Length: ficlet/758 words
Spoilers: set AtS s5, no specific spoilers
Warnings: m/m slash, attempt at humour
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss, ME and such; all for fun, not for profit.
A/N: Thanks to netweight for the look-over. Not done with the beta though so any mistakes are mine. This is part of my epic that I may never post, but it works as a stand-alone.
Spike sat at the bar nursing a pint at some demon dive down off the Strip. And lord, it was karaoke night of all things. Thought he’d go deaf if he had to listen to another Ixnar butcher “My Immortal”. Crap, all of it. But the drinks were cheap.
Besides, not exactly walking distance from a certain law firm. Could drink in peace. Nice, yeah?
“Hey,” Angel said, sitting next to him.
“Slumming, Angel? Come down from your mighty tower to see how the lower half lives?” Spike rapped the bar to get the tab.
“You don’t exactly drink at the Ritz, Spike. Why start there?” He motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a Jameson’s, straight up. Pour him one while you’re at it.”
“You buying, Angel? That’s right generous of you.” Spike finished his beer. He hadn’t looked the bugger in the eye yet. Looked at the bottles lining the bar instead.
“Fred’s been asking about you.” Spike had made himself scarce for three days. So yeah, the bird might have asked. Could be true.
“I’ll be sure to stop round to see her then,” Spike said to a particularly well-lit bottle of Louis Treize.
Behind them a Qu’at’lix roared out “Danny Boy.”
“Nice place, Spike. Pick it for the atmosphere?” Angel said to his shotglass before he downed it.
“Has its charms.” Liked the bobblehead collection in particular.
Angel played with the rim of the shotglass. “Okay, this is going to go one of two ways. Either I drag your ass to the car... brought the Bentley, roomy, but still a little cramped in the backseat... or we could just go in the back. I’m not gonna wait until we get home.” He paused, looked at Spike for the first time. “And if you run, I’ll still do it.”
“Tiger or the lady, is it? Alright then, I pick the lady.”
“No cigar, Spike. Guess again.”
Spike downed his shot, “Back works for me.”
Angel motioned for the bartender again, put two one-hundred dollar bills on the bar. “Is the back open?”
“Keep it in your pants, vampire. Not that kind of place.” Heavy set fellow, had some brass. Spike took a shine to him right there.
Angel looked him cooly in the eye. “The name’s not vampire, it’s Angelus.” And with that he took one of those hundreds and put it back in his wallet. “I’ll ask again. Is the back open?”
Oh, listen to the old man with the name-dropping. Spike had to roll his eyes at that one.
“Fuck me,” the bartender whispered. But being a serious proprietor, he took that hundred and said, “Looks like you boys have a room.”
Grabbing a baseball bat, he came around the counter and indicated that they should follow him down a narrow corridor past the loo. The barman opened a door that led to the inevitable poker game. Serious stakes, by the look of it. Spike counted five Russian Blues alone. “Sorry guys, we’ve booked a private party. Finish the hand and get out.” He raised his bat to put the exclamation point on his statement.
After all the kittens were stowed in baskets and the demons cleared out, the barman said, “Alright boys, you’ve got twenty minutes.”
“Forty,” Angel said with just a hint of fang.
The bartender nodded and left. Sad little room by the look of it. Spike thought maybe he should have picked the Bentley. “You heard the man, Spike. Clock’s ticking.” And Angel started to undo his belt.
“Believe I know the drill.” He pushed down his jeans and bent over the table.
Angel jabbed three fingers in at once. Kindly used a bit of lube. Spike refused to wince.
“You know, Spike, I don’t have time for this crap. I’ve got a business to run.” He replaced his fingers with his cock. “I can’t be dragging your ass out of every sorry little demon bar you decide to crawl into.”
Spike gripped the table that much harder. “Why don’t you just leave off then?”
Angel slowed. His hand slid under Spike’s shirt, stroked his back. “You know...you know I can’t.” And with that he wrapped one arm underneath Spike’s chest and pulled him up. He mouthed his neck, his ear. “Fuck you, you know I can’t.”
What had started as hard and punishing turned into something else entirely. Couldn’t say what exactly since there were no more words. Just the rhythm of the two of them, familiar--as familiar as a breath, as a heartbeat, used to be.