Title: → Another Family Reunion
Rating: → NC17
Pairing: → Spike/Angel
Beta(s): → Beta'd by the fantastic velvetwhip All mistake are mine.
Disclaimer: → ME and Joss don't take good enough care of them, so I bring them over to my house and give them cookies as a reward for bad behavior.
You'll be in love until it kills you both. You’ll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other 'til it makes you quiver……
Pitiful s'what it was! Half a night of trying and he still wasn't drunk, an’ it didn’t look like he was gonna get remotely near arsed before dawn. Just half a bottle of JD in his emergency stash; no dosh. Chip in his head had turned nicking a few bottles of liquor into an Xtreme sport and now that he’d gone and pissed off Slutty and her Scoobs, there wasn’t anything he could do to even earn a pint, at least not until the bleedin’ Watcher calmed down.
The door to his crypt slammed open, the dull boom of metal against stone reverberating through the room. “Bloody hell, can’t any of you Scoobies remember to knock?”
Spike stood and half-turned, expecting to see the Watcher. The fact that it was Angel instead barely registered before he was launched into the far wall, cracking the back of his head. He slid down the cold stone, rubber- legged, but his sire had barely begun. Large hands pulled him to his feet, and once again his head was slammed against the wall.
“So, I guess you thought I’d forgotten all about that last visit you paid me! Sorry that I couldn‘t get away to discuss it sooner.” Angel slammed his fist into Spike’s face. He could feel his cheekbone crunch under Angel’s hand as his sire’s eyes flashed gold. Angel continued. “You know I owe you for that pervert you hired to chain me up and torture me.” Angel smiled as Spike tried unsuccessfully to cover his head. “Not as cocky as you were while you were watching me getting skewered with hot pokers, are you? Losing a little of that attitude, Spikey, my boy? ”
Each word was marked with a body blow, or another slam against the rock wall. By the time his sire had finished shouting, Spike’s head was swimming in pain and black spots danced in his blurred vision. A sodding record, first time since he was a fledge that the ponce had beaten him down so quickly that he never had a chance to throw a single punch. He clung to consciousness by his bleedin nails. Not like he wasn’t vulnerable enough already and he knew the things his sire liked to do to unconscious bodies.
“Hot pokers, Spike? Jeez, could you get any more Freudian?”
Spike struggled to fight him off, knowing what came next, but Angel quickly forced him to the floor and onto his belly, his soft voice whispering in Spike’s ear. “But I got your message loud and clear, boyo, and I’m here to give you the hot poker we both know you were really begging for.”
Large hands roughly unbuttoned the front of his jeans and pulled them down around his knees. Spike was hard…of course he was hard. But his sire didn’t seem to notice or care. This was punishment, pure and simple.
Angel undid his zipper with one hand as he pulled Spike to his knees then, with neither lube nor stretching, he slammed into his child’s tight hole. Spike bit his lip as he felt his tissue rip, sucking on his own blood to keep from screaming. Angel pulled almost all the way out, probably admiring the blood that coated his cock, then slammed in again. He grabbed Spike’s hair, sinking himself to the very root and grinding his hips in a tight circle; then he set up a hard bruising rhythm.
“Getting your rocks off, ‘Gelus?” Spike’s voice was punctuated by sharp grunts as Angel pounded into him.
“You know I am, boy. And it’s Angel.”
“Bugger that, Angelus.” Spike forced the words out. “You can tell that to Slutty and her Scoobies and they‘ll believe you…but all I ever see is the demon looking for his punching bag and fuck toy, yeah?”
As if in response, his sire yanked his hair harder, forcing Spike upright and back as he slammed himself in as far as he could go. Then Angel’s teeth slid into his neck and Spike saw bright sparks of color as both vampires came in lukewarm spurts of bitter ecstasy. Before the last of the tremors had swept through his abused body, Angel slammed Spike’s head against the stone floor and everything went dark.
When he came to, Spike was in his own bed. And wasn’t that a real pisser?
He mentally took a quick inventory. Broken ribs were wrapped. Right ulna was set and splinted. Nothing Angel could do with the smashed cheekbone, but he had reset the damn nose. Yeah, proper Sire/Childe discipline. Make the mess, torture, rape - but fix up the remains. Never knew who would show at the door, so if you wanted to keep a childe undusted you had to make sure he could move on his own. That, or you could just dust ‘em yourself. Must be the souled ponce was still channeling his inner Angelus when he left the crypt.
So…what was the message here now? Angelus is pissed? Some demented form of discipline-according-to-lore from the ponce? Or just a demon tantrum followed by souled guilt?
Nice to know he could still push the poof’s buttons…yeah, even if it was gonna cost him a week or two to recover. Spike stretched carefully and then hissed at the symphony of pain it set off. Oh yeah, was gonna hurt like hell but he could walk. Didn’t think Jekyll or Hyde would make a return trip to the crypt, but ’Gelus was a right tricky bastard so it made sense to vacate until he had sussed out the situation. Maybe he could wrangle a sympathy pint of pig at the Watcher’s. Could find out if Angel had brooded his way back to LA ,too.
Getting to his feet was a bit of a struggle, what with only one functional arm. Putting on clothes was even worse. Up the ladder hurt like bleeding hell, and moving the rock entrance damn near sent him back to curling up in his bed. But once he was in the upper part of his crypt, he slipped on his duster, tilted his head back and put on his best sneer. Never let the enemy see you’d been hurt. Life was war and he’d be dammed if a silicon chip or a beating at the hands of his sire was gonna keep him from fighting. He still had other weapons; he wasn‘t a total nancy boy…yet.
He walked…well, with a few staggers mixed in, and one tumble over a low headstone, but he finally arrived at the Watcher’s place. Could sense his sire inside. Ponce must have gotten caught up in a post patrol debriefing. So, what was unusual enough to bring all the Scoobies to Giles’ place this late? Hearing voices, he quietly moved closer.
“Yes, Spike told us quite a bit about them after he got chipped…you mean he didn’t tell you about the chip? Well, apparently he’s completely unable to hurt a human. Complains of a bad headache if he even tries. He can hurt demons though.”
Spike could damn near hear the watcher polishing his glasses. Rupert bloody Giles could barely tolerate Angel, so why were they having this tea party conversation now? And about the bloody Initiative, of all things?
“ Yup, Deadboy Jr. helps the Buffster - for the time being - and we not only don’t stake him, we gift him with the occasional pint of pig’s blood.” Xander voice was sharp, and Spike pictured his tight smile.
“Time being? How long is that?“ Angel sounded annoyed, but with Harris in the same room that was a given.
“ Well…you know Spike. Not the champion of self-control. The way I figure it, he goes to a bar - picks a fight with the wrong human - falls to the ground…argh, and then he’s dust all over the floor.” Spike could hear the usual joyful malice twisted through the whelp’s words. “I keep trying to get a betting pool together - name the date and win a gilded stake..”
“Ew. That’s so creepy, Xander” Willow interrupted. “Betting on someone we know getting dusted. That’s like wishing someone would die.…and besides, it’s Spike.”
“Ooh! Ooh! Can I bet? I can even do time and place.” Buffy overrode Willow’s objections, her voice bright and cheerful.
“And I keep telling you, Buffster - it’s not fair to let you in.”
“As funny as you are not, Xander, I’d prefer if you would all refrain from betting on anyone dying, or dusting as the case my be,” Giles said with weary exasperation. He sighed loudly, then asked, “Now, are you certain that these are the right books, Angel?”
“Yes, and Wesley will return them as soon as he can.“ There was a pause before his sire spoke again. “Well then, if we’re finished here, I guess I better be on my way….back to Los Angeles.” Spike heard tension in Angel’s voice, but he had no idea what it meant.
Still, he knew he’d better hide, if it wasn‘t already too late to avoid Angelus. Probably should have vacated earlier but he’d got caught up listening to that little “hooray if Spike is dusted” meeting.
He ducked into one of the cozy, dark corners he had searched out years ago, and leaned against the dirty bricks, staring up at the night sky. Once Angelus and the Slayer exchanged a quick grope and a chaste romantic kiss, his sire would be gone again.
Really not sure what he would do after that. No real choices.
He closed his eyes, his shoulder slumping. Bloody hell! A betting pool?! Did they really hate him that much? Even the sodding white hats couldn’t be trusted. Couldn’t trust ‘em, couldn’t hurt them, couldn’t leave them, - not if he wanted dosh to buy blood … maybe a bar brawl wasn’t such a bad idea. Go out in style.
The door to Giles’s apartment slammed, slicing through his all too familiar circling thoughts. Spike sniffed the air, as well as he could with his swollen sinuses, and listened for the sound of a car starting up. Nothing. Silence.
Then something dark fell in front of his startled eyes and he backed up against the wall; bloody hell, Angel loomed in front of him. The bastard had jumped off the sodding roof. Spike tried to back away further but Angelus grabbed the collar of his duster and wrapped it in both hands.
“You’re coming to L.A. with me, Spike. Get in the car. And if you even think of trying to get away…”
“Yeah. Got it. Coming to L.A. “ He let his sire drag him to the car, open the passenger door, and push him inside - not fighting, not really cooperating either. “And now that you‘ve successfully kidnapped me, care to explain why?”
“I thought I showed you earlier why…”
“Yeah, yeah - got the bruises to show it. Still doesn’t answer my question, though. Why am I going with you to L.A?”
Angel slid into the driver’s seat.
“Because you’re mine, Spike. Mine to fight, mine to fuck, and mine to stake if anyone’s gonna stake you. So, I guess you’re still mine to keep undusted until we figure out what to do about this latest mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” Angel sounded like he was explaining the obvious to a child.
“Yeah, okay….yours.” Spike shrugged. He could keep his mouth shut and act like it was true, at least until they arrived in LA and then…
“ Unless I decide to dust you myself.” Angel glanced over at him, then back toward the road.
Spike turned to look out the window, not wanting Angelus to suspect his sudden overwhelming relief. No more making nice to the Slayer and her pals. No more sleeping with one eye open because half the demon population of Sunnyhell was gunning for him.
The Ponce would keep him in blood, fags and JD, and now that his punishment was over, well, a trip to L.A. had….possibilities. The bar fight? He settled back in his seat, pulling his duster close around him. Yeah, it could definitely wait.