DISCLAIMER"characters are not mine, they belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the W. B, UPN and FOX, blablabla. I'm only having a little fun with them. This story belongs to me, and which I have no commercial purpose".
Author's babbling:Please, english is my second or third language, so don't be too hard with me. I swear I'm trying my best.
Angel was exhausted. He sighed with relief when his attic's doors closed behind him with a soft click. It had been a tiring day, intense, exciting too, especially for someone like him, socially inept, as Cordelia used to call him. Cordy ... no, he can't think about it now, cannot afford it. The End of the world awaits behind the large windows, watching as an animal with open jaws. He need to stay focused, cold, rational ... lost in his own thoughts he keeps moving in the darkness but before he can get to his room the vampire realizes that he's not alone. There is someone on one of the sofas in the living room and Angel does not need to guess who it is. The smell is unmistakable. Muttering under his breath a blasphemy he turns to face the vampire, but chokes on his own words.
Spike was sleeping peacefully in his expensive black leather sofa, and when Angel realizes that the blond vampire has had the delicacy to take off his disastrous boots, a strange sorrow makes his eyes sting. The vampire stands silently admiring the slim, wiry relaxed body, the fine alabaster face dimly lit by the lights of the city that slip through the windows, the sweet line of his eyelids, eyelashes dark and endless. He's beautiful, too beautiful, Angel laments lingering on the relaxed and tantalizing lips.
A wave of anger exploded in his blood and Angel barely stifled a scream. Why was he there? Why did he have to come back? And most importantly, why had not left when he had have the opportunity? He should have gone to look for Buffy to Italy, or any other damn place. Anywhere, but far, far away from L.A. In fact, there was still time. Maybe he should tell him… No, it wouldn't work. Spike always enjoyed disobeying his orders. Maybe if he could do enough damage, Spike would leave him and he would be safe ... no, no, Angel snorted irritably. Spike was irritatingly loyal, he had always been. Loyal to Angelus, to the insane Drusilla, the elusive slayer ... loyal to Angel himself, despite all the rancor. Spike possessed a rare and an acute sense of honor, had always been the most loyal soldier under his command, the bravest of his acolytes. He wouldn't leave, after all, he had not left him before. Despite decades of fighting, despite the hatred, the blood debts and distance, basically Spike never left. It was a sickening link, a strange contradictory feeling. His Childe was different from anyone else, unpredictable and unique.
A twinge of pride ran through him, like when he saw him raise his hand first, the other evening, when they signed their death warrant. Spike had been the first to say yes, and did so with a tired snort, making clear what he thought about all that paraphernalia. Was he going to vote anything different? Angel shuddered. How stupid, irresponsible and brave his Childe could be.
Spike opened his eyes and Angel saw him startled discovering him standing there like a statue. They were silent, Angel feels anxious deep blue eyes on him. He knew perfectly the nature of that look, wary, Spike tries to gauge his mood, guess if he was upset, how much he was and how dangerous it could be for his safety. He decided to dispel the anxiety of his Childe smiling slightly. The last thing he wanted that night was to have Spike looking for the ghost of Angelus in his face.
The blond seemed to understand his mood, he relaxed again and closed his eyes, settling a little better, the leather creaking under his body. Angel wanted to save the small distance between them and caress his face, the sinuous line of his scar, watch him sleep all night. Exorcise the demons of their past together, pay outstanding bills, ask for forgiveness, but he did not. The memories of that time hurt Spike more than him, and Angel did not want to delve into the wound. So he reluctantly turned away and went to take a long and refreshing shower.
He got out of the bathroom with the desire tingling in his veins, a throbbing erection under the boxers. Drying his hair with a towel he glanced towards the sofa. The absence of the blond started him. It felt almost as physical pain, but soon he discovered his silhouetted against a window. Angel was overwhelmed by the beauty of his aristocratic profile, the melancholy of his silence. The vampire panted unable to deny the evidence any longer: he wanted Spike. He needed him. Urgently. In his bed. Naked. Moaning. Angel needed to hear him whisper his name. Fuck him until he loses his memory.
"William." His voice was dark and dense, as the desire that was boiling under his skin. And he did not need to say anything else. As always, some things never change. Spike turned to face him, slowly stripped his coat, walked several steps toward him, paused to take off his shirt, and saved the two steps that separated them.
Angel felt him tremble in his arms as he kissed him on the lips. Spike so strong, so aggressive, hurtful, rebellious, dark, dangerous, Spike the "big bad", shaking like a leaf in front of him, insecure, shy, vulnerable.
Angel laid his childe on the bed while kissing him, letting Spike tangled his fingers in his wet hair. Spike stroked his neck, he clung to his shoulders as if afraid to be left between the sheets. And only for that Angel ripped his jeans off, panting with excitement, smiling permissive when Spike replied biting his lip until he bled. Freed from his pants, Angel felt against his stomach the hot hard cock of Spike. He licked his chin, collarbone, the perfect navel of his Childe, making him moan with pleasure until he finally swallowed him all. He sucked, licked over and over, slowly, conscientious.
"Angel ..." Spike whimpered between spasms of pleasure, and it was like an order, knowing exactly what he was asking. He made him turn and Spike stifled a gasp against the pillow. Angel penetrated him carefully, making his way slowly, coupling their bodies moving rhythmically until finally, with a gentle shove introduced his cock inside the blond vampire. Spike arched his back in response to a jolt of pleasure. Angel closed his eyes drifting, seized by a strange peace, forgetting the past and the future. There was nothing else in the world that Spike's groans under his thrusts, the sweet and spicy scent of his Childe impregnating his sheets, mixing with the scent of his own skin, the sound of their bodies moving together, with increasing intensity , stronger, faster. Spike twisted a little under his body, asking for more kisses and he answered nibbling his lips, his neck, kissing him relentlessly, slowly, whispering "William" in his ear, spurring that horse of want that galloped through his skin. Angel did not know how long they had been in that bed, but he didn't care either. He just wanted to extend that feeling; it was as if the clock had stopped. But unfortunately time continued its inexorable course, like an impassive river and too soon it began to dawn on the horizon. With one last push, Angel came inside Spike, and felt hot cum soaking the hand closed around his Childe's cock.
Exhausted, unable to speak, feeling the sweat running through his body, they stared at each other in silence for an eternity. Then the blonde shifted slightly beside him and Angel knew that he had something in mind. Finally the blond seemed to muster enough courage and asked:
"Can I ... Can I stay here?"
Angel felt guilty for a split second. That "here" included much more than that bed, the apartment, or the entire building. Spike was asking his permission to stay by his side, in that battle, be at his side at the end of the world. That was the moment Angel had waited for. The occasion to hurt him, to say ... say what? That he didn't want him there, did not need him, hated him? How deny everything that had been said in that bed? Besides, he was sure that Spike would see the lie and would not go away. So Angel sighed, and gave the only possible answer: he kissed him long and deeply on the lips, throwing everything to the devil.