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Xanpet
Angel insisted on driving Cordelia to her apartment and then headed back to the hotel. His head was spinning from all the information he had got tonight. The Powers that Be had allowed the fight to take place that was certain, in spite of all the spells to the contrary, so it had to be a clue. Anthony and Cleopatra, he’d heard that before. Everything one needed to solve the problem was in the original statement, one just had to ask the right questions. One just had to ask the right questions here as well. All the clues were present and he was right the key was Spike.
They pulled up outside the hotel. Spike hadn’t said a word the whole way but now he looked at his Sire and declared, “Well that was a resounding failure. I didn’t even get me reading. It’s a fucking swizz in’it.”
Angel knew he had to tell Spike the news, “Spike, Lorne told me something.”
“I thought it was like seeing your doctor. Don’t he have an oath or sumfink?”
“Spike,” Better just say it straight, “He told me you have a soul.” The look on Spike’s face was as if his entire world had just collapsed.
“That can’t be.”
“It is.”
“Why cos ‘snot that walks’ said so? Some giant bogie tells you shite and you just swallow it? Maybe I should send you out for a skirting board ladder or a glass hammer? Be a laugh eh?”
“Spike, Wil’…”
“NO! I ain’t listening. No! No! No, no, nonononono.” Spike jumped the car door and headed for the front of the hotel. He burst through the door without opening it, leaving it hanging in splintered tatters on its hinges. He reached the stairs before Angel even got to the door. Running up the first flight he jumped, two steps at a time, up the second. Even faster, whole flights in a single leap and up the stairwell, from landing to landing, positively flying.
He tore the door to his room clean off the frame, pulling part of the wood away from the wall. He howled and then the TV went flying through the window, in a shower of sparks and glass. The bedside cabinet was next. He raised it above his head and sent it into the wardrobe, before turning the cupboard itself into matchwood, with two flying kicks to the doors. The roars of the enraged beast could have been heard for five blocks.
He was feral. Blinded by rage and tears, he grabbed at the bed and pulled the mattress. He rent it to shreds and upturned the bed frame. Angel stood on the threshold of the room and watched the fury continue. Snarling, Spike hurled the remains of the mattress into the bathroom, smashed the sink with his fist, and cracked the tiling with a barrage of kicks and punches. He left blooded skid marks where the ceramic had slit flesh.
He turned his wrath on the toilet. Grasping the bowl, he heaved it from its pedestal, and flung it out into the room. Angel ducked and it soared over his head, to smash into smithereens, against the opposite wall.
Water fountained from the stump of the toilet and Spike stood dripping. His frenzy abated and he collapsed to his knees. Hugging his head, he began to rock and Angel thought it might be safe now to approach.
“Wil’.” He said as gently as he could. He was so quiet only vampire hearing could have picked it up. “Wil’?” He got onto his hands and knees and crawled towards Spike’s foetal form.
Spike had nothing left. He allowed his Sire to hold him in the streaming water. Angel cradled the sobbing vampire, rocking him and talking consoling nonsense. He raised Spike’s face and pushed sodden hair from his blood streaked eyes.
Spike met Angel’s eyes and said, “What am I, Sire? What type of monstrous aberration am I?”
“You’re Spike, Master Vampire.”
That was enough to trigger the self-loathing again. Spike wrenched his face from Angel’s gentle grip and spat, “I’m nothing. Everyone always said so. I’m a failed abortion. Abandoned and abused. You! You told me I was a used guttersnipe, worthless body and soul. And now I find it’s true. What kind of vampire has a soul and what kind of souled creature can have done the things I’ve done?”
Angel sat back on his haunches and studied the other vampire, as if seeing him for the first time. His hair was dark and dripping, his face bloody and almost blue with cold. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and pained.
“I’m damaged,” He said, to the floor, not able to raise his head and look Angel in the eye, “Neutered. I can’t hunt. I can’t feed. I can’t defend myself or protect those I love. No wonder I lose every lover. I’m abhorrent to everything. He couldn’t love me. He couldn’t love me, Angel.”
There was a wild panic in that last sentence and Angel thought Spike was ranting, but it was worrying. Spike could be losing his mind with this chip thing. What if this was the beginning of a breakdown? “I love you.” He said.
Spike lifted his head and stared at him, not comprehending, “You deserted me.”
His Sire reached out slowly and began to stroke his hair, “But I’ve always loved you. I remember the first time we met. Sometimes in the last hundred years, the memory of a dark haired boy with the bluest of eyes, was one of the only things that stopped me from taking a walk in the sun.”
“You raped and tortured that boy.”
Angel shook his head, slowly, “And you never cried. You knelt naked in front of me and Darla held your hair.” He could see the scene in his mind’s eye. Spike had been sassy and quick even then. “You took me in your mouth and I told you to open your eyes so I could them weep,” He never stopped stroking Spike’s hair even though they were both soaking, “But you didn’t.”
“But I bleeding did, China. I was dying inside. I ‘id meself from you and you weren’t never fucking catching me.”
“Or apparently improving your grammar and I seem to remember you charging the Earth as well. You must have hidden your soul from the pain of your life. Not even your demon could find it. That doesn’t make you an aberration that makes you unique. My soul is a curse and a bad one at that. It’s an act of vengeance and nothing more. It is the soul of a dead man being tortured for acts it isn’t responsible for. Yours is living. You never truly died. Maybe the chip has just given you some breathing space. A chance to control the demon and give you time to reflect.”
He tilted Spike’s head up gently and placed the lightest of kisses on still quivering lips. Time froze just for an instant and then Spike was kissing him furiously, desperately. The younger vampire tugged at his shirt, freeing it from his pants and ran his hands up and over his abdomen and chest. Angel responded in kind. He knew he was safe if he wasn’t reaching for heaven. This wasn’t even about him. This was about need and want. This was about William.
He stood, bringing Spike with him and guided him out into the room. If they stayed in the water, they would get chilled to the point of dormancy. Then he began to kiss every inch of the younger vampire. Placing butterfly kisses on his forehead, eyelids and cheeks. Angel tasted the blood in Spike’s tears and licked at his face as a mother cat cleans her kittens. This was for William, all for William.
“Angelus, I…” Spike wanted Angel to stop. He thought of Xander just three nights before, kissing his demon and professing his love. But this was different, this was vampiric, this was his Sire, this was home. So, he stopped resisting and gave himself up to the welter of sensations that assaulted him.
Angel was kissing and licking at the hollow of his neck, that most sensual spot for his race. He arched his back and howled his pleasure, “Bite me,” he begged in a horse whisper and Angel obliged.
The older vampire felt his fangs descend as his childe continued to undulate in his embrace, grinding his cock against him. The bite was a mere graze but enough to ignite them both. Angel dropped to his knees, sliding a fang along Spike’s chest and slicing a clean line to the navel. He drew his tongue back up it, looked up into Spike’s passion filled eyes and watched his childe mouth just one word, “Sire.”
Spike started to undo his fly but Angel batted the hand away. “Don’t move.” He commanded as instinct forced them both into roles older than time. The water-drenched denim was stiff and chill but brute force loosened each button. Spike’s cock stood proud of the dark fabric. “Too long,” Angel sighed, returning to his human face, “It’s been too long.” And he was back on his knees, taking Spike down in one smooth movement.
Angel drew his tongue along the underside of Spike’s cock, from root to tip. He swirled it around the foreskin and felt Spike’s hands in his hair. Had he been Angelus, it would have been the end of the blowjob and the beginning of the torture. Spike had disobeyed a direct order and moved, but Angel was more forgiving of his errant offspring. Spike’s grasping fingers twined still further into sodden locks as Angel continued to roll the silken head around his mouth with Spike panting above him.
From his position on his knees, with Spike pounding his cock into his mouth, Angel should have felt powerless but he didn’t, in fact, quite the reverse. He was making Spike breathe, making him beg, if he sucked hard then Spike groaned his name. “Oh Wil’ if you’d wanted that ring you shouldn’t have tortured me you should have blown me.” Angel thought. But he knew why that would never have happened. Wil’ was tired of prostitution, he’d said so and this, this was about love. He hoped. Or at the very least reconciliation.
“Close, so close.” Spike hissed as he tried to get even more of his cock down Angel’s smooth throat. Angel increased the pace and gave one last hard suck and Spike roared as he shot his load into his Sire’s hungry mouth.
Angel stood and held the other vampire to stop him falling as the shudders of orgasm continued to ripple through his body. He kissed him, sharing the last of the semen with its owner. Spike licked greedily at his lips until every drop was gone.
“I want…” Angel began but this wasn’t about him, he had to remind himself again.
However, Spike seemed to understand. He nodded and said, “It’s okay, just remember I’m one of your greatest sins and you’ll be safe. You know I always mean what I say and just how bloody minded I can be. You’re not using me, I want this too.” But he was never going to say ‘I love you’ because he didn’t.
Spike’s jeans proved hard to remove. The wet fabric clung to his icy skin. It seemed to take forever before he and Angel were both naked on the floor. He sat astride his Sire and using china chips from the smashed toilet, he cut lazy patterns into Angel’s flesh. The nicks were so shallow they healed in front of his eyes. “Do you want me to hurt you?” Old games died hard.
“No,” Angel said out loud. “I want you to love me.” He thought to himself.
“Do you want to hurt me?” He offered Angel the shard.
“No, I want to fuck you. Will you let me?”
“You’re the Sire.” He tossed the shard aside and stared hard at the other vampire. “How do you want to fuck me?”
“Like this. I want you to ride me.”
Spike’s blue, blue eyes glittered with desire and he bent to take Angel’s face in his hands. His water darkened hair curled onto his forehead and tiny droplets gathered at the ends. He moved in for the kiss. Their tongues were first to touch, dancing tip to tip, then lips and even teeth entering the affray. Spike in the midst of it all raised his hips and reached to spread his buttocks wide. He began his decent, encasing his Sire’s cock deep within his cool body. He held still for a moment to savour the stinging sensation and get used to the fullness and then he began to move.
Angel rocked against him in time with his rises and falls. Their eyes locked together, everything moving in fluid rhythm. It was so good. Not soul losing good just familiar and agonising in its sweetness. Spike was so tight. Even after everything, that strong ring of muscle could clamp hard on his cock making him moan.
They thrust together in a bizarre ballet. Spike came down hard repeatedly, driving Angel’s cock against his prostate until everything was veiled in a fog of lust and want. His left hand wrapped around his own erection and began to pull with urgency born of passion. Angel’s hands grasped his hips dragging him down further onto his straining cock and Spike began to chant, “Yes, yes, yes,” With every stroke.
It was too much; Angel felt his features begin to morph. He tugged Spike towards him and in a rasping whisper said, “Harder,” Spike duly obliged, pounding against him, nearing his second orgasm. That was the final fillip; Angel bit down hard onto Spike’s shoulder and buried his climax in a frenzy of snarls.
Spike cried out at the sudden, sharp pain of the bite and shot his own release onto the belly of the other. In full vamp mode, he collapsed on top of Angel and sunk his own fangs deep into his Sire’s neck.
It was a long time before he could move again. Orgasm and cold had both taken their toll and when he pulled his fangs from Angel’s flesh, he dragged a little leaving a nasty gash. He pawed at it and then licked his fingers. He touched his own puncture wounds and offered the blooded fingertips for Angel to suck clean. Neither of them said a word. What was there to say?
Much later, when the water seemed to have ebbed and they had found dry bed linen to sleep in, Angel curled himself around his foster childe and sighed. He looked at Spike’s sleeping form and for a moment he was reminded of an Oscar Wilde story, “A Portrait of WH.” He thought. Then another Wilde quote came to him. Something said at the trial. ‘The love that he bore him – for it was really love – had nothing in it that was not noble and intellectual. It was not mere physical admiration of beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses die. It such love as Michael-Angelo had known and…Shakespeare himself’