Jenny
RATING: NC-17
Summary: Season 2 of Time is the Fire. Spike and Angel have now reached a new level in their relationship: sharing Spike's pain at the things he did when he lost his soul. A new start is needed for them all.
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.