Demons
Spike's sore. He's got a split lip, his cheek is swollen, and his body feels like it's been through a made to order vampire mauler. He blames this on Angel, ignoring his own part in what happened. He blames most everything wrong with his existence on Angel, so this is nothing new.
Angel's walking onto the elevator, but he stops when he sees Spike coming up on him.
Spike catches up and leans against the wall. "So this Shanshu prophecy thing ..." he says nonchalantly. "You get your past washed clean?"
"And turn mortal. Yes." Angel looks annoyed and gives him that 'So what's your point?' look.
"Sounds bloody well impossible, mate."
"Being human?" Angel says. "Not so much."
"Not the human bit. Hell, you could find one of those ... ah ... what do you call 'em, Moreah demons, if you want to just do that."
Angel frowns. "That's Mohra. Not that easy to find. And how'd you hear about them?"
Spike shrugs and pulls out his pack of smokes. "Hang about with those ever researchin' Scoobies and you learn a few bits and pieces. You ever try to find a skin mag for a little light reading in the Watcher's house? Impossible. It's all Complete Demon Anthology this, and Magic Codex that."
Angel sighs, looking fed up. "Did you have an actual point, Spike? And there's no smoking in here."
"What? Oh, right." Spike lights up. "The washed clean bit -- it's shit. Impossible. You can't have your past washed clean, mate. It's right here in front of you."
Angel looks Spike up and down. "You?"
"Yeah, me. And Dru. Penn -- you ever hear from that one?" Spike asks, then shrugs. "Bit on the barmy side, if you ask me."
"Dust."
"Oh, sorry to hear that ... oh, wait, did you do it? What, first Darla, then Penn?" Spike looks slightly disgusted. "Where's your sense of family, Angelus?"
"This coming from the same person who ran me through with rebar?"
Spike smiles. "Aw, what's a spot of torture between us? 's not like I didn't owe you." He throws his cigarette down and grinds it into the carpeting with the heel of his boot.
Angel rolls his eyes. "Are you actually going to say what you need and then, you know, leave? I'm not getting any younger here."
"Yeah," Spike snorts. "Not getting any older either though, are you? So why the hell would you want to be human, anyway?"
Angel's quiet. "Just go, Spike."
"No, really, call me curious."
"Spike, I just don't get you. You don't believe in your past being wiped clean, you don't want to be human, why the hell would you want the Shanshu prophecy to be about you? Why would you willingly drink from a supposed 'cup of eternal torment' to get it?"
"Maybe I wanted to feel special," Spike says, with an almost pout.
Angel grabs him around the neck and has him pinned against the wall in seconds. "Maybe you just wanted to feel special?" he asks incredulously. "You'd take this from me, the only thing I've had to hold on to for years, the only ..." He cuts himself off and just glares.
Spike grins between making little choking noises. "Fffsku."
Angel relaxes his hold just a bit. "What?"
"I ... said ... fuck you," Spike says, smirking.
Angel gets a hard glint in his eye. "I don't think so, boy." His smile is cruel.
Spike just grins wider. "Fuck. You." He's taunting Angel, trying to goad him into doing something more. It's an old game, and they both know the rules.
Angel grabs Spike by the upper arms and pins him higher on the wall. Spike nearly crows when he sees Angel, game faced and pissed off, lunging for his throat.
There's sharp cold heat in his neck then, and he feels himself falling down, drifting off into some sort of chasm where there is just Angel and him and blackness. He struggles a little when he feels the weakness, knows that Angel's taking too much, but Angel holds him closer, tighter, and he can't get free, and then there is just the dark.
When Spike wakes, his first thought is that his clothes have buggered off somewhere, and the second is that he's been chained. Not to a bed, either, like a civilized vampire would do, but to the floor (in a big cage, looks like) and Angel's nowhere to be seen.
Spike's knees scuff against the concrete floor as he stands, and the thick chains clank dully. He yanks his arms, testing the chains, and all he gets for his trouble are bloody wrists from the heavy iron cuffs.
"Hey! Angel!" he calls. "Not really into these kinds of games anymore, mate!"
Spike's always been a liar. What he doesn't like, though, is the fact that he's alone here. He almost sighs in relief when he sees Angel coming down the stairs. "So. You've got me. What's on the agenda tonight?"
Ignoring his question, Angel fixes him with a hard gaze through the bars of the cage. "You wanted to know why I'd like to be human."
Spike raises his eyebrows. "Oh, 's that what this is? We're having a conversation? I thought you'd chained me, starkers in a cage, for some other reason."
"I always liked the way you looked in chains." Angel's voice is as smooth as silk.
Spike's wary. "'s that right?"
"You're bleeding. I can smell it. Is it from your wrists?" He comes closer to the cage and takes out a key ring.
"What the bloody hell are you playing at, Angelus?"
Angel unlocks the door to the cage and steps inside. "You really don't want to be human, Spike?" He comes closer and grabs Spike's forearm, bringing his cuffed hand in front of his face. Examines the blood on Spike's wrist.
Jerking his hand away with a clank of chains, Spike sneers. "'s healed already, Sire."
"Just another vamp perk, right, boy?" He steps closer and sniffs Spike's neck, where it feels like the bite's healing too.
Spike tries to step back. "What are you doin'?" The wariness is back in his voice.
In a sudden burst of violence, Angel throws Spike to the floor. "I'm making a point," he says calmly.
Spike scrambles and tries to get up, but he's still weak from the blood loss, and when Angel kicks him in the ribs he falls back down, glaring but remaining still.
Angel crouches down and runs a hand across Spike's hip. "I used to love your skin, you know. So white and smooth. No matter how much I cut it, or lashed it, or bit or bruised or broke it, it always healed right back to this," he says conversationally.
Spike rolls onto his back and looks up at him unflinchingly. "Really."
Angel smiles slowly at the sight of Spike's erection, then licks his lips as he looks Spike up and down. "The thing is, Spike ... no matter what I do ... no matter how many lives I save, or good deeds that I do ... I'll always have this demon inside of me." He reaches into his back pocket and brings out a knife. Opens it, holds the blade flat against Spike's chest. "I still love your skin."
Spike rolls his eyes and knocks Angel's hand away. "Cut the drama and just fuck me, Angel. 's all this is about anyway."
Angel looks surprised for a minute, then his face falls. "I thought the knife added style," he says glumly.
Spike grins. "Don't pout. The knife was a nice touch. Now drop your trousers and get to buggerin' me."
"You know I had a whole speech," Angel says, unzipping his fly.
"You had me at hello," Spike says, his eyes darkening as he watches Angel step out of his slacks.
Angel looks puzzled as he tosses his shirt aside. "When did I say hello?"
Spike just grins. "C'mere, you tosser."
Angel's hands slide over Spike's skin roughly. "Can I at least tell you what my main point was?"
Pushing up into the touch, Spike laughs. "Did you plot it out on index cards?" he asks, then groans when Angel's hand slips around his cock.
"Stop taunting me, boy," Angel says, leaning down to bite Spike's nipple.
Spike arches up and hisses. "'s fun this way."
Angel doesn't waste time, just licks his fingers and stretches Spike out, hard enough to do the job, slow enough to make Spike push forward and try to ride his fingers. "Roll over," he says shortly, and Spike turns over onto his hands and knees.
"Always like it when you're efficient," Spike mumbles, then gasps when Angel pushes in, hard and thick and spit-slick.
"Always like it when you're ... ungh ... on your knees," Angel grunts out.
Spike grins to himself and pushes back on Angel's cock, coaxing him in further and harder. "C'mon, you poof, show me that you still got it in you."
"I've got it in you," Angel growls, and thrusts harder, making Spike's knees skid across the hard floor.
"Fuck, yeah, like that," Spike says. He plants his hands down harder, rocking back to meet every thrust.
Angel wraps an arm around Spike's waist and fucks him harder, making Spike howl and cry out and beg for more. Angel's fingers wrap around Spike's cock and stroke him roughly, until Spike is making sobbing, pleading noises. Still all Angel does is fuck him harder.
"Come," Angel says, but Spike's already there, spilling over Angel's hand and clenching around him.
Growling and gasping, Angel comes inside Spike, pulling him closer as he does and scraping teeth over his shoulder.
Spike must have fallen asleep then, because when he wakes he's alone. The door to the cage is open, the manacles removed from his wrists, and his clothes are in a neat pile on the floor. When he dresses and wanders upstairs, he finds a fridge well stocked with blood and a microwave.
"Handy, that," he mumbles to himself. The sun won't rise for hours, so after he eats he leaves the building -- the Hyperion Hotel, he reads out front -- and makes his way back to Wolfram and Hart.
He's about to go find Angel when he thinks better of it and sits down on one of the couches in the lobby. He feels a little less antsy, and bothering his grandsire doesn't tickle his fancy. He props his boots up on a table and closes his eyes, thinking he'll get a little rest before the firm gets busy.
"Never did tell me his point," Spike murmurs, right before he drifts off.