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HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY to everyone who celebrates it.
This is for stolen_childe. Hope the hard work is paying off, Poppet.
A Saint Patrick's Day Interlude from Domesticated Dogs. The Boys just had to celebrate, didn't they?
Title: The Old Irish Sod
Author: Marilyn
Email: countessevilmh@yahoo.co.uk
Fandom(s): AtS
Genre (general, hetero or slash): Slash
Pairings/Characters: Spangel
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Smut!
Notes: This is an interlude in the Domesticated Dogs Story by stolen_childe and me. This is my small gift to my darling co-writer while she is busy with her education. There is a small spoiler in this for DD, but nothing major.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to stolen_childe for making DD (and therefore this little ficlet) such a pleasure to write.
Summary: It’s Saint Patrick’s Day and the Boys plan to celebrate.
“You’re tie’s not straight,” Angel told Spike, a do-I-have-to-dress-you-now expression on his face.
Spike glanced in the mirror; funny how he was still getting used to seeing such a handsome fellow looking back at him after all those years of being reflection-free. “Looks fine to me.”
Angel took Spike by the shoulders, turning the blonde ex-vampire to face him. “Trust me, Spike. It’s about a million miles from straight.”
“Just like you then,” Spike muttered quietly, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
Catching the snarky remark Angel’s lips set in a thin line as he untied Spike’s bow tie and set about tying the perfect bow. “It was your idea to go to this Saint Patrick’s Day dinner; not mine. I’d have been happy going to the pub and having a Guinness or two.”
“Don’t be ungrateful, you great poof. You’re always complaining I never do anything to show you a good time so I buy bloody expensive tickets…”
“…using my credit card.”
“…for a swanky dinner that you can get all dressed up in your poncy tux for and you complain because you’d rather go to the pub, you tight-arsed poncy bog-trotter.”
Angel relented somewhat. His irritating ex-Childe had meant well, even if he, Angel, had unexpectedly ended up paying for it. Spike tried; he really did, but most of the time he was just trying.
Taking a step back to admire his skill with a bow tie, Angel made a little grunt of satisfaction.
“Happy now, you anal old git?”
“Meow!”
Dru had wondered into the bedroom to see what the fuss was about. She knew her pets were up to something and just couldn’t resist taking a look.
“Dru! Come to see what’s going on, Luv?”
“Don’t…”
Spike stooped and lifted Dru up, cuddling her against his tuxedoed chest.
“…pick up...” Angel looked peeved. “Now you’ve got Dru’s fur all over your jacket. You treat me like some kind of valet, dressing you and making sure you look presentable.”
“Ignore the old ponce, Sweetheart. He always gets nervous when we’re going out and meeting a lot of people. Comes from spending too long being Broody Boy.” Spike fondled Dru’s ears affectionately before setting her gently back down on the floor.
Dru wandered off downstairs again. If her pets weren’t going to show her the affection she wanted she would curl up in Hero’s basket with him and snooze.
“Look at you.” Angel tutted, taking a clothes brush from the dresser and energetically ridding Spike’s tux of Dru’s fur.
Spike accepted the attention happily. He loved to get on the great poof’s nerves; it was grand fun.
“And don’t get drunk and show me up tonight.” Angel scowled. “Just because we’re taking a cab it doesn’t give you carte blanche to get legless.”
“Me? Get legless? Not on your life, mate. I’ve got plans for you tonight, you sexy old bugger.”
Angel couldn’t stop the grin that made his previous scowl just a memory. He rather liked the idea of relaxing and letting his ex-Childe take care of him…that way.
**
The cab driver climbed wearily out of his cab and went to help one of his passengers with his tipsy companion. He got one of the precariously swaying man’s arms across his shoulders. “Get his other arm.” The cab driver tottered a few steps backwards. “Quick! We’re losing him, he’s gonna go!”
The man’s companion grabbed frantically at the waving arm that missed his head by millimetres.
“…from glen to glen…” the tipsy man sang in an off-key warble.
With both arms resting companionably on straining shoulders, the trio tottered up to the front door of the house as the more sober reveller searched in his inside jacket pocket for his keys.
“…the summer’s gone and all…”
The key was shoved into the lock and turned swiftly, the three of them almost falling backwards as the tipsy singer swayed.
“…must go and I must bide…”
“Okay, got him. Thanks for your help.” He searched his companion’s jacket pocket for his wallet and carefully leaning his inebriated companion against the door jamb, fished out several bills which he handed to the cab driver.
“…when summer’s in the meadow…”
Staring down at the generous tip, the cab driver grinned. “No problem, buddy. I’d get him to bed if I were you. He’s gonna have one mother of a hangover tomorrow.”
“Tell me about it.” The generous tipper rolled his eyes skyward before he grabbed the singer’s flailing arm again and almost wrestled him into the vestibule. He dropped his keys into the bowl on the hall table.
“Angel, will you stop that soddin’ singing? You sound like a bloody off-key foghorn!”
“Ahhh, Spike. I do love ya, me darlin’ boy.”
Closing the door, Spike manhandled the swaying Angel towards the stairs as a curious Dru and Hero wandered sleepily out from the kitchen to see what all the rumpus was about.
“Awww, Dru and Hero’ve come to welcome us home, Spikey.” Angel slurred.
“Go back to bed, kids. Daddy’s pissed as a fart and in no condition to play games.”
Looking up at their tipsy Daddy, the cat and the rapidly growing puppy realised the wisdom of Daddy Spike’s words and headed back to their bed. Dru even managed to look disgusted in that haughty, feline way.
“…or when the valleeeeeeeeeeeeeey’s hushed and…”
“Shut up, you drunken old poof! Will you just put a sock in it?”
Angel turned a billion-watt smile on his boyfriend. “Doncha like me singin’, Spikey?”
“Actually, no.” Spike gritted his teeth and struggled to get the fat-arse old bugger up over the stairs and into bed.
**
There was an enormous thump from the bedroom just as Spike finished peeing. “What the…?”
Angel lay on the floor beside the bed, naked to the waist with his pants around his knees. Spike had left him lying on the bed fully clothed with the instruction to stay where he was while he took a leak. When he saw Spike he squinted up at him, grinning.
“What the soddin’ hell you doin’, you drunken old wanker?”
“Wanna get nekkid for my boy,” Angel grinned dopily. “Wanna…you gonna shag me, Spikey?”
Spike tried desperately to suppress a grin. “You’re too drunk, you tosser. Not that you had that much to drink; guess that makes you a lightweight then.”
Spike pulled Angel’s pants off and smiled inwardly when he noticed that the sexy old git had gone commando. He had obviously been expecting a little action at bedtime.
With a lot of grunting and groaning from Angel and a profusion of profanity from Spike, Angel was dragged off the floor and onto the bed where Spike helped him lay down. “Now stay there, Angel, and don’t move!”
Spike slipped briefly into the bathroom to switch off the light; when he returned to the bedroom, Angel was on all fours with his delectable naked ass wriggling seductively in Spike’s direction.
Spike shook his head, laughing.
“You, Angel, are a nymphomaniac.”
Angel twisted slightly so he could look at Spike. He grinned naughtily.
Spike moved swiftly to his nightstand and opened the drawer. “You’re a whore.”
Angel closed his eyes blissfully.
Spike rifled through the contents of the drawer frantically. “A slut.”
Angel moaned.
“A wanton, insatiable, shameless hussy and where the fucking hell…?”
Angel keened softly.
Spike found what he’d been searching for and leapt onto the bed, swiftly coating his fingers with lube as he slathered it on his rapidly swelling cock.
“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, Spike,” Angel grinned brazenly, wiggling his ass seductively again.
“Tart.”
End
This is for stolen_childe. Hope the hard work is paying off, Poppet.
A Saint Patrick's Day Interlude from Domesticated Dogs. The Boys just had to celebrate, didn't they?
Title: The Old Irish Sod
Author: Marilyn
Email: countessevilmh@yahoo.co.uk
Fandom(s): AtS
Genre (general, hetero or slash): Slash
Pairings/Characters: Spangel
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Smut!
Notes: This is an interlude in the Domesticated Dogs Story by stolen_childe and me. This is my small gift to my darling co-writer while she is busy with her education. There is a small spoiler in this for DD, but nothing major.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to stolen_childe for making DD (and therefore this little ficlet) such a pleasure to write.
Summary: It’s Saint Patrick’s Day and the Boys plan to celebrate.
“You’re tie’s not straight,” Angel told Spike, a do-I-have-to-dress-you-now expression on his face.
Spike glanced in the mirror; funny how he was still getting used to seeing such a handsome fellow looking back at him after all those years of being reflection-free. “Looks fine to me.”
Angel took Spike by the shoulders, turning the blonde ex-vampire to face him. “Trust me, Spike. It’s about a million miles from straight.”
“Just like you then,” Spike muttered quietly, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
Catching the snarky remark Angel’s lips set in a thin line as he untied Spike’s bow tie and set about tying the perfect bow. “It was your idea to go to this Saint Patrick’s Day dinner; not mine. I’d have been happy going to the pub and having a Guinness or two.”
“Don’t be ungrateful, you great poof. You’re always complaining I never do anything to show you a good time so I buy bloody expensive tickets…”
“…using my credit card.”
“…for a swanky dinner that you can get all dressed up in your poncy tux for and you complain because you’d rather go to the pub, you tight-arsed poncy bog-trotter.”
Angel relented somewhat. His irritating ex-Childe had meant well, even if he, Angel, had unexpectedly ended up paying for it. Spike tried; he really did, but most of the time he was just trying.
Taking a step back to admire his skill with a bow tie, Angel made a little grunt of satisfaction.
“Happy now, you anal old git?”
“Meow!”
Dru had wondered into the bedroom to see what the fuss was about. She knew her pets were up to something and just couldn’t resist taking a look.
“Dru! Come to see what’s going on, Luv?”
“Don’t…”
Spike stooped and lifted Dru up, cuddling her against his tuxedoed chest.
“…pick up...” Angel looked peeved. “Now you’ve got Dru’s fur all over your jacket. You treat me like some kind of valet, dressing you and making sure you look presentable.”
“Ignore the old ponce, Sweetheart. He always gets nervous when we’re going out and meeting a lot of people. Comes from spending too long being Broody Boy.” Spike fondled Dru’s ears affectionately before setting her gently back down on the floor.
Dru wandered off downstairs again. If her pets weren’t going to show her the affection she wanted she would curl up in Hero’s basket with him and snooze.
“Look at you.” Angel tutted, taking a clothes brush from the dresser and energetically ridding Spike’s tux of Dru’s fur.
Spike accepted the attention happily. He loved to get on the great poof’s nerves; it was grand fun.
“And don’t get drunk and show me up tonight.” Angel scowled. “Just because we’re taking a cab it doesn’t give you carte blanche to get legless.”
“Me? Get legless? Not on your life, mate. I’ve got plans for you tonight, you sexy old bugger.”
Angel couldn’t stop the grin that made his previous scowl just a memory. He rather liked the idea of relaxing and letting his ex-Childe take care of him…that way.
**
The cab driver climbed wearily out of his cab and went to help one of his passengers with his tipsy companion. He got one of the precariously swaying man’s arms across his shoulders. “Get his other arm.” The cab driver tottered a few steps backwards. “Quick! We’re losing him, he’s gonna go!”
The man’s companion grabbed frantically at the waving arm that missed his head by millimetres.
“…from glen to glen…” the tipsy man sang in an off-key warble.
With both arms resting companionably on straining shoulders, the trio tottered up to the front door of the house as the more sober reveller searched in his inside jacket pocket for his keys.
“…the summer’s gone and all…”
The key was shoved into the lock and turned swiftly, the three of them almost falling backwards as the tipsy singer swayed.
“…must go and I must bide…”
“Okay, got him. Thanks for your help.” He searched his companion’s jacket pocket for his wallet and carefully leaning his inebriated companion against the door jamb, fished out several bills which he handed to the cab driver.
“…when summer’s in the meadow…”
Staring down at the generous tip, the cab driver grinned. “No problem, buddy. I’d get him to bed if I were you. He’s gonna have one mother of a hangover tomorrow.”
“Tell me about it.” The generous tipper rolled his eyes skyward before he grabbed the singer’s flailing arm again and almost wrestled him into the vestibule. He dropped his keys into the bowl on the hall table.
“Angel, will you stop that soddin’ singing? You sound like a bloody off-key foghorn!”
“Ahhh, Spike. I do love ya, me darlin’ boy.”
Closing the door, Spike manhandled the swaying Angel towards the stairs as a curious Dru and Hero wandered sleepily out from the kitchen to see what all the rumpus was about.
“Awww, Dru and Hero’ve come to welcome us home, Spikey.” Angel slurred.
“Go back to bed, kids. Daddy’s pissed as a fart and in no condition to play games.”
Looking up at their tipsy Daddy, the cat and the rapidly growing puppy realised the wisdom of Daddy Spike’s words and headed back to their bed. Dru even managed to look disgusted in that haughty, feline way.
“…or when the valleeeeeeeeeeeeeey’s hushed and…”
“Shut up, you drunken old poof! Will you just put a sock in it?”
Angel turned a billion-watt smile on his boyfriend. “Doncha like me singin’, Spikey?”
“Actually, no.” Spike gritted his teeth and struggled to get the fat-arse old bugger up over the stairs and into bed.
**
There was an enormous thump from the bedroom just as Spike finished peeing. “What the…?”
Angel lay on the floor beside the bed, naked to the waist with his pants around his knees. Spike had left him lying on the bed fully clothed with the instruction to stay where he was while he took a leak. When he saw Spike he squinted up at him, grinning.
“What the soddin’ hell you doin’, you drunken old wanker?”
“Wanna get nekkid for my boy,” Angel grinned dopily. “Wanna…you gonna shag me, Spikey?”
Spike tried desperately to suppress a grin. “You’re too drunk, you tosser. Not that you had that much to drink; guess that makes you a lightweight then.”
Spike pulled Angel’s pants off and smiled inwardly when he noticed that the sexy old git had gone commando. He had obviously been expecting a little action at bedtime.
With a lot of grunting and groaning from Angel and a profusion of profanity from Spike, Angel was dragged off the floor and onto the bed where Spike helped him lay down. “Now stay there, Angel, and don’t move!”
Spike slipped briefly into the bathroom to switch off the light; when he returned to the bedroom, Angel was on all fours with his delectable naked ass wriggling seductively in Spike’s direction.
Spike shook his head, laughing.
“You, Angel, are a nymphomaniac.”
Angel twisted slightly so he could look at Spike. He grinned naughtily.
Spike moved swiftly to his nightstand and opened the drawer. “You’re a whore.”
Angel closed his eyes blissfully.
Spike rifled through the contents of the drawer frantically. “A slut.”
Angel moaned.
“A wanton, insatiable, shameless hussy and where the fucking hell…?”
Angel keened softly.
Spike found what he’d been searching for and leapt onto the bed, swiftly coating his fingers with lube as he slathered it on his rapidly swelling cock.
“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, Spike,” Angel grinned brazenly, wiggling his ass seductively again.
“Tart.”
End