You Again, You Forever

Chapter Three

I hope you like this chapter as much as I do, it's my favourite (even after rewriting). The setting is such that we've reached the final episode of Angel (Not Fade Away). Spike spends the last few hours before the final battle with sprouting poetry in a bar. I love that scene and the fact that he's finally given the chance to recite poetry without being laughed at.

So here now, in my version, Spike spends his final hours not just with poetry but with Damon as well.

Los Angeles, 2004

Damon had never been one to give a shit about gossip, and especially not the kind of the demon variety. What did he care about other vampires or demons and the quarrels they had with each other? As long as he had a nice place to stay with infinitive access to humans that would keep him in blood and drinks and that would take care of the other needs he had… what did he care if the underground population suddenly decided to fight each other for dominance?

Damon didn't care.

But nevertheless he'd always kept an ear on the ground for news of trouble, just to make sure he'd be in the loop of what was going on. Wouldn't do to one day wake up and find the roof over your head burning or worse, the entire human race wiped out in one strike of crazy demons fighting each other and not caring about casualties.

If the humans ever got between the lines… well, that would leave the vampires suddenly without their walking happy meals.

And that thought wasn't so entertaining now, was it?

So, no… Damon liked to be in on the greater scheme of things while never really getting involved with anything. He didn't root for one party or another… he just liked to know what was going on.

And Damon had learned pretty soon after he'd come to Los Angeles that something seemed to always be going on here. The local demon population was way larger than any other place Damon had ever been to before. Well, apart from a small town called Sunnydale, that is.

He'd stumbled upon it a few years back and, damn, that town had really held a whole lot of nasty things that go bump in the night. Demons had been everywhere and so Damon had stayed only a couple of hours before he'd moved on.

Word had gotten out last year that the whole town had suddenly just sort of collapsed, apparently due to a giant sinkhole caused by an earthquake. And sure enough, when Damon had driven by on his way to L.A. a few weeks ago he'd found nothing but a huge crater filled with rubble where the town once had been. Not even a lonely street post had survived the disaster. All Damon had been able to make out (he'd stopped to take a glimpse over the crater's edge) had been a wrecked and battered 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign lying on top of the debris.

Damon didn't know for sure but he figured instead of an earthquake the town had gotten what it deserved for hosting so many different kinds of demons. Sooner or later war was bound to break out amongst them, right?

You reap what you sow and all that shit.

And now Los Angeles was apparently about to reap what it had sowed over the years.

The news had reached Damon's ears through the demon grapevine only a few days ago: something was supposed to go down in L.A., something involving some kind of law firm and a group called The Senior Partners.

Words like 'Circle of the Black Thorn' – whatever crazy botany-freaks that group entailed – had fallen as well as CEO and a failed failsafe (and didn't that just sound really stupid). Apparently there was an angel involved in all this crazy stuff as well and, frankly speaking, it was a bit too much and Damon had spontaneously decided to pack up his things and get the hell out of Dodge.

And besides, it was high time to see how his little brother was faring in his brooding and tortured act of animal-blood-only, wasn't it?

It had been what, about 10 years since he'd last seen Stefan? Damon still shuddered at the memories of that awful Grunge look Stefan had favoured then. He just hoped his brother had by now stopped his pathetic little attempts at blending in with the human society.

Longish greasy hair, torn blue jeans and hideously coloured shirts of Nirvana, Beck or whatever stupid band had made it to the top that year, that's what Damon remembered most vividly about the last time he'd seen his little brother.

Not that he himself hadn't favoured some of the popular bands back then as well, mind you. But unlike Stefan, Damon had never stooped so low as to discard his own style in favour of supporting a rock-band by wearing their shirts, not even The Offspring (which he thought had been pretty much geniuses).

"Well, dear brother obviously doesn't have what it takes to maintain your own style no matter what's the current fashion of the year," Damon chuckled and made his way through the entrance of the seedy and dark biker-bar he'd come to frequent quite often over the last few weeks.

Although it was midday (two o'clock in the afternoon to be exact) Damon knew that he'd get a few drinks here. The place never closed, that's what he'd come to like about it. So he'd decided to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere of the bar for one last time before he'd leave L.A. for good.

He pushed through the crowd and the smoke-filled air, spotted a free space at the bar, and made his way over to lower his lean body onto a bar stool.

Thoughts still occupied by Stefan's lack of fashion-sense (or any sort of common sense) Damon ordered a Whiskey and muttered under his breath: "Little brother's far too concerned with what others think of him. He simply lacks the balls you need to pull off your own thing no matter what."

The bartender brought his drink and Damon nodded his thanks. Taking a mouthful he suddenly noticed a hand-written sign on the wall announcing 'Open-Mike-Night'.

Obviously the term 'night' was used rather loosely because Damon's vampire hearing was already being tortured by a decidedly off-key version of Linkin Park's 'Breaking The Habit' that a fat middle-aged biker was belting into the microphone.

"Great," Damon's eyes flew to the small stage and back. He sighed dramatically. "My last hours in L.A. and what do I get? Ugly bikers singing karaoke. And really badly, I might add!"

"They're not all bad, you know? And at least they have the balls to go on stage and pull off their own thing, unlike your… brother, was it? Sorry, by the way, I overheard you earlier."

Damon cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at the woman sitting next to him. With long black hair and smoky blue eyes she wasn't too bad looking, though maybe a bit older than what he usually went for. Still, she would do. Damon wiped up his sexy smirk just like that.

"Na, it's okay. Feel free to mock my brother any time you like. You won't hear me complaining. I'm Damon by the way."

"Tracy," she replied with a smile. "So, no love lost between the two of you?"

"Let's not waste our breaths on my stupid brother, Tracy." Damon smiled and motioned for the bartender to come over again. He ordered another Whiskey for himself and a beer for her. When their drinks had arrived Damon continued: "So, Open-Mike, huh? What did I miss so far? You said they're not all bad?"

"No," Tracy shook her dark hair. "Earlier there was this hot guy, I mean really hot, sex-on-legs and dream-about-him kind of hot, you know?"

"You mean like me?" Damon used his sexy voice and did that thing with his eyes that he knew all women went crazy about.

Tracy let out a drunken giggle that just wasn't sexy for a woman in her forties and Damon had to suppress an annoyed roll of eyes.

The woman didn't notice but went on: "Ugh, yeah, just like you. But he had a voice… damn! Don't ask me what his poetry was about; I only remember one piece called 'The Wanton Folly Of Me Mum' or something like that. He could have read from a phone book for all I care, his voice was, wow… Goosebumps all over me just thinking about it."

"He read poetry?" Damon scoffed and downed his Whiskey. He wasn't the least bit interested in her anymore; any woman that got Goosebumps from listening to some guy reciting poetry wouldn't do for him. Not even as a quick afternoon snack.

Damon was about to make his more or less polite excuses (he was about to simply up and leave without another glance at her) when Tracy suddenly grabbed his arm and whispered: "Look, there! There he is, that's him!"

Damon threw a bored look over to where this supposed poetry god with the golden voice had appeared… and his jaw nearly dropped all the way to the ground.

"Spike?" Damon couldn't believe his eyes. He wouldn't! But it was true, the bleached-blond hair, the strikingly handsome features with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in anyone but himself, the leather jacket (or was that a coat?)… it was Spike! Just as fucking gorgeous as the last time they'd met, twenty-seven years ago (and he hadn't aged a bit but, duh, neither had he, right?).

"Fucking bite me, it's really… Spike! I don't… oh fuck!"

"You know him?" Tracy gasped. "Really? Oh, please, can we go over? Introduce me? Please? I'd do anything to get to know him," she crooned like a teenage girl about to meet her favourite boy band.

Damon didn't spare her another thought. He stared through the crowded room at Spike and as if the other vampire was feeling his gaze, blue eyes suddenly turned his way and budged in immediate recognition.

Two seconds later Spike stood a hair's breaths away from Damon. "Bloody hell, it's really you again!"

The two vampires stared at each other for a silent while, each taking in the other's looks as if comparing what they saw with the memories they had of each other from decades ago.

Damon was the one to break the silence in the end.

"I see that your hair's still the same outrageous colour, too bad." He had trouble forcing the words to sound cool; the tongue in his mouth seemed to have suddenly turned into this thick dry piece of useless meat.

"Damon Salvatore, still the same old smirking devil. Bloody buggering hell, I don't believe it!"

Spike's face was split into a wide grin and his voice sounded incredulous but pleasantly so; as if he was actually happy to see the other vampire again.

Damon frowned confused. They hadn't parted on that friendly terms, had they? Okay, so the beating each other to a bloody pulp had somehow turned into the most intense (and not to mention satisfying) sex he'd ever had but that didn't mean that they'd become some kind of friends over it, right?

Damon simply didn't have any friends; he didn't do friends, period.

Not even the kind with benefits.

Then why were his own lips suddenly twisting upwards in a genuine smile? Why was there suddenly some kind of strange and unfamiliar… something in his chest, making him feel as if his heart was suddenly beating again?

Damon tried to turn it off. The grin, the feelings, everything.

But it seemed that his body had grown a second mind (or make that a third because Damon did think with his dick just as much as with his actual brain, so that made two already, didn't it?). The muscles in his face weren't listening to him anymore and he kept on smiling until a nervous female voice finally pulled him out of it again.

"Ugh, hi. I'm Tracy and I just wanted to… uh," the nearly forgotten woman at his side tried to get Spike's attention.

Spike sent her a brief glance but then his eyes travelled back to Damon once again. He couldn't believe it! Damon Salvatore!

An almost uncontrollable urge suddenly overtook Spike. God, he wanted to pull the vampire into a hug. 'Stupid soul,' Spike tried to squash it down quickly. He knew he was grinning like a loon but he didn't care. Hell, earlier he'd bared his soul through bits and pieces of his bloody awful poetry and had lived to tell the tale. Standing here like a bloody smiling idiot surely couldn't be worse, could it?

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm and when Spike looked down he realized that Tracy was clinging to him and had obviously been babbling on for quite a while now.

He hadn't heard a single word of it.

Spike looked up to Damon's face again.

Their eyes met over Tracy's head and Damon suddenly noticed the same annoyance he was feeling with the blathering woman mirrored in Spike's eyes. He made quick work of grabbing Tracy's arm and dragging her towards the back.

"You know what, Tracy," he whispered conspiringly. "We'll take this to where it's less crowded, huh? I can introduce you to Spike more properly without an audience and at the same time Spike and I will be able to… to share a drink."

"They serve drinks in the back?" Tracy frowned but followed Damon nevertheless.

"The best kind, designed for special people like Spike and me," Damon grinned back.

Hell, he wasn't even lying to her, was he?

Damon was about to open the backdoor when Spike appeared by his side. One hand on Damon's arm he shook his head, barely visible.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, mate." Throwing a smile at the woman hanging off Damon's other arm he went on: "No offence, luv, but I'd like to catch up with my old friend Damon alone for now. Wouldn't interest you anyway, the kind of things we'd bash our heads over."

"But…"

Both vampires ignored the woman for silently staring at each other. Damon didn't know for sure what game Spike was suddenly playing at. He'd just wanted to get the opening drinks out of the way so to speak and now Spike was… declining? Huh?

"So," Spike addressed Tracy once again. "Why don't you get yourself a cab and go home, huh? And I wouldn't linger in dark alleys too long, there's a whole lot of nasties lurking about these days."

His gaze travelled back to Damon briefly and then he shoved the girl towards the door and started pulling Damon back to the bar by his arm.

Tracy stared after them, dumbfounded at being shot down so unceremoniously, before she vanished with something that sounded to Spike like "Didn't like your stupid poetry anyway!"

Neither Damon nor Spike wasted another thought on her. Damon was too busy trying to figure out what Spike was playing at and Spike tried to come up with a plausible reason for why he'd turn down a tasty meal like that.

"Care to explain what's going on here, Spike?" Damon asked eventually.

Spike merely shrugged and sat back down at the bar. Damon followed suit. "Spike?"

"Oh please, I've known her but two seconds and she's managed to annoy the hell out of me already."

"That's why I wanted to kill her," Damon supplied, rolling his eyes as if to say 'duh'.

"Yeah, in broad daylight," Spike raised an eyebrow.

Oh, right. Damon hadn't thought about that. He was so used to walking in the sun that he'd forgotten other vampires couldn't. But then something else came to his mind, something that just didn't add up.

"There are enough shadows out back that it wouldn't have mattered, Spike."

Spike let out a sigh. "Not to you it wouldn't!"

"Huh?"

"Damon," Spike was growing tired of this rapidly. "Just give it a bloody rest, okay?"

Something in Spike's voice made Damon cock his head to the side and eye him silently. "For now," he agreed at last and turned back to the bar to order a bottle of Whiskey instead.

Something about Spike had changed, that much was clear. Damon had no idea what it was but… he'd get to the bottom of it. For now Damon would stay calm, drink his Whiskey and he'd enjoy Spike's company again.

"So you're still trailing after your little brother wherever he goes?" Spike chuckled a while later. Damon had filled him in on what he'd been up to since they'd last seen each other. "Anyone ever told you that you got serious family issues, mate?"

Damon replied with a pointed stare. "Moi? You're one to talk, Spike. Don't tell me you've given up on your favourite past-time: following Angelus and your crazy fruit basket of a Sire around like a lost puppy."

Though he hadn't seen her or had even thought about Drusilla in years Spike felt the need to defend her to Damon. "You don't get to talk about Dru like that. I know she was mad like a hatter but she was my Sire and I loved her for a very long time."

"Was?" Damon looked up. "She dead or something?"

"Na, don't think so," Spike shrugged and drained another shot. "I think I'd know. Though, last time I saw her I was actually about to stake her myself."

Damon poured them both another shot and waited for Spike to go on.

"Well, I had to prove something and I thought offing my Sire would do the trick. It didn't though, just got me a very pissed-off Slayer shutting the door right in my face."

"The Slayer?" Damon listened up. "The girl in New York?"

"What? Oh, no," Spike grinned. "That one I killed shortly after…" he suddenly stared at Damon when he remembered. "You know, after you…" he broke off again, embarrassed. He'd been about to say 'after you stood me up' but that would have sounded far too girlish, right? He wasn't a teenage girl and Damon wasn't his crush!

"Oh, about that," Damon shrugged noncommittally. He'd obviously not paid attention to Spike's almost slip-up. "Don't remind me. Worst six months of my life, that."

"How so?" Spike wanted to know but Damon seemed not very eager to tell. Instead he eyed the Whiskey bottle in front of them and let out a low chuckle.

"Do you know that this is the first time ever that we actually managed to have a drink? I've known you for almost 125 years, and we've never shared a drink before. Just punches and… you know. Never a drink."

Spike contemplated that for a while. Damon thought he looked like he was about to reply something, perhaps something like 'You don't actually know me.' And it wouldn't be a lie, would it? They didn't actually know each other that well, despite…

But then Spike shook his head, picked up his shot and leaned closer: "Well, then… let's drink on that. Finally sharing a drink."

Damon picked up his glass as well and together they drank their Whiskey. Then Spike smirked: "I still think I'm letting you off the hook too easy for when you didn't show up back then, what with not beating you up for it, you know?"

"You wanna have a go?" Damon smirked. "See if you can take me on now? But I have to tell you, I'm not on Bambi-diet like my brother, so… you'll lose anyway."

Spike seemed to contemplate the offer for a second but then Damon watched him simply shrug. "Thanks but no thanks. Not today." He picked up his Whiskey again.

'Okay, that's enough," Damon thought bewildered and stopped Spike's movement. His hand shot out and closed around the other's just when he was about to raise the shot glass.

Spike lifted his eyes to stare at Damon.

"What is wrong with you?" Damon had to voice his confusion at last.

"Huh? What are you on about?"

"You don't wanna feed, you don't wanna fight, you just… I don't know," Damon's blue eyes seemed to stare right through Spike. The blond vampire lowered his eyes.

"And the protective thing? Definitely weird!"

"What protective thing?" Spike frowned.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Telling that annoying chick to get a taxi and not to linger around dark alleys… what was that all about, huh? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were protecting her from me. Have you gone over to protecting humans now, Spike?"

Spike took in Damon's mock-horrified face and decided to talk around it for now.

"She was too old to eat anyway," he tried to shrug it off. Maybe Damon had caught on to the fact that he had changed somehow, true, but that didn't mean… They didn't know each other that well, right? It's not as if he had a sign glued to his forehead saying 'I'm a bloody do-gooder whitehead now, come and mock me!'. Damon didn't need to know about the soul and if Spike could help it he wouldn't.

It's not that he was ashamed of it or anything! But… Damon wouldn't get it and come tomorrow it wouldn't matter anyway, so… why bother?

"Oh, come on Spike, that's a joke, right?" Damon shook his head. "I'm sure she would have tasted perfectly fine, in fact I've enjoyed women far older than her."

When Spike didn't say anything for a while Damon eyed the vampire closely and eventually went on: "No, that's not it. You are… you look… Something's different about you, I just can't figure out exactly what. So, spill already."

Spike let out a long sigh and, downing a quick shot, shrugged eventually. "Alright, I don't know why I'm even telling you since it's none of your bloody business but… well, here's the thing. I got me my soul back and don't drink humans any more, okay?"

"What?" Damon's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Care to run that by me again?"

The blond vampire's chin stuck out defiantly. "Souled vamp here. No human blood. Got it? Or do you need me to paint you a bloody picture?"

"I, uh…"

It didn't happen often but Damon was seriously at a loss for words. He stared at Spike, looking up and down the lean body as if hoping to find some kind of explanation, and found none. His gaze travelled up to lock with Spike's, waiting for the smirked 'Just kidding, let's go kill something!', but when the seconds ticked by in silence Damon tried to get his shock under control long enough to finally ask: "Okay, leaving the soul thing aside for now, you didn't happen to run into my stupid brother lately, did you?"

"No, why?" Spike frowned. "From what little you let on I figured he's a right wanker and not worth knowing, so…?"

"That he is," Damon smirked but grew serious quickly again. "Then, what happened? Did you, I don't know, hit your head, fall into a coma and wake up all fuzzy and brain-addled? Decided that vegetarian was the new way to go? What?"

"No," Spike stated calmly. "I died and came back but that's got nothing to do with it. I quit the human stuff long before that."

Damon sat up straight. "You… you died?"

Spike drowned another mouthful of Whiskey before he sent Damon a smirk. "Yeah, got fried to a pile of dust by a stupid piece of jewellery around my neck while trying to save the world."

He was by now seriously enjoying the dumbfound look on Damon's face and added with a casual shrug: "I succeeded by the way, just in case you were wondering."

"You died saving the world," Damon repeated slowly.

"I did."

"While wearing jewellery?"

"Yep," Spike chuckled and then, finally taking pity on Damon, clapped him on the back and shoved the shot glass over. "It's a long story, mate. Here, drink up, you look as if you need it."

He watched Damon pick up the glass and drown the shot in one heavy gulp before he raised his glass to his lips as well. Damon had meanwhile pulled himself another shot and only when that one had gone down as well he looked at Spike again.

"You know," Damon's eyes twinkled brightly, "I like good long stories and something tells me that this one's gonna be really interesting." One arm propped up on the counter Damon let his jaw rest against his palm when he flashed Spike a grin. "So, you have my undivided attention here. Shoot."

Spike took in the other vampire's handsome face, his sharp features and crystal-blue eyes, and all of a sudden felt the strange but familiar attraction slam into him full-force again. 'He's bloody gorgeous', Spike thought unabashedly.

Memories of their one night in New York came rushing to the front. He remembered Damon's strong lean body pressing him down to the ground, hands groping everywhere, frantic tearing at clothes and finally, finally the feeling of naked flesh under his fingers, strong muscles flexing under his touch.

Spike pulled out of his memories when he felt his cock stir just thinking about that night more than twenty years ago. He shifted in his seat before he threw a quick glance at Damon again.

The other vampire was still waiting for him to say something, to start his epic tale of how he'd single-handedly closed the Hellmouth and had gone out in one great heroic act, only to come back from the dead by means of a sodding trinket.

It took Spike only a second to come to a decision then.

See, chances were that he was about to die tonight, right? For real this time. If he and the rest of Angel's sodding band of buggered would really go through with what they'd planned, and they would go through with it, that much was clear by now…

Well, Spike knew that they wouldn't be walking away this time. No chance in hell. After tonight the Senior Partners would throw everything they had at whoever was left standing.

This was it, Spike knew it. His last blaze of glory, his final curtain… this was it.

And Angel had told them all to go out and cease the day as if it's their last, hadn't he? Not that Spike usually did what he was told… quite the contrary, and especially if it was Peaches ordering him about.

But it was different this time, wasn't it?

This was truly the last day he had left on this earth. Earlier, when he'd thought about how to spend it, Spike had come up with three things exactly:

First: Get wasted… well, he was not quite there yet but pleasantly buzzed. So, check that.

Second: Get back in touch with your inner poet and bar that soul via words you've written a lifetime ago… been there, done that (and he'd surprisingly lived through it without humiliation). So, yeah, check the poetry as well.

And last but not least: Connect with someone in the most basic and natural of ways since the beginning of time (meaning, shag your brains out for one last time) and, well… Spike looked over to Damon again.

'If he's in, make that bloody check, alright!' he thought and a genuine smile curled his lips at the prospect. He wouldn't waste his last shag on just anybody but do it with a guy who'd left that sort of impression that got him hard just thinking about it decades after. That's clearly as good as it would get, right?

Spike's hand went to rest on Damon's knee and he gave it a light squeeze. Voice sultry he purred: "You know, Damon. Why don't we take this some place more private and comfy? I got a few hours to kill before, well, before…"

He downed another shot and then leaned close to Damon's ear. "What do you say, huh? You, me, a nice comfy bed instead of the sodden ground of Central Park, how about we fresh up the memories a bit? You up for it?"

Damon turned his head and stared into the blue eyes for a second. His own eyes darkened visibly, mirroring Spike's arousal, and he grabbed Spike's hand on his thigh and pulled it up to his groin.

"What do you think?"

"Definitely up I'd say," Spike smirked and hopped from his seat. Still holding Damon's hand in his he pulled the vampire along through the crowd and towards the backdoor of the bar.

Damon was about to ask why they'd go out though the back but then he watched Spike duck his head and sprint a few meters through broad daylight to where a shiny silver sports car with tinted windows was parked. The blond vampire threw his body inside and motioned for Damon to follow.

Taking his time strolling through the sun Damon reached the car and lazily slipped into the passenger seat.

"Bloody show-off," Spike grumbled. "You still owe me an explanation on how you do that, you know?"

"Tsk, tsk, Spike, don't be so nosy," Damon smirked. "Besides, I see you got this nifty little Viper all sun proofed and vampire-friendly, so... I like it."

"Yeah, it's the only bloody thing I ever got from Peaches," Spike shot back and started the engine. "You'd think that being the boss of the world's biggest law firm would've made him adjust a bit but no, not him, he's still the biggest bloody miser there is! Treats his employees like shit!"

"Employee?" Damon stared at Spike from the side. "You, you have a job? Seriously? You work?"

Spike threw a dark look back. "Ask me again tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"Forget it," Spike shook his head, determined not to let the mood be ruined by thinking about tomorrow. There was no point, was there?

He knew he'd not make it through the night anyway.

They'd ended up in a cheap hotel just a few blocks down the street. Damon had briefly wondered why Spike hadn't brought them back to his own place. For he had to have a place of his own somewhere around, right?

Hell, the guy had admitted to having a job for crying out loud! Surely he had a nice apartment somewhere, too. Probably with the same conveniently tinted windows the car was stacked with.

But Damon hadn't asked any further when Spike had parked the Viper in front of the first hotel they'd come across. Apartment, hotel room… what's the difference, really? It's not as if he cared one way or another.

All he'd cared about for the time being had been getting Spike out of those incredibly tight black jeans and onto a bed, naked. Or, you know, body bent over the back of a couch, sprawled out on a floor, pressed up against a wall… he'd never been picky when it had come to sex and he hadn't been now.

Damon had even put the gnawing curiosity to hear Spike's story onto the backseat of his mind.

Fuck first, listen to his heroic saving-the-world-and-dying-and-coming-back-story later, Damon's priorities had been pretty clear.

'Or maybe,' Damon thought now, right after he'd gained back enough of his senses to form a coherent thought again. 'Maybe I can get Spike to tell his tale in between two rounds? Like… now?'

Damon lifted his head off the pillow and looked down their naked bodies. All he managed to see was a blond mob of tousled hair resting on his right hipbone. The rest of the vampire lay curled up beside him, his beautiful face hidden.

"Spike?" Damon wiggled his hips to get a reaction. "How about you start telling me what the hell happened to you over the last few decades, huh?"

Without moving an inch Spike answered: "Now?"

"Sure, why not?"

Spike hoisted himself up on his elbow and rubbed one hand over his jaw. "Let a bloke get some bloody feeling back into his mouth first, okay?" He lay back down again. "I think I dislodged my jaw!"

"Well, you won't hear me saying sorry any time soon," Damon grinned and pulled his hand through the sweaty curls on Spike's head. Then he tucked with a bit of force. "And I don't remember hearing you complain before either."

"Wasn't complaining, you know? Just observing." Spike shifted a little to get out of Damon's grasp and began tracing soft patterns on the sensitive inside of Damon's thigh. "And by the way, stop pulling my hair. That hurts."

"Well, if you'd come up here I'd gladly do something else," Damon smirked but let out a hiss when Spike pinched his thigh. Then the blond vampire suddenly let go only to pounce him a second later.

"Oof," Damon groaned when Spike landed on top of him.

Spike was covering Damon from head to toe and leaned in to playfully bite the older vampire's lip. Damon grabbed Spike's head to hold him in place and returned the kiss with a hint of fangs.

Spike pulled away again. "I thought you wanted me to tell my story?"

"Later," Damon growled, hunger risen anew, and flipped them both over so that he came to rest on top of Spike again. "Right now I want you to shut up and let me do what I do best. You, enjoy the ride."

He kissed Spike again and elicited a groan in return. Well, seemed like being around for one hundred and forty years had its perks. You learned a thing or two over the years, right?

Damon swept his tongue over Spike's lower lip one last time before he pulled away again with a diabolical glint in his eyes. "You know what? I didn't mean it."

"What," Spike panted out. Another roll of Damon's hips had him bite his tongue to stop a cry from coming out. God, how the hell did he do that? Reduce him to a whimpering mass of quivering flesh with nothing but a roll of hips?

"What's that you didn't mean?" Spike ground out.

Damon's eyes flashed up. "That I want you to shut up. I think I wanna hear you scream instead. Preferably my name, but 'God' will do as well."

Spike was about to reply something flippant, something the likes of 'Bugger off, you're not gonna make me scream like some silly bint that's being deflowered! You're not that good'.

He was glad he hadn't said anything though because somewhere along the next few minutes or hours Spike learned that, bloody hell yes, Damon really was that good.

But, when Spike turned their positions a while later and showed him just what 'shagging your brains out and fuck you six ways to Sunday' really entailed, Damon was in no position to voice any complains either.

Damon had trouble getting his brain to form any coherent thought, let alone any complains.

Afterwards he sat with his back against the headboard, propped up on two pillows and the sheet pooling loosely around his waist, and tried to get his mouth to work again.

"That… that didn't suck, man. Not at all," he panted out although he knew he didn't need the air in his lungs.

Beside him Spike leaned over the edge of the bed and groped around for something in the pocket of his coat. He came back up with a battered pack of cigarettes, put one between his smirking lips and lightened it.

"Bloody right it didn't," he drawled then. "Though on second thought, I seem to recall quit a lot of sucking…"

His fingers trailed over his neck and collarbone down to his left nipple but Damon's sharp fangs hadn't left any bite marks there. The wounds had already closed again; just like the ones he'd left on the other's body when they'd shared the sweet and coppery taste of their borrowed blood.

"You're still smoking, I see," Damon's voice brought Spike out of his thoughts and he flashed the other vampire a brief smile.

"Actually, no. I quit a while back."

Damon threw a pointed look at the cigarette dangling from Spike's lips.

"No, I mean that," Spike shrugged. "This is but the second fag I'm having in months. Bought the pack only this morning, right after…" he let the sentence hang in mid-air when memories of this morning came back.

He'd left his apartment with Angel and Gunn while Wes had stayed to make sure Blue got patched up all right after her run-in with that bloody Hamilton guy. 'Tonight then,' Angel had nodded to them and he and Gunn had been left standing on the street, only just beginning to grasp the full meaning of what would happen tonight.

That's when Spike had bought the pack of fags and had slowly inhaled the welcoming smoke.

"After what?" Damon's voice once again pulled Spike back to the present.

"Never mind," he shrugged it off and crushed the fag on the nightstand. "It's not important. Not that anything will be anymore."

"Are you always like this, wallowing and brooding, after sex?" Damon nudged Spike's shoulder. "Because if so, then you should hand out a warning of some kind. I suddenly feel like I'm in bed with my brother!" Damon shuddered at the thought. "And that's not something I want to envision, ever!"

"I don't brood," Spike returned with determination. "I happen to think."

"Don't strain yourself too much," Damon smirked. "It'll give you wrinkles."

"You know what? You're right," Spike lifted the sheet and let his hand wander up Damon's thigh again. "Won't do me any good to think about what's to come anyway. And we have far better things to do, am I right?"

Damon slapped the vampire's hand away and, not believing what he was about to say, chuckled: "No more, Spike. Timeout."

"Timeout?" Spike raised an eyebrow and continued his ministrations under the sheets. "Doesn't feel like your prick knows something like that even exists, mate."

"I wanna hear your story," Damon took hold of Spike's hand and pulled it on top of the covers. Then his face scrunched up. "Did I really just say that? Fuck! What the hell did you do to make me sound like a pouting five-year-old?"

"Hey, wasn't me. But if you really wanna hear about my heroic act of closing the Hellmouth…"

"Hellmouth? Does that explain why you won't drink the real stuff anymore?"

Spike turned his head and threw a long look at Damon. Then he let out a sigh. "I guess I should start at the beginning, shouldn't I?"

"That would be very welcomed, yes." Damon snuggled up to Spike's side (there really was no other word for it) and waited for the other man to begin.

"Okay," Spike finally nodded. "I guess it all started with a certain Slayer."

"Oh, that one in New York?" Damon chimed in.

"Shut up and let me get on with it, will you?" Spike smacked Damon's chest. "Otherwise this will take days. So, the Slayer. Buffy."

Damon snorted at hearing the ridiculous name but shut up when he received another slap for it.

"I knew it the second I laid eyes on her for the first time, back in 1997, that she was something special. But I had no idea that she'd have the power to change my entire sorry existence. And change it she bloody did. So, me and Dru, we arrived in Sunnydale in the middle of the night and…"

"And then I said 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it' and told Buffy to get the hell out of there. She did and then the bleeding pain got too much. Organs exploded in my chest, skin burned to ash, yeah well, I got fried good and proper." Spike finished his epic tale with a casual shrug of shoulders.

"And then of course I'm suddenly back again, popping out of the trinket right in the middle of Angel's bloody office."

"Just like that?" Damon frowned.

"Yeah," Spike shrugged again. "That was last year. I've been working with Angel and his crew ever since then. And that's it."

Spike knew that he was stretching the truth somewhat here but… Damon didn't need to know all and besides, he was getting tired of talking. In fact, he was getting tired, period.

"So, Damon. How about we try to get a little shut-eye before we go for our next round?" Spike smirked and got more comfortably under the covers. "I need to be up to my full strength and…"

"Oh yeah, that you do," Damon smirked but then he got serious quickly again. "It's alright, sleep. Go on."

"What about you, you're not tired?"

"No," Damon shook his head. He was far too confused to even think about sleep now. Or anything really. His mind was simply reeling from everything he'd just learned about Spike and he was in dire need to digest everything. So many mixed feelings were floating around his head right now, not to mention twisting in his guts like snails and making their way into his chest as well.

He needed time to think.

"Okay," Spike muttered, eyes already closed. But then he opened them again. "Just one more thing, mate."

"Yeah?"

"I just, this day… with you," Spike cocked his head to the side and cuffed his elbow into Damon's side. "I guess what I mean is: Thanks."

"For what?" Damon frowned confused.

"For making me tell you. For making me think about it. My life, the things I did, decisions I made for a hundred plus years… Now I can honestly say… it was a hell of a ride and worth it all."

Damon said nothing but watched Spike close his eyes again. Within moments the blond vampire was deeply asleep.

And Damon laid there by his side, trying to sort out his confused thoughts, his confused feelings… and eventually drifted off to sleep only to dream about Spike.

Damon woke up some time later, still a little groggy and no less confused, and looked around for Spike.

He found an empty hotel room instead.

"Spike," Damon called out towards the small bathroom, briefly wondering if the blond vampire was taking a shower without him. But the slight churning in his guts already told him a different story.

What Spike had said last… it had sounded so… final. Like goodbye.

Damon knew that Spike was gone.

He sat up in bed and his eyes instantly fell onto a small white piece of paper propped up against the TV in the corner. That hadn't been there before, had it?

Damon jumped out of bed and, the neatly scribbled letter in hand, sat down on the edge again.

Damon,he read.

The word Dear was crossed out prior to his name and Damon had to smile despite the sinking feeling that had settled in his stomach. He wasn't anyone's dear anything, and Spike knew it. Damon trained his eyes on the lines again.

Mate, I can't tell you in person, and not because you're out like a light and sleeping like the dead sod you are just now. I've always been better with the written word instead of… well, you know. Even after a hundred plus years I'm still same old William, bloody poet at heart, I guess.

Right, so… well, tonight we'll see if the sappy poet also has a bit of a fighter in him.

The thing is: Tonight me and Angel and his merry band of buggered are going against some nasty demons who think of themselves as the bloody kings of evil and when we've done them in (and I'm not saying 'if' cause losing's not an option here), well… the Senior Partners are gonna throw everything they can at us after that.

There's no walking away from it this time. I know that.

But it's okay; I always knew I'd go down fighting.

I've said that before and, well, let's just hope that I take as much of them down with me as I did in Sunnydale. Only this time there won't be any sodding piece of jewellery involved.

Just me, back against the wall, all fists and fangs and no hope of the bloody cavalry coming to the rescue. That's the way I'm gonna go out tonight. My way.

I know that you probably don't get it. Me fighting the good fight and being okay with going out. You don't, do you? I'm not expecting you to.

I haven't forgotten what it's like without a soul, you know. And I'm not saying you should go out and get back yours. Bloody hell, mate, don't ever.

I know you're not good, and why would you wanna be? But let me tell you this: you're not bad either, Damon.

Years ago, when the Niblet was afraid she'd been made of evil and couldn't be good (don't ask, long story) I told her: 'Well, I'm not good, and I'm okay!'

So, yeah… you're okay, Damon. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different.

But then, you've got more than enough balls to never doubt yourself, don't you? I should know. I've got a nice view on them just now. I'd love to give them some more attention but… I've gotta go now.

So, yeah… this is goodbye.

There won't be any random running into each other some twenty-seven or even ninety-seven years from now. I think you're getting it but I'll say it anyway. I won't be able to make it. Not this time, not any other.

And I have to admit that it sucks. It's one of the things I'm gonna miss. All those years we didn't see each other… you know, I never spared it much thought (didn't wanna write 'you' though that's what I meant), but somehow, unconsciously maybe, I always slept better knowing that you were out there somewhere. I knew one day we'd run into each other again.

Well, we won't now.

Do me a favour, mate, will you? Don't remember me by the bollocks I'm sprouting just now.

Remember me as the first vampire you ever met since becoming one (besides your sodding brother, but as you've told me enough times, he doesn't really count now, does he?).

Remember me as the best shag you ever had (and that's not just flattery, it's the truth, isn't it? For me it is.).

Just… remember me.

Spike

Damon let his hand sink onto the mattress and just sat there, eyes closed. Then he got up, got dressed and left the hotel just when the sun was being swallowed by heavy clouds and the first few raindrops started to fall.

An hour later he was steering his car through the thunderstorm out of the city, the windscreen wiper wheezing out its last breaths and losing the fight against the onslaught of rain.

Damon had never been one to give a shit about gossip, and especially not the kind of the demon variety. What did he care about other vampires or demons and the quarrels they had with each other?

Damon didn't care.

But when words reached his ear of a war raging in L.A., about dragons and demon-knights on horseback roaming the streets on an endless killing spree, about a strange kind of thunderstorm that lasted seven days and nights…

When the words reached his ear Damon was getting drunk at a bar on the outskirts of San Diego, 125 miles away from L.A. and on his way to Mexico, and he wiped up a smirk from somewhere inside, strained and bittersweet, and raised his drink in silent regard for the best shag he'd ever had.

"Here's to you, Spike," Damon slurred out the words before they got stuck in his throat.

The dry lump he could feel there would disappear some day, right?

Damon downed another shot and knew it would. He'd just have to wash it down with enough booze.

TBC

Tissue, anyone? Sorry about the teary end but you know there's more coming, right? Not all hope is lost.