posted by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rockstarpeach at 07:00pm on 26/09/2011 under character: angel, character: spike, fic - buffyverse
rockstarpeach at 07:00pm on 26/09/2011 under character: angel, character: spike, fic - buffyverseTitle: Anything You Can Do
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2400
Summary: Spike is behaving oddly. He’s being nice. Angel can’t leave well enough alone, of course, and so it turns into a bizarre form of competition. That ends in sex.
A/N: Written as a mod challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike for the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pjgale, who asked for: Just Spike feeling really wanted and loved, not a substitute for anyone. Hot, totally a 2 way street. Maybe Angel seeing a different side to Spike and realising his worth at last!
***
It starts when Spike punches some guy in the face and steals his wallet.
Okay, it probably starts long before then, but that’s the first time Angel actually takes notice, files the incident away and wonders if, in his own twisted way, Spike might actually be thinking of others.
The concept is so foreign though, that Angel decides it must just be low blood sugar or something from the venison blood he’s been on lately fucking with his head, so he lets the thought go almost as quickly as it comes.
Angel opens his mouth as soon as he hears the crack of the guy’s jaw, frowns and tries to think of what exactly it that he wants to say as Spike sticks his hand in the guy’s pocket.
“Wot you bloody get,” he hears Spike mumble as the guy crumples to the ground, hand pinched against his broken nose to staunch the freely flowing blood.
He closes his mouth again when he figures the best coarse of action is to just knock Spike around some and give the guy his wallet back, but when he slinks along the shadowed brick and follows Spike out of the alley, he doesn’t even manage to catch up with him before he sees Spike drop all the cash in a corner donation box for MS research and toss the rest in the garbage bin next to it.
He just manages to duck out of sight before Spike turns around and Angel scowls and heads back to Wolfram and Hart, calls their accountant in and has him make a sizable donation to the inner city school arts programs on Angel’s behalf. He feels like an idiot in the morning and doubles his donation out of his personal account for no reason he wants to think too closely on.
***
A couple of weeks later Angel sees Spike leaving his weekly poker game with the guys in shipping, carrying a crate full of cats. When he tracks the GPS on the car Spike stole from him, he grinds his teeth for the whole five minutes it spends parked outside the local SPCA.
As soon as the sun sets the next day, Angel rescues two kittens from trees and busts seven dogs out of abusive homes.
***
A few days after that, Angel nearly chokes on his own tongue when he looks out his window, down fifty stories, to see Spike actually helping a little old lady across the road. He’s got her bag of groceries under one arm and his other hand is grasping her elbow and when they’re safely on the other side of the street Spike puts the brown paper bag back into her hands and smiles at her as she walks away.
Angel’s ten o’clock the next morning is a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. He grabs hold of the handlebars on the back and tries to steer the poor guy down the hall, but he doesn’t want to be pushed around because he’s fully capable of moving himself, thanks, and there’s a short, almost violent struggle that ends with a broken office window and Angel owing a sixteen hundred dollar hospital bill.
***
Angel donates an entire library the senior’s centre across town when one of his spies tells him that Spike was seen reading to an old man laid up with pneumonia.
He institutes a free lunch program when he comes through the lobby one evening and catches Spike snarling at the sandwich guy until he agrees to give one of their lesser paid employees a roast beef on rye that he can’t afford.
He thinks everything might be back to normal when he catches Spike screwing a prostitute on top Angel’s desk in the middle of the afternoon, but then he sees her face when Spike hands her a cheque for ten grand with specific instructions to go back to culinary school, and Angel balls his hands into fists as he stands in the doorway.
After she leaves Angel doesn’t waste any time phoning up said school and offering a sizable scholarship donation and once he’s done, Spike winks at him and holds up Angel’s cheque book, pointing out the missing slip that Spike had just handed over to the hooker.
Angel lets out a frustrated growl and makes a grab for Spike, gets a little hard when Spike wiggles against him to slip past and get free. When Spike laughs and heads out the door Angel shakes his head and smiles. He knows a lost cause when he sees one and most of the time he’s all for fighting, but this time he decides that he’s done with this. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Spike lately and he doesn’t know why it’s even affecting him, but as of now, he officially doesn’t care.
And not because he’s been losing, because there wasn’t actually kind of competition except for in his own head and he’s not going to let a century old rivalry mess with him anymore. If Spike has suddenly decided to play at philanthropy, that’s a good thing.
And, Angel’s not going to lie to himself, a bit of a turn-on.
***
“I saved a unicorn today,” Spike says, startling Angel as the elevator door shuts behind hi, and he steps into his penthouse apartment. “From a nasty troll. Then I tamed him and rode him through a fierce battle against evil knights to rescue a princess from a tower a thousand stories high and surrounded by fire and holy water and pointy wooden spikes.”
“Shouldn’t you be out hugging care bears or something?” Angel asks, stripping off his jacket and tossing it over the back of his couch.
“It bothers you,” Spike says after the smile falls from his face. “That I’m helping people, even in little ways. That you feel like you’re the one with something to prove. Again.”
“I just… I don’t get it,” Angel admits, loosening his tie and pouring himself a drink. He turns to Spike and raises an eyebrow, waits for a nod and pours him one, too. “It’s not exactly your thing. I’m supposed to… I’m supposed to be the good guy.”
“You are,” Spike tells him, taking his glass and downing the entire four fingers of whisky in one swallow. “Why do you think I did all that?”
“Because you’re as selfless and caring as you are annoying?” Angel asks, even as they both let out a low chuckle.
“To get you to pay attention for once, gramps.”
“I pay attention.”
“Yeah, you pay enough attention so we can fuck each other stupid every now and again, but what about the rest of the time?”
“The rest of the time,” Angel says slowly, as he puts down his glass and steps closer to Spike, “I wish we were fucking.”
Spike snorts but steps into Angel’s arms, cups the back of Angel’s neck in a hard grip and tilts his face down.
“Unless I’m doing my best to drive you batty, I doubt you ever think about me unless your willie is in my mouth.”
“I always think about you,” Angel corrects him, covering Spike’s mouth in a bruising kiss, all messy lips and tongue and clack of teeth. When he finally pulls back, they’re both panting needlessly. “And this good Samaritan routine you’ve suddenly got a very obvious boner for isn’t just for my benefit. You care about people, Spike, as much as you pretend you don’t.”
“Maybe,” Spike says with a smirk and tugs sharply on the front of Angel’s shirt to tear it open, sending the buttons popping and scattering to the floor. “And you’re just cottoning on now?”
Angel takes a deep breath then, feels a distinct tickle down and spine and into his groin when Spike pushes close. And really fucked up part? It skitters up his stomach across his ribs to land in his chest, clenching around his heart. He wants to fuck Spike, absolutely. He’d pretty much never say no to that. But he’s learnt something else lately, discovered something new.
Not love, no. Of course he loves Spike, but he’s loved him since Dru brought him home that first night, so that’s not the new part. It’s respect, that he’s feeling now. That sick feeling the proceeds jealousy and settles in nicely next to affection… that’s respect.
Spike has more than earned it a dozen times up to this point, but Angel’s always been just as good at denial as Spike is and it’s little wonder, really, that Angel’s never actually admitted it before now.
“Something like that,” Angel tells him, fingers digging hard into Spike’s bicep as he shoves him back towards the bed, smiling and crawling on top of him when his knees buckle and he falls on his back.
And when Spike opens up underneath him, when he presses his lips to Angel’s neck and cries out so damn pretty when Angel tears his pants down with nimble fingers and a few rough jerks of his fist, Angel has to swallow around a hard lump in his throat because fuck Spike is beautiful.
There’s panting then, grunting and cursing amidst a flurry of hands pulling and legs kicking until they’re both naked and pressed together, Angel settled into the V of Spike’s thighs.
“Do it,” Angel whispers, the words barely breathed out against Spike’s lips before Spike tilts his chin, darts forward over the remaining few millimetres to take Angel’s lower lip between his blunt teeth.
Spike tugs, bites harder, harder until Angel feels his skin tear, feels each thread of skin tugged apart and tastes the blood that wells up. There’s a tingle all the way down his spine at the sound Spike makes his tongue runs the length of his lip, soothes the hurt and laps up the blood, like this right here, like Angel is the only thing Spike ever needs to be happy.
Angel can relate. For all that Spike pisses him off, for as crazy as Spike makes him and for all the mess Angel is constantly having to clean up in Spike’s wake, he’s suddenly and acutely aware that his life wouldn’t be the same without Spike. And he means that in a good way.
“Come on, Spike,” he says through gritted teeth as Spike rolls his hips up, gives the tip of Angel’s prick just the barest amount of friction. It’s not even close to enough and it must be just as frustrating for Spike as it is for Angel. And sure, Angel could press his body down against Spike’s and take what he wants, rub himself off against Spike’s belly or hoist his legs up and slip into him, push and push until he comes so deep inside Spike can taste it.
Maybe he will, later. But right now he just wants to keep kissing, wants to taste his blood and Spike’s, all swirled together while he digs his fingers into Spike’s shoulders, his neck, his ribs. He wants Spike to take control, show Angel he wants it just as bad and he doesn’t have to wait much longer for it because Spike only spares a second for his lips to curve into a smile against Angel’s before he reaches down between them and wraps slim fingers around both their shafts.
Angel groans then, slips one slightly elongated fang into Spike’s tongue just enough to scratch and suddenly Spike’s legs are wrapped around his waist so tight he couldn’t possibly escape even if he wanted to. Spike bucks, his fist tightens and then they’re writhing together, Angel propped up on his elbows and licking into Spike’s mouth as Spike jerks them both quickly, thumb rubbing over each of their slits, spreading the slick fluid he finds there to ease the way.
“Always,” Spike says when he wrenches his mouth free, sounding breathless even though it’s impossible. “Always so damn good with you, Angel. It’s really hard for me to keep up with the hating you when you’re this bloody fantastic in the sac.”
Angel lets out a sharp burst of laughter at that, because of course Spike has to spoil the mood. Of course now, when Angel’s decided not to hold back and finally let Spike now, with his tongue and his fingers and the words he’s not speaking, how he actually feels, of course Spike has to play it off like it’s nothing.
Which is fine. Angel knows the truth.
Angel digs his knees into the mattress and swivels his hips just enough that Spike cries out, kisses him quiet as they both buck and thrust until they’re quiet, spent and there’s a wet, slimy mess that’s sticking them together as much as gravity and laziness.
“So I should…” Spike starts, pushing lazily at Angel’s shoulder in a half-assed attempt to roll him over. “I should probably head home. Long day ahead, of untying fair maidens from railroad tracks and rescuing young children from dank wells.”
“Or,” Angel smiles, rolls to the side and lands with his head resting on Spike’s shoulder, sparing only the tiniest wince for the mess that’s being made of his sheets, “you could stay. Get a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast… Start the day out right.”
“Yeah,” Spike agrees, tilting his head down to rub his chin over Angel’s hair. “You do have otter here, and I really can’t beat that if I want to go toe to toe with a top hat-wearing, moustache-twirling villain type.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
Right. It’s not ‘I love you’ and it’s not ‘Never leave me’ but it might as well be. It’s what they both hear.
END
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2400
Summary: Spike is behaving oddly. He’s being nice. Angel can’t leave well enough alone, of course, and so it turns into a bizarre form of competition. That ends in sex.
A/N: Written as a mod challenge at
nekid_spike for the wonderful pjgale, who asked for: Just Spike feeling really wanted and loved, not a substitute for anyone. Hot, totally a 2 way street. Maybe Angel seeing a different side to Spike and realising his worth at last!***
It starts when Spike punches some guy in the face and steals his wallet.
Okay, it probably starts long before then, but that’s the first time Angel actually takes notice, files the incident away and wonders if, in his own twisted way, Spike might actually be thinking of others.
The concept is so foreign though, that Angel decides it must just be low blood sugar or something from the venison blood he’s been on lately fucking with his head, so he lets the thought go almost as quickly as it comes.
Angel opens his mouth as soon as he hears the crack of the guy’s jaw, frowns and tries to think of what exactly it that he wants to say as Spike sticks his hand in the guy’s pocket.
“Wot you bloody get,” he hears Spike mumble as the guy crumples to the ground, hand pinched against his broken nose to staunch the freely flowing blood.
He closes his mouth again when he figures the best coarse of action is to just knock Spike around some and give the guy his wallet back, but when he slinks along the shadowed brick and follows Spike out of the alley, he doesn’t even manage to catch up with him before he sees Spike drop all the cash in a corner donation box for MS research and toss the rest in the garbage bin next to it.
He just manages to duck out of sight before Spike turns around and Angel scowls and heads back to Wolfram and Hart, calls their accountant in and has him make a sizable donation to the inner city school arts programs on Angel’s behalf. He feels like an idiot in the morning and doubles his donation out of his personal account for no reason he wants to think too closely on.
***
A couple of weeks later Angel sees Spike leaving his weekly poker game with the guys in shipping, carrying a crate full of cats. When he tracks the GPS on the car Spike stole from him, he grinds his teeth for the whole five minutes it spends parked outside the local SPCA.
As soon as the sun sets the next day, Angel rescues two kittens from trees and busts seven dogs out of abusive homes.
***
A few days after that, Angel nearly chokes on his own tongue when he looks out his window, down fifty stories, to see Spike actually helping a little old lady across the road. He’s got her bag of groceries under one arm and his other hand is grasping her elbow and when they’re safely on the other side of the street Spike puts the brown paper bag back into her hands and smiles at her as she walks away.
Angel’s ten o’clock the next morning is a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. He grabs hold of the handlebars on the back and tries to steer the poor guy down the hall, but he doesn’t want to be pushed around because he’s fully capable of moving himself, thanks, and there’s a short, almost violent struggle that ends with a broken office window and Angel owing a sixteen hundred dollar hospital bill.
***
Angel donates an entire library the senior’s centre across town when one of his spies tells him that Spike was seen reading to an old man laid up with pneumonia.
He institutes a free lunch program when he comes through the lobby one evening and catches Spike snarling at the sandwich guy until he agrees to give one of their lesser paid employees a roast beef on rye that he can’t afford.
He thinks everything might be back to normal when he catches Spike screwing a prostitute on top Angel’s desk in the middle of the afternoon, but then he sees her face when Spike hands her a cheque for ten grand with specific instructions to go back to culinary school, and Angel balls his hands into fists as he stands in the doorway.
After she leaves Angel doesn’t waste any time phoning up said school and offering a sizable scholarship donation and once he’s done, Spike winks at him and holds up Angel’s cheque book, pointing out the missing slip that Spike had just handed over to the hooker.
Angel lets out a frustrated growl and makes a grab for Spike, gets a little hard when Spike wiggles against him to slip past and get free. When Spike laughs and heads out the door Angel shakes his head and smiles. He knows a lost cause when he sees one and most of the time he’s all for fighting, but this time he decides that he’s done with this. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Spike lately and he doesn’t know why it’s even affecting him, but as of now, he officially doesn’t care.
And not because he’s been losing, because there wasn’t actually kind of competition except for in his own head and he’s not going to let a century old rivalry mess with him anymore. If Spike has suddenly decided to play at philanthropy, that’s a good thing.
And, Angel’s not going to lie to himself, a bit of a turn-on.
***
“I saved a unicorn today,” Spike says, startling Angel as the elevator door shuts behind hi, and he steps into his penthouse apartment. “From a nasty troll. Then I tamed him and rode him through a fierce battle against evil knights to rescue a princess from a tower a thousand stories high and surrounded by fire and holy water and pointy wooden spikes.”
“Shouldn’t you be out hugging care bears or something?” Angel asks, stripping off his jacket and tossing it over the back of his couch.
“It bothers you,” Spike says after the smile falls from his face. “That I’m helping people, even in little ways. That you feel like you’re the one with something to prove. Again.”
“I just… I don’t get it,” Angel admits, loosening his tie and pouring himself a drink. He turns to Spike and raises an eyebrow, waits for a nod and pours him one, too. “It’s not exactly your thing. I’m supposed to… I’m supposed to be the good guy.”
“You are,” Spike tells him, taking his glass and downing the entire four fingers of whisky in one swallow. “Why do you think I did all that?”
“Because you’re as selfless and caring as you are annoying?” Angel asks, even as they both let out a low chuckle.
“To get you to pay attention for once, gramps.”
“I pay attention.”
“Yeah, you pay enough attention so we can fuck each other stupid every now and again, but what about the rest of the time?”
“The rest of the time,” Angel says slowly, as he puts down his glass and steps closer to Spike, “I wish we were fucking.”
Spike snorts but steps into Angel’s arms, cups the back of Angel’s neck in a hard grip and tilts his face down.
“Unless I’m doing my best to drive you batty, I doubt you ever think about me unless your willie is in my mouth.”
“I always think about you,” Angel corrects him, covering Spike’s mouth in a bruising kiss, all messy lips and tongue and clack of teeth. When he finally pulls back, they’re both panting needlessly. “And this good Samaritan routine you’ve suddenly got a very obvious boner for isn’t just for my benefit. You care about people, Spike, as much as you pretend you don’t.”
“Maybe,” Spike says with a smirk and tugs sharply on the front of Angel’s shirt to tear it open, sending the buttons popping and scattering to the floor. “And you’re just cottoning on now?”
Angel takes a deep breath then, feels a distinct tickle down and spine and into his groin when Spike pushes close. And really fucked up part? It skitters up his stomach across his ribs to land in his chest, clenching around his heart. He wants to fuck Spike, absolutely. He’d pretty much never say no to that. But he’s learnt something else lately, discovered something new.
Not love, no. Of course he loves Spike, but he’s loved him since Dru brought him home that first night, so that’s not the new part. It’s respect, that he’s feeling now. That sick feeling the proceeds jealousy and settles in nicely next to affection… that’s respect.
Spike has more than earned it a dozen times up to this point, but Angel’s always been just as good at denial as Spike is and it’s little wonder, really, that Angel’s never actually admitted it before now.
“Something like that,” Angel tells him, fingers digging hard into Spike’s bicep as he shoves him back towards the bed, smiling and crawling on top of him when his knees buckle and he falls on his back.
And when Spike opens up underneath him, when he presses his lips to Angel’s neck and cries out so damn pretty when Angel tears his pants down with nimble fingers and a few rough jerks of his fist, Angel has to swallow around a hard lump in his throat because fuck Spike is beautiful.
There’s panting then, grunting and cursing amidst a flurry of hands pulling and legs kicking until they’re both naked and pressed together, Angel settled into the V of Spike’s thighs.
“Do it,” Angel whispers, the words barely breathed out against Spike’s lips before Spike tilts his chin, darts forward over the remaining few millimetres to take Angel’s lower lip between his blunt teeth.
Spike tugs, bites harder, harder until Angel feels his skin tear, feels each thread of skin tugged apart and tastes the blood that wells up. There’s a tingle all the way down his spine at the sound Spike makes his tongue runs the length of his lip, soothes the hurt and laps up the blood, like this right here, like Angel is the only thing Spike ever needs to be happy.
Angel can relate. For all that Spike pisses him off, for as crazy as Spike makes him and for all the mess Angel is constantly having to clean up in Spike’s wake, he’s suddenly and acutely aware that his life wouldn’t be the same without Spike. And he means that in a good way.
“Come on, Spike,” he says through gritted teeth as Spike rolls his hips up, gives the tip of Angel’s prick just the barest amount of friction. It’s not even close to enough and it must be just as frustrating for Spike as it is for Angel. And sure, Angel could press his body down against Spike’s and take what he wants, rub himself off against Spike’s belly or hoist his legs up and slip into him, push and push until he comes so deep inside Spike can taste it.
Maybe he will, later. But right now he just wants to keep kissing, wants to taste his blood and Spike’s, all swirled together while he digs his fingers into Spike’s shoulders, his neck, his ribs. He wants Spike to take control, show Angel he wants it just as bad and he doesn’t have to wait much longer for it because Spike only spares a second for his lips to curve into a smile against Angel’s before he reaches down between them and wraps slim fingers around both their shafts.
Angel groans then, slips one slightly elongated fang into Spike’s tongue just enough to scratch and suddenly Spike’s legs are wrapped around his waist so tight he couldn’t possibly escape even if he wanted to. Spike bucks, his fist tightens and then they’re writhing together, Angel propped up on his elbows and licking into Spike’s mouth as Spike jerks them both quickly, thumb rubbing over each of their slits, spreading the slick fluid he finds there to ease the way.
“Always,” Spike says when he wrenches his mouth free, sounding breathless even though it’s impossible. “Always so damn good with you, Angel. It’s really hard for me to keep up with the hating you when you’re this bloody fantastic in the sac.”
Angel lets out a sharp burst of laughter at that, because of course Spike has to spoil the mood. Of course now, when Angel’s decided not to hold back and finally let Spike now, with his tongue and his fingers and the words he’s not speaking, how he actually feels, of course Spike has to play it off like it’s nothing.
Which is fine. Angel knows the truth.
Angel digs his knees into the mattress and swivels his hips just enough that Spike cries out, kisses him quiet as they both buck and thrust until they’re quiet, spent and there’s a wet, slimy mess that’s sticking them together as much as gravity and laziness.
“So I should…” Spike starts, pushing lazily at Angel’s shoulder in a half-assed attempt to roll him over. “I should probably head home. Long day ahead, of untying fair maidens from railroad tracks and rescuing young children from dank wells.”
“Or,” Angel smiles, rolls to the side and lands with his head resting on Spike’s shoulder, sparing only the tiniest wince for the mess that’s being made of his sheets, “you could stay. Get a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast… Start the day out right.”
“Yeah,” Spike agrees, tilting his head down to rub his chin over Angel’s hair. “You do have otter here, and I really can’t beat that if I want to go toe to toe with a top hat-wearing, moustache-twirling villain type.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
Right. It’s not ‘I love you’ and it’s not ‘Never leave me’ but it might as well be. It’s what they both hear.
END
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