Also Comes in Strange
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Title: Spoils

Series: Coming to Conclusions
Authors: Josey (josey@emptymirrors.org.uk) & Tania (tania@fangedfour.com)
Summary: post Destiny, To the Victor go the spoils.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Notes: 2nd in the Smutty Endings series.


The darkened offices appeared silent and deserted as Angel limped across the lobby to leave a note on Harmony's desk regarding extended lunch breaks. Even the universe being thrown out of alignment didn't halt the eternal grind of bureaucracy and as CEO Angel had responsibilities he couldn't afford to shirk. As he speared the note on a unicorn's horn, a flash of movement from Wesley's office caught his eye. Someone was here after hours and he could make an educated guess as to who it was.

Grinding his teeth, Angel stalked across the lobby, threw open the door and snarled, "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"A little light reading," Spike said, quickly closing the large volume he'd been studying and placing it back on the table. "Figured since Wesley's gonna be gone for a while I'd take a gander at this prophecy myself.  Without undue influence from someone who wants us dead."

Angel glared at him and sniffed, getting a waft of beer and cigarette smoke. It looked like Spike had been out celebrating his victory. "You know what? Get out. Something is trying to remind me that we've already discussed the prophecy enough for one day. What could that be, oh yeah, the hole in my shoulder."

Spike bristled, the open expression on his face quickly vanishing under his usual sardonic sneer. "The hole in your shoulder should've been a dusty ending, mate, so I reckon a quick poke around in Percy's office is part of the perks. Winner takes all and so forth."

What little fight Angel had managed to muster made a fast exit and left his battered ego to cope alone. His shoulders sagged along with his spirits and the hopelessness he had tried so hard to conceal from all but Gunn flooded back in.

"Spike, please, I just want to go upstairs and sleep."

"Yeah. Looking a bit worn around the edges there, old man. So if you don't mind, actually even if you do, I'll just crash here." Spike flopped down on the soft leather couch, put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. "Not like I've got anywhere else to go."

"You're not staying there. The last thing I need to be worrying about all night is you in here with access to every book ever written."

Cracking his eyelids open, Spike grinned ferally at him. "What. Afraid I'm gonna talk Latin to the books?"

"Just…" Angel blinked helplessly for a second and then said, "You could sleep upstairs. Tonight. But-"

He got no further. Spike was up off the couch and already striding towards the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Bed's mine. Only fair, right. Me being top dog and all."

"You can't call shotgun on the bed, it's not the same thing as the back seat."

"Bet it sees as much action," Spike smirked.

"You're never going to let up are you?" Angel said once inside the elevator. Resting his head against the cold side of the lift he punched in his security code, allowing them to ascend to the penthouse suite.

"Not likely. Had to listen to you blather on about being master and sire, and god all else for decades, now it's my turn." Spike gave a light punch to Angel's already sore ribs and stood in the entryway waiting for Angel to unlock the security system.

The door opened with a self-important click and the scent of freshly laundered linens tumbled out into the hall to meet him. Good, Angel thought, maid-service had been. Fresh towels and clean sheets to follow a long hot shower; just what he needed after a day like this one.

An unexpected shove on the nape of his neck sent Angel stumbling into the apartment and he spun, striking out blindly, only to have his fist caught in a vice-like grip. At the other end of it, Spike smirked back at him, traces of old blood still visible under his nose and at the corner of his curled lip. The crushing force around Angel's hand tightened and twisted, and Angel went with it, having no choice if he didn't care to have every bone in his hand broken.

As his knees hit the floor, a smug voice came from above him saying, "Why, Angelus. Finally a bit of respect. Maybe it's true what they say about things coming full circle, weren't we just saying something about it being my turn."

"Are you drunk?" Angel tried to push himself up in defiance, his hand screaming in complaint as Spike twisted it further.

"Not drunk, that wore off a good hour ago. Just thinking that payback's a bitch, and guess what?" Spike said, slipping off his duster and undoing the top button of his jeans, "tonight, you're the bitch." He placed his boot on Angel's injured shoulder and pushed him back to the ground.

Angel lay there for a long moment weighing his options. Spike had obviously healed quicker than he himself had, and from this vantage point it didn't look like Spike would have much trouble forcing the issue if he didn't cooperate. Added to that was the whole business of rights and tradition. With a deep breath and a heavy sigh Angel sat up on his knees, head hung low, and curled his index finger at Spike. "C'mon," he said.

"What?!" Spike yelped, back-pedalling a couple of paces before grinding to a halt and going on the offensive. "What d'ya mean, `come on'? This some sort of trick? `Cos I'm warning you-"

Smirking at Spike's confusion, Angel cut him off saying, "Why are you arguing? Spike, I've just changed the habit of several centuries and offered you my ass, and you choose now to complain?"

"I'm not complain…" Spike started and then stopped, his brow deeply knit in thought. "Okay, yeah, I was complaining, but for a good reason. And when I tell you, you'll understand that… that…"

Still on his knees, Angel was slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

"What did you want to tell me?" Angel asked as he slid the shirt over his shoulders, exposing too many cuts and bruises to count, but also soft patches of perfect skin unmarred even after two and a half centuries of life.

"I was gonna...say something...really," Spike couldn't help but take a step forward, hand still paused on his zipper, tenuously lowering it tooth by tooth, "really important." He stopped moving, hovering over Angel's half naked body, dipping his head as steady hands pushed his own aside, light fingernails scraping his hips as his jeans were pulled down to his knees. Spike wanted to look away but found himself captivated by the look of absolute peace on Angel's face as he took Spike's cock in his hand and guided it towards his smiling mouth.

He may not have done this for Spike before, but Angel was no amateur in this position. His tongue darted out, running across his bottom lip leaving wet glistening tracks, before it flicked and teased around Spike's cock. From the corner of his eye, Angel could see Spike's hands hovering and clenched into fists, the knuckles whitening in time with his touches. When the hands were millimetres from his head, Angel paused, took a deep breath and blew a stream of cool air over sensitive flesh making Spike gasp and jerk forward.

His cock collided with Angel's teeth and slipped inside for a fraction of a second before Angel could pull away. He wasn't ready for that, quite yet. There was something else he wanted to do first. Resting the head against his bottom lip, Angel gave it one final swipe with his tongue, extracting another groan and then used the diamond drops of precome as an exotic gloss, painting his lips with Spike's essence.

A muted, "Holy fuck," came from above him and Angel smiled more broadly, raising his gaze until he was looking Spike straight in the eye.

"Later," he said and leaned forward, engulfing Spike's erection in one smooth move.

Caught between utter humiliation and the plenary knowledge that this was as it should be, Angel fell earnestly to his task. Spike had won and lord knew he had taken advantage of that situation a thousand times himself, pressing Spike to his knees as Spike had done to him tonight. The sheer irony of it pushed Angel to widen his throat, enjoying Spike's groans all the more. He danced his tongue in hurried circles, eliciting cries of pleasure, and feeling an enormous amount of satisfaction with the way Spike's fingers fumbled between clutching at his shoulders and stroking his hair, obviously unsure of where to rest and clearly afraid to push too far.

Watching Angel slide up and down his length made Spike realize that maybe he was still a little drunk. He couldn't believe Angel had let him get away with even suggesting this act, let alone doing it, and yet... Here he was. Angel. On his knees. Grabbing at Spike's ass and pulling him forward at an excited pace, swallowing with each thrust, devouring his cock as though it were the tastiest morsel. Angel. "Oh god," he moaned again.

As his climax neared Spike's reservations vanished in a rush of need and he clutched his fingers into Angel's hair, urging him to take a slower pace and wanting the moment to last. Angel wasn't dissuaded, swallowing repeatedly and trapping Spike's cock in a tunnel of rolling rhythmic muscle. Spike had no choice but to ride out his orgasm, his body shaking with uncontrollable spasms and when Angel tried to pull away, Spike held him fast, not letting go until Angel had swallowed every drop of his release.

Only then did Spike untangle his fingers and stagger backwards with his jeans around his thighs. He hit the wall with a thud and stood panting and slightly wild eyed. Angel was still on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, eyes cast down submissively. Traces of come glinted on his lips and chin, and his tented slacks proved it hadn't been an entirely one way street. Spike felt himself getting hard again from that and from the sheer impossibility of what had just happened.

Digging down into his reserves of confidence and bravado, Spike pushed himself up off the wall, yanked up his jeans and cricked his neck.

"Right then," he said with hardly a quaver. "Round one over. Think we'll move round two into the bedroom, break in those nice clean sheets of yours."

Without speaking, Angel rose gracefully to his feet and walked demurely to the bedroom door, pausing there for Spike to tell him what to do.  

"Well this is a sight, isn't it?" Spike walked a lazy circle around Angel, taking slow deep breaths, still buzzing at the scent of his own come in Angel's mouth and the underlying flavour of Angel's arousal. Every so often he trailed his fingers along Angel's naked torso, carefully avoiding the worst of his wounds, watching subcutaneous quivers as Angel reacted to his touch, nipples tightening and rising. There were words that needed to be said, but for the life of him Spike couldn't work out what. Words always deserted him when Angel was around. Now there was a thought.

"I'm trying to think back to the last time we did this dance. Me, stuck in a wheelchair. You, prancing around like you owned the place. Hmm, what did we do then?" Spike paused, strictly for dramatic effect, he knew exactly what they'd done.

Angel gave no answer.

"Think I was forced to watch you get your rocks off all night. Left me in a bit of a dander, not being able to participate. So maybe now you should give me the same show." He sat on the bed and waved his hand like Caesar commencing the games. "C'mon then, entertain us."

Swallowing his pride, and knowing exactly what Spike was demanding, Angel closed his eyes searching his memory for some appropriate piece of music. Not to sing, of course. If he tried that, he'd probably find himself chained face down on the bed and buggered six ways from Sunday. No. What he needed was something to get lost in, something to take his mind off the smirking vampire watching him from the bed.

"Get a move on," Spike commanded at the exact moment Angel made his choice. Ravel's Bolero. Really what else could it be.

As the soft rhythm of the familiar music wafted through his mind, Angel toyed with the button on his slacks, eyes closed, swaying just a little, he released the first button, the quiet murmur of the zipper acting in his mind like yet another piece of the orchestra. Once undone, he slipped out of his shoes, toeing them to the side to avoid tripping over them later, he let the slacks fall to the ground, stepping out of them. Now clad only in his black socks and briefs he heard Spike's approving words coming from the bed. Angel stuck his fingers under the elastic band of his underpants and started sliding them down, thinking maybe a less jaunty tune would have been better for a strip tease, he felt the overwhelming urge to strut, or at the very least march.

"Socks too," Spike called to him.

Angel balanced one hand against the doorjamb while the other slid off the last vestige of material between him and total nakedness. There he stood, in front of Spike, in all his glory. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time he had ever asked Spike for directions on what was to come next.

"Don't think you're finished yet." Spike gestured to Angel's erection jutting up proudly from its nest of dark curly hair. Resigned to yet more humiliation, Angel enclosed it in a lose fist and started to work himself, his other hand drifting across his chest to pinch and tweak his nipples. If Spike wanted a show then Angel could give it to him. He ran his thumb over his chin, wiping away the last droplets of Spike's orgasm and in imitation of a gesture he had seen Spike perform a hundred times, Angel sucked his thumb into his mouth, savouring the taste of each drop.

Lying on the bed, one hand behind his head, the other stroking his cock through his half-open jeans, Spike struggled with his conscience. By rights, by tradition, he knew what came next. This was the point at which he ordered Angel to yield to him and enforced that order with fists and fangs if needs be. That was certainly always the way it had been in the past.  But they were no longer strictly the same creatures they'd been then and, as much as his demon was crowing its exultation at having brought this rival low, his soul was telling him that this was a chance for something else. A time to change the old `winner takes all' routine. And, maybe, a chance for new beginnings between the two of them. Ones that didn't fall back on the brutalisations and head-games of the past.

Angel was performing - beautiful subservient docile - traditionalist to the end and Spike hated tradition, despised ritual, kicked over the traces of history and pissed in its face. Taking a deep breath Spike made his decision. Reaching out to catch Angel's arm, he said in a soft voice, "Your turn."

Angel started to protest, that wasn't how the game went, but before a word could escape his lips, Spike had tugged him forwards onto the bed. Landing face down, Angel shuddered as Spike ran his tongue along his jaw and neck, bracing himself for the bite that Spike had every right to take. His hands gripped the sheets when teeth touched his skin and he arched his back into Spike's arms. But again he was left wondering what his lover's game was, because the bite didn't come. Soft kisses and suckling, hands at his thighs, arms around his waist turning him, yes, but not the bite. Gently Spike guided Angel's hands under his shirt, helping him lift it over his head and then moved his hands to his waistband for the second time that night, pushing off boots and jeans, leaving only cool flesh, tinged with pale healing bruises and the symbols of their fight the day before.

For several long moments Spike let Angel's fingers wander over his body, occasionally stopping him to plunder his mouth with kisses and then, without warning, rolled onto his stomach, stared at Angel over his shoulder and said, "Well?"

"Well what?" Angel asked still in something of a stupor.

"Well, I won, so I get it how I want. Assume you've got some lube in the drawer, yeah?"

"Huh?"

"Lube. Drawer. You with me, mate?"

Angel pinched his own thigh, and it hurt so this couldn't be a dream. Which meant Spike really was lying on the bed waiting for Angel to…

The drawer clattered to the floor as Angel dragged it from its tracks in his haste and, as he hung over the edge of the bed searching through bits and pieces for the tube he knew had been there two nights ago, he heard a chortle from behind him. He raised up, peering back over his shoulder at Spike burying his head in the pillow and laughing hysterically.

"What?" he said, indignantly.

Spike just waved a helpless hand at him and continued to howl.

Lube safely in hand Angel sat back up on the bed and stared at the slightly hysterical vampire laughing into his pillow. "Are you gonna tell me what's so funny?"

"No," came the muffled reply, "I mean, I'm an idiot."

"Which goes without saying; why tonight?"

"Because I just saw...you have a beautiful ass, mate." Spike had lifted his head just enough to lock eyes with Angel, "I can't believe I'm giving that up."

Angel hesitated for a millisecond before he said, "You don't have to."

The laughter died in Spike's throat and he suddenly found himself lost for words. It was one thing Angel allowing himself to be topped when custom demanded it and quite another for him to willingly offer. Narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to one side, Spike asked, "Why? You never have before, so why now? `Cos if this is something you're going to throw back in my face and use to-"

"Because I want it," Angel interjected. "More to the point, I want you. Yeah, you beat me, but this is more than that. Whatever happens, Spike, if this prophecy turns out to be true or some trick by the powers that be, it's going to be years before anything changes. In the meantime everyone we know will age and die, and I mean everyone. Except us. And I've been there before, alone, without anyone to call a friend. Without family. I don't-"

For once it was Spike who did the interrupting and he did so with a soft kiss. Taking the slick from Angel's hand, he cupped Angel's cheek and said, "I know, Angel. You don't have to explain."

"Yeah," Angel whispered. "You're the only one I don't have to explain it to." He leaned into Spike's hand, revelling in the rasped words that journeyed over his neck, the soft hairs at the nape standing in attention as lips suckled over his jugular.

Easing Angel back onto the bed, Spike sat up on his knees and rubbed his hands into the tired muscles of Angel's back, kneading over hardened balls of sinew just under silken flesh and working them until Angel moaned with relief. Despite his outer calm, Spike could feel Angel tremble beneath his touch as he worked his way to the firm curves of his ass. "Last chance to change your mind," he breathed over Angel's ear as he flipped the lid on the tube open, coating his fingers with the thick gel.

"No going back," Angel agreed, lifting his stomach just slightly off the bed and spreading his legs.

Taking his time and making the effort to prepare Angel as well as possible, Spike found himself chewing his lip, scolding himself into a semblance of self control by the time Angel was pressing back onto his hand. Finally satisfied that Angel's moans were all of pleasure and tipped off by the occasional curse at him to, "Fuck. Now," he pressed home, groaning loudly as the tight muscle gripped his cock. At this rate it was going to be the shortest shag in known history.

"You alright?" he asked brokenly into Angel's neck.

"Spike, I'm fine!" Angel growled pushing insistently back against him. "I swear by everything unholy, if you don't fuck me right now, you are going to think Angelus was a walk in the frigging park."

They weren't quite the words of affection Spike had been hoping for but they did wonders for his ego. Grinning broadly, he kissed where he had been muttering and thrust forward sharply, rotating his hips.

Angel gasped, dropped his head and started to shake. It seemed Spike wasn't the only one having problems with self-control.

English seemed to have left the room. To anyone outside those four walls it would have sounded like wolves or tigers were having at it, each thrust and plunge forcing another growl from Angel's lips. It had been well over a century since he had felt anything akin to this pleasure, and even then it had been at Darla's hand, not like this. This was something new and powerful, yet with Spike it felt old and familiar. Angel couldn't take enough of him, and every time Spike leant forward to lick up his sweat covered spine and whispered that the taste was heaven, Angel threw his weight back impaling himself on Spike's hardness.

"So close," Spike gasped, reaching a hand out to turn Angel's head towards his hungry mouth. He sucked Angel's soft lips and probing tongue into his own mouth, tasting blood where Angel had clearly bit into his lip before the pain turned to pleasure. The flavour sent a jolt of an entirely different lust through him and Spike felt his fangs extend, slicing through both Angel's tongue and his own.

As Spike's demon came out to play, Angel's responded, relishing the sudden flush of fresh blood that filled their mouths, passing it back and forth as they kissed. His skin was on fire. Every touch heated, every thrust burning him from within. Spike's fingers dragged up the underside of his cock and Angel jerked forward, whimpering as they skipped away.

"Want something?" Spike asked, his voice little more than a rumble.

"Touch me. Please, Spike. Please!"

"Christ, you beg so pretty, Angel." Spike's cock twitched inside him and Angel clenched his muscles, clamping down and eliciting another one of those wonderful growls. "Say it again, love. For me."

"Please, Spike. Need you. Please." And the hand was back, working him with hard fast strokes in time to the pounding in his ass, while another found a nipple, scratching and twisting.

Angel threw back his head, overcome by the sensations, baring his neck, baring his soul. Thrills ran rampant through his body, the breath caught in his throat, his ears began to sing and when Spike's voice whispered, "Come for me, love," Angel did exactly that, jerking helplessly into Spike's hand and spilling his release onto the sheets.

"Holy fuck," Spike swore as his cock was gripped and stripped. And then there was no turning back. With a soundless howl, Spike's back bowed as he came deep inside Angel, fulfilling a fantasy that had haunted his dreams for over a hundred years.

Carefully rolling off Angel's back, Spike landed on the bed in a boneless heap and sank into the pillows, unable to move. He turned his head to his lover, staring with half-lidded eyes at the look of peace that had returned to Angel's face.

"Y'all right," Spike eventually managed to breathe out.

"Yeah," Angel's words came in short bursts, "I should let you win more often."

"Yeah, you should," Spike smiled before rolling over and retrieving the comforter from the floor, covering them both in soft warmth. Wrapping his arm firmly around Angel's waist, he leaned up, kissed him gently and whispered, "Wanker."

 

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