Title: Alone In A Barroom
Author: Aeryn
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Humor/Angst
Summary: Set somewhere S5, No Spoilers
Feedback: Begged For

***

' . . . this is my scenario . . .'

***

"What're we doing here, Spike?"

Angel set down his drink and rubbed at his eyes. Smoke and whiskey and loud classic rock at 2 o'clock in the morning were doing nothing for his exhaustion.

"I told you," Spike mumbled around the butt of his Marlboro Red, fumbling for his lighter. "We're gettin' stinkin' drunk. Trying, anyway."

Angel sighed and rested his chin on one hand. He stared into space. Slouched.

Brooded.

Spike glared. "Stop that. You're chasin' off all the girls with that look on your face."

Angel's eyes wandered across the barroom. What girls? All the cute girls had already gone home and now there was only the remote possibility of those remaining somehow magically getting better-looking at closing time. He'd need a lot more whiskey and a barrelful of spells if that were to happen.

"Or do you think it makes you look sensitive? All SOULFUL?"

"You're no longer one to talk, dumbass."

"Right, but I don't use it to get girls."

Pause.

Snort.

"Stuff it, Angel, what I meant is that I . . . well, Buffy . . . bloody hell, never mind. Just quit mopin'."

"I'm not moping, this is just me, my face, just the way it is!"

"Sorry to hear that, mate."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"Lissen," Spike said, pointing somewhere just to the left of Angel's shoulder and listing slightly. "We're here to have a good time."

"Yippee."

"Dammitalltohell, Angel. Lighten up."

"Spike, you're ashing in your drink."

"Wha? Oh, fuckALL!" He tossed it back anyway and ordered another.

"And you're drunk off your ass. Isn't that what you came here to do? Can we go home, now?"

"Home? Thass a good one. What home, your DEEluxe apartment in the sky?"

"It's home for now."

Spike sighed. "You do NOT watch enough telly. You've gotten so utterly BORING in your old age."

"What does that mean? Less blood and gore means I'm a bore? Hey, that rhymed," he said, inordinately pleased by this. Perhaps he'd had a little too much himself.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"It rhymed. And it was a very BORING rhyme."

"You lissen now, Spike, you're starting to piss me off. I don't have time to escort you all around L.A. and watch you get drunk and pay your parking tickets and have you steal all my blood. AND my underwear, don't think I don't know about that!"

Spike giggled. "Angel, I don't wear underwear, you know that. If somebody's stealin' your dainties, it ain't me. My money's on Wesley."

Angel avoided his gaze.

"And since when did you start wearin' underwear?"

"Sometime in the 80s, I think," Angel said absently, thinking now that the brunette by the pool tables wasn't that bad looking.

"Chainin' yourself up inside and out?"

"No, I just think I look hot in underwear." Pause. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yep." Spike hid his face in his hands, still giggling.

"Shit. Shitshitshitshitsssss . . . shit!" Angel downed his whiskey and ordered another, scowling. "You bastard. I bet you ARE stealing my unnerwear and this was some kind of conspiracy to get me to say that so you can embarrass the shit out of me for the next thousand years!"

Spike was now down on all fours, face down ass up, laughing so hard he was crying.

Angel kicked him. "Get up, asshole! You're embarrarrarrassing me. More whiskey!" he bellowed as the waitress wandered by, causing her to jump and scurry away. He felt an odd sense of satisfaction. Plus she was kind of cute.

Spike managed to haul himself back onto his stool. "You're doin' a fine job of embarrassin' yourself, love. An' I'm certain you look quite 'hot' in your underpants. Do they have monkeys or superheroes on 'em?"

"Don' be ridiculous. Snoopy." Pause. "Did I just say that out loud?"

Spike was banging his head against the table, unable to speak.

"I am SO gonna kill you," Angel muttered, grabbing one of Spike's cigarettes and lighting up.

"Okay, now, see THAT works," Spike said, wiping away tears and staring at him.

"What works?" Angel glared suspiciously.

"The broodin' combined with a fag. NOW you look cool, tough."

Angel brooded more heavily. He brooded at the waitress, who set down his whiskey and ran away.

"Ceptin' I keep thinkin' about your underpants. Kinda takes the edge off." Sigh. "Hey, 'member that time in Cairo . . ."

Angel cut him off with a glance. He was still capable of pulling off that vampire stink-eye when he wanted. "We swore we would never discuss that again."

"Hell, Angel, it was 80 years ago . . ."

Vampire stink-eye.

"Oh, fine. But it was YOUR idea, just lemme state that for the record."

"Shut up."

"An' you couldn't walk for a week. Stupid, stupid man."

"Shut up."

Silence.

"Angel . . . how do you sleep?"

"What?" Angel crushed out his cigarette, downed his whiskey, and lit another, brooding for all he was worth.

Spike slumped on his stool, staring vacantly into space. "I . . . I can't sleep." He rubbed at his face.

"Spike . . ."

"It's like they all rear up out of their graves, thousands of 'em, and dig their claws in my back and won't let go . . ."

Angel winced. He knew this.

And what made it worse was that he was, in large part, responsible for it.

"An' they talk, too, all night long, whisperin' in my ear, all night long, all day long . . ."

"Spike . . ."

"Angel, I can't sleep," he whispered.

Angel tossed a wad of bills on to the table and hauled Spike to his feet.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

***

Once outside the bar Angel steered Spike to the alley.

"I can't . . . I don't know how to get it to stop . . . Angel, I'm so tired . . ."

Angel backed up against the wall and pulled Spike into his arms. "Shhh . . ."

"Angel, please . . ."

"Spike, stop. Come here." Spike resisted for a moment, then relaxed into him, wrapping his arms tight around Angel's waist, burying his face in Angel's neck.

Angel rested his cheek against Spike's head and sighed, holding him tightly and stroking the back of his head gently.

"Spike . . . it never goes away." He flinched as Spike stiffened against him. "No, stay here. Relax. Please, Spike," he whispered in his ear, and slowly Spike relaxed again, molding himself against him, face wet against Angel's neck.

"But listen, it gets easier," Angel murmured. "I promise, it does get easier."

Spike sighed, cool breath hitching with emotion. "It feels like I haven't slept since before I was born," he whispered, mournful, resigned, lips brushing against Angel's neck as he spoke.

"I know." Angel kissed him lightly on the ear and Spike shuddered. "I'm sorry."

Spike looked up at him, eyes bright in the darkness. "Can you help me? Will you help me, Angel?"

Angel's eyes searched his. "Will you help me, Spike?" he whispered, leaning down and kissing him softly.

Spike inhaled sharply and he stared for a long moment. "Yes," he whispered against Angel's lips, tongue darting out to swipe wetly against his mouth.

"Yes," Angel repeated, his grip on Spike tightening, and suddenly Spike's arms were around his neck and they were kissing one another almost viciously, a bruising clash of lips and teeth and tongue, pulling away and gazing at each other and then coming together again.

Angel grunted and slid his hands under Spike's duster to his hips and around to grab his ass and pull him tight against him. "Yes," Spike hissed against his mouth and bent his head back so Angel could kiss him more deeply, a wet tangle of thrusting tongues.

Angel thrust one hand between them, other arm tight around Spike's neck, still kissing, licking, biting. "Need you," he growled, grabbing roughly at Spike's crotch.

"Fuck," Spike groaned. He planted his mouth against Angel's neck, biting and sucking.

Angel's head swam, body trembling and weak now with desire and he stroked Spike with his hand, whispering in his ear. "You're beautiful," he said fiercely, pausing to suck at his ear. Spike rocked against him, shaking. "Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?"

"God, Angel," Spike moaned, pressing himself against Angel hard.

Angel took his mouth again and they both grunted, then Angel pulled away. "I want to fuck you," he whispered, tongue darting out against Spike's mouth, "I want to suck you," catching Spike's hiss of desire with his mouth, "I want you to suck me," biting down hard on Spike's lip, "And I want you to fuck me."

Spike snarled and they struggled against one another, touching, humping, sucking and biting. "Goddammit, Angel, can't wait," he grunted, stroking Angel through the fabric of his pants.

Angel swayed a bit. "Fuck, Spike, that's good, that's so fucking good . . ."

"Angel . . ." Spike murmured, pleading, demanding.

Angel pushed him away a bit and tossed him his cell phone. "Call for the limo," he muttered, and sank to his knees in front of Spike, pulling his t-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, running his lips across Spike's taut stomach and rubbing his face across the hard-on straining against Spike's jeans.

He heard Spike cry out above him and then the sound of the phone as it clattered to the ground and the low growl of the limo as it came around the corner.

***

He shoved Spike into the back of the limo and clambered in behind him.

Spike sat slouched, breathing heavily, staring at him. "Angel . . ."

"Yes," he hissed, already struggling out his clothes. "Now."

He watched as Spike fumbled out of his coat, boots, then the rest of his clothes; muscled, cock rigid, eyes dark with desire.

"Fucking beautiful," he growled, naked now, and pushed Spike onto his back and kissed him wetly. Spike grabbed handfuls of his hair and held him tight, grunting in need. Angel moaned into his mouth and planted a hand on either side of Spike's head, positioning himself between his thighs.

He brushed himself against Spike's cock and Spike broke away, gasping. "Yes, dammit, yes," he whispered, and reached down to grasp them both, holding them together with both hands. Angel groaned and sank his teeth into Spike's neck.

"Do it, Angel, I can't fuckin' wait anymore," he snarled, and Angel moved, slowly at first, between Angel's hands and against his cock.

"Good," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of skin against skin, and his body roared and took over and soon he was thrusting furiously.

"God, Angel, yes, harder . . ." Spike moaned. His hands tightened and Angel gasped, humping hard and fast.

"Christ," he muttered. "So good, that feels so fucking good, Spike . . ." His mind was black and his body vibrating, all touch and taste and smell.

Spike's head fell back and he thrust up in counterpoint to Angel's movements, the added friction causing red spangles of light to burst behind Angel's eyelids.

"Yes," Angel hissed. "Good. More. Harder . . . Spike, I swear to God . . ."

He reared back and rammed into Spike's hands as hard as he could, feeling Spike arch up off the seat of the limo, shouting inarticulately, and then there was a cool wetness against his cock, and Spike tightened his slick grip around him and Angel thrust against him frantically, cursing and crying out Spike's name, and then his back bowed up and he groaned loudly as his own release came, hard, spurting over Spike's belly in a rush of cold fluid fire.

He collapsed atop Spike, burying his head in his shoulder, panting.

Soon he felt hands, tentative, running through his hair he shivered.

He looked up and Spike took his hands away. "No, don't stop," he said. "That feels nice."
Spike resumed his petting and Angel rested his head on his chest, groaning in contentment.

"Angel?"

Angel ran a hand up and down the length of one of Spike's biceps.

"You'll stay with me; in my bed."

He felt the body below release the tension he hadn't realized it had been holding. The caresses to his hair became more languorous.

"I'll take care of you; we'll help each other."

Now the hands trailed down his neck and back, fingernails raking against him gently.

"But there's one condition."

The hands froze.

"You can NOT make fun of my Snoopy underwear."

He felt Spike's chest heave as he laughed silently. He smiled slightly.

"I'm serious," he said, raising his head to look Spike in the eye.

Spike's hands came to cup Angel's jaw. "Oh, all right, then. I'll never mention it again. Even though they did look a bit 'hot.'"

Angel raised up and kissed him fiercely. "We'll get through this," he whispered.

"You can't promise me that," Spike said, eyes now troubled and scared.

"I already did."

And he knew, somehow, that Spike believed him.

He just wished he believed it himself.

***

The End