What 'One Time'?
Title: What ‘One Time’?
Word count: 400
Characters/pairings: Angelus/William
Authors Notes: Written for open_on_sundays’ prompt remember.
“...so we’re careening down the street, blood of Portugese maidens still dripping down our chins...”
Fred’s colour was high, her grin innocent as a child’s. The sort of child who sneaked into crypts and asked for horror stories from evil vampires, specifically. Spike was grinning and gesticulating madly.
The tale was horribly accurate. How could Spike smile, remembering? Angel felt like Atlas, straining beneath the weight, thighs and mind aching with it. And Spike kept bouncing through life while Angel plodded.
Angel felt old: a has-been, brooding over his memories while his youthful usurper laughed and sat on Angel’s desk.
~*~
The memories from back then felt scarlet in his mind; they were so different from his post-soul blues, with the memories of different alleys running together like paint. The most vivid, of course, were of Spike: Spike yelling and sneering and joking and drinking and mocking and brawling and kissing and fucking and being fucked - so beautiful like that. His blue eyes always closed when he kissed Drusilla, but for Angelus he kept them open, watching Angelus fuck him, unafraid to have his emotions seen.
Angel fought the memories, turning away from Spike and Fred to hide his inappropriate erection.
~*~
Spike’s eyes were no longer on Fred’s big brown ones. He was waiting to see if Angel realised what Spike was about to spill: how they’d ducked into an alley, their bodies close and smelling of blood, and Spike had been fucked with thick fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet.
Angel did remember. Predictably, he turned and growled something before Spike got to the good part. Fred left, but Spike refused to move. “Still denyin’ our past, are you?”
“I’m not denying anything, Spike. I carry my past with me every day.”
“Didn’t say your past,” Spike muttered.
~*~
“And what would our past be? Bloody mayhem?”
“Having fun!”
Disgust crossed Angel’s face. “It’s like you’re still soulless.”
Fury lightning-flashed through Spike’s head. “Just because I’m not pretending I’m a different person - ”
“I’m a new man - ”
“Bollocks!”
“I love now! I never loved anyone before Buffy.”
Spike’s heart clenched - the pain was almost like some great lummox had crushed it in one careless paw. “Liar. What about Vienna? That weekend in summer when the girls were in Prague.” That life-changing intimacy...
Angel’s jaw clenched. Then he spoke, and tore at Spike’s heart
“I don’t remember that,” he said vaguely.
FIN
Word count: 400
Characters/pairings: Angelus/William
Authors Notes: Written for open_on_sundays’ prompt remember.
“...so we’re careening down the street, blood of Portugese maidens still dripping down our chins...”
Fred’s colour was high, her grin innocent as a child’s. The sort of child who sneaked into crypts and asked for horror stories from evil vampires, specifically. Spike was grinning and gesticulating madly.
The tale was horribly accurate. How could Spike smile, remembering? Angel felt like Atlas, straining beneath the weight, thighs and mind aching with it. And Spike kept bouncing through life while Angel plodded.
Angel felt old: a has-been, brooding over his memories while his youthful usurper laughed and sat on Angel’s desk.
~*~
The memories from back then felt scarlet in his mind; they were so different from his post-soul blues, with the memories of different alleys running together like paint. The most vivid, of course, were of Spike: Spike yelling and sneering and joking and drinking and mocking and brawling and kissing and fucking and being fucked - so beautiful like that. His blue eyes always closed when he kissed Drusilla, but for Angelus he kept them open, watching Angelus fuck him, unafraid to have his emotions seen.
Angel fought the memories, turning away from Spike and Fred to hide his inappropriate erection.
~*~
Spike’s eyes were no longer on Fred’s big brown ones. He was waiting to see if Angel realised what Spike was about to spill: how they’d ducked into an alley, their bodies close and smelling of blood, and Spike had been fucked with thick fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet.
Angel did remember. Predictably, he turned and growled something before Spike got to the good part. Fred left, but Spike refused to move. “Still denyin’ our past, are you?”
“I’m not denying anything, Spike. I carry my past with me every day.”
“Didn’t say your past,” Spike muttered.
~*~
“And what would our past be? Bloody mayhem?”
“Having fun!”
Disgust crossed Angel’s face. “It’s like you’re still soulless.”
Fury lightning-flashed through Spike’s head. “Just because I’m not pretending I’m a different person - ”
“I’m a new man - ”
“Bollocks!”
“I love now! I never loved anyone before Buffy.”
Spike’s heart clenched - the pain was almost like some great lummox had crushed it in one careless paw. “Liar. What about Vienna? That weekend in summer when the girls were in Prague.” That life-changing intimacy...
Angel’s jaw clenched. Then he spoke, and tore at Spike’s heart
“I don’t remember that,” he said vaguely.
FIN