Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*

It had been four days since the modusbeast incident, and Angel was still feeling a bit twitchy. He couldn’t really explain it. Ever since he and Wes and Fred had cleaned out the hive, he’d been sort of restless, and his senses were in overdrive. Especially touch and smell.

It wasn’t something worth worrying about exactly, at least he didn’t think it was, not yet. Come to think of it, it may have had nothing to do with the modusbeast hive at all; that was simply when he began to notice. But Angel had pretty good instincts, and usually when he suspected that something could possibly be wrong, then something was definitely wrong. He just didn’t know quite what it was yet or why it was happening, so he didn’t mention it to anyone. Wesley seemed a bit preoccupied anyway, and Fred had been in a bad mood lately. Telling them that he’d felt “twitchy” for a few days seemed like a pointless imposition. So Angel went about business as usual, feeling restless and overly sensitive, and tried not to notice how everyone at the office seemed suddenly to smell more like sex than they had before.

And it wasn’t just the people at the office.

After the modusbeast incident, Angel had encouraged Fred to drive Wesley home for some patching up (the bite wasn’t life-threatening, just messy), while he stayed behind to pick off any stragglers that may have escaped the massacre at the hive. He knew he'd seen at least three of the beasts skitter away, but their scent-trails were too difficult to track quickly and he'd only found and killed one of them. Eventually Angel decided to take the metro back to Wolfram and Hart because there wasn’t time to walk all the way back to the office from the warehouse district before sunrise.

The train was by no means crowded at 5:30 in the morning, but there were enough humans that Angel had to sit near two young women. One was clearly on her way to work, coffee in hand and a messenger bag that looked like it contained a laptop slung over her shoulder. The other had just gotten finished with work. Angel could smell the sex on this woman as though she had applied it carefully all over her body like lotion. He could distinctly sense two different men, their sweat smeared up her thighs and down her back and chest under her tight, glittery dress, and there was still the lingering scent of a third man – not as fresh, maybe from the previous night – clinging to her skin.

He’d encountered prostitutes before, of course, many times. But this one... her smell was so defined, distracting even. Usually he noticed them and then moved on, but he couldn’t stop breathing this girl in. He found himself imagining how her night had gone, exactly what she’d been paid to do and with whom and for how long. When he started becoming aroused, he tried to ignore her, switching his attention to the other young woman, and when he did, he realized he could smell sex on her too. He imagined that she had a steady boyfriend, and their lovemaking was sweet and slow and very different from what this other woman did with her customers.

The closest metro station was about a block from Wolfram and Hart, and he walked this last block quickly, his uncharacteristic erection leading the way. Normally he didn’t have to struggle to control his arousal; in fact, he had more control over his body than almost every other vampire he’d ever met. But for some reason he couldn’t get the two women out of his mind, the way the hooker’s dress rode up her thighs when she crossed her legs, the shape of the other woman’s lips as she sipped her coffee. Details he customarily paid little attention to when it came to strangers.

He attributed this sudden sexual interest to the adrenaline high he got from fighting the modusbeasts, and when he got home to his penthouse, he took a hot shower and indulged in a long jerk-off session while fantasizing about saving a whore who wanted to repay his services by servicing him with her mouth. The resulting orgasm was a pleasant release, but after a nap and some blood, he began to feel a bit twitchy again.

That was four days ago. Since then, Angel had masturbated another eleven times. It felt a little excessive, even for him, but for some reason his climaxes weren’t as satisfying as usual. Or they were – they really were – but that restless feeling kept coming back faster than it should, almost as though he hadn’t climaxed at all. His orgasms barely took the edge off for a few hours, and then he found himself distracted again by all the smells around the office. All the people’s bodies. They were so physical. Solid. Warm and musky.

And their skin was soft and pliable, and he could see where Harmony’s nipples pressed out the fabric of her yellow sundress and the delineation of Spike’s muscles under his black t-shirt and the way the stubble on Wesley’s chin had a little swirl in it when he didn’t shave. He had a strong impulse to touch Gunn’s mouth with his fingertips or to wrap his arms around Fred’s thin frame just to feel her pulse race. He accidentally walked in on Lorne polishing his horns, and after making an awkward apology, he detoured back to his penthouse to get himself off quickly before his next meeting because he knew otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, that soft polishing cloth rubbing circles into the shiny red bone.

He had that niggling feeling that he always got when something was amiss, but there wasn’t actually anything to report. He told himself it was nothing. Hormones. He hadn’t had real sex in a very, very long time, not the kind that involved another person. And he hadn’t had a good fight for a few days, either, not since the modusbeasts. He probably just needed to kill something or get laid. It crossed his mind – not for the first time – that if he found a willing vampire, he could take care of both things, but he immediately discarded the idea as always. Slaying would be enough. He decided to patrol downtown.

Angel didn’t jerk off before leaving his apartment, even though he was in the mood. He wanted to save the pent-up energy for slaying. He didn’t take one of his cars, either, because downtown parking was hell on a Friday night and he wasn’t even sure exactly where he was headed. So he ended up on the metro again. He didn’t usually mind taking public transportation, especially when there weren’t many other people around. It made him feel sort of normal, which was nice every now and then. But he never felt comfortable doing it at peak hours because being around a lot of people all at once with their warmth and their smells, packed into a single train like a can of sardines, could be a little overwhelming. And tonight the subway was crowded.

Angel tried to take a car that didn’t seem as full as the others, but he still had to stand up between the rows of occupied seats. He made his way to the back and stood between a homeless guy and a bored-looking teenager wearing headphones and a backpack. His balance was so natural that he never had to hold onto the handrails, but it would look funny if he didn’t, so he casually gripped the overhead bar with his right hand and deliberately didn’t look at anyone, the way nobody looks at each other on trains. He didn’t expect a very eventful ride but at the very first stop, his not-extremely-full car was flooded with trendy twenty-somethings. A gaggle of six apparent BFFs packed in very close to Angel as the train was filled to capacity. They were chattering excitedly about the dance club they were heading to, but Angel could smell that they had started the night already a couple of cocktails down.

The girls jostled and shifted around to find places to stand and hold onto the rail, but the short brunette who slid into the space just in front of Angel couldn’t comfortably reach the bar. Her friends picked on her good-naturedly and offered to let the girl hang onto them. Angel watched the girl in her short skirt and halter top wrap an arm around one friend’s waist. Her back was to him, almost completely bare, the dip of her spine an enticing shallow line down her body. She had very short hair and several silver loops pierced through each ear. He was looking at the smooth place where her neck and shoulder met, second-guessing his decision not to jerk off before he went out, when the train started and the girl stumbled, bumping back against him.

“Oh, excuse me!” she said, laughing a little. She tightened her grip on her friend and gave Angel an embarrassed smile over her shoulder. He smiled back pleasantly like he didn’t mind being bumped into, but his twitchy feeling had intensified. Since the girl was short, her ass had bumped just below his crotch. She smelled like she’d had sex within the past couple of nights. With...? Yep, definitely with another woman. In fact, with the blonde standing just opposite her, who had laughed when the girl bumped Angel. Then he heard the short girl whisper to the one standing in front of her, “Super hottie right behind me. No, don’t look!” The two of them burst into giggles.

The girls didn’t get off at the next stop. Not many people did, and even more got on. The press of bodies got even closer. So many people on this train smelled aroused! A young couple who just barely made it into the car before the doors shut immediately wrapped their arms around one another and started kissing and murmuring to each other. Angel could feel the heat coming off of them as though he were standing between them. And when the train started again, the short girl’s ass bumped his thighs, this time lingering against him a second longer than was necessary. “Sorry!” she laughed, looking not sorry. “I have, like, zero balance.” Her girlfriends snickered.

“It’s okay,” Angel said. He was wearing a nonchalant demeanor – relaxed shoulders, pleasant smile – but the thick, musky smell of all the people, their warmth, and the tiny birthmark near the middle of the girl’s back were all getting to him. He tried to think of something else, anything that wasn’t sexy, but he was already feeling the beginnings of a damn persistent erection.

“God, I fucking love tall guys,” he heard the girl whisper to her friend in front. “Should I ask him to come with us?”

“You’re kidding, right? Lana, you don’t pick up guys on the subway.” The friend cast an appraising glance toward Angel, which he pretended not to notice. “He could be some kind of freak. A serial killer.”

Lana shrugged, hugging her friend’s waist tighter. “So could the guys at the club,” she reasoned. “And they might not have shoulders like that. God, don’t look at him!” She laughed breathily. Even over the noise of the train, Angel’s sensitive ears could hear every sound she made. She smelled beautiful.

“You think Kimmie will mind?” The friend looked left, toward the pretty blonde.

“Kimmie knows how it is,” Lana whispered. “I told her I’ve still got guys on the menu.”

On the menu? The half-formed image in Angel’s mind of Lana and the blonde embracing naked turned into an image of Lana biting him on the neck. She would have to stretch up onto her tiptoes to do so. He didn’t know right away which fantasy was more stimulating, the two girls together or being on Lana’s menu. She wasn’t a vampire, but maybe she was still evil. A cannibal. Did other serial killers really take the metro?

“It’s your call,” Lana’s friend whispered. “Just don’t let it get dramatic with your girlfriend.”

At the next stop, there was a shuffling of passengers, and a few got off, but even more got on. Angel tried not to breathe in too deeply after the influx of bodies pressed the girl even closer to him. Her short skirt brushed against his pants even while they stood still. And as soon as the train moved, her ass bumped him again.

Before he thought about it, Angel’s left hand landed softly on her hip. “Careful,” he said quietly. Her round butt was still touching him, and he left his hand on her under the guise of helping her maintain balance.

She laughed and playfully leaned back against him. She was short enough that he could rest his chin comfortably on top of her head if he wanted to. “Maybe I should just stay here so I won’t fall over,” she suggested with a grin, turning her head a little to the side, but unable to really look back at him from this close. He could smell a hint of vodka on her breath, and her bare back was warm against the soft fabric of his dark gray sweater. His cock was about halfway hard just from her proximity and all the smells on the train. It was pressed lightly against her, just above her ass.

“If you think that will help,” he said graciously. His hand was still on her hip, just resting there. She could move if she wanted. She was still holding onto her friend, but not as tightly as she had been.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” she told him, sounding amused. “Are you always this nice to strangers?”

“I’m a nice guy,” Angel said. And that was all he was intending to say, but then he impulsively added, “But strangers aren’t always so pretty.”

He immediately felt ridiculous for saying it. He knew he could do a good impression of a charming guy when he needed to, but it usually made him feel old and awkward. He had no idea why he had decided to do it now. It’s just that she was pressed against him in such a nice, warm way, and she smelled so good. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was getting hard. There was a fine line between flirting with a stranger on the subway and being humped by a pervert.

“What’s your name?” she asked him. She continued to lean back on him. It probably was partly for balance. Angel noticed that some of the other girls kept looking at them and making expressive faces at each other, some kind of silent language between friends.

“Angel,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Angel.”

“You, too...”

“Lana,” she said. “Hey, my friends and I are going downtown for drinks and some dancing. Wanna come with? Maybe you could keep me from falling on the dance floor.” She twitched her hips fractionally, a tiny but deliberate movement against him.

His fingers flexed gently on her hip. “I’d love to help you out,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m much more impressive when I’m standing still.”

“What, you don’t like dancing?”

Angel chuckled self-deprecatingly. “The way I do it, you probably wouldn’t like it either. I’m more of a lean-on-the-bar-and-look-cool kinda guy.”

She stifled a giggle. “I can work with that. How about you just buy me a drink and watch me dance with my girlfriends?”

Angel hesitated. Why was he even considering this? All he’d wanted to do tonight was kill something evil, and now he was contemplating dancing. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that Lana was evil. He thought about the place where they would go, loud music and people rubbing against each other, sweating. It sounded so... unlike something he would normally want to do. But for some reason the idea appealed to him now. All those warm bodies touching. Being in the middle of those bodies. Those bodies touching him...

“Where?” he asked her.

“We’re going to La-La Land. It’s at the next stop.”

La-La Land. It officially sounded like the last place Angel would ever voluntarily set foot. “Could I meet you there later?” he asked. “There’s kinda something I need to do.” Maybe he could find a quick slay to ease his conscience first.

The train was slowing down. “Sure,” the girl said. “But don’t wait too long. I’d hate to have to lean on someone else.” She pressed back against him more firmly as the train came to a stop, and he let his thumb move up and down on her hip while he held her still, breathing in her scent.

“I’ll be there,” he said. He couldn’t help himself.

The girl’s friends pushed toward the doors of the train as they opened, and the blonde – Kimmie – grabbed Lana’s hand to pull her forward. Lana cast a look back over her shoulder at Angel, smiling, before she exited the train.

Angel waited a few seconds and then exited at the same stop. He saw the group of girls flocking toward the station turnstiles, and he followed them at a discreet distance out of the station and up to the busy downtown street. The club was about a block and a half to the left. There was a giant neon blue sign on the outside that said LA-LA LAND and had the outline of a martini glass. He made a mental note of where the place was and then headed in the opposite direction to patrol.

*

It was no use. Angel was too distracted to patrol effectively. Every alley he walked down made him think of the smooth dip of Lana’s backbone. The reflection of moonlight in shallow puddles reminded him of the shiny silver hoops through her delicate ears. Even a piece of litter was exactly the same shape as the birthmark on her back. His cock was still half hard, but only because he couldn’t make it go down any further, which was frustrating as hell. He even thought about finding a private shadow to jerk off in to clear his mind. Why was this suddenly so difficult? It didn’t make any sense. He’d never had such a hard time concentrating before.

The high-pitched scream he heard after over an hour of directionless wandering was almost a relief. He ran toward the sound, drawing a stake out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. It was the only weapon he’d brought, since swords didn’t tend to go over well on public transportation. As he neared the area where he’d heard the scream, he passed a terrified woman running in the opposite direction. The screamer, most likely. He could hear sounds of a scuffle coming from behind a building. He ran down the alley beside the building and around to the darkened back lot.

It was a vampire. Actually, it was two vampires, and they were fighting. Angel took less than a second to process the coincidence and simply charged into the fray. He shoved one surprised vamp against the brick wall of the building and thrust the stake into its chest. The vampire gave him the middle finger as it disintegrated with a whooshing sound. The other vampire in the alley snarled at him. “What the hell, Angel? That one was mine!”

Angel rested his arm against the bricks and leaned his forehead onto his arm, breathing. Right. How could he have thought slaying something would help? It occurred to him how sexually suggestive the act of staking was. But there was no release. There was the fight, body contacting body, then the thrust of the stake, and then... nothing. The other body just disappears. There’s nowhere to go from there. He tried willing down his hard-on without turning around.

“You don’t just charge in and stake another bloke’s vampire. Rude, is what that is.”

Angel heard some rustling and then the flick of a lighter. He smelled a cigarette being lit. He didn’t turn around.

“You shouldn’t even be around here anyway. Thought downtown was my territory.”

Angel finally turned and leaned back against the bricks. He watched Spike take a drag from his cigarette, and then he had to avert his gaze from the blond’s mouth, the way those pink lips closed around the slender column. “The whole city is my territory, Spike,” he said, looking away.

“That’s not what my contract says.”

“Contract?” Angel looked toward him again, narrowing his eyes. “What contract?”

“Gunn drew it up for me. We divided the city in half, made some definite patrolling boundaries.” Spike used two fingers to take the cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t have it on me. But it clearly states this half—” he pointed to the ground, “—is mine. Technically, I could sue you for trespassing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Angel. “This is my city. I was here first.”

“Fine. Expect to hear from my lawyer,” said Spike.

Angel opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and shook his head. He started to walk away, but Spike fell into step beside him, smoking. Under the veil of smoke, Angel could smell the unique smell of Spike’s duster – old leather, like the inside of a 1973 El Camino – and underneath that, cotton fabric. His standard black t-shirt and jeans. The shirt, at least, was clean. Then the smell of Spike. He’d been drinking recently, probably this morning because he wasn’t drunk now, and he’d jerked off not long ago, but he’d had a shower since then. Or maybe he’d done it in the shower. He smelled a little like perspiration, but only faintly, the way humans get when they’re slightly too warm. Adrenaline, probably from the fight, and arousal, also probably from the fight. Angel’s dick moved. He shoved his hands in his pockets irritably as he walked and Spike kept pace.

“So you’re just going to follow me now, is that it?”

“Just patrolling, mate. Not my fault if you’re still hanging around making things redundant.”

“Fine, I’ll stop hunting in this area,” said Angel. “Happy?” He’d done what he’d intended to do anyway. He wondered if Lana was still at the club.

“Be happier if you gave me a little credit sometimes,” Spike said. “I can protect this city as well as the next vampire with a soul. Don’t need you checking up on me like I’m some kind of minion.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” Angel said. “I was hunting demons. You just happened to be here.”

“Well, yeah. It’s my half.”

“Pretty sure I’d have to sign your stupid contract to make that a valid argument, Spike.” Angel kept walking. He felt restless. He’d staked that vampire so quickly that it hadn’t had the chance to struggle, and now he was regretting it. He wanted to feel another body against his. He headed toward the club.

“Where you going now?”

“Out for a drink. Jesus, Spike, now who’s checking up on whom?”

“Tetchy. Where?”

Angel stopped walking. They were across the street from La-La Land. “Where what?”

“Where are you drinking? I could use one about now. Don’t want to accidentally go to the same place.”

Angel glanced toward the club. He didn’t mean to; he was just trying to think of something to say and his eyes happened to stray in that direction. But Spike noticed.

“No way!” Spike laughed. “You? In there with all the club kiddies? You’re joking.”

Angel straightened his shoulders defiantly but kept his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Spike held up his hands. “No, you’re absolutely right. Sorry.” He was grinning widely. “God, I can’t wait to see this. Go on, then.” He gestured for Angel to continue toward the club.

Angel turned, then hesitated. “Well, why shouldn’t I?” he suddenly asked. “I can pass for their age.”

“You asking for my opinion?” Spike dropped the butt of his cigarette and stepped on it. He seemed genuinely amused, which was annoying.

“I used to go to the Bronze in Sunnydale all the time,” Angel said.

Spike snorted. “This ain’t Sunnydale, peaches. And that—” he pointed at La-La Land, “—is definitely not the Bronze. Be surprised if they let you in looking like that.”

“Like what?” Angel looked down at himself. Under his black leather jacket, he was wearing his favorite gray cashmere sweater, casual yet expensive black pants, and black Timberlands, which he found both stylish and functional. The kind of boots you can slay in but also wear to work. He looked nice.

“Not like you’re going to La-La Land,” said Spike. Off Angel’s look, he explained, “It’s a dance club, yeah? They’ll only let you in if you have the right look, and you really don’t look like you’re going dancing. You look like you’re going... yachting.”

Angel wasn’t sure whether or not this was an insult. “I wasn’t going to dance,” he said, though to be honest, he hadn’t made up his mind yet. “I just want a drink.”

“Then go somewhere else. Trust me.” Spike shook his head, still looking amused. “You wouldn’t like it in there anyway.”

“As if you’d know what I like,” Angel muttered.

“Hey, don’t get your thong in a twist. It’s just not your scene; everyone knows that.”

Angel scowled. “I’m going. In there.” He took one hand out of his pocket to point at the front door of the club, which had a line of people standing outside it. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Spike frowned over at the club, then looked Angel up and down. After a tense moment, he sighed. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Come with me.”

Angel didn’t know where Spike was taking him, but he followed the blond determinedly until they came across one of Angel’s cars parked on the next street over. There were two pink police tickets on the windshield. “Spike, you can’t park here!” Angel said as he watched Spike pluck the tickets off the car and crumple them up.

“You own the cops, Angel. Don’t tell me you never take advantage of parking free anywhere in L.A.”

“I don’t break the law just because I can,” Angel said. “I took the metro.”

“Color me shocked. I bet you even bought a ticket.”

Actually, he’d jumped the turnstile when the attendant wasn’t looking. Angel didn’t mention this. He looked down at his car. It was the Mercedes. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. Lose the coat.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s a warm night and there’s no way you’d go dancing in it. Give it here.” Spike held out his hand and snapped his fingers a couple of times. Angel reluctantly took his leather jacket off and handed it to Spike, who tossed it carelessly into the car. “Now the shirt.”

Angel frowned. “I wouldn’t go dancing in a shirt either?”

“Not that one. You’re wearing something under it, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s just a t-shirt.”

“Good,” said Spike. He held out his hand for Angel’s sweater, so Angel pulled it off over his head and gave it over. He was wearing a close-fitting plain white v-neck t-shirt underneath. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited while Spike threw the sweater in the car and then looked him over. He tried not to appear self-conscious as Spike’s gaze lingered over his pants. “Belt,” said Spike.

“Now you’re joking.”

“You don’t have to take it off, just loosen it a bit. Two holes at least.”

“Why? That defeats the purpose of wearing a belt.”

“Exactly,” said Spike. He reached for Angel’s belt buckle himself, but Angel quickly turned away and, cursing under his breath, unfastened it. He fastened it back on the loosest hole. The bottom edge of his t-shirt only just reached the middle of the wide piece of leather.

He faced Spike again. “There. Happy?”

Spike pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then he reached over and grabbed Angel’s pants pockets and gave them a swift downward tug. Startled, Angel flinched as his pants were yanked down a couple of inches, where his belt stopped them right at the cleft of his ass. Now a thin strip of Angel’s flat stomach showed between his shirt and pants. “Happy,” Spike agreed. As an afterthought, he scrubbed his hand back and forth over Angel’s hair, giving it a good tousle before Angel could duck and bat his arm away. “There,” he said. “Now they’ll let you in.”

Angel resisted the impulse to reach up and fix his hair by shoving his hands back in his pockets. It felt odd that his pockets were lower than before. “Okay. Well. Good,” he said. “Thanks, I guess.” He turned to leave.

“Whoa, hang on,” said Spike. “You’re not going yet.”

Angel turned toward the car again. “But you just said I— what are you doing?”

Spike had removed his duster and was laying it carefully across the passenger seat. He had on a black t-shirt underneath, but he pulled this off over his head and dropped it on top of his coat. “I,” he said, moving toward the trunk of the car, “am going with you.” He popped open the trunk and rummaged around inside it for a moment before taking out a black tank top. He pulled it on. The contrast of the black against his smooth white skin was striking. Angel tried not to stare at his biceps or bare shoulders. Spike was also wearing a small silver bracelet, which Angel had never noticed before. He found it hard to look away from the shiny chain encircling the slim white wrist. It matched the two rings he was wearing.

“No, you’re not,” Angel said.

“Course I am,” said Spike, running his fingers through his hair. He did this several times, separating the gelled platinum strands from each other so that they curled in different directions. It was funny that such a small action could make such a huge difference in the way he looked. For one, he looked a lot younger. He also looked more approachable. Friendlier. Almost... sweet. His wide blue eyes only added credibility to what Angel considered a cruel misrepresentation.

“No,” Angel repeated.

“Don’t be a spoil-sport,” said Spike. He closed the trunk and walked around to shut the passenger door with their coats inside. “There’s no way I’m missing this.” He seemed to suddenly realize something and opened the car door again, reaching for his duster.

Angel watched Spike fish his cigarettes and lighter out of his coat. “Missing what? I’m only going for a drink. It’s not exactly a once-in-a-lifetime event.” Angel desperately didn’t want Spike to witness his... it wasn’t really a date. His hook-up? God, his booty call? What if Lana wasn’t even still there?

Spike flattened his half-empty pack of cigarettes and stuck it in his back pocket along with the lighter and then shut the car door. “You can drop the bloody act, Angel,” he said. He pressed a button on his key fob, and Angel heard the car locks turn. The blond put the keys in his front pocket and started walking purposefully back the way they’d come. Angel had no choice but to follow him. “I know what this is about,” said Spike.

“I really don’t think you do,” Angel told him.

“Well, it’s obvious, innit?”

“It is?”

“Please. I know you too well to play games, Angel. You’d never go to—” he did air-quotes “—La-La Land unless it was a matter of life or death. You’re working a case, and you’re trying to keep me out of it. Well, tough. This is my half of the city, and I mean to be involved in all the world-saving that goes on from here to the Valley.”

“You took Downtown and the Valley?”

“I left you Hollywood and the Westside. Does this have anything to do with those modusbeast thingies?” They were crossing the street toward the club. Angel could perfectly envision his personal and professional lives colliding violently if Spike went in through those doors, but he had no idea how to stop it from happening.

“The—? No,” said Angel. “No, we took care of that on Monday. I’m surprised you didn’t help, since you seem so eager to participate now.”

Spike shrugged. “I was busy.”

Angel wanted to ask what was more important than ridding the world of a hive full of demons – with the specific intention of pointing out that nothing was more important – but he reconsidered when he remembered that in lieu of patrolling, he was approaching the front door of a dance club so he could hook up with a girl he met on the train. He started to head for the back of the line of people waiting outside, but Spike went straight up to the bouncer, so Angel went with him, acting as though he’d been planning to go this way all along. The large man, without saying anything and looking a bit bored, gave Spike and Angel a cursory glance and then stepped aside for them to go through the door.

The inside of La-La Land was very similar to what Angel had imagined: it was warm and loud. It was also kind of dark, though he of course could see fine. The space was larger than he’d expected, with a multi-leveled floor and high ceiling. The bottom level was the dance floor, which was nearly invisible under the throng of sweaty dancers, and the next level, which circled the dance floor on three sides, had two bars and several tables, chairs, and booths, which were mostly full as well. The top level, which was where Spike and Angel had entered, featured one bar and a chrome railing to lean on in order to look down toward the dance floor. All of the bartenders and many of the dancers were wearing glow-in-the-dark necklaces, and the walls had a kind of space theme with lots of tiny lights and giant purple circles and spirals with colored lights behind them. Chrome and white plastic staircases in the corners led down to the bottom two levels. Bubbles floated out over the people, but Angel couldn’t see where they were coming from. He stood where he was for a moment, taking it all in, feeling the bass of the music thump through his body. There was actually a trampoline in one corner of the bottom level, a thick blue pad surrounding it in case of accidents. The musky smell of sweat and sex in the air nearly overpowered the smell of alcohol.

Spike walked over to the railing and leaned on it, surveying the crowd. “What’re we looking for, then?” he asked Angel. “Just anything with horns and fangs, or is this more of an evil conspiracy type gig?”

Angel stood next to him and watched the young people touching and grinding on each other in time to the music. It was almost like porn, but without actual nudity. His skin felt prickly. He passed his right hand up and down his left arm. “Just... try to blend in,” he said. It was easier to let Spike believe they were hunting demons. “If anything, you know, pops out at you, then come find me. I’m going this way—” he pointed at the staircase nearest to them “—and you go that way.” He pointed to the staircase at the far side of the level. The place was big. He might actually be able to avoid Spike long enough to find Lana and take her somewhere private. “It could take a while,” he added.

Spike lifted an eyebrow at him. “Right,” he said. He didn’t say anything else, so Angel turned and began walking to his staircase, feeling Spike watch him from behind. He was a little self-conscious in just his t-shirt and low-slung pants, which hugged his hips in a way he wasn’t used to, but he was anxious to find the girl, single-minded in a way he hadn’t been about another person in a long time. He tried not to think about possible reasons for his sudden change in attitude. He just wanted some human contact. Was that so wrong?

Once on the middle level, Angel scanned the groups and pairs of young people sitting at the tables and booths and standing at each bar. He didn’t see Lana, but he did see two of the girls from her group standing at the bar closest to him. That meant the others weren’t far away. Lana was probably somewhere in the sea of dancers below them, and he felt relieved that she most likely hadn’t left yet.

Angel approached the bar and squeezed into a space beside the two girls. He ordered a beer and dropped some cash on the counter while from the corner of his eye he noticed the two girls noticing him. He waited for the bartender to pour his drink into a tall glass, then he took a sip from it and turned in their direction. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey, you’re that guy,” one of them replied. She looked like she wasn’t quite sure, though. To her friend, she said, “He’s that guy. Right?”

The friend squinted at him. “I don’t know,” she said playfully. “Are you that guy?” She was twisting one strand of her long hair around her finger.

Angel smiled at her. “That’s me. I’m the guy.” He watched her finger, the smooth lock of auburn hair sliding around it. “Is Lana around?”

“He was wearing something different, though,” the first girl said.

“Maybe it’s not him.” The second girl moved closer, pretending to study his face. “Can you prove you’re you?” she asked intently. She smelled of rum and vanilla and raspberries and salt. Her face was bright, a little shiny, but her eye makeup hadn’t smeared. Angel could see the slightest hint of damp at her temples. She must have been dancing.

“Alright.” He leaned down close to her ear and said, “What can I do to convince you?” His cheek was warmed just from being near her.

She laughed and pushed him gently. Angel noticed that she left her small hand on his arm longer than necessary. He took another drink of his beer and smiled.

“Lana’s dancing,” the girl said. “We’ll go get her. Stay right here.”

“Right here,” Angel repeated, leaning back on the bar.

“Right exactly there,” the girl said, and laughed. She took the other girl by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the stairs down to the dance floor.

Angel waited, sipping his beer and surveying the people. There were more women than men, which he supposed was to be expected. Good odds. This place would be a good hunting ground.

That thought nearly startled him, and he took a longer drink of his beer, covering. He hadn’t had a thought like that in ages, except in reference to whatever kind of demon he was tracking. He told himself he meant to think it was a good hunting ground for vampires in general, not specifically for himself. On another glance around the club, he happened to catch the eye of a pretty blonde sitting in a booth with three friends. He gave her a brief smile, and she smiled back, then shyly looked down to her drink. Of course, it would be easy pickings for himself as well. If he were still into that sort of thing.

While he was pondering whether the alley behind the club would be more suitable for sexual trysts or light feeding, he caught sight of Spike heading in his direction. He cursed inwardly and turned toward the bar, hoping the other vampire hadn’t noticed him, but soon enough Spike came up to the bar beside him and ordered a beer.

“Saw a couple of Mok’tagars,” Spike said while the bartender poured. “Should be an easy slay if you wanna, but they’re just having a bit of fun. And I smelled something near the back door, maybe a half-Davric. Not here anymore, but we could go after it. Your call.” He dropped a few wadded-up bills on the bar and picked up his beer.

“No, I think we should stay here,” Angel said. “For now. See if anything else comes up.” Spike smelled very faintly of other people. He’d probably had to brush by some of the humans while he walked around, transferring their scent like a bee transfers pollen. Angel felt a small jolt of arousal at the thought of random humans touching Spike’s skin. He turned his back to the bar again. “On second thought, you go. I’ll hang around here for a while and keep looking.”

Angel could feel Spike’s eyes on him as he drank his beer. It was a little unnerving, like at any moment Spike was going to accuse him of something. He hadn’t done anything wrong! Why should it be weird for him to want to spend a little time on the weekend doing something that wasn’t work, with people who weren’t colleagues?

Regarding him carefully, Spike said, “Maybe I’ll hang around, too. Probably not a Davric anyhow; could be someone just ralphed in a honey jar.” He was watching Angel for a reaction to this, so Angel deliberately didn’t react.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s always better to wait,” Spike went on. “You know. Let the evil come to you. Make them do all the work.”

“Is that what you were doing while we took out the modusbeasts?” Angel finished his beer and set the glass on the bar.

“I told you,” said Spike. “I was busy. Now you want to share why we’re really in Bubble Hell?”

Before Angel could think of a reply that wouldn’t sound utterly ridiculous, Lana and the girl with the long auburn hair appeared beside him.

“Angel! You came,” Lana said. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, leaning forward against him with absolutely no regard for his personal space. Angel’s hands went naturally to her bare back, palms resting against the silky, slightly damp skin. She smelled even better now than she had on the train, more drunk perhaps, but also warmer, more alive. She was wearing one of those glow-in-the-dark necklaces, and her very short hair was spiky in the back with perspiration from dancing, but she looked beautiful and felt beautiful in his hands. His cock stirred.

“I said I would,” he said, smiling down at her face, which was turned up toward him with a very open and cheerful expression. Don’t say anything, Spike, he thought. Just go away.

“Leaning on the bar looking cool and everything!” said Lana with a laugh. She slid her hands down to his chest and then pushed herself upright again, separating their bodies. He let her go reluctantly. She gestured back toward her friend. “This is Rachel,” she said.

Angel smiled over Lana’s shoulder at the other girl. “We met.” Rachel was taller than Lana – all of her friends were – and she was smiling slyly. Her eyes flicked over in Spike’s direction, then back.

“Who’s your friend, Angel?” Rachel asked.

Shit. “That’s Spike,” said Angel, not looking at him. He knew if he looked at Spike, he would see an expression that would make him feel guilty and stupid. Not wanting to linger on the introduction, he said playfully to Lana, “You didn’t lean on anyone else, did you?”

“I was waiting for you!” said Lana.

Rachel was giving Spike an intrigued once-over. “Spike,” she said, like she was trying it out. “What, are you in a gang or something?” Angel cleared his throat so he wouldn’t laugh.

“It’s just a name, pet,” said Spike. He didn’t sound particularly angry, but Angel still didn’t look him in the eye.

“And people really call you that?”

“My friends do, yeah.” He set his nearly empty beer glass down on the bar with a clink.

Rachel pouted. “So what should I call you, then?”

“That depends,” said Spike. “Do you want to be my friend?” The way he said it made a prickle go down Angel’s back, so that he finally did have to look at Spike. Spike had leaned close to Rachel in a near-perfect impression of relaxed flirtation, but Angel could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was only covering for the fact that he was irritated.

The girl grinned and blushed prettily, and Lana laughed. “Hey,” she said, turning to Angel. “We should dance!”

“We should?” Angel asked.

“Oh, you really should,” said Spike. “Angel here loves to dance, did he tell you?” His voice was shaded with that cheerful ‘I hate you’ tone that he often used when he was annoyed, but neither of the girls seemed to notice. He clapped a hand on Angel’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s hard to take your eyes off him once he gets started. Graceful as hell. Like a giant bloody swan.”

Lana’s eyes lit up with hope. “Really?”

Angel shrugged Spike’s hand off his shoulder and turned toward him. “Thanks, Spike,” he said brightly. “That means a lot coming from someone who’s been taking ballet lessons since the eighties.”

“Why don’t we all dance?” Rachel said, lightly resting her hand on Spike’s arm. Angel thought Spike might have punched him if she hadn’t. “I’m no ballerina,” she said with a smile, “but I’ll try to keep up.”

“After you,” said Angel. He gestured toward the staircase down to the dance floor, expecting Spike to make some kind of excuse, which would then allow him to make an excuse as well without losing face. But one very brief hesitation later, Spike said, “Sounds like fun,” and threw Angel a challenging glare before escorting Rachel toward the stairs. Angel’s jaw clenched.

“I thought you said you weren’t good at dancing,” said Lana. “Were you kidding? Or was he kidding?”

Angel took her small hand and reluctantly began to follow Spike and Rachel. “He was kidding,” he admitted. “I’m really not very good.”

She wrapped both of her arms around Angel’s arm and giggled. She felt so warm. “I don’t mind,” she said as they walked. “Maybe I can teach you. It’s not very hard.”

“I'll do my best,” he said.

“Does your friend really do ballet?” Lana asked.

Angel glared at Spike’s back. “All the time,” he lied. “You should see the outfits.”

The closer they got to the dance floor, the more intensely the smell of sex permeated the air. Angel was pretty sure he could smell someone actually fucking somewhere in the sea of bodies. The music when they got to the bottom of the stairs was so loud that he almost flinched away from it. Spike and Rachel had paused at the edge of the crowd.

Lana shouted, “My friends are this way!” and pulled Angel forward, Spike and Rachel following. As the four of them weaved through the moving bodies, Angel felt the warmth and occasional brush of damp skin against him. The scent of people was nearly overwhelming, but somehow not in a bad way. Being surrounded by all the pungent smells, both female and male, almost gave him a contact high. He couldn’t separate them from each other. It was like being inside one giant, horny human.

They eventually made it to a place somewhere in the middle, where Lana and Rachel greeted their four friends. Without much preamble, they started to dance beside the other girls. Angel stood still, watching them for a moment, then looked around at the other people. No one was paying any attention to him except Lana, who was making encouraging movements toward him with her hands. He risked a glance at Spike, but Spike was already starting to move in rhythm to the thumping music. Smooth, subtle movements, which Rachel was mirroring in front of him, her hand on his chest. It struck him that Spike didn’t look anything like an old man trying to fit in at a dance club. He looked like he belonged.

Angel had just enough time to wonder if Spike did this very often before Lana grabbed his hands and put them on her hips, smiling. Her mouth formed the words, “Just move,” but he couldn’t hear her voice over the music. Her hands slid over his chest. It was more like copping a feel than dancing, but the touch motivated him. He looked at Spike again and then, since Spike wasn’t paying attention anyway, Angel began to copy his feet and hip movements. He listened to the beat of the music and tried to do the motions in time. Within seconds, he had caught the hang of it. It actually wasn’t that hard.

Lana moved naturally with Angel, their bodies very close. Her hands went up his chest, paused at his shoulders, and then slid down his arms sensuously, making his whole body tingle. “Nice,” she mouthed. “That’s good.” Her eyes flicked to his lips and then up to his eyes again, and the longer he looked at her, the less self-conscious he felt, and the more turned on. He slid his hands back and down over her ass and pulled her closer. She gasped delightedly and pressed her hips to him.

Why he had never tried this style of dancing before, Angel couldn’t fathom as he gyrated with Lana. It was intimate and sexy and actually kind of fun. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to stop grinding against her like this, and she was so short that he couldn’t manage both things at once. The music thumped through him while they danced; it made him feel almost like he had an actual pulse. He even forgot, as he learned his way around Lana’s body, that there were other people there. When he remembered and looked up, he caught sight of Spike eyeing them over Rachel’s shoulder, but the blond quickly looked away.

Eat your heart out, Blondie, Angel thought smugly. He suddenly turned Lana away from him and pressed himself against her warm back, going into a slow grinding motion he’d noticed some of the other dancers do earlier. Lana went with it smoothly, giving him a suggestive look over her shoulder. His hands slid up her sides to rest under the hem of her halter top, fingers to soft flesh. Her butt pressed against his thigh. God, he was hard.

The next time he looked over, Spike was watching them again. The two vampires made eye contact for a long moment, but Angel couldn’t tell from his expression what Spike was thinking.

The song never ended. At least, the beat didn’t. Angel went on dancing with Lana even after her friends had left the floor for more drinks. Spike went on dancing with Rachel, too, but Angel could feel Spike’s attention was now more on him than on his own partner. Not that it interfered with his dancing – Spike and Rachel themselves made a display worth studying. Between sharing sizzling eye contact with Lana, Angel found himself watching the other couple move, their hips grinding, their hands roaming over one another’s backsides, two beautiful creatures in perfect sync with each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always considered dancing as a sort of mating ritual, but it had never been so blatantly sexual to him before. Maybe he’d just never paid that much attention. He began to notice that other people were watching Spike and Rachel as well. And then he began to notice others watching him.

On top of everything else, all the smells in the club, the bass making his whole body vibrate, the tactile sensations of Lana’s warm body against his, Angel found that this was the thing that turned him on the most: being watched. So many people desiring him, desiring his body, wanting to touch him, be touched by him, wanting to fuck him. It was such a heady feeling! And why shouldn’t they want him? He was a champion! He soaked it in, the admiration. He basked in it. He felt like he could conquer the world. He briefly wondered why in the hell he felt this way, but pushed the thought aside. What difference did it make? He felt too good to care.

Lana’s arms were around his neck again, and she was rubbing herself against him like she wanted to mark him with her scent. He had his hands on her ass, and on a whim, he simply picked her up. Her eyes went wide for a moment, but then she laughed and crossed her ankles behind his back, trusting him to hold her up. He did so easily, still moving his hips, still dancing, his grinding now more focused, and at the same time, he kissed her. She kissed him back with a delicious eagerness, one hand at the back of his neck and the other pushing through his sweat-dampened hair. She tasted as beautiful as she smelled.

They kissed on the dance floor for a long time, still moving against each other in some semblance of a dance. If they’d been naked, they could have been fucking right there in front of everyone. Lana had her eyes closed. Angel opened his to see if anyone was still watching. They were. A sea of people glancing at them and looking away and then looking back again, jealous.

And Spike.

Angel watched Spike while he kissed Lana. To his credit, Spike didn’t break eye contact. It was a little confusing, not knowing whether it was Lana’s mouth or Spike’s gaze that made him so hot, but it only took a few seconds before Angel decided he couldn’t take much more. He finally tore his eyes away from Spike and, still holding the girl, started walking toward the back of the club. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he had the impulse to take her somewhere darker, less crowded than the dance floor with all its sex-starved occupants and the bubbles wafting down to burst gently against damp hair and hot skin.

Lana giggled helplessly and buried her face against his neck as he carried her off like a trophy, weaving between the dancers, his hands holding her ass beneath her skirt, his stiff dick nestled perfectly between her thighs. Near the back of the club, not far from the trampoline, Angel spied an exit sign, and he made a beeline for it.

Supporting Lana with one hand, Angel used his other to shove the emergency exit door open, and then he stepped out into the back alley with his prize, the door swinging closed after them. The fresh night air of the alley was cooler than the thick warmth inside La-La Land, but it didn’t do much to clear Angel’s head. He felt intoxicated, drunk on Lana’s scent, and his cock was so hard he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait long enough to find a more appropriate place.

He pressed Lana against the outside wall of the club, bracing her bare back against the cool bricks, and started kissing her again, her hot mouth. Her lips and tongue tasted of vodka and lemon. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged, moaning softly, while her other hand slipped down between them and grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt. She tugged it up and slid her warm hand under the material and around his back, feeling him, skin to skin. Her fingernails grazed his back.

“God, you’re so – you’re so fucking hot,” Lana mumbled against his lips. “The way you dance... fuck!”

Angel just mmphed and kept kissing her against the wall, one hand supporting her, the other pushing up her halter top. He wriggled his hand up underneath the close-fitting material until it covered one of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her whole body felt like it was burning him.

“Shit,” Lana gasped. Her body jerked as his fingers closed around her nipple. The small spasm scraped her shoulder against the rough bricks at her back, and she flinched back from his kiss. “Ow, God,” she said. “Hey, can you...?” She laughed quietly, out of breath, as he kissed down her neck. “Put me down for a sec?”

It took him a moment to register what she had said through the fog in his mind. Put her down? He didn’t want to put her down. His mouth was pressed to the pulse point on the side of her neck. He could feel the flutter of her heartbeat against his lips. Then he smelled the blood. A single tiny drop welling up where her shoulder had been scraped. Oh, fuck.

“Just need to – heh – catch my breath for a second,” she said, squirming, trying to put one leg down. Her toes dangled inches off the ground. “Angel? Just – just – let me stand up, okay?”

Angel mustered every ounce of self-control he had and finally lowered the girl’s legs to the ground. He was breathing raggedly, the smell of her blood so close. He slowly lifted his mouth from her neck and at the same time let his hand slip out from under her shirt. He braced both hands against the bricks over her shoulders and let his forehead drop down to rest against her head, closing his eyes, trying to steady himself. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. “I want you,” he said huskily.

He heard her swallow. Her hands were both under his shirt now, hot on his back, fingertips disappearing down the low waistband of his pants. “Right now? Here?” she breathed.

He nodded, not opening his eyes. He felt one of her small hands slide around to his front and gently cup the erection that was tenting his black pants just under his belt. The muscles in his arms trembled as she felt along the bulge. “Oh, shit...” she said.

“Please don’t say no,” he whispered. The words just came out; he didn’t feel like he had any control over them at all. It was almost as though he were hearing someone else say them, someone more desperate than he had ever been. He stood there, braced against the wall with the girl between his arms, his forehead resting on her soft hair, the tangy scent of her blood lingering in the air, and tried not to lose himself as she let her palm skim up and down the length of his hard cock.

“Fuck,” she murmured. “I don’t normally do this.”

Quietly, Angel said, “Neither do I."

He heard the crunch of his features changing before he actually felt the change. It sounded like it was happening far away. Her neck came toward him. Then Lana's flesh parted easily around his teeth like soft cheese, and her hot blood rushed into his mouth like an old dream he had never forgotten.

The girl screamed.

*

Chapter Text

*

If Spike hadn’t been there, of course, the girl wouldn’t have survived. Angel would have fucked her and drained her dry in that alley, possibly both at the same time, and he would have had to suffer the guilt of that for the rest of eternity, just as he suffered the guilt of all the times he’d done it before. Even if she hadn’t been so small, Angel still would have been much, much stronger than Lana, and there was something about the way his head was all clogged up with the thick smell of sex that had him not thinking clearly, not stopping himself. She would have been a goner for sure; it wouldn’t even have taken very long. But like the twitchiness that Angel just couldn’t seem to shake, Spike was there, and so things went a bit differently.

Lana fought him. She screamed in his ear and struggled violently, lashing out with her fingernails, stomping on his feet. It made all the difference of a fly buzzing around a rhinoceros. He just pressed her hands to the wall and growled into her neck. She did manage to land a sharp knee to his balls, which startled him. He paused in his drinking long enough to process the wave of sensation caused by the impact. It hurt, but it hurt the way scratching hurts when you’re on acid – a throbbing that doesn’t quite feel the way you know it’s supposed to – and his throbbing balls only reminded him of how badly he needed to come. Every part of his body held every part of hers against the bricks. Shhh, he felt like saying. Calm down. Let’s enjoy this.

And then he was flying backward across the alley and slamming into another building. His vision swam for a moment.

“Run,” he heard Spike say to the girl, and Lana took off out of the alley, crying and clutching her bleeding neck.

Angel was still showing his demon, and he stood up, trying to shake it off. There was blood in his mouth. He swallowed. “This isn’t what it looks li—” he started, but Spike’s fist hitting him in the jaw cut him off. Angel could still taste the girl, but now he could taste his own blood as well. “Spike, just hear me out—” he tried again, and again Spike punched him in the face. He stumbled backward.

“This is why we came here?” Spike demanded, advancing on him. “You were hunting humans?”

Angel shook his head again, trying to clear it. He was still lost somewhere in the moment of Lana’s skin, salty and hot to his tongue. Her blood, so rich. Spicy. Her hand rubbing his cock. He was so hard. But now she was gone, and he felt so empty. He needed... fuck, he needed...

“Answer me!” Spike shouted. For every step he took forward, Angel took one back down the dank alley, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. “How did you lose it?”

“Lose it?” Angel repeated. He reached up and ran his thumb across his bottom lip and looked at it. Red.

“Don’t fucking play coy with me, Angelus,” snarled Spike. “How did you lose your bloody soul?” Then he lunged forward, tackling a very confused Angel to the ground.

The two vampires scrabbled around on the ground for a while, Spike shouting things like, “I sodding knew I’d have to kill you one day, you evil son of a bitch!” and Angel shouting, “Get the fuck off me Spike, I’m not evil!” and neither one of them actually making much progress toward winning. Angel managed to catch Spike in a headlock for a few seconds, but the next thing he knew, Spike was sitting on top of him with his hands wrapped around Angel’s neck. Angel flipped them over and pushed Spike’s face into a puddle. Spike punched Angel in the kidney and climbed on top again.

“Spike!” Angel grunted, trying to block Spike’s fists. “Spike, listen to me!”

“I should’ve known!” Spike was saying as he hit Angel. “Should’ve smelled it! But how’m I supposed to smell anything over how strongly you reek of sex? What the fuck is that, Angelus? You go out whoring before you decided to kill that little girl?”

Angel grabbed hold of Spike’s fists and rolled them again, landing on top of the blond, his stone-hard erection pressing into Spike’s hip. “Spike, I haven’t—” he started. “I haven’t—” For God’s sake, stop wriggling! “I—” Angel shifted his hips. “Uh...”

“What? Fucking what?” hissed Spike.

Angel’s hips shifted again. Friction. He wasn’t doing it on purpose exactly, but the lay of his cock happened to align precisely with the place where Spike’s hip and thigh met, and he just couldn’t stop his body from moving against that perfect hollow. “I haven’t... lost my soul,” he managed.

Spike briefly paused in his squirming, but he still glared suspiciously at Angel. A second later, Angel felt the momentary pause turn into an uncomfortable freeze, and he saw Spike’s eyes widen in disbelief when he realized that Angel was thrusting against him.

Angel registered Spike’s utter stillness and shocked expression, but it was too late to stop. He was at the point where he needed to move. His hands tightened on Spike’s fists, and he began to thrust faster, grinding down against the hard body beneath him in the middle of the alley. Separated by their clothes, Angel’s erection slid repeatedly forward and back in the groove at the top of Spike’s thigh. The rubbing was quick and intense, but what actually set Angel off was the feel of the cloth pulling back and forth over the sensitive head of his damp cock. After the night he’d had, it didn’t take much of this before he was ready. “I’m... sorry!” Angel gritted out. And then his entire body shuddered.

It was one of the most powerful orgasms he could remember having. It didn’t matter that it happened while he was fully clothed, lying on the ground in an alley on top of Spike of all people, arguing. He shook all over, and a euphoric feeling spread throughout his muscles as he unloaded spurt after spurt of cum in his pants, gasping and gripping Spike’s hands. He squeezed his eyes shut tight so he wouldn’t have to see Spike’s face as he came like this.

When it was over, Angel’s hips stuttered to a stop, and the fog in his head slowly began to clear. He could feel the sticky warmth clinging to him under his clothes, and the shocked-still body of the vampire underneath him. Angel carefully pushed himself up off of Spike and rolled over onto his back beside the blond on the alley floor. He landed half in a puddle, but it didn’t matter. Lying there, Angel reached up and rubbed his face with his hands. All he could think was, What the fuck is wrong with me? Then he swallowed and said in a remarkably steady voice, “I haven’t lost my soul, Spike. But something’s definitely not right.”

After a long moment, and without moving, Spike said flatly, “You think?”

*

The ride back to Wolfram and Hart after that was awkward. Spike insisted on cuffing Angel’s wrists just in case, which Angel agreed to because it was the only way Spike would allow him in the car. His clothes were grungy from rolling around in the alley and he’d dripped blood on his shirt and his pants had a wet spot which was only slightly less conspicuous because of the wet spots on his back and shoulder from lying in a puddle. His balls hurt, and he had bruises all over from Spike’s fists. He was dirty and tired and embarrassed and confused, and he just wanted to get home and take a shower.

Spike got a pair of sturdy steel cuffs with a very short chain from the trunk of the Mercedes, and Angel put out his hands. Spike cuffed his left wrist, then quickly maneuvered the right wrist behind Angel’s back and fastened the other cuff.

In a tired voice, Angel said, “Really?”

“Not taking any chances,” replied Spike.

It didn’t make much difference to Angel whether he were cuffed in front or in back since he wasn’t planning on trying to escape anyway, but at least if he had been cuffed in front then he would have been able to rest his hands in his lap, discreetly covering the stain. Now it was going to be obvious.

Angel waited beside the car while Spike gathered their coats out of the passenger seat. When the seat was free, Angel sat down, leaning back on his hands uncomfortably. Spike put on his duster, which did a fair job of covering all the places where he was dirty and bruised. He was left with his t-shirt and Angel’s sweater and coat. After a brief hesitation, he dropped them back inside the car over Angel’s lap and then quickly shut the door.

They didn’t speak for the first few minutes of the drive back. Angel wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know why he’d bitten Lana. He hadn’t wanted to, not any more than he normally wanted to bite humans. At least, he hadn’t planned to. Of course he felt like doing it when they got to the alley, but it had never occurred to him that that was what was going to happen when they got there until it was already happening. All he knew for certain about the whole incident was that if Spike hadn’t been nearby, the girl would have died. As it stood, Angel was pretty confident that she wouldn’t suffer lasting damage. There’d be a scar, but he hadn’t actually taken much blood. Spike had saved Lana’s life, but he’d also saved Angel from having to live with the guilt her death would have caused him.

Eventually Angel just said softly, “Thanks.”

Spike gave him a surprised look, then cleared his throat and looked out through the windshield again. “Glad one of us enjoyed it,” he muttered.

Angel frowned. “What?”

Spike opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally he said, “What are you talking about?”

“The girl. Thanks for saving the girl, Spike.”

“Oh. Right.” He shrugged dismissively. “Well, we’re in my half.”

“What did you think I was—”

“Nothing,” said Spike.

They sat in silence. Angel shifted his legs and immediately regretted it as his jacket began to slip off his lap. He could just see the edge of the damp spot on his pants. He could smell the spend that was seeping through, and he knew Spike must be able to smell it as well, but the scent was mostly smothered out by the leather coat.

“This the first time it’s happened, then?” Spike asked after a while. “The feeding, I mean, not the...” He shut up and made a vague gesture that probably meant coming in your pants on top of someone in an alley.

Angel looked away. “Yeah,” he said.

Spike nodded. His shoulders were tense. “So if you’re not on the hunt again, and don’t think I believe for a second that you’re not – that innocent look means nothing to me, Angel, I invented it – then why did you feed on a human?”

As he thought about it, Angel felt a series of tiny sparks cartwheel down his spine. He’d bitten someone. A living person. Her blood was inside him right now, healing his bruises, making him feel warm. The whole Lana incident wasn’t actually much different from the way he used to do things a hundred years ago. Find victim, seduce victim, feed. Kill. What on earth had possessed him?

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I’m...” He stopped.

“What?”

“I was going to say possessed.” Angel’s ear itched. He tried to ignore it.

“Oh. Well, wouldn’t you know if you were possessed?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it works that way.”

“Think I’d know if I was possessed.”

Angel twisted to face him. “Spike, you have no idea what I’m going through here!”

Spike tightened his grip on the wheel, frustrated. “Well, do you feel possessed?”

The only two times Angel had been possessed before, he didn’t have any control over his actions. He had lost control tonight, but it didn’t feel the same. He didn’t feel like he was acting out someone else’s story; he just couldn’t stop himself from acting out his own. “I don’t know,” he said.

“How can you not know? It’s a simple question, Angel: either you feel possessed or you don’t.”

“I... sort of,” said Angel.

“You sort of? How can you feel sort of possessed? That’s like saying you sort of drink blood or you sort of wear black. ‘Sorry, Miss Random Vampire Slayer, I didn’t mean to kill her, see, it’s just that I’m sort of possessed. Not to worry, though. I sort of have a soul!’”

“Look, I don’t know how to explain it. Lately I've been having these... urges...”

Spike grimaced. “We are not talking about your...” He flapped his hand in Angel’s direction. “Urges.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” said Angel, finally giving in to the itch and rubbing his ear vigorously against his shoulder. The coat in his lap slid down even more, and he stopped. “I had this sudden impulse to bite Lana, so I did. That’s all. I couldn’t stop myself, and I...” He sighed and looked out through the passenger side window. “I don’t know what it means,” he finished.

Spike bit his tongue on anything else he might have said about it, letting Angel process things in silence until they reached the Wolfram and Hart private parking garage. As he pulled the Merc into its parking space, he finally asked, “Is this gonna happen again?”

Angel almost said no immediately, but then he realized he actually had no idea. He didn’t think he was likely to bite anyone right now, but he hadn’t thought he was going to bite Lana either. The idea that he could become dangerous at any moment without realizing it angered him. After so much time spent learning to withstand temptation, to control his instincts, having that control stolen by some unknown force wasn’t just frightening – it was fucking unfair.

“I don’t know,” he said bitterly. “For now, we should probably just... consider me a danger to humans.”

“Angelus lite, then. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

After he turned off the car, Spike came around to Angel’s side to open the door. He had to take the jacket and two shirts from Angel’s lap before Angel could climb out, and as Spike leaned in to grab the clothes, Angel noticed him looking at the spot on his pants. It wouldn’t have been quite as embarrassing if the spot hadn’t also been accompanied by the distinct smell of Angel’s release. It had been evident enough during the drive but became much more obvious when Spike removed the clothes. They didn’t linger on the moment, but it was sufficiently awkward that Angel wondered if he should say something about what had happened. On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine that conversation going anywhere productive, so maybe it was best not to say anything. He climbed out of the car as gracefully as he could with his hands cuffed behind him, and Spike shut the door.

Since it was almost two in the morning, there wasn’t anyone else in the building. Angel hoped that Spike would uncuff him at some point soonish, but he knew Spike wasn’t going to take any chances that Angel might have really lost his soul and was just pretending to be harmless until he could escape. And Angel respected that. It was a smart move to keep him cuffed. But it was irritating as hell.

When Spike followed him into the elevator, Angel said, “No chance of a reprieve?” and indicated his hands.

Spike huffed. “You know better.”

“There aren’t any humans around,” Angel pointed out.

“What, I’m not allowed to be concerned for my own bloody safety?”

“I’ve never known that to stop you from doing something stupid.”

Spike tilted his head at Angel. Even with the fading shadows of bruises from their fight, he still looked ridiculously young with his hair curling in all different directions. “What would you do if I did let you out?” he asked.

Angel almost replied, I’d take a shower and go to bed, but he knew what Spike was really saying. He shrugged. “Punch you in the mouth for being careless.”

“Right.” Spike looked as though this were exactly the answer he expected. “Though I suspect you’ve met your ‘punch Spike in the mouth’ quota for the weekend, thanks.” He ran a thumb across his bottom lip, which was still a little swollen.

“Close,” said Angel, “but not yet.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

When the elevator doors opened into Angel’s penthouse, he stepped out, but Spike hesitated. “Well?” said Angel. He wasn’t exactly sure what the blond had in mind in terms of locking him up. Keeping him cuffed all the way here only to free him and leave seemed a waste of effort.

Spike was frowning at the buttons on the elevator console.

“What are you doing?” Angel asked. He stepped back into the elevator to look at the console, but Spike pushed him back out again.

“Trying to remember,” said Spike. He pursed his lips. Finally, with a shrug, he tapped out a six-button pattern. Angel heard a compressive hiss throughout his apartment and in the elevator shaft. “Got it in one,” Spike said, grinning smugly. “Now you’re stuck in here ‘til we come get you.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “You have a code to put my penthouse on lockdown?” It was actually a smart idea, one he would have approved of if he’d known – though he would have limited who had access to it. He could easily imagine Spike locking him in just for fun.

Spike nodded. “The perfect prison cell, specially customized for broody soulless buggers, care of one Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He leaned back against the wall in the elevator. “Personally, I’d have made the space smaller, but he said it was better to do the whole flat. Easier to make sure you were in the right place ‘fore we locked you in.”

“Good idea,” Angel acknowledged.

“Well, I think I’ll be going, then,” said Spike, looking quite proud of himself. “You have a nice night. Should be fun trying to sleep with your hands back like that.” He reached out and tapped another button on the elevator console. The doors closed on his trademark smirk.

Angel just stood there waiting.

A moment later, the elevator doors opened again. Spike was still standing inside, looking confused. He looked up at Angel, then pressed the button again and the doors closed.

Angel waited.

The doors opened again. “What the—” started Spike.

“You probably weren’t supposed to be up here with me when you enabled the lock,” Angel said patiently.

Spike stared at him.

“Just a guess.” Angel shrugged.

“No,” said Spike. “No, no...” He punched the button again. The doors closed. When they opened back up, Spike was facing the back of the elevator, leaning his forehead on the wall, shoulders slumped. “Balls.”

Angel smirked. He turned his back to Spike. “Hey, you mind unlocking these now?” he said, indicating his hands. “They’re starting to chafe.”

*

It didn’t actually take much convincing to get his cuffs released once Spike had done a thorough search of the apartment to see if either of them would be able to escape. Angel privately suspected that Spike believed him when he said he hadn’t lost his soul. He was basically just going through the motions of protocol, which Angel was grateful for. Even though he didn’t feel like he was going to attack anyone else, there was no way to know for certain. It was better to be careful, and whatever else Spike was, at least he was being careful. Well, except for the elevator thing. When Angel asked why he didn’t just undo the locks, take the elevator down a couple of floors, and do them again, Spike explained that there was only one release mechanism, and that was on the fourth floor. He didn’t say where on the fourth floor it was. Angel figured it was probably somewhere in Wesley’s office, but he didn’t mention this.

Spike had prowled around the apartment grumbling, looking for some kind of escape route while Angel waited, cuffed, by the elevator. As Spike did this, Angel curiously stepped into the elevator and looked at the control panel. The six floor numbers that formed the combination were still lit up. He rolled his eyes. Okay, so Spike wasn’t actually being careful at all. At least he couldn’t tell what order they went in. And there wasn’t a way for him to release the lockdown unless he went to the fourth floor. He stepped out of the elevator again and waited for Spike to return. When he did, Spike grudgingly unlocked the cuffs.

“I guess I should call Wes,” Angel said, rubbing one wrist. “See if he has any ideas about what happened.”

Spike wandered across the room, shrugging off his duster. He threw it over the arm of the couch. “Middle of the night. He still at your beck and call after hours?” He slumped down on the couch dejectedly.

“I could ask him to come up to the office and let you out.”

“Yeah?” Spike brightened. “Should probably do that, then.”

Angel retrieved his cell phone from the pocket of the jacket he’d worn tonight, which Spike had dropped to the floor as soon as he stepped into the apartment. He called Wesley’s home phone, but there was no answer. Then he called Wesley’s cell. There was no answer there, either, so he left a brief voicemail for Wes to call him back as soon as he got the message.

Spike scowled. “Watcher’s not at home? Don’t tell me he has an actual life outside of being your gopher.”

Angel shrugged. He was going for dismissive but most likely came across as confused. It wasn’t like Wesley not to answer his phone when Angel called, no matter what he was doing. “Looks like you’re sticking around for a while,” Angel said. “I’ll try him again when I get out of the shower.” He hung up his coat and headed for the bathroom, stripping off his t-shirt as he walked. He’d been sweaty and dirty and sticky all night, and it was all starting to dry on him. He couldn’t wait to feel clean again.

*

His entire evening had been pretty bizarre, Angel thought as he stepped under the warm shower spray, but the weirdest part to him – well, besides going to a dance club to meet a girl and then actually dancing with her, and then of course the whole biting thing – was that he’d been feeling restless and unlike himself all night, but almost as soon as he had orgasmed in the alley, he became calm and went back to being himself again. He used the hot water to rinse the sticky mess away where it had coated his thigh and pubes. If his release had actually triggered a reset to normal, it occurred to him that whatever was happening could have started a long time ago, but because he was climaxing regularly, it had never become a problem before. Tonight he had let the twitchiness build up until he hurt someone.

Angel took a bar of soap and worked up a lather between his hands. He washed himself all over, pondering the idea. Was it a spell? A spell to make him want to be close to people, and then when he got close, to bite them? It worked in theory, but if he really felt like hurting someone, why on earth would having an orgasm make him not want to hurt that person anymore? That didn’t make any sense. Of course, he hadn’t really wanted to hurt the girl in the first place. He just wanted to have sex with her; the biting was a surprise to them both. He rinsed, then squirted some shampoo into his hand and began to rub it into his hair.

If he were under a spell, what was the point of it, the endgame? To make him unpredictable, maybe. To cause his friends to stop trusting him, to lock him up. He wouldn’t be available to help if something evil went down while he was under house arrest. Or maybe it was more for his benefit than theirs, so he would start second-guessing himself. But why go through the trouble of a spell just to make him unpredictable? Surely there were more effective spells to take him out of the game. Why not just kill him? Cast a sunlight spell on his office in the middle of a work day. That would make more sense. Or why not–

“Oi! Poof!” Spike called through the bathroom door. “You clean enough yet? Other people might like some hot water, you know!”

“I just got in here!” Angel called back.

“Well, hurry up, yeah? I know what you’re doing. It’s rude to touch yourself when you’ve got company.”

“I’m not touch– You’re not company, Spike! This isn’t a slumber party!”

“If I step in something slippery, you’re getting kicked in the face.”

Angel took a deep, annoyed breath, and rinsed his hair. He wasn’t touching himself. Typical of Spike to assume–

Angel frowned. He was actually starting to feel kind of...

Oh, this was just great. Angel eyed his soft penis disdainfully as it gave a twitch and began to swell. He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. Then he stood very still and concentrated. When he was reasonably sure his body was a calm temple, nothing twitchy and certainly nothing erect about it, then he exited the bathroom. Spike was standing there waiting his turn, arms crossed over his chest. “Towels in the cabinet,” Angel muttered as he passed.

Spike huffed. “You spent that long showering, and you didn’t even wash? I’ll never understand the Irish.”

Angel turned toward him, confused. “What?”

“I mean, you got all these fancy soaps in bottles and shaped like seashells and whatnot in your giant fancy shower, and you can’t even pick one?” Spike shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Spike, what the hell are you talking about? Of course I used soap.” Angel lifted his arm and sniffed himself, then glared at Spike. He’d used Zest. He smelled like Zest. “Feel free to smell me if you need proof.”

“Oh, I can smell you, alright,” muttered Spike. “Could smell you from across the bloody room.”

Angel’s mouth fell open, but Spike just stepped into the bathroom and shut the door with a loud thump. A moment later, the water came on. Uncertainly, Angel sniffed himself again. He smelled perfectly clean! Spike was just being an asshat, like usual.

Angel dried himself off and put on a pair of soft black pajama pants with a drawstring. He was still toweling his hair with one hand as he called Wesley again. It rang several times before going to voicemail. Where could he be? He also tried Wesley’s home phone again with no luck. Then he called Fred. He didn’t get her either, but found that, oddly, her voicemail message had been changed. It used to say, “Hi, you’ve reached the phone of Winifred Burkle. I’m probably working, but I promise I’ll call you back if you leave me a message. Oh, and if this is Angel, remember to press 1 before you start to talk, okay? Bye!” Now it said simply, “This is Fred. I’m busy. If it’s important, leave a message. Otherwise, just leave.”

Wow. Angel hesitated, but ended up just leaving. He could always get in touch with his team in the morning, even if it meant having to spend the rest of the night locked in his apartment with Spike.

He wondered if Fred was okay.

Spike’s shower was easily twice as long as Angel’s. Angel thought about going to the door and yelling rude things through it, but figured that would just be stooping to his level. Anyway, he needed to figure this spell thing out. He sat down on his bed. Tonight was the first time he’d bitten someone, so maybe the spell hadn’t started until today. Who could’ve cast a spell on him today? The only people he’d interacted with had been his coworkers, Lana, and Lana’s friends. Could one of the girls have cast the spell? Possibly, but why would one of Lana’s friends want to hurt her?

He’d already been feeling twitchy before he met them, though. Was that part of the spell, or was it just hormones, like he’d thought? If wanting to have sex was somehow an effect of the spell, then who knows how long it could have been going on? He always wanted sex. This could have been happening for years! It could literally have been happening for over 250 years. Angel sighed. And this was just assuming that he was under a spell. It might not be a spell at all. Maybe there was something to that possession theory. Or maybe... maybe he was just out of control.

He needed Wesley.

When Spike finally came out of the bathroom, he was followed by a billow of steam and the very strong aroma of every single type of soap, shampoo, conditioner, or body wash that Angel owned, even ones that hadn’t been opened before. The smell of so many different cleansers hung around Spike like a cloud, almost completely obscuring the natural scent of his skin. If Angel’s sense of smell hadn’t been so finely tuned lately, the cover probably would have worked. But he recognized the tiny thread of a muskier scent hovering just beneath the overpoweringly sweet and fresh cloud: Spike had come in the shower. When Angel realized this, he felt a prickle sneak down his back. He wondered what Spike had imagined while he jerked off standing in the place where Angel had been standing just minutes before.

Angel stood up and turned his back to the blond, who was dripping water all over the carpet, clutching a towel closed at his waist. His wet hair stuck straight up on all sides, and he seemed pretty pleased with himself, probably assuming Angel had no idea what he’d been doing. Angel went to his dresser to find something clean for Spike to put on. God knows he couldn’t have him wandering around the apartment naked. He took a steadying breath through his mouth so all the smells wouldn’t give him a headache. “Jesus, Spike,” he muttered. “Think you used enough products?”

“Some of us actually know how to get clean,” said Spike. “Speaking of which: honey apple pre-wash hair mask, Angel? Really? And you call yourself a vampire.”

"It hydrates." Angel sniffed. “And I'm not the only one who used it.”

“Only one who used it for that. Got any food in this place?”

Angel grabbed another pair of drawstring pajama pants from one of his dresser drawers, this time in dark blue instead of black. The material was thin and soft. He turned toward Spike and threw the folded pants at him. Spike caught them one-handed. “There’s blood in the kitchen,” Angel said.

Spike eyed the pants he was holding and then looked at Angel’s. “Matching pajamas,” he said. “Cute. You sure it’s not a slumber party?”

Angel crossed his arms. “Don’t bother heating any blood for me,” he replied coolly. “I already ate.”

Spike’s jaw clenched. Angel might as well have slapped him in the face. Of course he immediately felt guilty for using the night’s unfortunate events as a passive-aggressive attack – there was nothing more Spike could have done to stop what had happened – but it did have the intended result of shutting him up. With a glare at Angel, Spike took the blue pants and stalked out of the bedroom.

*

Eventually, Angel said, “Tomorrow I’ll send someone to make sure she’s okay.”

He’d been watching Spike from behind as he poured some blood in a mug and began to heat it in the microwave. Spike was wearing Angel’s pants and nothing else, the thin material riding low on his hips. Most of the scrapes and bruises from their fight in the alley had already completely faded, leaving his skin smooth and white with only a couple of darkened places that would be healed soon enough. The light in the kitchen was the only one on in the entire apartment, and when Spike turned just right, Angel could see the tiny clear hairs at the small of his back reflecting the light. He imagined running the palm of his hand down the indent of Spike’s spine, feeling the places where bone was close to skin, where muscles shaped and curved. He cleared his throat.

“The girl will be fine,” Spike said, not looking at Angel.

“Thanks to you.”

Spike shrugged one shoulder. His hair was still wet, but he’d combed it back. Without gel, it wasn’t likely to stay in that position when it finished drying.

“How did you know?” asked Angel. “That she was in trouble, I mean. That I would... hurt her.”

“Didn’t,” said Spike. The microwave beeped. He took the mug out and looked into it, swirling it around a little.

“Then why did you follow us?” Angel briefly wondered if Spike had been planning to spy on them having a quickie in the alley. His stomach clenched pleasantly at the idea of having sex in full view of Spike. It had been a century since the last time that happened. He put a hand up to rub his neck.

“I may have... sensed something,” Spike said. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it. He took a sip from his mug, then a longer drink. Finally turning to Angel, he added, “You weren’t exactly behaving like a hero.”

Angel crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “Heroes aren’t allowed to dance?”

Spike tilted his head, giving Angel a steady look. “Not the way you were doing it.”

“Oh. I... yeah.” Angel coughed. “That was new. You sure seemed to know what you were doing out there, though.”

“I was undercover, like,” Spike dismissed. He drank more of his blood and then added, “’Sides, I’ve only been souled for two years. Still got loads of nasty habits.” He smirked.

“Yeah, about that,” said Angel. “Don’t smoke in my apartment.” He turned his back to Spike to hide his own smirk and walked toward the bedroom.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” said Spike, sounding dismayed.

“I’ll try Wes again in the morning,” Angel said over his shoulder. “Turn off the light when you’re finished. And don’t get any blood on my couch.”

Feeling satisfied that he and Spike were on good – or at least familiar – terms for the night, Angel pulled back his bedcovers and slid into the right side of the bed. He almost always slept on the right side, even though it was a big bed and he didn’t share it with anyone. He’d left the bedroom door open, and he could see the traces of light still coming from the kitchen. Eventually, he heard Spike set his mug in the sink, and then the light flicked off. Very quiet footsteps made their way into the den. Angel heard Spike sit on the couch and dig something out of his duster, and then there was the snick of a lighter lighting. Angel nearly called out for Spike to put out his cigarette immediately, but then he realized that no cigarette had been lit. Spike was just playing with his lighter. After a moment, Spike muttered, “Ponce,” and the smell of the tiny fire disappeared. Angel smiled.

*

He didn’t get to sleep right away. He tried lying on his back with his arms by his sides, then on his front with his arms shoved under his pillow. He turned to his side and put the pillow over his head. Covers pulled up. Covers kicked down. No matter how he arranged himself, Angel could still sense Spike in the other room, and it was distracting as hell. He wasn’t used to it, sharing his penthouse with someone else. Even though they were separated by a wall and plenty of space, he could still smell the blond lying on the couch in the den, could still hear him shifting around. Breathing.

There was absolutely no reason why this should turn him on.

Angel rolled to his back again, resting one hand on his stomach and one on his chest. The cloud of soap scents had started to dissipate little by little, and now Angel could more clearly smell Spike, the remnants of excitement still flowing through his body after having masturbated earlier. Angel’s cock began to swell, and he rolled restlessly onto his side again. Normally, he would just reach down and take himself in hand, but he couldn’t do that with Spike lying on the couch in the other room; it would be obvious what Angel was doing. On the other hand, the idea of jerking off while Spike listened and could smell him turned Angel on even more. He rolled back onto his back. He let his right hand skim down his bare stomach and then over the front of his pajama pants, giving his dick a gentle tug through the thin material. It plumped up even more.

Then he took his hand away and pulled the pillow out from behind his head and put it over his face, holding it there in frustration. What the hell was he doing? He had more control than this!

Angel eventually slept, but it was a fitful and broken sleep. He dreamed about Lana, about her smooth, round ass pressed against him, his large hands folding around her hips, while Spike watched them. Then he dreamed about Drusilla, about holding her down with his hands on her throat to stifle her giggles, fucking her fast and careless specifically so that when Spike got home, he’d smell her sire’s spend inside her, marking her. It would still be there when Spike took her himself, pushing wetly inside on Angel’s cum.

The bedside clock said 3:56AM when he awoke, covers twisted around his legs, his full cock lying heavy against his thigh under the black material of his pajamas. The whole apartment was dark and still. Angel pressed his palms over his eyes, trying to force away the images from his dreams, but he could still smell Spike as clearly as if he were fucking Dru right now in Angel’s bed. Angel reached down with one hand and slowly gave his erection a squeeze. A small throb of pleasure spread through his body. Then he heard a quiet breath, and he opened his eyes.

Spike stood in front of the window beside the bed, the faint moonlight seeping in between the blinds casting him in silhouette. The black outline of his body hugged itself around the middle like a nervous child.

“Spike?” Angel whispered, letting his hand fall away from his crotch. He heard Spike swallow. “What are you doing?”

“Dunno,” Spike quietly replied. “I just had to...” His voice trailed off.

“Had to what?”

Spike reached up to rub at his neck. “I just can’t... What is that, Angel?” He seemed agitated.

Angel pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed. He rubbed his eyes again and looked around. “What is what?”

“That smell,” said Spike. “Why do you smell so...” He made a frustrated noise and turned from the bed toward the window, carding his fingers through his hair.

Angel gave himself a sniff, just as he’d done earlier when Spike had accused him of not washing. “Smell so... what?” Angel asked. “What do I smell like?” He didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. He smelled just like he’d always smelled.

“Can’t concentrate,” Spike muttered. “Dunno how you expect me to sodding sleep while you’re in here like—” He waved his hand toward Angel as though he couldn’t be any clearer.

Being reduced to a dark outline on a light background emphasized the shape of Spike’s muscles. Angel studied the contours of the lean body standing by the bed, the flow of line nearly uninterrupted by the thin pants hugging his hips. But there was a distinct bulge at the front, noticeable when Spike turned at an angle. He was aroused.

Angel said, “Spike, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Spike turned and gave him an incredulous look. He came close to the bed so he could look Angel directly in the eyes and then said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot, “There’s a scent. Coming off you. Like a sodding slayer blood buffet. How can you not know that?”

“A what?” Startled, Angel sniffed himself again. Nothing. Fucking Zest.

“It’s why I followed your sorry arse out of that club! Couldn’t help myself. It’s bloody irresistible. What in the actual fuck did you get yourself into, Angel?”

“I don’t know,” said Angel. “I can’t smell anything. I mean, I smell like I always have. A slayer?” He tried sniffing himself again. At this proximity, he could smell Spike quite clearly, but his own scent remained unremarkable.

“Or... no, not a slayer,” said Spike, coming closer. He put one knee on the bed and leaned toward Angel, breathing. “Like– I can’t describe it. Like blood and... clover.”

“Clover,” repeated Angel.

Spike shook his head, looking frustrated. He braced his hands on the bed and crawled forward, still breathing, his lips parted slightly to pull the scent into his throat. He put his face very close to Angel’s chest and closed his eyes. “Like something pure,” he murmured, half to himself. He took a slow, deep breath and moved his face up to Angel’s neck. Angel stayed completely still, sitting on the bed with Spike leaning over him. “You smell the way sunlight feels,” whispered Spike. His lips grazed Angel’s skin as he spoke.

“I don’t understand,” Angel said softly. With Spike so close, all he could really think about was his strong desire to have sex. He tried to concentrate on their words – how on earth could anything smell like sunlight? – but he just wanted to touch the vampire kneeling beside him, to run his hands over Spike’s sleek muscles and dig his fingernails into Spike’s back. He couldn't remember ever wanting Spike like this before.

Spike’s head fell forward to rest lightly on Angel’s shoulder, his soft hair tickling Angel’s neck. “Bloody hell,” he said. Angel could feel him trembling. “Sorry, Angel, I just can’t—” His hand came up to Angel’s other shoulder. He took a ragged breath and then buried his face in Angel’s neck. “I just need to touch you,” Spike managed, his voice muffled against Angel’s skin.

Carefully, still confused, Angel raised his hands from the bed and slid them around to Spike’s back, the pale skin silky under his palms. He gently pulled Spike close against him and murmured, “Okay.” The younger vampire shifted, keeping his face pressed to Angel’s neck. Spike’s knee went over both of Angel’s legs, and he settled easily into Angel’s lap facing him, their bare upper bodies together, each touching the other one in many places at once. Angel slid one hand down Spike’s spine and back up again, feeling him exactly the way he’d imagined doing in the kitchen earlier. His erection pulsed between them, very close to Spike’s.

Spike continued to inhale deeply over and over against Angel’s neck. “Doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled. His fingertips dug into Angel’s shoulders. “Can’t bloody stand you, but all I can think about is...” He pressed a kiss into Angel’s neck.

Angel tilted his head to give Spike more room, his neck tingling. “Same here,” he breathed. He pulled Spike’s hips forward. Their rigid cocks bumped through the thin material of the pajamas.

“Taste like fire,” Spike murmured. “Like music.” He sucked the place over Angel’s jugular, his teeth scraping bluntly over the skin.

Angel’s mouth fell open on a soft sound. He pushed his fingers up through Spike’s hair and held him there. His neck felt so sensitive. His whole body practically buzzed, alive with want. His other hand swept down the curve of Spike’s back, and his fingers slipped under the soft blue pants to grasp round flesh.

“Been like this a few days now, but tonight it’s just... too much,” Spike gritted out, deliberately shifting his hips forward again. He abruptly pulled away from Angel’s neck and took both sides of Angel’s head in his hands. They stared at each other, both of them breathing, their lips parted. Spike swallowed. Angel couldn’t look away from his mouth. “You smell like food,” Spike said, his voice low, ragged. “But not the kind you eat. Don’t understand it, it’s like...” Spike leaned in and pressed his cheek to Angel’s cheek, closing his eyes. “I smell you, and I want to rip you open, roll around in your blood. Cover myself with it.” He inhaled deeply. “But if I did that, it would ruin you. So what do I do with you instead?”

Angel didn’t expect the words to turn him on as much as they did, but to be fair, he was already more aroused than any normal person would’ve been able to withstand, and anything Spike said at that point in his low, gravelly whisper would’ve been sexy, including threats of bloody ruin. Because he didn’t know how to answer Spike’s question, and because talking was too much work, Angel simply turned his head and caught Spike’s mouth in a kiss.

At first, Spike didn’t respond. But then something seemed to overtake him – passion, maybe, or urgency, or perhaps just acceptance that this was what they were going to do now – and he began to kiss Angel back almost ferociously, holding Angel’s head in place so he could dictate how it was going to go, the tilt of their faces and the exact amount of pressure. Angel went along with it, too aroused to pay much attention to finesse. It wasn’t romantic, and it was by no means gentle, but it was exactly the answer that Spike had been looking for.

The two vampires kissed earnestly in the dark of Angel’s bedroom, Spike shifting forward on Angel’s lap, trying to get closer, possibly trying to get inside him. He was still breathing in Angel’s scent, and when he exhaled, a quiet sound came from his throat, nearly a whimper. Angel held Spike’s body close, skin to skin, and soaked in the smell of Spike’s excitement, as strong as his own. He peeled one hand from Spike’s back and pushed it in between them.

Angel’s hand didn’t know where to touch first. They'd never done this together. He rubbed his palm along the length of his own cloth-covered erection, then rubbed along Spike’s. Spike grunted into Angel’s mouth and dropped one hand down to join Angel’s in the tight space between their bodies. He yanked his drawstring untied and pushed down the blue cloth, then yanked on the black string. Angel fumbled the black pants down as well and wrapped his hand securely around his impossibly hard cock. He gave it a squeezing stroke upward and felt a tiny drop of wet land on his fingers. Spike’s nostrils flared at the scent. Angel took Spike’s in his hand next and also gave it a tight stroke.

Spike tore his lips away from Angel’s lips to curse and look down at their naked erections, the two pale columns nearly equal in length and girth, cast in the shadow of their bodies. Angel’s foreskin was pulled back slightly more than Spike’s was, the round pink tip just peeking out, shiny with precum. Spike reached for it, wrapped his cool fingers around Angel’s dick and slid the skin down, the full head emerging slowly. Angel shivered as Spike stroked down and then back up, drawing the skin up to cover the cockhead again. Another drop of fluid came out, sliding across Spike’s fingers.

“Spike—” Angel breathed.

“Shh,” said Spike. He put his fingers up to Angel’s lips, quieting him. He left a smear of precum there when he pulled his hand back, and then he leaned in to kiss it away. Angel could taste himself in the kiss, and his cock pulsed out another drop without even being touched.

Spike eventually pulled away to stare at Angel’s mouth. He looked a little confused. Before Angel could ask what was wrong, Spike kissed him again, sucking Angel’s bottom lip into his mouth and running his tongue across it. When Spike suddenly pulled away a second time, he looked down at his wet fingers. Then he licked his hand, following the tiny slick trail with his tongue.

Angel watched, mesmerized, as Spike reached for his cock again. He caught a bead of fluid from the slit on the tip of one finger, then lifted the finger to his mouth. He closed his eyes. “Fucking hell, Angel, you taste like a virgin.”

“What? That’s impossi—”

Spike cut him off with another deep kiss, his hand wrapping itself around Angel’s thick erection. He began a slow but steady pumping that made Angel’s entire body quiver. His toes curled up, and he dug his fingernails into Spike’s thighs as Spike squeezed his cockhead, another drop rolling out of the slit. Spike’s thumb spread the shiny fluid in a streak down the underside of Angel’s shaft. Angel broke their kiss to groan, “Spike...”

“I want this,” Spike breathed, “in my mouth.”

Angel nodded and let go of Spike so that he could move. Spike slid down Angel’s body, his own hard cock bobbing in the air, until his face was close to Angel’s groin. Leaning back against the headboard of his bed, Angel watched as Spike bent to study the desperate organ sticking up from Angel’s crotch. It was thick, with a pink head and a very slight curve upwards that gave it an almost eager quality. Spike slid the skin down with his fingers, and it caught under the ridge of the head, a small gather that stayed on its own. Angel could feel the air around it move as Spike inhaled his scent. Then Spike licked a slow stripe over the wet slit, and Angel had to grip the mattress at his sides very tightly so that he wouldn’t grab the blond head and force it down.

Spike went on licking Angel’s cockhead, soft, wet swipes of tongue over just the crown. Precum bubbled up as Angel groaned quietly, and Spike lapped at the slit, cleaning it carefully off. “So sweet,” he murmured between licks. “Innocent.”

Angel wanted to protest that he wasn’t sweet or innocent, but he was too consumed with sensation to manage more than, “Spike, please...” The fog that had been in his head when he was with Lana was forming again, thick clouds separating his rational thoughts from the way his body processed tactile feelings. All he could respond to was touch.

Spike paused long enough to tuck his fingers into the loosened waistband of Angel’s pants and pull them down and off, kicking his own off as well, before taking Angel’s dick in his hand and licking it again. Angel spread his legs to accommodate Spike’s body between them. Spike had one hand firmly around Angel’s penis and the other gripping Angel’s thigh when he finally slid the shiny pink knob between his soft lips and began to suck.

“Holy fuck,” Angel quietly gasped, his hips jerking a little. Spike only had the tip inside his wet mouth, but he was sucking on it in earnest, allowing just a tiny bit to slide out and then sucking it in again. His hand worked Angel’s shaft steadily, tight fist sliding up to meet wet lips and then sliding back down. Angel couldn’t look away. He breathed heavily through parted lips while he watched Spike pump him. Then he slid his right hand into Spike’s hair, just holding him there, his hips twitching up and down in tiny, near-involuntary motions. “Christ,” he said. “Yeah...”

“Tastes so good,” Spike pulled back to say. A thin string of spit and precum connected his bottom lip to the head of Angel’s cock. “Could go on doing this forever.” As he sucked the slick head back into his mouth, he reached down to cradle Angel’s balls in his palm. He tugged them down a little, making Angel hiss.

“That’s—yeah, that’s gonna make me come, Spike,” Angel warned, his voice tight.

“Do it,” Spike murmured, lips grazing sensitive flesh. “Come in my mouth.”

Angel’s belly clenched at the words. He watched Spike take him in again, his cock splitting those pink lips wide, those hands – one holding his balls and the other giving his erection tight, rapid strokes – coaxing his orgasm forward. It had already built up inside, a thick, tense wall of feeling that was going to come crumbling down at any moment.

Angel slid his other hand into Spike’s hair as well, and his fingers curled tightly into the platinum strands as his whole body suddenly shuddered. “Oh, fuck,” Angel gasped, coming hard. He didn’t see the first shot or the second because Spike’s mouth was there, his tongue massaging the underside of Angel’s cockhead, sucking the fluid directly out of Angel’s body. He could hear Spike swallowing, milking the cum into his mouth. Spike’s tongue danced over the plump head as he squeezed every drop out of the shaft. Angel panted, dizzy, as he watched one particularly heavy spurt leak from the corner of Spike’s mouth.

He felt weak when it was over, his limbs heavy and dull. The fogginess was still there, but it was receding slowly, at least enough for him to remember that this sort of thing wasn’t at all normal for the two of them to be doing together. It crossed his mind that it didn’t make any sense that they didn't have this kind of relationship, before he realized that it made even less sense for them to start now. Spike still had his lips wrapped around Angel’s dick, but his sucking had become very gentle, and it gave Angel a couple of pleasant aftershocks before becoming too much for him.

Angel slowly eased Spike’s mouth away, and his wet, pink cockhead plopped out into the cool air. Still breathing softly, Angel swallowed and said, “What about you? Do you want me to...?” He let the question linger in the air, options open.

Spike looked up at him, his pupils dilated like he was on drugs. He knelt up slowly, using one thumb to swipe some of Angel’s spilled semen into his mouth. Then he kissed Angel on the lips. His left hand came up to the back of Angel’s neck, fingers pushing into Angel’s soft brown hair while they kissed. His right hand was pulling his own cock, short, tight strokes, focusing on the head. Angel’s hands went to Spike’s hips, holding him steady. He could taste himself in Spike’s mouth.

Spike knee-walked closer, as close as he could get, straddling Angel’s thighs like before. Angel had to tilt his head back to go on kissing him until he sat, more or less on Angel’s lap. “Gonna mark you,” Spike mumbled against Angel’s lips, his breath short and sharp. “My scent. All over you.”

Angel slid his hands to Spike’s back and scratched his fingernails down it. Spike moaned into his mouth. He was pumping himself very quickly. Angel could feel Spike’s body tensing, almost ready, Spike’s fingers clutching his hair. He skimmed his hands up Spike’s back again, palms rubbing over the sting his fingernails had left.

Spike’s mouth dropped open, and he shut his eyes, groaning quietly. One last jerk, and he was coming, his seed shooting out over Angel’s stomach. He worked his hard cock through the orgasm, wringing out his release with body-shuddering spasms, coating Angel’s skin with cum. Angel watched this happen, looking down into the dark space between their bodies, his cheek pressed to Spike’s cheek. “Shit,” he whispered as the spend began to drip, sliding coolly down his body.

Spike exhaled slowly, squeezing out the last of it between thumb and forefinger with a tiny shiver. Then he looked at his wet hand. Angel couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe Spike’s mind was starting to clear too, and he was having the same doubts that Angel had, wondering why on earth the two of them had so suddenly and blatantly turned their entire relationship on its head in a single night. Angel wasn’t sure how he felt about it, himself. Maybe it would be different if they’d somehow fallen naturally into bed together, but he was sure this had something to do with the spell – or whatever it was – that had been making him act so out of character lately. Clearly it was having an effect on Spike, too. They would never have done this otherwise.

Angel watched Spike looking at his hand. He tried to ready himself for the awkward conversation that was sure to start at any moment, wondering briefly if it would be better for them to get dressed first.

Spike looked up from his hand and into Angel’s eyes. His pupils were still wide and black. Slowly, he reached out and wiped his wet fingers across Angel’s neck.

“Um,” said Angel. “Spike?”

“Shh.” Spike put his hand on Angel’s stomach, right in the middle of the whitish drips, and swiped upwards, rubbing the fluid into Angel’s skin. He did this several times while Angel sat unmoving on the bed, eyebrows drawn together while he watched. “There,” Spike finally said. He leaned forward, laying his head on Angel’s shoulder, and inhaled deeply near Angel’s neck. “Now you don’t smell so innocent.”

Okaaay, Angel thought. Maybe it takes Spike longer to snap out of it. He folded his arms around Spike’s naked back and sighed. It was still dark out. They would stay here, just like this, until the spell wore off. Hopefully everything would be back to normal by morning.

*

Chapter Text

*

Angel didn’t exactly wake up, because he hadn’t exactly slept. He’d merely zoned out for a while, getting the kind of half-rest you get when you stay in one place and dream in stops and starts but never fully lose consciousness. The reason he couldn’t sleep was because Spike was wrapped around him and they were both naked, and the whole situation was too weird to be comfortable. So he didn’t wake up when his phone rang, but he did open his eyes.

Spike sighed into his neck. “S’pose I should move, then.”

“Unless you want me to carry you over to the phone.”

Spike actually seemed to consider this option for a moment before finally peeling himself away from Angel. He’d been lying there for several hours, so their skin had adhered in more than one place with dried semen, and they both grimaced at the feeling of pulling away. Spike flopped onto his back on the bed, and Angel stood. He didn’t remember what it felt like for his legs to fall asleep, but they could still feel restless, so it was nice to be able to move around again. As he stretched briefly and then walked naked over to his ringing cell phone, he could feel the distinct sensation of being watched from behind.

“Hey, Wes,” he answered.

“Angel.”

“Listen, I need your help with something. Do you think we could meet today, maybe get the whole team in?”

“On a Saturday? It must be urgent,” observed Wesley in a tired voice.

“Sorry. I know it’s supposed to be your day off, but I’m not sure this one can wait.”

“I understand. Where would you like to meet? Perhaps we can all do lunch somewhere.”

“It’ll have to be at the office. I’m...” He wasn’t sure how to say this. “Well, I’m actually kind of... trapped in my penthouse. I was hoping you could let me out before everyone gets here.”

There was a pause down the line. Then Wesley said, “Angel, how did you manage to become trapped in your penthouse?”

“Oh...” He tried to sound like it was no big deal. “Spike locked me in.”

“Spike locked you in.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he say why?”

“Something happened last night. I can give you the details later, but we decided the best thing to do was to keep me away from humans for a while. I’m fine now, though. We just need to figure this out before it gets any worse.”

“I see. And why hasn’t Spike let you out?”

“Spike’s actually... well, he’s locked in here with me.”

Wesley sighed. “Spike’s with you.”

“Yeah. Kind of a funny story. Just not, you know, ‘ha ha’ funny. But we need someone else to release the lockdown.”

“I see,” said Wesley again. “So, just to be clear: you’re a danger to humans, it will probably get worse, Spike has locked himself in your penthouse, and you’d like for me to release you with no proof that you still have a soul or that Spike is even alive?”

Angel turned toward the bed. Spike hadn’t bothered to cover himself, was just lying on his back naked, hands behind his head, propped up on a pillow so he could watch Angel. Spike’s eyes flicked down to Angel’s crotch for barely a second before meeting his eyes again. Still and relaxed in the morning light coming through the blinds, he looked like a painting, or an artistic photograph, something Angel might have admired if it hadn’t been so surreal.

“Spike’s fine,” Angel said as he and Spike looked at each other steadily. “You wanna talk to him?”

“Please,” said Wesley.

Spike held out his hand. Angel tossed the phone to him.

“Watcher,” said Spike.

“You thought he was sufficiently dangerous to enable the penthouse lockdown protocol, and yet you locked yourself inside with him, both endangering your own life and ensuring that the lockdown will never catch Angelus off guard.” Angel could hear Wesley talk, though he was standing several feet away from the phone. There was something odd about it – not just that he sounded annoyed, but his voice was softer than usual, more pained. Angel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Spike hold the phone to his ear. Spike was still looking at him.

“You’re welcome,” said Spike into the phone.

“Tell me what he did, at least.”

“Only the usual vampire thing. Drank some bint in an alley.”

“He killed a woman?”

“Course not. I stopped him, didn’t I? Dragged his arse back here.”

“And proceeded to trap yourself in with him overnight.”

“Never would’ve happened if someone had explained the locks properly.”

“Or if someone had read the manual.”

“I stopped a sodding murder, Wesley. What more do you want from me? I’m only human.”

Angel lifted an eyebrow. The corner of Spike’s mouth twitched up.

“Quite,” said Wesley evenly. “Well, is it your opinion that Angel is still in possession of his soul?”

Spike tilted his head thoughtfully at Angel. “Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea why he would bite someone?”

“Not a clue.”

“Do you think it likely to happen again?”

“No way to be sure, really.”

“But you think it’s safe to let him out.”

Spike hesitated, and Angel frowned at him. “Didn’t say that, did I?” Spike said.

“So you don’t think it’s safe?”

“Spike, I’m fine," said Angel irritably. "I’m not going to bite anyone else.”

Ignoring this, Spike said, “With supervision, maybe. He’s been a bit unpredictable, but not especially dangerous – long as he’s being watched. Wouldn’t send him out without a tail, though.”

Angel glared at him but didn’t object to this.

“Are you offering your services?” asked Wesley. “I’m not feeling up to it, myself. It would actually suit my schedule to leave you both locked in until Monday morning, unless you can promise he’ll behave.”

Spike scowled. “And he’s my responsibility how, exactly? Already done my bit by saving the girl.”

“I believe he became your responsibility when you became his flatmate.”

It was always a little embarrassing to be discussed like this by his friends, as though he were some kind of overgrown child, but Angel told himself to put their safety above his pride and simply muttered, “It’s not like you've got something else important to do this weekend, Spike.”

“What about patrolling my half of the city?” Spike demanded.

“Yeah, you really need to let this ‘half’ thing go.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t feel safe taking him with you?” asked Wesley.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine! Whatever. I’ll watch him. But you need to get your research on and figure out what’s wrong with him. I’m not a sodding nanny.”

“Thank you, Spike,” said Wesley.

Spike huffed and threw the phone back to Angel.

Angel and Wesley arranged to meet at lunchtime in one of the smaller Wolfram and Hart conference rooms. Wesley would alert the rest of the team, as well as come by the office a few minutes early to activate the release mechanism for the penthouse. Angel was in charge of ordering food for the meeting.

After hanging up, Angel casually dropped the phone on his dresser and continued to look at Spike naked in his bed. Spike was still looking at him as well. They regarded each other evenly for a long moment. Finally, Angel said, “We should probably talk about—”

“Nope,” said Spike.

“No?” Angel didn’t move or give any indication, but he was still confused about what had happened last night and was hoping they could come to some sort of understanding between themselves before having to deal with other issues. It wouldn’t be productive to sit in an important meeting with his friends but be wondering the entire time what was going on in Spike’s bleached head.

Spike gave a nonchalant shrug. “It just happened. Doesn’t mean we have to make something out of it.” He averted his eyes from Angel’s face for a moment but then looked back. On anyone else, the expression would have been one of casual disinterest, but Angel knew Spike well enough to see through the cover. He was just as confused as Angel was.

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it, either,” Angel replied. “You might not know this about me, Spike, but one night stands aren’t exactly a habit of mine.”

“Oh, so the girl you nearly shagged and killed last night. She was your girlfriend, was she?”

Angel’s jaw ticked, but he remained calm. “This isn’t about her.”

“And you do know that I’m not your girlfriend?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Spike.”

“We’re not in some kind of—” Spike said it like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard “—relationship. We don’t have to talk about anything. You blew a load down my throat, Angel. I had a wank on your stomach. We got off together. That’s all it was. There’s nothing else to say about it.”

Angel nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he said, “So that whole ‘marking me’ thing, and then the... cuddling?”

Spike looked away. “Never happened.”

“You mean, I didn’t just spend the night with you glued to my chest muttering in your sleep about how good I smell. I just want to make sure I have this straight.”

Spike nodded once. He seemed troubled but didn’t say anything else.

“Fine,” said Angel. “I’m assuming this also means it won’t happen again.”

At that, Spike gave him a quick look and hesitated, but then he turned away again. “Course it won’t. I don’t actually like you, you know.”

“Okay. Good.” Angel turned away as well. Even if he had just agreed that Spike wasn’t his girlfriend, he couldn’t help being slightly turned on by the visual of the blond lying in his bed with no clothes. “Now that we both know where we stand, I’m going to take a shower.”

“Unless we wanted it to,” Spike suddenly said.

Angel turned back toward the bed. “What?”

“It won’t happen again,” said Spike. “Unless we... wanted it to.” He shrugged, but the indifference looked forced. “We’re both adults. Can do what we like.”

“And that’s what you’d like,” said Angel. It was meant to be a question, but it didn’t sound like one. “To repeat last night.” Objectively, he felt that there was something wrong with the idea, but it nevertheless made something small inside his body seem to flip over. Spike still smelled of him, having been pressed against his skin all night. That alone was sexy.

“Maybe.” Spike let his eyes wander down Angel’s body. “If the mood strikes. Why not?”

Angel glanced at the bedside clock. It had only been about five hours since Spike had sucked him off. It was obviously much more time than he needed to be ready to go again, but it didn’t seem like enough time for him to already be feeling... twitchy. He actually felt like he hadn’t come for quite a long while, and the prospect of doing it with someone else again rather than alone was a stimulating one. Even if it was Spike. And even if his whole head was saying rather insistently that it was a bad idea. He felt his blood pulling gently toward his groin, but he ignored it for the moment. “You really think that’s wise?” Angel asked.

Spike slowly trailed one hand down his body to rest on his thigh. He didn’t touch anything specifically sexual, but the movement was suggestive enough. “I think,” said Spike, “you still smell like something I want in my mouth.”

Angel had already taken two steps toward the bed before Spike’s words fully registered in his head. It took an effort to stop himself from closing the distance anyway, but he did manage to halt a few feet away. Spike was watching him expectantly, waiting. “Smell,” Angel said quietly. “I... smell...”

“Like night rain,” said Spike. He knelt up and crawled slowly forward to the edge of the bed, close to Angel. “And cinnamon.”

“And slayer blood,” Angel remembered. “And clover and sunlight. Fire, music, and virgins.” His cock was beginning to harden noticeably, but he willed himself to stay still. “That’s why you want me.”

“Well, it’s not for your staggering intellect, I admit. But you’re not exactly difficult on the eyes, either,” Spike said. “In fact—”

“Stop,” said Angel. “Just... wait.” He turned his back to Spike so he could think.

“Okay. This view’s nice, too.”

“Shut up, Spike. I’m thinking.”

Spike stood from the bed and walked over to Angel. Sliding his arms around Angel’s waist, he pressed himself against the broad back of the older vampire, his semi-erection nestled in the cleft of Angel’s backside. He inhaled deeply near Angel’s neck. “Probably think better if I gave you a hand,” he murmured, letting one hand slide down Angel’s flat stomach.

Angel caught Spike’s hand before it could reach his cock, which had perked up readily at the suggestion. “I don’t think so,” Angel said quietly. He didn’t move away, though. He was trying to get his mind to work. It was going slower than usual, delayed by sexual interest, but he was getting close to something important. Smell. The way things had smelled recently. He could feel Spike breathing near his ear, smelling him, probably relishing the way Angel smelled of his semen from the night before, rubbed into his skin. Why had he wanted to do that?

“Come on, Angel,” Spike said. “We can go for hours before your humans get here.”

Angel thought about fucking Spike. No, no... he thought about smell. Smelling Lana on the subway. The way the inside of La-La Land smelled. Everything smelled of fucking Spike. No, of sex! Everything smelled of sex. Why was he reacting so strongly to the way everyone’s bodies smelled lately? He used to smell sexual energy all the time and be able to ignore it, the same way he could smell gasoline or cigarettes or dirt and not care at all. But for the past few days, every time he smelled someone, he thought about fucking Spike. Er, that is, his body reacted to the smell. But it wasn’t just smell – it was everything! All his senses were on edge, and they all seemed to be directly connected to fucking Spike. No! To arousal, damn it!

“Spike, you’re making it really hard for me to concentrate here,” Angel said, his voice low.

“Sort of the point, mate,” said Spike. His dick had filled out even more. Angel could feel it poking against his ass.

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“Nooo, you’re standing still. We’ll be having sex in about two minutes.”

Spike had followed him last night because of the way he smelled. It was different, apparently, from his usual scent. And he'd been smelling like this – irresistible, Spike had said – for a few days. It had built up until Spike finally couldn’t stay away from him.

“You don’t really want to,” Angel said slowly. He felt like he was talking through a fog. “You’re just... because of the way I smell to you... for some reason...” He was still gripping Spike’s hand against his stomach so it couldn’t slide down any further.

Spike had pressed his lips to Angel’s smooth shoulder. “Course I want to,” he said, slightly muffled.

“Only because I—”

“Does it matter why?” Spike’s other hand swept up Angel’s stomach toward his chest. When his fingers bumped over a nipple, he pinched it lightly, and Angel felt a ripple of lust pulse through him.

Yes, it mattered. Probably. Did it? Yes. Fuck.

Fully intending to put a stop to this until they could figure out what was going on, Angel turned around and said, “Spike.” That was as far as he got. Whatever else he was going to say melted into a low sound at the back of his throat as Spike took his lips in a long, steamy kiss. Their erections bumped together as Angel instinctively pulled Spike’s body close, muscles lean and firm under his hands. Spike managed to turn them without parting his mouth from Angel’s and began steering Angel backward toward the bed.

As soon as they landed together on the cool sheets, Angel bounded back up. Safely a few feet from the bed, he pointed an accusing finger at Spike and said, “No!” His whole self felt sensitive and empty, and his lips tingled from kissing. “You... stay! We – No, I – well, we—”

Spike raised an eyebrow at him. His pupils were markedly dilated again, as they’d been last night, but he seemed to be more in control of himself than Angel was. “Use your words, Angel. We...?”

“Can’t,” said Angel. When Spike started to stand up again, Angel said, “No. Stay over there. If you come near me – if you touch me – I will probably fuck you.” He was startled to have said this out loud, but since it was the truth, he didn’t take it back. He rubbed both hands over his eyes and sighed, turning away from the bed. “Just, I need to think. And to shower. I’m going to shower.”

“Maybe... don’t,” said Spike.

“Don’t what? Don’t shower?” Angel very deliberately didn’t turn back to look at him.

“You’ve still got my scent on you. I like it.” Spike cleared his throat. “It’s better than... before.”

“Spike, I can’t go to a meeting covered in your...” Angel paused, inhaling deeply. He wasn’t actually opposed to smelling this way, and he knew that no one else at the meeting would be able to tell that under his clothes, he had a thin film of Spike’s dried cum coating his stomach, but he needed to clear his head. The shower was always a good place to do that. Also, it meant he could orgasm without worrying about whether or not he was taking advantage of someone. “Don’t be naked when I get out,” he finished. Then he walked into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

*

The rest of the morning was thoroughly awkward. Neither of them could leave the apartment, so they settled for staying in separate rooms. Spike slouched on the couch in front of the television wearing his jeans and one of Angel’s t-shirts, and Angel paced from his kitchen to his study to his bedroom and back again, only occasionally throwing glances in Spike’s direction when he walked through the den. Spike had not showered again. He smelled like Angel, and it didn’t help that he was wearing one of Angel’s shirts. He kept playing with his lighter. Lighting it and putting it out. Over and over.

Angel had masturbated in the shower, of course. He didn’t even try to hide it like Spike had the previous night. His orgasms, for some reason, seemed to be getting more and more powerful, if that was even possible. Or maybe they only felt that way because he needed them so badly. But it didn’t take long at all for him to become restless again, and this time it was worse because Spike was sitting right there being somehow more attractive than usual while watching The Price Is Right and periodically shouting at the contestants to bid no more than a dollar on that luxury vacuum cleaner.

It was hell.

Angel wasn’t used to not knowing what to do. Or he was, but never when it came to his own body. He was usually so good at ignoring his cravings – or at least finding a way to satisfy them safely – but this, this knowing exactly what he wanted and not allowing himself to take it even though it was sitting right there on his couch and wanting him back... He kept telling himself that it would be wrong because there was obviously some kind of spell at work, but then arguing with himself that it wouldn’t really harm anyone. They’d already fooled around once. If they were going to feel guilty or embarrassed later, they might as well feel guilty and embarrassed for doing it several times, right? The frustrating thing was he knew this logic was flawed but he couldn’t exactly pick out how. He was too distracted to examine it more closely.

He called the Chinese take-out place they normally used and put in the usual order for Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne and arranged for delivery. After he hung up, he had another thought and called back to add extra dumplings to the order. Then he called downstairs to order some blood. Even though it was a weekend, Wolfram and Hart was still running, staffed by those employees who preferred to take certain weekdays off instead, often due to various religious reasons. For instance, Angel knew at least six different paralegals and three of Fred’s scientists always took Tuesdays for ritual goat sacrifices. There were maybe thirty people working today. When he finished ordering lunch, he started pacing again.

On the tenth time Angel prowled through the den, Spike said, without looking away from the television, “It’s your fault, you know.”

At first Angel thought he was still talking to the TV, but this was during a commercial. He hesitated, then asked, “What is?”

“The fact you can’t sit still. We could’ve been shagging this whole time, but no, you’d rather run around up here like a giant hamster in his ball. It’s pretty bloody pathetic, Angel, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I do mind,” said Angel. “And if this bothers you, you can blame yourself for locking us in together.” He walked out.

The next time Angel came through the den, Spike said, “I can still smell you.”

Angel paused. “I can smell you, too.”

“Not talking normal scent. It’s hanging over you like a bleeding cloud. You’re leaving a trail behind you.” He tugged at the crotch of his jeans, adjusting himself. “Can smell what you want. You’re gagging for it, mate.”

“I’m fine,” said Angel. “You’re the one who keeps talking about sex. If one of us is gagging for it...”

“Just stating the bloody facts.”

“I know how I feel, Spike. I don’t need comments from the peanut gallery.”

“Fine,” said Spike.

Angel walked out.

He almost didn’t walk through the den again, but finally decided that it was ludicrous for Spike’s presence on the couch to deter him from making use of his own apartment. So he walked through defiantly, the same path that he’d been restlessly retracing all morning. Spike didn’t acknowledge him, just sat there watching TV. Angel paused by the door, but no comments were forthcoming from the couch, so he continued pacing.

The next time he walked through, Spike said calmly, “You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.”

“I am NOT going to fuck you!” Angel shouted.

Spike gave Angel a startled look and Angel looked back at him, confused, before a decompressive hiss sounded throughout the penthouse.

“Oh, thank God,” Angel said. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. When the elevator doors opened a few moments later, both vampires were hovering nearby, anxious to leave the apartment. Spike had put on his duster, but Angel could still smell his scent on the blond, and he wondered briefly if it would be better for them to go downstairs separately just so they wouldn’t have to stand close to each other in the small space. But Wesley had ridden up and was waiting inside the elevator, and so Angel figured it would be safe.

Until he realized that Wesley was pointing a crossbow at him.

“Hey, Wes,” Angel said, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Angel,” Wesley said with a tiny nod. “Spike.”

“Well, I was gonna watch him for you,” Spike said, “but if you’d rather dust him, by all means, have at it.” To Angel, he said, “Do I get the Viper?”

“It’s just a precaution,” said Wesley. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“Of course,” said Angel. But to Spike, he said, “No.”

“On second thought, maybe hold off until he updates his will.” Spike stepped into the elevator with Wesley and leaned against the back wall.

“I’m assuming there are other precautions in the conference room,” Angel said, not moving.

“Yes,” said Wesley. “But none that will interfere with the meeting. We will all be quite safe.”

“Good,” Angel said. Very slowly, so not to startle the human, he stepped into the elevator with Spike and Wesley and pressed the button for the correct floor. The doors closed.

Wesley kept the crossbow pointed at him the whole way down. Angel privately decided that he would be quick enough to dodge the bolt if it went off – take it in the lung rather than the heart – but he still attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible, hunching his shoulders in to appear smaller and not making eye contact. He could see peripherally that Spike was amused by his situation.

He could also smell that Wesley had had a rough night – not enough sleep – and he had that slightly stale, unshowered scent of a man who was depressed. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk now. He also hadn’t shaved, and the light pink circles under his eyes indicated that he’d... cried? But not in the last few hours. He was as dignified as ever, and a less discerning person may not have even noticed that something was wrong.

“How are you doing, Wes?” Angel asked after a few tense seconds. “Everything okay?” The smell of the two other men was especially potent in such a small space. It occurred to him that Wesley wouldn’t notice at all, and for a moment he was jealous that humans didn’t have to deal with such things.

Wesley didn’t answer right away, but the crossbow didn’t waver. Then he said, “I’m fine, Angel. Thank you for asking.”

“Nothing’s bothering you?” Angel pressed gently, still not making eye contact. “Maybe something at work?”

“Well, my employer may or may not be evil. It’s not exactly a low-stress job, but I think I’ll manage.”

“You smell like your dog just died,” said Spike.

Wesley straightened his shoulders. “Thank you for your somewhat invasive insight, Spike. I assure you both that I am fine.” As an afterthought, he added, “We all have bad days.”

“If you, you know, want to talk...” said Angel. He didn’t finish.

As the doors opened on their floor, Wesley said quietly, “Perhaps another time.”

The three of them headed to the conference room, Wesley keeping his crossbow trained on Angel. They passed one other human employee on the way, but she didn’t seem to think it was odd that one of the department heads was poised to murder the CEO. Angel could smell in passing that the woman was pregnant, though she wasn’t showing yet. She smelled delicious. All three of them ignored her, but by the time they entered the conference room, Angel had already undressed her in his mind and was tasting her all over, holding her legs open and licking the soft insides of her thighs. He was pulled out of the daydream when Wesley spoke.

“Sorry, what?” said Angel.

“If you would, please,” Wesley repeated, nodding toward the chair at the head of the conference table. Angel went to it and sat down. “There’s an attachment under the table.”

Angel bent to look. It was a single manacle hanging from a chain about a foot long. He picked it up, expecting it to be heavy, but it was actually quite light. He fastened it around his left wrist and looked up at Wesley. “Is this all?”

Wesley lowered the crossbow. “It’s a new design,” he said. “A special compound Fred invented. So far, it’s been impossible to break.”

Angel gave it a tug. The end of the chain was bolted to the underside of the table. “Feels like plastic.”

“We wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Thanks.” He slid his chair close to the table. As long as he didn’t raise his left hand, no one would be able to tell that he’d been immobilized. As far as restraints went, it was pretty considerate. He wouldn’t really have blamed his friends if they’d insisted on some type of muzzle. He did notice, though, that only one other chair at the table was within his reaching distance. Spike pulled this one out and plopped into it.

“Where’s the food?” asked Spike. “I’m bloody starving. Hope you remembered to get dumplings.”

“Food should be here in a few minutes. And yes, I remembered that you’re a freak of nature who likes to eat.” To Wesley, Angel said, “I hope Chinese is okay.”

“Perfect,” said Wesley, sitting down on Angel’s other side but slightly farther away. He placed the crossbow on the floor near his feet. “I talked to Gunn and Lorne earlier. Wasn’t able to get hold of Fred, so I left a message.”

As he was saying this, Gunn came into the conference room. “Is it just me, or is this place freaky on the weekends?” he asked. “Feels like we shouldn’t be here. What’s up, Wes?” He pulled out the chair beside Spike and sat down.

“Gunn. Glad you could join us.”

“Yeah, you almost lost me to a Tiny Toons marathon.” He glanced at Angel, then looked back to Wesley. “He’s tied up, right?”

Angel raised his left hand above the table to show the cuff and chain, but added, “I don’t really think I’m dangerous right now.”

“Sorry man, but that means approximately zero the day after you bite someone for no reason. Hey Spike.”

“Charlie boy.”

“It’s because of the people who choose to work weekend shifts,” said Wesley. “Usually the more unorthodox employees. Otherwise, the building is nearly empty. It does lend the offices a certain creepiness.”

“It’s cool not having to dress up, though,” said Gunn. He was dressed casually in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Wesley was still wearing what he had worn to work the day before.

“Oh, here we are,” said Lorne as he entered the room. “Would you people believe I still get turned around in this place? I shouldn’t have given my P.A. the weekends off. First time minion owner’s mistake.”

“I think they’re only minions if you’re evil,” said Angel. “Here we just call them assistants.”

“Yeah, but this one felt more comfortable with the traditional roles. And if he wants to call me Oh Great One, who am I to refuse? Sweet kid, though. Very eager to please.” Lorne sat down at Wesley’s left. “Except for that pesky rat-eating habit. But we’re working on that. I mean, who here’s never eaten a rat, am I right?”

Gunn grimaced.

“There’s a book in my department,” Wesley said. “A Dummy’s Guide to Minion Training. I can get it for you, if you like.”

“Oh, would you? You’re a peach, Wes.” Lorne hesitated, looking him over. “A very... tired and depressed peach. Why is Wesley such a sad peach?” He directed this question toward Angel.

“PBS canceled Antiques Roadshow,” said Spike.

“He’s fine,” said Angel at the same time that Wesley said, “I’m fine.”

“That show was wack,” said Gunn. “I once saw an old lady get an Elvis PEZ dispenser appraised for $3,000.” Off Spike’s strange look, he added, “What?”

“Looks like our little pow-wow is missing some crucial feminine energy,” Lorne said. “I can’t help noticing the empty chair. Is Fred coming?”

“I had hoped so,” said Wesley. “I left her a voicemail this morning, but she may not have listened to it yet.”

“I tried calling her last night,” Angel said. “Didn’t get an answer.”

“Really?” Gunn looked surprised. “She had me on the phone yesterday for about an hour just to yell about the service at Pancake King. She sounded really mad. I figure it’s gotta be that time of the month.”

“No, that was—” Angel stopped at all the disturbed looks. “—not something that I notice. Ever.”

Spike snorted.

“Yes, well, perhaps we should just start,” suggested Wesley. “Angel, since you called this meeting, maybe you can begin by telling us—”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Fred, rushing in. She hurried to the last empty chair, the one at the foot of the table opposite Angel, and sat down between Gunn and Lorne. “Traffic was stupid. I hate cars. And, you know. Drivers.” She looked around the table. “And why is everyone staring at me?”

“No reason,” said Angel.

“Am I not allowed to be late sometimes? I’m a busy person and I do important things and it’s Saturday. I don’t stare at y’all when y’all are late to unscheduled emergency meetings on our day off.” She glared at them all.

“It’s okay, Fred,” said Gunn.

“I know it’s okay, Charles. That’s what I just said.” She crossed her thin arms over her chest and slumped back into the chair. “Now. What are we doing here?” Fred smelled slightly astringent, the way people always do when they’re angry. Angel looked away from her so that she wouldn’t notice his surprise at her attitude, but Spike continued to stare at her, concerned.

“You alright, pet?” he asked her.

“I’m fine, Spike. God, I wish people would stop asking me what’s wrong today. Nothing is wrong! Except I’m at work on the weekend and no one has told me why yet. And I’m not your pet.”

Wesley cleared his throat. “Well, we were just about to—”

“Stop looking at me! God!”

Spike turned his bewildered look toward Angel, who was very carefully not looking directly at anyone. Wesley caught Gunn’s eye uncertainly, and Gunn gave a helpless shrug. Lorne said, “Look, kitten, if there’s something bothering you...”

“Oh my God,” said Fred, throwing her hands up. “Didn’t I just say I’m fine? Leave me alone! Actually, you know what?” She stood up quickly, sending her chair rolling back a couple of feet. “I’ll leave. I don’t have to deal with vampires and freaking magic and demons on my day off. I didn’t sign up for this.”

Wesley said gently, “Fred, we may need your help to—”

“Is the world ending?”

“Well, no, not as such, but—”

“Then figure it out on your own.” She was already walking out. At the doorway, she shoved past the food delivery person, who had his hands full with three bags of Chinese food.

“Okaaay,” said Gunn as they all stared after her. “What was that about?” The delivery guy, looking slightly miffed, put the food on the table and exited quietly.

“Never seen her that cross before,” said Spike. He pulled one of the paper food bags toward him and rummaged through it. He took out the dumplings.

“It’s okay,” said Angel. “We might not need her for this one anyway. I don’t think there’s anything... sciency... going on.”

“So what is our current crisis, corn muffin?” asked Lorne. “I know trouble’s coming when I see both of the dark avengers and the brains of our operation all wearing their broody-pants.” He indicated Angel, Spike, and Wesley.

“My pants are not broody, I assure you,” said Wesley at the same time that Angel said, “I thought I was the brains of the operation.” They looked at each other.

Spike was munching. Around a mouthful of food, he said, “Horny, not broody.” He pointed at Angel with his chopsticks. “His pants, anyway.”

“Angel’s pants are what, now?” said Gunn, hesitating over the beef and broccoli he’d just pulled from a bag.

“I’m not—” started Angel, but deciding the information might in fact be important to the case, he stopped. “I’m just... there’s a spell. I think.” He could still smell Spike, of course, which was not helping. “It’s making me...”

“Horny,” said Spike again.

“...act on impulses that I normally wouldn’t.”

“Like biting someone,” said Wesley.

Spike added, “And like—”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” cut in Angel.

“You started it, mate.”

“What? No I didn’t. You were in my room.”

“I’m remembering a certain alley...”

“Can you tell us if it’s a spell?” Wesley asked Lorne.

“Worth a try,” Lorne replied. “Hey, Angelfood, why not give us a few bars of the latest song in your soul?”

Angel grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yeah, does he have to?” asked Gunn.

“Perhaps something short,” suggested Wesley.

Lorne settled back in his chair. “I’m all ears, mon capitan.”

Angel thought for a moment. Feeling extremely uncomfortable and self-conscious, he eventually sang in a soft voice, “Clock strikes upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade. Still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away. I’ve done alright up ‘til now – it’s the light of day that shows me how – but when the night falls... my loneliness calls.” He stopped and looked at Lorne.

“Well, go on, you big lug,” said Lorne. “The chorus is the best part.”

Angel sighed. “Ohhhh,” he sang reluctantly, “I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeeeeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who... please God, tell me you’ve got enough.”

“You were a hair sharp on the ‘oh,’ sweetie. You know, one or two lessons and we could have you doing weddings.”

Gunn stared down at his food dejectedly. He said, “I can’t believe I just let an old white man ruin Whitney for me.”

“Suck it up, Charlie,” said Spike. “It’s for the good of the world.”

“Your sacrifice has been noted,” Wesley added. He looked at Lorne. “Were you able to divine anything about Angel’s situation?”

“Only that last night was one hell of a good time. Why don’t my Fridays end that way? I’m always either alone or holding back Zora the squidbird’s tentacles while she pukes up $80 worth of tequila in my kitchen sink.”

Gunn turned to Spike. “What happened last night?”

“Tentacles,” said Lorne. “Tequila.”

“I meant to Angel.”

“I know what you meant, my naive young friend, but I advise no more questions unless you want your worldview forever changed.”

“No questions,” Gunn quickly said. “Gotcha.”

“You couldn’t tell if there are any mystical influences at work?” asked Wesley.

“Actually, I could tell that there aren’t. The only things currently influencing our fearless leader are one hundred percent organic.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Angel pressed.

Lorne was digging his moo shu chicken out of one of the delivery bags. “Meaning hormones, cupcake. All-natural vampire go-juice. The stuff your kind produces normally every day, although I gotta say, you’re far exceeding the maximum recommended dosage.”

“Hormones,” repeated Angel. It was what he’d originally suspected, but now that he’d bitten someone and slept with Spike, he couldn’t really believe that was the extent of it.

“Is that what’s making him stink up the place?” Spike sounded genuinely curious.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Angel. He noticed Wesley leaning a little toward him with an interested expression. “I don’t stink!” he insisted.

Gunn sniffed. “I don’t smell you,” he said. “Unless that’s you wearing the Aqua Velva.”

It was at this moment that one of the Wolfram and Hart cafeteria staff entered the conference room. He was carrying a steaming pitcher of blood on a tray with two glasses.

“Oi, over here,” said Spike, indicating the tabletop between himself and Angel. The delivery man moved between them to set the blood on the table. “You two better get your noses checked,” Spike continued. “Even a human could detect that scent. Miles away, probably.” He looked at Lorne. “Tell ‘em.”

Lorne was watching the delivery guy. “That’s not exactly how it works, sugar,” he said. “Undead pheromones only work on the undead.”

“Come on, I can’t be the only one who smells the poof. He reeks!” Spike turned to glare at Angel, but the delivery guy was still standing there between them. Not doing anything, just standing there, looking at Angel. His mouth was open just a little bit.

Angel shifted uncomfortably. This guy actually smelled kind of... nice. He looked at the man’s face and then away. Then he looked at the man again. Okay, he was attractive, too. In a kind of nerdy way. But so was everyone lately.

Spike frowned. “Excuse us, we’re sort of busy here,” he announced. “Feel free to crash someone else’s emergency meeting.”

“Looks like you’re right,” Wesley said to Spike. “You’re not the only one who can smell him.”

“Hi,” the guy said softly.

“Hi,” said Angel. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. The man – well, the vampire – was leaning toward him slightly, smiling. He smelled young, maybe two or three years old. The scent of his sire, a female, was all over him. If Angel licked him, he’d probably taste her. He swallowed. “What’s your name?” Angel asked.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” said Spike.

“Mitch,” the vampire said. He maintained eye contact with Angel, his pupils wider than they should be. “I can’t believe we’ve never officially met before.”

“I think I missed something,” said Gunn.

“Thank you, Mitch,” Wesley said. “That will be all.”

But the vampire didn’t leave. He inhaled slowly. “You remind me of something,” he said, staring into Angel’s eyes. It was like no one else in the room existed. “From when I was alive.”

“Yeah?” said Angel, subtly turning his chair toward the man. His thighs fell open wide. He could smell Mitch very strongly, but he could also smell Spike.

“My family used to go camping every year up in the Rockies,” said Mitch, almost as though he were hypnotized. “There was a hiking trail that led to the clearest, most beautiful waterfall you’ve ever seen in your life. The water was so...” He leaned closer to Angel, breathing. “...pure. That’s what you smell like.”

“That’s enough!” Spike stood up quickly. “Listen, mate, you’ve got about three seconds before I—”

“Thanks,” Angel said to Mitch quietly, like Spike hadn’t spoken or moved. “You know, I think our meeting’s over now if you want to—”

Before Angel could finish this thought, Spike grabbed the other man and slammed him down on his back over the conference table. In an instant, he was leaning over him, holding him by the throat and growling into his face. They were both showing their demons, but the fledge was no match for Spike’s strength.

“Holy—” Gunn yelped, grabbing his food and jumping back as the pitcher of blood sloshed across his side of the table.

Angel watched, aroused, as Spike stared down into Mitch’s golden eyes and growled very distinctly around his fangs, “He’s. Mine.”

No one said anything for a long, tense moment while Mitch struggled against Spike’s grip, but eventually he stopped. His whole body went limp, and he turned his face to the side, pulling his fangs back in. Blood was dripping off the table onto the gray carpet.

Once Mitch had submitted, Angel said, “Spike.” It took effort not to push out his fangs as well. “Let him go.”

Spike looked up, still demon-faced, at the appalled expressions of Gunn, Lorne, and Wesley. “Oh,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He shook his head back into human guise and peeled his hand off of Mitch’s neck. “You can go, then,” he said to the cowed fledge.

Mitch stood up, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and hurried over to the door. There he paused, casting a longing look back at Angel. Spike narrowed his eyes. The younger vampire walked away.

Angel and Spike looked toward one another, inhaling and exhaling slowly, not exactly breathing but taking in the scent of each other, the excitement, the adrenaline. Angel felt a little lightheaded, and he could smell that Spike was as aroused as he was, although embarrassed of his outburst. The blond seemed to realize suddenly that he was still standing up, so he sat down in his chair and rolled it close to the table, avoiding the spilled blood. He looked at Wesley. “What?” he barked. He looked at Gunn and Lorne. “What?”

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you two?” asked Lorne.

“Worldview,” said Gunn, staring at Spike. “Forever changed.”

“I didn’t— He was—” Spike started. “Christ, I need a smoke.” He dug his cigarettes out of his duster pocket.

“Not in here,” Angel said faintly. Off Spike’s tragic expression, he said, “Okay, fine. Give me one, too.”

Their meeting lasted another twenty minutes or so, during which time Gunn called for a cleanup crew (being careful to specify no vampires) and Wesley made a note to send someone to inquire after Lana’s health, but no one had any good ideas about what was causing the imbalance in Angel’s body chemistry. They finally decided to research independently and meet again on Monday morning to discuss possibilities. “And in the meantime,” said Wesley, “I suggest we keep Angel separated from both humans and vampires to avoid further unfortunate incidents.”

“Too right,” Spike agreed. “I’ll make sure no other vampires get near him.”

“Er... you?” asked Wesley.

“Well, yeah. Said I’d watch him for you, didn’t I?”

“No, you, pumpkin,” said Lorne. “You’re a vampire. Angel’s vibing at you like crazy, and forgive me for saying so, but you’re not exactly mounting a strong defense.” He turned to Gunn. “I probably shouldn’t have said mounting there, huh?”

“Nothing you can say is worse than what I’ve already pictured,” said Gunn.

“It’s okay,” Angel said. He cleared his throat. “I mean. Should be fine. We’re... Spike and I can... resist.”

“Course we can,” said Spike. He gestured between himself and Angel. “There’s nothing here even remotely enticing, believe me.”

“Which doesn’t explain last night,” said Lorne. “I read the whole thing in Angel’s heartbreaking solo, sweetcheeks. No point denying it.”

“That was different,” said Angel. “We didn’t know what was happening.”

“Now we know,” added Spike. “So it won’t happen again.”

“And your little display with Mitch?” asked Wesley. “Angel is... yours?”

Spike was a deer caught in headlights for a moment. He finally settled on, “Well I had to say something, didn’t I?”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to lock Angel back in the penthouse again?” suggested Gunn.

Spike said, “And if something happens to him? Not that I care, but say he passes out or explodes or whatnot and no one’s there to see it? This may well get worse before it gets better, so someone needs to keep an eye on him, yeah? One of you lot gonna volunteer for that? Keeping in mind he will probably eat you.”

“I don’t know about probably...” said Angel.

Gunn tilted his head. “The man makes a point.”

“I could eat you,” Angel told Spike evenly.

Spike gave him a grim smile. “Please try.”

“I suppose Spike’s right,” Wesley said. “Perhaps it would be for the best to continue to supervise Angel rather than simply locking him away. Are we all agreed?” No one said anything. “Well, if no one objects, then I’m releasing Angel into your custody, Spike.” Wesley held up the key to Angel’s manacle and then placed it on the table in front of the blond.

Spike picked up the key. Angel could smell his arousal like it was a solid thing.

“Do be careful with him,” said Wesley wryly.

*

Chapter Text

*

“So. You still saying no?”

Spike's voice was soft but intense, in the same way that brushing one fingertip gently across a bruise can make it ache. He was turning the manacle key over and over absentmindedly on the table, the scrape, scrape, scrape of it against the surface the only sound in the conference room. They were alone now, still sitting in their chairs, but the door stood open. Angel couldn't help looking at the doorway as though his friends might come back at any moment, seconds after they left, and announce an easy end to this struggle.

“Yes,” he answered just as quietly.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I'm saying no.”

Spike rolled his eyes and reached into his duster pocket for his squashed pack of cigarettes, leaving the key on the table. Angel watched his fingers as he pulled one from the pack and reached into his pocket again for the lighter. The butts of the cigarettes they'd already smoked lay abandoned in a puddle of ponzu sauce on Spike's dumpling take-out tray. When this new cigarette made its way up to Spike's lips, Angel considered having another as well.

Spike lit it, took a long drag, and then blew out a cloud of smoke before saying, “And you plan to keep saying no until Monday morning.” He wasn't looking at Angel.

“You told Wesley yourself. Nothing remotely enticing between us.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I can't smell what you want.”

“You think I can't resist you for—” Angel looked at his watch “–forty hours?”

Spike's eyes cut toward him and quickly away again. He seemed mildly amused. “You think you can?”

Angel may not have been able to smell himself, the potent vampire pheromones he was apparently blasting in all directions, but he could smell the way Spike's body was responding to him, to his proximity, even though they were just sitting calmly and not touching. He could also still smell the adrenaline from Spike's confrontation with that young vampire earlier. Spike's arousal was pulsing out from him like the constant thump of the bass in La-la Land. Angel could imagine dancing to it. God, he needed... something. He reached over and plucked Spike's cigarette from those pink lips and put it to his own, sucking the hot smoke deeply. He watched Spike give in and watch his mouth.

“I think,” Angel said seriously, really trying to think, “I can control myself, at least until we figure out why this is happening. As long as I have a regular release.”

“A regular release,” Spike repeated.

“Yeah. You know.” Angel looked away and gestured vaguely with the cigarette. “If I... I mean, it's not a big deal. It's only when I haven't for a while that I get...” Twitchy. Horny. Hungry. None of those words seemed right. He gestured again and then took another drag from the cigarette. “Once every four or five hours, maybe.”

“So for the next forty hours, I'm s'posed to... what, watch you wank eight to ten times?”

“You've had worse weekends.”

Spike huffed a laugh, but then stopped as if he'd just remembered he didn't actually enjoy Angel's company. He reached out and took his cigarette back. Angel watched him place it between his lips. When did Spike's lips get so perfect, anyway? Could it have been last night? Last night, when they were wrapped so soft and wet around his cock... Angel's left hand under the table tried to move discreetly against his crotch, but the manacle stopped his movement short.

“Anyway, you don't have to,” he added. “Watch me, I mean. While I'm...” The thought of being watched, though, of Spike watching him touch himself, Spike with the expression he'd had in the club while Angel and Lana danced and gyrated against each other in that sea of sweaty bodies... “You don't even have to be in the same room. In fact, you probably shouldn't be.”

Spike tapped his ash onto the dumpling tray. “Said I'd keep an eye on you,” he pointed out, as though watching Angel jerk off several times were a perfectly normal extension of that responsibility. He slid his free hand over his own crotch, those same jeans he was wearing in the alley when Angel came in his pants rubbing against him. “But there's no reason to rule out... alternative options.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “You think we should fuck until Monday.” He'd already known it's what Spike wanted, but actually saying it out loud made his belly clench in a surprisingly agreeable way. He felt his legs fall open slightly, his chair swiveling – on its own, it seemed – another inch or so in Spike’s direction. Why did he have to smell so good? “Your plan is just, the two of us fucking. Over and over. Every three hours until Monday morning.” He tried to use a tone that would make this sound like a stupid idea but wasn't sure if it came across that way.

“Every three hours now, is it?”

“Spike, we can’t just—” he shook his head. The fog had been slowly building up again in his mind, making it difficult to concentrate. He knew somewhere inside – he was positive he knew – that this was a bad idea, that Spike didn't even like him, that once this was over they'd regret letting anything happen between them. Anything more, anyway. But remembering exactly why they'd regret it later if they both wanted it right now was hard.

Really, really hard.

It was really, very… very hard...

His skin was starting to feel too tight, the smell of Spike’s interest in him seeping throughout his whole brain like smoke as he imagined spending the rest of the day and night, and then the next day and night, naked with that lean body in his bed, firm and soft in all the right places, grinding against each other, coming together, over and over and over again. “We can’t just do the easy thing because it’s the easy thing to do,” he heard himself saying.

Spike tilted his head. “You've had worse weekends.”

Angel huffed softly and reached up to rub over his face.

“Anyway, bit rich saying I'm easy,” Spike went on. “You nearly shagged some rando over this very table just for calling you a bloody waterfall. You know, a lesser man would be offended.” His hand was still in his lap, fingers curved over the defined bulge in his jeans while he smoked.

Angel found it difficult to look away from those fingers. “I'm the one this is happening to, Spike, not you. You can’t count on me to be the one who resists temptation. That’s not…” He watched Spike’s chest expand as he took another pull from the cigarette, held it a moment, and then exhaled the smoke slowly in Angel’s direction, head still tilted. “That’s not fair,” Angel finished quietly.

“Was just offering to help you, is all. Again. Still in my half of the city.” Spike stubbed out the cigarette on a dumpling crumb. Then he picked up Angel’s manacle key and stood, the chair rolling back a few inches.

“Wait, your half can't also include Wolfram and—”

Angel shut up as Spike leaned over him to reach for the cuff. This put his neck abruptly quite close to Angel’s face. His neck, which Angel’d had his cheek pressed to for most of the night and still smelled of him, and smelled of the lust in Spike’s blood. Spike’s hand caught his left wrist to undo the manacle, and without thinking or even being aware of it, Angel found his right hand on Spike’s shoulder, on the soft leather of his duster, and felt himself inhaling deeply near Spike’s neck, eyes falling closed.

When the cuff released, Spike didn’t drop his wrist or move away, and when Angel opened his eyes again, Spike’s face was turned toward him, so very close, his pupils dilated. This close, the smell of both vampires was thick, practically a solid thing forming between them.

Angel swallowed. “Spike, I think I...” he whispered, suddenly too desperate to be embarrassed, but not sure what to say. His fingers flexed against Spike's shoulder. His whole body felt hollow and sensitive, like a lit Molotov cocktail, ready to burst. “I think I need to... now.”

Spike straightened up, pulling away from Angel, and nodded. But after he dropped the key back onto the table, he hesitated and reached over to put his hand unexpectedly to Angel's cheek, fingers cool on his skin. Angel leaned automatically into the touch, as if his head might roll right off if Spike's hand hadn't been there to catch it. “What do you want me to do?” Spike asked him, his voice low, serious. “Shall I leave you alone, or... Angel?” His other hand settled on Angel's other cheek. “Angel, look at me.”

“Why did you have to touch me?” Angel muttered, eyes closed tight again. “I was doing okay until...”

“Yeah, serve you right if I left you chained here all day. Was just gonna take you back up to the... uh...”

Angel could feel Spike looking down, watching his hands in his own lap, squeezing his erection through his black pants. He couldn't stop himself. Just squeezing, not rubbing, didn't want to come fully clothed again, not here at the office for God's sake, no matter that it wasn't a busy day, but the door was still open and literally anyone could just walk in and see him like this, and Spike was... Spike was standing there watching him, so close, touching him, holding his face while he... and his rings were cold on Angel's skin...

“Angel. Can you make it to the lift? Christ, you smell so... Angel?” Spike removed one of his hands from Angel's face and smacked his cheek lightly a couple of times, just to get his attention. “Hey?”

The contact sent a tiny shudder through Angel's body. This was how he felt in the alley behind La-la Land. Like he wasn't fully in control anymore. Only this time, it hadn't taken nearly as long to build up, and he'd barely even been touched by anyone. Just Spike. He breathed in a slow, calming breath, but the air was full of Spike's scent, and it made him lightheaded. “Yeah,” he managed. “I just... need a second...”

“Here, come on.” Spike began to pull Angel up from the chair, and he went willingly, not knowing what else to do. “Let's get you back to—”

But as soon as Angel was on his feet, his mouth met Spike's mouth.

He didn't mean to kiss him. He didn't remember making the decision to do it, or leaning in, or sliding his hands around Spike's body under his leather jacket and pulling him close. All he knew was that the smell of Spike wearing his t-shirt made his cock even harder than before, and Spike's mouth tasted like cigarettes, ponzu sauce, and something dark and heavy, and Angel wanted so very badly to be inside him, or at least feel their naked skin pressed together the way it had been that morning, when they'd known even less about what was happening.

The kiss didn't even seem to surprise Spike at all, as if it were simply the next word of the sentence he'd been saying. His hands ran firmly along Angel's sides, then slid down further to pull Angel's hips forward hard as he sucked Angel's bottom lip into his wet mouth. Their bodies pushed together, and this, yeah, this was what Angel needed. He reached up with one hand to grab the back of Spike's neck and hold his head still for the force of their kiss, fingertips pushing up through Spike's hair, and his other hand landed on Spike's jean-covered ass to pull him forward even harder, finding a good position to grind their erections together.

Spike would have lost his balance if the table hadn't been right there beside them. Angel pushed him against it, the hard edge hitting Spike's hip at an angle. They managed to turn without their mouths separating, still sucking at each other's lips as Angel shoved Spike's ass up onto the table. Spike's knees parted naturally for him to fit between, but Angel grabbed his thigh anyway and hitched it up beside his hip, unwilling to let the blond slide back too far and take away the perfect friction he was getting against his cock.

Spike worked one hand down between them so that he could rub Angel's erection through his pants. “So how do you,” he breathed between urgent sucking kisses, “wanna do this, then?”

Angel gasped against Spike's lips when he felt the strong hand grasping his stiff penis through the material. “I don't care,” he said. “Anything, anything, just – uhn... don't stop...” A wisp of a thought darted out of the fog that was Angel's brain, something along the lines of, I want his mouth again, followed closely by Did someone just come in? but the latter thought fizzled out to the feel of that firm grip rubbing continuously and the cloth pulling back and forth across the sensitive head of his erection. He dove back into Spike's mouth, kissing him passionately, almost hard enough to bruise. Closer, he needed to get closer.

The hand that wasn't working Angel's cock grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. An electric tingle buzzed its way down Angel's spine. “Let me fuck you,” Spike managed between kisses. He raked his teeth across Angel's bottom lip. Angel shivered, either from the suggestion or the sensation, and Spike moved to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, and then sucked a searing kiss against that smooth bit of skin on Angel's neck, just under his ear. Angel sighed heavily, tilting his head to give Spike room to scrape him with his blunt teeth again. “S'what you need,” Spike breathed into his neck, nipping at him and kissing away the sting. “Yeah, a good hard fucking. Sort you right out.”

Angel could imagine himself melting entirely into the smell of Spike's skin, the mouth at his neck, those hands gripping him, working him into a delirious state. But why could he smell food suddenly? And something chemical. And lemons? “You think that's what I need?” Angel asked, his voice scarcely there at all, breathing ragged. God, those hands.

“So bad,” whispered Spike, “you need it so b—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Angel?” A friendly male voice.

Angel could feel Spike go still under his hands. “We're busy,” Spike grunted without taking his mouth from Angel's neck. Angel opened his eyes. He didn't see anyone.

“Sir, if I could just get you to move your foot for one second,” the voice went on. Who the hell? Also, where the– Something tapped Angel's right foot. He automatically picked his foot up off the carpet but didn't know where to set it down again.

Spike lifted his face from Angel. “Go away,” he demanded irritably, frowning when he also didn't see anyone there.

“Sorry, I'll be out of your hair in just a moment,” the voice said cheerfully. The words were accompanied by more of that lemon chemical smell. It sort of stung Angel's eyes and he blinked a few times. The sharp scent made the fog in his head recede a little – but only a little. Enough for him to let go of Spike's thigh and look down. There was a man on his hands and knees under the table, spreading some kind of cleaning powder on the giant dark spot where Spike had knocked over the pitcher of blood. The rest of the spill had already been cleaned, but he was treating the stain on the carpet. Angel's foot hovered just over the edge of the spot.

“These blood stains are a real stinker to get out,” the man said pleasantly as he worked. “There we go, gotta let that sit for a while. Sorry sir, you can put your foot down now.” He crawled backwards away from the table and stood up beside Angel, dusting off his hands. “This one should clean up fine,” he said, smiling at them. “As long as it doesn't come back. The ones in the basement keep coming back.”

Angel stared at the man. He was shortish, plumpish, maybe fiftyish years old. Human. He wore the uniform of the Wolfram and Hart janitorial staff, and his neck was slightly damp with sweat from working. Aside from the scent of a few different industrial cleaning products, Angel could smell that the man was in reasonably good health and had a cat at home. His skin would be salty, his blood a little bit sweet. Warm.

Like the previous night, Angel heard the crunch of his features changing before he felt the change itself. As though it were happening far away, to some other vampire, one he barely knew. But then somehow the man's sweaty neck was in his hand. The man was choking, struggling to breathe. Huh. That didn't sound good. Well, if he were going to die anyway, no use not having a taste...

“Bloody h– Angel, stop!” Spike's voice, yelling at him. Why? He sounded worried. “Angel, drop him! Now!”

“Don't worry,” Angel heard himself saying. “It's okay.” Spike was shaking him by the shoulders. The man's face was starting to turn purple.

And then Spike's fist smashed squarely into the center of Angel's bumpy forehead, hard, and Angel's head snapped back, and he was stumbling backward. A weight fell from his hand to hit the floor with a thud. Someone gasping for air. Angel put a hand up to his forehead. It throbbed.

Spike slid off the table onto his feet. “Angel, what the fuck?” he demanded. He punched him in the face again, this time near his mouth, and one of Angel's fangs went through his bottom lip. He could taste blood.

“I wasn't,” Angel said, stumbling back again, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, “I wasn't gonna eat him...” He looked at his hand. A smear of red. This was like last night, too. His hurt lip also throbbed, but it actually wasn't that bad. Gave him something to focus on.

“You were absolutely gonna eat him! You think I don't know that look? Fucking rein it in!” Spike swung at him again, but Angel caught his fist and punched Spike in the nose instead, making him stagger back.

“Stop hitting me! I wouldn't have... I mean, I don't think I...” Angel shook his head and blinked a few times, trying to think. Had he been about to eat the janitor? He looked over at the man on the floor, who was still panting, struggling to get to his feet. Well... maybe? But strictly by accident! Anyway, even Spike could admit the man would have made a decent—

Spike kicked Angel in the chest, which slammed him backward into the wall of the conference room. To the human, he said, “And why are you still here? Can't you see I'm saving your bloody life? That's your cue to run. Idiot.”

Angel picked himself up off the floor, the back of his head now also smarting from hitting the wall. He saw the man stumbling out and Spike coming toward him again. He put up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “I'm fine. I can see how that would be... but he's gone now. I didn't even—”

Spike grabbed Angel's wrists and shoved him against the wall, pinning his hands there on either side of his head. Angel didn't fight back. His mind was still racing. Spike was glaring at him, but his eyes looked more intense than his normal glare, and it took a moment for Angel to register through his confused brain that it was because there was less blue than usual. Spike's pupils were big and round and black, and even with Angel pinned to the wall, Spike still somehow came toward him, until they were pressed together from the chest down and Spike's nose was buried in Angel's neck. He inhaled deeply.

Angel closed his eyes and tilted his head down to breathe in near Spike's neck as well. He felt so... It was weird, like there was something inside him that needed to come out, that his skin could just barely contain. His whole body felt heavy and light at the same time, tense and sensitive. His demon was still out, sharp teeth close to Spike's smooth white neck. He could feel his mouth come open, ever so slowly, as if someone else were controlling it. If he just... moved... a little closer...

Then Spike was kissing his neck again, like he'd never not been kissing him, and a quiet, desperate sound fell from Angel’s lips. Spike kissed over to his mouth and took those lips fiercely, sucking the split one and worrying his teeth across it, seeking the faint aftertaste of that drop of blood. The fangs didn't bother him. Angel felt his rigid erection pulse as he and Spike ravaged each other’s lips, hard teeth raking against soft wet flesh. It was a painful kiss, but right now his mind was translating pain as a different sensation, and every sensation was overwhelming. He needed... he needed...

Suddenly Spike mumbled into their kiss, “I'm doin' this... for your own good, Angel,” and released Angel’s wrists, dropping swiftly to his knees on the floor. He made a grab for the front of Angel's pants and had them open before Angel's fogged over brain could fully register what was happening.

Then the head of his swollen cock was inside Spike's cool mouth, and Spike was sucking on it, hard.

Angel nearly collapsed with the sudden intense pleasure of it. His hands came down to land on either side of Spike's head and hold him there, fingers pushing into the soft platinum hair. “Ahh!” he gasped, and knocked his head back against the wall again. “Oh, shit…”

“Mmph,” Spike agreed. One hand grasped Angel’s body, fingertips digging into his thigh, firm under the open black trousers which were now barely hanging onto his hips. His other hand was fisted around Angel’s stiff dick, holding it tight, as though it might try to get away. His thumb rubbed up and down the shaft as he began to lap at the wet tip, smearing a slippery path of saliva across taut skin. Every time his tongue swiped under the plump head, Angel’s leg muscles trembled. Then Spike closed his lips around it and sucked again.

Head and shoulders to the wall, practically vibrating with the intensity of this spontaneous suckjob, Angel could feel himself breathing - fast, deep gulps of air he didn't need but couldn't get enough of. He didn't remember shutting his eyes, but when he opened them, the harsh fluorescent lights of the conference room seemed surreal. You didn't just get your dick sucked in such a bright room, standing next to ergonomically shaped office chairs, the astringent scent of lemon stain cleaner pricking at your nostrils.

And the door wide open.

It was a heady rush, suddenly shedding the proprieties of the office. It felt reckless and freeing to bring the things he'd normally do in the dark out here into the bright light of midday for anyone to see.

In the lobby, two figures started drifting slowly toward the doorway. A man and a woman. Angel watched them coming closer, their looks of interest as they took in what was happening: the CEO with his fangs out getting head from an employee, zero regard for privacy. One of the figures was the young vampire from earlier. What was his name? Something with an M?

Spike's hair in Angel's hands was soft and thick. He carded his fingers through it over and over, stroking and petting the blond locks as Spike's wet mouth bobbed on his cock. Angel couldn't stop breathing, lips parted, teeth bared as his chest rose and fell. The young vampire – Mitch, was it? – stared hungrily at him, and Angel leaned his head against the wall and stared straight back at him through the doorway with golden eyes, no attempt to pull away or hide what was happening. His hips moved back and then forward again toward Spike’s mouth. His skin felt like it was singing. His whole body felt warm and alive. He held Spike's head and thrust again.

As he watched, Mitch snarled softly and pushed out his fangs as well, followed closely by the woman doing the same. Angel looked over at her face, at her amber eyes locked on his body. She was breathing too, inhaling his scent even from this far away. She wanted him. He let himself imagine what this was doing to her, that watching him fuck Spike's mouth made her slick for him under that sensible knee-length skirt, that she would let him pull that skirt up and just push his cock right into her, bend her lithe body forward over the conference table and take her roughly from behind, the single manacle swinging back and forth by its chain underneath as he thrust into her, rocking the table.

He groaned quietly as Spike's fist pumped up and down his sensitive flesh, the perfect O of his shiny lips meeting his hand again and again just under the leaking head. The scent of Spike's arousal – not just the lust itself but the actual physical scent of his body responding to Angel, being turned on by him – was beginning to overwhelm Angel's senses, blotting out even the chemical smell of the stain cleaner. In his fantasy, the slick tightness he was fucking over the table wavered and became tighter, the soft thighs more lean and hard. “Spike,” Angel breathed, his fingers curling into the short blond hair. “That's... uhhn...”

The firm strokes of Spike’s hand quickened as his lips backed off Angel's cock, a thin strand of saliva clinging to the tip. “Gonna come for me, Angel?” he asked huskily before sucking the dusky pink knob back into his soft mouth – and it was his voice that did it, really, his voice that triggered something deep in Angel's balls that had been just on the verge of gushing forth.

Angel swore and pulled Spike's head right down, forcing more of his shaft past those perfect lips as he shuddered and began to unload, his entire body trembling with the effort. Spike’s throat convulsed around his spurting cock, and Angel couldn’t tell if the blond was choking or just swallowing, but the feel of being squeezed tightly as he came made him gasp and curse more, dragging himself out and thrusting back in again. His raw cockhead rubbing against the soft wet walls of Spike’s throat prolonged his climax, the tension flooding out of his body and into Spike’s mouth in several long, gooey jets.

It was his most powerful release since this whole thing started.

Then, as usual, the wash of relief immediately following his orgasm began to clear away the thick clouds clogging up his senses. It was like the first breath of clean air after being smothered for hours under everyone else’s laundry. And that pungent lemon cleaner smell seemed to chase away the fog even faster than it had dissipated before.

Angel breathed in raggedly as he let his hands fall away from Spike’s head. He swallowed and, suddenly realizing his other face was still showing, pulled it back inside. His bottom lip throbbed. The two other vampires near the door continued to watch him, their arousal not yet sated, but he looked elsewhere as he breathed, unsure what to say. Was it appropriate to say anything?

Slowly, Spike was pulling himself back from Angel’s spent penis, mouth still closed around him, sucking very lightly until his lips came off the end with a quiet pop, leaving the wet flesh exposed to the office air – still swollen but not anything near as urgently as before. Angel shivered. He could hear Spike swallow once more. Jesus Christ. He’d really just had a blowjob in full view of two employees. From Spike.

“Better?” Spike asked him. His voice was a tad hoarse, but it was actually kind of sexy, the little shit.

“Yeah,” said Angel, looking down. Spike was tucking Angel’s dick back into his pants. This time yesterday, those hands handling him would have been an impossible sight to imagine. “Thanks?”

Spike snorted. “Saving a life by sucking a cock.” He stood up without buttoning or zipping Angel’s pants, so Angel reached down to do it himself while Spike watched. “LA is weird.”

“I wouldn’t really have killed him. I don’t think.”

“This the part where you tell me it's normal to strangle the help?” When Spike looked up at Angel’s face, his pupils were still blown startlingly wide.

Angel hesitated over a sarcastic reply and said instead, “Are you okay?”

Spike’s lips were a darker pink than usual, a little puffy from friction. His tongue darted across them, lingering at the corner for a moment. Then he shrugged and nodded once.

“It um. It wears off for me,” Angel said. “Right after. Like, back to normal. For a while.” He had the impulse to say something else and would have if they'd been alone, somewhere private. But they weren't.

Spike’s brow furrowed. But he said, “Yeah, ‘course. Same. Don't actually want you, you know, just trying to help. It's like I said.” He gestured in Angel’s direction. “Not enticing at all. Off-putting, if we're being perfectly honest. What's the opposite of sexually attractive? Some people might even say repuls—”

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point.”

Spike's head dipped in another little nod. But then he added more quietly, “You still taste like—”

“Are you finished with him?” the female vampire interrupted. Angel looked over toward her in the doorway. Mitch was still standing there too, expression hopeful. They hadn’t quite come inside the room, but they were lurking a lot closer than they’d been before.

Spike turned quickly and seemed to notice for the first time that they had an audience. His mouth opened, but then he shut it and settled on glaring at Mitch.

When he didn’t seem forthcoming with a reply, Angel said, “Yeah, he’s… we’re finished. You can go back to your—”

“’Course I’m finished with him,” Spike said, as though Angel hadn’t spoken. “Nothing to see here. We’re not…” He glanced at Angel, then back at the two vampires in the doorway. “What’s it to you, anyway?” He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

The woman smiled a little, fangs showing. Hers were slightly longer than Angel’s, the points grazing her red bottom lip when her mouth was open. She was looking at him, not at Spike, as she stepped forward in her peach-colored high heeled sandals. Small feet, red painted toenails. Long dark hair. He could tell immediately that she was much older than Mitch, only a couple of decades younger than Spike. Her demon face was pretty, elegant in the same way that Drusilla’s was, but without the crazy in her eyes. He tried to remember if he'd met her before.

She paused inside the conference room but still several feet away, and without taking her eyes off Angel, she said to Spike, “I was hoping you’d share.” Angel could smell how turned on she was, could see the enlarged pupils in her golden eyes.

Strange... even though he didn’t feel on the edge of losing control anymore, Angel didn’t immediately dismiss whatever possibility this vampire was offering. He knew that normally he would have, not just because she was soulless but also because she worked for him and that was inappropriate. The fact that he was interested now when as recently as yesterday he wouldn't have been was both confusing and disturbing. He genuinely couldn’t tell if he felt this way because of what was happening to him or because somehow he’d changed.

But before he could say anything, Spike said, “No.”

Angel spared a brief glance his way, then said quietly, as much for Spike’s benefit as the woman’s, “He doesn’t speak for me.”

Spike gave him an incredulous look. “Yes, he bloody well does!” He stepped in front of Angel, between him and the woman, and turned to glare at her. “No,” he repeated.

“We could take turns,” Mitch suggested from the doorway. He hadn’t come inside.

Spike and the woman frowned at him, but Angel tilted his head thoughtfully. “No,” said Spike again, the emphasis clearly directed toward Angel. Then he pointed at Mitch. “And if you bring that bloody Poundland Buddy Holly impersonation into this room again, you’ll be taking it back out through the sodding window, mate.”

Mitch turned away sullenly, but not before muttering something that had the phrase “discount dye job” in it.

Spike’s jaw tensed, and he looked as if he might march right after the young vampire and throw him through the window anyway (or any suitably painful surface), but Angel put a hand on his shoulder. “Spike,” he said.

“We're going,” Spike replied tersely. He grabbed Angel's wrist and took a step, but was stopped short when Angel didn't move with him. Spike turned his severely agitated glare on Angel and jerked his head toward the door, giving Angel's arm a sharp tug for good measure.

Angel looked over at the woman, fairly confident that his expression gave nothing away. “What's your name?” he asked her.

“Josephine.” The look she was giving him was still intense as she pulled her fangs back in, amber eyes transforming to a glittering green. She was still elegant in her human face. He could easily picture her in the type of hat and gloves popular during her time, carrying a parasol. Something about her seemed so familiar, but he didn't recognize her face.

Through gritted teeth, Spike started, “Angel, if you think I won't drag you upstairs by the gel in your fucking hairdo—”

“...of Aurelius,” added Josephine, a seductive smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Spike shut his mouth. He turned slowly to stare at her in the same manner that Angel was staring, not giving away anything by his look.

Family?

There was a long, tense moment between the three of them as they each silently scented the air. It was hard for Angel to get a firm read of anything over the strong smell of arousal from both Spike and Josephine and the background noise of the carpet cleaner on the floor. Likewise, the two of them were probably both struggling to smell anything over him. And she wasn't bleeding at all. The lack of a fresh blood scent made it even more difficult to place her within their family line. But Angel was getting that tiny prickling extra-sense feeling that he always did when his family was nearby; he'd thought it was just because of Spike, but it was stronger now than usual.

Spike was the first one to snap out of it. He tore his eyes from Josephine and said to Angel, “Be that as it bloody may, we still need to go.” His hand was gripping Angel's wrist, hard.

“Spike, I'm fine.” Angel kept looking at Josephine, trying to do the math. Could she be The Master's? Maybe Absalom's?

“Right, you're fine now. After I molested some sanity back into that inflated forehead. But what about an hour from now? What about when you try to bite and screw the next living – or unliving – thing that takes a sniff in your direction?”

Maintaining eye contact with Angel, Josephine replied, “I promise I'll buy him dinner after.” Angel had the brief mental image of sharing a meal with her. A warm neck.

Spike ignored her comment but narrowed his eyes at Angel. In a low voice, he asked grimly, “What if it's a dog?”

Angel finally broke the eye contact so he could scowl in Spike's direction. “I'm not gonna screw a – we don't even have any dogs at the office, Spike. Stop being gross.” Regardless, the idea did at least make him think twice about remaining downstairs. The incident with the janitor could have been a lot worse, and there was no telling when it might happen again. As curious as he was about the sudden appearance of a relative, he figured Spike was probably right. It would be better to wait until this whole weird hormone thing was over before he tackled some new issue. One thing at a time.

To Josephine (Luke's? There's no way she was Darla's... right?) Angel said, “Raincheck on dinner. You caught me at a bad time.” He yanked his arm out of Spike's grip and started walking toward the door. Spike rolled his eyes but followed.

As they passed her, Angel heard the woman murmur, “Looked like a good time to me.”

*

Despite Spike's clear reluctance to go anywhere except directly back up to the penthouse, Angel insisted that they stop by Wesley's department for a book. It was one of the blank ones that made research simpler by functioning as a search engine for the other books in their considerable library. Under normal circumstances, Angel would have been doing as much independent research on the current crisis as his friends did, and he didn't see why that should change just because the current crisis was his own embarrassingly persistent sexual impulses and lack of self control.

Plus he was pretty sure none of them would cross-reference their research with the subject of dogs or other animals, and thanks to Spike's disgusting suggestion, this had become a point of minor (but still legitimate) concern.

Wesley wasn't there, but Angel could smell that he'd walked through earlier. That stale scent of depression threaded itself through the air in wispy ribbons, outlining a path through the department to Wesley's personal office and then back out again. His smell was almost distinct enough to physically see a trail wafting between molecules, like particles of dust suspended in a beam of sunlight.

Angel briefly considered asking Spike what he thought of Wesley's condition, whether it seemed odd or just par for the course considering the unique circumstances of their lives, but when he started to say something as they finally stepped into the elevator, Spike's expression gave him pause. The blond was staring forward – didn't appear to be looking at anything specific, just staring straight ahead of himself with his lips pressed together in a firm line, a tiny wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows. His pupils were still dilated, and he was breathing in and out silently, a little faster than normal. His shoulders were tensed under his duster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looked remarkably irritable, like any stray comment might earn someone a very fast right hook. He stood perfectly still as the elevator doors closed, not looking at Angel. Within seconds, the scent of frustrated arousal had swelled to fill the tiny space all around them both.

Angel was observing him out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.

Since their encounter in bed last night, Angel had jerked off in the shower and received a second blowjob from Spike, but Spike hadn't had another release at all, and he'd been stuck within intoxicating proximity of Angel's accidental pheromones all day. He smelled... well, he smelled a lot more desirable than Angel would have ever given him credit for before this week, and it wasn't just because he was wearing Angel's shirt. The combination of Spike's increased level of arousal around Angel due to his bizarre situation and Angel's increased sensitivity to body smells made the blond's current scent dangerously appealing. But he also radiated a sense of unresolved tension – whatever the vampire equivalent was of blue balls. It probably wasn't good for him to remain on edge like that.

Like it had after the first time Spike sucked him off, it crossed Angel's mind again to offer something in return. Some form of release. After all, Spike had blown him twice by this point and lain still to be dry humped in an alley, and all Angel had done was kiss him and refuse to have sex. Plus force him to save two humans.

It wasn't fair, and he knew it wasn't fair, and the fact that he could easily imagine himself pushing Spike against the elevator wall and shoving a hand down his pants had absolutely noth… absolutely very little to do with how delicious he smelled right now and only meant Angel wanted to do the right thing. As a... as a hero. Besides, if Spike could give out heroic orgasms, he could too, right?

It had been a very long time since he’d used his mouth on another man. For pleasure.

Spike seemed pretty good at it.

Angel’s fingers tightened around the hard spine of the book he was holding. He looked at Spike’s tense shoulders and then away again. God, he smelled good. Why were elevators so small anyway? And exactly how often was Spike heroically giving people blowjobs at work while Angel and the rest of the team were out risking their lives slaying modusbeasts?

“Do you…” Angel started to ask, and Spike turned his face toward him, those eyes dark and restless. Angel cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he said.

Spike faced the elevator doors again. He muttered, “Slowest bloody lift in creation.”

Angel considered. “At least I’m not handcuffed this time.”

“Attempt one more murder and we'll be revisiting that.”

“Maybe just concentrate on not locking us in again.”

“Maybe subscribe to a better cable package and the first time wouldn’t have been so shit.”

“You’re saying you wanted to be there?”

“I’m saying you’re cheap and boring, but take it how you like.”

Angel bit the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he said quietly, “You sure found a way to amuse yourself, though.”

The grim set of Spike’s mouth immediately dropped open in protest. “You – I – you seduced me!”

“In my sleep?” Angel's eyebrow twitched up. Getting a rise out of Spike was too easy.

“You seduced me with your stupid poofy hair and sexy dance, and your big dumb innocent eyes! And your shoulders. Not my fault you had to go and smell like a bloody virgin slayer on top of that. What was I supposed to do, not touch you? And all this after you had your evil way with me outside that club, don’t forget.”

“Spike, I told you. I'm not ev—”

“And now you expect me to smell you all weekend and look at your sodding thoughtful eyebrows and act like I’m not bothered? Well, you can fuck right off a cliff with that moral high ground bollocks!” He stabbed an accusing finger at Angel’s chest. “Make no mistake Angel, I’ll be up here wanking just as much as you.” This last bit was probably meant to come across as some kind of smug victory, but the effect was ruined by Spike’s confused expression as soon as the words left his mouth. Like he wasn’t sure if admitting his plan to masturbate several times in Angel’s apartment meant he’d won the conversation or not.

Angel was looking at Spike’s lips. Quietly, distracted, he asked, “Do you give a lot of blowjobs, Spike?”

A sound of shocked outrage. “Do I – fucking what?!”

The elevator pinged cheerfully and opened into Angel’s penthouse.

“I’m just saying, you didn’t really seem to mind. No hesitation. And it was pretty good, both times, so I’m just wondering how often you actually—”

“Unbelievable!” Spike stomped out of the elevator. Angel followed more slowly, watching Spike march all the way across the room from him before turning back in a swish of black leather. “It’s not bloody rocket science, you know! It’s not a matter of – of practicing. It’s a cock. You just suck it. That’s all!”

He continued out and disappeared into the next room, conversation apparently over. But before Angel moved, Spike stomped back in. “And the reason I didn’t mind is 'cause this sodding spell – or your, whatever the fuck, voodoo hormones – makes you taste disgustingly appetizing right now. There’s no more to it than that!”

He stomped out again, but the footsteps didn’t go very far. Angel could hear that Spike had paused just on the other side of the wall. After a moment, the voice that spoke again from there was slightly less aggressive. “Unless you’re asking ‘cause you want to do some practicing yourself and need a volunteer.” He didn’t come back in, but he didn’t walk away either, just standing there with the wall between them, listening for an answer.

Angel flexed his fingers, squeezing the heavy book with both hands. He wasn't sure he liked being read so well. Carefully, he said, “I’m not… completely… ruling it out.”

A few seconds went by in total silence, both vampires standing perfectly still in separate rooms, the distance and wall between them not actually doing very much to lessen the scents still wafting from their skin. Then Spike appeared in the doorway again very slowly. He hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, tilting his head at Angel. His expression looked much more relaxed than it had before, no longer irritable, and Angel couldn't tell if the relaxed look was an act or if the frustrated look had been, or if Spike's face was simply a genuine reflection of a series of rapidly changing moods. At any rate, the hint of a smirk he wore now would have seemed normal if not for the dilated pupils.

Spike let his gaze travel down Angel's body and then back up to Angel's face, leaving the barest sensation of a trail marked across Angel's skin like the drag of ghostly fingertips. Quietly, he asked, “So what now?”

Angel imagined crossing the room, yanking down Spike's jeans, and swallowing his cock to the root. He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back to Spike. “Research first,” he said. “While I can still think clearly.”

A nod. “And then?”

“And then...” Angel breathed in deeply, let it out slow. Even if he hadn't been able to smell him, it occurred to Angel that he might possibly have been slightly attracted to Spike just now anyway, leaning confidently against the doorway and giving him a suggestive once-over with dark eyes. “And then we'll see,” he said.

*

Chapter Text

*

There wasn’t much information available about vampire hormones. This came as no surprise to Angel.

He did manage to locate a study on vampiric sex drives which had been attempted by a small group from the Watchers Council in the early 1980s, but after outlining exactly what the research would entail and how samples of vampire semen would be extracted for study (manually for the most part, although there was brief mention of constructing a machine for the purpose), the notes ended abruptly. A footnote had been added later. It said the three researchers conducting the study had all been turned by their vampire subject.

Angel rolled his eyes. Kidnap a vampire, chain him to a bed, and take turns jerking him off: another brilliant idea from the council. No wonder the researchers had been sired instead of killed; they’d spent considerable resources just to engage in some foreplay. The vampire had probably made them into his personal sex pets.

Hell, he probably made them build the machine, too.

Reading about the study turned Angel on. Not just picturing what the watchers had done to their vampire captive, but also imagining the moment when the vampire turned the tables and sucked them dry. Did he do them all at once, one big fight, a single naked vampire taking on three humans? Or did he wait, do them secretly one at a time as they each approached him alone, reaching out to touch his body with their hot human hands?

That’s how Angel would have done it. Taken them each privately, not let the others know what he’d done until after. He would have let them touch him first, waited as they squeezed and rubbed his erection until he came, then bit hard into their necks just as the first spasm began, the spurt of hot blood into his mouth mirroring his cool release against their skin. Then he’d have broken the chains, completed the turning, and pretended to be bound again when the next human arrived to give him pleasure.

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his face. It was already hard to concentrate on research when the research turned him on, but what made it even more difficult was Spike, just the fact of him existing inside the same apartment, even in another room. Over the sounds of some generic action movie (lots of gunfire and explosions), Angel could hear the blond sprawled on the couch tossing something back and forth restlessly from one hand to the other. His lighter, probably. Angel could hear the quiet tink each time the metal struck one of Spike’s silver rings. He felt the strong temptation to go in there and snatch the lighter out of the air between Spike’s hands. Without the lighter, maybe those hands would busy themselves playing with something else.

But what Angel truly wanted was to leave the building entirely. Go for a walk, somewhere alone, free of the smells of anyone else’s body. Was there any place in LA where the people weren’t? He couldn’t even find peace in his own apartment with Spike’s skin in there touching his furniture, with that constant, quiet tink… tink… tink. But Spike had also taken an annoyingly strategic position between Angel and the private elevator, and without even trying Angel knew there was no way he would just let him leave. He wondered briefly if his other elevator had been disabled or was being guarded on every floor, but he didn't get up to try it. Spike would absolutely hear the car coming up to the penthouse the moment he pressed the button. And anyway, it was still daylight.

He bent to the research again.

An infamous European vampire in the late 1600s apparently maintained deviant affairs with several caninoid demons of varying species. They were mostly bipedal, but she kept them on leashes and flaunted the overtly sexual nature of the relationships everywhere she went, even public places. Angel suspected this had nothing at all to do with what Spike had dubbed ‘voodoo hormones’ and was simply a way that particular vampire indulged in shocking everyone. After all, if you can appall other demons, you can surely make a name for yourself in the evil underworld. This was the only documented case he could find of a vampire with a sexual proclivity for anything animal-like.

Obviously he knew that finding no evidence of any other vampires fucking dogs wasn’t necessarily proof that none had, but it nevertheless made him feel slightly less concerned that he might accidentally find himself entangled in something embarrassingly bestial in nature before this case was solved.

Werewolves didn’t count, of course, since they looked human. Usually.

It also didn’t count that Angel was turned on by reading about this vampire publicly fucking her overgrown demonic minions. It was the public part that he found so intriguing, not the dog part. And anyway, it was one hundred percent Spike’s fault for forcing him to look this up in the first place.

Flash of an image in his mind: leading Spike through the office on a leash.

Angel closed the book and rubbed his face again. He was tired. Didn’t get much sleep with a clingy vampire snuffling into his neck all night. He debated going for a nap, sleeping the rest of the daylight hours away and then searching for a place to clear his head when night fell, but he hesitated, eyeing the closed book. Then he picked it up, held it close to his lips, and murmured, “Josephine of Aurelius, genealogy, biography, Wolfram and Hart personnel records.” When he opened it again, blank pages began to fill.

*

An hour later, that nap he wanted was still calling to him. Angel stood and stretched, his shoulders feeling tense and too-tight from hunching over the desk in his study. He could already feel that tingle down low in his belly, the familiar start of the twitchiness that would soon be too strong to ignore.

He could go ahead and take care of it. He’d already discussed this necessity with Spike, so it wasn’t like he was expected not to do it; it wasn’t like it would be rude or anything. But it still felt awkward. Spike must have noticed that he'd jerked off in the shower that morning. If he went to take another shower right now, that would be like announcing that he was planning to do it again. Would Spike be sitting on the couch thinking about him touching himself under the warm water? Would it make Spike hard to picture his hands relentlessly stroking his slippery naked cock?

But if he didn’t do it in the shower, if he just did it right here in the study without any kind of announcement, Spike would know anyway. He’d hear him, probably smell what he was doing even down the hall like this. He might drift closer, listening to the sound of flesh rubbing flesh, Angel’s quiet breathing. He might lean in the doorway and watch. He might come inside and drop to his knees at Angel’s feet, offer his mouth again.

He might expect something in return.

That was the thing that made Angel hesitate. He wanted to put his hands on Spike. He even wanted to put his mouth on Spike. He definitely wanted to put his dick in Spike, which was something he was trying not to think about too closely. (And judging from what Spike had whispered to him downstairs, he had similar desires about Angel, which Angel’s thoughts skirted over neatly… then came back to… then skirted away from again.) But he also knew that before yesterday, Spike had been the single most irritating thing in his entire unlife. And he was certain Spike had felt the same way about him.

Does suddenly finding someone really freaking attractive erase all the times they’ve tried to kill you?

What about when it ends? Do you just go back to annoying each other? Do you look at them every day, think I know what it’s like to come down your throat, and then just get on with your work? By this point Angel was resigned to thinking that about Spike – it’s not like he could go back in time and uncome in Spike’s mouth after all, and yeah, he was definitely going to be thinking about it every time he saw that mouth from now on – but he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready for Spike to have those sorts of thoughts about him.

This was already a struggle. There was no reason for them to create a new struggle by complicating the aftermath of the original struggle. When it was over, there should be as little struggling as possible. And that meant no regrets.

He tried to imagine fucking Spike and then going back to how things had been. There was no way! Spike would never be satisfied staying in LA once the hormone stuff wore off if he allowed himself to become that vulnerable to Angel. Despite what Spike had said during their naked conversation that morning, Angel believed there was already a risk Spike would bolt as soon as he remembered how he actually felt about Angel. So taking it any further at this point would be like... like knowingly risking the loss of a hero just to have a few orgasms.

Even if they would be really, really good orgasms.

On the other hand, what if… what if they just did mouth stuff? Maybe when it was all over Spike would be less embarrassed about sucking Angel off if Angel had also sucked him. So, maybe he could still go down on Spike. Going down on Spike was fair. Then they’d be… even?

Angel sighed. Brooding about how much sex to have with Spike: possibly a new low. Brooding with a hard-on… not actually a new thing, but also a low.

The sounds coming from the TV in the other room were less explosive now. Angel breathed deeply and concentrated. He wasn’t able to completely will away his erection, but he at least calmed it to a more reasonably-sized bulge before walking down the hall to the den. Spike was still sprawled on the couch. His duster was flung over a chair, one empty boot on the floor near the coffee table and the other by the TV, where they’d landed after being carelessly tossed aside. Angel approached the side of the couch and stopped. Without turning toward him, Spike said, “Simone should just go full-on lesbo. She’s gotta know Chad will never love her like he loves Whitney.”

Angel tilted his head, regarding the TV. After a moment, he murmured, “I haven’t kept up since Charity called off her wedding with Miguel.”

“They got back together.”

“Oh.”

Spike glanced over at him briefly, then shifted his position a little on the couch. It looked like a natural movement, as if he were just getting more comfortable while he watched the TV, but somehow afterward there was exactly enough space for Angel to sit down beside him. If he wanted.

Angel took a small step forward, then paused. Finally he said, “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”

Without turning again, Spike replied quietly, “Want company?”

Yes. He almost said it. He could see it so vividly in his head: leading Spike to the bedroom, stripping him down while they kissed, pushing him backward over the bed. Spike’s cock, hard and ready for him, weeping from the slit, straining toward him with the foreskin peeling back, just as it had been last night. He remembered the feel of it in his hand, the one stroke he'd given it before Spike had gone down on him. He smelled so good.

“Nah, I’m just going to take a nap,” he said.

Spike did turn to look at him then. “You’re not gonna—?” He made a rude gesture.

“Just a nap, Spike.”

The expression Spike gave him seemed skeptical, but Angel ignored this and walked into his bedroom. He was glad to shed his work clothes and pull on a more comfortable pair of drawstring pajama pants, but slightly dismayed to find that his penis was still chubbed up enough to push out against the soft cotton material. He probably should go ahead and take care of it – if nothing else, it would be easier to fall asleep after – but he couldn't very well say “Just a nap” and then walk into the next room and start vigorously beating off. He climbed into the bed, pulled the sheet up to his waist, and lay there on his back listening to Spike watching Passions. He was playing with his lighter again. Tink... tink.

Angel dragged a pillow over his face and closed his eyes.

*

When he awoke some time later, Spike was standing silently by the bed in his jeans and Angel's t-shirt, arms crossed against his chest. He was turned at a slight angle, facing more toward the window than toward the bed, but he would be able to see Angel out of the corner of his eye if he looked. The sun was still up but not high, maybe an hour until sunset. The pillow had fallen away from Angel's face as he slept, so Angel lay there for a moment and just watched Spike as he looked out the window and chewed on his bottom lip. Eventually, without having given any other indication that he'd woken up, Angel said, “We've got to stop meeting like this.”

Spike didn't react, as though he had known Angel was awake and watching him. Without looking over, he said quietly, “It's hard to stay away. When I can smell you in here.” He huffed. “Like a bloody cold-seeking missile.” Suddenly turning his frustrated expression toward Angel, he said, “Are you even trying to turn it off?”

The question was startling. “Turn it off?”

“Yeah! Stop being so—” Spike gestured at him.

Angel looked at himself, his bare upper body, his legs beneath the sheet. He looked back at Spike, confused. “What?”

“And again with the puppy eyes.”

Still somewhat uncertain, Angel took the sheet in his hands and drew it up a little higher to cover more of his skin. He looked up, wondering if that had helped at all.

“Jesus Christ,” Spike muttered, turning away.

“Look, I'm not – I'm not doing any of this on purpose,” said Angel. “I don't want to hurt anyone. If I could shut it off, I would. You know that, right?”

Spike didn't look at him. “'Cept you've been doing it for nearly a hundred 'n thirty years.”

“What? No I haven't. You said it had only been a few days.”

The blond head tipped back, exasperated. “Whatever.”

The twitchiness, that insatiable tingle, crawled through Angel's skin, more insistent now than it had been before his nap. Angel watched Spike's tense shoulders and resisted the urge to touch himself beneath the sheet. He could sense Spike's arousal, not just the smell of it coming off his skin but the feel of it, the way it electrified the air around him. But he could smell it too, the way you can smell the ocean when you're wading through it up to your chin – the way it's the only thing you can smell. “I'm sorry,” Angel said to the back of Spike's head. “Even though it's not intentional. I know this must be... worse for you. Than it would be for someone else.”

“Why would it be worse for me?”

“Because you hate me.”

The blond turned, his mouth coming open to reply, but Angel didn't want to hear whatever snarky comment he was going to make about their history or his personal list of reasons to hate Angel, so before he could say anything Angel hurriedly added, “I'm glad it's you, though. I mean if anyone had to be stuck with me like this, it's a good thing it was you.”

Spike stared at him, brow furrowing. “And why's that then? You mean because I—?” He glanced down at Angel's crotch, where the sheet was tenting just a little bit more than it should have been.

“No! Jesus, Spike.” Angel sat up and drew his knees up as well, making the distortion less obvious. “Because you saved those people. The girl and the janitor. You're probably the only one who could have stopped me.”

“Oh.” He waved it away like it was no big deal. “Always wanted to punch you in the forehead.”

Angel rolled his eyes but reached up to touch said forehead, wondering if there was a fist-shaped bruise. “Well. It wasn't exactly elegant, but as far as effectiveness...”

“Yeah. My superhero slogan: 'Effective Inelegance.' Should have it printed up on some business cards.” He came forward and sat on the edge of the bed.

In any other circumstances, it would have seemed like a natural move, but the air was so charged with arousal that when Spike came near him, Angel could practically feel sparks where their auras rubbed together. Spike seemed to feel it too. He hesitated a moment, looking at Angel, but then he slid more fully onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard, drawing his knees up with his feet resting flat on the mattress in a mirror of Angel's position, except on top of the sheet instead of under it. The shock of his naked white feet sticking so innocently out of his black jeans made a throb of desire pulse unexpectedly through Angel's body.

Angel swallowed. “I'm still not sure we should—”

“Relax, peaches. Not trying to rip your petticoats.” Spike held up his hands, fingers spread to indicate he held no petticoat-ripping weapons. Then he crossed his arms on top of his knees and sighed. “It's just... better. To be near you. Even without touching.” The words came out haltingly, as if they had to be yanked from his mouth and left a bitter taste behind. “It's better to be... close.” He didn't meet Angel's eyes as he said this.

“Okay,” Angel said softly.

They sat. The clock on the bedroom wall ticked off the seconds.

“Well,” said Spike after a long moment. “This is good and bloody boring, innit?”

“Yeah. What did we used to do during the day?”

“Well back then we had the girls.”

Right. Angel's memory swelled with the recollection of countless days spent in the throes of wild sex with Darla and Drusilla, his queen and his princess – and William nearby, always energetic and naked and laughing and fucking along with them, a young prince, sometimes lying beside Angelus in the same bed as their partners rode them to completion, sometimes fucking Dru on the floor beside the bed where Angelus and Darla fucked, sometimes fucking Dru at the same time that Angelus was fucking her. But never reaching for him, never more touch between them than an impatient or friendly shove to change positions, never hands or eyes straying to each other's hardness when there was always so much softness available. Why didn't they? The girls did.

It had seemed like an innocent question. Angel coughed and pulled his knees up higher under the sheet. Spike cleared his throat and looked away.

Angel said, “I think I might have a deck of cards somewhere.”

“No kittens though. So what's the point really.”

“We could bet our souls.”

Spike huffed.

It struck Angel that he never normally had to entertain anyone but himself. Everything he did in his spare time was a solitary activity. There had been a selection of DVDs in a cabinet in the den when he moved in, but he'd never even looked through them. “We could watch a movie,” he offered. He didn't expect Spike to be interested since he'd already watched so much television that day, but it was at least an option. So Angel was thinking of the discs in the cabinet in the other room when Spike obligingly picked up a small remote from the bedside table and aimed it at the television across from the bed.

Angel had just enough presence of mind to blurt out, “No, wait—!” right as Spike clicked it on.

The large screen immediately filled itself with a naked man in a leather hood, strapped to a St. Andrew's cross with dark pink welts all over his glistening oiled skin, his erect penis being whipped by a small blonde woman with a riding crop.

Spike's eyes widened as Angel froze with embarrassment. Then the younger vampire burst into a loud peal of laughter.

Angel made a quick grab for the remote but Spike thrust it out of his reach and batted his hand away. “Spike!” Angel hissed.

“You fucking pervert!” Spike declared gleefully, holding the remote away as Angel dove for it again. “You sad, porno-watching, masochistic freak!” He could barely get the words out from giggling so hard.

“Give me that!”

“This is what you do in your spare time? Always picture you lying in bed moaning about all the bloody bugs you’ve stepped on; meanwhile here you are watching humans smack each other’s dicks ‘cause you can’t get one to smack yours!”

Angel would have been blushing furiously if he’d had the physical capability to do so. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Spike and waited for a lull in the laughter. Then he said, “You always picture me in bed?”

That made Spike’s wide grin falter, and as he tried to think of a suitable reply, Angel snatched the remote from his hand.

But then he hesitated, not immediately clicking the television off as he’d intended. “They're not human,” he said, as if it were some kind of defense. He grudgingly gestured toward the screen with the remote and added, “That guy’s a vampire.”

“What? No he’s not.” Spike tilted his head skeptically at the screen, suddenly interested. He sat back the way he had been before, arms propped on his knees. “How can you tell?”

“String of garlic hanging behind him. You can see it when he flinches.” They waited for the woman to crack the riding crop against the hooded vampire’s abused flesh again. He jerked back against the wooden X-shaped frame, briefly revealing the garlic braid swaying behind him. His whimper was almost a growl. “That’s probably why he’s got the hood,” said Angel. “So you can’t see his fangs. You can hear him though.”

“But you can’t smell him,” Spike pointed out. “Could just be play-acting. Hood and garlic, a little growling. Not much proof, is it?”

“The welts are healing too fast.”

They continued watching together as another angry red mark erupted onto the vampire’s skin, right across the middle of his hard cock where the woman whipped him. Within seconds, the mark had faded to a dull pink.

Spike’s eyes were glued to the screen. Without looking away, he said, “She’s not hitting him hard enough.” His hands closed into fists and then opened again, flexing against his knees. “Could still be human.”

Angel was also engrossed in the screen. “She cut him earlier. There was blood dripping down his… but she licked it off. And now the cut’s gone.”

“When? I didn’t see any blood.”

“It’s about 36 minutes in,” Angel said without thinking.

Spike slowly turned his head to look at him.

Right. Eyes still on the screen, Angel shrugged one bare shoulder and said, “I’ve seen this one before.” He waited for the bed to stop vibrating with Spike’s renewed burst of laughter and then added, “You know this hormone thing’s been happening for days.”

Spike nodded, barely suppressing a grin. “So, undead skin flicks on demand. Of course. Wish all our apocalypses were as easy as you.”

“My hormones aren’t an apocalypse,” Angel muttered.

“Depends who you ask, mate.”

They both fell silent then, watching the anonymous vampire’s genitals being whipped. Angel still held the remote ready to turn it off, but for some reason he wasn't pushing the button. When he'd seen this before, he'd imagined himself in the man's position, bound, feeling the sharp sting of the lashes against his flesh. He’d thought of Darla and the games they played a hundred years before Spike was even born. But now he was picturing Spike tied there instead and the riding crop in his own hand. Quietly, Angel said, “I can back it up to the part with the blood.”

The blond head inclined slightly. Angel took it as a nod and started to rewind.

The woman must be a vampire too, he decided as they watched the scene. There were no outwardly visible signs, but the delight in her eyes when she broke the man’s skin, the way her nostrils flared delicately at the scent of the blood that beaded up along the fierce cut across the head of his cock, the way her tongue eagerly traced the red trail… he recognized it all. And so did Spike. The younger vampire stared transfixed as she lapped at the small wound and the hooded man cried out in pleasure. She licked him until the cut closed, and then she kissed the spot with red lips. It was only a dark pink mark when she finally pulled away, and a couple of minutes later, even that had nearly faded.

The scent of Spike’s arousal gradually intensified while he watched. Just sitting beside him did things to Angel, even more than watching the vampires on the screen. One of Spike’s elbows still rested on his knee but his other arm had slid down a little, his hand folding itself over the obvious erection stretched along his thigh. His palm pressed against it as the scene played out. Angel’s own erection throbbed under the sheet but he kept his hand off it, grasping the remote tightly instead.

“There are twelve channels of this stuff,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence. “This one’s mostly vampires but the other ones have different things, sometimes with humans. That’s all this TV gets. Well, this and sports.” Eve had once said that the bedroom television was specifically tuned to Angel’s personal tastes. He told himself it was only what the Senior Partners assumed he would like and not actually based on reality, although to be fair he did always find something interesting on.

He also got the Hallmark channel.

Without tearing his gaze from the TV, Spike held out his free hand in front of Angel. “Give it.”

Angel dropped the remote in Spike’s hand and rested his crossed arms on his knees, trying to ignore his erection. The sheet over his legs made a tent on the bed for it to hide under but he still thought it too forward to slip a hand down and touch himself while Spike was sitting right there. Even though Spike didn’t seem to mind.

Spike aimed the remote and flicked the TV to the next channel. A slender blue demon with long purple hair and ridges along her spine bounced in a human’s lap. He tilted his head and changed channels again. Two big male demons with scaly skin and horns were fighting naked. Oh… not fighting. He pressed the button again and another human-looking man was lying in a bed with a succubus on each side. The blonde one was kissing him and the dark-haired one was sucking his cock. Spike lingered on this channel a bit longer than the others, then clicked again. A woman with a long tufted tail being spanked over a man's lap. Then two hairless red demons sharing a yellow spotted demon between them. A man being fucked by something with several fleshy purple tentacles. Two young women kissing naked, bathed in sunlight beside a swimming pool. He hesitated again on this channel and let his arm droop down, remote held loosely in his fingers. The heel of his other hand pressed against his cock again, trapped beneath black denim.

Angel watched Spike's hand roll against the bulge in his jeans. His scent was overwhelming, but it was impossible to tell if it was because Spike was so turned on or because Angel was so sensitive to it. He smelled even stronger than he'd smelled last night when he was actually coming over Angel's stomach, so it was probably due to increased sensitivity, but either way it was having an effect. Angel slid his fingers restlessly into his hair.

Still watching the women on the screen, Spike finally said, “Go on, then.”

His voice was so quiet that Angel wasn't even sure at first that he'd heard correctly. “Go... on?”

“We both know you need to. Better do it now before you get all fangy again.”

The sunlight glinted off the women's skin as their hands skimmed over each other's bodies. They looked so soft and warm. Angel imagined himself licking up the trickles of sweat between their breasts. The way they must taste, all sweet and salty and human. The way Lana had last night. “And you're what, just going to sit there?”

“Nope,” Spike said, and unbuttoned his jeans. He slid his hand under the worn fabric and Angel could see the shape of his fingers going around his hard dick, moving it into a more comfortable position to jerk off. As he watched, Spike began to squeeze it and pull slowly, staring straight ahead at the TV. After another moment of tense silence, Spike rolled his eyes and said impatiently, “I won't look, if that's what's stopping you.”

It wasn't. Angel just had a vague notion that this wasn't something they should do together in the same bed, although why they shouldn't was suddenly becoming a lot harder to remember. He felt sure he'd worked it all out in his head before... But on the other hand, he did need the release, and Spike was right – if he didn't do something about it now, getting fangy was a distinct risk. So without argument, Angel slipped one hand discreetly underneath the sheet. He pulled his drawstring undone and pushed his pajama pants down just enough to free his cock under the thin material draped across his lap.

God, he was so hard. He wrapped his fingers around his stiff erection and squeezed, letting his eyes fall closed. That sensitive feeling pulsed through him like the insistent flutter of a heartbeat, quick and light. He began to stroke slowly, short controlled motions, holding back so he wouldn't draw unnecessary attention away from the TV to the shape of his hand moving up and down under the sheet. When he opened his eyes again, he felt Spike watching him anyway for the briefest of moments before his eyes darted back to the television. Angel pretended not to notice.

On the screen, the two women were still kissing, their small hands roaming across bare breasts and hips. He remembered watching Dru and Darla touch each other that way and wondered if that's what Spike was thinking about, how they would fondle and caress each other and laugh quietly to themselves without letting the boys near them, teasing themselves to the height of desire before allowing Angelus and Spike finally to lay hands on their bodies. He wondered if Spike remembered watching him with Darla, all those times pushing into her just inches away from where Spike pushed into Dru.

Angel let his gaze drop to Spike's hand inside his open jeans, watch where his wrist disappeared under the black denim. The thin silver chain of his bracelet peeked out, catching the light when he moved. Angel could see the exact outline of Spike's cock where it pushed out the material, the circle of his grip tugging up and down in the tight space. The way those jeans lay undone, he could even see a few dark golden hairs curling out beside Spike's wrist, stark against his pale skin.

The remote lay abandoned on the bed between them. What would Spike say if he picked it up and changed the channel back to the two big male demons or the man getting tentacle-fucked?

Had Spike ever been fucked in the ass before? Even if he'd never been with another man, it was possible that Dru had developed a penchant for toys. Maybe she had even used the same toys that Darla had used on him. Angel's hand tightened around his erection as he pictured Drusilla buckling that leather harness around her slim hips, Spike waiting for her on the bed on his knees, his naked bottom turned up, face buried in a pillow.

Angel breathed softly. The smell of Spike so close to him right now, the way he could smell what Spike was doing to himself... that ocean-scent of him seeped in through all of Angel's senses. His eyes fell closed again and his hand sped up, the women on the screen forgotten. He slowly leaned back against the headboard, working his hand up and down tightly under the sheet. He could feel Spike looking at him again, the liar, but he wasn't bothered. Let him look. A flare of heat crept up his neck from the attention.

A quiet sound, barely there huff of breath. Angel rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes. Spike was looking down at his lap, at the movement of his forearm where it went under the sheet. He was watching the way the thin material shifted over the hidden motion, how it raised and lowered with each fast stroke. Angel watched Spike’s eyes watching his hand, Spike’s pink bottom lip bitten softly between flat human teeth.

Slowly, Angel stretched out one leg, his knee lowering to the bed. The cover floated down with him. Now every time he stroked downward, the sheet grazed the tip of his dick before he stroked up again, pushing the material away. He changed from the short rapid motions to longer, more intense and deliberate pulls, giving the sheet just enough time to settle more fully over his cock, outlining it for his audience, before lifting up again. Spike made another soft sound, this tiny unintentional breath, and closed his eyes.

He had to know he’d been caught looking, but neither of them said anything about it. This was all pretense anyway, this idea that nothing was actually happening as long as they didn’t touch each other, that this could somehow be a normal thing between them. Jerking off to porn in Angel’s bed together, just an average day for a couple of ensouled vampires who weren’t even friends.

Spike also straightened one leg, his bare foot pushing across the surface of the bed as his knee lowered. He leaned back the way Angel was leaning back, tipped his head back as well. He was pretty like this, Angel thought, face still turned toward him. A few tufts of that platinum hair lying out of place because he hadn’t gelled it that morning and Angel’s fingers had been all through it. The line of his neck, the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallowed. The place where the neck of Angel’s borrowed t-shirt was just a little too big for him, the start of his collarbone peeking out just there. Not saying anything, just relaxing into the pleasure of his own hand.

The not saying anything was maybe the best part.

Those thick foggy feelings that had been invading Angel’s head for the past few days were creeping back in with the smell of Spike’s body. A weird image came to him, this idea that he could be drowning, but instead of water, it was skin. Just breathing in Spike’s skin, tasting it in his mouth. He wanted to press his lips to Spike’s neck, breathe him closer. Swallow him. He watched Spike’s wrist, the way it pushed at the loose opening of his jeans, black denim flapping quietly over his knuckles as he rubbed.

Very slowly, Angel drew his hand out from underneath the sheet and reached for Spike's lap. Without touching Spike's skin at all, he gently took hold of one side of the opening and folded the denim flap down with his fingers, then tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the hand beneath.

Spike's movement had halted as soon as Angel reached for him, but when he saw that the older vampire simply wanted a less obstructed view, he obligingly pulled his hard cock completely free from his jeans. He risked a look at Angel, eyebrow raised, as he continued fisting it, now in the open air. Squeezing on the upstroke.

With a tiny grunt of satisfaction, Angel slipped his hand back under the sheet. He went on working his own erection through his tight fist until the drag of the soft sheet across the tip made him pause. Spike was slowly tugging the sheet down with his free hand, uncovering him. Well, fair's fair. Angel let it happen, the cool material pulling over his sensitive flesh in a way that made his skin tingle.

Two hard dicks jutting up from two aroused vampires, side by side. A matched set, like novelty salt and pepper shakers. A bead of clear fluid trembled in Spike's slit, and Angel watched his fist come up, turn slightly, and push back down, smearing it.

Angel adjusted his grip again. He was usually much rougher with himself than this, should probably speed up, rub hard, get it over with. But the sight of Spike touching himself – and God, the smell of him – made Angel want to draw it out. Make it last. Sink into the feeling. He was breathing softly, lips parted to bring Spike's scent into the back of his throat. He wanted to lean down closer. Put his face right against Spike's bare skin and inhale him like a drug.

“You know we don't have to do it this way.” Spike's voice, quiet. His hand still stroking while he looked at Angel with those dilated pupils.

A little thrill zinged through Angel's stomach at Spike's expression. He closed his eyes and didn't reply.

“We're both ready, Angel. We both... want to...”

The bed shifted and Angel quickly opened his eyes again. He wasn't sure what he would do if Spike touched him right now. But Spike wasn't touching him, was just significantly closer to his body, turned toward him, one hand braced on the bed near Angel's hip while his other kept rubbing his cock. His head was tilted to one side as he watched Angel's hand, his lips parted slightly, breathing.

Angel swallowed. He let his thumb slide slickly forward and back over the blushing tip of his erection. “What exactly do you think we both want to do?” he asked.

“Shag,” Spike said, like it was obvious.

“That's... that's not a good idea, Spike.” The words came very softly, on a sigh. Angel's cock throbbed in his hand. He badly needed relief and felt himself wishing for the silence of a moment ago.

“What happened to not ruling it out?”

Angel tilted his head. “What happened to not watching me?”

“Oh, please. You bloody love being watched, always have.” His gaze swept down Angel’s body, and he shifted closer. Just a little, barely noticeable, but Angel could feel his breath coast lightly across his shoulder. In a quiet voice, Spike said, “Use both hands.”

“Lose the shirt,” said Angel.

Spike immediately let go of his own cock to reach back and grab the neck of the t-shirt he was wearing and pull it forward over his head and off. He threw it across Angel to the floor on the other side of the bed, now naked except for the open black jeans. His hair was rumpled from removing the shirt and he looked young like this, sweet, with those bare feet and pink lips. His erection stood stiff against his pale belly, peeking out over the denim, the shiny head flushed a ruddy dark pink. Spike took it in his hand again and squeezed. Another clear drop of moisture beaded up in the slit.

Angel brought his other hand down to cradle his balls as he watched Spike touch himself and let Spike watch him. Spreading his thighs a little, Angel pressed the heel of his hand against his balls and then ran his thumb over them while he stroked his cock. His skin was tingling all over. He gave his balls a hard downward tug and the sudden ache of it added a sharp edge to the pleasure. He could hear Spike swallow.

“I want you,” Spike murmured, inching closer. He still wasn't touching Angel anywhere, but the sliver of air that separated their bodies practically vibrated between them.

Angel watched Spike's bare chest as he breathed in and out. Right now, he looked almost alive, almost human, except his skin was slightly too perfect. He imagined putting his mouth to that perfect skin, marking the pale smoothness with his teeth. He sped up, jerking his cock roughly. It passed through his tight fist on the slickness that leaked slowly from the puffy slit. “I know,” he said.

Spike stared down at Angel's urgent movements, his own hand matching speed. “Such a bloody cocktease,” he breathed. His eyebrows drew together, as much in frustration as concentration on chasing his own orgasm. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

That was it, Angel's trigger. That quick little flash of pink tongue, unintentional. He shuddered and yanked his balls down again as they tried to draw up, and the dull flare of pain pushed him right over the edge.

Just as Angel began to come with a quiet gasp, Spike unexpectedly leaned down and caught the pulsing cock in his mouth, lips sealing around the swollen pink head. Angel swore and his hips nearly came up off the bed with the suddenness of that wet mouth on him as he spurted into it.

The first shot had landed at the corner of Spike's lips right before they closed around him. That splash of cool semen dripped down his chin while he sucked firmly on the sensitive flesh that filled his mouth, forcefully drawing out the rest of Angel's release like pulling a long hot thread from somewhere coiled deep inside his belly. The euphoric tremors vibrated through Angel's whole self for a shockingly prolonged amount of time, longer than any orgasm he'd ever had before, and he cursed two or three more times while his body trembled through it.

He was panting softly as he came down from the high. Fuck, that was... incredible. The best one yet. But then, he supposed they all were.

His fingers had automatically tangled into Spike's hair to hold his head down, but he didn't immediately let go when he was done, even though he knew he ought to. Spike was still sucking gently, and the feeling was still making Angel shiver. He heard the blond swallow, then suck some more, then swallow again. Spike's tongue moved very slowly from one side to the other under his cockhead, and Angel sighed, his toes curling. He ran his fingers through the bleached hair, smoothing it down where it had been mussed. But he didn't let him up yet. He actually felt a little dizzy. Strangely, Spike wasn't trying to back away either.

Then, without letting Angel slip out of his mouth, Spike lowered himself completely to the bed and let his head rest on Angel's thighs, soft pajama pants bunched beneath his cheek. He curled on his side, lips around Angel's plump cock, eyes closed, and lay there for all the world as if he would just drift to sleep that way, with Angel petting his hair. But he had one hand down, still squeezing his own erection as he sucked Angel's tender flesh. He still smelled as aroused as before, his tantalizing scent keeping Angel from going soft in his mouth despite the incredible orgasm, but he also seemed content for the moment just to lie like this, absorbed in some private feeling.

Frankly, it was kind of bizarre.

Angel was reminded of the previous night when Spike had wanted nothing more than to sleep on top of him with his cum smeared between their bodies. This was weird in the same way, although in fairness Angel had to admit that as long as his dick was in Spike's mouth, he couldn't really complain. He let his hand wander from Spike's soft hair down the back of his neck, through the valley between his shoulder blades and down his back, palm sliding along silky skin, following the indent of his spine. The fog was gradually clearing from his brain like usual, but even though he felt more like himself now – no longer twitchy or restless or distracted – a curious feeling lingered, not physical, but somehow not yet satisfied.

He found himself staring down at Spike's hand still clutching his own need. Right. It was that.

“Spike,” he said.

“Mm?” came the muffled reply.

“Move.” Angel pushed at his shoulder.

Spike opened his eyes and squinted up at Angel without making any other indication of movement. His expression was eloquent enough: Fucking really? Now?

Angel slipped a hand underneath Spike’s chin and eased him away. His still half-hard wet penis flopped out of Spike's mouth and Spike frowned at it, licking spilled semen from his lips. Then he shook his head. “No, m’not done yet.” He leaned forward to capture it with his lips again, but Angel caught his jaw and gently pushed him back.

“Stop that,” Angel said. Before Spike could argue, Angel took him by the shoulders and shoved his upper body backwards, his head landing on the bed near Angel’s feet still under the sheet. Then he grabbed Spike’s hips and quickly hauled him over his lap. Spike’s jean covered ass hit Angel’s thighs, black denim knees bent on either side of Angel’s body.

Spike's mouth dropped open angrily to protest the sudden manhandling, but when he tried to sit up, his objection melted into a gasped “ah!” as Angel’s fist closed tightly around the leaking erection that jutted out of his unfastened jeans. He collapsed back against the bed with a groan.

Angel immediately began stripping Spike's cock quickly through his fingers, not bothering to work his way up to a fast pace since Spike had already been jerking it rapidly. The skin moved along with his hand, but enough precum had trickled out that Spike's dick would have slid slickly through his fist anyway, the ridge of the swollen head strumming swiftly across his fingers. Angel watched, studying Spike's flushed cock as he stroked it hard, treating it roughly the way he himself liked. It felt interesting to do it this way, different, a familiar motion but upside-down from the way he was used to because of the angle, the way Spike's body was turned.

Spike was panting through it, quiet fast breaths through parted lips, eyes squeezed shut against the intensity. He almost looked like he was in pain, fingertips digging into the mattress, his other hand gripping Angel's ankle through the sheet. But the way his hips thrust toward Angel's hand, it was clear how he craved the touch, rough as it was. He cursed sharply and his whole body went rigid, his cock straining upward, practically begging for the abuse Angel was giving it. “Oh, fuck, fuck! Yeah...”

Angel squeezed the stiff flesh as he jerked it expertly, his other hand grasping Spike's hip, keeping him in place. No choice but for him to take it like this, fast and harsh. He could feel the twitch of Spike's muscles as he tried to hold back, make it last. But then Angel shifted his grip and his thumb came up the underside of the dark pink cockhead, rubbing wetly over the tender place where the slit came together. The pad of his thumb slid up that sensitive spot over and over, mercilessly stimulating it on every quick stroke. Spike cried out, his thighs trembling, and suddenly came with a shudder.

Angel didn't let up, working him through the orgasm with a steady fist as thick globs of cum spurted forcefully across Spike's bare stomach and chest, one shot even jetting up far enough to hit his neck. Spike gasped and swore as he came hard, ass pressed to Angel's lap, his upper body lying taut across the bed, hanging onto Angel's ankle with one hand while his other squeezed a fistful of the sheet. His whole body shivered through the end of his peak, the last bit of semen pulsing from his chubby wet dickhead to drip over Angel's fingers. The stroking finally slowed when Spike began to squirm from the sensitivity and let out a short, helpless giggle.

The sound made Angel suppress a smile. He stopped but left his hands where they were, one holding Spike's hip and the other curled lightly around his penis. Spike's spend coated his hand and he had the strong urge to bring it up to his mouth for a taste. Just not in front of Spike.

Spike lay breathing on the bed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and laughed softly. He let go of Angel and the covers and used both hands to rub his eyes. “Bloody fucking hell.” Then he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at Angel like he was seeing him for the first time, pupils still wide and dark. His smug little grin was absurdly cute.

“What?” said Angel. That look sent a tiny bloom of warmth through his chest. He wondered if he looked as pleased with himself as Spike did. Probably not. No one could look that pleased.

“Nothing,” Spike said, still grinning. He suddenly sat up, and because of the way his hips were positioned, Angel promptly found himself with a smug blond vampire straddling his lap. Without further notice, Spike took his lips in a soft, slow kiss, his palms sliding over Angel's shoulders. This one was much sweeter than their previous kisses had been, not motivated by uncontrolled urgency. It was actually... kinda nice, Angel thought. One of Spike's hands caressed the back of his neck, fingers lazily drifting up into his hair. Angel could taste himself on Spike's lips and his fist squeezed affectionately around the cock in his hand. “Mmm,” Spike hummed, then pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Let's go again.” He sucked Angel's bottom lip into his mouth.

“Again?” Angel breathed into the kiss. He thought about it. Yeah, he could definitely go again. It was different now, though. He wasn't feeling twitchy anymore. Or, well, he was, but only in an I-am-a-vampire-who-likes-sex-and-Spike-has-a-pretty-mouth kind of way, not in an I-need-to-orgasm-right-exactly-now-or-I-might-commit-murder kind of way.

“Yeah, again,” Spike said, and Angel could hear the smile in his tone before his head tilted to kiss Angel's neck. He nipped softly with his teeth and pressed his lips to the spot. “Can go a lot longer this time. Now that the edge is off, like.” He shifted his hips forward slightly, a subtle thrust into Angel's hand.

But it was starting to seem wrong now. It wouldn't be fair for Angel to agree to go further while Spike was clearly still affected and he wasn't. Shit, they were dancing dangerously close to regret territory again. But he smelled so good... and the thing he was doing with his tongue against Angel's neck... Angel closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on saying no. Spike's dick in his hand wasn't helping at all. He really should let go of it.

“Spike, this isn't us,” he said. “This isn't... this isn't you.” He could very clearly imagine himself flipping Spike down onto the bed underneath him and simply ravishing his body, marking his skin, taking him hard – starting with stripping off these goddamn jeans, which, how was he even still wearing them? – forcing pretty sounds from his mouth, tasting him all over, making him come again. And right now, Spike would probably let him do all of that. The Spike that was currently sucking an intriguing pattern of kisses into his neck would very likely be on board for all manner of things that they'd never done together before, and the fact that it even crossed Angel's mind not to put a stop to it made him feel like a total creep.

“'Course it's me,” Spike murmured against his skin. He inhaled deeply into Angel's neck and sighed. “Fuck sake, Angel, you smell like the best bloody dream a bloke could have. Whatever it is you're pumping out... It's lighting up the whole sodding building. Wish you could smell it. You couldn't keep your hands off you either.” He chuckled softly and pulled back to give Angel a thoughtfully amused look. “Well. Reckon you can't anyway.”

Then he leaned in to kiss Angel's mouth again, but Angel turned his head before he could. “That's exactly what I'm talking about,” he said quietly. “It's not you. It's me.”

“See, now, that sounded a bit like a breakup, mate. And as we're not going steady—”

“You don't really want me,” Angel tried again, striving to keep his voice kind without tipping into condescension. He ruefully withdrew his hands from Spike's body, already missing the feel of him, that rigid shaft in his fingers, velvety smooth. “Think about it. Really think. You never wanted me before, and only one thing is different now.”

All traces of the pleased look, that amused expression that seemed at once both curious and content with the world, the one that made Angel feel kinda funny in his chest, vanished. Spike's jaw clenched instead and this was the familiar version of him, the one that seemed older, more jaded. “Right,” he said, abruptly rolling off Angel’s lap to stand beside the bed. “Didn’t mean to accidentally enjoy myself for a bit. Thanks for reminding me you’re still a manipulative bastard that I clearly wouldn’t want.”

Angel frowned at him, pulling up the front of his pajamas to cover himself. “Manipulative, seriously? Coming from you? Spike, you’re literally trying to manipulate me right now.” He grabbed the remote and turned off the porn.

“What? No I’m not!”

“Yes you are. You just said that to try and guilt trip me into having sex with you.”

“Well according to you, Mr. I Know Spike Better Than He Knows Himself Gaslighting Pompous Arse, I apparently don’t want to have sex with you. So it couldn’t be that, could it?” Spike bent down to snatch the t-shirt he’d been wearing from the floor, not bothering to fasten his jeans.

“Oh, excuse me for trying to protect your feelings!”

“My feelings don’t need protecting, Angel! I’m not a bloody child. And I especially don’t need you using my feelings against me when we both know what’s really happening here.”

Angel crossed his arms, aiming a glare at Spike’s annoyingly attractive face. The fact that he’d still been interested in sex with Spike even though he’d already triggered the reset to normal had been a little unsettling. Arguing, being angry, felt so much more familiar between them than newly discovered desire that it was almost a relief. “Fine. Enlighten me, Spike. What do you think is really happening here?”

He could tell the younger vampire was itching to let him in on whatever cutting revelation he’d had, but as soon as Spike's snide mouth opened, his words faltered. “You don’t—” he started. He cleared his throat. “You’re using me 'cause…” He suddenly looked away from Angel’s face, toward the window instead, gritting his teeth. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Then he turned his scowl back on Angel. “Look, I don’t actually care that you don’t want me. But at least have the decency to admit it. None of this pretending you know how I feel bollocks. You keep saying I don't want it, but we both know you're just using that as some stupid bleeding excuse to make yourself feel better about giving me the brush-off. So yeah, it's not me, Angel. It's you.”

Point made, Spike stalked moodily off to the bathroom, leaving Angel alone to unpack what he'd said.

Pretending?! Angel flung himself irritably out of bed to go wash Spike's spend from his hand in the kitchen sink. Pretending he knew how Spike felt! As if it weren't obvious enough already, Angel couldn't even count the number of times Spike had literally told him – since yesterday! – that he didn't really want him, that there was nothing enticing there, that he was only trying to help, that Angel was actually... what was it? Oh right, repulsive!

He heard the shower come on and for a moment seriously contemplated barging into the bathroom just to point out that Spike had made it pretty clear multiple times how attracted to Angel he wasn't. And every time he'd indicated the opposite, he'd been under the influence of voodoo hormones! What was he supposed to do, assume Spike was lying about not wanting him? And that their current weird circumstances just happened to give him a convenient excuse to reveal he actually did find Angel attractive?

No. No, it was too stupid. Spike clearly hated him and only wanted to have sex because Angel's smell made him horny, and he wanted to blame Angel's feelings instead of his own for the rejection because he didn't want to admit Angel was right to put an end to it. That made so much more sense. And not just because Angel had no freaking clue how he was supposed to react if Spike actually did want...

Sunset! Thank fuck.

Angel went back into the bedroom and quickly dressed himself, topping off with his long black trench coat, an old favorite. He could hear the shower still spraying down as he headed back out and boarded the private elevator, punching the button for the ground floor. Big surprise, Spike wasn't being careful. Again.

In fact... as the elevator doors closed and he began to descend, Angel frowned at the button console, recalling the six numbers that had been lit up when Spike enabled the lockdown the previous night. There had been a 22, but the others were single digits. If 22 corresponded to a day, and there was one number for a month, and the other four digits represented a year...

Wow. Now Wesley was the one who hadn't been careful, though Angel supposed when Wes had programmed the lockdown code, he'd had no reason to believe Angel himself would ever be the one enabling it. After all, this trap had been designed for him.

Which meant it would keep Spike in as well.

When the lift stopped and the doors opened, Angel quickly punched in the numbers for Cordelia's birthday – the Angel Investigations alarm passcode for roughly four years – and listened to the compressive hiss throughout the elevator shaft. The floor numbers remained lit as he stepped out.

Finally. Time for some fresh air.

*

Chapter Text

*

He didn't take a car. After being cooped up in the Wolfram and Hart building all day – literally locked in for several hours, then manacled to a conference table, then dragged back upstairs and cornered inside by an over-possessive chain-smoker with a possible television addiction of some kind – Angel just wanted to stretch his legs, spend some time breathing in the night air, traveling quickly and silently through dark alleys and across rooftops, and melting comfortably into the shadows the way he was meant to.

Would be nice to maybe get in a slay or two before sunrise. His latest release had done a decent job of clearing his head, and he felt more like himself than he had since they'd taken on the modusbeast hive. He headed back that way, toward the warehouse district, mood improving as he walked. Maybe he'd get lucky and come across those two modusbeasts that had escaped the other night.

He intentionally took a long and winding route in the direction of where the hive had been, not in any specific hurry to get there and glad to be in his own company for a while. He inhaled the scent of his city, the mixture of old cement and chlorine and tangy metal. Wet pavement and fried fare from food trucks. Exhaust fumes, the salted wind off the ocean, the acrid stench wafting up from the sewer. Everything smelled so potent now, so much more real, like he'd been dreaming when he smelled it all before, but somehow now he'd been shaken awake. Violently.

His cell phone buzzed again in his pocket, maybe the ninth or tenth call. And that would be one very pissed off short vampire, Angel assumed without looking. The thought of Spike calling him just to bark profanities and make threats from within the prison of Angel's penthouse amused him somewhat, but he still didn't answer. Given the last thing Spike had said, Angel wasn't sure how to answer.

Spike either wanted him – had wanted him even before this whole damn hormone thing started – or he didn't want him but was so affected by the hormone thing that he couldn't remember not wanting him, or he'd only implied that he wanted him because what he really wanted was sex and it wasn't important to him how he felt about Angel outside of that. The only other possibility was that Angel had misread what Spike said and there was no wanting of any kind, only resenting and blaming. That's the one that actually sounded the most familiar.

Well. At least the weather was nice.

Angel stopped walking for a moment to consider the side of a nearby building, the way the mortar had crumbled away in places from the old yellowish bricks. His fingers flexed. It was taller than his usual... oh, why the hell not? He was feeling strangely energetic. He bounced on his toes a couple of times, crouched, and then sprinted toward the wall. A few feet before he would have made a vampire-shaped hole through the bricks, he jumped as high as he could, long black coat flapping behind him. The Batman impression, his friends called it.

He was climbing as soon as he touched the wall, scaling the sheer surface so quickly it would have impressed a spider. This only works if you do it faster than you have time to think about it. No contemplating footholds or ledges, just grasp, pull, kick, get your body up the bricks as swiftly and lightly as possible, putting your momentum from the jump to good use. The building will fall away beneath you as you throw yourself upward. Humans can't do it, not strong or swift enough, too heavy a touch, too tempted to linger and look down. But vampires were built for it, like that one lizard species that's so fast and light it can run across water.

Five stories in a matter of moments, and then he was over the top ledge with a hard push that had him landing on his feet and the knuckles of one hand, as if he'd jumped down onto the roof instead of up. He stood, smiling a little, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as he peered down over the edge to see how far he'd climbed. The alley looked small below him. Nice. The phone in his pocket buzzed again against his fingers.

“Hey, remember when I taught you how to scale walls?” he answered pleasantly.

“Where the bloody fuck are you?!”

“You were, what, like two years old before I realized you couldn't? Always running around buildings the long way. I just thought you were trying to annoy me.”

“Angel,” Spike growled at him, “you bring your shifty bastard arse back here this instant. If I have to blow a hole in the side of this bloody flat to come collect you, so help me I—”

“No.”

“No?!”

Angel could imagine Spike pulling the phone away from his ear and staring down at it incredulously. It was sort of funny.

“Fuck your no, Angel! You can't just say no like it's a bleeding choice I'm giving you. Get back here now!”

“No,” said Angel, finding it perfectly easy to say. “Call someone to let you out if you want, but I'm not coming back yet.” He stepped up onto the ledge around the top of the building, flat roof to one side and sheer drop on the other, and began to walk an effortless path that would have terrified a human. “Still can't believe it took me that long to notice you just didn't know how to do it.”

“How to... what? What in fuck's name are you on about?”

“When I taught you to climb. If you were two, I guess I would have been... a couple years older than you are now, huh? Wow, that's weird to think about. Imagine yourself teaching a fledge to climb buildings in the city. You remember?”

Confusion over the seemingly random subject seemed to distract Spike from his anger a little, although he still sounded annoyed. “Remember you chasing me up a bloody wall? Rings a bell, yeah.”

Put that way, it sounded like his memory of the lesson wasn't exactly the same friendly game that Angel's was. “I remember it being fun,” said Angel.

A huff of disagreement. “For you, maybe. I seem to recall being hunted up and down every building in London and threatened with a holy water bath if you caught hold of me.”

Ah, so it was exactly the same! Spike gave himself away with the note of smugness threaded through the bitter reply. He'd enjoyed learning the skill and he'd especially enjoyed discovering how fast he could be when his hide depended on it. Angel smiled a little at the shared fond memory – and the fact that he'd managed to draw Spike into an actual conversation so easily. “You were a quick study.”

“Had to be. You try having your skin on the hook to the scourge of an entire continent and we'll see how fast you learn to scale any sodding thing in your path.”

Angel kicked idly at a flaw in the cement of the ledge he stood on. “I actually learned the same way,” he said. “Guess I never mentioned it.”

“Yeah?” A hint of real curiosity. “Who went thundering round after you, then?”

It made a certain kind of sense that Spike didn’t immediately picture Darla teaching him. Dresses made it nearly impossible to scramble up the sides of buildings, which was why Spike hadn't learned this sort of thing from his own sire early on, although he did witness Drusilla do it once many years later. She was naked at the time.

“Darla,” Angel said, and stepped off the roof to land lightly on a lower ledge on the far side of the building. He kept walking, a wall now to his left. “I was only a couple of weeks old. Said she didn’t ever want me slowing her down, so she killed a stable hand for his clothes and chased me all over Dublin dressed as a man.” He still thought of her smiling slyly, blonde hair tucked up into the stable boy’s hat, almost every time he climbed. “Pretty much what I did with you, just a slightly different incentive. Her teaching method was more… reward-based.”

“Meaning she shagged you on a roof.”

“Every roof,” Angel confirmed.

“Yeah, I’d call that slightly different.”

“Hang on a second.” Angel slipped the phone into his coat pocket again, put his back to the wall, then took one step to the edge of the ledge and leaped across the alley below, catching the rail of a metal fire escape on the next building over. He gracefully pulled himself up onto the rusty staircase and began to ascend, putting the phone back up to his ear. “Alright. You know, you’re a lot easier to talk to when I can’t smell you.”

“For your sake, I won't take that personally.”

“Do you think that’s what I should’ve done? When I taught you. To climb walls. Back then.”

There was a confused pause, and then, “Shag, uh, shag me on rooves? You’re asking if you should’ve shagged me on rooves?”

“I’ll be honest, it didn’t even occur to me at the time. You were Dru’s. I just helped out because I wanted you to survive. I mean… usually.” A breeze ruffled Angel’s hair. He turned his face toward it.

“Consider me flattered.”

“But, you know, you always had her and I always had Darla and it just never… Did you want me to? Not necessarily on a rooftop, but… Did you?”

Another pause down the line, longer than the last. Angel was at the top of the fire escape now, a few stories higher than the other building. The modusbeast hive had been nearby. A familiar scent drifted past.

Finally Spike said, “Why’re you asking me this now?”

“You mean why did I bring it up or why did it take so long?” Angel asked quietly. He expected another pause after this, so he again slipped the phone into his pocket, then jumped high and vaulted over the top edge of the building, landing silently on the roof. He lifted the phone back to his ear and began crossing to the other side. When Spike still said nothing, he continued, “It's what you said. About me pretending to know how you feel. I’ve always thought it was pretty clear that you hate me, but if I’m missing something here…”

He stopped to give Spike an opportunity to answer, but there was just more silence. “Look, I'm not – I’m not that great at picking up on this sort of thing,” said Angel. “So if there’s something you want me to know, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” Silence again. “Spike, are you there?”

“Angel.” Spike’s voice sounded tired. “Where are you?”

“On a roof three blocks from the freeway. You're changing the subject.”

“Just come back, alright?”

“No. If we’re going to have this conversation, we need to do it while we can’t smell each other.”

“I’m locked inside your flat, you low-hanging plum. Think there’s a single thing in this place that doesn’t reek of you? Might as well have your knob down my throat right now.”

Angel's hand tightened involuntarily around his phone. “Oh,” he said. There was a faint twinge down low in his belly.

“Come back.”

“No. I need some kind of answer before I see you again. If something happened...”

“Maybe you’d have your answer if you came back.”

Angel sighed. “Spike,” he said softly, “we both know what I’d have if I came back.”

He could hear the slow exhale as this comment was considered. “Fair enough,” Spike eventually said. “Now ask yourself what you’ll have if you stay out there. I don’t want that on your conscience, Angel, and I know you don’t either. Can’t help you from in here, can I? Come back.”

He thought about it; he really did. For a full ten seconds, which is how long it took for that familiar scent to waft by him again on the breeze. The back of his neck tingled, and for one brief moment, he thought Spike had somehow gotten free of the penthouse and come to find him. But then he realized who it was.

“No,” he said quietly, and hung up.

The phone immediately buzzed again as he slipped it into his pocket, but Angel didn’t look at it. He knelt at the edge of the roof he was standing on and leaned out, looking down. There she was. Far below, but he could still tell it was her, could still feel it. Josephine of Aurelius. She was talking with someone down there, either another vampire or a human, but from this distance he couldn't hear what they said.

The two walked along the dark alley together, and Angel followed them several stories above their heads, watching. Then they turned the corner alongside the building he was standing on and the other figure gestured toward an opening into the side of the warehouse across the street. A trailer loading dock. The dock door was partially rolled up, and they made their way to it, both climbing up underneath to enter the building.

It was much too far away for him to jump across the loading area to the other warehouse, so Angel dropped silently down to the fire escape on this side of the building and descended the stairs quickly, jumping the last fifteen feet to the ground. He crossed to the other warehouse and approached the dock door from the side, crouching down to peer cautiously into the opening at floor level, about three feet above the pavement. None of the lights inside were on, but as Angel watched, three shadowy figures at the far side of the large storage facility began to light candles on the cement floor.

“Damn thing was a nightmare to catch,” one of them was saying, a young black woman in a newsie cap. “Stupid fast. Get within fifty feet and they skitter off like a goddamn cockroach. You ever seen one jump?” The disgust was evident in her voice.

“Almost took my head off with those claws,” said a large white man wearing a plaid shirt, the one who had brought Josephine here. “Next big ass bug you want trapped alive, you're doing it yourself, Jo. I didn't sign up for this demon shit.”

“This is the only modusbeast you could find?” Josephine asked them both as she lit the last candle. “You're sure there aren't any more?”

“The hive was wrecked. Looked like a fire maybe, or some kind of bomb,” the woman told her. “Definitely weren't any left in there.”

“Could be more got away,” the man added. “Scent was all over the fuck. But it's the only one we found.”

“Good,” said Josephine. “That simplifies things. And neither of you were bitten?”

“No,” said the woman. “But it was close.”

By the soft illumination from the line of candles on the floor, Angel could see that the three of them were standing in front of an elevator with a cage-style door, similar to the one that had led down to his apartment under the first Angel Investigations office. He could just barely make out the quick movement of a dark shape on the other side of the metal grid. Josephine was drawing a chalk circle on the floor in front of it.

“Do you want us to—” the man started to ask her, but then he paused. He and the other woman glanced at each other and then around the large open space, startled.

“What's that smell?” the woman said. She took a small step toward the dock door, and Angel crouched lower, counting on the darkness to help hide him. “You smell it?”

The man opened his mouth slightly, pulling in the scent. “It's...” His brow furrowed. “I don't...” He also took a step closer to the door. “It smells like... the mist that settles around a pine forest on winter mornings. Damn, I haven't smelled that in years.”

“Honeysuckle,” the woman murmured. “That honeysuckle vine on my grandma's farm when I was a kid.”

Huh? Angel glanced behind him warily, then sniffed the air, wondering what the hell these two were talking about. He wasn't picking up any pine mist or honeysuckle. There was just pavement and cardboard and modusbeast musk and the dusty smell of the inside of the warehouse and oh right they were talking about him. He ducked away from the door. Shit.

He moved quickly along the side of the warehouse and turned the corner. There was a closed dumpster near the side of the building, so he leaped onto the top of it and jumped up from there to scale the wall to the roof. This building was wider than it was tall, only three stories. From the roof, he went to look over the edge down at where the loading dock was, waiting to see if the two vampires came out. After a couple of minutes, he was satisfied that they weren't going to, so he began to look around for a way into the building from up here. That was his modusbeast, and he wasn't leaving before he found out what Josephine wanted with it.

An old access hatch at one corner of the roof led down into the warehouse. Angel yanked sharply on the rusted padlock and managed to break it without too much noise or difficulty, and carefully lifted the lid. He didn't bother to extend the ladder down but dropped silently into the darkness onto a catwalk that ran the length of the building. From here, he could see the whole warehouse floor, stacks of wooden crates and forklifts parked in the dark and long shadowed shelves of shipping containers, and at the other end, the dim flickering light of candles with Josephine kneeling before them. He approached slowly, looking down for the other two vampires. The woman had wandered closer to the dock door but the man stood near Josephine, watching her. As he came closer, Angel could see that she was holding some kind of spear, carefully rubbing something onto the sharp end of it.

"Why'd you need us to catch it alive if you were just gonna kill it anyway?" the man asked her. Angel could hear him faintly from two floors overhead.

"I'm not just going to kill it," Josephine said, examining the spear. Then she stood gracefully and toed off her shoes. They were flats, not the high heels from earlier, and she was dressed a little more casually now, a shorter skirt, a sleeveless top. Without shoes, her legs were totally bare from mid-thigh down. She walked toward the cage door of the lift where the modusbeast had been imprisoned and assumed a fighting stance with the spear in one hand, point angled low. Then, with perfect balance, she lifted a bare foot from the concrete and extended it toward the trapped demon. She wiggled her toes enticingly.

What the hell? Angel wondered, totally captivated by the bizarre display. Good way to lose some toes. Which was a shame really, given how attractive hers were.

Right on cue, as Angel predicted in his head, the demon's long scorpionesque tail whipped out through the woven metal of the door, the fanged mouth on the end aiming for Josephine's foot. But the bite didn't connect. Instead, more quickly than human eyes could have followed, Josephine snatched back her foot and stabbed downward with the spear, piercing the tail and pinning it to the floor inside her chalk circle. The modusbeast screeched in pain.

"Holy shit," said the man, taking a step back. Angel had to agree with him. He'd been on the receiving end of one of those bites when they took out the hive; these things struck fast and were incredibly vicious. He'd been prepared to see Josephine's dainty toes snapped right off, but the woman had some impressive reflexes.

“Come hold this,” she said, indicating the spear. “Don't let it move. The paralytic hasn't kicked in yet.”

The man took hold of the spear with both hands, but when Josephine let go, it wobbled. He cursed, putting more weight behind his grip. “Bugs shouldn't have muscles,” he said. “It ain't right. And what the hell is that smell, Jo? Not coming from this thing, is it?” He glanced at her, then back to the impaled tail with the spasming mouth on the end. “We don't – we don't fuck these, do we?” He looked at her again, wide-eyed. “Do we?”

“I wasn't planning to,” she said lightly. “But you can try later if you want.”

He peered through the door at the demon's body, considering. “Wouldn't even know how. That goddamn scent, though...”

“Ignore it,” she said.

Angel crouched on the catwalk above her, staring down intently as she picked up a long knife and knelt in the circle beside the modusbeast's pinned tail, which wasn't flopping around nearly as much now. If that minion could smell him, surely Josephine could too, and she must recognize his scent from before; she knew he was there. Whatever she was doing, she didn't mind that he could see it, which made it all the more intriguing. He watched as she used the knife to slice open the tail and pull back the edges of the cut, exposing the inner parts like some kind of evil autopsy.

Then she plunged her hand inside it. The man grimaced.

A long string of murmured words in a language Angel didn't recognize. He listened to her repeat it three times. Then the candle flames flickered and Josephine recoiled suddenly, her hand pulling free of the modusbeast's yellow innards with a squelching sound. She fell back on her butt inside the chalk circle, coughing.

“Jo?” said the man. “Jo, are you—?”

“I'm fine,” she managed, clearing her throat. She looked at her gooey hand and flexed her fingers a few times, then cast a smile up at the man's face. “You can fuck it now.”

“Think it's dead,” he said, pulling the spear free of the now unmoving tail.

She rose gracefully to her feet. “No, just paralyzed.” After taking the spear from him, she aimed carefully and then thrust the sharp point through an opening in the cage door, impaling some part of the demon that Angel couldn't see in the darkness. “There. Now it's dead.” The end of the spear continued to stick out of the elevator when she let go of it. “Why don't you two take the rest of the night off? Go have some fun.” She was speaking to the man but with a wave indicated the woman standing watch near the dock door as well.

“More fun than chasing a freaky ass demon through the city?” he asked.

“Come with us,” the woman said.

“I've got more business here,” replied Josephine. “Go on. But no killing tonight. Bodies aren't low-profile.”

The man nodded and the two vampires exited through the half-rolled up dock door, leaving Josephine alone and barefoot in the candlelight.

Angel almost followed them. A couple of quick slays, probably wouldn't give him much trouble even if they worked together. But that could wait. He wanted to see what Josephine's other business was.

She crossed to a warehouse safety station and washed the modusbeast guts from her hand as he watched. When she'd finished drying her hands, she returned to the chalk circle to put on her shoes. Without looking up, she said simply, “Hello, cousin.”

Okay, so he was the business. “Josephine,” he acknowledged, and stepped off the high catwalk. He dropped down to the top of a tall stack of wooden crates, then from there to the cement floor, and walked forward. “That was my modusbeast.”

“Don't tell me you wanted to fuck it, too?”

“I was going to stab it in the head,” he said, and peered into the elevator. Yep, definitely dead. “Looks like you beat me to it.”

She smiled a little. “You're welcome.”

“That wasn't a thank you.”

“Alright.” She sauntered a few steps closer to him – much closer than he expected – and paused inside his personal space. “So thank me, then.” Slowly, her fingers reached up to toy with one of the buttons on his shirt, tugging at it but not unbuttoning. When she looked up at his face, her green eyes seemed playful, but the pupils were already enlarged just from being near him, near the scent he was putting off.

For some reason, he didn't pull away. But he didn't touch her either, didn't slide his hand around the back of her neck under her long, dark hair, draw her close for a kiss the way he wanted to. He was another couple of hours at least from giving in to that impulse. Probably.

She smelled incredible, though.

“Tell me what you did,” he said. “With its tail. Before you killed it.”

“You sound suspicious, Angel.” She lifted a delicate eyebrow teasingly. “Don't you trust me?”

“You haven't given me a reason to.”

“We're family.”

“We're strangers,” he said. “If we weren't, you'd know how many members of my family I've killed.”

“I know how many I watched sucking your dick today.” She tilted her head, continuing to play idly with the button on his shirt. Her fingertips tickled his skin through the fabric. “I can still smell him on you.”

Oh. “That wasn't...” Angel didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself. “Spike is...”

“Your boyfriend?” Josephine guessed.

“No. He's a...”

“Prostitute?”

“What? No. He's... a special case.”

“Special how?”

“Well, he's my progeny. We're not, it's not like—”

“So he's special because he's,” she gave a firm little tug to his shirt, smiling, “family.”

“No. That kind of family doesn't mean anything to me anymore.” It wasn't difficult to look directly into her eyes as he lied. He'd told this one enough times that it almost felt true, and there was something about her eyes that made it very easy to look into them. “Spike's different because he's got a soul. Like me.”

“The soul, right. I was going to ask about that.” She let her hand drop and took a small step back from him, casting an appraising eye up and down his body as though she could actually see his soul if she looked carefully enough. “How attached are you to the whole...” she made a circular gesture in front of his chest, “having a soul thing?”

“Uh,” said Angel, frowning at her. “Pretty fucking attached, actually.”

She dismissed this with a wave. “Yes, I see that, but you would get rid of it if you could. Right?”

“No,” said Angel.

“Hypothetically, I mean. If it were possible.”

“No,” said Angel.

“You don't actually like it, though,” she pressed, as if he just didn't understand what she was asking. “You'd want to go back to normal if that were an option. Be yourself again. Yes?”

“No. This is myself, Josephine. Given the choice, I prefer it. I would never want to go back.” The skeptical look she was giving him made him even more suspicious of her than before. “Why are you asking me this?” He took a step toward her. “Did you do something to me?”

She held up her hands innocently. “I haven't touched your soul,” she promised. “To be perfectly honest, I don't even know how. I just thought I'd offer to help you find a way to be free of it.” She dropped her hands. “You murdered your sire and at least two of your progeny with that soul. When I read that it was a curse, I assumed you needed help. We don't dust our families unless something has gone terribly wrong, Angel, and no amount of lying to me about it will convince either of us otherwise.”

He didn't know what to say to that. Darla's death – all of her deaths – still hurt on such a deep level that he could never bring his thoughts to linger there for long. “You read about me?” he asked quietly.

“Not such distant strangers after all, are we?” She took another step forward, bringing them quite close to each other again. “I am very, very interested in you, Angel.” Laying a hand on his chest, she tilted her head to inhale slowly near his neck. “Does that bother you?”

A tingle of excitement hummed through his skin. Josephine's body smelled faintly of coconut oil and silk. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, but he could also sense that she hadn't had sex with anyone else in a long while. He inhaled near her neck as well, lips parting. “It hasn't gone terribly wrong yet,” he told her. That made her smile. Then he said, “I read about you, too.”

“Anything interesting?”

“You don't work for Wolfram and Hart.”

“No.”

“So you were just there because—?”

She chuckled softly, and he could feel her breath on his neck. “Can't blame a girl for stalking. Not everyone has a soul, you know. Some of us are actually evil.”

“You can still stalk with a soul.”

“Yes, I noticed. I'm flattered, by the way.”

“I didn't come here for you,” said Angel. “I was hunting modusbeasts. You just happened to be here.” It struck him that this was more or less exactly what he'd said to Spike the previous night, and since then he'd somehow managed to orgasm in Spike's mouth three times. Damn, what was it about hunting in LA that made your family appear out of nowhere and want to have sex?

“I would've let you kill it if you’d asked,” she said. Her hand slid down his chest. “But you probably would've had to fuck my friends first. They’re still quite young. They don’t have as much control as I do.”

Angel swallowed but didn’t otherwise move. He said, “It’s fine. I’ll kill the other one.”

She looked up sharply. “There’s another one?”

“See, why do I get the feeling you want to perform another ritual demon fisting?”

Maybe her smile did seem a tad evil, but she was still beautiful. “You and I don’t need a modusbeast for that, Angel.” Her other hand brushed lightly across his backside, and he took the opportunity to step back from her, clearing his throat quietly. She laughed.

“You still haven’t told me what you did to it.”

“No,” she agreed, tilting her head fondly at him. “But let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?”

“Are you well? Does anything seem amiss?”

“Amiss?”

She sighed patiently.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

“Your scent is quite potent. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, people keep saying that.” He frowned. “Not really getting less rude.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“I guess that depends on if you like the smell of music.”

She chuckled. “I think it’s different for all of us. We’re drawn to what it means, not how it smells. The smell is just a translation of the feeling when we don’t fully understand what’s at the heart of our desire.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And the desire is… to have sex with me?”

Josephine bit her lip and looked down, amused but apparently trying not to offend him by laughing at this conclusion. “It’s,” she cleared her throat, “to form an alliance. Your demon self is presenting much more strongly than usual. Any vampire in your radius would have to be a fool not to partner with you, to share in your power. It’s an instinctive reaction to that scent you’re scattering about.” She paused thoughtfully. “But in fairness some of us would have wanted you anyway.” The way she looked at him, the heat in her eyes, made it clear that ‘some of us’ most definitely included Josephine herself.

“It doesn't stop, though,” Angel said. “Once I've... partnered with someone.” He thought of Spike's eyes, the wide, dark pupils, the way Angel's smell continued to affect him. “The desire is still there, afterward. Why would my scent keep drawing the same vampire after an alliance is made? How many times does it take?”

She tilted her head quizzically at him. “Just once is sufficient. You haven't done it yet.”

“What? Yes I have. How would you even know? I mean, you saw us!”

“That wasn't... Angel, one blowjob isn't an alliance.”

He crossed his arms. “Okay, so I'm asking how many blowjobs are an alliance.”

“None! Or. I suppose, any amount. As long as you finish it properly.”

“Properly? What does that— because I did, you know, finish, so I don't know what you—”

A soft impatient noise. “We're vampires, cousin. What do you think I mean?”

Angel's arms uncrossed themselves, realization dawning. “Oh.” That, he felt certain, was not something Spike would willingly submit to. They would just have to find some other way to navigate the hormone thing.

Josephine was watching his face. “It's intensely personal,” she said quietly. “But the resulting bond would satisfy that craving. And others of our kind would likely keep a more respectful distance once your scent wasn't so... pure.” She breathed in slowly. “It wouldn't make you less desirable, of course, but some would hesitate over the prospect of having to fight off another vampire for a place at your side.”

“How do you know all this?” Angel asked. “How do you know my demon is more present in the first place?”

“The scent gives you away,” she said. “But I've seen this kind of thing before. Atlanta, 1906. I was very young at the time, but you never forget your first angry mob. The violence of those few nights...” She smiled slyly, then shrugged. “It turned into a race riot, lots of dead humans. Should be interesting to see what happens here.”

“It won't be that.”

She shrugged again, dismissive. “Anyway, I'm sure you've noticed other signs.”

Angel immediately thought of attacking Lana and the janitor, of the way his sense of smell was so finely tuned, his insatiable desire for sex, his lack of control. Even the random burst of energy to scale a sheer five story wall was out of the ordinary. “No,” he said. “Nothing unusual.”

He suspected that Josephine didn't entirely believe this, but she just tilted her head and said, “Come with me.” She went toward the partially-opened dock door and ducked under it, and Angel had no real choice but to follow her outside, unsure where they were headed. Once in the truck loading area, she turned toward him but continued to walk backward, smiling a little. “Come on,” she said. “Come here.”

“Where are we going?”

“I'm making a point. Try not to ruin it, cousin. Come on.”

He quickened his walking pace to catch up to her, but she turned away from him and began to jog, so he increased his step again. When she glanced back to see him gaining, she grinned. “Catch me,” she said. And sprinted away.

What, Angel thought as he began to run after her, the fuck?

She'd darted down an alley in that creepily fast, silent way of moving that vampires have. He followed her quickly, but as he entered the alley, he just managed to see the blur of her foot disappearing around the corner. He charged in the same direction after her but again barely managed to catch sight of her body vanishing down another narrow road. Angel moved very fast, sure that he could easily shorten the distance between them, but this happened over and over, Josephine somehow evading him each time he thought he was close. She kept turning, leading him down countless damp alleys and wide streets and around so many buildings they all began to look the same. This was his city, but he very nearly lost track of where he was as he chased her block after block, around warehouses and fleets of shipping trucks in parking lots.

But her unique scent lingered on the breeze in the spaces she ran through, and even when he couldn't see her, he knew instinctively where she had gone. He could have followed her exact path with his eyes closed, his body weaving through the same molecules of air, which didn't have time to move before he slid between them in pursuit of her.

Eventually he pushed his fangs forward, and everything increased then, the smells around him, the hum of the night, even the quiet sound of Josephine's nearby footsteps as she ran. Those steps that had seemed silent before now whispered to him, vibrating up from the pavement to tell him where she was. Angel ran after her so fast that the running changed abruptly. It wasn't like running at all, as though he'd broken through some sort of barrier and was no longer consciously moving his legs but simply riding along while his legs moved themselves. He gained speed like an avalanche. He was steering a derailed train, guiding a bullet. This unexpected power was exhilarating.

He flew right past Josephine, of course. He saw her fall behind as if in slow motion, clearly noticing him pass but unable to keep up. He almost laughed. His feet took him another block down the road just for the fun of it, the novelty. He ran up the side of a wall and backflipped down, then raced in Josephine's direction again, slowing slightly on the approach. This time instead of passing her, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around in a wide circle. It startled her somewhat, but they were both laughing softly when he set her back down.

“Did you see that?” he asked her, unable to help being impressed with himself. He looked down the street the way he had come, as if he could watch himself speed by. “I'm, like, really fast.”

“You're incredible,” she breathed. Her smell was clearer to him now than before their run, more distinct from the other smells of the LA night. The sweetness of her coconut lotion, honey in her shampoo. Modusbeast guts and struck matches and silk. A little perspiration, adrenaline, and the very obvious scent of feminine arousal, the way her body was singing to him, the need to be taken.

His palms were still resting on the subtle flare of her hips. “Do you,” he asked, breathing her in, “want to... I don't know, go somewhere?” He wasn't sure what he was asking really, or where he thought they could go. He wasn't even technically sure where they were standing, what random dark alley this was.

“Yes,” she said softly. Looking up at him with those wide, dark pupils nestled in a thin band of green. But then she quickly took a step back from him, away from his touch. She put a hand up to shade her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “Wait,” she murmured, “wait, I'm not...”

“What is it? What's wrong?” He reached for her again, but she stumbled backward and swallowed, turning away from him. He let his hands drop to his sides.

“Nothing... nothing's wrong.” Safely out of his reach, she breathed deeply before finally turning toward him again. “There's just something I wanted to talk to you about before we...” She smiled, tilting her head at him. “Don't look so concerned, cousin. You don't know how desirable you are. Resisting takes a certain amount of effort.”

He acknowledged this with a small nod. How difficult had it been for Spike to sit next to him on his bed earlier? The struggle hadn't seemed staggering, but then Spike was older than Josephine and had more experience with self-control. But whatever was happening to him seemed to be getting worse, fast. Her arousal already smelled more potent to him now than Spike's had earlier and it had only been about three hours since sunset.

God, he wanted her.

“Come with me,” she said. “We don't have to run; it's just here.”

Desire motivated Angel to follow. He fell into step beside her, trying to maintain a considerate distance so not to overwhelm her senses. There were humans nearby; he could smell them, could hear their voices, the music of a Saturday night in the city. When she led him into an area with bars and businesses still open and small groups of humans milling about, he stopped abruptly and retreated back into the shadows of the alley they'd just exited. “Josephine,” he said. “Wait a second. This isn't a good idea.”

“A drink is always a good idea,” she replied lightly.

“Not humans. I don't drink humans.”

She hesitated, then stepped back into the shadows with him. Quietly, she said, “And here I was craving a dirty martini. You don't drink humans at all? Ever?”

Lana. His teeth sinking into her flesh so easily, that hot gush into his mouth. He pushed the sudden thought away. “Not if I can help it. Killing people is wrong. I know that's hard to understand without a soul, but—”

“Killing?” she repeated, surprised. “Is that what you're worried about? You thought I was going to walk over there and drain a bunch of humans in public, maybe snap some necks?” The idea appeared to amuse her. “Don't get me wrong, cousin, I see the appeal. Really nothing like a few bloody murders when the mood strikes. But disposing of bodies is such a bore. I much prefer dining the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” Angel tried to ignore the sounds of the humans going about their business, the savory smell of the blood streaming through their veins. It hadn't occurred to him to eat before he left his apartment and he was regretting that now.

She smiled her sly smile. “I always ask first. It's much more polite.”

It took Angel a moment to recognize the euphemism. “You're talking about thrall.”

“Can you do it? I know our dear Drusilla can – we had such fun in Rio last year – but they say it sometimes skips a generation. Her progeny can't manage it, but I've always suspected that's due to being a further generation removed from the source of our line, and of course you wouldn't have that trouble.”

His first thought was, Thrall is a myth. He almost said it. It's what he'd believed for two and a half centuries, even though he'd witnessed Dru using it on small children to make them play games with her. But Drusilla was special; it's why he'd chosen her to begin with. They never called what she could do by any particular name. To their little family, 'thrall' was a bedtime story, and since she never did it with any sort of consistency, it was easy to write off her gift as just some random quirk that was specific to her.

But then the Master did it to Buffy. And later he'd heard something about Dracula...

“No,” he said. “I can't do it. I don't know how.”

Josephine seemed vaguely disappointed. “When was the last time you tried?”

“Never. I don't have powers like that. I've never been psychic or—”

“Angel, you're a demon. A very strong one, especially right now.”

“So?”

She rolled her eyes. “So unless your highest ambition is to run for the roses without benefit of a horse, I suggest you take stock of the other abilities you may possess.” She took a step closer to him and reached out, almost laying her hand on his chest, but then she seemed to think better of it and let her hand drop. “I'll teach you,” she decided. A pause. “But not like that, of course.”

“Not like what?”

“Well, we can't have you scaring all the food away before we eat, can we?”

Angel squinted at her. “What?”

Her expression was patient. Fond, even. Gently, she told him, “Fangs away, darling.”

Oh. Fangs away was one of the earliest lessons of becoming a vampire. Difficult to tell at first when your other face was showing; it felt natural after all, and lacking a reflection you nearly always relied on your sire for the reminder until you learned the difference. Darla had spent months telling him, over and over. Fangs away, dear. There's my good boy. The number of times he'd had to tell Drusilla. Fangs away now, princess. Hearing it here, from a vampire less than half his age, was something of a shock. They must have been out since the run. He hadn't even noticed.

Embarrassed, he pulled his other face back inside. The smell of the humans lessened slightly, their loud chatter becoming more subtle. His hunger was still there, tolerable now, but he knew there was no way he could trust himself to go near them.

Josephine gave his human features a tiny nod of approval and started to exit the alley again, but he reached out quickly and caught her by the elbow. She froze. Her skin was so soft in his hand. Even with his demon suppressed, the scent of her body was nearly irresistible.

“I'm not going to drink a human,” he told her quietly. “And I'm definitely not going to hypnotize one into thinking they want me to. Whatever you brought me here to talk about, do it now, Josephine.” His thumb slid back and forth slowly against her bare arm where he held her. “Otherwise, I think I'm done talking.”

Her eyes closed as she took a steadying breath. He could feel the tension in her arm, the effort not to move suddenly, either to run away or push closer to him. Eventually, she said, “You didn't know me.” Standing perfectly still, exactly the position she'd been in when he touched her. “Before today, you never knew I existed.”

“No,” he said.

“But I knew you. Angelus of Aurelius, Scourge of Europe, the great vampire cursed with a soul. You've had a soul since before I was turned; did you know that? My entire life, you've been... this.” Her eyes opened. Dark, dark depths in the green. Somehow, the way she looked at him seemed vulnerable, despite the obvious soullessness. “Our sires were his favorites.”

His. The Master's. “I know,” said Angel. “Darla, Luke, and—”

“Zachary.” She whispered the name. “They spoke of you sometimes. Darla missed you. No one would say what had happened, so I had to look it up in the Order's archives. I couldn't imagine a circumstance so grievous that it would sever the connection a vampire has with his sire but leave them both alive. I couldn't... I couldn't imagine a life separate from my own sire, my family. I couldn't imagine a century of loneliness, a life of solitude, like yours.” She searched his eyes. “Do you remember what it was like, Angel? Having a family?”

Of course he remembered. In his century of exile, it was all he'd thought about – that loss of closeness – never totally sure if he recalled every detail of that life so clearly because of how badly he missed it or because he was so desperate to forget. This was something he didn't think anyone else could fully understand: his family had been out there, and they wanted him, and he couldn't go to them. “I try not to think about it,” he said evenly, no hint of emotion in the answer.

And in the same even tone, Josephine replied, “You killed my family.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it. Technically, Buffy had killed Zachary. She'd also killed Luke, the Master, Absalom, and most of the other Aurelians who had died in Sunnydale. But he knew what Josephine meant. He was there. He helped. He would have done it if the slayer hadn't. He would have done it for her, the same way he killed his own sire, and aside from her, he wasn't even sorry they were dead. But he understood the heartbreak. The loneliness. He let his fingers drop from Josephine's arm. “Is that why you're here?” he asked her. “For revenge?”

Her voice was quiet. “No, cousin. I don't want revenge.” She took a step toward him and reached up, let her fingertips trace along the edge of his jaw. Her eyes fell closed again as she leaned closer to inhale near his neck. “What I want,” she murmured, “is to have a family again.”

At that moment, it was nothing to turn his head, to find her mouth already waiting for his, to give her the exact kiss that she'd clearly been hoping for. He couldn't help it; he'd been thinking about it all night, about putting his fingers through her hair, drawing her close, tasting her pouty lips. He did it now, kissing her soft mouth slowly open, licking into it while he slid his palm around the side of her neck, his fingers weaving into her thick dark locks to hold her still. His other hand caught her hip. This was... good. It was good, right? Josephine was family. She wasn't too evil; she barely even killed people. She just wanted to be close, to feel like she belonged somewhere again, and hey, doesn't everyone deserve that chance?

She kissed him back, melting into his arms in a way that was unexpected given how strong she was, but also welcome given how much he wanted to have her, to take her body in an entirely uncomplicated manner, without the worry that she might have regrets later. This was easy. This was simple. This was her delicate hand moving between them to rub at his stiffened cock through his pants, and this was him turning their bodies, pressing her back against the brick wall at this side of the alley as they kissed. The smell of her filled his head. He needed to take her right now, needed it like the darkness all creatures of the night depend on.

The hand that had been on her hip slipped between her legs, pushing under her short skirt. She gasped into his mouth as he touched her through the damp silk of her panties. “Is this okay?” he whispered, but she was already saying, “Yes, yes...” Her hands unbuttoning his trousers, unzipping them, reaching inside to wrap cool around his hard length and squeeze.

He kissed her urgently, that fog starting to seep into his brain again, settling there like mist to obscure his conscious thoughts. This was almost like the running, like not doing it at all but just riding along pleasantly while it happened, feeling everything. His fingers tugging the soaked scrap of cloth to the side, gliding through the slick valley he uncovered. She shivered against him, moaning softly.

“Angel, do it.” Her breath puffing against his kiss-wet lips. “I want you to.” And then she tilted her head, his other hand still buried in her hair, and offered him her neck.

He stared at it. Breathing. The weight of her head in one hand, the welcoming cleft of her sex in the other, her fist tight around his erection. That tingle at the back of his neck. Family. His mouth fell forward to her smooth skin in a kiss, lips to jugular. God, she smelled like something he wanted to rip into and make his. He licked at the side of her throat, sucked color into the paleness. Intensely personal, she had said. But the resulting bond...

“Come on,” she whispered to him. “I want it. Please.” Squeezing his cock so tight in her hand, reaching up with the other to press the back of his head closer to her. That tingle so strong, much stronger than before. Almost as if it had suddenly doubled... “Please, Angel.”

Yeah, he was going to do it. He was going to sink into her, his cock into her body and his fangs into her neck, and it was going to feel incredible for them both. His demon face came forward again without even pushing, his teeth dropping down to dagger points. Oh fuck, the way she smelled right now, the feel of her soft skin to his lips... The quiet vibration of vampire footsteps racing toward them. Someone shouting. What—?

“Hurry,” she insisted. “Now, do it now!”

But just as the tips of his fangs scraped gently against her perfect throat, Angel felt himself wrenched backward, an angry male voice swearing repeatedly at him. A shrill sound of female outrage, and Josephine's incredibly tight grip on his cock being yanked away, which hurt, but it hurt funny, almost like he'd like to feel it happen again, and then the overwhelmingly familiar scent of Spike caught up to his senses as he stumbled and landed on his ass on the ground, still being cursed at. A weird jerk of his clothes against him, and he was being hauled down the alley, dragged through the grime by the collar of his long black coat.

“—n't bloody keep it in those stupid sodding swish Armani trousers for three bleeding hours you fucking pig-headed undead tosspot!” The long string of insults seemed to end there as Angel was shoved aggressively another few feet and skidded to a stop in the middle of the alley, still on his ass, reeling from what had just happened. “Now stay!” Spike whirled around and started marching back toward Josephine. “Oi, you!” Crunch of changing features as he advanced on her. “Should've just said you had a death wish, pet. We could've settled this at the office.”

Josephine's fangs descended too as she stood her ground near the entrance to the alley, facing Spike. “Hello, cousin,” she growled quietly, hands clenched into fists. “You're interrupting the grown-ups.”

This... wasn't good. Angel tried to make himself concentrate, hands fumbling to fasten his pants. He took a deep breath of the night, the sharp smells of the city around him. Spike and Josephine's scents filled the alley, but beyond that was the tang of gasoline, the sick sweet smell of a nearby dumpster. He got to his feet.

“You barged in on us first and I'm older than you, you daft cow.”

“Two generations removed. Don't you know progeny should be seen and not heard?”

Spike took the first swing but Josephine dodged neatly around him and tried to sweep his legs. He jumped the attempt and threw another punch, which she blocked, and then she narrowly avoided a spin-kick and tried to knee him in the groin, which he blocked. Spike was slightly stronger and more aggressive than Josephine, but she was slightly faster and more flexible. They fought each other quickly and fiercely, dodging and blocking blow after blow, neither managing to gain the upper hand and both growing increasingly furious about it.

“What's the matter, luv?” Spike grunted, catching Josephine's fist in his hand and twisting out of the way. “A moment ago you were begging for a bit of rough. Change your mind, did you?”

“Your pathetic cries for attention turned me off.” She ducked his next swing and shoved away a foot that would have broken her knee if it had connected. “Didn't your sire teach you any goddamn manners?” In a quick strike of luck, she finally dealt a damaging kick that caught Spike behind the knee and made him lose his balance, but he grabbed her on the way down, and when they stopped rolling Spike was on top, snarling down into her face. The intimidation didn't work on Josephine the way it had on that young vampire at work. Josephine snarled right back into Spike's face and tried to head-butt him.

The sight of two well-matched gorgeous vampires fighting over him was so arousing to Angel that he almost let it continue. Neither had weapons so they were unlikely to kill each other like this, anyway. But they were also both cunning and vicious, and he wouldn't put it past either of them to rip the other's head clean off if given the smallest opportunity. Not worth the risk. Angel forced himself to march over and grab Spike from behind. With some effort, he picked him up and hauled him backward off Josephine, who scrambled to her feet and completely ignored Angel in favor of slapping Spike hard across the face while Angel held him. “Hey!” Angel shouted, and quickly turned Spike to the side so his boot wouldn't connect with her stomach as he kicked out, attempting to use Angel as a springboard, swearing again. “Stop it! Both of you!”

He threw Spike unceremoniously against the alley wall and turned toward Josephine. Without thinking, Angel dropped his mouth open wide, fangs extended, and let out what was meant to be a warning snarl. What actually emerged was a deep, fierce roar, more powerful than any of them had ever heard. That rumbling boom sent Josephine staggering several steps back, until she cowered against the other side of the alley, golden eyes wide with shock. Her demon face withdrew quickly as she turned her head in immediate submission.

Once his startling roar tapered off, Angel took a slow, steadying breath in. Okay. That was different. He heard Spike getting to his feet behind him, but without turning he put out one hand, signaling him to come no closer. “Josephine,” Angel said, looking at her big green eyes. She still smelled incredible to him, but their moment had been lost. “Leave. Now.”

“I still want you,” she said softly. “I'll want you even if it means fighting for you.”

“Now,” repeated Angel. “Don't make me say it again.”

She nodded once. Then, with a last, lingering look at him, Josephine turned and walked toward the tinny music of the nearby bars and chattering humans. Within moments, her graceful figure had melted away into the thriving LA night.

*

Chapter Text

*

“Yeah, that's right! Off you fuck!” Spike was shouting toward the alleyway exit where Josephine had disappeared. “They'd chew your neck on 8^th for a tenner – BUT YOU HAVE TO BE GOOD-LOOKING!”

His features shifted back to human as he returned down the alley toward Angel, scowling but apparently satisfied that he'd had the last word. The crunch sound reminded Angel to pull his fangs inside as well, and he reached up briefly to touch his forehead and make sure the ridges were gone. It was a habit he'd dropped centuries ago. “She's beautiful,” he said quietly. “And you know it.”

“Face like a slapped arse.” Spike produced a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his duster pocket and busied himself lighting one. “Three more seconds, I'd've had her head off.” He took a long drag and then removed his cigarette with two fingers and blew the smoke at Angel. Squinting through the haze, he said, “This what we do now? Take turns snatching each other off bints in alleys?”

“It was the right call.”

“Me snatching you or you snatching me?”

“Both. Are you alright?”

Spike glanced at the wall. “Might've dented the bricks.”

“She didn't hurt you?”

“Please. I've had foreplay more violent.” If this comment was meant to bait Angel, it didn't work. Spike took another pull from the cigarette and then asked him gruffly, “What about you, then?”

“Me?” Angel hadn't moved at all, standing completely still in the middle of the alley. That weird muzziness had yet to clear from his brain, and his thoughts were distracting and scattered. In truth, he felt a little bit lost. The things Josephine had told him about what was happening to him made a kind of sense, but now he had more questions than answers. And he really wanted Spike, wanted to take him hard and fast against the wall he'd thrown him into, but he couldn't tell if it was more because Spike's strong scent of arousal was getting to him or because he'd been stopped with Josephine and was still turned on from that, or if he just desperately needed a way to clear his head. His limbs felt light and restless, like he should be doing something – fighting or fucking or running or anything – but he also felt like if he moved at all, his body might just float away without him. If there had been something attached to the ground in front of him, he would have reached for it to hold on.

“I'm fine,” he said softly.

“Are you? 'Cause you smell like you've rolled around in two metric fucktons of vampire catnip.”

“Didn't mean to.” He watched Spike smoke. His hands looked a little unsteady.

“Also seem to have swallowed a whole living tiger since we last spoke,” Spike added. “But I guess we're not mentioning that.”

“How'd you find me?”

“Followed my nose, didn't I? Forget breadcrumbs, you were leaving whole bakers behind. Easiest tracking I've ever done.” He blew more smoke in Angel's direction. “Good job touring the city, by the way. Been meaning to get in some cardio.”

Angel said nothing but nodded slightly.

“So. Kill anyone?” Spike asked.

Angel shook his head.

“Good.” Spike smoked silently for a moment, watching him. Then, “Angel.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you need me to—?”

“Yeah.” Angel closed his eyes, still not moving. “Sorry.”

Spike nodded, then took a last long drag from his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, stepped on it as he exhaled the smoke. “Can you make it back to your place or are we putting on another sordid peep show?”

“Sorry,” Angel said again. “You don't have to. I can do it.”

“My responsibility,” said Spike.

“It's really not.”

“You're forgetting.” He came forward slowly and reached for the lapel of Angel's coat. Sliding his fingers down the edge of it, he leaned close to Angel's ear and murmured, “We're in my half.”

They were kissing before Angel's conscious mind could even sort out what he'd said. Spike tasted strongly of cigarettes, but there was something else... Angel couldn't quite place it. Something vaguely sweet and warm, a feeling like the faint burn of swallowed whiskey on its way down. He put a hand up to Spike's face, held the angle of his jaw, and concentrated on not completely devouring his lips. He needed those lips, needed to treat them gently so they wouldn't be damaged.

His body still felt light, but this kiss was heavy enough to anchor him to the ground. He pushed Spike backward, walked him slowly to the side of the alley and pressed him to the wall. There was something about having someone backed against a wall, something about the inevitability of it, the way they were cornered there, nowhere to run. That must be why he kept doing it. Breaking their kiss, Angel whispered, “You smell good,” and then licked softly into Spike's mouth again. His palm slid down Spike's neck, edging under the leather of his duster.

Spike's hands had pushed underneath Angel's coat as well, circling around his back, pulling him close. Angel inhaled him, that sweet burning smell, and imagined drowning in his skin, imagined being held down by it, pinned to the earth under Spike's body. He let his hands roam down the soft cotton of his own t-shirt worn under Spike's coat, then pushed them up beneath the edge of it, palms flat to his flesh, fingers grasping, holding him still. Spike made a soft sound against his mouth, trying to pull Angel closer, sucking at his lips.

Angel's insides were a storm of conflicting sensations, the hazy fog that seemed to isolate part of his brain and shut it off, and the tactile feeling of his fingertips gripping Spike's smooth body, the overwhelming scent of him, the passion of their kiss. There was an urgency in his blood that made him hard, made him want to take and possess and force, but he fought it down with the determination to be gentle, considerate of this favor given freely. He moved his mouth down, pressed a kiss to Spike's throat, trailed his lips over the pale skin of his neck. One hand slid down to cover the bulge at the front of Spike's jeans. He let his palm grind against it.

He could feel Spike swallow, the bob of his adam's apple against his lips. “You were going to bite her,” Spike said, slowly rubbing his cheek against the side of Angel's head, the softness of his hair.

“Yeah,” Angel murmured into his skin.

“Is that... what you need?”

The question, the quiet implication of it, sent a static charge skittering down Angel's backbone. Without even meaning to, he immediately scraped his teeth against that place, but then he licked soothingly over it. “I wouldn't...” He forced himself to let Spike's neck go and instead trailed his nose up to Spike's ear, silently breathing him in. “I wouldn't ask you to let me.”

Spike's head inclined in a tiny nod. Angel could feel the throb of Spike's cock against his hand where he cupped it. “What would you ask me for, then?” Spike said quietly.

“Your mouth.” Angel put his other hand up to Spike's cheek again and turned his head, kissed him, tugged gently at his bottom lip with careful teeth. Then he pulled back and ran the pad of his thumb slickly across that pink pout. “I want your mouth again.” He pressed his thumb just past Spike's lips, watched the tip go in. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Spike breathed. “That's okay.” Flick of tongue against his thumb, breath cooling over it.

“Do you want to?” Angel nuzzled Spike's cheek. “Say you want to.”

“I don't mind.”

“Spike.”

Sighing, “Yeah. I want to. Christ, I actually do.”

Face still pressed to Spike's cheek, Angel reached down between their bodies and unfastened his pants. His cock was already hard and eager, foreskin drawn back. He took Spike's hand and put it there, squeezed his fingers around it. Spike's thumb swiped over the naked head and Angel shivered, made a small helpless sound. Spike kissed him again and stroked his dick firmly, tight in the cool channel of his fist.

For a moment, held like this in Spike's stroking hand, pinning him to the wall with a kiss, Angel almost couldn't decide where he wanted Spike's mouth after all – here against his own mouth, lips moving insistently against lips as if trying to tell each other something complicated and important, or down low, wrapped around his cock. But before he could choose, Spike slid suddenly down to his knees and sucked him in, and Angel gasped, almost falling forward against the wall without Spike's kiss to hold him up.

“Fuck,” he groaned softly, one hand immediately landing on the bleached hair, fingertips sifting through the thick strands. His other arm balanced against the bricks, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead against his arm there, sliding his hand to the back of Spike's head, into the small space between his head and the wall so he wouldn't hurt himself as he bobbed on Angel's cock. Soft, wet slide in and out. Angel squeezed his eyes closed, breathing. God, yes. This was exactly what he needed.

“Spike, suck it,” he whispered. “Suck... hard.” The pressure inside that perfect mouth increased immediately and Angel's fist clenched on the wall, his lips falling open around a low moan. He shifted his feet apart and thrust forward, holding Spike's head in place. He began to fuck his mouth gently, short thrusts, trying not to gag him. Spike's hand still gripped him at the root, but his other hand clutched Angel's hip under his coat, guiding him forward and back. The coat hung down around them both, the open sides swaying with these measured movements, totally concealing what was happening underneath.

It was never going to last very long. He was too ready, too aroused to hold back, and Spike's mouth was too much, too wet and willing, the tip of his curious tongue digging too relentlessly into the leaking slit dividing Angel's cockhead like a peach. “That's—” Angel managed, his voice tight. “Spike, I can't— I'm going to—”

The pressure around him increased again as Spike sucked hard. Angel cried out, his entire body going tense and still, then shuddering as his orgasm forced itself powerfully into Spike's mouth. He held Spike's head as he came, the intense pleasure tumbling out of him in heavy spurts, and Spike's throat worked over and over, swallowing it down.

Angel breathed raggedly as the last of it spilled over that softly swishing tongue. He felt wrung out, emptied, but the haze in his mind began to dissipate. Now a kind of glow was spreading through his limbs, a satisfaction he'd been missing, a balance restored. It was like he'd become more solid on the ground, almost his normal self again.

He sighed, letting his fingers card through Spike's hair, scratching affectionately at his scalp. Spike's mouth had relaxed to a gentle, pleasant sucking that Angel couldn't quite bring himself to put a stop to. “That's nice,” he murmured, slowly dragging his fingertips up through Spike's hair, ruffling it in the wrong direction. He smoothed it back down and then ruffled it again.

Eventually, Spike began to pull back from Angel, letting his cock slide slowly out of his mouth. Angel stood up straighter and dropped his arm from the wall so Spike would have room to stand. But he didn't take his hand from Spike's hair, and when the blond was back on his feet, Angel used that hand to draw him forward for another kiss. Spike's lips were a little puffy from friction, wet and pink. Shit, that was hot. Angel kissed him languidly, savoring every corner and crevice of his mouth, chasing the taste of himself. The kiss was so thorough that when they finally broke apart, Spike had to take a deep, steadying breath. He was trembling.

“You okay?” Angel asked him, settling his hands on Spike's shoulders. “Spike, you're shaking.”

Spike shook his head dismissively. “I'm fine. It's nothing.” But then he pulled away, stumbled a few steps to one side of Angel, took another shaky breath in.

“You don't look fine.”

“Just need a moment, that's all.” He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket again.

Angel fastened his pants hesitantly. “You know those things will kill you.”

“Only if I do it very wrong.” He got one out and reached for his lighter.

“Hey.” Angel came forward and put his hand on top of Spike's, stopping the struggle to get a flame going. The scent radiating from Spike's body was so strong it almost felt like a liquid Angel could swim in, like if he trailed his hand through the air, he would see currents in it. “Tell me.”

Spike shrugged, not looking at him. But when Angel reached out and tipped Spike's face toward him, his eyes were helpless, desperate, pupils huge and black, almost no blue in them at all. Angel's breath caught.

“This is because of me,” he said. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Spike insisted. “It's fine, Angel. Leave it.” He pulled away and started to walk off, shoulders tense.

For a few seconds, Angel watched him go. It was difficult to sift through Spike sometimes, to sort out what he meant and what he only said when he thought it was what you wanted to hear, what he only said because he wanted to see your reaction, what he said to get what he wanted or to cover for insecurities or to avoid saying something else entirely. Normally Angel could either tell the difference immediately or find it all easy enough to ignore. But none of this was normal or easy for either of them, and watching Spike walk away didn't feel like the right move this time.

Before he could examine it much further than that, Angel did a comfortably vampiric thing and grabbed Spike suddenly from behind, silently dragging him back into the deepest shadows of the alley.

“Angel, what the fu—!”

“I'm not done with you yet,” Angel told him, voice low and soft in Spike's ear. He had one arm wrapped tightly around Spike's chest to keep him from squirming away. His other hand wandered down the front of Spike's torso, palm sliding flat against tensed muscles. “You think I don't want you,” he murmured. “You think I would fuck your mouth against a wall and then just let you walk away...” Angel's hand came to a stop over the erection pushing at the front of Spike's jeans, and he gave it a squeeze, “...like this.”

“Wouldn't be the first time today,” Spike gritted out. “But it wasn't a comment on your generosity.” He tried to wrench away but was held too securely in Angel's arms. “Maybe this is me protecting your feelings.”

Holding him one-handed, Angel tugged open the button on Spike's jeans. He inhaled beside Spike's neck, that intriguing sweet burn, and pulled down his zipper. “Maybe my feelings aren't what you think,” he said, reaching inside the jeans to close his fist around Spike's impossibly hard cock. Spike exhaled sharply and tried to pull away again, but the attempt was much less forceful this time. He reached up to grip Angel's arm with both hands. Angel could feel Spike's body still trembling against him, and he pressed his lips tenderly to the side of his neck. “Will you let me do this?” he whispered into the smooth skin, giving Spike's cock a single tight stroke. “Spike, let me do this for you.”

A strained pause. Then, faintly, Spike said, “Say you want to.”

Maybe it was easier for him to say this into Spike's neck, bodies pressed so tightly together, Spike's erect penis held snug in his closed hand, neither having to look into the other's eyes. But maybe it would have been easy for Angel to say it anyway. It was true, after all, and he'd been invited. “I want to,” Angel said quietly. He let his fingers slide up and then back down the rigid shaft and felt Spike finally relax back against him with a sigh.

There it was again, that dumb little bloom of warmth in his chest, a fondness for this unnecessarily complicated vampire. He kissed Spike just below his cold earlobe.

“I want to make you come,” Angel whispered to him, still holding him tight, immobilized against his body. He began to stroke his cock firmly, these slow, intense pulls, skin moving along with his hand. Spike breathed fast but silently, his hands both squeezing Angel's arm where he held him. “I keep thinking about it. About you,” Angel told him. “I know I keep saying no, but all day I've been thinking about what it would be like. Having you. Fucking you.”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, pressing back into Angel's body. Angel could picture the self-satisfaction on his face, even without seeing it. “All day?”

“When you threw that fledge over the table during our meeting—”

“The fledge you nearly shagged, you mean? That fledge?”

“I nearly shagged you,” Angel told him. “Right there in front of everyone. All I could fucking think about.” He let his palm twist over Spike's cockhead and tightened his fist on the downstroke.

Spike cursed softly. He squirmed, but not like he was trying to get away. His hips stuttered forward, thrusting toward Angel's fist. The motion caused his backside to bump against Angel's groin in a pleasant way. “Yeah,” Angel sighed into Spike's neck with a small grin. “Wiggle for me.”

A laugh erupted from Spike, his body vibrating in Angel's arms. “Bloody pervert,” he said breathlessly. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” Angel smiled and bit Spike's ear gently, his hand speeding up. “Oh... fucking hell,” Spike groaned.

Reaching around Spike like this was almost like jerking his own cock, and he'd had extensive practice at that, knew exactly the right pressure and speed to use. He massaged Spike's stiff dick skillfully, fingers squeezing over the sensitive, swollen head, spreading the slickness that leaked from the slit. Spike's upper half melted back against him, head tipping back onto Angel's shoulder, eyes closed, lip bitten. His lower half remained tense, randomly trying to fuck forward into Angel's hand. Angel dragged Spike's foreskin up over his cockhead and pinched it closed just past the tip, rubbing the skin against itself between his fingers, and Spike gasped, his head coming off Angel's shoulder so he could look down. “Christ, Angel,” he breathed.

“Have I told you how good you smell?” Angel murmured, trailing his nose down Spike's neck. He went back to the quick, tight strokes, slippery in his fist. “Goddamn it, Spike, I really could eat you.”

Another shift against him, deliberate. “Right now,” Spike answered huskily, “I could almost let you.”

Angel raked his teeth across Spike's flesh, hard but not breaking the skin, and felt a tiny tremor run through the younger vampire. He thought about doing it, sinking his fangs right in, drinking Spike down like the whiskey he smelled of.

“I'm... close,” Spike whispered, breathing ragged. He was squirming again, but slowly. “Angel, can I... in your mouth?”

Jesus Christ. A new spark of arousal flared through Angel's belly. “You wanna come in my mouth?” he asked, stroking fast.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Let me. I'm almost—”

He'd wanted to feel Spike's body shudder against his when he came, but this was a good idea, too. In one swift movement, Angel released the hold he had on Spike's chest and dropped to his knees in the dark of the alley, grabbing Spike's hips to turn him. Almost before he was ready for the sensation of it, the wet pink head of Spike's cock was in his mouth, the instant salt and tang flavor bursting across his tongue. He barely had time to suck before Spike was crying out, coming hard, unloading shot after quick shot that hit the back of Angel's throat with more force than he expected.

He swallowed reflexively, Spike's hands suddenly in his hair, holding him there with enough restraint not to yank his head down but enough strength to make backing away impossible. Angel continued to suck and stroke him through it as Spike shuddered, hanging onto him as though he might otherwise fall. He was practically folded forward over Angel's head, swearing as the last of his orgasm dribbled out to collect on Angel's tongue, milked from his overstimulated cock by the squeezing pumps of Angel's fist. Angel swallowed again.

Spike was panting when he finally straightened and eased his hold on Angel's head. He left his fingers there though, carding them through the dark hair as Angel let the swollen cockhead slip out of his mouth. He swiped his tongue over it a few more times, softly licking away all traces of spend, while Spike's breathing slowed and he watched through hooded eyes. Angel looked up at his face and took the whole plum of the head in his mouth again to give it one final light suck, and Spike's eyelids fluttered at the feeling, lips parted.

“There,” Angel finally said, pulling back. He tucked Spike's dick back into his jeans and patted it. But then Spike's hand slid down to his jaw and tilted his head up. He was doing that thing again, looking at Angel as if he'd never seen him before, grinning, eyes curious and pleased. “What?” said Angel. He got to his feet, brushed the dirt off his knees, and again had his face tilted up by Spike's hand.

“Nothing,” Spike said, still smiling. “I've always—” But he hesitated, and instead of finishing the sentence, he kissed Angel quickly on the mouth and then took a couple of steps away to button his jeans and dig his cigarettes out of his duster pocket again.

“You've always what?” He watched Spike light up. It had looked like the next word started with W. Always wondered? Always wanted? Always... worn black?

Spike blew his smoke at Angel, his expression slipping back to the more bored, condescending one that Angel was used to seeing. "Always known you fancied me. Poof."

Angel rolled his eyes. He could still taste Spike's cum in his mouth, feel the slide of it down his throat. It was different from drinking blood, very different, but somehow not as different as he'd thought. It had been so long. He wondered briefly if it were possible for a vampire to survive on cum instead of blood, and he turned away from Spike quickly, waving the smoke from his face like it bothered him.

Wandering a few feet further along the alley, Angel found a place to sit down on the cool pavement, leaned back against the bricks with a sigh. The smell of earth and mildew down close to the ground like this had a soothing effect on his general restlessness.

Spike followed slowly, stopped beside him and leaned his shoulder on the wall as he smoked. "That helped," he said. "If you were wondering." His pupils were still dilated, but maybe not as much as they had been, and he wasn't shaking anymore.

"Good," Angel said.

"This helps, too." Spike regarded his cigarette thoughtfully. "Covers up your smell, like. Not completely. But enough." He took another drag and held it. On the exhale, he said, "How long d'you think we can keep this up, then?"

"It's only been a day," said Angel. He pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them.

"Bloody hell. Feels like longer."

"Yeah. It does."

"Think your crack team's got any ideas yet?"

"I don't know. There's not really much to go on. Not many vampires have allowed themselves to be studied, you know? It's hard to find information on, like, hormones and biology and stuff."

“You'd think we'd know more about it, being what we are and all.” Spike stooped down and settled himself onto the ground beside Angel, back to the wall, one knee up and the other leg stretched out. "I knew a guy, couple of decades ago," he said. "Got himself captured by a group of Watchers. They tied him up and gave him handjobs all day." Spike snorted. "Picture that. Molested by the bloody Council. Said they were doing some kind of biological study and whatnot, but come on. Wanking vampires in chains? Clearly just acting out depraved fantasies." He tapped his ash on the ground. "Still, maybe they learned something."

"They didn't finish the study," said Angel. "He turned them."

"What, he turned the Watchers? Watcher vampires?" He tilted his head. “Watchpires?”

"Yeah. Three of them."

"Huh." He puffed his cigarette again, then nodded. "Makes sense. What I would've done."

"Me too." They sat quietly for a moment. Then Angel asked, "You didn't blow up my apartment, did you?"

Spike chuckled.

"Just tell me you didn't."

"Okay. I didn't."

"Did you?"

"Nah. Should've done. Your record collection is shit. Would've been doing the world a favor."

“How'd you get out?”

“Called Gunn.”

“Oh.” Angel nodded. “Good. That's good. I wasn't sure you had anyone's number but mine.”

“Didn't. Lucky for me, you've a book that can be anything if you ask it nice enough.”

“Smart.”

“Now and then.” Spike smoked some more. Then, squinting down at the lit tip of his cigarette, he said, “I'm still thinking about shagging you.”

“Yeah,” said Angel, looking straight ahead at the opposite alley wall. “So am I.”

“What d'you make of that?”

“I don't know, Spike. I don't know what to do about it.”

Spike nodded slowly. “It was... difficult,” he said. “Being away from you. But being close and not actually... Can hardly tell anymore if it's better or worse.” He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Not sure how much of this I can take.”

Angel thought about what Josephine had said, the way to silence the urge, make an alliance. We're vampires, cousin. But who knew if she'd even been telling the truth? He couldn't suggest doing that to Spike just to make him less horny when this whole thing could be over in a few days anyway. “Well,” he said. “At least we know why it's happening.”

“Thought that was the thing we didn't know.”

“Okay, maybe not why exactly, but we know what's causing it.”

“'Cept that's another thing we actually don't know, innit?”

Angel sighed. “Fine. We don't know anything. Except that you want to have lots of sex with me, and I want to have lots of sex with... everyone.”

Spike turned toward Angel and arched an eyebrow. “Did I say lots? Maybe I just want to one time. Wouldn't be surprised if it put me off.”

Angel looked at him evenly. “It wouldn't put you off, Spike.”

Spike hesitated, meeting Angel's eyes with his deeply black pupils, then huffed and looked away again. “Store your ego in that forehead?” He quickly put his cigarette back up to his lips.

For some reason, seeing Spike a little unsure of himself made Angel want to reach toward him. He didn't do it, of course. It occurred to him that Spike had never answered his question from earlier, whether he felt something between them or not. A few times it had seemed like he might, but there was really no way to know for certain. Not as long as Angel was attracting him by accident with his smell.

“What self-respecting person only has two Bruce Springsteen albums, anyway?” Spike muttered. “It's criminal.”

Angel smiled a little. “Most of my records got blown up a few years ago. I'm still replacing them. You like Springsteen?”

“Everyone likes Springsteen. Man's a bloody genius.”

“He's a poet,” Angel agreed.

Spike took a last drag from his cigarette and then flicked the butt away. “Alright, best Springsteen song, count of three. One. Two. Three.”

“The River,” Angel said, just as Spike was saying, “Thunder Road.” They looked at each other. Angel wanted to disagree, but as he thought about it, he realized he didn't really.

“You make a compelling argument,” he eventually said.

“So do you. Almost said that one.”

“All of his songs are good, really.”

“Bloody genius,” said Spike again.

“Maybe it's something to do with the modusbeasts,” Angel offered suddenly. “I didn't start noticing anything weird until we took out that hive on Monday.”

“Right around the time you started smelling like warm hugs.”

“Hugs?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Thought it was some poncey new cologne.”

“I saw Josephine do some kind of spell on a modusbeast tonight.”

“She talk it into biting her?” Spike scowled. “That being her M.O., apparently.”

“Careful there,” Angel said quietly. “If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were jealous.”

“You don't know me better,” Spike said, but then frowned when he realized how that sounded. “Where'd she get a modusbeast anyhow? Thought you killed them all.”

“Couple of them got away. Probably wouldn't have if we'd had some extra hands.” Angel gave him a pointed look.

“Told you I was busy. It's a big city, Angel. More than one evil thing happening at once.”

“Sure. So what evil thing did you stop on Monday night?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again. He looked down, finding some invisible thing to scratch off the knee of his jeans. Was he... pouting?

“Oh, good,” said Angel. “So you didn't help with the modusbeast hive and you didn't stop whatever evil thing kept you from helping.”

“Well I'm still bloody working on it, aren't I! In fact, I'd be there right now if you hadn't decided to spend all weekend as a high-functioning testicle.”

Angel gave him a little nod. “You're still thinking about fucking me.”

“Damn right!” Spike got to his feet irritably and walked further down the alley. The scent of him lingered in the air beside Angel. That subtle sweet-hot smell was different from the normal smell of Spike's arousal, and even though the difference was minute, for some reason Angel found it incredibly captivating.

After a moment, he stood as well. “Take me there,” he said to Spike's back. “To the evil thing you're working on. I want to help you.”

*

“Not sure how many,” Spike said, peering down into the alley at the sub-level entrance to the building across from them. They were standing on a rooftop several streets over from where they'd last seen Josephine, not far from the place where Angel staked the vampire Spike had been fighting before they went to La-La Land. “Been picking them off one at a time, but it's a big nest. Think they're making more every time I dust one. Maintaining the numbers, you know?” He glanced over at Angel and rolled his eyes impatiently. “Mate, you even listening?”

Angel was squinting at his phone. “Yeah,” he said. “Big nest, maintaining numbers.” He frowned. “I hate texting. Why do you have to push the button four times for an S? S is one of the most common letters. You shouldn't have to push it more than once.”

“Or you could just ring them like a normal person.”

“It's the emergency command line. Have to send in orders by text or it doesn't work.” He read back over the message and hit send. “Anyway no one picks up when I call it.”

“Wonder what that's like,” Spike muttered. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Angel slipped his phone back into the pocket of his coat. He'd just needed to make sure a team got down to that warehouse to extract the dead modusbeast's body from the elevator before Josephine destroyed it. Maybe Fred or someone from her department could take a look at it and figure out what she'd done to it. The modusbeasts may or may not be relevant to what was happening to his hormones, but either way he felt like it was important to know what his cousin was up to. That done, he knelt at the edge of the roof and looked down toward the entrance to the nest. “Rough estimate? If you had to guess.”

“At least six,” said Spike. “Could be more.”

“We could do six.” Angel looked up at Spike speculatively. “You could probably manage six alone. Especially if they're new.”

“Could be more,” Spike repeated. “They don't all come out at once. And I don't fancy going inside and getting myself cornered by a bunch of smug fledges. You happen to bring any weapons?”

Angel casually pushed out his fangs.

“Bit old school. Was hoping for something a little more wooden.”

“Yeah, I didn't think to grab anything from my place. Too busy making a really easy escape, you know?”

“Weird way to describe fleeing my wrath.”

“Your wrath? Is that what you call sulking in the shower?” Angel smirked at him, an expression that probably took on a more sinister connotation with this face. Spike's scent was much stronger this way, not just the excitement that stemmed from being near Angel but also the underlying smells of his body, the leather and cotton of his clothes, the cigarette smoke. That clean, slightly salty smell of unmarked flesh that Angel's teeth could so easily leave marks upon. Ungelled, one piece of Spike's platinum hair stuck up out of place, waving a little in the air every time he spoke. It naturally drew the eye, like a white fly fishing lure or puff of dandelion in a field. Angel had never really liked the bleached look before, but... that was before.

Spike was looking at him, standing close to where Angel knelt at the edge of the roof. He was looking down at the prominent ridges of Angel's brow, watching him through dark eyes, his expression almost pained. Slowly, without saying anything, he reached out and touched the side of Angel's face, ran his fingertips gently from there over the surface of the demonic features. Startled, Angel just let him do it, looking back up curiously with golden irises. The feather-light caress of Spike's fingers on his brow kind of tickled, but he didn't mind. The touch was unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome. A little strange.

Well. A lot strange. But maybe not as strange as the other ways they'd been touching each other lately.

Spike suddenly dropped his hand from Angel's face and took a step away. “Fuck,” he said. “Sorry. That wasn't... I didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” said Angel, watching him.

“Feel like I'm losing my bloody mind.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. That one little piece of hair shimmying in the air.

“We'll figure it out. We'll find a way to make it stop,” Angel promised.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Yeah, we will. We always do.” He didn't sound entirely convinced, but Angel didn't blame him. The frustration was terrible. Each time it happened to him, it felt like there would be no end to it until he got the relief he needed, but for Spike, even that relief didn't completely erase the need. Being this close to each other for this long was a kind of torment that didn't feel like it could be easily resolved. Angel wondered if it would help to send Spike away. Somewhere far enough to clear his head. Somehow keep him there until things went back to normal.

He looked down into the alley again. There were a couple of broken shipping pallets among the detritus that had accumulated near a dumpster. “Some stakes down there,” he said quietly, indicating the wood with a nod. “If we could find a way to lure them out...” At once, a plan leaped fully-formed into his head. He looked up at Spike again.

“No,” said Spike immediately.

“Come on.” Angel was already dropping off the side of the roof onto the fire escape.

“Angel!” Muttering a few colorful expletives under his breath, Spike jumped down after him, arriving in the alley just after Angel had stomped on one of the pallets, splintering off some pointy stake-sized pieces. He tossed one toward Spike and then went over to the entrance to the nest, a partially-covered cement staircase that led down into the abandoned warehouse beneath street level. The grating had been shoved aside just enough for a body to fit through.

“Wait for it...” Angel murmured, just standing there. He still couldn't smell himself at all, but this was worth a shot. He could definitely smell that a group of other vampires had been here very recently.

“Bloody stupid idea,” said Spike.

When nothing happened after a long moment, Angel said, a little disappointed, “Maybe no one's home.”

“Maybe you should dangle your willy down as bait.”

“Well I could, but we both know I'd just catch you again.”

“Come to think of it,” said Spike, testing the point of his stake with the tip of one finger, “if I dusted your arse, I wouldn't wanna shag it anymore. Solve all our problems.”

A soft noise at the end of the alley drew Angel's attention. He walked toward it a short distance and stopped. “Someone's coming,” he said. Spike walked forward as well, twirling the stake in his fingers.

Eventually, three vampires rounded the corner, a male and two females. The mixture of their scents all together hit Angel hard in an unexpected way. It was like a sandstorm in the desert, a giant cloud he could see coming from miles off, but with no way to stop it or shield himself. Their scents washed over him, and he didn't make a move to attack like he'd intended. Instead he stood there frozen, just looking at them. They smelled like way more than three.

The vampires seemed as startled as he was and also froze in the alleyway entrance. Almost simultaneously, their mouths all opened a little bit as they inhaled.

“Hi,” Angel managed awkwardly. “I'm Angel.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Spike blurted out.

“Hey there,” said the male vampire, taking a hesitant step forward. “I'm Tony.”

“No. No, you are not.” Spike put himself between Angel and the other vampires. “You're dust, mate. That's who you are.” He pointed at the two women. “And you're dust number two and dust number three, before you start getting any ideas.” He turned and glared at Angel.

“Right,” said Angel, blinking rapidly. His hand tightened around the stake he was holding. “Dust. One, two, and three.”

Just then, some more vampires turned onto the alley from the opposite direction. They also froze in surprise, unintentionally trapping Angel and Spike there. Angel swallowed. Okay, these were the other smells that had accosted him. “And four, five, and six,” he said. Then he frowned. “And... seven.” He turned to narrow his eyes at Spike.

“I said there could be more, didn't I?” Still standing in front of him, Spike backed closer to Angel, turning to look from one group of vampires to the other.

A head popped up from the entrance to the nest, another vampire sniffing the air. When it saw the two of them standing there hemmed in on both sides, it climbed all the way up. Followed quickly by three more. No, four.

“Twelve?” said Angel. “Spike. Seriously? Twelve?”

“And I said this was a stupid bloody idea!”

Another vampire head popped up, nose first.

“And that's thirteen,” said Angel accusingly.

“Angel,” Spike gritted out, crowding him back against the wall, “I swear to God I hope you die at the hand of a bloody fledgling named Tony.”

“But if I did that, who would teach you how to fucking count?” Angel put out a hand and pushed Spike to one side so they'd be facing the vampires equally. “You still want half?”

“We're in my half, git. I want them all.”

“Excuse me, why do y'all smell like that?” one of the vampires asked them. A cute vampire, Angel couldn't help noticing.

Spike rolled his eyes. “First of all,” he said, “I don't. And second, why are there so sodding many of you? You're vampires, not fucking sardines. This is ridiculous. What's in that nest, a clown car?”

“It's not him,” another one said. “It's the hot one.”

“Right, you're dying first.”

“It's both of them,” the cute vampire said, and another said, “Wait, which one's the hot one?”

A different vampire came forward a little, smiling shyly at Angel, and said, “Hey, you wanna come inside? We have a Playstation 2.” And another, “Or we could just, you know, put on some music and see what happens.”

“Um,” said Angel, tilting his head. That was a bad idea. He shouldn't... he shouldn't go with the other vampires. And possibly have an orgy. A big vampire orgy would be... bad. Right? He looked at Spike.

Spike was inching in front of him again. “The answer you're looking for, Angel,” he said grimly, “is no way and also piss off. Understand?”

“Of course,” said Angel. “I was going to say that.” He shrugged apologetically at the vampires who had invited him in.

“Look,” Spike said to the group, “I know you all think he smells like a rainbow or whatever, but—”

“Like two rainbows,” someone interrupted. Another called from the back, “Two rainbows fucking!” and there was a general murmur of agreement.

“You can't keep him all to yourself,” someone said.

“Yes, I bloody well can!”

“Dibs on the blond one,” said someone else. “He's cute when he's mad. Smells like a cupcake.”

“That's enough!” Spike shouted. “I'm killing you all!” To punctuate this point, he staked the vampire who had wandered closest and was trying to signal to Angel without Spike noticing.

“What the fuck, man! He dusted Chad!” Another vampire lunged forward, intent on tackling Spike, but Angel kicked it in the chest before it got close, and its body flew across the alley, knocking over two others.

That's when the rest of the vampires decided to attack all at once.

They mostly went for Spike. Angel noticed this as they fought them off together, how these vampires didn't seem to want to hurt him but were trying to separate him from Spike, as though he were a hostage being rescued, or maybe some kind of prize they could win. It gave him the advantage of being able to stake a couple of them from behind as they aimed for the blond in the leather coat. Angel had very carefully stopped breathing as he flung opponent after opponent away from Spike and into the sides of buildings, kicking them back when he didn't have a good opening for a killing blow. It was easier to fight when he didn't have to smell how much they wanted him.

For his part, Spike fought well like he always did, that vicious resourcefulness that Angel found a joy to watch. But Angel also noticed that Spike spent way too much energy trying to keep himself between Angel and the other vampires. He even passed up opportunities to stake some of them in favor of more defensive positioning.

“Spike,” Angel grunted, trying not to breathe in more than he had to in order to talk. He threw another fledge backward down the alley. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Spike said, lunging forward to block another vampire that had reached for Angel. “I'm killing these stupid bloody—”

“You're taking risks to defend me. Stop it. I can defend myself.” God, they smelled even better when he hadn't been breathing and then accidentally caught a whiff.

“I am not—” Spike abandoned a strategic position to jump in front of Angel again and tangle with a different vampire.

Angel shoved Spike away and staked the vampire. “Stop protecting me!”

“Oh my God, not Barbara!” someone cried out.

“But I'm—”

“Offense, not defense, Spike!” Angel hurled another body down the alley by the leg – a leg that had been aiming for Spike.

Spike punched another vampire, one that had tried to get between them. “You're the one protecting me, idiot!”

“Because they're attacking you, moron!”

“Fine!” Spike rapidly staked two more, but the movement took him further away from Angel, and they were finally separated by their respective groups of fighting vampires.

It was probably better, strategically speaking, for them to fight separately and not try to watch each other. And Angel knew Spike could handle himself; he'd even said Spike could probably take up to six on his own. But it still made him uncomfortable not to be able to keep an eye on the other fight as he led some of the remaining vampires away. The ones he'd managed to bring with him down the alley fought in a way he found very annoying; they were too... handsy. Grabbing for him, making attempts at restraint instead of injury. One managed to wrest the stake from his hand, and in his effort to get it back, he unexpectedly tore the vampire's arm from its body at the shoulder socket. It screamed.

Oh... kay.

Without pausing to process that shock, Angel flipped the arm around and staked the vampire using the wood clutched in its own fist, and the resulting disintegration of the body and the arm also took the stake with it. Shit. He had to kill the next one by twisting its head off. But it was easier to do than he'd expected.

As he watched the head in his hands crumble into dust, Angel was surprise-tackled to the ground by the last vampire on his side of the fight. The landing on his back knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped reflexively, accidentally inhaling the scent of the vampire on top of him. They looked at each other. It was Tony.

“Hey,” Tony said softly, adjusting his position on top of Angel. “You killed my friends. Not cool, man.” He seemed like he was trying to be angry, but his gaze kept falling to Angel's lips, his pupils blown wide and black in the bright amber of his demon eyes.

“It's not personal,” said Angel. God, why did this guy smell so...

Tony inhaled deeply. “Why do you smell so...”

“I don't know.” His hand, on its own, went up to Tony's cheek. “I don't mean to.”

“It's nice, though. Can I kiss you?”

“Um,” said Angel. “Better not. I have to kill you in a minute.”

“All the more reason,” said Tony.

Well. Angel could hardly argue with that logic.

They were making out passionately when a weight seemed to fall out of nowhere and land on Tony's back, driving Angel down into the pavement again. Tony jerked back and cried out in pain. They made eye contact for one second before he suddenly poofed into dust and Spike fell forward hard onto Angel's chest, his hands still making the shape of a stake that was no longer there. “You fucking slag,” he said.

Angel blinked the dust out of his eyes. “Did we get them all?”

“'Ooh Spike, stop protecting me, I want to defend myself like a big boy' and here I find you, splayed on the ground like a regular gutter harlot, sucking face with our bloody enemies! Did you give them each a turn?!”

“Spike.”

“This is why you need protecting in the first place, Angel! You're clearly incapable of—”

“Spike!”

It was pure luck that he happened to detect the quiet vibrations of running vampire footsteps under Spike's irate speech. Just as the footsteps stopped – a leap through the air – Angel yanked him down closer and rolled. But there hadn't been enough time to completely avoid the stake, and as Angel landed on top, he felt it tear into his shoulder. He grunted in pain. But it was a relieved sort of pain; better his shoulder than Spike's heart. Spike's face, barely three inches below his own, was as horrified as if he'd actually been dusted.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” the other vampire exclaimed. “I swear I wasn't aiming for you!”

Then Angel was flat on the ground again, Spike having scrambled out from under him and snatched the stake from his body before he could even react further than that single grunt of pain. The other vampire screamed. Angel expected the voice to dissolve into a poof of dust, but it was still screaming when he got to his feet. He wasn't sure he wanted to see why, but he looked anyway.

Spike was sitting astride the vampire on the ground, kneeling on its hands. He was leaning down, calmly whispering something to it as it cried. The cries drowned out most of the words. As he leaned, he was very slowly pushing that same stake into its stomach, blood welling up around the wood as it inched in. There was already a wound where he'd stabbed it in the stomach much more quickly.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” the vampire sobbed.

“Spike,” Angel said.

Spike held up his hand without turning around, signaling Angel to wait. He wrenched the stake out of the vampire's body but only moved it a little to one side, placing the point against its torso again. “I was just saying,” he said, a little more loudly this time so Angel could easily hear, “that our friend here is very lucky I can only kill him once.” He started leaning on the stake again, slowly plowing it in a diagonal direction under the vampire's abdominal muscles. “Then again, maybe that isn't so lucky for him. 'Cause now I have to make it last.”

“Please!” it begged. “Please stop! I'm so sorry!” It retched a little, some blood coming out of its mouth.

“Spike,” Angel said again, his voice sounding strangely quiet beside the other vampire's agonized cries. “Just kill it.”

Spike was staring intently down into the vampire's face. “I am.”

The smell of its blood made Angel a little woozy. Or maybe that was his own blood. “No,” he said. “What you're doing is wishing you'd brought some railroad spikes.”

Spike yanked the stake out of the vampire's stomach again and it howled desperately. “How fast d'you think we can get some?” he asked, not looking up.

“Spike. Kill it.”

Very slowly, Spike dragged the tip of the blood-covered stake up the vampire's body and positioned it over the heart. He finally looked up. “Angel, it almost—” His voice stopped abruptly. He looked down at the vampire again.

“Yeah. It tried.” Angel wanted to reach for him, put a hand on his shoulder maybe. Something. But he didn't, just stood there bleeding in the alley, and waited for Spike to finish this. The vampire was panting under him. “You're fine, Spike,” Angel reassured him, not moving. “It didn't even touch you.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Not me.” He suddenly snarled down into the vampire's face and stabbed it again, this time in the lung. While it was screaming hoarsely, he grabbed its head, separating it from the body with one hard twist. A second later, he was kneeling there in the alley in a scattering of dust, jaw clenched.

Angel gave him a moment, then walked over to stand beside him. “I think we got them all now,” he said.

Spike nodded stiffly. Then he asked, “You alright?”

“I'm fine. Just a scratch.”

The tension seemed to melt slowly from Spike's shoulders, and he slumped to the side, leaning his head against Angel's hip. The gesture surprised Angel, but he let his hand naturally come to rest on Spike's hair. Ruffled it a little with his fingers. “Stupidest bloody idea you've ever had,” Spike murmured.

“Oh, I don't know,” Angel said, soft. “I've had some dumb ones.”

Spike snorted. It sounded like an agreement.

*

Chapter Text

*

If Spike had been anyone else, maybe Angel would have taken his hand on the way home. Maybe he would have walked him back to the penthouse with their fingers threaded together, the touch a sign of quiet comfort, of companionable understanding: I know this is hard, but we will help each other through it. That was what he wanted to do.

And maybe anyone else would have held Angel's hand and understood it as a gesture of silent support. But he knew Spike wouldn't. He knew the look Spike would give him if he attempted to capture his fingers as they walked. He knew the derision, the sarcastic remark that would issue immediately from Spike's mouth, some crack meant to embarrass him for trying. He knew Spike would find the offer of his hand insulting, a comment on his weakness and not a symbol of solidarity.

He also suspected that Spike, on some level, would want to take his hand, and the derision would be more for himself than for Angel because of his own innocent desire for the support of a friend, for the relief of sharing this burden. But even if Spike could have accepted that from someone else, he was much too proud to accept it from Angel, and Angel found this at once frustrating and sad and wholly relatable. And so he kept his hands to himself.

It didn't stop him from wanting to reach out, though.

Maybe it meant nothing. Just that dumb craving he had for touch.

Maybe he would touch Spike's hands when they got back to his apartment.

The two of them walked in silence with a mutually agreed upon distance between their hunched shoulders, hands stuffed deep in black coat pockets, each vampire looking effortlessly cool and mysterious in his own way, and Spike smoked while Angel bled a little from his stake wound and thought about the distance between them, wondering exactly when they'd agreed on the length of it. Was it some conscious decision they'd made 124 years ago? We will never stand closer together than this. We will never touch each other meaningfully, except in anger. He didn't remember a specific moment of deciding it, only that it had always been that way and he hadn't really noticed until this weekend. Spike, in the capacity of a potential lover, had simply never occurred to Angel before.

Spike was occurring to him now.

On the other hand, so was everyone else. Even random vampire fledges in alleyways during the middle of fights to the death, and wasn't that an unfortunate inconvenience that led to being staked in the back. Spike was the only one sticking in his brain, though, the thought he kept coming back to like the scene of a crime. Was it because they were spending so much time together? If he'd spent the weekend with someone else in this situation, would that be the person he couldn't stop thinking about? Well, maybe if it were Josephine... Could this be a family thing?

It was all too confusing. And he was really hungry. When was the last time he was this hungry? And he could smell food walking around nearby.

Spike finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away, exhaling the last of the smoke. He nodded toward an upcoming intersection. “Take a right up here,” he said.

“It's closer if we keep going straight.”

“Fewer people if we go around.” Spike looked over at Angel. “And no offense, but I'm in no mood to rescue more humans from you at the moment.”

Personally, Angel was in no mood to be punched in the forehead again, so he turned right at the intersection without another word. The longer walk would be nice anyway. He was still feeling restless and likely wouldn't be allowed out again any time soon, so it was probably better to go ahead and expend as much energy as possible.

Spike kept glancing at him curiously. “What?” said Angel.

“Nothing.” They continued walking, not in any apparent hurry. Angel listened for screams just in case a slaying opportunity arose, but everything seemed quiet this late into the night. Eventually, Spike said, “Something wrong?”

“You mean besides the obvious?”

“Well, yeah. If it were obvious, I wouldn't ask.”

Angel shrugged. It made his wound twinge painfully.

“You know I don't mind,” Spike went on, “but there may be innocent pedestrians about.”

“And what, you're afraid I'll eat them?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “They might be, seeing you like that.”

Huh? Oh! Shit. Angel quickly pulled his fangs inside. How long had they been out? Since before that confrontation with the nest of fledges? If he'd been walking around this whole time with his other face showing and not even realizing, it was no wonder Spike thought something was wrong. He briefly touched his forehead to make sure the ridges were gone. “It's um,” he said awkwardly. “It's not intentional. You remember when you were first turned and it was kinda hard to tell the difference?”

“I remember you and Dru nagging me about it, yeah. It was 'fangs away' every five minutes. Embarrassing, that.” He regarded Angel interestedly. “You having trouble with it?”

“Little bit, yeah.” It felt weird to admit this to Spike. It felt like exposing a vulnerability, and those were things they had a habit of using against each other. “I mean. Just tonight. A couple times.”

Spike seemed to consider this, then shrugged. “I don't mind,” he said again. “Just thought... pedestrians, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Angel. “It's better not to. When there could be humans around. So thanks.”

A nod. Then, after a long pause, “I've always liked it. Sort of.” He glanced quickly at Angel again, then away.

“Liked what? Having another face?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He suddenly seemed very focused on retrieving another cigarette and his lighter from his pocket. With the cigarette tucked safely between his lips, he mumbled around it, “Yours. I like yours,” and lit the end, inhaling. He flicked the lighter closed and returned it to his pocket, as though doing all of this while carefully not looking at Angel meant that perhaps the words would be camouflaged well enough not to be noticeable.

Angel noticed. The lit tip of the cigarette, that tiny orange glow, was how he imagined the feeling in his chest would look if he could see inside himself. This little spark of warmth put there by Spike, who had immediately answered Angel's vulnerability by exposing one of his own.

Intentional or not, it was as good as taking his hand.

Angel suppressed a smile as he reached over to pluck Spike's cigarette from his lips. He put it to his own mouth and took a long drag. When he made no move to give it back, Spike obligingly got out another for himself. As he lit it, he said, “Reckon you owe me a new pack by now.”

“If I get hooked again, I'm blaming you,” said Angel, smoking casually.

They walked on in silence. The smoke did help, he realized. It masked Spike's scent, except in the way that he associated the smell of cigarettes with Spike anyway, so in that respect it only half-worked. And he could still smell that faint new thread of something sweet and hot wrapping itself seductively about Spike's skin, but with his other face on the inside, it wasn't quite as strong as before.

“How's the shoulder?” Spike eventually asked him.

Angel rotated it slowly, considering. “I think I have a splinter.” The stake had gone in at an angle and been yanked out roughly. With a piece of wood still inside, the wound wouldn't close properly.

“I'll have a look when we get back.”

Angel nodded.

The city stretched out in front of them, endless roads and buildings and cars and streetlights and alleyways, smells and sounds and stillness and movement. Music and motors. He breathed it all in with the smoke. That run with Josephine had taken him further than he usually went on foot, and the walk back felt long. He didn't mind walking it with Spike, though, not nearly as much as he would have last week. There was a low brick border along the sidewalk here, a barrier between the walkway and the road, less than three feet high. Spike hopped lightly up onto it and continued walking beside Angel as they smoked, taking the rare opportunity to tower over the older vampire, his booted feet balancing easily on the narrow wall, nimble as a tomcat. It was the kind of thing he'd always done, even a century ago, and a pang of nostalgia crept through Angel's thoughts. He wondered if Spike had missed him at all, those hundred years. If he'd ever thought about him. It didn't feel like a thing he could ask.

When they finally got back to Wolfram and Hart, Spike made for the parking garage where Angel's private elevator could take them up to the penthouse. But Angel stopped, just stood there looking up at the building in the dark, and so Spike stopped to wait for him. There should have been stars above the building, but the combination of smog and light pollution made them so faint they were practically invisible. Just a big dark sky. Sunrise was still a few hours off. “You're not going to let me back out,” Angel said.

After a moment, Spike answered him, “You'd do the same. If it were me.”

“What if I don't want to go inside just yet?” He looked over at Spike standing there. “You gonna make me, Spike?”

Spike looked back at him coolly. “Rather not have to.”

With perfect clarity, Angel knew that Spike would not be able to force him to go inside. They'd been more or less evenly matched before (Angel having a bit of a physical edge because he was older and larger, but damn if Spike didn't put up one hell of a fight when motivated), but right now Angel was faster and stronger than he'd ever been. It would be no contest, and as far as he knew, Spike didn't even realize that. But knowing how hard he would try made Angel glad, grateful even. He acknowledged the implied threat with a nod and followed Spike around the building and into the private garage.

The smell of Spike in the elevator with him was intoxicating. Angel leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He was feeling twitchy again, and what if this lasted forever? What if Spike always smelled this way to him, for the rest of their eternities, until the world ended? What then?

If nothing else, he'd never get any work done.

He'd assumed that Spike would lock them in again, but when the elevator arrived at Angel's penthouse, Spike made no move to press the lockdown combination. He just stepped out into the apartment, and Angel followed. “Got a first aid kit around here?”

“Yeah, I'll get it.” Angel shrugged out of his long black coat and started to go hang it up but stopped. He put his fingers through the big rip in the back where he'd been stabbed with the stake. This had been one of his favorite coats. With a sigh, he emptied the pockets and then wadded it up in his hands and went to the kitchen. His shoes crunched over a layer of broken glass and ceramic on the floor as he made his way over to the trash and stuffed the ruined coat in. Then he crunched back over the sharp mess, pausing thoughtfully to look inside some of the empty cabinets where his dishes had been, and finally exited the kitchen.

Spike was standing in the den, laying his duster over the back of the sofa. Angel came in and crossed his arms. “All of my dishes,” he said.

The blond shrugged, unrepentant. “It's not as though you use dishes anyway.”

“All of them,” said Angel.

“Not the pots and pans.”

“The coffee pot.”

“Well, that one was glass, wasn't it? Doesn't really count.”

Angel glared at him. But what he was seeing was that vampire in the alley whose arm he'd very easily torn off. Spike also had arms. There was an extremely satisfying idea trying to form in Angel's head about this, but he forced it down and said instead, “Real mature, Spike.”

“Says the man who locked me in and ran away. Are you shocked I was a bit bloody miffed?”

“You're a hundred and twenty-four years old, not some abandoned puppy pissing in my shoe!” Angel suddenly thought of his shoes lined up neatly in a row in his closet. “You didn't— Is there anything else I'm going to want to hurt you for?”

“Reckon there's a lot. But not tonight, no.” He hesitated. “Maybe don't check the linen closet just yet.”

“Spike. Those are $800 sheets.”

“You know, I thought they might be expensive. Cheap ones don't rip up nearly so neat.”

Angel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dishes and bedding. These were things that could be replaced fairly easily. He was disappointed about the coffee pot, though; it was the one he'd brought over in the move from the Hyperion. The coffee maker that had come with the penthouse was too fancy and the scorch marks on the bottom of the old pot reminded him of Cordelia. But Spike couldn't have known this. Spike barely knew him at all, at least not lately. Despite deliberately destroying Angel's things, he'd probably thought he wasn't messing with anything very personal, just some generic expensive corporate perks that would be annoying to have to replace. And the luxury sheets and dishes didn't actually mean much to Angel anyway, just that they were his things and it was nice to have things. He'd never had so many nice things that were his before.

On the other hand, just because it could have been worse didn't mean it was okay. He wouldn't have done this at Spike's place. Assuming Spike had a place. And dishes.

“You're sweeping up the mess in the kitchen before Rosa comes over,” he said, turning away.

“Rosa? Who the bloody hell's Rosa?”

“She's the maid,” Angel said, and walked out.

The door to the linen closet at the end of the hallway was standing open, bits and strips of torn silk and Egyptian cotton piled on the floor in front of it, a snow of white down from a destroyed duvet topping the mess like cake icing. Angel ignored this and went into his bedroom, then into the dressing area attached to his bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.

One entire wall above the sink in the dressing area was a mirror. Angel unbuttoned his shirt in front of this mirror, watching his lack of reflection. The material peeled slowly away from the bleeding wound beneath his right shoulder, and when he laid the ruined shirt across the counter beside the sink, it appeared in the mirror. He didn't know why they'd left the mirror here when the penthouse had been given to him, but he often watched his clothes disappearing in it as he dressed and reappearing as he undressed. When Spike walked in behind him, the reflection in the mirror remained undisturbed.

“Doesn't look too bad,” Spike said quietly. His fingertips grazed over Angel's back. “Not very deep. Looks like it didn't go in straight.” He pressed a little, feeling for splinters.

Angel grimaced. “Yeah, the stake glanced off my shoulder blade. I can tell there's a piece still in there.”

Spike took a folded flannel from the side of the sink – it disappeared from the mirror when he picked it up – and wet it to clean the blood from Angel's wound. The cold water felt soothing against the injury. Angel consciously relaxed his shoulders, untensing the muscles in his back, the flesh going smooth and soft under Spike's hand. The cloth appeared in the mirror when Spike put it back on the counter, smeared with red. He pressed his fingertips firmly to Angel's back again, not directly on the entry wound but a bit to one side. It hurt, but Angel didn't react. “Yeah, I can feel it,” Spike told him. “Want to sit while I get it out?”

Angel silently went to sit on his bed, turned to the side so Spike could easily reach the wound. Spike carried the kit over and set it next to Angel's hip. He stood behind and slightly to the side of Angel, held the tweezers from the kit in one hand, and pressed on Angel's bare back again, feeling for the piece of wood buried under the surface. “It's long,” he said.

“There's a blade in there,” said Angel, indicating the first aid kit. “If that'll make it easier.”

Fingertips running soft over his skin. “Nah, don't want to cut you here.”

It seemed like an odd thing to say – no matter where Angel was cut, the skin would heal within hours – but he didn't mention it, just let Spike decide the best way to do this on his own. He didn't flinch when the tweezers pushed into the hole in his shoulder, but when they grasped the end of the large splinter and began to shift it, his muscles tightened involuntarily, and Spike paused, letting his fingertips stroke softly over the smooth skin of Angel's back again while he waited for him to relax. After a moment, Angel exhaled slowly and forced himself to go loose and pliable. But as soon as Spike tugged the splinter, Angel's muscles tensed again, making it difficult to pull the wood from where it was stuck. “I really don't mind if you cut it out,” he said.

“I can get it like this,” Spike replied quietly. “Just relax.”

It wasn't that this type of extraction was too painful, but the pauses made it much more tedious than simply making a quick cut along the length of the splinter and popping it out sideways. Angel focused on breathing in and out evenly, letting the tension lessen with each breath. Eventually Spike tugged at the end of the splinter again, wiggling it a little to try to get it loose, and Angel concentrated on not moving.

“Almost,” Spike murmured.

Angel could feel it coming out. It did seem longer than he'd thought at first, and while it was technically a thin shard, it was thicker than he'd originally thought as well. When it had come about halfway free, the other half slid out much more easily, followed by a small welling of blood from the wound. Angel rotated his shoulder and sighed. Much better.

"All done," said Spike quietly. "And this still looks like you got it yesterday."

Angel felt him tracing the outline of the A in his tattoo. So that was why he didn't want to cut the splinter out. The cut would have healed, but the lines of ink might not have matched up perfectly afterward. Funny that Spike would care about that. "That tattoo is older than you," Angel said. "It's kind of a miracle it hasn't been messed up yet. The number of times I've been stabbed, whipped, set on fire..."

"How'd you get it to stick in the first place? I got one once, was all healed away in a month."

"I got it when I was human."

The fingertips had trailed upward to trace the griffin but paused at this. "Not really," said Spike.

"Really. A few weeks before I was turned."

"So the A doesn't stand for Angelus then? Or Aurelius?"

"No."

Spike waited, but when Angel didn't say anything else, he said, "Well? What's it for? You can't just say 'this thing you believed all your life is wrong' and then not bloody elaborate. That's just impolite."

"Maybe talk to me about manners on a day you haven't vandalized my kitchen, Spike."

Following this comment, there was a long silence behind him. When Angel looked back over his shoulder, Spike was staring at his tattoo, face contrite. It was an expression he didn't often use.

"Sorry," he said softly. Then, "Not about the dishes. I don't care about your posh dishes." He took his hand off Angel's back. "This was my fault." In his other hand, he still held the tweezers clasped around the end of a thin shard of wood about four inches long. Like a large toothpick, stained red. "If I'd been paying attention..."

"Neither of us was at our best tonight," said Angel.

"Well, you definitely weren't," Spike agreed immediately. "Calling time-out to roll around in the dirt snogging a bloody fledge—"

"Hey, that was an accident. He was very persuasive.”

“Bit too easy to persuade you lately. First a human woman, then that Josephine bint, and now it's any random bloke named Tony?”

“And you,” Angel pointed out.

“And me, right.” Spike huffed. "Christ, when I saw you kissing him, I—" He looked away suddenly, then shook his head like he was disappointed in himself. “I don't know. Wasn't thinking.” When he glanced back toward Angel's face, he frowned and shoved him half-heartedly. “Shut up.”

Smiling a little, Angel said, “I didn't say anything. About you being jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“Of a six-month-old.”

“You're the absolute bleeding worst, you know that?” Spike stomped back into the dressing area to throw the tweezers in the sink. He hadn't bandaged Angel's wound, but it wasn't really necessary.

“Sorry, what was that?” Angel called after him. “I can't hear you over all my stuff you ruined.”

Without looking over, Spike raised two fingers at Angel as he passed back through the bedroom and went to the kitchen. Angel could hear his boots crunching across the glass as he opened the fridge and took out some blood. That reminded him of how hungry he was, so he gathered up the first aid kit and put it away before joining Spike in the kitchen, still shirtless. Spike's fangs were out, buried in a plastic blood bag.

Angel took another of the bags from his refrigerator and opened a cabinet out of habit, but found it empty. Right. “I don't suppose any of my mugs survived your tantrum?” The only reply was an unashamed grunt into the plastic, so Angel heated his blood bag in the microwave and then pushed his fangs forward and bit into it in the same manner as Spike. He wouldn't have done this in front of a human, but right now it didn't seem like some disgusting, animalistic thing. They were just eating.

He emptied the first bag very fast and got another to do it again, not bothering to heat this one. God, he was hungry. Spike watched him, drinking more slowly from his own bag, golden eyes trained on Angel's golden eyes, then dropping to his mouth, taking in the sight of Angel's lips resting softly against the clear plastic. The blood draining straight in, throat working over and over.

Angel watched Spike as well, imagined that the bag he held was a see-through human and Spike was drinking it down while it lay back against him, not struggling. How many times had they eaten like this together, but from flesh instead of plastic? Had it always made Angel hard to watch Spike sucking and swallowing this way?

No, it was everything together, that damn twitchiness, the way Spike smelled, the lingering sensation of fingers stroking his back, the fresh blood filling in the hungry spaces of his body while he watched Spike's mouth. Angel finished his second bag and disengaged his fangs from the holes he'd pierced into it, dropped it to the messy floor. Looking into Spike's eyes, he ran his tongue across the sharp tip of one fang and then the other, licking off the blood.

Spike swallowed the last of his blood and dropped the plastic as well, let it flutter down. “You're still bleeding,” he said, pupils dilated. “D'you know how fucking distracting that is?”

“Yes,” said Angel. He took a step closer to Spike, looking at his face. The one that was normally hidden. He’d seen Spike’s other face a million times, but he’d never touched it except to punch him.

Slowly, he reached forward and put his fingertips to the side of Spike’s brow, then traced them across the demonic ridges, touch as light as breath, the same way Spike had touched him earlier. Spike allowed it now, letting his yellow eyes fall closed, head bowing toward Angel’s hand. Angel took another small step closer to him, leaned in and put his lips on the prominent scar marking Spike's left eyebrow ridge. Not a kiss exactly, at least not at first. He just wanted to feel it that way, the graze of it against more sensitive skin as he turned his head slightly one way and then the other, brushing his lips softly past it.

Then he trailed his lips over to the thick folds at the top of Spike's nose. There he put a kiss. Touched Spike beneath the chin, tilted his head up. Another kiss, this time on his mouth. Still very soft, lips to lips, the jagged points of their fangs entirely hidden underneath the tenderness. And that recognizable haze that was beginning to seep into Angel's thoughts.

Spike pulled back from the kiss first. “Turn around,” he said, voice low.

Crunch of broken glass underfoot as Angel turned his back to Spike. Spike's hand was on his arm right away, holding him there as he dragged the fingertips of his other hand down Angel's skin beside the thin red trail that had rolled out of the wound. Angel pictured Spike marking him that way, slicing him open with sharp fingernails to reveal the red, then licking it off. Small exchanges of blood like that, one tiny sip at a time, weren't uncommon between a vampire and his sire, but it was an intimate thing. Not as personal as biting, but still a more familiar activity than anything he and Spike had done together.

Spike wouldn't have presumed to ask for this. But the blood was already there.

Angel could hear him breathe in deeply near the wound, could feel him exhale past the little drip. He knew what Spike wanted, knew he was thinking about it, wrestling with the idea. Surely this was why he'd asked him to turn around, but now he seemed stuck, just looking and breathing. “Go ahead,” Angel said quietly. “I don't mind.”

Tongue, immediately. Soft flick against his skin. Then another. A slow, careful clearing away of the red trail, thin sheen of saliva left in its place. Spike's tongue followed the path of blood up to the source and passed over that too, gentle little licks that stung Angel's wound in a way that didn't hurt at all but was actually pleasant, arousing. His cock, already plump with the beginnings of desire, thickened further at the sensation.

“You could've been killed,” Spike murmured against his skin between licks.

“Yeah,” said Angel. “You too.”

Spike's face nuzzled into his back. “I should've kept you safe.” His tongue went softly over the wound again, sending a tingle through Angel's whole right side. Ghost of breath over damp skin.

“Spike, it's not your f—”

Before Angel could finish, Spike had turned him around again and taken his mouth in an unexpectedly aggressive kiss. No sign of gentleness here, not anymore. He pushed Angel back against the refrigerator and kissed him hard, glass grinding against tile under their feet.

A stunned moment, and then Angel answered the kiss just as fiercely, yanking Spike's body closer. Their fangs clacked together, scraped painfully over lips and tongues. Angel could taste his own blood in Spike's mouth. Somewhere in his head he knew that he wanted Spike more softly than this, wanted something slow and tender, the versions of themselves that didn't surrender to need so desperately that affection was impossible. But right now his body accepted this, a violent solution to their immediate problem, because Spike smelled like something he could tear open and wallow around in, and it was simpler to force a kiss than request one.

Spike’s fingers dug into his neck as they kissed, a controlling grip that would have been uncomfortable to anyone else. His other hand found Angel's cock, rubbed firmly at the front of his trousers, roughly stimulating his erection to full hardness. Angel pushed into the feeling and grasped Spike’s ass, squeezed the rounded muscles through his jeans. Jesus, he could throw Spike down right here and fuck him into the goddamn glass. He imagined doing that, the way Spike’s flesh would open up in strips over the jagged shards, the floor covered in red. Oh, fuck. They needed to not be in here. Now. Before his mind became too fogged over to resist.

Angel shoved Spike forcefully toward the doorway. Their bodies came apart as Spike stumbled backward, crushing more sharp pieces under his heels. He seemed startled for a moment, amber eyes confused, until Angel advanced on him and pushed him back again, out of the kitchen. Once in the hallway, Angel thrust Spike against the wall and kissed him savagely, and that hand was pawing at his cock again, rubbing through the black pants fast and hard, the pressure almost painful, the near-pain almost perfect.

Spike’s fangs raked across Angel’s bottom lip. Blood was so close to the surface here on both of them, lips kissed-dark and plump, ideal for biting into. It had been a mistake to feed together, Angel reflected dimly, an even bigger mistake to let Spike taste him. Angel sucked Spike’s lip into his mouth. Now all he could smell, all he could feel, was this hunger between them. It felt like a total loss of control, and Spike’s ripe flesh was in his mouth and his fangs were down and suddenly there was nothing to stop him from sinking them in. Even Spike wouldn’t stop him. He couldn't.

It took a monumental effort not to go too far. As hard as he'd shoved Spike against the wall to ravage his mouth, Angel now tore himself away from that mouth and staggered back, bumping into the opposite wall. Fuck, why did Spike smell so good? He pulled his other face inside, trying to retreat from the scent. It barely made a difference. His hand came up to touch his forehead and make sure his human face was there.

“Angel,” Spike said. He took a step forward, but Angel put up his hand as though physically holding Spike back, so he stopped. But he said, “You need this. We both do.” He meant sex. The strong scent of arousal curled off him like smoke, filling the air. He couldn't know what Angel was thinking about doing.

“Yeah,” Angel managed. “Just... just give me a second.” He was still working hard to push away the idea of biting Spike. He wanted it so badly that he could barely stand the thought of kissing him again, because if he did, he might lose himself in the moment and actually do it. But it was so hard to think right now, to keep hold of his control. That fog in his head, thick as dough. It would only dissolve once he... “Alright,” Angel said quietly. “Alright, come here.”

Immediately, Spike was on him again. Pushing him roughly into the wall, his injured shoulder making painful contact with the plaster. Diving into Angel's human mouth fangs-first, a bruising kiss. Angel started to kiss him back the same way, urgent, demanding, but then his fangs descended on their own and he suddenly pushed Spike away again, held him at arm’s length and drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm down. “Wait, wait,” he said, forcing his other face back inside. Fuck, this was hard. He couldn’t even tell what color his own eyes were.

“Angel, what is it?” Spike asked him, frustrated. “We can… we can push each other around a little, it’s fine. It’s just a bit of foreplay. You know that.”

Yes, he knew that. What he didn’t know was how to explain that it was too much for him right now, too reckless. “I know,” he said. “But for now, can we just…” He swallowed. “Not so rough, okay?”

Very carefully, to demonstrate, he guided Spike forward again, slowly put his lips to Spike’s lips, kissed him softly. His hand swept up Spike’s neck, thumb stroking along his jaw as he licked into the pink mouth. After a brief hesitation, Spike kissed him back. A softer, more tentative kiss than Angel had experienced in ages. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just like that.” They kissed again, so soft, slow. Angel could feel Spike’s elongated teeth just behind his lips. His thumb traced Spike’s jaw once more. “Fangs away now,” he coaxed.

Spike did as asked, his demon face smoothing into handsome human features. But he gave Angel a perplexed look. “Why? It’s just us.”

Angel tilted his head to inhale deeply near Spike’s neck. God, that scent. If this went on forever, he would die from it, maybe. “Because,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you if I get too excited.” He put his lips gently to the pale throat, a tiny kiss over the jugular. “Just be sweet for me, Spike. I know you know how.” He trailed his lips up to Spike's ear and murmured, “If you want, I’ll push you around later.”

He felt Spike's acquiescence in the unbearably tender kiss that followed.

They made out like this for a long while in the darkened hallway of Angel's penthouse, kissing each other softly with closed eyes, like they were teenagers and it was the first time and there was something more between them than this bottomless hunger. It felt at once strange and devastating and hopelessly good, and Angel slipped his hands under Spike's t-shirt, and Spike skimmed his palms down Angel's bare chest, and that thick fog clouding Angel's mind allowed in one or two thoughts, like maybe this is all I need and this could never be enough.

What they were feeling couldn't be real. There was no way the status quo of 124 years could flip so entirely in the span of one weekend. It must not be real, and Angel knew it wasn't real, knew it was just these stupid hormones and their weirdly alluring scents and all this goddamn proximity, and he was halfway to convincing himself that he didn't even care anymore when Spike pulled back, took a deep breath, and whispered shakily, “Angel, let me fuck you.”

Instead of answering, he put a hand up to Spike's neck and pulled him close again, recapturing his lips. His other hand slid down from where he'd been resting it on the small of Spike's back, gave his ass a gentle squeeze, and then moved around to the front of his jeans to fondle the steel-hard erection tenting the denim. Spike's breathing hitched when Angel's fingers tweaked the head of his dick through the material. “Please,” he breathed into Angel's mouth. His hips shifted forward. “I need to.”

He could feel Spike trembling against him. Inhaling over and over, taking in the smell he was unintentionally radiating like some kind of demonic Viagra. Angel couldn't stop himself rubbing the stiff dick under his hand. He kept kissing Spike, stroking his palm along the trapped length of it, squeezing the tip. Spike swore and quickly reached down to unfasten his jeans, thrust his bare cock into Angel's fingers. “Angel,” he whispered desperately.

This isn't real, is what Angel almost said. But he didn't know how to make Spike understand. If you think you want something, doesn't that mean you want it? He'd already tried to explain why not, but now here they were again, and the only difference was the pile of glass on the kitchen floor. And the fact that he was a lot closer to giving in now than he had been earlier that day.

Somehow, what he said out loud was, “No.”

A quiet whine in the back of Spike's throat nearly broke his resolve. His hand squeezing around Spike's cock, lips still dropping soft kisses on his face, he began to back slowly toward the den, and Spike shuffled along with him helplessly. Then Angel let go to give him a gentle push to sit down on the suede sofa, and he knelt and tucked his fingers into the waistband of Spike's unfastened jeans, pulled them down as Spike's hips came up off the cushion to help. He pressed a kiss to one pale thigh.

The length of Spike's hard penis stood out from his body eagerly, the pink tip peeking out of his foreskin. Angel took it in his hand again, slid the skin down to watch the defined head fully emerge. In his other hand, he held Spike's bare hip as he knelt between the spread knees and slowly put his lips to shiny flesh, another soft kiss. Then another one, just beside. He painted the whole sensitive knob with slow, tender kisses, feeling the tension vibrating in the younger vampire through both his palms. Then he flicked his tongue lightly along the delicate split of Spike's cockhead and looked up at his face.

Dark eyebrows drawn together, a tortured expression, longing. Spike's hand slid into Angel's hair. “Stop teasing me, Angel. I can't stand it,” he said. Then a quiet gasp as Angel finally sucked the whole plump head into his wet mouth.

The taste of him here, this dusky pink part of him that was always hidden away beneath clothes and further concealed under skin like the most secret secret, rolled across Angel's tongue. Such an abrupt change, from the coppery aftertaste of blood in Spike's mouth to the tang of this intimate flesh, the faint natural salt of it. In the alley, Spike had come so immediately into Angel's mouth that he'd barely had time to explore the taste of this private skin, but he did so now, curling his soft tongue gently around the pleasantly rounded shape, using the very tip of his tongue to lick up through the slit.

Spike's shuddery breaths and the quiet wet sucks of Angel's mouth were the only sounds in the room. Angel's fingers circling Spike's cock slid up to meet his lips and down again in firm strokes around the thick shaft, and Spike's fingers curled tightly in his hair as a little sip of precum slipped from the tip and slid down his throat. Angel swallowed and looked up again. Spike's eyes were closed, his bottom lip bitten. Like he was concentrating on trying to hold back. God, that was sexy.

That thing was starting to happen again and Angel let it, the thing where he felt like he was floating down some predetermined route and wasn't actually making any conscious decisions, just riding along and experiencing whatever his body happened to do. He was sucking Spike's cock without actually doing the motions of it, just tasting the taste in his mouth and feeling the feel in his hand, like it was someone else's mouth and hand working it over and he had just borrowed their senses for a while. But it was good. He paid attention to what was happening, enjoyed it, wanted it to go on and on. His own cock was hard too, and he was aware of it in some distant part of his mind, the dull ache of full balls wanting to come, but right now the orgasm he wanted more was Spike's.

His hand began to stroke faster. He let the head slip wetly from his lips and then push back in further over his tongue. Squeezed Spike's hip, the bottom edge of Spike's t-shirt brushing loose over his knuckles as he sucked more firmly against the swollen flesh, the throb of it in his mouth. “Uhnn,” Spike gasped, hunching forward. “Fuck.” His whole body strung tight under Angel's hands, every muscle tensed. Jaw clenched. Another tiny gush slipped out.

Angel pulled back and held the fierce erection upright, lapped at the leaking slit. Slick lips moving against it, he whispered, “I like the way you taste.”

“Christ,” Spike said, voice tight. His expression, somehow intense and vulnerable at the same time, almost pained, watching Angel's mouth with those desperate blue eyes.

“I want you to come for me.” Angel's hand was jacking him again, rapid jerks near the head, his thumb just touching the sensitive ridge of it on every upstroke. He licked over the slit again.

Spike shivered. His hands were still in Angel's hair and he urged his head forward, thrust his cock up between the soft lips again. He cursed quietly as Angel sucked, then cursed more loudly as Angel sucked harder. “Fuck, yeah, that's it– that's–”

He spilled suddenly into Angel's mouth with a groan, his entire self shuddering with the pleasure of it. His knees trembled on either side of Angel's body. Angel swallowed the release as it pumped against his throat, his eyes closed to focus on the taste, more bitter than the precum but... God, something about it was almost that same sweet burn that reminded him of whiskey and an evening spent sketching near a fireplace. He leaned into it, took more of Spike's flesh into his mouth, continued sucking softly. The spurting subsided, but he didn't let go.

Harsh breath eventually slowed into something more steady, calm. A satisfied sigh, Spike's thumb running gently along his cheek. He glanced up, mouth still full, and met an expression suddenly so relaxed and content that it sent an unexpected warmth tingling through all the parts of his body, down to his toes. Spike's pupils were still enlarged, but his lazy smile was nothing but pleased. Stroking his thumb along Angel's cheek again, he said quietly, “You look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

Angel pulled back slowly, let Spike's still-stiff erection slip from his lips. He felt lightheaded, a little dizzy as he sat back on his heels in front of the sofa. His hand was on his own need now, squeezing it through his pants. “Spike,” he murmured. “Could you... um.” He closed his eyes, swallowed.

“Yeah. Come here.” Spike was pulling his jeans back up, but he didn't fasten them.

Angel got to his feet on autopilot. He felt so... he was very hard, and his skin felt full and tight around his erection, but somehow the whole rest of his body felt that way, too. Like there was too much of him on the inside, like he was really a larger vampire than this, stuffed inside a smaller body. And when Spike leaned forward and got his cock out, wrapped his fingers securely around it, Angel felt the touch in a bigger place than just his cock. He could feel himself being stroked here and on some other level where his body wasn't. And inside Spike's mouth he could feel himself being sucked there, too.

He moaned softly, and at the same time his other face came forward, but he didn't bother trying to pull it back inside. There was too much inside already, and as long as Spike's mouth was around his dick then his neck was too far away to be in danger of a bite. Angel slid his fingers into Spike's hair and let himself float away on his two separate pleasures: this one where his entire body was very present and sensitive and feeling everything down to the way the little hairs descending beneath his belly button moved slightly with Spike's breath, but also the one where some hidden part of him that wasn't this body at all was enjoying it just as much as he was, in some place he couldn't see. It was like getting two blowjobs at the same time.

He could hardly be blamed that it didn't last very long.

Angel was fully buried in that perfect wet mouth when he came, Spike's nose pressed into his pubic hair. He wasn't exactly sure when Spike had managed this since he somehow didn't notice it happening, but he noticed in a big way as he orgasmed directly down Spike's throat and felt the insistent massage of muscles swallowing around him. He cried out, quivering, holding Spike's head firmly against his body while he unloaded the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had. It seemed to go on for much longer than it should, or maybe time had slowed down, and when it finally ended he felt practically turned inside out, emptied and loose, light as a wrung-out cloth.

He was still panting softly as the fog began to clear from his head. The air in the room felt cleaner now, less filled with distracting scents. He relaxed his hold on Spike's head and ran his fingers slowly through the soft blond hair. Spike made no move to pull away, lips still stretched around the base of Angel's penis, his hands resting on Angel's hips, eyes closed. He made an mmm sound that vibrated pleasantly against Angel's overstimulated cockhead.

“How are you doing that?” Angel asked languidly. He gave Spike's hair an affectionate tug but didn't try to escape his throat. The last person to take him this deeply had been Darla three years ago, and he'd missed the feeling.

After a few moments, Spike slowly began to back off, Angel's cock slipping wetly out of the snug space. He licked the head a couple of times and then said, a little hoarsely, “Not so difficult if you don't breathe.”

Angel drew his fingers up through Spike's hair, ruffling it. “Maybe I'll try it later.”

“You could try it now.” Spike was still hard, his penis pointing stiff and lonely out of the unfastened black jeans, a reminder that while Angel's own orgasms brought a much-needed relief from the intensity of his hormones, Spike's only took the immediate edge off. His general arousal persisted even after he came because of his closeness to Angel's scent.

But seeing Spike in such a state also turned Angel on despite his post-orgasmic clearheadedness, and he knew he could easily go again – more safely now, he'd guess, because the urge to bite was lessened. It occurred to him that they could probably keep making each other come over and over for a long while without losing much momentum, and the thought of doing that made his dick move. Spike put his hand around it and stroked upward slowly, squeezing out one last liquid drop, then licked it away. Angel shivered.

"Do you think it would help you if I took a shower?" Angel asked him. "I don't know if I can wash off the way I smell, but I could try."

"No," murmured Spike. He rubbed Angel's cock back and forth slickly against his soft lips. "Whole bloody place smells of you. Makes the air thick. Your scent's soaked into the furniture. 'S good, though." Lightly, he sucked again at the swollen pink plum, and Angel exhaled a sharp breath at the ticklish sensation so soon after coming. But he didn't hate it. He imagined taking Spike here on the couch, just turning him around on his knees and pushing right into his ass while he buried his face in the back cushion, moaning. They could make the furniture smell like him, too.

The tongue swishing underneath his cockhead was doing nothing to discourage this fantasy.

Before he could mess up and accidentally fuck the everloving hellfire out of Spike's ass, Angel took a hasty step back from the sofa, his penis leaving Spike's mouth with a soft pop. "I think I'll shower anyway," he said, and quickly walked out of the room without waiting for a response.

He made the water really, really cold and stood under it, completely still, just breathing. The temperature didn't affect how much he wanted to fuck Spike, but it at least threw his thoughts into a more alert clarity, so he could efficiently brood and suffer at the same time. That made him feel more like himself.

God, he wished he could silence the argument in his head. It's not as though he had some hang-up about having sex. There was definitely no danger of perfect happiness up Spike's ass - not with any vampire, but particularly not right now with this one after the toddler tantrum that had happened in the kitchen. And he didn't hate it the other way either, the stretch of it, the intensity; it had been many years since he'd felt that but it wasn't the kind of thing you forget enjoying. And these were just bodies, right? How much did it even matter if they used their bodies this way? It didn't have to mean anything.

Except it did mean something. Because this was Spike, not some random stranger. Not someone he could use and discard without guilt, or allow inside and not believe things between them had fundamentally changed. He couldn't have sex with Spike and then pretend it never happened. Or, well, he probably could – considering the number of things he'd done that he lived with every day and didn't let himself think about – but Angel suspected it would be more difficult for Spike, who was still new to compartmentalizing decades of regret. Angel couldn't just let this be one more thing for Spike to hate himself for.

And Spike's pride could be so fragile, even though he pretended otherwise so convincingly that it sometimes made you forget. He was much easier to hurt than he let on, and while this was something his body might want from Angel right now, if Angel fucked him he knew Spike would be humiliated later. When things went back to normal.

If things ever went back to normal.

He knew, logically, that they would fix this. They always fixed things. It was what they did. Everything would be normal eventually, and that meant he had to plan for the normal. But in this moment it felt like these were their lives now, that this hunger was forever, and to keep denying their overwhelming desire didn't feel like a sustainable option for eternity.

If they did it the other way, if he let Spike fuck him, maybe Spike would find that easier to deal with afterward. But Angel wouldn't. The anger, the bitterness that was so familiar between them... Angel didn't feel that toward him so much right now – well, maybe over the dishes, and goddamn it those were nice sheets – but if those hateful feelings came back after he'd let Spike put him in such a vulnerable position, knowing how often and how easily they used vulnerabilities against each other...

Well, he wouldn't be able to let Spike stay, and that was that.

So. He was back where he'd been all day, brooding about how much sex to have with Spike, and deciding the answer was none. Just mouth stuff. But no biting, even though that would (maybe?) solve the sex issue. Because that would just invite a whole host of new problems.

Jesus, this water was freezing. Angel turned it the opposite way and washed himself under an intense heat, the stake wound on his shoulder stinging with the spray. It was already shrinking, should heal soon. He didn't do anything special to try to cover the scent that affected Spike so entirely since the whole penthouse apparently smelled that way already. Just did his normal routine with normal shampoo and normal soap, pulling his fangs in when he noticed them as he washed his face. And when he stepped out, the warm steam that escaped the bathroom fogged up the mirror so he didn't see his pajama pants disappear as he picked them up, then reappear as he dropped them again, figuring there was no point. He was going to need Spike again in a few hours anyway.

He dried himself, toweled his hair as dry as he could and ran his fingers through it, fluffing it up, before climbing into bed. He lay with the sheet pulled up to his chest to trap the residual shower warmth, glad that Spike hadn't destroyed the bedding on his actual bed. As alert as his mind was, his body was starting to get tired. It had been a long and particularly active evening, and if he could get his thoughts under control, he would probably sleep very soundly. But.

“Spike,” he said.

Immediately, the blond head peeked around the bedroom doorway, as if he'd just been standing there. “Yeah?”

Angel flicked down the sheet on the other side of the bed. He nodded toward it.

Spike seemed pleased as he came forward, shedding his t-shirt. His boots were already off. “Thought you were banishing me to the bloody sofa again.”

“There's no point. I'd just wake up with you in here anyway.” Then, “Those jeans are not getting into this bed.” He watched Spike obligingly remove the offending black garment and leave it piled on the floor before sliding naked under the sheet with Angel. “If I bought you some real clothes, would you wear them?”

“Not fucking likely,” said Spike, nestling down into his pillow. “But if you wanna make a cash donation for services rendered, I might buy me own.”

“Right, like I'm going to fund your assault on fashion.” Angel waited until Spike had gotten completely comfortable and stopped fidgeting before he casually reached over and pulled Spike's body to him, skin to skin.

“Hey!”

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

“I'm not your sodding teddy bear.” Spike wriggled around as though choosing his own more acceptable sleeping position, but in the end he settled more or less the way Angel had arranged him anyway, pressed into Angel's side, head resting on his chest, one arm flung across Angel's waist.

Spike felt cool against his shower-warmed body. Angel could feel him breathing. It was habit, something they did automatically when awake, even though they didn't need to. To stop, they had to stop intentionally, and it wasn't difficult but it also wasn't often necessary, and not breathing meant not smelling anything, which for them was a disadvantage in a lot of ways. Angel wondered how long they could go without accidentally breathing if they simply tried to stop smelling each other, wondered if that would help. Beside him, Spike smelled like something that prodded at his memory, something pure and nostalgic, a clear glass of perfect amber reminiscence. He didn't really want to turn off that scent. What he wanted was to pull it around himself and live inside it like a cocoon.

“Spike,” he said quietly. “What do I smell like to you?”

The unmistakably much more disagreeable than a teddy bear vampire seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "Already told you, didn't I?"

"You said a bunch of different things."

"Well, I heard from some alley dust that you can add 'two rainbows fucking' to the list."

"In context," said Angel, wrapping his arm comfortably around Spike's shoulders, "I think you might be a rainbow, Spike."

"You take that back."

"I just mean you're starting to smell different. Not how you smelled before." He let his fingers trail softly up and down Spike's arm. "It's good, but I can't really think of a way to describe it. Like something I remember from a long time ago. If it's the same thing that's happening to me, you wouldn't be able to tell. I can't smell myself either."

"You saying your voodoo hormones are contagious now?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess we'll find out if everyone starts wanting you to fuck them."

"Reckon I'll need more proof than that. Not sure I'd notice the difference."

Angel chuckled. He could feel Spike smile against him.

"Except you," Spike said suddenly. The arm across Angel's waist moved up, hand going to his chest. Fingertip brushing gently over a nipple. "I know you don't want me to."

"It's not that," Angel replied after a moment. "I mean. I don't not want you to."

Spike quickly lifted his head from Angel's chest and looked at his face, eyes wide and hopeful. “Yeah?”

Angel hesitated, then pushed Spike back down against him and left his hand resting on Spike's head. “No.”

“But you just said—”

“I know. But I don't think we can trust how we feel right now. And I don't want to make a mistake that we can't take back. You get that, right?”

Spike sighed. “So, just to be clear: I want to, and you don't not want me to, but you don't want us to 'cause we don't really want to.”

“Sounds like you get it.”

“No, I really don't,” said Spike. He lifted his head again and scooted further up Angel's body, looking down at him. In the dark, Angel could see the desire on Spike's face before he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to Angel's lips. Angel kissed him back thoroughly, unhurried. Let his fingers drift down the shallow indent of Spike's spine, palm sliding warmly over one ass cheek. A little squeeze. Spike finally pulled back just enough to whisper, “How can you kiss me like that and still say no?”

Angel pressed another kiss to his lips and then nuzzled against his cheek. “I'm going to keep saying no.” A tiny kiss on the cheek, and he smiled a little. “But I want you to know... I kinda like hearing you ask.” At this, he felt the beginnings of an answering smile on Spike's face.

Spike kissed his mouth again. “Let me fuck you,” he murmured playfully. His hand cupped Angel's jaw.

After a moment, Angel breathed into his mouth, “No.”

Spike's hand swept down his neck, over his chest. He lightly pinched the stiff little bud of Angel's nipple. “Angel,” he said, voice soft as warm silk. “Let me fuck you.”

A tiny thrill tripped its way down the back of Angel's neck. He squeezed Spike's ass, ran his hands up the smooth skin of his back, and whispered, “No.”

Another kiss, deep, more passionate than the others. Spike's hand caressed Angel's side, gliding down, fingertips dragging over the top of his thigh. Then he scooped Angel's balls into his cool hand, ran his thumb slowly over them, back and forth. Angel's breath caught, his thighs falling open. “Come on,” Spike coaxed between kisses, “let me fuck you, Angel.”

He held Spike's head, fingers buried in his hair as they kissed. It took longer this time, but Angel finally managed to breathe out, “No.”

“Shall I keep asking?” Spike whispered. His hand slid upward, wrapped around Angel's cock, which had stiffened readily with interest. “Shall I tell you how much I need it, to fill you up?” He squeezed, rippling his fingers around the hardness. “Shall I beg to be inside you, Angel? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Jesus, Spike.” Spike's erection was pressed to his hip and Angel reached down to take it in his hand as well. To be inside him, to fill him up... it sounded like asking to be bitten, to have his essence swallowed into Angel's body, his scent overwhelmingly inside. Angel was almost certain now: Josephine had been right. Biting Spike would satisfy this craving. That's why Spike was so desperate to fuck him. It's why he'd rubbed his cum all over Angel the first time, trying to mark him without understanding why. If Angel drank enough of his blood, Angel's natural scent would change to be more like his, and then this need wouldn't be so constantly stimulated. Somehow Spike had been asking for this without even realizing it's what he wanted.

“You shouldn't beg me,” Angel said, rolling his thumb over Spike's cockhead, listening to the hissed intake of breath. Angel took his lips in another heavy kiss, then murmured, “I don't think I could say no if you begged.”

A sly grin. “So that's it, then? I just need to say something like—”

“Spike, don't.” Angel kissed him again, this time more to shut him up than anything. Beneath the sheet, he stroked Spike's dick in the same rhythm that his was being stroked by Spike.

When Spike pulled back from the kiss, he tilted his head down and rested his forehead against Angel's, eyes closed, breathing shakily as they rubbed each other. And then very quietly, so quietly even Angel's enhanced hearing could barely make it out, Spike whispered, “What if I asked you to do it to me?”

Angel stilled his hand immediately, stopped breathing. Focused on not moving at all so he wouldn't do something bad. Like fuck Spike.

“Angel?” Spike said. He dropped a kiss on Angel's lips, brief. “Hey?” Then his hand stopped moving as well. “Angel?”

Angel swallowed. Carefully, he asked, “Is that – is that something you would want?”

The hand on his cock moved again, thoughtful, more like a caress than before. “Would you? If I wanted it?”

A deep, steadying breath. That incredible scent wafting all around them. “Spike, I would fuck you through this goddamn mattress.” He felt Spike's hips shift forward, a thrust into Angel's hand. He began stroking again, quick and firm, and took another kiss from Spike's mouth.

“And,” Spike breathed, squeezing Angel's hardness, jerking it again, the skin moving with his hand, “I'd like it, yeah? You'd make it good for me?”

“God, yes.” Angel suddenly turned them, rolled over in the bed so he was on top of Spike, his hips cradled between Spike's thighs, their hands automatically moving away so they could feel their dicks pressed together between their bodies. Angel moved against him, a slow push, grinding them together. He watched Spike's mouth fall open on a soft sound and kissed him again. He whispered, “I'd fuck you so good, Spike. You'd come so hard with my cock inside you.”

Spike put his arms around Angel and held him like this, one hand going up to hold the back of Angel's head so he could kiss him hard, the other sweeping down his back, grabbing his ass while he tilted his hips up against Angel's body, rubbing their cocks together again. He did this again and again and so did Angel, their bodies finding this natural rhythm of thrusting tightly against each other, both contributing to a wetness that smeared between their stomachs.

On top of him, holding him down like this, Angel could feel the trembling of Spike's body as the proximity to Angel's scent began to overwhelm him again. In the midst of being really fucking turned on, but still more or less feeling like himself and not just some horny automaton like before, Angel felt a heartbreaking pang of sympathy for him. Would Spike have mentioned the possibility of being fucked if he hadn't felt desperate? As much as Angel wanted to do it – and holy shit, he wanted to – he still didn't really believe Spike wanted it. And with the way things were going between them now, how well they seemed to be getting along in spite of... this... Angel felt as determined as ever not to give Spike any more reason to hate him when this was over.

Spike turned his head from their fervent kiss and panted into Angel's ear, “Do it, then. Angel, do it. Fuck me.”

Hearing the words almost made Angel come on Spike's stomach without warning. A shudder passed through him, but it didn't quite tip him over the edge, and then he was kissing Spike again, his mouth, then his neck, and his collarbone. He backed his way down Spike's body like this, and between kisses he said, “Let me do this instead. I want to taste you again.”

Spike moaned quietly as his wet cock slid into Angel's mouth, and he put his fingers through Angel's soft brown hair to keep his head there. Angel sucked and stroked with his hand at first, listening to the hitches interrupting Spike's breath, but then he stopped breathing and slowly pressed his head forward, trying to take more. He felt his gag reflex triggered once, and for one startling moment he thought his fangs might come out in defense. But he waited a few seconds and tried again, and then Spike's cock was very slowly stretching its way down his throat.

He heard Spike cry out, felt him squirm a bit, and then, just as Angel's nose pushed into dark golden hair, he could feel Spike's orgasm happening, the way it throbbed inside, the pulses of cum down his throat that he couldn't actually taste but felt in an oddly surreal way. He tried to swallow and Spike gasped again. So he did it a few times.

When he finally released Spike's erection from his mouth, the lingering stretch of his throat felt strange, but it didn't really hurt. Spike hauled him back up and kissed him thoroughly while also somehow managing a smug grin. “Told you it's not so difficult,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around Angel's erection. A fond squeeze. The difficult part had been not biting down, but Angel didn't say this, just kissed him back, noting a little absently that the tremors had stopped. That was good. But then, “You could still fuck me,” Spike said quietly. “Now, or... or later, if you like.”

“I would,” Angel told him, his voice maybe a little hoarse. “I would do it in a second. If I really believed you wanted me to.”

A frustrated sound. “Angel, how many bloody times have I got to say—”

“I don't mean right now. I know you want it now. But if you didn't before, then now doesn't matter. Don't you see? It's just the way I smell to you that's making you think—”

“And I'm, what, s'posed to tell you everything felt just the same before? If I said that now, would you actually believe me?”

Angel sighed, felt a twinge in his throat as he swallowed, and rolled away onto his back. “I can usually tell when you're lying,” he said. “Maybe if you were... convincing enough?” He glanced over, then away again. He'd already tried asking Spike earlier exactly how he felt, and he didn't get an answer then either. If there really had been something there before, wouldn't he have said so by now? “Never mind. Just forget it, Spike. I don't want you to tell me something you don't mean.”

A long, silent moment. Then a tentative hand reached down slowly, curling around Angel's persistent erection again under the sheet. Quiet voice, low, “But you still want me to take care of this, yeah?”

Shit. Angel closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

*

Chapter Text

*

After Spike had sucked another ridiculously strong orgasm out of Angel, he didn't pull away. Like he'd done before, he just lay curled on his side with his mouth around Angel's cock, still suckling gently, and Angel sighed and shivered with the pleasant sensation and allowed Spike to use him as a pillow while he did this, letting his hand rest on Spike's head. He petted him a little, stroked his hair, traced the delicate outline of his ear with one fingertip. But Angel's limbs were starting to feel heavy, and he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he actually fell asleep, just that it was a very satisfying way to go.

Some time later – it was after dawn – he woke to the feeling of still being sucked, only more insistently now. It was quite a welcome way to wake up as well, his cock hard again in Spike's wet mouth. He groaned softly and flexed his fingers in Spike's hair, and there was a quiet answering sound from the blond's throat, but he didn't bother to pull back and say any actual words.

This erotic sensation lit Angel's entire body, faint tingles that began in his skin and became more intense as they pulled through him toward Spike's mouth. He floated warm and weightless inside this feeling for a while and then drifted to sleep again without coming, but he had a very vivid and sweaty dream in which he was buried underground with Spike, and he was balls-deep in Spike's ass, not moving, just holding him there in the damp earth and coming into him in a never-ending orgasm with his fangs sunk into Spike's neck. A real orgasm coincided with the dream, and he slept through it with only a few twitches of his hips and a quiet exhale to mark the occurrence.

When he woke again, his penis was soft but still held gently between Spike's parted lips, the wetness against his balls either drool or spend leaking from Spike's sleepy open mouth. He shifted slightly and it stirred the younger vampire, who immediately sealed his lips around Angel and began sucking again, only half awake. Angel's belly clenched and he sighed, moved around as best he could without dislodging that mouth, and reached for Spike's hips, pulled him close. It seemed improbable, but he felt himself hardening again as he angled Spike's cock toward his own mouth and took it in.

They sucked each other like this, curled sleepily on their sides, each resting a cheek on the other's thigh. Spike moaned around Angel's erection as Angel's nose nuzzled his fuzzy balls. The smell of him entirely filled Angel's world, and even without the fog clouding his brain, Angel felt powerless against this exhausting hunger. Spike came into his mouth with a cry that vibrated Angel's tender flesh, and as Angel swallowed, he genuinely couldn't tell if he was coming again as well or if the ongoing pleasure he felt was simply a continuation of this insatiable pulsing desire. With Spike's dick still in his mouth and the smell of the ocean and of that strange burning sweetness filling his head, Angel drifted heavily to sleep once more.

Spike was sitting upright beside him when he next woke. It was still morning, though not early, sunlight brightening the room through the large window. Angel was of course still naked, but the sheet had been pulled back up over his body, and Spike was fully dressed, just sitting there not looking at him. The idea that Spike had been awake, out of bed, getting dressed and moving around without Angel noticing was a little disorienting. He wouldn't normally have slept through that. It was kind of nice though, wasn't it? The closeness of the night they'd had, and then not waking up alone. A partner able to move through his space without disturbing him. He smiled a little.

Still not fully awake, Angel tried to roll toward Spike and reach for him, but he was stopped short by a taut chain attached to a manacle around his wrist. His eyes snapped open wide. He immediately became aware of another manacle around his other wrist. His arms were spread straight out to the sides, the chains apparently fastened to each side of the steel bed frame near the headboard.

He took a couple of seconds to double check he wasn't still dreaming, then said, “Spike. What the fuck?”

At the sound of his voice, Spike didn't flinch exactly, but his head dipped a little lower. Still not looking at Angel, he said, “Now don't be cross, alright?”

“Don't be – don't be cross? Don't be cross?” Angel yanked hard on one of the chains. They were those stupidly effective lightweight ones Fred invented, the ones that felt like a sort of flexible plastic but were impossible to break, like the one bolted to the table in the conference room.

“It's only for a bit,” said Spike. “I have to go. Couldn't just leave you to wander around on your own.”

“So you decided to chain me to the bed instead of, oh, I don't know, asking me to come with you? Or how about locking the penthouse behind you? I didn't chain you to the bed when I left!” Angel angrily yanked at the chains again. There was no slack at all.

“The lockdown thingy doesn't work anymore,” Spike said, casting a furtive look toward the door.

“What? What do you mean it doesn't work? It was working fine yesterday!”

“Yeah, well, I might've... overreacted a bit after you locked me in and... doesn't matter. Anyway, it doesn't work now.”

Of course. “You broke the lockdown mechanism? How did you even—”

“And I can't take you with me,” Spike said, finally turning to look down at Angel. His eyes were so tired, red-rimmed and filled with a startling desperation. Those wide dark pupils. “Angel, I need to leave. Need to... sort out some things. And I can't breathe around you. Can hardly hear myself think.”

Spike's haggard expression fired a bolt of sympathy straight through Angel's chest. Trying to swallow down his anger, he said more calmly, “Spike, I understand that this is difficult. But you don't need to leave. Stay here, and I'll take care of you. You know I will. We'll help each other.”

“No.” Spike shook his head. “You don't... you can't know what this is like. How much it...” He hesitated over a word that might have been hurts, and instead said, “It's just too much.” He stood to go.

“Spike, wait—”

“I need a fucking break, Angel! Just let me have a single bloody moment's rest from—” He gestured at Angel lying there, “—this!” Then he thrust his fingers frustratedly through his hair and turned away. More quietly, he added, “I thought I knew how dying felt. Done it enough times. But this...” A defeated sigh. “Know a thing or two about insanity as well. Couldn't pick just one, could you? You're killing me, Angel, but first you'll drive me mad. Should've guessed. That's always been your thing.”

A low blow. Angel's fists clenched. “I'm not hurting you on purpose,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “Spike, don't leave me here like this.”

“You'll be fine. Can't see myself staying away that long, anyhow. And maybe I'll have something convincing to say by the time I get back. God knows if I did I couldn't think of it here.” He started toward the door.

“Spike!”

Spike paused in the doorway, not turning around. Softly, he said, “Don't worry, Angel. I'll send someone to check on you. If I don't come back.”

Angel called after him again a few times – and may have shouted several other choice words as well – but there was no response from the other vampire. Angel heard him putting on his duster and the sound of the elevator opening and shutting and descending. And then Spike was gone.

*

He tried to escape of course, tried to wriggle his hands out of the manacles – since they were flexible, it almost felt like he could do it – but the cuffs touched his wrists all the way around like they were specifically designed to fit him, and there was absolutely no stretching them. He also tried yanking the chains very hard. He couldn't see how they were attached, but assuming they were fastened to the bed frame, if he pulled hard enough, he thought he might be able to break the frame somehow. With his currently enhanced strength, maybe he could have if given the right circumstances. But lying on his back and pulling to the side with each arm separately was not the correct angle for this, and he had no leverage to speak of, and even though the cuffs themselves weren't uncomfortable to wear at rest, they dug painfully into his wrists every time he yanked at the chains.

Still, he was lying in his own soft bed in his own apartment, and although he was angry – really, really, really angry – Angel also had a refined frame of reference for suffering, and being stuck safe in bed barely even made the scale. So the first hour wasn't that bad. Truth be told, once he'd stopped struggling, he actually fell asleep again.

That was the second hour: sleeping. Grumpily.

Most of the third hour was spent brooding, which Angel was something of an expert at and could probably have sustained indefinitely, his record being roughly three consecutive months while trapped in a steel box somewhere under the Pacific. Of course, one reason he was able to accomplish this was the absence of distractions. Like wildly uncontrolled hormones.

He very deliberately ignored the twitchiness when it started during this hour – which, seriously? After having his dick sucked all night? – and instead he thought about Spike, about how seriously he was taking this responsibility to keep Angel from hurting anyone. He was so determined to keep others safe that he'd been hanging around and allowing himself to be hurt in a different way by Angel instead. At least, he had been until this morning. Honestly, Angel didn't blame him for the chains.

Okay that wasn't true; Angel absolutely blamed him for the chains. But he understood the need for a break. If he'd been as desperate as Spike was, with no hope of reprieve, maybe he wouldn't have acted completely rationally either.

But the cells! Wolfram and Hart had plenty of holding cells! He would have gone willingly into one if he'd had to. If Spike had just told him what he needed. And then when Spike stayed away this long, Angel's hands would have been free when he needed them for...

And where the hell had he gone, anyway? It was fucking daylight for crying out loud!

For quite a lot of the fourth hour, Angel hated Spike. For some of it, he felt sorry for him, and for some of it, he understood. For some of it, he was even grateful that Spike was making sure he couldn't hurt anyone and wished that Spike was there so he could tell him (or show him) how much. For some of that hour, he felt such affection for that stupid, impulsive, violent, annoying, beautiful vampire that his heart began to ache for a thing that didn't exist between them, some vague fantasy version of themselves in a world where they were friends, where their relationship was something solid built on a foundation of understanding that only they two could have for each other, two unique beings in all the world. There was a longing for that kind of intimacy and trust. Family.

But for a lot of that hour, there was bitterness. Every positive thought he had about Spike was soon countered with pure seething resentment when he considered the torn sheets and his broken coffee pot and his ruined jacket and these fucking chains and that bleached menace torturing someone in an alley because he was mad at himself for not paying attention and nearly getting them both killed.

And the lie that someone would come to check on him, to make sure he was okay.

He was really starting to need...

Probably other places in the building had lockdown protocols! The training rooms, maybe? The vaults, if nothing else! God fucking damn it, Spike!

In spite of his anger, and very much against his will, Angel's dick was hard. It prodded up at the sheet, tenting the thin material. He tried turning his hips, but there wasn't any give in the chains that held his arms spread wide, shoulders flat to the mattress, and so he couldn't roll his lower body enough to rub it against anything. Every movement dragged the sheet very lightly across his bare skin, but so lightly all it could do was tease.

He spent the fifth hour meditating, eyes closed, perfectly still. A corpse. My body is a calm temple. I won't fucking kill Spike. Even though he's had it coming for like, SO long. He was sweating a little, the effort of not thrashing around, just a slight perspiration at his temples and the small of his back, dampening the bed where he lay. Every passing minute made it harder to think in words. His body was starting to feel too hot, so he imagined himself lying on the dry sand of an expansive blue desert under the stars. Warmth. Solitude. Peace. Spike naked. Wait, no. Definitely no one seductively letting their long black coat drop from their shoulders onto the sand. No blond vampires stripping slowly out of their black t-shirt and jeans, thin silver bracelet and rings and pale skin practically glowing in moonlight. No Spike straddling his hips and sinking down onto his hard cock, his body so tight, head thrown back, lips parted around Angel's name. No red crescent shape of teeth marks stark against that white throat, two dark drops of blood rolling down...

Hour six was when he started to lose it. He was going to be stuck here forever. No one was coming to help him. He would be alone in torment for all of eternity and it was Spike's fault that this would never end. Spike was the one torturing him. No surprise there; he'd tortured Angel before. The fog in Angel's head had slowed his thoughts like very strong drugs. He could only think a single thing at a time, and it was difficult to move from one idea to another, so when he got to I should have known better than to trust him, it took a very long time before he could tell himself anything else. But he was hyper-aware of his body, the fiery burn of the blood simmering through his veins.

It was during this hour that the elevator opened into his penthouse. Angel heard it but couldn't tell if the sound was real. If someone was here, that probably meant time existed and suffering wasn't eternal, but he'd been so convinced otherwise that he couldn't help doubting it. Then he heard slow footsteps shuffling in, and an overwhelming scent of sadness assaulted him where he lay, like a sudden breathless plunge into an icy ocean. The staggering sensation of being completely immersed inside someone else's frozen tears brought a small amount of clarity back to Angel's mind. But only a small amount.

He recognized the smell right away but it took a weirdly long moment to remember his friend's name. When he did, he called out, “Wesley?”

The footsteps drifted in his direction. Wesley came into Angel's bedroom the way a drop of rain comes down a windowpane, lost, uncertain, meandering. He was wearing yesterday's clothes, which had been the day before's clothes and still carried the stale smell of old alcohol, and he was holding a crossbow which had no bolt in it. He'd very recently been crying, though now his blue eyes looked so dry and used up it was hard to imagine them ever producing any more tears. “Angel,” he said. No emotion in his voice. He came slowly forward and just looked at the vampire chained in the bed.

Wesley's misery smelled distractingly flavorful to Angel – hopelessness tasted almost as good as fear – but in some distant place in his head, Angel also felt a glimmer of genuine concern. (Anyway, the human was standing too far away to eat.) Despite being the one in more immediately obvious need of rescue, he found himself asking, “Are you okay?”

A long silence. Then, “No,” Wesley said softly. “No, I don't believe I am.” He seemed about to say something else, but nothing came out, and there was another long pause while he looked at something Angel couldn't see. But eventually, as though it was just occurring to him to ask, he said, “Are you?”

“No,” said Angel. “I think I'm... I need some help.” He flexed his fingers, unsure how to proceed. It was so hard to concentrate. “Did you come here to help me, Wes?”

“Hmm? Oh... yes, I...” Wesley squinted. “I think so. Spike said... but that was this morning.” His gaze fell to Angel's bedside clock. “Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. Suppose I got a bit distracted. Missed my turn a few... dozen times. And I had to go back for this.” He gestured vaguely with the empty crossbow. “I wanted you to have it, Angel.” He took another few steps forward and laid the weapon on the nightstand beside the clock. He left his hand on it, just looking down at it there. “It was my favorite,” he said, quiet. “You should have it.”

Through the fog, Angel couldn't quite understand why Wesley would be giving away his favorite crossbow. “Shouldn't you keep that?” he said. “You might need it later.”

“No,” Wesley murmured. “I won't.”

It seemed wrong somehow, but before Angel could force himself to work out the reason, Wesley turned and started slowly toward the door. “Wait!” Angel called out desperately. “Wes, don't leave, I need you to... do something...”

“Oh, right.” Wesley stopped and patted his pockets a little absently. “The key is...” He squinted into space. “No, I don't have it, do I?” He turned toward Angel. “It's here somewhere,” he said.

“Where?”

Wesley looked around. He came over and moved the crossbow to look underneath it, then set it back down again. “Spike told me it was...” He frowned. “Actually, I don't recall what he said. That conversation feels like such a long time ago, now.” He suddenly sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh God,” he said in a very soft voice, “I can't even do this one small thing...” He appeared ready to cry, but he didn't do it, just sat there staring down at the floor.

Angel's fangs came out. He didn't mean for them to, but this despair smelled delicious and now Wesley's warm human blood was closer to him than before. “It's alright, Wes,” he heard himself saying. “Don't worry about the key. Hey. Look at me for a sec.”

The beautiful, wretched human turned toward him. His anguished blue eyes fell to Angel's fangs first, but he didn't seem concerned about them, barely seemed to register them at all. Slowly, he dragged his pink-rimmed gaze up to meet Angel's yellow eyes.

And then something happened.

To Angel, it felt a little like falling straight down a well, fast and dangerous and disconcerting. For a startling moment, he saw a vampire chained there in his bed looking up at him. He didn't recognize it at first; he'd never seen that face before. But just as he realized he was staring at himself, the human recoiled, and Angel fell instantly back up into his own eyes. He was watching Wesley's face again, and Wesley had his eyes shut tight, one hand up to his temple.

“Angel,” he said slowly, confused. “What did you just...”

“Sorry,” Angel breathed. “I didn't mean to. I was just trying to... help you.” Help. Yes. That sounded right. That's what he did. He helped the hopeless. “I want to help you, Wes.”

“Help me... how?”

“Help you feel better.” What Angel had to do was becoming clear now, a simple way to fix his friend. He tried out the sound of this idea: “I can take your sadness away.”

Wesley's eyes came open. He looked at Angel's mouth. “My... sadness?”

“I can erase it for you. Make it so you never feel sad again. All that hurt, all that heavy pain in your chest, gone. Do you want me to help you like that, Wesley?” This didn't really feel like himself talking, but for some reason it was his voice. And what it was saying made a kind of sense that Angel found difficult to argue with. In fact, there was something in the back of his mind, something this reminded him of, a thing he'd read. Some vague memory of three Watchers with a vampire chained in a bed, what that vampire had done to them. He would have done the same. This was how he could help.

“You mean,” said Wesley, staring at his fangs, “if you kill me?”

“No, not that. I wouldn't kill you, Wes. You're my friend. I want to help you. I know a way to keep you here with me and still take away all the pain. You would never hurt like this again, not ever. You'd be... better.”

“Oh,” said Wesley softly. “You're talking about...”

“Look at me, Wes.”

The sad blue eyes met his again, and right away Angel was inside, staring down at himself. He tilted his head, watching the head on the pillow move. “You want that, don't you?” he said out loud, seeing his own mouth form the words. “You want to stay with me forever.”

“I...”

In his head, Angel thought, Tell the truth.

“Yes,” Wesley whispered immediately.

Ask me to change you.

“Angel, please. Make me like you.” His voice wavered slightly. Angel felt like he could hear it from within Wesley's head, the way he heard his own thoughts. “I can't bear these feelings any longer. I would rather be a vampire. I want you to do it.”

Angel watched the corner of his own mouth twitch upward in a little fanged smile. Yes, this was good. This was the answer... right? Wasn't this it? It felt so obvious, but also... there was something nagging at him...

“Wes, were you planning to hurt yourself after you left here?” Tell me.

“Yes,” Wesley murmured.

That made Angel frown. He was going to help Wesley now, so it didn't really matter what the man had been intending to do, but... God, it was so hard to think. He tried to push through the fog. Wesley was special. Angel cared for him. More than he cared for most other humans. “I wouldn't have liked that,” he said. “That would have made me very unhappy.”

“Oh.”

Don't hurt yourself, Angel thought. Never do that. You're mine. I won't allow it.

He heard Wesley exhale shakily. It was strange, seeing himself instead of the man he was conversing with. For a moment, he thought he'd rather see Wesley's face, and suddenly he was looking into the dark-lashed blue eyes again instead of his own golden ones. The quick change in perspective was dizzying.

Wesley almost fell forward as soon as Angel left his head. He caught himself with one hand on the bed near Angel's outstretched arm. He seemed disoriented, but he blinked away the confusion and said quietly, “What shall I do, Angel? Will you be able to manage it while you're chained like this?”

He meant the turning. Yes, he could do it like this as long as Wesley followed his instructions, which didn't seem like it would be a problem. The human's blood smelled so rich with sorrow that Angel was almost salivating in anticipation. He just needed a way to get his own blood into Wesley as well. “Go get a knife from the kitchen and bring it here,” he said. He didn't need to be inside Wesley's head for the man to stand and do what he asked. He wanted this.

Sound of careful footsteps crunching across glass. When Wesley reappeared holding a sharp paring knife, he said, “Angel, did you know someone has smashed all your dishes?”

Spike. The sudden thought of him shifted Angel's attention. He was still achingly hard beneath the sheet.

“Come here,” Angel said, and watched the man walk slowly toward him and sink down onto the bed by his side. Those three Watchers, they had done something to the vampire as well, hadn't they? Surely Wes had noticed what a state he was in. “Wesley,” he said. “I want you to touch me.”

Obediently, Wesley reached forward and laid his hand on Angel's chest. Oh shit, the warmth of his palm sent a shiver through Angel's body. Inside he felt hot, but his skin was still cooler than a human's. He lost his focus again for a moment; everything narrowed to this concentrated spot of heat on his chest. What were they doing?

Oh, right. Making Wesley a vampire. But maybe also sex?

He imagined Spike with warm hands touching him. Where... where was Spike?

“Um,” said Angel, shifting his hips slightly. The sheet dragged against him.

Wesley was looking uncertainly at the knife in his other hand. “Angel, should I...?” He gestured toward Angel's chest with it. “Or... does the bite come first?” He looked up at Angel's face, but as soon as their eyes met, Angel fell into him again.

There he was, lying on the bed. Manacled. Fists clenched. Fangs out. A warm human hand resting flat on his sternum.

Touch me lower.

Wesley's hand trailed gently down Angel's body over the sheet. Now it rested on his stomach, only a couple of inches from the obviously tented material. The heat of his skin soaked through; Angel could feel it against him like a branding iron.

“Move your hand lower, Wesley,” he said, trance-like, watching that hand through the man's eyes.

The hand traveled down, hovering tentatively above the erection tenting the sheet. “Angel...?”

“Go on.” Touch my cock.

The warmth of Wesley's palm, the weight of it settling on top of Angel's urgent stiffness, nearly made him come. Angel gasped softly, saw himself tilt his hips up, a needy thrust against the touch. Yes, this. This was what he wanted. This first, and then he would eat Wesley. No, he would make Wesley his. Keep him forever. His friend. He would save Wesley.

The hand didn't move, but Angel thrust against it again, pleasure from the friction spreading through his groin. “Wes,” he breathed. “Will you...?”

The hand curled around him, warm fingers making a tunnel lined with the soft sheet. Angel watched himself writhing wantonly on the bed, fucking upward into this snug passage. Slick precum leaked into the material. “Wesley,” he groaned. He wanted to reach for him, wanted to grab him, hold him down, rut against the warm body like some kind of animal before biting viciously into his flesh. He tugged at the chains, frustrated.

“Is this part of it?” Wesley asked in a quietly curious voice. “I didn't want to assume... but I suppose it makes sense...” He began to shift his hand gently back and forth in counterpoint to Angel's thrusts. “Of course, I'll do whatever it takes...”

Whatever it... huh? The soft talking from inside his head interfered with Angel's single-minded focus, but the feel of that warm hand rubbing along his length sent heavy waves of pleasure rushing through his body. He loved Wesley. He'd loved Wesley for a long time. And now he was going to... love him... to death...?

Wesley began to jerk Angel's cock more deliberately, slowly leaning down toward him. He wasn't looking at his hand but at Angel's face, at the intent in those hungry golden eyes. Eyes of a serial killer. Angel skipped back into himself and looked at Wesley's neck, almost as pale as death already. The stubble extending down from his cheeks, dusting his skin like tiny dark blades of cut grass. A whorl in the hair near his jawline. The regular flutter of his pulse through the jugular.

Then he dove back into the blue eyes to find himself staring at his own fangs, fangs that had sliced through so many lives. What was one more, in the scheme of things? Wesley was making him feel, God, so good. And he could make Wesley feel good, too. That was helping. Right? So why was he hesitating? Why was there some tiny troubling doubt in his head?

“Angel,” Wesley whispered to him. Neck so close to his teeth. “I'm ready.”

Angel felt his mouth coming open, felt his head tilting upward for the bite. Right, he was going to do it. And fuck, he was going to come this way too, fangs buried in Wesley's flesh, hot blood spurting into his mouth, his cock gripped tight. Everything would be... okay. If he just did this one little thing.

And then a desperate thought burst forth from somewhere so deep inside him that it startled them both.

Wes, get away from me. NOW!

With a dismayed cry, the man flinched backward from the vampire on the bed. Angel tumbled into himself in time to feel his fangs snap closed on a breath of warm air where the human neck had just been. The hand on his cock was gone. “No,” he whispered, then said urgently, “No, wait! I didn't mean—” But Wesley was already disappearing through the door. “Wes, come back!” Angel called after him. “Wesley!”

The sound of the elevator opening, closing, descending with the source of that delicious smell, that warm skin.

Angel's head fell back against the pillow, the leftover traces of Wesley's scent swirling tantalizingly around him. An anguished snarl escaped his throat followed immediately by a booming roar of frustration, so loud the walls of the apartment shook, fragments of glass on the kitchen floor rattling against each other. He was going to die here, chained to his own goddamn bed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

That was the last coherent thought Angel had for the next four hours.

*

It was well after sunset when Spike came back.

By then, Angel was in such an advanced state of delirium that he didn't even recognize the blond vampire, didn't understand the horrified expression or the cursing or the repeated apologies. He couldn't make himself understood either, could only growl and snap and hiss through lips chewed bloody, his wrists bruised and bleeding from thrashing around in the manacles, his hair and his body and the bed all drenched with sweat. His penis was red and hard and sore and had been leaking untouched for hours, the sheet having fallen away during a fit of writhing, and his swollen balls ached as though he'd been kicked by a horse.

The only thing he understood was the very strong scent that had accompanied this other vampire into the room, that overwhelming smell of something familiar that had been long lost, the burn of something sweet just beyond the reach of his memory. That scent made him want to weep but also somehow had a settling effect on his overwrought nerves, his fierce growl calming to more of a whine when the cool hand brushed gently along his sweaty thigh. Some meaningless soothing words murmured to him in a low voice.

He hissed as the hand wrapped around his straining erection, more from the tender pain than from any objection to the touch. He wanted this, but it hurt. His sharp teeth clenched tightly together as the hand worked him firmly, a quiet growl still vibrating his chest. It only took a few quick pumps and then he was coming hard with a desperate cry, his whole body wracked with intense shudders, every muscle contracting. The pulsing went on forever, this throb that was as much pain as it was an exquisite release, and he did weep a little with the relief of it.

That cool hand continued stroking him throughout the long, powerful orgasm. He began to squirm from oversensitivity as it ended, but when he felt that the stroking might slow down, he forced through clenched teeth, “Again.” And so the stroking went on, this time with just enough added clarity that Angel could tell who was touching him. Anger surged through his body and he closed his eyes to shut out that face. When he realized he was still growling, he exchanged the menacing sound for shallow panting instead, but he didn't look at Spike.

His second orgasm took a little while longer to achieve and didn't last quite as long as the first, but it was almost as powerful. Angel cried out sharply again as the relief overtook him, thick jets of cum shooting forcefully over his stomach, joining the large puddle already there. It spilled over his side onto the bed as he planted his heels on the mattress and thrust his hips up toward Spike's stroking fist. The release was like a sudden soothing balm flowing through a maze of scorched channels within his body, snuffing out the millions of tiny wildfires inside. A little more of the fog cleared away as he inhaled raggedly. With the clean air in his lungs, it finally occurred to him that he probably wouldn't die here after all, and this time instead of weeping, he nearly laughed, although there was nothing funny.

“Angel, are you al—” Spike started softly, but Angel cut him off with a firm, “Again,” and so the stroking continued.

His cock had been tender already, but with the relentless milking it now felt abraded and raw, despite the motion being slicked with Angel's own fluids. Spike switched hands and went on pumping, tireless as a machine, and Angel fought against flinching away and instead pressed into the feeling, knowing he needed it even if it was uncomfortable. He didn't want to look at Spike, didn't want to have to confront the sight of him yet, so he kept his eyes closed. But he let himself be rescued like this, and he moaned quietly when Spike tried to encourage his body to release faster by also gently touching his other sensitive places, plucking at his stiff pink nipples, dragging soft fingertips along the inside of his thighs, cradling his aching balls.

Angel's third release felt almost normal, at least by the standard of the last few days. Spike leaned down and caught the hot, flushed cockhead between his soft lips just before it began, and Angel gasped, “Ah!” and came into his cool mouth, the orgasm coaxed out of his sore cock with gentle sucking pulls and the ticklish wet flutter of tongue. Delicate squeeze of insistent fingers stripping the last bit of liquid out. Sound of a throat swallowing.

He sighed shakily as he came down from the high of it, exhausted. Every inch of his body ached, and he finally twitched his hips away from Spike's touch, his chafed penis slipping from Spike's hand and wet mouth. He lay still on the soaked mattress with his eyes closed, breathing, trying to regain himself. It was happening, but slowly. He didn't know how long he'd been chained there, couldn't yet make the time make sense in his head. It could have been days. Decades.

Spike's voice, quiet. “Angel—”

“Unchain me.”

“I swear I didn't have a bloody clue you were still—”

“Now.”

A brief hesitation, just long enough for Angel to consider murder, and then he heard Spike opening and closing the nightstand drawer, followed by the tiny click of a key turning in first the right manacle, then the left. Angel hadn't realized how sore his arm muscles were from yanking the chains until he was able to draw his arms in close to his body, finally allowing his elbows to bend. He carefully flexed his elbow and wrist joints this way and that, his wrists crusty with dried blood, and then rolled his shoulders a few times, breathing deeply.

“Please believe me,” Spike said. “I never would've left you alone if I'd known this would hap—ERK!”

Angel was on top of him. He didn't recall making the decision to move, but now Spike was the one lying on his back on the bed, Angel's naked weight straddling him, one hand squeezing his throat closed in a vice-like grip. He immediately felt Spike try to struggle beneath him, so he let loose a deafening roar right down into Spike's face, the kind of thunderous vocalization that rattled the windowpanes. It struck Angel that he'd never seen Spike submit to anyone as fast as he did it now, quickly lowering his eyes and turning his head to the side as well as he could manage with Angel's fingers so tight around his neck. It had actually been over a century since Angel had seen Spike make that yielding gesture at all. But something about seeing it right now managed to calm him a little, reached him on a level that a nuanced conversation couldn't – at least as far as his impulse to murder Spike was concerned. But he also knew that the addition of any words would only make him angrier, and he didn't want to hear them.

Slowly, Angel leaned down very close to Spike's ear and said, “Do not. Speak to me. Right now.”

His head still turned in submission, Spike gave a tiny nod.

Angel stayed where he was for another long moment. He was trembling from the effort of holding his feelings inside, not ripping Spike's head from his perfectly motionless body. It would have been so easy, like uncapping an ink pen. For some reason, Spike's unique new scent was so much stronger now than it had been before. With his nose this close to Spike's neck, Angel could detect faint hints of other flavors threading through the air around him, not just that sweet whiskey-like burn anymore but also the slight vinegary glue smell of aged book bindings, the leather and paper and ink of a well-stocked old library, and the sharp smoky smell of the particular brand of charcoal sticks Angel used to buy in London so long ago, the ones he'd loved to draw with. Spike not only smelled like his favorite things but also like the memory of a place he hadn't been in a hundred years and he hated it, a little. That Spike had the nerve to smell so deeply personal to Angel, and then to cover it over with the incredibly obvious scent of sex with some other vampire.

The clinging combination of Aquafresh toothpaste, Chanel No. 5, and otter blood meant Harmony. That's where Spike had been.

As abruptly as Angel had pinned Spike to the bed by the throat, he was suddenly off him, walking to the bathroom on unsteady legs, just needing to be... away. He locked the door and then stepped into the shower, keeping the water cool to soothe his still slightly feverish self. But instead of washing like he'd intended, he found himself sitting down heavily on the tiles and wrapping his arms around his knees with a quiet sob. His fangs retreated, and he just let himself cry like a human under the pounding water for as long as his body could keep it up. The tears weren't for any single specific reason. It was everything. It was the weight of inhabiting his own mind again, feeling nothing but physical distress for hours and then having all this other stuff slammed back inside, suddenly feeling confused and angry and sad and sore and generally overwhelmed. He wasn't normally much of a crier, but he needed this emotional release as much as he'd needed the physical one, and he sat there weeping for what felt like a long time. When he was finally done, lightheaded, he calmly stood up and washed away what remained of the sweat and spend and blood and tears lingering on his skin.

He still ached all over, and he had wounds around his wrists from the cuffs and along his lips and the insides of his cheeks from his teeth, but by the time he'd turned off the water, Angel was feeling a lot more like himself. Like a weary, used up version of himself. For the first time in a long while, he felt every bit of two and a half centuries old.

He stood there in the shower with the water off for another few minutes, not wanting to leave the bathroom because Spike would be out there. He didn't want to see him, didn't want to think about him. After spending a large portion of the day unable to have real thoughts at all, now that he finally could again, he didn't want to. He just didn't have the energy to be as angry as he felt he deserved to be. And he was too tired to fight about it.

When he finally came out, Spike wasn't in the bedroom anymore. Angel could hear something happening elsewhere in the apartment, but he took advantage of the privacy to dress himself. His cock still felt so sensitive that he sought out some silk boxers to wear, thinking the soft layer of material might be more comfortable than the nothing he'd been wearing under his pants lately. But his balls also felt sore and swollen, so after trying the loose shorts, he decided to exchange them for some gray cotton boxer-briefs instead. Still soft and breathable, but this time with support. It was better.

Angel was fully dressed when he noticed Wesley's crossbow still on the nightstand, and a cold wave of fear blew through him. Oh God, how could he have forgotten? Was Wesley okay? Where had he gone? Fuck, he'd almost killed the man! Angel immediately called Wesley's mobile phone, but when he got no answer, he grabbed the crossbow and started to leave, determined to go check on his friend. But he hesitated near the door. He could still hear something happening in the kitchen. Should he tell Spike he was leaving? Shit. Just the thought of looking at Spike's face again made something in his chest clench painfully.

With a grudging sigh, Angel went to peek around the kitchen doorway to see what was going on in there. Spike was standing on top of a pile of broken glass, holding a broom. He was attempting to sweep the glass around the edges of the pile toward the center where he was standing, looking slightly frustrated. Angel watched him get off the pile to sweep at the shards he couldn't easily reach, but he tracked several smaller pieces with him as he moved, creating a new trail to sweep. It occurred to Angel that Spike may never have actually used a broom before in his life. He wasn't picking it up high enough and for every push forward was managing to backsweep pieces away from the pile, so progress – what little there was – was incredibly slow.

Oh, well. He'd get the hang of it. Eventually.

If Spike hadn't been doing a thing Angel had asked him to do, maybe Angel would have just walked over and punched him before leaving. He'd had this vague plan to do that until he looked into the kitchen. But seeing Spike struggle with an annoying household chore – even though he was really just cleaning up his own mess – softened Angel a little. Of course, as soon as he felt himself softening toward Spike, a wave of rage crashed back in. There was no way he was going to allow himself fond feelings toward Spike again. Not ever, but especially not today.

“I'm going out,” Angel said abruptly. “Don't be here when I get back.”

At these unexpected words, Spike dropped the broom with a clatter and took a few anxious steps toward Angel. “Where are you going?” His voice was weirdly hushed, and it took a moment for Angel to realize he'd probably damaged Spike's larynx when he'd grabbed his throat earlier. He hadn't really been paying attention to his own strength at the time.

“Doesn't matter,” said Angel, turning away to head toward the elevator. Spike followed him. “You're not coming with me.”

“Angel, I need to talk to you. There's something that I—”

“No.” He pushed the button.

“Come on, just listen to me, alright? I'm sorry about the—”

“No.” The doors opened. “You don't get to be sorry for what you put me through today. That was...” Angel's voice left him suddenly, and for one humiliating moment he almost thought a sob would come out instead. But it didn't. He cleared his throat and stepped into the elevator, never looking at Spike. “Just leave me alone,” he said. “I'm done with you.” Then he hit the button for the garage, and he very deliberately didn't see the expression on Spike's face as the doors closed.

*

Wesley still didn't answer when Angel called him again from the car. Who else might know where he was? Angel called Fred to see if she'd heard from him but didn't reach her either, just got that strangely aggressive recording on her voicemail. He'd driven almost all the way to Wesley's old apartment building before remembering that the man had been given a much better living arrangement (as they all had) once they'd taken over Wolfram and Hart. Angel had never actually been to Wesley's new place but he knew where it was, so he made an illegal u-turn and headed that way instead, seriously hoping he wouldn't find some devastating scene when he arrived but trying to prepare himself for it all the same.

Wesley lived at the end of a stately row of three-story brick and gray townhouses with a neatly trimmed green hedge and balconies on the second and third floors. Angel parked next to the familiar motorcycle and could immediately smell Wesley's scent, a trail of overwhelming sadness that gave the impression of a deep plunge from a barren cliff into the dark, icy depths of the ocean. The crossbow felt heavy in his hands as he walked up to the front door, sniffing the air for traces of blood. It was probably a good sign that he couldn't smell any mortal wounds, but the strength of that frozen misery kept him from getting his hopes up too high.

He banged on the door, rang the bell a couple of times, shouted Wesley's name without getting any response. It wouldn't have been hard to break the door down, but there was no point without an invitation. He slipped behind the hedge to get a look through the bay window. There were lights on inside, but he didn't see anyone. Quickly, Angel hooked his arm through the weapon and then climbed up to the second floor balcony, looked through the glass door into Wesley's study. There, sitting at the desk but leaning forward onto it with his head pillowed on crossed arms, was Wesley. At first Angel thought he'd fallen asleep there, but when he knocked on the door, the man opened his eyes.

Angel waved at him through the glass. “Wesley?” Wesley just stared back at him. He didn't appear to be injured in any obvious way, but he didn't move other than to sigh deeply. “Wes, are you alright?” Angel tried again. “Let me in.”

No response. Just that hopeless stare.

“I brought your crossbow back.” He shook it at the man. “I mean, I hope you don't think I'm being ungrateful. It's a great crossbow and everything, but I really think it suits you better than me. I'm more of a sword kinda guy, you know?”

Nothing.

“Look, Wes, I need you to talk to me, alright? I want to help you but I don't know what you need. Can you tell me what you need?”

Still nothing.

Not knowing what else to do, Angel stared back into the sad blue eyes and hesitantly... pushed. There was that momentary falling sensation, still disconcerting, and then he could see himself. Standing there at the closed door, lamely holding up a crossbow. He concentrated on a thought: Invite me in. Then he was watching Wesley through the glass again, watching him slowly sit up straight. When he moved his arms from the desk, Angel could see that he'd been resting them on top of a handgun. There was an empty scotch bottle lying on its side nearby.

“Wes. Come here.”

The man stood slowly, took a step forward, stumbled a little. He made his way drunkenly toward the door and put his hand on it, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass.

“Open it,” Angel encouraged softly from the other side. “It's okay. It's just me.”

“Are you here to... take my soul?” Wesley murmured, not opening his eyes.

“No,” said Angel. “I'm not gonna hurt you, Wes. I promise.”

Wesley's face crumpled. “Then what's the point?” he whispered.

Oh. He still wanted... The realization slid sharp and cold into Angel's stomach, an ice dagger. “Can we just talk?”

Very slowly, the door came open. “Come in,” Wesley said.

The inside of Wesley's new place was much bigger than his old one, but the smell of his depression had swelled into every available nook and somehow that made it feel close and crowded in spite of the tastefully sparse décor. Angel tried to ignore how appetizing that scent was. He'd done the same thing again that he'd done last night – left home without eating first – and now he was regretting it. Not only was his body hungrier than usual, but tasting a human the other night had stimulated that craving, and now he was having to fight it harder than he normally did. Wesley wasn't in any danger of him at the moment, but he didn't trust himself to stick around very long. He set the crossbow down in a chair.

"It may come as no surprise," Wesley admitted, still unsteady on his feet, "that I don't feel much like talking. Drink?" He wobbled away from the door, leaving it open.

Angel eyed the empty bottle on the desk. "Do you have anything left?"

"Oh..." The word choice halted Wesley's steps, and he swayed a little, his back to Angel. Very softly, he said, "That's the question, isn't it?"

"I meant—"

"What do any of us have left? One gives his all, and then..." His shoulders trembled a little as he exhaled. "Why should we be surprised when all is lost?"

"...scotch," said Angel.

"Hmm?" Wesley turned toward him, then noticed where he was looking. "Oh. Yes. Gone." He stumbled over to it and hefted the large glass bottle in one hand. "Bloody tiny bottles. Useless. Party favors."

Angel watched him staring down at the label. "Maybe we should skip the drink."

"I was saving it, you know. Special occasion." The bottom edge of the bottle scraped across the desk a few times as he tried to set it down upright, then settled for laying it on its side again next to the handgun. "This," he said, picking up the gun. "This would have been special." He suddenly pointed it into his mouth, and Angel was immediately several steps closer to him to stop whatever he was going to do when Wesley started laughing into the gun. He took it out of his mouth and shrugged at Angel's confused face. "I can't do it!" He laughed again like it was some big joke. "See?" He pointed the gun at himself again and then doubled over, laughing in a way that sounded painful. "I physically can't. A failure of the trigger finger." Then he sniffed and wiped at his bleary eyes. Thoughtfully, he added, "I could probably shoot you, though." As soon as he turned the gun on Angel, it was in Angel's hand instead.

"Let's not do that." Angel ejected the magazine from the gun and then opened the action and ejected the loaded round before setting the components separately on the desk.

"You're awfully fast," Wesley observed.

"Yeah. Comes in handy when my friends try to shoot me."

Wes gestured vaguely toward the floor beside the desk. “Those,” he said, “didn't work either.” He wandered over to a long, green sofa and sat down, slumping against the back with his eyes closed.

Angel came forward and looked where he'd indicated. Several weapons lay discarded in a pile, mostly sharp bladed weapons, but also a crossbow and some small bottles of ambiguously colored liquids. Another couple of guns. There was even a loaded syringe with a needle. “You tried to use all of these on yourself?”

“I believe the correct phrasing,” Wesley murmured, “is I failed to use them. The same way I...” He made a soft, distressed sound and covered his face with his hands. “The way I fail everyone... repeatedly...”

“No. Wesley, you're not a failure.” Angel came over and sat beside him on the sofa. “You help so much, all the time. You've helped save the world. You're... vital. To all of us. To me. I couldn't do what I do without you.”

“And yet.” Wesley rubbed his eyes and looked seriously at Angel's face. “You don't want me.”

Angel didn't immediately understand what he meant by this. “Of course I do. I need you. I rely on you.”

“Earlier you suggested... That is, we had decided... but then you made me leave.” Wesley squinted at him. “That was you, wasn't it? Somehow you... forced me out? It felt like you. It certainly wasn't me.”

“I wasn't really myself when you stopped by,” Angel told him gently. “Just like you aren't really yourself right now.”

“But how... how did you do it?”

“Honestly, I'm not sure.”

Wesley sat up a little straighter, eyeing the vampire in that speculative way he got when he was testing a theory, only significantly drunker than usual. “Could you do it again?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure I could.”

The man nodded, then seemed to steel himself for something and made a beckoning gesture at Angel.

“What, you mean right now?”

“Yes. Right now. Make me do something.”

Angel opened his mouth to object, then figured it didn't matter. He looked into Wesley's eyes and thought Stand up.

“Well, go on,” Wesley said, and then said, “Oh.” He looked down at his feet, which he was standing on. “Fascinating.” After a brief hesitation, he looked over to Angel's face and slowly tilted his head. “You could make me do... anything?”

There was a quality to the way he asked this that felt a little weird, like there was some new kind of awareness softly vibrating the air between them that hadn't been there before – or at least that Angel had never noticed. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Thought about lying. Eventually answered, “Yeah. I think I could.”

“Then it would seem you're in a precarious position.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Can't you see how this would be a... tempting power to have over others?” Wesley sat back down on the couch, a little closer to Angel than before. Their legs were touching this way, just barely.

“You're the only one I've done it to,” Angel said quietly. The ability was so new to him that he hadn't really had a chance to think about how using it made him feel, how it felt just to know he could use it if he wanted to. But yes, now he was starting to feel a little tempted.

“Is it purely physical?” Wesley asked. “For instance, could you make me... want something?” His hand came to rest lightly on Angel's thigh.

Angel gazed down at the hand. He didn't move. “Are you asking about something specific, Wes?”

“Well, could you make me want a thing I hadn't thought I...” He paused. Swallowed. “I mean, if I'd never really considered...” Despite the hesitancy of the words, his hand didn't seem tentative at all, sliding upward slowly. It wasn't yet close to where he'd been touching the vampire that afternoon, but the suggestion was apparent. “What I'm asking is, could you plant a desire in my head... if the seed hadn't already been there?”

The hand on his thigh was so warm, this curious touch as intriguing as it was confusing. “I'm not really sure how it works,” said Angel, still not pulling away.

The warmth traveled higher. Wesley was looking down at his hand as though it were moving boldly without him, perhaps as though Angel himself were making it move. “So if I did feel a... desire... it could be that it had been there all along. That maybe I had, in some secret way, always wanted...” In the midst of his overwhelmingly sad scent, a tiny thread of arousal curled upward, tickling Angel's nose. “Today was... rather a surprise.” The man's soft voice lowered to an introspective whisper. “But maybe I shouldn't have been surprised after all...”

“Wes—”

“You could have me.” Wesley suddenly looked into Angel's eyes, a pained and drunken but nevertheless perfectly sincere expression, and at the same time, his warm hand finally cupped Angel's cock through his pants. “You could take control. Make me do anything.” Probably sensing Angel's hesitation, he added, “But if you won't have me this way, then...” His other hand reached up to touch his own neck, draw his fingertips slowly down the line of his jugular as he tilted his head to the side, watching the vampire. “Or... perhaps both?”

In another life, or maybe a couple of hours from now, Angel would have bitten him. This human had no idea how appetizing he was, his desperation, his hopelessness, that incredibly captivating tinge of lust, this proposal to do or be anything. He was begging for it. Angel would have eaten him for sure, possibly turned him. And yeah, the other thing as well, just for fun. After he'd made him do some entertaining and degrading things.

He allowed himself a moment – just one moment – to picture everything he would have done to Wesley, what he would have turned him into, all the horrible and wonderful possibilities the man didn't even realize he was offering. And then he took Wesley's wrist and slowly drew his hand away from where it had settled over his crotch. “You're playing a dangerous game here, Wes,” Angel warned softly.

“I don't care,” the man replied in the same tone, his wrist gripped in Angel's hand, his pulse a steady flutter against Angel's thumb. “You said that you want me. That you need me. Bloody take me then, Angel. I'm willing.”

“Not like this,” said Angel, squeezing his wrist. Maybe too tight. “I want you as you are. As my friend.”

The drunk human's blue eyes glistened with a sheen of unshed tears. He whispered, “Can you make me feel something, Angel? Something other than... all of this...”

Without hesitating, Angel pushed into those desperate eyes. It was getting easier. Go to sleep, Wes, he thought firmly. Dream of something nice.

*

Chapter Text

*

“How fast can you meet me at Wesley's place? Can you come right now?”

“Oh, I see we're already at the 'skip the hello' portion of the evening. That never bodes well for my social life.”

“Sorry,” said Angel. “Hello. Are you busy?”

“Technically? Yes. For you? Well... yes, but you know me, always willing to take a time out for the end of the world. Or fajitas. I was just on my way to meet a client, but if you're making fajitas—”

“It's Wesley. I'm worried about him.”

“Oh,” said Lorne, his tone immediately growing concerned. Through the phone, Angel could tell from the sound of the wind that he was driving a car with the top down. “What happened? Is he alright?”

“He's...” Angel turned and looked back at Wesley lying there on the green sofa in his study. Even in his sleep, the man's brow was furrowed, a deep line of unhappiness set stubbornly between his dark eyebrows. “Sad,” said Angel.

“Uh-huh. Sad like 'Cher won't return my phone calls' sad, or sad like 'What's the point of even singing at all if the universe will never be ready for a green mainstream popstar' sad?”

“The second one. I think.”

“Ouch. That bad, huh?”

“It's bad. Also I'm pretty much never gonna call you about fajitas. Can you come over?”

“What's the plan? If it's Mission: Cheer Up Wesley, I'm afraid that'll be a bit more complicated than a light-hearted gathering over at his place, fajitas or no.”

“I was thinking more like Mission: Suicide Watch while we figure out something long-term.”

“I see. And I'm tonight's designated Watcher watcher?”

“If you're available. I'd do it, but your bedside manner is a lot better than mine. Plus there's like a 50-50 chance I'll just eat him.” Angel looked over at Wesley again. “Maybe 60-40. My point is the odds aren't great.”

“Gotcha. I'll be right there.”

*

While he waited, Angel sorted and put away Wesley's weapon collection in the large wooden cabinet against the wall. It was a strange feeling, holding each item after Wesley had held them, knowing Wesley had put these blades against his own body and tried to push them through his flesh. Had it been Angel's voice in his head that stopped him? Was that the only thing standing between Wesley and pools of blood cooling on the floor, red spatters on the walls? Angel packed them away carefully so they wouldn't be the first things the man saw when he woke from his forced sleep. He added the crossbow Wes had given him back into the collection and made sure none of the guns were loaded.

When Lorne arrived, he was sitting at Wesley's desk, idly rolling a bullet back and forth across the wooden surface with one finger. It was the one Wesley would have fired at him. His sleeve had ridden up a little, exposing the dark line of bruises encircling his wrist from struggling against chains all day. The bruises made him think of Spike, and thinking of Spike felt like a fist squeezing his heart, so he was very deliberately not looking at the bruises. But he also didn't fix his sleeve, so every few seconds when he glanced down he saw the bruises again. And thought of Spike.

He eventually heard a knock at the front door, then heard it open and shut before he had a chance to stand. Lorne called out, “Angel? Wes?”

“Up here,” Angel called back, then glanced at Wesley lying on the couch. He didn't wake up.

A moment later, Lorne came in. He was wearing a silk shirt that was the same bright red as his eyes and horns. After one glance at Angel and the sleeping human, he said, “Wow. I haven't seen this much misery in one room since that time Holland Manners made the Caritas crowd sit through an entire Vanilla Ice medley.”

“Rough day,” Angel said quietly.

“You're telling me. Who even knew Vanilla Ice had more than one song?” Lorne sat down in a chair near the open glass door to the balcony.

“That's not what I meant.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood, pumpkin. It's heavy as hell in here. And I'd know.”

“Mm.” Angel rolled the bullet against the desk again.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not especially.” He finally tugged his sleeve back down, but in the process he caught sight of the matching bruises on his other wrist.

“Then why not hum us a jaunty tune? That'll at least give me the shorthand version.”

“I didn't ask you here for me,” said Angel. “Wesley's the one who needs help.”

They both looked over at the human, who sighed softly but didn't otherwise stir. “Wesley won't be singing in his sleep any time soon,” said Lorne. “And right now you're the one sucking all the energy out of the room like some kind of...” He gestured at the vampire.

Angel glanced down self-consciously, then back up. “Some kind of what?”

“You know, you're lucky cluelessness can be an endearing quality. Now come on, Atlas. Shed a little weight off your shoulders.” The demon settled back into his chair, giving Angel an attentive look. Waiting.

There did happen to be a song at the forefront of his mind. And at least no one else was around to hear him. More to appease his friend than anything else, Angel sighed and then began to sing very quietly. “I get up in the evening, and I ain't got nothing to say. I come home in the morning. I go to bed feeling the same way. I ain't nothing but tired... man, I'm just tired and bored with myself. Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.” He tried not to picture the embarrassingly personal things Lorne must be reading about him as he arrived at the chorus. “You can't start a fire... you can't start a fire without a spark. This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark.”

He'd meant to go on to the second verse, but when Angel opened his mouth again, he couldn't muster the motivation to continue, so he just stopped there and looked down at the desk. Rolled the bullet with one fingertip.

Lorne was watching him speculatively. “Springsteen,” he mused. “Good choice. A littler edgier than your usual, but it suits you.”

Snippets of Bruce Springsteen songs had been floating around in Angel's head since he'd discovered it was something he and Spike had in common. “See anything interesting?”

“Oh, heaps. For someone who barely left his own bedroom all day, you've sure been on a journey, haven't you?”

Angel shrugged, not looking up. But then he said softly, “Coming back was harder than leaving.”

“Emotions are messy things, bub. In some ways it could feel much easier not to have them at all. It might even be tempting to cut yourself off from the things – or the people – who make you feel emotions in the first place. Whether they're good ones or bad ones.”

“I'm just trying not to think about it.”

“I get that. But avoiding your problems isn't the same thing as solving them. You can't just pack all your issues into a box and kick it out of your penthouse like it didn't affect you. And by issues,” Lorne added, “I specifically mean your trust issues. And by box, I specifically mean a certain attractive blond vam—”

“I know what you mean,” Angel said. “And I can kick Spike out of my apartment if I want to. I've never trusted him in the first place. Trusting him even less now isn't some unexpected new turn of events.”

“Now that's not exactly true, is it? You did trust him, or you were at least beginning to. That's why what happened today hurts so much.”

“It doesn't—” Angel started. Then, “Look, I made a mistake. It won't happen again. And I'll get over it.”

“No, you'll just put up even more walls around that shriveled little raisin heart of yours and call it protecting yourself when what you're really doing is hiding.”

Angel looked up sharply, giving Lorne an irritated glare. “Don't I get a little bit of time to be angry? A couple of hours ago, I was chained to my bed, completely out of my mind, convinced I was going to die! I almost murdered my best friend. You try going through something like that and coming out the other side full of trust and forgiveness for the person who put you there.”

“You feel deeply betrayed,” said Lorne. “And that's understandable. You've worked so hard for so long to control your natural cravings, and now with this thing that's happening, you've been stripped of that self-control. You can't trust yourself, so you trusted Spike instead, but it feels like he took even more of your control away.”

Hearing it explained so simply made the fist around Angel's heart squeeze hard again. “So you're saying I have the right to be angry.”

“I'm saying it's understandable. You're angry at the situation you've been put in, angry at Spike for hurting you, and angry at yourself because you didn't see it coming and you think you should've. No one could fault you for feeling any of that. But I'm also saying that instead of being so quick to cut others off or punish anyone – including yourself – maybe you should reconsider where you're placing the blame here.”

“What do you mean by that?” Angel asked.

“Well,” said Lorne, “mostly I'm pointing out that there's clearly someone else behind this whole thing. I can tell you it isn't magic, but modern vampires don't naturally experience this type of – and I have to say this – incredibly wack hormone cycle, so someone's making it happen somehow, and the rightful blame for any harm that comes as a result belongs with that person. Not you, not Spike, and not anyone else who may be affected by what the actual villain of our piece has done.” He made a point of glancing at Wesley as he said this. Then he added, “But I'm also sort of crossing my fingers you won't be mad at me for asking Spike over tonight.”

“For... wait, what?” Angel stood up, the desk chair rolling away several inches. “You asked Spike to come here? Why would you ask Spike to come here?”

At that moment, the rumbling sound of an approaching motorcycle vibrated into the room through the open balcony door. Annoyingly, Lorne looked as though he had been expecting this. “Remember when I said I was meeting a client?”

“You didn't say your client was Spike!”

“Well no offense, big guy, but my readings are my business, not yours. And the last time I saw you, we were having a meeting about you being too dangerous to be alone with. You'll have to forgive me if I like my odds better with another souled vampire in the room. Anyway, I didn't realize you two had had a falling out until your dulcet performance just now. This should be interesting.”

'Falling out' felt like a pretty severe understatement to Angel. He also figured Lorne didn't actually have any reason to fear him since demons didn't smell like food the way humans did. The Pylean smelled more like a mixture of cologne, petrichor, and hellspice, which wasn't unpleasant but wasn't exactly appetizing either; he was about as likely to eat Lorne as he was to go out in a field and start grazing. But he didn't mention this, just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to decide what to do. Should he just leave?

When the sound of the engine abruptly cut off, Angel walked out onto the balcony and looked down. All the spaces in front of Wesley's townhouse were taken already, so this additional motorcycle was parked in front of the next one over. And it was Spike alright, carrying a white plastic bag with handles. Angel could easily smell him even at a distance. He came back inside and said to Lorne, “Spike can't come in here.”

“Well, maybe if we all agreed to be mature about the whole chaining-and-abandoning-at-a-time-of-need thing—”

“I'm not being immature, Lorne. I mean he literally can't come in. Wesley has to be the one who invites him inside.” They both looked over at Wesley, who was still deeply asleep.

“Oh, right,” said Lorne, frowning.

“But also Spike's dumb and I hate him, so no, he can't come in.”

There was a knock at the front door. Angel crossed his arms and looked at Lorne. Lorne hesitated, then walked out onto the balcony and leaned over the edge. “Just one second,” he called down to Spike. When he came back inside, he said, “I'm sure Wes wouldn't mind popping back to consciousness for one quick little invite. I mean, he would probably end up inviting Spike inside at some point anyway, right? You know, so they could bond over English things. Harry Potter and crumpets.”

“When Wesley's awake, he wants to die,” Angel said. “We're not going to wake him up just to invite Spike inside and risk him trying to kill himself. Again.” Before he could go on to suggest an uncomfortable place for Spike to shove his crumpets, Angel noticed a hand grasping the balcony rail from below. Shit. There was the other one. And then Spike was over the rail and standing on the balcony, with only the open glass doorway between them.

“Hey,” Spike said awkwardly from outside, his voice still clearly damaged from earlier. There was a necklace of deep purple bruising above the collar of his t-shirt and duster. “I, uh.” He indicated the plastic bag. “Brought fajitas.”

When Angel looked at him standing there, the fist squeezing his heart suddenly felt like it was squeezing all the rest of his insides as well. The incredible scent of him this close was so unfair, the desire to pull him even closer conflicting overwhelmingly with the urge to push him off the balcony. Angel couldn't make himself speak, which was when he usually resorted to violence or avoidance, so he stopped breathing in order to not smell Spike, and to keep himself from punching Spike in the face, he simply reached out and slid the door closed with an aggressive thump.

Spike's shoulders sagged and he looked over at Lorne through the glass.

“Really?” Lorne muttered to Angel as he slid the door open again. He gave Spike a smile. “Thanks for swinging by El Compadre, compadre,” he said cheerfully, reaching out for the bag. “I had such a hankering.”

“Got shrimp tacos, too,” said Spike, handing the food over. “And loaded nachos. Extra guac.”

“Ooh, nice. When it rains, it really por favors, huh? Think Wes has any tequila around here? I could whip us up some margaritas and—”

Angel stalked silently over to the couch and slumped down on it beside Wesley's socked feet.

“—and we could all share a nice meal together like the perfectly civil, nonviolent demons that we are,” Lorne finished pointedly in his direction.

“Any humans want to invite a bloke inside?” Spike asked in his involuntarily hushed voice, peering through the doorway to where Wesley was sleeping.

“Sorry,” said Lorne. “We're still deciding the best way to address the whole inconvenient vampire invitation conundrum.”

“Can't you just tap him on the shoulder, say pretty please? Tell him I brought tacos.”

Despite his confusing reaction to Spike showing up here, just knowing that the blond physically couldn't come into the room with him actually gave Angel a vague sense of peace that he hadn't realized he'd been missing. Something unclenched inside him, just a little. Maybe it was that same bit of relief that humans always had the luxury of feeling in their homes: momentary safety from vampires. There was no lock as effective as this magical barrier, no way Spike could shorten the distance between them. Angel relaxed, closing his eyes.

“Tell you what, mi amigo,” Lorne said to Spike, “why don't we both just sit on the balcony? It's a beautiful night for a song and a picnic.”

Angel's eyes opened again. “Upstairs,” he said.

Lorne turned to look at him.

“If he's gonna sing... Just, don't do it right there. Please.”

Lorne nodded and turned to Spike again. “Meet you up top? I'll bring the drinks.”

Angel wasn't looking directly at Spike, but he saw peripherally that he stepped up onto the railing and jumped, climbing up to the balcony directly above, which extended off Wesley's bedroom. Lorne carried their food through the study, but as he passed Angel on the sofa, he paused. “Your anger won't last forever, Angel,” he said gently. “The hurt, the confusion – sure, those things are justified, but they'll fade in time. You'll be fine. It's all just too raw right now, too sensitive to touch. But if you want to speed things along... trying a little empathy could give you a big boost forward. And the feelings you find buried underneath these scars will be a lot more pleasant for you, I promise.”

Angel didn't say anything. He listened to Wesley's steady breathing on the sofa beside him, and he thought about almost killing the man – about Spike sending a human to unchain him, knowing how unreliable he'd been around humans – and when he'd finally decided on an appropriately cutting but understated remark to make on Spike's objectively terrible decision making, Lorne had already walked out.

It occurred to him that he'd asked Lorne to come here to keep an eye on Wes because he felt like he shouldn't be alone with the human, and then he'd forced Lorne to leave him alone with the human. With a frustrated sigh, Angel stood from the couch and walked several steps away, just to remove himself from Wesley's personal bubble of enticing body heat. And yeah, he happened to go in the direction of the open balcony door. But not for any particular reason. Definitely not to listen to anyone else's conversation. Or singing or whatever.

But he could hear them up there.

“If you want to give the pipes a rest,” Lorne was saying above him, “we could do this another time.”

“It's fine,” came Spike's hushed voice. “Doesn't hurt.”

“Sure it does.”

“Okay, I don't care that it hurts.”

“Oh, sweetie. Way to sum up your whole deal, huh? I could see that without hearing a single pitch.”

“What?”

A sigh. “You know, I've never met another pair of vampire champions who love pain as much as you and the shoulders brooding downstairs. You two knuckleheads are so alike sometimes I swear the rest of us can only tell you apart by height.”

Angel bristled at this obvious insult and was pleased to hear Spike's affronted, “Hey!” But then he scowled with the realization that Spike was also offended by the comparison even though he should've felt complimented.

“Don't even try to deny it,” Lorne said. “The only difference is Angel prefers to punish himself, but you'll take the hurt anywhere you can get it, as long as it comes with a kiss.”

“Is this is a sex thing? 'Cause he's the one going around kissing every—”

“It's not a sex thing, Spike.” A thoughtful pause. “Well, actually... No, never mind, my dappled green ass isn't going near that minefield. My point is you're both suffering equally and you're as bad as each other at handling it or really seeing what the other is going through. Meanwhile you're blindly trying to protect one another from something neither of you fully understands. It would be tragic if it weren't actually kinda sweet. From an outside-looking-in perspective. Or, you know, underneath-eavesdropping-up.”

Angel flinched and took a step back from the door.

But he could still hear it when Spike rasped, “Thought I was meant to sing first and get the condescending analysis after.”

“Oh, don't worry, there's plenty more. When it comes to condescending analyses, I contain multitudes. But go ahead and give us a few measures, scratchy.”

“Yeah, okay.” Angel heard Spike clear his throat and then begin to sing in his hoarse voice, “I get up in the evening, and I ain't got nothing to say. I come home in the—”

“Alright, let me stop you there,” Lorne interrupted.

“What, your multitudes don't like Springsteen?”

“Everyone likes Springsteen,” said Lorne. “Just having a little deja-voodoo moment. Let's skip forward. What say you take it from the bridge, hmm? Bridge, last verse, chorus. Go.”

A brief pause, and then Spike sang quietly, “You sit around getting older. There's a joke here somewhere, and it's on me. I'll shake this world off my shoulders. Come on baby, the laugh's on me... Stay on the streets of this town and they'll be carving you up alright. They say you gotta stay hungry. Hey baby, I'm just about starving tonight. I'm dying for some action, sick of sitting around here trying to write this book. I need a love reaction. Come on baby, give me just one look. You can't start a fire... sitting 'round crying over a broken heart. This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark.”

While Spike sang, Angel found himself sinking. At first he thought it was just a feeling on the inside, metaphorical bits of him sliding slowly down, heart so low he'd kick it if he took a step. But then he was sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the glass door where it stood open, Spike's damaged voice softly weaving its way in.

“You can't start a fire... worrying about your little world falling apart. This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark. Even if we're just dancing in the dark.”

When Spike finished singing, there were a few tense seconds of silence. There was something trapped inside Angel that he wanted to let out, a word or a shout or a snarl, something. Something sharp and profound that he felt like Spike was pulling out of him. But he just sat there on the floor, unmoving. Then Lorne said, “Hmm.”

“Well? You gonna diagnose me?”

“It's not really that simple, is it? Given your history, I'd expected some baggage, but there's a whole lot more to unpack here than I originally thought.”

“It was never gonna be a picnic,” Spike agreed gruffly. “I mean, aside from the... picnic.”

“You want to tell him,” said Lorne. “You had already decided to before you called me.”

“Been thinking about it, yeah. Almost did. A couple times, before I bollocksed it all up. But it's never the right moment, is it?”

“I would argue that this whole week has been the right moment. Can you honestly picture a moment more momenty than this?”

“Fine, so it's never the right words. Like I'm s'posed to just go up to him and say, “Hey forehead, did you know—”

“Spike wait, wait a sec. Sorry to interrupt, but hold that thought, alright hon? I'll be back in a jiff and then we can really dig into your head.”

Angel was of course very interested in hearing the rest of Spike's sentence – as well as whatever other condescending multitudes Lorne had to say – so he waited where he was, leaning on the glass door. It only occurred to him that Lorne was coming to speak to him when he heard approaching footsteps from the other direction, and he barely had time to stand and take a few guilty steps away from the balcony. He put on his best 'I wasn't listening' face just as Lorne walked in.

Lorne put his hands on his hips and gave Angel a frank look.

“What? I wasn't listening,” said Angel.

“You heard enough.” Lorne cast a glance at the sleeping human on the couch and said, “This session's going to take a while. I don't want to abandon Wes, but if we stay here, we'll need a little privacy, Angel.”

Angel toed sullenly at the carpet. “You want me to leave.”

“It's not personal, muffin. Or rather, it's too personal. I wouldn't have let him listen to you either. You know that.”

The vampire sighed. He very much didn't want to go home yet. The thought of even looking at his bed again so soon after his ordeal made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “I'm not sure it's safe for me to go out. You know. Around humans. Without...”

Spike.

“So don't go around humans,” said Lorne simply. “Hey, remember when you used to be a vampire detective? Solving cases, catching bad guys, being manipulated by the Powers That Be while slowly sliding deeper and deeper into soul-crushing debt. The good old days, am I right? Well you've got a case now, Angel. Be a detective. Work it.”

*

Spike was leaning against the railing of the third floor balcony looking down when Angel got into his car. Angel accidentally looked up and made eye contact with him as he slid into the silver Firebird, and they stared at each other for a long moment like this, separated by glass and space. Angel gripped the steering wheel hard so he wouldn't get back out. Too many thoughts and feelings were stampeding through his head to try to sort through them right now. He was still so angry, but he could hear Lorne telling him to try some empathy, not misplace blame. He was also thinking of the lonely sound a voice has when it sings unaccompanied into the night, the way a whisper feels intimate even if it's forced. Differences and likenesses, heights and barriers. All the invisible ways there are to keep two people apart. Glass. Space. Magic. Pain.

Spike broke the eye contact when Lorne walked out onto the balcony to hand him a beer, and Angel started the car. He didn't see if Spike looked at him again as he pulled away.

Work the case.

What did he know so far? Considering how profoundly he'd been affected by whatever was happening, there still seemed to be relatively little concrete information to pick apart. He knew he'd been going through some changes over the past week, changes that had started out small but had seemed to grow exponentially stronger these last couple of days, like his scent and his appetite and his strength. Everything related to his demon side was somehow becoming more intense, even hard to control. And it had all started right around the time he fought the modusbeasts.

Also, his cousin was in town. If he hadn't witnessed her doing some sort of magical ritual that involved a modusbeast, maybe he would have believed it was a coincidence that she arrived when she did. But there was no way he could believe that now, not after what he'd seen and the interest she'd shown when he mentioned the other modusbeast loose in the city. Josephine must have something to do with all of this, and whatever she had done to the first modusbeast, Angel had a pretty good idea that she shouldn't be allowed to do it with the second one.

They hadn't actually known very much about modusbeasts as a species before taking on the hive, but that hadn't seemed to matter at the time. One of Wolfram and Hart's shamans had detected a portal breach; early surveillance had shown a newly-constructed hive in an empty warehouse, and aside from the two that got away, the demons had been dispatched pretty easily with a couple of flamethrowers and an axe before they had managed to eat any more than three local pedestrians. He'd been disappointed at the loss of life, but all in all, Angel had considered it a victory.

Now here he was a week later, somehow no longer victorious.

Having sent the first modusbeast corpse back to Wolfram and Hart but with no staff to study it until morning, the best idea Angel had now was to go after the other one. These creatures moved fast and erratically and left an inconsistent scent trail, making them difficult to track, so he was hoping that would mean Josephine and her two vampire companions hadn't already found it. He drove in the direction of the destroyed hive. Maybe it was still hanging around near there. With luck, he'd be able to pick up its scent.

He parked the Firebird in a dark lot by some shipping trucks and before getting out sent a quick text to the emergency command line about having someone fix whatever Spike had done to the lockdown feature of his penthouse. (Since nothing had seemed amiss in the elevator, he assumed Spike had messed with it from Wesley's office.) Then he began walking toward the warehouse where the hive had been.

There was something about nights in Los Angeles that would always be soothing to Angel. He found a very specific type of comfort in the darkness and smells of the city, and even when he was angry or anxious or confused or injured, he could always wrap himself up in the familiar shadows and urban sounds of his home and be calmed. He enjoyed losing himself in the alleys and sidestreets and even the sewers – although he was almost never truly lost – and noticing everything, taking stock, making sure it was all as it should be, everything in place. He thought of it as patrolling, but anyone else may have called it prowling through his marked territory, maintaining his claim. The city was Angel's in the same way the savannah belonged to wild lions; it was both his hunting ground and the only place he could genuinely relax.

As he got closer to the site of the hive, he began to detect traces of modusbeast musk. Just a little here and there, hovering in the air over the pavement like dandelion seeds. Most of the scent was old and faded, but there was one relatively fresh trail, maybe three or four days old at most. He followed it down an alley, lost it, picked it up again like a zigzagging line of stones that occasionally had too much space between them. It was easy to imagine the beast that left this trail flickering in and out of sight as it skittered along the streets, jumping and weaving and disappearing altogether before reappearing somewhere just beyond the edge of visibility. Sometimes it doubled back.

The tracking was tedious, even with Angel's enhanced senses, but he didn't mind. He was probably progressing much faster than anyone else could have, and the task was actually a pleasant distraction from frustrating thoughts. In an area that had clearly been occupied by more than one homeless person within the past few days, the smell of the modusbeast became intense, and there were definitely traces of blood littering the scene – spatters on the side of a graffitied building, a sizable dried puddle at the edge of a piece of cardboard with an old ripped blanket piled on top. It looked like the demon had eaten someone here, but there were other smaller drips of blood leading away in a rush. Someone else had been injured but escaped.

Angel followed the trail of the escaped victim – the blood was much easier to follow than the musk – but he didn't find a body, and the blood had eventually stopped dripping onto the pavement. The victim had lived, and it appeared that the modusbeast hadn't pursued them from there. Good. He went back to the musk trail and began tracking the demon again. Its scent had become more obvious after eating, mostly due to the fact that it had human blood in its system now.

He pushed his fangs forward and inhaled the cool night air, letting his mouth come open a little to pull the full body of the scent into his throat. And that's when he started noticing another familiar smell, a fragrant thread that aligned itself with the trail left by the beast he was tracking.

That subtle tingling sensation at the back of his neck, the one he felt whenever his family was near, crept across his skin. For so long he'd associated that feeling with Spike, and at first he almost expected to catch a glimpse of platinum hair and black leather when he turned the next corner, despite knowing that Spike wasn't out here. But only at first. It was obvious who else had actually been tracking the modusbeast.

The above-ground trail ended at an open sewer grate. He'd followed the meandering path of the demon in a wide circuit around several blocks near the destroyed hive, but it had made its way back to the start, dropping into the tunnels through the access point closest to the burned warehouse. Presumably the trail continued under the streets from here, but Josephine's more alluring scent led off to the empty brick building where he'd originally taken on the modusbeasts last week. With a joyless sense of inevitability, Angel turned away from the sewer and slowly followed her to the unused building and slipped in through a side entrance, closing the door behind him.

It looked different inside from the way he'd left it. As CEO, Angel had repurposed a crew from Wolfram and Hart that had formerly specialized in clearing up after murders, staging crime scenes, and planting evidence. Now they disappeared the gooey remnants of demonic nests and sanitized epic battlefields. The whole place had been scraped clean, practically gutted. The only clues left of what had happened here were the scorch marks adorning the walls and some places where the bricks had cracked and crumbled from violent impacts. And the stale odor of modusbeast musk, which humans would not have been able to smell.

Josephine was kneeling on the floor in the middle of the cavernous space in the dark, facing away from Angel as he walked in. Her long, dark hair fell in soft waves down her back, her bare feet tucked under her bottom, shoes placed neatly together to one side. She was the only pleasant scent in the building, her subtle honey and coconut fragrance a single bright spot in this dank setting, underlaid with the more intimate but still enticing smells of her breath and skin. Without turning around, she said to him, “Hello, cousin.”

“Josephine,” he acknowledged quietly.

“I considered performing a summoning spell,” she said. “But for that to work you need something that belongs to the subject of the spell, and I didn't have anything suitable. So instead I've just been waiting.”

“What makes you think it will come back?”

“It?” She stood gracefully and turned toward him. “I was waiting for you.”

Not really surprised to hear this – in the same way that he hadn't really been surprised at himself when he chose to follow Josephine instead of the modusbeast – Angel walked slowly across the empty space without giving any thought to what he was doing, without caring or feeling much of anything. She didn't move as he approached. It crossed his mind that he could kill her very easily right now, maybe save himself the trouble of having to do it later once he found out exactly what game she was playing. He reached out and took her smooth neck in his hand, squeezed just a little, thumb pressed over her jugular. The threat was clear, but she didn't pull away or struggle. Only tilted her chin up to give him better access. Ready to accept anything he felt like doing to her.

But he didn't really feel like killing her. Hell, the only bad thing he knew for sure that she'd done was slap Spike, and in fairness that was an urge he understood all too well.

He swallowed, looking at his fingers curved possessively around her pale throat. She smelled as delicious as she had the night before, as desirable as the other vampires he'd met in the alley, but there wasn't the same quality to her scent that there was to Spike's scent. There was no long-lost memory tugging at him, nothing particularly special that he wanted to puzzle out and cocoon himself in. He still wanted to do things to her, but while her smell was intense and captivating, it was just a smell – very physical, not anything like an emotional experience. The specific lack was almost a relief.

“Josephine,” he said calmly, holding her by the throat, “why were you waiting for me?”

“You know why,” she said. In the darkness of the warehouse, her eyes were a solid color, no distinction between green iris and black pupil. But he knew if there had been enough light, he would see that those pupils were already dilated from being near him.

“Still trying to offer me a drink?”

“Why not? You haven't taken one from anyone else yet.”

He tightened his grip, just barely, enough for it to be uncomfortable but not impossible for her to speak. He could feel her body tense under his hand, but she still didn't pull away. He said, “Maybe that's not what I want from you.”

“Yes it is,” she whispered. “You can't help it.”

The fact that this was true made it especially annoying. He did want to bite her, tear her open, drink her in. And not just because he hadn't eaten. This kind of hunger was something else. He was starting to see that now. It was the same way with Spike. It was why he'd wanted to turn Wesley. This drive was something biological, the urge to gather a family around him. To create his own nest again.

He growled quietly and turned Josephine like a doll, pulling her back against him. Her scent proved she enjoyed being held by the throat like this, and being pressed to his body intensified that scent even more. Close to her ear, he said, “Tell me what you did to me.” He could feel her swallow under his hand.

“What I want to know,” she replied, “is how you can resist. Don't you feel it, Angel? Don't you want to sink your teeth in?”

In fact, this was exactly how he'd held a significant number of his victims in the past. Very deliberately, even though it was difficult, Angel pulled his fangs back inside. But then he bent his head down to put his mouth against the side of Josephine's slender neck. He scraped his blunt teeth across her skin, settled them gently around a mouthful of her firm flesh. Then he bit her hard. Enough to bruise but not quite draw blood.

It must have hurt, but she chuckled delightedly. “You're a marvel, cousin. So much stronger than I thought you'd be.” She pressed herself to his lips, pushed back subtly against his body. “I love how you're fighting it so hard. That soul doesn't make you weak at all, does it? You're almost goddamn perfect.”

His hands on her throat and hip pulled her more firmly against him and instead of responding, he bit her neck again, just underneath the first bite. Imagined his fangs sinking in deep. He sucked at her pale skin like he was drinking from her. She enjoyed this too.

Josephine shivered in his arms. “Such a tease, though.” Reaching back, she grabbed his hip and urged him to press closer. “Do it again.”

His mouth released her neck but he immediately bit her a third time, even further down. Teeth digging into the flesh where her neck joined her shoulder. His eyes fell closed as he thought about what it would be like to really bite her here, how she would taste if the blood he could smell so close to the surface trickled temptingly over his tongue. If he took just a little, would he be able to stop, or would he drink her body hollow? It was such a dangerously enticing thought that he forced himself to let go again before he could act on it. But he trailed his lips up the blooming trio of bruises he'd left on her skin, darting out the tip of his tongue to trace across the painful indentations made by his human teeth.

“Ohh,” she breathed softly as he licked over the damage. She'd already smelled turned on from the moment he walked in, but now the unique scent of her physical arousal was lifting off Josephine's body in waves, soaking through the dry air of the burned and gutted warehouse. Angel couldn't help but respond to it, breathing her in like smoke, feeling the blood pull toward his groin. His balls twinged, still a little sore from earlier, but his hormones were back on schedule now. It was time. This was what he needed.

He bit her again, overlapping a previous mark, and she gasped and tilted her hips back insistently, rubbing her ass against his cock as it thickened. Still holding her by the throat, Angel let his other hand fall from her hip and slide around the inside of her soft thigh, pushing under her skirt. She practically melted into him with a helpless cry as he tugged her damp panties to the side and touched her with his fingers. She was already so wet.

“I'm going to fuck you,” he murmured into her ear, gliding his fingertips along her slippery sex. “Any objections?”

She squirmed a little, but wasn't trying to get away. Breathily, she asked, “Would it make a difference?”

“I'm not an animal, Josephine.”

“Oh,” she sighed. “Well I did say almost perfect.”

Taking this for the answer it was, Angel very quickly swept her up in an effortless princess carry and knelt to lay her down where they'd been standing in the center of the empty space, her body already horizontal before she could react. He then swiftly shrugged out of his leather jacket and lifted her head to slide it underneath her on the concrete floor. This consideration seemed to amuse her and she was smiling when she reached up to grab his collar and pull him down on top of her for a fiery kiss. They sucked and bit passionately at each other's lips as he pushed up her skirt and hooked his fingers into the side of her panties, trying to pull them down while also supporting himself with his other arm so he wouldn't crush her.

“It's been... a while...” she mumbled against his mouth as she wriggled her hips, helping him push down the thin silk between her legs. “I'll probably bleed. Don't know if you're... into that. With a soul.” She grabbed at the front of his pants, undoing the button.

“It's just sex,” Angel grunted, ripping her panties down past her knees and off. The delicate scrap of silk landed a few feet away. “I won't hurt you.” He pushed her soft thighs open and settled between them. God, the heady smell of her arousal was so potent it almost made him dizzy. He took her mouth in another deep kiss, his hand joining hers to fumble at his pants and get his cock out. He'd forgotten he was wearing underwear.

“Yes you will,” she whispered. Her fingers finally wrapped around his thick erection and she guided it to her body, rubbed the plump head up and down the slick valley of her sex before wedging it against the tiny entrance. “Quickly, now,” she encouraged, and kissed him again.

He did as she told him – it didn't even occur to him not to – and that first exquisite thrust inside her practically made him see fireworks. She was so slippery that the push should have been effortless, and indeed he'd entirely sheathed himself blissfully fast, that familiar fuzzy fog creeping along the edges of his thoughts. He exhaled sharply with the stab of pleasure. But there had been a hint of resistance and Josephine flinched, her whole body uncomfortably tense, and grabbed his ass to hold him still. “Wait, wait,” she said. Fuck, she was so tight, every inch of his cock squeezed more firmly than he would have thought possible. And then he smelled it, a single tiny drop of blood where their bodies were joined. Oh.

“You're a virgin?” he breathed. It took tremendous effort to hold still while she attempted to relax around him.

“When I was turned,” she murmured, trembling a little. “Not anymore. Obviously.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “It's been a century, but these bodies don't forget.”

The little drop of red, even though he couldn't see it, stirred through his senses, inflamed his desire. God, she felt fucking incredible. But he waited. “I could have made that nicer for you. Slower. If I'd known—”

“I don't care, Angel.” She dragged her fingernails down his back. The sharp tips felt slightly blunted through the shirt he was still wearing, but stung enough that he arched into the feeling. “Virginity is an antiquated construct,” Josephine said. “Anyway, we like a little pain with our pleasure sometimes, don't we darling?” When she said we, she meant vampires. And she wasn't wrong, generally speaking.

“In that case,” Angel said, and pulled back slowly, enjoying the slick slide, the way her body tried to hold onto him but couldn't. He suddenly thrust in again hard, pounding a quiet gasp out of Josephine. “I could have made it hurt more.”

She laughed and pulled his head down for another intense kiss. Against his lips, she murmured, “Go on, then. Try.”

Unable to resist the challenge, Angel fucked into Josephine roughly on the concrete floor of the scorched and emptied warehouse. She cried out, tipping her head back on his leather jacket, her throat bared to him, one side dark with the marks he'd already left there. His lips fell to those bruises and he bit her again as her fingers twisted into his hair and held him in place against her neck. He didn't think about anything. He just fucked her, his body naturally falling into the motion he'd been craving for what felt like ages, the familiar in-out driving thrusts that only this exact act required.

They filled the dark space around their grinding bodies with breathless grunts and cries and moans, and she raked her fingernails down his back so hard that he swore and nearly dropped his fangs into her. To avoid biting her – really biting into her – he knelt up suddenly and pulled Josephine's hips up over his thighs, gripping her with his hands and fucking her with only her shoulders and head still resting on the floor. His thumb found her stiff little clit and strummed over it as he pounded into her like this, his cock angled up toward her navel. She had no leverage to fuck him back, could only take it, flushed and panting, attempting to brace herself with her hands on the floor. His thrusts were so forceful that a few times Josephine was actually scooted backward, her head coming off the pillow of his jacket, and he had to drag her back toward him again to keep going.

The fog was still there, but even though Angel was aware of it, it somehow didn't feel very intrusive the way it normally did. Maybe because he wasn't fighting it at all, wasn't trying to feel or think anything, wasn't trying to be careful or guarded or gentle or considerate. He allowed himself to be utterly swept away, mindless in his passion, unconcerned about anything but the pleasure at hand. Before, it had been easy to separate what felt like him from what felt like something else controlling his body while he just rode along, but right now there didn't seem to be much difference.

Fucking Josephine was so simple. A thoroughly uncomplicated act with nothing at stake. It just... didn't matter.

Josephine's lithe body was tensing with every rapid thrust, the shockwaves caused by his movements rippling through the material of her disheveled clothes. Eventually she gasped, “Angel!” and came with a sudden loud cry, a wet rush letting down over him as she spasmed around his cock, squeezing hard. Her whole body shook with the force of her orgasm, her eyes closed, mouth fallen open. He watched her come, his aggressive thrusts into her tight clenching body never letting up, and continued rubbing over the tiny pink button of her clit. “Oh... God, oh fuck.” She writhed as if she couldn't choose between pushing into or pulling away from the overwhelming sensation, and it was a stunning picture, her face caught helplessly in the limbo between too much and just a little more. The incredible satiny grip of her muscles around him sent shivers through Angel's body as he fucked her. Moments later, Josephine came again, swearing.

Then she made a grab for his wrist and yanked his hand away from her clit. Without letting go, she suddenly sat up and pushed him backward and, caught off balance, he landed flat on his back with a surprised grunt and only narrowly avoided cracking his head against the concrete. She took a moment to shove his jacket under his own head with an amused look and then climbed over him to straddle his hips, sinking back down onto his cock. They both sighed.

“Take this off,” Angel said, giving her sleeveless blouse a little tug.

She did, and discarded her bra as well. Now she only wore her skirt pushed up around her waist. Angel grasped her thighs and guided her into a quick pace as she began to ride him, her small bare breasts jiggling with every bounce. “You're looking at my neck,” she panted softly, reaching up to sweep her long hair to one side so it would be easier to see. “I know what you want.”

His fingertips dug into the firm muscles of her thighs. “Just want you to keep moving,” he said, voice tight.

She swiveled her hips, grinding down against him, leaning forward to brace her hands on his chest. “You can't stop thinking about it, can you?” The smell of sex was thick in the air around them, but he could also still smell her blood, that single drop smeared thin between their bodies. “I want it, too,” she said. “You know I do.”

“I'm not going to bite you.” He did want to, though. Jesus, he wanted to.

“It would feel so good right now, wouldn't it?” she pressed, her hips thumping against his over and over as she took him in again and again. “My God, you would come so hard.”

“That's... that's gonna happen anyway,” Angel breathed. He took her round ass in his hands and bounced her faster, planting his feet on the floor so he could fuck up into her rapidly at the same time. Her breath caught as she was moved forcefully up and down his rigid cock, their bodies crashing together with a wet smacking sound. It was starting to build up. He didn't try to make her come again, just watched the way her soft breasts trembled above him with every impact, concentrated on the slick friction around his eagerly throbbing dick.

When he got close, he quickly pulled her down and rolled over, preferring to be on top for his orgasm. Her head did bump the floor but neither of them cared that much – she huffed an amused chuckle and he didn't bother trying to shove the jacket under her. He grabbed her behind the knee and pushed up her leg, then really let loose, thrusting into her so fast the rubbing together of their flesh could have started a fire if it hadn't been so wet.

“Angel,” Josephine gasped softly, tightening around him. Her hand reached up to cup his jaw. “Show me your face.”

He felt his fangs push out at the same time that he began to come into her with a quiet snarl, jerking her body against him. For a moment, he thought he would bite her. During that moment, it didn't seem like a bad idea at all; in fact, it seemed strange that he wasn't doing it. Her fangs had dropped too. She guided his lips to hers and they kissed hard as this powerful release shivered through Angel's body, pumping out of him and into Josephine in long glorious pulses. He licked into her mouth, let her fangs scrape across his tongue. Made a few more slow thrusts to draw out this feeling, lying on top of her small, strong frame. He imagined floating away like this, suspended just here. Hips cradled between Josephine's thighs, her full lips to his mouth, the thick smell of their coupling filling this empty warehouse, and the tingling remains of an incredible orgasm circling through his blood. Not thinking about anything.

How many times could he take her and not have to care?

The fog began to slip away. But it left as subtly as it had arrived, and he didn't feel very different afterward.

Josephine's fingers pushed affectionately through his hair as he let his head drop down to her chest and rest there. Her other hand stroked softly down his back. He let her leg go and she lowered her foot to the floor, knee still bent beside him, and they lay like this for a while, breathing in the scent they'd made together. Quietly, she asked him, “Still don't want me?”

He didn't know what to say. “You eat people, Josephine.”

“Who doesn't, now and then?” she replied dismissively.

Spike doesn't. “I don't.”

She ruffled his hair. It made his scalp tingle. “You want to.”

“You don't know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Fine, I don't know you. And I definitely don't trust you.”

The hand stroking his hair hesitated. After a moment, she asked, “Do you trust... him?”

Angel closed his eyes. There was no escaping this, was there? There was nowhere to go, no one to be with who would let him not think about Spike. A fleeting thought: when Spike was fucking Harmony earlier today, had anyone else crossed his mind? Had he been unable to escape as well? With a sigh, he pushed himself up and rolled off of Josephine's body, and she let him go reluctantly. “I don't trust anyone,” he said. “I can't.”

She sat up, looked down at him through demon eyes. “You can trust me,” she said. “I will never lie to you or leave you. We can be a family, Angel.” Her hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, and she began playing with a button on his shirt. “You. Me. Nicholas. Danielle.” He assumed Nicholas and Danielle were the two vampires he'd seen with her last night, the bearded white man and the young black woman. “They never knew their sires. We could claim them. Together, you and I could begin to rebuild the Order of—”

“You'll never lie to me?” Angel interrupted.

She left his button undone and moved to the next. “Solemn promise, cousin,” she said.

He caught her wrist to stop her unbuttoning another. “Tell me what you did to me.”

A faint smile. “Well, my dear Zachary used to call it 'serving Venus,' but nowadays I believe the common term is fucking.”

“Don't be coy, Josephine. You know what I'm talking about.”

She pulled her arm out of his grip and went back to fiddling with his buttons as she answered. “I've done nothing to you but offer my loyalty. You're very powerful, Angel. Others will offer themselves to you as well. You need to choose a lieutenant before you miss the opportunity to make the choice yourself. If you resist much longer, you'll end up with someone unworthy simply because you lost control over your instincts.” As an afterthought, she asked curiously, “Why haven't you bitten him?”

“Can you stop asking me about him, please?”

Josephine undid the last button on his shirt and pushed it open, sliding her hand across his bare chest. “Forgive me if I'm interested in my competition for your affections.” She tilted her head. The bruises Angel had left on her neck were darker than before. “He's not the worst fighter,” she admitted. “But that hair is a violent crime. And the terrible accent, now that will get annoying in a few hundred—”

“I didn't follow you here so we could talk about Spike,” Angel said, feeling sort of weirdly insulted on Spike's behalf. A few days ago, he might have agreed about the hair, but he'd actually always liked the accent. It was... well, cute wasn't really the word...

She tweaked his nipple. “So,” she said with a sly little smile, “why did you follow me here?”

Angel leaned up and kissed her.

The first time he fucked Josephine was because his body craved it, and the fact that it took his mind off Spike was a convenient coincidence. This time he fucked her specifically to avoid thinking of Spike, of his stupid violent hair and his dumb accent which was maybe cute after all since he couldn't think of a better word for it. Perhaps Josephine understood why he was doing this, but she didn't seem to mind being used this way. They both completely shed their clothing and he took her from behind on all fours on top of the pile of material, naked in the dark with their fangs out.

He had just pulled Josephine up into a kneeling position and was gripping her breasts, pinching her swollen nipples as he thrust into her, when Nicholas and Danielle unexpectedly entered the warehouse together. “Oh shit,” the man whispered when he saw them, the woman's mouth dropping open in surprise. Josephine laughed softly. Keeping her hips tilted back against Angel, she leaned backward, her spine bent in a shallow arc, and tipped her head back against his shoulder. He took this languid display as a sign that she didn't care if they were watched. He didn't care either. Her hair dripped down his chest, tickling against his skin, and he let one hand slide down from her breast to rub her clit while he fucked her. She came like that with a quiet moan in front of the other two vampires.

Not having been kicked out, they wandered forward, only hesitating briefly. Angel watched them as he fucked into Josephine's tight body, her sex sopping with her own fluids and his, making quiet sticky sounds under the louder thumping of his hips hitting her ass. Nicholas and Danielle smelled so good to him, their scents just adding to the cloud of potent smells already expanding up into the corners of the big empty room, smothering out the last traces of the modusbeast hive. Their fangs dropped, first his and then hers, their lips parting to fully bring in the scent – not just of sex, but also the strong unique scent Angel alone was putting off, what these two had described last night as honeysuckle and a pine forest mist. Nicholas let one hand rub across the front of his jeans as his eyes raked over Angel and Josephine's naked bodies. Angel could hear Danielle's breath quicken. The smell of their arousal swirled around him, slid over his skin like silk sheets.

It had been a very, very long time since Angel had been watched like this while fucking. The attention sent pleasant prickles down the back of his neck and along his spine. Josephine was beautiful. He thought of the picture they must make together – muscles flexing under smooth skin, dots of perspiration shining on their bodies in the dark – and felt his own orgasm building, the tightness in his belly and his balls. When he imagined Spike watching the two of them the way Spike had watched him dancing with Lana at that club, he came suddenly, pulled Josephine hard against him as he unloaded spurt after forceful spurt of his cum into her tight body, panting into her hair.

On his way down from that high, Angel reached up to sweep Josephine's hair to the side and press his lips to her neck. He left a kiss there on top of the mottled bruising he'd marked her with earlier, and she sighed.

“Alright,” he murmured against the darkened skin, and then looked over to the two newcomers. “Which one of you is next?”

*

Some time later – a few hours, at least – a text arrived to Angel's phone. The soft buzz vibrated in the pocket of his jacket, and with a reluctant sigh, he untangled himself from the pile of naked vampires enough to sit up and begin rooting around in the nest of clothes underneath them for anything that felt like leather. When he managed to locate the phone, the light of the little screen above the buttons was much too bright after so long in the darkness of the empty warehouse that he had to squint to read the message. It was the standard confirmation notification from the Wolfram and Hart emergency command line, the one he got every time his requests were fulfilled. Yesterday he'd gotten one that meant the remains of that other modusbeast had been moved to the lab, but the one tonight meant the lockdown mechanism of his penthouse had been repaired.

“Anything important?” Josephine's soft voice asked sleepily. She propped herself up beside him and leaned against his bare shoulder, her long hair tickling down his side.

“No,” Angel murmured, slipping his arm around her. He dropped an absentminded kiss on top of her head. “You can go back to sleep.”

Danielle stirred on his other side and Nicholas grunted, but neither of them appeared to wake. Young vampires like them were much more active in sleep than vampires as old as Josephine and Angel. It was a holdover from when they were human, and Angel had always found it amusing. Eventually they'd be perfectly still in sleep, much like corpses, but for now they twitched and sighed and triggered something like a protective feeling in him. He rested his hand on Danielle's cool back and drew it lightly down, reassuring. She exhaled deeply and went still again.

It was startlingly comfortable, sharing space like this with three others. A group of four, perfect nesting size. Like with Darla, Penn, and Charlotte. Darla, James, and Elizabeth. Darla, Drusilla, and Spike. A primary coupling and two progeny. He shouldn't think of them that way; at any other time, he'd have killed Nicholas and Danielle without any hesitation. But even though he hadn't nested like this in over a century, he could see himself fitting so easily into this little family, slotting into the group like the bend of a padlock. They already smelled like his.

Damn Josephine for making this feel like something it couldn't be. They were serial killers for Christ's sake.

“This is nice, isn't it?” she said quietly. “I'm glad you like them. Danielle is so cunning, the perfect scout. And Nicholas is stronger than usual at his age. With the right training, he could be the type of warrior we see once in a generation. Like Luke. Like you.”

Angel sighed. “I don't like them, Josephine...”

She pulled back and looked up at his face seriously. “Alright,” she said. “I haven't claimed them yet. We'll dust them and start over. You can choose our family. If you... if you really want to include the English brat—”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Good. He's old enough to start his own family.”

“And that's not what I meant—”

“Angel, we could have this every night. You could have me. Every night.” Slowly, Josephine moved around in front of him, slipping one leg over his legs to settle in his lap, face to face. “Don't pretend you didn't like it,” she said, running her fingernails lightly down his chest. So light it tickled. “It made you hot when you found out I was turned a virgin.” She tilted her head, smiling up at him. “Think about it. You could have a virgin in your bed every single night.”

He'd heard of turning virgins before for that specific reason. He'd actually considered doing it to Dru; the idea of tearing into her over and over had held quite a lot of appeal at the time. But he wanted her to crave his touch, to love sex and have an insatiable desire for it, never shy away for fear of pain, and he ultimately decided that taking her virginity over and over would eventually lose its charm anyway. So he'd taken it once, while she was still human – he'd teased her until she begged him to do it – and then turned her afterward. He'd never regretted that choice (except in the way that he regretted everything about Dru) but he'd be lying if he said some deep part of him didn't still see the appeal.

Angel leaned down to press his cheek to Josephine's and said softly in her ear, “Virginity is an antiquated construct.”

She laughed and pushed at him gently. “I like you, cousin. You're funny.”

His phone buzzed again. It was a call this time. Weird, who would be calling at four in the morning? He checked the display.

Oh.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “It's him, isn't it?”

“I should go,” said Angel. But he didn't answer the phone.

“Perhaps I should be grateful he didn't literally show up here to pull your prick out of me.”

“That wouldn't have gone well for any of us,” Angel agreed.

Another buzz from his phone. A text this time: Where r u? Dont be murderin

Angel sighed. He kissed Josephine's forehead and then moved her off his lap.

“Do you always take orders from your progeny?”

“I'm not leaving because Spike ordered me to.” Which of these were his clothes? He started feeling around on the floor, tugging his things out from underneath Nicholas and Danielle. Everything looked roughly the same color in the dark. “I didn't mean to stay this long in the first place.”

“If you want me to kill him for you—”

“Do you see my other sock?”

Josephine felt underneath her butt and produced it, held it out to him. She watched him dress. Pants, socks, shirt, jacket. Nicholas had fallen asleep with his nose buried in Angel's underwear, so he left it there. “Angel?”

He paused in putting on his shoes and looked over at her. She was always so poised, elegant, confident. But now she looked very small, sitting there naked between the two other vampires.

“Will you come back to me?”

He knew immediately that the answer to that should be no, but for some reason he didn't want to hear himself say it out loud. Instead, he said, “I'm not making you any promises, Josephine. But my advice is to get out of the city. You know I have a habit of killing my family.”

“Maybe I like my odds,” she said.

He hadn't expected anything less. He told her, “If you had something to do with what's happening to me, now would be the time to say so. I'm giving you the chance.”

“But isn't it obvious yet, darling?” she said. And she looked like she really thought it was. “If you'd read the Order's archives, you'd understand by now.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Angel. “Do you know where I can find the archives?”

Josephine raised her delicate eyebrows at him. “You mean you don't have them?” There was genuine surprise in her voice. “Well. That's a shame.”

*

It was already too late to hunt down that modusbeast before sunrise. Shit. It had killed someone, injured someone else, and he'd just allowed it to fuck off into the sewers while he had a bunch of sex in a demon nest with three soulless monsters. As he drove back to Wolfram and Hart, Angel sunk even more deeply into the pit of inescapable hopelessness he'd been feeling since Spike had unchained him from the bed. It shouldn't have been that easy to abandon his responsibilities. He deserved the sick feeling he had about it now.

And he hated that he'd let himself feel like he could belong with other vampires, that maybe they weren't so different from him after all. A single moment with them during mealtime would have snapped him back to the real world, but in a vacuum (or the darkness of an abandoned warehouse), it was so much harder to remember the line between good and evil. Especially if you were made of a little of both. Or if some of your best memories were from the wrong side of the line.

God, he could still smell them.

He was so caught up in his own head about the evening's events that it actually took him until the moment he stepped into his private elevator to realize why the scent of Nicholas in particular was so strong. Under his leather jacket, he was wearing the other man's shirt. The fact that he had stood there in that warehouse and literally buttoned up some other guy's shirt onto his own body without even noticing was so absurd that he laughed helplessly, feeling a bit like something had fractured within him, that he wasn't the same person he had been before. As though the real Angel were wandering around lost somewhere in the city and he was just some imposter in red plaid. What the fuck was he doing?

When the elevator doors opened into his penthouse, Spike's scent lapped over him like a wave that didn't recede. He was fully submerged immediately and almost staggered at the sense-memory the smell evoked. That London house where they'd stayed for a year, the sofa in front of the fireplace in the library. Sketching with a glass of whiskey on the side table, his sire reading a book by his side, his dark-haired girl sitting at his feet, singing softly. And there, lying on the floor grinning with his head in her lap, was... was...

“You're back. Guess I can take down all those Lost Vampire signs around the neighborhood.”

For a brief moment, that accent here, now, in this place, felt very wrong. But he should have known Spike would be here. You don't text 'Where are you?' unless you're at the place where you expect someone to be.

But I'm still lost, Angel felt like saying. Instead he drifted out of the elevator like a blown leaf and said quietly, “I told you not to be here when I got back.”

Spike was just standing there in the den. Maybe he had been pacing. Angel didn't want to look at him but there was nowhere else to look, or to go, or to hide. And when he did look, the depth of expression in those blue eyes pinned him to the spot.

What washed over him then wasn't Spike's scent. It was the realization of how utterly ridiculous he had been to think even for one second that Josephine and Nicholas and Danielle were anything at all like someone with a soul. It was so obvious now, in the light. Compared to Spike, they were nothing. Empty, gutted, burned up. They could tug at his vampire instincts, and they could fulfill his physical needs and entertain him and even be endearing at times, but they were missing something absolutely fundamental and didn't even know how hollow they were without it. He'd spent all night trying to blend in with walking dust.

And now he was looking into the eyes of a whole complicated person and it was hard. Not knowing how to feel about him, but knowing he wasn't bad. Knowing they were alike.

He watched Spike realizing why he smelled like Josephine, the play of emotions across his face. He knew they'd had sex. He knew Angel hadn't drunk her blood. And he knew about the others.

“You were... with her.” Spike's voice was still sort of messed up, but clearer than it had been several hours ago. He looked maybe a little hurt, but more than that he looked like he couldn't quite believe what he was smelling. “And...” He took a small step backward, as if to retreat from the offensive reality of Angel's scent. “How many more?”

“Two,” Angel said. There was no point trying to hide it.

“Did you...” Spike swallowed. “Did you do it because...”

“I don't want to talk about it, Spike. Can we just not talk about it?”

“Angel, you look like a bloody lumberjack.”

He sighed. “I got dressed in the dark.” Angel shrugged wearily out of his leather jacket and passed Spike to head for his closet and hang it up, starting to unbutton the plaid shirt on the way. But when he walked into the bedroom, he stopped short. The bed sheets were rumpled. There were spots of blood still there where his wrists had been manacled. He stared, the anger that had died down beginning to rise inside him again. He didn't want to fucking think about this right now. He just wanted to drink several bags of blood and pass out and not have to feel anything. Still staring at the bed, he said, “Go home, Spike.”

“Can we talk?”

Try a little empathy. “Not... right now. We'll talk later.”

“Angel—” Spike reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

Before he could think, Angel whirled around and caught Spike's wrist, shoved him hard against the wall. He held him there, gripping his arm while they both recovered from the shock of this sudden movement. Spike's pupils were dilated, but he looked more confused than aroused – although he was aroused too – and Angel closed his eyes, inhaling slowly to steady himself. Then he opened his eyes and carefully peeled his fingers off Spike's wrist, taking a step back. “What I need from you right now,” he said quietly, “is some time. We'll talk later. Alright?”

A brief hesitation, and then the blond head dipped in a tiny nod.

“Thank you,” said Angel. “And Spike? I had the penthouse lockdown protocol repaired. After you leave, will you activate it for me?”

Spike looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. Then he just nodded again.

“Good.” Angel turned away. As he walked to his closet to hang up his jacket, he heard Spike get into the elevator. He went back into the den while it descended and just stood there, waiting and listening. After a minute or so, the compressive hiss sounded throughout the apartment, and he sighed, collapsing onto the sofa.

Just let him be dust for a little while longer.

*

Chapter Text

*

The small amount of sleep that Angel got that night took place on the suede sofa in his den. He hadn't wanted to lie down on the bed again with those big spots of dried blood and cum on the sheets, but thanks to Spike there hadn't been any clean sheets to replace them. So he stripped the stained ones off the bed and bagged them up with the rest of the trash for Rosa to take for incineration when she came by. Nothing good could come of ever looking at them again, even washed. Spike had apparently taken the broken glass and ripped bedding away already, which was... good. Angel would order all new stuff once he went down to the office.

He shed the embarrassing plaid shirt with the rest of his clothes, pulled on his black pajama pants, drank four pints of blood directly from the plastic pouches, and then just curled up into a ball on the couch, hugging a pillow to his full stomach. It was comfortable enough, but he could still smell Spike in the soft suede as he slept, and when he woke in the morning his cock was hard against the pillow. But it probably would have been anyway.

Angel took care of his erection in the shower. As soon as he wrapped his hand around it, he thought of Spike. It wasn't even a sexual thought really, just a reminder of him, of how seriously he'd been trying to help. The thought of him didn't feel intrusive or out of place, almost like it had been sitting there in his head already and he just happened to glance over at it, but he pushed it aside after a moment and tried to picture something else. Just for a few minutes, while he did this. Josephine and her two companions popped unbidden into his mind and he forced that out immediately, finally settling on a safe, neutral image of Darla, the perfect Georgian-era ringlets of her golden hair bouncing lightly against her pale neck as she rode him in bed, her sexy little smile hinting at some game only she knew the rules to.

He finished himself off quickly and called Gunn afterward to ask him to lift the lockdown so he could go to work.

He was going to speak to Spike today. That was fine. He'd already decided to, and he was feeling a lot more calm about it now that he had slept, even if it was only for four hours. A little time and distance had always been helpful when it came to gaining perspective, and Lorne had been right: empathy was key. Of course he was still hurt, but Spike hadn't meant to hurt him – the same way he hadn't meant to hurt Spike – and he understood that. They'd both just been trying their stupid best and had simply managed to hurt each other anyway. And there was nothing to stop it from happening again, which was why they needed to talk.

He needed to tell Spike to leave.

A minute or two after the decompressive hiss sounded, the study elevator arrived. Angel was already waiting by the door. When the lift opened, Gunn was standing inside holding a very large weapon.

Angel raised his eyebrows. “The elevator's kind of small to be swinging that around, don't you think?”

“I'm gonna go ahead and assume you mean the axe,” said Gunn pleasantly. “But don't worry. You know I got you covered.” He tugged up one sleeve of his well-tailored suit jacket to flash Angel the stake strapped to his wrist underneath, which probably had a twin fastened to his other wrist. Stepping to one side to allow Angel into the elevator with him, he added, “I just like carrying this around downstairs. Especially on Mondays. Really gives off that 'we mean business' vibe.”

“Sure, if your business is executions.”

Gunn shrugged. “Sometimes it is.” The doors closed as he pressed the button for the lobby level.

Angel stood very still, shoulders slightly hunched and his hands in his pockets as the elevator descended, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Gunn smelled good. That faintly sweet scent of freshly showered flesh with a hint of expensive cologne, underpinned with the specific brand of toner from the printers downstairs, steel polish, toothpaste, coffee, and a sausage McMuffin. He didn't have any particularly strong emotional smell, certainly nothing like the depression that soaked the air around Wesley or the arousal Spike and Josephine and other vampires had been radiating lately. Gunn's scent was simply that of a healthy human being with a strong, steady heartbeat, and it was a little disturbing how certain Angel was that he would taste absolutely delicious.

It was a good thing Angel had already taken care of his problem this morning; otherwise the ride would have ended violently. Gunn would have put up an impressive fight for a human, though. Which of course made him even more tempting.

“It's not that I don't appreciate the caution, but stakes aren't really necessary right now,” said Angel, who had a very clear image in his mind of putting his lips to Gunn's smooth skin, of maybe dragging his tongue up the back of Gunn's head just to see what that felt like. “I promise I won't bite you.”

“Oh. In that case, I feel extremely safe in a small enclosed space with you,” Gunn said, giving Angel a skeptical glance.

“No, seriously,” said Angel. “If I were planning to eat you, I'd tell you first. It's more fun that way.”

“Look man, even if we lived in a world where what you just said was in any way reassuring – at all – you know I can't trust you right now. Or anyone else, frankly. These past few days, all y'all have been acting crazy. I feel like the only normal one left around here.”

“Because carrying a giant axe around the office is totally normal.”

“You remember where we work, right?”

“Who else has been acting crazy? Not that I'm acting crazy.”

“Fred,” Gunn replied immediately. “I hate to use the c-word when I know she's had actual struggles with crazy in the past, but I just can't figure out what the hell is up with her.”

“What's she doing? I know she was in kind of a bad mood on Saturday...”

“No, God was in kind of a bad mood when he sent the flood. Fred is way beyond bad mood territory. Honestly, I'm worried about her.”

“Think she's gonna flood the lab?”

“I got two words for you, Angel: Mad. Scientist. When was the last time one of those stopped at flooding a lab?” The elevator pinged, doors opening into the lobby. Angel and Gunn exited and began walking toward Angel's office. No one gave the big axe a second look. “Really I just hope she doesn't end up hurting someone. Last night she was telling me in gross detail exactly how she wants to kill her next door neighbor. Wanna know why?” A dramatic pause. “Because he wears socks and sandals.”

Angel frowned. “Together?”

“I mean, I'm not saying the dude doesn't deserve it,” Gunn allowed as they entered Angel's office. “I'm just saying, if someone takes him out over questionable footwear, I don't want it to be Fred.”

“There's no way she was serious.”

“She's already picked out a place to bury the body.”

Angel walked over to his desk and sat down in the rolling leather chair. “I tried calling her last night,” he said. “She didn't answer. There's something strange going on with Wesley too and I just thought she might, you know, have some insight.”

“Yeah, I called Wes last night to see if he knew what was happening with Fred, and Lorne answered his phone. Filled me in on what Wes tried to do. I don't get it, Angel. I mean seriously, what the hell is going on around here?”

“Well,” said Angel, at something of a loss. “I suppose they've both been under a lot of stress lately...”

“Meanwhile, you've gone all Tyson vs. Holyfield again,” Gunn pointed out.

“That was one time—”

“And now you and Spike are taking turns locking each other in the penthouse. When I came to let him out the other night, I walked in, there was broken glass everywhere, and the guy was covered in feathers.”

“Feathers?”

“Like an angry English chicken.”

It took Angel a startled moment (and a bizarre yet fascinating mental image) to remember why. “Oh yeah, he ripped open a goose down duvet and a couple of feather pillows after I—”

Gunn quickly held up a hand. “Please don't explain what you did to Spike in bed. As the last sane person standing, I'm begging you.” Then he glanced at his watch. “Speaking of Blondie Bear, he was supposed to be here by now.”

“Spike? At the office on a Monday morning? Tell me you didn't get your hopes up.” Since the younger vampire didn't actually hold a formal position at Wolfram and Hart, Angel never expected to see him wandering around the building until at least lunch time.

“Said he'd keep an eye on you. I can't stay, gotta get over to MDC to meet a new client.”

“You have a client at MDC?” That was unusual. Wolfram and Hart tended to represent the type of clients who could bribe their way out of jail time, or else manage to wiggle out of an official booking altogether. A person who ended up being held in a jail like MDC was most likely a person who couldn't afford someone like Gunn as a lawyer.

“It's a pro bono case,” said Gunn, reading the underlying question. “Homeless man attacked a street performer Saturday night. Lots of witnesses and they got him on video too, but the man's a vet with PTSD. I'm going to see if we can get him some help instead of just locking him up.”

“That's good,” said Angel. “I didn't even realize you took pro bono cases. I didn't think any of the lawyers here did.”

“It doesn't happen a lot, but I've got a contact on the force who lets me know when the perps don't have a permanent address, and I try to glance over their files whenever I have time. When you own the LAPD, you might as well use it for something good, right?”

“Of course,” said Angel. Then, “Spike uses it for free parking.”

“Yeah, we all do that.” Gunn glanced at his watch again. “Sorry man, but I really gotta run.”

“That's fine. I don't actually need anyone to watch me sit here.” Angel gave Gunn a mild pleasant expression, trying to look as innocent as possible. Just a regular Very Good Person Who Has Done Nothing Wrong, sitting at a desk in an office. It was his best impression of whatever was the opposite of someone who had recently attacked two people, almost turned a third, and fucked three demons.

“Nice try, but I can't just leave you free and unsupervised. Lots of humans work here. We don't want any incidents.”

“Gunn, you know I've only ever killed employees who deserved it.”

“And somehow I'm still not at all reassured. Check under the desk.”

Curious, Angel rolled his chair back and peered under the desk. At first he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but then he slid his hand across the bottom side of the mahogany and felt it. He tugged the velcro strap open and a manacle fell loose, swinging down by a short chain into the space underneath, the other side still bolted to the heavy wood. Fred's unbreakable plastic again. Great. “So we're just putting these anywhere now?”

Gunn was typing something on his phone. “I'm texting Spike where the key is. Once he gets here, he can let you go. This is what we all agreed to, remember?”

The idea of being manacled while waiting for Spike to free him again set Angel's nerves immediately on edge. The wounds around his wrists had mostly faded by now but he could still feel them, even if it was just in his head. He would have refused to do this right away, but it was only one manacle so at least he'd still have his other hand free in case he needed it. The phone was within reach, and there were plenty of other people in the building who would hear him if he shouted. There was no way that awful experience would be repeated here.

With a frustrated sigh, Angel fastened the cuff around his left wrist and heard it click. “You know, I can't wait until one of you guys bites someone. Would be nice to walk around here while everyone else is chained to their desks.”

“We do that the second Wednesday of every month,” said Gunn. “It boosts productivity.”

Angel considered his shackled wrist. “At this point I can't even tell if you're joking.”

The man grinned. “I'll be back in a while to check in. Are we still having that meeting later about your whole thing?”

“Yeah,” Angel said, although truthfully he didn't see much point. It seemed doubtful that anyone had any new information to share, and he hadn't had a chance yet to run down that lead Josephine had given him about the archives of the Order of Aurelius. But it would be good just to make sure everyone was still on the same page, even if it was only page one.

“Cool,” said Gunn. “See you then.”

After Gunn left, Angel spent a couple of confused minutes searching for the switch that was supposed to reveal his computer. He located the keyboard – it was a relatively simple matter of folding a section of his desktop over to the side – but the screen was nowhere to be found. He finally gave up and pressed the call button on his phone.

“Morning, boss!” Harmony's voice chirped through the speaker. “How can I help?”

“I can't find my computer screen,” he said.

“Are you sitting at your desk?”

“Yes.”

“Should be directly in front of you,” she told him cheerfully.

“Well, it's not.”

“Okay, do you see your keyboard?”

“Yes.”

“It's on the other side of the keyboard.”

“There's nothing on the other side of the keyboard.”

“It'll be to the left of your phone.”

“No, it's... there's nothing there.”

“You see your lamps?”

“Yes, I see the lamps.”

“It's between the lamps.”

“I'm telling you, it's not.”

“It's on the part of the desk farthest from your chair.”

Angel ran his hand across the flat surface just to be sure. “Listen, there's not... it's just more desk.”

“Right past your calendar.”

“No.”

“If you stand up—”

“Harmony, just get in here and show me, please.”

His grumpy voice didn't seem to faze her. “Sure thing, boss! Want me to bring you some blood?”

Angel's finger hesitated over the disconnect button. Yeah, he could eat. “What kind is there today?”

“Otter, mink, vole, weasel...”

“Anything bigger?”

“I think there's some beaver in the break room, but if you want pig or goat I can order it.”

“Beaver's fine.”

“Gotcha, be right there.”

He had gone back to searching the desk for the switch – or button, or trigger, or whatever it was – to reveal the computer screen when he heard his door open and shut. Without looking up, he said, “It's here somewhere. I've done it before. See, I know this one frosts the windows—” He flipped the switch.

As the office windows frosted over, Angel looked up to find Harmony standing near the closed door holding his #1 Boss mug. She was wearing a low cut pink dress and seemed strangely still, a confused look on her face as she stared at him. Her lips were slightly parted.

Oh.

Her smell hit him all at once: blood and perfume and sweet mint chewing gum, coffee and clean skin and ink and silk and cotton. That same flavor of dark, heavy lust that poured from older vampires but coming from Harmony seemed lighter, foamy almost. The scent curled through the air around her, slid teasingly over Angel's skin, sent a tiny prickle down his spine. She smelled refreshing, young but not quite a fledge anymore, strong but yielding, sweet and breezy and light and wicked and beautiful, and good God, why hadn't he ever considered how perfect her naked body would look in moonlight, how soft her breasts would be if he hugged her to him?

“Actually, I've changed my mind, Harmony,” Angel said, aiming for a calm and even tone, a very employer-to-employee voice. “I don't need your help.” Then, a little quieter, “Please don't come over here.”

“But... I brought your blood,” she said, giving him a pretty smile while still somehow looking a little confused. She held up the mug as proof and came forward anyway, her hips swaying enticingly.

He started to stand up so he could back away as she walked toward him, but he could only get about a foot from the desk before the chain caught at his wrist and he sat down again hard. Shit.

Harmony didn't stop across from him but hesitated a moment and then made her way around the edge of the desk to his side of it. She leaned back casually against the wooden surface only a couple of inches from where Angel was trapped in his chair by his tethered wrist. Her blue eyes looked huge and sweet and utterly soulless, pupils blown wide. Instead of setting the mug down, she offered it directly to him and said in an earnest, innocent voice, “Don't you want it?”

The way he was sitting, with her standing in front of him like this, his eyes were at about the same height as her breasts. He tried not to stare, but there wasn't any safe place to look at her. Her soft blonde hair and glossy lips, the way the thin pink material of her dress sloped down across her cleavage, how it hugged her hips, the hem just brushing across her bare knees – all of it made him picture dirty things, but this close there was one thing about her which stood out above all else, and Angel found it utterly captivating: despite the fact that she'd showered since yesterday, he could still smell Spike's sweat smeared against her skin, could smell that Spike had come inside her. He found himself imagining that, what it must have looked like, two beautiful blue-eyed blondes panting and grinding together, pale bodies in a fluffy pink and white bed in the middle of the day, so different from dark-haired Josephine and himself on the concrete floor of an abandoned warehouse last night.

Had she made Spike happy? Or was he just trying to escape, like Angel had been?

He looked at the mug of blood in her hand like it would sting him if he touched it, but what he actually said out loud was, “Yeah... I want it.”

“I was wrong about the beaver,” she confessed. “I mean. I thought it was beaver but it's not. It's porcupine. I hope that's okay. Do you... like porcupine, Angel?” With her free hand, she twirled a piece of her long hair around one finger. Her gaze raked down his body.

His thighs fell open slightly wider in the leather chair, which at some point had swiveled in her direction. “I don't think I've had it,” he said, still not reaching for the mug. He shouldn't have asked her to come to his office. How could he have forgotten what would happen? He should probably stop breathing. Why was Spike's smell on Harmony's body the most provocative thing he could possibly think of right now? He wanted to push Harmony back over the desk and spread her legs with his hands, bury his face between her thighs and breathe deep. Put his tongue where Spike's cock had been. Would he still be able to taste him there?

“I like the aftertaste,” she told him, shifting her weight just slightly. Just a casual inch closer to him. “It's, you know. Kinda... prickly?”

“Oh,” he said. He wondered if she had any birthmarks. He wondered if Spike had a favorite part of her. Then he cleared his throat. “You can just leave it here—”

She suddenly sat down on his lap, sideways. It happened so fast. Angel's hands automatically landed on her body to keep her from falling off him, one arm around her trim waist, the other hand on her thigh. “Whoa, hey.” He chuckled awkwardly, but Harmony's earnest expression didn't change, like nothing had happened at all.

She leaned heavily against his chest, some of her hair going in his mouth. The thick blonde locks smelled like gardenias. He could feel her inhale near his neck. “Well?” she whispered, pressing the warm mug insistently against his stomach. “Aren't you going to try it?”

“Um, Harmony,” he said into her hair. “You can't just sit in my lap at work.” But for some reason, his hands weren't letting her go. He breathed her in, let his fingers drift up her thigh a couple of inches and then back down. Smoothing the thin fabric of her dress, flesh cool and firm beneath his palm. “I mean, this is... really inappropriate...” On the other hand, he'd recently had a blowjob from Spike in one of the conference rooms with the door open. Having his secretary sit in his lap in a private office was almost nothing compared to that. Right?

“That's so true,” she sighed. Her breath caressed his skin when she spoke. “I should totally sit on you someplace else.”

“Yeah,” said Angel. “I mean no. Look, as long as you're here, can you, um.” He stroked her hair with his fingers, pushed it gently away from his mouth, then pushed it back from her pale neck as well. Just so he could see it better, that smooth place where a bite mark would fit perfectly. “Show me my computer screen?”

She shoved the mug onto the desk, blood sloshing a little, and then reached up to cup Angel's jaw, tilt his face toward her. Staring longingly into his eyes, Harmony said, “Did you try pressing the little button thingy by your foot?”

Without breaking eye contact, Angel lightly tapped his foot against the button he only just now remembered was under the desk. A narrow slot opened on the other side of his keyboard, between the lamps, and the flat screen began to rise up through it with a whirring sound. He lifted his hand from Harmony's thigh, slid it over her smaller hand which was still holding his face, and said quietly, “I need to order some new sheets.”

“Like for your bed?” she breathed.

“Yeah. And some...” He inhaled her smell again. “...dishes.”

She leaned closer, their lips almost touching, and murmured, “I can do that.” Just before their mouths could meet, Harmony turned toward the computer. She very quickly typed in Angel's login information and then navigated to the site where his previous things had been ordered and signed into Wolfram and Hart's account. “Do you want the exact same thing as before or something different?”

“The same thing is fine,” Angel said, somewhat impressed with her focus. But when she started to place an order, he peered appraisingly at the screen and said, “Wait. Do those come in black?”

Minutes later, Harmony was squirming delightfully in Angel's lap when the door suddenly opened. He very nearly stood up and dumped her onto the floor, but froze when he saw who was there. Spike was standing in the doorway, clearly taken aback at the sight of them both in Angel's chair together. Then he narrowed his eyes in an annoyed glare and shut the office door a little too loudly behind himself as he walked inside. “Right,” he said. “Came to prevent some potential violent murders, but don't let me interrupt anything else very gross and disturbing.”

Spike's scent enveloped Angel right away, like sliding silently into a deep pool of stimulating sensations and familiar things, not even a ripple left behind. Somehow, despite expecting this by now, Angel was still unprepared for the effect. It was maddening and arousing and many times more distracting than the much fainter scent of him that lingered on the vampire in his lap, but he didn't allow himself to react. He hadn't anticipated seeing Spike so soon. “We're ordering some new sheets for the penthouse,” Angel said, discreetly slipping his hand out of Harmony's panties. She whined softly as he straightened her skirt over her thighs.

“Yeah, 'cause that's exactly what it looks like you're doing.”

“Not that it's any of your business,” Harmony replied, unbothered. “And we definitely weren't about to have sex on the desk either, right boss?”

“Of course not. She just came in here to help me find my...” Angel gestured vaguely at the computer, but she took his hand and stuck his wet fingers into her mouth, began to suck them while giving him playful eyes.

Spike was still glaring. “If you were gonna say dignity, keep looking, mate.”

“Um.” Angel watched her lips around his fingers. Her cool tongue slid sensuously around them. Oh. That felt kind of... huh...and combined with the smell of Spike standing right there...

Then she released his fingers with a soft pop and said, “Don't worry. Spike and I aren't like exclusive or anything.”

“I know,” said Angel. How wrong would it be to suck Spike's cock one more time before sending him away? Angel looked up at him. Yep, despite the scowl, his pupils were dilated. Lust pushed and pulled through the room around all three of the vampires like the invisible tension between opposing magnets. What if he and Spike took Harmony together? One in front and one behind, the way they'd done sometimes with Dru. Or maybe one between her legs and one in that wet mouth, keep her quiet. Or she could suck Spike while Angel took him from behind...

Shit. This was exactly the sort of reason why Spike shouldn't be here. Even if they somehow managed to avoid hurting one another again, he still couldn't concentrate on anything else as long as Spike was around. And Spike had already confessed to the same problem; it's why he'd chained Angel to the bed and left him there in the first place. They each made it too hard for the other one to function.

“You two actually kind of smell like each other,” Harmony said, pressing her nose into Angel's neck again. She sighed. “Except like, Angel smells way better.”

“Harm,” Spike said, maintaining eye contact with Angel, “go away.” His lips stayed slightly parted as he breathed in, and Angel realized his were parted too. They were each intentionally marinating in the other's scent, pulling it in deep.

“Because Angel, you smell like 20% off in the Prada boutique at the Saks on Wilshire,” she went on, “but Spike smells like unicorn poop.”

“Unicorn... what?” Angel broke the intense eye contact to look down at Harmony.

An irritated noise from Spike. “It's some treat her mum used to make,” he said, clearly having heard this comparison yesterday. He made a dismissive gesture. “Popcorn with bits in.”

“White chocolate and marshmallows and rainbow sprinkles,” she said dreamily.

That was definitely not at all what Spike smelled like to Angel; his scent was so much darker and more nuanced and complicated than some weird human snack. And Angel was fairly certain Spike didn't think he smelled like a Prada sale either. There was something else going on between them, a thing no other vampire had been able to name even if they could smell that it was there. “Alright, Harmony,” Angel said, trying to nudge her out of his lap. “You should go back to your desk now.”

She didn't get up. “You have to choose a color before I can order your sheets.”

Spike moved around the desk to look at the screen. He tilted his head at the picture. “Do they come in black?”

“No,” Angel and Harmony said together.

The phone on the desk rang. Before Angel could reach out, Harmony answered it brightly, “Angel's desk. Uh-huh. Yeah. Oh, that's interesting. Which floor? Right, and how many hostages are there? Okay, can you tell me what kind of – it's poisonous gas? Alright, got it. Sure. I'll tell him. Thanks for calling!” She hung up the receiver and delivered the message matter-of-factly to Angel. “So apparently Fred is threatening to kill twelve employees in one of the ninth floor labs. Special Ops says if it's okay with you they're going to shoot her.”

*

By the time Spike had released Angel's cuff and the two of them got to the ninth floor, the place was in chaos. There were four separate labs here, but three were in the process of being evacuated and there were armed men surrounding the fourth, guns trained on Fred through glass windows. She was yelling at them, “—ricochet off the bulletproof glass, you morons! Y'all will just end up shooting yourselves! In fact, go ahead – it'll save me the trouble!”

“Don't shoot!” Angel shouted as they hurried toward the lab, weaving through the crowd. “Stand down! Now!” Some of the ops team hesitantly began to lower their rifles. But not all of them, and not immediately.

“You heard the man!” Spike added forcefully. “This ain't Die Hard. Guns bloody down!” He snatched a rifle from an operative who was still aiming at one of the windows and threw it down. The gun went off unexpectedly when it hit the ground, firing a round down the hallway toward the evacuating scientists. Several people gasped and dropped to the floor, but the bullet managed to bury itself harmlessly in the wall near the stairwell, blowing a hole in the plaster. Spike barely glanced at it. He pointed emphatically into the man's face. “You shoot at Fred and the next one's going up your fucking nose, mate. And the one after that—”

“Yeah, keep shooting!” Fred yelled from within the surrounded set of rooms. “Once you're all dead maybe I can finally get some peace in my own goddamn lab!”

“Fred?” Angel called out to her, pushing his way toward the laboratory door. “Fred, it's me. Tell me what's going on in there.” He peered through the narrow vertical window in the door and could just barely see her around the corner holding a scrawny lab assistant in front of her body like a shield, a scalpel poised to cut his neck. The assistant was clearly terrified, holding some kind of fragile-looking round glass container in front of him with both hands. It had a shimmering red and white substance inside it.

“Why don't you tell me what's going on, Angel?” Fred snapped back at him. “Is it some kind of sick joke? I guess I should've expected it from a demon like you. Always giving orders, having everything your way – you don't ever stop to think about how the rest of us feel!”

“Bloody hell, Angel, what did you do to her?” Spike asked, making his way forward to stand beside him near the door.

“Nothing. I didn't do anything,” Angel told him. “I have no idea what she's talking about.”

“Fred, luv?” Spike called out, trying to see her through the window. “What did Angel do to you?”

Angel glared at him. “Seriously?”

“As if you don't know!” Fred shouted. “You were probably in on it! Is this your idea of a prank, Spike? You're still mad I couldn't figure out how to recorporealize your stupid ass so you're trying to get back at me? Well it's not gonna work! I swear to God I will kill every last one of these pathetic excuses for scientists if someone doesn't get that fucking thing out of my lab right NOW!”

“What thing?” Angel called back quickly. “We'll get it, Fred. Just tell me what you need us to do. You don't have to hurt anyone.”

“Don't you DARE pretend you don't know what I'm talking about! All I wanted was to spend a nice, calm day calculating gravitational forces exerted on our plane of existence through interdimensional portals and out of nowhere you expect me to examine the body of the fucking demon that almost killed me? And you think it's my fault if other people get hurt when you're the one who sent it up here with no warning? Take some goddamn responsibility for once in your useless life, Angel!”

“The modusbeast,” Angel said, turning to Spike. “She's talking about that modusbeast corpse from the other night. It must be in there somewhere. I had it sent to the lab to see if Fred could figure out what Josephine did to it.”

“Well, get it bloody unsent, Angel! She's gonna...” Spike squinted through the window. “Well, she's gonna poke some skinny bloke with the tiniest knife in the world and... and make him drop an oversize Christmas bauble.” He looked over at Angel again. “Which I assume would be bad.”

“Fred?” Angel said. “We'll get the modusbeast out of there. Spike and I are coming in, okay?” He gently tried the door, but the lab was locked. So he tried it less gently. The metal handle splintered away from the wood with a quick jerk, and he handed it to Spike and then reached through the jagged hole to unlock the deadbolt. Spike, who appeared somewhat surprised that Angel was able to rip a hole into a reinforced door with no built up momentum and very little effort, silently passed the handle to the stunned operative beside him and followed Angel into the lab.

Eleven scientists and lab techs sat huddled together on the floor at the back of a large open area behind a long table with microscopes and other scientific equipment on it. They all looked appropriately anxious, watching Fred. The twelfth hostage was still held against Fred's body, scalpel at his throat. He was sweating heavily for such a little guy, his hands slipping dangerously along the round glass ball in his hands. The air was thick with the smell of human fear. It would be distracting under normal circumstances, but with Angel's current hypersensitivity to smells, that scent was especially invasive, intoxicating, delicious. He tried to ignore it.

“Help us,” the little guy squeaked desperately.

Fred jerked him tighter, pressing the tiny knife to his throat. “Shut up, Tim,” she snapped at him.

“Fred,” Angel said, lifting his empty hands to indicate he wasn't a threat to her, “where's the modusbeast? We'll get it out of here and you can let these people go, alright?”

She smiled grimly. There was anger in the expression, a rage so shockingly intense that it made her nearly unrecognizable. Her smell was deeply astringent, the type of furious scent Angel had rarely encountered on a human with a soul. “You know what Tim's holding, Angel?” Her gaze didn't quite settle on Angel even though she addressed him. Her eyes flitted around restlessly from one person to another, to the windows, the doors, the young man she was holding at knifepoint. Constantly aware of her surroundings.

The red and white stuff swirled slowly around inside the glass ball, disturbed by the scrawny assistant's shaking hands. “I was told it's a poisonous gas,” Angel said. “So we're just going to stay nice and calm so it doesn't break open.”

“It’s the most toxic compound we keep on site,” she said. “But that wouldn't hurt you enough, would it? Poison doesn't kill vampires. So I added a little something extra. When this glass breaks, the gas inside will melt your face off.” She giggled suddenly, an uncontrolled burst, and added, “But you still won't die! You'll just have to live without a face!”

“It's not in here,” Spike said, and Fred's restless eyes flicked over to him. He had quietly skirted the edge of the lab, glancing into the adjoining rooms with their expensive machinery and controlled testing spaces, but now he looked at Angel. “The modusbeast isn't—”

“You actually believe I care about that?!” Fred shouted. Her voice wavered with another incredulous giggle. Tim winced against her, his whole body trembling. “That thing’s across the hall, lab three. This is the lab where we keep the dangerous substances. Your face will melt off too, Spike.” She turned to smile her disturbingly manic smile at the terrified scientists. “All our faces! But we'll be dead so it won't matter. They're the ones who'll have to live that way.”

“If you don't care about the modusbeast,” said Angel, “then why—”

“Oh, I just said that so you'd come in here,” she told him. “I wanted you to watch me do this.”

Then she did it.

He saw it happen as though in slow motion: the jab of the blade at Tim's throat, the slip of the toxic gas from his grip. The air stretched out between the fragile glass ball and the bleeding assistant's sweaty hands – an inch of space, three inches, eight inches. Some of the scientists screamed.

But Angel was already moving toward it, a blur through the lab. He'd been standing much too far away to catch it on any other day, but today the ball didn’t shatter against the hard floor as intended. The swirling red and white gas landed softly in Angel's hands instead, plucked from the air like a picked apple as he whooshed by, faster than gravity. He stopped a few feet away, the thin glass feeling strangely warm to his skin.

He had no idea what to do with the volatile concoction now that he'd rescued it from the fall, but hey, at least his face didn't seem to be melting off.

The blood, though. That smell...

Spike had also rushed forward, but he'd reached for Fred instead of the gas, dragging her away from Tim and the falling ball. He was holding her now, both his arms wrapped tightly around her small body from behind, trapping her arms by her sides as she struggled and shrieked profanities at him. She'd dropped the scalpel to the floor. Poor Tim had also fallen to the floor, bleeding from his neck. The initial sharp stab had missed his major arteries and Spike had stopped Fred from cutting any further, but the red was still leaking freely behind the hyperventilating young man's hand where he was trying to hold the small wound closed.

Angel turned to stare down at him, warm glass ball between his palms. He still hadn’t eaten this morning. There was a familiar, far-off sound of shifting cartilage and bone beneath skin, and the rich smells of blood and fear became more intense.

“Angel,” Spike said sharply. “Hey. Look at me.”

“Hmm?” said Angel, watching Tim's neck. The blood ran down under his hand, a single dark trail against pale skin. Red smear at the edge of his fingers.

Fred laughed breathlessly. “At least Tim’s still gonna die.” She jerked in Spike's arms, but he easily held her small body still.

“No, he’s not,” said Spike.

Tim scooted backward on the floor, grasping his neck. “Please don't, oh God, please don't,” he begged Angel. Tears rolled out of his eyes. “I’m sorry! She – Dr. Burkle made me do it!”

Why was he crying? Angel wasn’t dangerous. He took a couple of steps toward the man. Would be so easy to catch him, already wounded like that. Frightened. Vulnerable. Where... where could he put this ball down?

“He’s not really… is he?” one of the scientists whispered. “Someone tell me this isn't happening.”

“Angel,” Spike warned. “Angel, don't look at him. Look at me.”

Angel swallowed. “I'm not,” he said, taking another step toward the bleeding assistant. “I'm not gonna eat him...”

“Oi, you lot!” Spike barked at the other eleven cowering lab coats. “Clear out, now!” As they scrambled to their feet and began to rush to the door, he added, “And for fuck's sake, take Tim with you!”

“Yeah, do it Angel!” Fred laughed darkly again. “He deserves it. Worst tech in the lab. Bye Tim!”

“No one is eating Tim!” Spike insisted, even as the last uninjured human disappeared quickly through the exit, leaving the wounded man behind. Still holding Fred tightly, Spike stepped between Angel and Tim, interrupting Angel's view of the blood. “Angel! Get it together, yeah? You drop that bauble and we're both walking out of here a lot less pretty.”

Angel's eyes fell to the glass ball held loosely in his hands. He adjusted his grip more securely and looked up at Spike. “I’m fine,” he forced out, trying to concentrate. He had to push through all the scents, the fear, Fred’s boiling anger, whatever it was about Spike that made Angel want to curl up pressed to his body. And the blood. “He just smells so...” The man on the floor scooted backward with a whimper, and Angel peered around Spike to look at him again. The blond vampire quickly shifted between them, blocking the sight, dragging Fred along with him.

“I know,” said Spike. “But right now we've got ourselves a cute little headcase to deal with—”

“I'm not crazy!” Fred interrupted, and stomped hard on Spike's foot. It didn’t affect his grip on her.

“—and that’s slightly more important at the moment than eating Doogie Howser,” he reasoned. “Right?”

“He needs to get out of here,” Angel managed. “Now.”

At this, the bleeding man tried to get up, and Angel immediately shifted his focus back to him. He could easily outrun this guy. Easily. Even if he gave him a significant head start. He smiled a little, tilted his head. Fangs showing. One... two...

“Don’t move!” Spike snapped at the man, who froze in terror. Spike shifted between them to sever Angel’s view of him once more. “Angel. Look at me.”

With a great deal of effort, Angel dragged his gaze over to Spike’s eyes. His pupils were big and round and so dark inside the blue. Full of something that couldn’t be seen but that Angel could feel right away, not like the deep echoing emptiness in the eyes of other vampires. It took no time at all to become engrossed in them, and it occurred to Angel suddenly that when he sent Spike away, he would miss these eyes. The way they were looking at him now, and for the past few days. It felt… different. From the way Spike had always looked at him before. Or had he just never noticed?

Something tingled a little, right in the center of Angel’s chest. He breathed in deeply, lips parted.

“That’s right, just keep looking at me,” Spike said softly, and took a teensy step to the side. Angel turned, concentrating on Spike’s eyes. God, he smelled so good. Even with Fred’s rage floating up between them. He could smell Spike through it, could imagine her body evaporating into a red and white gas, leaving Spike’s arms wrapped tightly around mist. Angel could almost reach his fingers through her and touch him. Spike stepped again, and Angel turned slowly with him.

“Let go of me, you bleached asshole!” Fred demanded, trying to wriggle away. But Spike’s arms were a vice around her. Neither vampire acknowledged that she’d spoken.

They took another step together. “Spike… we need to talk,” Angel said. Sending him away had seemed like such a simple solution this morning in the solitude of his apartment. Now, looking at him, it was so much harder to imagine existing here without this smell filling his head, without these eyes looking at him this way. But that probably meant it was the right thing to do.

“Yeah,” said the blond with a little huff. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

Another small turn. Angel swallowed. He didn't even know how to begin. “There’s something that I—”

“Maybe in private, pet? When we haven't each got a tiny time bomb in our hands.” One more little step to the side.

Angel turned with him. “Yeah, okay.” Would Spike be angry at being sent away? Hell, maybe he’d be relieved; it was what he’d wanted yesterday after all, some time apart. And they had the funds to send him on a really nice vacation. Anywhere he chose. Not... not too far away, though. And not for very long. A couple days. Driving distance. Vegas? Maybe Angel could go with him... He tried to remember if Spike had ever called him pet before.

Spike was still staring intently into Angel’s eyes. “There,” he said. “Now you can run.”

The young man’s footsteps pounded away somewhere behind him. Angel relaxed a little. It was much easier to resist chasing him without any sudden movements drawing his attention. “Smart,” he said quietly as the smell of the blood began to fade.

“Now and then.” Spike finally broke their eye contact to glance toward the door. “You’re bloody welcome!” he shouted, although the lab was empty now.

“He should've died,” Fred said, struggling again in Spike's arms. “They all should've died!”

“What do we do with this one, then?” Spike asked, frowning down at Fred. “I could put her lights out, but you're not s'posed to do that when they're already mental, like. Don’t wanna knock another screw loose.”

“I am NOT crazy!” She tried stomping Spike's foot again, but he just raised an eyebrow at Angel.

Angel looked into Fred's eyes. They were all over the place, darting around the room as if looking for an escape. He just waited. The moment her gaze finally met his, he pushed in. It wasn't hard to do, although the immediate change in perspective felt weird; she was a lot shorter than the vampire he suddenly saw looking back at him. “Calm down, Fred,” he said evenly, while concentrating on the same thought. Her body went still.

“Yeah, right,” Spike scoffed. “Like that's gonna...” He frowned.

Strange, Angel thought, seeing himself through Fred's eyes. He supposed he would never get used to the sight of his own fangs. This was only the second time he'd ever seen them, and it struck him that he looked a lot like any random vampire. Shouldn't he and Spike have some other face to use to show that they were different? He tilted his head one way and then the other, watching himself, and Fred's head tilted as well. Very slowly, they began to sway a little. Side to side, just a bit. Looking at each other.

“Uh,” said Spike, watching them. His arms loosened fractionally to allow for Fred's subtle swaying.

“Fred, where should I put this so it can't hurt anyone?” Angel asked her gently, lifting the shimmering glass ball.

“Over there,” she said, and pointed to an adjoining room.

Show me. “Spike, let her go,” Angel said.

Spike seemed reluctant, but as Fred had clearly settled – even her eyes were a lot more focused – he did as Angel asked, dropping his arms from around her body. She walked in the direction that she'd pointed, and the two vampires followed her. From the door, Angel asked Fred to safely store the gas in the refrigerated vault where it belonged, and she began the necessary process without complaint (or trying to melt their faces).

“Neat trick,” Spike observed eventually. “Drusilla can do that.”

“I just learned it yesterday,” Angel told him, still watching Fred.

“Meaning you could've told her to stop at any point, but you waited 'til after she got stabby?”

“I just learned it yesterday.”

“Could’ve told her yesterday, then.”

“I'm saying it's not my first instinct.”

“Well, next time Fred tries to off a dozen people and turn us into Skeletor and Ghost Rider, maybe telling her to stop should be your first instinct. Just saying.”

Angel reached up and rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck. “Seems obvious when you put it like that.”

“Dibs on Ghost Rider, by the way. If that ever happens.”

“I can't stop thinking about you,” said Angel.

Caught off guard by this comment, Spike quickly gave Angel a startled look, but Angel resolutely stared ahead at Fred.

“I tried. Last night, when I...” It probably wasn't a good idea to go into much detail about what had happened at the modusbeast hive. “...went out. I thought I could just turn it off, ignore it. Whatever this is. But I can't. I keep thinking about you.”

“Angel...”

“I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing,” he went on, not looking at Spike. “I just know it's constant. You ever get a song stuck in your head? And no matter what else you're doing, it's always there in the background? And then you're humming it in the shower without even realizing. It's like that. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it.”

A soft brush of fingers against his hand. Angel looked down at their hands, his bare one and Spike's with its two silver rings, brief flash of that thin chain around his wrist peeking out from under his duster sleeve. Faint tickle of Spike's fingertip slowly tracing an invisible line across Angel's knuckles. He watched Spike's black boots bring him a step closer. “You're humming me in the shower, are you?” Spike asked quietly. Angel could hear the tiny smile in his voice, but he couldn't help glancing up to see it on his face anyway. Spike's head was tilted down, but he looked up at Angel with amused blue eyes.

“Yeah,” Angel admitted. “Any idea what that means?”

“Might have a theory. We'd need a shower to test it.”

A little prickle of heat flared up the back of Angel's neck. Great. Now he'd have that image in his head for the rest of the day. Slowly, he took a step back from Spike. “You made me so goddamn angry,” he said softly.

Before Spike had a chance to reply, Fred said, “It's done.” She still smelled more furious than it seemed possible, but at least she was calm on the outside.

Angel said, “Do you have any of those unbreakable chains around here?” Bring them to me. Fred silently fetched a pair of the lightweight manacles and handed them over. Turn around. He cuffed her hands behind her back. If he had a small feeling of satisfaction at seeing Fred locked in her own extremely effective invention instead of himself, Angel tried not to show it.

“You gonna let me explain?” Spike asked.

“Yeah. But we still have another time bomb.” Angel indicated the glowering woman.

“Got a plan on what to do with her?”

“Not at all. Maybe I'll call Lorne? He was willing to watch Wesley for me.”

“You keep dumping the loonies on him, and pretty soon he'll be babysitting this whole bleeding company. Including us.”

“I'm not crazy,” said Fred.

“I'll give him a raise,” said Angel.

Spike nodded. “And... we'll talk once he gets here?”

Angel wanted to say yes. But even though he was having a hard time thinking about anything else, this thing with Spike wasn't actually the most pressing matter at hand. “I have a tip I need to check out first,” he said. “And after that, I really need to hunt down the other modusbeast that escaped. It's been attacking people. I tracked it last night to a sewer near the hive but I didn't get the chance to kill it, and now I'm wondering if maybe I should bring it in alive for study. And we've still got that meeting later—”

“Right,” said Spike. “So you'll pencil me in sometime next week, maybe?”

“Sorry. You could... you could stay. Hang around, I mean. While I...”

“Don't really need me though, do you? Gunn said he'd be back soon and you've got your plastic shackles and all. Just be in the way.”

“You can't think of a reason I might need you here?” Angel asked. He hadn't begun to feel twitchy yet, not in the urgent way that had been happening lately, but they both knew it was only a matter of time.

Spike hesitated. Angel could tell he was fighting himself not to say something. What he eventually settled on was, “I'll be back for the meeting.”

“I hope you die first,” said Fred.

Spike gestured toward her but was looking at Angel. “And fix that before I get back, yeah? It's too bloody weird.”

*

Special Ops wanted to take custody of Fred, but there was no way Angel was letting that happen. He ended up leading her back to his office and plopping her onto the leather couch with a very strict order to hush while he worked. As long as she stayed calm – and manacled – he figured that would be good enough until Lorne arrived.

Harmony still hadn't placed the order for his sheets, which was fine because Angel hadn't settled on a color yet anyway. She'd gone back to her desk but had tried to follow Angel and Spike into Angel's office again when they arrived with Fred, and Angel had to send her back out. She pouted. Spike watched Angel fasten his own desk-anchored cuff before he left. He didn't say where he was going. Angel almost pouted but couldn't with his fangs showing, which reminded him to pull them back inside.

After calling Lorne to come watch Fred for him, Angel accessed Wesley's department's digital rolodex and began to contact as many antique book collectors as he could find phone numbers for, beginning with ones who bought and sold texts related to the occult. The Order's archives probably would have been kept somewhere near the Master while he had been trapped underneath Sunnydale for several decades, so Angel didn't have high hopes of finding them – they'd very likely been destroyed or buried when the town had collapsed into a crater – but he started as locally as he could, with the towns surrounding the crater and working outward. The Master had been dead for a few years before Sunnydale was destroyed. Maybe the books had found a way out by then.

Most of the book dealers he talked to had never heard of the Order of Aurelius, although he did find one guy with a copy of a vampire-authored cookbook, which Angel was curious enough to order from him (after being assured that every recipe wasn't just a single ingredient). The dealers who had heard of the archives Angel was looking for seemed cynical about his chances of ever recovering such a valuable collection, but they took his contact information in case they themselves ever managed to find the books and wanted to exchange them for a ridiculously large amount of Wolfram and Hart's money.

After calling more southern Californian antique book dealers than should actually exist while being constantly glared at by a small, silent, very angry woman on his sofa, Angel finally found a lead: a dealer in San Francisco told him that she'd discovered the archives of the Order of Aurelius for sale a few years ago. On eBay.

“No idea who the buyer was,” she said, popping her gum very loudly into the phone. “They never re-listed. One of those real jerkwads, though. You know, sit watching the auction and then bid something outrageous right when the time's almost up. Stole those friggin' books right out from under my butt, you know? Seller was a guy named Mike.”

“Mike,” Angel repeated, quickly writing it down. “Just Mike?”

“Some big idiot, you know. Selling books like that for nothing. That set shoulda been mine. Real nice collection, you know? Coulda made a fortune. Said it was written by, you know. Vampires.” She chuckled. “Imagine that. Vampires, you know?” Smacking her gum.

“Yeah,” said Angel. “Sounds like a real idiot.”

“I wrote it down,” she told him. “His name. To keep track, you know. In case he ever had another set like that. Nothing good since then. Comic books, some junky old car. Coupla creepy dolls. But I haven't checked in ages. Just in it for the books, you know?”

“So you've got his last name?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Let me find it.” Angel waited while the book dealer rattled some papers around on her end of the line. He tried not to look at Fred, who continued to stare angrily at him. “Here it is,” the woman finally said, and popped her gum once more. “Last name Oxhard. Used to ship from a place called Sunnydale.”

Scribbling down this information, Angel thanked the woman and hung up the phone. It was always good to have a lead, but this complicated things a bit. If the archives had been sold online, they could potentially have ended up anywhere in the world, not just California, and it was going to be a hell of a job tracking down this Mike person now that Sunnydale no longer existed. There was no telling where he may have relocated – if he was even still alive.

Angel started in the obvious place: checking to see if the man's eBay account was still active. Maybe he could contact him that way to find out who had bought the books. He opened a new window and navigated to the auction site to do a search, and as luck would have it, the account wasn't hard to find at all just by the username. Angel opened one of the man's listings to see what city he shipped from now.

Los Angeles. Huh.

How many people had moved from Sunnydale to LA? Maybe a lot, considering that literally everyone had had to move, and LA was the closest large city. Angel looked at the item for sale. It was a generic looking painting. Big. Familiar. Where had he seen this painting before? He was squinting at the computer screen when there was a knock at his office door and then Lorne opened it.

“Hey, Angelcakes,” Lorne greeted him, walking in. “Sorry it took so long to get over here. Traffic was a beast – don't worry, not the literal kind – plus we had a smidge of a disagreement about—” He stopped abruptly and turned toward the door. With a sigh, he walked back outside the office and then came in again, this time leading a very reluctant, almost catatonic Wesley, who was wearing a lavender-colored animal print shirt. “As I was saying, we had an eensy-weensy disagreement over how long it's appropriate to go without a shower.” He closed the door once Wesley was safely inside with him. “Luckily, we're both clean now, but I'm not taking any questions about the process. It's better not to know.”

The overwhelming scent of Wesley's depression flooded the office as soon as he was inside, matched only by the strong smell of Fred's rage emanating from the couch. The man himself looked haggard and worn, so clearly broken down that his freshly washed hair and ironed clothes seemed out of place. Angel tilted his head, considering him. “He looks...”

“So purple cheetah's not his color, sue me. You should've seen him this morning. If you ask me, I've done an impeccable job. I even got him to eat a donut from a gift basket one of my clients sent.” They both watched Wesley drift over to the sofa and drop bonelessly onto it, putting as much space between himself and Fred as possible, and curl up into a tight ball. “Had to tell him there was rum in the filling, but he's not gonna starve and I'll be eating one less donut, so I'm calling it a win for everyone.”

“Thanks for looking after him for me,” said Angel. “I really appreciate it. And I'm sure he will too, once everything's back to normal. They both will.” He glanced at Fred, who was glaring at Wesley's blank face.

Lorne walked over and sat on the arm of the couch beside Fred. “Hey Freddles,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “How's that portal research treating you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said.

His smile faltered. “Well, this should be a fun day. Angel, need some help with anything not mad at me for speaking or trying to bathe it?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you recognize this painting?” Angel asked him.

Lorne stood again and came around to the other side of Angel's desk to look at the computer. “Of course. Oh, are you selling it?”

“Me? No. Someone else is. So you've seen it before?”

“Sure, fifth floor conference room. Right across from my office. I've never liked it, personally, but I think it's worth more than that...”

“You mean it's here, in the building?”

“I can show you if you want.”

“Not right now.” Angel lifted his shackled wrist and Lorne nodded. Then he went back to the same account's other listings and clicked another one. “What about this?” he asked.

“That's the microwave in the break room.”

“Wolfram and Hart's break room?”

“The only one I visit, sunshine.”

“And this?” Angel immediately recognized this one, but he checked with Lorne just to make sure.

“The potted fern in the lobby. Oh hey, free shipping.” A pause. “Which I guess you wouldn't need. Since it's about thirty feet away.”

Angel scrolled through some of the other listings, frown deepening with each one. He clicked the listing entitled “Big Manly Boss Chair, Leather (because of course it is)” and stood up. He and Lorne looked at his desk chair and then at the photos. The last photo was a grainy one of Angel sitting in it, obviously unaware he was being photographed through the window from the lobby.

“Look at you,” Lorne said, impressed. “You know, I always thought you could model part-time.”

“That's it,” said Angel, sitting back down with a scowl. “I'm going to kill him.”

“Kill him? Really? That's an awfully big step. Who knew selling your desk chair was a capital offense?”

“It's not just my chair, Lorne. Look, he's literally trying to auction off the Wolfram and Hart sign!”

“The one by the sidewalk out front?”

“The big one by the road!” Angel scrolled down some more. Then he gestured emphatically at the computer screen. “And the one by the sidewalk out front.”

“Well, I'm sure there are a lot of employees here who wouldn't say no to a little extra cash on the side,” Lorne reasoned. “You can't know for a fact that this account belongs to Spike.”

Angel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn't even say his name and you knew who it was.”

“It's all in the way you threaten, sweetie. Lots of big murder talk, zero follow-through.” Lorne patted his shoulder consolingly. “Did you give any thought to what we talked about last night?”

“Oh, I'm empathizing,” Angel assured him. “I'm gonna empathize his ass right through the window.” He closed Mike's auction listings. At least now he knew who to ask about the archives. Underneath the eBay site was the product description for his sheets, and he frowned at it. “Which sheets do you like better, burgundy or gray?”

Lorne considered. “I like something in the pink or orange variety, myself. Really brings out the lime in my skin tone. Not brown, though. The contrast is nice, but you try it once and suddenly your nickname is 'Kiwi' for the next ten months. Anyway, isn't black more your color?”

“They don't come in black,” Angel said. Then, “Kiwi?”

“Don't ask.”

At that moment, there was another quick knock on the door, and Gunn came in. He seemed startled that Lorne, Wesley, and Fred were all there. “Hey,” he said, addressing the room in general. “Did we decide to move the meeting up? I didn't get a memo.”

“It's more of an impromptu gathering,” Lorne told him. “Duty called. And by 'duty' I mean Angel. Apparently our beloved Fred had a bit of a misunderstanding with..." He turned toward Angel. "...the whole ninth floor, did you say?” 

“And Special Ops,” added Angel. “And my face, I guess.”

“Oh my God,” Gunn said, quickly looking toward Fred. “Are you okay?” Then he looked at Angel. “Is the ninth floor okay?”

“Yeah, everything's fine. She only stabbed one guy.”

“She stabbed someone? That's not fine, Angel. Should I be worried that you think that's fine?”

“Sorry, I didn't... I mean, obviously stabbing isn't the best outcome. Just, in context, it was sort of the... least bad outcome. Don't worry, he'll be okay.”

Gunn nodded slowly and then glanced over at Wesley. “How's Wes doing?”

“He ate a donut,” Angel told him. He tried to sound optimistic.

“We're coping,” said Lorne.

“And Spike never came by to unchain you?” Gunn asked Angel.

“No, he did. But he had to leave again. Said he'd be back for our meeting.” Angel drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I guess we can just wait. How was your client at MDC?”

“That's actually what I came to tell you about,” said Gunn. “They've had to keep him in isolation. Dude's scared to death of everyone. The guards, the other inmates, even the kitchen staff. He keeps lashing out violently. They think he's having some kind of psychotic episode, but when I tried to talk to him, he said that a few nights ago, he was out sleeping on the street in the warehouse district with a friend, and get this: they were attacked by a demon. Said it took a chunk right out of his leg, and he's got the bite mark to prove it. He's been terrified of everyone and everything since then, and it's just been getting worse. That's why he attacked that street performer.”

“And let me guess,” said Angel, shoulders slumping under the inevitability. “He said the demon ate his friend.”

“Swallowed him whole.” Gunn pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it over to Angel. “I asked for a description of the demon and he drew it for me. Look familiar?”

Angel unfolded the paper and smoothed it against his desk. “Yeah,” he said, eyeing the big claws and long fanged tail. “Looks familiar.”

A sudden collective gasp outside his office drew Angel's attention. He heard several people in the lobby moving quickly, a rush of footsteps away from the elevators. Great, what now? He pressed the button on the desk to unfrost the windows and stood to look out, unable to move more than a foot toward the commotion. Gunn turned curiously to look outside as well, then backed away from the windows with a muttered, “Jesus,” as Angel's office doors both swung open wide.

In stomped Spike, looking smug but a little disheveled, absolutely reeking of sewer. He was pulling one of Fred's plastic chains, which was manacled tightly around the bulbous end of a modusbeast tail, immobilizing the sharply fanged mouth on the tip. The bulky body of the modusbeast dragged along the carpet behind him, oozing God knew what from several wounds, including one entirely missing segmented leg, leaving a dark trail of gore in its wake all the way from the elevator, through the lobby, and into Angel's office. Its claws were knotted shut with wet rope in a manner similar to lobsters in a restaurant tank.

Gunn, Lorne, and Fred all stared with varying degrees of distaste at the gross prize Spike had dramatically towed into the office. Even Wesley looked over at it with something like faint interest. The sewer stench had briefly overpowered Angel's ability to speak, and not knowing what else to do, he simply sank back down into his Big Manly Boss Chair and stared at the demon too.

This was... huh. Actually good.

“You know, it's not a bad likeness,” Lorne finally offered, picking up the drawing from Angel's desk.

“So,” said Spike, planting one boot triumphantly on top of the modusbeast's back, “how about this meeting, then?”

*

Chapter Text

*

“That's definitely the thing that bit my client,” Gunn said, peering at the smelly modusbeast which was slowly leaking onto the carpet in the middle of the office. “Think there are any more out there?”

“We destroyed their hive,” Angel told him, trying very hard not to inhale the foul stench Spike had dragged in. “This should be the last one.”

“Next time be a little more thorough, mate,” said Spike. He was still standing with one foot on the motionless beast's body, holding the chain attached to its tail. “Almost ruined my boots cleaning up after you.” He swiped the back of his sleeve nonchalantly across his forehead, leaving a dark smudge of some unidentified sewer residue on his skin. It didn't take enhanced senses to find the smell nauseating.

“Spike, I killed like twenty of them.” At Fred's derisive snort, Angel gestured toward the sofa where she and Wesley sat and amended, “The three of us killed them together. Also you're gonna need to burn that whole outfit immediately.” He coughed and squinted over at Lorne. “Are everyone's eyes watering?”

“And all three of you got bit,” Spike pointed out. “Anyhow, it's nothing to squash a bunch of bugs in their own bloody nest. Try driving through downtown LA with one snapping at your knackers.”

“Whoa, you mean it's still alive?” Gunn asked in surprise as Angel's distressed voice was saying, “You took it in the car?”

Without warning, the modusbeast lunged suddenly toward the sofa, the huge mouth on its front end opening wide to devour Fred's feet. Spike nearly lost his balance as it lurched out from under him, but he kept a tight hold on the chain attached to its long, whip-like tail, and he jerked it back just in time. Its many rows of sharp teeth fell just short of Fred's flesh, jaws clacking shut around nothing.

“Well, yeah,” Spike grunted at Angel, who had jumped up as soon as the demon moved but wasn't able to leave the area behind his desk because of his own chain. He watched Spike struggle to reel the modusbeast further backward. “Didn't have his bus pass on him, see. Must've left it in his other coat.”

Fred quickly pulled her legs up onto the couch. Pushing back against the cushions as best she could with her hands cuffed behind her, she said sharply, “Keep that fucking thing away from me.”

A frustrated sound from Spike. “Haven't fixed her yet, have you?”

“Which car?” Angel demanded.

“Pardon me for asking the obvious here, fellas,” said Lorne, “but why is the giant people-eating insect demon still alive? I'm guessing it lacks the vocal range for a nice rendition of 'Afternoon Delight'.”

The modusbeast surged toward the sofa once more, this time aiming for Wesley. Its front mouth screeched loudly as it almost yanked Spike off his feet again, but he threw his weight backward, pulling hard against the chain, and managed to stop it from reaching the man.

Lorne flinched. “On second thought, maybe something in heavy metal or dub-step...”

Wesley hadn't moved from his position tucked into the corner of the leather couch, but he had his eyes on the demon. Very slowly, he stretched one leg in its direction, watching it. Inviting. Angel narrowed his eyes disapprovingly.

“It's still alive,” Spike gritted out, dragging the thing back, “'cause Angel said he wanted it alive. Not convinced he thought that one through, but—” he yanked it further backward “—here we are, innit?”

The modusbeast abruptly stopped fighting him, and Spike stumbled back a couple of feet by accident, hauling it with him, before regaining his balance. The pointed toes tipping the ends of the demon's remaining thirteen legs dug firmly into the carpet and it went totally motionless again, tiny black eyes still facing toward the couch. It was impossible to tell what the thing was thinking, if it could even think anything or had any idea where it was or what was happening. It was entirely still, enough to be easily mistaken for dead. Spike frowned at it briefly, then relaxed, shrugged, and looked up at Angel.

“Okay,” said Gunn, also looking over at Angel. “So why did you want it ali—”

The demon unexpectedly leaped toward the sofa once more, pushing off with several sets of creepily spindled legs, and Spike was jerked forward by the chain again before he had a chance to brace himself. In one quick, fluid motion, Angel grabbed the katana displayed on the wall behind his desk, unsheathed it, and hurled it at the floor in front of the sofa. The modusbeast's loud shriek cut off in a garbled choke as the sword pierced it straight down through the top of the head, pinning it to the floor mere inches from Wesley's vulnerable foot. The blade glinted visibly between the deadly teeth in its gaping mouth as, very slowly, its skinny legs began to curl inward toward its body and it expired.

To Spike, Angel said, “Tell me it wasn't the Viper. Or the Shelby.”

“What, seriously?!” Spike exclaimed, throwing down the chain attached to the slain demon's tail. “Oh, that's just fucking brilliant. After everything I went through to get it here without killing it, you just go and cleave open its head like an evil melon! I could've done that an hour ago in the sodding tunnels if you'd just said—”

“Uh, guys?” said Gunn.

“—but of course you didn't, 'cause you've got to be a huge bloody drama queen tossing swords about to impress your pet humans—”

Gunn and Lorne both hurried to the sofa, concerned.

“—and whatever the hell he is—” continued Spike, pointing at Lorne.

Angel ignored him. “Are they alright?” he asked quickly. “What happened?”

Gunn was leaning over Fred's body to check her pulse where she had slumped over as Lorne lightly smacked Wesley’s cheek. They both appeared to have simultaneously lost consciousness when the modusbeast died. Luckily, the large squishy sofa had kept them from falling to the floor. “Wes? Come on, rise and shine,” Lorne coaxed.

“She’s okay,” Gunn said, gently propping Fred up against the back of the couch. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Hey, you,” he said quietly to her. “Had me worried for a second there.”

“Charles? I…” She took a deep, steadying breath and shifted a little, trying to sit up more. “I don’t understand what…”

“Sorry,” Wesley murmured as Lorne helped him sit up as well. “Just a bit… dizzy…” His eyes fell to the impaled modusbeast head with the mouth still open, and he drew his legs quickly away from it, looked up at Angel in confusion.

“Hey, that’s more than you’ve said all day,” Lorne told him encouragingly. “If you drink some water too, we can officially call it progress.”

A week ago, maybe Angel wouldn't have noticed this right away, but in his current state of hypersensitivity he could already tell that the moment the modusbeast died, the strong scents of sadness and anger that had been radiating from his friends became much less potent. The smells were still there, hanging like smoke in the office air, but the raging emotional fires had been instantly smothered down to no more than glowing coals. Despite still being chained to his desk, Angel suddenly felt he had more room to move around than he'd had before, almost like it was less crowded without the strangely intense emotions filling the place up. It was such a relief that he found himself breathing in deeply to appreciate it, although the sewer stench was still gross and palpable.

He could also still smell Spike's uniquely irresistible scent flowing underneath, which had not faded at all. If anything, it was even more noticeable now that Fred and Wesley's scents were beginning to dissipate.

Spike took an interested step toward the couch to look at Fred as Angel met Wesley’s helpless gaze and said, “You alright, Wes?”

“I... yes. Yes, I think so.” Wesley still appeared a little disoriented as he looked down at himself, taking stock. He plucked at the borrowed animal print shirt and furrowed his brow. Angel found himself hoping Wesley wouldn't remember what had passed between them. They'd been friends for so long that it would be a shame for things to get awkward now.

“Oh my God, Tim!” Fred blurted out. She looked anxiously at Spike and then Angel. “Is he okay? Has anyone checked on him?”

“He'll be fine, luv,” Spike assured her. But he also glanced up at Angel.

Angel tapped the call button on his desk phone. “Harmony, can you get us a status report on the employee who was injured in the lab this morning?”

“Sure thing, boss!”

“Thanks.” After disconnecting, Angel paused for a second and then pressed the call button again. “And Harmony, can you um.” He eyed the body of the dead modusbeast and the dark trail it had left on the way into his office. “Get janitorial in here too?”

“Already on it,” she said.

“So, you feeling better now?” Spike asked Fred. “Not gonna melt our mugs off?”

She sighed heavily. “I am so sorry. I don't know why I was so angry... You know I would never do something to hurt y'all on purpose, right?” She turned to give Angel a sincere look.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her a little smile back. “We know.” That look on her face coupled with the fading scent of her anger was proof enough for him. He took the key to her cuffs out of his pocket and tossed it over to Spike.

As he unlocked her hands, Spike told her, “You were extremely scary.”

“Spike, I really am so sor—”

“That was a compliment, pet. Seen a fair few baddies in my day, and not half are creative enough to think up a plan like yours. Even less have the skill to carry it out. Could've done some real damage up there. Good job.”

“Um, thanks?” Fred rubbed at her wrist as Spike turned to drop the cuffs on the little table beside the sofa. “I guess I've always thought I'd make a pretty good supervillain if I had the chance...”

“Well, from one former Big Bad to another, you were great. Unhinged, like. For a moment, I almost thought Angel here wouldn't make it.”

She smiled at him. “That's really sweet of you to say. You know, I actually considered mixing in a compound that would target his—”

“Fred?” Gunn raised an eyebrow at her. “Do we need to put those back on?”

“It's not her fault,” said Angel. “Spike, stop encouraging Fred to kill me.”

“Just making conversation,” Spike said, raising his hands innocently. “It's nice to talk now she doesn't think I'm a bleached arsehole anymore.”

“I didn't hear her say that.”

“So, what are we thinking here?” Gunn asked. “This demon had something to do with what was going on with Fred and Wes? I mean, why else would they both pass out right when it died?”

“That can't have been a coincidence,” Wesley agreed quietly. He reached up to rub a hand over his face while he considered this and seemed vaguely surprised at the length of the stubble he felt there. Still absentmindedly sifting his fingertips through it, he turned to Fred. “Do you remember when you first began to feel angry?”

“I'm not sure. Last week sometime?” she guessed. “But it didn't start out so bad. Everything just kept annoying me. Even little things, you know? Then it just kept getting worse and worse. I haven't been able to think about anything else.” She frowned. “To be honest, it's not fully... I mean, I'm still feeling kind of mad right now. But God, it's not anything like it was a couple of minutes ago.” At all the concerned looks, she added, “I'm okay, though. No more stabbing people and, you know, taking hostages and making bombs.”

“You made a bomb?” Angel asked, startled.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Does it help that I'm really embarrassed about it now?”

“What about you, Wes?” said Lorne. “When did you start feeling out of sorts?”

“Wait a second, I'm not sure we're done talking about Fred's bomb,” Gunn quickly cut in.

“It's fine, Charles,” she assured him. “Don't worry about it.”

“Don't worry about it? Seriously?”

“I suppose it was around the same time,” Wesley mused. “Last week. Monday or Tuesday.”

“After we destroyed the modusbeast hive,” Angel said.

“After he got bit by a modusbeast,” Spike pointed out. “Like you and Fred.”

“Circling back to the literal bomb—” Gunn started.

“But if this was about being bitten,” said Angel, “shouldn't I have fainted, too? Or, you know, started feeling normal again?” Nothing about the way Angel felt had seemed to change with the beast's death. He was still horny and hungry. He still wanted to touch Spike. And... and put his mouth on him. Right there, that smooth little spot just under his ear. That place that made him smile and tilt his head when you kissed it. But would this have actually changed if Angel had been cured as well? Maybe he would want to kiss Spike anyway. He tried to think. Was he better now?

“I didn't set it to detonate yet,” Fred explained patiently. “It won't blow up.” As an afterthought, she added, “But also nobody try to key into my office until I say so.”

“Unless you were bitten by a different modusbeast,” suggested Wesley, looking at Angel. “I know Fred and I were both attacked by the same one last Monday night. Perhaps this was the one. And if its bite is what has affected our moods for the last week, maybe killing it reversed the effect.”

“This has to be the one that attacked Gunn's client,” said Angel. “If your theory's right, then killing it must have done the same thing to him as well. He shouldn't be so terrified of everyone anymore.”

Gunn was still frowning suspiciously at Fred, but he looked up at this and nodded. “I'll check it out.”

“But if this was the last modusbeast,” said Lorne, giving Angel a concerned look, “and there aren't any more skittering loose around LA...”

“Then who do we have to kill to fix you?” finished Spike.

At that moment, one of Wolfram and Hart's custodial staff backed into Angel's office through the wide open doors, following the smelly trail of modusbeast leakage. Everyone looked over at him. “Don't mind me,” he announced cheerfully, sprinkling a generous amount of cleaning powder over the trail as he went. “I'll be out of your hair in just a second.” The powder had a very strong lemony chemical smell. It stung Angel's eyes a little bit, but anything was better than the sewer stench.

They all silently watched the man as he backed his way through the office, eyes trained on the floor. “Oh hey, watch out for the—” Lorne started just as the man's ankle bumped into one of the dead modusbeast's curled legs.

The man turned curiously to see what he'd bumped. And then he just stood there for a few seconds, staring at it.

“Bigger mess than you're used to, huh?” Fred said apologetically.

“Just making sure I didn't know him,” said the man, giving her a friendly smile. He unclipped a radio from his belt and held it up to his mouth. “We're gonna need body removal in an office on the lobby level,” he said into it.

“Can they take that up to the lab on the ninth floor?” Angel asked. He glanced over at Fred. “I mean, if you're okay taking a look at it...? I'd wanted it alive to study, but maybe we could still learn something.”

“Of course, I don't mind,” she quickly assured him. “It'll be easier to examine without it trying to eat me anyway.”

Now the custodian had turned to stare at Angel. His eyes were wide with alarm, and a small thread of fear mingled with the chemical smell of the carpet cleaner as Angel got a good look at the man's face for the first time.

“Oh... hey,” Angel said awkwardly. “Thanks for taking care of this for us. And um. Listen, I'm sorry about the other day—”

“No worries, Mr. Angel!” the man said hastily. A high chuckle, nervous. He began backing toward the door again, quickly flinging more cleaning powder this way and that, never looking away from Angel's face. “Doctor said the damage is temporary. Should be back on solid foods by tomorrow.” He stumbled backward a little but didn't blink.

Wesley frowned. “Angel, what did you—?”

“Nothing!” the man blurted, raising a hand to his neck. “I barely remember! Only hurts when I swallow. I'll uh, just get that body up to the ninth floor for you.” At the doorway, he finally turned and hurried away.

Everyone looked at Angel.

“What?” said Angel. “He's fine. He didn't even have to miss work, see?” Gesturing at the haphazard trail of carpet cleaner.

“Angel. I'm asking straight up,” said Gunn. “Did you bite another human?”

“No!” said Angel as Spike said, “Not technically.” Angel gave him a look.

“Another?” said Fred. “Angel's biting people again?”

“What does 'not technically' mean?” asked Lorne. “Biting's usually an either/or kind of thing, isn't it?”

“Well, he just sort of strangled him a bit,” said Spike, using his hands to demonstrate the motion. He shrugged. “So, not technically a bite, but he was definitely gonna eat him.”

“I wasn't gonna eat him...”

“But you were going to eat Tim,” Fred said, frowning.

“I didn't even touch Tim.”

“Not technically,” said Spike.

“So you did bite one person and you almost bit two more. I don't like this, man,” said Gunn.

“Three,” Wesley quietly corrected. “He almost bit three more.” He looked up, making eye contact with Angel. Damn. So much for not remembering.

Angel swallowed, unsure what to say. “I haven't been feeling like myself lately. You guys know that.”

“Not since you got bit by this one's brother,” said Spike, nudging at the stinking modusbeast corpse with his toe. “So. There's got to be another one out there. You miscounted.”

“I didn't miscount. But remind me, how many vampires were in that nest on Saturday?”

“Perhaps whatever's happening to Angel is unrelated to the modusbeasts,” said Wesley. He still seemed a bit subdued, but this was practically enthusiastic compared to the way he'd been acting a few minutes ago. “Can you think of anything else that has happened to you recently? Any strange dreams, unexplained injuries...? Maybe some other demon encounter?”

Angel pursed his lips, looking down. Not really wanting to mention it.

“I can think of one,” said Spike, watching him.

“This was already happening before I met her.”

“Who?” asked Wesley.

“Wouldn't it be a pretty unbelievable coincidence for this to be something else?” Gunn said. “All three of you were bitten by these things on the same night, and all three of you have been acting strange since then. What are the odds that it's something completely different affecting Angel? It's got to be the same thing.”

“She was messing about with one of them,” Spike said, still looking at Angel. “You saw her. You said so.”

“Who?” Fred asked.

“A vampire,” Angel finally answered. “She's... a relative.” Still not looking at anyone, he traced one finger along the edge of the desk. For some reason, It felt weird to talk to his friends about his family. There were some things that they couldn't possibly understand, and it was much easier to deal with those things himself. It was too personal, too private to discuss with humans, even if they were humans he genuinely cared about.

Before anyone could comment further, Harmony walked into the office, carefully stepping over the lemon-covered modusbeast trail. “That employee you asked about,” she said to Angel, “the one Fred tried to kill? He's fine.” She consulted the small notepad in her hand and added, “He had to get two stitches in his neck, but opted out of a healing spell because the shamans wanted to keep one of his toes in exchange. Totally worth it, though. No one likes a big neck scar, right?” She turned toward the sofa and said to Fred, “I heard you were awesome! So wish I could've watched you stab that guy.”

“Um, thanks Harmony,” Fred said, and gave her an awkward smile.

Harmony still smelled amazing. Angel tried to ignore her incredibly alluring scent as she walked over to his desk and stepped around it so she could stand next to him, very close. “Is there... anything else you want from me, boss?” she asked. The back of her hand grazed lightly against his hip, something that probably no one else would notice, and he had the sudden distracting thought that he should just push her down to her knees, take her mouth right there in front of everyone. He was already feeling that twitchy, tingly feeling down low in his belly. Inconvenient, but he'd been expecting it to happen.

Angel looked up at Spike, who was giving Harmony a scathing look. He imagined taking his mouth, too. At the same time, maybe. Both of the blondes together running their soft pink tongues along his—

“He doesn't need any favors, Harm,” Spike said. “You can go.”

When she didn't immediately move away, Angel let his hand brush casually over her backside. “You can stay,” he said quietly to her. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sexy little smile.

Spike rolled his eyes.

“So this... relative,” Wesley prompted.

“Josephine,” muttered Spike. Like her name tasted bad to him.

“Josephine. She may have been involved with the modusbeasts in some way?” Wesley glanced from Spike to Angel.

So Angel described to everyone what he'd seen his cousin do with the other demon's tail in that warehouse. “That's why I had it sent here,” he told Fred. “To see if you could figure out exactly what she did to it.”

“I can try,” she said. “It'll definitely be helpful to have another one to compare it to.”

“What else do we know about Josephine?” asked Gunn. “Anything?”

Angel shrugged noncommittally, but said, “Her sire Zachary was turned by the Master.”

“So she's part of your generation,” Wesley acknowledged, and Angel nodded.

When no further information was forthcoming from Angel, Spike let out a bitter huff. “He likes her. He doesn't want you to know.”

Angel frowned at him. “I don't like her, Spike. She's evil.” He looked around at everyone else. “What? I don't.”

Wesley and Gunn gave each other concerned looks. Wes started to open his mouth, but Gunn said quickly, “This isn't gonna turn into another Darla situation, is it? Because if you fire us again, we'd have grounds to—”

“I'm not firing any— Josephine's nothing like Darla, alright?”

“Alright. As long as you're not sleeping with her.”

Spike snorted softly.

“I knew it!” Harmony exclaimed. “Angel, you totally smell like sex.” Even if he hadn't been projecting his scent so strongly, she was standing close enough to him to detect this. “Why does everyone say you can't get it up? You've definitely boned like at least three other vampires recently!”

“Everyone says what?” asked Angel.

“No, you're wrong,” Fred said. “Angel would never have sex with an evil vampire, not after everything that happened last time. I mean, no offense, Harmony. But he wouldn't. Right, Angel?” She turned toward him expectantly, but hesitated when she saw his expression. “Angel, you... you didn't have sex with Josephine, right?”

They were all looking at him. He didn't know what to say; the expectation seemed so unfair. Why wasn't he allowed to have sex with anyone he wanted? Spike and Harmony were allowed all the sex they wanted. And it's not like he was going to lose his soul to a vampire - particularly not one he'd just met. “Of course I had sex with her,” he finally said. “She's my cousin.”

“Yeah, that's really not the defense you think it is,” said Gunn, grimacing.

Wesley looked thoroughly dismayed. “Angel, you and Josephine...?”

“And like at least two more,” said Harmony.

“Well yeah, but Spike and Harmony,” Angel started to argue.

“You and Harmony,” Spike countered.

“You and Angel,” Gunn pointed out, looking at Spike.

“Angel and Spike?” Fred asked, her eyes going wide.

“Phil Turner from Nonhuman Resources,” Harmony chimed in again, “and Amy Yasquar'azzap-Apzarra in Marketing.” She gave everyone a smug, knowing look.

“Oh honey, we all saw that one coming,” Lorne said.

“You know, Harmony and I haven't actually—” started Angel as her hand slid over his butt.

“Oh, and Gunn and Rhonda Jackson!” she announced cheerfully.

Five startled faces turned toward Gunn. He froze. “It was just drinks?”

Wesley cleared his throat. “I think we may have veered slightly away from the topic at hand,” he began, but Fred interrupted, “Is that paralegal-Rhonda or Rhonda from Accounting?”

“Accounting,” Lorne replied. “Paralegal-Rhonda is Rhonda James, I think.”

“Phil Turner and Rhonda James, too!” Harmony told them eagerly. “It's so messy. The whole seventh floor has a betting pool on what Amy's gonna do when she finds out. Did you know her uncle is chancellor of a lesser hell dimension?”

“I mean, I don't even know if I like Rhonda,” Gunn said. “Like, she seems cool but she's got that weird thing in her hairdo?”

“No, she's lovely,” Wesley assured him.

“A snake. It's called a snake,” said Spike. “Just don't look right at it. Trust me.”

“Probably not a good idea to date anyone with venomous hair,” Angel said. “You know, as a general rule.”

“And don't take your dating advice from Bimbo Baggins here,” Spike said, gesturing toward Angel.

Angel narrowed his eyes at Spike. “At least I don't smell like unicorn poots.”

“Poop,” Harmony corrected him.

“It's a treat with bits in.” Spike looked around at the others, who were staring at him strangely. “What? A man can't help being tasty, can he?”

Leaning a little closer to Fred, Gunn said, “Did you understand any of that?”

“I was following until Angel said poots. Rhonda seems nice.” She gave him an encouraging smile.

“Right? Really it's just the hair thing.”

“Snake,” said Spike. “You can say it.”

Wesley seemed puzzled but intrigued. “What sort of bits are in unicorn feces?”

“Marshmallows and sprinkles,” Harmony told him.

Seeing Wesley's confusion, Angel clarified, “Not that kind of unicorn. We're talking about Harmony's mother.”

“Harmony's mother was a unicorn?” Fred asked at the same time that Lorne said, “Marshmallow poop can't be good for the plumbing.”

“Right,” said Gunn, also looking slightly confused. “Just making sure I have this all straight... Angel boned his evil cousin, I should ignore the snake, and Spike smells like Harmony's mother's feces?”

“Poop,” said Harmony.

“Popcorn!” said Spike.

Gunn's brow furrowed. “Was that a yes?”

“I believe you left out the part where the seventh floor could potentially be sucked into hell,” Wesley said. He turned to Harmony. “Do you know which hell dimension?”

“I'll ask,” she offered. “That's what I bet on in the pool.”

“Alright, well,” said Wesley a little uncertainly, and stood up from the sofa. He was careful to step around the impaled demon at his feet. “Now that we all know where we stand, I suppose the top priority is to determine what this Josephine did to the other modusbeast and why. Assuming it has something to do with Angel's urge to bite people again—”

“And bone them,” Harmony added helpfully.

“—then perhaps a greater understanding of what she's done will lead us to a solution.” To Fred, he added, “I'm available to assist in your examination of the modusbeasts. Since there seems to be a mystical element at work here, I may be able to help.” He hesitated, looking down to run a hand over the lavender cheetah print on his stomach. “As soon as I change my shirt.”

Fred stood up as well. “That would be great,” she said. “The help, I mean, not a new shirt. Or, actually, both would be great.”

“I'll check on my client,” Gunn said. “I've got a feeling he's better now too, but it'll be good to know for certain.”

Lorne nodded. “And I'll speak to the shamans, make sure they don't sense any more modusbeasts in the area. I had a lunch date scheduled with one of them anyway.”

“I'll order your new bedding stuff,” Harmony said to Angel. “If you've decided on a sheet color.”

“You should go with a dark neutral,” Gunn suggested. “Do they come in black?”

With little enthusiasm, six voices simultaneously replied, “No.”

“Just get some in every color and be done with it,” said Spike.

“Three sets,” Angel said to Harmony. “Charcoal, burgundy, and... sapphire. Express delivery, if it's available.” As Harmony wrote this down on her notepad, Angel noticed the paper on his desk with the name he'd jotted on it earlier when he'd talked to that antique book dealer. “Oh wait, there's one more thing we need to discuss before you guys leave,” he told everyone. Without pausing to consider further, he looked up at Spike and said accusingly, “Mike Oxhard.”

After a deeply stunned silence, during which Angel cringed inwardly for only just now getting the joke when he said it out loud, Wesley coughed awkwardly and began, “Well, Angel, that is... ah... the issue that we're...”

“I can help with that, boss,” Harmony said, smiling at him. She pressed against his side, letting her fingers gently squeeze his bottom.

“No, I— What? No.” He took a small step away from her but didn't move when she pressed into him again. “I didn't mean my... I mean, it's a name. It's his name.” He gestured at Spike. “The name he's using on eBay. First name Mike, last name Oxhard.” He put his hands on his hips and glared at Spike, whose expression was caught somewhere between 'oops' and an amused smirk.

“And what about it?” he asked.

“You mean aside from the fact that you're basically trying to sell off the entire company?”

“Bollocks. They wouldn't let me list the entire company,” said Spike. “Something about human trafficking if you try to sell lawyers. Anyway, if you paid me, I wouldn't have to auction your stupid corporate shite, would I?”

“Spike, if you want a job, you could just say so!”

“I don't want a job!” Spike argued. “I want a paycheck.”

With a frustrated sigh, Angel turned to Harmony and said, “Have Spike added to the payroll, please.”

She nodded and made another note on her notepad beneath the sheet colors. “What's his position title?”

“Security.”

“Nope. No way am I working security for an evil—”

“Freelance consultant,” Angel said through clenched teeth. Judging from his expression, this seemed to please Spike well enough.

Harmony wrote this down. To Spike, she said, “Non-HR will need a copy of your application and references.”

Before Spike could protest this, Angel gestured to the dead modusbeast and said, “There's his application. Tell Nonhuman Resources I'm the only reference he needs.” This also appeared to please Spike. The small self-satisfied smirk made Angel want to thump him. But also maybe kiss him a little? The fact that his irresistible underlying scent was gradually overpowering the foul sewer odor clinging to his clothes was disconcerting. Angel was becoming more turned on than put off.

“Congrats on your first gainful employment, Blondie,” Gunn said.

“If I have to wear a suit and bloody tie, consider this my two weeks notice.”

“And if you don't take my chair off the internet, consider yourself fired.” Angel turned to Wesley and said, “I think Josephine knows what's happening to me. She told me that I'd understand if I read the archives of the Order of Aurelius.”

“The archives?” Wesley exhaled slowly, considering. “I imagine the historical records of a vampiric order as old and powerful as the Aurelians would contain an incredible wealth of information if we could find them. But now that Sunnydale's been destroyed, are you certain these archives still exist?”

“Yeah,” said Angel. “Spike sold them on eBay.”

Wesley's mouth fell open. He turned to stare incredulously at Spike.

“What? Kill an Anointed One, inherit a bunch of dusty old books,” Spike said with a shrug. “Definitely didn't bring me any 'incredible wealth' though. I'd've remembered that.”

“Spike, some of those records would have been well over a thousand years old!”

“Yeah, and in what bloody language? Couldn't even read the first page. I didn't open the sequels.”

“The most recent 'sequels' were written in English,” Angel said. “Different members of the Order contributed entries whenever something significant happened. There's a lot of history there. I signed a few entries myself.”

“You co-authored the Aurelian archives?” Wesley asked him, fascinated.

“No, I didn't write any actual accounts,” said Angel. “Whenever I was involved in something worth mentioning, Darla was the one who wrote it down. She was pretty organized. I just signed a few things to verify them as a witness. Induction records, stuff like that.”

“Like Spike's?” Fred asked.

“Yeah. I signed Spike's.”

“You signed my what now?”

“Your induction record into the Order,” said Wesley. “It's like...” He tilted his head curiously at Angel. “Something like a birth certificate, yes?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, that's cute,” said Lorne, giving Spike the sort of fond look that was often reserved for babies. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I haven't seen the books for over a century, but I'm assuming they were kept up to date at least until the Master died a few years ago. We need to track them down,” Angel said. He looked at Spike. “Do you remember who you sold them to, Mike?”

“Yeah, dad, I actually do. Worst rating and feedback I ever got. Imagine complaining about bent corners on a thousand-year-old book bound in human skin! Wanker.”

“So who was it?”

“Someone called MysticalAcquisitions. One word. Like... Bono.”

“Oh my God,” said Wesley.

“Hey, that's us!” Harmony said brightly. “MysticalAcquisitions is a Wolfram and Hart account.”

“It's my department,” said Wesley with a somewhat bewildered expression. “I had no idea we owned the Aurelian archives.”

Well. That was a lot easier than expected. Angel felt the immediate relief of not only knowing where the books were, but already having them in possession. It made sense now, Josephine thinking he had them – although she had probably just assumed Spike gave them to him. But even though the books were safe, he still couldn't help glaring at Spike. “You sold our entire family history online to a group of evil human lawyers who also happen to be my worst enemies?”

“And now that you're your own worst enemy, it belongs to you,” said Spike. “You're welcome.” To Wesley, he said, “Any chance you can delete that review?”

Ignoring this, Wesley said, “I'll see if I can locate the archives in our library. If there's anything in them about modusbeasts, the information should've come up in my research last week, but perhaps the books were never officially added to the selection that can be accessed by our templates.”

“It's a lot of information to sift through,” Angel said. “Try starting with Atlanta, 1906. Josephine mentioned that's where she's seen this kind of thing before.”

Wesley nodded. “I'll let you know when I find something.” Despite his still somewhat reserved manner, the expression on his face was almost eager. He was clearly looking forward to the chance to study the archives.

“Thanks. It's good to have you back, Wes.” Angel looked over at Fred and added sincerely, “Both of you.”

Fred smiled at him. “Well, I guess we should get to it. Looks like we've all got something to do.”

*

It was slightly more difficult than before to persuade Harmony to leave the office, but she did finally follow the others out, pouting. Her pouty lips were stupidly attractive to Angel right now. In his mind somewhere, he knew he didn't want Harmony on any level other than physical, but that didn't make the physical wanting any less present. He was actually sort of anxious to take care of this current twitchiness as soon as possible, now that he knew what could happen if he put it off for too long. And being near Spike wasn't helping at all. Even though he smelled bad on the surface due to his demon-catching jaunt in the sewers, Spike's fundamental unicorn poopiness – that is, his overwhelmingly captivating and seductive natural scent – was soaking through Angel's head like milk through loose flour, transforming his thoughts to biscuits.

Plus it was actually... kind of sweet that Spike had fetched the modusbeast for him. And dragged it up to Angel's doorstep like a cat proudly presenting a dead bird. He was proving increasingly difficult to stay mad at lately. Angel couldn't even have five minutes to himself to be irritated about one fuck-up before Spike managed to entirely counter it with something good. And then five minutes later, he was fucking up again. Followed by something good. The roller coaster was absolutely infuriating but also somehow kept lighting this tiny light in Angel's chest, and in spite of everything, he couldn't deny he was growing more and more fond of that exasperating little shit.

It was going to be so fucking hard to send him away.

The double doors to the office hung wide open so that the body removal team could come in and retrieve the dead modusbeast, but for now Angel and Spike stood in the office alone, looking at each other from either side of the desk that Angel's wrist was still chained to.

“Just so you know,” Spike said, sauntering forward, “I may technically work here now, but no way am I calling you 'Mr. Angel' like one of your pathetic underlings.”

“You could,” said Angel with a casual little shrug. “Just to see what it feels like. We wouldn't have to tell anyone.”

“What, and let you think I secretly respect you? Never happen.”

“Then I guess I won't call you Mr. Oxhard.”

Spike smirked as he dug his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. “Lot of things stopped being funny once I got a soul. Good to know willy jokes are safe.” He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

“You have to do that right now?”

Spike took a long drag and then blew out the smoke in Angel's direction. “Yes.”

The smoke did its work to obscure his scent a little, even more than the sewer stink and chemical smell of the carpet cleaner, so Angel didn't complain. But he knew what he needed, and he knew he didn't want to stay in the office any longer, so he held up his wrist and said quietly, “How about unlocking this now?”

Spike silently reached into his pocket for the key. But then he just held it in his hand for a moment, looking down at it. “Angel, there's some things that we...”

“Yeah,” said Angel when Spike hesitated. “I know.”

“Dunno where to start, really.” In spite of the smoke, when Spike looked up his pupils had widened with that instinctive arousal from being close to Angel.

The intense eye contact made the back of Angel's neck tingle, sent a little buzz down his spine. He didn't know where to start either. He'd already forgiven Spike, even before he captured the modusbeast. He understood why Spike had abandoned him, why they needed to be separated until this was over. For Angel, the biggest issue now, the difficult thing to address, was going to be telling Spike to leave. And he wouldn't be able to do that the right way until he'd gotten rid of this distracting twitchiness. What he said was, “We don't have to say anything right now.”

“Don't we?” said Spike.

“I don't mean we shouldn't talk. I want to, but—” Angel could feel his cock plumping up as he watched Spike take another long pull from his cigarette. Shit. Why was his mouth so pretty? “I'm not really in the right... mindset. For that conversation.”

Spike tilted his head questioningly, exhaling more smoke, before he realized what Angel meant. Then he very deliberately let his eyes drop down to the front of Angel's pants, where the material was becoming obviously distorted. The corner of his mouth turned up in not-quite-suppressed amusement. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.” In front of anyone else, this would have been embarrassing maybe, but by this point it seemed almost normal to be hard when he was near Spike. Their own weird and ridiculous new version of normal. “So first I should probably...” He made a vague gesture in the direction of the elevator.

Spike raised an eyebrow at him. “First you should what?” Watching Angel, he dropped the manacle key back into his pocket.

“I should go upstairs.”

A thoughtful nod. Trailing his fingers along the edge of the desk, Spike slowly began to walk around to the other side of it. “Go upstairs and... do what?” he asked.

Angel watched his fingertips skimming along the wood as he calmly rounded the workspace. "Have some privacy," he answered warily as Spike approached.

"And what exactly d'you need privacy for, Angel?" Spike asked him, putting on a totally innocent face. "You're not gonna do something... naughty... are you?" The innocence broke into a little grin as he put the cigarette up to his lips again.

“Real cute, Spike.” Angel held out his wrist for the cuff to be unlocked. Watched smoke curl out of Spike's pink mouth. The smoke wasn't strong enough. He still smelled like...

"Angel, are you asking me to unchain you so you can go upstairs and..." Spike pressed a hand over his own heart in a completely scandalized manner, "...abuse yourself?"

Before all this, Angel was absolutely certain he'd never felt so completely aroused and annoyed at the same time, by the same person. “Keep playing around and we'll see which one of us gets abused.”

“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Clearly not as much as you.”

“Gonna do something about it?”

Angel took a step toward him but was caught by the chain. He looked down at it and swallowed. He should probably stop breathing, but he couldn't concentrate enough to make himself do it. “Spike,” he said, looking back up, “you know what I need.”

Spike took one last drag and then stubbed out his cigarette on the note Angel had made earlier, right in the O of Oxhard. “Yeah,” he said, breathing out the smoke between them. “I know what you need." He took a step toward Angel, shrinking the distance as much as possible without occupying the same space.

They were both breathing, lips parted, so close that Angel exhaled some of Spike's smoke as they looked at each other. “Well?”

Spike's eyes flicked down to Angel's mouth and then back up. “If I touched you right now,” he said, “what would happen?”

Angel also looked at Spike's mouth. “I don't know.”

Slowly, Spike nodded. “Better not then.” But he didn't move away.

“Yeah,” said Angel, also not moving. “Better not.”

“But you want me to.”

“It's all I can think about.”

Spike's expression softened a little. “Angel, can I kiss you?”

Angel started to say yes, but paused. His eyebrows drew together and he said quietly, honestly, “You smell like a sewer.”

Spike's mouth dropped open. “I – what?!”

“It's bad. Like, really bad,” Angel told him. “Don't you want to shower first? Or at least take off your—”

Spike pointed indignantly at the dead modusbeast. “I did that for you!”

“Yeah, I know you did, and I really appreci... okay, fuck it.” He took the offended mouth in a startlingly possessive kiss, pulling Spike's body suddenly closer with his free arm. Angel could feel Spike's lips melt from annoyance into smug pleasure against his own, the blond pushing hungrily into the feel of it, of being captured this way, held close. Angel's hand slipped beneath Spike's coat and around his back, palm flat against the dip of his spine as they kissed. He wanted to use his other hand too, encircle Spike in his arms, but each time he tried to reach for more of Spike, he just found himself tugging uselessly at the chain.

“Spike,” he whispered into the kiss, and scraped blunt teeth gently across that pink bottom lip. “Unchain me.”

“Nnn,” Spike said. He pressed his mouth more firmly against Angel's so that he couldn't interrupt this with words. His hands had both slid down to Angel's ass and he squeezed affectionately, sending a wave of tingles racing up Angel's back. “Mmm,” he sighed.

Sound of the chain raking against the edge of the desk as Angel instinctively tried to reach for him again. The cigarette taste was overpowering, but hidden just underneath, that indescribable burn of a century-old memory tickled through Angel's senses. He licked shamelessly into Spike's mouth, seeking it, reaching out for the thing that would probably drive him crazy if he found it. He pulled Spike's body as close as he could one-handed, grabbed a palmful of Spike's ass and thrust their hips together, ground his erection against Spike through their clothes. The chain scraped against the desk again. “Spike,” Angel repeated, muffled into their kiss. “Spike – mmm – unchain my – mmm, my hand—”

One of Spike's hands moved to rub over the front of Angel's trousers where his cock pushed firmly at the material. Angel inhaled sharply at the feel of fingers folding over it, sliding along the hard length and tweaking the swollen head through the cloth. He shivered, couldn't help pushing into the hand as he sucked Spike's lip into his mouth. His mind was going weirdly hazy like it usually did at this point, but it was actually sort of pleasant this time. He surrendered easily to the fog because he knew Spike was here to pull him through it.

Spike walked him backward a couple of tiny steps, still kissing him, until Angel bumped his desk chair and couldn't back up anymore. His trapped erection suddenly felt freer as Spike unfastened his pants, but instead of getting Angel's cock out, the younger vampire simply shoved the black trousers down.

“Spike!” Despite the haze, Angel still had enough presence of mind to pull quickly away to find and flick the switch to frost the office windows. “Jesus Christ.”

Spike chuckled softly and grabbed two handfuls of Angel's bare ass. “Don't get all shy on me now, peaches.” He leaned in and nipped playfully at the line of Angel's jaw, pressed a kiss to the spot.

“I'm not. It's just... um.” Angel briefly lost his train of thought as Spike squeezed his flesh with both hands, the sensation sending a little jolt to his cock, making it twitch. He took a passionate kiss from Spike's mouth while standing behind his desk half-naked, and then murmured, “If someone sees me like this with my newest employee, they might wonder what exactly I hired you to do.”

One cool hand still gripping Angel's ass, Spike wrapped the other around the hard cock and casually rolled his thumb over the tip. He smirked at Angel's quiet gasp and opened his mouth to say something – likely something clever and flirtatious – but Angel was already reaching out to cup his cheek, pull him forward for another kiss, and whatever the reply would have been got lost in the intensity of their lips together, and of Spike's hand squeezing and stroking Angel's dick in the big empty office during working hours with both doors wide open.

Angel's eyes had fallen closed as they kissed, but he opened them again when Spike eventually dropped to his knees behind the desk and began to lick the flushed cockhead poking eagerly from Angel's foreskin. Angel watched him do this, breathing, watched him peel the skin down with his fingers and run his tongue all along the dusky crown as it revealed itself. Fuck, he loved this, a soft tongue lapping at his most sensitive part, a wet mouth taking it in to suck that ticklish feeling through his nerves into his entire body. It was as good as fucking. Better, maybe.

“Uhn,” he whispered, “yeah. Just. Just like that.” He slid his free hand into Spike's hair, loosening the gelled platinum strands with his fingers. Spike had the plump pink cockhead in his mouth, his slippery tongue flat against the underside of it, gliding slowly from one side to the other and back. Between passes he sucked hard, making Angel gasp, thighs trembling, and then he went back to the gentle wet slide again, the teasing torment of his tongue grazing softly along every secret contour of the ridge and the puffy little v-shape on the bottom. At one particularly forceful suck, Angel's knees went wobbly and he grasped the edge of the desk with his cuffed hand, cursing. His fingers flexed in Spike's hair.

Voices approaching the office. Angel could hear them but it didn't register right away that he should do something, try to hide what was going on. “—wasn't sure, just said it's not human. Some kind of gnarly bug-looking thing. Boss wants the body moved up to the lab.”

“Was it one of ours?”

“Not this time. Heard he almost ate Tim Williams this morning, though.”

“You know, my cousin Gina used to date a vampire. She said the biting's not that bad; it's the mood swings.”

Moments before the two voices reached the office, Spike pressed forward firmly and Angel's cock slid deep into the tight channel of his throat, instantly engulfed to the root. Angel cried out sharply, holding the blond head against him with one hand while also gripping the edge of the desk for support. Spike swallowed once, a ripple of pleasure squeezing down the swollen shaft, and then pushed Angel's hips away from him with both hands, backing off the fat erection as quickly as he'd swallowed it down. Confused, Angel let himself be thrust away from the wet mouth. He practically collapsed backward from the push, weak-kneed, and ended up sitting down hard, his naked ass hitting the cool leather of his desk chair just as the two custodians walked inside wheeling some kind of empty metal gurney.

When Angel saw the two men, he reflexively slid his chair closer to the desk to cover the fact that his trousers were down around his ankles. This had the accidental effect of shoving Spike forcefully into the cramped space underneath the desk, and the thud of his head hitting wood and the displeased, “Hey!” caught the attention of the men.

“Sorry, Mr. Angel,” one of the men said quickly, presumably under the impression that the objection had come from Angel himself and not the area between his thighs. “We'll be as quick as we can.”

Angel gave him a curt nod and, not knowing what else to do, stared straight ahead at his computer screen, frowning as though it had something on it that was incredibly important. He put both his hands on the desk and waited for the men to finish up. As they rolled their gurney over to the dead modusbeast's body and began to discuss the best way to lift it, Spike's cool hands came up to cover Angel's knees. He pushed them gently apart and slid his palms upward, skimming teasingly over the soft skin of Angel's inner thighs, spreading Angel's legs to give himself more room to settle between them.

Angel's hands clenched into fists on the desktop. He imagined the way they would look if the desk weren't there, the way Spike was kneeling at his feet but leaning forward to put his face close to Angel's stiff cock. He very deliberately didn't look down but could feel the air swirl around his naked dick and across his balls as Spike inhaled deeply, his nose and mouth so close to Angel's saliva-slick flesh. A tiny strangled whine came from Angel's throat when he felt the tip of a tongue slide wetly up his ballsack, delicately hefting one testicle inside the loose skin and then letting it slip back down. He coughed to disguise the desperate sound.

“No, don't try to lift it by the legs. They have those little spines, see? No telling what those might do if they broke the skin. Tell you what, you grab the tail. I'll get the other end.”

Both his testicles now being lapped softly. He liked this, but God, it tickled. One ball was sucked slowly into Spike's mouth, the tip of his tongue drawing a circle around it before letting it slide back out, and Angel bit his bottom lip, tried not to giggle helplessly at the feeling. Flares of prickly heat fired up his neck. His cock pulsed out a little bead of precum and he felt it being kissed away.

“Wait, wait, it's pinned down. This sword is stuck all the way through into the floor.”

As one of the men tried to pull the katana out of the demon's head, the tip of Angel's cock was sucked into Spike's mouth again. He sighed silently, lips parted. When Spike had sucked his dick in the conference room a couple of days ago, Josephine and some random vampire fledge had seen them, which Angel didn't care about, but it would be better not to let any humans catch them at it; humans had a whole different set of sensibilities. But this was okay. This was fine. These humans weren't looking at him anyway.

When Spike rocked forward to take more of Angel's erection into his wet mouth, the shift of his weight caused his knee to activate the switch under the desk. With a whirr, the computer monitor that Angel was pretending to look at began to lower itself into its slot in the desktop. The men glanced over. Angel tried to appear as though he'd intended for this to happen, and with his free hand, he reached for his pen like he was going to write something down. As soon as he picked it up, Spike sucked hard, and the pen snapped in Angel's hand. Another slight adjustment of Spike's knee and the computer monitor halted, began to rise up again. Angel just stared at it, broken pieces of the inkpen clutched tightly in his fist.

The men gave each other uncertain looks but tactfully refrained from comment. The one with his hands on the sword began yanking at it again, trying to unpin the corpse. “Wow, this is really stuck. I feel like King Arthur over here. Ha.”

“Nah, it was easy for King Arthur,” the other man said. “That was the whole point. You're like all the people who didn't become king.”

“What? Shut up and help me pull.”

Spike's mouth began a steady bobbing, the tight O of his lips sliding wetly up and down Angel's cock. There wasn't really enough room for a full range of motion in such a confined space and in these positions, so Angel parted his legs slightly further and helpfully slumped down a little more to present more of his dick for this particular attention. At each downward slide of those perfect lips, his cockhead wedged itself a couple of inches down Spike's slippery throat, and it took a great deal of control not to grab the blond head and force it down further, to vigorously hump Spike's face under the desk. He could happily stay buried in this throat forever.

He probably would have looked quite relaxed slouching down in the leather chair like this for his blowjob, except that his jaw was clenched with the effort of not reacting to the intense sensation. A single coherent idea emerged from the haze of his mind: enlarge this space enough to install Spike comfortably under the desk every day during working hours. That's a better position than freelance consultant. They could just call him Angel's personal assistant. His very, very personal assistant.

The humans managed to extract the katana from the dead modusbeast's head with a coordinated yank, after which they congratulated each other on becoming co-kings of the lobby level of Wolfram and Hart.

Angel could feel Spike trying to shift into a less cramped position between his legs. Spike's knee hit the monitor switch again, and the computer screen started to sink with a whirring sound. When he resumed the bobbing motion on Angel's cock, the slight rocking shifts of his weight triggered the switch with every movement. Still whirring noisily, the computer screen began to raise, lower, raise, lower, raise, lower, raise.

The men paused to look over at the CEO, but Angel paid no attention to them. He was concentrating on maintaining his serious “nothing to see here, I am Very Busy” face, sagged halfway down the chair but still staring straight ahead and gripping his broken pen as the screen on his desk bounced up and down. Then Spike swallowed around him and Angel's fangs suddenly came out, his lips parting to make room for them. He hadn't meant to push the sharp teeth forward; in fact, he barely even noticed. But the men quickly bent to their task and began trying to lift the demon with a renewed urgency.

Oh fuck, he was definitely going to come. The constant squeezing pressure of Spike's throat enveloping and then releasing his sensitive knob over and over was just too much.

The men finally managed to heave the smelly corpse up onto the rolling metal gurney. It hit the top with a gross-sounding thud and several weird clicks as the pointed toes contacted the metal. After making sure all parts of the modusbeast's body were tucked safely out of the way, no tail or giant claws hanging over the edge, the humans were ready to leave. “Alrighty, have a good day, Mr. Angel,” one of them offered, voice awkwardly nervous and pleasant at the same time.

Angel grunted dismissively.

The moment they wheeled the demon from the office, he dropped the pen pieces and rolled his chair backward as much as he could, dragging Spike out from under the desk with a hand on the back of his head so his mouth would stay where it was. With more room like this, Spike was able to kneel up immediately and plunge down further, take more cock down his throat, and Angel cried out, “Ah!” It took a second to realize the strange fluttering sensation around his flesh was Spike struggling through a silent laugh. “You're the... fucking worst,” Angel told him, chuckling breathlessly. “Shit, that feels... Okay, I'm... I'm close. Fuck! Yeah...”

His fingers carding into Spike's hair, Angel felt his orgasm surge powerfully through his body. He held the blond head down, Spike's nose pressed tight against him, as he gasped and began to unload forceful jets of cum directly down the snug throat. He trembled with the release, abs clenching as he instinctively tried to fuck forward, as though there were any more room to push inside, trying to get closer. Spike swallowed around him and he cursed, the squeeze sending jolts of pleasure through his already maddeningly overstimulated dick.

“Jesus,” he breathed when it was over, loosening his grip on Spike's head. He let himself flop uselessly back against the chair, spent but pleased, his fingers still in Spike's hair. Spike didn't pull back right away. He let Angel's penis slip out of his throat, keeping only the first few inches in his mouth, but he didn't totally relinquish his claim on it yet, and Angel didn't mind. He petted the platinum locks as Spike continued to suck very gently. Playfully ruffled the hair in the wrong direction. Because of the gel, it stayed standing up like that, and Angel slowly swished his hand back and forth over it, the tips of Spike's hair tickling his palm. “You're too good at that,” he murmured. Smoothed the bright hair back down. His skin was tingling pleasantly with the aftermath of coming so hard. The haze was slipping away like usual, but there was something left behind, some kind of warmth that was more in his chest than his head.

Spike looked up at him, mouth still full. His pupils were huge and intense, much bigger than they normally widened near Angel, but somehow he appeared to be smiling despite the cock in his mouth. God, what right did he have to look up like that, with that smile, with those eyes? As though he felt something real, as though there really could be something here, discovered somewhere between the ups and downs of the never-ending roller coaster that was their relationship.

But Angel couldn't help smiling back at him, just a little. Satisfied but sad. Nothing about any of this was fair. “You still stink,” he pointed out. “And your clothes are a mess. And there's something gross smeared on your face.” He cupped Spike's jaw gently in his hand and ran his thumb along Spike's cheek. Looking down into the aroused blue eyes, he said quietly, “So why do I still want you?”

Very slowly, Spike pulled back to let Angel's dick plop wetly out of his mouth. His lips were dark pink, a little puffed from use. His tongue darted across them to lick away any signs of Angel, and then he said, soft and a little hoarse, “Still wanna go upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Angel told him with a sigh. Let a fingertip trace fondly over Spike's shiny bottom lip. “But only if you come with me.”

*

Chapter Text

*

Within the small space of Angel's elevator, the lingering sewer smell on Spike's clothes warred with his natural scent. He must have rolled around down there in the tunnels, wrestling the modusbeast's claws into those constricting ropes, its tail into the tight manacle. Angel sort of wished he'd been there to watch. Subduing the demon would have been more challenging than simply slaying it, and the idea of that fight was kind of exciting from a hunting perspective.

And yeah, it was also endearing, the fact that Spike had done this without being asked, just because Angel had wanted it done. He knew Spike well enough to know it hadn't been an entirely selfless act, sure. The younger vampire had no doubt looked forward to the fight, enjoyed the challenge of it, and enjoyed dragging the body through the building afterward, too. Throwing himself a tiny victory parade. But that actually made the whole thing even more endearing to Angel. He liked that Spike enjoyed fighting demons, that he chose to do it even when he didn't have to. It was one more thing they had in common. And the fact that Spike was a bit self-congratulatory about it was kind of cute. Spike's pride at conquering the modusbeast felt almost like permission for Angel to be proud of the ones he'd conquered as well – those small, necessary victories that could so easily get lost or forgotten when you spent most of your time trying to focus on a bigger picture.

But perhaps he was only experiencing a type of attraction to Spike that made everything he did seem just a little more charming than whatever way Angel normally would have thought of it. Maybe that persistent warmth in his chest was changing the way he looked at Spike himself. At some other point in their lives, for instance, he probably would have found it annoying that he'd told Spike what he was planning to do – catch the modusbeast alive – and then Spike went out and did it first. But the way he'd come back and displayed the captured demon like a gift somehow wasn't annoying at all. It was sweet. It was actually...

Well, it was actually very similar to a common practice between vampire couples: bring live prey back to the nest for your lover to kill. Of course, the prey was usually some pretty human and the killing involved feeding, which was generally followed by fucking on top of the still-warm corpse... But stabbing an ugly demon in the head and then getting a blowjob under the desk was an appropriately modified version for their unique circumstances, right? Spike hadn't meant it like that, but the similarity occurred to Angel as they were getting into the elevator, and the idea of it ticked some little box inside him in a very satisfying way. And now he was trying not to smile at Spike on the way up to the penthouse and failing entirely.

“You gonna keep looking at me like that?” Spike asked. Voice gruff, as if he wanted to know how long he was expected to tolerate Angel's attention. But at the same time, his expression seemed pleased that Angel was looking at him.

“Like what?” Angel asked, smiling.

“Like you're channeling Homer Simpson and I'm the last jelly donut.”

“Spike, if you don't want me to eat you,” Angel said, taking a step closer to him, “maybe you should stop smelling so goddamn edible.” He reached out to grip the waist-high railing on the back wall of the elevator with both hands, one on either side of Spike, a teasing little trap. “Ever think of that?”

Their faces were very close together like this. Spike's eyes looked playful – as much as they could with the pupils blown so unnaturally wide – but he lifted one eyebrow sardonically. “Thought you said I smell like a sewer. If you think that's edible, you've been eating the wrong thing, mate.”

Angel chuckled softly and let his forehead rest against Spike's head. “Oh God, it's so bad,” he whispered. He could feel Spike also huff a little laugh. “I can't tell if it's because everything smells so much stronger right now or if you were literally rolling around in the dirtiest place in LA.”

“Bit of both, maybe,” Spike admitted. “Wasn't pretty down there. Think the smell burned off some of my nose hairs.”

Angel laughed quietly again and pressed his lips to Spike's temple in a brief kiss. “I'd still eat you,” he said against his head. “I'd just give you a good wash first. You know, like a potato.” He was still smiling when he pulled back, but the smile faltered when he took in Spike's expression. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

The mirth around Spike's eyes looked slightly more pained than before, although he was clearly trying to appear normal. His head ducked in a quick nod. “M'fine,” he said. “Just. Could do with that wash.” He slipped out from between Angel's arms when the elevator pinged and opened into the penthouse, but not before Angel noticed the slight trembling in his shoulders under the leather of his duster.

Concerned, Angel followed him out of the elevator. “Spike. You're shaking.”

“It'll pass.”

“Let me help you.”

Spike walked through the den and into Angel's bedroom without stopping, shrugging out of his coat along the way. “Just need a quick shower,” he said, walking by the big mirror in Angel's dressing room. He paused just long enough to lay the dirty coat on the counter, where it appeared in the mirror, before continuing into the bathroom, never looking back. The door shut firmly behind him.

“Okay,” Angel said uncertainly to the door. “If you're sure.”

The only answer was the sound of the shower turning on.

Shit. He’d managed, what, one blowjob and part of an elevator ride before he started hurting Spike again? Angel's good mood instantly plummeted into frustration at their impossible circumstances. Asking Spike to come upstairs had been a bad call. He’d just wanted…

Of course he should have known what would happen. They both should have known. Nothing had changed. His jaw clenched. This was so fucking unfair.

It would probably be best to go ahead and end it now. Rip the bandaid off. Tell Spike to leave, get him out of here before they tried to spend any more time together and just made everything worse. His hand reached for the bathroom doorknob, hovered an inch above it.

He could hear the change in the sound of the water when Spike stepped under it. If he barged in right now and demanded that Spike get out of town, what then? He’d still have to finish his shower before he left. And this was maybe the most necessary shower Spike had ever taken. It made more sense to wait until he was done before saying anything.

After a long moment, Angel let his hand drop and instead went to the kitchen to drink some blood. His twitchiness was gone thanks to Spike sucking him off downstairs, but if they were going to have some kind of serious conversation, it would be better if he wasn't hungry either. Otherwise, maybe he would end up eating Spike like a potato.

He heated a couple of blood bags, but when he picked one up and tried to push out his fangs to bite into it, nothing happened. It was a startling sensation, his other face not coming when he called it, and for a bizarre half-second, Angel didn't know what to do. But then he realized. He pressed his tongue against the tip of one fang. Yeah, his other face was already out. When had that even happened? How long had he been walking around like this?

After he drank both the blood bags, he carefully pulled his demon face back inside and reached up to touch his forehead to make sure it was gone. His head felt weirdly tight like this, holding his fangs inside, but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable. Like clenching a fist. It would probably feel normal again in a few minutes.

Angel went to hang up his jacket in his closet and then stood outside the bathroom door for another long moment. Listening to the shower, wondering if Spike hated him for what was happening. Spike's duster on the counter in front of the mirror caught his eye, so he took the smelly thing and hung it up in the laundry room where he normally put his dry cleaning for Rosa. It would definitely take a professional to get the stink out of it. He found himself drifting back to stand in front of the bathroom door again. He sighed. His cell phone rang.

“Hey boss,” Harmony greeted when he answered it. “Your bedding stuff is here. Want me to send it up?”

“Already?” Angel's eyebrows lifted. “It's been less than an hour.”

“You said express delivery.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, send it up.”

About three seconds after the call ended, an assortment of sheets and pillowcases, feather pillows, plush velvet blankets, a goose down duvet, some duvet covers, a hand-pieced quilt, and two comforters materialized in a large pile on the floor in the middle of the den. Angel, who had been expecting a small box to come up in the elevator, stared at the pile. Well, at least Harmony was thorough. He stowed most of the things in his linen closet but put the extremely soft sapphire-colored sheet set on his bed with one of the velvet blankets in silver. Tried not to think about why he'd bought the blue sheets.

When all this was done, Spike still hadn't finished his shower. From outside the door, Angel could make out the variations in the sound of the water, the way it thumped against Spike's body and the way it splattered the marble tiles. What could be taking this long? “Spike?” he called out. “Everything okay?”

No answer.

Could something have happened to him? It was just a shower. That was harmless enough, right? But the way he'd been shaking...

“Spike?” Angel called again through the door. “You can take all the time you need, but just tell me you're okay in there.”

No answer.

“Listen, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in.”

No answer.

He expected the door to be locked, which would have been fine; he could have broken it open easily. But the knob turned in his hand with a gentle twist, and after a short hesitation, Angel walked into the large steam-filled bathroom.

The shower was a big open area done in pale blue marble tiles. It had no door, but a blurry wall of clear glass cubes separated it from the rest of the bathroom and kept the water from flowing out. The glass bricks came up to about chest-height, and Angel could see Spike standing on the other side, hands braced on the tile in front of him, head bowed, eyes closed as the water pounded down on top of his head. He didn't look up when Angel came in.

“Spike,” Angel said softly. “Are you alright?”

He obviously wasn't, but the blond head dipped once in a tight nod, eyes still closed. Water ran in a solid stream down his face and poured undisturbed from his chin. He wasn't breathing. At least, he was making a strong effort not to. But then he suddenly began breathing again like he couldn't help it, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, turned his face away from Angel. Despite bracing himself against the shower wall, he was still shaking.

Angel approached the shower, looked inside around the edge of the glass bricks. As he'd expected, Spike's cock was fiercely hard, standing out from his body all stiff and red and lonely. Immediately, Angel toed off his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt. “You can't just ignore this,” he said, shrugging out of the shirt and reaching down to unbutton his pants. “You've got to let me help you.”

“You just make it worse,” Spike whispered. “Being near you...”

The words felt like a kick to the chest. Nevertheless, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, Angel stepped naked into the shower with Spike. Holy shit, the water was scalding. He slid his arms around the smaller vampire from behind, pulled his wet body close, hot against cool. Spike's whole body shuddered with the contact, but he didn't resist. “At least let me try,” Angel said quietly, and took Spike's angry, heated erection in his hand. Squeezed. Spike's lips parted around a hopeless sigh as his head tipped back onto Angel's shoulder, hot water dripping from his hair to run down Angel's back.

There was no longer any trace of that awful sewer stench to offset Spike's naturally irresistible scent. Now he smelled so fucking good that Angel was nearly shocked by the fullness of it in his lungs, the impossibility of wrapping his arms around the source of such a vast sensation. Like reaching backward through time and somehow cupping your hand around a beautiful moment, pulling it forward to spill its gravity into now. The steamy air hung heavy with it. It crowded against Angel on all sides, seeped into his head.

His hand began a steady stroking rhythm, rubbing that hardness under the scorching heat of the shower spray. Spike panted softly, turned his face toward Angel's neck while Angel looked down over Spike's shoulder, watched the flushed cockhead disappearing and reappearing repeatedly in his fist. “What were you waiting for?” Angel murmured to him gently, not slowing the motion of his fingers. “I don't understand why you wouldn't just...”

“Was trying to... control it...” Spike told him, his voice hitching around uneven breaths. He was still shaking. “Thought I could, but... Angel, I can't. I can't control...”

“It's okay. I'm here.”

“Yeah... that's the problem, innit?”

But blaming Angel for his condition didn't stop the younger vampire from melting back against him, smooth skin sliding warm and wet against Angel's chest, round ass grazing his penis as Spike squirmed wantonly in his arms, body searching for the most contact. Angel pressed his lips to the side of the pale neck in front of him, inhaled the heady scent of Spike's desperate arousal. His own cock was hardening, too, slipping across the soft flesh of Spike's backside. Catching in the cleft briefly before slipping away. He swallowed, let his eyes fall closed, tried to concentrate as he squeezed and stroked Spike's wet dick. Just do this for him, just get him off, don't think about fucking him. Don't think about it. Don't.

Spike turned his head just a bit more, and then, inevitably, they were kissing. God, he tasted like fire. Like bourbon. Like blood. Angel caught Spike's lip between his teeth. He knew for certain that if Spike hadn't made him come so recently, he couldn't have resisted biting down. Even now, it was a close call. He let the pink flesh slip out of his mouth with a soft scrape, felt a shiver vibrate through Spike's body as he jerked him off. Don't think about fucking him. “You have no idea what you're doing to me right now,” Angel couldn't help whispering. “Seeing you like this... needing it so bad...”

“It's you,” Spike breathed. “You make me this way. Can't stop... wanting you.”

One hand still wrapped tight around Spike's cock, Angel slid the other down and around between their bodies. His hand glided across the roundness of Spike's ass, grasped the warm slippery skin. He flexed his fingers, lightly kneaded the muscle. Listened to the small sounds Spike made with his mouth each time he squeezed. Spike's skin was so soft and smooth against his palm. He let his fingertips slip down between the cheeks and graze tenderly over the little crinkle of Spike's asshole.

This intimate touch made Spike swear under his ragged breath. He pressed his hips back subtly, pushing his ass into Angel's hand. The small motion was so goddamn sexy that Angel's cock throbbed. “Fuck, I want you,” he confessed, his lips moving against Spike's neck.

Spike reached back, gripped Angel's hip and pulled him closer. “Say it again.”

Angel kissed Spike's neck, trailed his lips down Spike's shoulder, let his teeth drag lightly over the pale skin. Then he bit the back of his neck, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. “I want you,” he whispered. He slid his fingers through the wet cleft of Spike's ass again, brushing softly across his anus. One fingertip sought out the tiny hole and rubbed over it gently as he jerked Spike's cock with his other hand. He could feel a little pulse go through the hard dick whenever he moved his fingertip. Spike cursed quietly again and shifted his feet further apart. Precum leaked from his swollen cockhead, more slippery in Angel's fist than the hot water spraying down.

He dropped another kiss on Spike's shoulder. “I would take you right now, just like this,” he said into the warmed flesh. Pressed his erection to Spike's backside, let him feel the size of it slipping against his wet skin, that urgent hardness. “God, I could be inside you so fast.” A tremor went through Spike's body, his head dropping forward in a helpless nod. Whether it was meant as encouragement to go ahead and take him or just an acknowledgment of the truth, Angel couldn't tell. But as badly as he wanted to push his cock into Spike, as ready as they both felt, he was also aware enough to know it would be wrong like this, with Spike so desperate.

Nothing had changed. Fuck.

He kissed the back of Spike's neck where he'd bitten him, then pressed a kiss just underneath that one. Another just below that. Angel bent to put his lips between Spike's shoulder blades, interrupt the rivulets of water running down the shallow indent of his spine. The water tasted faintly sweet against his clean flesh. The scent of Spike's arousal poured off his body, dark and provocative, incongruous with that subtle sweetness of his skin, the purity of the water flowing over him. Angel breathed him in, tasted his outer self and inner desire both at once as his mouth traveled the length of Spike's backbone, following that natural path down past the two delicate dimples of his lower back. Kneeling on the marble shower tiles behind Spike, still holding Spike's straining hardness in his hand, he pressed his face to the warm body and passed his tongue softly between Spike's ass cheeks.

“Oh, fuck,” Spike breathed, collapsing forward to rest his forehead on the back of his hand against the shower wall. “Yeah...” The water no longer hit his head in this position, instead jetting down onto his back and rolling toward Angel's mouth.

Angel's tongue swiped across the little opening over and over, licking up toward the stream of water that ran down Spike's body. The water parted around his tongue, joined back together underneath, rolled hot through the crack of Spike's ass and down his thighs. Dripped from Angel's chin. Angel pushed one round cheek to the side with his free hand, thumb holding the normally hidden flesh open and exposed to his mouth, and pressed his lips to that tiny pucker, sucked softly. He could hear Spike moan, felt the indecision as Spike's body fought between thrusting forward into Angel's tight fist or back against his brazen mouth.

It's okay to do this. Just this, Angel told himself as he lapped at the small wet hole, his cock achingly hard. This is still just mouth stuff. Technically. He traced the captivating ridges of skin with his tongue, listening to Spike pant against the wall. Spike's erection felt so full and tight in his hand, slick with the precum smeared down its length by Angel's fingers. As he went on stroking it, he felt the little pucker let itself stretch around the end of his tongue, just a little. He licked it open as much as it allowed, dragging the very tip of his wet tongue across the secret bit of pink that showed inside.

“Angel...” Spike managed, his whole body trembling. He didn't say anything else, but it was clear that he was nearing his peak. His stance shifted again, hips tilting back.

One last soft pass of his tongue, one last deep kiss, and then Angel pulled away from the seductive entrance. “Come in my mouth,” he said huskily, and grasped Spike's hips to turn him around. The hard cock was down his throat as soon as it came into view. Spike cried out at the suddenness, hunching forward and pulling Angel's head against him, fingers buried in Angel's wet hair. Angel lightly pressed a finger against Spike's clenching asshole, the very tip of it sinking inside just a little, and the younger vampire's broken moan was almost a sob as he came hard like that, buried balls-deep, Angel swallowing around the powerful throbs he could feel inside his throat.

They stayed that way for a long moment afterward. On his knees, Angel pulled back just enough to suck very gently at Spike's cock while Spike stood under the hot shower spray and tipped his head back, eyes closed. Pale fingers woven through Angel's dark hair. Breathing.

Eventually, Angel let Spike's penis slip out of his mouth. He gave the plump head a couple of tender licks and then stood up, swallowing the last bitter taste of cum. He reached up to cup Spike's face in his hand and murmured, “Better?”

The blond head gave a slight nod into his palm, eyes slowly opening, less intense now that his still dilated pupils had shrunk to a size slightly closer to normal, surrounded by a thin ring of pretty blue. The corner of his mouth curved up a little, a soft smile. His whole body was a lot calmer now, the desperate tremors having smoothed away into a much more comfortable, relaxed type of sexiness that Angel found incredibly appealing.

He returned the soft smile. “Good.” Then he pressed a quick kiss to Spike's cheek and turned to exit the shower, already shaking the water from his hair. But Spike unexpectedly caught his hand and tugged him back under the spray.

A searing kiss. Startling, a little, but Angel gave into it right away, the insistence of Spike's lips, his bold tongue. One of Spike's hands slid around the back of Angel's neck to hold him there while the other reached down to wrap around Angel's erection. Pressure of squeezing fingers. “Mm,” Angel grunted into the kiss. He took Spike's wrist and leaned back to say, “You don't – you don't have to. I'm okay.”

Spike's face was part aroused, part confused. “You don't want me to?”

“Well. I didn't say that.” Angel took a moment to kiss him again, slower. God, that smell. He felt almost drunk with it. But then he drew Spike's hand away. “You know if we start taking turns, we'll be stuck in here for hours.”

“Got someplace else to be, do you?”

Instead of answering, he gave Spike one more sweet kiss. Then he popped him once on the ass with a loud smack, just hard enough to feel the sting in his palm, and said pleasantly to the resulting appalled expression, “I'll go find you something to wear. Then we can burn your clothes.” As unhappy as he was about having to send Spike away, Angel couldn't help the small smile as he walked out of the shower.

Somewhat flustered, Spike called after him, “Not the coat, yeah?”

“I know,” Angel said without turning around.

The t-shirt and jeans that Spike had been wearing under his duster would probably be salvageable with a thorough wash, but they smelled so bad and were so cheap that as Angel gathered them up with Spike's boots and socks, he wondered if it wouldn't be easier and more worthwhile just to burn them anyway. At any rate, he didn't want them stinking in a pile anywhere inside his apartment, so without bothering to dry or dress himself, he carried the offending garments at arm's length out of the bathroom and through the penthouse to a room he almost never used – the dining room.

A dining room in a vampire's apartment was just about as useful as the mirror in his dressing room and the toilet in his spare bathroom. That is, it only saw any action when he had human company. Back when Spike was still noncorporeal, Angel had invited the rest of the team up for dinner a couple of times, and it was nice to see the large, very modern-style room used in the way it was meant to be, full of food and friendly faces. But he usually drank his blood and coffee standing alone at the kitchen counter, or sometimes sitting at his desk in the study, and so the double doors from the kitchen into the dining room remained perpetually closed. Which meant that the sliding necrotempered glass doors that led from the dining room out onto the roof of Wolfram and Hart also remained closed.

Because the penthouse didn't stretch across the entirety of the top of Wolfram and Hart, roughly half of the roof of the 23-story building served as Angel's personal garden. The sliding doors in the dining room led out onto a tastefully decorated patio with plenty of greenery and an outdoor barbecue area, and of course the pool was out here.

There was another small building at one corner of the roof, two whole walls of which were entirely necrotempered glass. It was totally empty for now, but Angel had vague plans to turn one of its rooms into an art studio because of the good lighting. He just hadn't had time yet. Eve had referred to it once as his guesthouse, which made sense because the penthouse itself didn't have a guest bedroom, but the place was currently pretty useless without any furniture inside.

The patio had a roof, and a covered walkway lined with tropical plants provided enough shade to walk safely to the little glass guesthouse, but Angel obviously couldn't use the pool during the daytime, so he almost never did at all. The whole area would have been a nice place for hosting parties, but that was another thing Angel never did.

Angel slid open the dining room's glass door and tossed Spike's stinky clothes out onto the patio to deal with later. On the way back, he stopped at the kitchen sink and washed his hands. Then he went to his bedroom and got some soft drawstring pajama pants for Spike to put on for now, like the ones he'd given him to wear before, and left them out for him to find on the counter in the dressing room. Aside from t-shirts, none of Angel's other clothes would be suitable for Spike due to their size difference, so they would need to figure out something else for Spike to wear when he left the penthouse. Maybe Harmony could fetch something for him?

Angel's body was still indicating some interest in Spike's presence, but he stoically ignored it while he dried off and dressed himself in another pair of similar pants, not bothering with a shirt. Okay. What else? Maybe Spike would be hungry. He went back into the kitchen and put his hand on the refrigerator door handle.

And just stood there.

A moment later, Angel found himself leaning his head against the stainless steel refrigerator door, still holding onto the handle, at a total loss. What the fuck was he supposed to say to Spike? 'Hey. Nice ass. Leave,' seemed a little abrupt under the circumstances. Maybe, 'Do you like my new sheets? I got blue because I can't stop thinking about your eyes. Now get out.'

Either way, he should probably end their talk with, 'And don't come back until I figure out how to not want you so bad.'

The plan had seemed so obvious a few hours ago. Just send him away. It was the simplest, most logical thing to do, the least painful thing for them both. He couldn't stand the thought of putting Spike through this kind of distress over and over just out of some selfish desire for... for what? His body? His scent? Angel had hands; he could take care of himself when he needed to. And he didn't need Spike to guard him either since the penthouse had locks. They both already knew this, so what were they even doing? Spike didn't even like him, not really. He was just affected by Angel's scent, the same as every other vampire. He should want to go. It should be easy to be apart.

For some reason, the certainty that Spike didn't actually want to be here with him right now, that he was only suffering through it because of a funny smell and some misplaced sense of responsibility, felt worse than the way they had treated each other before all this had happened. That mutual disdain. At least that had felt normal.

Spike not liking him had never bothered him so much before.

Despite the simple logic of the plan to send Spike away, and amid the confusing mix of feelings swirling through him as he tried to think of what to say, where on earth to start, how to tell him to leave, there was only one thing that Angel was sure of: he didn't want Spike to go. It felt like something he'd known since before Spike had left him chained to the bed, but the feeling had been a lot easier to ignore when he was angry. Now that he wasn't angry anymore, he couldn't deny what he wanted, even if he couldn't quite put it into words. What he wanted wasn't just Spike's body or scent. Maybe that was how it had started, but now...

When everything went back to normal, no more twitchiness and intoxicating smells, Spike would fall naturally back into that old pattern of disdain, wouldn't he? And here Angel would be, standing uselessly in his kitchen. Feeling this way.

He was still there, frozen in that exact position, no closer to reaching a solution, when Spike approached the kitchen and silently leaned against the doorway facing Angel, arms crossed. Head still resting on the fridge, Angel turned his face to the side and looked over at him.

He'd found the pants. The drawstring waistband rested low on his hips, the natural midday light throughout the apartment casting softly across his bare torso, outlining the pale muscles of his stomach in faint shadows. His wet hair curled in haphazard blond C's, some strands curving down onto his forehead, not having been combed back after the shower. It occurred to Angel, not for the first time, that the vampire instinct to choose the most beautiful humans for turning wasn't just to make hunting easier for them. It also added fuel to what was designed to be an everlasting desire between the vampires themselves.

Which meant that Spike was always finding some way to be annoyingly attractive, even at the most unhelpful moments.

They just looked at each other for a while before Angel finally lifted his head. “Could you stop being so pretty for a second?” he asked quietly, and turned to lean his shoulder against the metal refrigerator door, also crossing his arms. “I'm trying to think.”

“Well, that accounts for the burning smell. Just assumed it was my jeans.” Spike made absolutely zero effort, Angel noticed, to look less pretty.

He sighed. Might as well get it over with. “We can't keep doing this, Spike,” he said. “You and I both know we can't keep doing this.”

Oh good, the eyebrow thing. Just what he needed. “Doing what?” Spike asked. “You mean sucking each other's cocks, or are you referring to what you did to me in the shower a moment ago? 'Cause actually yeah, you'll definitely be doing that again.”

Angel cleared his throat. Jesus Christ, he'd licked Spike's ass. Spike's ass. Spike's ass. “You know what I mean. We can't just go on as if—”

“We can do what we like, Angel. One of the many benefits of being an immortal creature of the night superhero.” He let his eyes travel suggestively down Angel's body, a small grin beginning to turn up the corner of his mouth. “Now don't try to tell me you didn't like—”

“I don't like that being near me hurts you,” Angel said firmly. “I hate it. And I won't keep doing it.”

Spike's arms uncrossed themselves and he stood up straighter, mouth coming open as if to argue. But then he hesitated. After a moment, he sighed and looked away from Angel.

Angel nodded as if that had been the answer he expected. He also turned away. Facing the coffee maker on the counter with its empty space where the glass pot would have been, his back to Spike, he said, “So until we can resolve this whole hormone issue, I think the best thing for both of us would be for you to—”

Spike muttered something under his breath.

Angel turned toward him again. “What?”

One shoulder lifted slightly, a half-shrug. He brought a hand up and examined his fingernails with carefully constructed nonchalance. Didn't look at Angel. “I said, it... doesn't.”

“What doesn't?” said Angel. “Doesn't what?”

“Hurt,” said Spike. “Being near you. It... doesn't.” His eyes flicked up to Angel's face and quickly back down again. “Just so you know. Before you go decreeing what we're gonna do about it.”

Angel immediately tamped down the hope he felt at this obvious lie. “Of course it hurts,” he said. “Just because you don't care doesn't mean you're not in pain. I saw what I did to you.”

“And you thought that was pain, did you?” Spike looked up at him again, this time for longer. Tilted his head. A tiny hint of amusement. “Does it hurt when you get hard, Angel? It's not s'posed to, but I reckon that explains the constant brooding. You know, there's a clinic off Sunset for men with broken willies if you need someone to drive you.”

“That,” Angel said, taking a few steps forward to point over Spike's shoulder in the direction of the bathroom, “wasn't just you being turned on, Spike. Your whole body was shaking. That isn't normal, and you know it. And it happened before, and it's going to keep happening if we don't do something.”

With a little sigh, Spike took a couple of steps forward as well, stopped directly in front of Angel. Their bare toes were only an inch away from each other on the cool kitchen tiles. His hand came up to land softly on Angel's chest. “You did do something, pet.”

That word again. Such a dumb little careless name. Spike called lots of people pet; it didn’t mean anything. So why did it feel like this?

Angel looked down at Spike's hand on his body. Quietly, he said, “You didn't want me to.”

“Didn't want you to feel like you had to. There's a difference.” They both watched as his hand slid over, trailed lightly down Angel's arm. Fingertips tracing the outline of his muscles. It tickled, sort of.

“You said being near me makes it worse. That I'm the problem. Spike, if I'm hurting you—”

“Angel. Trust me. Wanting you does not hurt.”

There was a kind of sincerity in the way Spike said this that made Angel almost believe him. Maybe he would have if he hadn't seen the struggle with his own eyes. “Please don't lie to me about this. You were fighting it so hard.”

“That's not what I—” He stopped abruptly, let his hand drop from Angel's arm.

“What?” said Angel.

Spike looked away. After a moment, he took a deep breath and turned to Angel again, opened his mouth as though to continue speaking. Nothing came out. He squinted.

“What?” said Angel again.

“It's. I wasn't... fighting it,” Spike finally said. “Or I was, but. Not the... it's not what you think.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

Spike nodded. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

They just stood there. Eventually Angel said, “You know I can't actually read minds, right?”

Spike exhaled irritably. “Don't get cute. It's hard enough to concentrate when you're standing there half naked and smelling like a sodding miracle while also being fucking gorgeous and telling me you care if I'm hurt, and why aren't you wearing a shirt anyway? You weren't the one fighting for his unlife in a bloody sewer and then having all his clothes burnt, were you? Least you could do is cover your ridiculous perfect skin while I take a moment to suss out how to tell you this important thing, you know? It's called common courtesy, Angel.”

Right. He understood this little speech as the Spike version of Stop being so pretty while I'm trying to think, so instead of making a comment about the relative 'courtesy' of smashing someone else's coffee pot, Angel said, “Spike, I didn't actually burn your—”

“I almost bit you,” said Spike. Then, “What'd you do with my smokes?”

Angel opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Spike pointed at Angel's dumbstruck expression and gave him a significant Told ya so look, then glanced around the kitchen. He said, “They were in my coat,” and walked out of the room.

Stunned, Angel followed him. “You... what?” he managed, watching the blond stalk through the apartment, looking around. “Spike, wait. What?”

“Yeah,” said Spike. “Pretty much my reaction too.”

“What do you mean you almost bit me? You mean like—?”

“I mean like biting. You know. Vampire, fangs, grrr.” He continued to wander around searching, talking to Angel without looking at him. “Almost couldn't help myself. Like a kid in an orphanage.”

“Candy store,” Angel corrected distractedly.

“Eh?”

“The expression is 'like a kid in a candy store.' You're a kid and you want the candy.”

“Nah, I meant orphanage. You're the kid and I want your blood.” He frowned. “Where did you put it?”

“Put... my blood?”

“Angel. Coat. Where.”

“Oh. Yeah, it's...” He walked down the hall to the laundry room, feeling the distinct prickle at the back of his neck from being watched as Spike followed him. The smell hit pretty hard as soon as he opened the door, so he just waved Spike into the room and waited at the doorway while Spike rummaged through his duster pockets for the squashed cigarette pack and lighter. But as soon as Spike put one in his mouth and went to light up, Angel blurted out, “Don't smoke in here.”

Spike's eyes closed, the tiny flame of the lighter frozen two inches from the tip of the unlit cigarette. In a very carefully controlled voice, he said, “Please be joking.”

“Just do it outside.”

Spike snatched the cigarette from his mouth and whirled toward Angel. “Outside? Really? Tell me, Angel, from which twenty-third story window shall I fling myself into the very bright sunlight, hmm?”

Angel just looked at him for a second, then turned and walked away. Spike followed him back into the kitchen and watched him open one of the double doors that led into the dining room.

“Oh. Bloody hell,” Spike said, looking into the big room. “Was this always here?”

“Yeah. Why, what did you think it was?”

“Pantry. This whole place is lousy with storage.” They walked inside, Spike looking around appreciatively.

“What would I need a pantry for? I don't eat.”

“How would I know? You've got an enormous bloody mirror and you don't reflect either.” His eyebrows shot up when he peered outside through the glass doors. Grabbing one, he tugged it open, saying, “They gave you a sodding swimming pool?”

Out on the patio, once Spike had walked up and down the covered walkway and examined as much of the rooftop as he could without stepping directly into the sunlight, he finally lit his cigarette and stood smoking while Angel sat down on one of the cushioned wooden patio chairs and watched him, still reeling from what he'd said. Spike had wanted... he wanted to... to...

“Anyway, that's why I left you here,” Spike said suddenly. He flicked his ash onto the ground and glanced over at Angel, then away again. “Didn't know what else to do. The urge was too strong.” Voice softening a little, he added, “Should've seen you. Falling asleep with your lips 'round my... God, you looked so perfect. And I already had the taste of you in my mouth, see. Your blood. Only a few drops, but Christ I wanted more. And the smell of you clogging up my head all night... Couldn't think properly.”

He looked over at Angel again. Paused. “I almost did it, you know. Came so close. Scary close. Had my teeth at your throat and you didn't even wake up. You just... said my name. Still asleep, said my name like... dunno. Like friends seeing each other again after too long apart. Like you were...” He huffed, shook his head like he couldn't believe he was saying this. “Like you were glad I was there.” He took another deep pull from the cigarette, held the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling it. “It was too much. Had to get out.”

“...so you wouldn't...”

“Guzzle you down like cheap booze. Yeah.”

Jesus. Angel actually felt momentarily lightheaded, genuinely grateful to be sitting down. This was the last thing he'd expected to hear. The whole time, he'd thought Spike left because he felt pain, not because he felt desire. Especially that kind, that very distinct type of insatiable hunger that was specific to vampires. Maybe he should have realized, should have suspected it from the way Spike's mouth never seemed to want to let him go. He watched him smoke some more, no idea what to say. No idea what it meant. His entire world was already flipping upside down because of his own feelings, and now the last bit of reality he'd been clinging to just broke off in his hand. He might as well be free-falling through space.

“So yeah, you could say I've been fighting it,” Spike went on eventually. “But not the wanting. The way you smell right now... couldn't fight that if I tried. It's the other thing. That urge. Being around you makes it worse. Hard to keep control of myself, so I won't hurt you.” He put the cigarette up to his lips again.

“And that's why you hid in the shower earlier instead of just letting me help you,” Angel said, voice faint. “You're saying... you still want to do it. ”

Spike exhaled, gazed over at Angel through the cloud of smoke. The blazing intensity of that look made Angel's chest feel hot, made everything inside his whole body feel hot. “Nothing's changed, pet.”

Of course. It's what Angel had already been telling himself all day, the reason they needed to be apart: nothing had changed. Except now it felt like everything had.

“But I needed a shower anyway.” Spike grimaced at his dirty clothes where they lay reeking in a pile at the edge of the patio. “Blimey. Maybe we should burn those.”

“The coat is worse.”

“No one's touching the coat.” They didn't say anything for a long moment while Spike continued to smoke. Finally, he said, “I am sorry. Not for wanting you, but for leaving you like I did.” He studied the tip of the cigarette as he said this. “My head wasn't on straight. Still isn't, feels like.”

Angel gave him a dazed nod. Boy, he knew the feeling. Then he said, “I almost killed Wesley.”

“Okay now, that bit wasn't my fault,” Spike said immediately. “Told him what I'd done way before you would've been dangerous to a human. He said he'd take care of it. I hadn't a clue he'd leave you there all fucking day! Pillock. Would've served him right if you'd ripped his throat out.” The way he said this last part, it was clear he didn't really mean it.

“He wasn't in his right mind,” Angel said.

“Yeah, well, join the sodding club.” Spike looked down, kicked idly at the smooth stone tiles of the patio floor with his bare foot. Loose lounge pants flowing past his heel. Muttered, “Could've killed him myself when I came back and saw the state of you.”

Angel didn't want to think about it. He pulled his legs up into the chair, feet resting on the edge of the cushion, and folded his arms across his knees. “I was actually going to make him like us,” he admitted.

“What, turn him?” Spike seemed surprised. “The Watcher? Really?”

“He's my friend,” said Angel. “I wanted to keep him.” He frowned. “Well, and, you know. Eat him.”

Spike snorted softly. “What is it about us? Always eating the ones we like best. The only real drawback to being a vampire and it's gotta be our bloody defining characteristic.” He finished his cigarette and dropped it to the tile but didn't step on it. A very thin curlicue of smoke drifted up. “Guess I had assumed it would go away with a soul. That instinct, I mean. 'Cause like, it seemed simple enough for you not to bite anyone, so I just thought... But it's still there. Only now with a hefty chunk of shame and self-disgust to boot.”

“Don't forget the profound, agonizing guilt.”

“As if I could.”

“It's in our nature,” Angel said quietly as Spike sat down on another chair beside him. “Passion. Obsession. It's the way we love. We're consumed by it and then we... consume. The soul helps us understand, shows us that we can overcome our nature if we choose to, gives us a reason to. But this is still what we are. A soul doesn't make you human.”

Spike sprawled back into the chair with a resigned sigh. After a moment, he said, “You haven't said if you forgive me.”

“Honestly, you make it pretty hard not to.”

“Ah, so my plan worked.”

Angel looked over, raised an eyebrow at him. “You really like me best, huh?”

Spike squinted. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“Because you said you wanted to eat me, and then you said we eat the ones we like best, so logically—”

“Well, it wouldn't make much difference anyway, would it?” Spike pointed out. “Say I did... like you. Hypothetically. Me and you don't do the bitey thing anymore, do we? Too busy overcoming our natures and that.”

“Right,” said Angel. “Yeah. I mean. I wasn't going to bite you either.”

“Exactly,” said Spike. But then he said, “Did you want to?” Before Angel had a chance to respond, he clarified quickly, “Not an offer, mind. Just asking.”

Angel shrugged, flexed his fingers against his knees. “I might have thought about it.”

“Yeah?” There was a suspiciously pleased little note in Spike's voice. “When?”

All the goddamn time. Angel shrugged again. “It's sort of the same thing that's happening with you, I think. The longer I'm around you... It builds up.”

“I see. And then it goes away when you...”

“It doesn't go away,” said Angel. “I'm just. Managing it.”

A long silence passed between them. Then Spike said quietly, “So you mean... right now...?”

Angel risked another look over at his face. Despite his relaxed sprawl in the comfortably cushioned chair, Spike was looking back at him with an expression so fixed and intent on his answer that the focus felt almost otherworldly. Surely no one else had ever looked at Angel with eyes so penetrating. But perhaps that was because no one else existed who was like them. He felt simultaneously held in place by Spike's gaze and like he was holding Spike there too, and in that moment, he could easily picture the two of them frozen like this for the next several years, just looking into each other's eyes, sat here on this patio being totally unique together.

Or maybe... maybe he would simply dive into the other chair and rip Spike open, crawl inside, make a home in his body and rest there, away from everything else. It would take no time at all to consume him, to become part of him for eternity, to keep each other just like this, but closer, in constant touch. His fangs could be buried in Spike's waiting flesh in an instant. And that instant could change things between them forever.

Oh. Fuck. He almost had to grip the chair to keep from doing it right there and then. But that tiny voice, something hidden deep within – the same something that had made him scream inside for Wesley to get away – was making itself heard again. And somehow Angel squashed his feelings down like he always did, and instead he just replied softly, “Yeah.”

They held each other pinned like this for another long moment, motionless. Something had changed about Spike's eyes when Angel spoke, something Angel couldn't quite place between fear and yearning, nearly imperceptible beneath a more immediate, insistent desire. But then Spike managed to tear his gaze away. Exhaled slowly. “Well,” he murmured, looking off toward the pool. “Good thing we know better than to go down that road.”

Angel looked down at his arms, still crossed on his knees. “Yeah,” he said again. It was the right decision. No matter what else happened, or how these stupid hormones were making them feel, drinking each other was a commitment they could only ever regret. In a weird way, it was a relief that Spike said so first. It meant Angel's own wavering self-control wasn't the only thing keeping them from making such a big mistake. Now he knew Spike's was there, too, and that made things safer. Even if Spike's more extreme version of self-control resulted in Angel occasionally being physically abandoned or hid from.

“So, that's the line, then,” Spike said. “The no-crossing zone. Off limits. Employees only, trespassers may be prosecuted. The hard no.”

“That's the line,” Angel murmured in agreement. Unwanted, Josephine's voice popped into his mind. You need to choose a lieutenant... The resulting bond would satisfy that craving... He tried to shut it out, squash her down with everything else. Biting was off the table, categorically. He'd already known that. They would just have to put up with the hormone stuff until they'd solved the case and then everything would return to normal and Spike would go back to hating him and he'd be alone again and that was fine. It was how they'd lived before.

“But anything up to the line,” Spike said carefully. “That's fair game, innit?”

“Shouldn't we stay as far away from the line as possible?” asked Angel. “There's no reason to make this harder on ourselves than it has to be, right? And the longer we're around each other, the harder it is for both of us.” This was the logic he'd been clinging to the most earnestly from the beginning, the reason his own personal line up to now had been 'mouth stuff.' Although in fairness that rule had been primarily to avoid embarrassment, before he'd realized that mutually devouring each other was even a risk.

Spike got up from his chair and came over to Angel's. “Staying away from you would be harder,” he said simply, and reached for Angel's leg, gently pulled his calf forward so his foot slipped off the cushion. Angel allowed both his feet to come down to the stone floor, and Spike grasped the back of the chair and climbed forward over Angel's lap facing him, settling a knee on either side of Angel's hips before sitting down squarely on his thighs. “So you can try to send me off somewhere if you like," Spike said, "but don't expect it to go well. You may have noticed I'm not an easy chap to get rid of.”

Angel had to tilt his face up a little to reach Spike's mouth like this, and it wasn't exactly clear if he did it first or if Spike leaned down first, but they were kissing before he could think of a reply. Spike still had one hand on the back of the chair, but he slid his other up over Angel's chest, let his fingers curl around Angel's neck and just rest there, holding him by this place where his hand fit perfectly, right where neck and shoulder met. Angel's palms skimmed naturally up Spike's firm thighs, hands folding themselves around his hips.

It was a sweet kiss, slow and gentle, and Angel let his eyes fall closed, secretly allowed himself to pretend it was real. Just held Spike in his lap as they kissed, his thumbs stroking softly along the bit of smooth skin above the waistband of the lounge pants Spike wore. It was the kind of kiss that could break your heart if you thought about it too much, about the way it was so comfortable and reassuring and perfect even though it couldn't really mean anything. Just some beautiful lie. Easy to believe.

It was actually incredible how convincing Spike's kisses were, how he seemed able to prove unequivocally a feeling he didn't feel. Clearly there was lust between them, a physical hunger driven by proximity to unintentional pheromones. But these sweet, tender kisses, these pretty little things taken from Angel's mouth like tiny sips of nectar from the cupped petals of a flower, stolen away from him as quiet as the beat of a moth's wings, each felt so honest, so hopeful, so much purer than an instinctive, uncontrollable desire that Angel found himself wondering again – just for a moment – if maybe this lie was itself a lie, if maybe there could be something else here, something Spike did feel but was unwilling to admit out loud.

It seemed unlikely. He'd had so many opportunities and taken none of them. Angel had even asked him directly, more than once. And Spike wasn't usually the kind of person who could want something and remain silent about it. But who on earth could lie this thoroughly with a kiss?

And if Angel paid back each kiss with his own soft brand of heartbreaking tenderness, could Spike tell if there was truth in his hands when he pulled him closer, in his tongue when he lost himself in the intimate taste of Spike's mouth?

“Don't leave,” Angel finally broke their devastating kiss to say. “I want you to stay here. With me.”

Spike's hand slid up to cup Angel's jaw in his palm. He looked into Angel's eyes for a moment, his pupils alarmingly big and round, but then he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead down onto Angel's. “I'm not going anywhere, pet.”

Angel's eyes closed again too, and he tightened his arms around Spike even more. Thought about biting him. Thought about being bitten by him, consumed whole into this body he held, then swallowed back into his own body, changed. He breathed in the scent of a century-old memory, wondered if it had always been possible to want something this much, or if he was somehow feeling a thing no one had ever felt before. How long could he resist it?

Their heads still together, pale necks and hungry mouths so close to each other, Angel said quietly, “This could get dangerous.”

The pad of Spike's thumb skimmed softly across Angel's bottom lip. “It already is,” he murmured, and kissed him again.

*

Chapter Text

*

His phone was ringing. Angel's lips paused against Spike's neck. He opened his eyes.

“Don't answer it,” Spike breathed, his fingers weaving up through Angel's hair.

Slight pressure at the back of Angel's head, holding him in place. Angel ignored the phone and let his eyes close again, sucked more color into Spike's flesh, the smooth skin already stained with several small bruises from his attention. A perfect pattern of closely clustered dark pink marks down the side of Spike's neck. Not a bite, but still an autograph of sorts. I was here. This is mine.

The phone stopped ringing. After a few seconds, it started again. Angel opened his eyes.

“We're not in,” Spike insisted firmly, his fingers curling in the soft brown hair, scratching lightly against Angel's scalp. “Whoever it is can sod off.”

Eyes closing once more, Angel left a tender kiss where he was and moved his mouth down an inch closer to Spike's collarbone to start again. Spike's breath caught when he began to suck at this new spot, and the body under Angel's lips shifted, tried to press closer. The eventual goal was a nipple, which Angel knew and Spike probably suspected, but the journey had been long and full of pleasant detours, so now the covered territory of Spike's neck was a wider strip than Angel's original artistic vision and didn't reach as far down as he'd intended by this point in the meticulous process. But that was okay. Just meant he'd have to spend a little more time than anticipated sucking Spike's blood to the surface and leaving it there – a much riskier game than they should be playing together after what they'd recently confessed, but nevertheless a game they were both lost to the slow pleasure of, judging by the two erections pushing at the fabric of their matching pajama pants.

Spike's exhale was almost a moan. Angel could feel the vibration of it through his lips on Spike's neck and through both his hands pressed to the silky skin of Spike's naked back. Holding him there in his lap. Spike straddling his thighs in the cushioned wooden patio chair, head tipped to the side to give Angel room to work. An exponential upgrade from Angel's usual canvas. Much more suited to his favorite type of art.

His phone rang again. Angel opened his eyes.

“You've got to be bloody kidding me.”

“Maybe it's important,” Angel murmured against Spike's skin. He pulled back from the fresh mark, feeling Spike let him go reluctantly, and surveyed his progress. Reached up to run his fingertips softly over the sensitive dark spots along Spike's throat, the air practically thrumming with arousal between them. “We'll come back to this,” Angel said.

With a frustrated sigh, Spike backed carefully off Angel's lap and stood, only to drop himself back down into the second designer chair beside the one Angel had been sitting in. He put his bare feet up on the wooden table and looked out toward the pool, assuming his customary bored expression, the one he always put on when he felt he wasn't getting enough attention. It made Angel suppress a smile as he walked past.

His cell phone was buzzing away on the couch in the den. He checked the display and then answered, “Hey, Fred.”

“Oh! Angel. I didn't expect you to pick up.”

He frowned. “Then why did you call me?”

“No, I mean, I wanted you to, but you weren't answering and I was starting to get worried because you aren't in your office and no one knows where Spike is, and I know he's supposed to be watching you since you're eating people again and I just thought, what if Angel ate Spike? Which would actually be sort of fascinating from a metaphysical perspective, considering that y'all are both already dead, or undead I guess, so if you ate him then is that murder or is it like me eating a cookie, which is also dead – or at least not alive – although I guess eating a cookie isn't cannibalism in the sense that eating Spike would be cannibalism since you're both vampires, unless I was also a cookie when I ate the cookie, in which case have I even done anything wrong?”

“You're... calling to ask me if human standards of morality apply to cannibal cookies?”

“You didn't eat Spike, did you?”

“No. I didn't eat Spike.” There was no reason to mention how close he had come. Angel wandered back through the kitchen and peeked into the dining room. Through the glass doors, he could see Spike still sitting on the patio. He had his head tilted to the side, the fingertips of one hand stroking idly across the pattern of bruises on his neck. He seemed lost in thought, not knowing Angel could see him, but now instead of looking bored he was smiling a little as he touched the marks, and the sight sent an instant bloom of warmth through Angel's chest. He smiled. And completely missed whatever Fred said next. “Sorry, what?” he asked her, turning away.

“A blood sample.”

“A blood sample,” Angel repeated.

“If I can study your blood, I might be able to see exactly how the modusbeast venom is affecting your body chemistry. And if there's not another modusbeast to kill in order to stop it, I could always try to make an anti-venom to neutralize it.”

“Oh,” said Angel. “That sounds great.”

“Can you bring Spike with you, too? I'd like to be able to compare your blood to other vampire blood that hasn't been contaminated by a modusbeast, and his would probably be the most similar to yours.”

“Yeah. I'll bring him.”

“I'd actually like to get some other samples, too—”

“Anything you need,” said Angel.

“Alright, see you soon?”

“We'll be right there.”

As soon as he hung up with Fred, Angel called the office and dialed Harmony's desk extension.

“Yeah, boss? What's up?”

“Harmony, do you think you could send up some clothes for Spike? His got ruined in the sewer, and—”

“Oh my god, he needs someone to dress him. I've been saying this for years!”

“Not like a whole new wardrobe or anything. Just one outfit should be enough. Shirt, pants, some kind of footwear. Try not to go overboard, okay?”

“No problemo, bossy! This is so cool. I can't believe I finally get to dress him the way he should be dressing! This is just like Queer Eye, except I'm not gay. I like men. Oh my God, so this is exactly like Queer Eye!”

“Do you have his sizes?” Angel asked.

“Of course! We killed a mall Santa together once. I remember they were the exact same size because then Spikey wore the costume for me later when we—”

“I really don't need the details, Harmony. Just an outfit. And preferably not a big red suit. It's for work.”

“Totally, just leave it to me. One awesome outfit coming right up!” The huge grin was evident in her voice.

“I don't like how excited you are about this—” Angel started to say, but she had already hung up on him.

Spike's bored expression was carefully in place again as Angel came back outside. “Fred wants to take our blood to run some tests,” Angel told him. “I said we'd be right down.”

Spike nodded, but he said, “Seems a bit unfair, doesn't it?”

Angel shrugged. “It's just a little blood. You won't miss it.”

“I meant 'cause Fred gets to take it and we don't.”

“Oh. Well, it... doesn't mean the same thing to her.”

“Yeah. That's what makes it unfair.” Spike glanced over at his smelly clothes in a pile at the edge of the patio. “You do realize I'm not putting those back on?”

“I asked Harmony to send something up for you to wear.”

“Right.” Spike stood. “Just so you know, if it's pink, I'm dusting her first, then you.”

“If it's pink, you won't get the chance. I'll die laughing.”

There was already a Gucci shopping bag waiting in the center of the den when they went back inside. Geez, that was fast. Of course, the way Harmony leapt at the idea of dressing Spike, Angel wouldn't have been surprised if she'd already had something picked out in her mind. He couldn't help being curious about what it was.

Spike picked up the bag and looked inside warily. “Well,” he said right away, “this is definitely not happening.”

“What is it?” asked Angel.

Spike reached inside the bag and pulled out... something black. Angel couldn't tell what it was supposed to be at first, but then Spike let the bag fall to the floor so he could use both hands to hold the tiny thing spread out in the air in front of him, fingertips tucked into the waistband. The front was a soft leather-look pouch, which then tapered to a strip about a half-inch wide as it curved around and up the back, finally flaring out again at the waistband. Spike flapped it irritably at him. “A thong, Angel. Your secretary sent me a fucking thong. I can't believe you encouraged this. D'you know how long she's been trying to get me into ladies' knickers?”

Oh... kay. Angel reached up to rub over his mouth thoughtfully as he considered the skimpy underwear, trying to appear optimistic. “It's,” he moved his hand to say, then covered his mouth again. Finally he moved his hand and said, “You know, they make these for men now. It's got a little pouch—”

“She's fired,” Spike said.

“Spike, you can't fire Harmony.”

“Why not? I work here.”

“Yeah but she's my assistant so I have to fire her.” Realizing how this sounded, he added, “But I'm not. She's just trying to... look, you don't have to wear the.” He covered his mouth again. Then uncovered it. “Sorry, I can't believe she actually sent a.”

“Stop laughing.”

“I'm not laughing. I'm.” Angel covered his mouth again. Finally, he couldn't hold back anymore and turned away from Spike, letting go a quiet peal of shoulder-shaking giggles.

“I hate you,” said Spike. He stretched out the thong between his fingers and shot it at Angel like a rubber band. It hit the laughing vampire softly in the side of the head.

When he'd finally stopped laughing – for real, not the couple of times he thought he'd stopped but then saw Spike's expression and burst into laughter again – Angel said, “That can't be all she sent. There's more in there, right?” The bag had looked heavy.

With a long-suffering sigh, Spike picked up the bag again. He frowned into it. Then he reached in and pulled out the lid of a shoebox, still looking inside. “Yeah, alright,” he finally said, and carried the bag into Angel's bedroom.

Angel picked up the thong. Harmony might have gotten to live some kind of weird Santa fantasy, but there was zero chance she'd ever see Spike in something like this. At least it wasn't pink. He checked the size, stretched the waistband in his fingers, pulled at the pouch material. It would be comfortable enough, probably, but what was the point? Other kinds of underwear offered at least as much support, and most men's clothes weren't tight or flimsy enough across the butt to need something that wouldn't show lines underneath. Hmm. Probably existed for the sole purpose of being sexy, and Spike needed no help in that regard. Still, seemed a shame to throw it away unused. He went over to the couch and plopped down onto it, absentmindedly fiddling with the scrap of black cloth, and was sitting there when Spike walked back into the room, dressed.

Angel stopped breathing.

The black leather pants were soft lambskin, with an unassuming matte finish that didn't reflect light harshly but shone with a subtle glow. Not skin-tight but a comfortably close fit, hugged his ass more than his jeans ever did. A simple black belt, and boots in the style motorcyclists often wore, one silver buckle on the outside of each ankle, a classic look. He'd put his rings back on, and that silver bracelet he'd been wearing lately.

That, Angel could have handled well enough, but it was the shirt that made his stomach do a little flip. Dark blue. The top two buttons remained undone, showing off a swath of perfect pale skin, and the lowest button wasn't buttoned either, leaving the shirt to part easily around his belt buckle. The collar and cuffs and the seams were solid, as well as the strip of cloth running behind the buttons, but the rest of the shirt was silky sheer, dripping lightly down Spike's skin like dark blue oil. An opaque pattern of broken lines ran through the shirt, cracking it into sections like panes of stained glass, but every detail of his toned upper body remained on display in between the lines, from the faint shadows delineating his muscles to the tiny birthmark on his shoulder to his little nipples brushing out against the sheer fabric. Somehow this was more revealing than not wearing a shirt at all. His body wasn't concealed; it was just decorated in blue. Angel wanted to touch him through the shirt, trace over the pattern of dark lines, slide his hand under the silky material to watch his fingers play with Spike's blue-tinted nipples.

“What?” said Spike.

Angel shook his head. “I told Harmony this was for work. Apparently she thinks you work a street corner on Western Avenue.”

Spike shrugged. It made the shirt slither over his body in an aggressively sexual way. “I kinda like it.” He ran a hand down his stomach and across one leather-clad thigh. “It's very comfortable.”

“You can't go to the office wearing that.”

“I'll have you know this outfit was specifically procured for me to wear to the office. According to the CEO.”

Surely Harmony should know better than this, thong notwithstanding. “Did she send anything else?” Not trusting Spike to admit if she had, Angel walked into his bedroom and checked the bag on the bed for himself. Oh. This was nice. He took out a very soft cream-colored cashmere sweater.

“No,” said Spike.

“Come on,” said Angel. “It's just for a little while.” He went over to hand Spike the sweater and couldn't resist the impulse to reach out and pinch one of Spike's nipples through his sheer shirt. Spike batted his arm away sulkily and took the sweater.

“Fine, but I get to choose what you wear.” He began to pull the sweater on over the button-up.

“Deal,” said Angel.

When it was on, the dark blue collar and cuffs of the shirt poked out just a little from beneath the sweater, the bottom edge of the shirt also still showing a little. It didn't look sheer anymore because of the black pants underneath. The sweater itself was almost a perfect match for Spike's hair color, and it immediately softened the whole look – while also being a thousand times more appropriate for the office – without managing to detract from the bold, confident quality that the leather pants and boots gave off. Topped with tousled, ungelled hair and a slight scowl, he looked like he'd just stepped out of an issue of GQ, and Angel couldn't fathom how he'd gone so many years without ever taking note of how attractive he was.

Well. It was Spike's fault for never dressing this way.

The best part, of course, was the pattern of obvious pink marks showing above his collar, that deliberate trail of steppingstone bruises up the side of Spike's neck. While he was doing it, Angel hadn't given any thought to what other people might think when they saw it, hadn't thought anyone else would see it at all. But now it was kind of satisfying, the idea of Spike being seen this way. Even if it would only be by Fred. The small marks would heal away soon, maybe another hour or so, but he would enjoy putting them back later.

Too bad Spike couldn't see them.

“You look good,” Angel said.

“I look like the kind of person I would eat for looking like this,” Spike groused. He went into the closet and began to examine the choices for Angel.

Angel came up behind him and slipped his arms around Spike's waist. The sweater felt soft against his bare skin. “No, I mean you look really good,” he murmured, and bit Spike's ear affectionately.

“You're wearing these,” Spike said, grabbing a pair of Angel's own black leather pants off the rail where they'd been hanging. Angel let go of him to take the pants. He hadn't worn them in a while, and never down to the office. He watched Spike walk along his row of shirts, reaching out to feel the material. “And this,” Spike decided, choosing a silk shirt in deep red. He thrust it at Angel.

Oh. Angel took the shirt and hesitated. “You know, I don't think this is a good idea,” he finally said. Since he liked all his own clothes, he didn't mind letting Spike pick something for him, and this was one of his favorite outfits, but... “I'll wear either the shirt or the pants, but if I wear them together, anyone who sees me will think I'm evil.”

“So?”

“So it might be kind of funny at first, but it gets awkward real fast. And given my track record this week, I'd rather not put anyone through that.” He held up the two items. “Choose one. And keep in mind that if we both wear leather pants, we'll look like we came up here and started a band.”

Spike huffed, but he seemed amused by the idea. “The shirt, then. But wear black with it.”

While Spike watched, Angel dressed himself in the dark red silk shirt and some slim fitting black trousers with a slender black belt. He left the top two buttons of the shirt undone the way Spike had, but when he reached for the black blazer that matched his pants, Spike stopped him, so he didn't wear it. The younger vampire slid his hands up Angel's chest over the softness of the shirt and let one slip inside, underneath the material, to slide around Angel's neck, skin to skin. He leaned in close, inhaled deeply, and murmured, “Maybe we should just stay here, hmm?” His lips grazed Angel's neck as he spoke.

It sounded like a very good idea to Angel, especially when suggested in that low, seductive voice, but what he said was, “We can come right back. It should only take a few minutes to draw blood.”

“I'm going to rip this off of you,” Spike told him, dragging his fingertips back down the dark silk over Angel's chest.

Angel caught his mouth in a sudden, heated kiss, and then pushed him away. “We should really go before I let you,” he said.

*

They couldn't keep their hands off each other in the elevator. “No, I'm playing lead guitar,” Spike insisted into Angel's mouth, shifting to wedge his knee in between Angel's legs.

One of Angel's hands slipped underneath Spike's shirt in the back as he allowed himself to be pinned to the wall. “I thought – mm – I thought you were singing.”

“I'll sing and play at... at the same time,” Spike breathed between kisses. “Like Springsteen, innit.”

Angel's other hand cupped Spike's ass through the sinfully soft black leather, squeezed a little. “So what do I do?”

“Well,” Spike told him, his hands gliding over Angel's silk-covered flesh, “you drum.”

Angel turned them, pressing Spike against the elevator wall, and took another kiss from his mouth. “I do like to hit things,” he agreed.

*

On the ninth floor, as they made their way to Fred's lab, Spike was saying, “The name of the band is Dead.”

“Dead? Just the word Dead?”

“Yeah. 'Cause we are. Technically.”

“No, I get it. Just seems a little on the nose. And if you want to be technical, we're undead.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “We're not naming ourselves Technically Undead like a couple of mansplaining vampire nerds, Angel. Dead is a good name. One word. Packs a punch. And everyone knows a dead person. It's what they call relatable.”

“Pretty sure no one's relating to dead people who sing.”

“Are you still mad I won't let you do backing vocals?”

“It's an imaginary band. I should be allowed to sing in our imaginary band.”

The ninth floor was almost entirely empty, the employees having been given the customary day off after a hostage situation. They found Fred in lab three with the two modusbeast corpses. She had split open the new one's tail in the same area where Josephine had cut open the first, and now both tails lay pinned open with the shiny yellowish insides exposed to the air. Fred was bent over them. “Oh, there y'all are!” she greeted the vampires cheerfully when they walked in. “Just give me one sec, okay?”

Her scent was entirely back to normal now, Angel noticed with relief. No more traces at all of the anger she'd been radiating for the last few days, only the sweet, comfortable smell of friendly Fredness with the usual tiny layer of bizarre substances and various chemicals, and a lingering hint of the tacos she'd had for lunch.

She was extracting something from the innards of one of the demons with a giant syringe.

"Biology isn't my specialty,” she said as she worked, “or I guess this would be cryptobiology, but since these guys came through a portal from another dimension and their systems aren't much like anything we've dealt with before anyway, I'm about as qualified to do this as anyone else here. But also there's... no one else here..." She pulled the needle out of the dead modusbeast, the syringe now full of an inky liquid, and gave Angel an apologetic look. "I did mention being sorry about the whole almost-killing-a-bunch-of-people thing, right?"

"Don't worry about it," Angel said. "I'm just glad the smartest person I know is back on my side."

"That must be you, luv," Spike told her. "I'm only second smartest." He hopped casually up to sit on a metal counter near a tray of dissection tools. "Anyway, who here's never killed a bunch of people?"

"Oh. It's... sweet that you think that's comforting," said Fred. She laid down the dark vial and began to gather new supplies to draw their blood, but then Angel noticed her noticing Spike's bruises. “What happened?” she asked, gesturing to her own neck but looking at Spike. “Are those... did something bite you?”

To his credit, Spike only paused for a split second before replying, “Just a leech.”

Fred's eyebrows drew together. “A leech? Where did you even—”

“Yeah, a big, ugly bugger. Thought I might keep it – as a pet, like – but don't worry. I'll make sure it doesn't bite anyone else.” He deliberately didn't look at Angel while he said this, but he did touch the marks fondly with his fingertips. And it was sort of cute, so Angel didn't reach over and push him off the counter. Although he considered it.

“Of course,” said Fred. "A vampire with a... pet leech. And I'm not even surprised, because it's not like this day can get much weirder, right?” She held up a needle. “Alrighty, who's first?"

Angel rolled up his sleeve.

He barely felt the sting when she stuck him with the needle, but the slight tugging sensation of the syringe pulling the blood out of his arm was immediately, unexpectedly arousing. It wasn't like being wounded, when the blood just seeped slowly out on its own, welling up and rolling down. This was a deliberate sucking, and even though it was small and synthetic, the feeling was as familiar as changing faces. He had to avert his eyes quickly from the red filling up the tube in Fred's hand. When he looked up, Spike was staring, his mouth open just a little bit. Breathing.

"Okay, all done," Fred said a moment later, slipping the needle painlessly from his arm. "It's kind of strange taking your blood. It doesn't pump out on its own, you know? Since you're. You know."

"Dead," said Angel.

"Technically undead," Spike said. His eyes were still trained on the tube of blood.

Angel rolled his sleeve back down. To Fred, he said, "Technically Undead is the name of our band.”

"No, it's not," said Spike.

"You have a band?" Fred's hands busied themselves transferring Angel's blood into a glass vial and stowing it in a sample tray. "Like a rock band? When did you start a rock band?"

“About fifteen minutes ago. In our heads.”

“I've always wanted to be in a band,” she said. “Like Dixie Chicks. Or Fleetwood Mac. It just seems so glamorous. The complete opposite of studying demon venom alone in a lab after accidentally being homicidal for a week.” She began readying a new needle for Spike.

“Wanna be in ours?” Spike offered. “Still need a bassist.”

“Oh, I don't play any instruments.”

“S'alright. Angel can't play drums.”

“I can play drums as well as you can play guitar,” said Angel.

“Wow. Our fake band couldn't even play a fake song,” Fred said. “Good thing we still have our fake day-jobs. Arm?”

Spike unbuttoned the cuff of his blue shirt and then shoved it up his arm with the sweater sleeve.

“Let me do that,” Angel said suddenly. He reached for the syringe and, a bit surprised, Fred handed it over.

“Just, to that line should be enough,” she told him, indicating a faint mark on the tube.

Spike was watching him, head tilted slightly to one side as Angel gently took his arm and positioned the needle against the delicate blue line of a vein in the crook of his elbow. They both breathed in at the same time when he pushed it through the pale skin. As Angel began to pull the plunger out, sucking Spike's blood slowly into the tube, Spike's eyes fell closed, lips parting. Angel knew he was feeling that familiar jolt, the teasing reminder of a greater euphoria they weren't allowed. Spike's chest rose and fell calmly, but in that intentionally measured way that meant he was trying hard not to react, to give in to some impulsive desire.

Angel imagined yanking the needle away and piercing Spike's skin with his teeth instead, the easy parting of soft flesh around sharp fangs. He concentrated on not letting his other face push out, and was so preoccupied with the scent of Spike's arousal, the sight of him breathing through it, that he nearly overdrew.

“That's – that's good,” Fred interrupted. She touched Angel's hand, startling him back into the moment, and took the syringe as he quickly let go and backed a couple of steps away. Spike's eyes came open again as she pulled the needle out of his arm. He and Angel stared at each other.

“We done here?” Spike asked quietly. He was looking at Angel but talking to Fred.

“With the blood part,” she told him. “There's still some other samples I'd like to take a look at.” She was transferring his blood into a glass tube like Angel's.

“What other samples?” Angel asked as Spike tugged his sleeve back down. Shit. The whole room smelled to him of Spike now, of Spike's blood. It was dizzying.

Fred carefully labeled the tube before adding it to the tray. “Well,” she started. “If you were human... Under normal circumstances, that is, with anyone else, in order to get an accurate measure of... But I guess you've never had to, have you? Probably not even when you were human, and I know I've never asked for it... And there's just not much information out there about vampire physiology, so I'm kind of flying blind here, and I get that this might sound pretty stupid since I don't know if y'all even... I mean, it's actually sorta funny, if you think about it, that it's never come up before.” She laughed awkwardly. “Isn't it?”

Angel could tell he was meant to respond to this. “Whatever it is,” he tried, “we'll... do our best?”

“Think she wants you to wee in a cup, mate,” said Spike. He gave Fred an amused look. “Is that it?”

“Oh,” said Angel.

“I'd actually like urine and stool samples,” she said. “From both of you.” She hesitated. “I mean. If y'all even. Is that a. Can you?”

Angel raised his eyebrows and turned to Spike. “You wanna take this one?”

Spike shrugged, then turned to Fred and said, “I shit sometimes. He doesn't.” He seemed to find this a perfectly adequate explanation, but when Fred opened her mouth to ask why, or maybe what the difference was, he said, “Doesn't eat solid food, does he? Nothing in there to come out.”

She looked over at Angel and so he added, somewhat apologetically, “I haven't eaten anything in like a year. Every now and then I might get a craving, but it's pretty rare.” Then, “To be honest, most vampires never eat food at all. Spike's just weird.”

In fact, remembering Spike's unusual enjoyment of food during his early days as a vampire, it was hard for Angel not to smile. Soon after turning him, Drusilla had informed her new progeny that vampires didn't have bowel movements, but she'd failed to mention that it would be unavoidable if he continued to eat human food. Young William had taken her word for it but continued to indulge periodically in certain human foods alongside his victims' blood. Under the impression that proper vampires never evacuated their intestines, he stoically ignored the urge to do so and eventually began to experience baffling cramps. This went on long enough for him to become suspicious that he'd been hexed, for which he sought the advice of his sire's sire, who hadn't noticed that William still ate food sometimes. The resulting conversation had been by turns puzzling, embarrassing, bizarre, and finally hilarious when Angelus realized the boy just needed a good shit.

It was slightly less funny now, knowing William had been very uncomfortable, but at the time, this particular distress – which had caused him to become quite grumpy and belligerent, as well as confused – was the most amusing thing any of them had seen in a long while. The poor fledge was so backed up by the time he'd said anything that Drusilla decided the best course of action would be to give him a very large enema to move things along. She'd even considered having a party about it and inviting the neighbors to come watch, but between fits of laughter Darla managed to persuade her that the matter would be best handled in private. Angel's personal opinion was that the enema hadn't been strictly necessary in the first place once the root problem had been uncovered, but William was Dru's boy after all and he hadn't interfered.

Actually, it was still pretty funny.

Turning to Spike, Fred said, “So you could provide a—?”

“Nah, the gut's empty today,” said Spike. “I ate last night, but we don't digest so it just goes straight through. An hour, two hours tops, and it's ready to come back out. Looking pretty much the way it did when it went in, only squashed up and chewed a bit. And, y'know. Round.”

“Round?” Fred asked.

“Yeah. Round. Little round balls, all the same size. Like Gobstoppers.”

“Pellets,” Angel added helpfully.

"Pellets," repeated Fred. "Like a, like a bunny? You poop like a bunny?"

Angel tilted his head, considering the other vampire. "Probably bigger...?"

"Don't look at me," Spike said. "Never watched a bunny have a poo."

"Well, what about pee?" Fred asked them.

"Never seen a bunny do that either."

"No, I mean—"

"We can pee," said Angel. "But it's not very often, and I—"

Fred handed him a small plastic cup.

"—haven't since my coffee pot was... broken..." He looked down at the cup.

With a sigh, Fred took it back. She held the cup toward Spike hopefully, but he just shook his head. Then she turned to Angel and said, "Not the coffee pot that goes with the maker from the Hyperion?"

"Yeah."

"Oh no. That was like, the only thing we kept. Remember when Charles threw it at that ice demon and then I had to fix the heating element with a paper clip?"

Angel gave her a small smile. "It still smokes a little when you first turn it on. That smell always reminds me of the hotel." He noticed that Spike's brow furrowed as he listened to them, so he said quickly, "The maker itself still works. I just need a new carafe."

"Good luck finding one that fits," said Fred. "They don't make that brand anymore. I've looked." Then she frowned. “Do you pee blood?”

“No,” said Angel.

“Blood doesn't come back out,” Spike said.

“Well, unless we get stabbed.”

“Or attacked by a wild leech with a needle.”

“So where does it go?” asked Fred. “If it just stays inside your body, you'd have to stop drinking it or you'd burst.”

“I think we just... use it,” said Angel. “Burn it up like fuel. A car doesn't leak, but you still have to add gas to the tank, right?”

“Vampire petrol,” Spike said. “Blood keeps us going.”

Fred nodded thoughtfully. Then she looked at Angel. “So you pee coffee.”

Angel opened his mouth.

Before he could answer this, Fred went on, “You know, it's fine, if everything else just comes out unchanged then it probably wouldn't be helpful in this case anyway. But.” She picked up a second sample cup and held one out to each of them. "Semen? I know y'all have that."

Angel stared at the cup in front of him.

Spike looked at his skeptically. "Got anything bigger?" he asked.

After supplying them both with slightly larger sample containers, Fred led them over to an area of the lab that had two small medical exam rooms, each with a padded table and single chair inside, as well as a counter with a sink and some cabinets. “We're working under the assumption that the modusbeast bite has affected your hormones,” she was saying to Angel, “so it wouldn't actually be a surprise if you... produced a larger sample than the average vampire—”

“Ah-ha!” Spike interrupted. “I knew it. Wasn't gonna say anything, mate, but your loads could fill the bloody Thames. That can't be your usual. Two hundred fifty-odd years of shooting like that? Your nads would deflate.”

Fred gave the blond vampire a startled look.

Angel cleared his throat. “I may have... noticed a difference.” To Spike, he added, “A slight difference.”

“Well,” Fred said, regaining her professional composure, “that's why we have an unaffected vampire to compare it to. So we can measure the change.”

Angel and Spike glanced at each other. “Actually—” started Angel.

“Yeah, there's been a bit of a difference with me as well,” Spike admitted to Fred. “You'll need another vamp to wank for you. One who hasn't been hanging around this git.” He indicated Angel with a little handwave.

“You think being near Angel has affected your... um, production?”

“It's either that or the porcupine blood in the break room.” He tried to give her back his cup.

She didn't take it. “In that case, it's even more important to study your sample if we want to figure out what's going on.” She shooed them into the two separate little rooms. There was a small TV on the counter in each. “Make sure you catch the whole sample in the cup so we can measure accurately,” she said. “Anything y'all might need should already be in there. There's some lubricant and some... DVDs. I didn't pick them.”

“Did you get the poof's Sister Act DVD from the penthouse?” Spike asked. “Keeps it with his sex toys.”

“Sister Act?” repeated Fred with a frown. “Isn't that the movie where Whoopi Goldberg pretends to be a... oh. I get it. Very funny.” She pulled Spike's door closed and then reached for Angel's. “I'll just be in lab two,” she told him. “Holler when you're done?” After she closed his door as well, Angel heard her on the other side muttering to herself as she walked away, “Okay. Vampire semen samples. Just a normal Monday. Right.”

He waited for her footsteps to fade completely before opening his door. At the exact same time, the other door opened, too. Both vampires leaned out. Grinning smugly, Spike allowed Angel to tug him by the sleeve into his own little exam room and shut the door again.

Spike leaned in for a kiss right away, but Angel pushed him back against the closed door with one hand on his chest. “Sister Act?” he said.

“If you're worried about your rep, don't be. She thought I was joking.” Spike tried for that kiss a second time, but Angel pushed him back again sternly. “What? You left me locked in far too long the other night. Obviously I rummaged through your things. Says more about me than you really, that I still want you after I've found all your dirty little secrets.”

“Yet somehow you managed to overlook the entire dining room. And swimming pool. And guest house.”

“Priorities, innit. And that's not a guest house. It's an aquarium. Are you gonna kiss me or am I fetching your toybox so we can watch The Sound of Music?”

“You'd actually like that one. It has Nazis.”

“Fun for the whole family,” Spike acknowledged, and grabbed Angel's waist to pull him closer.

Before their lips could meet, Angel pushed him back again, raising an eyebrow. “A leech, huh?”

Spike sighed. “Come on, peaches.” He took Angel's hand and put it on the bulge already distorting the front of his leather pants. That stiffness had been somewhat persistent since Angel had marked Spike's neck on the patio, but it had become even more keen when his blood was taken. Lowering his voice to a softer, more seductive tone, he said, “You really gonna make me ask again?”

Angel cupped his hand around the firm shape, rubbed across the smooth leather covering it. God, Spike smelled good. Slowly, he leaned down close to Spike's ear and murmured, “You know I like hearing you ask.”

“Kiss me,” Spike said immediately. Hint of a smile in his voice. He pressed on the back of Angel's hand.

Angel gave him a squeeze, turned his head to nuzzle gently against Spike's cheek, also smiling a little. “Say it again.”

“I want you,” said Spike distinctly, “to kiss me. Now.” He tucked his fingers into Angel's trousers just behind his belt buckle and tugged him another inch forward.

Angel chuckled. It wasn't really the words themselves he enjoyed so much as the way Spike said them without any hesitation, that feeling of being so explicitly, unmistakably wanted by another person. The heady sensation of mutual desire, regardless of whether or not it was real. It still felt good. Running his fingers teasingly along the length of Spike's erection, Angel said quietly, “Be nice.”

Spike's cool breath went across his neck. “Angel...” he started, dropping the demanding tone from his voice. Sliding his hands around Angel's back, drawing him in even more. So close their whole bodies touched from chest to knee, their faces together, cheek by cheek. In his ear Spike whispered, small, “Please kiss me?”

Oh.

This was it. This was the exact moment that Angel decided.

It wasn't before, standing frozen in his kitchen with his hand on the refrigerator door, suddenly realizing how he felt. It wasn't on the patio upstairs, looking into Spike's eyes, a deeper understanding forming between them, that hunger for each other. It wasn't even during the second night they'd spent together in Angel's bed, holding one another intimately in a sleepy tangle of mouths and eager flesh, after Spike had asked Angel to take him.

It was this, right now, standing in an unremarkable little room in the lab, wearing the shirt that Spike had picked for him. It was this tiny private moment, the subtle uncertainty in Spike's voice, this quiet request for a kiss despite having kissed each other many times by now. Such a bizarre thing to want even a week ago, but now it felt like the way things always should've been between them, this perfectly matched desire taking the place of a matching dislike. However temporary Spike's desire for him might be, Angel didn't want to let a kiss between them become strange again. Fuck their pride. He wanted to hear this request every day. But he never wanted Spike to wonder what the answer would be.

This was when Angel decided that his answer was yes. To everything Spike asked of his body, any way he wanted to be touched. And the answer would keep being yes until the moment Spike stopped asking.

He reached up, let his fingertips trace the side of Spike's jaw, turned his head. Kissed his lips softly.

Spike made a tiny pleased sound in the back of his throat. Kissed Angel back like there had never been a question at all, only this response to it, this wanting. Like it had always been there.

Their kiss was sweet and slow and soft until it wasn't anymore, until it was forceful and desperate, Angel pushing Spike against the door, Spike pulling Angel's body against him. Angel's hand cupped the back of Spike's head so it wouldn't bonk the door behind him, holding him in place to plunder his mouth, and Spike's whole self melted into Angel's passion for a while before he took control of the kiss and invaded Angel's mouth just as passionately, quick fingers nimbly unbuckling Angel's belt.

Eventually Spike's hand closed around Angel's hard cock. A squeeze much more firm than a human would have liked, but it sent a thrill through Angel's body, and he sucked Spike's bottom lip into his mouth. A few strokes later and he was gasping softly, letting the lip slip away. His foreskin bunched just past his cockhead as the stroking paused, delicate ring of flesh poking up out of Spike's fist, a clear drop of precum bubbling out of his slit to fill it like a tiny well. They both looked down at the same time, and Spike slowly pressed the pad of his thumb to the slick little puddle gathered in that bit of extra skin. Rubbed it around. Angel shivered.

“Oh,” Spike mused. “That's... wet...” Angel just kissed his mouth again, but the moment their lips parted from each other, Spike let go of Angel's dick and brought his thumb up to his mouth, sucked away the wetness. His eyes closed.

“Hey,” Angel whispered, nudging him. “Don't stop.”

Spike huffed softly, opened his eyes. Pupils wide and deep black, thin slivers of blue around the edge. Oceans, Angel thought immediately, and Spike's lust smelled like the ocean, too, salty and familiar and surrounding him on all sides, totally unrelenting. And that other something, the thing Angel remembered so vividly, entangled in his scent. That house in London, the year they spent there...

“You taste good,” Spike told him, and took his lips in another deep kiss. Reached back down to hold Angel's cock, slide his fingers around the naked thickness of it. “I'm gonna suck this so hard it bruises.” Rolled his thumb over the leaking tip, smear of wet across the head. “You'll feel it for hours.”

Angel imagined that, his whole cockhead swollen dark and sore from hard attention, marked like Spike's neck. This is mine. “Don't say it if you don't mean it,” he said.

The two silver rings Spike wore felt cooler against his dick than the fingers wrapped around him. Spike began stroking steadily again, fist gliding up and down in a snug circle, skin moving along as well. “Want a little pain, do you?” Spike murmured to him. “Kinky boy. I can make it hurt if you like.”

“Do it,” Angel said, then sucked in a sharp breath as Spike's hand immediately tightened hard around him, a strangling grip. Not painful exactly, at least not at first. Uncomfortable, yeah, but in an exciting way, as if he'd been caught intimately by something that wasn't intending to let him go. His fist a vice, holding Angel captive, jerking him off slowly with these inescapable, forceful rubs, squeezing gradually harder until Angel's lips parted around a quiet anguished groan, and delight and suffering were no longer two separate things.

Fuck yes. This. This perfect, unapologetic understanding of the kind of pain he liked, because it was the kind of pain they both liked.

Angel hid his blissful expression against Spike's cheek, breathed haltingly as he closed his eyes and endured the punishing pressure for several long strokes, his fingers twisting themselves into Spike's sweater to hold onto something. It was such an ache, but a good one, an intensity he never normally had the opportunity to feel, broken up with flares of rough pleasure. More painful the longer this cruel tugging went on, but more delicious, too. He would have been dripping if Spike's fist were loose enough to allow it, but not even a slippery liquid could squeeze through that stubborn tightness. Eventually, a tremor passing through him, Angel breathed in Spike's ear, “If you keep that up, I won't be able to come.”

“You will,” Spike told him. Still working his cock with a brutal grasp. “It just won't come out. No place to go, like a cherry bomb inside a safe. Hurts like the bloody dickens, but you'll enjoy it.”

Angel had experienced this treatment a lifetime ago, a game he learned from his own sire, so he knew exactly what muffled explosion Spike was referring to, the agony of it. The anticipation made it even better. But. He let the exquisite torture go on for a few more seconds and then, “Spike, we're – ah – trying to collect a sample, remember? You have to let me...”

“Oh... fuck. Right.” The crushing pressure finally relented, and it felt strange, tingly, as trapped precum suddenly rushed from Angel's cockhead in a long strand, broke off to hit the floor. Spike looked down at it. “We s'posed to catch that stuff?”

“I don't think it counts.” Now Spike's fingertips were tracing very gently up and down his erection. Since it was already tender and sensitive from being squeezed so hard, the feathery-light touch felt more ticklish than it otherwise would have, and the teasing made his abused cock stand out eagerly for more. Angel sighed, letting his eyes fall closed again, face resting against the side of Spike's head.

The younger vampire seemed to be considering Angel's penis thoughtfully as he played with it. “If this goes in my mouth,” he said, “I'll just end up swallowing. You taste too bloody good to pull away.”

“Better not do that, then,” Angel murmured, although truthfully he wouldn't have said no. He shifted a little, tried to push himself more firmly into Spike's fingers.

“Hm.” Spike abruptly walked away from him, nearly causing Angel to fall head-first into the door. He turned to see what had attracted the blond's attention and watched him examining the small pile of little foil packets on the counter, what looked at first like individual servings of ketchup from a fast food restaurant, but as Angel came forward he could see that they contained medical-grade personal lubricant. Spike set their sample cups on the counter and picked up the stack of DVDs that was also lying there. “Good Will Humping,” he read, flipping through them. “ET: The Extra Testicle. Village of the Rammed. Ocean's Eleven Inches. Night of the Giving Head? Christ. Humans have no shame.” Then he held up the last one. “Debbie Does Dallas. At least someone's got taste around here.”

“It's a classic,” Angel agreed. He watched Spike drop the movies back to the counter and grab one of the lube packets, tear off the corner. After squirting some of the clear gel into his hand, he reached for Angel's cock again. Slide of wet fingers around it. Some quick, slippery strokes. The easy glide of his slickened flesh through Spike's hand was so different from the merciless crush of a moment before, but the leftover soreness intensified the sensation and, Jesus, it was good. Angel put a hand on the counter to steady himself when the strokes became longer, fingers bumping all the way up over the head, a turn of the wrist, then a plunge back down to the very base, fast and wet. A quiet squelching sound every time Spike's fist changed direction. A thin tendril of that familiar fog passed hazily through Angel's mind, but it was so faint he barely noticed.

He reached up to catch Spike by the neck and pull him forward for a kiss. A little sloppy, maybe, but he had to keep stopping to breathe through the concentrated pleasure zipping along his dick as Spike rubbed it just right. “That's,” he whispered, feeling an insistent tingle down low in his belly. “Really... Spike, you're really good at that.”

“Shocked?” Spike asked, grinning a little when Angel's hips fucked involuntarily toward his hand. “Anyone with a willy knows how to do this.”

“Not shocked,” said Angel. “Just thinking. That you should probably do this. Every. Fuck, every morning. For a start.”

“Beats wanking alone. You inviting me 'round for another sleepover?”

“Yeah. I'll hide the chains first.” Angel stopped whatever Spike was going to say next with another passionate kiss, letting his body move a little in natural counterpoint to the pace of that snug wet fist, like he was actually fucking into a person and not just being stroked off with an expert hand. He pictured Spike in his bed, pale muscular body surrounded by soft blue sheets. Holding Spike against his chest as he fell asleep at night, waking up to this delicious sensation every morning. Always having someone there to talk to. He pulled Spike closer, broke their kiss to inhale deeply near his neck. “Get... uhnn, get the cup,” he managed, and pressed his lips to Spike's neck, sucked a soft kiss into his bruised skin.

Spike's hand didn't slow. Those incredible strokes, full and fast, the perfect amount of slick steady pressure. With a little smirk, he asked, “Gonna come for me, Angel?”

“Yeah,” Angel breathed. He could feel his other face wanting to come forward, the pressure of his fangs trying to push out into Spike's flesh, but without the usual thick clouds fogging up his thoughts, he was able to hold the sharp teeth back. Held back his orgasm, too, prolonging the build-up as long as he could stand it. Then, with a quiet urgency, he pulled away from Spike's neck and said quickly, “Spike, get the – get the cup!”

Spike just barely had time to grab one of the sample cups from the counter and shove it over Angel's cockhead before he was spurting hard into it, long pulses hitting the plastic forcefully enough to make an actual sound, just audible underneath Angel's soft groan. His abs clenched tight, whole body shuddering as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. He gripped the counter with one hand and Spike's shoulder with the other as he spent himself, letting his head rest against Spike's, lips parted, eyes fallen closed.

It seemed to go on forever, this moment frozen in time as his whole body trembled, feeling light as a balloon and just as tense. Spike kept stroking him through the unusually lengthy orgasm, making sure to tilt the cup so that nothing spilled over. Angel could feel himself jerk from sensitivity each time Spike's fingers stroked up over the raw tip of his penis, but he didn't complain or pull away. It was too much and too good both at once, and he endured the overstimulation until several seconds after he'd finally stopped coming and Spike's fingers were simply stripping out the last liquid drop, forcing it to roll down in a tiny wet strand and drip into the cup.

One hand still wrapped around Angel's dick, Spike lifted the cup to regard it thoughtfully as Angel softly panted against his skin. “Fucking hell,” he said, sounding somewhat impressed. He let his hand slide down into Angel's open trousers to curve his fingers around the fuzzy balls concealed there, weighed them gently against his palm. “No way all this fit in here,” he observed. “You're hiding your spunk somewhere else, aren't you? Third bollock in your forehead? Tell the truth.”

Angel chuckled quietly, still dizzy from the sheer intensity of his climax. “I'd never lie to you when your hand's on my balls.”

“Good to know.”

With a deep sigh, Angel straightened up, letting go of Spike to stretch comfortably and roll his shoulders. Then he grabbed a wet wipe from the counter beside the lube packets and cleaned the slickness from his still slightly sore cock, watching as Spike set the cup on the counter and snapped the little plastic lid onto it. Angel furrowed his brow at the cup. “Does it seem kinda weird that I'm going to give that to Fred? It feels kinda weird.”

“Rather give it to her the old fashioned way?”

Angel tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. “Don't be crass. She's a friend.”

Spike shrugged. “I would.”

“You would with a brick wall if it was damp enough.”

Spike caught Angel's hand and put it on the erection still trapped behind the soft black leather of his pants. With a subtle grin, he said, “Depends. What's the brick wall wearing?”

Angel smiled a little as he moved his hand up and deftly unfastened Spike's belt. “Black pants,” he said, “and the shirt you picked out.” He undid the button and zipper and then pulled out Spike's hard cock, wrapped his fingers firmly around it, the velvety skin over familiar rigid stiffness.

A soft, appreciative sigh. Spike grabbed Angel's hips to tug him closer, thrusting into his fist at the same time. Aroused eyes dropped down to look at Angel's mouth, hands sliding up his body over the dark red silk. Leaning toward him, pink lips grazing teasingly over Angel's lips, Spike breathed out, “Yeah. I would.”

“Me too,” Angel whispered back. He massaged Spike's cock slowly, his hand a steady rub of flesh against flesh, that smooth skin moving along with each stroke as they kissed. He let his thumb swipe across the wet tip and felt Spike shiver with want, his breath shallow. Angel caressed his cheek with his other hand, and finally relinquished his mouth to murmur, “Turn around.”

Spike turned, his erection slipping from Angel's hand. Resting both hands on the countertop, he allowed Angel to push his pants down, round white ass framed perfectly between the bottom edge of his shirt and the top of the leather trousers. Angel trailed his hands lightly across it, petting the pretty sight. Gently pinched the bottom of one cheek, that fleshy softness right at the crease where buttock met thigh. Spike shifted his legs apart slightly, and when Angel cupped both cheeks in his hands for a squeeze he let his thumb pass between them, brush over the little indentation there. Felt the sudden intake of breath and tiny twitch of Spike's muscles from the startling sensation. Pleased, he let go to reach for one of the small foil packets of lube on the counter.

Spike watched Angel's hand pick it up, then looked back over his shoulder as Angel opened it. Quietly, he asked, “We really doing this now?” He glanced around, then arched an eyebrow and looked back at Angel again with a hint of reproach. “First time, in the lab? Next to a cup of your spooge, really?”

Angel couldn't help noticing that despite his apparent objection, Spike didn't actually move. Naked ass still presented for whatever attention Angel wanted to give it. With an amused smile, he took one of Spike's hands from the countertop and squirted a small amount of the slick gel into it. “That's not what's happening,” he said, and pressed Spike's hand downward and around to his front, arranging it in a fist around his stiff cock.

“Oh,” said Spike, looking down at his own hand on his penis. Then he looked back at Angel again, eyebrows drawing together in an even more irritated expression. “Well, why the fuck not? Angel, we both want it. You know we both—”

“Because,” Angel told him matter-of-factly, drizzling the remaining clear gel onto his own fingers, “when I fuck you, I'm going to take my time. I'll have you spread out naked for me in a real bed, not bending over a lab counter with your pants bunched under your ass.” He passed his wet fingers through Spike's crack and felt the small jolt of excitement zip through the willing body. “You'll be moaning my name all night,” he said, finding the tiny ridged opening with his fingertips. He rubbed it softly, teasing. “But if we start in here, Fred's going to wonder what's taking so long. So this will have to be quick.”

“But if we're not shagging, then what—”

Angel pressed gently, easing the very tip of his finger into Spike's tightly clenched hole. He heard the quiet gasp, then eased it back out and rubbed over the twitching opening again, muscle slightly loosened. “Stroke your cock,” he suggested, mostly for the satisfaction of saying it out loud since the slick fist was already beginning to move. “Just keep doing that.”

He let his free hand skim up Spike's bare hip and slide under his shirt to rest on the small of his back as he continued to play with Spike's anus, rubbing slickly over it and then breaching it slightly with one finger before pulling out again. After a few times, about an inch could slide in easily, but it was opening up a fraction more each time he pressed in. “When I fuck you,” he said, “you're going to come without touching yourself at all.” He pushed inside Spike's ass again, just a little further. The slippery channel squeezing and relaxing around his finger.

“You've... ah, given it some thought, haven't you?” Spike observed. Voice breathy. He tilted his hips back a little, toward Angel's hand. His fist pulling steadily on his dick. Angel couldn't see the slide of it through the tunnel of Spike's fingers, but he could see the measured movement of his arm and hear the firm strokes. “How many times've you cracked one out thinking about my arse?”

Angel's finger slipped into Spike up to the second knuckle. “You might say I've been a little preoccupied with the idea,” he admitted, pressing patiently against the soft flesh gripping him, gently stretching it. He pulled out to rub the flushed rim again, gathering more lube, and then pushed his finger back inside nearly all the way. Spike gasped, tightening for a moment before forcing himself to relax again. Angel made an approving sound and ran his palm over the smooth skin of Spike's back, the valley of his spine. “You should see yourself right now. The way you're opening up for me. It's so fucking hot.”

Spike's breath was already ragged, his fist moving fast, other hand still braced on the counter. “We don't have to wait,” he said. “I don't care how long it takes. Keep me here all sodding day. I want you.”

Jesus. Even though he'd just climaxed himself – and a powerful one, at that – a flare of desire fired through Angel's body. Maybe he should just go ahead and... but after he'd waited this long to decide, he could wait just a few minutes longer. Until they got back upstairs – so close, just an elevator ride away – and then he'd have Spike exactly the way he wanted him. That was worth it. They could have a quickie in the lab some other time, maybe.

Hell, he was going to fuck Spike in every room of this entire goddamn building.

What he said was, “Soon.” He slid his hand across the curve of Spike's back and gripped his hip again as he fucked his finger fully in and out of Spike's ass a couple of times, turning it this way and that to make sure the slickness was spread evenly around the tight space and giving himself some room to maneuver. When he was satisfied with this, he curled his finger just a bit and pressed downward with a firm rubbing motion.

“Christ!” Spike gasped, his knees wobbling dangerously. He might have lost his balance if Angel hadn't been holding him by the hip.

“Spread your legs some more,” Angel said, and Spike slid his feet apart to stabilize himself, as much as he could with his pants still up around his thighs. When he seemed steady, Angel pushed directly against his prostate again.

“Fucking hell,” Spike groaned, his body jerking away from the intense sensation but immediately pushing back toward Angel for more. “Do that again.” His fist sped up.

Rocking his finger firmly against that spot, Angel began a continuous assault on Spike's prostate that had the blond panting immediately, bending further over the counter as though he couldn't hold himself up under the force of such a thorough attack. He was pretty like this, Angel thought, bare-assed and squirming and touching himself, fucking back against Angel's hand. The inside of him all snug and slippery, clenching involuntarily around Angel's insistent finger.

When Angel started turning his hand from one side to the other, curved finger pressing down as it passed back and forth over the puffy swelling, Spike made an incoherent sound and nearly collapsed, his head dropping completely down to the counter to rest on his arm there, backside shoving toward Angel. Between ragged breaths, he muttered a long string of muffled curses.

“Do you like this?” Angel asked softly, and couldn't help grinning when Spike simply repeated his curses with more emphasis into his sweater sleeve. Still frantically beating his cock, breathing fast and shallow as they worked together to bring him to the edge.

He got there much more quickly than Angel had expected. Placing his thumb against Spike's body below his asshole, Angel squeezed his finger and thumb toward each other in a tight pinch, catching his prostate in between. Spike let out a startled cry, rearing up so suddenly that the back of his head almost collided with Angel's face. He fumbled for the empty sample cup on the counter and somehow positioned it just in time to catch the first shot, cursing again.

Wrapping his free arm around Spike's middle, Angel held him close as he came, his whole body quaking with the intensity. God, it was sexy, feeling every tremor of Spike's pleasure against him, the way he lost himself helplessly in the euphoria of it, slick ring of muscle squeezing down hard around Angel's finger. Throughout the orgasm, Angel continued to prod that spot relentlessly, prolonging Spike's release as he shuddered, wringing the cum from his flushed cock into the cup. Nearly sloshing it out with every spasm. “Fuck! Fuck!” Spike managed, his voice barely there, more breath than words, but still emphatic. The tiny, stressed curses made Angel smile.

When he was finally done, Spike let himself fall back bonelessly against Angel's chest, panting. His smell was intoxicating, full and thick in the small room, crowding Angel's senses in a very pleasant way. Angel pressed his smile against the side of Spike's neck and murmured, “Good?”

“Fucking hell,” Spike replied in a daze. When Angel shifted his finger still inside him, Spike jerked away from it in surprise and then laughed as it slipped out. He passed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “That was...” He seemed at a loss, then lifted his cup and stared at it. “Blimey.” He turned around and held it up for Angel. “What d'you think, I've got a third bollock as well? We should start a club.”

“Very impressive,” Angel agreed. He glanced at his own cup. “Still, not as impressive as—”

“More impressive,” Spike interrupted, “'cause I didn't need Larry the Lobster to bite me first.”

“Sure. Must be all that porcupine blood.” Angel's finger felt weirdly bereft now that it wasn't inside Spike's body anymore. He could still feel that rhythmic clenching around it, wanted to press it back in, feel Spike open up around him again. He looked into Spike's eyes, imagined coming into him, imagined fucking orgasm after orgasm right out of him for hours and hours on end. Fucking him so good it would ruin him for anyone else, and that way when this whole hormone thing was all over, maybe he'd still come back.

Spike let the cup droop back down. Then he just looked at Angel, tilting his head. Eyebrows drawing together a little.

“What?” asked Angel. He laid his hand on Spike's hip and leaned in, kissed his lips softly. When he pulled back, Spike was still looking at him in this way he couldn't quite place, almost like he was... sad, maybe? Or confused. “What?” Angel asked him again. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Just. Why are you...?” Spike looked down suddenly. “Never mind.” He turned to set the cup on the counter and hitched his pants up over his pale bottom.

“Why am I what?”

“Nothing. You just don't usually...” Spike's hand hovered briefly over the lid of his cup before snapping it on. Then he turned to Angel again, the leather trousers hanging open, belt buckle flopping down. “We're still gonna shag, yeah? For real. I mean, I want to.”

“Yeah,” Angel told him, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a barely suppressed smile. “I'm glad you want to. Otherwise it's considered a crime.”

“Right, but it doesn't... I mean, it's not...” Spike gestured vaguely and turned away again to grab a wet wipe from the counter. Not looking at Angel, he said, “It doesn't mean anything. Not like we're... We just want to. It doesn't mean anything.” He half-turned toward Angel again, cleaning the lube from his hand. “Right?”

If Angel had been smiling a whole smile, he wouldn't be anymore, but since he hadn't really let himself smile at Spike just now then almost nothing about his face changed as he answered. “Right.” He also took one of the wipes from the counter for his own hand. “It's just this hormone thing. Since we both want to, there's no reason to fight it anymore, but that doesn't mean—”

“Good. Yeah. Just making sure we're on the same page.”

“Of course,” Angel said with a shrug. “What, did you think I thought we were—”

“No,” Spike said quickly. Then he added, “And neither did I. For the record.”

“Okay,” said Angel. Fingers clean, he wadded up the damp little tissue and threw it at the trashcan.

“It's just...”

“What?”

Spike was looking down, dabbing at himself with the wipe, but then he looked up at Angel's face under the dark fan of his eyelashes. Quietly, he said, “You keep looking at a bloke the way you do and he might get the wrong idea. That's all.”

Oh. Angel was self-aware enough to know that he had been looking at Spike differently – in the sense that he was considering him with a new perspective now – but since he couldn't actually see himself, he hadn't realized until this moment that Spike would notice a literal change in his eyes. But this small change couldn't be any more confusing than the way Spike had been looking at him lately, too.

Slowly, Angel took a step forward and reached around Spike for his sample cup on the counter. Leaning close to Spike's ear at the same time, he murmured, “I don't think he'd get that idea... unless he wanted to.” Then he pressed a little kiss to Spike's temple and stepped away, going toward the door.

Before he could open it, Spike said, “Angel, wait.”

Angel turned back toward him with a fully intentional smolder this time, smirking on the inside when he smelled a fresh thread of arousal from the younger vampire. “Yeah?”

Spike hesitated, then gave Angel his own little smirk. “Nothing, pet,” he said. “Just wanted to see that look again.”

*

Chapter Text

*

“No, it's true. I had private lessons until age 15.”

“Is that when you decided you were too cool for music school?” Fred's voice was friendly, teasing. Angel could hear the conversation from the hallway as he approached lab two, where she'd been waiting for the vampires to finish producing their semen samples.

Wesley's voice, a self-deprecating chuckle. “'Too cool' isn't the exact phrase I'd use, unfortunately.”

“Well, you'd still be the only one of us who could actually play something.”

“So our band is me playing mediocre piano while you, Angel, and Spike... sing?”

“It's starting to sound more like a cheesy office Christmas party than a rock concert.”

When Angel came in, the two of them were standing near a machine that was rapidly spinning some test tubes around. He noticed immediately that Wesley had changed out of Lorne's lavender animal print shirt into a solid light blue one that complemented his eyes, sleeves each rolled to just below the elbow. Both humans looked up as Angel walked over. “I've been banned from singing,” he said. “Apparently, I'm playing drums.”

Wesley tilted his head thoughtfully. “I suppose you do like to hit things.”

“Lorne could sing,” Fred suggested.

“Sure, if he could pry the microphone away from Spike.” As casually as possible, Angel slid his sample cup onto the counter beside Fred, subtly nudging it behind a tray of vials containing what appeared to be the inky liquid she'd extracted from the modusbeast.

Fred entirely ignored his effort at discretion and reached over to pick up the cup. Angel wasn't sure what to make of her quietly startled “Oh!” when she looked at it.

“What?” he asked.

“You... um.” She cleared her throat. “Y'all were supposed to use two separate cups. That's why I gave one to each of you. To use... separately.”

“We did,” said Angel. “That one's mine.”

Her mouth fell open. She looked helplessly over at Wesley.

Wesley peered at the cup in her hand. “Dear lord,” he murmured.

Somewhat awkwardly, Angel asked, “Is there something wrong with—?”

“Nope! It's fine. This is... um. It's...” Fred was staring at the container again, at the little marks on the side of the clear plastic, the evenly spaced measuring increments. “How – uh, how many times did you...”

“Just once.”

Fred blinked rapidly at the cup. Then she nodded. “Good,” she said, voice a little strained. “This is. Good. Thank you. I'll.” She took a deep breath and turned away from Angel, facing the counter. She nodded again. “Good.”

Before Angel could say anything else, Spike walked into the lab. He came right over and plonked his sample container unashamedly onto the counter beside Fred's hand. “Here you go, luv,” he said. “Let me know if I've got the clap, yeah? There's someone I'd have to notify and someone I'd have to blame.”

Fred glanced down at Spike's sample container and quickly away. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

“Something wrong?” He looked over at Angel, who gave him a little shrug.

“Nope!” Fred announced with her back still turned. She smelled like she was blushing. “It's fine. This is all fine. Just a normal day.” She picked up a pen to fill out the label on Angel's cup.

Wesley was squinting curiously at the fading cluster of small bruises on Spike's neck. He cleared his throat and turned to Angel. “Er, Angel, as long as you're available, I was actually hoping you'd consent to another sort of test. In one of the training rooms.”

“Who says he's available?” said Spike.

“Oh. I just assumed...”

“He's actually got a very important meeting upstairs in about five minutes. Been on his calendar for ages.” Spike's eyes cut over to Angel again. “Isn't that right?”

The expectant look on Spike's face – and the knowledge of exactly what type of 'meeting' he had in mind – caused that increasingly familiar bloom of heat to spread through Angel's chest. It made him want to reach for Spike, drag him closer. Despite having just orgasmed together, it was a little difficult to stand this near to him without touching him in some way. He carefully pushed down the desire and, putting his hands casually into his pockets, said to Wesley, “What kind of test? Will it take long?”

“I'm afraid I can't give you an exact time frame. When I found out we had access to the Aurelian archives, my initial thought was that they didn't return any information on modusbeasts during our research last week because they hadn't been added to the reference library for our source books to search, but now I suspect Aurelian lore simply refers to these demons by a different name. I've found some information in the archives that should prove useful if we can deduce that our modusbeasts are indeed the same type of demons discussed in the text, but in order to do that, I would need to see if you possess a certain... physical reaction to the modusbeast's venom. It's unclear how long that might take.”

“At this point, I think we can safely say I've had a reaction,” Angel said. He let his eyes fall briefly to his sample cup where Fred had set it back down on the counter. She picked up Spike's and began to label it as well.

“Oh, he's had a reaction, alright,” Spike agreed. “He's had loads of reactions. He's reacting like Old Faithful every three hours or so if he gets the chance.”

The pen fell out of Fred's hand. It clattered to the counter and then to the floor.

“And more like Old Yeller when he doesn't get the chance,” he added. To Angel, Spike clarified, “That whole bit with the growling and the rabies and the probably needing to be shot?”

“Yeah, I got what you meant, thanks.”

“Three, um—” Fred quickly bent down and snatched her pen from the floor. “Every three hours? This was after just three hours?”

Angel glanced at a clock on the wall and tried to guess how long it had been since Spike was sucking him off beneath his desk. “Not quite two and a half hours this time, I think.”

“And you're – you're producing this amount every time? Multiple times per day?”

“I actually think it's a little more every time. It keeps getting more intense.” Off her stunned expression, he added, “Sorry, I know it's kind of weird to talk about...”

She shook her head. “No, it's. I mean, we need to know. So we can figure it out.” She gave him a pretty good attempt at her usual friendly smile and shrugged a little. “It's just biology. No big deal. Plus it's neat to learn something new, right?”

Angel nodded, her warmth making him feel slightly less self-conscious. “There's less if I do it again right away,” he said. “If you want me to do it again right now—”

“No!” Fred cleared her throat. “I just. Don't think that'll be necessary. I'm all set for now. If I need anything else, I guess I can pop down to the training rooms?”

“He's not going to the training rooms,” said Spike. “He's got reactions. No need for any more tests.”

“This is certainly a reaction to something,” Wesley agreed. “But there could still be other explanations for it. In fact, there are alternative explanations – spells, for example, other demon interactions, even allergies – that could possibly account for many of the effects Angel is experiencing. But according to the archives, there's one reaction that specifically manifests in vampires only as a result of the bite of one of these demons. That's what we would be looking for. Otherwise, we can't be sure we're actually dealing with the same scenario described in the text. And if we aren't sure, then focusing our efforts in that direction could be pointless.”

“What's the reaction?” Angel asked him. “I can just tell you if it's happening to me.”

“Perhaps. But the proof will be undeniable if we prompt it to manifest naturally.”

“What, you think if you tell me what you're looking for then I might lie about it?”

“To be quite honest, Angel, I can't predict what you'll do. I haven't been able to for the last several days.” The man was looking at him calmly, clear blue eyes full of the exact amount of resolve it takes to tell a friend you don't trust him. A tinge of sadness there, as well. Regret, maybe. Not anything approaching the depths of misery he'd been buried under lately, but there, nonetheless. More quietly, he added, “And if you did lie to me, I've a feeling you could make me believe it.”

Right. Angel met Wesley's gaze evenly, recalling the feel of the man's warm hand on him, the drunken suggestion he'd made, that desperate request before Angel had put him to sleep. Keeping his voice in the same calm, quiet register as the other man's, he said, “I think we owe each other a conversation about that.”

With a small nod of acquiescence, Wesley broke the eye contact. His smell was mostly normal, but the very tiny slip of arousal that Angel could suddenly detect in response to his words was particularly... interesting.

Spike glanced from Wesley to Angel and back again, narrowing his eyes. “What's the test, then?” he demanded gruffly. “If he's postponing this meeting, at least tell me it's for something painful.”

“I suppose that depends on him,” said Wesley. “I just need to watch Angel fight another vampire.”

Angel and Spike looked at each other. Angel tilted his head and lifted one eyebrow. The corner of Spike's mouth twitched up. They both turned back to Wesley.

“Okay,” they said together.

*

“I'll take it easy on you,” Angel was telling Spike as they walked down the eighth floor corridor toward the set of rooms labeled Operational Training and Research. “You know, wouldn't want to damage you too bad for that meeting later.”

“Don't worry about me, mate,” Spike replied smugly. “Worry about what you'll owe me when I win.”

“We're wagering on this?”

“Obviously.”

“Spike, it won't be a fair fight. As much as I'd love to bet on myself knowing I can't lose, it's too much like cheating. I'm happy enough to settle for the look on your face when I hand you your ass like always.”

“Always?” Spike snorted. “Well, someone seems to be forgetting a certain Cup of Perpetual Flat Mountain Dew that he lost to a better—”

“That was one time in 124 years, which wasn't even real by the way, and I wasn't trying my best because I thought—”

“No, you just don't want to admit my best is better than anything your fluffy arse can—”

“Fluffy? Look, if we're gonna start comparing asses—”

“Right,” Wesley interrupted them, “before this descends into hair-pulling, I'm not actually having you two fight each other.”

“And you stole my car!” finished Angel. He frowned at Wesley. “We're not fighting each other?” They had come to a stop right outside the largest of the training rooms, one equipped with more automated programs than the others.

“No,” said Wesley. “For the moment, I thought it would be best for you to face a vampire you have no prior connection to. My speculation is that this way you'll be more likely to present the specific reaction we're looking for. We've been running some simulations with a suitable candidate.”

“Oh,” Angel said, his excitement deflating a little. This wouldn't be nearly as much fun.

“Well, this won't be nearly as much fun,” Spike muttered.

Wesley pushed open the door, and they followed him inside.

The room was a large square with a smooth, shiny wooden floor, the type found in gymnasiums. At one end, there was a window into the room from an observation and control booth, with some steps leading up to a door into that area. Gunn was inside the booth, and he lifted his hand in greeting from the other side of the glass. A small clicking sound, and then his voice came through some speakers in the corner, “Glad you guys could make it.” Spike nodded to him, but Angel couldn't take his eyes off the vampire standing in the center of the room.

The intimately familiar vampire.

“Angel, this is Nicholas,” Wesley said as the dark-haired vampire with the neatly trimmed beard walked forward slowly, eyes locked on Angel's. “He came to apply for a position with our security team this afternoon and volunteered to help us with this test.”

Nicholas let his gaze coast down Angel's body and back up again, the thick wave of his lust tumbling over Angel's senses like a mudslide. The scent of Josephine was all over him, and Angel could smell the physical traces of himself, too, and Danielle, and what the four of them had done together last night. Regretting it now didn't make this vampire's scent any less seductive, didn't make the memory of being with him any less arousing. Both of their mouths opened slightly as they looked at each other, breathing in. Angel couldn't help the thought pounding through his head: He smells like mine.

“You're wearing my shirt,” Angel acknowledged quietly.

“You took mine,” said Nicholas.

“I'll be taking this one, too.”

The vampire smiled. “Come and get it.”

“Nope!” Spike announced. It was unclear who he was talking to, perhaps just the room in general. He gestured between Angel and the other vampire. “This isn't gonna happen. No way.” To Wesley, he said, “Get me a stake. Or a chainsaw.”

“Angel, do you two know each other?” Wesley asked, looking puzzled.

He was trying to think of how to respond when Nicholas began to unbutton the contested shirt. The vampire moved slowly toward Angel as his fingers slid down, undoing each button. “I'll give it to you now if you want it,” said Nicholas. “Sire.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up a tick,” Spike interjected again, this time physically stepping forward to put himself between Angel and Nicholas. “You don't come any closer, and you definitely don't call him that.” He looked at Angel with an expression so confused that it almost masked the quick flash of hurt in his eyes. “Why the bloody hell is Russell Crowe's deformed stunt double calling you that?”

A weird sensation had snuck down the back of Angel's neck at the word sire. He couldn't quite tell if it was pleasant or not, but it did make him feel something for this young vampire, something like protective and something like pity at the same time. This poor guy was only eight months old at best and had no real idea what he was saying. He'd just gotten swept up in Josephine's game with Angel, and now he was pissing off Spike as well. A clueless orphan fledge among three powerful vampires. Angel tilted his head, regarding Nicholas, then nodded. “You know, I knew he reminded me of someone. I just couldn't place it. But you're right.”

The other vampire rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It's the beard, ain't it?”

“It suits you,” said Angel.

Wesley was frowning. “So you do know each other?”

“We've met,” Angel said.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” Nicholas told him, moving a little closer. “Jo said we should wait for you to come back, but I just had to see you again.”

“Well, there he is,” Spike bit out. “You've seen him. Now sod off before I lose my foot up your arse and have to send the other one in to find it.”

Nicholas gave Spike an interested once-over, sniffing subtly in his direction. His brow furrowed and he hesitated, glancing briefly at Angel before asking Spike, “Why do you smell like that?”

Spike bristled further. “I don't.”

The young vampire gave him a skeptical look and then asked Angel, “This the spoiled English brat Jo was telling us about?”

“That depends,” Spike said as he took two menacing steps forward and pushed out his fangs. “Are you the half-melted Gladiator action figure cosplaying someone else's sire?”

Half-melted was an unfair assessment in Angel's opinion. It was probably meant to be a dig at his age, but Nicholas had a handsome face and was turned at only a few years older than Spike had been. He and Angel had similar bodytypes, which is how Angel had managed to mix up their shirts without noticing when he got dressed in the darkness of the modusbeast hive. “This is Spike,” Angel told the fledge calmly. Then, addressing them both, “And the insults aren't necessary.”

“I'm not insulting him,” said Spike. “I'm describing him.”

But Nicholas dipped his head a little and said, “Sorry, sire.”

“Call him that one more time,” said Spike, taking the last couple of steps into the young vampire's personal space and giving him a cold stare through amber eyes, their noses almost touching despite the height difference. “Go ahead. I haven't killed anything all day.”

Not backing down, Nicholas pushed his fangs forward as well. “You should show some respect to your master,” he growled. “Just because he lets you get away with every little—”

“Wait, what?” Angel asked.

“My bloody what?” Spike was saying. They looked at each other.

“Nicholas,” Wesley cut in. “Perhaps you should wait outside for a—”

Without a glance at the human, Nicholas dropped down to one knee, bowing his head toward Angel. Spike took a startled step backward and pulled his fangs in. He glanced back and forth between Angel's confused expression and the kneeling young vampire. “Angelus of Aurelius,” Nicholas said, “please allow me the honor of serving you. I'm ready to swear my loyalty as your lieutenant if you'll have me.” The depth of sincerity in his voice was unusual coming from a soulless creature. “Anything you ask, I'll do without fear or hesitation. My life and death belong to you.”

In the long stretch of silence that followed this declaration, Angel could feel everyone watching him, waiting for him to say something. It was strange; he'd never had anyone pledge their life and death to him before. At least, not in such explicit terms. If he was honest with himself, he didn't hate the feeling, the power he was being offered combined with a certain amount of excitement at the idea of being in total control of someone else's existence. In some small, very remote portion of his mind, he even felt that perhaps... he deserved this. After all, didn't he? Why not?

Before his thoughts could wander too dangerously far in that direction, there was a small audible click from the speakers, and then Gunn's voice said, “Anyone mind telling me what the hell?”

Spike turned toward the observation booth window and pointed at Nicholas where he knelt. In a matter-of-fact tone, he explained, “This one just made a fool of himself and now Angel's gonna kill him.” Then he looked over at Angel. “Right? I mean, he offered you his death. No reason to put it off, is there? I don't mind doing it if you feel squeamish.”

“Just give me a chance to please you, master,” Nicholas said. “I won't let you down.”

“Smells like you already got a chance to please him,” said Spike. “How's that working out for you?”

“At least he wanted me,” Nicholas shot back.

“Right, he dies in five seconds unless you stop me,” Spike said, speaking to Angel but staring daggers at the young vampire. “Four. Three.”

Nicholas looked up at Angel with pleading golden eyes but didn't move from his knees.

“Two—” Spike took a step toward the kneeling vampire.

“Spike,” Angel said softly. “Wait.”

Spike's hands paused, hovering near the vampire's head where he had reached out to twist it off. “Seriously?”

“Stand up, Nicholas,” said Angel. When he had, Angel said, “That's one of my favorite shirts. I don't want to see it dusted.” He held out his hand for the shirt.

Very slowly, the young vampire's fingers moved to finish unbuttoning it. But he gave Angel a heartbroken look as he let the dark material slip off his shoulders, pulling his fangs back in. “You're really gonna let him kill me?”

“I'm thinking about it,” said Angel. “You wanna give me a reason not to?”

“I'd do anything for you,” Nicholas said, coming forward to give Angel the shirt. “Anything.” His pupils were huge in the light blue ring of his irises, an almost mesmerizing, desperate emptiness. As he passed the shirt over, he touched Angel's hand. Cool fingers sliding across knuckles. “Please,” he said in a quiet voice. “You wanted me last night. Nothing's changed.”

“Last night was a mistake,” Angel said. Not unkindly, but firmly. Nicholas smelled so good to him that if Spike's stronger and more intensely personalized scent hadn't been standing nearby, he would have been tempted. But when compared side by side like this, there was no real contest between the two, no more than there had been with Harmony. Angel was still drawn to him, though, both to the young vampire's own scent and to the previous night's scents lingering on his body.

Nicholas leaned in closer and inhaled deeply near Angel's neck, his hand circling around Angel's wrist with a gentle squeeze. “You didn't think it was a mistake,” he murmured, “when you were inside me.”

Angel took a deliberate step back from the young vampire, tugging the shirt away with him. “Yes, I did,” he said. “I just didn't care.” But the sight of the handsome fledge's broad, bare shoulders sagging with the weight of rejection was so pitiful that Angel couldn't help turning to Wesley to ask, “Can you think of a use for him?”

The man had been watching them with interest but seemed surprised to be addressed. “Well, according to our simulation data, he's stronger than average for a vampire his age,” he offered.

“So?” said Spike.

“Low body count, too,” Gunn's voice added from the speakers.

“Yes, he's killed surprisingly few humans since he was turned,” Wesley agreed.

“Just 'cause it's cleaner to leave them alive,” Nicholas said. “No bodies to hide, none of them new Slayers sniffing around.” Misreading Angel's expression, he quickly added, “I can kill more, though. Easy. I mean, I like doing it; it's only the cleanup that's kind of... but I can kill as many humans as you want.” He gestured toward Wesley without looking at him and added in an earnest voice, “I'll kill this one for you right now.”

“That won't be necessary,” said Angel. To Wesley, who was looking slightly offended, Angel said, “There's an opening for him in security?”

“Pending your approval. And my continued health and well-being.” He said this last part pointedly in the young vampire's direction.

Angel nodded. “We'll see if he can stick to our employee policies. If not, Spike gets to dust him.” He looked at Spike. “Sound fair?”

“Why wait?” said Spike. “We're already here.” He was still glaring at Nicholas.

“He'll probably mess up soon,” said Angel. “Zero tolerance, remember? All it takes is one.”

“One what? What policies?” asked Nicholas.

“You'll be fully informed of the company requirements before you sign your contract,” Wesley said.

“There's a video,” Angel told him.

“You'll also need to sing a song,” Wesley continued. “Power ballads tend to work best for our purposes.”

“You're fucking with me,” said Nicholas.

“In the meantime,” Wesley added with an inviting gesture, “if you would please punch the CEO in the face.”

The shirtless vampire hesitated, looking back and forth between Angel and Wesley, then over to Spike. “That's a goddamn joke, right? I punch him and then sweater boy gets to kill me?”

“Your mum likes my sweater.”

“Can I punch him?”

“This isn't going to work,” Angel observed.

Wesley's brow furrowed. “Perhaps if we separate them—”

“No, I mean he won't be able to punch me.” Angel folded the shirt in half and handed it to Wesley, then faced Nicholas and spread his arms a little, palms up. “Try.” When the young vampire still hesitated, he went on, “Really, go ahead. I promise I won't let Spike dust you for this.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” said Nicholas.

“You won't. Just try.”

Nicholas sighed and took a halfhearted swing at Angel's face.

Angel caught his fist easily. “Don't hold back, Nick. It's insulting.” He let go. “Try again.”

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Spike. He walked over to the side of the room and leaned against the wall to wait, crossing his arms.

Nicholas threw another punch, harder this time, and Angel again caught his fist. “Better. Keep trying.” The young vampire swung again. Angel blocked, then caught his other fist when he tried to follow up with a quick second blow. “Good.” To Wesley, Angel commented, “He is strong for his age.”

Click. “Could be an asset with some training,” Gunn's voice said. “You know, if we don't have to kill him.”

“Come on,” Angel encouraged. “Try to hit me.” As Wesley walked a wide circle around them to observe, Angel continued to block, dodge, or catch every move Nicholas attempted, even when the younger vampire became fully convinced he wouldn't hurt Angel and grew more determined to land a blow of any kind, adding in kicks and feints. Angel himself refrained from striking back, strictly defending, so Nicholas was never hurt. But he also never landed a single hit. Because the vampire was so young and had no sire to teach him, Angel was mildly impressed with his skill level, although it wasn't much compared to himself or vampires like Spike and Josephine. Still, a week ago, maybe something would have eventually connected if this went on long enough with no attempt at countering. But with Angel's currently enhanced speed and agility, the whole event was nothing more than an interesting exercise to him. Like a training simulation.

Spike exaggerated a yawn.

Angel allowed the attempts to hit him to continue for a few minutes, but when it was obvious Nicholas had no tricks left, Angel abruptly swept his legs, putting the young vampire's ass on the wooden floor with a thud. “Good job,” he said simply, standing over him.

Nicholas was breathing hard but stopped when he realized what he was doing. “You're amazing,” he said, looking up at Angel with an awed expression. The physical exertion made him smell even better than before, but Angel ignored it.

He turned to Wesley, who was chewing his lip thoughtfully. “So. Did I do the thing?”

“Hmm? Oh. No.”

“Well, we could go again, but it would just be more of the same.” He looked down at Nicholas. “Not tired, are you?”

“Takes more than that to wear me out. And you would know.” He smiled faintly and got to his feet. As he stood up, Angel caught a glimpse of the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the top of his jeans. It wasn't something he would have expected to find kind of hot, but he nevertheless felt a small jolt of arousal at the realization that Nicholas was wearing the gray boxer-briefs he'd left behind at the hive last night. The mental image of taking these back the way he'd taken back his shirt wasn't altogether unpleasant.

“We done here?” Spike's bored voice asked.

“Not quite yet,” said Wesley. “There must be some way to make this more challenging.”

Angel sighed. “Look, I don't mind fighting him—”

“Wasn't a fight,” said Spike.

“—but if we're planning to hire him then maybe we should stop here. I was fighting another fledge the other night and ended up sort of... ripping his arm off.”

There was a brief awkward silence while Spike, Wesley, and Nicholas stared at him. Then a soft click. Gunn's voice said, “His entire arm?”

“Why would you do that?” asked Nicholas, fascinated.

“You mean he had an artificial arm,” Wesley clarified. “A prosthesis?”

“No, it was his real arm. Flesh, blood, bone.”

Spike asked interestedly, “Where did it separate, elbow or shoulder?”

“Shoulder.”

“Huh.” He seemed impressed. Then, “But who hasn't severed a few arms? The first time I dropped faraxas acid, there were these three gree'ataca demons—”

“I wasn't high, Spike. I wasn't even trying. It just happened.” More quietly, Angel added, “And there was only one gree'ataca. The other two were me and Dru dragging your ass home.”

“My point still stands.”

It was true. While under the influence of a bad batch of faraxas acid, Spike had flown into a confused rage and ripped several of the (only) gree'ataca's arms off at the shoulder sockets. In order to transport Spike home without getting too close while he was still dangerously hallucinating, Drusilla had thrown a fishing net over him and Angelus had generously towed her catch down the bumpy cobblestone streets of Stockholm in the wee hours before sunrise, Dru dancing graceful circles around them and humming the whole way while Spike screamed obscenities at them both, having convinced himself he was being kidnapped by two more of the twelve-armed demons. Along the way, he made some very detailed threats about what would happen to them once his sire Angelus – that's right, the actual bloody Scourge of Europe himself you fatheaded octopus-looking motherlickers – heard about this. Angelus had hung the violently struggling and cursing net up in a storage shed behind the house where they were staying and the next evening returned to check on Spike, whom he found slumbering quite peacefully, swaying gently back and forth in his makeshift hammock.

It wasn't that uncommon to dislocate an opponent's shoulder during a fight, but actually severing the whole arm barehanded was rare, not just because of the precise grip, angle, and leverage usually required for such an act, but also because it wasn't nearly as simple or effective as a more straightforward decapitation. Angel had done it himself a couple of other times, but the circumstances had always been pretty specific. He turned to Wesley. “That's not the thing, is it? Accidentally pulling off limbs?”

“No,” said Wesley. “That's... something, but it's not the thing. But I agree with your earlier assessment.” He made a resigned gesture toward Nicholas. “This isn't going to work.”

Spike strolled forward casually and came to a stop at Angel's side. “Well, that was a fat waste of time.” He caught Angel's eye and then nodded subtly toward the door. “You ready to...?”

It was a little bit hard not to smile at his impatience, but somehow Angel managed. Without looking down, Angel let the back of his hand brush lightly against the back of Spike's hand, such a tiny, insignificant touch that no one else would even notice, and felt the air in the room immediately get thicker with the delicious scent of Spike wanting him. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, Wes. Let us know if you need anything else.” He and Spike turned to go.

Click. “Angel could fight Spike,” Gunn's voice suggested through the speakers.

They paused.

“Now that's something I'd like to see,” said Nicholas. “Corn Silk here needs putting in his place so bad.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Who wants to tell the 'suitable candidate' that some of us have no problems touching a six-foot target?”

“Six-one and a half,” Angel murmured.

“Wasn't counting the hair.”

“Or we could run Angel through some of the automated cycles,” Gunn added. “Crank up the speed, make him work for it?”

Wesley shook his head. “A simulation wouldn't do. It has to be direct confrontation with another vampire.” He eyed Spike and Angel skeptically. “I doubt it will work if there's no real threat.”

“We threaten each other all the time,” Spike pointed out.

“Yes, but you both know you wouldn't seriously injure each other. There'd be no stakes.”

“Stakes?” said Nicholas, perking up.

“Whoa, hey, it's just a test, Wesley,” Angel said, raising his hands defensively. “There's no need to bring stakes into this.”

“Christ. What's wrong with you?” Spike scolded the human. “Why would you even suggest that? There's loads of ways to hurt each other without stakes.”

“Not those stakes. I meant—” He glanced from Angel's amused eyes to Spike's wryly raised eyebrow, then huffed a sigh, crossing his arms. “Are all vampires comedians?”

“You know, Wes...” Angel started, dropping his gaze down to regard his fingernails coolly. “I think you might be underestimating just how competitive we can get.” Head still tilted down, he looked up at his friend with only his eyes, a slightly mischievous smile twitching up the corner of his mouth. “Bragging rights can be pretty effective stakes.”

Spike's grin was much more overt. “God, I'm going to enjoy this.”

“No, you won't,” Angel told him confidently.

“If you're so sure, bet on it.”

“Fine,” said Angel. “Loser wears the thong.”

“Deal. If you think you can squeeze into it.”

“I'm not the one it needs to fit, Spike.”

“Right, well.” Wesley cleared his throat. “If you both want to, I suppose... if nothing else, it would be an opportunity to observe some of the other effects you may be experiencing.” He tilted his head at Angel. “Speed, strength, stamina. Would you say you've noticed a significant increase in your abilities in those areas?”

“I don't know how significant it is, but yeah,” said Angel. “I feel great.” In fact, he suspected he may be even stronger now than when he tore off that arm the other night, and faster than during his run with Josephine, with more endurance than it took to scale that five story building. Hadn't he just pulled the handle off a reinforced laboratory door that morning? His senses were becoming increasingly more keen for sure, so it stood to reason that his other abilities were continuing to improve as well.

“And will Spike be in danger of accidental dismemberment if you two fight?”

“You weren't that concerned about me,” muttered Nicholas at the same time that Spike said, “You can't possibly think I'd let him rip my sodding arms off.”

But Angel felt suddenly uncertain. He hesitated, looking over at Spike. “Maybe we should establish some boundaries first. Just to be safe.”

“Safe?” Spike looked at him like he'd lost his mind. “In a fight?”

“Nothing that will draw blood,” Angel said seriously. He watched Spike's frustrated sigh, the blond obviously recalling their conversation about the metaphorical line they couldn't cross. If either of them actively bled in front of the other, it would be much more difficult to resist acting impulsively.

“While we're at it,” Spike said, “why don't you just stay in here and I'll fight you from the hallway? No touching at all. You'll know I've won when you feel me not kicking you in the goolies.”

“Spike—”

“I get it, Angel. But how are we s'posed to do this if we can't even—”

A small red ball whizzed past Spike's face.

Nicholas's head jerked in the direction of the ball, but Angel and Spike more discreetly followed its trajectory with just their eyes. The ball ricocheted off the wall and hit the floor, then another wall, then the floor again, bouncing high with a sharp tapping sound every time it contacted a hard surface. Unlike a standard bouncy ball, it didn't appear to lose momentum no matter how many times it fell and rebounded upward.

Spike's eyes narrowed. He turned his suspicious expression toward the observation booth.

As the ball bounced his way, Angel's hand darted out to catch it. It was quite small, just a little over an inch thick, with a simple pattern of raised lines on it that made it easy to grip. He turned the tiny rubber sphere over in his fingers, then looked up at Gunn through the booth window. “Did you just fire a cat toy at us?”

Gunn gave them an unapologetic shrug and glanced at Wesley. Wes nodded back. “Good idea.” To the vampires, he explained simply, “Capture the target.”

“A little friendly competition,” Gunn told them through the speakers. “With less chance of arm ripping than a regular fight. Probably.” He pressed a button on the control board within the booth, and the little ball flew out of Angel's hand and straight up into a hole in the ceiling. Another one shot out of a different hole. Angel and Spike silently watched it hurtle across the training room. It bounced off a wall and the floor once, and then Nicholas leaped up and caught it. He grinned at Angel and held up the ball, then looked slightly sheepish as Spike frowned derisively at him. “Plus it's kinda funny to watch,” Gunn added.

“And definitely not demeaning in any way,” said Spike flatly.

Angel eyed the little ball as it flew up into the ceiling again from the other vampire's hand. He raised an eyebrow at Gunn. “What, you didn't have a laser pointer in there?”

“Pretty sure one of these has a jingle bell in it,” Gunn replied cheerfully.

“We'll make it short, to start,” Wesley said. “Gunn, could we have one minute on the clock, please?” A moment later, a large black rectangle on the wall lit up with the number 60.

“We're not really doing this, are we?” Spike asked Angel. “Chasing after a bleeding toy like some little girl's house tabby?”

Angel shrugged. “Want me to rip your arms off instead?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“It's just a training exercise,” Wesley told him. “Not commentary on your species... Tiger.” His innocent look did not look innocent.

Spike squinted at him. “You have no idea how many humans I've killed, do you?”

“Since it's a short exercise, we'll run it a few times,” said Wesley. “Whoever has control of the target when the timer runs out wins the round. Questions?”

“Sounds simple enough,” said Angel. He glanced at Spike.

“Yeah, yeah, catch the bloody snitch, got it.” Spike rolled his shoulders once in preparation, then suddenly pointed at Nicholas. “He doesn't get to play.”

“What? Why not?” the young vampire protested.

“'Cause you want it too much. It's embarrassing.”

“You can watch from the booth,” Angel told him, and nodded toward it.

As the shirtless and disappointed fledgling followed Wesley up the steps to the little enclosed booth behind the window, Spike muttered to Angel, “Can't believe you actually shagged that guy.”

“Not exactly my best moment,” Angel acknowledged quietly. Then, with a tiny smile, “Might've been his, though.”

Spike huffed at the teasing tone. “Slut. He's not even your type.”

“Short and smart-mouthed?”

“Hot and blond.”

Angel let his eyes flick up to the soft tousle of Spike's platinum hair, pictured tangling his fingers in those ungelled locks. “Then I guess you have nothing to worry about.”

“Wasn't,” said Spike. His slight pout morphed seamlessly into a cocky little grin. “We both know you fancy me.”

Click. “Ready, gentlemen?” Wesley's voice asked through the speakers.

Just as Angel nodded at the booth, a small red ball shot out of one of the many holes at varying heights around the training room. The big digital timer began to count down the seconds as the ball flew through the air and hit the opposite wall, bounced off to hit the floor, then bounced high again. Angel and Spike both tracked it with their eyes, unmoving, while the men in the booth watched them.

We both know you fancy me. Angel turned this comment over in his mind, trying to decide if Spike was kidding or not. He must be. A little while ago when they were cleaning themselves up in the lab, Spike had seemed unsure how Angel really felt about him, but now they were supposedly on the same page. Hadn't they agreed that this thing between them meant nothing? Or... had they agreed that it only meant something if Spike wanted it to mean something?

After a few tense seconds, eyes still on the bouncing target, Angel said, “I'm serious about the no-drawing-blood thing.”

“Yeah,” said Spike, also watching the ball bounce around, his body completely still. “I know.”

The timer continued to count down as they stood there. We both know you fancy me. That was flirty, not sincere. Had to be. Right? What did 'fancy' really mean, anyway? Was it just physical? Spike had said something similar to him the other night, after the first time he came in Angel's mouth. It was definitely a joke then.

From the corner of his eye, Angel could still see the two humans and the vampire at the booth window, waiting. He and Spike kept watching the ball. He knew that they had both come to the same conclusion that the target's path followed no discernible pattern when, at the exact same moment, they both sprinted toward it.

There were six seconds left on the clock.

Under normal circumstances, most humans had a hard time even perceiving a vampire who was moving at full speed. They seemed to disappear and then reappear abruptly, especially across relatively short distances, like from one side of a large training room to the other. So when Angel and Spike both dashed toward the ball, to the humans in the booth, it must have been like two sudden blurry spots streaking across the room, a dark one and a light one.

But somehow, in some impossible way, the dark blur was faster.

Angel jumped up to snatch the ball out of the air and didn't bother to slow down when he landed, despite being so close to the wall that he was in danger of bursting through it to the other side like the Kool-Aid Man. Spike's boots skidded to a stop just in time, leaving two black rubber stripes on the wooden floor, but Angel continued running halfway up the side of the smooth wall and then backflipped back down to the floor, passing over Spike's blond head to land behind him. As Spike turned an incredulous look his way, a short buzzer sounded.

Angel was unsurprised at the outcome of the round, but his expression was still pleased as he held up the ball toward the booth window so they could see that he had it.

“What the fuck was that?” Spike demanded immediately.

“It kinda felt like you having to wear some really tiny panties later.” Angel tossed the small red ball back and forth in his hands a couple of times before it flew up into the ceiling. He looked up after it.

Spike turned to the booth and said loudly, “For the record, we're not meant to be able to do—” he flapped a hand in Angel's direction “—whatever the hell that was. Gotta be the thing you're looking for, right?”

Wesley leaned a little closer to the glass. Click. “Actually, no. But fascinating, nonetheless. Ready to go again?”

Spike didn't answer this. Lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear, he said to Angel, “That didn't count. You gonna leave off the jetpack, maybe? Not a real contest if only one of us can fly.”

“Sure. Want me to tie one arm behind my back, too?”

Spike frowned at him. “This is just gonna be you humiliating me with those lush new superpowers over and over, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Angel replied pleasantly.

The frown deepened to a scowl. “And you just expect me to cooperate like any other tame little vampire on your payroll. While we perform like we're litter-trained.”

“It's for a good cause,” said Angel. “Look, they're doing science.” He made a proud gesture back toward his humans in the booth. Then he took a couple of steps closer to Spike and added in a softer voice, “Anyone ever tell you you're kinda cute when you're annoyed?”

Spike huffed and looked away, the annoyance melting into a slightly flustered expression, almost like he had no idea how to respond to an unexpected compliment. God, that was adorable. Under his breath, Spike muttered, “Bastard.” Not in the hateful way he would have said it before, but with a tone that sounded both embarrassed and pleased at the same time. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Angel again, reached out to poke him emphatically in the chest with one finger. “Bet's off. None of this counts. Remember that.”

Carefully suppressing a grin, Angel gave him a solemn nod and then looked toward the booth window. “Ready,” he said.

The clock reset to 60. A moment later, another little ball shot out of a different hole, and the seconds began to count down again.

This time instead of waiting, Angel immediately went for the ball, leaping up to scoop it from the air at roughly the center of the room and then sprinting away. Spike sprinted after him, never catching up but intentionally getting in his way so that he could only turn in one direction. They'd made a couple of laps around the training room and Spike was gradually forcing Angel into a corner when the buzzer sounded and they froze. Angel held up the small red ball and raised an eyebrow at Spike.

To the booth, Spike called out, “That was better! You saw that was better, right? I nearly had him cornered.”

“You're doing great,” Angel said as the ball flew out of his hand toward the ceiling.

“Don't patronize me,” said Spike. We both know you fancy me.

Click. “Very good, Spike. Ready?”

He gave the booth window a small nod, and another little ball shot out of the wall. This round went much as the one before, with Angel catching the ball and managing to stay far enough away from Spike that the blond never had a real chance of taking it away from him, despite making a decent attempt at herding him toward one of the corners of the room. When the buzzer sounded, Spike cursed and Angel held up the ball to show the people in the booth that he had it, in case there were any doubt.

“Again!” Spike called out, eyeing Angel as the ball flew up from his hand. Without comment from the booth, another little ball shot out of the wall. This time, it headed directly toward Spike, but before he could catch it, Angel was suddenly there, snatching it out of its path just before it would have reached Spike's fingers. Angel actually felt the displacement of air as Spike swiped at him, trying to grab hold of his body to get to the target, but he was already dashing away, the blond following immediately, two blurs through the room. At one point, Angel changed directions suddenly and would have tripped over Spike's foot, but he turned it into a graceful jump without slowing down and ended the round with the ball still tucked into his hand like before. It was the closest Spike had come to any kind of success, though there had been no actual contact between them.

“Almost had you that time,” Spike said as soon as the buzzer sounded. He whipped around to the booth and insisted, “I almost got him that time!”

Click. “Thought you had no problems touching a six-foot target.” This was Nicholas. Angel could see Gunn and Wesley through the window subtly shifting their bodies to crowd the young vampire away from the intercom button.

“He's six-bloody-one and a—” Spike started to argue, but hesitated when Angel said to him, “He's jealous.” Voice soft enough not to be picked up by the training room mics.

“Of what?” muttered Spike. “I haven't touched you.”

“Not yet.” Angel tossed the little ball upward. It flew all the way up and disappeared into the ceiling before he continued, “But he knows I would let you.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, intrigued, as Angel came closer to him.

Turning so that he faced Spike with his back to the booth window, Angel said, “There's no way he didn't smell us all over each other.” He let his gaze drag meaningfully down Spike's body, the way the cream-colored sweater draped softly against his muscles, how those leather pants cupped him perfectly in just the right places. The space between them would be impossible to see from the booth, obscured by his body, so he slipped his hand under the downy material of Spike's sweater, let his fingers rest against the soft bit of flesh just above the waistband of the leather trousers. Their skin separated only by a thin stretch of that sheer blue shirt Spike wore under the cashmere. “He's imagining exactly what I'm going to do to you later,” Angel murmured, trailing his fingertips gently along Spike's flat stomach, “and he can't stand it.”

“That gets you hot, doesn't it?” Spike asked him, voice low. “The thought of budget Maximus in there creaming his knickers picturing us together.”

Judging from the tense vibration of the air between them and the subtle push forward into his touch, Angel wasn't the only one turned on by the idea. Leaning in, he whispered, “He's wearing my underwear right now.”

Spike's eyes widened. “Son of a—”

“You'll have a shot next time,” Angel told him. “Take it.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped his hand from Spike's body and turned away. He said loudly to the booth, “We're ready.”

Immediately, a little red ball launched out of the wall. This one came out high, but Angel didn't wait for it to bounce down. He sprinted for it right away, feeling Spike follow behind him. After jumping impossibly far into the air to catch the ball, Angel let himself pause on landing, barely a fraction of a second. He didn't even have time to brace himself before Spike dove directly into him in a hard tackle. The impact of their bodies was so forceful that when they landed, they skidded nearly halfway across the room, Spike riding Angel across the smooth wooden floor like a boogie board. Landing chest-first on the hard surface with Spike landing on top of him knocked the wind out of Angel, but he couldn't help gasping out a laugh at how ridiculous that must have looked to their audience in the booth.

“Right,” Spike breathed, manhandling Angel onto his back without letting him up from the floor. “Where is it, then?” Still mostly lying on top of him, he reached for Angel's hands where they had landed on the floor on either side of his face. Finding them both empty, he ran his own hands along Angel's arms, searching for the little ball. His palms skimmed down the wine-colored shirt, over Angel's chest and stomach and then back up, feeling the contours of his torso beneath the soft clingy silk.

This thorough touching made Angel's skin tingle. Smiling a little, he let his hands come down to rest on top of Spike's. Their eyes met and the movement hesitated, but only for a second. Spike swallowed and continued his search further down, Angel's hands passively following his as he felt over the empty pockets of the black pants, down his firm thighs and back up. “Bloody hell, Angel, where did you put—?” His hand brushed over something else, moved away, then came back for a more detailed investigation. Angel tried not to chuckle as Spike's fingers manipulated his cock and balls through his pants. “Well,” Spike whispered, squeezing gently. “That's definitely not it...”

He quickly repeated the entire process, sweeping his hands over every inch of Angel's body as Angel lay there patiently being touched all over, hands riding along on top of Spike's hands whenever they were within reach. But eventually Spike's hands slowed down. Fingers cupping Angel's cock again, Spike looked up into his eyes, pupils dilated with arousal. Even though he couldn't help it, it was still hot that he looked turned on from this closeness, that he smelled so fucking irresistible right now. Proof of his desire pressed insistently against Angel's thigh through their clothes, his scent radiating from his body in a neverending pulse, flowing over and totally submerging Angel in the thickness of it, the sweetness, the burn, the memory. Family. This wasn't just the smell of everything Angel wanted, but the smell of everything he'd once had and lost somewhere a lifetime ago, that he'd spent a century wishing for, as if longing itself could be a vampire-shaped package wrapped in cashmere and leather, lying on top of him and wanting him back. Angel lifted one hand from where it covered Spike's hand and reached up to cup his jaw instead, let his thumb skim softly along the cool skin of Spike's cheek as they looked at each other.

We both know you fancy me.

We both know you can't stop thinking about touching me, about fucking me, about consuming me into yourself. We both know that once we start this, we will never be able to get enough of each other. We'll swallow each other whole and there will be no escape for either of us and we both absolutely know this and somehow we both want it anyway.

The buzzer sounded.

Without breaking eye contact, Angel opened his mouth. He reached in and took out the red ball, now shiny with saliva.

Spike grimaced. “You're sick, you know that?” he accused, tone hovering somewhere between affection and disgust. “You have no idea where that's been.” He knelt up so that Angel could move.

“You searched my dick twice, but not my mouth?” said Angel, also pushing up into a sitting position. “Really? I know I taught you better than that.”

“Should be flattered. I clearly didn't expect you to be this unhygienic.”

“Spike, my tongue's been in your ass. Germs, obviously not topping my list of concerns.” Still sitting on the floor, Angel held up the ball toward the booth window to show them he had it. Inside the booth, the young vampire's face was stormy. It felt strangely satisfying to see that Nicholas understood what had just happened, that Spike had been allowed a liberty Angel hadn't let Nicholas anywhere close to. The permission had been granted and the opportunity taken so fast that the humans wouldn't have noticed, but any vampire would get what it meant. These exercises had made the rule abundantly clear: Spike could touch Angel. Nicholas couldn't.

“Vampire bums are sanitary compared to human ones. And at least you know where mine's been.”

Angel turned his satisfied expression back to Spike and raked his eyes suggestively down the blond's body. “I know where it's gonna be as soon as we're finished here,” he said.

Spike met his gaze with an equally heated look. “Well, if you're done showing me off to the baby vamp,” he said, “what's stopping us from walking out right now?”

Click. “Nice job, Spike,” Gunn said.

“Yes, well done,” Wesley agreed. “That one was quite close.”

“And nasty,” Gunn added.

With a sigh, Spike stood up and faced the booth. “He cheated.”

Angel also got to his feet. “I didn't cheat. There wasn't any rule about how to hold the—”

“He let me catch him.” Spike's voice may have sounded reluctant to admit this, but he made a dismissive hand gesture as if it were no big deal and added, “If you're keeping track or whatever. For science.”

Angel tried not to look guilty. While Wesley and Gunn appeared to discuss this development between themselves behind the window, he said quietly to Spike, “You didn't have to tell them that.”

“Just don't want them to think I could actually stop you if something serious happens. Didn't realize that 'til now.”

“You'd find a way,” said Angel.

“Let's hope it's not by fishing bouncy balls from that dirty gob of yours.”

“Alright.” Angel shrugged. “No more balls in my mouth.” He gave Spike a sideways glance.

Despite the enlarged pupils, Spike's eyes were amused. “Don't go getting ahead of yourself, pet.”

Angel chuckled softly and looked back up to the booth. Nicholas was gesturing down at him but was saying something to Wesley, which couldn't be heard without the intercom on. “You stopped me this morning,” Angel said. “That guy in the lab. Tim? Probably owes you his life. And you didn't have to be faster than me to save him.”

“You're saying it's enough just being smarter than you?”

“Now who's getting ahead of himself?”

The little red ball was still in Angel's hand. He bounced it down against the floor once and caught it again. Wesley and Gunn were both talking to the young vampire now; the conversation seemed pretty animated. Angel pictured walking out with Spike, simply being gone when they next glanced into the training room. “If something did happen with me,” he said, “you're the guy who could keep people safe. That's what I'm saying.”

When he looked over, Spike was watching him with an expression that seemed both hopeful and troubled. As if he'd just been told something he'd wanted to hear but somehow hearing it was a burden. It gave Angel the impulse to reach out and squeeze his shoulder, but he just waited, and Spike finally said, “You don't know that.”

“I don't have to know it. I...”

Trust you. Angel hesitated over the words. Trusting Spike was how he'd ended up chained to the bed until he'd lost all sense of himself and nearly murdered Wesley. Even though he understood and had already forgiven Spike for that, actually trusting him was still a thing he'd told himself he wouldn't do again, and that was only a day ago.

“You... what?” Spike prompted in a quiet voice.

After a moment, Angel said, “I'll be fine, anyway. There's no reason to worry about it. We already figured out how to keep things under control, right?” He bounced the ball off the floor again, angling it so it would go toward Spike this time.

Spike caught it easily and lifted one eyebrow at Angel. “Speaking of that, you wanna...?” He indicated the door with a nod, again suggesting exactly what Angel had been thinking.

“God, yes. Think they'll notice if we leave?”

“I'm overwhelmed with not caring.”

Angel peered up at the booth window again. Gunn was wearing the expression he normally had when he heard a bad idea, but Wesley was looking down speculatively at Angel as Nicholas talked. “I don't love the look on Wesley's face right now.”

“Like someone's pissed in his Shreddies, you mean? He always looks like that.”

“No, he's got 'humor me' face. First he's gonna say we should try something I don't want to do, and then he's gonna say—”

Click. “Angel,” Wesley said. His voice came through the speakers in the corner, the sound not quite exactly matching up with the movement of his lips. “I'd like to try something a little different this time. Nicholas will join you two for the next round.”

The young vampire smirked at Spike's dismayed expression and turned to exit the booth. As he came down the few steps into the training room, Angel said to Wesley, “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“One round. Just to make the exercise slightly more challenging,” said Wesley. “Humor me?”

Angel exchanged a knowing glance with Spike, then gave the booth a reluctant nod. “One round.”

It was hard to imagine the addition of another vampire making this more difficult when the additional vampire was a significantly less skilled opponent. Coupled with that lengthy conversation in the observation booth just now, this probably meant that there was some trick to it, but Angel couldn't immediately see what it was. Spike didn't appear to see it either. The little red ball flew up out of his hand, and he glared at Nicholas as the young vampire joined them on the training room floor. Gruffly, he said to the shirtless fledge, “Keep out of my way.”

“Bet we could take him down together,” said Nicholas, coming over to where Angel and Spike were standing. The scent of his desire for Angel was deliciously earthy and wild but felt chaotic compared to the deep ocean-tint of Spike's more calmly intense essence. “I shared him last night. I can share him again.”

“I don't play nice with others,” Spike said. “Didn't come here to share.”

“I didn't come here to play,” Nicholas told him.

“Let's just get this done,” Angel said quietly to them both. “Ready?” He was still trying to figure out the younger vampire's angle as the two of them nodded at him. They'd had no opportunity to plan anything, and given the apparent animosity between them, he was fairly certain they wouldn't be teaming up to beat him. Could Nicholas really think that working by himself he'd be better at this exercise than Spike had been?

Jesus, he smelled good. Angel stopped breathing.

Eyes trained on him, both vampires shifted their weight slightly to the balls of their feet in anticipation of the chase, and a little thrill zinged down Angel's backbone at the prospect of being hunted by the two of them at the same time. He supposed he'd find out soon enough what the young vampire had said to convince Wesley to let him join the game. In the meantime, his own strategy hadn't changed. Catch the ball. Run. Try not to rip off any arms.

He glanced up at the booth again and gave his friends a nod, signaling them to start the round.

What happened over the course of the next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion, in that disconcerting way the universe has of slowing itself down when several things happen all at once, as if time needs to stretch out to make room for everything. Following Angel's nod, it took Gunn one second to hesitate, looking conflicted, before pressing the button that would start the timer and launch the next ball into the training room. In that one second, Angel noticed his expression, could see that whatever the plan was that involved Nicholas, his friend wasn't fully on board with it. Also in that second, Angel noticed that Wesley was observing the three vampires closely, clearly anticipating something new.

The following second was a bit more crowded. First, the little red ball flew out of the wall to Angel's right, near the door. He heard the soft distant tick of the number on the timer changing from 60 to 59. He saw Spike's eyes flick over to the ball as it emerged, saw the speculation passing through his mind, that briefest moment of decision that happens faster than the body can react: chase the target, or chase the vampire? Angel saw the exact point at which Spike decided to go after him rather than try to snatch the target first. The little ball hadn't even shot six inches out of the wall before his eyes flicked back to Angel, expecting him to sprint toward it, Spike's leg muscles tensing for the pursuit.

But Nicholas hadn't seemed to notice the ball at all. He was looking at Spike. In that smallest slice of time when Spike's eyes were on the target and his mind was on the exercise, the young vampire's fist was already coming up toward Spike's face. Instantly, Angel recognized that Nicholas had been telling the truth: he wasn't here to play. In that single second while Spike's attention was elsewhere, the strong fledgling was already halfway to connecting a hard punch directly to his mouth.

So when Spike's eyes met Angel's with the expectation of seeing Angel take off for the ball, Angel was looking back at him with a very different expectation, the simple knowledge that he was about to see Spike hurt. Spike, who was so invested in Angel's next move that he'd completely dismissed the young vampire's presence, as if Nicholas hadn't even been there.

The rage that consumed Angel in that moment was so intense that it genuinely felt like an emotion he'd never experienced before. Even the agonizing, helpless frustration of being chained suffering to his bed all day yesterday was as nothing compared to the anger that flared through him in that fraction of a second just before the fist landed against Spike's face. There was the powerlessness of knowing he hadn't seen it in enough time to stop it from happening, but even more than that, there was the resentment of this pretense of a training exercise, the fact that he and Spike had just been lied to about Nicholas's purpose here, the betrayal of Wesley allowing this vampire to attack Spike just so he could watch Angel's reaction as though this were something they'd all agreed to go along with, just animals to be experimented on and observed. Like they were less than human.

Maybe it wasn't so strange after all that the thought that popped into Angel's head was, This is why there are no recorded studies on vampire physiology. We don't let them treat us this way.

The anger erupted from somewhere deep inside his chest and spilled out in a ferocious, thundering roar. He barely took in the impact of the fledgling's knuckles against Spike's mouth, was already grabbing Nicholas by the neck as Spike bounced off his fist and stumbled backward in shock. Angel slammed the dark-haired vampire against the wall, his skull cracking loudly against the glass of the booth window as he reflexively turned his head in immediate and desperate submission, all traces of the confidence it took to punch Spike evaporating as he cowered mere inches from Angel's deafening outburst. The intense sound reverberated through the high-ceilinged room, rattling the window behind the young vampire's head.

Nicholas's neck grasped tightly in his fingers, Angel allowed his booming roar to taper down into a fierce snarl. The fledge had gone completely limp in his grip, totally yielding to him and unresisting in every way, body held against the wall by Angel's strength alone. It was the only reason he still had his head on. If he'd put up an ounce of fight, any slight movement or tense muscle, he'd have been dust already. Slowly, growling, Angel leaned close to his head and sniffed. Awe and fear. Good.

Still holding Nicholas against the wall, Angel looked up accusingly to the window. Wesley and Gunn were looking back at him, frozen in place. Perhaps it was instinct not to make any sudden moves after what they'd just witnessed, but while Wesley didn't seem surprised, Gunn's mouth fell open when he saw Angel's eyes.

After what felt like a long pause while time righted itself, Spike said quietly, “Angel,” from somewhere to one side.

His hand flexed tightly around the other vampire's throat. “You're bleeding,” Angel replied without looking over. “Are you okay?”

“I can take a punch.”

“Tell me to kill him and I will.”

Hesitation. They all knew Spike wanted the other vampire dead. Even so, Nicholas didn't try to get away. He still hung limp against the wall, in total submission. Carefully, Spike said, “You don't want to kill him.”

“I'll still do it.” The smell of Spike's blood, just a small amount seeping from his busted lip, was filling up Angel's head. He was trembling a little from the effort of controlling his rage, but his voice was steady. “Say the word.”

He didn't look when Spike came over to him, that intoxicating bloodsmell drawing nearer. After a tense moment, Spike said simply, “He's already in more pain than I am." 

It was as good as a pardon. Angel relaxed his grip on Nicholas and let the fledge slide down to the floor, watched him reach up to his own neck, flinching. A small bone had snapped under Angel's hand, not a vertebra but the hyoid bone, which meant Nicholas was going to have some trouble with speaking, breathing, and swallowing until it healed. Maybe Spike felt that was punishment enough, but Angel could think of many additional ways to hurt Nicholas while keeping him alive.

The little ball was bouncing around the room. Angel could hear the sharp, methodical tapping sound of it ricocheting off the floor and walls. Spike touched his arm. When Angel finally looked over at him, Spike's breath caught. “Oh,” he said. “That's... new.” Angel's eyes fell to the cut on Spike's lip. The blood seemed redder than usual, almost like it was lit up, glowing like hot coals, shimmery and reflective as moonlight on oil. Angel stared, saliva pooling in his mouth, as Spike's tongue darted out to lick away the red. It began to bead up again immediately. Without looking at the booth, Spike said to Wesley, “This is what you were after, isn't it?”

Click. “The vocalization, yes.”

“You just wanted him to be loud? Christ. I could've told you he was loud!”

“He's done it before?”

“Seen it happen twice already.”

“And... his eyes?”

Spike was looking at them, but Angel couldn't draw his gaze away from that tantalizing little wound. He watched Spike's bloodied mouth form the words, “First time they've turned red like that.”

“Is Angel okay?” Gunn asked.

The tiny smear of blood was calling him; he could hear it. Like the steady rush of water lapping up onto a beach and receding, then pushing forward again, this hypnotic throb. He didn't even realize he was slowly leaning closer to it to press his lips against it until Spike reached up and gently stopped his mouth with a fingertip. “Angel,” he said softly. “Fangs away, yeah?”

He hadn't even felt them come out. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

The bleeding, slightly swollen mouth twitched up in a faint smile. “Pull 'em in first, pet. Don't wanna risk cocking this up before we get a proper shag, do we?”

It was such a small amount, two drops at most, but the split was still fresh and open. If he sucked on it, more would come out. He tried to concentrate. Nothing happened. “Spike, I... I can't. It's not working.”

“Yes, you can.” His hand moved up over Angel's face, the pad of his thumb passing lightly across Angel's right brow ridge, as if he could smooth the demonic features away like clay. “Close your eyes and try again for me.”

He let his eyes fall closed, but even in the darkness he could still see the glow of Spike's blood, as if it were branded on the insides of his eyelids. He tried to relax, tried to calm the hunger. Soft drag of fingertips over the folds above his nose, and he exhaled slowly, tugging back against his demon face at the same time. It seemed to catch halfway for a moment, a weird feeling, but then it was over and he could raise his eyebrows again and his teeth felt flat when he ran his tongue along them. Spike's hand lowered from his face as he opened his eyes.

The blond vampire sighed with relief. Not looking away from Angel's face, he said, “He's alright. Just needs some better mates, is all.”

Click. “I apologize for the ruse,” Wesley's voice said. And to his credit, he did sound apologetic. “We needed to know.”

“It's fine,” Angel forced himself to say. “I understand.” He was still looking at the drops of blood, his head feeling strangely tight from holding his fangs in. But finally he managed to raise his eyes to meet Spike's, the blown-wide pupils nestled in their band of blue, watching him with concern layered over the desire, with irritation at the way they'd been used, with sympathy and curiosity and longing and...

You fancy me. We both know.

Softening his voice, Angel said, “Think it's about time for our meeting now?”

“I'm already there,” Spike gently chided him. “You're late.”

Angel leaned slowly in, mouth so close to Spike's bleeding lip that they were almost kissing. “I'm on my way,” he murmured, and then brushed past Spike to head toward the door.

Behind him, he heard Spike say to the booth window, “Right, we're off the clock 'til tomorrow. Hold my calls.”

*

Chapter Text

*

Aside from Buffy, Wesley was the only human with whom Angel had ever really shared meaningful details about his post-death, pre-curse existence. He'd only told Cordelia a few stories here and there, mostly things she might find exciting that didn't involve a lot of gory human injuries, and later he'd been compelled to show some unflattering snippets of his ensouled past to Faith while they were trapped together in a dreamstate, but he'd had no control over that.

With Buffy, he'd made it a point to share anything he could think of that might be helpful to her regarding the various villains who presented themselves in Sunnydale (as well as a few choice memories he thought would amuse her, like where he was when he bought his first pair of bellbottom jeans and how he'd once ended up working at a zoo in Connecticut for exactly six nights). But for the most part, he didn't like to talk to the good people he knew about the bad things he'd done, and since the majority of his unlife had been a series of one bad thing leading to another, he didn't exactly have a habit of peppering explicit details of his evil personal history into everyday conversations.

It wasn't lying. They all knew he'd been evil; he didn't try to hide that. He just didn't see the point of delving into uncomfortable specifics unless the situation called for it. So he'd told Buffy what he did to Drusilla when that information became necessary – he still regarded Dru as one of the most evil things he'd ever done – and while he certainly would have confessed additional terrible things to her if needed, it was rarely needed, and so he didn't spend a lot of time regaling his human girlfriend with vivid tales of artistic brutality when the two of them could instead be having much nicer conversations about things like what was going on in her non-slay-related life or, for instance, what will definitely get a bellbottom-wearing vampire fired from a zoo in less than a week.

And most of the bad things he'd been obliged to tell Wesley were just to satisfy the man's curiosity about vampires or the nature of evil in a general way. Wesley had done some research into Angel's past on his own time and had only brought up the things he'd learned when they were relevant to the situation at hand, for which Angel was grateful. Of course, the books his friend had access to were more likely to list his known acts of atrocity in a nondescript, detached sort of way than to paint the intense picture Angel himself or other witnesses could. But on the rare occasions when he'd been forthcoming to Wes with deeper, more intimate stories, Angel had found himself skipping over certain finer points, or even slightly fudging some of the details for the sake of his friend's comfort.

These types of omissions were things that Wesley would realize soon enough, when he'd had time to do a thorough study of the archives of the Order of Aurelius. Angel expected to be confronted at some point with several questions about his more comprehensively documented past, including but not limited to three specific murders he'd never mentioned to any of them. It wasn't a conversation he looked forward to, but if he hadn't been willing to allow Wesley access to the archives, he simply wouldn't have. Wesley knew enough about who he used to be that perhaps he wouldn't even be shocked at what he found... but it may be that his perspective on Angel hadn't yet reached the end of the somewhat dramatic shift that had begun that weekend.

At any rate, Angel knew he'd never brought up the house in London to a human. Not to Wesley, not to Buffy, and not to Cordelia or Faith. It was a place he kept to himself, somewhere deep down, in the same small part of his heart where he would always keep his vampire family, that nest that belonged to the four of them alone during the Best Time. He'd spent his century of solitude trying not to think of that house because of the way the memory made him ache with loneliness. It was the last real home he'd known before he was forced away, and so it was the place he always thought of first when he thought of them all together, even though they'd spent about eighteen years in each other's company and only stayed at the London house for one.

Their year at that house was what Spike's blood smelled like.

The bright red drop that trembled on his bottom lip contained within it the combined intoxicating scents of all four of their little family. Angel could feel them there, as if Darla and Drusilla both stood just behind him in the 8^th floor elevator, peeking over his shoulders at the inviting liquid memory that welled up from the split pink flesh of Spike's mouth when he followed Angel into the small space. In that moment, Angel couldn't think of a time when he'd struggled harder against the urge to bite; he felt as if he could easily get back the feeling of belonging that he'd been missing for so long, as if they could all be together in that house again in an instant. All he had to do was give in.

Spike must know it was killing him. Calmly, the younger vampire reached out and pushed the button for the penthouse floor, as though somehow he thought they could just stand side by side in an ascending elevator like any two people who weren't desperate for each other. But as the doors slid shut, he looked over at Angel with pupils blown wide, and the pretense shattered.

Without saying anything, Angel came forward and slowly reached up to brace his hands on the wall on either side of the blond head. He leaned in to rest his forehead gently against Spike's, lips parted just a little as he breathed in, bringing the scent of their past into the back of his throat to savor it. Spike's lips also parted automatically as they inhaled slowly together, mouths barely two inches apart. Angel could see it happening so clearly: sinking his fangs into Spike's neck, drinking deeply, losing himself in the flood of red and remembering. “Spike,” he managed to whisper. “Can I...”

Before he could even finish asking, Spike tilted his head up and took Angel's mouth in a soft kiss. That wet drop of history smeared against Angel's lips as he fell immediately into the kiss, and for one brief moment, his senses were entirely overwhelmed. As soon as his tongue touched the rich, familiarly metallic taste, he was there as he knew he would be, back in their old house again, sitting with Darla near the library fireplace, Drusilla at his feet, young William stretched out on his back on the rug with his head in Dru's lap. He could smell the books on the shelves, paper and ink and old binding glue, and he could smell the fire and the sweetness of the whiskey in the glass on the side table and the charcoal stick in his hand as he sketched. He could hear Drusilla singing softly, feel her long hair draping down his leg. Feel the press of Darla's knee against his as she read.

And he could smell William. The strong scent of his desire, dark and familiar and deep, while he lay there looking up with aroused eyes. Not at Drusilla, but at...

“I want you,” Spike broke their kiss to whisper. He swallowed, wet lips parted so close to Angel's lips. Reached up, slid his hand around the back of Angel's neck. “Angel, I can't wait any longer.”

“We're not,” Angel whispered back, and kissed Spike's mouth again. He'd licked the blood away already, but he chased the taste of it anyway, sucked Spike's hurt bottom lip into his mouth and tried to coax more out. The tip of his tongue prodded at the tiny wound, and Spike groaned quietly at the burn of it and pulled Angel closer, kissed him harder. A similar small flare of pain as Spike's short fingernails dug into the back of Angel's neck, and Angel gasped into their kiss and dropped one hand down to Spike's hip, held him firmly to grind against as the elevator car carried them up.

Hardly any time had passed since that suckerpunch in the training room, but the cut on Spike's lip was already starting to seal itself, and their old library began to fade as it pulled closed. Angel couldn't quite hold onto the image of that room, the feel of really being back there with his family again, but in the elevator the smell of the moment continued to surround him. With his eyes closed, he imagined he was still there, inhaled every nuance of the scent as it poured from Spike's skin. God, he wanted to tear this skin open, burrow inside. He felt as if he could literally travel back in time, back to that unique type of uncomplicated contentedness he hadn't known since that year. That he could relive every moment since then, do it all over, feeling the way he felt now.

He slipped his hand under Spike's sweater and the sheer blue shirt beneath, grasping at bare flesh along the top edge of the soft leather pants. The skin was smooth and silky, and Angel let his fingertips press firmly into it as he held Spike there, passionately kissing his mouth. They kept breaking apart to breathe each other in, then diving urgently back into the kiss as if even those brief seconds to inhale were too long for their lips to be apart. He could sense the blood waiting for his teeth under that perfect skin. Don't do it, Angel told himself, pinning Spike to the wall with his body and his lips, slipping a knee between Spike's legs. Don't lose control. You can't have him that way.

He kissed fervently across Spike's mouth, over his cheek to his jaw, then down, the whole while repeating in his head, Don't do it. Don't do it. The soft sound Spike made when Angel began to kiss his neck came so close to breaking his willpower. He scraped his teeth gently over the place where Spike's pulse would have been, listening to the sound of Spike's panting breaths near his ear. Spike's hand on the back of his neck was pulling Angel's mouth into his throat. Maybe he didn't know how much that felt like an invitation; maybe he just couldn't help himself. Don't do it. Pressing Spike to the side of the elevator, hips to hips, holding him there with fingertips biting into flesh, kissing his neck – he just couldn't get close enough. Angel's other hand clenched into a fist against the wall. Fuck. Fuck.

Since this wasn't Angel's private elevator, it was only a bit of luck that no one else summoned it while they were feverishly making out inside. When they reached his floor and the doors opened, it took concentrated effort to wrench himself away from the taste of Spike's skin and fumble his key into the extra door that opened into his study before dragging Spike into the penthouse and kicking it closed behind them. They stumbled a little over their own feet as they tried to go on kissing while pushing and pulling each other toward the bedroom. They'd only made it halfway there and were still in the hall when Angel grabbed the bottom edge of Spike's sweater and yanked it up, the blond quickly raising his arms to cooperate. As soon as it was off over his head, they were kissing and stumbling again, leaving the sweater on the floor where Angel dropped it.

“Goddamn it,” Angel breathed, shoving Spike's body against the wall beside the kitchen. “You smell so fucking good.” His fingers quickly moved to unbuckle Spike's belt as they kissed again.

Spike was grabbing at Angel's belt as well but was so distracted by his mouth that he didn't quite get it undone. Between kisses, he managed, “You're all I can... fucking think about. Need you to—ah!” His hips arched forward into the tight fist Angel had just wrapped around his naked cock.

“What do you think, maybe a quick one first?” Angel suggested breathlessly against his lips, already rubbing Spike's stiff dick fast and hard in his hand. He kissed the mouth that had dropped open around a helpless moan, then added, “Just to take the edge off before I fuck you?”

Spike barely had time to nod before Angel dropped down to his knees and swallowed his cock in one quick, fluid motion. “Jesus Christ!” Spike gasped, knocking his head back against the wall. His fingers immediately twined themselves into Angel's hair.

The taste of Spike's excitement was almost as strong as his blood had been. Angel pressed his face forward as far as he possibly could, nosing into dark gold hair as his throat tried to adjust to the sudden stretch around Spike's thick erection. He swallowed tightly around the rigid flesh and Spike cursed, canting his hips forward. When Angel pulled back, he could taste the trickle of precum that was already beginning to leak out. He sucked hard at it, listening to Spike's breath coming fast and shallow like a human, like he needed it, even though it was only his desperation for Angel's scent that was making him pant like that. It was so fucking sexy, getting a human reaction out of a 124-year-old demon. Angel gripped Spike's thighs through the soft leather trousers and pressed forward again, taking him to the root.

“Oh God, oh fuck,” Spike barely got out, more breath than voice. His fingers clenched in Angel's hair, tugging it a little, making his scalp tingle. “Yeah, just like—uhn, bloody hell, Angel—just like that, fuck—” He began to rock his hips slightly forward and back as Angel swallowed him down and then retreated over and over. Angel could feel the firm thighs tensing under his hands with every back-and-forth motion, taste the little salty drops flowing out every time Spike's swollen cockhead dragged over his tongue. He swirled his tongue around it and Spike froze with a gasp, his knees trembling. “That's—fuck yeah, that's it—”

Angel backed off, the hard dick leaving his mouth with a quiet pop, and moved his hand up to begin stroking it quickly, slicked with saliva. “Don't try to hold back,” he said, throat raspy. “I want you to come in my mouth. We'll go again after.” It wasn't like Spike would need a recovery period anyway, thanks to these voodoo hormones.

Spike gave him a quick nod. Let his eyes fall closed. “Yeah, just—do the thing with your tongue again...”

He continued to strip Spike's slippery cock fast through his fingers, but took the flushed pink head between his lips again, nudged at the weeping slit with his tongue, and then began to swish his tongue under and around the tender shape of it.

“That! Keep—ah, fucking hell—”

Spike endured this treatment for a few seconds, then groaned softly and thrust forward, sinking himself to the back of Angel's wet mouth, the round head nudging at his throat again. Angel let go and took him all the way in, swallowed around him. With a sharp cry, Spike bumped his head back against the wall a second time, shuddered, and began to come in thick spurts down Angel's throat.

He breathed hard through his peak, moaning a little as he held Angel's head in place. Angel kept hold of Spike's thighs, the tense tremors of the powerful orgasm traveling up his arms. Each time he swallowed, Spike's body unintentionally jerked in his grip from the sensitivity, his breath hitching. Seeing and hearing and feeling these small physical reactions was the best part. Knowing he was the reason for them. Angel's own acute need throbbed in his pants as he held Spike in his throat like this, swallowing and looking up at him, until Spike's harsh breathing finally started to calm. He opened his eyes to look down, his pupils still huge in the dim light of the hallway.

Very slowly, looking into those soulful depths, Angel let the cock slide out of the tight squeeze of his throat. Spike's dark eyelashes fluttered as Angel took the unflagging erection in his hand and held it still to lick gently over it, soft laps of tongue against sensitive flesh. Spike sighed, running his fingers affectionately through Angel's hair. Relaxed back against the wall and watched him with a lazy intensity. Turned on but no longer urgently so, the way Angel still was. Not exactly smiling, but somehow looking very pleased with himself regardless.

“This,” he murmured contentedly, flexing his fingers in the soft hair, “will never get old.”

Angel dragged his tongue up the length of Spike's dick again, flicked over the slit, and quietly observed, “Not getting old. Kind of our specialty.” He went back to the slow licking. The lingering taste and smell of Spike's spend almost took him back to the old house again, and he couldn't bring himself to stop seeking it out. Remembering how they'd occasionally shared Drusilla between them, how she often smelled of this exact scent, or of both of them, the way Darla would sometimes smell the two younger vampires fucking in an adjacent room and initiate creative sex with Angelus within earshot of them just for fun. There'd been so much closeness in that house that now, with his hands and lips on Spike's body, it felt like such a strange oversight that the two of them together had never taken these steps back then.

“I meant this. You on your knees for me.” Spike's voice was low, thick with arousal. “You've no bloody idea how hot it is seeing you like that. Your mouth on my cock.” He stroked his fingertips upward through Angel's hair, tickling Angel's scalp as the hair ruffled.

“I have some idea,” Angel said. He turned his head to suck a kiss into the side of Spike's dick, listened to the soft huff of breath, and added, “I've seen you like this, too.”

A small smirk. “Wanna see it again? It's your turn.”

“What I want,” said Angel, rising to his feet, “is for you to be naked.” He still had his hand wrapped around Spike's plump cock and squeezed it as he leaned in for a kiss. Kissing Spike after he'd come was nice, when he was all languid and pliable. He slipped his other hand around Spike's back and pulled him close, and the smaller vampire seemed to melt into him, his fingers sliding out of Angel's hair to cup his face, then running down his neck to his chest. It was only meant to be a short kiss, a punctuation, but it was so easy to keep going that they just did, and they ended up kissing there in the hallway for a while like they were simply having a conversation, and it was full of compliments for each other and sly jokes. They were both smiling a little when Angel finally broke away to say, as if he were disappointed, “You're not naked yet.”

“You've already got the good bits out,” Spike murmured, letting his hips thrust gently toward Angel's hand.

“Not all of them.” Angel slid his other hand up and around from the small of Spike's back to his chest and softly pinched his left nipple through the sheer blue shirt. Spike's body jerked in surprise, and Angel chuckled. “Then again,” he mused, looking down, “these are really tempting in this shirt.”

“Maybe I'll leave it on, then.”

“Trying to drive me crazy?” Angel tugged at the little nub.

“You're already crazy, mate. I'm just collecting the benefits.”

Not bothering to argue with this assessment, Angel dropped a kiss on Spike's cheek and then bent down to put his mouth to the tiny tent of see-through material where that nipple was pushing it out. He sucked at it through the sheer blue fabric, lashed his tongue across it. He could feel Spike shiver against his lips. Then one of Spike's hands reached down to cover Angel's hand on his dick and move it up and down, trying to encourage him to stroke it, and so Angel allowed his hand to begin a slow pace. Slid his thumb teasingly over the tip. He contemplated taking Spike here in the hallway, fucking him still dressed, just like this.

Spike sighed, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall. “Do you,” he breathed, and swallowed before starting over, “Do you want me to...”

“I wanted you to get naked,” Angel said into his chest. “But you didn't.” He set his teeth around the stiff bud and bit it gently, at the same time thumbing over the damp head of Spike's cock again, two sudden and distinct points of pleasure. Listened to the tiny catch in Spike's breath.

“It's... not too late, you know.”

“Shh. Take your punishment.” Spike's erection twitched in Angel's hand when he said this. Angel squeezed it, began stroking a little faster, and moved his mouth to the other clearly visible nipple straining against the thin blue shirt. He left behind a small wet circle of silky fabric over the first one, and his other hand came up to play with the tender little nub through the damp material as he began to suck the second one. Imagined pricking it with a fang and then nursing the blood out.

Spike was arching his chest toward Angel's mouth with every breath. It was hard to tell whether he was doing it on purpose or if his body was just naturally shameless in its lust. The blond vampire felt so needy under his hands, looked so wanton in the ridiculously revealing shirt and with his belt buckle flopped to the side, leather pants open and hard cock poking out, his whole self squirming for more contact. “If this is... your version of punishment,” Spike managed, “it's like I've always suspected. You've... ah, you've gone soft in your old age.”

Angel bit this nipple, too. Blunt teeth. Felt the tremor go through Spike's body. Then he straightened up and, pressing close enough that Spike would definitely be able to feel his erection through his pants, whispered into his ear, “I really haven't.”

Spike's hand slipped between their bodies and fitted itself around Angel's achingly hard cock through the black material. Rubbing firmly across it, he asked, in a tone that sounded almost like a dare, “You gonna give this to me, Angel?”

“Yeah,” Angel said. He reached up to tilt Spike's face and kissed him softly on the lips, once. Then he pulled back and added, “Wait for me in the bedroom.” He turned to walk away.

A confused pause. Then Spike asked the back of his head, “What, need a time out already? Don't tell me you've got someplace else to be.”

Angel hesitated, his back still turned. The smell of Spike even when they weren't touching was doing his head in. He wanted him so badly he felt like he could burst, which was exactly why he needed to be extra careful, take one last precaution. He turned his head toward Spike a little, not all the way, and said quietly, “I'll be right there. I just... need to eat first.” Without waiting for a reply, he went into the kitchen.

He didn't linger over the blood. It was nothing special on a good day, just pig, sustenance, something to fill his belly, not bad but not particularly enticing either. Now, after the tantalizing drop he'd tasted from Spike's lips, the blood he kept in his refrigerator was barely drinkable. He downed two bags quickly, not even bothering to heat them, just getting them in as fast as possible. Hopefully the fullness inside would be enough to curb his urge to bite, to stave off that insatiable hunger.

He stacked the second empty, flattened plastic bag on top of the first, then leaned both hands on the countertop and closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath. He could hear Spike pulling off his boots in the other room, the two dull thuds as they landed carelessly on the floor. He could still smell him, God, just like their old house, like Angel was standing in his own personal limbo, caught halfway between this bizarre present and the comforting familiarity of the way things used to be. Wondering if he and Spike alone could somehow make the same kind of home here, right now, based on no real foundation but loneliness and their own dumb hormones, stimulated into a frenzy by a big evil bug bite.

It was such a stupid fantasy. He knew it was, but he still wanted it. Even if it was just for one night.

Angel took one more moment in the kitchen to cup his hand under the faucet and catch some water to bring to his mouth, rinse away the taste of pig's blood. Then he dried his hands, touched his forehead briefly to make sure his fangs weren't out, and followed Spike's incredible scent into the bedroom.

The blond was standing there barefoot, shock of white feet sticking out from the bottom of his black leather pants. The pants themselves were still unfastened, and he'd unbuttoned the flimsy blue shirt, which hung open from his shoulders to frame the lean muscles of his pale chest and stomach. Ungelled platinum hair still mussed from passing through the discarded sweater. Lips and nipples kissed a dark pink. He already looked thoroughly debauched, and Angel had barely even started on him.

“Why did he call you sire?” Spike asked as Angel walked into the room. “That munter downstairs wearing your cast-offs. Called you sire and master.”

Angel didn't pounce on Spike or throw him onto the bed, an impressive show of self-restraint given how aroused he was. Because it hadn't yet been long enough since his last orgasm for the brain fog to start creeping in, he was still mostly in control of himself, but it was impossible to know how long he could be around Spike's scent like this without going mad – especially not now that he'd tasted his blood. He came forward and sat on the edge of the bed, began to untie his shoes. “I don't know.”

“You didn't ask him to, then?”

“Why would I ask him to do that?” Angel pulled off one shoe and then the other, left them neatly beside the bed, and took off his socks as well. All very calmly.

“Just thought... Dunno, thought it was something you might...” Spike shrugged. “While you were shagging him, if you wanted him to say it—”

“Jesus.” Angel laughed softly and rubbed his eyes with both hands, then looked up at Spike. “No, Spike, I don't ask my partners to call me sire during sex.”

“Oh. Well, good. 'Cause if you thought that was about to happen here, we were gonna have a few somewhat unpleasant words.”

Angel stood from the bed, smiling just a little at the suddenly haughty expression on Spike's face. He stalked toward him slowly, undoing his belt as he went. “You used to call me sire,” he said. “Remember?”

“I used to be young,” said Spike. He reached out for Angel's unfastened belt buckle and pulled it, the long strip of leather slithering out through the loops around Angel's waist. “And you used to be intimidating.” He dropped the belt onto the floor and then tucked his fingers into the top of Angel's trousers to pull him a step closer.

“Is that all? Here I was thinking it hurt your feelings when he said it.”

“Don't be daft. I was correcting an inaccuracy.” Spike looked down to undo the button on Angel's pants. As he got it open, he added, “Just 'cause I'm not calling you sire doesn't mean any random dead bloke can. You don't need to be evil to have standards, Angel.”

“Right,” Angel said, still smiling as the younger vampire tugged up the bottom of his silk shirt, untucking it from the black pants. Angel caught Spike's pout in a kiss before he could do anything else, sliding his hands around Spike's waist under the soft drape of his open shirt. “You know, you could still call me that if you felt like it,” he murmured. “For the sake of... accuracy.”

Spike narrowed his eyes in mock-suspicion. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? I knew it. Perv.”

Angel let his palms glide down the smooth skin of Spike's back into his unfastened pants, grasped Spike's bare asscheeks with both hands under the supple lambskin. “I think you want to,” he teased softly, squeezing the round flesh. Then he leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Don't worry. We'll keep it between us,” and gently bit Spike's earlobe.

A quiet huff, almost a chuckle at Angel's rare use of a tone that had lured countless people into varying acts of indecency. Though it wasn't actually a refusal, Angel didn't press any further. “But I wouldn't really ask you to,” he added, noting interestedly that the scent of Spike's arousal had intensified. Maybe it was from the touching. He nuzzled Spike's cheek, giving his butt another fond squeeze. “I like it when you say my name.”

“Yeah?” Regarding him slyly, Spike lowered his own voice into a more seductive tone and murmured, “I know what else you like to hear me say... pet.”

The little flip in Angel's belly must be from all the blood he drank. Ignoring Spike's smirk, he dragged his fingernails lightly up the flawless skin and pushed at the thin blue shirt. “Take your fucking clothes off, Spike.”

“Kiss me,” Spike said.

Angel immediately took his lips in a passionate kiss, at the same time managing to shift the see-through material off Spike's shoulders and down his arms. There was entirely too much skin here, a perfect pale canvas ripe for pretty red designs, just begging for his teeth. He'd seen this same skin spattered in human blood lifetimes ago and couldn't remember now why he'd never licked it clean, almost wished it were covered that way again just so he'd have the chance. The idea of doing that made his dick move.

The blue shirt floated to the floor as Angel ran his palms down the shallow curve of Spike's firm body, one hand settling flat against the dip at the small of his back, holding him close, as the other began to tug the soft black leather off his hips. Spike kissed him through it, slipping his hands under the silk shirt Angel wore to feel his own unmarked flesh, two silver rings tracing a cool trail along his side, contrasting the wandering touch of his fingers.

Mouths never parting from each other, Angel turned Spike's body and walked him backward toward the bed to sit him down on it. Spike's hips came up once as Angel yanked the leather pants down and off him, and then he finally had the younger vampire naked on the soft blue sheets, just as he'd pictured him there, lean muscles framed by the same cool color as his eyes. Angel pushed him a little to scoot back and lie down, then crawled right on top of him on the bed, straddling Spike's naked body while still mostly dressed himself as he leaned forward to lick shamelessly into Spike's mouth.

“Mmm,” Spike sighed against his lips, hands sliding down Angel's back. The delicate silk of the dark red shirt slipped lightly along his skin, moved by Spike's roaming hands, and the catch of tiny invisible hairs against the silk felt like being caressed softly everywhere all at once. It made his erection throb where it was trapped in his pants. Then he felt Spike's hands ball into fists against his body, clenching the shirt between strong fingers. Before he could say anything, there was a loud ripping sound through the otherwise quiet bedroom, and his back was suddenly bare, the shirt falling down his arms as he held himself above Spike.

Angel's mouth paused mid-kiss, and he pulled back just enough to narrow his eyes at the blond. The dark silk was puddled over Spike's chest, attached to Angel now by only the sleeves. Calmly, Angel said, “I liked that shirt.”

“So did I,” Spike murmured pleasantly as he leaned up to capture Angel's lips again. He rolled them over, landing on top between Angel's thighs, and knelt up to pull the ruined shirt from Angel's arms. He was grinning as he tossed the wad of torn silk to the floor, then looked down at Angel lying on the bed. “This is better,” he said, low voice a little rough with passion. He slid his hands up Angel's naked stomach, just feeling along the curves of his muscles, and leaned down to press a kiss to his belly. He quickly unzipped Angel's pants and began to tug the black material down, at the same time kissing a line down Angel's torso, soft lips trailing over firm flesh.

Angel shifted a little to help as Spike backed down his body this way until the trousers were off and Angel's desperate erection finally stood free. Spike threw the pants to the floor with the rest of their clothes, then tilted his head at the uncovered cock, considering it. He reached out and, with a soft touch of fingertips, gently peeled the foreskin back to fully reveal the plump, shiny crown, flushed a dark pink, a tiny dot of liquid already trembling in the slit. Then he leaned down and took the swollen tip of Angel's dick between his lips.

The suddenness of feeling was an electric jolt to his body, this startlingly quick envelopment of his raw cockhead into the soft, wet cavern of Spike's mouth. Angel gasped a small helpless sound as Spike sucked the first bright sparks of this particular pleasure through his flesh, his hips raising involuntarily from the bed to follow the feel of those clever lips, that devilish tongue. His fingers carded into the bleached hair, needing to hold onto something. “Fuck...” Angel breathed, squirming as the blond head dipped lower, taking more in. He drew one arm back so he could prop up on his elbow and watch Spike's face, the fingers of his other hand still woven into the platinum locks to guide his head down and back up.

The soft lips glided slickly along his shaft, Spike's cheeks hollowing each time he pulled back, fantastic pressure increasing with every withdrawal before easing up again as as the lips slid back down. Spike's hands folded themselves around Angel's hips, gripping him firmly. His eyes had fallen closed, dark lashes just brushing the tops of his cheeks in the manner of a man absorbed in his own private bliss, as though sucking Angel's cock were some rare treat that had to be enjoyed slowly and thoroughly without distraction.

Angel's quiet exhale was very nearly a moan. He stroked his fingertips through Spike's thick hair while he watched with hooded eyes the slow, hypnotic up-and-down motions that corresponded to this delicious feeling. As that tongue swished unhurriedly around his tenderest flesh, as those slippery lips continuously pulled at the sensitive pink head and then sank low enough to kiss the root, the intense tickle of it thrummed through Angel's whole body, made his balls twitch, his abs tighten, his skin tingle. And this feeling vibrated along the outside of his body, too, as if somehow Spike were licking and sucking his entire aura, inflaming a passion that was bigger than Angel himself. He shivered under the total onslaught against his every nerve ending, toes curling, as Spike sucked him down again.

“Your mouth,” Angel sighed, “is so... good...”

The blue eyes flicked up to meet his, dark with desire and that smug look that only Spike could manage with a dick buried so deeply in his throat. His cool hands slid up Angel's sides as he bobbed his head in a slow rhythm, until his thumbs reached Angel's stiff little nipples and brushed lightly over them. Angel's belly clenched, his eyelids fluttering closed. He knew he was leaking tiny sips of precum into Spike's mouth, coating the back of his tongue. He felt the squeeze every time Spike swallowed like a wet fist rippling around his cock.

A soft pinch to both nipples. The feeling zinged straight down. “Don't make me come,” Angel whispered. “Not... not yet.”

Cool hands smoothing back down his body, slow retreat of the shiny lips from around his fat erection. A thin strand of saliva and precum connected Spike's lower lip to the puffy little slit of Angel's cockhead for a brief moment before being licked away. Graze of breath against wet skin as Spike asked huskily, “Want me to stop?”

“No, don't stop,” Angel breathed, and gently guided Spike's lips back to his glistening sex. He inhaled sharply as Spike sucked it into his mouth, the onslaught beginning again right away. “Just...” He swallowed, tipping his head back, relishing the feel of that exquisite suction. “Just don't make me come.”

He felt the lips around him twitch briefly into a smile before settling back to task, even slower, more drawn out than before. Spike seemed pleased enough to accept the challenge of dragging him ever so gradually to the brink of orgasm without quite letting him fall over, and Angel endured the torment gracefully with closed eyes and quiet breaths, already planning to visit a similar treatment on his tormentor.

“Do you want to know,” Angel asked him softly with his eyes still closed, his voice as even as he could manage, “what I'm going to do to you?”

A brief pause in the movements, but Angel's cock stayed enveloped in the slick tightness of Spike's throat. Without having to look down, he knew Spike's eyes had flicked up to him again, intrigued.

He tugged lightly on Spike's hair to encourage him to keep sucking, and when the slow bobbing resumed, Angel said, “You think you know what to expect, what it will feel like. Maybe... you've done it before.” Another slight hesitation, but Angel tightened his fingers in Spike's hair again, and the blond said nothing, just swallowed him down once more. Angel sighed.

“It doesn't matter,” he went on, quiet, steady. “Whatever you've had in the past... whatever someone else might have given you... it will be nothing like this. Not even close.” He finally looked down at Spike's face, let his hand slide out of his hair to cup the jaw that was still held wide around his straining erection. “This will be... so much... more.” For just a moment, the aroused blue eyes looking back up at him were the eyes of a much younger vampire, a vampire with dark blond hair tied back with a black ribbon, in an old house that smelled of fire and whiskey and blood and ancient books. The image of William looking at him like that stabbed Angel in the heart, right in the center of that familiar warmth that kept showing up there. “Because it's us,” he said.

Their eyes were fixed on each other like this for a long moment. Angel didn't need a reflection in that moment to know that his pupils were exactly as wide and dark and deep with memory as Spike's were. He let his thumb trace gently along the stretch of Spike's lips, parted around him. “I don't know,” he went on softly, “why I didn't take you back then. I could have made you mine the day she brought you home.”

A tight squeeze around him as Spike swallowed. Then that mouth was slowly backing off his rigid dick, the sensitive tip freeing itself with a soft pop, leaving Spike's lips puffed and wet. Looking into Angel's eyes, voice low and gravelly with unmistakable desire, he said, “You would have ruined me.”

Angel held Spike's face gently in his palm. “You would have loved it,” he whispered.

Then they were kissing again, so suddenly that it was impossible to tell if Spike had surged forward or if Angel had dragged him up. They devoured each other's mouths with no consideration at all for comfort or finesse, only this fierce need between them. Angel's mind didn't even register when they rolled over, but he found Spike's body abruptly beneath his, lean and hard and strong and, God, so fucking receptive to his every touch, like Angel's lips and hands and the weight of his body holding Spike down were to Spike something there could never be enough of, and every breath and moan and arch of his body under Angel's was a demand for more and more.

He wasn't going to stop this time. The simple truth of this pounded through Angel's head as he mouthed over Spike's neck, sucking hard kisses into the pale skin. No biting, but he was definitely going to fuck seven hells out of Spike's ass before he could even think about leaving this bed. Angel managed to peel one hand away from Spike's skin for just long enough to grope through the nightstand drawer for the unmarked bottle of clear oil that he kept there, and a moment later, his hand slipped down Spike's body and he was pressing slick fingertips to the tiny ridged entrance between Spike's cheeks.

Spike exhaled sharply near Angel's ear, letting his legs fall open wider as those fingers rubbed a wet path over the small crinkle of his asshole. Angel stopped kissing his neck to watch Spike's face when he began to push one finger inside him. He did it slowly but steadily, feeling the tight channel open up around him, not stopping until his finger was buried to the last knuckle. Spike squeezed his eyes shut, mouth dropping open to breathe through, and he was gripping Angel's shoulders so hard there'd be bruises in the shape of his hands. His cock was an iron rod against Angel's hip.

“Okay?” Angel breathed, lips grazing Spike's cheek. He felt more than saw the nod, though the grip on his shoulders didn't relax. He kissed Spike's mouth while pressing out against the slippery walls of the snug passage with his finger, gently opening it further. Spike hissed a quiet curse and caught Angel's bottom lip between his teeth. It made Angel smile. “Do you know how soft you are inside?” he whispered. “Can't wait to feel your ass hugging my cock like this.”

“Get on with it, then,” Spike managed hoarsely. “Christ, Angel, I'm gonna fucking explode.” He shoved his ass toward Angel's hand, and Angel quickly pulled free to gather more lube, then lined up his first two fingers side by side to rub over the pouty opening. He began to press them back in together, freshly coated with a sheen of that clear oil that smelled faintly of sandalwood. “Fuuuuuck...” groaned Spike. His body curled taut against Angel, every muscle clenched.

The squeeze around his fingers was intense. Angel swallowed, imagining trying to fuck into that tightness. “You're gonna have to relax for me,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to Spike's temple. He curved his fingers upward and rubbed over the fleshy swell of Spike's prostate. The answering keen made his dick jerk against Spike's body. He could also feel a trickle of wetness smear across his skin as the blond thrust up against him, grinding his needy cock into anything within reach. “Hey.” Angel knelt up a little, his other hand landing on Spike's hip to hold him still. Spike's hands gripping him so hard made it difficult to separate their bodies. “Relax,” Angel murmured again, turning his fingers, letting them slip against each other inside Spike's ass.

“I can't bloody relax, Angel,” Spike panted. “That's – I need—” He tried to flex his hips again, to rub his erection against Angel's skin.

Angel squeezed Spike's hip, stilling the impatient movement. “Wait,” he said softly. He turned his fingers to the other side and parted them, stretching the muscle. “God, you're so fucking beautiful like this.”

Beneath him, Spike's body went quiet.

It had probably been a long time for him, Angel mused, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of the slippery entrance. If they'd been doing this the other way, maybe he wouldn't immediately remember how to relax like this either. “Yeah, that's it,” he encouraged as Spike's body seemed suddenly to unclench everything. He smiled, glanced up toward Spike's eyes, and was startled by the expression there. It was something he'd only glimpsed before in brief flashes, this look like Spike was seeing him for the first time and was fascinated. But there had never been this degree to it, this depth. Angel's fingers stopped. “What is it?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

Spike's mouth opened as if to speak. Then he closed it again and gave a small negative shake of his head. Still looking at Angel like he was utterly captivated, but maybe also a little bit lost.

Angel kissed him, tenderly. Spike kissed him back, and when their mouths parted from each other, they stayed open, breathing in one another's air. Angel let his fingers press up again inside, angled just so, and watched Spike's eyelashes flutter as he breathed, felt Spike's hands slip down his arms, not gripping so tight anymore but just holding him there. He drew his fingers gently out and shifted his position between the open thighs, grasped his cock to rub the puffy pink head slickly along the oiled indent where his fingers had been. It was still a little bit open, yielding and wet against Angel's tip, but he stopped before pushing in.

He looked into Spike's eyes, not certain what emotion he was seeing there, but transfixed by the intensity of it. “Tell me you still want this,” Angel said softly. “I need you to be sure.”

Spike leaned up and caught his lips in another kiss, heavier this time, and his reply tasted hot in Angel's mouth. “I want it, Angel. I want you.”

Angel trailed his lips down and kissed into Spike's neck, his next hesitant words muffled against the mesmerizing scent of Spike's skin. “Say you won't hate me when it's over.”

“I won't,” Spike breathed. “Not for this.” Angel felt the rise and fall of Spike's chest beneath him, the subtle tilt of Spike's hips toward the stiffness poised at his entrance, just touching, nothing more. “I could never hate you for this.”

The qualification for this gave him pause. But before he could say anything else, Spike's hands slid into his hair and drew his face back up for more deep kisses. “Stop thinking, Angel,” Spike murmured against his mouth. “Just do it. Fuck me. I'll die if you stop now.” He deliberately pressed himself toward Angel's cock, and his slicked openness combined with Angel's steel hardness meant it was already beginning to breach when he whispered, “Please. Angel, please. Fuck me.”

The words skittered an electric path straight down Angel's spine. He'd never really stood a chance anyway.

As Angel pushed into him, Spike's head tipped back, his jaw falling open around a gasp, baring his long, pale throat to Angel's mouth. Angel fell to it with a soft scrape of teeth as he nudged steadily forward. Holy fuck, that tight grip stretching slippery around him had him seeing stars before he was even in halfway. He wanted to shove hard, pound home in one fast thrust like driving a nail with a hammer, but he held himself back, did it smoothly and slow, kissing Spike's neck.

A deep, shuddery breath vibrated the younger vampire's entire body. Angel could feel it through his lips and through his cock and through his whole self holding Spike down. He let go of his erection where he'd been guiding it in and put his hand on the back of Spike's thigh instead, pushed it back to angle his hips toward him as he sank the rest of the way into the slickly grasping channel, until he felt his balls come to rest against Spike's body and they were finally connected as deeply as possible.

Spike was panting. “Fuck,” he managed, voice small. “Oh, fuck.” The fingers of one hand were twisted into Angel's hair. The other hand was squeezing his shoulder again, nails just starting to dig in.

“That's... so good,” Angel whispered into his neck. “You feel so good.” He shifted his hips a little and felt the tight passage clench impossibly tighter around him.

“Wait, wait,” Spike breathed. “Don't move yet. Christ.”

He could feel tremors along his shaft, tiny spasms of Spike's muscles trying to become accustomed to this rare intrusion. He waited for Spike to adjust, but couldn't help kissing him through it, leaning harder into his body to reach his mouth. Spike kissed him back fiercely, scratched the fingernails of one hand down Angel's naked back in a sublime flare of stinging pain that Angel had to fight not to arch into, but then Spike turned his head away from their kiss to curse some more.

Angel hid his amusement against Spike's cheek at the long string of expletives. “Alright?” he asked quietly, letting his hips shift just a bit.

Another sudden clench before relaxing again. “It's... fucking intense,” Spike admitted breathlessly. “Like I've been split wide open. Why'd you have to go and... be hung like a sodding Clydesdale? Fuck.”

The remark startled a laugh out of Angel. He kissed Spike's cheek and shifted again, watched the blond head fall back against the mattress with a quick exhale. “You'll get used to it,” he murmured. He drew his hips back a tiny amount and tilted forward again. The subtle movement sent jagged shivers through them both. When Spike didn't complain, Angel did it again – just a small thrust, barely a move at all – and watched Spike's face. He didn't want to go too fast, but the wait was killing him. He did it again. A nudge. A question.

“Alright,” Spike finally breathed out. “Alright, I'm not that bloody fragile. Come on, then.”

Thank God. Immediately, Angel drew back a couple of inches and then rocked forward into Spike's ass. Spike gasped softly as their bodies contacted with a quiet smacking sound, and Angel repeated the short stroke, keeping the motion gentle but now actually fucking into the snug wet space his cock had just stretched into the perfect shape. He sighed, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment just to enjoy it. When he opened them again, Spike was watching his face. He had that look again, the one that Angel didn't really understand. Pupils blown with arousal, but something about the shape of his eyebrows making him seem soft and curious, enchanted even. Nothing like the tough, condescending, or bored face he normally put on. If he'd been anyone else, maybe Angel would have called it wonder.

But Spike had seen him a million times. What could he be seeing now?

He eventually pulled out nearly all the way and plunged back in completely, at the same time leaning down to take Spike's lips in another hungry kiss. Spike's fingers clenched in Angel's hair, and he cried out softly right into Angel's mouth. Angel pushed Spike's leg back further and fucked fully into him again a few times, listening to Spike's ragged gasps and looking for that precise angle that would – “Bloody FUCK!” – There it was. He nearly lost his grip on Spike's thigh when the blond's whole body spasmed from that sensation, but then Angel held him just like this, every measured thrust driving the blunt tip of his cock against that soft swelling inside, then sliding past it, only to rake back against it on the withdrawal.

“Angel,” Spike moaned, the name broken up with panting breaths. He pulled Angel closer, kissed him hard, dragged short fingernails down his back again. This time Angel did arch into the burn of those scratches, shuddering. They'd had sex near each other many times in the past, but he hadn't expected Spike to notice or remember that being scratched was something he liked. A lot.

“Spike, you can't,” Angel chuckled quietly, his hips almost falling out of rhythm. “You can't keep... scratching me like that. I'll come.” Spike's palm flattened against his back and smoothed up the stinging tracks he'd left, and the soothing of those pink trails combined with the feel of Spike's ass gripping his dick so tight on the glide out made him shiver with desire. He buried his face into Spike's neck and breathed in, trying to control himself. Still fucking into the slick squeeze of the lean body beneath him, deliberately battering against Spike's sweet spot. Eliciting these cute little grunts from Spike's mouth with each thrust.

Fingers flexed in his hair. “Maybe I... want you to,” Spike managed. “To come. Inside me.” His voice, strained with pleasure, fired a flare of heat up the back of Angel's neck.

“Not yet,” Angel whispered to him. “We're just getting started.”

He could feel Spike's hips working with him now, fucking up against him. Spike didn't have much leverage because of the way Angel was holding his thigh, tilting his body, but his other foot was braced on the bed and he was moving his hips to the tempo Angel had set, as if he just couldn't resist seeking out the burst of feeling each thrust sent showering through him. Like this, their bodies smacked together with a little more force than before, and Angel sucked a line of fiery kisses against Spike's throat and felt the small grunts and shallow breaths through his lips as Spike held him close and moved with him. Soon he felt a shiver ripple through Spike's body, felt his muscles begin to tense up.

“Oh, fucking hell...” Spike breathed. He attempted to slip a hand down between their bodies to grab his stiff penis, which was steadily leaking drops of slippery precum onto his belly.

Angel felt Spike's hand going between them and rose up a little, just enough to put his own hand there and gently pull Spike's away. “Hey,” he said softly. “Don't.”

Spike swallowed, squirming underneath him. “Angel, I need—”

“You don't need to do that,” he murmured. He threaded their fingers together and held Spike's hand lightly against the mattress as he went on fucking him, the thin silver chain of Spike's bracelet pressed to the underside of Angel's wrist. “I'll take care of you.”

The younger vampire's breath broke around a quiet sound, his hips stuttering a little off-rhythm. “Angel, I'm... close,” he grunted. “Just—just let me—” He tried to reach for himself again, but Angel tightened his fingers fractionally and the attempt hesitated.

“Shh. Not yet.” He could feel just how close Spike already was, the erratic breathing, the tenseness thrumming through the taut muscles, the involuntary clenching around his cock as it squeezed through the swollen tissues to thump relentlessly against Spike's prostate, over and over. He nuzzled into Spike's cheek, then whispered near his ear, “Just take it.”

Spike turned his head to catch Angel's mouth in a kiss that tasted as much like frustration as sheer need, but he did as Angel asked, bearing that excruciating feeling of being just on the verge of relief. Angel's balls were starting to tingle in the way that signaled his own imminent climax, but he wasn't quite at the exact stage that Spike was, and when he felt the quickening that meant Spike was so near the edge that he was about to tip over, Angel suddenly stopped moving, leaving his dick fully embedded but motionless in Spike's ass.

Spike's hips tried to keep the motion going before it registered that Angel had gone totally still. “What?” Spike breathed, confused. “What are you—no no no, Angel, don't fucking stop now, I was almost—” He thrust more insistently toward Angel, trying to get him to move again, his body clamping down hard on Angel's thick cock. Oh shit, that was nice... For a moment, shivering, Angel thought Spike might be able to push himself over the edge anyway, just by squeezing around him.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “It'll... get better. If we wait.”

Spike's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest, but Angel just kissed him, feeling him melt helplessly into the kiss. When Angel felt it was safe to move, he slowly pulled back, the slick muscles reluctant to let him go, and then shoved quickly back in. “Ah!” Spike cried out, and arched his hips up. Angel nearly lost his grip on Spike's thigh again, and he had to suppress a grin as he fell into the regular motion once more, but a little faster, rougher.

Spike untangled both hands from Angel and pressed them flat to the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. The lean body was curled into a tight C underneath Angel's thrusts, abs clenched, every muscle tensed with the throbbing buildup happening inside. With each instroke and smack of their bodies contacting one another, a breathy curse was forced from Spike's lips, his eyes fallen shut. Angel leaned his forehead against Spike's and watched his face this way, breathing in the heady scent pulsing from his skin, that smell of lust and longing that was so familiar but still so new.

Then Spike started to reach for his cock again.

“Don't,” Angel whispered to him.

The hand hesitated. Angel could see the struggle in the way the arm wavered in the air, the strong urge to grab the lonely, weeping erection and just jerk it rapidly until it spewed between them. At this point, it may only take a few quick strokes. But then Spike reached up instead and seized a fistful of Angel's hair, dragged his mouth down for a searing kiss, and while Angel was fully absorbed in the kiss, Spike scraped his fingernails swiftly all the way down Angel's back, from the nape of his neck to the slope of his left asscheek.

Angel arched up with a cry and nearly spilled right then into the wet clutch of Spike's body. He quickly forced himself to pull completely free, hoping it wasn't too late, and paused with his flushed cockhead hovering just outside the shiny pink entrance, a clear liquid strand still connecting them. Spike's lustfully heated gaze was counterbalanced with an amused smirk. “Bastard,” Angel accused breathily. “That almost got me.” When the danger had passed, he fully sheathed himself again without warning, and the blond collapsed back onto the bed with a moan.

Kneeling up, Angel dragged Spike closer, then used both hands to grip him behind the knees and hold both his legs back, finding that perfect angle again, aiming up toward Spike's navel on each hard push. He practically folded the lithe body in half as he drilled into him, and Spike's hands fisted in the blue sheets to keep himself from being scooted backward on the force of Angel's thrusts. When this didn't provide enough stability, one of his hands actually reached over his head and braced against the headboard behind him as the other gripped the sheet for dear life, the muscles of both arms standing out in stark relief. Spike took the energetic fucking beautifully, panting and cursing and trying to meet each stroke with a hunch of his hips, fat erection dribbling clear fluid onto his stomach, visible now that Angel wasn't leaning down over him anymore.

Angel couldn't take his eyes off the picture Spike made like this, vulnerable and strong at the same time, simultaneously both pleasured and denied. He could feel it when Spike's body began to squeeze harder around him again, could see his balls twitching up in their fuzzy pouch as Spike's head tipped back with a gasp, his eyes shut tight. Angel was just starting to feel another buildup as well when he suddenly pulled free again.

“No,” Spike groaned, turning his head to the side to bury his face against his raised arm. “You bloody sadist...” His hips were still moving a little, still seeking some sort of contact, swollen red cock dragging wetly across his belly. Angel flexed his fingers against Spike's legs.

“Wait,” he encouraged softly. He was breathing faster than he normally allowed himself, but he didn't bother to stop. The smell of Spike right now, of what they were doing together, was totally intoxicating. It felt as if his bedroom had been flooded with the scent of their old house in London, like there was a window back to that exact time and place, and somehow they'd managed to pry it open and reach through, grab hold of the scent and drag it in by its damp fur.

He only waited a few seconds before sinking himself easily back into Spike's glistening, fucked-open asshole. Watched his mouth drop open with the feel of it. He wanted him on the edge, wanted to get them both there at the exact same time, and then to stay there together for as long as possible. It wasn't actually that common for sexual peaks to perfectly align, but Angel had already decided he was going to make it happen, and if that meant he had to go on fucking Spike for longer than either of them could stand it, then that was just a bonus. They were already getting close.

Vampires didn't usually sweat much, except from prolonged exertion, but the backs of Spike's thighs were sweaty under his palms. Angel could feel the perspiration prickling up on his own skin as well as he worked himself in and out of Spike's body. The blond was panting, face turned toward his raised arm, eyes closed. His neck and chest had a faint pink flush, rare to see in the usually pale skin, and his cock was swollen dark and angry-looking. Angel wanted to bite into it like a plum, feel the juice run down his chin. He swallowed against the idea and concentrated instead on tugging Spike along with him to the threshold of orgasm. Thrusting harder into the tight stretch of muscle, looking for the fine edge.

The next time he felt Spike begin to tense around him again, the peak was building up within his own body, too. That was exactly what he was searching for, that pulsing ball of pent up energy contracting simultaneously inside them both, just waiting to explode in release. Instead of stopping completely or pulling out to let it fade, Angel forced himself simply to slow down. Not slowing enough to let the feeling escape, but not racing past it either. He was still fucking steadily into the tight wet grasp of Spike's body, but now every well-timed stroke just inflamed the orgasm that was already there waiting for them, without actually triggering the release. It was an abrupt shift, pushing hard toward a climax and then lingering suddenly at the border.

“Angel,” Spike moaned, his body trembling on the brink. “Angel, I... I need to...” He tried to squirm, tried to fuck against Angel faster, harder, something to push himself over the precipice, but Angel was gripping him tightly and didn't let go. Giving him just enough to stay trapped right on the inside of unbearable pleasure, driving them both along the hard boundary of it without veering to one side or the other. This was a skill that took practice and concentration to master, and you had to be able to read your partner's body perfectly for it to work, to keep them hanging just there, to float inside that moment of ecstasy with them. Right now, Angel couldn't think of more pleasant work than this.

He imagined he could feel it growing, this feeling gradually getting bigger and bigger inside them, so big it was impossible not to rub against it, and every touch was a flare that grew it even more. There were two parts to coming, the escalation and the release, and as long as you didn't release, you could time the escalation just right and exist inside it like a bubble forever. Just keep stoking the energy. Living caught in an orgasm that doesn't end. Angel shivered with the incredible feel of it, willing himself not to chase down the ending too soon.

Something like a sob wracked Spike's chest, and Angel thought again about biting into him, the fiercely engorged penis leaking freely onto his stomach. His eyes fell to Spike's neck, the blond head turned to one side baring the stretch of his thoroughly tempting throat. “You have no idea, do you?” Angel managed huskily, struggling to talk through the intensity of the orgasm they were suspended inside. “The way you look right now. The way you're taking it. You... couldn't know. How perfect you are. Like this.” God, he felt like he was glowing.

Those blue eyes looked up at him, wide black pupils and the magnitude of whatever that emotion was inside them sparkling underneath a shine of desperation. “Angel,” Spike whispered, all breath. “I can't... I can't bear it... please...” But he didn't reach for his leaking cock again, tight body trembling as he took what Angel gave him despite the words. His expression almost pained, the strain of being caught halfway through euphoria, no end in sight.

I could take you apart just like this, Angel thought as he looked down at him, at the way he shuddered and writhed with the feeling. I could keep you here until you're broken, shattered like ceramic against kitchen tiles, and I could fuck you bloody in the mess of it. All this skin. This perfect pink and white canvas. The blood underneath, filled with inescapable delight and the taste of a beautiful memory. Angel could hardly hold himself upright under the ferocity of pleasure inside, his body folding over with a gasp as his hips somehow kept working, driving him in and in and in again, maintaining that exact rhythm that kept them both dangling by a thread.

It was impossible to know how long they managed to go on this way, minutes or hours or weeks frozen in time, supernatural bodies enduring this overwhelming feeling far beyond the moment any human would have burst into tears, or flames, or small jagged pieces. The sun set while they remained locked together, bedroom growing dim around them, but Angel couldn't have said when it happened. Their naked bodies became drenched in sweat, their own and each other's, and the place of their joining burned them both from punishing friction in spite of the oil, their parts growing sore in the best conceivable way. The neverending orgasm that lived inside them swelled into an enormous pulsating ache, the kind of indescribable euphoric pain that demons crave, clenching at their bellies and swirling through their swollen balls in the dark.

Angel was nearly lost in the sensation, his abs and thigh muscles screaming from such sustained use, when Spike threw an arm over his own eyes and made another wrenching, desperate sound. He was shaking, whole body shot through with powerful tremors, that same unintentional reaction he'd had to Angel before. “Sorry, I'm sorry,” he whispered haltingly, hiding his face. “I can't... Angel... I'm sorry, I can't control...”

Not stopping the motion of his hips, Angel peeled one hand away from Spike's leg and reached for his arm instead. “Let me see,” he breathed, gently pulling Spike's arm away from his face. Defenseless, the younger vampire let his arm fall away and looked up at Angel through hungry golden eyes, the ridges of his demon brow pushed forward. A greater surge of desire pulsed unexpectedly through Angel at the sight, and he lost the rhythm for a moment. Spike gasped, arching into the sudden stuttery change in movement, and Angel leaned down to press a kiss to the wrinkled folds at the top of his nose. “So goddamn beautiful,” he whispered against the demonic features.

The hair at Angel's temples and just above the back of his neck had begun to curl, dampened with sweat, and Spike's eyes fell closed as he slipped his hands up into the silky hair, holding onto him. “Please,” he begged softly, breath hitching. “Angel, I can't... I can't take it anymore.” His arms were shaking. His thighs, spread around Angel's body as he fucked him, were shaking. His whole body vibrated beneath Angel, and when Angel braced his hand on the bed beside Spike's shoulder, more of his weight dropped down toward those vibrations, and he could feel Spike's straining erection, heavy and wet, trembling against his stomach.

“Okay,” Angel whispered to him, “shh, shh, it's okay, I've got you.” He let his hips pick up speed, and Spike cried out under him, his head tipping back with a helpless sob. Angel's mouth went instinctively to the exposed throat, kissing against it while he hammered into Spike's ass, striking his overworked prostate quick and hard, no longer trying to fondle the energy without triggering it. Since they were already skirting the edge, it only took a few of these vigorous thrusts before the tight channel somehow squeezed down even tighter around him. Spike's small, stressed voice managed one more coherent word that dissolved into a choked moan, his fingers curling tight in Angel's hair, and then his leaking, untouched erection began to spurt powerfully between their bodies, thick jets of cum shooting all the way up his chest, smearing against both himself and Angel as Angel forced the delayed release out of him.

Everything, that one unexpectedly gasped word, the intense spasms strangling his raw cock inside Spike's body, the intoxicating smell of cloudy spend pulsing out against his skin, the way Spike was gripping his hair, pulling his mouth into the bared stretch of his neck like a desperate unspoken offering... it was too much all at once, overwhelming Angel with sensation. He jerked into the strong body beneath him with a quiet, involuntary snarl as his fangs came forward uncalled, and he almost, almost buried them into the vulnerable flesh of Spike's throat. As he began to come hard into the body already falling apart under his, his fangs sank instead into his own bottom lip, a flare of pain firing through the storm of pleasure thundering through him, intensifying it. He pushed his face into Spike's neck and pretended the blood he could taste in his mouth was Spike's, and his release went on and on, shuddering through him so forcefully it almost burned, and the completion was so pure that he had to squeeze his eyes closed because he felt he'd be blinded by the brightness of it.

He fucked Spike through their unnaturally prolonged dual release until the shaking beneath him began to subside. Spike was still breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, but his grip on Angel's hair loosened, and his tensed muscles gradually relaxed onto the mattress, his fangs pulling back in. He still held Angel's head to his sweaty neck, but now more like an embrace than a demand. Through his lips to Spike's throat, Angel could feel the slow calming down of the exhausted, panting body. Softly, he licked Spike's neck, clearing away salty perspiration and the red smear of his own blood, and then pulled his fangs back inside as well. He let go of Spike's thigh and rested his face against the damp skin of his neck, and they just lay there for a long moment, breathing raggedly together, inhaling the concentrated musky scent of each other and of what they'd finally done.

When he eventually lifted his head to look at Spike's face, Spike took his bleeding mouth in an immediate kiss, and so Angel kissed him gently and let Spike's tongue soothe the careless fang marks. Once he'd licked away the tiny drops of blood, he sucked Angel's bottom lip into his mouth to prod at the small wounds, searching for more. Angel closed his eyes and allowed this, barely kissing back so that Spike could have unhindered access. Lying there on top of him, breathing in his breath, it occurred to Angel in this quiet moment that there wasn't much he wouldn't give to Spike now.

Just as the licking and sucking of the fang marks in Angel's lip began to morph back into the feel of regular kisses, Angel pulled away to look into Spike's eyes. The blue eyes looked back at him, still with that expression Angel was trying to puzzle out, but now it felt as if, instead of seeing him for the first time, Spike was looking at him like whatever amazing thing he saw was what he'd been seeing all along, ever since they'd lived together in that house in London over a century ago and shared everything. Angel didn't know what to say. It felt weird to talk at all, like words might break this spell they must be under.

Spike slid his hand out of Angel's hair, down to cup his face. Ran his thumb gently along Angel's cheek. “Well,” he murmured, voice low, a little raspy. “You've gone and done it anyway, haven't you? I can already tell. Should've known you would.”

“Done it?” Angel asked softly.

A resigned sigh. “Ruined me.” The thumb stroked across his cheek again, and Angel leaned into it. “Hope you realize what this means,” Spike said. A faint note of accusation in the tone, but mostly calm acceptance. “You'll never be rid of me now.”

Angel let himself smile, just a little. “You're saying once wasn't enough? You weren't put off by it like you thought you'd be?”

“Put off?” Spike snorted dismissively. “Not a chance, pet. That was bloody perf—” He stopped abruptly, eyes widening. A flash of fear overcame the pleasantly tired expression.

Oh... right. Angel could see how this might be a concern. He was just about to reassure Spike that his soul was still firmly in place, but before he could say anything, Spike's fist slammed brutally into the cheek he'd just been caressing.

Angel was knocked hard off of Spike's body, his penis coming free with a sudden weird yank, and he rolled with the momentum of the blow to the other side of the bed, very nearly toppling to the floor. “Ow, fuck! Spike, what the hell?!” Both hands came automatically up to his face, as though his throbbing cheek might fall off and he needed to hold it on.

He heard Spike scrambling upright behind him, then felt his shoulder jerked backward to roll him onto his back, still clutching the hurt. Spike's distraught face came into view above him. “How does it work?!” Spike demanded. “How long does it take? Are you already evil? Do I – am I supposed to fucking stake you, Angelus? 'Cause I'm not! Not now that we're actually – bloody hell, can't believe I didn't think—” He leapt off the bed, and Angel listened to the rapid footsteps hurrying over to his private elevator.

“Spike, wait,” Angel grunted. Too late. The compressive hiss immediately sounded throughout the apartment, sealing all possible exits from the top floor. Shit. He sat up slowly on the bed, head still ringing from the entirely unnecessary punch. “Spike, I'm not – you didn't have to—” His voice faltered when Spike came waddling furiously back into the room with one hand wedged between his buttcheeks.

“Now don't you go getting any diabolical world-ending ideas,” Spike snapped at him. With his free hand, he jabbed a finger in the direction of the bed and added, “You're staying right sodding there until we get hold of a witch to come and shove your soul back up your arse where it bloody belongs!” His stern expression lost something of its effect when his brow furrowed and he freed his other hand to look down at it. It was streaked with shiny cum, and more dribbled down his thighs as soon as he'd moved it. He grimaced. “Bugger.”

After a brief pause just to fully take in Spike's priceless expression, Angel began to laugh softly. He couldn't help it. He felt feelings for this person. He allowed himself to fall back against the bed again and just lay there letting it out, the sheer absurdity of everything in his life. Laughing made the whole side of his face hurt where Spike had punched him, but in a different way it felt good, too. He tried not to consider that this was a bizarre kind of happiness that maybe he could get used to.

“Oh, you think it's funny, do you?! We'll see who's laughing when the dust settles, mate!” A wooden crash and sharp cracking sound, and Angel sat up quickly to see a fuming Spike brandishing a large jagged stake that had until just now been a hand-carved leg of one of his matching maple nightstands.

Okay, that was less funny. “Jesus, Spike, will you quit breaking all my shit?! You just said you weren't gonna stake me!”

“That was before I heard your stupid evil laugh! You wanna make it even easier for me, go ahead and twirl a pointy mustache between your fingers while explaining all your dastardly plans.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “I'm not evil, Spike. I was laughing because you're the most ridiculous person I've ever met, and I actually like you. It just struck me as funny.” He frowned at the broken nightstand. “That was an antique.”

Spike lowered the stake a fraction, looking confused but still suspicious. “You're lying.”

“Shaker. Late 18^th century.”

“You... you haven't lost your soul?”

Angel looked up at his eyes. “No. I haven't lost my soul.”

A few seconds of eye contact was proof enough. Relief sagged through Spike's shoulders, and the stake dropped down to a nonthreatening position. But then an offended expression creased his brow again and he threw the stake indignantly at the broken pile of antique wood. “Well, why not?”

Angel's mouth opened, but there was a short delay before words came out. Then, “Sorry, did you want me to lose my soul?”

“Just saying, a man likes to know when he's good in bed, doesn't he?” He seemed suddenly insecure. “Was it... me? Was I not—?”

“Spike, you were great.” Angel tried to sound reassuring but his voice may have tipped closer to incredulous due to the flapdoodle nature of the question.

“Too right I was! And you were clearly doing some sort of obscure boning magic or, whatcha call it, demonic yoga tantric shagging – oh, shut up, Angel – so why the hell didn't you – I mean—” He interrupted himself to gesture emphatically at the bed. “There's no bloody way you've had better sex than that!”

“It's not a sex curse,” Angel insisted. “It's never been a sex curse!”

“Don't forget who you're talking to, Angel. I was there the last time, and it was definitely—”

“Do you have any idea how many times I've had sex since I got a soul? Not counting today and yesterday. Think about it.” He watched the little wrinkle deepen between Spike's eyebrows as the blond apparently tried to estimate a number, but Angel went on before allowing him to guess aloud. “Yeah. Neither do I. And I've lost my soul afterward exactly one time. It's not about sex, Spike.”

Over the years since it happened, he'd had enough time to consider what the specific trigger actually was, and he was pretty sure he'd figured it out – absolutely certain that it couldn't happen with another vampire – but the theory was complicated and personal, so he didn't try to explain further. Maybe they'd get into it another time... if, after this whole thing was over, Spike wanted to remain close. For now though, Angel simply regarded the younger vampire standing naked and uncertain beside the bed, and with an exasperated little smile and a note of affection in his voice, he acknowledged quietly, “It was pretty great sex, though.”

A sheepish smile quirked the corner of Spike's mouth, too. “Well,” he said. “Yeah.” The smile turned abruptly to a moue of distaste as he put his spunk-smeared hand to his backside again. “Jesus Christ, Angel, how much did you shoot? I'm stuffed like a brandy snap.”

Angel chuckled softly, letting his gaze fall down Spike's body. “I think it actually rounded your belly. Just a little.” To be fair, Angel himself was wearing almost as much cum splattered down his chest and stomach as Spike was leaking down his thighs.

“Oi, if one of us has a round little belly, it ain't me.”

“Maybe not yet.” Angel lifted an eyebrow suggestively and then glanced to the empty space on the bed beside him and back up at Spike.

Spike took a step forward, but hesitated. “Not a sex curse,” he said. It might have been a question, might have been an attempt at self-reassurance.

“Not a sex curse,” Angel repeated.

The blond head tilted speculatively. “S'pose if there were any real danger of that, you wouldn't have let it go this far in the first place.”

There. That bloom of warmth in his chest flaring up again. Bigger now, maybe. “You're starting to sound like you know me.”

“Course I know you,” said Spike. He climbed back onto the bed, began to crawl gracefully toward Angel. “I'm the only one who can.”

Angel relaxed back against the mattress, propping his head on a pillow, and when Spike was close enough, he caught him around the back of the neck and urged him forward for a kiss. The tiny wounds in his bottom lip were closed by now, but the side of his face still smarted from Spike's fist. When the sweet kiss broke, Angel said to him, “You're not gonna hit me again, are you?”

An amused grin. “No promises.” Spike stretched languidly and then lay down halfway on top of Angel's chest, leaned his head onto Angel's shoulder. Angel slung an arm casually around him, neither of them appearing to care about the spend smearing the other's skin. “Quick kip before the next round?” suggested Spike. “I'm knackered.”

“Smashing expensive furniture will do that to you.”

“Yeah, that's what did it.”

“You know, I should send you an itemized bill for all my stuff you've destroyed. Maybe we can take it out of your paycheck.”

“Give me an hour to recover and I'll pay you in kind.”

Angel smiled and let his palm coast down Spike's naked back to settle on his ass. “Sore?”

“Like I've spent all day conducting passenger trains through my arse.”

“Huh. There's an image I didn't need.”

“Angel?” Spike's voice sounded smaller when he said Angel's name. He had turned his face a little, pressing it to Angel's skin to breathe in against him. Angel wondered again what it was that Spike thought he smelled like, wondered if it could be anything nearly as tempting as the memory conjured when he smelled Spike.

“Yeah?”

“You won't... tell anyone. Right? What I said. Just as I... It's no one's business, you know? Not something for humans to gawk at.”

Angel slid his arm back up Spike's body and pulled him closer, as close as it was possible for two naked vampires to get without being inside each other. “Like I said,” he murmured, dropping a kiss into Spike's hair. “We'll keep it between us.”

Spike's body totally relaxed against him then, a subtle snuggle as he curled into Angel's side, followed by utter stillness. Aside from the strangely slow inhaling and exhaling of each other's deeply intimate scents, they lay there as quietly motionless as two dead men – in a way that would probably have been disconcerting to a living person, but to vampires signaled an ease with one another, the type of natural harmony between bodies that made nesting together so comfortable. It was almost like being alone, but in the sense of being whole and complete. Undisturbed by anyone else, but the furthest thing from lonely.

Then, very softly, Angel said, “But I'm telling everyone about the Clydesdale thing.”

“Poof,” muttered Spike.

*

Chapter Text

*

It wasn't in his chest exactly, and it wasn't quite in his throat. It was coming from somewhere between, and softly. It was so soft, in fact, that he didn't even notice at first that it was happening, didn't know when it had begun or how it was even being done. It had never happened before that he could recall, but it felt so natural that it didn't seem to him like a thing he was doing so much as a thing that was occurring on its own in this halfway place inside him, and the truth was he was so zoned out and relaxed that he almost felt it was happening to him in his sleep. Even though he wasn't asleep.

He'd had sex with Spike. Spike. And as desperate as he'd been to do just that, and as much as he'd really, really enjoyed it and wanted to do it again as soon as possible, some part of him was still waiting for the regret to set in, was totally prepared for it and resigned to the idea of it, that maybe this had been a huge mistake, a lapse in judgment due to circumstances beyond their control. Spike didn't like him, at least not for real, not outside of this whole weird hormone situation, and now they'd slept together, and soon they were going to have to deal with some pretty uncomfortable consequences.

Angel was ready to feel that. Any minute now. Surely the embarrassment and regret would start soon.

But in the meantime? He was good. Mellow, even. It was a very different feeling from the previous night, after the sex he'd had at the modusbeast hive, which had not only come with subsequent regret but with a writhing knot of guilt even while the sex was going on. Nothing like the calm contentment he felt now.

If he'd had a tendency toward optimism, he'd probably think that meant something.

And Spike actually seemed... okay? He was still lying there with Angel's arm wrapped around him, his head resting on Angel's shoulder, the two of them naked in Angel's bed together in the dark doing a thing that was probably cuddling even though they were each obviously much, much too stoic and manly to want to be cuddled by the other one without there being some form of sex actively involved. He was pretty sure Spike had dozed off briefly, but he was awake now, quiet, totally relaxed against Angel's side, still smelling incredible. The strangely alluring but familiar scent of his body was entangled with Angel's own intimate scent, marked by him in a way that he hadn't really been until now. There was something about the way Spike's skin smelled through the veil of Angel's cum that was soothing to Angel, that seemed to speak to him on a level he couldn't quite access consciously except to understand that it was good, and that Spike should always smell like this. Spike himself also seemed soothed by the smell of Angel's skin underneath his scent, in the same way he had during their first night together, and this quiet, close moment between them was a welcome reprieve from the constant overwhelming stimulation of their senses, but without actually having to be apart from each other.

It was kinda nice.

But there was still something... a nagging lack of rightness that tugged gently yet noticeably at Angel's instincts. A missing piece, a part of himself that still felt as if it were waiting for him just under the stretch of Spike's skin, lying secret in his veins and eager to move from one body to the next, to coat Angel's fangs in red and spill rich and wet down his throat. The taste of it lingered in his memory, that tiny drop from Spike's mouth, the headlong plunge into feelings from a time when they'd been closer than brothers. In a weird way, that single drop felt like it had fortified him, as if it had somehow given strength to some part of him that was buried deep within. That part of him still felt this whispering urge to take more, as if Spike's blood belonged to him already and only wanted to come home.

Without really meaning to, Angel had been letting his mind wander closer and closer toward this idea that Spike would smell much better if he were also filled with Angel's blood instead of just covered in his semen, and that this persistent bit of restlessness would disappear if he himself were full of Spike's blood. He was picturing this deeply personal exchange in detail when Spike slowly reached up and rested a hand high on Angel's chest, his first two fingertips touching the base of Angel's throat. He tapped the spot very lightly, then left his fingers there, and that's when Angel first realized what was happening, that it was actually coming from inside him and wasn't some sort of ambient noise in the room. He continued to breathe in and out in the slow, measured way he'd been doing, not quite sure how to put a stop to the soft sound.

Spike's voice finally, a low murmur. “What are you doing?” His fingertips resting just there.

Angel cleared his throat. The sound broke apart, and he answered drily, “I'm brooding.” But as soon as he stopped speaking, the sound started again.

“Not honing your impression of an idling Suzuki, then?”

“Not on purpose, no.” Angel privately thought he sounded more like a Ferrari 360 that was about a mile away, but Spike was more of a motorcycle guy.

They lay there unmoving, both listening to the low reverberant vibrations coming from the spot just beneath Spike's fingertips. Angel briefly wondered if he ought to be embarrassed that he was somehow making this unintentional sound, but then Spike murmured, “It's nice.” And so Angel didn't make the effort to be embarrassed by it. Then, “How are you doing it?”

The sound was uninterrupted, but there was a distinct oscillating pattern in the vibrations that changed according to whether Angel was inhaling or exhaling. As an experiment, he stopped breathing, and the sound stopped. But then he couldn't smell Spike anymore, which was unacceptable at the moment, so he started breathing again almost immediately, and the sound picked up again. “I don't know,” he said.

“Hmm,” said Spike. Then, “Hmmmmmmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Huhhhhhhhhhhh. Nope, can't do it. Must be one of them new modus-Angel thingies. What?”

Angel was chuckling. “You're such an idiot.”

“Says the man who doesn't know how to make his purr work, while he's purring.”

“It's not a... I'm not—”

“Purring?”

“I'm... growling. It's a lot more like a growl.”

Spike didn't directly answer this, but tilted his face up so that his mouth was close to Angel's ear. Very softly, he growled.

The sound sparked a sudden nostalgia, the kind Angel hadn't felt since Sunnydale, before he'd gone to hell. That type of growling was affectionate. It was the indulgent sort of vampire babytalk that he'd frequently used with Drusilla, both before his soul and after he'd lost it again. He and Darla had sometimes growled to each other that way, too, especially when he was still young. It wasn't something he'd ever done with Spike, but the timbre of Spike's soft rumble near his ear stirred something deep and warm inside him, and he gently pressed his cheek to Spike's head and replied with his own quiet growl, snapping his teeth lightly at the end. He felt Spike huff a breathy chuckle against his shoulder, and it made him smile.

The other sound, the very different one, started again at the base of his throat. “Okay,” Angel finally conceded, stroking his hand slowly up the silky skin of Spike's back. “Maybe it's not a growl.”

Spike's cool palm slid down Angel's chest a bit, fingertips tracing a line from his throat to the soft little nub of one nipple. He drew an invisible circle around it, watched it begin to firm up. “You were right, you know,” he said eventually, studying the round patch of responsive pink flesh. “Wasn't anything like I thought.”

Angel smoothed his hand back down the elegant curve of Spike's spine, let it settle comfortably on one asscheek. He understood Spike to be talking about the sex, not the purring, and he couldn't help feeling a bit pleased with himself as he asked, “And how much time did you spend thinking about it?” A sigh of breath across his chest as his fingertips brushed gently over Spike's well-used entrance. The opening was still soft and slick, and just this brief feel of it made Angel want to bury himself inside there again.

“Maybe...” Spike said, but his voice trailed off. He swallowed before starting over. “Maybe more time than you'd expect.”

A warmth tingled through Angel's body, almost like a flush of pleasure, but without any actual pinkening of his pale skin. “Yeah?”

One fingertip playing idly with his nipple. “Yeah,” Spike said. “What about you? Have you ever really... imagined it? This. Us. Us doing this.”

“You mean sleeping together, or cuddling afterward?”

“Cuddling? Please. This isn't cuddling, Angel.”

“Isn't it? I kinda think – okay, see, you just snuggled. That's a cuddling maneuver. And you've done it before—”

“I've got you pinned down. Dominating you, like. Don't go making it poofy.” He pinched Angel's nipple. “If I cuddled you, you'd know it.”

Angel huffed fondly. “Yeah. I think I would.” Spike wasn't cuddling him in exactly the same way that Angel wasn't purring, but he didn't point this out.

“You haven't answered.”

“Too busy being snuggled into submission, I guess.”

“Have you? Pictured us together? For real, I mean.”

“Spike, you've been the only thing on my mind since Friday night. You already know that.” Angel stroked his thumb tenderly over the puffed little furl between Spike's cheeks. He felt a tiny shift on the bed as Spike's legs fell open wider, just a little. Inviting the touch.

“Friday,” Spike murmured. “So, about 72 hours, then.”

“Long time to spend fantasizing about someone who doesn't actually like you.” This was meant to be lighthearted, a joke, but as soon as he said it, Angel wondered if it sounded bitter. It felt like he was asking Spike to say he did like him, and that was putting himself in the position to be rejected, which he hadn't meant to do at all.

But before he could say anything else, Spike replied quietly, “Not so long, really. If you've got eternity.”

Angel considered this. “The way we've been living lately, eternity seems a bit optimistic, don't you think?”

“So what do you give us? Two, three more centuries?”

“Sixty years, tops. And that's only if I find a way to burn this place to the ground before it kills me.”

“I'll loan you my lighter.”

He smiled a little, still playing with Spike's ass. “You must be dying for a cigarette right now.”

“Been trying not to think about it. Wanker.”

“We can take this outside if you want to smoke. Can't leave the roof, though. Someone panicked and sealed off the exits.”

“You mean someone trying to protect his half of LA from an unnecessarily bossy evil vampire? Good for him, I say. Doing a bang-up job.”

Angel slowly eased the tip of his thumb through the slick little ring of relaxed muscle. “I was gonna say someone with an amazing ass.” He felt Spike smile into his shoulder.

“Always figured it would be. Once I found a use for it.”

Distracted by the ass in question, by the feel of it slowly accepting his thumb into its puffy pink insides, it took Angel a moment longer than usual to process Spike's meaning. When it struck him what the blond was actually saying, it took another long moment for Angel to ask, his thumb still resting just there, held gently in the soft grip of stretched but recovering muscle. “Spike, have you ever been with a man before?”

A slight twitch against him, tenseness. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it. That was fine. Angel had just assumed Spike probably had and was mildly surprised at this implication that he hadn't, but the answer didn't make a difference to him either way; it had no significant impact on whatever was going on between the two of them now. Angel was about to reassure him that they didn't have to discuss it when Spike finally replied, in a tone that seemed reluctant to answer but also a little confused that Angel had asked, “You know I have.”

What? Why would Angel know if Spike had been with a man? They'd certainly never talked about it before, and he knew for a fact there'd been no such interaction between Spike and himself. He quickly tried to remember if there could be some incident he'd somehow pushed out of his mind... and that's when he realized what Spike must be talking about.

Both he and Spike had taken human men before. By force. Those evil encounters were so far removed from the type of experience Angel had been thinking of when he asked that it hadn't even occurred to him to count them, or that Spike might be connecting the two things in his head. Spike had cheerfully fucked and killed many humans in the past, indiscriminate of gender, and it was so normal an occurrence as to be considered unremarkable at the time. Angel himself had been a little more particular when it came to selecting victims for that type of torture; aside from a couple of exceptions for specific reasons, he preferred priests and other religious figures, whoever would be most disgusted and mortified by the very idea, and he often didn't kill them afterward. Spike generally took his violent pleasure according to whim and moved on without further thought, but Angel had lingered over it, really put in the effort to make each incident special, and so as a matter of logistics he didn't do it as often, although the duration of his attention and his particular focus on psychological details were at least as chilling as Spike's careless bodycount – worse even, depending on perspective. He toyed with his victims until he changed them on a fundamental level and found it amusing to leave them alive with horrible new secrets, including the guilt of blaspheming against God in exchange for permission to climax while being sodomized by an actual living demon, and the disgraceful, recurring fantasy of reliving that shame. The ensuing amount of human corruption that could be traced back to the survivors of his occasional weekend's entertainment...

He didn't notice when his purring abruptly stopped, had actually been plunged so fully into these sudden horrific memories that the next thing he was aware of was Spike moving away from him in the uncomfortable glaring silence, dislodging Angel's motionless hand and sitting up on the bed. Spike's memories of the suffering he'd caused to innocent humans were different from Angel's memories, but no less grim and traumatic. “Not exactly pillow talk,” Spike said quietly.

“I'm sorry,” said Angel, slowly pushing up to a sitting position as well. “That's not what I... I didn't mean to bring up...”

“Is it always like this?” Spike asked him. “You think you're coping and then, out of nowhere... their faces. Their screams. When does it stop?”

“It doesn't,” Angel said. “I wish I could say it gets easier. But the way you feel about who you used to be – the horror of it, the guilt, the remorse – that's actually a good thing.” Angel drew his knees up and rested his forearms on them in a mirror of Spike's position. “It would be worse if you didn't care. The caring is proof that you don't just have a soul now, but that it's a good one.”

Spike wasn't looking at him. “Lucky me.”

“The past will always haunt us. But we're not bad people, Spike. Not anymore.”

“We're not people,” Spike muttered.

“Okay, so we're not bad vampires.”

“We're shit vampires, Angel.”

He could hardly deny the truth of this. “Fine, we're...” Angel squinted, then tried, “we're not bad individuals who happen to drink blood but no longer commit violent crimes against innocent humans while simultaneously trying to help save the world.” He raised an eyebrow at Spike.

A soft huff. “Right. There's one for the business cards.”

“We may not be as easily categorized as we used to be,” Angel said. “But now that there's two of us, we get to define our own category. That's something, isn't it?” When this idea apparently did nothing to improve Spike's mood, Angel offered instead, “You know, we could get you some of those if you want. Business cards. Now that you work here.”

Spike's eyebrows lifted with interest. “Yeah?” The novelty of having his own business cards seemed to perk him up for a moment, but then he ruefully shook his head. “William the Bloody, actually going legitimate. Never thought I'd see the day.”

“What's next?” Angel agreed solemnly. “A bank account in your real name? A driver's license?”

“Oi. I have a license.”

“From the seventies.”

“Reckon it's expired?”

“They don't even look like that anymore. Plus it says you were born in 1951. You'd be 53 years old by now.”

“Nah, I wouldn't be 53 'til November.” He sighed wistfully. “To be that young again, eh?”

“On the bright side, you're well-preserved for your age. You know, aside from the premature gray.”

Spike's eyes widened. “The fucking what?!”

Angel gave him an innocent expression. “I just assumed that's why you started bleach—”

He was interrupted by the pillow Spike bounced off his face. “Berk.”

As the pillow fell to the bed, Angel reflexively put a hand up to fluff his hair and then eyed Spike's hair in an appraising way. “Actually,” he said, “the radioactive thing? I think it's starting to grow on me.”

“You saying I need to touch up my roots?”

Angel reached over and gave the platinum locks a playful tousle. Spike rolled his eyes and batted Angel's hand away, but he was smiling a little. “What I'm saying,” said Angel, “is—” But then another thought struck him, and his own smile vanished immediately as he changed course mid-sentence. “That's not what you were thinking about, is it?” he asked. “When we were... you weren't thinking of it like...” He saw Spike's pleasant expression switch back to that uncomfortable tenseness, but Angel pressed on anyway. “Because when I asked if you'd been with other men, I didn't mean victims, Spike. I meant a lover. A... partner.”

Spike looked away from him, one hand falling down to the bed to let his fingers pluck distractedly at the sheet beside his hip. “A partner,” he repeated. “Right. My whole unlife long, or at least until somewhat recently, I've been a soulless monster. Not exactly going out of my way to partner with the food, was I?”

“He wouldn't have had to be human,” Angel said. “He could have been anyone. Another vampire. A close friend?”

“Ah.” Spike nodded. “So that would be one of my many close, male, vampire friends, then?” He rubbed his palms restlessly over his bare thighs, probably wanting a cigarette very badly. Angel tried to think if he'd ever seen Spike voluntarily hanging out with another male vampire other than himself. He'd introduced him to a few different ones over the years they'd lived together, including Penn and a couple of other members of their extended family, and of course there'd been the odd minion here and there, but he couldn't recall Spike ever taking a particular interest in any of them. In fact, aside from Angel, Spike had rarely gotten along at all with his male relatives, often finding reasons to seek out Angel instead and complain about them, that they weren't clever or creative enough to be vampires, that he found them too boring or serious or unambitious, too focused on ritual or tradition. But another whole century had passed that Angel hadn't been there to witness.

Carefully, he said, “You're saying in 124 years, you never...”

“Number of years doesn't matter though, does it?” said Spike. “Only things that matter are opportunity and desire. Maybe when I had the opportunity, I didn't have the desire. And when I had the desire, I didn't have...” His eyes flicked briefly toward Angel's eyes but then away again and he shrugged.

“Me?” asked Angel softly.

Clearly not wanting to admit this out loud, Spike answered wryly in a quiet voice, “My close, male, vampire friend.” He risked another glance at Angel's face and then looked down at the bed, plucked at the blue sheet again.

Friend. It was so much better than the way Spike usually referred to him. Even though he'd always thought of their early relationship as a close one, this grudging confession that Spike had thought of him like that as well, even though they'd struggled to get along later in life, was enough to spark that familiar light in his chest again, and he felt himself smiling with the warmth of it.

“Oh, shut up, Angel.”

Not saying anything, and still smiling a little, Angel casually slid a few inches closer to Spike on the bed.

“Shut up. God. You're so bloody annoying, you know that? With your big dumb... hair. And that ridiculous curse, which makes no sense, by the way, and your stupid kind eyes! All brown and sweet. Color of... hot tea..."

"Is that an insult?"

"And what do you need to be so sodding tall for, hey? It's absolutely fucking unnecessary. And distracting! Towering over everyone, taking up so much room all the time. Barely space to share a bed with any normal-size vampire, have to lay all over you to get comfortable. And the way you smell right now—"

"You like the way I smell," said Angel. He moved his hand toward Spike's hand where it rested on the bed. Let his fingertips play very softly over the knuckles. Just a light touch, barely there.

Spike looked down at their hands together and swallowed. "Unnatural," he murmured. He turned his hand palm-up and stroked his fingertips gently along the underside of Angel's hand, this touch much less reluctant than the words had been. "Isn't right to smell so bloody good. Get in a bloke's head and make him... remember things. Unfair, is what it is."

At this, Angel's fingers paused. Slowly, he took his hand back, and Spike looked up to his face. "I'm sorry," Angel told him. "I know it's not fair. You didn't ask to be stuck with me like this." The younger vampire started to say something but then appeared to change his mind, so Angel went on, "Kinda nice to be considered a friend, though. Even if it was a long time ago."

After a moment, Spike lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "Not so long, really." His hand inched toward Angel's again. One fingertip traced down the side of Angel's pinky.

"I've been trying so hard not to take advantage of you," said Angel. "I really hope it didn't feel like I was. Because that's not what it was to me. You're not my victim, Spike. I don't want you to think I was—"

"No," Spike assured him immediately. "God no, that's not... I wasn't thinking of it like that at all. Not with you."

"I wanted you to like it. To... want it. Really want it, I mean, not just to think you wanted it because of—"

"I did want it," insisted Spike, covering Angel's hand. "I mean, I do want – I've always—" As soon as this word came out, Spike's voice cut off abruptly. Then he cursed under his breath and looked away, quickly drawing his hand back.

Angel watched Spike's tense face in profile, trying to will him to finish what he'd started to say. When it became clear he wasn't going to, Angel asked quietly, "You've... always...?"

Spike's teeth clenched together, a little muscle in his jaw ticking as he looked down silently at the bed. Naked, arms folded across his knees, head bowed. The moonlight illuminating the blinds over the window cast his whole body in a pale blue, including his hair. He looked like the subject of a painting, a perfect, artful image interrupted only by the darker shape of Angel's shadow falling across his hip.

"Hey." Angel reached over and gently turned Spike's face toward him. "Always what, Spike?"

“Don't,” Spike said, pushing Angel's hand away. “Doesn't matter now.”

“I think it might, if you tell me what you—”

“It doesn't matter,” Spike said more firmly, “because this is a spell. Or... a bite, poison, whatever. You're only letting me have this 'cause your body's fucked up right now, and I'm taking it 'cause my head's fucked up, but it's all gonna get unfucked soon and we'll be right back where we started.” He looked into Angel's eyes, a familiarly bitter look, that same expression he'd worn to address Angel so many times before the modusbeast incident. “Don't try to pretend it won't happen that way, Angel. We both know the state of things. And we both know as soon as you're cured you won't fancy me anymore. So it doesn't matter. Whatever I... whatever this is. Whatever it's been. None of it will amount to anything a few days from now, so what's even the point? Until it's over, we should probably... just...”

Spike's voice trailed off and he sighed, closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, it wasn't bitterness so much as weariness in the look he aimed at Angel's face. He let his hand come down to the mattress again and land softly on top of Angel's, fingers cool as the moonlight that tinted their skin. Quietly, he said, “We should just do what we feel like for now, and stop when we don't feel like it anymore. Just let this be what it is. And when it all goes back to normal, we won't have dragged ourselves through the bollocks of talking out things we knew wouldn't make any difference. Alright?”

Angel looked down at their hands on the bed, surrounded by a sea of blue. Square palms, slender fingers, short nails. Their hands couldn't truthfully be described as anything other than masculine, but in spite of a couple of immature pub spats in Angel's human past, neither of them had the big, brutal fists of a fighter. In life, they'd been a passionate artist and a sensitive poet. From murder victims to vicious monsters to troubled heroes, they'd both changed more than it should have been possible, but these hands had always pulled the thread of who they were along with them, sewing the heart of themselves through time. It was funny, a little, that over the last few days, they'd both been trying so hard to protect those stitched up old hearts. Spike was trying to limit the sharing of their feelings just like Angel had tried to limit the sharing of their bodies, but by this point Angel could hardly tell anymore whether they were each protecting the other one or themselves. What he did know was that he had no intention of hurting this other old heart, and so that desperate, painful protection wasn't necessary. He turned his hand over and slid his fingers between Spike's fingers, gently clasping his hand.

Then he looked back up at Spike's eyes and said, in a perfectly sincere voice, “No.”

The look on Spike's face at this unexpected reply to his flawless logic might have been funny if Angel hadn't been so serious. “No?” Spike repeated. “Just, no? Just fucking no? Angel, what the—let go!” He shook his hand out of Angel's easy grip.

“That was a good try,” Angel told him, “but I don't accept anything you just said.”

Spike gaped at him. “But—”

“I care about how you feel, Spike. I care about how you were feeling before this started, and I care about how you'll feel after it's over. I can't make you tell me your feelings, but you don't get to decide they aren't important to me or don't make a difference outside of the effects of some ugly bug spit. The way you really feel inside is all I've cared about this entire time.”

Angel couldn't tell if the look was more shock or confusion. To be fair, Spike couldn't seem to decide either. What he said was, “You never cared before.”

“I didn't know before. What am I supposed to do, go around assuming everyone has hidden feelings for me? You never said anything. Or, actually, you said the opposite things. And—” Angel sighed, passing a hand over his face. “I know it probably sounds like a lame excuse, but I've had kind of a lot on my mind for the last hundred years or so. Sometimes it's difficult to pick up on... nuance.” He squinted. “Especially since hell. Not a lot of subtlety going on there, you know?”

“Oh. Yeah, I reckon there wouldn't be.”

“But it's not that I didn't care about you before. I mean, it's true we haven't been on the best of terms since... well.” Here, they gave each other sheepish looks. “It's been a while. But even when we weren't getting along, I think you know me well enough to know how I've always felt about my family. With or without a soul.” He huffed a little self-deprecating sigh and looked down. “Just sentimental, I guess.”

“Sappy,” Spike helped, nodding. “Corny. Soft. Wet and slushy like a New York curb in February.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Spike shrugged in understanding.

“What I'm trying to say is you do matter to me. In some capacity you always have, and you're always going to, no matter what else happens. But if there's something... If there's the potential for something... If you feel... something...”

God, he hoped he wasn't saying the wrong thing here, hoped Spike would take this opportunity to explain himself and not skirt around or dismiss it like he'd done before. This did feel like something to Angel, but he still wasn't exactly certain what Spike felt for him and wasn't convinced he could bring himself to ask again. It might genuinely be that there was nothing here at all besides the modusbeast venom or that he'd completely misinterpreted some other feeling and Spike was only trying to spare him the embarrassment of talking about it. But at least by asking directly, it would be a little easier to prepare himself for rejection.

“The way things have been between us lately... I can see why you might not have felt comfortable telling me,” Angel said. “Maybe there's never really been a right time. But maybe... now's the time.”

A heavy sigh. “Now,” Spike said quietly. He sounded as if he were trying out the word. “You mean... now that you've already taken me apart? Now that you've seen the hold you have on me?” The words didn't sound particularly accusing, just soft, introspective. “Now that I haven't got anything else to offer you?”

“Now that we're friends again,” Angel said, growing more confident. What hold did he have on Spike? Was that just because of the sex, or—? “Now that I'm promising not to use it against you. Now that I'm ready to hear it.”

“Now that you're under a spell?”

Angel gave him a frank look, tilting his head. “Now that we both know how good it could be.” He watched Spike slowly exhale, considering this.

Resigned blue eyes met his. “Now that you're not letting me pretend otherwise anymore.”

“Tell me,” said Angel.

“I think you already know.”

“Tell me anyway. And be specific. I don't do nuance, remember?”

“So you do conversational torture instead. Brilliant.”

Angel nudged Spike's foot with his foot but didn't say anything.

The blond stared down at their bare feet for a long moment, then said, “If I did tell you. What would you say?”

“I'm hoping we're about to find out.”

“Christ,” Spike muttered. “You know, this isn't how I pictured this going at all. Locked in, stark bollock naked, with you staring at me. You have any idea how bloody unnerving that is?”

Angel couldn't help his amused expression. “How did you picture it? I can look somewhere else.”

“And now you're taking the piss. Real encouraging, mate. Makes me want to confess everything.” Spike huffed grumpily and tugged at that little fold in the sheet at his side. After a moment, he said, “You say it first, for a start.”

“I say it first?”

“In my head. When I tell you. You say it first and that way I know it's alright. That I'm not just—” he made a big gesture, “putting myself out there, like. Not knowing how you'll react. Taking a leap with no ground underneath.”

“Oh,” said Angel.

Spike gave him a hopeful glance, but Angel didn't take the bait and he knew Spike hadn't really expected him to. The blond looked down to the bed again. “And you've... you've been chattering on about it. Fifteen, twenty minutes. Extolling my virtues and that.”

“For twenty minutes?”

“Got a lot of virtues, haven't I? You've noticed.”

“Right.” Angel nodded wisely. “And we all know how wordy I can get.”

“It's downright embarrassing, pet. Enough to make a dead man blush, all that starry-eyed babble about little ol' Spike.”

“I've been meaning to cut back on that.”

“Oh, I forgot to say, I'm holding you at the time. Got my arms around you from behind.” Spike glanced up at him again, this time tilting his head slightly in a question.

“Are we standing up or lying down?”

“Sitting. Like this, but—” Spike scooted back a little so that he was sitting closer to the head of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. He stretched out one leg, leaving the other bent slightly at the knee, and gestured to the mattress in the open space between. “You're here.”

Obligingly, Angel shifted over to the place that Spike indicated, turning toward the rest of the moonlit room. Because he was taller than Spike, he had to allow for some space between them on the bed for this to work, but when he leaned back it was sort of like reclining in an easy chair, and he settled comfortably against Spike's cool body, skin to skin, his shoulders to Spike's chest. Spike slipped his arms around Angel's middle, gently hugging him in, and Angel relaxed, tipping his head back to rest on Spike's shoulder. “Like this?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spike murmured near his ear, the breath of this word slipping down Angel's neck. “Just like this.”

Angel could feel the slow rise and fall of Spike's chest behind him as he breathed, and he laid his arms over Spike's arms holding him. Spike's legs framed him on either side, and Spike's cheek rubbed softly against his hair. Angel was totally surrounded. Not trapped, but encapsulated in a way that he'd never really been by another partner. He hadn't had much opportunity for this type of closeness in a very long time, but when he had, he'd always been the one holding others this way. “This is different,” he mused quietly. “I think maybe I like it.”

Spike tilted his head down and grazed his lips across Angel's neck, the barest hint of a kiss. “Maybe you should get used to it, then.”

“What happens next? In your head.”

There was a significant pause. Spike had pressed his mouth lightly to Angel's neck again and just sat there, breathing him in. Then, a whisper, “You smell so good...”

“Spike.”

“Right, sorry.” He swallowed. “I think... well, this is the part where I recite a bit of naff poetry, innit?”

At this, it occurred to Angel that it was a good thing he was facing away from Spike, or else his sudden delighted expression might have been interpreted as making fun of him.

“Stop laughing,” Spike scolded anyway.

“I'm not.” Angel hugged Spike's arms into his belly and waited.

“See, this is why I haven't told you before.”

“I'm not laughing, Spike. I like poetry. Go ahead.”

“Well, I'm obviously not doing it now.”

“No, really. I want to hear it.”

“Yeah? I wanted to hear the twenty minutes of how wonderful I am, but we skipped that part, too, didn't we?”

“Fine,” Angel said. “Both the virtue-extolling and the poetry are implied.”

“Right. So. After I've charmed and impressed you – stop laughing, Angel, God, you're such a dick—”

“I didn't say any—”

“After you're very charmed and impressed, that's when... well, that's when I... when we...” He stopped suddenly, tipping his head forward to rest his chin on Angel's shoulder. “But it's all different now, isn't it?” His voice had dropped to a low, pensive murmur. Tightening his arms around Angel, he said, “In my head, when I tell you, it's not nearly so complicated as this feels. Always seemed like a simple thing, statement of fact... until the moment it's really happening. 'Specially when this is the way it happens, bloody sex poison.”

Spike's bracelet was cold to Angel's stomach. Angel looked down at it, at how it glinted against his skin, then slipped one fingertip underneath it. He slowly ran his finger along the inside of the delicate silver chain, stroking the pale wrist, where bone pressed out against cool flesh. Not looking forward to the answer, he asked quietly, “Are you saying you don't really feel the way you thought you did?”

“It's not that. Don't know what to feel anymore, do I? It's all muddled now. Hard to tell what's really there and what's just the smell of you getting tangled up in my brain.” He was looking down Angel's body, watching him play with his bracelet. “All the times... all the times I imagined holding you like this, I never thought I'd want to... drink you. Let you drink me. Biting was never a part of it before, but now...” He turned his head slightly to inhale against Angel's neck. Whispered, “It's all I can think about.”

Gust of a contemplative sigh, breath tickling along Angel's body. “What is that, Angel? What's it mean? Do I want that now, too? I feel like I could swallow you whole, drink you down until there's nothing left of either of us. Like there was nothing standing between us at all, not even our skin.” Then, more like a private thought than a question, he added, “How much of you can I take without entirely losing myself?”

Sitting there on the bed in the moonlight, with Spike's whole body wrapped so securely around him and smelling like a part of his own self that he'd been missing for far too long, what Angel came so close to saying was, Why don't we find out? The invitation was on the tip of his tongue, nearly escaping his lips before he could stop it. Go ahead. I don't mind. They wouldn't even have to move.

Somehow, he didn't say it.

What he also didn't say was that solely blaming the modusbeast venom for the strong desires they had toward each other now was the same thing as saying they couldn't have developed these desires on their own, just from spending time together. Talking. Flirting. Fighting. Giving each other pleasure. Even watching each other dance. But these were feelings they'd been capable of before now, weren't they?

What he wanted to say was he didn't want to believe this might only be sex poison, that what he wanted to believe was maybe this could be real, that maybe one day they'd have found their way here anyway, nesting together like family, the same way they'd done a lifetime ago except more. They were defining their own category! Was it so strange that the only two people in it would be drawn to each other in the most intimate way possible?

Angel wanted to say that maybe whatever Spike had imagined before this only felt different because it didn't account for the fact that real life was always messier and more confusing than fantasy, that sometimes it was possible to fall into another person much faster and harder than you expected to and the impact could send you reeling. That maybe this was what had happened: they were those kind of people. People who fall fast and hard and then wonder how so much could change so quickly.

What he wanted to say was, What if we took a chance on this anyway, what if we just said fuck it and ate each other, what if we let this happen just to see how it might turn out in the end? Why do we have to be so goddamn careful?

Maybe what he wanted to say was, Aren't you tired of being lonely? I am so tired, Spike.

“You're right,” is what Angel finally said. “We can't trust anything new. There's no way to know if it's real.” His head tilted just a little to one side, making room for the way Spike's lips had begun to move very lightly against his neck, tiny, gentle kisses into smooth skin, like he couldn't help himself. Angel swallowed. “But,” he went on softly. “You said... you've always. If there was something there before the modusbeast bite, maybe that's still—”

“I want you,” Spike murmured immediately. Zero hint of hesitation in this confession, earnest words from Spike's mouth penetrating straight into the flesh of Angel's neck. “I've always wanted you, Angel. I've wanted you from the first moment we met. I wanted you back in the day when we were friends, and I still wanted you after you left us. I've wanted you every time we've seen each other since. Hell, even when I tried to kill you, I wanted you. Sex poison and voodoo hormones haven't changed that. It's the other stuff, the rest of it all thick and jumbled and weird in my head; that's what I'm not sure of. But I'm sure I still want you. I've never stopped.”

Not some flowery declaration of love, then. At least it was something real to hold onto, something they could be certain about. Angel took a moment to wrap his head around this information, and the truth of it rang clear through the years, subtly shifting his perspective on every interaction, every conversation, every barbed insult and knowing smirk and jealous pout and tantrum. Hearing it out loud like this, so explicit and unmistakable, a Fact of Existence, was like fastening a zipper for the first time. All these jagged edges, these bared teeth, slotting into place and leaving behind a neatly satisfying surface, one that could be built upon. This... made sense. It was as though an uncomfortable thing that had been inside Angel so long he'd forgotten it was there had just been pulled out of him like a tweezed splinter, and the Spike-related warmth that had until now been living inside his chest spread itself down through his entire body and didn't feel like it would fade again.

“Oh,” he said.

“Probably should've put up more of a fight when this thing started,” Spike admitted, pulling Angel closer. Angel could feel Spike's lips brush his skin as he spoke. “Maybe I could've resisted longer, not come sniffing into your bed the other night. But don't hate me for giving in easy, Angel. I wanted you before I even knew what it was that I wanted from you. And this was my first chance to see what it was like...”

“Why didn't you ever say something? I thought you hated me. For years.”

“Ah.” Another soft sigh down his skin. “Well, there's the complicated part, innit?”

“It's all the complicated part.”

Spike kissed his neck again. “Not this,” he murmured. He slid one hand slowly down Angel's belly, a ticklish trail of fingertips against naked skin before sifting through a neat patch of hair. Strong fingers curling around Angel's penis, soft and thick. “This part feels simple to me.”

“Because that part doesn't involve feelings.”

A smirk against his neck. “Feel this, don't you?”

Angel exhaled sharply and then let out a quiet chuckle at what Spike's hand was doing. “Hey. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here.” But he made no move to stop him.

“You know,” Spike mused, looking down Angel's body, “I think this is getting bigger.”

“Yeah. It does that when—”

“No, I mean, it's bigger than before. Isn't it? Longer at least.”

Angel looked down with interest, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It was recently compared to a Clydesdale's. I'm not sure how well-informed the source is.”

Spike snorted softly. His hand went on amusing itself, stirring up pleasant sensations throughout Angel's groin, delightful little waves pulsing up through his body as he lay relaxed against Spike's chest. He could smell that Spike was becoming more turned on as he played, but neither of them tried to speed things up, just enjoying the moment.

“What did you mean,” Angel murmured, “that you wanted me before you knew what you wanted from me?”

A thoughtful pause, the hand holding him there, secure and surrounded like the rest of his body. Spike breathed in slowly against Angel's neck. “Well, it didn't occur to me at first, did it?” he answered after a bit. “Never wanted a man before, not like that. Even with... even with victims, it was never about... attraction. But you were...” His hand opened, and he drew his fingertips softly up Angel's shaft. “Magnetic.” The ticklish feeling skated across Angel's skin, and Spike's hand went back to toying with him casually. “Only knew I wanted to be near you. Wanted you to want to be near me. And you did, but it was never... you weren't the same way with me as you were with the girls. The way you spoke to them. The way you... touched them.”

Angel tried to imagine what it would have been like, what they could have had if he'd known how Spike felt back then. Things between all four of them would have been so different. He almost said, You should have told me, but it was a perfectly useless comment to make about lives they were living over a century ago, so he just sat quietly and waited for Spike to go on.

“The best times – and somehow the worst times, too, let's be honest – were having you and Dru together. Both of us inside her, close as possible. I could... feel you.” A quiet huff. “Still didn't realize. God, I was thick.”

Angel turned toward him. The angle was too awkward for a kiss, but he tipped his head affectionately against Spike's head and asked softly, “When did you realize?”

“I could tell you the exact moment.” He fell silent then, a long pause while he breathed in Angel's scent.

Angel waited, but the pause just kept getting longer. Eventually, he said, “So what was it?”

“I'm. It's.” Spike sort of half sighed and half chuckled. “Christ. You won't even remember.”

“Try me.”

“Alright.” Spike was still touching Angel's cock, just running fingertips softly up and down the length of it, an almost absentminded motion, their heads still leaning together. “It was... d'you remember that house we had, the third time we went back to London?”

Angel nearly bit down on his own tongue.

“The big posh one with all the cresting and the belvedere on top,” Spike said. “Stayed there for about a year. Had a couple of servants and everything. Human ones.”

“Yeah.” Angel cleared his throat. “I remember that house. Nice library.”

“That's the one. It was while we lived there. You kept... you kept telling me off for coming home with blood on my clothes. Said the maids would figure out what we were, spread rumors around the neighborhood, cock up our reputation, that sort of thing.”

“I remember.” It was the late 1890s. By that time, the four of them had traveled all over Europe together, gotten into all sorts of trouble in all sorts of places, but that year was the longest they'd ever stayed in one place without moving on, without blowing their cover or inciting a mob or splitting up for some reason or another and having to meet back up later in another country. It was their year of society parties and political intrigue and polite notes to decline afternoon tea in the death trap of a neighbor's solarium. The ballet, the security of routine, the convenience of having established identities. They lived as a real human family might have lived, carefully, and got to know each other better than ever, grew closer than what was common among the average vampire nest, and regularly ended up in the same bed during daylight hours, all four of them together, the girls both tucked comfortably in the middle.

“So this one morning,” said Spike. “Well, I'd been out late and... s'pose I got caught doing a bit of creative card-playing, and there'd been an inconvenient delay in getting back to the house before sunrise. Nearly arrived on a gust of wind, you might say. But the moment I ducked in the front door, singed hair and all, ready to congratulate myself on making it back in one solid and still devilishly handsome piece, you started having a go at me for the stains on my bloody coat. Said if I carried on like that, I'd whip up an angry mob in no time and ruin Darla's fun, and then we'd all end up riding the wind.” Here, the story came to a halt while Spike looked down thoughtfully at his hand, fingers still caressing Angel's penis. He seemed to be trying to think of how to continue, but Angel already knew what had happened next.

“That was when you called Darla a whore,” he acknowledged.

Spike's head dipped in a nod. “It was, yeah. But in my own defense, the accuracy—”

“You were just trying to annoy me.” Strangely, as close as they'd grown to each other that year, it was also the year that Spike seemed to be at his most restless, most rebellious, most belligerent. The two of them got along well enough usually, but for some reason that year he'd gone out of his way to seek confrontation, and more often than not, Angel had given him the fight he'd been looking for. It never escalated further than threats and some shoving, but their shouting matches frequently had to be broken up by Darla or sometimes even Drusilla, which embarrassed Angel enough that he sometimes chose not to engage at all and simply ignored the younger vampire instead, and that made him lash out even more. That was the year their relationship had begun to completely baffle Angel, the closest they'd ever been as friends while simultaneously the most hateful and mean. On any given night, they'd spend hours laughing and hunting and drinking together, and then the next night they'd be snarling into each other's faces until physically dragged apart. And there was never any predicting which way the pendulum would swing from day to day. To Angel, it felt entirely random.

But that kind of fighting hadn't really started until after the morning Spike called Darla a whore.

“Do you remember what you did?” asked Spike.

Angel's brow furrowed. “I think I... just told you I didn't care. That it wasn't an insult.” He felt Spike give another slight nod.

“First you laughed. Like it was funny that I thought you'd be bothered. And then you, ah...” He hesitated. “You sort of. Told me why you liked that about her. How she knew everything there was to know about men, all the best ways to get them off, 'cause of all the men she'd been with. That there was nothing she wasn't willing to do, how it was always a surprise, even after so long together. That you could never find better, due to her... experience.” He paused again.

After a moment, Angel asked, “And that's what made you realize you wanted me?”

“No, it was after that. 'Cause then... you mentioned Dru. How she'd been a virgin before you changed her. You took her while she was human and then you had her all to yourself for two whole bloody decades until I came along. Before me, the only man who'd ever touched her was you.” Spike sighed, breath sweeping gently down Angel's neck. Lifted his hand away from Angel's cock and slid it up his chest instead, pulled him close and leaned into him as if for comfort. “I know you only brought it up to get under my skin, the way I hadn't been able to get under yours. But it worked,” he murmured. “It worked too well.”

Spike was speaking quietly already, but something about his tone became more tender when he talked about Drusilla. “Everything about Dru had been a revelation to me. Everything, in every way. She was more than I could ever have hoped for or imagined, a wicked dream that... well. Don't have to explain it to you, do I? You know what she was to me.”

“Yeah,” said Angel softly. “I know.”

“And she was incredible in bed. A fucking goddess. My dark beauty. The things she did... But I guess I'd never really given it much thought before that day. That everything she knew about men, all of it, she learned from you.”

Angel didn't know what to say to that. “You were still young.”

“You made her,” Spike said quietly. “I don't just mean turning her, teaching her to be a vampire, the way you taught me. You made her the perfect lover. Every kiss, every touch, every look and movement that drove me wild with desire... it was all based on you, on what you liked. Her first and only.”

“I think you're giving me too much credit,” Angel told him, remembering Dru's nimble hands, her plush lips. “There's always going to be a certain amount of... instinct. Natural talent. Any man would have enjoyed what Drusilla had to offer. Plus she was a vampire, and you know what we're like—”

“You brought it out of her, though. You encouraged her, showed her what to do. The first time we... She knew exactly what she was doing to me, 'cause she'd been doing it to you for twenty years. God, she always knew exactly what to...” His voice trailed off. Then, “She was ideal. She was your ideal. Except that you still liked being surprised as well. So you had everything you ever wanted with the two of them, your virgin and your whore. And then there was... me.”

“My friend,” Angel reminded him gently.

“Only it don't feel so friendly being left out, does it?” Spike said. “I was the only one you didn't...” He exhaled slowly and then cleared his throat. “Always thought, doesn't matter that no one else wants me, long as I have my Dru. But after that morning, being with her, it was like... running commentary in my head, you know? He likes to be kissed like this. He likes to be touched here. He likes to be teased. He likes to be scratched. No matter what she did, that same little voice in my head. This is what Angelus likes. She was absolutely perfect, but from that moment on, every time I was with her, you're the one I was thinking of. Didn't mean to. Couldn't help it. You were always there.” Softly, he added, “I worshipped Dru. I died for her. Would've died for her a thousand times over. But sometimes I wonder how much of what I loved about her was just... you. The man who didn't want me.”

Jesus Christ. No wonder Spike's feelings for him were complicated. This was the last piece falling into place, a piece that fit perfectly but somehow still ruined the whole puzzle. And there was no going back in time to fix it, nothing Angel could say that would change what had happened, how after one conversation Spike had discovered how much he wanted him and hated him at the same time. That the best they could hope for were these days of back and forth, closeness and hostility. Where did that leave them now? What do you get if you mix together more than a century's worth of longing and resentment? Surely such a conflicting equation could never equal love.

Slowly, Angel sat up. Spike's arms let him go reluctantly, but instead of moving away from him, Angel just turned around to face him, kneeling on the mattress between Spike's legs. He reached out to cup Spike's face in one hand, and the blond head leaned into the touch, their eyes meeting each other. Spike's pupils were unnaturally wide like they'd been for the past few days whenever he was close to Angel, and the smell of his desire was strong in the space between them, but the look on his face after this confession was more vulnerable than Angel had ever seen from him before. He passed his thumb gently across Spike's full bottom lip. “A hundred and seven years?” he asked quietly.

“A hundred and twenty-four,” Spike said. “Just took me seventeen to realize.” Dark lashes lowering a little, he murmured, “Long time to spend fantasizing about someone who doesn't actually like you.”

The corner of Angel's mouth twitched up. “Not so long if you've got eternity.”

“You rethinking our sixty years, then?”

“I'm rethinking a lot of things,” said Angel. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Spike's mouth, sliding his hand around to the back of his neck. Spike's lips opened to him right away, and as they kissed, Angel let his thumb rub slowly from side to side against the short platinum hairs at the base of Spike's skull. When the kiss ended, the blue eyes were closed. Angel leaned his forehead against Spike's and asked him in a quiet voice, “Do you want me to say I'm sorry?”

Spike inhaled a long, shaky breath but didn't say anything.

“I would have taken you in a heartbeat,” Angel whispered to him. “If I'd known that's what you wanted, you would have been mine in every way the girls were.” He squeezed the back of Spike's neck gently, hoping he understood, that he could hear the truth of this. “There was always room for you, Will. There still is. I wish I'd made that clear before.”

When Spike's eyes slowly opened to look at him, Angel added, “But I think you know, anything we could have had back then... it can only mean more if we have it now.”

Instead of answering out loud, Spike's head tilted up for another kiss and Angel gave it to him, slow and thorough. He imagined that he could taste that day, Spike's laughing pride at managing to dash into the house just before catching fire, his own anxious concern that had kept him pacing before the door, waiting up so late for his wayward progeny to come home. The relief of seeing him again, that last moment before everything changed. Spike's mouth didn't taste of resentment, at least not for now. Angel went on tasting him for as long as he was allowed, not demanding anything, but kissing him with the sincerity of an old friend, the hopefulness of a new one, and the tenderness of a lover.

Eventually, Spike pulled back, his lips dark pink, parted and wet. He swallowed, eyes flicking down to Angel's neck. Into the quietness between them, he said softly, “If we... if we only took a little bit...”

Angel shook his head, sat back on his heels to put more space between them. “Don't tempt me.”

Spike looked away. “Sorry. I know.” He passed one hand up and down his other arm. “Just. Can't stop thinking about it.” He frowned for a moment, then looked up at Angel and raised an eyebrow. “Fancy getting shit-faced and shagging again?”

“Bourbon or beer?” Angel answered.

Half an hour later, they were sitting on the bed side by side, passing a bottle back and forth. Angel's arm was stretched out along the top of the headboard, and Spike had gradually slumped down as they drank, so that his head happened to be perfectly positioned under Angel's hand, just low enough for Angel's fingertips to play idly with the very top strands of his hair. “Remind me to order new rocks glasses,” Angel said, tugging the hair lightly.

Spike was holding the bottle, squinting at the label in the dark, the picture of the old man on the front. “Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve,” he read out loud.

“I mean, the plates, I get. It's not like I ever used the plates. But you really had to smash my whiskey glasses?”

“Pappy,” said Spike. He snorted softly. “Imagine being called Pappy.”

“Pappy?”

“You live a good life,” Spike said, “you work hard and raise a family, and soon as one of the kiddies squirts out an ankle-biter of their own, what happens? They call you bloody Pappy.”

“Pappy,” murmured Angel. It did sound weird, the more he heard it.

“Having or relating to pap,” said Spike.

“Pappy the Bloody?” Angel smirked.

“The Sailor Man.”

“The... wait, what?”

“Pappy,” said Spike. “The Sailor Man.” He gestured vaguely with the mostly-empty bottle. “You know. Eats 'is greens and he's strong as a Slayer. Shoulda called him the Slayer Man.” He seemed to find that amusing.

“Popeye,” said Angel.

“Eh?”

“His name is Popeye. Popeye the Sailor Man. With the spinach.”

“Popeye? The bloody hell kinda name is Popeye?”

“You thought his name was Pappy the Sailor Man?”

“He's an elderly bloke whose superpowers come in a sodding tin. Why shouldn't 'is name be Pappy? Makes more sense than Popeye.”

“It's Popeye because he's blind in one eye. From a fight when he was a kid.” Angel reached out for the bourbon and Spike handed it over. “I don't think he's supposed to be old.”

“Oh, forgot I was talking to the world's foremost expert on cartoon geezers with giant forearms. Christ, Angel, have you ever had a life?”

Angel paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth and glanced at Spike. “No, but I've got seven doctorates in knowing Popeye's name.” When he saw the blond give an amused snort, he tipped up the bottle for a sip, then licked his lips. There was one swallow left, so he handed it back, and Spike raised the bottle to him in a little salute before finishing it off.

“That,” said Spike, eyeing the label one last time and then turning to set the empty bottle on Angel's one unsmashed nightstand, “was good booze. Cheers, mate.”

The pleasant glow of the alcohol was warming Angel from the inside. “Best thing about America is the bourbon,” he said. “You feeling it?”

Spike's expression was lazily content. Not exactly shit-faced, but certainly relaxed. “It's hitting me, yeah.”

“Good.” Angel knelt up and then reached over and pulled Spike's ankle, yanking the blond off balance from his slumped sitting position into a surprised, full-body sprawl against the mattress. Angel immediately climbed on top of him, pinning his wrists down beside his head. He looked into Spike's eyes.

Spike's muscles had all tightened in preparation for a fight, but the anticipation translated itself into desire, and instead of struggling, he suddenly leaned up and kissed Angel's mouth, hard. Angel let him in, Spike's tongue licking inside as if to chase the last drops of the smooth drink. Angel squeezed his wrists tighter, holding him still while they took each other's lips in kisses much more demanding than the ones before, with more heat in them. They allowed themselves to get loose and even a little sloppy with the way they sucked at each other's mouths, and when their passionate kiss broke, the younger vampire breathed, “You taste like... ripe apple slices.”

Angel smiled and brushed his lips over Spike's lips again. Spike's breath tasted to him of cherries and oak, with the sweet caramel aftertaste of expensive bourbon. He dropped another feather-light kiss on Spike's cheek, feeling Spike tip his chin up, attempting to recapture his mouth. Angel carefully placed more tiny, frustrating kisses to his forehead and his nose and his other cheek, chuckling softly as Spike kept moving his face, trying to get the kiss he wanted. He let Spike catch his lips very briefly, and then pulled back to look into his eyes again, the warmth of arousal obvious on both their faces. “Think you're fully recovered yet?”

A slight movement beneath him, an attempt at a shrug while being held down. “More or less. Kiss me.”

Angel kissed him again, deep into his mouth, but then pulled back, and Spike's lips tried to follow him. “I should probably check for myself,” Angel suggested, lowering his voice. “You know, make sure there's no... lingering soreness.” He leaned close to Spike's ear and murmured, “If there is, maybe I can kiss it better.” He licked the cool little flap of Spike's earlobe into his mouth and tugged against it with his teeth.

“Oh. Yeah,” the blond agreed right away, tilting his head to allow Angel more room. Angel heard him swallow. “Now you mention it. Hurts a lot. You should definitely check... with your mouth.”

Amused, Angel released one of Spike's wrists to take his chin and gently turn his face to one side. He kissed the smooth space beneath Spike's ear and then down along the edge of his jaw, listening to Spike's shallow breaths. God, he smelled good. Angel inhaled deeply into Spike's neck and pressed his lips there, too, leaving a trail of kisses down the line of his perfect pale throat. He set his blunt teeth in exactly the place where he would have bitten him and pressed lightly, a dangerous hint at what he knew they were both thinking about, and Spike's breath caught, a faint shiver rippling through him. He sighed as Angel scraped the spot gently with his teeth and then kissed it.

Angel made his way down to Spike's collarbone like that, centimeter by centimeter, kissing and scraping with teeth and licking away the sting. Waking up the cool flesh. He gently guided Spike's arm up higher, exposing the hollow beneath as he kissed and nibbled a trail toward it, and so Spike tucked both hands behind his head and lay back on them, spreading his elbows wide with a satisfied smile, seeming perfectly content just to lie here and allow Angel to explore his body with these small kisses and licks.

Muscle twitched against Angel's lips when he bit softly into the flesh of Spike's armpit. He snuffled into it, nosing through the patch of soft gold hair and inhaling the scent of Spike's body like he could get high from just this. The smell of him poured through Angel's head like old memories: days of long talks and comfortable companionship while lazily cuddling their women in the same bed, nights of mischief as they sought new ways to satisfy a delirious hunger, followed by passionate sex side by side in various rooms of the London house. The rug in front of the library fireplace...

“You,” Spike said fondly as he lay tipsy and relaxed on the bed with Angel's face buried in his armpit, “are so fucking weird.”

“You smell good,” Angel murmured into that hollow before abandoning it to kiss and bite a stinging path over to Spike's nipple. When he sucked the little nub into his mouth, Spike chuckled, but it turned into a soft hiss as Angel's teeth pressed in. One of Spike's hands came down to land on his head, fingers carding into dark hair to hold him there. So Angel took his time, tugging gently at the stiff bud and then laving over it with his tongue. He swept one palm down Spike's side and over to his cock. It was hard, lying straight up against his belly, and Angel's hand passed over it lightly but didn't linger.

A trail of kisses down the plane of Spike's stomach, his abdominal muscles hinted at in shadowed outline. The tip of Angel's nose drew a soft line down his skin. The farther south he moved, the more Spike's scent was mixed with his own, and the more right Angel found it. His tongue dipped into Spike's navel, his chin bumping against the erection that pointed eagerly toward his face. They hadn't bathed or even bothered to wipe themselves off since having sex, and Angel could taste and smell the traces of Spike's spend that had smeared between their bodies and dried on them. His cheek pushed Spike's cock to one side as he bit the soft flesh beneath Spike's belly button and then licked over it.

The heady aroma of their combined smells totally invaded Angel's senses as he ignored Spike's penis and kissed down into the hair at the base of it. He licked through the salty crease at the top of Spike's leg, tongue catching against the side of one wobbly testicle and pushing it out of the way. Blunt teeth scraped over lightly fuzzed thigh. He pressed his teeth more firmly around the mouthful of flesh where Spike's femoral artery ran close to the surface, and he felt a tremor of want pass through the pliant body. Spike's legs shifted apart to allow more access, inviting Angel to explore between them, but instead Angel's mouth kept traveling down, Spike's fingers slipping out of his hair as he traced a path of scrapes and kisses along the inside of Spike's thigh, where some of his own spend had leaked out of Spike's ass and dribbled down, rubbed thin between his legs before drying.

He bit him a little harder here, couldn't really help himself. The flesh was so perfect for bites, pale and supple, unblemished, almost boneless. With every move of his mouth, he left damp pink marks behind, flower-shaped scrapes and faint indentions of teeth. He could hear Spike's breath quickening but didn't look up at him, just guided his leg into a shallow bend and inhaled against the back of his knee. I could eat you. God, I could fucking eat you right now.

One bite into the firm muscle of Spike's calf and then a long lick down the fuzzy lower leg and over his ankle. Lifting Spike's foot to his mouth, Angel bit right into his heel and heard a sharp exhale. Spike's foot was pale and narrow like the rest of him, well-proportioned, threaded through with a web of light blue veins. Angel kissed against his arch, licked up the side of his big toe. Then he sucked the first two toes between his lips, and the sound Spike made was something between a gasp and a laugh as Angel's tongue separated them inside his mouth.

Spike pushed up onto his elbows to watch. “You're a filthy one, aren't you?” he said quietly, voice low and thick with lust. Angel flicked his eyes up to Spike's and bit down softly around his toes, observed the ripple of reaction across his expression. Spike's pupils were heavily dilated, blond head tilted as he stared at what Angel was doing, captivated. He pushed the ball of his foot gently against Angel's chin. “Wish you could see how slutty you look right now. With my toes in your mouth.”

Angel lowered his lashes and let Spike's big toe pop out of his mouth so he could suck more of the smaller ones in and lick along the bottom side of them, the round tip of each one dragging over his tongue.

“Yeah, suck them,” Spike encouraged, balancing himself on one elbow so he could reach for his hard cock with his other hand. He squeezed it, pulling slowly, fascinated gaze fixed on Angel's mouth. “Dirty boy,” he whispered.

Angel grinned around the toes and gave the last one a little suck before letting it go. He pressed a kiss to the underside of Spike's foot just below his toes and then lowered the foot back to the bed, but before he could move up Spike's body again, Spike lifted his other foot and shoved it eagerly toward Angel's face. Angel chuckled and took it his hands, gave it a firm squeeze. “You like this more than I expected,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, it's fucking hot.” Spike stretched out his toes and wiggled them.

So Angel obligingly gave this foot the same treatment as the first, eyes on Spike's reaction the whole time. The younger vampire bit his bottom lip, watching his toes disappear into Angel's mouth while he stroked his cock to the feel of Angel's tongue swirling around and between them. When his eyes fell closed, Angel let the toes slip out of his mouth and kissed against Spike's arch, then bit it softly. He ran one fingertip down the center of the bottom of Spike's foot from toe to heel before setting it back on the bed. “Turn over,” he said.

Once Spike was lying on his stomach with his legs slightly spread apart, Angel was kneeling between them, running his palms up the backs of Spike's thighs. Spike's ass was small and up-turned with his hips tilted back just a little, the shadowed indent of his anus just barely peeking out between velvety cheeks. Angel's hands took hold of the roundness and squeezed, fingers sinking into soft flesh, before pulling them apart to get a better look at the little hole. It was a darker pink than it normally would be, still a little puffed from hard use, the wrinkles mostly smoothed out. Probably still tender. Angel leaned down and passed his tongue lightly over it, heard Spike sigh into a pillow. He pulled back just enough to breathe on it and watched it wink at him.

Spike's entrance was still somewhat slick with the oil Angel had used earlier, and that's what he tasted of, that and Angel's own cum. He licked over it again and again, holding Spike's ass spread open for his mouth as if it were shy, listening to Spike's quiet breaths come more quickly into his pillow. Angel pressed his lips to the pink ring like a kiss and pushed the wet tip of his tongue inside, and the panting turned to a low muffled moan. He sucked at the sensitive rim, wiggled his tongue in and out and in as the muscle relaxed further under his attention, and then, leaving behind a generous amount of saliva, he pulled back and rubbed over the softened opening with one finger before sinking it easily inside.

The channel was still slippery with the volume of cum he'd left there earlier, offering almost no resistance to the slide of his finger. Jesus, that was hot. Angel felt the kick of his erection twitching just at the fact that part of him was still here, still filling Spike's body. That it had been here the whole time Spike was holding him, and during their entire conversation while they polished off his bourbon. Spike shifted on the bed, hips lifting a little so he could reach under himself and stroke his own dick again, and Angel heard him curse under his breath.

“Good news,” Angel said. “I think you'll live.”

“Don't stop,” groaned Spike.

That made Angel smile. “Tell me again,” he said softly, “how long you've wanted me.” He kept his finger there and leaned over to retrieve the small bottle of oil from the drawer in the single remaining nightstand. He'd already uncapped it and drizzled some over the place where his finger disappeared into Spike's ass before the younger vampire answered.

“Always,” Spike managed haltingly as Angel pulled back and then pushed two fingers in together. Spike's thighs slid apart on the bed, his hips raising higher to press toward Angel's hand. “I've wanted you,” he breathed, “since day one.”

The warmth throughout Angel's whole self made him feel almost drunk, and it had nothing to do with the booze. He hid his pleasure against Spike's ass, biting gently into one vulnerable cheek, then knelt up and popped him lightly with an open palm right over the same spot. “And,” he said huskily, voice low with desire, “no one's been in here but me?” He crooked both fingers and rubbed firmly over the subtle swell of Spike's prostate.

Spike gasped, his passage briefly clenching down around Angel's fingers. “No... man,” he said.

Oh? “You're gonna need to clarify that,” Angel told him, parting his fingers to stretch Spike's opening.

“Well,” Spike panted. His voice was a bit muted going down into the pillow, but it sounded amused. “I know it's been a while since you've seen a woman, but they do have fingers, mate.”

Angel bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh, and then nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. He squeezed Spike's ass with his free hand, then slid it over to his hip and tugged gently. “Up. Up, on your knees for me. Yeah, that's it.” With Spike's ass at the correct height, thighs still spread a little, his balls dangled down, light pink and slightly fuzzy in their wrinkly sack. Angel still had two fingers moving slickly inside him, but he reached down and scooped Spike's balls into his other hand, feeling the sway of them against his palm as Spike continued to stroke his own cock. He pressed up lightly, pushing them against Spike's body, let his thumb pass back and forth across them. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked.

Spike's shoulders were still down, his forehead on the pillow but now tilted down so that his mouth was free. “Nah, was just gonna suggest a nice game of Par... cheesi.” His voice broke on the word Parcheesi when Angel rubbed hard over his prostate again. “'Course I want you to fuck me, you div.”

“You sure? I actually think I might have a Parcheesi gameboard—”

“Angel, fuck me.” Spike shoved his ass back against Angel's fingers. When Angel pulled them out, they were chased by a small trickle of oil and semen, and he grasped his erection to press the tip to Spike's perineum and swipe upward, catching the slippery liquid and pushing it back up to the pouting entrance it had dripped from.

“Alright,” Angel said quietly, and that was the only warning he gave before pushing forward, the head of his cock popping right into Spike's ass and sinking a couple of additional inches inside. The hole stretched wide around him, wider than his fingers had stretched it, and Spike cursed loudly, his knees immediately sliding further apart as if that would help to make room. Angel paused to let him adjust. Rubbed his palms slowly up Spike's trembling back. Fuck, he felt good inside. So soft and slick and tight around him. The muscle clenching and releasing to get used to the feel of him there. “Tell me when.”

“Just,” Spike panted. “Just. Give me a second. Christ. It's definitely bigger.”

“I don't think it's bigger,” said Angel, suppressing a smile.

“Well, no offense, but you haven't exactly... got my unique perspective on the matter... have you?”

“Are you complaining? It's not even in halfway.”

“Bloody hell... alright, just—slowly!”

Very slowly, his hands grasping Spike's hips, Angel withdrew slightly and then pushed forward again, this time not stopping until his cock had squeezed all the way inside and was fully seated in Spike's slippery ass, gripped tight all the way to the root. His eyes fell closed at the sensation and he took a deep breath before running his hands up and down the lean muscles of Spike's back again and asking softly, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spike managed, voice tight. “I'm... fuck. Yeah. I'm good.” He swallowed hard and then pushed himself up on all fours, bracing both his hands on the bed. “Go on.” His hips nudged back against Angel in encouragement, and Angel had to fight not to grin at the small motion. He pulled back and rocked forward, his hips smacking quietly against Spike's ass, and they both sighed.

In this position, when Angel started really fucking him, Spike had enough leverage to contribute a lot more than he'd been able to the first time. He took full advantage of this fact, and when the slow, gentle fucking became more comfortable, he began pitching forward as Angel pulled back, then slamming back hungrily as Angel thrust forward. It didn't take long at all for the sex to become very fast and quite loud, their hips slapping together rapidly and in perfect time with each other, both of them breathing hard and periodically cursing.

“Jesus Christ,” grunted Angel after a few minutes of this. “Okay, wait, wait. Spike, wait.” He flattened a hand against the small of Spike's back to still his energetic movements.

“No,” Spike replied, pushing his hips back insistently. “We're waiting for sod-all this time, Angel. Keep going!”

“I just want to—mmph! Fuck. Fuck.” He was leaning down, one hand patting frantically on the bed near his knee, looking for the oil. With his other hand, he pinched Spike's bottom. “Just, Spike, hang on a second. Jesus.” He was trying not to laugh.

The pinch made Spike's ass clench. “Angel! What the fuck are you—”

“Got it.” He quickly poured a generous portion into his hand and capped the bottle, dropping it to the bed again. Then he reached around Spike with the palmful of oil and grabbed his hard cock. One firm stroke along the whole length had Spike clenching around him again, gasping softly, his elbows nearly giving out.

“Oh,” Spike breathed, a shiver going through his body. “That's... ah, yeah, that's... good idea. Keep doing that.” He had halted the rocking motions and was now just trembling in place on all fours as Angel jerked him off.

“Okay,” Angel said, using his free hand on Spike's hip to guide him forward and back again. “You can move now.” He began to fuck Spike while still stroking his cock, but Spike's body remained frozen where he was. “Like you were doing a minute ago,” Angel encouraged. Then, “Spike?”

“I'm.” Spike's muscles were quivering; Angel could feel the tiny tremors. The blond head drooped down between his shoulders. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. “I'm...”

“Are you close?” Angel asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Already?”

“Bloody... fuck... That's really...” He swallowed. “It's very... distracting.”

Angel stilled his hand, keeping it wrapped tightly around Spike's stiff penis. “How about now?”

Spike took a deep, shuddery breath, then pushed his hips back against Angel, taking him in all the way. As he moved, his erection pulled slickly through Angel's motionless fist, and his mouth dropped open around a soft moan. When he rocked forward, Angel's cock pulled out of his ass, but Spike's thrust into Angel's hand again. A short, desperate sound came from his mouth, followed closely by a string of curses as Spike shoved back onto Angel's thick shaft once more and then bucked forward into his tight, slippery fist.

“Yeah, just like that,” Angel murmured, picking up the rhythm and moving smoothly with him again, their bodies making that quick slapping sound every time they contacted. He had to hold his hand still because whenever he tried to actively stroke Spike's dick, Spike's hips would stutter and freeze in place, his whole body trembling, until Angel's hand stopped again and Spike had to move to fuck into it. It was actually pretty cute, so Angel did it a few times just to watch Spike struggling not to come too soon from this assault on multiple fronts, but moving together felt so fucking good that Angel mostly focused on that, the easy glide of his cock through the slick, pillowy squeeze of Spike's ass, fast and hard and tingly and wonderful, and soon enough he knew neither of them could put off coming any longer without edging like they'd done before, which Spike had already pretty clearly voted against.

“Angel,” Spike gasped, still rocking aggressively back and forth between Angel's dick and the slick grip of his fist. “If you fucking think about stopping—”

“Not this time,” Angel breathed, his hips thumping loudly against the cushion of Spike's rear. He knew that just the presence of his thick erection moving in the tight channel was putting pressure on Spike's prostate, which was good, but from this angle he wasn't striking it directly. But he was getting close and wanted to bring Spike off with him, so he leaned forward a little and slipped his other hand around to Spike's chest, pulling up gently. “Kneel up,” he said. “Up, yeah. Come on.”

Whatever protest Spike might have made melted into a sharp exhale and then a moan as Angel pulled him upright and began jerking his cock in earnest. The younger vampire fell back against Angel's chest and panted and cursed as Angel held him firmly with one arm around his body and gave him a quick and dirty handjob while still fucking his ass, each thrust suddenly battering right into that one magic spot. Kneeling like this, Spike managed to choke out Angel's name once before his whole body tensed up and he was coming hard, the name followed by a series of breathless noises that indicated both shock and pleasure as his orgasm was wrung from his straining erection with relentless strokes while also being vigorously pounded out of him from behind.

The moment Angel felt Spike's climax, jets of it pulsing out over the bed, he buried his face in Spike's neck and allowed himself to tip over the brink as well. He shoved inside the spasming channel as far as he could possibly go, clutching Spike hard against his body and gasping into his skin as he unloaded the most cum he'd ever released at once, practically a continuous stream. His orgasm was so intense it almost hurt, but in a way that was wonderful and incomprehensible to him at the same time, leaving him speechless. All he could do was press his face into Spike's neck and squeeze his eyes shut tight, bearing it and making soft sounds that he couldn't control.

He shivered when it was over, his whole body trembling against Spike's whole body, along every point where they were pressed to each other, from shoulders to knees. He was breathing hard but quietly, feeling lightheaded and tired but somehow also invigorated, as if he could easily go out and slay ten vampires without much effort at all and then literally fly back home. He had begun kissing into the slightly sweat-dampened skin of Spike's neck without realizing it, and Spike was also breathing and trembling in his arms, still mostly held upright by leaning back onto Angel. It took a long while for them both to collect themselves.

Eventually, without moving, Spike murmured, “Bloody hell.”

Angel smiled into his neck. “That's a fair assessment.”

“Never heard you whimper like that before,” said Spike.

Angel lifted his face from away from Spike and cleared his throat. “I mean, I wouldn't call it a whi—”

“I've literally had you tortured, and you didn't make sounds like that.”

“Should I be concerned that you're comparing this to torture?” He started to withdraw from Spike's ass, but Spike's hand reached back and grabbed his hip, stilling him.

“Wait,” said Spike.

Angel paused for a moment, then pressed close again. He hadn't gone soft yet, and Spike's channel held him gently, this unnaturally large amount of spend sealed inside along with most of his load from their first time. He swept his hands slowly up and down Spike's sides, then over to rest on the very subtle curve of the previously flat belly, spreading his fingers over it. He dropped a kiss on Spike's shoulder and then whispered near his ear, “What are we waiting for, exactly?”

“I'm. It's nothing. Just.” Spike's hands covered his. “Kinda like the way this feels, is all.”

Angel inhaled deeply against the back of his neck, nose trailing up into short platinum hair. “Me too,” he murmured. The thought of Spike this full of him was sending very satisfying signals through his body, but there were also wires crossing somewhere, and Angel knew it. In some deep part of him, it felt like he ought to be full of Spike as well, and this was making his fangs itch on the inside, desperate to push into Spike's flesh. It's not my blood inside him, he thought. It's not the same. But it was close enough to feel both profoundly fulfilling and shamefully incomplete. As he held Spike to him, he found himself imagining again what it would be like to make that exchange.

“Think we could lie down like this?” Spike asked.

“We could try.” Carefully, with some slow coordinated maneuvering and a few amused chuckles, they managed to lower themselves to the bed without separating from each other, Spike lying flat on his stomach and Angel lying on top of him, Spike taking the full weight of him on his back. “Am I too heavy?”

“By a stone at least.”

“I could move—”

“No.” Spike's hand came back and landed quickly on Angel's thigh. “Stay. I want you to... stay.”

“Okay,” Angel said softly, laying his head against the side of Spike's head and letting himself relax on Spike's firm body, skin on smooth, comfortable skin. He closed his eyes. On his next exhale, a quiet rumble vibrated out of that place somewhere between his throat and his chest. He opened his eyes again. The rumble went on as he breathed.

After a moment, Spike said, voice amused, “That's actually kind of cute, you know.”

A soft huff. “Good. Since I don't know how to turn it off.”

“How long can you stay hard like this, d'you reckon?”

Angel turned his head, nuzzling gently into Spike's hair. He smelled so good. “How long do you want me to?” he murmured.

Spike's hand slipped away from Angel's thigh and instead found Angel's hand where it lay on the bed. He fit his own hand into it, carefully interlacing their fingers together. Quietly, he asked, “How long have you got?”

*

Chapter Text

*

Spike dozed beneath him. Angel didn't know at first how he managed it, stretched open as he was around Angel's cock, with the whole weight of Angel's body holding him down. Maybe the soft, low rumbles vibrating out from the older vampire's chest had lulled the younger one into some kind of trance. Angel kept expecting at any moment for his erection to flag and slip out of the comfortably snug grip of Spike's ass, but every time he thought it might, he found some reason to squirm a little, adjust his position on Spike's back, shift his hips in a pretense of getting more comfortable, and the naturally resulting slow slides out and back into the perfect hold Spike had on him were enough to keep his cock hard and his head full of erotic thoughts, which eventually followed him into a light sleep as well.

His dreams were weird and hard to make sense of. Everything was flesh, the overpowering feel of being surrounded by naked bodies, skin rubbing against skin, a thin sheen of wetness smeared between, sweat or oil or cum. Writhing masses in a vast body of liquid, the salt of the ocean in his mouth. He was reaching for Spike but kept getting distracted. He was digging a pit. He was pulling bodies out of a pit but then laying them down in a new pit and climbing in after them. Some of these bodies felt cooler than others. Vampires? He tried to warm them by lying on top like a blanket. He was lying on top of millions of bodies. He was lying on top of Spike. There was a fire somewhere but it was much, much too close. He couldn't breathe out, only in and in and in, the invasive and hypnotizing scent of blood. His own body swelled to bursting.

“Spike,” he whispered, and a quiet groan answered him. He was thrusting into a firm body with impossibly smooth skin, clutching cool flesh closer, his face buried in soft, short hair. It felt at first like part of the dream, but this was really happening, his hips tipping back and then forward again over and over, short strokes through the slippery grasp of Spike's asshole squeezing his cock. His lips fell open around a desperate sound, and then closed again around a mouthful of skin at the back of Spike's neck, blunt teeth digging in, holding on. Spike was panting under him, soft whines slipping out with each exhale, his hips pushing back insistently toward Angel's rocking motions.

Angel didn't even fully wake until he was coming with a gasp, the shock of it jolting him from the half-dream of writhing bodies into the reality of writhing bodies, Spike shuddering and moaning beneath him, reaching back to grip Angel's thigh and hold him in place. Angel was lost to his release, awake but only conscious of the surge through his body, the long, forceful bursts of relief. The smell was everywhere, lust and blood and memory and blood and sweat and cum and blood. As soon as he came back to himself, he worried that he had somehow hurt Spike before realizing he was only smelling the blood through Spike's skin. His body felt empty and light, and he knew Spike's must feel full and weighed down, heavy. He licked tenderly over the teeth marks in the back of Spike's neck and murmured, “You alright?”

“No,” Spike whispered back, voice ragged. “Angel, this feels like dying.” His grip on Angel's leg was a vice. He was shaking. “I can't take it,” he managed. “I can't take this. I thought I could make it through the night this time but—”

“Hey, it's okay, you're okay,” Angel breathed near his ear. “Here, roll over.” Carefully, without slipping out of him, Angel rolled them both onto their sides and then slid his hand down the front of Spike's torso, over the slight bulge of his lower belly which was more tight and swollen now that Angel had unloaded into him again. He found Spike's achingly hard cock and wrapped his fingers around it, began to stroke him firmly. The extra skin moved with his hand, covering and uncovering the sensitive wet head as Spike made quiet broken noises with his mouth and hunched into the feeling. The wetness dripped down, rolled off Angel's fingers, stretched out in a dancing thread to connect to the mattress below. “I want to feel you come,” Angel whispered to him. “Spike, come for me while I'm inside you.”

He caught a bit of Spike's shoulder between his teeth, but it was more like a kiss than a bite, mouth pressed softly to trembling flesh. His hand worked Spike's thick cock skillfully, smearing precum along the shaft, each stroke making slick, sticky sounds. Spike breathed hard through parted lips and thrust helplessly into Angel's hand, swept up in the intensity, straining erection strumming through Angel's fingers and the silky smoothness of his round asscheeks pressing back against Angel's hips. Within moments, Spike was coming. The spend jetted out in an arc over the bed, splattered in waves across the blue sheets as he moaned. His whole body was flexed, muscles tense, and Angel cursed into his shoulder as the tight passage clenched down hard around him.

“Oh, fuck... Yeah, that's it, squeeze my cock,” Angel encouraged huskily. “That's so good...”

He worked Spike through the climax with a tight fist, his own overly sensitive dick being milked relentlessly by the spasms of Spike's ass, until the twitching and moaning finally stopped and Spike was left panting, his sweaty back curled against Angel's front. Angel gently stripped out the last drip of cum from Spike's spent penis and then let it go, sliding his hand up Spike's chest to pull him closer. The smell of sex was so potent in the air around them that Angel could almost feel it like a thick quilt settling down over their bodies. He pressed another soft kiss to the younger vampire's shoulder. For some reason, Spike was still shaking. Not as much as before, but there was a definite tremor against Angel's lips, the lean body heaving with too-fast breaths.

“Spike?” He wasn't sure what else to do. Orgasming had put a stop to the shaking before. “Do you need to go again?”

“That's,” Spike whispered, strained, “not... what I need...” His breath was hitching around the words.

“Tell me how to help you,” Angel said, tightening his arm around Spike's chest as though if he held him close enough he could force the trembling to stop. “What can I do?”

“Angel... I need...” His voice closed off with a shudder, and instead of finishing, he took Angel's hand from his chest and brought it up to his face. Angel didn't know what Spike was doing at first, but as soon as Spike sucked his first two fingers into his mouth, he understood. The jagged points of sharp fangs scraped over them. Not cutting. Explaining.

Angel froze. “Oh,” he breathed. He hadn't even realized Spike's fangs were out since he was facing away. He hadn't heard them come out, either, which meant they'd probably been showing since before Angel had woken up. “We agreed not to...” He could easily picture it, though. Right now, just like this. It would be as simple as offering. As simple as taking. Spike could take his wrist and he could take Spike's neck and they could do it right now, exactly where they were, without moving, right now, they could just—

Spike wrenched Angel's hand from his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered, pushing away Angel's arm. He began to struggle to sit up, and Angel grunted at the way the motion tugged at his penis. His hand landed on Spike's hip.

“Wait,” he said. “Where are you go—”

“I've got to leave!” Spike practically snarled at him, finally pulling free. The moment he did, a river of translucent liquid gushed from his gaping asshole, some spilling out over Angel and the bed and some running down Spike's flesh. He made a small distressed sound and quickly reached back to try to stop the flow with his hand, at the same time scrambling to get off the bed.

Momentarily stunned by the sight of the cum – there was so much, Jesus, and that was only a portion of it – Angel sat up but stayed on the bed. “Spike,” he said gently, trying to make his voice sound as soothing as possible, “you can't leave.” He watched as Spike snatched the torn silk shirt off the floor and held it to his bottom, then quickly paced several feet away to grab his leather pants from the floor as well.

Spike was shaking his head. “Can't stay here, Angel. I'll fucking eat you. Got to get away—”

“The locks,” Angel said, voice intentionally calm despite his concern. “This whole floor is locked down.” The blond made another distressed sound and dropped the leather pants to the carpet again. “You're not going to eat me,” Angel told him. “You can control yourself. I know you can. You've done it before.”

“This isn't like before!” Spike turned to snap at him. “You're—” He stopped short, and the anger in his golden eyes – clearly just a cover for the panic – melted into a longing that bordered on desperation when he looked at Angel. He was breathing far more rapidly than would have been normal, even after exertion. In his long years, Angel had never seen a vampire hyperventilate before, but he'd seen it happen to humans once or twice and this looked very similar. “The... the smell of you right now...” Spike choked out, stumbling a couple of steps back. His shoulder met the wall and he fell back against it, breathing. “I'm going mad,” he whispered.

Watching Spike suffer like this because of him was much worse than Angel was prepared to handle. He had no idea what to do, how to help, how to stop. “Shower,” he heard himself say, and almost winced at Spike's incredulous look. It sounded like such a ridiculous suggestion, as if their entire predicament could simply be rinsed down the drain. But he tried anyway. “Wash my scent off your body. Maybe it will help?”

Spike seemed suddenly too exhausted to bother protesting that this wouldn't work, so he just nodded dumbly and staggered toward the bathroom, still clutching the silk shirt to his behind. The door closed hard after him.

It was just past four in the morning. They'd been alone in Angel's penthouse together for roughly twelve hours now, most of which had been spent having sex, in between cuddling and talking and drinking and snatches of unsatisfying sleep. Maybe this was the limit to the amount of time they could spend together without the urge to bite overtaking Spike's self-control. They'd spent at least this long in each other's company the other night before Spike had chained him to the bed and left. Or maybe it wasn't the amount of time that was the problem. Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the amount of Angel's spend that had ended up inside Spike's body.

Spike should probably eat something. That might help get his mind off the biting. Angel stood and went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. He was already holding a bag of blood in his hand before he remembered he had no mugs or glasses to pour it into. Distracted, he set it back down with the other bags in his fridge and walked into the living room to look at the couch. There was no way they could get back into bed with each other. But the couch wouldn't be far enough away. He went back through the kitchen and opened the door into the dining room, then slid open the glass door that led out onto the roof.

It wasn't until the fresh night air hit his face that Angel realized how powerfully intense the scent trapped inside his apartment was. No wonder Spike was so affected; he was practically being drowned in it! But what could they do? Both the private elevator and the other elevator were totally sealed off, but Angel went back in and grabbed his keys, then came out and tried to open the stairway access door from the patio. Of course it didn't work; that would have been much too big of an oversight for a lockdown. And this door was steel, not the same type of door he'd been able to rip a hole into earlier. Naked, he paced along the edge of the roof wall, looking down. Way, way too far to jump, couldn't even be certain of surviving the fall, and there was nothing to cling to in order to climb down. No way to leave at all.

Out of curiosity, Angel tried to unlock the guesthouse at the corner of the roof, and found that it was still accessible. He hadn't been inside there for several weeks; there'd been no real reason to go in since the whole place was unfurnished. Just three empty rooms with a bathroom and a small kitchenette. The largest room was the one with two entire necrotempered glass walls, one facing toward the pool and Angel's apartment and the other facing out toward the city, the two solid glass pieces meeting in a corner that joined the low brick wall that bordered the roof. It was the room he'd intended to turn into his art studio but had never found the time.

The inside probably didn't smell of him at all. It was maybe the only place up here that didn't.

Okay, here was the beginning of a plan. Angel didn't go into the little house after unlocking it. Instead, he went back to his apartment and hesitated at the door. Leave it open to let the place air out a little, or close it to keep his scent trapped as far from the guesthouse as possible? He finally settled on closing it and then went back to his bedroom.

Holy shit.

Maybe it was the contrast from being outside just now, but the smell of what had happened in this room was absolutely shocking. How had he not realized how strong it was? Clothes were strewn about the floor, and the smashed nightstand lay in a broken heap near the bed, but the real revelation was the bed itself. Slowly, he came closer to it, looking down at the blue sheets illuminated in the moonlight from his window. These sheets were totally covered in smears of cum. Most of it had dried into stiff discolored spots, but the more recent small puddles were still gooey, the places where Spike had come undone under Angel's hands, the larger spot where Angel's own spend had flooded out of Spike's body. A cloud of smells hung in the air over the mattress, thick and masculine and mixed with the warm, spicy-sweetness of sandalwood scented oil. The whole bedroom was smothered in the ghost of their coupling, scent as dense as foam, swelling up into the ceiling corners and forcing into the cramped spaces behind the furniture. And that was just the layers of sweat and sex and Spike; Angel still couldn't even smell the invisible pheromones being put out by his own body.

He had to get Spike out of here.

The shower was pounding down. Angel knocked on the bathroom door but when Spike didn't answer, he just went inside. At first the water appeared to be jetting down into an empty space, but the clear bricks of the shower partition revealed a blurry flesh-colored lump sitting on the tiles on the other side. Angel walked around the glass wall and found Spike curled into an upright ball, sitting with his legs drawn up and arms crossed over his knees, head bowed and eyes closed, platinum hair plastered to his forehead under the spray. It struck Angel that this must be very similar to how he himself had looked in the shower after being chained all day, helpless against the turmoil inside his own body and mind. The difference was that the ridges of Spike's demon brow were still pushed forward, and he was trying not to breathe as the hot water ran down his face.

“Spike,” said Angel softly.

Spike's head gave a little shake, but he didn't look up. “Go away,” he said.

Angel could smell him there under the falling water, and the scent was wrong now. He still smelled incredible, but there was almost nothing of Angel's mark mixed in with it anymore, just a very faint thread that was probably coming from inside, whatever Spike hadn't managed to empty out of himself. Angel's fingers clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into palms so he wouldn't reach for him, somehow cover him in the correct scent again, fill him with it. “I need you to get up.”

Another head-shake. “You've got to get away from me, Angel. I'll hurt you.” Just after he said this, he breathed in reflexively, and Angel saw a tremor pass through his shoulders as he exhaled.

“There's a place you can go where you won't smell me,” Angel told him. “It'll be easier for you.”

“Locked in. Can't go anywhere.”

“It's up here. It's right outside. You can rest there for a little while and Wes or Gunn can let us out when they come in for work.”

Spike looked up at him then, squinting through the spray. “The aquarium, you mean?”

“I haven't been inside it for a long time. You should be safe there until morning.”

Slowly, Spike nodded. He didn't get up, though. “Is it... is it mental that I don't want to go?” The amber eyes closed, head bowing down again under the water. “I know I shouldn't stay. Shouldn't be breathing you in like this. But I want it, Angel. Want to cover myself in you, inside and out. I can still feel you... holding me open... still taste you in my mouth...”

It took enormous amounts of Angel's self control not to go to him, not to join Spike in the shower and simply pick him up, pull him close, bite into him right there. Didn't he want it? Wasn't he asking for it, begging for it? Spike's blood would be warm right now like a human's, his flesh soft and slippery with hot water. Angel's fangs ached to descend, to sink deep into him, tear new openings into his body and suck him out through them, to consume him entirely. He flexed his fingers, nails pressing hard into his palms again, and said, “Maybe if you have some blood, it'll be easier not to think about—”

“Don't want to drink anything else, Angel. Ever again, feels like. I only want you. I want to drink you.”

He swallowed. “I know it feels that way now, but once you can't smell me anymore—”

“Don't know if that'll be better or worse,” Spike whispered, barely audible under the sound of the water. “Smelling you or not being able to smell you... I'll lose my mind either way.”

“We have to try,” said Angel. “Just try for me, alright?” He watched Spike's shoulders tremble again before the blond head finally dipped lower in a tiny nod. Then, very gently, Angel murmured to him, “Fangs away now, William.”

It took a moment for Spike to gather the concentration to pull them in. Then he looked up at Angel with blue eyes instead of gold. His pupils were still blown wide with longing, but his human face was determined. “Go to another room and shut the door,” he said, voice low, “so I don't have to pass by you on the way out.”

Angel nodded. But before leaving, he said, “There's no furniture or anything in the guesthouse. But there are some blankets and pillows and stuff in my linen closet. Brand new, still in the packaging. They shouldn't smell like me once you get the plastic off. Take whatever you need to be comfortable.” Then he turned and walked away, went out through the intoxicating smells of the bedroom, down the hall and all the way to his study without stopping. He closed the door firmly enough that Spike would hear it.

Another long moment later, the shower finally stopped. Angel listened for Spike's footsteps, heard him slowly make his way down the hall to the linen closet. Sound of some things moving around and then the closet door closing. He didn't hear Spike stop at the refrigerator on his way through the kitchen, which made him frown, but then there was the faint sound of the patio door sliding open and shut.

Angel went over to the window and looked out across the roof, watched Spike slowly walking naked along the side of the swimming pool toward the glass guesthouse. Water droplets glistened on his skin in the dim moonlight. In his arms, he was carrying a stack of... well, most of Angel's new things, but that was fine. He stopped once about halfway there and just tipped his head back, standing perfectly still to breathe in the city night air. Whatever was left of Angel's scent in his lungs probably dissipated in those deep breaths, and something twinged inside Angel, something between sadness and a feeling of satisfaction that this would work, eventually giving way to a profound sense of loneliness as he watched Spike continue toward the small building and go inside alone.

Angel wasn't really sure what to do with himself after that.

It was Tuesday, so that meant Rosa would be coming. He gathered up all their shed clothes to put in the hamper in the laundry room, trying not to gag at the smell of Spike's sewer-infused duster hanging there. He checked the pockets and found that the last cigarette in the crushed little pack was broken, so he added the same brand to his shopping list. He still wasn't exactly sure how the list worked, but had found that as long as he added items to the small notepad on his study desk at least a couple of hours before Rosa was due to show up, she would bring anything he wrote down. Within reason. (He'd once tried to test the limits by adding the cursed scalp of a winged witherian warrior to the list just to see what would happen, but Rosa had brought him some ordinary store-bought hair extensions instead, pointing out that he didn't have the proper spells in place to store any witherian scalps without killing all his houseplants. Which was true. She'd also brought him a houseplant. Since then, the most exotic item he'd written down was Miracle Gro.)

He also added some black cotton t-shirts to the list in Spike's size. Trying not to consider hiring Harmony as Spike's personal stylist, which he knew Spike would resent, and definitely not picturing Spike wearing more of the same kind of designer clothes that he himself favored, Angel went on to add to the list jeans and socks similar to the ones that had been ruined in the sewer. Then he gathered those stinky clothes from the patio and bagged them up with his ripped and cum-soaked silk shirt and the smashed pieces of his antique nightstand to be incinerated with the rest of the trash.

This had only taken a few minutes. At something of a loss, Angel wandered over to the sliding glass door to the patio again and looked out across the roof to the guesthouse. It was still dark out, the moonlight too dim to see much through the glass wall without going outside to get closer. He could just make out the indistinct shape of a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor. Spike was most likely buried somewhere in the soft heap.

There was a cordless phone on the wall in the kitchen. He went to get it, then carried it back over to the patio door and stood there looking out.

He should probably just let Spike rest.

After another couple of minutes, he dialed the guesthouse extension. When it began to ring, there was movement in the pile of blankets, a pale shape rising from them. A moment later, Spike's voice, quiet in his ear. “Tell me these are those magic type of windows you got in the rest of Hell Incorporated. Or was this your evil plan all along, trap me naked in a glass box until sunrise?”

For some reason, the griping made Angel smile. “Come on, Spike. If I were going to dust you, you really think I'd do it from this far away?”

“Just making sure this ain't our last conversation. Haven't even come close to telling you all the ways you can piss off yet.”

Angel could hear the affection in the younger vampire's tone. He hadn't really known how anxious he'd still been until the relief flooded in that Spike was okay. He asked anyway, softly, “How are you? Is it better over there?”

Movement of the pale shape through the darkness again, and then Spike was standing there at the glass, fully naked like Angel with the guesthouse phone to his ear. They looked at each other across the roof. “Dunno yet,” Spike said with a sigh. “Less likely to bite you, so I reckon that's a plus, but...”

“But what?” asked Angel.

Spike's free hand slid very slowly up the glass. “But I already miss you.”

Angel didn't say anything. His own free hand touched the patio door, fingertips trailing across the smooth, cool surface.

“Miss your skin,” Spike said. “And your mouth. Your hands.” His voice lowered. “Miss the feel of your cock inside me.”

Quietly, Angel told him, “I miss you, too.”

“Shall I come back?” Spike's palm pressed flat against the wall, as if against Angel's chest. “Happens I'm in the neighborhood...”

“I don't think that's a good idea. We're only a day or two away from fixing this, Spike. Then we can...”

“We can what? Sleep in the same bed without eating each other? Or just go back to the way things were?”

“Trust ourselves,” said Angel. “Once this is over, we can... trust ourselves. To decide where to go from here.” When Spike didn't respond to this, he added in a soft voice, “For what it's worth, I don't want to go back to how we were before.”

“Might be singing a different tune a few days from now.”

“So you are letting me sing,” Angel teased quietly.

A small huff. “Guess you've worn me down. Backing vocals, one song. And not one of our Dead originals, will have to be a live cover.”

“Generous,” observed Angel. Then, “Springsteen?”

“I'm taking you record shopping, mate. Can't believe you haven't got Born to Run.”

“I used to. It's weird how saving the world gets in the way of replacing blown-up personal belongings.”

“Or maybe you're losing sight of why we save the world in the first place.”

“To maintain my record collection?”

“For starters, yeah. Why not?”

The corner of Angel's mouth twitched up. “You gonna teach me all the reasons why the world needs saving, Spike?”

“Well, I'm a consultant now, aren't I? Consult me.”

“I'm sure you'll be an invaluable resource.”

“Font of bloody wisdom, me. Don't you forget it.”

“Should we...” Angel reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. “I don't know, go to a concert sometime? Together. Or is that too... I mean, we don't have to. I just thought. It could be, you know. Fun?”

Spike laughed softly. “Christ, Angel. Is it always this painful when you ask someone on a date?”

He was trying not to cringe. “Believe it or not, that was one of my smoother attempts.”

“A hundred and twenty-four years thinking you were actually sort of cool. The fuck is wrong with me, eh?”

“I'm not sure you want me to answer that.”

“And you're what, two hundred fifty? Stammering like a spotty schoolchild. I'm embarrassed for you, really.”

“This is sounding less and less like a yes.”

“Yes, then,” Spike said, and Angel could hear him smiling. “Let's go to a big one and shag on the roof of the arena. Feel the bass through our bums.”

Angel huffed a quiet chuckle. “That's a little more fun than I was picturing.”

“Unlive a bit, pet. As your consultant, I reckon it'll be good for you.”

“Well, if that's your professional advice, I guess I'd better take it.”

“Got one condition, though. Before we start getting stupid about each other, holding hands and shit.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

“We wait 'til it's over,” Spike said. He sounded more serious now, voice calm and intent. “This, the whole sex poison thing. Like you said, we can't trust ourselves until after, and I won't have us starting something that's just gonna end when you get cured and decide this was all down to the fact I was willing when your bits got possessed.”

Angel frowned. “Spike, you know that's not—”

“If that's not all this is, then you won't mind putting off our date.”

“No, I agree. It's a good idea,” Angel said. “But I only meant we can't trust ourselves about things like biting each other. You don't need to worry that I'll stop wanting you. That's not going to happen.”

“Can't really know that yet, can we?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he did know. He was sure he knew. But... he was also sure he hadn't intended to attack Lana the other night. It's not like he could deny that the modusbeast's venom was making him act out of character, and in fairness, wanting Spike the way he wanted him now hadn't been part of his character until after he'd been bitten. Just because it felt natural didn't necessarily mean it was natural. But understanding that in an objective way didn't change his feelings. It was hard to imagine anything changing his feelings now, despite knowing it was a possibility once he was cured. Angel sighed.

At least Spike's rationality about this meant that being in the guesthouse had gone some way toward clearing his head. Quietly, Angel asked him, “You saying we can't hold hands?”

There was definitely a little smile in Spike's voice when he replied, “Did you want to?”

“Maybe I just want to be touching you,” said Angel.

A long pause. Angel watched the younger vampire's fingertips skim lightly down the glass wall. Then Spike murmured into the phone, “Ask me to come back, Angel. I'll let you touch me anywhere.”

The offer sent an unexpected flare of desire through him, and his fingers tightened around the hard plastic of the phone. Maybe Spike's head wasn't quite as clear as he'd thought. “We should get some sleep,” he said.

“You made me get up so you could tell me to lie back down. Cheers, mate. Very helpful.”

Angel tilted his head down, chuckling. “What can I say? It's the hero thing. Helping is in the job description.”

“Think you'll be able to sleep?”

There was an implied without me tacked to the end of this question. “Sure,” Angel told him quietly. “Now that I know you're okay.”

“Softie.”

He smiled. “Goodnight, Spike.”

“'Night, pet.”

Angel disconnected and watched Spike's phone hand drop down to his side. Then Spike's other hand came up briefly to raise two fingers at Angel through the glass before he turned back toward his pile of blankets. Angel rolled his eyes and went to his bedroom, turning off all the penthouse lights as he went. But he carried the phone with him. Just in case.

The smell of their sex hadn't faded at all, but he climbed onto the stained blue sheets anyway and laid his body where Spike's body had been, buried his face in Spike's pillow and breathed in. He deliberately filled his head with Spike's scent, ensconced his whole self in it as deeply as he could, as if he could make up for the fact that Spike couldn't smell him by totally wrapping Spike's own scent around himself like a fur coat and just soaking in it.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to sleep without Spike. Maybe there was too much of Spike here to sleep. Too much absence and too much presence. Too much muchness to relax. Too much dark outside and too much vampire inside to feel sleepy in the first place.

His phone rang. Angel dragged it up to his ear.

“Can't sleep,” Spike said.

“Does it feel darker than usual?” Angel asked him.

“Like we should be out in it.”

“Sunrise is in two and a half hours. Wouldn't have a lot of time.”

“What would you do?” asked Spike.

“Find something to kill, probably. You?”

“Same. Maybe suck your cock after.”

“Jesus.” Angel rolled onto his back and pulled the pillow over his face and the phone. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“What, that you want to suck mine, or you want me to suck—”

“Either. Both. ...Both.”

“D'you want me to—”

“Stop offering to come back, Spike.” Off the brief silence that followed, Angel sighed. “And don't pout. I can hear it.”

“Bet you couldn't hear what hand gesture I was doing. Pillock.”

“It's not that I don't want you here. You get that, right? As long as you're over there, I know you're safe.”

“Safe like a sodding goldfish,” grumbled Spike.

“A piranha, maybe.”

“Come kiss me goodnight.”

“No.”

“Come on, Angel. One kiss.”

Angel hesitated. “I want to,” he admitted.

“Yeah?”

“You know I do. I always want to.”

“Alright, then. Meet you halfway.”

“We shouldn't.” He could hear some rustling around. “Spike? Don't get up. Spike.”

“Too late. I'm going outside.”

“Spike, don't. I'm not coming out there.” Sound of a door opening. The night got louder through the phone. Angel sat up. “Go back in!” he insisted. “We're not going to – Spike!”

“Nope. I'm having my kiss, Angel. Either bring it out here or I'm going in there.”

“When you were in here, you were freaking out!”

“Better not let me get that far, then,” Spike reasoned.

Angel got out of bed. “You idiot,” he muttered into the receiver, walking quickly out of the bedroom. He crossed to the kitchen and continued through it toward the dining room. “When they were handing out souled vampires, how the hell did I end up with the only one who's an absolute—” He flung open the sliding patio door and dropped the phone to grab the younger vampire. “—moron!” he finished, and kissed him, hard.

They stumbled out onto the patio as they kissed, Angel pushing Spike backward in an attempt to get him further away from the smell of his apartment. But he was also pulling him close at the same time, and they swayed unsteadily, a tangle of naked bodies barely maintaining their balance, lips crushed together. Spike was grinning into their kiss and Angel wanted to thump him for it. Instead, he steered Spike's back against the support beam that held up the corner of the patio's roof and kept him pinned there while he reached up to cup Spike's face and lick into his mouth.

The kiss went on passionately, each of them sucking at the other's lips with a helpless kind of urgency that Angel hadn't felt in so long. “You – shouldn't – mmm, shouldn't be here – Spike.”

Spike had also dropped the guesthouse phone and now his hands were low, both of them squeezing Angel's bare ass, pulling his hips forward to press their bodies together. “Couldn't sleep,” he murmured against Angel's face, kissing across his cheek to his jaw, then down to his neck. “Neither could you.”

Angel tipped his head back, baring his throat for Spike's lips. He was breathing faster than he meant to, couldn't take in enough of the scent of Spike's skin, of his hair. His hands swept over the firm, cool body. There were too many places to touch, too much to hold all at once. He could feel his blood moving on the inside, as if something in him were coming alive. The blood tingled under his skin as Spike sucked hard kisses into his neck. His cock twitched. “You,” Angel sighed, “are ruining my whole plan.”

“You sent me two bloody inches away,” Spike breathed into his neck between kisses. “If that's your best plan, we're fucked, Angel.”

It was true. Angel let his eyes fall closed with momentary defeat, just allowing himself to feel Spike's lips against his throat, the way Spike's tongue began to glance off his skin in a short trail of tiny licks down to his collarbone. If he let this go on, Spike would lick all the way down to his cock and then lick that, too, and the temptation was so strong he almost couldn't make himself stop it from happening. “It's... it's worse at night, isn't it?” he murmured, hands sliding up the smaller vampire's back, over the angular bumps of his shoulder blades and up his neck into his hair. He carded his fingers into the short softness and held Spike's head there against his body so he couldn't kiss lower.

Air swirling against saliva-damp flesh as Spike inhaled deeply. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice partially muffled into Angel's skin. He finally pulled back a little and straightened up, and Angel let his hands slip out of the blond hair to rest instead on Spike's neck as they looked at each other. Then Spike leaned in close again and Angel thought he was going for another kiss, but Spike's lips paused just before touching his mouth. “Don't know what to do, Angel,” he whispered. “I'm craving you like blood.”

Angel tilted his head down to let his forehead rest against Spike's, closing his eyes again.

“If we... if we did do it...” Spike started.

“You don't want that,” Angel said softly. “We both know you don't. Not really.”

“But what if we worked out some way to do it,” pressed Spike, “that didn't have to mean all the usual bollocks?”

Angel's head turned back and forth negatively, still resting against Spike's. “It's not something that can be half-done, Spike. It's not just some symbolic process that we can pretend means nothing. It's a physical change. This is what we are.”

“It's not fair,” murmured Spike, his breath teasing across Angel's lips. “Angel, we can't go on like this. What are we going to do?”

Hell if I know. “I'm going to kiss you goodnight,” Angel said. “And then you're going back in the guesthouse and washing off the smell of me again.”

Spike exhaled slowly, his eyes closing with resignation. Then he glanced up with a sly look and said, “Where are you gonna kiss me?”

As innocently as he could manage, Angel tilted his face up to press a sweet kiss to Spike's forehead. Then he let him go.

“Oh, come on,” said Spike, catching Angel's arm before he could walk away. “Do better than that.”

So Angel turned toward him again and this time took Spike's mouth in a tender kiss. He was careful not to lose control but let the kiss linger between them, let it be slow and soft. He cupped Spike's cheek in his hand as he poured himself thoroughly into the kiss, allowing the fiery urgency of a moment ago to temper itself into the glowing coals of controlled desire, a promise of the intense heat that burned underneath. When he finally pulled back from Spike's willing mouth, he let the pad of his thumb pass gently across the pink bottom lip. “Better?”

Spike swallowed. His pupils were startlingly wide, deep and black. “You could do even better than that,” he said. He deliberately glanced down toward his crotch and then back up to Angel's face, raising an eyebrow.

With a little smile, Angel leaned in close to Spike's ear and murmured, “I'm not kissing your dick goodnight, Spike. Go to bed.” Then he pressed another quick kiss to the side of Spike's head and turned to go inside.

“Spoilsport,” Spike said as he walked away.

“Shower,” Angel replied without looking back. “Call me if you need me.”

He slid the door shut behind him, picked up the phone from the floor of the dining room, and disconnected before carrying it with him back to the bedroom, very intentionally not watching to make sure Spike did what he said. The taste of Spike's mouth was still on his tongue, and his blood still felt alive. He didn't want to sleep, felt too wired for it, but he was planning to go to work in a few hours and knew he ought to at least try to rest a little before then. The weirdly light and uneasy sleep he'd gotten earlier, full of strange dreams, wasn't enough.

Angel allowed himself to fall face-first onto the bed and flattened down against the sex-smelling sheets, inhaling deeply into them. Damn. Maybe he should have given Spike a goodnight blowjob. Would having one in return have made him sleepy? Or just made him more alert?

He tried to think tired thoughts.

After several minutes of lying there awake on the bed, Angel was startled by the sound of the phone. He answered it before it had a chance to ring a second time. “Are you okay?” he asked immediately. “Is something wrong?”

“You said to call. This is me calling.”

“I said to call if you need me.”

Spike sighed. “I know what you said, Angel.”

...Oh. Angel relaxed a little, letting the tension melt out of his shoulders. Quietly, he asked, “Did you take another shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it help?”

“Not really.” A soft rustle of covers. “Can still smell you. Inside. It's... deep.”

Angel's hand tightened around the phone. 

“You there?” Spike said after a moment.

“Yeah, I'm just. Trying to think of something to say that's not about...”

“Shagging?”

“For instance.” Angel rolled over onto his back, keeping the phone to his ear.

“Do you remember when we used to fall asleep talking to each other?” Spike asked him. “All of us in the same bed. Me and Dru, you and Darla.”

Unexpectedly, he recalled Josephine asking him something similar a few days ago. Do you remember what it was like, Angel? Having a family?

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

“You ever miss that?”

He closed his eyes. The smell here in his bedroom could almost take him back. “Sometimes,” he admitted.

“It was never the same, you know. After you'd gone. We never... we never got that back.”

“I used to wonder about it,” said Angel. “What you three were doing. Where you were without me.”

“After China, it was mostly just me and Dru. Darla checked in a few times, but it was never like before. Just this great bloody hole where you'd been. Depressing, that.”

“I thought maybe she'd, you know. Find someone new.”

“What, after you? Not a chance. There's not a man out there who could've lived up to you. And I'd know.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “You're a hard one to get over, Angel. You must know that by now.”

Angel smiled a little. “It's nice to hear I make an impression.”

“Oh, an impression, he calls it.” Spike huffed. “That must be what you left up my arse. Your impression.”

“Is it terrible that I'm glad I'm not easy to replace?”

“Awful,” said Spike agreeably. “Horrible and bad. You're the worst person ever.”

“I actually am the worst person ever. Technically.”

“Innit. Wonder who decides those things, though. Why do you get to be worse than me?”

“Well, if we go by the numbers—”

“So it's just because you've been around longer? Doesn't seem right. Maybe if I'd had the same amount of time to be evil, the numbers would say something different. I could've scourged a continent, you know. I could've at least scourged a large island. Maybe a mountain range or something.”

“Tell me this isn't a competition you want to win.”

“Nah. Just talking out of my arse so you won't hang up.”

“Not sleepy yet?”

“It's too dark. And as we can't go out hunting and you're suddenly wearing old Mrs. Grundy's steel pants, I thought we could have one of those long conversations, maybe.”

“Uh huh. Just to be clear,” Angel said wryly, “you think comparing me to an elderly Victorian woman wearing a chastity belt will make me not want to hang up?”

He could hear Spike's grin. “You think I'm clever. Admit it.”

“Sure. If I ever see you do something clever, I'll let you know.”

“I'm holding you to that. Now tell me a story.”

“You're asking for a bedtime story?”

“Yeah, 'cause I'm a sodding three-year-old, Angel. Christ. I meant tell me something about you. So we can go on talking.”

“Until we fall asleep?”

“Like we used to,” said Spike.

“A story until you fall asleep. You know they have a term for that. It's called a—”

“Fine, tell me a bedtime story then, wanker. Or you could... do that thing. Your purring trick. I wouldn't mind listening to a bit of that." More quietly, he added, "Could even fall asleep to it, probably.”

Amused, Angel pointed out in a soft voice, “I don't know how to make it work. But we can keep talking, and if it happens, I'll put the phone on my chest so you can hear it.” There was a small sound from the other end of the line, something that sounded like an agreement, and Angel smiled. He put one hand behind his head, the other still holding the phone, and began, “So I had this weird dream earlier...”

*

When Angel rolled over to turn off his alarm in the morning, the feeling of the cordless phone sliding off of his chest surprised him for half a second before he remembered why it had been there. He wasn't purring anymore, must have stopped when he drifted to sleep, but when he put the phone to his ear he realized it was still connected. There was no sound from the other end, though. Spike was asleep.

It was tempting to wake him up to say good morning, but he decided against it. Let him sleep.

The first thing he did was strip the very dirty sheets off the bed and wad them up to stuff in the hamper with his other laundry, hoping Rosa wouldn't look very closely at them. She probably wouldn't. At any rate, she'd always been discreet about the various fluid stains that came from demon slaying, and these spots could easily pass for harklin guts. If he slaughtered a harklin in his bed for some reason. And then came all over it. He replaced the blue sheets and pillowcases with his new burgundy ones and was pleased with the effect.

In the shower, he orgasmed to the memory of how it felt to run his hand over Spike's tight belly, the way it had rounded with his cum. How his ass had looked when he came unplugged and so much of the cum rushed out, how he must have pushed out the rest here in the shower. But not all of it. Some tiny amount remained hidden high up, coating him on the inside. A secret mark he couldn't immediately wash away.

Angel was obviously no stranger to jerking off, but his climax now felt oddly lonely, a release into the wet nothingness of steamy air. Strange how quickly it had become unfamiliar to do this alone. But at least it still relaxed him and kept his head clear.

He called Wesley to ask to be let out when he got to work, which the man readily agreed to, and then he made sure to drink a couple of bags of blood so he definitely wouldn't be hungry when he had to be around humans. He heated the blood, but it still tasted sour. Not like it had gone off exactly, but more like it was just... wrong. Not the thing that would satisfy him. It reminded him a little of the first time he'd drunk from a rat, before he'd known whether or not it would even keep him alive.

Once ready for work, he found himself standing at the patio door, looking out at the guesthouse. In the bright light of morning, it was easy to see through the glass walls, see the haphazard pile of softness Spike had unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. He didn't see Spike, though, and before he could stop himself, Angel had slid the door open and walked out into the shade of the patio to get a closer look. When this didn't help, he drifted even closer, wandering along the covered walkway toward the little building, staying in the shadows. He could see through the doorways into the other two empty rooms, but Spike didn't appear to be in there either. The bathroom, maybe?

But then he spotted it. A tiny tuft of white-blond hair poking out from beneath the wrinkled heap of a fluffy down comforter on the floor. It was the only bit of him that showed, and if Angel hadn't been looking so closely for it, it would have been nearly impossible to tell a whole body was under there. Probably some instinct to get out of the sunlight had driven Spike to totally bury himself, even though he was safe behind the necrotempered glass, and the thought of that was both amusing and endearing to Angel. Could have just gone into one of the other rooms, but he'd stayed in the room with the clear view of Angel's apartment.

The phone was probably still under there with him.

Angel was struck again with the impulse to wake Spike up, but there was no need really. Spike was safe where he was for now – at least as safe as a goldfish – and so with a last, lingering look at the little blond tuft, Angel finally turned back toward his apartment to wait.

*