Author's Note: “The Prayer of St. Francis” is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi.
vicarious
“They’re a bit tight on you,” Spike observed.
Angel didn’t mind. The cold bite of metal into his wrists was welcome. It took away the pain of the other.
“Made for smaller hands,” Spike continued. “Dru, mostly.” He grinned, that grin that always made Angel think of a little boy pulling the legs off spiders. “Tried to talk Buffy into them once. Said she didn’t trust me enough. Can’t imagine why.”
It was blasphemy, bringing Her up now, of all times. Just because Angel lay naked on his back, hands cuffed to the headboard... He could snap the cuffs like a ribbon. Rip out Spike’s tongue for daring to soil her name. His arms stiffened in outrage.
His cock stiffened with something else.
“Tell me about her,” he whispered.
Spike stared at him as if he’d just asked him to recite the rosary. “What about her, exactly?”
“Her and you. Like this.”
More staring. Hail Mary, full of grace... “You sure you want to hear about that?”
No, Angel thought, I’d rather not think about her at all. But when did that ever work? “It’s either that, or think about her fucking the Immortal.”
“Lesser of two masochisms, then?” Another grin, and Angel imagined butterflies with their wings missing. “Don’t worry, luv, you’ve come to the right demon.”
Family. If there was one thing they could always count on each other for, it was punishment.
“Right then,” Spike began, nuzzling into the skin under Angel’s stretched biceps. “She never went for the handcuffs. But I did manage to... persuade her to lose a few other inhibitions.”
A conversation echoed inside Angel’s memory: I know how charming Spike can be... “Like what?”
Spike’s lips moved from Angel’s arm to his ear. His voice slid down Angel’s back and into his balls. “Turned her into a bit of an exhibitionist, really. She loved the danger. The chance of getting caught.”
Angel remembered a night, long ago, fucking young William in a garden at a society ball. The light from the gas lamps had tumbled out the open patio doors, making their eyes glow in the darkness. Word had spread through the party that there were wolves rutting in the bushes. The hostess had quickly shut the doors in horror, but some of the patrons had stayed and watched through the glass.
He felt a thrill shoot through his belly and into his groin.
“Where did you do it?”
Spike’s mouth was at his nipples, now, teasing and suckling. “Alleys. Cemeteries. The Bronze. Outside her work.”
“You fucked her in the Bronze?” He groaned, imagining them on the dance floor, beautiful bodies thrusting against each other under the cover of Spike’s leather coat.
“Oh, yeah,” Spike breathed. “Up on the balcony, with her friends down below. Made her watch them, while I slid into her from behind.” His mouth continued its descent. “She was so wet. So ready for it. For me.” Tongue sliding lower, lower. “Had her gasping for it.” Mouth on his balls, now, and Angel sucked in a breath.
Spike leered up at him. “Yeah. Just like that.”
Angel’s world began to tilt and spin. When Buffy had touched him - lifetimes ago, it seemed - she had been so young. Enthusiastic, certainly, but there had been something almost holy about her that Angel had wanted to leave unsullied. The thought of her so wanton...
And of course, it would have to be Spike who brought it out of her. Spike, whose eyes glittered with lust and whose voice could have tempted Christ in the desert. Spike, the most intensely sexual creature Angel had known in 250 years of existence. Who could have his bitterest rivals writhing under his touch, begging for more.
Angel and Buffy shared a lot in common.
“You two have a lot in common,” Spike said between licks up and down Angel’s cock. “Different equipment, of course,” he smiled, as he swirled his tongue over the head. “Both such bloody control freaks, though. Can see why you bought into that whole soul mates bollocks.”
“That why you went and got a soul for her?” Angel was breathing heavily now, envious and furious and completely turned on. “Wanted to be her soul mate? You get more pathetic every century.”
Spike scoffed. “Not a bit, luv. Knew I’d never have that kind of chance with her. ’Sides, she wanted something different from me.”
“Don’t know why she wanted you in the first place.”
“Same reason you do.” Spike lubed up his fingers, thrust them inside Angel’s ass. “Wanted to give herself over to it.” He hit the spot he was looking for, and a cry escaped Angel’s lips. “Wanted to lay it all down and just feel it.”
And Angel was feeling it.
Spike crawled up Angel’s body, lifted his legs and pushed inside.
Oh, fuck, was he feeling it.
Feeling Spike’s tongue in his mouth; feeling his scent flood his nostrils with the force of salt water. The last time Angel had kissed Buffy, she'd smelled of Spike. He’d kissed her hard, then; more roughly than he’d intended.
He remembered her that night, axe in hand, ready to do battle with the First. She was thinner than he remembered. Her eyes were ringed by tiny lines, but still clear, and shining with purpose. She still believed that the world was worth saving. That people like (him) Spike were worth saving.
Angel had wished, not for the first time, that he could be just like her.
“Keep talking,” he told Spike. “Like you talked to her.”
Spike began to move slowly, as if telling a secret. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Don’t make a sound. They’ll hear us.”
“Who?”
“The witch. Little sis. They’re just down the hall.”
“Buffy’s room?”
“Snuck in one night while she was sleeping. Climbed in beside her, slid my hand between her legs.” He reached down and fondled Angel’s balls. “She must have been dreaming about me.”
“Or me.” Angel thrust his hips up. “Fuck. Harder.”
“Can’t fuck you too hard, pet. The mattress’ll squeak. Wake them up.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re the boss,” Spike said, and began thrusting hard. “ ’Cept you’re not, now, are you?”
“Not what?”
“The boss.” Spike wrapped his hand around Angel’s cock. Angel’s eyes fell shut. “You love this, don’t you? Letting me take you over.” That body. That voice. “Don’t have to be noble or good. Can be as nasty as you want. As dirty as you want.”
Angel was panting now. Spike clamped his other hand down over Angel’s mouth. “Shhh, they’ll hear you.”
Oh, god.
“Don’t have to be the Slayer with me. Can just be a whore.”
Oh, *god.*
Angel rolled his face away from Spike’s hand.
Spike stared at Angel’s exposed neck, tongue flicking out of his mouth. “She never let me.”
“I’m letting you.”
Spike growled and dove for Angel’s neck, and the blood spurted and the pain was hot and he could feel Spike coming inside him and Buffy had felt that too and Buffy Buffy oh shit Buffy *fuck*
They had shared women before, of course. Concurrently, even, despite Darla’s objections. But her... they each possessed only a moment in her life - no more than an eye blink in their endless existence - and now the whole had moved out of their grasp. Unattainable.
Spike lapped up the tears as they rolled down Angel’s face.
“Shhh, luv. It’s alright. Shhhsh.”
*
Spike didn’t mock him afterward, and Angel was grateful. Surprised, but grateful. Spike’s gentleness was usually reserved for the needy. Wasn’t that why Dru had turned him in the first place?
Spike unlocked the handcuffs and went to find his cigarettes. Angel rubbed his wrists. He watched as Spike sauntered back to the bed, nicotine armour firmly in place. He sat down and glared at Angel.
“What?”
Angel looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Nothing. Just... thanks.”
And the leer was back. “No need to thank me, luv. You may be a stupid old ponce, but you’ve still got a bloody fine arse on you. I’ll take a piece of it any day.” He took another drag off his cigarette.
Angel suddenly felt very sorry for Spike. It was a novel and unnerving sensation.
He took the cigarette out of Spike’s mouth and crushed it against the nightstand.
“Hey! Give it!”
“Shut up.” Angel cupped Spike’s cheek in one hand and kissed him. Tongue and smoke filled his mouth.
Spike sputtered and pulled away. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes looked the way they had a hundred years ago, the night Angelus had dragged home a beautiful, bejeweled virgin and offered her to Spike first. Like he expected the blood to be laced with arsenic. Which, of course, it had been.
“It’s my turn,” Angel said softly.
“No bloody way!” Spike pushed him to the other side of the bed. “Had to watch you puttin’ it to Dru enough times. Don’t need to imagine you with her, too!”
Angel quickly searched his memory for the most convincing lie he could think of. “I need it,” he said finally.
“Don’t give a bloody toss about what you need, mate,” Spike spat. But his voice was softer this time.
“Spike...” Angel paused. He had to play this right, if he was going to convince him. “You know I can never be with her.”
“ ’Cause of the curse.” Spike snorted. “No less than you deserve, if you ask me. Wasn’t punishment enough in my books.”
“It’s not just that. She’s gone. Probably for good. She deserves to be happy.”
Spike nodded and looked away. “Deserves better than us,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Angel continued. “But I never got to say goodbye.”
“So, what? You want me to be your surrogate?”
“I want to... relive it, I guess. One last time.”
Spike smiled, but it was gentle this time. “You really are a pathetic poof, aren’t you?”
Angel just returned the smile, and kissed him again.
*
It was exactly like his first time with Buffy, and nothing like any of his previous times with Spike.
O Divine Master
There were porcelain kisses. Caresses made of silk and satin. Tangles of fingers, tongues and hair, and flesh upon flesh (of my flesh)
grant that I may not so much seek
There were eyes that sought each other out and did not look away. Colours of earth and sky. Swirl of clouds, ocean and sand. Patterns of wind and wave.
to be consoled, as to console
Angel’s arms still held Spike in place, but they offered comfort instead of captivity.
to be understood, as to understand
Spike’s muscles rippled under Angel’s hands like a river. He felt like the jungle, like steam and wild animal cries. Smell of water and blossoming vines.
to be loved, as to love
This creature who brazenly, unfailingly, loved with his whole foolish heart, let himself be loved in return.
Angel thought it was too bad that he’d had to trick him, in order to get him to this point. But Spike needed this, and Angel was determined, for once, to give him what he needed.
for it is in giving that we receive
It felt strange, to move inside Spike the way he had moved inside Buffy. As if the body beneath him were his salvation.
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned
But the sounds coming from Spike’s lips more than made up for it.
“Angel,” he whispered.
Angel looked at him and felt stripped bare. His hand stroked Spike’s cock in a steady rhythm.
“Did you talk to her?” Spike asked. He sounded more like William than he had in a hundred and twenty years.
“I only said one thing.”
“What was it?”
Angel held Spike’s gaze. “I love you.”
Spike’s cock jumped in Angel’s hand and he gasped. “Say it again.”
It was the only time Spike had ever asked him for anything.
“I love you,” he said again, and Spike’s eyes closed and his back arched and his hands reached up to grab the headboard.
“Da,” he cried. “Oh, fuck, Da,” and then there were no more words.
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
*
Afterward, Spike lay in Angel’s arms, quiet, for once. He gave no sign that he understood. That the tenderness had been meant for him as much as for her. That Angel wanted to make up for Buffy and Dru; for wheelchairs and fake prophecies and hot pokers and hotter words and teaching Spike how to be a monster but not how to be a man.
Spike didn’t bother to enlighten him, and Angel didn’t bother to ask.
But this time, when the tears fell, it was Angel who soothed them away.