The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy
The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild
Title: I Believe (1/1)
Author: Spikedluv
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Spoilers: Through end of BtVS season 6; through Ats season 4 ep 'Deep Down'
Summary: Angel saves Spike.
Notes: Angel is Spike's sire. Joss never should have screwed with that! **indicate emphasis.
Feedback: It's ALL about the feedback (and naked Spike)! Don't make me beg,it's not pretty.
E-mail: [email protected]
Site: The Seduction of Spike,
http://mitglied.lycos.de/dwawards/Spikedluv1.htm
Distribution: The Seduction of Spike, Soulmates, Shades of Gray, The BatPackArchives, and Shippers United. If anyone else wants it, please ask.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, just borrowing them for awhile. Everything belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, GrrArgh, the WB, UPN and whomever else they really belong to, although I wouldn't mind having a Spike of my own. Who would? 'I Believe' was written by Skip Ewing and Donni Kees, and is performed by Diamond Rio. The story is mine, though.
Thanks: Tammy, slash slut, favorite pet, and burgeoning beta!!
****************
I Believe
Written by: Skip Ewing and Donni Kees
Performed by: Diamond Rio
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you come back again
And it's like you haven't been
Gone a moment from my side
Like the tears were never cried
Like the hands of time are holding you and me
And with all my heart I'm sure
We're closer than we ever were
I don't have to hear or see
I've got all the proof I need
There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, oh I believe
That when you die your life goes on
It doesn't end here when you're gone
Every soul is filled with light
It never ends and if I'm right
Our love can even reach across eternity
I believe, oh I believe
Forever, you're a part of me
Forever, in the heart of me
And I'll hold you even longer if I can
Oh the people who don't see the most
Say that I believe in ghosts
And if that makes me crazy, then I am
'Cause I believe, oh I believe
There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, I believe
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you come back again
And I believe
****************
"What do you want?" Spike asked the ghost. He tried to snarl, but it came
out tremulous and weak.
Spike was crazy. He knew that. Didn't take a bloody genius to figure it out,
after all. He was living in the basement of the new high school; right over
the Hellmouth. Had been there for weeks now. Didn't know where he'd been
before that. He remembered Africa, and the demon, and the tests, and the
pain. But he didn't remember anything after that; until he woke up in the
basement. He thought he remembered winning, but now he wasn't so sure.
Yeah, he'd gotten the soul he'd gone after, but that had only served to
prove the old saying correct; be bloody careful what you wished for. He'd
gotten the soul for love. For the love of a Slayer. Proof right there that
he was crazy even before he'd gotten the soul. But at least he hadn't heard
voices in his head before he got the soul. Now he heard them almost all the
time; the voices of all of the people he had killed in the 128 years since
he'd been turned.
Alright, 126 years since he'd been turned and before he got the soddin'
chip. Still 365 days a year for 126 years. That was...a bloody lot of people
killed. Not his fault. He was a demon, they were food. Unfortunately, they
didn't see it that way. Demon, evil; killing people, bad. Yep, William was a
bad boy. Except, William had never been a bad boy. Ponce, yes; bad boy, no.
So why did the voices keep telling him that William was bad?
Ow, ow! It hurt to think things like that; to question the voices. Okay!
William was a bloody bad boy! And did he mention, the bleedin' soul burned?
Worse than holy water. Felt like it was going to burn a hole through his
chest and escape. Some days he wished it would. Between the voices in his
head and the burning, searing pain in his chest, he was sorry that he'd ever
heard of that soddin' demon in Africa.
Worse yet, the voices sometimes took shape. The Master, Darla, Drusilla, and
Angelus. They appeared to him, tormented him. They told him he wasn't a
proper demon; that he was tainted with humanity, with love. They laughed at
him over the soul. Laughed that he'd been moved to get one, for the Slayer
no less. Laughed as they laid their hands on his chest over his unbeating
heart, letting their touch burn into him like acid.
But Spike barely felt it. Nothing burned like the soul did. He withdrew into
himself when the ghosts materialized in his basement home; squatted in his
corner, and covered his head and plugged his ears. But nothing helped. The
harder he tried not to see them, not to hear them, the easier it was for
them to invade his senses.
"Spike," the ghost said, almost whispering his name. The ghost
sounded...confused. But that wasn't right. The voices were never confused,
just confusing.
"Go away," Spike said. It never worked, but he always tried it.
"Spike," the ghost said again, as it squatted beside him, and this time it
reached out to touch his arm. The arm that was curled protectively over his
head.
"No touching!" Spike said, shrinking back, keeping his face averted from the
ghost. Don't look, don't look, don't look, he chanted to himself, covering
his face with his hands.
"I've been looking for you," the ghost said.
"Been right here," Spike replied tartly, and then shriveled up, expecting
the burning touch to return.
"I didn't know..."
"You were just here!" Spike threw his arms away from his face and stared at
the demon. Angelus! He covered his head and shook. He should never have
looked. He should never have spoken. He should have ignored...
"Spike," the ghost said, interrupting his recriminations. "What happened?"
Spike laughed, but there was no humor in it, only bitterness. "You can't
fool me," he said, letting his eyes slide over to the ghost. "I know you're
not real. You're just in my bleedin' head. Every day. In my head. Until I
can't *think*!" He pulled at his hair until it was standing straight up.
When he looked up, the ghost was still there. "Go away!" he yelled, even
though he knew it would bring punishment; the burning touch.
"Let me help you," the ghost said sincerely, and Spike laughed again.
"Not gonna fall for that. Not again. Fell for it once. Learned my lesson.
William always learns his lessons. William...is...a...good...boy!" he
screamed.
"Yes," the ghost replied softly. "William is a good boy."
Spike looked up suspiciously. The voices never said that. Neither did the
ghosts. It must be a test. "You're testing me," he said slowly. He looked at
the ghost of his sire; stared into his eyes. "You know I don't test well.
The pressure. William tested well; I don't have the patience for it," he
explained.
"Not a test," the ghost insisted softly.
Spike was confused. The ghosts usually hurt him by now. Tore at his mind,
burned his flesh. "Who are you?" he asked pitifully.
"Spike, William, it's me..." The ghost reached out and cupped Spike's face.
He flinched away, but the touch didn't burn. The palm against his cheek was
cool.
Spike's eyes grew wide and his mind cleared. "Angel?" he asked
incredulously.
"Yes, Spike..."
Spike pulled away from Angel's touch and scrabbled backwards along the wall
to the safety of the other corner. "No, no, no," he chanted, over and over.
"Not really here. Messing with my head. Hates me. Not really here..."
"Spike." Angel stood and walked over to the corner where Spike was
struggling to meld with the walls, and then squatted down beside him again.
"It is really me. And I really do want to help you," he said.
"*You* can't be here." Spike turned his face towards Angel. "You don't have
a pass." He saw Angel hesitate, before drawing something out of his coat
pocket and holding it out to Spike. Spike flinched away.
"I do have a pass," Angel said.
Spike just stared at him in disbelief. No one ever had a pass, because no
one was allowed down here. He breathed in relief. Just a ghost after all.
Not really Angel. Not really the sire who abandoned him to Darla, left him
to take care of Dru, and one hundred years later, relinquished him to the
mercy of the Slayer. The ghost he could deal with.
"Sod off," he said, and waited for his punishment. If he made the ghosts
angry enough, they'd punish him, but then they'd leave. The mental torment
was always worse than the physical, and Spike just wanted it over.
"You need to get off of the Hellmouth, Spike," the ghost said.
"Sod off," Spike repeated, covering his ears.
The ghost sighed. "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you," it
said, and Spike laughed maniacally. He knew *that* wasn't true. It always
hurt him more. He waited for the burn, but it never came. Instead his head
flew back with the force of the blow to his jaw, and then all was dark and
there was no more pain.
***
Fuck! Angel shook his hand. That hurt. He looked down on his seemingly
insane childe, and wondered what had happened to him. He looked around the
squalid little room, and didn't see any possessions except a ratty old
blanket. He grabbed Spike by the arms, hauled him up off of the floor, and
threw the slight vampire over his shoulder.
Spike was skin and bone, weighed no more than a child, and Angel wondered
whether he'd been eating. He carried him out of the basement and down the
hallway to the side door he'd broken into. He deposited the unconscious
vampire in the front seat of his car and buckled him in, just in case, and
then walked around the car and slid behind the wheel.
He checked the sky to make sure they'd have enough time to get back to L.A.
before sunrise; it had taken him longer to find Spike than he'd thought it
would. He'd been frantic when he'd found another demon living in Spike's old
crypt, though the loose-skinned demon had insisted it was a friend of
Spike's and merely keeping an eye on the crypt for the blond vampire. And
even more frantic when the demon, Clem, had told him that Spike had left
Sunnydale months ago and hadn't been seen since.
But Angel knew that Spike had to be there. He'd been drawn to his childe,
and the draw had brought him to Sunnydale. He'd gone to Willy's Place and
threatened the sleazy barkeep into divulging the information that a crazy
hermit matching Spike's description was living in the basement of the new
school. Angel couldn't understand what Spike would be doing there, but
checked it out, threatening Willy's life if he was sending Angel on a wild
goose chase.
Spike had in fact been living in the basement. But not the Spike Angel
remembered. This Spike was insane, and Angel immediately thought of Dru.
When Spike saw him, he hadn't been surprised, but he had been afraid. Angel
had watched the disheveled vampire disappear into himself and curl up in an
attempt to make a smaller target. The signs of abuse were obvious to one who
had once reveled in disseminating it, and Angel felt his stomach roil.
William the Bloody, powerful master vampire, this was not.
Angel spared one more glance at Spike's drawn and angular features before
starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. The drive back to L.A.
was quiet, but not peaceful. His mind kept playing different scenarios of
what could have happened to Spike to bring him to this point. Not for the
first time, he wished he'd been able to get there sooner. Damn Holtz and
Justine! He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. And damn Connor. Their
machinations had kept him from helping Spike when he realized his childe
needed him.
He'd barely been in the water a week when the nightmares started. He saw
Spike fighting for his life, screaming in pain, and then darkness. And
always at the end of each nightmare was the mind-numbing fear. Fear for his
childe. He hadn't felt that emotion since Angelus had been souled and driven
out by Darla; forced to leave his childe behind and try to forget him, let
him get on with his unlife.
And the desperate need. The need to find Spike; to help him. The need of a
sire for his childe. It nearly drove Angel mad, in that coffin in the ocean,
to be unable to go to Spike; unable to care for him.
He looked at Spike again. The gaunt vampire needed to feed, that much was
obvious, but Angel had to get him off of the Hellmouth as soon as possible.
Why in hell was he living over the Hellmouth anyway? And they couldn't stop
now; the sun would be up soon. He'd make sure he was properly fed when they
reached the Hyperion. He sighed, and turned his attention back to the road.
When Wesley had pulled him out of his watery grave, Angel had thought the
nightmares would end. Thought that, perhaps they were brought on by the
sensory deprivation and starvation he'd been forced to endure. But that
hadn't been the case. After his confrontation with Connor, they had fed him
more blood, and he had gone to bed and fallen into a deep healing sleep; a
sleep that was disturbed by another dream of Spike.
When he woke from this, his final dream, Angel had felt the unmistakable and
undeniable pull of his childe. As soon as the sun had set, he left the hotel
and followed the pull to Sunnydale. And now he had Spike, or what was left
of the once-proud vampire, with him. Again, Angel wondered what could have
happened to break Spike's mind to this extent.
It was nearly time for the sun to rise when Angel parked the car outside the
Hyperion. He unbuckled Spike and carried him into the hotel, where Fred and
Gunn were waiting anxiously for him. He told them to heat up as many bags of
blood as they could and bring them to him, and then carried Spike up the
stairs to his bedroom. He laid the filthy vampire on the bed, and then stood
back and removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt.
When Fred appeared with a pitcher of blood and a mug, Angel took them from
her and placed them on the bedside table. Fred and Gunn stood in the
doorway, obviously worried. They had just gotten him back, after all. Angel
explained that he needed to feed Spike and that the vampire would probably
succumb to the same deep healing sleep that he had experienced the night and
day before, when they were finished. He assured them that he would be all
right; that he would be there in the evening when they returned, and sent
them home to get some rest.
With intense reluctance, the two humans closed the door and left Angel with
his childe. As soon as the sound of their heartbeats receded, Angel turned
to Spike. He kicked his shoes off, removed his shirt, and then poured a mug
of blood, drank it, then refilled the mug. He climbed onto the bed and sat
next to the still-unconscious vampire, with his back against the headboard.
Angel thought about trying to awaken Spike, but was concerned about his
reaction when he saw Angel. If Spike became afraid, it would be nearly
impossible to gain his trust enough to feed him, and the starving vampire
was in dire need of sire's blood. Angel lifted Spike and held him gently in
his arms. He drew his nail over his breast and watched at the blood welled
up from the gash.
He held Spike's head close to the wound, hoping the smell of the blood would
rouse him enough to feed. When it seemed that wasn't going to work, Angel
ran his finger through the blood and wiped it on Spike's lips. He dipped his
finger in the blood again, and slipped it into Spike's mouth. Spike's
reaction was instantaneous, and he began to suckle Angel's finger. Angel
withdrew his finger from Spike's mouth, and Spike automatically followed it.
Angel reopened the cut, and gently pressed Spike's lips to the wound. The
taste and scent of the blood finally roused the vampire enough to respond,
and he began to suckle at the wound, slowly at first, and then more deeply.
When Angel felt it was safe, he let go of Spike's head and reached for the
mug of blood, drank it, and carefully refilled it. He needed to keep up his
own strength as he fed his childe.
When the blood in the pitcher was gone, Angel disengaged Spike from his
breast. The blond vampire protested, and then immediately fell into a sated
slumber. Angel laid Spike back down on the bed and began to undress him, and
then drew a bath. He carried Spike into the bathroom and gently lowered him
into the warm water. Angel washed his hair and bathed him, noting the
longer, light brown hair, the prominent ribs, and the cuts and scratches
covering his chest. The younger vampire slept through the proceedings.
After he had been dried and dressed in a pair of sweats, Angel placed Spike
in the bed and covered him with blankets, and then stripped to shower. He
pulled on another pair of sweat pants and joined Spike in the bed. Reaching
for his childe and holding him close, he followed Spike into sleep.
***
Spike woke up that evening, fully rested. That's when he knew something was
wrong. He hadn't gotten a good day's sleep in...months. He catalogued his
surroundings without opening his eyes. Soft bed beneath him, warm blankets
over him, cool hard flesh behind him... Spike's eyes shot open.
He was no longer in his home in the basement. Unless they'd changed the
decor while he'd been sleeping. He sniffed the air and smelled blood. Pig's
blood. And sire's blood. With a small moan of terror, Spike rolled out of
the bed and hit the floor hard. He scurried into the corner and pressed
himself against the wall.
"Spike?" He heard his sire's voice. But it wasn't real. None of this was
real. He was in the basement. Alone. Except for the voices. He hit his head
with the heel of his hand. Where were the soddin' voices?
"Spike?" the ghost called his name softly, and Spike heard him shift on the
bed. "Spike, it's all right; you're safe here."
"Where am I?" Spike stopped hitting his head and asked suddenly.
"L.A.," the ghost replied.
That wasn't possible. It was another test. He couldn't fail again; it hurt
too much. "This isn't real," he said, trying to keep the tremors out of his
voice.
"It is real, Spike. You're in L.A., in my home, with me," the ghost
insisted, its voice gentle.
Ha! Dead give away, no pun intended. Neither Angel nor Angelus would treat
him this kindly. It was a trick. "I don't believe you," he said. "You're not
Angel. You're not even Angelus. They wouldn't come for me. They hate me," he
said triumphantly. "Everyone hates me. William is a bad, bad boy," he
finished, his voice breaking.
"That's not true," the ghost said, its voice much closer. Spike peeked under
his arm and saw the ghost sitting right in front of him, reaching for him.
"No!" he cried, trying to throw himself away from the burning touch. But the
ghost anticipated his move and grabbed him by the arm, and then wrapped both
arms around him. Spike thrashed in the ghost's grip.
"No, please, I was good," he pleaded, though he knew it would be to no
avail. Better to accept his punishment like a man. No, that wasn't right.
Like a demon. But that didn't sound right either. He wasn't a proper demon,
everyone told him so, and he couldn't be a man, despite the burning in his
chest. He was worthless.
He stopped struggling, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the
triumphant pleasure in the ghost's eyes when it placed its hand against his
chest. He waited, but there was no burning. He opened his eyes to see the
ghost staring down sadly at him.
"What are you waiting for?" he asked snarkily.
"I'm sorry," the ghost said sadly, and then pulled him close and held him
tight.
Okay, the ghost had never done that before. Another test? He'd have to tread
carefully. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Angel. Your sire, Childe," the ghost responded with a low grumble.
"Why am I here?" Spike asked, trying to control his trembling.
"Because you needed me," the ghost replied, its breath ruffling his hair.
Breath?
"Why'd you wait so long?" Spike asked, wondering how long the ghost would
let this go on.
"I'm so sorry, Spike," the ghost said. "I would have come sooner, but I
was...tied up."
"Ha!" Spike laughed bitterly. "Too busy for Spike," he said. "Gel hair, help
Spike. I think I'll gel my hair today," he muttered hysterically. The ghost
shook him.
"Stop it! That's not it. I meant literally, tied up. Knocked out, thrown in
a box, chained up, dumped in the ocean." The ghost punctuated his words with
more shakes. "I just got out yesterday...or the day before. I came as soon
as I could," the ghost insisted.
When the ghost stopped shaking him, Spike took a moment to study him.
Chocolate brown eyes glinting with anger and moist with unshed tears, full
lips drawn in a tight line, hard, naked chest... Spike had a sudden vague
memory of suckling at that chest. He reached up with a finger and poked at
it. Solid. Fuck!
He started struggling again and the ghost, caught by surprise, let him get
away. When he had placed some distance between them, he turned back to look
at the ghost - vampire - still kneeling on the floor.
"Angel?" he asked.
"Yes, Spike," Angel replied.
"What am I doing here?" he asked again, now that he knew this might be real.
"You needed me...," Angel repeated.
"Needed you before," Spike interrupted angrily. "Never came *then*."
Angel didn't reply to the accusation right away. "No," he finally said. "I
didn't. You reminded me of a past I wanted to forget."
Spike's face contorted in anger. "I don't need you," he spat. "There's no
need for you to look on some - thing - you'd rather forget about!"
"That's not..."
"Sod off!" Spike cried. "Just leave me alone!"
"If you want, you can leave when you're well," Angel said sadly.
"I'm not crazy," Spike insisted. Angel just raised an eyebrow.
"Be that as it may," he said, "I meant, once you've gotten your strength
back. You haven't been feeding properly."
Spike stared at the floor. "Oh," he said.
"I gave you my blood last night, er, this morning, but you probably won't
want to do that again. But you do need to heal, so I could get you some
human blood to..."
"No!" Spike yelled, and then looked up at Angel angrily. "You bastard!"
"What?" Angel asked, sounding confused.
"You buggered, soddin' pillock!" Spike screamed as he darted across the room
and attacked Angel. "Bloody," punch, "wankin'," punch, "Irish git!" Spike's
voice turned to a screech as Angel threw him off, and he flew through the
air.
"What are you doing?" Angel asked, rising to his feet, wiping the back of
his hand across his bleeding lip.
"You never told me it would *burn*!" Spike cried, scratching at his chest.
"You should have told me!"
"What the...? Stop that!" Angel grabbed Spike's wrists. He lowered himself
beside Spike and pressed his wrists against the floor. "What are you doing?"
he asked again.
"Trying to get it out!" Spike cried. "It burns. The bleedin' spark...burns,"
he moaned. "I wanted her to love me," he said, staring at the ceiling. "But
I was a monster. Without the spark. I needed the spark to be a man. A man
she could love. Like you. But you didn't tell me it would *burn*!" Spike
started to struggle again.
Angel let go of Spike's wrists, sat up, and pulled the other vampire into
his arms, rocking him like a baby. "Shh," he said. "It's all right."
"Not...not all right. Hurts all the time. Burns. And the voices. Will it
always hurt this much? How do you stand it? Need it out," Spike rambled,
even as he curled into his sire's arms. "Help me get it out," he begged.
"Get what out, Spike?" Angel asked.
"The *spark*!" Spike replied impatiently. "You've got it." He placed his
hand on Angel's chest. "You know. Now I've got it." He moved his hand to his
own chest. "But I don't want it anymore. Burns. Didn't know it would burn.
And the voices never *shut up*!" he cried, and covered his ears. "William's
bad, William's bad," he chanted softly.
***
"Spark?" Angel repeated stupidly as realization hit. Spike had a soul. He
didn't know how, other than Spike's garbled explanation, but somehow, Spike
had regained his soul. And it burned. Angel remembered how much the damned
soul had burned. And he remembered the voices.
He held Spike tighter. "Shh," he whispered as he rocked him. "It's all
right, I've got you." He covered Spike's lips with his finger when his
childe opened them to speak. "It will be all right. I'm here, and I will
help you." Spike quieted and let Angel hold him.
The bedroom door was pushed open slowly, and Fred peeked her head in. "Sorry
to bother you," she said. "Everything all right?"
Angel almost laughed at her wording. "We're fine," he assured her.
"Everything will be fine. Do we have any more blood?" he asked. "I want to
feed Spike again."
"Not a bleedin' child," Spike muttered.
"We picked some up on the way over," Fred said, ignoring the younger
vampire. "Can I just..." She indicated the empty pitcher and mug.
"Yes, thank you," Angel said. As she skirted them to get the items off of
the bedside table, Angel lowered his head to Spike's ear and whispered,
"You're *my* childe."
Spike snorted, but Angel let it go. After Fred left the room to heat the
blood, Angel shifted. "Perhaps we'd be more comfortable on the bed," he
suggested.
Spike raised his eyebrows expressively, but didn't say anything.
"You really are a pain in the ass," Angel said, pushing Spike off of him so
he could stand. He pulled a compliant Spike to his feet and led the way to
the bed. Angel sat against the headboard as he had that morning. Spike
stared at the bed, and Angel could see him weighing his options, and then he
sat down on the edge of the bed.
A minute later, he slid back and sat beside Angel. Angel watched in silence
as Spike fidgeted, his fingers pulling at the sweat pants, snapping, rubbing
together, and then Spike turned suddenly and laid his head on Angel's
shoulder. Angel put his arm around Spike's back, and the younger vampire
slid down and cuddled up against him.
"What's wrong?" Angel asked softly.
"The voices aren't so loud this way," Spike admitted. They stayed that way
until Fred reappeared with the refilled pitcher and a clean mug. She placed
the pitcher and mug on the bedside table, and then looked at Spike.
"What?" Angel asked.
"He looks like a lost puppy," Fred said.
Spike growled.
"Hmm, sounds like a puppy, too," she said with a smile. "Everything really
okay?"
"It will be," Angel said. "Thanks, Fred."
"Welcome," she said. "Charles and I will just be...downstairs."
"Okay," Angel said, and watched her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.
"Who was that?" Spike asked, as Angel poured some blood into the mug.
"Fred," Angel replied.
"No kidding," Spike responded dryly.
Angel grinned. "Being off of the Hellmouth seems to agree with you. She and
Gunn work for me. Well, for Angel Investigations," Angel explained, and then
drained the mug.
"Hey!" Spike watched in disbelief as Angel drank the blood. "Thought you
were feeding me?"
"I am," Angel said, as he refilled the mug, and then turned to Spike. "Neck
or breast?" he asked.
"Huh or what?" Spike asked, blue eyes wide.
"Neck or breast," Angel repeated. "You drank from my breast this morning,"
he said, softly running his finger over the spot Spike had suckled at. He
saw when realization dawned in Spike's eyes.
"Oh, uh, I guess I, mmm..."
Angel didn't wait for Spike to decide. He slit the skin over his breast and
watched as the blood welled up. Spike stared at it, hypnotized, and then
struck like a snake. Angel moaned as Spike's tongue worked the wound open,
and then groaned as he suckled at it, drawing the blood from Angel's body.
Angel reached out blindly for the mug, and almost knocked it over before
getting his fingers around it and bringing it to his mouth. He drained the
mug quickly, and then replaced it on the bedside table. He slid down on the
bed and pulled Spike on top of him, his hands caressing the smaller
vampire's back.
The touch of Spike's lips, and tongue, and teeth working at the wound on his
breast, and the feel of the blood being pulled out of his body as Spike
suckled, were arousing to Angel. Last night, he had been too worried about
Spike to feel any arousal from the nearly comatose vampire's suckling at his
breast; but tonight everything felt different, charged.
He grew hard as Spike held onto him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on
his waist, and moved his slim hips against Angel's thigh as he suckled
ravenously. Angel knew that the taste of sire's blood would be stimulating
to Spike as well. He grabbed Spike's hips and moved his own hips, trying to
find friction against the other vampire.
He fought down the urge to remove Spike from his breast and align their
erections, knowing that his childe needed to feed; needed sire's blood more
than he needed release. He placed his hand in Spike's hair, and pressed his
head more firmly against his chest. Angel felt himself getting weak from
loss of blood, and reached for the pitcher of pig's blood. Instead of trying
to pour it into the mug, he drank straight from the pitcher.
When the pitcher was empty, he fumbled to replace it on the bedside table,
and then ran his hand over Spike's back, enjoying the feel of his childe
beneath his hand. Spike started making animalistic noises in his throat, and
Angel knew he was near climax. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband
of the sweats covering Spike, and reached in as far as he could to touch the
top curve of Spike's buttock.
With a growl, Spike released his hold on Angel's breast and arched his back.
His erection pressed painfully into Angel's thigh, and he could feel the
pulsing of that hard flesh as Spike came. Spike fell back down onto Angel
and darted his tongue out to languorously lap at the seeping wound.
"Enough." Angel gently batted Spike's head, and the younger vampire pouted.
"Needs cleaning," he insisted, and proceeded to lick the blood off of
Angel's chest until the wound was closed and no longer bleeding.
"Impertinent childe," Angel muttered, allowing Spike to lick him clean.
When he was done, Spike curled up against Angel, and his leg brushed Angel's
erection. Spike looked up at him in surprise. "You didn't...?"
"No," Angel replied, gritting his teeth. The touch of Spike's knee against
him had sent a surge of blood to his slowly-deflating erection, strongly
reminding him of its presence.
Spike buried his face in Angel's chest. "I could..."
"No!" Angel said, and then realized the mistake he had made when he felt
Spike draw back into himself. "I didn't mean it like that," Angel soothed.
"You need to rest, Spike. I'll be fine." Spike didn't react. "Talk to me,
Childe," he commanded.
Spike stirred against him. "You could bite me," he offered.
"You need all the blood you have," Angel said. "I can wait. I want you to be
well. I need you to be well, Spike. The fact that you have accepted my blood
and offered me your blood means more to me than you will ever know." Angel
cupped Spike's face and tilted his head so that he was looking at him.
Spike looked into his eyes, and Angel felt as if he were completely exposed
to the younger vampire; as if he could see into his very soul. And maybe he
could.
"Sire," Spike breathed, and then shimmied up Angel's body until his face was
buried in Angel's neck. "Sire." He nuzzled Angel's neck, licking and sucking
the soft skin into his mouth, worrying it with blunt teeth.
Angel groaned as Spike's touch sent little jolts of electricity to his
groin. He grabbed Spike's hips to push him away, but the younger vampire was
gently moving against him, rubbing their groins together, and Angel no
longer had the strength of will to stop him. Spike lifted his head and
placed his neck near Angel's mouth.
"Sire," he moaned. "Please...," he begged, and Angel realized that this
offer was as much for Spike as it was for him. Spike had tasted sire's
blood, and now needed to have his sire claim him, to complete the bond.
Angel sniffed at Spike's neck, scenting the blood flowing just below the
surface of his skin, smelling the scent that was purely Spike.
His face changed, and his fangs elongated. Spike looked up at him, blue eyes
gazing into amber, and moaned again. "Sire..."
Angel held Spike's head, sank his fangs into the soft skin of his neck, and
then sucked, drawing the younger vampire's blood out of his vein and into
his mouth. It had been so long since he drank from his childe, and Angel was
quickly undone by the taste of the blood, the feel of the renewed
sire-childe bond.
He bucked his hips, pressing his erection into Spike, and felt the other
vampire's hardness pressing back against him. Spike growled, and dug his
nails into Angel's chest. The scent of his own blood combined with the taste
and feel of Spike, over him and in him, was too much. Angel withdrew his
fangs from Spike's neck and roared his release as he came.
Spike growled softly in Angel's ear as he followed him over the edge, and
then slumped against him. Angel pulled Spike down so he could cradle him in
his arms, and pressed his face to Spike's hair. He grinned to himself as he
heard a rumbling in Spike's chest. Not so much a puppy, he thought, as a big
cat. A leopard, perhaps.
"Why?" Spike asked. "Why did you come?"
"I had a dream," Angel replied. "Nightmare, really. Every time I closed my
eyes, for months. I saw you fighting, and then you screamed, and then
everything was black, and I felt fear. My fear for you. I needed to find
you. To make sure you were all right."
"Not all right. Never all right again," Spike said softly, burrowing against
Angel.
"No, you will be all right, Spike," Angel insisted. "I'll make sure of it. I
am sorry," he whispered. "That I wasn't there for you. Not just for the
soul," he said, placing his hand over the scratches on his childe's chest,
"but for everything. I shouldn't have left you. I'll never hurt you again,
Spike," he said, as he ran his fingers through Spike's hair, "not like this.
And I'll never let *anyone* hurt you, if I can help it. Please believe me,
Childe."
"I do believe you, Angel. Sire," Spike replied, his voice faint with
exhaustion, as he drifted into sleep. "I believe..."
The End
~Mel~
*******************
Naked Chocolate Kahlua Spike for everyone (over 21)!
Feedback 'ho - please feed my demon.
The Seduction of Spike
http://mitglied.lycos.de/dwawards/Spikedluv1.htm
Well, then everything's all right. And we all get to be not staked through
the heart. Good work, team.
~Spike, 'Primeval'
Methos: So lure him outside and take his head. Problem solved.
Duncan: You know, I never know when you're kidding.
Methos: Part of my charm.
~'Through a Glass Darkly'