think anyone would want to repeatedly hear that they meant nothing, were a mere convenience, a way to work off a little steam? Worse, Spike had begun to suspect that Angel was trying to convince himself of his own words more than anyone else.

Whether Angel wanted to admit it or not, things between him and Spike had begun to change. Though they still occasionally ripped each other’s clothes off while standing in the blood and slime of their demon kills, the languorous nights in each other’s arms up in the penthouse slowly increased in frequency. Still, Angel insisted on hiding their true relationship from everyone, and refused to acknowledge any real feeling for the vampire he took to his bed.

Spike never pushed him. Never tried to express his own feelings, not even to himself. He didn’t question what he did with Angel and never felt a twinge of guilt when Angel’s cutting remarks sent him out for a night with someone who made him feel desirable and was not ashamed when everyone she knew saw them together.

He didn’t know whether or not Raven suspected that he wasn’t human. The club didn’t get many demon customers, and wouldn’t allow any that couldn’t at least pass for human. She either didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice his cool skin and unbeating heart. If she knew, she wasn’t afraid. Whether she could sense that there was something different about him, something safe, or whether she just wasn’t afraid to die, was anyone’s guess. Spike wasn’t about to volunteer the information. He had better sense than to bring up a potentially dangerous subject when things were going just fine the way they were.

That night, after five months together, and yet not, Angel had pulled out the big guns of hurt and pointed them straight at Spike’s heart. He’d said the “B” word. Spike didn’t know why he was even surprised. If anything, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier. Some small part of him tried to insist that he should be glad that it happened, and should see it as progress. After all, now Angel’s loudly-proclaimed abhorrence of Spike had proved insufficient armor against any other more encouraging feelings that might be lurking under the surface. Now, he had to resort to invoking Buffy’s name as his latest excuse for why he could never have any lasting, emotional connection to Spike.

It always happened the same way. Some tiny, almost dismissible shift in their dynamic would occur, and Angel would read too much into it, and fly off the handle, reassuring himself that it meant nothing, and that, in turn, Spike meant nothing. This time, it had been his demon. In spite of the wild, frantic nature of most of their sexual encounters, especially in the beginning, Angel had always been in control of himself.

The latest incident happened after a particularly loud argument over whether Spike should have his own expense account at the firm, an argument they’d had before. One minute Spike was saying that it might keep him out of Angel’s way more often, the next he was face down on the leather desk pad calendar, a hand gripping the back of his neck, the other tearing his jeans down to his knees. Behind him, the all-too-familiar sound of a zipper going down. Then Angel was inside him, making them both forget whatever they’d been fighting about. The edge of the desk cut into Spike where it really hurt, but he couldn’t get enough brain cells to cooperate long enough to form the words to complain. Instead, he just moaned louder than usual, wiggling his ass as he tried to push back and get some much-needed room between himself and the furniture. When Angel bent over him and he felt fangs graze his shoulder, he froze, his heart in his throat, not letting himself even hope for what might come next.

Angel let him down. Just as Spike tilted his head, inviting the bite, Angel straightened up again, the ridges melting from his face, and hastily concluded their activities. By the time Spike managed to push off the desk and turn around, he was gone. Beyond irritated, the vampire located the nearest bathroom and quickly relieved his aching cock. Angel hadn’t left him wanting like that in a long time. He knew something was up, but he didn’t realize how bad losing control had shaken Angel’s faith in his own indifference until an hour later when he came back, wanting to talk.

With three bottles of whiskey in him and Raven’s hand rubbing his cock through his pants, testing the very limits of his control and determination not to ruin his clothes, Spike found it easier than usual to put Angel out of his head for a little while. The stripper gave him a knowing grin, well aware of her importance in making him forget his troubles. No doubt she hoped that someday he would wake up and walk out of the obviously unhealthy relationship he was in and come looking for her on a more permanent basis. He didn’t know why she had put up with things the way they were for so long, but asking was the surest way to ruin it.

A waitress came by with another bottle of whiskey. Raven paused in her attentions long enough to take it from her and hold it up to Spike’s mouth. He waggled his eyebrow at her in lieu of a grateful smile and took a few chugs. Raven set the bottle on the table and leaned forward to brush a quick kiss across his lips, pulling back before anyone could see. Her shift was almost over. In his mind, Spike was already in the room he’d rented for them, watching her head move back and forth as she sucked him off.

Which is why when Angel appeared in his line of sight, he stood straight up, forgetting that he had a girl in his lap, and a raging erection. Raven fell backwards, knocking into the table and shattering an almost full bottle of good whiskey. Silence descended on the club as everyone paused to look around at what caused the noise. Unnoticed by either vampire, Raven got to her feet and stood next to Spike. They both stared at Angel, who remained motionless a few yards away.

“So this is where you go.” It wasn’t a question.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Spike reached for the bottle that was no longer there, not ready to deal with Angel without an extra shot of liquid courage.

Angel looked back and forth between Spike and Raven. “Well, I came to find you and apologize, but I can see you’re busy with one of your whores, so I’ll leave you to screw her, and anyone else you can afford.”

Spike gaped at him, torn between shock that Angel wanted to apologize, and fury at the insult to Raven. The indecision kept his body motionless. When he didn’t respond Angel asked, “What? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Just go around fucking everyone, every night that you come here. You’d probably be here all the time if you had your way.”

“If I had my way!” Spike began, and then stopped. He couldn’t finish that particular sentence, not in public, and maybe not ever. “Well, I don’t have my way, do I? So I take what I can get!” Angel would pretend not to know what he really meant by that, but he didn’t care.

Angel lowered his voice to a level that only Spike could hear and said, “I should kill her.”

Then he was gone. Spike scanned the room, but Angel had pulled the oldest trick in the vampire handbook, and appeared to have vanished. Only the open front door revealed where he’d gone. It was a stupid thing to do in a room full of humans, and Spike hoped no one would corner him for answers to the obvious questions before he could make his own escape. He turned to look at Raven. The way she looked back at him, that expression on her face - he knew it was over. This wasn’t the kind of girl who got a kick out of seducing otherwise gay men.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sure exactly why he was apologizing, only feeling that he should say it.

She looked away from him, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Whatever fantasies she had held for them, Angel’s appearance destroyed them all. With a heavy sigh, Spike nodded his acceptance of her choice and shuffled out the front door with his head down, not meeting the many eyes that tracked his progress.

Still incredibly drunk, Spike didn’t trust himself to make it home in the Viper. A crash wouldn’t kill him, but he was quite fond of the car. He could walk, more or less. It wasn’t all that far, and a chance to clear his head sounded like a good idea.

He wandered the streets, not bothering to determine the most direct route to his apartment. He had no reason to hurry. There was nothing for him at home, except maybe a bag of old blood in the fridge. He realized he still felt uncomfortably horny, though at least his pants were no longer in danger of busting open up front. He considered making Angel’s accusations even truer and finding a real hooker. He had money. Maybe he couldn’t fuck everyone, every night, like Angel suggested, but he could try his best. He knew he wouldn’t do it, though. All the places he most wanted to put his cock were off limits to him that night.

The neon sign of an all-night tattoo parlor glowed up ahead, standing out in the middle of the dark street. It made Spike think of Raven and her butterfly. He remembered thinking how pissed Angel would be if he got a tattoo. One of the few compliments Angel ever felt moved to pay him was to admire the flawlessness of his skin. Eons ago, he liked the red holes from his fangs to be the only marks on Spike’s white flesh. Deciding he rarely needed a better reason to do a thing than to piss of Angel, and this being no exception, Spike pushed open the door, wincing at the bell that jingled, and went inside the shop.

He did his best to look sober, having heard that a reputable tattoo artist would never ink a drunk guy. But then, he’d never heard of a reputable tattoo parlor that was open at four in the morning. A woman with a realistic serpent curling up her forearm, and a choker style necklace pattern tattooed around her neck, came out of a back room at the sound of the bell and smiled at Spike. “Hi there, I’m Tracy. Thanks for coming in.” Gesturing at the walls, which were covered with designs of many types, she asked, “See anything you like?”

Spike didn’t bother to look. One corner of his mouth curled in a smirk. “I need a custom job. You up for it, Tracy?” Something about his tone of voice caught the woman off guard, as though she weren’t entirely sure he was talking about a tattoo.

She swallowed. “Of course.”

He told her what he wanted, and with amazing speed for a human, she made a few sketches, changing each one subtly based on Spike’s requests. When he was satisfied he said, “Looks great. Where do I take off my pants?” The look on Tracy’s face was enough to tell him that he could probably get her out of her pants too without much trouble, and get the tattoo for free on top of it. Unfortunately, next to Raven, Tracy seemed a poor substitute and he just couldn’t get excited about the idea.

“Um, back here, please.”

Spike followed her into the back room, and undid his pants. He pushed them down to his thighs, not bothering to turn his back to her, though she did her best not to look, and then climbed up on the table, laying down on his stomach. The tattooist swiped a rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball over his skin and applied the stencil of Spike’s chosen design to the upper right hand side of his ass, then handed him a small mirror so he could check the placement. He pretended to examine it closely, careful to keep it tilted away from her so she couldn’t see that he had no reflection, and then quickly handed it back, face down.

Spike felt the first twinge of panic when she fired up the little machine that looked entirely too much like a gun. Its high, whining hum promised pain. “Don’t hold your breath,” she warned. Spike fought the nervous laughter that she wouldn’t understand.

He closed his eyes as the needles touched him. His ass clenched involuntarily. It felt like he’d been stung by a bee at the same time that someone had tossed a lit match on his skin. The bee continued to strike so rapidly that he couldn’t feel the individual stings. Within a minute, the whole area was nothing but a throbbing burn. He was sure he smelled his flesh cooking. He moaned softly, determined not to cry. He reminded himself of all the times he’d been beaten within an inch of his life by some evil demon. Or Buffy. Little did he know that there was a whole level of pain he’d never experienced until that very moment.

After twenty minutes of blinding agony that completely obliterated any buzz he might have had, Tracy sat up and said, “Ok, looking good.”

“All done then?” Spike asked, feeling braver with the needles away from his skin. He started to sit up.

“No, no!” She pushed him back down. “That was just the outline. Now I have to fill it in.”

Spike groaned and then shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle a whimper as the needles renewed their assault on his hide. A teeny, tiny part of him had gained a new respect for Angel. The huge tattoo on his back must have taken hours and been excruciating, especially over so much bone. Tracy had assured Spike that the buttocks were the least painful place to get a tattoo. He couldn’t imagine how much more it would hurt to get one anywhere else.

Trying to remind himself that he had once been a bad-ass vampire, he took his hand out of his mouth and settled for biting his lip, repeating to himself over and over that he was supposed to *like* pain.

Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. At long last, he heard the blessed words, “It’s done.” Tracy smeared some foul smelling ointment on his ass and then insisted on covering the tattoo with a bandage. Spike, who had never worn a bandage when he wasn’t gushing blood, could see he wasn’t about to win that argument and let her do what she felt she needed to. He could always rip it off when he got home.

Tracy left him alone to pull up his pants and when he was decent, he went out to find her in the front room. He tipped her and was about to leave when she asked, “Would you mind telling me what it means?”

Spike gave her a devastating smile to ease his words. “Yeah love, I would.” The bell over the door jingled merrily as he left.

Three days passed before Spike saw Angel again. Unlike most of his coworkers, Spike felt no need to go into the office on weekends. On Monday, he stayed home just to see if Angel would come looking for him. When the pounding on the door started just after sunset, he was surprised. He hadn’t been totally convinced that Angel would even notice his absence, much less care to know its cause.

Spike yanked the door open and stepped aside to let Angel enter, wondering if he’d come to apologize or to end things for good. He had his answer a moment later when he closed the door and instantly found himself with his back pressed up against it, pinned there by a large, insistent body, and cool hands on either side of his face, tilting his head back to give Angel better access to his lips. He struggled against his initial desire to toss the other vampire across the room when he felt the anguish in the kiss, and a touch of real regret.

When Angel released him and moved back a step, Spike could feel that they were about to fall into the usual pattern. If that happened, they would be naked in Spike’s bed within the next two minutes, and afterwards things would continue on as they had been for the last five months. While that might have been enough before, it wasn’t now. This critical moment might have come eventually anyway, but the loss of Raven had brought the situation to a head. Spike had no one but Angel to satisfy him now, and so Angel would have to satisfy him in ways he never had previously.

Angel reached for him, trying to pluck the hem of his black t-shirt out of his jeans. Spike moved away. “Wait.”

Angel withdrew his hand, raising his eyebrows at the interruption. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Angel sighed, his surprise turning to annoyance. “You want me to apologize? Fine, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have gone down to that club. Should have left well enough alone and let you have your fun. I don’t know what got into me.”

Spike walked around Angel and sank down on the couch. “Maybe you were jealous.” He spoke the words almost under his breath, but Angel heard well enough.

“Jealous!” He sputtered the word as if it was the most ridiculous thing ever said. Then his face grew serious. “What if I was? Every time I try to talk to you, you end up down there. One of these times, maybe you won’t come back.”

“To you, you mean? I always do, don’t I? Only go down there because you drive me to it. All your blathering about how we’ll never be more than we are, how you could never have a shred of feeling for me, how you’re still in love with Buffy! Of all the idiotic excuses you could dream up for not wanting me, that takes the cake! It’s been five years, Angel! I know that’s not much when you’ve lived this long, but it’s plenty to get over one little girl.”

Angel shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable, but would not sit down. “I do love Buffy. Well, maybe I’m not *in* love with her, but I still care about her.”

“Yeah, and that has bugger all to do with me and you know it.”

“So, what are you saying? You want this to be more than it is? Is that it?”

Spike didn’t answer right away. He wanted things to be different, but he hadn’t expected it to come down to this so quickly. Angel just stood there, glaring at him, waiting for an answer. Staring at his hands in his lap, Spike said, “What if I do?” Then, unable to stand not knowing, he turned his head to look at Angel, searching his face for some sign of reaction.

Angel stumbled towards the ancient armchair and dropped into it. He stared at Spike. “You never said anything before.”

“You never seemed real interested in my feelings before. Just took what you wanted from me and made it pretty clear I shouldn’t expect anything else.”

“I thought you’d laugh. If you knew how I felt…”

Spike sat forward, peering closely at Angel. “Are you telling me that all this time, you’ve been acting like the world’s biggest dick because you thought that’s what *I* wanted?”

Angel smiled, just a little. “Well, that’s not exactly what I was trying for, but yeah, more or less.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t believe this.” He chuckled slightly. “Are we really that stupid?”

Spike snorted. “Speak for yourself, mate. I was just going on what you actually said. You’re the one who was making things up in your head.”

“I wasn’t imagining you running out on me to go be with that stripper.”

“Which I never would have done if I’d thought for a second that you needed me.”

Angel leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

Spike got up to rummage in his coat, hanging by the door, for a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, took a deep drag, and exhaled his answer. “Pretty much.”

Angel looked up as Spike tried to walk by him on his way back to the couch, and yanked him down onto his lap. Spike raised an eyebrow at him but made no move to get up. “So, what can I do to make it up to you?” he asked, grabbing Spike’s wrist to bring the hand holding the cigarette to his own lips and taking a drag.

Spike took another puff when Angel finished and considered the question. “Guess you’re going to have to prove you want me around as something other than a convenient way to get your rocks off when the mood strikes.”

Leaning very close to Spike’s ear, Angel whispered, “I think I have an idea.” His hand, high up on Spike’s inner thigh, combined with his husky tone made at least part of his plan clear enough that Spike smashed out the only half-smoked cigarette in an ashtray on the end table.

“Get to it then,” he said, dropping all pretense that he would put up any further resistance to shagging sire that night. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it across the room, and then leaned into Angel, pushing him back in the chair, hands on his shoulders. Their lips came together, mouths opened, teeth clashing, tongues exchanging the lingering nicotine flavor of the shared cigarette. Angel’s hands roamed Spike’s bare back, his fingers kneading the tight muscles, making Spike shudder beneath his touch.

Quickly finding the chair too confining, they managed to move to the small bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. They stood by the side of the bed, locked in a tight embrace, neither wanting to relinquish the other’s lips, even as the friction produced between their naked bodies by their slight movements heightened the scent of lust that filled the room.

At last, Angel tore his mouth away from Spike’s and stepped back just enough to get on his knees. Spike couldn’t help but grin as he realized what Angel’s first attempt at making up to him would entail. The older vampire reached around and grabbed Spike’s ass to pull him closer, and then stopped, frowning, as his hand encountered a rough patch of skin.

Too late, Spike realized what Angel felt, but he was already being spun around so his sire could have a look. “Who the hell is Feen?”

In his eagerness to shag Angel after their days apart, Spike had completely forgotten about the tattoo purchased in a drunken depression such a short time ago. “It’s not a who. It’s my motto. Or, was. For about a minute. Was your idea, come to think of it.”

Spike felt Angel run his fingers over the large, block-style letters, entwined with a barbed wire border. “How exactly was it my idea that you get this tattoo? Or any tattoo?” His voice had quickly turned critical and irritated, a far cry from the low, silky tone he’d used only moments before.

Turning around so that his cock was back in front of Angel’s face, Spike said, “Not the tattoo, the words. Fuck everyone, every night. Sounded like a good idea at the time.” He gazed down at the vampire in front of him, trying to look repentant. “Not so much now.” To Spike’s dismay, Angel completely ignored his erection and got up to sit on the bed.

“I had no idea you were so upset about that.”

Spike sat next to him and put his hand on Angel’s shoulder, a gesture born of compassion and minor impatience. “Let’s just forget it, right? Thought we were past all the feelin’ bad and apologizing?”

“I know. It’s hard to forget. This just makes it harder. Those things are permanent, you know.”

Spike shrugged. “We can say it means something else. Fangy Europeans, eating nuns. Or not,” he amended hastily, seeing the look on Angel’s face. Apparently not all souls allowed for the same level of dark humor. “How’s this: Fighting evil, every night?”

The tiniest smile crossed Angel’s face. “You’d really say that’s what it means?”

“Why the hell not? No one but you is ever gonna see it.”

“Promise?”

“Well, I don’t know. You still haven’t proved you want me around. Not sure I’m ready to make any promises like that.” His tone was light, but he didn’t smile and didn’t turn the words into a joke.

“Lie back,” Angel said, the look on his face prompting Spike to comply without question. He maneuvered to the center of the bed and Angel crawled over him, his weight feeling reassuring rather than crushing as they got back in the mood with light touches and slow kisses.

When their hips began to rock together, almost involuntarily, seeking pressure and friction, Angel slid down Spike’s body and grasped his cock around the base, guiding it between his lips. He took in only the head, and then released it to run teasing licks up and down the shaft, making Spike squirm under him and growl softly. In retaliation, Angel pulled away completely until Spike went quiet and still, though he gave his sire a look that could have staked. Without warning, Angel took him in completely, sucking hard and circling his tongue around, earning a different sounding growl and encouraging hands in his hair. He grabbed Spike’s balls with his free hand, rolling them between his fingers and tugging gently. Spike arched his back off the bed, thrusting into Angel’s gorgeous, wet mouth, not caring that he wasn’t going to last long the way things were going.

Aside from Angel’s increasing skill, what made it so hard for Spike to control himself was knowing that this time, when it was over, he wouldn’t have to hear about how what they had done had meant nothing, how it was just lust and physical need that brought them together. This time, as his cock disappeared down Angel’s throat, he knew it was because Angel wanted to make him feel good because they did mean something to each other.

Spike felt his orgasm coming and jerked his hips one last time and then froze, his hands still in Angel’s hair, holding his head in place until he had swallowed the last of his spend.

Angel pulled away to wipe his mouth and then moved back between Spike’s legs, encouraging him to bend his knees. The younger vampire watched as his sire’s engorged cock brushed against his balls, making his own cock stir to life once more. Angel’s attention was focused a little lower where his index finger found its way into Spike’s ass, moving gently in and out, stretching the ever-tight opening until he could add another finger.

Spike shifted on the bed, pulling his knees back to his chest to give Angel the best possible access to his body. His mind was consumed with the sensations of Angel touching him, reducing him from a rational being to a primal beast with only one need in the whole world and an insatiable hunger to fill that need, over and over again.

When Angel looked up, Spike’s fangs had dropped and he gazed at his sire with ferocious amber eyes. Taking his cue, he removed his fingers and swiftly replaced them with his cock, cutting off Spike’s frustrated growls in the bare moments that he was left untouched.

Though Spike had believed Angel’s admissions of true feeling and regret for their miscommunications, they were demons and he would have been surprised and disappointed at anything less than the punishing thrusts he received from his sire as they did their best to crack the wall behind the shaking headboard. Angel’s hands kept Spike’s knees pinned tightly to his chest and somehow enough blood got to his brain for him to wonder if he would have bruises there in the morning.

They kept at it for the better part of an hour, each of them pouring the frustrations of the time they had lost, as well as the relief of finally being together, into their movements. It did no good to dwell on what could have been if they had managed to admit their real intentions months ago. Such a short time meant nothing for being as long lived as them, and yet they grieved for those vanished days of hurt and misunderstanding that could have been so much more.

From the moment Angel’s lips had touched his cock, Spike had forgotten that he was supposed to receive proof of Angel’s devotion to him. He had believed it as soon as the words were spoken, though the cynical part of him would never let him admit it that easily. So, at first, when Angel positioned his legs around his waist and leaned into him, he didn’t give it a thought. His sire kissed him softly, heedless of the sharp fangs that threatened his mouth. He made a path of kisses across Spike’s cheek and down the side of his neck, stopping just above the curve of his shoulder. And when the younger vampire felt the brow ridges form on the face that nuzzled him, he understood and threw his head back, making his own show of trust and commitment to the demon above him. The fangs punctured his flesh in one smooth motion and he cried out, though not in any sort of pain. He could not remember ever feeling so utterly possessed, so helpless to prevent his own death - should that be the intention of his possessor, so completely wanted and adored.

The bite, the fucking, sweat and friction between their bodies, with a little help from Angel’s hand, made Spike come again, just before his sire. When he finished, Angel rolled to the side, keeping his lips on his boy’s neck and kissing the bite he made, though he had already withdrawn his fangs with some reluctance. “Everyone will know you’re mine, now,” he whispered between kisses. “Is that proof enough that I want you?”

Almost irritated that he had to summon the energy to speak, Spike muttered, “Yeah, works for me.”

They fell silent and Angel pulled Spike around so that his back was against him and he could wrap his arms around him while they slept. A sense of peace and exhaustion filled the quiet room and for a few minutes it seemed a perfect serenity that might last forever. Then Angel spoke again. “Hey, maybe I should get a FEEN tattoo. I mean, I fight evil, right? And it could be like, our thing, but only we would know about it. What do you think?”

Spike rolled over on his back so he could glare up at Angel. “I think you should either fuck me again or shut the hell up and go to sleep.”

Angel looked appropriately chastised. “Right, sorry.”

Mollified, Spike pressed his back against him again and closed his eyes.

Angel put an arm across him, and his hand caressed him just below his belly button. “Sleep while you can, because later, I’m taking you up on that offer to fuck you again.”

In the dark, Spike smiled.

~End~