Slammer

“Poncy wanker”

The barman looked doubtfully at the shelves full of bottles. “We don’t have that drink.”

Spike slammed his shot glass down on the bar. “Keep filling this up with bourbon, mate. I don’t wanna see it empty.”

He downed the liquor and pointed to the glass. “Look! Nothing in it. What the bloody hell did I say?”

It was refilled over and over making Spike more and more drunk and his muttering louder and louder until the space around him got bigger and bigger.

“Ha! Live the day like it’s your last. Go spend time with the people you most wanna be with, he says. Well that’s bloody rich. Gives me a crappy necklace, gets me incinerated and then brings me back here – AWAY from all the people I care about. Bastard.”

There was some bloke on stage who was mumbling away into a microphone and it was really getting on Spike’s tits. “Shut up,” he yelled, “I’m trying to get drunk here in peace. End of the world’s nigh and with that crap you’re spouting it deserves to be for you.”

There was a half-hearted round of applause as the so called poet left the stage.

“Call that poetry,” heckled Spike, “My dog can rhyme better than you and he’s been dead since 1868.”

“Think you can do better, blondie then the stage is all yours.”

Spike looked at the biker who should have looked out of place at a poetry reading but for some strange reason wasn’t. Holding up a finger and opening his mouth ready to insult the guy, he froze for a moment.

“Too fucking right I can do better than that, tosser.” And he was off, weaving his way in a slightly drunken fashion towards the small raised platform.

It was a lot more intimidating when he was standing there looking down at the sea of faces. It may have been more like a small pond of faces but Spike was starting to regress back to that shy bumbling fool for love that he was still so ashamed of once being. Propping himself up between mic stand and barstool he clutched the microphone in a cool sweaty hand and remembered…

“My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,
Midnight descends with raven coloured clothes.”

The audience were silent. Spike glanced up shyly but this time he wasn’t intimidated. These words were heartfelt when he’d written them all those years ago and now they meant so much more.

“And soft behold a sunlight beam,
Cutting a swathe of glimmering gleam.”

Barely managing to breathe out each line, Spike imagined he could feel his heart thumping furiously as his baritone voice spilled out into the dark.

“My heart expands,
tis grown a bulge in it.”

Still that heavy silence.

“Inspired by your beauty…
“…effulgent.”

Spike bit his lower lip and dared to look up. The applause was a shock – a very welcome shock. A slow grin spread across his face and he stood and posed, exorcising the ghosts as he strutted around.

“Thank you. That was for Cecily, this next one’s called The Wanton Folly of Me Mum.”

Spike launched himself into beat poet mode and he knew that he was sheer bloody class, slinking round the stage, whispering the words, keeping with the rhythm. Playing to the crowd.

"Hands-off, bitch.
You ain't me mum.

Too cold, too mean,
Too fucking dumb.

A sneering hussy
In savvied meat.

She.
She sat and listened willingly,
Hands on mourning cloth,
Not me.

I.
I drank and craved eternity,
Fought her for you,
For me.
For me.

Fools both
You and I
Thinking it be differently.
Thinking love could cross the boundary.

Folly's yours,
Joke's on me

Hands-off, bitch,
You ain't me mum.
Want me wrong, for me to come.

Sewer stink you are.
And dust you'll be.
For her, not her.
For me, not me."

Spike shivered when he saw the forest of arms. The clicking of fingers was music to his ears. He was on a roll and enjoying himself more than he had done in decades but then he panicked as he mentally searched his repertoire and realised he was almost out of stock.

“S’probably the last one for tonight, folks. This is an Ode to Angelus,”

There was a hush and Spike felt his spirits soar. He was a natural born performer. He might never be able to live in the light but the sun really shone out of his arse when he was up here on stage.

“O thou; who takest my hand in thine
And leadeth me through valleys deep.
Thou, who's noble presence fine
Strips gilt from lilies and makes fair
Beauties weep, their tender
Maidenheads to keep.”

These words had never been spoken out loud. Spike could feel the warmth of flame and see the flicker of the firelight dance over the paper as he scribbled down his poem at frantic speed. He didn’t want to be discovered.

“O thou; of bronze-ed flowing hair,
With eyes of jetted evil spark.
Thou, who's lavish touch so rare
Guides this callow youth toward brave
Manhood's mark. Eschewing
Reason and embracing gentle dark.”

It was if a pall had settled over him. Feelings that he’d hidden away from everyone including himself rose to the surface.

“O thou; who sees beyond the knave,
And knows inside this frail heart
A warrior sleeps. Thou I needs crave
As sure as any scarlet flood
That tart, sweet or scalding hot,
Fills me full with Cupid's dart.”

Angelus had been everything to him for twenty years – sire, mentor, father, friend, lover…

O thou; of foulest fulsome blood,
In who's stalwart arms I willing lie.
Thou; takest this beauteous bud
Of love, and be thou forever only mine,
Till paling sky heralds selfish morn
And devil's serenade the guttering stars to die.

The drink was making him morbid. Spike swilled down his beer and signalled the bartender with a wave of his glass for another. Then nearly dropped the microphone in shock when he saw him standing... Spike shook his head. Not standing, looming at the back of the room, leaning against the bar and looking like he owned the whole bloody place. Knowing him, he probably did, the wanker.

With a fresh glass of beer in his hand and an extra dose of dutch courage from the swift shot of bourbon he’d just downed, Spike slotted the mic into the stand and stood in the spotlight.

“One more for the road then. This one’s pretty apt. I call it… The Tosser.”

Clearing his throat, he held up his hand for silence then paused dramatically.

“There was an old poofter called Angel
Who's bits had a notion to dangle
He did it too often, the bint got a swat in,
Now his dick’s all caught up in mangle.”

The applause was rapturous. Spike was proud of himself. He'd never been one for improv except with the snarky retorts, but he was a master of those. He stared in defiance at his sire, grinning at the glowery expression that he couldn't quite see but knew for a fact would be there. Actually he could see that furious look more clearly by the second as Angel came barrelling towards him like a rugby forward. The crowd were still cheering for more and didn't take kindly to being shoved unceremoniously to the side by a stampeding vampire.

Using a burly biker as a launch pad, Angel hurled himself at the stage and tackled Spike to the floor, feeling the air explode from Spike’s lungs as he landed on top of him. That’ll teach him, he thought, just as a wild punch connected with his nose and blood burst into his mouth.

“Little shit!”

“Fucking wanker!”

Angel had really hoped they were past this. It seemed not.

Boots shoved hard into his thighs and, before he could regain his balance, Angel flew backwards, straight into a biker clambering onto the stage. Another fist swung, this one human and slow, and Angel caught it, crushing grubby fingers with casual ease and driving the screaming owner to his knees. Behind him, someone hollered, “Get ‘im!” signalling the inevitable free for all of a typical bar fight.

Through the blood and punches, Angel spotted Spike surrounded on three sides by half a dozen guys twice his size and wielding the microphone stand like a halberd. It occurred to him that, for once, it was actually he who had started this, not Spike, and the novelty was such that he missed the bar stool crashing down on his head.

Pushed over the edge, Angel swung round in full game face and let loose a feral snarl at the horrified guy who’d so unwisely assaulted him.

“Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled, dropping what was left of his improvised weapon and taking to his heels.

Angel grinned after him, a deep sense of fulfilment welling up inside. It had been an age since he really let loose and this was fun. Spike’s battle cry of, “Not the sodding nose, you git,” and the resulting squishy thud suggested he was enjoying it too.

Pretty soon they were fighting back to back, each waiting for the next idiot to attack before tossing them back into the crowd to try again. Blood streamed down both their faces and the heady scent dragged Angel inexorably back to other times when they had fought together. York, St. Petersburg, Rome, Frankfurt – always in the minority, pitting their strength against the mob’s, always victorious.

Finally the fools took the hint and stopped coming, leaving the vampires breathless but unbowed in the centre of the stage. And as they turned to each other, the next step was inevitable. For years they’d done it – fight, then fuck – and their bodies knew that even if their minds had moved beyond it.

Circling each other warily, breath hitching and expelling in small grunts, the vampires lunged for each other’s throats and, as fangs connected with skin, they tore away clothing, shredding the softer material and ripping deep gouges into leather.

The first taste of family awakened something inside Angel that had been repressed for a century. He snarled and bit down into the pale column of neck, slicing skin into ribbons as he guzzled down mouthfuls of blood. But it was never going to satisfy the craving.

His claws scraped scarlet trails across Spike’s semi-clad body, working their way sublimely over never forgotten contours. Spike shivered and Angel, who knew Spike’s responses as well as he knew his own, immediately recognised that Spike was drifting easily back to his old role. And that was not what Angel needed right now.

Reaching inside Spike’s torn pants, he squeezed Spike’s balls viciously, twisting them until he could feel the skin begin to split. The look of fealty that Angel found so unsatisfying was immediately replaced by intense anger, and Angel howled with delight when he recognised the face of his rival, the vampire that he wanted to fuck.

“You bastard,” Spike spat in his face.

Angel tightened his grip and wiped the spray of bloody saliva from his cheek, licking his hand with obvious relish as he squeezed just that little bit harder. The scrotum was on the point of bursting like a ripe plum and Angel hardened as he imagined the contents spilling out into his mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d enjoyed that treat.

“Better try and stop me, Spike or I’ll rip them right off.”

“Fuck you, you arrogant shit.” Spike lunged forward once more, ripping a chunk out of Angels’ shoulder and spitting it to one side. Angel’s hand was still lodged firmly inside Spike’s jeans and the younger vampire used this to his advantage, forcing his sire down onto the boards and tugging away what was left of his pants. Snarling with relief as his balls were released, Spike slammed a fist into Angel’s temple and pressed home his advantage still further, heaving Angel over onto his stomach until his bare arse was exposed.

With a roar of anger Angel regained his senses and whipped his head back catching Spike on his already injured nose. The fountain of blood blinded the younger vampire momentarily and he growled low in his throat. It may have been quiet but Angel understood every nuance of Spike’s language; this was top or be topped, a fuck to the death, just the way Angel wanted it. Twisting out from beneath the smaller body, he locked his elbow around Spike’s throat and jerked suddenly to his right, pleased by the noise of the neck bones jarring and creaking.

Spike stilled and Angel quivered with excitement at the sudden submission. He knew his opponent’s biggest weakness and he’d played on it perfectly; Spike was absolutely terrified of being crippled again. Ripping away the tattered jeans, Angel hissed as erection slid between tensed buttocks.

“You want this?” he whispered dipping his fangs into the bruised neck and taking in gentle pulls of blood.

Burning with arousal from the taste and feel of Angel, Spike pushed back against the solid body behind him. Did he want this? To be bested and taken in front of an audience wasn’t the way he had dreamed of being reintroduced to Angel’s dick but they’d run out of time. A post apocalypse reunion seemed unlikely and Spike was willing to take whatever he could get.

“Yes, I want this. I still want you, you fucker.” Just coz he was up for a bit didn’t mean he had to be all sweet-talky.

As soon as Spike was released from the hold he rubbed at his sore neck and gingerly rolled his head, testing for damage. Ignoring the whoops and catcalls he turned to face Angel, his game face melting away.

“So how do you want me?” he asked.

“More naked,” grinned Angel.

Having removed their shoes and what was left of their clothing, they stared at each other in confusion, neither knowing precisely what happened next. Spike broke the stand-off by dropping to his hands and knees but Angel pulled at his arm.

“No. On your back.”

So that was how it was going to be, was it? Suddenly wishing himself anywhere but here, Spike lay back on the stage, naked and illuminated by the harsh glow of a spotlight. Bloodied and sore, and needing that cock inside him so badly that he was half whining, the noises catching in his throat and sounding humiliatingly like purrs.

Using an extruded claw, Angel cut a deep nick into his cock and then lifted Spike’s legs, hooking them over his shoulders and spreading him wide open he forced himself into the tight hole with a sudden thrust. And it was then that things changed.

In all the years they’d known each other, they had never shared a kiss. They’d bitten, sucked, fucked, fought, laughed, and rampaged their way through their first two decades, and since they’d been reacquainted, they’d taunted, attacked, badmouthed and pretended to hate each other with a passion. But their lips had never so much as grazed together.

Now, at Angel’s instigation, they did. Tenuously at first, as though not really knowing what to expect, he leaned down until their mouths touched together. Spike’s eyes widened, shocked, but he allowed it to happen, raising his head and kissing back. Their passion rose, quickly stoked by Angel’s deliberate movements that were designed to excite more than bring either of them to completion.

Spike found himself panting and sucking on Angel’s tongue as it fucked his mouth. The heat inside him was spiralling rapidly out of control. Hells, he was spiralling rapidly out of control. Any minute know he was gonna come from nothing more than Angel’s dick up his arse and a sloppy kiss. How humiliating. This, he decided, wouldn’t do at all.

Executing an athletic wriggle, Spike managed to get his legs down around Angel’s waist and then, using the distraction of the kiss, rolled them neatly so that he was on top.

It was Angel’s turn to look surprised, so Spike set about driving the look away by slamming himself back down and riding Angel’s cock for all he was worth. Below him, Angel bucked up, grabbing for his hips. Spike slapped his hands away and then captured them in his own, linking their fingers and using them to steady himself.

Now that was more like it! He grinned down at the expression on Angel’s face. Disconsolate didn’t normally go with lustful, but Angel pulled it off quite well. It was a victory of sorts and Spike held on to that for as long as he could, gripping Angel’s cock and trying to concentrate on the feel of the fuck rather than the intimate weave of fingers.

Angel smiled and spread his arms wide, pulling Spike down onto his chest. The younger vampire growled at the loss of power… and the feel of his erection sliding slick between skin… and the thrust of cock that filled him. He allowed himself the pleasure of submission just for a moment. However much he tried to deny it, he’d missed this connection, but as Angel started to slide in and out of him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, Spike squirmed away from the intimacy and gripped the solid body with his legs, riding him hard, rising and falling slowly at first to let Angel get into the rhythm and then faster, one hand resting on the vampire’s chest for support and the other clenching tightly around his cock, fingers whipping up and down as he pushed himself closer and closer toward orgasm.

“So good, Spike, I’m….”

Spike leant over and silenced Angel with a vicious kiss, teeth raking at skin, fangs coming out to play and puncturing Angel’s tongue. They shared the blood, lips dripping red and locked together -- vampires now; rolling and writhing on the stage, grinding and gripping and biting into each other, taking deep swallows of blood and dribbling it into open mouths.

Illuminated by the spotlight, their bodies gleamed bone white and gloss scarlet as they growled and played like cubs. Mated with tongues and cock and the penetration of teeth, the mood changed once again. Spike lay on his back, legs hooked over Angel, no longer fighting for dominance. It was too good, he was too close, he wanted nothing more than for Angel to keep pounding into him, filling him with cock until there was no room for the loneliness anymore. He stared up into golden feral eyes and touched Angel’s face with a delicate swipe of his finger.

Angel felt Spike’s claw turn back to nail and his own mask receded as he continued to slam his erection in and out of Spike’s body. He was more fascinated by the inquisitive path of that long finger than the fuck.

Screwing Spike had been one of his favourite pastimes; the young vampire had always put up a good fight but given in gracefully at the end. This was different though, this wasn’t sire’s privileges, this was him spending time with the one person who could understand him.

No one could call it love. It was baser than that, darker and much more powerful. The thought of being in a relationship with Spike was enough to make Angel laugh out loud. But, as he let that finger explore his features and saw genuine feeling on the younger vampire’s face, Angel realised that they were connected. Maybe not in human terms but the need to be close to each other was intense.

Since Spike had come back, they’d spent a lot of time together, mostly bitching and fighting but once it became apparent that Spike wasn’t running out on them, Angel had grown comfortable with the thought that Spike was always near, there when he needed him. Like now.

Angel was nervous as he pressed his lips to Spike’s. He was being stupid, they’d already kissed. Right now his cock was slamming in and out of Spike’s body and Spike was arching into his hand, his shaft sticky wet with pre-come that dribbled out over Angel’s fingers. So why did this kiss terrify him so much? Spike’s lips opened and Angel closed his eyes and forced his tongue inside, wanting it to be dirty and angry not this masculine urgency that was taking him over with every stab of tongue and thrust of cock.

“Spike,” he groaned against wet lips but had no idea what he wanted to say.

Spike replied by wrapping his arms tight around Angel’s neck and dipping his tongue into the vampire’s mouth, letting it glide and taste and when Angel kissed him back and their bodies slid together with a familiarity as if they’d been fucking for the last hundred years, Spike gave in to the pleasure and relaxed, allowing Angel to drive him toward climax with the pump of his hips and twist of fingers. Slamming his head back onto the stage, he bucked up and clenched every muscle in his exhausted body. Angel’s lips were on his throat now and he could feel the gentle reverberations as the vampire whispered against the faded claim mark -- things that even he wasn’t allowed to know. In a few hours everything would be gone and as his eyes opened wide, blinded by the white burn of the spotlight, he lost himself to the gush of fluid and rake of nails and belonged.

The slightly timid mix of jeers and applause from what remained of the audience seemed of little significance to either vampire as they lay spattered with blood and semen, resting in a heap of aching limbs.

“Why?” asked Spike in an unusually reserved voice.

"Because," Angel answered. And that was enough for both of them.