Walls
The first time it happened, Angel nearly bled him to death.
They were in Louisiana, a few months after the Battle to end all Black Thorns. On the run, of course, because the Senior Partners still had a few friends in high places, and they weren’t about to kill the fatted calf and invite the prodigal home.
They had fought first, which was odd, because these days Spike found it hard to get Angel worked up about much of anything. When they did fight, it was the same arguments over and over. This one had been about The Compleat Lack of Anything to Do.
"Come on, Angel. We’re out here in the middle of Buttfuck, Bayou. We haven’t seen an evil minion since Texas. They’re probably off at Disneyworld, buying Mickey Mouse’s soul. Let’s go for a drink."
"I’m not in the mood for celebrating." Angel’s eyes were black and narrow. They reminded Spike of coal-burning stoves and pretty maids screaming. He’d been wearing the same expression since that night in the alley, and it made Spike’s skin crawl.
"At least let’s find something to eat. Plenty of swamp around. Rats out here must be bigger than the city dwellers."
"I’m not hungry."
Spike was a bit relieved, actually. Couldn’t stomach the things. He’d have traded his soul for a big, juicy deer.
So here he sat, alone in a bar with sawdust falling from the roof and peanut shells on the floor. There were maybe three ugly blokes and the bartender, and the music was driving Spike batshit. Some cowboy twang about hurtin’ hearts and broken pickups. It made him want to grab one of those guitars hanging on the wall and put it through the jukebox.
More Angel’s kind of music, really. Bugger’d be right at home here, Spike thought. Hadn’t done anything but grieve and glower since that night in the alley.
Sometimes Spike almost felt sorry for the git. Even Illyria’d buggered off right after they’d made their big getaway. Months on the run now, with no one for company except a vampire who annoyed the piss out of him. With only the occasional surprise attack to keep them busy, to keep his mind off the mourning.
Also no hospitals nearby, and no place to buy blood. Spike’s stomach rumbled.
At least the bartender had a brilliant smile. Radiated like sunshine, she did, all blonde hair and green eyes and petite frame. Served him up until near closing time, long after the regulars had left; then sat down and drank a shot of tequila with him. When she swallowed, she even scrunched up her nose in an adorable little grimace.
Made him come over all nostalgic-like.
Got to talking with her, and soon he was pouring out his own tale of heartbreak and broken… well, not pickup trucks, but Angel’s T-bird had broken down on the I-95 that one time. She nodded and listened and patted his hand, and before he knew it he was soused in his cups, and there might have been tears in the corners of his eyes. Though he’d rip out the tongue of anyone who’d said it.
"And on top of all that," he said, the "L" sounds thick and syrupy in his mouth, "I’m bloody starving. Haven’t had a decent meal in weeks."
The girl’s face lit up with something hungry. "I might be able to help you with that," she said.
Spike felt a tingle go up his spine, and he tilted his head. "Onion blossom not gonna do it, love. My diet’s a little… unorthodox."
She nodded. "I know." She stood up; took his hand. "I know just what you need."
If he’d been any kind of a gentleman, he’d have withdrawn his hand, thanked her for the kind offer, and made some excuse about it being late and he had to hit the road early in the morning. But Spike had given up gentlemanly behavior more than a century ago, and the girl’s eyes looked so much like… hers.
He followed her in a daze, out into the parking lot, to an unlit corner behind a beat-up van. She stood, back to the wall, and swept her hair off to one side. Her neck was long and tanned and smooth, and her barely-there top left the skin exposed from her ear all the way down to her fingers.
Spike ran his hands up her arm, leaned in close, and slid his lips along the side of her neck, from jaw to collarbone. The girl let out a silky little sigh.
The puncture of his fangs into her skin was perfect; the most satisfying penetration he could remember in a long time. He had to fight with himself to keep it gentle, to make it good for the girl. Took all his will not to leave her a crumpled body for the police to find in the morning.
When he felt her knees start to buckle, he eased her gently down the wall. She grinned up at him through ecstatic, slitted eyes.
"This your van?" he asked. The girl just nodded. Spike opened the side door and laid her down gingerly on the floor, then closed the door to let her sleep it off. Would’ve stayed for a shag, but she was flying, and it didn’t feel right taking advantage.
Besides, he was pretty sure old sire’d give him what he needed tonight.
He wasn’t wrong. The first punch hit Spike before he’d even had time to take off his coat.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Angel was on top of him, Spike’s face mashed into the carpet. Bloody ugly carpet it was, too, and rank; the smells of a thousand illicit motel rendezvous, drug exchanges and the occasional murder. "We’re trying to keep a low profile, so you decide to start giving suck jobs to strangers in bars?" Angel ground Spike’s face into the floor for good measure. "We’re the only two vampires within a hundred miles of here. You might as well put up a fucking sign!"
"Come on, Angel," Spike said around a mouthful of carpet. "Wolfram & Hart don’t have anyone in these parts, and you know it. I was starving and the girl was willing. Where’s the harm?"
"We don’t eat humans." Angel’s voice was right in his ear, now, darkness and death. Spike could have thrown him off; he was newly fed and Angel was weakened from long nights of going without. Instead, he rolled over until Angel was straddling his hips. Looked up at him with his most sardonic grin.
"Whady’a gonna do about it, old man? Cut off my head, like you did to your flunkies at the House of the Rising Evil?"
Angel gathered Spike’s shirt up in both fists. "Don’t tempt me."
"Aw, don’t be like that," Spike smirked. "Come on, give us a kiss then," and he wrapped his hands around the back of Angel’s neck, yanked him forward and mashed their lips together.
And there it was; the moan he’d been waiting for since they’d gone on the run. Angel lapping against Spike’s mouth like a wolf dying of thirst. The taste of human blood was still on Spike’s lips, and Angel’s fangs came down fast and hard, biting into Spike’s tongue, hands crushing the sides of his head, twisting and angling to get in deeper. Desperate and demanding. Spike arched up into Angel’s hips, turned his face away and stretched out his neck, and Angel’s teeth were in him before he had time to close his eyes. He shouted and bucked and came in his pants, grinding against Angel until his vision began to blur, and still the sucking went on.
"Sire," he whimpered, before he floated away into blissful darkness.
He was pretty sure, when he woke up, that Angel had taken advantage of him while he’d been out of it. But Spike didn’t really mind.
*
The next night, two big demons jumped him on his way back to the bar. Spike had never seen their kind before; must have been local to the area. They were big and scaly and sort of blue, and dumber than alligators. Not hard to kill, but one of them managed to take a good chunk out of Spike’s arm before gurgling into the great beyond.
He headed back to the motel so Angel could patch him up. Pissed him off, because one, he wanted to see how the bartender was doing; and two, it gave Angel the opportunity to say,
"I told you this would happen. We’ll clear out in an hour, after I get back."
"Back from where?" Spike eyed Angel as he finished wrapping the bandage. His lips were set tight, and he wouldn’t look Spike in the face.
"I have work to do."
"What the fuck are you on about? We can’t even get bloody cell phone service out here."
"I have a contact I need to meet." Angel stood up, reached for his coat. He’d taken to wearing the trench coat again, like the old days.
"Out here?" Though Spike had to admit, it wasn’t so strange; lots of voodoo and superstition ’round these parts. One or two of the practitioners ought to be legit. He shrugged. "Gravy, then. Where we off to?"
Angel swung his coat over his shoulders, billowing like Batman and just as moody. "You’re not coming."
"The fuck I’m not. I know what you’re up to, Angel. You’re fixing to take them down, once and for all. You don’t do that without me."
"You’re injured. You need to rest up."
"I’ve still got one good arm. You might need it, you run into trouble." Spike stood up and headed for the door.
Angel shoved his hand flat against Spike’s chest. "It’s too dangerous." His eyes looked like weathered concrete, a dam against months of unshed tears. "I’m the one they want."
"In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one with a demon-sized hole in his arm."
"Being on the run with me is risky enough. If you get involved in this…" Angel looked away. If it had been concern over anyone else, Spike might have thought the dam was about to break. "You should go. Somewhere safe."
"I’m not gonna leave you to fight them on your own."
"Then you’re not going to fight. Now, you can go somewhere far away, out of the line of fire, and help me from there. But if you stay here, you stay out of it."
"Oh, for Christ’s sake. Will you stop being such a bloody martyr?"
"Just fucking do what I tell you for once," Angel growled.
"Yeah, like that ever worked," Spike scoffed.
"Fine." And just like that, Angel kneed Spike in the groin so hard that he saw stars. He doubled over and fell to the floor. By the time he’d managed to haul himself to his feet, Angel was gone, and Spike was in no mood to follow.
*
The second time it happened, Angel nearly fucked him to death. Which, when Spike thought about it, wasn’t really that different from the first time.
Coming up on six months later, and they were still on the run. Angel was still plotting and scheming and meeting people in secret, and still not letting Spike in on the plan. But truth to tell, Spike had long since given up caring. Angelus was obsessed with a new prey, just like back in the day; and Spike couldn’t give a rat’s ass. If they talked about it, it always led to the argument Spike called I’m Doing This No Matter What, and You Don’t Get to Help.
He was slowly getting used to the hunger and the boredom. They’d done the Big Evil a lot of damage, back in that alley, and they were still rebuilding. Sometimes Spike and Angel could even settle in a place for a few months before anyone came snooping about. Spike fought the good fight whenever he could. Helped the helpless. Made a few bucks for beer and spending money. But eventually the minions came marching, and they had to make scarce for quieter climes.
At least every new town brought a new bar.
This one was quite posh, as backwater dives went. The floor was clean, the drinks were varied, and the furniture had yet to suffer the slings and arrows of one too many brawls. Spike itched to remedy that situation. He resigned himself to ordering a bottle of scotch, instead.
Spike could smell this one as soon as she walked in the door. She was on her monthlies, and the scent of her blood had him hard in an instant. He picked up his bottle and made for the exit, keeping his head down as he passed.
She grabbed his arm on the way by.
"Where do you think you’re going, vamp?"
He didn’t need to feel the strength in her grip to know what she was.
Spike eyed her. She was about his height, with long, dark hair and flashing eyes. Her skin was the color of smooth coffee. She could have been Nikki Wood’s daughter. He racked his brain, trying to remember if that homicidal principal had said anything about having a sister.
"Not looking for any trouble here," he said softly. Like trying to gentle a wild horse. "I’m all peaceable and assimilated, so what’s say we just leave these nice people to their beer and misery, yeah?"
"A vampire? Assimilated?" Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t reach for a stake. Just kept her hand on his arm.
"Don’t feed on humans anymore," he said.
She dropped her hand away from his. "Huh. That’s a shame."
Spike tilted his head. She gave him a smile, like the one Buffy used to give her prey, right before a kill. "I’m not all peaceable and assimilated."
She went for a smoke, and Spike followed her out back. Stupid move, considering what happened the last time he’d confronted a loony slayer, but she needed sussing out; make sure she wasn’t a danger to anyone. "So, you, what? Use your powers to break into bank vaults? Steal purses from little old ladies?"
She laughed. "I’m not a crook. Just not into all that council shit. They tried to recruit me, but I blew it off. Not interested in following orders and fighting evil." She took a step towards him, ran her fingers down his chest. "Just… wanna have a good time, is all."
Spike checked her up and down, looking for anyplace she might be hiding a stake. Her outfit didn’t offer much by way of cover.
She laughed again. "Don’t worry, I’m not packing." She pulled his lips down to hers. "You can search me if you want," but it was her hands that did most of the roaming.
When he went down on her, he came without even touching himself. He buried his face between her legs for more than an hour, lapping and licking, bringing her off three four times, until she finally had to pull him up because she was running out of air. She left him a crumpled heap on the sidewalk, his dick hard (again, still) from the taste of her blood on his lips, her scent on his face and hands.
This time, when he got home, Angel didn’t even bother with the fighting. Just grabbed him by the shirt and smashed his lips against Spike’s. Threw him onto the bed and fucked him for hours, slicing his skin everywhere with teeth and tongue and hands.
That night, he slept curled limply against Angel’s body, covered in the cuts and bruises that felt to him like love.
*
A few more months, and they were in a small town in Idado. They only ever went to small towns these day. But Angel, being completely out of touch with all culture since 1977, didn’t know that the White Stripes happened to be touring small towns, and that this particular spot happened to be on their playlist.
Spike, of course, didn’t bother to tell him.
Half way through the second set, he looked up to find Angel looming over his shoulder. Spike would have been dancing, except that the place was so small that the crowd was squished together like marshmallows.
"Didn’t know you were a music fan, old man," Spike shouted.
"It’s not safe here. Too many places for an attacker to hide."
"Oh, lighten up, Angel. I can take care of myself." Spike’s eyes swept over the acres of exposed flesh in the room. His mouth watered. "Besides, lots of easy pickings here. Gotta be some gorgeous groupie willing to give it up for a couple of handsome blokes like us."
He pointed out a luscious red-head with legs up to her shoulders. "Like that one over there."
Spike expected Angel’s scowl, thrown in his direction.
Instead, Angel looked at the girl, and his eyes narrowed.
Spike knew that look. It made the blood thump in his ears.
Angel shook his head. Scanned the room, looking for juicier prey. Pointed at a girl with olive skin, a great rack and hair that tumbled down her back in flowing chestnut curls.
"That one," he said, and nodded.
They didn’t leave town that night, as Angel had planned. In fact, they didn’t leave the motel room for two days.
*
After that, it became a kind of ritual. Angel never fed from them himself. Wouldn’t stoop to it. But he started following Spike out; and when he did, he always let his choice of prey be known. He’d watch, as Spike chatted them up, led them out back and fed. Then, as soon as the mark was safely tucked into a comfy bed, he’d fuck Spike into whatever hard surface happened to be handy.
Sometimes they’d have long, dark hair and big tits, like that first one. Sometimes they’d be small and blonde. Sometimes they’d be thin and willowy with a dreamy, faraway expression. And sometimes, they’d be rangy college-aged boys with hair that flopped into their eyes.
Spike couldn’t quite suss that one out.
It was with one such floppy-haired boy that Angel started to weird out on him.
It had been years—Spike wasn’t quite sure how many—since they’d been on the run. They were in some eastern college town. Not one of the big ones, but big enough to be known for its ivy and its swarm of grad students. Angel had insisted on coming there, which Spike couldn’t figure.
"Doesn’t make much sense, going to a place full of twenty-somethings," he’d said. "Can’t exactly pass for faculty. Likely to get pegged as dirty old men inside a day." Then they’d had the argument known as Shut the Fuck Up and Do As I Say.
When they’d spotted the kid in a bar near the campus, Angel damn near froze up in his tracks. If he’d had a heartbeat, Spike knew it would have been hammering.
"Wait here," he told Spike, shoving him into a padded booth near the door. Then he’d gone off to stalk the boy on his own.
Spike poked his head around the corner of the booth, spying on the proceedings. The bar was blue and the music thumped loudly; the kind of beat that the college crowd loved, but that made Spike want to bite the DJ. He could see Angel talking to the kid, leaning up close against the bar, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their heads were close together, like they had to shout to be heard, but they never touched.
That part was normal, at least. Angel never touched anyone these days, except Spike.
He did manage to get a good look at the boy’s face, though. Recognized him as the young buck that Angel had brought to Wolfram & Hart one day, when he’d been spitting and sparring with Illyria in the training room. Boy had had a bit of a thing for Blue.
Spike hadn’t thought about Illyria in years.
When Angel came back to the booth, he didn’t stop walking. Just grabbed Spike by the arm and hauled him outta there.
"What was that all about?" Spike asked. "You spend all that time chatting up the mark and we leave hungry?"
Next thing he knew, his back was up against one of those famous ivy-covered walls.
"You never bite him," Angel snarled. "If I so much as see spittle on his neck, I will knock your fangs out with a wrecking ball. Understand?"
Spike shook him off. "Yeah, got it." It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Angel had that look in his eye, the same one he got whenever Spike was attacked; a curious mix of protectiveness and panic. But Spike didn’t argue. He knew when to let the git play patron.
Didn’t stop him from going back to the bar the next night. Or the one after that, or the one after that. He could feel Angel’s eyes on him the whole way, from the shadows, stalking him stalk the kid.
Spike rather enjoyed it.
On the fourth night, the kid got the jump on him. Which was really fucking weird, because no one ever got the jump on Spike unless she had tits and was carrying a stake.
"You know, if you wanted to buy me a drink, all you had to do was ask," the kid yelled over the music. Spike could only nod in reply, neck pressed as it was between the wall and the boy’s forearm.
He motioned with his hands towards his neck, and the kid let go. Gave him a thousand-watt smile that glowed blue in the bar light. Spike looked about, thinking the bouncers might try to toss them for fighting, but the place was crowded and pulsing, and no one paid them any mind.
"It’s okay, I know who you are," the boy said. He swayed a little on his feet, and his breath smelled of one too many beers. "You work with Angel, right?"
Spike nodded. "Something like that." He searched his brain for the boy’s name, but Wolfram & Hart seemed long ago, and most things about the place escaped him.
"Connor," the boy supplied helpfully, and held out his hand. Spike shook it, feeling awkward at shaking hands with someone who’d just had him pinned against a wall.
"Spike," he replied.
"So," Connor said. "How about that drink?"Connor led them to a table in a smaller room, away from the constant thumping, where they didn’t have to shout at each other. Spike bought them each a beer.
"Quick reflexes you got there," Spike mused.
"I take martial arts," Connor replied, and Spike had the feeling it was the standard answer.
"And vampire tracking lessons?"
Connor’s eyes narrowed. "Did Angel tell you about me?"
"No, but I remember you from that day at Wolfram & Hart. Figured you weren’t there just to get the tour."
Connor’s face relaxed. "Yeah, I’m… kind of a superhero. Angel helped me out with it."
"So you’re one of the good guys?"
"More or less. I mean, by day I’m a mild mannered grad student, but by night I can leap tall buildings in a single bound." He took a swig of beer. "No web-slinging though. Which is kind of ironic, considering I’m studying chemistry. Maybe I should try to make some in my lab of evil."
Spike chuckled. "With great power comes great responsibility. Don’t forget that, young Peter Parker."
"And I suppose you’re gonna teach me?" It might have been the blue lighting, but Connor’s eyes seemed to twinkle.
Spike shook his head. "Sounds like you got Angel for that. That’s more his gig, anyway. But I can teach you how to do tequila shots."
Connor snorted. "Dude. I’ve been doing shots since freshman year of undergrad. Though don’t tell my dad." And at that, he winked.
Spike felt a warm stirring in his belly.
He slid down further in his chair. Spread his legs a little wider. "K, then. You know how to do shots. And you know how to pin a vamp to the wall in point-three seconds or less, even after," he eyed the goofy grin on Connor’s face, "six or seven drinks?" Connor’s grin got a little wider, and he giggled.
Spike slid the point of his tongue between his teeth. "Why don’t you tell me what you don’t know, and I’ll see if I can help?"
Connor leaned in close, so close that Spike could feel his breath against his ear. "I don’t know how to hold my liquor," he said, giggling again.
Spike grinned. "Well, then. Let’s order another round, shall we?"
*
They staggered out of the bar just before closing time, laughing at a huge bear of a bouncer who was standing in the doorway sopping wet, with a dumbstruck look on his face. His four-foot-eleven-inch girlfriend had thrown a drink on him for trying to cop a feel on her best friend. Spike always did enjoy seeing the big ones get taken down a peg or two; and Connor, being of the smaller persuasion himself, seemed to share the joke.
They tripped over their feet for a few minutes, until Spike insisted on stopping for a fag. He leaned up against the wall of a nearby building to help balance himself. He patted the stone. "Walls are good things," he said.
Connor nodded, looking entirely serious. "Walls are very good things."
"Bloody helpful, walls are. Always there when you need ’em."
"Good for shelter." Connor leaned his back against the brick, closed his eyes. "Good for holding you up."
"Good for getting fucked up against." Spike took a deep, satisfying drag.
Connor opened one eye. "I’ll take your word for it," he said. "Never really tried that one before."
Spike lowered his lashes. Looked the boy up and down. "Could remedy that right now, if you want."
Connor’s face sobered, and the blue light from the bar seemed to have followed them out into the night, hanging between them like a static charge.
"He’s watching us, you know," Connor said softly. "Has been all night."
Spike threw his cigarette on the ground. "I know."
"He told me to stay away from you."
"Told me the same thing."
A smile crept over Connor’s face like a serpent through grass. The college boy from the bar melted into a night creature, feral and wild, and Spike suddenly felt more hunted than hunter.
"Do you ever do what he tells you to?" His voice was leather and animal skins, things supple and seductive.
"Not in the last hundred years or so." Spike’s mouth felt dry.
"Me, neither," Connor replied, and then his lips were crushing Spike against the wall.
The boy’s scent filled his nostrils, something ancient and familiar; and for a moment, he could smell Angel’s scent mixed in with their own, watching from his hiding place behind the trees. It went straight to his balls. He spun Connor around till his back was against the brick. Ground their hips together, and found the boy just as hard and ready as he was. He really must have superpowers, to get it up after everything he drank. Or maybe it was just a result of him being twenty-two.
Spike’s hands went straight for Connor’s belt. Fumbled and tripped, till his fingers held a warm, throbbing cock in his palm. He stripped it in one long stroke, and Connor moaned. Gathered up the pre-come in his fingers and did it again. Connor moaned again, louder. His skin was hot and silky, and the little breaths in Spike’s ear had him reeling.
Connor’s fingers grappled with Spike’s zipper until their cocks slid together in a clumsy rhythm, frantic enough to match the kid's heartbeat. Christ, he could smell the boy’s excitement, pulsing in the veins beneath his skin. Spike nuzzled into Connor’s neck, vamping out at the feel of baby-soft skin against his cheek. Connor groaned and tilted his head, and Spike took that as all the permission he needed.
His teeth pierced Connor’s flesh like biting into the first apple of summer, taut and fresh and perfect. The blood burst onto his tongue, crackling with life and power and Spike let out a muffled shout, coming hard against him, crushing the boy’s body into the wall. Connor’s shout was not so muffled, and the feel of his cock pulsing against Spike’s own sent him into a tailspin.
They slid down the wall together, dizzy and gasping for air.
"Walls are very, very good things," Connor said, and it set Spike to laughing.
They lay with their eyes closed under the night. Spike was just starting to think that maybe Connor had passed out, when he mumbled, "So I guess you guys’ll be leaving town soon."
"Yep," Spike nodded. "Usually do, after I get a good feed in. Can draw the wrong kind of attention, sometimes. Be bad news if somebody saw us." He looked toward the darkened trees. "Somebody else, I mean."
Connor nodded. "Yeah. That’s what I figured." Spike didn’t ask how Connor seemed to know so much about Angel and his patterns. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
"If I don’t see you before you leave, give Angel a message for me. Tell him Wolfram & Hart won’t be a threat much longer."
Spike looked over at him. "You been using your superpowers to fight the big bad, have you?"
"With a lot of help. Angel knows all about it. He’ll know what I mean."
Spike frowned. "Nice to know he’s been sharing his burden with someone, at least," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"He didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you involved."
"Yeah, figured that." Spike’s face darkened.
"No, I mean," Connor shook his head. "He’s just trying to keep you safe."
Spike snorted. "Really don’t need his protection."
Connor smiled. "Neither do I. But I’m grateful for it, all the same." He hauled himself shakily to his feet. "Sometimes walls can be a good thing."
Connor dusted off his clothes, tucked in his shirt. Spike stayed sprawled on the ground, his dick still hanging out, and Connor laughed at him.
"You’re a sight."
Spike grinned. "Maybe dear ol’ Da will draw a picture of me. After he ties me up and tortures me for biting you."
Connor shook his head. "He won’t."
"Might. If he's in the right mood."
"He loves you, you dope." Connor said it with the same certainty as a child would say that the sky is blue.
Spike sat up, and looked the boy quizzically in the face. Connor rolled his eyes at him. "If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have warned me to stay away from you." He shoved his hands into his pockets. Looked at the ground. "He… doesn’t like me touching his stuff."
"Huh," Spike said. "Thought that was just me."
"Well, when did you ever listen?" Connor smiled at him, that thousand-watt smile again, and Spike smiled back.
"Take care of him," Connor said. He rapped his knuckles against the brick. "And thanks for the lesson."
He turned and walked away, and Spike watched him go, feeling like he’d been more student than teacher.
He lay back on the ground, his head pillowed against the sidewalk. The moon darkened as Angel loomed into view. "Go ahead, old man," he drawled. "Do your worst. ’M too drunk and far too satisfied to care."
Instead of kicking him in the ribs, or even gritting his teeth, Angel bent down and gathered Spike up in his arms. Then he kissed him, unlike any kiss they’d ever shared before. It was soft and tender and… almost sweet. Angel’s hands were gentle, and his tongue rummaged against Spike’s mouth, seeking out every last drop of Connor’s blood.
"My beautiful boy," Angel whispered, his hands cupping Spike’s face, and there was something like reverence in his voice.
Spike blushed, mightily. He didn’t even know it was possible, but there was definite blushing going on. He smiled, soft and shy, looking up at Angel from lowered lashes.
"Not exactly the reaction I was expecting," he grinned.
Angel’s eyes closed, and a pained look crossed his face. For a minute, Spike thought that maybe he regretted saying it. But then one corner of his mouth quirked up, and he slung an arm beneath Spike’s shoulders.
"You’ll forget all about it by tomorrow," he said, hauling Spike up.
"Oh, I’m not forgetting." Spike’s face glowed, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. He didn’t know what he’d done to merit such praise, but whatever it was, he was desperately pleased with himself. Like a boy who had been caught stealing a cookie, only to be rewarded with the whole jar.
His feet tripped as they began the march back to their motel. "In fact, I’m gonna keep reminding you every night and day from now on."
"Like you remembered to pass on the message Connor just gave you?"
Spike furrowed his brow. "Oh. Right. He said to tell you…"
"I heard what he said."
"Bit of good news, that. Be nice to settle down, finally. Can earn some decent dosh for a change. Won’t have to scrounge about for our meals."
"Won’t have to feed off humans anymore," Angel said, giving him a pointed look.
"Right." Spike nodded, determined to quit drinking. At least more successfully than he’d tried to quit smoking. "But I’m only gonna stop because it’s a nasty habit. Don’t want to hurt anyone. Not quitting ’cause you say so, or anything."
Angel smiled, a thousand-watt smile, like Spike hadn’t seen on his face in years. "Whatever you say."