The Hot, Oil Story
Disclaimer: all characters belong to ME, I own nothing and only play.
Notice: This bit of fluff started during the last episodes of AtS, when it seemed Angel was going evil without losing his soul. I told my friends on AOL's Spike message board I wouldn't mind that, but I wished Marcus would get more story time. Preferably with his shirt off, covered in hot oil. With Spike. Well, the oil is no longer hot, but it's still here along with the shirtlessness. And some heat is provided by very tame references to sexual activity.
It had come down to this – two men enter, one man leaves. Or, two of whatever Spike and Marcus were went in and best two out of three rounds wins. Angel congratulated himself on his successful negotiation with the Senior Partners. He'd convinced them to put the balance of good and evil on the Earth plane on a single gamble, a test of strength and cunning between their champion and his. If Marcus won the wrestling match, Wolfram and Hart would have the unimpeded run of this world; if Spike won, things would continue as usual but without the impending apocalypse. Not that sweet a deal for the humans, but the best that could be expected when dickering with primal Evil.
And since Angel was dabbing his toes into the River of Evil again, there was a bit of honey in it for him – the bets he was taking on the outcome. Oh yes, he'd invited every client, former client, potential client and just plain ass-wipe to attend the match and put their money down. Except for a space set aside for the combatants, the lobby of Wolfram & Hart was packed with moneyed onlookers. For himself, Angel'd played it safe and put money on both men, though sentiment and experience led him to bet slightly more on Spike. The filthy Limey was small, but he was wiry and devious.
Round One
Marcus sat impassively in his corner as Harmony oiled his shoulders and prattled gush about his muscles. He wondered if his ability to put his fist clear through a human's chest (his best trick) was equivalent to Spike's ability to put his fist clear through another demon's chest and if not, how much trouble could the little bastard be? The bleach job had better be just comic relief.
Spike tried to remember wrestling moves from his days in public school, but he'd never spent much time doing anything other than getting his face pushed into the sand. And unfortunately, vampiric fighting was altogether different from classic wrestling. Damn whichever Senior Partner had a passion for ancient Greece! Worse, he had Illyria in his corner now, literally. She was massaging oil onto his back and talking about the days when the Wolf, Ram and Hart were but squirming, gibbering lice that screeched and schemed in the endless night of . . . Spike was getting better at tuning her out, and with luck she wouldn't pass on any good advice while he was ignoring her.
When the first round began, Spike moved in fast and grappled Marcus, only to find himself sliding down the man like a firefighter down a beefy pole. Harmony had forgotten the second step of dusting the oiled wrestler with a fine coating of sand to afford his opponent a good grip. Marcus recovered from the surprise first and got Spike in a headlock. Unfortunately, Marcus assumed Harmony's oversight was a calculated ploy rather than an honest mistake she would attempt to correct by running up and heaving sand at him. Several of the haphazardly aimed handfuls went directly into Marcus' face, conveniently distracting his attention from Spike, who got him thrown down and pinned. First round to Spike.
Round Two
Even though she'd been told one didn't do this in real wrestling, Harmony was walking across the lobby carrying a placard that read "round two". Spike seriously doubted anyone would complain since the well-upholstered blonde was clad only in a skimpy white lace bra and thong, with a pair of blood red stiletto heels. Spike smirked at the stunned, slightly wall-eyed look Marcus had, common to people who weren't quite used to Harmony yet. Having Harm on Team Evil should be enough on it's own to lose Marcus the match. Illyria was gazing at Harmony with her usual contempt, but Spike caught Illyria examining her own cleavage with a puzzled expression a moment later.
Although Illyria vowed to destroy the world and herself with it a thousand times before confessing this, the body she'd taken over wasn't the obedient servant she would wish. It had it's own urges and priorities, one of which was the incessant desire to straddle the tall, disheveled, brooding brunette – the slender, tall, disheveled, brooding brunette. Illyria had no intention of yielding to this inferior form's mutinous lusts, and if Wesley did not stop gazing at her with smoldering eyes, she would rip those eyes right out of the sockets. See if she didn't, she thought irritably, squeezing her thighs together.
The combatants charged. Marcus, the sand out of his eyes, clothes lined the vampire, which didn't hurt Spike but did knock him down. This allowed Spike to scissor his legs between Marcus' and send the burly not-exactly- human man crashing to the floor as well. Not that this was to Spike's advantage, as Marcus managed to crash onto Spike and immobilize the vamp. Second round to Marcus.
Round Three
Spike looked around; no Illyria. He sat down and began massaging his own shoulder when a pair of hands took over for him.
"Thanks, Lorne", he said, relieved to have a sane corner man.
"Oh, my pleasure, Slim," Lorne replied. "I've got a honking big pile of money riding on you." Finished with massaging, re-oiling and re-sanding the vampire, Lorne sent him off with a brisk slap to his ass and a "Tear him apart, tiger!"
Thereby motivated, Spike launched himself at Marcus. A bulldozer drive into his midsection took the big man down, leaving them both thrashing around on the marble floor. They looked, Angel thought, like a bear cub and a wolf pup frolicking together in an after-school special about everybody just getting along. He turned to share this witty thought with Wesley, but the Englishman had wandered off.
He was scanning the crowd for Wes when a roaring cheer made him turn back to see his other Englishman's knee in the small of Marcus' back, face vamped out exultingly over the furious liaison. Third round and match to Spike. Angel's eyes sparkled at the thought of his winnings as he strode out into the middle of the lobby floor.
The Aftermath
Cheerfully pocketing the wad of cash he had won, Angel walked down the hallway to his office, opened the door and then quickly shut it again. That was one thing he hadn't needed to see, though he cursed himself for not starting a pool on how long before Wes and Illyria were humping. Well, no matter, the vampire thought as he called maintenance to have his old desk destroyed and a new one sent in tomorrow. He could still get up a quick pool on whether or not Illyria would rip Wesley's testicles off after they'd finished.
"C'mon, mate, no mopes. You've lost but evil isn't out, it just doesn't get to be in charge. Better for your lot really, who needs all the extra work of running things?" Spike told Marcus. "Now let's go make nice. I know for a fact that Harmony's great fun when she's naked and not talking, and there'll be a reach-around in it for you, if you behave yourself." Spike gave Marcus his most charming smile.
"If I behave myself," Marcus thought, scheming, then paused and looked over the pair of attractive blondes. What the hell, he'd lost, that wasn't changing, and he didn't have anything better to do before work tomorrow. "Let's go", he said.
The End