"I'm going to kill him, slowly and painfully. I'm going to chain him up and peel him like a blood orange. And then, when he begs for mercy, I'm gonna roll him in fucking salt!"
With a final word, Angel launched his last stick of furniture at the cell phone chirping at him from the sun drenched flowerbed. He missed, of course, and the damn thing gave a sad hiccup before starting again, its tinny tune fingernails down the chalkboard of Angel's exhausted brain.
He just wanted to sleep, it wasn't much to ask was it? After last night and the fight in the magic shop, and then that terrible conversation with Buffy, he'd just wanted to drop into a dreamless healing slumber and not come out again until his life and his body ceased to hurt. But no. The moment the sun filled the garden, the phone had started to ring and it had continued non-stop for the next three hours. The first couple of hours were spent watching the shadows roll across the garden, the phone staying just out of his reach. He had finally retreated into the interior of the mansion, but the ringing still grated on his last bundle of nerves. Angel had tried everything. Burying his head under the pillow, turning on the taps, singing to himself but nothing - nothing - had worked. And now the stupid tune was stuck in his head and so help him god he was going to kill Spike so slowly, the irritating little fuck would be pleading to die by the time Angel had finished.
With a roar of frustration Angel smashed his fist into the wall, plaster dust cascading to the floor from the impact, and stalked back into the depths of the mansion. He had an idea and if this didn't work, he'd probably stake himself.
"Pick the bloody thing up, you insufferable prat," Spike cursed, as he wedged his last bottle of tequila between his legs and cracked the top.
Halfway through a hefty swig, Spike nearly missing the soft click on the phone. He stared at the display, which showed that the call was connected. "'ello?"
There was still no sound from the other end, Spike glared at the display again, the glowing green LCD assuring him he was still connected.
"Listen, you wanker," he growled, his hand tightening until the plastic creaked with stress. "Would be polite to at least say hello. You don't get to keep the slayer from staking me, and fighting and acting the strapping hero and not even say hi when I call you."
No answer. Well, that was just dandy. Spike held the phone away from his ear and gave it the look of death, his thumb hovering over the disconnect while he took another drink from the bottle. He could just hang up but somehow that felt like letting Angelus win, a concept that stuck in Spike's craw like sour vomit.
Ponce wasn't gonna get rid of him that easily.
Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Spike returned the phone to his ear and barked, "Fine. Reckon I don't need you to talk, do I? Never had a problem before keeping up a both sides of a conversation. I mean, it's not like Dru keeps her end up most of the time, so best be getting back into the habit of doing it all myself."
Still nothing. Fucker. Now there was an idea.
Spike settled himself more comfortably across the backseat of the DeSoto and, with a smirk, set about winding his old sire up. "Heh, you'd know all about the doing it yourself, wouldn't you. Can see it now, night with the slayer got you all hot and bothered, not to mention seeing my hot little bod. I bet you're so ready to burst by now, you'd fuck the first hole that walked through the bleedin' garden."
"You know I only made it as far as Torrence last night before I turned around. Was all ready to keep on driving and I started thinking about m' poor sire all alone in that big freaking mansion, hard on the size of a toddler's arm, jonesing for me to come walking through the door an' bend him right over." Spike took another swig of the tequila, licking the aftertaste from his lips. "It was a nice drive, came back up through Downey, stopped at one of those god awful all night breakfast places, had some truly awful eggs, and a nice plump waitress."
He stopped long enough to give a short laugh before the thought of the waitress made him squirm in his seat.
"You woulda loved her, she had these fat breasts, the kind that no bit o' cotton and elastic could harness. She moaned so loud when I bit her I thought for sure someone'd burst into the bathroom thinking to catch a show. Sorry there mate, cruel of me to talk about food in front of a starving man, innit? Oh wait, I don't care."
This time his snigger was overt and Spike made no attempt to muffle it. Frustratingly there was still no response from the other end of the line. What the hell did the poof think he was playing at?
"Come on, Angelus," he wheedled. "Give a bloke a break. Wouldn't kill you to exercise those thundering great lungs of yours."
He'd never known Angelus be so silent, except… No. He'd been fine when Spike left. Still the possibility caught Spike's stomach and gave it a twist.
"You alright, mate?" he asked. "Slayer didn't give you a hard time after I left, did she? Or one of them tossers we saw off?"
Images of Angel injured and in too much pain to speak crashed through Spike's mind and despite himself, his tone softened. "Want me to come back and kiss it better? Used to like that, if I remember rightly."
"Come on, tell me you didn't used to love it when Darla'd beat you bloody and leave you out in the hall scratching at her door like a little lost kitten. Always knew you didn't scratch wood so she'd hear you. You did it hopin' you could rouse me, pull me away from Dru for the night so I could play nurse maid. Those were good times, eh? You, me and a bottle of mercuric. I can almost hear the screams now, it was beautiful, blood running off into pools on the floor. Naked skin, all fresh and raw."
Spike had to stop talking long enough to still his trembling legs. Sometimes he was too vivid a storyteller for his own good, painting a picture pretty enough to lick. Of course it helped when the picture was of a naked Angel. He let out a soft growl as the images danced in his head, swirling and mixing with the tequila. Hmm, drunken naked Angel, this phone call was getting better by the minute.
"Hey Angel, don't suppose you've got a stash o' booze round there, I'm running low." He took another long swig, and pivoted the phone to his other ear as the swimming feeling bled down his chest and settled at his cock.
Still nothing. Not that Spike cared much right now. He was on an alcohol induced roll and nothing short of the sun or a stake was going to stop him.
"One of the things we used to do real well, that. Get pissed. A decent brandy for the pain and bob's yer uncle, all set for a night of right good shagging." He tried adjusting his jeans to ease the growing tightness and then shrugged and undid his fly.
"Remember, Angel?" he continued, voice dropping to something near a purr. "Nights when we never bothered getting out of bed. Nights that stretched into days and then nights again." The memories constricted his chest and the following words came out as a whisper. "Do you remember, Angelus? `Cos sometimes I can't forget."
Christ he'd had too much to drink. If he didn't shut up, he was going to say something he really regretted.
Spike cleared his throat, clutched the phone tighter and said, "Maybe you need a reminder. Something to help out the senile, eh? How about this. Rome, 1890 and the little blonde bird that caught your eye. You brought her back to the house and we had a bit of fun with the mallet, before she upped and snuffed it. And after, you plowed me good and proper for draining her dry. I can still feel the cold tile on my knees as you ground me into the floor, Drusilla screaming outside that you weren't to wear me out before she took her joy."
"No?" Spike asked the silence on the line, "How about Prague, the first time around and the dancer, she was a tasty bit, and the way she could bend her ankles behind her neck and still take a deep breath in? That was a skill. Remember how hard you tried to bend me that way, taking me from the front, from behind, upside down and sideways till I couldn't hardly stand, the room so full of your scent we had to crawl into the girls' room just to sleep."
"Ever think about that?" he asked, lightly stroking over his cock as he spoke, "ever have to bite your tongue while taking a woman because you didn't think she'd want you wailing my name? Does it make you hard when your pet humans talk about me? Don't you love the way my name rolls off the Slayer's tongue. And the way the watcher called me William, even when you had the blade to his arm? It was still "William, stop him," the very word enough to turn you to stone. Thought his eyes'd pop out of his head when you pulled me outta the chair and started bobbing my willie right in front of his face.
"Like it when I remind you, don'tcha? Just kind of steals your breath away. Christ, Angel, tell me I'm not the only one that misses it."
It might have been his imagination, or the tequila, but Spike was certain he heard a slightly hitching breath and it was enough to encourage him.
"Want to hear more? Way our bodies fit so close together there was never enough lube to keep the blood from flowing, the way that huge cock o' yours would tear through me, making me beg for it to end, but it never did till you'd forced me to come, screaming your name `til I was hoarse for a day. How about some details, then. Like my mouth on you, sucking you down. And your fingers tangled my hair, tugging at it, guiding me or holding me still. "
The light touches grew more definite as the memory of Angel's cock in his throat assailed him, and Spike groaned as the flavor seemed to burst on his tongue anew, sending a wave of arousal through his body. "Loved it, y'know. When you took me like that. Being on my knees but holding all of you in my power. Hearing the little noises you'd make. The way you'd say my name when you came."
And the way you held me afterwards, he wanted to add, but even five bottles weren't enough to make him admit to that.
"God I miss trains more than anything, especially in the early days, the real long trips like when we left St. Petersburg and didn't get off till India. The fucking in rooms with walls so thin the people in the next compartment would call for the porter and we'd have to make up some story about seizure fits. Fits that lasted for hours and hours, long, hard seizures that left you shaking in your bunk for half a day just mumbling about how good it felt to be with a bloke after a century of Darla clawing down your back and taking her pleasure first."
Nearly choking on the saliva that pooled in his mouth over the memory, Spike almost dropped the phone, unwilling to stop stroking his cock. He settled for readjusting himself lower on the leather seat where he could cradle the phone against the side of the car and pinch at his nipples through his worn tee shirt while still working at his length.
"I'd never known anything like those nights. The three-penny whores in London never would have taught me the depravities that lived in your mind. The way you could strike with the leather and chase with feather in the same night. Brought me out of my bleedin' skin those nights, made me forget that there was such a thing as pain that actually hurt. With you every bit of pain was to find that spot that could turn your brain on its side, make me beg for more. How do you do that? Make me need you so bad after a century that I'm ready to muss up a perfectly decent car just to hear you whisper my name. Angel please, just give me that one thing, say my name."
Spike stroked harder, arching his back away from the seat each time he reached the head. "Please, Angel, just say my name," he begged.
A gasp that could have been "Spike" and could have been "fuck" echoed in his ear but it was sufficient to drive Spike over the edge, thrusting into his hand as he spent; Angel's name on his lips and the cell tumbling to the floor.
Still panting harshly and surfing the final shudders, Spike scrambled to pull the phone back to his ear, trying to find his voice again. After a calming breath he managed a quick "Thanks mate," before hitting the disconnect button and closing his eyes to the setting sun.
Angel moaned and rolled over, rubbing himself against the sheets, his body aching with arousal. He sniffed then, suddenly alert; eyes open and gaze shooting towards the door where he could hear someone moving about in the main room. The scent of male musk permeated the air waking him fully and he leapt from the bed, hesitating only long enough to slip a robe around his shoulders before rushing out to greet the intruder.
There was no one there. His home was as empty as it had been when he went to sleep, and he slumped into his chair cradling his head in his hands. Maybe his dreams had lied to him? Maybe none of this was real? But when he checked the air again, that same scent still hung heavy in the room.
Then it occurred to him that the phone was no longer ringing.
Angel wiped at his eyes, hoping to relieve the dizzying effects of the rather large bottle of whisky he had drunk in his attempt to fall asleep. He looked around the lobby once more before following the scent of sweat and sex into the courtyard.
His eyes caught a glint of steel in the moonlight and spotted a sword laying on the ivy covered cement. He took another step and saw a pair of wooden stakes on the ground. One more brought the intruder into view.
Angel cleared his throat loudly.
"Oh, shit." The cell phone crashed to the ground but was quickly picked up and thrust in the vampire's direction. "It's for you."
"You know the way out," Angel said brusquely, taking the phone and sticking in his pocket before returning to the mansion. Almost as an after thought, he called back over his shoulder, "And thanks for shutting him up, Xander. "