Archive: Yes: CKOS, Den of Sin. If you want this, let me know.
Series/Sequel: None - yet.
Webpages:
Den of Sin: http://slashcity.net/~denofsin
Feedback: nicxf@softhome.net
or nicxf@operamail.com
Spoilers: BtVS: up to and including "Into the Woods" season 5
Angel: up to and including "Reunion" season 2
Part of the "8 things that piss me off" challenge on SpikeSlash
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, uh, some other people own these ones. Hey, they're just playing with me! I'll give them back.
Summary: After a hard day of stalking Slayers and feeding lawyers to vampire hell bitches, it's Miller time! Missing scene after "Into the Woods" and "Reunion".
Comments: Beta by Amy B - continuity expert, beta extrordinare, and all around good egg. And Barb G, who looked at this in the midst of a con and everything. And Rowanne, who pointed out the most obvious.
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"Bitter"
by Nicole S. (02/01)
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Spike pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the car and easily passed
the transport in front of him on the freeway. He swerved back in
front of the large vehicle and zoomed ahead, not hearing the blare of the
horn from the frustrated driver behind him.
Music pounded out of the stereo, making the car shake. Spike sang through a sneer with the song, shaking his fist at the windshield every time a profane word was shouted from the angry singer. He didn't know who this group was; he'd stolen the unmarked tape off of some teenager in the Bronze. But it was loud and heavy sounding, and just what he needed right now.
He lit a cigarette and opened the window. Cool air filled the car. Spike could smell the sweet fragrance of cold dew on crisp grass with the underlying odour of decay that vampires always detected. He tried to make the music louder to compensate for the noise of the wind, but the knob was turned up all the way.
He took a long drag on his cigarette then exhaled sharply. The further he got from Sunnydale, the more relaxed he got. He didn't know why he kept going back there. Every time he left, he thought he'd be gone for good, only to eventually return and ultimately get his ass kicked.
He could go anywhere. Paris, Rome, Hong Kong...
He smiled. The last time he'd been in Hong Kong had been with Dru. They had picked up a lovely young bloke and played with him for hours. They'd even let him live. Barely. That was just before they'd gone to Sunnydale to find Angel. They'd heard about the place, about the hellmouth. 'Come one, come all to the hellmouth!' He sniggered. 'That was clever.'
So off to Sunnydale they went. It was to be just another city, just another place on their tour of the world. And when they got there, they did find Angel, expecting to see Darla with him. She wasn't there, however. Only The Slayer.
Spike tossed the cigarette butt out the window with a vengeance. That was the reason he was leaving Sunnydale yet again and would undoubtedly be drawn back.
The Slayer. Buffy.
Spike sneered. They should have killed her right away. Fuck Angel and his feelings, Dru was right, the Slayer was nothing but a bother to them all.
But now he had these feelings toward Buffy. Feelings that invaded his dreams while he slept, feelings that made him watch her house all night, that made him follow her around while she was out on patrol like some love-struck teenager. Feelings that would surely drive him mad.
He sighed and clenched his jaw. Miffed that she, once again, penetrated his thoughts. He hated that he had this damn obsession with her. It was the chip. It had to be the chip. That damn doctor had rewired his brain on purpose. Spike knew that had to be the reason. Why else would he think of the damn Slayer all the damn time?
"Fucking chip! Fucking goddamn! Argh!"
Spike's face changed, his brow furrowing, fangs descending. A loud growl left his mouth as he pounded on the steering wheel and dashboard, cracking the hard plastic. He tried to push the accelerator down further, and nearly pushed it right through the floorboard.
He sped through the night, passing the few vehicles on the road at this late hour. After a few minutes, his fangs retreated and his face returned to normal. He shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck, relieving some of the tension that rested there and tried to think of something else.
A few miles later, his stomach growled. He figured it wouldn't be long before he reached his destination where he could get some much-needed refreshments. He should have been there by now, but had been delayed earlier in the evening by some annoying policeman who'd pulled him over for speeding. The cop had asked Spike if he knew how fast he was going.
"Don't you? You're the one who stopped me!" and with that he'd vamped out and given the policeman an actual heart attack. He'd dropped dead and landed with a thump beside Spike's car. "Twit," he muttered under his breath. He should've had a snack then, but he suspected the obese cop's blood would be full of fat and cholesterol and not very tasty at all.
He tried again to turn the music up, and remembered it was as loud as it would go. He didn't know how he'd lived before electric guitars. Angry and vicious, they fit his mood perfectly. Clearly, he'd been born a hundred years too early.
He wondered how his poetry would sound against a barrage of music like this. He still wrote. He liked writing, it comforted him. If he could get a band together, and scream the words, no one would call him "William the bloody awful." And the first person that did would die.
He passed a sign that told him his exit was next. He swerved across four lanes with one pull of the steering wheel and just made the exit. Spike was forced to slow down, lest he fling his car over the edge of the cloverleaf. The car screeched to a stop at the top of the rise then took a sharp left and over a hill to his destination.
~~~~~~~~
Spike walked through the door of the vamp lounge and stood there for a moment, his eyes taking stock of the room. It was nearly empty, save for a few of his kind sitting at tables here and there.
It was a tacky affair, with velvet-flocked wallpaper, red velvet seats, red plastic tables and what used to be plush carpeting on the floor. It was incredibly dark, as far as human standards were concerned, lit mostly by small candles in red glass jars. An abandoned dance floor was before an empty stage, the lights turned off for the evening.
He sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a pint of blood and a whiskey.
"House blend. Triple malt, Scottish."
"You want the pint heated?" The bartender asked.
"Please."
Spike settled into his stool as he waited for his blood to warm and sipped the whiskey. It burned down into his stomach, which grumbled and groaned for food.
He sensed a few humans in the room. Two to be exact. Vamp groupies who liked flirting with death, but didn't want to be dead.
'Like the Slayer's soldier boy.'
He sniggered to himself as he lit a cigarette. Tonight was a celebration of sorts. Tonight, when that helicopter had taken off with Riley inside, a sense of elation had filled him. Now that Riley was out of the way, life would get a lot easier.
His blood arrived, steaming and smelling very good. He gulped it down, finally satisfying his hunger. It tasted heavenly. He nearly bared his fangs it was so good. But putting on your vamp face in a bar was tacky. It tended to scare people.
Spike drained his glass and smiled thinly at the bartender.
"I believe I'll have another, mate."
The bartender nodded and set to work refilling his glass.
When he'd been here last, there had been bands on the weekends. The lounge let in regular humans, who fancied themselves part of the 'undead' world until the last bus left for the suburbs. Spike and Dru had used this to their advantage and picked up a playmate or two for the evening during that time. Ah, those were the days.
His second glass of blood arrived. He drank half then chased it down with the remainder of the whiskey. Tapping his whiskey glass, he signaled the bartender for a refill.
He ground out his cigarette. The blood and whiskey warmed him throughout. If it hadn't been so dark in the bar, and if he could've seen his reflection, he reckoned he'd have a healthy pink glow.
Time was, he picked on drunks passed out in back alleys to get the same buzz. He shuddered at the memory. The alleys always smelled of piss, vomit and rotting things. The rats would run over his feet as he sucked the life out of the drunken men, the lost souls that no one would miss.
This was much more sanitary.
Just as he lit another cigarette, he felt a presence behind him. He held the match to the tobacco tip for a second, not letting on that he knew someone was staring at him. He flicked the match out with a wave of his hand then flung it into the ashtray.
"Spike," came the voice from behind.
A shiver ran up his spine, but he remained cool.
"Angel."
Spike didn't look as the vampire sat beside him at the bar.
"Been here long?" Angel asked.
"Not long."
Spike exhaled the smoke up toward the ceiling. Just his dumb luck that Angel would pick tonight of all nights to come here. He just wanted a quiet one by himself, but no, that was too much to ask.
"In the neighbourhood?"
Spike glanced toward the other vampire, but didn't turn his head. "Out for a drive, actually."
Spike wished Angel would get to the point. He always danced around the issues with cryptic questions. He never came out into the open and asked what he meant. It was all games with Angel.
Angel gave his order to the bartender. Spike took another sip of the rapidly cooling blood.
"It's nice, this. Excellent blend."
"It's the best in the region," Angel said.
"Didn't think you went for human blood anymore. Even in a blend. What with your conscience and all."
"It's time for a refreshing change."
Spike finished the last of his blood. His belly was now full of what it needed. Now he could deal with Angel. He turned toward him slightly, casually as if they'd planned to meet instead of just running into each other.
Angel received his glass of blood and drank it down. Spike could see his need. He could always read Angel, always knew his thoughts. Tonight, however Angel gave off a certain spark that Spike couldn't put his finger on. He sensed something different, something other than his usual brooding, reverent, boring self.
"Still got that soul, then?" Spike asked.
"Yep."
Angel finished the last of the blood in the glass. "Still got that hellmouth?"
"Yeah. Still there."
Spike asked for another whiskey and lit another cigarette, unnerved by Angel's calm exterior. After the last time they'd spoken, Spike had been looking for the Gem of Amara, and he'd figured their next meeting wouldn't be very civil.
Wait. No. Spoken wasn't the right term. Screamed, tortured, yelled. Yes, the last time they'd tortured each other, Spike had been looking for the Gem of Amara, and he'd figured their next meeting wouldn't be very civil. Yes, that fit.
Spike had followed the gem to Angel in L.A. and tried to torture the location out of him via Marcus. Now, that had been a fiasco. Not only had he not found the gem, but Marcus had stolen it from under his nose. Rumour was, Angel had smashed it and now it was gone forever. Spike didn't know if that was true, but he wouldn't put it past Mr. goody-two-shoes to destroy something like that. Then again, maybe he'd squirreled it away for when he really needed it?
He exhaled smoke from his nose then took a healthy sip of whiskey. He was starting to feel a little drunk and a lot better than he'd been earlier in the evening.
He looked at Angel through the corner of his eye. He missed this. Missed sitting with Angel. Just sitting, alone. Not talking. No girls, just them. Mind you, last time this happened, he'd been Angelus and way more fun. They used to have so much in common. It was a pity they'd fallen out.
"Last call, gentlemen," the bartender said. "Sun's up in an hour."
Spike and Angel drained their respective glasses and stood. Spike snuffing out his cigarette.
Slowly, they made their way to the door and outside. Their cars were the only two in the parking lot. Spike suppressed another shiver, and despite his better judgement, opened his mouth and spoke.
"Well, then. That was... nice. Suppose I'll find myself a nice underground parking garage for the night. Bye."
He backed up a few steps toward his car and gave a little wave before turning around.
Suddenly, Angel was upon him, slamming him back against the fence that surrounded the parking lot. Spike knew Angel wouldn't let him get away without a good thrashing. He winced, expecting Angel to throw the first punch, but it never came. Instead, Spike was shocked to find Angel's lips pressed against his.
Surprised, Spike didn't move. His guard was up, waiting for pain, or a stake. But Angel didn't stop kissing him, in fact he pushed his tongue inside his mouth. He had Spike by the shoulders and was pushing him into the fence as if trying to crawl inside him. So Spike kissed back.
Suddenly, fangs pricked Spike's tongue and blood filled their mouths. They sucked on his blood, Spike rubbing his crotch against Angel's.
Angel pulled back, fangs gleaming with blood then lunged forward and bit into Spike's neck.
Spike swooned. Memories of times past flooded his mind. The night he was sired, full of passion and prickly pain. Their travels through Europe and Asia, their conquests, their slaughters. That time they'd gotten separated from the girls and needed each other, needed this.
Spike's face turned, his own fangs craving Angel's sweet, thick blood. It turned back as he moaned. His cock was hard, and he could feel Angel's bulge pressing against his own. Then he was being pushed down on his knees. Swiftly, he had Angel's cock out of his pants and past his lips.
Angel filled his mouth, his velvet hard cock a reminder of how he hadn't done this in such a long time. Since the last time Angel was Angelus. A thought ran through his mind, is that why he wanted him? Was he Angelus again? Is that why he didn't receive the beating that Spike even knew he deserved? Angel'd said he still had his soul, and Spike could feel it. But there was that unmistakable vibe he'd felt earlier. As if Angel was trying to hide something.
Angel moaned and moved his hips back and forth, Spike taking him deep. He sucked until Angel started to gasp and grab his hair. His fangs descended for a moment and scraped along Angel's length. Blood filled his mouth and soon semen joined it, Angel crying out as he came.
Spike swallowed, gaining glimpses of a hotel, a tall building, screaming, flashes of faces, then nothing. He pulled back and wiped his mouth, his fangs ascending, looking up at the now sated vampire. Then he was dragged up and kissed hungrily, digging his crotch against Angel's waning erection.
Angel kissed Spike's neck and moved his hand down to squeeze his cock. Spike closed his eyes and moaned again at the impending sexual satisfaction. This was better than anything any Slayer could give him.
He licked his lower lip in anticipation and sighed as his cock was squeezed one more time. Then he screamed.
Pain radiated from his shoulder and throughout his body. His eyes snapped open and he tried to move, but found himself immobile. A quick turn of his head revealed a stake through his shoulder, pinning him to the fence.
Angel stood tall and tucked himself back into his pants. "That should be in your heart."
Spike gasped from the pain. "Why don't you just do it, then?"
Angel stepped back and adjusted himself. "She needs you," he said, turning toward his car.
Spike was baffled. He knew he had a slight ability to see into the people he drank from. Those with souls, anyway. Could Angel do the same thing? Did Angel see Buffy when he drank Spike's blood? How?
Angel slammed the door to his car, gunned the engine and drove away. The noise brought Spike from his thoughts and back to his new predicament and pain.
"Fine! Just leave, then! Damn cocktease!" Spike yelled after the car. "You owe me a new leather jacket!"
Spike struggled. The sky was turning pink and he had to get out of here soon or burst into flames. He reached over and tried to grasp the end of the stake, but it was in too far.
Using his body as leverage, he pushed back against the fence then pulled forward. The stake dug deeper into him, the blunt end stretching the flesh. He gasped and pulled again and again. The pain was nearly unbearable. But one look toward the lightening sky told him that he had to do this quickly, or he'd be a pile of dust.
He pulled and pulled, blood gushing out of the wound, flowing down his t-shirt and jeans. At least they were black and the stain wouldn't show.
Birds sang and chirped as the first rays of sunlight came over the curve of the earth. With one final pull and a sucking sound, Spike pulled himself free and fell forward onto the pavement. Weak from the loss of blood, he crawled forward toward his car.
Hands shaking, he fumbled with the keys, sunlight making the back of his head and hands smoke. Finally, he tumbled inside, into the back seat and under the tarp. He was shaking all over. He closed his eyes and whimpered, his whole body ached.
Quickly, he drifted off, his body anxious to recover from his wounds. He thought of something he'd barely glimpsed while sucking Angel's blood. Darla and Dru and Angel together. Spike wondered how that could be, was it something recent, or just a past memory? Before he could answer his own question, he was asleep.
THE END