~ You got a perfect skin...
...with a devil’s grin ~
- from ‘Perfect Skin’ by The 69 Eyes
It was William’s skin that got him turned.
If it hadn’t been for that skin, Angelus would have just drained him after raping him, like he’d planned when he first followed the slender man into the alley.
He would come to appreciate more about him later; the long, soft hair, clear blue eyes, perfectly chiseled cheekbones, lean lithe muscles - and the pretty, round little arse that had been the first thing to attract his attention - but he’d be eternally enamored of that skin.
He’d been drifting down the murky London streets, looking for warm, pretty prey so he could have a little fun before dinner, when he’d caught sight of a slim young man leaving a small business and turning to lock the door. His half-interested attention was instantly focused on that stellar backside, giving silent thanks to the whims of fashion that had currently decreed that men should wear those lovely, almost skin-tight trousers.
He’d chosen his prey right then and there.
The man hadn’t paid a bit of attention to his surroundings, instead taking a book from the pocket of his shabby short coat and reading as he walked. For all his inattention, though, he’d woven expertly among the milling crowd, not bumping into anyone.
Angelus had become a bit intrigued - he’d planned to steal the book after he was done with the corpse. Had wanted to see what was so interesting behind that brown calfskin cover.
He’d also wanted to see how pretty the boy was under those worn clothes.
When his prey had taken a short-cut down a dark alley, he’d been delighted. Had waited until he was well into the shadows and then pounced, loving the startled cry as he slammed the man into the wall. Held him there, his feet a good ten inches off the ground, face pressed into the dirty brick while his arms and legs flailed like the wings of a pinned butterfly.
It made such a pretty picture for a hungry predator.
He’d stood there, enjoying it for a moment, then ripped the coat, vest and shirt off the man with one vicious swipe.
And been confronted by that skin.
Pure, pale white skin, as smooth as a baby’s, feeling like the softest suede, the purest silk as he ran a reverent hand over the slender back.
The man had protested in a muffled voice, face still pushed hard into the unforgiving wall. His struggles were surprisingly strong, for a human - but he had no chance of escaping a Master vampire.
Angelus had ignored him, mesmerized. He’d explored that pretty, perfect skin, at the same time learning every dip and curve of the young man’s spine, the planes of his nicely broad shoulders, the delicacy of his slightly visible ribs.
Then he’d tasted it.
It tasted just as good as it looked - tasted of spearmint and a trace of soap, of books and ink and the delicious hint of virginity.
Such lovely prey, so worthy of him...
The taste of his blood, when he’d given into temptation and begun nipping the human lightly, had been intoxicating. Pure and sweet and so warm... the little whines of pain and protest had just added to his enjoyment, until the man’s back with slick with blood and saliva, bitten, scratched and bruised and looking even prettier than before to vampiric eyes.
He’d admired it for a moment, one big hand still holding the man in place.
Then he’d ripped the man’s trousers down, laughing at the shriek that followed.
The skin was even softer there, he discovered, sliding a hand over one smooth cheek. So soft, so pale and satiny and the man trembled deliciously as he squeezed his luscious handful. He’d given that arse the same attentions he’d lavished on the man’s back; first his hands, then his tongue, then his fangs. Spread the pretty cheeks and explored the virgin pucker, slid his hand further between the man’s warm thighs to grasp the silken heat of his balls, pawing at the shaft that was hardening slightly despite the frightened gasps and whimpers.
He couldn’t get enough of that skin, rubbed against the nearly-naked boy like a big cat.
Wanted to feel that skin against his own.
He’d reluctantly let go of the young man’s cock - such wonderful skin there, like hot silk wrapped around steel - and stood back again, admiring his handiwork. Purple bite marks from blunt human teeth, scratches left by sharp nails, finger-shaped bruises, bloody red punctures from his fangs, covering the trembling human from the back of his neck almost to his knees...
There was no way he was giving this up for a quick feed-and-fuck.
He’d spun the man around, slamming his ravaged back against the wall, and gave him a look-over.
Pleased at the pretty face - tears, even, slipping from wide blue eyes, how sweet - and the nicely muscular, nearly hairless torso, he’d made his decision.
Slid into game face, chuckling at the terrified wail, and dove forward to sink his fangs into the slim, graceful neck.
Licked the warm skin even as he drained the man, groped him while he hung there, ripped cuffs still on his prey’s wrists and his pants around his ankles.
Drained the man until his heart beat faltered, then bit into his own wrist and shoved the bloody wound into the man’s mouth. Finished draining him as his soon-to-be Childe suckled weakly at the life-giving elixir.
Held him, surprisingly gentle, as he breathed his last breath and the blue eyes closed.
He’d argued with Darla when he brought the lifeless body home, refusing to bury it properly like she insisted, like he had his other Childer. This one, he knew, was somehow special.
He’d put the boy in his bed, and growled when Penn remarked on his new brother’s prettiness, punished Drusilla when the jealous girl tried to stake him before he could rise.
Was hovering over the boy two days later when the blue eyes blinked open and then slid into gold.
Gave him Sire’s blood for his first feeding, then promptly took him, enjoying the sleek skin even more now that it was cool instead of warm.
Took him again a few minutes later, loving the tight clasp of the eternally virgin body.
Loved the way the slender form arched under him, the Childe still in game face and eager for his Sire to dominate him.
And Angelus had happily dominated him all night long. All day, too.
And well into the next night.
Then he’d had to go feed, and had taken his pretty new Childe with him. Left the others to their own devices and gave his fledgling his first hunting lesson.
Taken him against the wall after they’d fed, bodies strumming with the power of human blood.
Asked his name for the first time as he thrust deep inside him, hands under his shirt, still clutching at that wonderful skin.
He’d loved William, as well as a vampire could love; loved teaching him; loved fucking him; loved his skin when he was stroking it or lashing it with a whip until it bled pretty red ribbons; adored him until Darla had brought him the ‘treat’ of a pretty Romanian Gypsy girl.
Then he’d abandoned him, and forgotten all about that glorious, perfect skin.
Angel stared as Spike, who was swearing freely after he was drenched in acidic demon’s blood, began stripping off his clothes.
Xander, who’d been drenched as well, shrieked like a girl and protested, until he felt the tingling burn as his own clothes began to disintegrate.
Angel, who’d come back at a desperate plea from Buffy to help with the seventeen Halfitz demons running amok in Sunnydale, ignored Xander’s yelps and Willow’s squeals and Buffy’s laughter.
He just stared and stared at Spike as more of that perfect skin was revealed.
"Bloody good thing I left me duster home," Spike growled, yanking his sneakers off, also thankful he wasn’t wearing his Docs. He’d had a feeling this might happen. Killing was usually messy, and most people knew Halfitz demons used their acid blood as a final revenge against their slayer, spraying it out in a cloud as they died. Just lucky they were short lil’ buggers, ‘cause otherwise he’d have lost his hair. Shoes out of the way now, he started unbuttoning his jeans.
"Spike!" Buffy shrieked, "stop it! No one wants to see that!"
Angel stared at her. So did Willow and Xander, for that matter. And Tara and Giles - they’d all been watching the vampire avidly, even the boy who was hurriedly shedding his own smouldering garments.
"Not leaving ‘em on to melt me, ducks," Spike snarled at her, "look t’other way if you’re so damn prudish."
Buffy frowned, and tightened her grip on the stake in her hand. "Look, you blond pain in the ass, I can..."
"Um, Spike," Angel spoke up quickly, eyes still skittering hungrily over the exposed torso. How could he have forgotten all that soft, smooth - ahem. "Come over here; stand behind me." He spread his coat open, showing that he would hide him from view.
"Everybody’s a damn prude," Spike muttered, but he obeyed.
Angel was glad. He hadn’t wanted to have to wrestle the blond out of sight, but he wasn’t about to let the humans continue ogling his Childe.
Spike was his.
...where the hell was this possessiveness coming from?!
He needed to slow down, to think about this. It was a little easier, with that lovely skin out of his direct line of sight.
Did he really want his Childe? His still-evil, little blond monster brat?
With all that silky skin and delicious blood and tight body and sweet way of looking up at him through his eyelashes when he wanted to have sex? With the irritating way of disobeying him just so he’d pay attention to him, or the frightening habit of jumping in between him and danger in order to protect his Sire, when it was supposed to be the other way around?
Gods, yes, he wanted him!
Not that it was going to matter - he was sure that even the mildest Sire-like action around Spike would get his head ripped off. This wasn’t his sweet, compliant William - he was surprised the blond had obeyed him enough to come stand behind him. He would have expected Spike to refuse and then happily shock the humans.
"Well, that takes care of Fangless," Xander said desperately, "but what am I supposed to do, guys? I gotta get these off!" He danced slightly, gesturing to the only thing he was still wearing, his loose, faded khakis.
"Oh, yes," Giles said quickly, taking off his own coat and holding it out to Xander. "Er, slip into this and then take them off. It should be long enough to cover... er, yes, well, quite..." He subsided into embarrassed English-babble.
Angel fought back a snicker.
Spike did snicker. "Oi, Watcher, sure ya don’t wanna ogle the boy for a while instead? Bit of a treat out of those clothes, ya know!"
"Spike!" Four voices shouted the word, sending the blond into what would have been a fit of giggles - if Spike wasn’t too evil and cool for a fit of giggles.
"How would you know, anyway?" Buffy asked, mayhem in her eyes as she contemplated avenging her friend’s honor.
"Lived in his basement, didn’t I?" Spike was still laughing, "saw more than I ever thought I’d see. ‘Specially when that bint of his was over."
"Xander, just put the coat on and let’s go," Buffy smirked, "then Spike can run home, all the way through town, naked. Sweet revenge!"
Angel heard the faint growl that started behind him, then cut off, but he doubted anyone else did.
"Prolly get me some comp’ny for the night," Spike sniffed instead.
Which made Angel growl.
Which, in turn, made Spike go very still and make a soft, questioning noise.
"Like anyone in their right mind would want you," Buffy rolled her eyes.
"Oh, does that mean I gotta chance with you?" Spike shot back, his tone sugar-sweet.
"Okay, that’s it," the Slayer snarled, lifting her stake and starting toward the two vampires, intent on dusting one of them.
"I’ll take Spike home. He can wear my coat," Angel said calmly, derailing the situation before it descended into violence.
"Oh, so I’m good enough ta wear yer coat?" Spike spat the words out in a low voice, still upset at Buffy.
"Of course you are, William," Angel purred at him before he thought.
The younger vampire went very, very still. Angel could almost feel the confusion radiating off of him.
For some reason, that made him grin.
"Yes, that’s probably, er, the best idea," Giles said, trying to hang on to his dignity. "We’ll walk you home, Xander, so no one will, er..."
"Point and laugh?" Spike added helpfully.
"Hey! A minute ago I was a ‘bit of a treat’!" Xander protested.
"Wearin’ a silly-lookin’ tweed coat now, whelp," Spike pointed out.
"My coat is not silly-looking," Giles said haughtily.
"On the boy, it is. Made for denim and leather, he is, not tweed."
"Are you complimenting me or insulting me?" Xander demanded.
"It doesn’t matter! Let’s go home!" Buffy said sharply, "I want to change into something nice and go to the Bronze. Angel," she turned fluttering eyelashes and a coy smile on him, "you can stop by after you take the Blond Menace home, right?"
"Possibly," Angel said. There was no way he was going to, whether or not he got what he wanted, but he didn’t need the argument that saying so would start.
Buffy gave him a happy smile, apparently interpreting ‘possibly’ as ‘definitely yes, oh love of my unlife’.
The two vampires watched as the Scoobies trotted off, Xander trying to hide behind his much smaller female friends.
"Were you complimenting him?" Angel asked quietly, curious.
"Whelp needs a lil’ ego boast," Spike said calmly, "gets treated like he don’t matter, most of the time. Gimme the coat, already, Peaches, s’damn drafty back here!"
Angel shrugged out of his soft leather coat and handed it back, not looking. He wanted to look, but he needed his wits about him for what he was about to do.
"Spike," he started slowly, "why do you stay here?"
"Huh?" Spike sounded blank. "Got nowhere else ta go, Peaches. Not many people gonna feed a chipped vampire, ya know."
Angel turned slowly, to find the pretty picture of Spike’s long, bare legs under the almost knee-length coat. He swallowed hard and spoke again. "What if I invited you to LA?"
"Like ya would," Spike snorted. "Wouldn’t go, anyway. I hate you, ya know."
"Why?" Angel asked the question honestly. He knew Spike had plenty of reasons, but he wanted to hear the main ones so he could think up ways around them.
Spike gave him an astonished, disbelieving look. "Ya really gotta ask that?"
"Yes, I really do. Because I ruined your plans to bag your third Slayer? Because I wouldn’t help Drusilla, and then took her from you? Because of the gem of Amara?"
"Because you bloody left me," Spike spat, glaring hotly at him.
"...because I left you?! When I got my soul?" Angel knew William hadn’t been happy about that, but he’d still had Drusilla, although he’d also had to put up with Penn and Darla.
"Yeah, when you got that shiny new soul and couldn’t say ‘I love you’ to a filthy demon any more," Spike said, backing away from him, his voice thick with rage.
Angel prowled after him, his demon stirring inside him. "Oh, really? You hate me because I abandoned you... what if I claimed you again?"
Spike stared. "This some kinda joke?!"
"Oh, no, William - this is no joke." Angel was nearly purring now.
"Are you Angelus again?!" Spike demanded, still backing away.
"Not exactly. I spent a hundred years in a hell dimension, Spike. I needed my soul and my demon to survive. They’re so tied together now that I’ll never lose it again. So you can call me Angel or Angelus, we’re one and the same."
"Is that good or bad?" Spike asked, blue eyes darting around in search of an escape.
"Depends on if you want my claim on you again," Angel said cooly, following right after him.
"M’not a stupid twit with my nose stuck in a book this time," Spike growled. "M’a Master now, remember? You ain’t gonna just slam me against a wall and use me for a chew toy this time, Peaches!"
"Aren’t I?" Angel asked. "I’ll give you a chance, then, William. You can run, and if you get away, I’ll leave you alone. But if I catch you," he flicked his warm brown eyes over the coat, almost like he could see what was beneath it. "If I catch you, you’re mine. Mine. Understand?"
Spike hesitated, biting his lower lip.
Then he gave Angel one short nod, turned, and ran.
Angel gave a shout of delight and ran right after him.
Spike darted through the dark back alleys, keeping out of the lighted streets and away from the busy clubs. Angel followed him relentlessly, never letting him out of his sight no matter what tricky move he made. He was determined not to lose his prize.
The younger vampire darted down one dark alley, leapt onto a fire escape, and took to the roofs.
Angel still followed, a dark shadow chasing after his bright prey.
Spike glanced over his shoulder, scowled, and went faster.
Angel, who was built more for strength than for speed, lost a little in distance. He made up for it in strategy, and a fairly good knowledge of how his pretty Childe’s mind worked. Spike was heading north -
- which meant he planned to double back and go to his cemetery home to the west.
Well, easy enough to save his legs and let his prey wear himself out. Angel dropped down from the roof, after letting Spike get just enough of a lead to be out of sight. Let him think Angel was still behind him - he would just get there first.
He reached Spike’s murky little crypt in two minutes, and paused to glare at it. Really, how dare those humans let his Childe live in that monstrosity? He was helping them like they demanded; the least they could do was give him a decent place to live.
He figured he had about five minutes before Spike arrived - he ducked inside the crypt, found Spike’s duster, his boots, the rest of his clothes, and his few pitiful possessions. Poor little William - that he should be reduced to this! He’d have to take him shopping, buy him some nice clothes and some of those electronic gadgets he loved so much. He had plenty of money, though he hated spending it on the humans - his Childe was an entirely different story.
He took the bundle and stashed it on top of the crypt, then ducked behind a towering granite tombstone to wait. He had no intention of reclaiming his Childe here - the first time was in an alley and he’d herd his pretty boy back into an alley for the second time. It was only fitting.
And then later, he’d spread him out on silk and velvet like he used to in the old days, and worship the lovely picture he made with his perfect skin against the rich material...
Um. An erection wasn’t exactly going to help him with the running right now - though he’d been semi-hard ever since he’d watched Spike shrug out of his shirt. He tried to push his libido down, promising his body it was going to get what it wanted soon enough - then nearly lost his resolve to wait when he saw Spike loping through the tombstones.
His Childe looked delicious, hair tousled by the wind and the coat flapping around him, showing off those bare legs, giving Angel glimpses of creamy smooth thighs.
He growled softly, determined to feel those thighs wrapped around him soon.
Spike skidded to a stop when he heard the growl, his head coming up sharply and sliding into game face so that he could see around the cemetery better.
Angel chuckled, low and rich and deep, and stepped out from behind the granite monolith.
Spike swore and started running again, abandoning any idea of refuge in his crypt.
Angel laughed louder, then retrieved the bundle of Spike’s belongings and chased after him. If he knew his boy, Spike would head for the Watcher’s house now, hoping Giles would let him in. Probably would tell the stuffy Englishman a tale about Angelus and have the Scoobies out looking for him, armed with spells and stakes. He snorted, knowing they wouldn’t be able to take him out. They never had before, until Spike had whacked him with that crowbar and given them an advantage.
But they would slow him down, so he had to stop Spike before he could get there.
He darted down a side street, taking to the roofs, outdistancing his Childe but never letting that platinum head out of his sight. When he passed his car, parked a few blocks from Giles’ house, Angel took a split second to stow his bundle and then increased his speed. He took a short-cut he’d learned when he used to live in Sunnydale, and launched himself at Spike when the blond came around the corner of the building, apparently going to use the same short cut.
Spike squeaked with surprise, a sound he would deny until his second death, whirled and started running.
But Angel was done playing, now. He wanted his prize.
He bounded after his fleeing Childe, using every bit of the strength his three centuries had given him.
Spike might be a Master, but he had only half of Angel’s years, putting him at a distinct disadvantage.
Angel had to give him points for trying, though - he ran like the rays of the sun were chasing him, and Angel thought, for one brief second, that it was possible that he wasn’t going to catch him.
Then Spike cast another brief glance over his shoulder, and - rather oddly for such a graceful, agile vampire - he stumbled.
Angel pounced, slamming into him and half-throwing, half-carrying him into the nearest alley.
Spike fought, flailing and cursing, teeth, feet, fists and claws battering at his captor.
Angel shrugged the blows off like they were the fragile touches of a moth’s wings, like they weren’t drawing blood or raising bruises, calmly setting his little wildcat on his feet, spinning him around, and slamming him face-first into the wall. Brick, Angel noted, and grinned.
"Bloody Poof..." Spike grumbled, twisting under the force of the hand between his shoulder blades.
"We had a deal," Angel purred in response, "and I caught you. You know what that means."
"Hello to my life as a chew toy?" Spike snarked.
"Hmm, something along those lines," Angel agreed.
Then he ripped the coat off him.
Just as perfect as he remembered.
He ran a reverent hand over that lovely back, following the path he had taken - and never forgotten - the first time he had ever touched his William. Learning the differences between then and now, the broader sweep of his shoulders, the tighter muscles earned from night after night of battling demons, the prominence of his ribs that told him the Scoobies weren’t feeding his Childe enough.
He’d blast them for that later. Right now he had a Childe to reclaim.
He bent his head and swept his tongue over the faint turning scar on Spike’s neck, smiling with pleasure when the younger vampire shuddered and shook at the touch. He moved on to tasting his back, picking up the hint of leather and menthol, of a dusty stone crypt, and under it those same faint traces of spearmint, soap, books and ink.
But not the virginity. No, he’d taken care of that long ago, thank you very much!
And now he was going to take care of it some more. He bit into Spike’s shoulder, nearly fainting at the rich power of his Childe’s blood; the sweet taste that hadn’t crossed his tongue in over a hundred years.
Beneath his fangs, Spike whimpered - but it wasn’t the terrified, pained whimper of a confused human boy. It was a soft whimper of pleasure; a vampire enjoying his Sire’s sharp teeth marking him. The sound went straight to Angel’s cock, making him even harder.
His free hand went to his zipper, freeing himself from the layers of cloth, moaning happily as his shaft sprang free from its confinement. Ah, yes, that was better!
He turned his full attention back to Spike, who was still wriggling rather half-heartedly, and bent to nibble his way down his boy’s spine.
Spike started writhing for an entirely different reason.
Angel paid the same amount of adoring-vampire attention to his back that he’d given it on that first night, so long ago, once more leaving it bruised and nipped and bloody and damp and absolutely beautiful. By the time he was done, Spike was moaning and attempting to hump the wall.
"I think you’re enjoying being my chew toy," Angel said, his voice low and throaty as he slid his hand further down, cupping one of Spike’s pretty arse cheeks.
"M’not," the blond shook his head violently even as he pushed back into the touch.
"Oh, yes, you are," he said, nipping Spike’s ear sharply, "don’t lie to your Sire." He brushed his fingers teasingly over the cleft of that lovely backside, enjoying the whimper that Spike tried to choke down. He kept his touch incredibly light and gentle, the backs of his fingers down one side of Spike’s rear, his fingertips trailing up the other side, until Spike was whining with frustration.
"Yes, Childe?" he purred, shifting until he was holding Spike against the wall with his chest, so that both hands could move down and cup him, squeezing firmly.
"Would you hurry up and fuck me?!" That move had apparently pushed Spike to his breaking point.
"Hmm... no, I don’t think I will. I’m more in the mood for nice..." he squeezed again, fingers digging into the soft flesh, "and slow."
"Oh, bloody hell..."
Then dropped down on one knee, keeping a hand firmly on the small of Spike’s back, and bit one of the round cheeks.
"Bloody buggerin’ hell!" Spike yelped, his hips giving a few frantic thrusts.
"Don’t you dare come," Angel warned him, sliding his fingers between the cheeks to stroke the still virgin-tight entrance to Spike’s body, his tongue laving the bite mark to get every drop of blood.
"Easy for you to say," Spike moaned, trying to still his motions.
"You’re out of practice," Angel laughed, sliding his hand further forward, "you used to stay hard for days when I told you to."
"Well, Dru wasn’t... the sadist... you were," Spike snarked, only to start trembling when Angel’s fingers wrapped around his balls and began to tug and roll.
"This is certainly different from the first time," Angel said teasingly, his other hand sliding around to grasp a rock hard, leaking shaft. He decided not to torment his Childe as long as he had planned - because he was too hard, himself - he got back to his feet, not losing his hold, and started to rub against his boy.
"Was... bloody terrified..." Spike managed to say around the gasps for unneeded air. "Wha... did ya... ‘spect...?"
"You were still a little hard," Angel reminded him, a gravelly purr starting in his throat as he rubbed his cock against Spike’s backside. "Turned me on like you wouldn’t believe - so scared and hurt and still managed to get aroused. No wonder I had to turn you."
Spike didn’t answer; he just let out a low wail and tried to thrust into Angel’s hand.
Angel laughed again, letting go of Spike’s sac and grasping one of those creamy thighs he’d been ogling earlier. In one quick, fluid motion he lifted it up and pushed inside his Childe. Unprepared and unlubricated and it hurt and he knew it - but he was renewing his claim.
And Spike’s pained howl had the edge of pleasure in it, his demon glorying in the pain of being dominated by the Sire demon.
Angel’s soul made him pause for a moment, let Spike adjust just a little, although his demon was screaming to just pound into the boy, show him who he belonged to. His Childe was so very tight, so erotically cool... But he wanted Spike to enjoy this, dammit, more than just the pleasure of being claimed. He wanted those legs to spread for him because Spikeliked spreading them, not because his demon made him do it. He’d had that once, with William - Angelus had learned, to his vampiric bemusement, that pleasuring the boy made William pleasure him, in return, with more enthusiasm than any partner he’d ever had, before or since.
"You’re mine," he growled, finally giving in to the overwhelming urge to thrust, slamming Spike hard against the wall and beginning to pound into him. "My Childe. My boy. Mine!"
"For... how... long?" Spike managed, managing a word with every thrust. "You... just... gonna... leave... me... again... ev’ry... body... always... does..."
"Not this time," Angel growled, pressing against him possessively, "I’m not letting you go this time; I’m not leaving you behind."
"An’ m’just... s’post ta... b’lve that?" Spike’s ability to speak was rapidly disintegrating.
"No," Angel said, a suddenly brilliant idea bursting in his head. "No, I’m going to prove it to you."
"H-how?" Spike’s voice was plaintive. "Angel, let... me... come?!"
"Not yet," Angel purred, tilting his hips and making sure every thrust nailed Spike’s prostate. "Not until I put my mating mark on you."
"Mating mark?!" Spike screeched, jerking his head around to stare at him.
"That’s what I said," his Sire answered, grabbing a handful of blond hair and pulling Spike’s head to the side until he could clearly see the unblemished skin opposite the turning mark on his elegant throat. "I’ll show the world - and you - that you’re mine forever."
"That’s like - getting married." Spike whispered, squirming weakly in Angel’s grasp.
"Our demons would be permanently dependant on each other."
"We’d have to be together almost all the time."
"And if one of us dies, the other dies."
"Angel, even Dru didn’t want to be mated!"
"That’s because she’s an idiot." Angel said cooly, and shifted into game face.
"Angel - Sire - I don’t think you’ve really thought this out..." Spike said desperately, trying to straighten his head and protect his defenseless neck.
"Oh, yes, I have. I started to mark you before I got my soul, but Darla would have staked you if she knew... and then after..." Angel licked Spike’s neck apologetically. "After, I was a total dick."
"True enough," Spike managed to laugh, his struggles easing a bit. "But Angel..."
"Shush. I want this, and I know you do, too. I can smell the hope on you, boy, I can taste it on your skin."
"But you..." Spike’s protest was abruptly cut off as Angel pulled out of him and jerked him around.
"You’re mine," his Sire said softly, cupping his face with his hands. "I want you. Always have, from first look to last." He dropped his hands, grabbing both of Spike’s thighs and lifting them until the smaller vampire instinctively wrapped his legs around Angel’s waist. "Yes..." he purred in satisfaction, moving his grip to Spike’s slim waist and lifting him just enough to slide back inside.
Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Then he leaned close, burying his face against the right side of Spike’s throat, pushing his Childe’s face against his own neck. "Mating mark, William," he whispered, and slid his fangs into his boy’s flesh.
His demon tore free of his control with a phantom howl of joy, jumping across the blood bond and tackling Spike’s unsuspecting, astonished demon. Angel felt, rather than saw, his own demon wrap itself around the younger one until it was impossible to tell where one started and the other finished.
Then Spike’s fangs slid into his own throat, opposite the mark left by Darla’s fangs, so very long ago - and he sensed William’s demon wrapping its spectral arms around his own, digging in and merging and putting its own claim on the Sire demon.
He tore his fangs free of Spike’s neck and howled his triumph to the stars.
Coming, though irresistible, was almost anticlimactic - pardon the pun.
But it still made Spike pass out.
Of course, Angel nearly joined him, but he’d never admit it.
He snickered as he slid his naked, unconscious Mate into the car, buckling the seat belt carefully around him, knowing he’d be able to tease him over this for years to come.
"And come and come and come," he whispered, too giddily happy to resist the even worse pun.
"Wha’ s’funny?" Spike slurred, blue eyes blinking open.
"Everything," Angel told him, not sure how to explain.
Apparently, he wouldn’t need to - Spike’s eyes crinkled up at the corners and he smiled at him.
"Yeah, guess so - Peaches?"
"Why’m I in your car?"
"Because I’m taking you home, like I said I would."
"Crypt’s a five minnit walk from here."
"You’re not going back to that place," Angel growled, closing the door and hurrying around to slide into the driver’s seat. "I didn’t like you living there when you were just my Childe; now you’re my Childe and my Mate and anyway, you can’t be apart from me. Remember?"
Spike’s hand flew to his neck, and the still bloody, deep bite that marked him as Mated.
"Can’t b’lve you really did that," he whispered.
Angel smirked, and started the car.
"Wait, what ‘bout my stuff?" Spike demanded.
"It’s all in the backseat."
Spike twisted around, stared at his belongings, then snagged his duster and pulled it over himself. "Pretty sure o’ yourself, huh, Peaches?"
"Usually," Angel grumbled, slightly miffed at losing sight of that pretty skin. Oh, well, he’d get to see a whole lot more of it soon enough.
"Guess that’s not a bad thing," Spike admitted, moving closer to him.
"No," Angel’s grin reasserted itself. "Spike - can I ask you a question? I’ve been meaning to ask it for a very long time."
"Sure - got somethin’ ta ask you, too," was the slightly cautious reply.
"What was the book you were reading that night?"
Spike blinked at him, then laughed. "Homer’s The Iliad. Latin version. Good book. Still got it."
"Good choice," Angel smiled, not all that surprised. He knew his boy was smart. "What was your question?"
Spike shifted closer, leaning his head on Angel’s shoulder and blinking up at him with huge, innocent blue eyes.
"Can I be the one who tells Buffy we got married?"