Title: Shell Shocked
Spike sat on the stairs for several minutes, staring across the lobby as dozens of people went about their day, too evil or indifferent to care that Fred was gone. He watched Angel sitting at his desk, head hung low, occasionally running his hands over his eyes like that could somehow wipe the past few days, weeks, years, from his mind. Spike watched as he shuffled papers and sat up straight, trying to find that one piece of paper that would somehow change everything back. Looking for whatever contract he had signed to seal the deal. And Spike could see defeat in Angel's eyes when he didn't find it.
She was in the building again. Spike couldn't smell or hear her, but he knew. Others knew as well. A security detail was making their way stealthily upstairs to the labs, guns at their side; not ready to attack, simply to make their presence known in case she decided to start a fight.
He wasn't sure why she'd come back, but Spike thought maybe it was the same reason he always came back. There just wasn't anywhere else to go. When you have nowhere else you come to Wolfram and Hart. You come and sit as close to those who can understand as they'll let you. You sometimes reach out and touch or hit or kick just to remind yourself they are real and you are real and that this isn't really hell, just the room next door. You come back and hope that eventually they would touch you back and whisper that yeah, it all mattered.
Spike pushed himself off the stairs and headed for Angel's door. He knew Angel saw him coming, so much glass everywhere, hard to hide, yet Spike still felt the need to knock as he entered.
Angel barely acknowledged him. Nothing more than a glance in his direction as Spike locked the door and lowered the blinds, blocking out prying eyes on one side and inappropriate sunlight on the other. He said not a word as Spike swung his chair around, tugged him to his feet and slipped his leather jacket from his shoulders. Silently he accepted deft fingers unbuttoning his shirt and knowledgeable hands sliding across his chest, thumbs tracing his ribcage and down his flanks, pushing under the waistband of his slacks.
Their mouths met, close lipped for all of a second, until Spike yanked Angel forward, startling him into a gasp. Then his tongue plunged inside, stripping the sadness from Angel's palate with his urgency, and Angel returned the compliment, slowly coming back to life, his senses dominated by the insistent vampire grinding against him. Within moments they were both gasping, Angel animated enough to clutch at Spike's duster and shove it down, pinning Spike's arms to his sides.
Spike tried to wriggle free and Angel shook his head; that wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't sure exactly what he did want but the duster was part of it. Despite being incinerated and reincarnated it, like its owner, was part of simpler times, when Angel didn't have to choose between his friends and the rest of the world.
"Illyria's here," Spike said through broken kisses, only moving far enough away to form the words, instantly returning his attention to Angel's mouth once the words were out.
"I know. Wes just called me," Angel answered, closing his eyes, enjoying what little darkness the closed blinds and clenched eyelids could give.
"He didn't seem to think so, said she just came to talk."
"Lot of that going around," Spike whispered.
"You're really not leaving," Angel said, stalling the kiss to look Spike full in the face. It was a statement, not a question, and it helped; knowing that there was one person, even an annoying person, he could count on to be at his back. One person he knew wouldn't switch sides. It had been too long since Angel had that kind of assurance.
Spike watched Angel's shoulders lift ever so slightly when he nodded in assent.
The issue settled for the moment, Angel slid the duster the rest of the way off Spike's shoulders, tossing it across the desk, there in sight, but no longer a hindrance. Leaving only cotton and denim between himself and the comfort that two and a half centuries of knowledge told him hid behind Spike's desperate eyes. Angel pressed his advantage, undoing Spike's jeans and helping him pull the thick t-shirt over his head. There was no need to hurry, for once they weren't on a schedule. The girl was already lost, the earth was certainly doomed and another Wednesday was wasted.
The boots proved something of a handicap, so Angel gave up, leaving Spike hobbled by his jeans as he spun him round and bent him over the desk. A flurry of papers flew into the air as Spike's hands skidded across the surface. Spike made a grab for them, and Angel growled, "Leave 'em," as he pressed down on the small of Spike's back and kicked his feet as far apart as possible.
It was a simple matter to drop the zip on his trousers and lean forward, lining his cock up, ready to drive home, until he felt Spike tense under his hands.
"Problem?" Angel asked.
"Got anything?" Spike replied. "Not that the whole quickie thing isn't a good idea but."
Momentarily confused, Angel lifted his hand from Spike's back and Spike rolled over slightly. "Lube, mate."
"Oh." Angel frowned; they'd never bothered before, but then things were different after a century and change. He yanked open the bottom drawer on the desk and dragged out a small bottle, unscrewing the top with his forefinger and thumb.
"What's that smell?" Spike asked, crinkling his nose as Angel pressed him down onto the desk.
"Oil," Angel said with a bit of uncertainty.
"What sort of oil?"
"Honing Oil," Angel mumbled.
"What're you gonna do, sharpen your cock?"
"Your ass is hard enough, as I recall," Angel laughed.
"Really know how to butter a bloke up don'tcha," Spike said, reaching over and grabbing the duster. He adjusted it under his chest, hoping to be comfortable on at least one side of his body.
"It'll be fine. You ready?"
"Well I would be if you'd quit yammer-" Spike nearly screamed when Angel entered him with no further warning. His hands gripped the edge of the desk and he buried his head in black leather.
Angel smirked at the reaction, pulled out and then thrust home again just as hard.
"Holy, fuck!" Spike bellowed, his voice only slightly muffled.
"Shut up, Spike. Someone will hear you."
"Good. Then they can come and rescue me from the great oaf trying to rip my dick off on the side of his desk."
Grabbing Spike by the hips, Angel lifted him up until only his toes touched the ground, and started to fuck in earnest.
Spike hung on and locked his arms, unable to do anything but groan and arch his back, presenting Angel with something solid to thrust into. The pain vanished as his body remembered what to do and, when Angel lowered him slightly, he rubbed his cock against the leather and satiny lining, whimpering at the differences in texture.
"Did I already say 'holy fuck'?" Spike asked in gasping breaths.
"Then bloody hell," he moaned. "How long have I been back?"
"One week, six days-"
"Four hours, and twelve minutes," Angel said, emphasizing each syllable with a deep, slow thrust.
"I think I'm scared," Spike laughed. "You been waiting that long to do this?"
Angel grinned, leaned forwards and whispered, "You should be."
A delicious shudder ran through Spike's body at the low tone, dripping with possibility and promises of more to come and then gasped as Angel's thumbs found where their bodies joined and pressed against his sensitive hole.
"Christ! Do that again."
Angel's thumbs slid into him, eased by the oil, and stretched him even further. Spike started to keen and humped his duster frantically, desperate for friction on his cock. Moaning into the coat, he barely able to stop himself from biting into the leather as Angel hammered against his sweet spot. The sounds of complete and utter pleasure spilling from his lover's mouth merely edged Spike further into oblivion. He was nearly ready to come when Angel grabbed him behind the knees and deftly flipped him onto his back, tearing a cry from Spike's throat as the corkscrew motion spread him open at new angles.
Once he had Spike laying face up on the desk Angel's eyes opened wide, taking in every inch of alabaster flesh, the chiseled body too far removed for more than a century. The urge to bite down on stiff nipples and grasp at Spike's flailing cock overwhelmed him. Angel threw his body forward, covering Spike, taking flesh into his mouth. Moving from nipple to nipple, Angel laved soft trails with his dry tongue, circling over each one until Spike was whimpering.
This was what Spike had been craving for months, much longer than the three he had been corporeal. This was a hunger that arose in him the moment he was brought back from death. The power with which he needed this release surprised him, and Spike was all too willing to give in to it. Clutching Angel's head to his chest, he thrust upwards, letting the friction of their sweat slicked bellies work him as hard as he was being fucked.
It didn't take more than a few strokes to tip him over, shivers rushing through his body, tightening in his balls.
"Angel!" he cried, throwing his head back. "Gonna - gonna. Fuck!"
As Spike clenched beneath him, Angel thrust wildly, riding Spike's orgasm towards his own. Encased in throbbing silken flesh he spilled within seconds, sobbing Spike's name as he bent him almost double to press their lips together.
"I'm staying," Spike said once they had both stopped shaking.
"That'll be good." Angel pushed himself up, peeling his skin from Spike's chest. "We're going to need you."
"You and Angelus you mean?" Spike asked.
"I meant the team, all of us. In case you didn't notice we're kind of falling apart."
"I noticed, but you know, that's what happens." Spike sat up and swiped ineffectually at his chest, his hand coming away sticky. "We fall apart, and then we help each other put it back together."
"Because we're family."
"Hell, no," Spike said, shifting to one side and pulling the coat out from underneath him. "Because this is gonna take one hell of a dry cleaner to fix up, and you're no good to me broke."
"Great, I'm the sugar daddy."
Wrestling with his jeans, still tangled round his legs and boots, Spike grinned, "Angel, you've always been the sugar daddy."
Angel couldn't resist kissing the smirk away though, using the last of his self-discipline, he did manage to disengage before thing grew too heated again. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and adjusted his dress, saying, "Let's clean this mess up and go check on Wes, I'm thinking he shouldn't have too much alone time right now."
"Probably not," Spike answered, hopping down off the desk and rescuing his T. He was frowning when his head reappeared, and he growled, "And don't change the bloody subject."
"Huh?" Angel said, already halfway across the room.
"Dry cleaner. You. Bill."
"It's your mess."
"And you made me do it."
"You were the one who kissed me."
"Well, you were standing there looking all kissable. Don't dodge the issue, Angelus. S'all your fault and I'm not paying."
Bickering good naturedly the two vampires disappeared through the door.