Dead Wait

Twenty-five minutes to roll himself off of the blood splattered cement. Forty-eight minutes to limp and stagger back to his crypt. Nineteen minutes under the groundskeeper's hose to wash off the blood, ground-in pebbles, and the scent of her. Two hours and eleven minutes shivering under a blanket in his bed before sleep finally claimed him. Five hours exactly before the heavy door opened and a vampire he had met only once rushed in just ahead of the coming dawn and offered him a job.

Fourteen hours later he was back on the motorcycle, unsteady hands guiding him towards Los Angeles and a big payday. Big enough anyways. Middle-man jobs were rarely all they were touted to be, but this one sounded simple enough; meet with the good doctor, help him collect some rare demon eggs, take the cash. Three hours and five minutes after sunset he was walking into the doctor’s tiny office and reaching a hand out to the nice looking nurse.

"Spike, I presume," she said with a chipper smile, "almost didn’t recognize you. The picture we were given was a little less, um, blue."

Spike absently traced over the bruised, puffy flesh covering his eye and laughed, "Yeah, well the missus got a little rough last night."

The nurse joined him in the laugh, turning to open the inner office door, and added in her too-perky nurse voice, "Well maybe Dr. Gregson can take a look at that for you, and give you the number of a counselor back in Sunnydale."

If she noticed the defeated drop of Spike’s shoulders as he followed her, she didn’t acknowledge it.


**

Angel sighed heavily and braced his arms against the wheel pushing his body back into the seat. He was several days past tired, he was exhausted. His respect for working mothers had climbed dramatically since Connor had become part of his life. Being a father was a fulltime job and trying to fit in his duties as champion was playing havoc with his sleep schedule. Not to mention the whole ‘thing’ with Cordelia, and that was enough to make even the strongest man suffer from insomnia. He was now eternally grateful he hadn’t taken Lorne’s advice and told her how he felt. Under his lounge lizard persona, Lorne was an incurable romantic refusing to acknowledge the insurmountable hurdles that lay in the path of any potential relationship, let alone one between a vampire and a recently demonized ex-princess. And now with Groo turning up again, it had become obvious precisely where Cordy’s affections really lay.

The seat next to him was empty, testifying that this visit was business rather than pleasure. Angel parked the car and leaned over to retrieve his sword from the back seat before climbing out. After checking the address for the third time - he couldn’t be too careful - Angel entered the building and started to climb the narrow staircase to the fourth floor. According to Cordy’s vision, the vampire attack wasn’t due for another ten minutes so he had time to assess the lay of the land on his way. There was no elevator, just the stairs on either end of the building and a few fire escapes he wasn’t sure he’d want to trust with his life.

Once upstairs the smell of spilt beer and cigarette smoke in the narrow hallway was nearly choking. Laughter and music, loud enough that several of the neighbors popped their heads out their doors at regular intervals, greeted Angel as he came upon apartment 412. He pulled the collar up on his jacket and ran a few fingers through his hair, tousling it a little before knocking.

A short brunette answered the door. She couldn't have been more than fifteen Angel guessed, though she held a beer can in one hand and was tugging at her halter-top with the other. The girl didn't say a word, just eyed Angel up and down before nodding at him and walking away. Angel stood outside the open door for a moment before the girl returned, leaning forward on unstable legs she and saying, "The keg’s in the kitchen, no drugs."

"I don't have any...I'm not really here for the party," Angel said looking at his watch.

"Well, you are now, come on in," she said before making her way towards a group playing spin the bottle on the living room floor.

Angel sidled into the corner, keeping an eye on the door and a low profile to avoid the drunken shouts to come and join in. They were kids and watching them dancing and making-out made him feel even older and more awkward than usual, plus the music was horrible, some garage-rap-indi stuff that made his head pound along with the rhythm.

"Hey, gorgeous. Wanna dance?" The tiny blonde slid her hand up his arm and leaned in to give him a good view down her top. She smelled of heat and alcohol, and her nipples were the color of rose petals. Angel swallowed, licked his lips and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. A different hand grasped his other arm and he was swung round, this time towards a black girl tall enough to look him straight in the eye.

"Don’t hog him, Gina." She gave Angel an appraising look, her eyes lingering on his crotch for so long that he had to fight the urge to clasp his hands over his lap. "This one’s big enough to share."

He floundered for a moment, eyes cast to the ground, trying to come up with an acceptable response for the gaggle of teenage girls that were slowly surrounding him. It was sheer luck that he decided to look heavenward for help and saw the door closing. Instinctively he quickly scanned the room. Nearly double the number of people mingled in the kitchen as when he first arrived, some of them obviously vampires.

"Tell you what, ladies," he said, not taking his eyes off the kitchen, "my car's downstairs, black convertible, you can't miss it. I'm just gonna thank our host..."

"Hostess," the blonde corrected.

"Right, hostess," Angel repeated absently, "and I'll be straight down."

Four of the girls made for the doorway like bullets, several others following to congratulate them on their good luck.

Angel continued his progress towards the kitchen, checking the stakes at his wrists and discretely palming the one he carried in his inside pocket. Once he was at the kitchen's breakfast bar he leaned against it, casually picking up an abandoned beer bottle. He reached inside another pocket, taking out a small bottle of holy water and dumping it into the beer before moving into the group of vampires.

"Hey, Tony, great party," Angel yelled with an affected drawl. One of the smaller vamps immediately rushed to his side, throwing an arm over Angel's shoulder and grabbing the beer from Angel's hand. "Hey!" Angel protested.

"Sorry dude, I failed that whole Miss Manner’s class," the vamp said with a shrug before taking a gulp of the warm liquid. He had barely taken his hand off of Angel's shoulder before he started to gasp and sizzle.

Angel shoved the burning vamp into a nearby wall and made his move on the rest of the gang. They were too busy gaping at their combustible comrade to put up much of a fight and Angel was winning hands down until a lucky roundhouse kick from the final dusting vampire propelled him backwards out of the kitchen and over a coffee table covered in lighted candles.

He tumbled, feet in the air, head catching the edge, as the wooden furniture collapsed under his weight. The candles tumbled with him, flying into the air and raining flames and hot wax on his head and body like a lethal snowstorm. Staggering to his feet, Angel slapped at his hair where the burning was worst and then bellowed when something even hotter was thrown all over him. He vamped, an automatic reaction to the holy water dosed beer being flung at him by the upset teenagers. He couldn’t help but direct a toothy growl at the closest group of partiers before running out the door, his ignominious exit followed by screams of terror from the kids he’d gone to save.

Angel teetered down the stairs, falling a full flight at one point, stripping his coat off as he went, trying to get the holy water soaked shirt off of his chest. By the time he reached the outside of the building he was limping over a sprained ankle and completely topless, and the four horny teenage girls waiting in the Plymouth were something of a shock.

Gathering his wits and with the burning finally starting to ease he threw his wet clothing over his shoulder, which might have looked cool in a James Dean movie, but in this case just sent holy water splattering down his naked back leaving fresh trails of burnt skin.

"Oh my god," one of the girls squealed. The other three turned to stare at his bare chest, covered in burns with streaks of blood trickling from each one.

A collective "Yuck" traveled through the group as each of the girls scrambled to get out of the car.

"Couldn't have waited until the lights were off to lose his shirt?" the tall black girl complained as they traipsed back into the building.

"Yeah, what makes guys think we want to see them naked anyway?" the blonde who had flashed him earlier added.

Shaking his head Angel climbed gingerly into the driver's seat and started the car.

**

"Delivery in a fortnight then, Mr. Bloody."

Spike took the doctor’s hand and shook on the arrangement, something of a gift horse as far as he could tell. Five thousand dollars, cash in hand, for storing a few demon eggs until the buyer swung by to pick them up, it was the only reason he let the Mr. Bloody comment slip by without retort. Piece of cake, and money he could give to Buffy, whether she wanted it to take it or not; he was fed-up with the girl stinking of burgers every time they shagged.

The doctor chattered on as they walked out of his office and into reception. Spike pretty much ignored him, caught up in daydreams of Buffy’s face when she saw the wad of bills. She’d have to feel differently about him then, surely. Stop with the ‘evil soulless thing’ routine. Stop comparing him to-

"Angel?"

When he saw Spike, Angel stopped dead in his tracks, rubbing a hand over his face and turning to leave. "Just...no," he muttered as he tried to make his exit.

"Hang on," Spike said, taking a quick step to grab his arm.

The gesture made Angel wince back in pain, fending off any more touching with a flail of his other arm. "What are you doing here, Spike?"

"Um, I, uh, took a tumble on my bike, heard the doc here could fix me up."

"You took a fall off your bike and then it what," Angel asked, looking Spike's injuries up and down, "beat the crap out of you?"

"Don't look so hot yourself there, mate," Spike laughed, "take a bath at the bishopric or something?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Uh-huh." Spike gave Angel a look eerily akin to the one the girls had given him earlier and it had a similar effect; Angel squirmed.

"You still haven’t said what you’re doing here," he tried in self-defense. "Specifically in LA."

It was Spike’s turn to look uncomfortable. "Just passing through. Didn’t know I had to come pay my respects to granddad every time."

"Only when you’re causing trouble and that would be, oh, every time, so yeah, I expect to know when you’re in my city, Spike. I like to know when the shit’s gonna hit the fan."

"Yeah, well, no worries this time, old man. Not here to cause trouble. If you really wanna know ‘m here to help the Slayer."

"Buffy?" Angel’s hand was round Spike’s throat and had him pinned to the wall before his brain caught up with what he was doing. "What’s this got to do with Buffy?" he growled, determined to get a straight answer.

Surprisingly he got one. "Rounding up a bit of dosh. Give her and Dawn a hand over the financial hump. Not that you’d care, all tucked up in your nice big hotel with lackies to bring you yer blood."

"I pour my own blood," Angel said, giving Spike a push against the wall as he released him.

"Right," Spike said slowly, rubbing at his neck. "Well then, I'll be off." He shoved past Angel and reached out for the door.

"Be sure to keep them in the freezer," the doctor called after Spike before turning his attention to Angel, "so what can I help you with? Seems to be my lucky night, what with all the celebrities just walking in."

"Keep what in the freezer, Spike?" Angel asked, ignoring the doctor completely.

"Steaks for m' eye, got a hell of a shiner from that tumble." Spike gave Angel a quick grin and left.

"So," the doctor started again.

"Just need a little patching up and some antiseptic or something."

"Well then, by all means, step into my office and we'll discuss payment plans."

"I don't think so," Angel responded, pushing the doctor through the inner door and placing a locket in his hand. "You owe me one."

**

Parked outside the back street office was a black convertible - sleek, polished, leather interior - bound to be Angel’s. Spike ran a match along the paintwork and leapt up on the hood, jumping up and down a few times, before sliding into the driver's seat and retuning the radio, and then grinding his cigarette out on the leather. Yes, it was childish but it did make him feel better. Really there was only one other thing he could do to drive Angel completely batty.

Adjusting the seat so he was laying back, Spike unzipped his pants and got himself out, conjuring a few choice images of Buffy in his head to get him in the mood. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his senses filling with the scent of leather and Angel, that deep musky smell that was all Angel. Really not what he wanted to jerk off to. His hand stilled for a moment as he thought of Buffy again, and the smell of burgers, and...not helping. He took another deep breath. Again leather and the scent of familial blood that had seeped into the seats a thousand times, and his hand returned to his erection. He tried to stop thinking about Angel, tried putting Buffy at the forefront of his mind, before shrugging an 'oh well' to himself, it was making him as hard as hell and he didn't really care what it took, as long as it worked.

He worked himself steadily from base to tip, his free hand delving into his jeans to fondle his sac. It felt good, really good, sending tingles out through his body, and he moaned quietly, snapping his mouth shut when he realized it had been Angel’s name that had escaped his lips as his orgasm coated the windshield. Twice.

"You know that isn't gonna save you."

"Shit!" Spike yelled, snapping out of his post-shudder relaxation and jumping out of the car. His jeans fell around his ankles as soon as he hit the ground, and the first step he took had him sprawling into Angel, sending them both flying towards the alley wall.

'I didn't...mean," Spike stammered, trying to break away from Angel and right his trousers.

"You didn't mean to spunk up my freaking car?" Angel placed a menacing hand on Spike's jeans, yanking them back to his ankles. "Tell me, William, how exactly does one accidentally jerk off in my car?"

"Sure it happens in nature all the time," Spike argued, batting Angel's hands from his hips. "Right, uh, Murphy's Law?" He tried backing away, but was soon pinned against the Belvedere's hood, cold metal stinging his bare ass. "Yeah, well I couldn't help myself, could I?"

"And why was that? Some spell? Drugs? Come on, Spike. This I cannot wait to hear."

As he spoke Angel leaned closer and closer, pressing Spike further and further back until he was virtually lying on the hood of the car. Just as he reached the point of no return, when Angel was as off-balance as he was going to get, Spike retaliated, smacking his head forward and catching Angel right in the nose. There was a most gratifying crunch of bone and gristle and Angel reeled backwards holding his face.

"Not hardly," Spike commented conversationally as he followed up the head butt with a punch. "I did it ‘cos I felt like it. Let’s call it payback for all the times you left yours all over Dru."

Bringing Dru up probably hadn’t been the wisest of moves Spike decided as Angel’s fist sledge-hammered into his ribs, bending him double and in the perfect position for the knee in the face, but sometimes it was just fun winding the old man up. He wasn’t about to tell him the truth; that seeing torso de vampire in the doctor’s office had got him riled up.

Once Angel was sure that Spike would stay on the ground for a minute, cradling his own injuries, he took a step back, lightly touching his nose. "Why," he said with an exasperated breath, "do you always have to go for the nose?"

"Probably the same reason you always go for the ribs, you pillock." Spike slowly scooted towards the car, using it as leverage to stand up again.

"Well, I figured your face has enough damage."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, Angel trying to remember if he had any rags in the trunk he didn't mind using to wiping demon goo off his windshield; Spike gauging whether attempting to dress himself again would be futile.

"Just move," Angel ordered, deciding he was too tired to fight anymore. The doctor had been able to clean up the worst of his wounds and at least put some salve on the burns, but he still hurt like hell. He put a hand on Spike's arm and gave him a shove, but Spike merely rocked a few inches to the side before bouncing back into Angel, grabbing hold of his arm on the return and pulling him into a hungry kiss.

For a second Angel didn’t - couldn’t - respond, shock rendering him immobile. Then, just as quickly, the lust he’d been harboring since the close call with Cordy kicked in and he shoved Spike back against the car, snatching at his head, his waist, his arms, and parrying grasping hands that were just as determined. They finally settled into some sort of mutual agreement, with Angel clamping his fingers around Spike’s neck and hip, and Spike gripping Angel’s shoulders tight enough to leave bruises and send pain zinging around his body.

This sort of pain, though, was the good sort, and Angel ground his hips forward feeling Spike’s reply thrusting into his thigh. They moved hard against each other, tongues attacking, lips bruising, teeth clashing. It was good. Simple and straightforward and uncomplicated and, Angel thought as he ran his fingers up Spike’s side, flicking a nail across one nipple, so damn good.

"Fuck!" Spike groaned, breaking the kiss and dropping his head to Angel’s shoulder. "Keep that up and it’ll be more than your car getting a dose of yours truly tonight."

Angel smirked and took advantage of the new position to nudge Spike’s head to one side and attack his neck, sucking hard on the soft skin below his ear taking in the lingering aroma of all things Sunnydale.

Spike's shoulders melted into Angel's touch, head lolling to one side as Angel's lips caressed over his jugular, sending chills down his spine. He pressed his hands between their sandwiched bodies, undoing the buckle on Angel's trousers, and hurriedly pulling Angel's cock out. Spike couldn't hold back a laugh when Angel's moans doubled and the gentle nuzzling at his neck turned to scraping fangs and a voracious seeking of blood.

Angel surprised even himself when he bit down, the need was just too great to resist. Spike squirmed under his bite and the aroma of leather and blood mixed with the scent of sex that already filled the alley thanks to Spike's boredom earlier in the night. Taking a couple long draughts and then letting up on the wound he had torn into Spike's neck, Angel let go, standing upright for a deep breath as the blood coursed through his body. The rush to his head was dizzying, it had been entirely too long since he had indulged in such a guilty pleasure. Lucky for him, his guilty pleasures for this night were just beginning.

Spike kept his eyes shut for a moment the torrent of sensation making every moment feel extended. He was tempted to drop to his knees, not really in his nature, but the thought of Angel writhing under his touch was very appealing. In the end though, he decided he was just ready for a fuck. Fucking Angel was simple, it was hot and strong and always good. After the desperate months he had spent with Buffy, so eagerly seeking her love or even just an acknowledgement that she wanted him, he was actually looking forward to a little unemotional, need you or I'll die sex. That was all Angel ever offered, and here in this alley, Spike wanted it more than blood.

Twisting between Angel and the cold metal, he stretched face down over the car, grabbing the wiper blade with one hand and tugging Angel after him with the other. It didn’t take much encouragement, Angel was over him, his full weight pressing down and trapping Spike, making him feel safer than he had in years.

"You sure?" Angel whispered in his ear as his cock rubbed wetly against Spike’s ass, sliding between his legs and nudging against his balls.

Spike ground his teeth, wishing for simpler times, times when Angelus would never ask, just take. "Yeah," he answered eventually.

Something decidedly oily brushed against his hole, warm like baby oil. "What the fuck?" he gasped as Angel inched a finger inside, coating him completely.

Angel sniggered. "Good for burns the doctor said. Think it’ll work for friction?"

"Never did have a problem with friction," Spike moaned, grabbing Angel's hips and pulling him forward, arching up and into Angel's chest as he was entered in one long, slow move. Always good he reminded himself as the pain intensified and quickly turned to pleasure.

"Ah," Angel nearly choked as Spike’s body clenched around him, "Spike," he barely managed to get out. The word was enough to force Spike’s eyes open for just a second.

"You do know that’s not going to save you, right?" Spike said, twisting to see Angel, an idiotic smile covering his face. And then the smile was gone and he was reaching back to pull Angel into a brief yet heated kiss before releasing him and spreading his arms back over the car’s hood for leverage.

Angel tilted his head to the side, watching Spike's eyes clench tight with each stroke; slow and steady movements. It had always been easy to lose himself in this moment, Angel didn't know when he’d forgotten the satisfaction to be found in his boy’s ass, but he was thankful that the night's misadventure had led him here. Tomorrow would be full of bottles and diapers and watching Cordelia fawn over Groo, tonight was about fourteen minutes of sheer ecstasy, ecstasy found in slow steady strokes, small circles, and the harsh groans coming from his lover, begging him to go faster, harder, deeper.

He obliged, grinding in deep and pulling out, waiting until Spike murmured, "Bastard," and then thrusting hard. A familiar dance and one they had performed a million times. His body tingled from his toes to the top of his head, waves of pleasure that told him this wasn’t going to last. Beneath him Spike started his chant of "Fuck, yes, there," shoving back and grabbing his hand so their fingers twined together.

"Please, Angel." So needy, so desperate. Wrapping his arm around Spike’s chest, Angel hauled him up so they were more standing than lying, and worked his hips hard and fast, feeling Spike start to shake against him.

"Christ, so close. So fucking close."

"Need me to touch you?" Angel asked, his words broken and breathy as he tried - really tried - to give a damn about his lover.

"No…just…"

A twist of Angel’s hips and Spike howled, his body arching, cock twitching as he came hard, shooting onto the metal, his muscles clamping down and insisting Angel join him, pounding his climax into a silken sheath that tugged him deeper and deeper until he drowned in sheer sensation, Spike’s name rolling off his lips.

They collapsed together both panting heavily, Angel falling forward and pinning Spike against the car for a moment.

After a few seconds Spike started pushing against him. "C'mon, get off," he moaned. "Fuck, you’re a dead weight."

Angel grinned, resisted the quip and hauled himself upright, leaning on the car until he was certain his legs were co-operating, then took a few steps back and tucked himself back into his pants. Spike was cussing at something and Angel asked, "What’s up?"

"Just got it coming out of both ends here," Spike said, trying to wipe off the front of his shirt, with little success.

Angel laughed out loud, propping a hand against the alley wall as he regained his composure.

"Not funny," Spike sneered, "it's a bloody long ride home, especially in a wet shirt."

Reaching inside the car, Angel popped the trunk open and quickly dug around looking for a spare shirt. He found two that would be suitable and tossed one to Spike, slipping the other on himself and throwing the holy water-covered one from earlier into a bag in the trunk. Then he got out his car keys and climbed into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and letting it idle for a moment while they… well, he’d been hoping for goodbye but it rapidly turned into awkward silence.

Finally Spike broke it, holding out his hand in a strangely human gesture. As Angel took it, Spike grabbed his forearm and turned it into more of a hug, whispering, "Thanks, pops," in Angel’s ear before letting him go.

"Anytime," Angel replied, meaning it for once.

Putting the engine in drive, Angel pulled away, permitting himself one final look back before he hit the highway. Spike was still visible, standing small and alone in the middle of the alley, his face illuminated by the glowing end of a cigarette.