Friday, Part 4b of 5
Aug. 29th, 2007 02:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlpireTitle: Friday
Author: girlpire
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Angel/Spike (Spangel)
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: It's Friday I'm in love.
Warnings: This part - graphic male/male smexing, and a little more of what I didn't warn for in the last part.
Author's Notes: This is part 4b of a story written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spring_spangel. The first part is [here]. No beta because I'm so terribly impatient. This is the second half of the 4th chapter, because it was too long to fit in one post. And I literally just finished working on it, so I might be making some minor editorial changes tomorrow.
*
Friday
Part Four-B
*
You join the others in the conference room about an hour later. “Any breakthroughs?” you ask. “Gunn? Tell me something I want to hear.”
“Angel, are you okay?” asks Fred. “We heard y’all fighting in there.”
“For the record, I heard something completely different,” Lorne assures you.
“Spike and I weren’t fighting,” you tell her. “We were discussing a strategy.” Spike slowly enters the room behind you as you’re saying this.
“But... he’s limping,” says Fred. “Spike, are you okay?”
“M’fine, pet.” He glances your way with a smile. “The desk is a bit worse for wear, though.”
You clear your throat. “So, any news? Anything? At all?”
“I’m almost done with this translation,” Gunn offers, indicating the contract in front of him. “Those Ri’ipki guys had one hell of a lawyer. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was us.”
“It may have been us,” says Wesley. “If these demons can manipulate time and memory, there’s no telling how often we could have come into contact with them.”
“Well, at least I know it wasn’t me,” says Gunn. “I never would have drawn up something like this. These dudes are messed up in the head. Or heads. How many heads do they have?”
“Just the one. No nose, though.”
“Huh. Make that figuratively and literally.”
“So what does it say?”
“The short answer? If you signed it, they would own Nevada.”
“What?” You pick up the contract again and stare at it. It still looks like gibberish to you. “Nevada? How would my signature give them Nevada? Do I own Nevada?”
“That’s all they want?” asks Spike. “One measly state in exchange for our lives back? Bloody hell! What are you waiting for, Angel? Give it to them!”
“Spike, I can’t give them Nevada.” You glance around the table. “Right?”
“Well, I can’t say I’m particularly attached to it...” Wesley starts.
“Me either,” adds Lorne. “Well. Vegas.”
“Nevada’s like... a hundred and ten thousand square miles,” says Fred. “I don’t think we should just give them that. I mean, who knows what they’d do with it?” She turns to Gunn. “Does it say what they would do with it?”
“Besides ‘peacefully exterminating’ the entire human population?”
“See?” you say. “I knew I couldn’t give it to them.”
“It’s just one sodding united state,” says Spike. “You’d still have forty-nine others. And Puerto Rico.”
"I remember the ambassador saying something about peaceful extermination during the meeting," you say. "He said that's what will happen to the Ri'ipkis in a few hundred years, when humans find out about them."
"A few hundred years?" repeats Fred. "You mean, enough time to build up the energy to come back to today?"
Gunn is looking back down at his notes. "Would three hundred years be enough?" he asks. "They use that number a lot. Three hundred."
Wesley and Fred exchange looks. "Yes," says Wesley. "That would be the minimum amount of time needed to harness enough power for time manipulation. Give or take... fifteen years."
"You said ownership of Nevada was the short answer. What's the long answer?" you ask.
Gunn sighs. "If you want to know what the whole thing says, you might as well sit down," he tells you. "This'll take a while."
And he's right; it does take a while. By the time Gunn is finished explaining the contract with all its stipulations and provisos and addendums, it's long past quitting time and dinner time and even well into your usual date time with Spike. You've got a headache.
Using both the contract and your own memory of the neverending meeting with the Ri'ipkis, this is the information you're able to put together:
In about three hundred years (give or take fifteen), humans will have discovered the population of Ri'ipkis living in Nevada and will have decided, rather than extending a diplomatic hand of friendship, that it would just be easier to get rid of them, and so will begin a plan of "peaceful extermination." The Ri'ipkis believe that if they could prove they had a right to be there - and if they could, in fact, strike first - that their species would have a chance of survival. With Wolfram and Hart on their side, how could they lose? Especially if the contract granting them ownership of the state turns out to be three centuries old. Other rights guaranteed by the paper include nonviolent disposal of any unwanted species (including humans) living on their property as well as unlimited waste disposal directly into the Gulf of California.
Of course, none of this is expressly written out. It's mostly hidden in the complicated wording, in the myriad if-then statements and fine print. And Gunn explains that the nature of this particular kind of contract is such that it has to be signed voluntarily, so that in the future, when a test that hasn't been invented yet is run on the paper, the whole thing will prove to be legitimate. Meaning that they can't force you to sign it, they can't magick you into it, and they can't trick you into believing it's anything other than what it is, besides concealing the important parts in long words and boring speeches.
That's a small consolation. They can still make you repeat the day until you do sign it.
There is space at the end for three other signatures besides yours. These three had already been filled in when the contract was first presented to you, making you the only one standing in the way of what the Ri’ipkis want.
It's not fair for a decision like this to rest on your shoulders. The existence of an entire species, versus the human population of Nevada. You know what you have to choose, but it's still not fair. It's still something that should never be left to one person to decide.
In your long life, there are only a few things you haven't done. You haven't climbed Mt. Everest, you haven't bedded a pop singer - except that once, you've never won the lottery or learned to fly an airplane, and you've never, ever, committed genocide.
"I actually feel sort of bad for them," says Gunn. "I mean, they're only trying to protect themselves, you know? I get that."
"They're evil, right?" you ask Wesley. "Tell me they're evil, and it will make this a lot easier."
"Evil's a relative term," he says. "Although they did kill you yesterday. Does that make it easier?"
"No."
"Does for me," mutters Spike.
"I'll do some more research," says Wesley. "I'm familiar with Ri'ipki etiquette, but there's still much I don't know about them as a species. Perhaps I'll find something that will ease your mind."
"Thanks, Wes."
"I may even find a clue to help us escape their spell without your having to sign the contract. That... is what you want, isn't it? To avoid signing the contract?"
"Yes. It is."
"Right then. I'll get started now." He stands up and stacks a few of the books on the table to take them back to his office.
"I'll help you," Fred volunteers, standing as well.
"You need a third?" asks Gunn. "I'm done here." He gestures toward the contract and his notes.
"I’m here too, if you need me," Lorne says.
"Alright. Yes. Thank you. The books are in my office." Wesley starts toward the door, then stops and turns to you. "Angel, when should we meet?"
You look at your watch. "Eleven. That'll give us an hour to... talk. Before the day repeats."
"We're not gonna remember any of this tomorrow, are we?" Gunn asks.
"No, you won't. Not until we're sitting in the meeting."
He shakes his head a little. "That's so weird."
The four of them start to leave, but pause when you speak again. "Guys... thanks," you tell them. "For everything you're doing. It's been really... great working with you all. I know I don't say it much, but your friendship means a lot to me. I just... wanted you to know that. Thanks."
"Angel," Wesley says, "it's truly our pleasure." He gives you a small smile and then, one by one, your friends file out of the room.
When they've gone, you look over at Spike. It's a little over three hours until eleven, and you're acutely aware of the second hand on your watch ticking the time away.
"What do you want to do now?" he asks.
You stand up and take his hand. He stands up as well. "Everything," you say.
*
The elevator ride back up to your penthouse seems to take longer than usual. You spend the time kissing Spike slowly, your hand resting on the small of his back underneath his black t-shirt. This may be your favorite part of him, the smooth dip of skin beneath your palm.
You feel the heavy burden of time hanging over your head, but you force yourself to go slowly, pulling Spike along behind you when the elevator opens into your apartment. You lead him by the hand to your bedroom, hang up your coat in the closet and take two pillows from your bed, put them into his arms, smile at his slightly confused expression. You take a thick folded blanket from your linen closet, and then you're leading Spike again by the hand, taking him toward the single flight of stairs with roof access at the back of your apartment. He follows silently.
Once on the roof, you spread the blanket out, making a comfortable pallet big enough for two. Spike drops the pillows on top, and then you kiss him again, soft lips and firm, wet tongue, and maybe this is your favorite part of him, his mouth so eager and talented against yours.
Spike's clothes come off slowly, each newly revealed bit of skin explored and kissed. Your favorite part of Spike is his belly button, and then his nipples, and then his right armpit, his left collarbone, his neck. Your favorite part is his neck for a long while, and you get the feeling that’s his favorite part so far too.
Then you kneel down on the blanket, and Spike starts to kneel as well, but you stop him with your hands on his hips, keeping him standing in place in front of you. "Stay right here," you tell him, and so he does, his hands resting softly on your shoulders. You kiss the light trail of hairs descending from his navel, which becomes your favorite part for a few seconds, before moving your mouth down over the front of his jeans. You nuzzle against the bulge here for a while, then set your teeth lightly around the tip of it and listen to Spike gasp. You worry the denim back and forth over his flesh. This is your new favorite part.
Then a button is unbuttoned, a zipper unzipped, and you're dragging the black jeans down Spike's thighs. His cock is already hard, straining toward you, the pink head peeking out from his foreskin. You touch the tip of your tongue to it, slowly, slowly, and lick. He breathes, fingers tightening on your shoulders. You tell yourself that you have time for this.
"Angel..." says Spike.
"Shh. I'm going to make you come in my mouth."
You hear him swallow. "Oh," he says. "Right. Carry on."
Holding Spike's hips still, you cover every square inch of the flesh before you with soft, wet kisses, listening to the hitches in his breathing as he watches you. A single clear drop of precum forms on the tip as you slowly follow the path of a vein with your tongue, and you study the drop as it trembles a little, clinging precariously to the end of Spike's cock. Is that your favorite part? You press your lips to it, kiss it away.
"You're killing me," Spike murmurs.
"I want to make this last."
"Oh, it's not going to last," he says, sliding a hand in your hair. “But don’t worry; I can always go again. Sort of known for it, really."
You smile, but the ultimate truth of his words settles uncomfortably in your stomach: It's not going to last. No matter what you do, however long you draw out your time with Spike tonight, it will all be erased by tomorrow. Your watch ticks loudly. You'd never really noticed the ticking before today.
You part your lips, take the head of Spike's dick into your mouth, suck gently. You hear him groan above you, feel a slight tremor go through his body. You take him in further, let your tongue move slowly underneath his cock. The sounds he makes are beautiful, but you don't bother naming them your favorite part. Tomorrow, those little gasps will have never existed.
You love the feel of Spike between your lips, the shape of him, the ridge of his cockhead rubbing along the roof of your mouth as you pull back. Your favorite part might be the taste of his precum leaking over your tongue, a flavor as familiar as his blood but at the same time very different, though no less desirable.
You fall into a rhythm, bobbing your head, sucking, swallowing, moving your tongue. You try not to, but your motions inevitably begin to coincide with the ticking of your watch. You try slowing down, but now that you're into it, you can't.
You slide a hand down to cup Spike's balls, feel them drawing up slightly as his self-control wanes and he starts to thrust into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck, Angel..." he whispers. "Your mouth... is so... Christ, so good..." And you can't say anything back, but your other hand slides down over his ass, grasps one cheek to help guide his thrusting. Your fingertips brush over his asshole and he makes a quiet sound with his mouth.
"I'm... fuck, I'm going to..." he manages, and you suck just a bit harder, encourage him with your tongue. Then he freezes, cock half-buried in your mouth, and starts coming with short gasps that you decide really are your favorite part, no matter how fleeting they might be. You move a hand to the base of his dick and wrap your fingers around it, wringing his climax into your mouth with firm tugs.
He breathes your name over and over, runs his fingers through your hair. Says some things you don’t really hear.
You swallow a final time, let him slip out of your mouth, and start licking over his cock again in broad strokes. There’s a slight breeze up here on the roof, and you can feel your saliva drying quickly on his skin even as you continue to lick. Spike’s erection barely softens at all and becomes fully hard again within seconds. Then you take his hand and tug downward, telling him quietly, "Come down here."
Spike drops to his knees on the pallet and immediately kisses your lips, opening his mouth to your tongue. You kiss him slowly, thoroughly, let your hands slide down his smooth body and touch him everywhere. You tell yourself you have time for this, that you have to have time for this.
Spike’s jeans are still bunched down at his ankles, but he ignores them, starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Slow down,” you murmur. “We have time.”
He pushes your shirt open and bites your neck gently, making you shiver. His palm rubs down over your cock through your pants. “Alright,” he says. “It’s your turn. I’ll go as slow as you want.”
“Actually, I’m not done with you yet.”
He pulls back to look at you, tilts his head. “That so?”
You smile at him. “Lie down.”
Spike lies on his back on the pallet, his head resting on one of the pillows, and raises an eyebrow at you. You reach for his foot, tug off the boot, and then pull the other one off as well. His socks and jeans come off next, and he’s lying there completely naked with his arms folded behind his head, watching you curiously, his cock still thick and hard against his stomach. You lean down and take it in your mouth again, and his toes curl up.
“A bloke could get used to this,” he sighs, putting one hand down to card his fingers through your hair.
You linger over his cock for a long moment, memorizing it with your tongue, before you pull back to let it pop out of your mouth. Then you move your lips down, kissing and licking a trail down the underside of his shaft. He “mmph”s and spreads his thighs wider as you mouth over his balls.
When you put your hands on the back of Spike’s thighs and push up, he rolls his hips back, giving you access to his pink asshole. You slowly run the flat of your tongue over it, listen to his soft gasp of approval. Maybe this is your favorite part...?
You pause to take the other pillow and tuck it under his hips to keep him in this position, then bring your mouth back to his ass. Today over your desk, your cock was buried in here. The opening seems so small, way too small for even your tongue to fit inside. But Spike's body is always accommodating, and soon your tongue is pushing slickly in and out of him, and he’s cursing and saying your name and pressing himself eagerly against you.
“Mm-more,” he requests, and you oblige, digging your tongue into him more firmly and wiggling it around, making him as wet as you can. And then you move up to suck softly at his balls as you push one finger into his slippery entrance.
“Fuck,” Spike curses. “Fuck...” And he grips his own thighs and pulls them back further, thrusting his ass toward your hand.
You draw one testicle into your mouth, run your tongue around it, and then do the same to the other as your finger goes in and out of him, pressing up. And a moment later, you’re adding a second finger, marveling at the tight stretch around your two fingers together, still wondering how your cock fit inside Spike only a few hours ago. It doesn’t seem possible.
You curve both fingers up inside Spike's ass, rub your fingertips gently against the top wall of his channel. He squirms, clenches around your fingers. His lips are parted in a silent moan, and his eyes have fallen closed. He's so beautiful, caught like this in a wave of pleasure. You rub this same spot over and over, just watching him. You have time for this.
"Angel," Spike whispers. "Angel... please..."
You start licking his cock again, just at the base near his balls. It's twitching up and down in little movements over his stomach, precum starting to leak out in slow pulses from the tip, the fluid dripping down to pool on his belly. Beautiful.
"I love you, you know," you say quietly. Conversationally. Just an observation. Your fingers keep moving.
"Yeahhh," Spike exhales. "I kn-now. Christ, Angel, I need..." He lets go of one thigh to reach for his dick, but you catch his hand with your free hand and place it back on his leg where it was.
"Don't move your hands," you tell him.
He bites his bottom lip but nods. His body is shaking just a tiny bit, and you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, stopping right before you touch the head. More precum oozes out of his slit and drips down, connecting his cock and his stomach by a thread. "Please," he breathes.
Your fingers go on moving in little circles inside him, pressing against the soft swelling there. "Do you like this?" you ask.
"God, yes... But... I need..."
"Shh. You don't need anything else."
"Angel, please..."
"Spike, I want to ask you something."
He gives you the best incredulous look he can manage under the circumstances. "N-now? Bloody hell, Angel..."
"Do you trust me?" you ask. Your hand continues to move, and Spike is breathing hard, blinking as he tries to focus on you.
"Do I wha... yes. Yes, luv, I trust you..."
"And you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you on purpose, right?" You turn your head and kiss the inside of his thigh.
He clenches around your fingers, voice faint as he responds, "I... yes, 'course I know that..."
It's a relief to hear him say it. You kiss him again, then trail your tongue along the skin between his balls and where your fingers are. "And if I did do something that hurt you, Spike,” you continue, “you'd know it's because I had no other choice, right? That I had to do it?" You increase the pressure of your fingers, just a bit, and start lapping softly at his balls again.
"Angel, what is... what are you...?" he starts to ask, but he doesn't finish. His eyes fall closed again and his head tilts back, mouth dropping open with a gasp. The small puddle on his belly is starting to spill over his right side, tiny drips rolling down his skin to soak into the blanket. You wonder how much he's got left in him.
"Just tell me you'd understand," you murmur soothingly. "If something happened, you'd know it's because I had to do it, and that it's not your fault. Because I love you. Alright?"
Spike's whole body is trembling, his knuckles turning white from gripping his thighs so hard.
"Spike? Do you understand?" you ask. It's important that he tells you yes.
"P-please," he whispers, voice barely there at all.
"Spike? Listen to me. Just say yes, okay? Say yes."
His mouth moves silently. It looks like he could have tried for a yes, and that's good enough for you. You push your fangs forward, sink them into his thigh without stopping the motion of your fingers. You only draw one mouthful of blood before his body spasms and jerks up, and he comes with a hoarse cry, cool jizz arching from his untouched cock to splatter on his chest, the intense orgasm prolonged by your rubbing fingers.
And then he blacks out.
*
Spike’s only out for a few seconds. You slowly remove your fingers from his body and crawl over him, kiss his eyelids softly. You count the ticks from your watch: one... two... three... four...
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs.
You smile. “Welcome back.”
“That was... God, Angel, that was...”
“Good?”
“Brilliant. A bloody artist, you are.”
“Thanks. You know, we still have a couple hours before I have to meet Wesley.”
“Can’t even move my sodding legs... Christ, I’ll never walk again, will I?”
You chuckle. “I guess I’ll just have to keep you here. Damn.”
“Well, so long as you satisfy my depraved sexual needs, I promise I won’t be any trouble.” He slides his hands inside your open shirt and thumbs over your nipples as you hold yourself up above him. “Is it your turn yet?” he asks.
You sit up, pulling away from him. “Later. Are you hungry?”
“Mm, little bit, yeah.” He stretches out on the pallet, shifts to pull the pillow from underneath his hips. Then he glances back at you sharply. “Did I agree to something?” he asks, brow furrowed.
“Just stay here; I’ll be right back.”
You slip down to your apartment for a couple of minutes, long enough to heat some blood for Spike and to gather a few other things. When you go back up to the roof, he’s standing naked near the edge, looking up at the moon. His hair is sticking up a bit, waving a little in the breeze. He turns to you and smiles.
“I thought you said you couldn’t walk.” You hand him the mug of warm blood.
“I flew. You aren’t having any?”
“I’m... going to eat later.”
He looks at you curiously but doesn’t comment further, just drinks the blood. You watch his throat as he swallows, and then you glance down at the sticky drying patches on his chest and stomach, the trickle of blood on his thigh where you bit him. “You’re a mess.”
He finishes and sets the mug down on the roof ledge. “Usually, yeah.”
“Here, let me...” You take the damp washcloth you brought up for this purpose and use it to wipe away the stickiness covering Spike’s front. He shivers a bit as the breeze dries his skin, and you pull him close, wrap your arms around his cool body.
“You’re wearing too many clothes. I feel naked,” he says.
“You are naked.”
“Ah. That’d be why, then.”
You smile. “Do you want me to be naked?”
“I always want you to be naked.”
“Okay then. I’ll get naked.” You don’t move.
After a moment, he murmurs, “You’re not naked yet.”
“Sorry, I was too busy holding you to bother undressing.”
“S’alright.” He slips his hands down over your butt and squeezes. “I can work around the clothes.”
You cover his hands with yours, let your fingers go between his. “Just kiss me,” you say quietly.
Spike tilts his head up to meet your lips with his. The inside of his mouth is warm from the blood he just drank, and you can still taste it as you take these few valuable seconds to enjoy his mouth with your tongue. You can hear the seconds going past as you use them up this way, and you intensely resent your watch, but if you weren’t wearing it you think you’d probably still hear the ticking in your head, and that would be worse.
“Anything you want to do,” you pull back to whisper, looking into his eyes. “We can do it. Right now.”
One of his eyebrows twitches up. “Anything?” he repeats.
“Anything. As long as we don’t have to leave the roof.” You reach in your pocket and pull out a small tube of lubricant, which you grabbed from your apartment just a minute ago. You hand it to him. “I have more downstairs if we need it. And I have some, you know... other... things. If you want to use... other things.”
He looks down at the lube in his hand, then at you again. The back of your neck itches. You’re still wearing your unbuttoned shirt. “Angel... is there something wrong?” Spike asks.
“Wrong?” You shake your head. “No. Of course not.”
“You could tell me, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He waits.
“But there’s nothing,” you finish. You give him sincere eyes.
He hesitates. “Alright, then. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You put a reassuring hand up to his cheek.
He leans into the touch. “So... anything I want?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He smiles. “What if I wanted you to wear ladies’ knickers?”
Er. You drop your hand to your side and blink a couple of times. “Are you... being hypothetical, or is this an actual possibility?”
“Would you do it? Tell me.”
“I...” You think about it. “...Yeah. Yeah, I’d do it. But–”
“What if I wanted to tie you up?” he asks. He reaches up to push your shirt back off your shoulders and down your arms, and you let it drop to the floor. “Would you let me restrain you? Blindfold, gag... everything?”
You swallow. “Yeah,” you say. “You could do that.”
He pinches one of your nipples, looking into your eyes. “If I wanted to turn you over my knee,” he says, “and spank your bum like a naughty little boy... would you let me, Angel?” He nips at your collarbone gently with his teeth.
“Yes. I’d let you.”
“Yeah? Might get to that one later...” He unbuttons your pants and then slides his hands around your waist, lets them slip under the material, palming over your ass. He squeezes. “What if I wanted to fuck your mouth,” Spike asks, “in front of your friends? Show them how much you love my cock? Would you get on your knees for me in your big fancy office and–”
“Yes,” you tell him seriously. “If you asked me to, I'd do it.”
“Really?” He leans back to look you in the eye. “You wouldn’t check first to see if I was evil?”
“No, the sex always comes first. Number one rule of being a superhero.”
He smiles. “Teach you that in superhero school, did they?”
“What do you really want to do, Spike?” you ask. “Name it. Anything.”
Spike sighs, then leans forward to press his face against your neck. “You don’t have to promise me anything, Angel,” he says. “Just want to make love. That’s all.”
You couldn’t have asked for a better answer. You give Spike a tight hug and kiss the top of his head. “Okay,” you murmur. “We can do that.”
“And maybe the spanking thing later. That sounded hot.”
You chuckle. “Alright,” you tell him. “Next time.”
*
You and Spike make love on the roof of Wolfram and Hart.
Spike’s ass is a little sore from earlier, and he winces when he takes you in, but when you ask if he wants to stop, he says no, that this is the way he wants it, with you lying on your back on the pallet you made and him on top, riding your cock as slowly as either of you can stand it.
It seems to last forever. And Spike is so beautiful moving above you, all of his muscles flexing, stiff cock bobbing up and down, that you have to keep your eyes closed for almost the whole time so you won’t come too soon. It’s torture, but it’s better than you’ve ever had before, and Spike tells you that it hurts, but it hurts good, and he whispers how much he’s in love with you as he takes your hands and pins them down above your head so you can’t touch him.
The two of you come at exactly the same time. And afterwards, as you both lay panting on the little pallet, you pull Spike’s back to your chest and you tell him how much you’re in love with him, which is something you find you can only confess at moments like this, which makes you grateful for moments like this because otherwise he might never have known.
“And yet,” Spike says quietly, “you still can’t tell me what’s wrong.”
You don’t say anything.
“I can tell something’s bothering you, Angel. I’ve known you longer than anyone. No use trying to hide from me.”
“It’s this whole thing,” you tell him. “The Ri’ipkis and... everything. You should be upset too.”
“That’s one answer,” he agrees. “What’s the real one?”
You sigh.
“Talk to me, pet,” he coaxes. “You afraid I’ll get angry? That I’ll, what, leave you? No way you’ll be rid of me that easy. Ought to know that by now.”
You pull him closer. Just having him in your arms makes this a little easier. “I have to do something,” you finally say. “And I’m... scared.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns around on the blanket so he can look into your eyes. He takes your hand. “Whatever it is,” he says softly, “we’ll do it together.”
*
You’re late for your meeting with Wesley. As aware of the time as you’ve been, it’s still a struggle making yourself leave the comfort of Spike’s arms for the task waiting for you in your office. But, as promised, Spike accompanies you, holding your hand the entire way down.
It’s mostly dark in the building, except for the small lights that remain on all the time, casting a greyish glow over everything. It’s spooky, being down here this late, the normally bustling lobby deserted. Spike’s booted footsteps echo as you drift from the elevator to your office like a ghost.
Your office lights are on but have been dimmed. “Angel,” Wesley greets you. “I wondered if you... might have changed your mind.”
“No,” you tell him. “But you still could.”
He huffs softly. “I’ve spent the last few hours convincing myself not to.”
You just nod, and then you both go quiet for a moment. Then, as an afterthought, you gesture toward Spike and say, “Spike came with me.”
“I see that. Hello, Spike.”
Spike nods. “Percy.”
After another short silence, wherein no one looks at each other, Wesley clears his throat. “I’ve... brought someone with me as well,” he says.
“What? Who?” You look around.
“She just stepped out for a – oh, there she is.”
Fred tiptoes into the room. “It’s so quiet in here,” she whispers. “It’s kinda... spooky. Hey, Angel. Spike.” She holds up a box. “I brought snacks.”
“Snacks?” you repeat. “Fred, why are you–?”
“I want to do it too,” she says.
“No, you don’t,” you quickly reply. “Go home.” And to Wesley, “I can’t believe you told her.”
“She’s an adult, Angel. She can make her own decisions.”
“She’s standing in the room,” says Fred. “And she’s chosen already.” She holds up the box. “Cheezit?”
You and Wesley stare at the Cheezit box.
“I’ll have one,” Spike finally says. “Thanks, luv.”
She hands him the crackers. “I wasn’t sure if... I mean, I almost brought booze instead, but I didn’t want to imply that we should get drunk first because... I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t drink and die.” She smiles nervously. “Okay, that was funnier before I said it out loud.”
“Fred, you shouldn’t be here,” you try again. “Neither of you should.”
“Angel, we’ve been over this,” says Wesley. “If we’re to have any hope of helping you tomorrow, this has to happen. We simply cannot start from scratch; it will take too long to get to this point again, and the Ri’ipkis are expecting to meet with you at two o’clock.”
“I know, but...”
“And,” Fred adds, “I have a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“I might have come up with a plan, but I have to think on it some more. And I can’t think on it if I don’t remember, now can I?”
“Makes sense,” says Spike.
You turn to him. “You’re agreeing with this?”
“I agreed to help you,” he says. “This is a way I can help.”
“So you’re, what, offering to kill Fred while I kill Wesley?”
“Aw, thanks, Spike,” says Fred. “That’s really... thank you.”
“I thought, maybe... one and then the other,” says Wesley, “rather than concurrently.” He looks at Fred. “I’d like to stay with her.”
She smiles at him. You're not sure what to say.
“So where’s Charlie?” asks Spike eventually. “And the lounge lizard? Or didn’t you invite them to this little party?”
“We thought about it,” says Fred, “But we didn’t want them to feel obligated. I mean, Charles has done all he can do already anyway, what with translating that contract for us, and Lorne has... well, you know, even if we started right now, there wouldn’t really be enough time to kill him before midnight, with all the ritual desecration and stuff.”
“Speaking of time,” says Wesley, “perhaps we should get on with it? Not that I’m in a hurry, exactly, but... no use putting it off, is there?”
You glance at your watch. Thirty-two minutes. “Are you absolutely sure, Wes? Fred? You can still change your mind. We won’t think any less of you.”
“Angel, I’m okay with this,” says Fred. “Really.”
“But what if...”
“Angel, listen,” Wesley says. “We’ve been theorizing about this loophole in the spell, and I’m positive it has to do with the soul. And Fred and I both have souls, so we’ll be safe. You don’t have to worry about us."
"Plus, the Ri'ipkis basically told you straight up that they're making the day repeat tomorrow, too," adds Fred. "So there's no reason to be afraid that this will be permanent."
You sigh. "It'll hurt."
"Not for very long. And according to you and Spike, we won't remember that part."
"I'll remember what I did to you," you say softly.
"What we did," Spike corrects.
"You'll remember that you did what was necessary to save people's lives. That's not a bad thing, Angel," says Wesley.
You give him a sad smile. "Perspective. You're good at that, Wes. Always have been."
"I try."
Fred clears her throat. "So," she says, a little too loudly. "Where do you want me? Should I just, you know, stand here, or would it be better if..."
"Standing is fine," Spike tells her. He sets the box of crackers on your desk, unopened, and takes a step toward Fred. She doesn't move, but she's not looking at his face either. Her eyes are trained somewhere around his chest. "You alright, pet?" he asks, ducking his head a little to look at her.
"Yes. Fine. I'm great." She smiles quickly, but you can smell her fear like it's a thing she's carrying in her hands. "Just a little... you know, nervous. Never died before. Which is, I guess, odd, considering who I work for and... who my friends are..."
He puts his hands on her shoulders and she stops talking. "You don't have to be scared," he says softly. "I won't hurt you."
"No, you're just going to..." She pauses, takes a sudden deep breath. "Sorry, I'm... I just have to... Wesley?" She turns toward him, and he immediately takes her hand.
"I'm here," he says. "Spike won't do anything until you're ready."
She nods, reaches up to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry... don't pay any attention to me, just being... silly..."
"I think you're very brave," Spike tells her. "Even if you don't want to do this, you're very brave."
"No, I... I have to do it," she says. She swallows. She looks over at you. "Angel? Come stand beside me?"
You move to her side and take her other hand. "Where did you wake up this morning, Fred?" you ask her.
She blinks. "Um. I was... I was in my office," she says. "I worked late last night and... no, Thursday night, and... this morning I woke up in my office."
You nod, squeeze her hand. "When you wake up in the morning, we'll be there. Alright?"
She gives you a heartfelt smile. "Alright," she says. "I'd like that. Thank you." Then she turns to face Spike. "I'm... ready now." Her small hand tightens around your fingers.
"You're sure?"
"Positive." She squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath.
"Fred," he says. She opens her eyes tentatively, and he smiles at her. "I'm going to make this very quick, alright?" At her nod, Spike reaches up and gently cups the back of her head with one hand and her chin with the other. You feel her start to shake, and you give her hand another small squeeze. "Just try to relax," says Spike. "Don't fight me." You see a tear slip down her cheek as she nods, and your throat tightens, but you don't say anything. "Count of five, pet. You won't feel a thing." Your jaw clenches at the lie. "One," says Spike. "Two."
He snaps her neck on three, and you're already in place to catch her limp form in your arms as she falls. You quickly adjust her head in the crook of your elbow so that it doesn't look an odd angle if Wesley happens to be watching. You hear him make a soft sound as he looks down at her body. He's still holding her hand tightly.
"Wes," you say. His eyes don't move away from her face. "I'm going to put her on the couch."
He nods and lets go of her. Her arm droops down.
You move Fred's impossibly light body to the couch and lay her down carefully, make sure that her head isn't crooked. Her eyes are closed. There is still a tear on her cheek, and you brush it away with your thumb. You hear Wesley murmur, "Oh God. Oh, God..."
"She'll be alright," you say, looking at her. "We'll see her in the morning."
"Come with us," Spike says to Wesley. He swallows. "Be there when she wakes up. She'll like that."
"I... yes," Wesley manages. "Yes, of course." He looks very pale when you turn to face him. He doesn't look at you. "I... I wake up in my office as well," he says. "There's a... a small cot, just in case..."
"We'll come and get you," you tell him. "It won't feel like any time has passed at all."
He nods, still looking toward the couch.
You put a hand on his shoulder, and you feel the tiny flinch that he tries not to show. "Do you still want to do this?" you ask quietly.
He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Alright," you say. "I'm ready when you are."
"I thought... perhaps, the more traditional way?" he suggests. He makes a vague gesture toward his neck.
"Whatever you want," you tell him.
"I just thought... watcher, vampire... it would seem... appropriate."
"Makes sense. It'll... take longer."
"Yes," he says.
"Okay, then."
He clears his throat. "I tried to think of something to say earlier. To... mark the occasion. But there doesn't appear to be anything left to say. It's just a normal day for us, isn't it? Risking our lives to save the world."
"That's a good way to think of it," you tell him.
"Perspective," he says. He gives you a small smile. "I try."
"For the record, though, there's nothing normal about risking your life, for anything. You're a good man, Wesley. Don't act like your sacrifice is nothing."
He exhales deeply. "Thank you, Angel. I... suppose I'm ready. Any words of advice?"
You slip into game face. "Try not to remember this."
"Noted," he says.
Then you bite him.
Hot blood rushes into your mouth. You hear Wesley gasp, but he doesn't struggle, his body actually relaxing into your arms. You swallow over and over. It feels like a long time, but you can still hear his heartbeat fluttering, so you continue. It's been so long since you drained a living human to death that you can't remember how long it's supposed to take.
Just before Wesley slips into unconsciousness, you hear him whisper very faintly, "Do you know... I always wondered... if it would be you." And then his body goes limp, but you still drink, pulling hard at his neck because the blood has stopped spurting into your mouth, subsiding to more of a trickle.
Your cock is hard. You can't help it.
"Angel," Spike finally says. "Angel, he's... you can stop now." Spike touches your shoulder. "Let him go, luv," he says softly.
You slowly disengage your fangs from Wesley's neck. You notice now that his heart has stopped. The beat you are still hearing is the second hand of your watch, ticking away the last few minutes of the day. You pull your fangs back in.
"Are you alright?" Spike asks you.
You look down at Wesley's face. His eyelids are half open, but you can't see his pupils. "Yes. I'm alright."
"Want to put him with her?"
"I... yes."
You carry Wesley over to the couch and lay him down next to Fred. His throat is torn almost in half, but there isn't any blood on his clothes, and none drips out of the wound to stain your couch cushions.
You stand there a moment, looking down at your dead friends.
"Almost midnight," says Spike.
"Yeah."
"We'll go and get them in the morning. They won't even remember this."
"Yeah. Spike?"
"Mm?"
"Where do you wake up every morning?"
"Floor of my apartment, five oh three A.M. With a hangover." He takes your hand.
"You wake up before I do," you say.
"Yeah."
"In the morning... will you be there when I wake up?"
"Of course, luv. Every morning from now on, if I have a say in it."
"That's good," you tell him. "I'd like that." You bring his hand up to your mouth and kiss the back of it. "Let's go back up to my apartment."
"Probably won't get there before midnight," he says.
"We can try. Will you wait for me at the elevator? I need a minute."
He squeezes your hand. "I'll be right outside."
You just nod, and he walks out of your office, leaving you behind with Wesley and Fred. As soon as he's out of sight, you cross to your desk and open a drawer, look inside. The stake is still where you left it this afternoon.
Your hand is shaking as you pick it up. You look at your watch. Three minutes until you forget. Unless.
Shouldn't be too hard. You remember seeing Darla do it.
He's worth it. He's worth more than this.
Count of five, you think.
One.
Two.
*
[Continued here.]
*
Author: girlpire
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Angel/Spike (Spangel)
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: It's Friday I'm in love.
Warnings: This part - graphic male/male smexing, and a little more of what I didn't warn for in the last part.
Author's Notes: This is part 4b of a story written for
spring_spangel. The first part is [here]. No beta because I'm so terribly impatient. This is the second half of the 4th chapter, because it was too long to fit in one post. And I literally just finished working on it, so I might be making some minor editorial changes tomorrow. *
Friday
Part Four-B
*
You join the others in the conference room about an hour later. “Any breakthroughs?” you ask. “Gunn? Tell me something I want to hear.”
“Angel, are you okay?” asks Fred. “We heard y’all fighting in there.”
“For the record, I heard something completely different,” Lorne assures you.
“Spike and I weren’t fighting,” you tell her. “We were discussing a strategy.” Spike slowly enters the room behind you as you’re saying this.
“But... he’s limping,” says Fred. “Spike, are you okay?”
“M’fine, pet.” He glances your way with a smile. “The desk is a bit worse for wear, though.”
You clear your throat. “So, any news? Anything? At all?”
“I’m almost done with this translation,” Gunn offers, indicating the contract in front of him. “Those Ri’ipki guys had one hell of a lawyer. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was us.”
“It may have been us,” says Wesley. “If these demons can manipulate time and memory, there’s no telling how often we could have come into contact with them.”
“Well, at least I know it wasn’t me,” says Gunn. “I never would have drawn up something like this. These dudes are messed up in the head. Or heads. How many heads do they have?”
“Just the one. No nose, though.”
“Huh. Make that figuratively and literally.”
“So what does it say?”
“The short answer? If you signed it, they would own Nevada.”
“What?” You pick up the contract again and stare at it. It still looks like gibberish to you. “Nevada? How would my signature give them Nevada? Do I own Nevada?”
“That’s all they want?” asks Spike. “One measly state in exchange for our lives back? Bloody hell! What are you waiting for, Angel? Give it to them!”
“Spike, I can’t give them Nevada.” You glance around the table. “Right?”
“Well, I can’t say I’m particularly attached to it...” Wesley starts.
“Me either,” adds Lorne. “Well. Vegas.”
“Nevada’s like... a hundred and ten thousand square miles,” says Fred. “I don’t think we should just give them that. I mean, who knows what they’d do with it?” She turns to Gunn. “Does it say what they would do with it?”
“Besides ‘peacefully exterminating’ the entire human population?”
“See?” you say. “I knew I couldn’t give it to them.”
“It’s just one sodding united state,” says Spike. “You’d still have forty-nine others. And Puerto Rico.”
"I remember the ambassador saying something about peaceful extermination during the meeting," you say. "He said that's what will happen to the Ri'ipkis in a few hundred years, when humans find out about them."
"A few hundred years?" repeats Fred. "You mean, enough time to build up the energy to come back to today?"
Gunn is looking back down at his notes. "Would three hundred years be enough?" he asks. "They use that number a lot. Three hundred."
Wesley and Fred exchange looks. "Yes," says Wesley. "That would be the minimum amount of time needed to harness enough power for time manipulation. Give or take... fifteen years."
"You said ownership of Nevada was the short answer. What's the long answer?" you ask.
Gunn sighs. "If you want to know what the whole thing says, you might as well sit down," he tells you. "This'll take a while."
And he's right; it does take a while. By the time Gunn is finished explaining the contract with all its stipulations and provisos and addendums, it's long past quitting time and dinner time and even well into your usual date time with Spike. You've got a headache.
Using both the contract and your own memory of the neverending meeting with the Ri'ipkis, this is the information you're able to put together:
In about three hundred years (give or take fifteen), humans will have discovered the population of Ri'ipkis living in Nevada and will have decided, rather than extending a diplomatic hand of friendship, that it would just be easier to get rid of them, and so will begin a plan of "peaceful extermination." The Ri'ipkis believe that if they could prove they had a right to be there - and if they could, in fact, strike first - that their species would have a chance of survival. With Wolfram and Hart on their side, how could they lose? Especially if the contract granting them ownership of the state turns out to be three centuries old. Other rights guaranteed by the paper include nonviolent disposal of any unwanted species (including humans) living on their property as well as unlimited waste disposal directly into the Gulf of California.
Of course, none of this is expressly written out. It's mostly hidden in the complicated wording, in the myriad if-then statements and fine print. And Gunn explains that the nature of this particular kind of contract is such that it has to be signed voluntarily, so that in the future, when a test that hasn't been invented yet is run on the paper, the whole thing will prove to be legitimate. Meaning that they can't force you to sign it, they can't magick you into it, and they can't trick you into believing it's anything other than what it is, besides concealing the important parts in long words and boring speeches.
That's a small consolation. They can still make you repeat the day until you do sign it.
There is space at the end for three other signatures besides yours. These three had already been filled in when the contract was first presented to you, making you the only one standing in the way of what the Ri’ipkis want.
It's not fair for a decision like this to rest on your shoulders. The existence of an entire species, versus the human population of Nevada. You know what you have to choose, but it's still not fair. It's still something that should never be left to one person to decide.
In your long life, there are only a few things you haven't done. You haven't climbed Mt. Everest, you haven't bedded a pop singer - except that once, you've never won the lottery or learned to fly an airplane, and you've never, ever, committed genocide.
"I actually feel sort of bad for them," says Gunn. "I mean, they're only trying to protect themselves, you know? I get that."
"They're evil, right?" you ask Wesley. "Tell me they're evil, and it will make this a lot easier."
"Evil's a relative term," he says. "Although they did kill you yesterday. Does that make it easier?"
"No."
"Does for me," mutters Spike.
"I'll do some more research," says Wesley. "I'm familiar with Ri'ipki etiquette, but there's still much I don't know about them as a species. Perhaps I'll find something that will ease your mind."
"Thanks, Wes."
"I may even find a clue to help us escape their spell without your having to sign the contract. That... is what you want, isn't it? To avoid signing the contract?"
"Yes. It is."
"Right then. I'll get started now." He stands up and stacks a few of the books on the table to take them back to his office.
"I'll help you," Fred volunteers, standing as well.
"You need a third?" asks Gunn. "I'm done here." He gestures toward the contract and his notes.
"I’m here too, if you need me," Lorne says.
"Alright. Yes. Thank you. The books are in my office." Wesley starts toward the door, then stops and turns to you. "Angel, when should we meet?"
You look at your watch. "Eleven. That'll give us an hour to... talk. Before the day repeats."
"We're not gonna remember any of this tomorrow, are we?" Gunn asks.
"No, you won't. Not until we're sitting in the meeting."
He shakes his head a little. "That's so weird."
The four of them start to leave, but pause when you speak again. "Guys... thanks," you tell them. "For everything you're doing. It's been really... great working with you all. I know I don't say it much, but your friendship means a lot to me. I just... wanted you to know that. Thanks."
"Angel," Wesley says, "it's truly our pleasure." He gives you a small smile and then, one by one, your friends file out of the room.
When they've gone, you look over at Spike. It's a little over three hours until eleven, and you're acutely aware of the second hand on your watch ticking the time away.
"What do you want to do now?" he asks.
You stand up and take his hand. He stands up as well. "Everything," you say.
*
The elevator ride back up to your penthouse seems to take longer than usual. You spend the time kissing Spike slowly, your hand resting on the small of his back underneath his black t-shirt. This may be your favorite part of him, the smooth dip of skin beneath your palm.
You feel the heavy burden of time hanging over your head, but you force yourself to go slowly, pulling Spike along behind you when the elevator opens into your apartment. You lead him by the hand to your bedroom, hang up your coat in the closet and take two pillows from your bed, put them into his arms, smile at his slightly confused expression. You take a thick folded blanket from your linen closet, and then you're leading Spike again by the hand, taking him toward the single flight of stairs with roof access at the back of your apartment. He follows silently.
Once on the roof, you spread the blanket out, making a comfortable pallet big enough for two. Spike drops the pillows on top, and then you kiss him again, soft lips and firm, wet tongue, and maybe this is your favorite part of him, his mouth so eager and talented against yours.
Spike's clothes come off slowly, each newly revealed bit of skin explored and kissed. Your favorite part of Spike is his belly button, and then his nipples, and then his right armpit, his left collarbone, his neck. Your favorite part is his neck for a long while, and you get the feeling that’s his favorite part so far too.
Then you kneel down on the blanket, and Spike starts to kneel as well, but you stop him with your hands on his hips, keeping him standing in place in front of you. "Stay right here," you tell him, and so he does, his hands resting softly on your shoulders. You kiss the light trail of hairs descending from his navel, which becomes your favorite part for a few seconds, before moving your mouth down over the front of his jeans. You nuzzle against the bulge here for a while, then set your teeth lightly around the tip of it and listen to Spike gasp. You worry the denim back and forth over his flesh. This is your new favorite part.
Then a button is unbuttoned, a zipper unzipped, and you're dragging the black jeans down Spike's thighs. His cock is already hard, straining toward you, the pink head peeking out from his foreskin. You touch the tip of your tongue to it, slowly, slowly, and lick. He breathes, fingers tightening on your shoulders. You tell yourself that you have time for this.
"Angel..." says Spike.
"Shh. I'm going to make you come in my mouth."
You hear him swallow. "Oh," he says. "Right. Carry on."
Holding Spike's hips still, you cover every square inch of the flesh before you with soft, wet kisses, listening to the hitches in his breathing as he watches you. A single clear drop of precum forms on the tip as you slowly follow the path of a vein with your tongue, and you study the drop as it trembles a little, clinging precariously to the end of Spike's cock. Is that your favorite part? You press your lips to it, kiss it away.
"You're killing me," Spike murmurs.
"I want to make this last."
"Oh, it's not going to last," he says, sliding a hand in your hair. “But don’t worry; I can always go again. Sort of known for it, really."
You smile, but the ultimate truth of his words settles uncomfortably in your stomach: It's not going to last. No matter what you do, however long you draw out your time with Spike tonight, it will all be erased by tomorrow. Your watch ticks loudly. You'd never really noticed the ticking before today.
You part your lips, take the head of Spike's dick into your mouth, suck gently. You hear him groan above you, feel a slight tremor go through his body. You take him in further, let your tongue move slowly underneath his cock. The sounds he makes are beautiful, but you don't bother naming them your favorite part. Tomorrow, those little gasps will have never existed.
You love the feel of Spike between your lips, the shape of him, the ridge of his cockhead rubbing along the roof of your mouth as you pull back. Your favorite part might be the taste of his precum leaking over your tongue, a flavor as familiar as his blood but at the same time very different, though no less desirable.
You fall into a rhythm, bobbing your head, sucking, swallowing, moving your tongue. You try not to, but your motions inevitably begin to coincide with the ticking of your watch. You try slowing down, but now that you're into it, you can't.
You slide a hand down to cup Spike's balls, feel them drawing up slightly as his self-control wanes and he starts to thrust into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck, Angel..." he whispers. "Your mouth... is so... Christ, so good..." And you can't say anything back, but your other hand slides down over his ass, grasps one cheek to help guide his thrusting. Your fingertips brush over his asshole and he makes a quiet sound with his mouth.
"I'm... fuck, I'm going to..." he manages, and you suck just a bit harder, encourage him with your tongue. Then he freezes, cock half-buried in your mouth, and starts coming with short gasps that you decide really are your favorite part, no matter how fleeting they might be. You move a hand to the base of his dick and wrap your fingers around it, wringing his climax into your mouth with firm tugs.
He breathes your name over and over, runs his fingers through your hair. Says some things you don’t really hear.
You swallow a final time, let him slip out of your mouth, and start licking over his cock again in broad strokes. There’s a slight breeze up here on the roof, and you can feel your saliva drying quickly on his skin even as you continue to lick. Spike’s erection barely softens at all and becomes fully hard again within seconds. Then you take his hand and tug downward, telling him quietly, "Come down here."
Spike drops to his knees on the pallet and immediately kisses your lips, opening his mouth to your tongue. You kiss him slowly, thoroughly, let your hands slide down his smooth body and touch him everywhere. You tell yourself you have time for this, that you have to have time for this.
Spike’s jeans are still bunched down at his ankles, but he ignores them, starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Slow down,” you murmur. “We have time.”
He pushes your shirt open and bites your neck gently, making you shiver. His palm rubs down over your cock through your pants. “Alright,” he says. “It’s your turn. I’ll go as slow as you want.”
“Actually, I’m not done with you yet.”
He pulls back to look at you, tilts his head. “That so?”
You smile at him. “Lie down.”
Spike lies on his back on the pallet, his head resting on one of the pillows, and raises an eyebrow at you. You reach for his foot, tug off the boot, and then pull the other one off as well. His socks and jeans come off next, and he’s lying there completely naked with his arms folded behind his head, watching you curiously, his cock still thick and hard against his stomach. You lean down and take it in your mouth again, and his toes curl up.
“A bloke could get used to this,” he sighs, putting one hand down to card his fingers through your hair.
You linger over his cock for a long moment, memorizing it with your tongue, before you pull back to let it pop out of your mouth. Then you move your lips down, kissing and licking a trail down the underside of his shaft. He “mmph”s and spreads his thighs wider as you mouth over his balls.
When you put your hands on the back of Spike’s thighs and push up, he rolls his hips back, giving you access to his pink asshole. You slowly run the flat of your tongue over it, listen to his soft gasp of approval. Maybe this is your favorite part...?
You pause to take the other pillow and tuck it under his hips to keep him in this position, then bring your mouth back to his ass. Today over your desk, your cock was buried in here. The opening seems so small, way too small for even your tongue to fit inside. But Spike's body is always accommodating, and soon your tongue is pushing slickly in and out of him, and he’s cursing and saying your name and pressing himself eagerly against you.
“Mm-more,” he requests, and you oblige, digging your tongue into him more firmly and wiggling it around, making him as wet as you can. And then you move up to suck softly at his balls as you push one finger into his slippery entrance.
“Fuck,” Spike curses. “Fuck...” And he grips his own thighs and pulls them back further, thrusting his ass toward your hand.
You draw one testicle into your mouth, run your tongue around it, and then do the same to the other as your finger goes in and out of him, pressing up. And a moment later, you’re adding a second finger, marveling at the tight stretch around your two fingers together, still wondering how your cock fit inside Spike only a few hours ago. It doesn’t seem possible.
You curve both fingers up inside Spike's ass, rub your fingertips gently against the top wall of his channel. He squirms, clenches around your fingers. His lips are parted in a silent moan, and his eyes have fallen closed. He's so beautiful, caught like this in a wave of pleasure. You rub this same spot over and over, just watching him. You have time for this.
"Angel," Spike whispers. "Angel... please..."
You start licking his cock again, just at the base near his balls. It's twitching up and down in little movements over his stomach, precum starting to leak out in slow pulses from the tip, the fluid dripping down to pool on his belly. Beautiful.
"I love you, you know," you say quietly. Conversationally. Just an observation. Your fingers keep moving.
"Yeahhh," Spike exhales. "I kn-now. Christ, Angel, I need..." He lets go of one thigh to reach for his dick, but you catch his hand with your free hand and place it back on his leg where it was.
"Don't move your hands," you tell him.
He bites his bottom lip but nods. His body is shaking just a tiny bit, and you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, stopping right before you touch the head. More precum oozes out of his slit and drips down, connecting his cock and his stomach by a thread. "Please," he breathes.
Your fingers go on moving in little circles inside him, pressing against the soft swelling there. "Do you like this?" you ask.
"God, yes... But... I need..."
"Shh. You don't need anything else."
"Angel, please..."
"Spike, I want to ask you something."
He gives you the best incredulous look he can manage under the circumstances. "N-now? Bloody hell, Angel..."
"Do you trust me?" you ask. Your hand continues to move, and Spike is breathing hard, blinking as he tries to focus on you.
"Do I wha... yes. Yes, luv, I trust you..."
"And you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you on purpose, right?" You turn your head and kiss the inside of his thigh.
He clenches around your fingers, voice faint as he responds, "I... yes, 'course I know that..."
It's a relief to hear him say it. You kiss him again, then trail your tongue along the skin between his balls and where your fingers are. "And if I did do something that hurt you, Spike,” you continue, “you'd know it's because I had no other choice, right? That I had to do it?" You increase the pressure of your fingers, just a bit, and start lapping softly at his balls again.
"Angel, what is... what are you...?" he starts to ask, but he doesn't finish. His eyes fall closed again and his head tilts back, mouth dropping open with a gasp. The small puddle on his belly is starting to spill over his right side, tiny drips rolling down his skin to soak into the blanket. You wonder how much he's got left in him.
"Just tell me you'd understand," you murmur soothingly. "If something happened, you'd know it's because I had to do it, and that it's not your fault. Because I love you. Alright?"
Spike's whole body is trembling, his knuckles turning white from gripping his thighs so hard.
"Spike? Do you understand?" you ask. It's important that he tells you yes.
"P-please," he whispers, voice barely there at all.
"Spike? Listen to me. Just say yes, okay? Say yes."
His mouth moves silently. It looks like he could have tried for a yes, and that's good enough for you. You push your fangs forward, sink them into his thigh without stopping the motion of your fingers. You only draw one mouthful of blood before his body spasms and jerks up, and he comes with a hoarse cry, cool jizz arching from his untouched cock to splatter on his chest, the intense orgasm prolonged by your rubbing fingers.
And then he blacks out.
*
Spike’s only out for a few seconds. You slowly remove your fingers from his body and crawl over him, kiss his eyelids softly. You count the ticks from your watch: one... two... three... four...
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs.
You smile. “Welcome back.”
“That was... God, Angel, that was...”
“Good?”
“Brilliant. A bloody artist, you are.”
“Thanks. You know, we still have a couple hours before I have to meet Wesley.”
“Can’t even move my sodding legs... Christ, I’ll never walk again, will I?”
You chuckle. “I guess I’ll just have to keep you here. Damn.”
“Well, so long as you satisfy my depraved sexual needs, I promise I won’t be any trouble.” He slides his hands inside your open shirt and thumbs over your nipples as you hold yourself up above him. “Is it your turn yet?” he asks.
You sit up, pulling away from him. “Later. Are you hungry?”
“Mm, little bit, yeah.” He stretches out on the pallet, shifts to pull the pillow from underneath his hips. Then he glances back at you sharply. “Did I agree to something?” he asks, brow furrowed.
“Just stay here; I’ll be right back.”
You slip down to your apartment for a couple of minutes, long enough to heat some blood for Spike and to gather a few other things. When you go back up to the roof, he’s standing naked near the edge, looking up at the moon. His hair is sticking up a bit, waving a little in the breeze. He turns to you and smiles.
“I thought you said you couldn’t walk.” You hand him the mug of warm blood.
“I flew. You aren’t having any?”
“I’m... going to eat later.”
He looks at you curiously but doesn’t comment further, just drinks the blood. You watch his throat as he swallows, and then you glance down at the sticky drying patches on his chest and stomach, the trickle of blood on his thigh where you bit him. “You’re a mess.”
He finishes and sets the mug down on the roof ledge. “Usually, yeah.”
“Here, let me...” You take the damp washcloth you brought up for this purpose and use it to wipe away the stickiness covering Spike’s front. He shivers a bit as the breeze dries his skin, and you pull him close, wrap your arms around his cool body.
“You’re wearing too many clothes. I feel naked,” he says.
“You are naked.”
“Ah. That’d be why, then.”
You smile. “Do you want me to be naked?”
“I always want you to be naked.”
“Okay then. I’ll get naked.” You don’t move.
After a moment, he murmurs, “You’re not naked yet.”
“Sorry, I was too busy holding you to bother undressing.”
“S’alright.” He slips his hands down over your butt and squeezes. “I can work around the clothes.”
You cover his hands with yours, let your fingers go between his. “Just kiss me,” you say quietly.
Spike tilts his head up to meet your lips with his. The inside of his mouth is warm from the blood he just drank, and you can still taste it as you take these few valuable seconds to enjoy his mouth with your tongue. You can hear the seconds going past as you use them up this way, and you intensely resent your watch, but if you weren’t wearing it you think you’d probably still hear the ticking in your head, and that would be worse.
“Anything you want to do,” you pull back to whisper, looking into his eyes. “We can do it. Right now.”
One of his eyebrows twitches up. “Anything?” he repeats.
“Anything. As long as we don’t have to leave the roof.” You reach in your pocket and pull out a small tube of lubricant, which you grabbed from your apartment just a minute ago. You hand it to him. “I have more downstairs if we need it. And I have some, you know... other... things. If you want to use... other things.”
He looks down at the lube in his hand, then at you again. The back of your neck itches. You’re still wearing your unbuttoned shirt. “Angel... is there something wrong?” Spike asks.
“Wrong?” You shake your head. “No. Of course not.”
“You could tell me, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He waits.
“But there’s nothing,” you finish. You give him sincere eyes.
He hesitates. “Alright, then. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You put a reassuring hand up to his cheek.
He leans into the touch. “So... anything I want?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He smiles. “What if I wanted you to wear ladies’ knickers?”
Er. You drop your hand to your side and blink a couple of times. “Are you... being hypothetical, or is this an actual possibility?”
“Would you do it? Tell me.”
“I...” You think about it. “...Yeah. Yeah, I’d do it. But–”
“What if I wanted to tie you up?” he asks. He reaches up to push your shirt back off your shoulders and down your arms, and you let it drop to the floor. “Would you let me restrain you? Blindfold, gag... everything?”
You swallow. “Yeah,” you say. “You could do that.”
He pinches one of your nipples, looking into your eyes. “If I wanted to turn you over my knee,” he says, “and spank your bum like a naughty little boy... would you let me, Angel?” He nips at your collarbone gently with his teeth.
“Yes. I’d let you.”
“Yeah? Might get to that one later...” He unbuttons your pants and then slides his hands around your waist, lets them slip under the material, palming over your ass. He squeezes. “What if I wanted to fuck your mouth,” Spike asks, “in front of your friends? Show them how much you love my cock? Would you get on your knees for me in your big fancy office and–”
“Yes,” you tell him seriously. “If you asked me to, I'd do it.”
“Really?” He leans back to look you in the eye. “You wouldn’t check first to see if I was evil?”
“No, the sex always comes first. Number one rule of being a superhero.”
He smiles. “Teach you that in superhero school, did they?”
“What do you really want to do, Spike?” you ask. “Name it. Anything.”
Spike sighs, then leans forward to press his face against your neck. “You don’t have to promise me anything, Angel,” he says. “Just want to make love. That’s all.”
You couldn’t have asked for a better answer. You give Spike a tight hug and kiss the top of his head. “Okay,” you murmur. “We can do that.”
“And maybe the spanking thing later. That sounded hot.”
You chuckle. “Alright,” you tell him. “Next time.”
*
You and Spike make love on the roof of Wolfram and Hart.
Spike’s ass is a little sore from earlier, and he winces when he takes you in, but when you ask if he wants to stop, he says no, that this is the way he wants it, with you lying on your back on the pallet you made and him on top, riding your cock as slowly as either of you can stand it.
It seems to last forever. And Spike is so beautiful moving above you, all of his muscles flexing, stiff cock bobbing up and down, that you have to keep your eyes closed for almost the whole time so you won’t come too soon. It’s torture, but it’s better than you’ve ever had before, and Spike tells you that it hurts, but it hurts good, and he whispers how much he’s in love with you as he takes your hands and pins them down above your head so you can’t touch him.
The two of you come at exactly the same time. And afterwards, as you both lay panting on the little pallet, you pull Spike’s back to your chest and you tell him how much you’re in love with him, which is something you find you can only confess at moments like this, which makes you grateful for moments like this because otherwise he might never have known.
“And yet,” Spike says quietly, “you still can’t tell me what’s wrong.”
You don’t say anything.
“I can tell something’s bothering you, Angel. I’ve known you longer than anyone. No use trying to hide from me.”
“It’s this whole thing,” you tell him. “The Ri’ipkis and... everything. You should be upset too.”
“That’s one answer,” he agrees. “What’s the real one?”
You sigh.
“Talk to me, pet,” he coaxes. “You afraid I’ll get angry? That I’ll, what, leave you? No way you’ll be rid of me that easy. Ought to know that by now.”
You pull him closer. Just having him in your arms makes this a little easier. “I have to do something,” you finally say. “And I’m... scared.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns around on the blanket so he can look into your eyes. He takes your hand. “Whatever it is,” he says softly, “we’ll do it together.”
*
You’re late for your meeting with Wesley. As aware of the time as you’ve been, it’s still a struggle making yourself leave the comfort of Spike’s arms for the task waiting for you in your office. But, as promised, Spike accompanies you, holding your hand the entire way down.
It’s mostly dark in the building, except for the small lights that remain on all the time, casting a greyish glow over everything. It’s spooky, being down here this late, the normally bustling lobby deserted. Spike’s booted footsteps echo as you drift from the elevator to your office like a ghost.
Your office lights are on but have been dimmed. “Angel,” Wesley greets you. “I wondered if you... might have changed your mind.”
“No,” you tell him. “But you still could.”
He huffs softly. “I’ve spent the last few hours convincing myself not to.”
You just nod, and then you both go quiet for a moment. Then, as an afterthought, you gesture toward Spike and say, “Spike came with me.”
“I see that. Hello, Spike.”
Spike nods. “Percy.”
After another short silence, wherein no one looks at each other, Wesley clears his throat. “I’ve... brought someone with me as well,” he says.
“What? Who?” You look around.
“She just stepped out for a – oh, there she is.”
Fred tiptoes into the room. “It’s so quiet in here,” she whispers. “It’s kinda... spooky. Hey, Angel. Spike.” She holds up a box. “I brought snacks.”
“Snacks?” you repeat. “Fred, why are you–?”
“I want to do it too,” she says.
“No, you don’t,” you quickly reply. “Go home.” And to Wesley, “I can’t believe you told her.”
“She’s an adult, Angel. She can make her own decisions.”
“She’s standing in the room,” says Fred. “And she’s chosen already.” She holds up the box. “Cheezit?”
You and Wesley stare at the Cheezit box.
“I’ll have one,” Spike finally says. “Thanks, luv.”
She hands him the crackers. “I wasn’t sure if... I mean, I almost brought booze instead, but I didn’t want to imply that we should get drunk first because... I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t drink and die.” She smiles nervously. “Okay, that was funnier before I said it out loud.”
“Fred, you shouldn’t be here,” you try again. “Neither of you should.”
“Angel, we’ve been over this,” says Wesley. “If we’re to have any hope of helping you tomorrow, this has to happen. We simply cannot start from scratch; it will take too long to get to this point again, and the Ri’ipkis are expecting to meet with you at two o’clock.”
“I know, but...”
“And,” Fred adds, “I have a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“I might have come up with a plan, but I have to think on it some more. And I can’t think on it if I don’t remember, now can I?”
“Makes sense,” says Spike.
You turn to him. “You’re agreeing with this?”
“I agreed to help you,” he says. “This is a way I can help.”
“So you’re, what, offering to kill Fred while I kill Wesley?”
“Aw, thanks, Spike,” says Fred. “That’s really... thank you.”
“I thought, maybe... one and then the other,” says Wesley, “rather than concurrently.” He looks at Fred. “I’d like to stay with her.”
She smiles at him. You're not sure what to say.
“So where’s Charlie?” asks Spike eventually. “And the lounge lizard? Or didn’t you invite them to this little party?”
“We thought about it,” says Fred, “But we didn’t want them to feel obligated. I mean, Charles has done all he can do already anyway, what with translating that contract for us, and Lorne has... well, you know, even if we started right now, there wouldn’t really be enough time to kill him before midnight, with all the ritual desecration and stuff.”
“Speaking of time,” says Wesley, “perhaps we should get on with it? Not that I’m in a hurry, exactly, but... no use putting it off, is there?”
You glance at your watch. Thirty-two minutes. “Are you absolutely sure, Wes? Fred? You can still change your mind. We won’t think any less of you.”
“Angel, I’m okay with this,” says Fred. “Really.”
“But what if...”
“Angel, listen,” Wesley says. “We’ve been theorizing about this loophole in the spell, and I’m positive it has to do with the soul. And Fred and I both have souls, so we’ll be safe. You don’t have to worry about us."
"Plus, the Ri'ipkis basically told you straight up that they're making the day repeat tomorrow, too," adds Fred. "So there's no reason to be afraid that this will be permanent."
You sigh. "It'll hurt."
"Not for very long. And according to you and Spike, we won't remember that part."
"I'll remember what I did to you," you say softly.
"What we did," Spike corrects.
"You'll remember that you did what was necessary to save people's lives. That's not a bad thing, Angel," says Wesley.
You give him a sad smile. "Perspective. You're good at that, Wes. Always have been."
"I try."
Fred clears her throat. "So," she says, a little too loudly. "Where do you want me? Should I just, you know, stand here, or would it be better if..."
"Standing is fine," Spike tells her. He sets the box of crackers on your desk, unopened, and takes a step toward Fred. She doesn't move, but she's not looking at his face either. Her eyes are trained somewhere around his chest. "You alright, pet?" he asks, ducking his head a little to look at her.
"Yes. Fine. I'm great." She smiles quickly, but you can smell her fear like it's a thing she's carrying in her hands. "Just a little... you know, nervous. Never died before. Which is, I guess, odd, considering who I work for and... who my friends are..."
He puts his hands on her shoulders and she stops talking. "You don't have to be scared," he says softly. "I won't hurt you."
"No, you're just going to..." She pauses, takes a sudden deep breath. "Sorry, I'm... I just have to... Wesley?" She turns toward him, and he immediately takes her hand.
"I'm here," he says. "Spike won't do anything until you're ready."
She nods, reaches up to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry... don't pay any attention to me, just being... silly..."
"I think you're very brave," Spike tells her. "Even if you don't want to do this, you're very brave."
"No, I... I have to do it," she says. She swallows. She looks over at you. "Angel? Come stand beside me?"
You move to her side and take her other hand. "Where did you wake up this morning, Fred?" you ask her.
She blinks. "Um. I was... I was in my office," she says. "I worked late last night and... no, Thursday night, and... this morning I woke up in my office."
You nod, squeeze her hand. "When you wake up in the morning, we'll be there. Alright?"
She gives you a heartfelt smile. "Alright," she says. "I'd like that. Thank you." Then she turns to face Spike. "I'm... ready now." Her small hand tightens around your fingers.
"You're sure?"
"Positive." She squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath.
"Fred," he says. She opens her eyes tentatively, and he smiles at her. "I'm going to make this very quick, alright?" At her nod, Spike reaches up and gently cups the back of her head with one hand and her chin with the other. You feel her start to shake, and you give her hand another small squeeze. "Just try to relax," says Spike. "Don't fight me." You see a tear slip down her cheek as she nods, and your throat tightens, but you don't say anything. "Count of five, pet. You won't feel a thing." Your jaw clenches at the lie. "One," says Spike. "Two."
He snaps her neck on three, and you're already in place to catch her limp form in your arms as she falls. You quickly adjust her head in the crook of your elbow so that it doesn't look an odd angle if Wesley happens to be watching. You hear him make a soft sound as he looks down at her body. He's still holding her hand tightly.
"Wes," you say. His eyes don't move away from her face. "I'm going to put her on the couch."
He nods and lets go of her. Her arm droops down.
You move Fred's impossibly light body to the couch and lay her down carefully, make sure that her head isn't crooked. Her eyes are closed. There is still a tear on her cheek, and you brush it away with your thumb. You hear Wesley murmur, "Oh God. Oh, God..."
"She'll be alright," you say, looking at her. "We'll see her in the morning."
"Come with us," Spike says to Wesley. He swallows. "Be there when she wakes up. She'll like that."
"I... yes," Wesley manages. "Yes, of course." He looks very pale when you turn to face him. He doesn't look at you. "I... I wake up in my office as well," he says. "There's a... a small cot, just in case..."
"We'll come and get you," you tell him. "It won't feel like any time has passed at all."
He nods, still looking toward the couch.
You put a hand on his shoulder, and you feel the tiny flinch that he tries not to show. "Do you still want to do this?" you ask quietly.
He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Alright," you say. "I'm ready when you are."
"I thought... perhaps, the more traditional way?" he suggests. He makes a vague gesture toward his neck.
"Whatever you want," you tell him.
"I just thought... watcher, vampire... it would seem... appropriate."
"Makes sense. It'll... take longer."
"Yes," he says.
"Okay, then."
He clears his throat. "I tried to think of something to say earlier. To... mark the occasion. But there doesn't appear to be anything left to say. It's just a normal day for us, isn't it? Risking our lives to save the world."
"That's a good way to think of it," you tell him.
"Perspective," he says. He gives you a small smile. "I try."
"For the record, though, there's nothing normal about risking your life, for anything. You're a good man, Wesley. Don't act like your sacrifice is nothing."
He exhales deeply. "Thank you, Angel. I... suppose I'm ready. Any words of advice?"
You slip into game face. "Try not to remember this."
"Noted," he says.
Then you bite him.
Hot blood rushes into your mouth. You hear Wesley gasp, but he doesn't struggle, his body actually relaxing into your arms. You swallow over and over. It feels like a long time, but you can still hear his heartbeat fluttering, so you continue. It's been so long since you drained a living human to death that you can't remember how long it's supposed to take.
Just before Wesley slips into unconsciousness, you hear him whisper very faintly, "Do you know... I always wondered... if it would be you." And then his body goes limp, but you still drink, pulling hard at his neck because the blood has stopped spurting into your mouth, subsiding to more of a trickle.
Your cock is hard. You can't help it.
"Angel," Spike finally says. "Angel, he's... you can stop now." Spike touches your shoulder. "Let him go, luv," he says softly.
You slowly disengage your fangs from Wesley's neck. You notice now that his heart has stopped. The beat you are still hearing is the second hand of your watch, ticking away the last few minutes of the day. You pull your fangs back in.
"Are you alright?" Spike asks you.
You look down at Wesley's face. His eyelids are half open, but you can't see his pupils. "Yes. I'm alright."
"Want to put him with her?"
"I... yes."
You carry Wesley over to the couch and lay him down next to Fred. His throat is torn almost in half, but there isn't any blood on his clothes, and none drips out of the wound to stain your couch cushions.
You stand there a moment, looking down at your dead friends.
"Almost midnight," says Spike.
"Yeah."
"We'll go and get them in the morning. They won't even remember this."
"Yeah. Spike?"
"Mm?"
"Where do you wake up every morning?"
"Floor of my apartment, five oh three A.M. With a hangover." He takes your hand.
"You wake up before I do," you say.
"Yeah."
"In the morning... will you be there when I wake up?"
"Of course, luv. Every morning from now on, if I have a say in it."
"That's good," you tell him. "I'd like that." You bring his hand up to your mouth and kiss the back of it. "Let's go back up to my apartment."
"Probably won't get there before midnight," he says.
"We can try. Will you wait for me at the elevator? I need a minute."
He squeezes your hand. "I'll be right outside."
You just nod, and he walks out of your office, leaving you behind with Wesley and Fred. As soon as he's out of sight, you cross to your desk and open a drawer, look inside. The stake is still where you left it this afternoon.
Your hand is shaking as you pick it up. You look at your watch. Three minutes until you forget. Unless.
Shouldn't be too hard. You remember seeing Darla do it.
He's worth it. He's worth more than this.
Count of five, you think.
One.
Two.
*
[Continued here.]
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 08:08 am (UTC)dear heavens...
you're breaking me into little pieces of aching...
I feel like Mortica Adams cause it is wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 09:04 am (UTC)I just hope the day will repeat itself again. Otherwise it will be a nightmare for poor Spike. (And I'm shocked, that Angel had to do it himself).
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 11:27 pm (UTC)i played with different ways for angel to die in this chapter, and i actually wrote well into a scene where he tried to get spike to stake him and spike wouldn't, but i figured angel wouldn't want to tell spike what he had to do anyway, so he ended up just doing it himself.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 09:04 am (UTC)Oh God!
Sorry... just... have no words.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 11:27 pm (UTC)there, there. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 12:56 pm (UTC)Many writers say they have trouble writing the sex scenes. Do you? Because the ones in these chapters are beautifully done. When they are on the roof and Angel is thinking about his favourite bit of Spike, that was one of the most romantic and tender scenes I have ever read. Thank you for this wonderful fic.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 11:30 pm (UTC)i do actually have a terrible time writing sex scenes. i'm not sure why i feel compelled to do it even when i hate it so much, but they usually turn out alright in the end. i prefer writing gen. it's so much easier and faster.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 01:14 pm (UTC)This was just fantastic - so tender and hot and still THEM. And the plot devise as to why Spike wasn't caught int he spell was brilliant! I can't wait to see what happens.......
Your writing is just sooo good - this fic has raised the bar for 'fic' in this fandom, it's almost lyrical in parts. I really can't say how much I love it!
Please don't make us wait too long on the finale!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 02:00 am (UTC)i don't know how long it will be until i post the last part, but i can say it won't be as long as the wait between parts 3 and 4.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 02:54 pm (UTC)The sheer intensity of this story. And the twist it took. I did not see that coming and it gives me the shivers!
Okay, in order. The sex. The sex was brilliant. Burning hot sex. Painting pretty pictures in my head. And then there was the tenderness. Very rare and unusual among these boys but believable with what they're going through.
And now, I mentioned the twist and I'll mention it again! The having to die to break out of the loop... It makes me near incoherent! Very horrifying, very chilling and so very well done. The ending of this particular chapter is amazing. It made me want to cry and sent a shiver up my back and...yeah, just brilliant. That they made these choices... *shivers* Beautifully written.
If I weren't so swamped with work, I would be sitting here refreshing this page everyday for the last part! Looking forward to it!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 02:05 am (UTC)sex and death are the two hardest things for me to write, so i have no idea what possessed me to make those two things so important in this story... but i'm so glad you think they're well done. and i really appreciate the feedback, so thank you again. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 03:39 pm (UTC)Don't mind me. I'm going to be over here in the corner rocking back and forth slightly catatonic until the end of this comes out.
Fantastic story, heartbreaking in all the good ways. Thank you for sharing this.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:25 pm (UTC)er... by "it" i don't necessarily mean the fic, but you know... just life in general. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 04:03 pm (UTC)*GUH*!!!!!
That was absolutely without a DOUBT the most magnificent piece of work I've ever read!!!!!! FUCK!!! I am in TOTAL AWE of you!!
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE UPDATE THIS SOON!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 05:33 pm (UTC)The relationship between Spike and Angel is just beautiful. And, oh my God the sex. :) But, overall, I am just left with a sense of...haunted, I guess would be the best way to describe this chapter. So freaking amazing--the whole scene with Fred and Wesley--Jesus. I loved this, really showed Angel's insides:
You quickly adjust her head in the crook of your elbow so that it doesn't look an odd angle if Wesley happens to be watching.
Man...I'm kinda torn (ala Natalie Imbruglia) here--I can't wait to see the end, but I also don't want this story to stop. Ironic, that. :) Great job, honey. You should be proud.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:33 pm (UTC)haha, i wondered if anyone would pick up on that line! it's one of my favorite lines in the story, because you can take it to mean anything. like, he could be talking about wesley, but probably not, since wesley's his friend and he wouldn't talk about him that way, but on the other hand he IS a vampire and vampires eat people, so maybe... OR he could actually be planning to eat later but for some reason never gets around to it, OR he could be just brushing off the question quickly to get to other things... it can mean anything you want. :D
I can't wait to see the end, but I also don't want this story to stop.
thanks! i'm playing with the ending in case i want to do a sequel - saturday. heh. i actually have a plot in mind if i choose to do one, but i probably won't...
anyway, thanks so much!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 07:44 pm (UTC)bwahahaha!
also.....HOLY. FUCK. write more. now. *chains you to the computer* WRITE MORE NOW. god, poor Spike.
I derive a morbid kind of pleasure from this fic. I must be wrong in the head. I *like* the morbidity.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:37 pm (UTC)HALP! i iz kidnapped!
*...writes*
I derive a morbid kind of pleasure from this fic. I must be wrong in the head.
so... what does that say about me? o.O
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:54 pm (UTC)the understated clarity of your writing just lends an amazing beauty to the whole story
*beams* thank you again!
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Date: 2007-08-30 01:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 10:08 pm (UTC)ooh, the autumn smell thing? that's one of my favorite lines as well, which is funny because it wasn't even in the first couple of drafts of this chapter. i literally added it in just a little while before i posted. (i love when the things you add on a whim turn out to be the best things.) :)
Each chapter makes my heart swell then explode with what they have to do and give and survive.
that is how i feel about watching the show! i'm so glad it translates well into fic.
thank you again for such wonderful feedback. it's what keeps me writing. :D
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Date: 2007-09-04 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 11:46 am (UTC)I seriously can’t wait for the next part but I’ll be patient because I know it’ll be worth the waiting.
One last thing
“If I wanted to turn you over my knee,” he says, “and spank your bum like a naughty little boy... would you let me, Angel?”
*pants* oh, yes, pretty please!!! ;)
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Date: 2007-09-04 10:51 pm (UTC)and the spanking thing? hell yes. haha. but probably not in this story, unfortunately.
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Date: 2007-08-30 12:32 pm (UTC)Just.... superb.
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Date: 2007-09-04 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 05:23 pm (UTC)Please, please oh please tell me we wont have to wait long for the rest.
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Date: 2007-09-05 12:00 am (UTC)i'm not sure on a time frame for the rest, but i'll let you know. :)
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Date: 2007-08-30 05:48 pm (UTC)I loved it from the beginning, but it´s getting better with every part. I rarely read anything that balanced. It has a brilliant plot, there is not one character whos voice you don´t catch perfectly. The relation between Angel and Spike is heartbreakingly sweet and between all the angst and the amazing sex scenes, you still make me smile. This story is so cool!
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Date: 2007-09-05 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:04 am (UTC)