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

Billable Hours
By Croupier
For Mary

The road to hell was paved with dull blue carpet, and right now it was being walked upon by heavy black boots. They stopped outside the glass double doors just before the end of the hallway, where they hesitated for a moment--Oh, sod it--before pulling them open and stepping through.

Angel looked up to see Spike enter the room, cheekbones first. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Spike's eyebrows raised. "Cut to the chase, why don't you! I have had that on my mind lately, you know." Spike leaned against the door. "A man's newly back in his body, things are a little bit tense . . . they need stretching out a bit. 'Course, Illyria's got the whole bruising me thing down pat." Spike pouted and spread his arms. "But where is the love, Angel?"

"The 'love' is trying to run a damn law firm here, Spike. I don't know if the phrase 'Federal Rules of Civil Procedure' actually means anything to you--"

"Absolutely not it doesn't." Spike pulled out his Zippo and lit a Nat Sherman Black & Gold.

"--but I've got to file this Rule 11 agreement by four o'clock today, and you're not--" Angel glanced up. "Nat Shermans? Really?"

Spike shrugged. "I wanted to feel a bit daintier."

Angel seemed taken aback for a minute, and then resumed his shuffling through all the papers on the desk. "Fine. Fine, oh dainty one. Would it kill you to go outside, or to at least go someplace where I don't have to smell them?"

"Can't go outside." Spike blew smoke into Angel's face. "It's daylight, you big twat."

"That was kind of the point." Angel continued his rummaging. "And where the hell is that Rule 11 agreement?"

"If it were up your arse, you'd know the rest." Spike flopped into the chair opposite Angel's desk and watched, with mild interest, as Angel's muscles moved beneath his Calvin Klein button-down.

"If it were up my 'arse,' as you so charmingly put it, it wouldn't be a bigger pain than you are."

"I don't know about that, luv. Wanna find out?" Spike raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I mean, it'd be nothing new. We've been there, and done that, and I stovetop-dyed the T-shirt black. Looked damn good with my complexion, too." Spike leaned forward earnestly. "I wrote a poem about it, you know."

Angel cut him a look. "And I'm sure we're all grateful for your failure to share it with us thus far."

Spike leaned back and put his feet on the chair, taking a deep drag off of his cigarette. "It went, 'Angelus, Angelus, angel of the night--'"

"Please stop."

"'You are an even greater lover than your Rule 11 Agreements would admit to.'"

"Rule 11 agreements aren't capable of consent."

"That's why they won't admit it, no matter how far up your arse they are."

Angel slammed his hands onto the desk. "I've got one hour to get this thing downtown. It has to be filed in person because their system isn't working with eFile, and also because eFile doesn't really convey the whole 'delayed discovery signed in blood' part with the accuracy that we need. So why don't you just answer me this." Angel leaned in closer and whispered. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

Spike took his feet down and leaned forward as well, careful to make eye contact. He spoke in slow, measured sentences. "I. Told you. I need a shag." He stood up. "And I'm feeling rather gay lately, as is evidenced by the--" he dropped the cigarette and ground the butt into the carpet "--fucking Nat Shermans--" He walked around to Angel's side of the desk, reaching out to trace one of Angel's cheekbones with a finger. "And you're here and around." He paused, sensing Angel's hesitation.

"Come on," Spike murmured. "One of us will bugger the other, it'll take twenty minutes and you can go on about your day, and if I cut my sodding dick on the Rule 11 agreement, then we'll finally know that, as I suspected, it was up your arse the entire time." He met Angel's eyes with a quizzical look.

Angel looked at the clock. It was five after three.

"Twenty minutes," he agreed.