Differently Victorious
This was a FMK request I wrote without claiming it, so I couldn't post it there.
PAIRING: Angelus/Spike
GENRE: angst-free slash
RATING: R
WARNINGS: none, really. Snarky, some bitey, all consensual
PAIRING: Angelus/Spike
GENRE: Slash
RATING: NC-17,kittens
DETAILS: Post-NFA. Shanshu means "to live" and "to die", only nobody got specific about who would do which. Angel's soul dies, returned to it's eternal reward. Yay Angel! The demon Angelus is freed, and NOT CRAZY! I hate crazy Angelus...much less fun. Yay Angelus! So, the ugly alleyway mess is cleaned up and Angelus gets back to what he does best...Spike. I want claiming, biting, bloodplay, and lots and lots of dirty porny sex. Angelus has a lot of time to make up for, after all. Angelus as Spike's sire and not too much angst. Spike can be apprehensive, worried about the crazy, but definitely in love with Angelus. He should say something like "I hated Angel cuz he wasn't my Sire. Never hated Angelus"...feel free to pretty up that sentiment, but it should be there somewhere.
Requested by sevendeadlyfun on December 4, 2006.
At first, he didn’t notice it was gone.
He awoke aware only of a smell of familiarity and dust, mildly confused. Then he remembered the battle. He remembered… dying? He sat up, feeling his torso, arms, hands… everything intact.
“Welcome to the land of the living. Well, un-living.”
Angel squinted at Spike, leaning against the closet door, flicking ashes on the floor. “I don’t know how, but you are a lucky bugger, Angelus. Shoulda seen the state you were in when Blue and I finally got you back here. Thought you’d be nothing but convenient grit for the path any second; and now, not a scratch on you! Guess that Sanshu bugaboo was just a ’get out of dust free’ card, ‘cause I’m not hearing a heartbeat.” Spike paused, considering, “Unless that didn’t bleedin’ COUNT as ‘the apocolypse’.”
Spike crossed the room and peered carefully behind the window shade. “Don’t know where the beasties have gone. Charlie’s gone. You probably guessed that. Had to leave him. Isn’t that a bitter pill? When you fell and looked good for dust, I called the better part of valor. They didn’t even follow us. Guess we weren’t worth it.” Spike grimaced.
Angelus had stopped listening. A smile broke across his face and he almost hollered in elation, which impulse he quickly smothered. He remembered, then, death, yes, but not his own, a departing, a light, and now, the glorious LACK of guilt, remorse… soul.
“Ten o’clock news is calling it a busted-up rave. I take offense at that. I mean personally. There hasn’t been a decent rave in this town since…” Spike let the shade fall back into place and shrugged. “Ever.”
Angelus was sorting himself out. Free. To be himself again. But… what? There was a new feeling, an elation, completion - his soul wasn’t just gone. It was gone to its final reward. How? And how could he make abso-fucking sure Willow never waved an Orb of Thesala at him again? He frowned at Spike’s back; the younger vampire was pacing. Angelus remembered a crack he’d made once about Velcro souls and keeping witches on speed dial.
Spike’s continued his monologue, which seemed to now be on the topic of some do-goodery planning. Good lord, was he actually talking about contacting the Watchers? Had Spike always been this much of a pansy? “Where’s Illyria?” Angelus snapped.
“Demon hunting. Like I just said four seconds ago.” Spike gestured emphatically. “Sent her to figure out where they went, what they did next, how the merry old apocalypse is fairing.” Spike tilted his head. “Are you entirely with us, Peaches?”
Angelus had to close his eyes and savor it a moment. The insult AND the head-tilt. The boy was asking for it, begging for it, and there was absolutely no anxious shame holding him back. “Fuck the speed-dial,” Angelus said. He threw back the covers and closed the distance between himself and Spike in three steps. Spike winced back in confusion as Angelus plucked his cigarette from his fingertips. “Fuck the apocalypse,” Angelus added with a smile. He took a drag and tossed the cigarette carelessly behind him.
“Are you…?”
Angelus stopped the next question by grabbing the back of Spike’s head and crushing their lips together. After a moment’s hesitation, soft lips opened up for him and he enjoyed the moist taste of the shared tobacco and that indescribable familiar chemistry.
Then Spike pushed him away. “What the bleedin’ hell? Yeah. I’m ecstatic to be in one piece too, but we aren’t...”
“You’re waiting on Illyria to get back?”
“Well, yeah. And keeping watch. Had no idea how long you’d be out of it. It’s been…”
“So we have time to kill.” Angelus took two handfuls of black t-shirt and threw Spike toward the bed. “Apocalypse later. Victory fuck now.”
Spike bounced on the mattress with the most adorable expression of confusion. “Vic…?” Spike mouthed the second word as if not quite sure what it meant. “You’re joking. You call that a victory? We were trying to go down swinging and we didn’t even manage that.”
Angelus pulled off his shirt. “Anyone ever tell you, ‘you talk too much’, William?”
Spike rolled his eyes skyward and opened his lips to begin to say something sarcastic about the frequency of just those exact words in his hearing, but whatever he would have said was quickly cut off by a mouthful of insistent Angel tongue, which was attached to an Angel body, that was currently pinning him to the bed.
Spike pushed and squirmed aside. “Oi! Wide load! What makes you think I’d even consider shaggin’ you, after all this time?”
“I’m not asking,” Angelus said with a delighted grin and leapt upon Spike, tearing the neckline of his T-shirt aside and sinking his fangs deep into creamy white flesh.
Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, feeling the ravenous pull on his veins. “Angelus.”
Spike had to tear himself from those fangs, ripping his own shoulder. He scrambled off the bed and onto his feet. “What kind of sick fuck finds his perfect happy in a battle? We don’t have time for you to flip your trolly. You want to open a hell portal? You have to come through me.”
Angel stepped off the bed causally, eyeing Spike’s defensive stance. “You’re not still sore about that Acathla thing? I was out of my mind! A hundred years of being ANGEL will do that to you.”
“Looks like it’s me and Blue to save the world then. There’s a sorry state of affairs. But I’m not going to let you stop us.”
Spike was keeping his back to the wall, walking around the room, trying to get to the door. Angelus easily cut him off. “I couldn’t care less about the world,” Angelus said. “Saving it or destroying it. I’m back, damn it, and I want what’s mine.”
Spike raised his eyebrows and looked honestly dumbfounded. “Which is, what?”
“You!”
The dumbfounded expression survived impact with the mattress.
“Now… do I have to drain you, beat you, or tie you down?”
Raised eyebrows, a slow blink, “Can I vote for “None of the above?”
Spike squirmed to release his wrists from Angelus’ grasp.
“You’re mine, boy, and I’m going to have you. So you can forget about calling your witch friend.”
“God, Angelus. And I thought soul-boy was thick.”
Spike smiled, because now Angelus had the dumbfounded expression. “’M not going to call Willow, you thick-skulled ape. Angel wasn’t real, all right? Just some screwed-up list of things his soul decided he couldn’t be. You can’t make a man out of negatives. He wasn’t my sire. You are. And you’re real. So no, I don’t hate you. Never could. And after all the shit I’ve been through, you think for one minute I’d play god with someone else’s personality?”
The dumbfounded look softened. “You don’t… hate me?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying we should go pick out curtains, mate. But you can let go. I’m really much more fun when I have my hands.” He waggled his eyebrows and put on his best lascivious leer.
PAIRING: Angelus/Spike
GENRE: angst-free slash
RATING: R
WARNINGS: none, really. Snarky, some bitey, all consensual
PAIRING: Angelus/Spike
GENRE: Slash
RATING: NC-17,kittens
DETAILS: Post-NFA. Shanshu means "to live" and "to die", only nobody got specific about who would do which. Angel's soul dies, returned to it's eternal reward. Yay Angel! The demon Angelus is freed, and NOT CRAZY! I hate crazy Angelus...much less fun. Yay Angelus! So, the ugly alleyway mess is cleaned up and Angelus gets back to what he does best...Spike. I want claiming, biting, bloodplay, and lots and lots of dirty porny sex. Angelus has a lot of time to make up for, after all. Angelus as Spike's sire and not too much angst. Spike can be apprehensive, worried about the crazy, but definitely in love with Angelus. He should say something like "I hated Angel cuz he wasn't my Sire. Never hated Angelus"...feel free to pretty up that sentiment, but it should be there somewhere.
Requested by sevendeadlyfun on December 4, 2006.
At first, he didn’t notice it was gone.
He awoke aware only of a smell of familiarity and dust, mildly confused. Then he remembered the battle. He remembered… dying? He sat up, feeling his torso, arms, hands… everything intact.
“Welcome to the land of the living. Well, un-living.”
Angel squinted at Spike, leaning against the closet door, flicking ashes on the floor. “I don’t know how, but you are a lucky bugger, Angelus. Shoulda seen the state you were in when Blue and I finally got you back here. Thought you’d be nothing but convenient grit for the path any second; and now, not a scratch on you! Guess that Sanshu bugaboo was just a ’get out of dust free’ card, ‘cause I’m not hearing a heartbeat.” Spike paused, considering, “Unless that didn’t bleedin’ COUNT as ‘the apocolypse’.”
Spike crossed the room and peered carefully behind the window shade. “Don’t know where the beasties have gone. Charlie’s gone. You probably guessed that. Had to leave him. Isn’t that a bitter pill? When you fell and looked good for dust, I called the better part of valor. They didn’t even follow us. Guess we weren’t worth it.” Spike grimaced.
Angelus had stopped listening. A smile broke across his face and he almost hollered in elation, which impulse he quickly smothered. He remembered, then, death, yes, but not his own, a departing, a light, and now, the glorious LACK of guilt, remorse… soul.
“Ten o’clock news is calling it a busted-up rave. I take offense at that. I mean personally. There hasn’t been a decent rave in this town since…” Spike let the shade fall back into place and shrugged. “Ever.”
Angelus was sorting himself out. Free. To be himself again. But… what? There was a new feeling, an elation, completion - his soul wasn’t just gone. It was gone to its final reward. How? And how could he make abso-fucking sure Willow never waved an Orb of Thesala at him again? He frowned at Spike’s back; the younger vampire was pacing. Angelus remembered a crack he’d made once about Velcro souls and keeping witches on speed dial.
Spike’s continued his monologue, which seemed to now be on the topic of some do-goodery planning. Good lord, was he actually talking about contacting the Watchers? Had Spike always been this much of a pansy? “Where’s Illyria?” Angelus snapped.
“Demon hunting. Like I just said four seconds ago.” Spike gestured emphatically. “Sent her to figure out where they went, what they did next, how the merry old apocalypse is fairing.” Spike tilted his head. “Are you entirely with us, Peaches?”
Angelus had to close his eyes and savor it a moment. The insult AND the head-tilt. The boy was asking for it, begging for it, and there was absolutely no anxious shame holding him back. “Fuck the speed-dial,” Angelus said. He threw back the covers and closed the distance between himself and Spike in three steps. Spike winced back in confusion as Angelus plucked his cigarette from his fingertips. “Fuck the apocalypse,” Angelus added with a smile. He took a drag and tossed the cigarette carelessly behind him.
“Are you…?”
Angelus stopped the next question by grabbing the back of Spike’s head and crushing their lips together. After a moment’s hesitation, soft lips opened up for him and he enjoyed the moist taste of the shared tobacco and that indescribable familiar chemistry.
Then Spike pushed him away. “What the bleedin’ hell? Yeah. I’m ecstatic to be in one piece too, but we aren’t...”
“You’re waiting on Illyria to get back?”
“Well, yeah. And keeping watch. Had no idea how long you’d be out of it. It’s been…”
“So we have time to kill.” Angelus took two handfuls of black t-shirt and threw Spike toward the bed. “Apocalypse later. Victory fuck now.”
Spike bounced on the mattress with the most adorable expression of confusion. “Vic…?” Spike mouthed the second word as if not quite sure what it meant. “You’re joking. You call that a victory? We were trying to go down swinging and we didn’t even manage that.”
Angelus pulled off his shirt. “Anyone ever tell you, ‘you talk too much’, William?”
Spike rolled his eyes skyward and opened his lips to begin to say something sarcastic about the frequency of just those exact words in his hearing, but whatever he would have said was quickly cut off by a mouthful of insistent Angel tongue, which was attached to an Angel body, that was currently pinning him to the bed.
Spike pushed and squirmed aside. “Oi! Wide load! What makes you think I’d even consider shaggin’ you, after all this time?”
“I’m not asking,” Angelus said with a delighted grin and leapt upon Spike, tearing the neckline of his T-shirt aside and sinking his fangs deep into creamy white flesh.
Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, feeling the ravenous pull on his veins. “Angelus.”
Spike had to tear himself from those fangs, ripping his own shoulder. He scrambled off the bed and onto his feet. “What kind of sick fuck finds his perfect happy in a battle? We don’t have time for you to flip your trolly. You want to open a hell portal? You have to come through me.”
Angel stepped off the bed causally, eyeing Spike’s defensive stance. “You’re not still sore about that Acathla thing? I was out of my mind! A hundred years of being ANGEL will do that to you.”
“Looks like it’s me and Blue to save the world then. There’s a sorry state of affairs. But I’m not going to let you stop us.”
Spike was keeping his back to the wall, walking around the room, trying to get to the door. Angelus easily cut him off. “I couldn’t care less about the world,” Angelus said. “Saving it or destroying it. I’m back, damn it, and I want what’s mine.”
Spike raised his eyebrows and looked honestly dumbfounded. “Which is, what?”
“You!”
The dumbfounded expression survived impact with the mattress.
“Now… do I have to drain you, beat you, or tie you down?”
Raised eyebrows, a slow blink, “Can I vote for “None of the above?”
Spike squirmed to release his wrists from Angelus’ grasp.
“You’re mine, boy, and I’m going to have you. So you can forget about calling your witch friend.”
“God, Angelus. And I thought soul-boy was thick.”
Spike smiled, because now Angelus had the dumbfounded expression. “’M not going to call Willow, you thick-skulled ape. Angel wasn’t real, all right? Just some screwed-up list of things his soul decided he couldn’t be. You can’t make a man out of negatives. He wasn’t my sire. You are. And you’re real. So no, I don’t hate you. Never could. And after all the shit I’ve been through, you think for one minute I’d play god with someone else’s personality?”
The dumbfounded look softened. “You don’t… hate me?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying we should go pick out curtains, mate. But you can let go. I’m really much more fun when I have my hands.” He waggled his eyebrows and put on his best lascivious leer.