He slipped inside the factory just as the sun rose, lurking on the catwalk and watching as Spike hauled the Anointed One up to burn. Never was a great respecter of the rules, his grandchilde. Even so, destroying the Master’s get would bring either fame or fortune crashing down on Spike’s head. He was now effectively the leader of the Order of Aurelius, the question was, had he learned enough self discipline over the last half century to pull it off? The very thought of Spike as leader made Angel shudder.
The minions dispersed, crawling away to their holes and corners to wait out the day, and it was an easy task to slip past them as the urge to sleep tugged hard with the climbing sun. Angel had spent so long in Sunnydale waiting for the Slayer to come, living on human time, that the sun’s call barely registered with him anymore.
Deeper into the factory Angel heard voices; Spike’s bass rumble snapping an answer to Dru’s soft quavered question. Angel ducked into an empty room and pressed his back to the wall as Spike strolled past, his body language speaking of a definite destination. For a second Angel found himself torn between seeing Drusilla and following Spike, opting for the latter, not trusting himself to come face to face with Drusilla just yet.
Just as Angel stepped back into the dimly lit hallway Spike stopped cold, sniffing at the air. Angel ducked back behind the nearest door praying that Spike would chalk any unusual scents up to the burnt lingering aroma of the Anointed One. He stayed as silent as possible and after several minutes of silence heard Spike let out a short laugh and then the tell tale footsteps hurrying towards their destination. He let Spike get a good head start on him before following.
When he tracked down the room Spike had entered several minutes earlier Angel stood outside the door, back pressed against the peeling black paint of the walls. Inside chains rattled softly and Angel thought he heard a whimpering sound that could have been Drusilla. Angel didn't think she could have snuck past him, but then Dru was likely to find secret passages between rooms faster than anyone else.
"Don't worry, love. Won't hurt you," Spike's voice whispered inside the room. "Much."
So maybe it was Dru. She with the penchant for the preshow, something Angelus had incorporated into her madness with ruthless efficiency.
Angel placed his hand flat against the door and pushed gently. It swung open a crack, and he leaned forwards peering around the barrier. A bed, really no more than an old mattress on the floor. Sturdy bolts set into the walls and chains leading to the figure on the bed, invisible beneath Spike’s naked body. His skin appeared mottled and snake-like in the sparse candlelight, but still glowed with the ethereal pallor of the undead, shadows highlighting cut muscle and straining tendons as he braced himself above his lover on locked arms.
There was a strong scent in the room. Whisky. Sweet and sour and heavy, as though someone had bathed in the stuff and that made Angel wonder. Drusilla would hardly have stayed in a room filled with such a stench, and she certainly wasn't a lover of spirits, that was a vice he and Spike alone had shared. No. Angelus and Spike.
Angel bit back a breath. Most definitely not Dru. The word was feral and growled, and, above all, male.
“Feed you after. Now wriggle a bit. Fuck, yeah. Like that.”
Unable to curb his curiosity, Angel pushed the door a little wider, moving just a few inches closer so he could enjoy a better view. Part of him knew he wouldn’t get a better chance to attack, and yet he couldn’t seem to muster the will to strike. He peered into the room, watching as the candle flashed on the pair, reminding Angel of the tableaux that were so popular at the turn of the century. Each burst of light showed the mattress creaking as Spike took his lover, fast and hard.
"Who made you?" he asked the body beneath him.
"You did," the voice growled, "sire."
"That's right, I'm your sire." Spike renewed his thrusts, jolting the bed and forcing a thundering rattle from the chains.
Angel watched with a sort of morbid fascination. Spike moved like a thing possessed, body glistening with sweat, a constant stream of groans filling the room, and yet Angel thought there was a sadness to his voice as he forced the other man to call him sire. With each passing second Angel found himself more entranced by the barely rhythmic movements, but when Spike went to turn his lover over Angel couldn't hold back a gasp. He quickly jumped back from the door, hoping Spike would be too lost to the moment to hear.
When the sounds continued uninterrupted Angel chanced another look.
Beneath Spike's plundering grasp was what could have been Angel himself a hundred years earlier. His body was all muscle, wider than Spike at the shoulders and the hips, deep brown hair cascaded over tanned shoulders, not yet paled by lack of sun. When he turned to look at Spike, Angel saw a flash of brown eyes before they were overcome with gold and the soft lines of his forehead turned jagged as he struggled to control the demon so new within his body. His body arched against Spike's thrusts, each one painfully hard. This was a claiming, not meant to be anything brutal, and yet the fledgling knew enough to keep his mouth full of begging, hungry words of encouragement.
“Sire. Please. Harder. Make me come. Make me yours.”
“Christ, you’re tight. Never done this before, I’d wager.”
“Never. All yours. Yours.”
“All mine!” The growl spilled from Spike’s lips as he bent his head, sinking his fangs into the fledge’s exposed neck, ripping and tearing at the flesh. The youngster screamed, writhing in agony, yet still begging and pleading his desire to be possessed.
Angel’s fingers tightened around the doorjamb at the blatant display of power and domination. His other hand drifted to the front of his pants and he rubbed absently at the erection he’d been sporting since the first glimpse of Spike’s naked form.
The cries from the bed grew fainter as air escaped the fledge’s ruined throat, words reduced to gasps and incoherent moans. Finally Spike seemed satisfied, raising his face and gasping in huge lungs full of air around crimson fangs. He shook the demon away and blood spattered out in a wide arc, some drops falling on Angel’s face.
Angel licked at his lips, tasting small traces of his own blood in the other that covered his mouth. He stared back into the room and watched in wonder. The blood seemed to renew Spike in every way and he propelled himself forward with enough force to kill a human, even the vampire had to fight back tears. The pounding smacks echoed through the room and into the hall, landing in Angel's ears like a long forgotten children's song, unlocking emotions he had hidden within for nearly a century.
A hitching caught in Angel's throat as he watched Spike dig sharp fingernails into the vampire's hips suffusing the room with the aroma of fresh blood. He had to bite into his own lip to quell the urge to enter the room and join in. Instead he rubbed at his trousers again, willing his arousal to stop, but when Spike began crying out again, Angel gave up all hope of losing the erection.
"I am your sire," Spike yelled into the back of the vampire's head. The fledge twisted baring his neck still further and Spike slid his arms under the vamp's arms, grabbing his shoulders and pulling back in excruciatingly slow pulls, filling the man with his orgasm. As he came, Spike again bit into the neck before him, not caring how much wasted blood cascaded down his lover's back. When he had finished both filling and draining the fledge Spike pulled his now limp cock from the decimated hole of the vamp and leaned over to where his clothes were pooled on the floor, grabbing a jagged stake from his coat pocket.
"Hungry," the vamp said again, looking for his promised dinner. When he received no response he added, "Please, you're my sire."
"Correction, mate," Spike plunged the stake through the vamp's chest and smiled as he turned to dust. "I was your sire. Ponce."
Spike stood up, taking a long breath through his nose, letting the room's myriad smells wash over him. He stood still for a moment, and then bent over, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his coat and lit one, letting his lungs fill before turning towards the door.
"I know it's rude to just fuck them like that, but there's so much less mess this way," he took another drag before continuing, "Wouldn't you say, Angelus?"
Angel’s mouth dropped open but nothing came out. Not even a squeak. A broad smirk spread over Spike’s face and his gaze ran slowly and deliberately from Angel’s face down to his crotch, lingering there for an unseemly amount of time.
“Enjoyed that, then,” Spike said, gesturing with an insolent jerk of his chin. “Always reckoned you were a bottomboy at heart.”
That was enough to break Angel out of his stupor. The smirk, the impudence, the sheer gall…
“The last time I saw you, you were bent over a bulkhead whining that I promised to never sire another male after I sired you,” he retorted.
Spike’s eyes narrowed and his posture changed from slouch to fight ready. Only the slightest of movements, but recognizable to anyone who knew him as well as Angel did. The barb had obviously hit home.
“Things change, mate.”
“Not us. Not demons.” Angel deliberately threw Spike’s words from earlier back in his face and watched the wince as they landed.
"Did ya come down here just to fill me in about your grand revelation?” Spike shook his head in self disgust and flicked his ash irritably. “Can't believe I didn't see it back then. Shoulda put two and two together and all, what with the no killing. But, you know, maths is hard with a dick up yer ass."
"No, course you wouldn't," Spike sneered.
"What are you still doing here, Spike?" Angel asked belatedly averting his eyes from Spike's blood stippled nudity.
"Could ask you the same thing. Since when does the great Angelus move in next door to a slayer?" Spike rolled on the balls of his feet, trying to put on his best casual face, but ready to attack if needed.
"You already know the answer."
"God, you always were a broody bastard. Not enough to have a fucking soul, you've got to be all tortured." Relaxing a bit, Spike sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a pile of dust onto the floor and then clapped his hands to clean them off. "Y’know, Dru tried to tell me. We knew you'd be here. But the soul, I didn't want to believe that."
There was no way in hell Angel was getting into this discussion here and now, one wrong move and Spike could have his minions swarming all over them. Instead he drew himself up to his full height and drawled, “I didn’t come here to fight, Spike. I came here to warn you. Take Dru and get out of town. If you leave the slayer won’t follow, I promise.”
Spike shook his head and when he answered there was a hint of resignation in his voice. “Can’t do it, mate. Got business here. And nothing you or the slayer says is gonna change that.” A smile twitched his lips then and he tipped his head, looking Angel right in the eye. “Plus there’s always my hat trick to consider. That tasty bit would make a right nice notch for my belt.”
Fear for Buffy clenched in Angel’s stomach. He hadn’t been lying when he warned them about how tenacious Spike could be. What he lacked in artistry, he made up for in sheer bloody mindedness. There had to be a way of diffusing this, a way to deflect Spike from taking Buffy down.
Dropping to his haunches, he traced a pattern in the floor with one finger, turning various ideas over in his mind. Finally he glanced up and studied Spike’s face, noting the subtle signs of strain around his eyes.
“This business,” Angel began, “is there anything I can do to help?”
"Offering to bat for the home team?" Spike asked, inching his fingers towards the stake resting on the mattress. "Thanks, but we're doing just fine on our own."
"Really? Didn't seem to go so well for you tonight, looks like you took one hell of a blow from the slayer," Angel nodded at the faint traces of blood left in Spike's hair, a stark contrast against the near white curls.
"Yeah, well," Spike huffed, sticking his half burned cigarette in his mouth and standing up again, stake in hand, "I was ambushed. Shoulda waited till she was alone. Can't depend on these idiots that's for sure."
"Not if you're dusting them the minute they rise."
"That was a bit more than a minute I'd say." Spike rubbed at his crotch, making his cock jump a little. "That and I only stake the ones that look like you."
"Then why turn them in the first place?"
Spike threw his finished cigarette against the wall, sending a brief shower of sparks to the floor. "Well, it’s either that or kill the Slayer's friends. It's a toss up most days, but you know, I'm starting to get bored with this." He stalked over to where Angel was still sitting on his haunches and pressed his cock within inches of Angel's face, stimulating himself to full mast.
Angel inclined his body away, not losing eye contact with Spike, and frowned. There were some things he was prepared to do, but being on his knees to his grandchilde wasn’t one of them.
“Come on, Peaches!” Spike grabbed Angel’s hair and pressed his cock closer to Angel’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you won’t suck dick if it’ll stop me chasing after that pretty little slayer of yours. Maybe I’ll fuck her before I kill her. What do you think, mate? Reckon the slayer’ll open her legs for a vamp?”
With a snarl, Angel launched himself at Spike, who danced back out of reach, his eyes gleaming with delight. “Nah ah ah. Be a well behaved little doggy now. Or do you want me to call for back up. Not much use to her as a pile of dust are ya?”
Angel brought himself under control, his hands clenching into fists that drew blood. “What do you want, Spike?” he asked, voice shaking with suppressed rage.
Spike smirked again, and deliberately turned his back. Nonchalantly he wandered over to the bed and dropped onto it with a sigh. “I was thinking,” he said, propping himself on the pillows and taking his cock in his hand once more, “that I want you.”
Angel opened his mouth to deliver a rude retort but Spike interrupted him. “Think before you speak, mate. It’s that or I go all out to take her down. Family, friends, fire, guns. You don’t really want her caught up in a war, do you?”
When put like that, the decision was very easy. “Fine,” Angel snapped, fiddling with his shirt buttons. “Deal. I let you fuck me and you leave the slayer alone.”
“Something like that, yeah,” Spike answered. “Though I do have something a bit more specific in mind.”
Angel’s hands dropped to his sides and he sighed, “What.”
“Don’t want to fuck you, so much as,” he looked Angel in the eye and raised his heavy cock so it stood vertical to his body, “I want you to ride me.”
"Are you kidding?" Angel asked, pausing his fingers at the last button.
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Spike said with a shake of his erection. "Hop on or the lot of the Slayer's mob'll be dead by tomorrow’s sunrise. Starting with her mum."
Realizing he was out of options, and in no shape to take on Spike, Dru, and however many other vamps were crawling the interior of the factory, Angel shrugged his shirt from his shoulders. He tried to avert his eyes to the flickering candle light on the walls, avoiding the grin spreading over Spike's mouth and the increasingly intense stare of gold flecked eyes. As his trousers dropped to the floor, his belt buckle echoing metallically through the otherwise silent room, Angel tried to remember if he'd ever done this. He figured once upon a time he must have been on the receiving end of this act, but he honestly couldn't remember. He was sure of one thing though; it was going to hurt.
Looking everywhere but at Spike, he knelt on the bed and positioned himself. As his eyes focused on the cracked and flaking paint, his skin crawled, sensing the proximity of another body after what felt like eons isolated from all but the most casual of contact. Something hard and blunt and wet nudged at the back of his balls and then pressed into him, and Angel bit his lip, sinking down and taking as much of Spike into his body as he could.
“Fuck. Tight,” Spike gasped, thrusting up and burying himself balls deep. Angel’s nostrils flared in contained pain as he felt himself tear and the scent of blood burst on the air. Behind closed lids, his eyes turned yellow as his body reacted the only way it knew, pushing the demon forward. Under its influence, the pain twisted into, not pleasure, but a stimulating backdrop, that made his flesh hyper-aware, heightening his senses until Angel was certain he could feel every cell in his body. His hand closed around his semi-flaccid cock, starting to stroke, and he groaned, pushing into it and feeling the burn of friction in his ass as Spike thrust again, starting a slow even rhythm.
"See what you were missing all those years," Spike moaned, placing his hands on Angel's hips, pulling down with each forward thrust. "All those nights you came to me, leaving the girls to their games while you fucked me raw."
Angel made no response, just kept a firm grip on his own cock trying to distract himself from the slithering pain that filled his body.
"You never wondered what it would be like? Never wanted to know why I would cry out your name and beg for more," Spike asked, never taking his eyes from Angel's face.
"No," came the response, hissed through gritted teeth.
Spike sat up on his elbows, pushing Angel off him. "Liar," he declared, moving to where Angel had nearly fallen off the mattress and grabbing him from behind. Spitting on his hand and quickly renewing the moisture at Angel's entrance, he plunged back inside. "You always wanted it. You think I can't translate all those dirty little things you used to mumble to me. Under your breath. The begging for me to take you and fuck you, till it was you screaming out my name."
Angel’s reiterated ‘no’, transmuted into a hiss as Spike filled him again. His hands clutched the mattress as he fought for balance, driven forwards by powerful thrusts and images of the fledge who had been here before filled his mind. The way Spike had pounded into him, ripping him apart with cock and fangs, and Angel started to struggle, suddenly fearful that Spike would do the same to him.
“Yeah. That’s right, pet. Show me how you wriggle. Just like that.”
The words fell into the jigsaw Angel was seeing in his mind and a panicked sob escaped his lips. Behind him, Spike froze and then a hand ran slowly up Angel’s back, soothing and petting him.
“S’alright, Angel. Won’t hurt you. Not really, just… Try to relax, eh? Feels better if you relax.”
Somewhat mollified, Angel did his best to follow orders, moving with Spike until they hit a rhythm that suited them both.
Angel didn't fully trust him, but Spike was right about one thing, when he relaxed it didn't hurt. Even his demon was able to relax, letting Angel's human face come back to the front. He still wouldn't deign to call it pleasure, but he'd take no pain.
Spike lost himself for a moment, it had been a while since he cared whether his lover lived or died when he was through. An endless supply of brunette's streamed through his boudoir, and now that he actually had the one he had been seeking out for a century he couldn't even recall what it was he was looking for. He didn't think it was this though, supplication in exchange for leaving the Slayer alone wasn't part of his plan, if it could even be called a plan.
Hesitant at first, Spike reached a hand under their undulating bodies to move Angel's hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own, wrapping sweaty fingers around the length and slowly biting into the hard muscle of Angel's shoulder. Not deep enough to tear or leave a scar, just enough to taste first hand that which had been denied him for far too long. Angel's growls filled his ears like a song and hurled him towards completion.
Before he knew what he was doing, Spike found himself nuzzling into Angel’s neck, words forming automatically and beyond his conscious volition. “Angel,” “sire,” and “mine” rode foremost amongst them, along with “please” and “fuck me.”
Angel did precisely that, rising to his knees and riding back on Spike’s cock, the new angle sending spiraling pleasure out through his body. So this is how it felt, his hazy thoughts suggested. This is what Spike was feeling all those years ago when Angelus took him hard and fast, reducing the young vampire to a writhing begging plea-filled wreck. That memory, the strong sure strokes working his cock, and the mumbled promises against his neck, conspired to drag a reluctant orgasm from him and his ears sang as it surged through him and he spilled over Spike’s hand, feeling Spike shudder and come at the same time.
Angel fell forward on the bed, taking in a sharp breath as Spike pulled himself out. The candle cast lazy waves of red and orange shadows on the wall above his head, and as Spike leaned over grabbing the stake from the floor, the shadows moved with him. Angel watched the dancing outline move back over him, and slowly turned around, placing a firm hand over Spike's wrist just before the sharp wooden point touched his chest.
"Don't," Angel whispered. "It's my mess, I'll clean it up."
A look of understanding crossed Spike's face and he set his feet on the floor, dropping the stake.
"Yeah, well, it's about time." He picked his clothes from the floor and blew out the candle, erasing the shadows from the walls. "Can't be to careful you know, the last thing we need is to have this place burn to the ground."
Leaving Angel in complete darkness Spike stepped into the hall, he had only made it a few steps before he stopped, putting a hand out to lean on the wall. "Always yours," he said with a sigh before heading towards Drusilla's chamber and signaling to the few minions that had been roused to leave Angel alone in the dark.