I’ve got a bit of a problem letting go. Shoved face first in the dirt, but I keep coming back for more. Maybe it’s a mineral deficiency.

Love’s bitch? Yeah. Hard to deny it when you’ve got your true love’s boot print on your backside. How did it come down to this?

Just me.

I can turn on the radio. I can turn on the TV. Still too quiet, because it’s just noise.

So how long has it been like this? Forever.

Must be why I stay here. Surround myself with humans. Keep their company, but keep them at a distance. Which isn’t hard. ’Cause what have we got in common, after all?

Oh yeah. One thing.

Angelus. Angel. Whatever.

Bloody common denominator, isn’t he? And that’s a laugh. Actually, it’s fucking hilarious.

He’s always around. Even when he isn’t here. Always there first.

Dru.

Buffy.

Hell, I could probably shag Droopy Boy and find out Angelus’d buggered him first… and isn’t that a thought to keep a bloke awake days. He can have Harris – no worries there. Have you seen him lately? Incredible expanding boy.

Always comes back to him. Angelus. Full circle.

What the hell?

Forcing myself to hold both hands steady – flick the lighter – good drag so the ember glows bright. Inhale – exhale. Blue smoke. Inhale – exhale, repeat until calm. Because this can’t be happening to me… but it is. When did I turn into the Poof! Jesus fucking Christ! When the hell did that happen?

Sitting here alone. Check

Reading musty books by candlelight. Check.

Brooding like there’s nothing *but* tomorrow. Check.

Well.

Just.

Fuck.

It’s still early when I pull off the freeway – well, early for me. Fucking Daylight Savings Time. What idiot thought of that? Thump the clock on the dash once, like that’ll make it move from 9 to 10. Just you wait… come Fall it’ll be right again.

Why am I doing this again? Right… gonna beat the crap out of him. Worked so well last time didn’t it?

Not gonna think on that. Just need to… work through a few things. Preferably my fist through his solar plexus, but I’m not picky. Not going to bother with hot pokers this time. Want it up close and personal like. Yeah. Sounds like a bit of all right.

Tripping a little on the imagined sound of my fist connecting with solid flesh and I don’t notice that the light’s changed. Wanker behind me honks and I flip him the bird. Idiot flashes me a ‘peace’ sign and grins at me in my rearview mirror. Git.

Slam it into gear and go.

Breaks squealing to a stop in front of this behemoth of a mausoleum. Check the crumpled paper. Yeah, right place. Glancing again at the gloomy façade. Figures. Don’t bother with knocking… what’s the point?

Step in the door, and I can smell him. Always could. Made it easier to either make myself scarce or make myself available. Depended what kind of a mood old Angelus was in. Or on how bad I wanted it. Wanted him.

Okay. Enough of that. Think my own brain would be less of a traitor to me than this, wouldn’t you?

William the Bloody here. Slayer of Slayers, yanno? Right… that’s me, and I’m ready and raring to go. Bring it on!

Well… as long as it isn’t human, right? Don’t think for a minute I don’t know who’s responsible for this bit of hardware in my brain. Couldn’t just give me my goddamn ring and be done with it, could he? Oh no. Bastard took and *destroyed* it! What kind of an idiot wanker does that? Right… same one as shags a seventeen-year-old virgin. No, not me, you dolt… I *was* twenty-three by the time he got to me. Good god, it was the Victorian era… of course I was virgin! No need to add that to the resume though is there? We’ll just file that little fact behind the fairy-tale I told Buffy about who sired me.

Well, isn’t this just great… me standing about reminiscing when there’s a souled vampire to pound. Right, which way… just follow my nose.

Don’t have to go too far. Cozy little front office, and the lummox is just sitting there. Facing the wall. Not moving. What happened to the ‘guard your perimeter’ crap? He knows I’m here. I know it. He knows it. Why’s he just sitting there?

I take a step forward into the room and he turns. But he’s not looking at me… he’s looking through me. Shit.

I don’t care. Gonna get what I came here for, because… because… because he owes me this. Yeah… closure or some shit.

I take a few menacing steps forward; my boots sounding as heavy as they feel on the floor. Fucker doesn’t even blink.

I’m standing right in front of him, and the bastard just drops his head. Shove him once with a growl… wake up, dammit!

“Christ – aren’t you done yet with the brooding bit? It’s getting a bit old – even for you!”

Nothing.

“Hey! Angelus!”

Oh, got a look with that one, didn’t I?

No. Just a flash and it’s gone. What the…?

Crap.

He’s broken. Somebody broke him and I wasn’t around to see it. My life’s just not fair. When has it ever been? Doesn’t stop me from slogging onward. And downward.

Sit myself down on *top* of the desk. He doesn’t seem to give a damn about the state of this place, so why should I? Kick some papers to the floor, and he’s not flinching. I would have liked that, at least. Fine. Where’s my damn flask? Good. Helps me think.

Right. Change of plan is order then.

What? I’m allowed.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I don’t think he’s going to answer, but he lets out a sigh.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

It speaks! And in complete sentences.

“So. Tell me anyway. I came all this way; you ought to at least entertain me. S’only polite.”

Hard look on his face… kind of mean. “She throws you out of bed, and you come *here*? That’s kind of… sad. Even for you, Spike.”

Well. Shit. He knows about me and… Buffy. Yeah, it only hurts a little bit. Like a knife in the back. Dipped in holy water. Soaked in sunlight.

A little slice of reality from the original man of mystery, and then he’s gone. Replaced by Angel, Vampire Detective… picking up a manila folder full of crap he’s not reading as he turns away from me. “Sorry… this isn’t about you… it’s got nothing to do with you… just… go… Your plan didn’t work, I’m not going to fight with you.”

Wait… he’s apologizing to me for not fighting with me? This is just… weird. And completely unacceptable.

“Come on, it was a great plan… you tell me what’s brought you this low, then I laugh mockingly for a bit, say something really nasty, get you all riled – then we fight. A little blood. A little mayhem. Everyone goes away happy. ’Cept in your case, not too happy.”

It’s a hollow laugh, but it’s a laugh. “Your plans suck.”

“Prove me wrong. Dare you to.” Lesson here children: when all else fails – appeal to the ego. All right, not that I really thought that it would work, but there he is. Drawing in breath, gonna be a long speech.

He begins.

He’s talking so softly. Conversationally. It’s been a while so whatever pain he feels isn’t too near the surface. No. It’s lodged deep inside and it colors everything he’s saying. I know about these things.

I haven’t heard his voice like this… well let’s just say it’s been a while, shall we? His voice. His words. It’s a whole different kind of torture to hear him speak those names. My family. My girls.

Darla.

She came back.

She was here.

Oh, and it hurts to hear that, because there’s something in his voice that tells me she’s not here any more. He keeps talking. Dru. Sired… Darla.

I have to stand. Walk. Put some distance between us. Because this is too much. Not enough. Not what I came here for. A century gone by and he can still throw me off balance.

Shit. Flask is empty. His eyes are tracking my jerky movements as I stuff it back in my coat and I feel like I’m falling. Nope, just sitting here. Not blinking.

“I’ve got a bottle.”

My eyes follow him, because I don’t think I should stand up. Feel like I’m already drunk.

Sitting sprawled in an old leather chair… he’s across from me. It’s almost familiar the way we swap the bottle back and forth. Almost.

But not. Because he’s telling me about… Connor.

His son.

He’s right… I shouldn’t believe this, but – crap – the souled poof hasn’t got enough imagination to make this kind of shit up, and what else could have caused the despair that’s there in the words he doesn’t use?

It’s quiet. I don’t think he believes that he just told me all that. Probably doesn’t want to believe it. Too bad.

“So… you tried to smother him… the ex-Watcher – why?”

“What do you mean?” Ooo, touchy… struck a cord or three there, didn’t I?

“Not questioning your motives, idiot, but you could’ve snapped his neck. Hell of a lot easier. So why not?”

“I – I wasn’t thinking like a demon.”

“Thinking like a man… got that… been doing the same thing myself lately… only gets you into trouble.”

I’m up.

Pacing.

It’s what I do.

Don’t even bother to look at him… who said it was all about him, anyway? I’m the idiot who asked, he’s the arse who answered. Fuck… it’s easier when I don’t hear their names. No one mentions them to me. No one. Darla… god… god… god… You know, I’m gonna find the fucker who writes all these bleeding prophecies and kill him. What the hell? Keep it to yourself, ya moron, nobody wants to know. Shit… Dru… the girl still makes my head spin with swirls of white petticoats and red lips.

Connor. Doomed to be a Mick with a name like that. It’s one thing for a demon to snatch your kid. I can respect that. That’s the way things go. But your mate? Someone you trust? That’s just out of whack. And why should I care? Why?! What the fuck is this feeling… whatever it is, I can’t stand it! Action… yeah… I good with that.

“Christ! Tell ya what… I’ll just go over and rip him to shreds for ya… tear his heart out… do what you should have done, alright?”

I think I should run right about now. When your mouth is moving and your brain isn’t, it’s usually time to call it a night.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

Fair question. Easy answer. Right?

“Family.”

Shit. Said that bit out loud, didn’t I?

He’s in front of me. Didn’t even see him move. Wasn’t looking for him. Watched kettle doesn’t boil. Not gonna move. Not gonna breathe, yeah, yeah… don’t need to, I know that. Don’t want to spook him… ’cause he’s looking at me like he’s just seeing me for the first time since I got here.

I like that.

Another move I don’t see, and it’s his lips on mine. And tongue. And teeth. And god help me, *suck*.

Then he’s gone. Evaporated under my hands, across the room and miles away. His hands are shaking. Good. Won’t look so bad if I have to sit down right now.

“I miss him.”

What? What??! Right… the kid. “’Course you do.”

He’s staring at me. “What was that?”

What was that? Came here to kick his ass. Came here to close the door on a century’s worth of memories. And I’m tasting him. In my mouth.

“Oh that? That was you and me locking lips. Your hands are still shaking.”

“Right. You and me.” Sharp look over at me. He’s sitting down heavily in this huge chair that seems to swallow him up, and I can see the moment, I can see him almost, disappearing in front of my eyes. Just gonna vanish in his comfy misery. Not gonna happen. ’Cause I came here for something and I’m not going away empty handed.

And I’ll tell you right now; it isn’t easy to sit on someone’s lap when you’re wearing jeans. Especially when said jeans weren’t loose to begin with, and are getting tighter by the minute. A lesser man might balk at the thought of straddling the thighs of someone who’s tried to kill them once or twice. I am not a lesser man though, wanna see? Besides, not like I haven’t stuck the odd hot poker into him. Heh. I’m flexible… when I need to be.

Prove it by gripping his thighs between my knees, sinking my fingers into his damned moussed-up hair and just leaning down.

Sputtering, “What the hell are you doing, Spike?”

But he’s not shoving me off, and we both know he could, so I risk it.

“Don’t fight it. Shut your gob… no wait… open up. That’s it… ”

Think I caught him by surprise because those lips that have smirked and screamed and been set in defiant lines against me are… open. Open for me.

I’m diving in. Harder than I’d like, with teeth clacking against each other until I realize. He’s not fighting this.

Softer, but not gentle. Raw and wet and open. The kind of kiss that warps your world-view… A sloppy kiss. Just a kiss. Right… just everything.

And then I get it. This isn’t Angelus, and this isn’t that clumsy lost creature the gypsies saddled us with. It sure as hell isn’t whoever-the-fuck-that-was that showed up in Sunnydale. This is just… Angel, I guess. And I want him. I want Angel.

Yeah… crazy, isn’t it? Well… I think Dru would understand.

Never one to over-think things, I grind myself down, and the big guy groans deep. Gotta love these non-verbal Neanderthal types, yanno?

Rub up against him insistently… let him know he’s not alone in this… thing.

“We… I – can’t…” He’s stuttering as I lick at his mouth, moving along that solid jaw toward his ear. Just gonna… yeah… tongue in his ear, my hand at his crotch. And fuck, if I’m not just hanging on for the ride as his hips buck up, grinding that monster in his pants against the heel of my hand.

Don’t have to wonder what my breath feels like against the tight whorl of his ear, because I can feel his through my shirt. Swear I can feel the line of his lips there, pushing the fabric into my skin… mouthing me… mauling my shoulder real nice-like.

And maybe I should keep my trap shut, but I can’t. Surprised?

“Let it go, dammit. Doesn’t have to be so tough!” He’s breathing as hard as I am… no room for the laughter I feel at that. Barely room enough to grasp that hardness between his legs. “Let go, Angel!”

His name’s hardly past my lips when I feel it. Feel him. Shudder. Groan. Come.

Sudden wetness on my hand and we’re both staring at it. Until we’re staring at eachother. Not sure which of us is more shocked at this point.

If it hadn’t already, the moment becomes more surreal as this… grin spreads across his face. Not a smile. Not a smirk. An honest-to-god grin.

Know I’m sitting there gaping like a fish, and he begins to look a little sheepish. Hell. I’m a man; I know where this is going. I just made Angel come in his pants… like some randy schoolboy. Heh.

He’s embarrassed. And at that… well – I gotta laugh.

“I’m gonna take this as a compliment.”

That does it. He’s laughing too. Almost a painful sound, because I don’t think he’s done that in a long time. Me neither.

Still laughing when he pushes me onto the floor, kneeling between my legs. I know, I know. Not what I came here for. But what the hell. I remember how this works. He’s probably hard again, and I’m gonna get buggered good and proper. Memory tells me this is no hardship, and I move to unbutton my jeans. Get the show on the road and get some of the damn pressure off my own arousal.

Then those paws are batting my hands away. He’s not laughing. Just staring. It hits me like a fucking freight train. I don’t know this guy. I don’t have an effin’ clue about this… man staring down at me like I’m some bit of – candy?

Yeah, ’cause he’s licking his lips and his hands are moving slowly, opening me up like he’s unwrapping a nice bit of choccy.

Let out a grunt as I’m finally free, wrapped in his fist, and shit… that feels *good*!

Then, without warning – and you know, it’s only polite to warn a bloke – his mouth is on me.

Angel’s mouth.

Angel.

Good guy.

Soul having.

Buffy’s true love.

His mouth.

Sucking. His tongue… god… and teeth… just enough, mind you. My mind’s being ripped in about a million different directions. Fuck… his *mouth*!

Thought that last bit out loud again, because he’s letting go of me with an obnoxious wet sound.

“My mouth.”

“Yeah.” I can feel the shock in my voice.

“Is busy.” He shows me with a rough lick.

“God! What… what are you–?”

That lazy smile again, and when did he get so smug? Who the fuck is this?

“What am I doing?”

He’s licking.

“Fellatio.”

“Oral sex.”

“Laving your penis.”

“Going down on you…”

Artless kisses, on my hip. On my hip… and as if that wasn’t disturbing enough…

“Sucking your cock.”

“Oh.”

What? Is he waiting for something? An engraved invite or some such? “Right… carry on!”

Then that mouth is back. Eyes not letting me go, and that’s no problem. Nope, no problem at all there ’cause it’s not like I want to miss this show.

Not like I could. We both know who we’re with. What we tipped back isn’t enough to make for any damning drunken morning-after bouts of amnesia. This is me, Spike, with my cock thrusting past Angel’s lips and down his throat. And we both know it. Shit, this is great!

I know he’ll think enough for both of us, and I just gotta surrender to the feel. The feel of his lips wrapped around me, that wicked tongue moving and pushing at my foreskin, and damn, he knows what he’s doing. Or he knows what he wants.

Damn well know what I want.

“Yeah… Angel… yeah… harder… there… right there… yeah!”

What? If you can be eloquent under oral seduction like this, somebody’s not doing something right. And he is. So right. So hard. So fucking fierce and sweet around me. Fingers clenched around my arse and he’s pulling me in, letting me thrust as hard and deep as I want. And who knew Angel was such a damned fine, cocksucker? Not me, that’s for sure.

Did I mention those fingers? Yeah, I know I did. Well they’re moving. In. Dancing a little samba around my hole like the sweetest memory you ever had. Only better. Much, much better. Worlds better. Then it’s just one. Pressing, tapping, just a bit of pressure, and fuck it – can’t hold back.

Have to come. Have to thrust. Have to fuck his mouth and throat because he’s willing, because this isn’t some angst-fest fuck. Because it’s good. Good good good. There’s no bad anywhere in sight. My whole body flexing up and he’s taking it all, sucking me up and holding me and humming like this is the best thing. Me coming in Angel, and he *wants* it.

Pulsing down his throat and he’s drinking me, slurping like a hungry dog, and I like this look on him. No, it really works… ya gotta trust me on this. He’s making these hungry little noises around my last spasms and my whole body twitches at that, and hell and heaven help me… I whimper, which he apparently finds amusing, because he’s letting me go with a wet and nasty plop and laughing.

Yeah… the fucker’s laughing. Laughing and crawling up my body to sprawl half beside me and half on top of me. His body finally stops shaking and he’s looking at me with this half-delighted, half-smug look on his face.

“Yer a cocksucker, Angel.”

Heh. Wiped that grin right off his face… until. Until he realizes it wasn’t an insult.

Then he’s not half on top of me; he’s all on top of me. And I’ve got this monster on my mouth that’s all tongue and lips and teeth. A horny, wild kiss that you wouldn’t believe the brooding bastard was capable of. But he is. You’re gonna have to trust me on this, ’cause no one else is ever gonna get a crack at that mouth again.

Almost relax into that kiss, almost wrap my arms around him, but stop half way and shove him off.

“Gerroff!”

Startled, he falls back, his eyes darkening in an instant. This is almost too much fun.

“God, yer a heavy potato-famine-fucker.”

I can hear the little hamster spinning the wheel in his head at that.

“Wha–?” And the light dawns like bliss across his face, another good look for the bastard. In a lightening move, he’s grabbed me and I’m sprawled across his body.

“That better, Spike?”

Oooh, not the half-smooth devil, isn’t he? I grunt and rub myself against him. Good. We’re on the same page.

“Potato-famine-fucker? Been working on that one?”

There’s an almost smirk on his mouth I just have to wipe off. With my tongue.

“Yeah… staying up late to think of insults for your sorry, brooding arse.”

Buck of his strong body under mine, and those hands grabbing my hips – fuck he’s got big hands. Kinda nice, really.

“You may not have noticed… but I’m not brooding at this moment.”

Right… but he is doing the complete sentence thing again, and that’s just wrong… on a few different levels, so I lean in. Open his lips with my fingers and push in with my tongue. Yeah, suck on it. That’s a good lad. Not talking now, are ya? I pull back after a minute and his eyes are closed, and he’s got this sappy, dreamy look on his face.

“Oi! Hey! Angel!”

“What?” Purred out like the big cat he is, hands rubbing me all over, and fuck this feels right, but…

“Ya seem kinda happy there, mate.”

“Is that a problem?” Still lazy and warmed by friction and smelling like me.

“Not too happy… right?”

His eyes pop open and he’s looking at me. I mean, really looking.

“Just the right amount of happy.” He says it, like that’s enough. Like I should just shut up and get on with the snogging already. And I want to. Really I do. Every bit of me wants to. Especially certain already hard-again bits. But… and I open my mouth.

Only to find myself snagged in the sweetest kiss.

Well, oh idiot reader, if you think two men… all right, two demons can’t kiss sweetly, then you’ve got no imagination. Or no heart. And we sure as hell aren’t gonna discuss souls right now. ’Cause this is it.

The Kiss.

The one that says everything.

Says “I know you.”

Says “I want you.”

Says “I love you.”

This is Angel. Kissing Spike. And we aren’t gonna stop. Fuck yeah!