Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

Our Gay Apparel
By Forget Yesterday
For Lamia Archer

With a final moan, a final thrust, Spike collapsed onto Angel's back. He just lay there for a moment - feet on the floor, upper body resting on Angel's, who, in turn, was half-on, half-off the desk. Spike scraped blunt human teeth along the back of Angel's neck.

"Well," he mumbled, hands still busy with Angel's unmentionables. "That didn't exactly suck."

Angel rumbled a deep "Mmm."

Spike continued stroking Angel rhythmically, steadily, until he felt every muscle in Angel's broad back and shoulders tense as his head went back. The muscles released and Angel let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Spike pulled none-too-gently out of him, and, after smacking his bottom lightly, set about searching for his pants.

As always... Angel didn't have words. He stood, wobbly-kneed, and pulled his pants up, watching Spike pull his own pant legs right-side-out. It struck him as odd, however, that Spike, this time, didn't have words. That's all Spike usually had - sarcasm, insults.., but always, always words.

It was always like this; secret, quick, mindblowing. Angel struggled to take it only for what it was, and not what it should - could - be. There was no love - only an understanding. Spike could give him, Angel, what he craved, and without the deadly aftereffects. This wasn't perfect happiness, no. But it satisfied the urge and kept Angel and everyone around him safe.

In return... well, that needn't even be said. Spike, too, got what he craved. This was enough.

So as Angel tugged on his shirt, he watched Spike do up his boots. Watched how his hands worked quickly through the laces.

Then, without warning or knocking, Angel's office door flew open. Now, understand, this wasn't the worst possible time for this to happen. But it was certainly on the compromising side. Angel pulled his shirt the rest of the way down.

Harmony stared, one eyebrow raised, from Angel to Spike and back again. Spike, who's back had been to the door, started to say something to Angel - something which, if he'd been allowed to finish his sentence, could quite probably have been disastrous.

As it was, Angel cleared his throat loudly and said: "Hello, Harmony..."

Spike straightened inhumanly fast, and stood, arms crossed over his chest. "Who told you to come in? Very, er, very important meeting goin' on in here." He ignored the desperate look in Angel's eyes that said Just stop while you're ahead... PLEASE...

"You know... with the... fighting of baddies, and the..." He stopped and glared indignantly. "You know what? I don't bloody well have to explain myself to you." With, admittedly, a bit of a flourish, Spike stormed out of the room, leaving Harmony to disguise a smirk.

"Well, boss?"

Angel realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. Then opened it as if to speak. Then closed it again. "He, uh..." Angel shook his head. "Doesn't anyone here knock?"

"I did. About four times. Guess you were too, um... down-to-business to hear it?"

" Oh." A long pause. "That was not what it looked like, you know..."

"Yeah, yeah. Relax. It's not like I'm going to run around telling EVERYONE that the boss and the ex-ghost are getting into hissy fights again. Well, maybe Maureen, she'd find it funny."

Angel breathed a sigh of relief. Harmony being oblivious was one of the few things he could count on. Which, in this case, was a very good thing.


Harmony rolled her eyes "Mr. Gunn's secretary?"

"Oh... right. Okay. So... why are you here?" Angel sat in his comfy-chair and began adjusting some papers in an attempt to look both busy and important.

"Oh. That. Um..." Harmony twiddled with her hair. "Oh. Yeah. Lorne wants to talk to you about the company Christmas party. Seems there's been some confusion about the human sacrifices."

Angel dropped his papers. "The what?"

"You know... ritual sacrifices? What, now you're intolerant of different people's ways of celebrating?"

"Well, no, I just... actually, yes. I guess I am a little intolerant of the slaughter of innocents."

"Oh, silly, we're not THAT old-fashioned at Wolfram and Hart. We use criminals. You know, death row. That way, we're catering to the needs of all our clients, as well as doing our part to keep the American economy afloat." Harmony said, beaming.

Angel frowned. He shook his head. "I'll talk to Lorne. Is that everything?"

"Sure is, boss!"

"Ok then... you can... go."


"And... stop hanging out with Eve... you're picking up her speech patterns."


Picture, if you will. Lorne - without the benefit of having his sleep removed - on six separate lines, and three telephones at once. On hold on two of them. Angel was off somewhere, probably moping, Spike was off somewhere, probably causing trouble, Gunn was off on a big court case, Wes was with the books, and Fred was somewhere doing metaphorical science experiments with Knox.

Lorne moaned. One of his on-holds had just hung up on him. "No, wait, come back! I - what, no, not you, ma'am. If you'll continue to hold, sir... yes, ma'am. No, I don't think we need your daughter for the sacrifices... yes, no, I do, I understand... well, you know teenagers... but maybe if you just talked to her more... yes, sir, we'll make sure to have low-fat yak intestines... ma'am, I'm not a counselor. I - RUDE. No, sir, not you... I'm sorry, can you hold? Hello, Wolfram and Hart entertainment division, how can I - yes, I'm arranging that right now. Oh, I'm sure we'll find some time for that. Oh, the boss just loves to sing karaoke. He's wonderful. I'm sure you'll... why though? Oh... I see. I am too, as a matter of..."

There was a bright flash outside of his office window - the one that looked out into the hall. Lorne's eyes were drawn in that direction, and his jaw dropped. "Sorry, ma'am, sir, I've got to go... uh-huh... I'll get back to you. Very urgent." He hung up the phone and ran to his office door.


Spike's panic had subsided. After all... who cared, really, if Harmony suspected something? She'd had enough... evidence of his masculinity, so to speak, before. He doubted she'd be able to get her head around anything more complex than straight-or-gay, and so would probably shrug, assume error on her part, and assume the former.

Besides, he thought to himself as he strolled with widening steps down the corridor, it was worth a little humiliation for the best shag he'd had in a very long time.

Absently, he hummed a few notes of some Christmas song that had been playing in the foyer. He passed by Lorne's office, and, glancing in, smirked at the flamboyantly-dressed demon and his efforts at handling six phonecalls at once. Lorne looked up and met his eyes, and his jaw dropped. Spike cocked an eyebrow and kept walking.

Then he realized that he'd been humming.

Oh, no bloody way...

Lorne burst out of his office. "Spike!"

Cue panic. Spike walked more quickly, but Lorne grabbed his arm. "You. In my office. Now."

Oh, balls...

"Sorry, mate, busy... got people to do, things to see. Er, I mean. OW! Easy on!" Lorne dragged him into his office and closed the door. Spike glared. "What?"

"Would you mind humming a few bars for me?"

"Actually yes, I would mind... and why?"

"Well, when you walked by just now... there was something bizarre in your aura."

"Yeah, well, I've always been a little above average aura-wise, so.."

"Spike, honeycake, I'm not gonna judge you, here. But something huge is going through your aura, and it's my job to know what it is."

Spike tugged his arm away. "Ah, well. You've got me. I'm having mad monkey sex with Angel." He rolled his eyes. "Can I go now?"

Lorne sighed. "That's not funny." He paused. "Well, actually, it sort of is... but that's not the point. What's going on, Spike?"

"Nothing's bloody going on. And even if there was... you're Mr. Hocus-Pocus aura guy... why don't you tell me?"

"Because all I saw was a flash of something. It takes more than two bars of Jingle Bells to read someone's aura."

"Aw. Tough luck, yeah? Look, I've got to go, and I'm sure you're real busy with the whole Christmas bash bit, so..."

At this precise and inopportune moment, Angel chose to stick his head in the door. "Lorne? You called? This had better be important, because quite frankly -" Angel saw Spike. Both their eyes met and then dropped. Angel looked back at Lorne and tried to fumble through the rest of the sentence, but Lorne's jaw had dropped again. He stared from Angel to Spike and back again.

"Angel, cupcake, how's about singing a verse or two of Manilow? You know, as a favour. Reading auras and all... it's calming and, by the way, let me tell you about stress..."

While Lorne was talking, Angel had met Spike's eyes, which were wide with something akin to panic. Spike shook his head silently and Angel nodded.

"Wait... you're actually asking me to sing? Wow, you have been working to hard. You know, how about this. You go lay down for a while, I'll go find someone else to handle the whole sacrifice thing. We'll just get this all sorted out, and..."

Lorne glared. "I don't know what everyone's up to, but I'm not letting you pin it on me. If anyone here needs a break, it's you. Or," he motioned towards Spike "Mr. Day-Glo here." He indignantly straightened his collar. "Fine. Keep your secret. But I'm only trying to help. And if someone explodes or something, don't say I didn't warn you."

Angel shrugged. "Ok."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine by me." He muttered under his breath: "Wanker."

As Lorne stormed out of his own office, Angel moved closer to Spike and slipped an arm around his waist. He pulled him close and kissed him. As he pulled out of the kiss, he said "What do you suppose that was about?"

"Mm. Beats me."

Lorne's fading footsteps suddenly got louder again, and they leapt apart just moments before he walked back in the door. "What am I doing, storming out of my own office? You two." He motioned to the door. "Out."


So, there they all were - the night of December 24th, crammed into Lorne's office; Angel, Fred, Gunn, Spike, Wesley, Harmony, and a couple of miscellaneous peons. Lorne had them essentially lined up against the wall, as he walked up and down the row, like a drill sergeant, drilling into their heads what had to be done.

"Now, I'm not about to let a repeat of the Halloween fiasco happen, understood? We each have jobs, and I expect everyone to do their part. Harm, I want you and Fred greeting at the door. Schmooze, chatter, flatter, whatever you need to do to make everyone feel welcome. Oh, and you're wearing these." He produced from a drawer two Santa hats. Harmony cheerfully took hers, but Fred stared at her hat doubtfully.

"You're sure it's not too... picture-with-Santa for the evil demon crowd?"

"Don't worry, Fred, sweety, I've got it all worked out. Oh, and then there's the mistletoe. It's obviously hung over the door. And no refusing kisses, girls - bad business."

Fred and Harmony both managed to look as if they were going to be sick. "Now, none of that, you two. Smiles!"

The both force-grinned, though Fred muttered through her teeth: "Kiss Nazi."

"That's my girl, Fred. Now... Gunn. We just want you to mingle. Chat up all the prospective clients. Dazzle them with your rapier wit et cetera. Wes... try not to dance too much."

Wesley looked up and glared under his eyebrows. "What do you mean by that?"

Lorne grinned. "Nothing. Angel... oh. Yeah." Lorne looked vaguely nervous. "Well, sugar, I've got a bit of a favour to ask you..."


"Well... we've got this old client... really really good for business... but, see, he was telling me..." Lorne sighed. There was no getting around this. "Angel, he wants you to sing karaoke."

Angel choked on nothing in particular. "What?"

Lorne cringed. "That's what I said. But he's this eccentric old guy... and really, he puts a lot into the company, and... apparently the head honcho at Wolfram and Hart always sings karaoke. It's part of his contract with us."

Gunn was making a very odd face. "So... what, this guy's got like a karaoke fetish?"

"Something like that. Please, Angel?"

Angel's face was dangerously blank. "And this is in no way an elaborate scheme to figure out... what we were discussing before?"

Lorne looked offended. "Oh, come on, sweety, would I sink that low?"

Spiked piped up: "Yes."

Lorne shook his head. "NO. It really isn't. Please, Angel?"

"What, and lose any respect these people may or may not have for me?"

"If it makes you feel better, the last guy was worse..."

"I hate you."

"Thanks, Angel."

Angel didn't say anything, but made a mental note to look into that particular tradition after the party.

"Well, folks, that about wraps it up. Now let's get out there and enjoy the Christmas spirit!"

The mood of the assembled crowd was decidedly un-joyous.

As they filed out, Spike taking up the back, Spike stopped. "What about those human sacrifices?"

Angel stared back at Lorne. "I thought we were putting an end to that particular tradition?"

"Oh! Yeah. That's you, Spike. I've managed to soften a few people up on the subject - managed to get it changed to the sacrifice of live reindeer. Spike, you're in charge of making sure that goes smoothly."

"Great." Spike looked as if he might kill someone himself - possibly Lorne.


So far, so good. The music was blasting - variations on every Christmas carol there was, in about twelve different demonic languages thus far. Spike was, unfortunately, in a back room, reindeer-sitting. There was a knock on the door. "Come on in. Welcome to shithole central. How may we help you?"

The door opened and light, along with loud music, flooded in. There in the doorway, was Angel. "Oh, it's Peaches." Closing the door behind him, Angel didn't miss a bit. "Don't call me that."

"Sure, Peaches."

Angel sighed, and glanced at the assorted reindeer - all of them frozen still by some spell or another. "They're not going anywhere. Why don't you come out?"

"Nah. It's pretty easy to wake 'em up anyway. Spell breaks if you say "M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S. I'd better stay here."

"Ah." Angel tried to glance nonchalantly about. "This, ah... this door lock?"

"Only from the inside."

"Oh, good." He turned the handle and crossed the room to where Spike leaned against the wall. He put one hand against the wall, and one around Spike's waist, and kissed him. Spike responded instantly, returning the kiss fiercely - not simply in acknowldgement of the kiss, or automatic response - but kissed Angel back, insistently and urgently. Angel moved his body closer, predatorily, pinning Spike against the wall. His hips pressed hard against Spike's. He pulled out of the kiss slowly, Spike's lower lip between his teeth. He drew a small amount of blood, and licked it off Spike's lip tenderly.

Spike grinned as he leaned his head around to kiss the side of Angel's neck. "I bet it's not half this fun out there."

Angel kissed the top of Spike's head, burying his nose in the blond hair and breathing in Spike's scent - cigarette smoke and leather. And...


Spike's hands were working their way under the back of Angel's pants. "I helped with the tree, OK?"


Angel quickly worked Spike's pants down off of his hips and, after a final hard kiss on the lips, crouched down to place his lips elsewhere. Spike closed his eyes and pretended it was something more than what it was. Something more than another body, something more than sexual frustration needing an outlet... he let himself, for a moment, pretend Angel loved him. He allowed himself this one, momentary, delusion - after all, it was Christmas.

Spike moaned. "This is new..."

Angel stopped what he was doing long enough to say "Think of it as a sort of merry Christmas."

Spike grinned again. "Sound good to-" his eyes opened suddenly. "Oh, bugger. Angel!"

The reindeer had unfrozen.


Wes's steady, angsty consumption of rum-o-licious eggnog was fairly suddenly cut off by a tap to the shoulder from Lorne. "You seen Angel anywhere?"

Wes took a moment to register. "No... why?"

"He has to sing in ten minutes!"

"Oh, do'worry, olchap. Isure he'll b'here by then."

"Woah, Wesley... I think you'd better lay off that eggnog before you up and start dancing..."

Wesley wobbled. Lorne chuckled. "I take that back. I forgot you're more the angst-ridden-type drunk than a fun drunk. See, me? If, of course, I could get drunk, I imagine I'd be a fun drunk." He paused. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

There was a splintering crash as the door behind them smashed open, and six angry reindeer ran through. There was a great deal of screaming and running out of the way, as well as disappointed shouts when the entire table of eggnog, punch, and cookies was knocked over.

"What the hell?"

The reindeer were lifting off the ground. Lorne rolled his eyes. "Well they ARE reindeer."

Gunn, running from the opposite end of the room and people-dodging, yelled at Lorne: "You got FLYING reindeer?"

"Only the best for our clients, right? Oh, that can't be good... Harmony! Fred!" Lorne hollered. "Would you two be a couple of sweeties and open the doors so the reindeer fly out? Thanks so much!"

As the chaotic reindeer aftermath subsided and Knox and Fred set about calming everyone down, Lorne suddenly remembered who had been in CHARGE of the reindeer. "Spike. You're a dead man. Dead-er, that is..."


Spike and Angel didn't know what to do besides stare, dumbfounded, at the chaos, until, out of the non-literal smoke, came Lorne, looking angrier than Angel had ever seen him. "SPIKE!"

"It was his fault!"


"Was not!"

"Angel? What are you doing here?" Lorne sighed. "It doesn't matter. As it is, that crowd's out for blood. Angel, I need to get you out there singing, pronto. Not that it'll help things, but..."


"Good. And Spike... oh, for God's sake, do up your fly."


The crowd had finally calmed enough and been given enough alcohol that they listened attentively as Angel took up the microphone. Spike, having heard talk of, but never experienced directly, this thing known as Angel's singing voice, watched in fascination. Having had a few words with the techies in the back, he was sure this was going to be interesting.

Angel's shaky voice started off. "Hey, everyone. I'm, uh.. I'm Angel, and I'm going to sing a song for you, apparently. I just want to say, this goes out to someone who..." He trailed off, and gave himself a shake. "God, this is stupid," he muttered a little too audibly. "Anyway. Here goes."

The rest of the room dimmed as a spotlight went to Angel. The music started, and Spike smirked as Angel's eyes went wide. Panicked, Angel looked in Lorne's direction. Lorne shrugged. Angel's eyes narrowed. And the song started.

"At first I was afraid..." Fred, a little tipsty, whooped loudly. "I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side..."

Someone beside Spike booed, and received a full-out, vamp-face glare from Spike. Said person shut right up.

"...I will survive, ooh as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive..."

Spike glanced over at Lorne. Oh, bugger.

Lorne's eyes were as wide as saucers, and he choked on his eggnog. He stared, slack-jawed, at Angel, then at Spike.

As the second chorus finished, Lorne signaled to the techies to cut the music. "Thanks everyone, you were a great audience!"

Angel looked confused. "Hey. I wasn't done yet!" Lorne dragged him off the stage.


Lorne had the two vampires cornered in his office. They sat on twin chairs as he stood, arms folded, waiting for an explanation. Both were vehemently denying any attraction to each other.

"Look, Lorne... I know it's been a stressful month for you, and all that, so I can understand where you'd make this kind of mistake, but I can tell you-"

Lorne cut Angel off. "Look, cupcake. Let me tell you a thing or two about auras. They don't lie. Sure, if you eat enough chili peppers they can get a bit muddled for a while, but... OK, missing the point here. I know what I saw. I've been doing this for a long time.

There's nothing wrong with it, OK? It doesn't matter who you love, it's how you love, my mother always used to say... well, actually, my mother never said that...but anyway. Genetalia is just... well... the Power's way of accessorizing.

We both know what I saw, so... I'm going to ask you straight out - and I'll know if you're lying. Are. You. In. Love?"

Spike almost held his breath, and waited for Angel to answer. Angel glanced at him - and he must have seen the hopeful look in his eyes. "In love? No... Lorne, we aren't in-"

Spike's heart sank. But he refused to let Angel have the last word. "No. Bloody HELL, no. We're just... shagging." Even saying it, his heart sank a little bit more. He should never have let himself pretend it was anything else. His wounded pride forced more words out of his mouth. "And the sex wasn't even that good anyway." He stood. "Now if you'll excuse me. I'm off to clean up reindeer poop before the entire janitorial staff stakes me." He strode out of the room.

Angel refused to meet Lorne's eyes. "I've gotta go too..." He started to stand, but found himself pushed back into the chair by a deceptively strong green hand.

Something blazed in Lorne's red eyes. "Oh, no you don't. My Christmas bash hasn't been ruined for nothing. We need to get to the bottom of this."

"What's there to say? You know what's been going on."

"More than you do, in fact, which is why you aren't leaving this room."


"You know what I mean. There's something not being admitted here."

"And what might that be?"

"You love him." Lorne looked Angel right in the eye, and Angel tried unsuccessfully to avoid said look. "Don't you?"

"What? I - no."

"Because he's in love with you, you know."

"What? No he isn't."

"Listen to me, Angelcakes, I know what I'm talking about here. Spike is in love with you. Of course he'll never admit it - he's Spike. But you're breaking his heart here. If you don't think it's true, think who we're talking about - he's always done everything by his heart. More than you ever did. And he's got a soul now. He's not a demon anymore - a big part of him is William, the lovesick poet who falls in love, and falls hard. Do you have any idea how much this could be killing him?

Maybe you don't care. But I read your aura, and I think you do. We both know what you have to tell him. If this is a coming-out issue, don't worry - your secret's safe with me."

"Lorne... it's not that he's a guy that concerns me. You remember Doyle."

"Ah, yes. 'Course, who wouldn't have fallen for him? Those eyes, and very pretty... right... sorry. Then what is it?"

"It's that he's Spike. And I've spent so long, hating him for some reason or another. For being weaker than me. For being stronger than me. For having things that-" Angel sighed.

"I know. But you have to understand. Part of that was because you were evil. Then it was because he was evil. Something that neither of you are anymore. Remember how you felt when you got your soul? You of all people should know, the man is not the demon."

That last point seemed to hit home. "You're right."

"I usually am, Angel. And when you figure that out, everyone's lives are gonna be so much easier."

Angel smiled a little. "But you're not gonna tell everyone?"

"Not a word."


Spike stood alone in the dark of Wolfram and Hart's main foyer, staring til his eyes burned at the lights on the huge Christmas tree. He felt drained, empty, and exposed. Why did he ever let himself -

He felt big arms wrap around him. He tensed to fend them off, then sighed, stopped. "Angel."


"Look, I can't do this anymore. Don't get me wrong - what I said back there, about the sex not being great..."



"I love you."

Spike froze. "What?"

Angel turned Spike to face him. He looked the younger vampire directly in the eyes and said, without sarcasm, doubt, or irony: "I. Love. You."