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Title: Some Comfort There
Author: WesleysGirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Written For Ginny's birthday
Disclaimer: Everything related to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel is owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, FOX, UPN, and their partners. None of these characters (with the exception of original ones) belong to me -- I'm just borrowing them, and am making no profit from doing so. The stories on this site are created without permission as fan fiction, for entertainment purposes only.

 

When Angel wakes up, there's someone in his room.

It's nearly dawn, but that isn't what's woken him. At first he isn't sure what it is. But then there's a rustling sound -- too big to be a rat, not that they usually venture up out of the basement anyway. Another rustle as he sits up, this one combining the sheets falling down around his waist with someone over against the far wall.

Fingertips scrabbling on painted plaster, and that part's familiar in some far-off dream kind of place. Angel blinks, the curled up figure on the floor suddenly coming into focus. "Spike?"

Curling hair, longer than it's been in a hell of a lot of years, the ends pale platinum even though the roots are dark. Spike whimpers and claws at the wall again, cringing like he thinks Angel is going to get up and come beat the crap out of him.

Which okay, could happen. Except right then Angel is more confused than anything else.

He's only been back for a couple of days -- not long enough to feel totally sane again -- so he moves carefully, slowly, knowing what it's like to be startled by the sheer existence of other solid bodies. "Spike? Get up." It isn't hard to push a harsh tone into his voice.

Spike curves an arm up over his head protectively and mutters, "Came to be punished."

"Get up," Angel repeats, closing his grip around Spike's upper arm and hauling him to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Need to be punished," Spike says again, glancing up to meet his eyes for only a split second before looking down. "You're the one to come to. Told me that."

Angel takes Spike's chin in his other hand and tries to lift his face, but Spike fights him, pulling back.

"Had nowhere else to go!" Spike says, struggling until Angel lets go of him. At least he sounds a little bit more sane. "Couldn't very well go back there, could I?"

"Go back where?" It takes a minute for the words to sink in. Then, "Sunnydale?" Angel asks.

Spike whimpers, hands tearing at his shirt, at least one button popping free and falling to the floor. "Sun..." he says, as the front of the shirt parts, revealing a chest that's thinner than Angel remembers, but no less pale. Stark wounds in various states of healing stand out sharply, dark rust like something the sea's been eating at for decades. "It burns... can't get it out..."

Angel catches at Spike's clawing hands, holds them still. "Tell me," he says, in that harsh tone again that he wouldn't use with anyone but Spike in this kind of situation.

Stilling, Spike stops. Doesn't struggle. "Went to get the spark," he says brokenly. "Thought that maybe, if I had it, she'd love me back."

"Buffy's never going to love you," Angel tells him. He's heard the stories, and there's no doubt in his mind that whatever Buffy went through after Willow and the others brought her back, she'd only turned to Spike for some sick kind of comfort. Not because she could ever love him. After all, he was just a...

The shock goes through him so quickly that he lets go of Spike again and just watches as the other vampire digs fingertips into one of the thickly scabbed wounds on his own chest.

"You didn't," Angel says, even though he knows Spike did.

"Had to," Spike says after a minute, whimpering again as blood begins to flow sluggishly. "Couldn't stay the way I was, not if it meant I might hurt her. Not if..."

Angel sighs, and there's a lot of disbelief in it, but it's the kind of disbelief where you don't want to believe. "How did you...?"

Spike is looking down at his hand, wet with blood. "Earned it," he says, with what might be a touch of twisted pride. "Fought for it. For her." He brings the same hand up and runs it through his hair, adding to his general state of filth. "Thought I wanted it. But now -- it won't... come out..." His fingers dig into his bleeding flesh again, and again Angel reaches out and stops him.

"No, it won't," he agrees, pulling Spike close. "Guess you're stuck with it."

A little whimper, then Spike slumps against him, obviously exhausted.

After a minute, Angel says, "You stink. When was the last time you took a shower?"

There's no answer.

Angel sighs again and starts directing Spike toward the bathroom. He's less resentful about this intrusion than he might have imagined, but damned if he's going to figure out what to do with Spike while the other vampire reeks of filth.

He leans Spike against the sink, turns on the water, making sure it's good and hot, and gestures. "Go on. Get in and clean yourself off."

Spike just stands there, trembling and pale and pitiful.

"For fuck's sake," Angel growls. He yanks off his own clothes, letting t-shirt and sweats fall to the floor, then undresses Spike and walks him in under the spray.

The hot water fills the room with steam. Feels good on his skin, and probably better to Spike, who on further inspection is even thinner than Angel had realized. Looks like he hasn't fed in a month.

At least Angel knows from personal experience that it won't take long for him to regain lost ground, blood and body. Hell, he'd thought he'd never want a shower again after his summer under the sea, but as it turned out it'd been a matter of a day. Hot water's different anyway.

He keeps an arm around Spike's waist because he's worried that otherwise he might fall down, and washes him. Shampoos his hair twice before realizing that he's trying to scrub the color out of those dark roots, then soaps the slender shaking form all over with as little attention as possible to his own body's reaction. Angel doesn't want to think about how he can still respond to Spike's presence like this -- it's been too long, too many things have changed.

This isn't why Spike is here.

That seems pretty clear by the fact that his cock never stirs when Angel washes him. By the fact that the trembling seems like the only thing proving that Spike's actually in there -- the last thing Angel's used to is a quiet Spike.

So it comes as a surprise when Spike slides almost gracefully down onto the floor of the shower, right through Angel's grip, and rubs his cheek against the erection that Angel's been trying to ignore.

"Spike," he says roughly, reaching again for Spike's upper arm to pull him back to his feet.

Spike rolls his shoulder, and he's still so slippery with soap that Angel's grip skitters away. "Shh," Spike murmurs, faint and ghostly, transparent. "Like this -- I remember."

And Angel's not sure which one of them supposedly likes this, but he can tell from the almost reverent way Spike's hand slides up his inner thigh that it's not some kind of self-punishment -- at least, he hopes it's not.

As Spike's tongue licks his shaft, Angel remembers what it was like back when Spike was new -- how conflicted he'd been at the presence of another wolf being brought into their pack, but how quickly it had become clear that Spike was going to be a delicious challenge. Someone to bend and break.

He closes his eyes and remembers laughing with Spike over something stupid, both of them drunk as lords and ignoring the look of mild amusement and disgust that Darla had been giving them. Dru, of course, had been laughing right along with them, caught up in the humor without understanding what was funny.

The water is still hot, falling down onto him and washing over Spike, longer hair darkened with the weight of it. Spike mouths the head of Angel's cock briefly, then takes it between his lips and sucks hard.

Angel groans as Spike deep-throats him, and remembers the times Spike had driven him crazy, the times he'd tried to beat some sense into him and failed. He doesn't know what happened to drive Spike to the point of wanting his soul -- seems to him that anyone without one would have better sense, but then again, that's just what he failed to beat into him, isn't it.

Spike's hand is playing with his balls like he's determined to do this in as little time as possible, and it's been long enough since someone else has touched him that Angel thinks that's not going to be a problem.

He slides a hand into Spike's hair, and Spike whimpers around his cock. Angel shudders. "Good boy," he says gently.

There might be the slightest flicker of recognition at that, in the brief instant when Spike glances up at him.

"That's right," Angel encourages him. "Just like that. Good boy."

Spike doesn't look up again, but he doubles his efforts, and it's moments before Angel comes, spilling himself in long trembling waves. Spike pulls back to lick at the head of his cock instead of swallowing, and the sight of it shoves an extra, violent surge from somewhere deep inside, leaving Angel shivering and spent.

Boy seems to know it's okay to get to his feet, and when he does Angel wraps an arm around his waist and holds on. They support each other, an odd balance of old and new.

Angel's thigh between both of Spike's tells him that the other vampire is too lost and broken to desire anything for himself.

As he breathes in the scent of him, clean and smelling faintly of the sea -- reassuring and disturbing in one -- Angel remembers what it was like to feel the soul burning in his chest in those early days. Remembers the nightmare the world was, everything turned and spinning, the pain of a thousand, ten thousand deaths weighing him down until he could barely stand.

Remembers what he would have given, not to have been alone.

Angel reaches to shut off the water, then guides a still-shaking Spike out of the shower and begins to dry him off with a soft towel. "Shh," he says. "It's gonna be okay."

That seems to wake Spike up a little bit -- he whimpers again, says, "No. Never be okay."

"It will," Angel soothes. "I'm here."

If nothing else, Spike came to the right place.