Title: Watching You, Watching Me
Author: Willa
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Summary: Season Five of Angel, They can feel the eyes on them, most of the time.
Sometimes Spike sneaks in, when he's asleep. Just to watch him in his bed. He's no idea if Angel knows he's there. He might, and mightn't care, or might just be oblivious as ever. It's child's play to sneak into the suite, the big bedroom. No alarms, no dogs. Nothing but Angel.
And that bothers him, a bit. If he had a stake in his hand and intent in his heart, he could have Angel gone for good in a blink. Wonder why Eve didn't try that, instead? God help her - or not - hers was a daft plan.
You want Angel taken care of - you go for the heart. Every time.
Too bad he's a bastard. Turnabout's fair play, but will he own up to that? Not in all these years.
So Spike stands at the foot of that bed, and watches him, and wonders.
Just wonders. That's all.
*
Sometimes, late at night, Angel creeps around the building until he finds where Spike's chosen to curl up and doze. He keeps his distance - the other vampire's a light sleeper, always has been, - and he won't wake him if he can avoid it. Dangerous.
He wonders, does Spike know how risky it is to nap just anywhere - say, curled up in the lobby, or on a bathroom lounge? Anyone with a stake and some ambition might sneak up on him. It could happen. And then?
It's hard to imagine an existence without Spike. It'd be easier, sure, but.
So he seeks him out, some - most - nights. To make sure he's okay. And to watch him. Because in sleep, Spike's face softens from its perpetual sneer into something gentler, softer. He sees flashes of William in him, then, peeking shyly out from a hundred years gone.
And Angel wonders.
*
Sometimes, they watch each other - surreptitious, secretly - during the day. Not that they'll fool themselves into thinking no one's looking; they feel too keenly for that, and a pair of eyes running boldly over your body is a thing that even mortal men are sure to notice.
But they pretend. Make believe, when Angel's in a meeting and Spike interrupts, that he doesn't see the bold, come-and-get-me sprawl of his grandchilde's open legs, or the hand that dangles so close to his crotch, as if pointing the way. Doesn't see the lean, whipcord thinness of him or the cut-glass angles of his face.
And Spike, in turn, pretends he's not watching Angel's arse as he strides through the lobby, more often than not Fred, Wes, someone in tow behind him. Not looking at the length of those legs, nor the solid strength in his hands. The serious lines of him that hide the beast he once was.
They could go on forever like this. Except one day, they look up at the same moment and they meet eyes, brown and blue together - first startled, then slowly easing into knowing certainty.
You can't go back home again. But you can visit.
*
It's Angel who leads, but Spike finds the empty office - he knows where they all are by now. And it's him who slams the door to turn to Angel, hunger written on a face that flickers back and forth between demon and human. Angel's given up the struggle to be what he's not, and his eyes shine gold as he tracks the other vampire like a lion on his prey.
Spike attacks, not with fists nor fangs, but with eager hands and a devouring mouth, grabbing Angel's lapels and dragging him down for a kiss that's long and bloody and makes them both groan. He pulls himself hard up against the bigger man's groin, grinding hardness into the matching erection there. "Want you," he hisses. "Want you like it used to be. Your teeth and your talons. In me. Come on, then!"
And Angel growls, more than ready to play.
*
He drops to his knees and undoes Spike's jeans. "Want me," he growls, and with one swift slick move engulfs that long, pale cock with his mouth. Spike lets out a piercing yell, not caring who might hear them, just wanting more of the wet suction that won't let up. Angelus never gave him this kind of treat when they were together so long ago, and it's new and disturbing but it feels so damned good. He thrusts hard into that eager mouth, lets himself be devoured while he knots his hands in the stiff tangle of Angel's hair. "Yeah," he pants, "Fuck, yeah. Harder!"
And Angel obliges, suckling on that swollen flesh until it's almost unbearable. Fangs prick the sensitive surface, drawing beads of blood to be laved off by his wickedly clever tongue.
Spike's breathing, and breathing hard. He's gonna come, he knows it - any second now -
*
And when he does, it's with a violence that shocks the both of them, erupting from him with a great spasm of muscles and a hoarse, low scream. Angel snarls around his mouthful of cock, drinking greedily of the thick fluid. His tongue won't quit, bathing tender flesh in mouthfuls of come, until he's gone soft and Angel has to let go with a last disappointed suck.
Spike's drained and shaking, leaning against the bare desk, his jeans not even around his knees, but he's got it in him for a snarky devil's smile. "Good fun," he pants. "What'll be the devil's due, then?"
Angel gets to his feet, one leg at a time, and towers over Spike. Big, rough hands seize his shoulders and turn him around, pull down the jeans until they fall to his ankles, bend him over the desk.
"You know what I want," he growls.
*
Oh, and he does - this part he remembers of old. Spreading himself across the table, arms stretched out wide as if he's to be crucified on it, standing on legs well parted to give Angelus - no, Angel - the best access he can. He's long since lost control of himself, and there's little of the man but a great deal of the demon present as he waits, impatient as hell, to be fucked hard and fast and good.
Cold hands spread his cheeks wide and probe at his hole. Three fingers thrust up inside him without gentleness or consideration of whether or not he's ready - but he is, more than ready, and he's snarling for Angel to bloody. Get. On. With. It!
Wet, dripping, Angel's cockhead presses against his entrance. He snarls and pushes back, desperate to be impaled, and gets a blow to the ribs for his trouble. "Come on!"
*
Angel finally, thank-God-at-last, shoves that prick of his deep inside Spike, balls to ass with a slap of flesh on flesh and a flare of pain better than anything ever. He shoves himself in and out, his growls and groans no louder than Spike's own caterwauling. It's been decades for both, and a century since it was together. But the flesh doesn't forget. Bent over that desk, Spike remembers every lesson Angelus taught William, and he knows Angel - if he can think - does the same.
The thrusts come faster and faster, tearing him open, and he knows it'll be at an end soon, but fuck, he wishes it could go on forever!
Angel comes with a howl, pumping his seed deep inside, then collapses over Spike where he lies.
For just one minute, he scrabbles and grasps until he's holding Spike's hands in both of his.
And Spike clings back.
*
Things don't so much change after that. They're not lovers any more than they are friends. Spike still gets his most fun out of making Angel's unlife a living hell, and Angel still scowls at him every day with a new suggestion for how he make himself scarce.
But they still sneak around to where the other sleeps, at night, and watch for a moment. They feel the remembered bliss of pain and pleasure shared in that office. Recall to themselves how things were in the days long gone.
Sometimes, Spike can still feel Angel's broad hands clutching at his own. Sometimes, Angel still feels Spike's slender fingers gripping back.
They wonder what would happen, what if.?
But - no.
The time they had, that moment, is gone and past. They've got but the memory of one mind-blowing fuck to carry them through.
It'll have to be enough, won't it?
~ FIN ~