Sequel to Bed of Bones, take 2. Written for Brandil's birthday, and fondly dedicated to her.
Warning! This story is NC-17 slash - that is, graphic male/male sex. If you don't like slash, don't read!
Walking Away
As she approached the training room’s door, Buffy was a little worried.
Or more than a little. Leaving her Sire and significant other alone
with his Sire and her ex-boyfriend had seemed like a good idea at
first, but now she wasn’t so sure. There was so much tension between
them; maybe a fight wouldn’t be enough to clear things. Maybe it would
just make them worse.
She paused at the door and listened. There was no sound coming from the room. Could they have hurt each other so much that…
Anxious, she pushed the door open and walked in. And froze at the scene in front of her.
Spike
and Angel were lying on the floor, both of them naked, and judging by
the scent of blood and come permeating the room, Angel’s guilty look,
and Spike’s impish grin, they had had quite a good time.
Baffled,
she couldn’t find anything to say. More than once, she had suspected
that there had been something of the sort between them, but she had
always thought it was over. Some part of her was jealous, or at least
was saying that she ought to be jealous; but the demon in her found
nothing wrong with the idea of a Sire and his Childe renewing their
bond. Then there was that little nagging voice that said it was a pity
she had arrived too late to see them together… or join them.
“You said you wouldn’t complain as long as we didn’t kill each other,” Spike said, very calm.
She nodded numbly. She had wanted them to make up. It seemed they had done just that.
“Do you…”
Still unable to take her eyes off their gorgeous nakedness, she was suddenly very glad that she couldn’t blush.
“Do you want some more time alone?” she managed to finish without stuttering too much.
Angel’s eyes widened, and Spike let out a quiet laugh.
“Do you know you’re incredible, luv?” he said as he stood and came to her, unconcerned as ever by his nakedness.
Wrapping
his arms loosely around her waist, he kissed her softly, first only
lips against lips and then the barest hint of his tongue, just enough
for Buffy to taste blood. Angel’s blood. She broke the kiss, suddenly
reminded of the presence of the third vamp in the room.
“I am…
glad… that you made up,” she said, her gaze going from Spike’s face to
Angel behind him, who had put his pants back on and was now gathering
the rest of his clothes. Spike smiled and nuzzled her neck before
turning to look at Angel. His smile instantly disappeared, and his face
was blank as the brunette walked past them and through the door without
a word or a glance in their direction. He let go of Buffy and went back
to his clothes, lighting a cigarette as soon as he had slid his jeans
on.
“Spike…”
“I don’t want to hear it!” he snapped,
before taking a deep breath and throwing her an apologetic glance. “M
sorry, luv, didn’t mean to bark at you.”
She shook her head slightly, flabbergasted for the words that were rising to her lips.
“Go talk to him. Now. Clear up whatever…”
“I need a shower,” he interrupted her abruptly. “Care to join me?”
“Spike, just…”
“I guess that’s a no then. We’ll leave when I’m done, OK? The sun should be low enough by then.”
With
that, he left the room pressing a quick kiss to her lips and refusing
to listen to her anymore. She followed him out and watched his proud
back as he walked toward their room. He was hurt, terribly so, and she
was going to kick Angel’s ass for it. Determined to set things straight
she strode the other way and down a flight of steps to Angel’s room.
She entered without knocking and found Angel leaning against his
dresser, both hands gripping the wood as if it were the only thing
holding him up. He didn’t even turn to look at her.
“I thought you’d stop by,” he said blankly. “Listen, I…”
“No, you listen to me. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He turned toward her, but still avoided meeting her gaze.
“I didn’t think, actually. Neither of us did. Just fell back into old patterns and… I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Buffy
blinked several times. Had he been there when she offered to leave them
alone a bit longer? When she had said she was glad they were OK now?
“Hurt
me?” she repeated incredulously. “What about hurting Spike? I’m not
hurt, but you might as well have put a stake to his heart, it would
have been less painful.”
That finally got his attention, and he looked up at her.
“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. “Spike is fine. We just…”
“Oh
yeah, fine,” she snorted. “He just adores having his lovers walk out on
him without a parting word. Are you completely insensitive or…”
Choking
on the words, she couldn’t finish. She had done the same thing to Spike
too often in the months before he turned her. Had she ever apologized?
Had she ever realized before a few minutes ago how much she must have
hurt him every time she had?
“But he was… with you, and I… he must know…”
To his credit, Angel looked sincerely like he hadn’t realized how it would look to Spike that he had left so quickly.
“He should know, yes,” Buffy agreed quietly. “But he won’t unless you talk to him. So go. He’s in our room.”
When
he received no answer after knocking on the door, Angel walked in. He
could hear the water running in the attached bathroom. He pondered for
an instant the opportunity of waiting until Spike was done, but the
door was open and eventually he couldn’t resist. Silently, he slipped
in. The glass panels of the shower were fogged, but he could still see
the silhouette of his Childe, head bowed under the spray of water, both
hands leaning against the tiles.
“Go ‘way.”
The quiet
words startled Angel. Spike had not given any indication that he knew
he was there. But of course, he knew. How could he have not?
“I need to talk to you.”
Talk. Not Angel’s forte at all. But he had hurt Spike, inadvertently, and he needed to fix things.
“Fuck you.”
So far, it was going well, considering it was Spike on the other side. No death threat yet.
“Listen, I didn’t mean…”
The shadow behind the glass moved, and there was a sudden noise of broken tiles falling on porcelain.
“I know you didn’t mean it, OK?” Spike snarled. “No need to twist the bloody knife. Now go away before…”
Having
had enough, Angel opened the shower door and stepped in, not caring in
the slightest that he was still wearing his sweatpants.
“Before what?” he asked blankly. “Before you wallow some more in self-pity?”
The blond turned to face him, and a shudder ran down Angel’s spine at the look of hurt and anger etched on his features.
“Before I make you regret siring me even more.”
“I never did, and I never will,” Angel said flatly.
Spike snickered. “Yeah, tell that one to someone else.”
With
that, he turned again toward the spray, picking up the soap and acting
as if he were alone. Blood dripped from his right hand, the one that
had punched a hole through the tiles. Angel observed him for a second,
mesmerized by the faint scent of blood and the play of water on his
Childe’s body, his cock twitching in renewed desire. When he talked, it
was barely above a whisper.
“You were with Buffy. I didn’t want
to intrude. Slipping out felt like the best thing to do. I’m sorry, I
didn’t think you’d believe it meant I was walking away from you.”
Spike
didn’t react. He seemed not to have heard a word. Angel was losing
patience. Then again, he had never had much patience where Spike was
concerned. One step, and he was directly behind the blond, his arms
tightening around his slim form and trapping him, his cotton covered
erection pressing against Spike’s ass.
“My Childe,” he simply
said, growling, before burying his fangs at the juncture of Spike’s
neck and shoulder. The blond’s body tensed, on the edge of fighting
back, but quickly relaxed against Angel.
“Wanker,” he murmured when Angel stopped taking his blood and slowly licked the punctures to heal them.
“Respect,
boy,” the brunet chided. Loosening his hold on Spike, he let a hand
drop to the blond’s cock, not surprised in the least to find him hard.
“Want me to take care of that for you?” he whispered before giving a quick nip at Spike’s earlobe.
“You’re gonna run away afterwards?” Spike retorted, a twinge of bitterness still coloring his voice.
“Never again.”
Fisting
his hand around his Childe’s erection, Angel set a fast pace. This
wasn’t a time for teasing or subtlety. The steady stream of hot water
made his fist glide over Spike’s flesh effortlessly. Even as he stroked
him, he ground his own cock against Spike.
“I’m sorry,” he
whispered against the younger vampire’s shoulder. “I’d promise not to
ever hurt you again, but I’ll probably do it without meaning to.”
Spike’s
only answer was a moan, and it made Angel realize how close he was. How
close they both were. The hint of a fang scrapping against Spike’s
shoulder, and the blond’s body shuddered as orgasm took him, the most
delicious cry erupting from his throat. The sight, smell and sound
combined to push Angel to his own pleasure.
Long seconds passed
as they remained both silent and immobile. Angel waited for Spike to
make the first move to know where they were heading from there and if
his apology had been accepted. A quiet word answered both questions.
“Sire.”
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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.
