For The Love Of A Duster
by Hannah
“Bloody wankers. I said plastic, not frikkin' tree-saving
paper...” A mumbling voice could be heard through the bushes, along with almost
inaudible footsteps. Soon a face appeared through the foliage. Slightly tall,
medium build. Pale, and bleached hair. This must be him. He was carrying a
brown paper bag that was quite obviously broken, as the man was clutching it
awkwardly from the bottom. Groceries? At 3am?
The man finally came to the door of a mausoleum and threw his weight
against the heavy stone sideways.
The figure in the bushes winced. That had to hurt. But it didn't appear to have hurt him at all. He just kept muttering about the bag and bustled inside. The door remained open as he emptied whatever he'd bought out of the faulty bag. What a depressing place to live...
But he didn't question it. He was on a mission.
Moving out of the bushes, he
stepped as softly as he could until he was on the other side of the door. He
used the sounds of the man unpacking to cover the scrape of his boots on the stone
doorstep. Peering into the dark room, he spotted the man's back. This looked
like him all right. He'd never been given a name, so he momentarily dubbed him
Clint.
Clint shed all of his clothes swiftly, except for his pants, and climbed up onto the stone coffin in the center of the room. Pulling a blanket over himself, he shut his eyes and lay there. His chest didn't even rise or fall. He just lay there, looking very dead.
The dark figure stole into the room as fast as he could, grabbed what
he'd been sent to retrieve, and ran. He couldn't hear any signs of Clint waking
up, so once outside the cemetery he slowed to a jog until he reached his car.
Revving the engine, he pulled out onto the road and headed off for the long
drive to LA.
“Spi-ike...” Xander called loudly as he strode into the vampire's dank abode, announcing his presence. “Wake up!”
Spike swore under his breath and sat up. “If it's about your girlfriend, no I 'aven't been shaggin' 'er.”
“Sadly enough, that's not why I'm here. More blood laying around in Giles' fridge that he found. And since apparently I'm the official consort for dealing with the unevil undead, I brought it over,” Xander said, very obviously bored and very obviously wanting to be elsewhere.
Spike fell off the bed and looked the kid in the eyes. “I know you don't
like me. But just because your friends treat you like the burden you are,
doesn't mean you 'ave to treat me like yours.” He narrowed his eyes and turned
sharply back to the floor where his clothes lay.
Xander fell silent for a moment. “They do not- yah, okay, maybe they
do...but I'm allowed to not like you!”
“What can I possibly do to you?” Spike said slowly, throwing his arms in the air. “I'm a useless lump! I'm nothing! I'm not even remotely evil and don't forget the fact that every demon in Sunnyhell wants to off me right now.” He growled, his eyes averted.
“Spike, I am never going to feel sympathy for a killer, so just don't even try, okay?” Xander said, burying the fact that he had actually felt pretty bad a minute ago. After a few moments of silence and Spike putting his shirt on, Xander put the bags of blood on the table. “Well there's your blood.”
Spike looked at it for a moment. “Great.” He turned back to the floor
and picked up his black button-up shirt. Pulling it on, he looked back to the
floor…and nearly spontaneously combusted (which is quite a common thing for
frustrated vampires, you know). “Where the fuck is my jacket?”
“Huh?” Xander raised an eyebrow.
Spike whirled around at him. “My jacket! If you took my jacket, you git, I'll-”
“I didn't touch your jacket,” Xander said, as if the thought disgusted him. Which it didn't. He'd always imagined fighting crime in a jacket like Spike's.
“Someone musta stolen it,” the vampire muttered, pacing around the room in search of his beloved duster. “Who the 'ell steals a jacket?!?”
“Calm down! It's just a chunk of worn-out leather,” Xander said. “Buy a new one.”
Spike turned to look him in the eye, inches away from his face, his gaze
smoldering. “Do you have any idea where that duster's been?”
Xander opened his mouth to supply comic relief, but Spike stepped dangerously
close, silencing him. “Do you have any idea who I've killed in
it? Shagged in it? Drained in it?” He accentuated each point with a poke on the
boy's chest.
Xander backed away. “Okaaaay, I really should be going.” He turned and
hurried out the door. Spike stood fuming in the center of the room for a few
seconds until Xander returned. “Hey this was lying on the ground. Might want
it.” He tossed a wad of paper at the vampire and left.
Spike uncrumpled a bit of the paper and read it out loud. “If you want
it back, you've got to drop by.” He frowned at the paper and smoothed it out
completely. A little card fell out. “Angel Investigations,” he read. He looked
out the door at the twilight. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and,
remembering his smokes were in his jacket, some money to buy more.
Just as he went out the door, he took another look at the card. “Is that
a plane?” He mused out loud upon examining the nonsensical drawing. He shook
his head and walked out into the dusk.
He was going to pay his sire a visit.
“Are ya gonna remind me again why we're keepin' 'is jacket?”
Angel looked up at Doyle, who was standing over his desk. “I told you. Sentimental value. He can't live without it. It's what we need to get him here for the spell. I hired someone from Sunnydale to get it, so if Spike caught him, the guy wouldn't have any way of knowing it's for me. All I told him was where to drop it off and what Spike looked like.”
“And I still don't see why we're doing this spell, anyhow.” Doyle
continued, pacing around the room. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his
snug brown-checkered bell-bottoms. “What about all that ‘'e lives 'is life, I
live mine' stuff you keep sayin'?”
Angel held back a sigh. “I heard he's having trouble in Sunnydale,
unable to kill humans but able to kill demons. I know what it's like when
you're on the slayer's side.” Doyle saw the faraway Buffy-look in his eyes and
sat down, ready for another onrush of slayer memories. “Everyone against you.
You're previous reputation will hold you up there for a limited amount of time,
but eventually you're a reject. Not welcome amongst your own kind. The thing
is, I don't mind it. It's penance for all the wrongs I did. But Spike...he
needs to be the baddest bad around and if he isn't, there's not much keeping
him from staking himself,” Angel concluded, looking over at the Irishman. “I'm
worried about him. It's my duty.”
“Speakin' of which, I'd like ta know what all this stuff is between you
and 'im, coz if I'm gonna meet the guy I'd like to…” He was cut off by a loud
slam.
“Where. Is. My. Fuckin'. Jacket.”
Angel and Doyle turned to the door where a rather disheveled-looking Spike stood, bottle of whiskey in one hand and pack of cigarettes in the other.
Doyle looked over at his employer, fear etched on his face. Angel,
however, looked like he was trying to suppress a smile. “Spike, how good to see
you.”
“I asked you where my-”
“It's here.”
Spike closed the door behind him and walked into the office. “Well why did you take it? And give it 'ere!” He held a hand out expectantly.
Doyle stood up and took it in his own, shaking it warmly. “I'm Doyle.”
Spike tore his fiery glare from his sire to the man in front of him. He
looked him up and down. “Did we just do the time warp? Cuz if we did, I'd like
to go 'ome and get my Rocky Horror costume, mate...” He grinned broadly and
stepped back in order to fully examine the half-demon's attire.
Doyle looked nervously at Angel. To his relief, the vampire stepped in
between him and the peroxide blond. “Look, Spike. Doyle's clothing aside, I
need to talk to you. That is, if you still want your duster back.” He raised
his eyebrows almost teasingly.
Spike scrunched his nose up childishly. “Course I do. Talk if you 'ave
to.”
“Okay then. Come downstairs.” Angel led the way to the elevator and as
his head descended below the floor, he caught a grin on Doyle's face before he
disappeared above him.
He stepped out and made his way to the kitchen. Busying himself with
preparing blood, he didn't notice Spike wandering around his room. “So when did
the great poof discover his love for interior designing?” The vampire called
from somewhere to his left.
“I just like to make it a habitable environment for visitors.” Angel
said in his regular way, ignoring the minor insult and annoying name he had
been called.
Spike wandered into Angel's bedroom. He'd really gone all out. Sheets,
pillows, lamp, side table, even a cabinet. What on earth did he need a cabinet
for? Opening the top drawer, Spike saw about five folded silk shirts and
sighed. He needed the cabinet for clothes. How sad...
Angel appeared in the doorway. “Find something interesting?”
Spike turned to look at his sire. “No, course not. You never keep anything interesting in your cabinets anymore. They're a bloody bore if you ask me.”
Angel handed him a mug of warm blood. Taking a sip of his own, he sat on one side of his bed. “I wasn't joking when I said I needed to talk to you.”
“Shoot then, oh great poof of little words...”
Angel rolled his eyes and then
turned them to focus on his childe's, a tactic he knew made him shut up, or at
least grow uneasy. Spike tried to show him up by looking him in the eye back,
but it didn't affect the older vampire in the slightest. “I've heard lately
from various...sources...that you not being able to bite isn't the only thing
hindering you right now.”
“Who told you that-”
Angel ignored him and continued in his steady voice. “I hear that you're able to hurt demons and have been aiding Buffy and her friends. I know you don't set out to kill demons every night, but you have to admit you're killing more than you used to right now.”
Spike fumed at him before realizing it had no adverse affect, and
instead looked to the floor. “Yah. So?”
“Well we both know demons don't like being killed by their own kind, and I even hear that a few of them attacked you at Willy's not too long ago. I know what it's like to be rejected by your own kind. And although I'm alright with it, I know you can't live much longer like this...”
“I can 'old my own.” Spike said defensively, although he was still staring at his boots.
“I know. And that's why I want to help you become a real vampire again.”
For once Spike lifted his gaze from his boots and looked into his sire's eyes, the contempt so often burning in his own blue ones momentarily gone. “Really?”
Angel nodded. “Yes. It's a spell.”
Spike seemed to regain his cocky composure and leaned back on the bed. Grinning good-naturedly he raised a hand in the air. “What does it do?”
Angel had to resist chuckling at this classic display of his childe's
behavior. “Well it involves a bit of a spell, but mostly... I have to help. The
spell will momentarily make you human, and then you'll be made a vampire again.
Now to conserve all the skill and strength you've learnt, we couldn't have you
come back as a fledgling, so we've dug through some books to find a humanizing
spell that will sort of make you a super human - with all the vampiric aspects,
except bodily organs and so on.”
Spike blinked. “That actually makes sense.”
“Well that's the general idea. So what do you think?” Angel asked tentatively.
“Fine with me, as long as I don't get 'urt.” Spike sat up. “So who's gonna turn me?”
“Normally vampires don't hire themselves out to turn people, so I became the first choice,” Angel said, shrugging ever so slightly.
Spike raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You gonna turn me again then, pet? Love to see 'ow it turns out compared to last time.”
Angel remembered what he was referring to. The blood, the gore, the
sex...it had been one hell of a night. “I guess we'll just have to wait until
the time comes, then,” he said, getting another grin from Spike.
“When is that time, anyway?” Spike asked
Angel smiled the biggest he had for a while. “In about five hours.”
“Doyle?” Angel called from the bedroom.
“I'm comin', man!” the Irishman called from upstairs.
“Speakin' of which, the headachy kid gotten lucky lately?” Spike asked from the couch in the living room.
Angel sighed. “I think that's his business. But he has his sights set on Cordelia.”
“That I do.” Doyle grinned from the elevator. Angel felt horribly embarrassed, but Spike didn't of course.
“Sorry for bein' so crazy earlier on, mate. We good?” The blond vampire hadn't stopped grinning since he heard he was going to be able to bite again
“Yah sure, 'mate'.” Doyle said, trying to imitate Spike.
“Were you mockin' me?” he retorted in a joking fashion.
“Maybe I was.”
“Please! Stop!” Angel called from the bedroom, not knowing they both had huge grins on their faces. He simply thought his childe had made himself another enemy.
“Sorry, Angel.” They both chorused and started laughing.
The older vampire strode into the room. “Now calm down both of you, we need to start.”
“Oh right...” Doyle said hurriedly, getting up off the couch and running to the kitchen to retrieve his supplies.
Angel sat Spike down on the floor, cross-legged. He traced a circle of herbs around him and soon Doyle emerged with a mortar and pestle and a giant bundle of cinnamon sticks.
“You're not gonna take me out of the oven when I'm golden brown, are you?” Spike asked.
“Shh.” Angel quieted him and opened a big book. “Doyle...”
The Irishman sat down next to him and laid the cinnamon sticks out. “Go ahead. I'm ready.”
“Spike?” Angel asked him.
The peroxide blond smiled and
looked at his sire, his thanks evident in his eyes. “I'm always ready to become
evil again, pet.”
“Okay then, let's go.” Angel took an unneeded breath and stood up. He first recited a few words in Latin, followed by some sprinkling of herbs and walking a full circle around Spike. Doyle, meanwhile, had ground the cinnamon and blew it from his hand onto Spike from every angle possible until it was all gone.
Spike watched it all with amusement until slowly he felt a tiredness growing inside him and a sense of eerie calm. He closed his eyes and for the first time in over a century felt himself growing warmer. But then suddenly he felt a huge stabbing pain in his chest and he cried out in agony, falling to the floor. Slowly the pain subsided and he opened his eyes.
He saw Angel and Doyle were finished, but he was barely focused, because there was suddenly a very big difference. He had a heartbeat. Placing a hand over his chest, he felt the faint pumping of his own dead, lifeless heart, in use once again. Looking up slowly, he saw his sire and he rose quickly.
“I'm 'uman.” He said incredulously, sticking his hand out in front of him and seeing pinkish skin instead of pale white. “I'm fucking 'uman.” He whispered again.
“You are,” Angel agreed. It brought back so many memories of when he
first saw him in that alley one night. His smell, his rosy cheeks...
“I am,” Spike repeated, not removing his eyes from his sire. This was
beyond comprehension. He felt so vulnerable, so breakable, and so damn hot!
He was used to being a cold corpse and now he felt like he was on fire. The
thought of Angel's large, cool body pressed against his own made blood rush to
his cock and he realized he was practically burning down there.
Being a human was horrible!
Angel could smell his childe's arousal and all that filled his brain was
the feel of the hot body, sweating and writhing under his own...
Spike was completely lost from the outside world and took a step towards
his sire, focused on his deep brown eyes.
“Uh, fellas?” Doyle asked. Neither responded. “Angel, are you gonna turn
'im now?” Still no answer. Suddenly seeing the obvious bulge in Spike's pants,
he backed off at a rapid pace. “Okay, I think I'll just leave you two to...”
Doyle never finished his sentence because he bolted upstairs as fast as he
could.
“Angelus,” Spike said in a low voice, still stalking closer to him.
“William,” Angel replied in an equally pleasure-laden voice. When the
human was close enough, he grasped his shoulders tightly and before he had time
to think, he bore down on Spike's warm mouth, groaning as the human's tongue
slid along his own.
Spike's hands were at the perfect level to grasp Angel's ass and as he
did so, he pulled hard and both their straining cocks came into contact with
each other. They moaned in unison and Spike ground his hips against Angel's as
hard as he could. He slid his hands under the silk shirt frantically, and ran
them over the large, cool expanse of skin in front of him. Finding his nipples,
he teased them until Angel pulled back to remove his shirt. He took Spike's off
in the process and as they moved to the bedroom, Angel smiled. Just the same as
the first time. Except now Spike knew a little bit more about male anatomy than
he did the first time around.
Which was most certainly a good thing.
“Off,” Angel growled, pawing at Spike's jeans. The mortal slid them off
speedily, his cock freed at last. The vampire grinned again and bent down to
give it a lick. Spike swore loudly and arched his hips off the bed into the
waiting mouth. So cold...so fucking cold...
Angel suddenly pulled back to remove his own pants and to grab some
lube. “Turn over,” He demanded, unscrewing the lid to the tube. Coating a
generous amount on his cock, he slid a finger inside Spike. Then two. He
started thrusting with the fingers until Spike was humping the mattress madly,
pushing back into the digits as he moved. Angel removed his fingers, but didn't
leave Spike alone for too long. Soon his arms were on either side of Spike's,
and his head hung over the human’s.
His cock was just barely in him, and he slowly licked Spike's warm neck.
“You want me in you?”
“Yes.” Spike's answer was quick enough to show it was more than want, it
was something akin to need.
“You want me to turn you?” Angel asked, still licking his neck.
“Yes.”
Without a reply, Angel suddenly thrust inside him. They both gasped and
Angel started to move. As he steadily built himself up, he busied his right
hand with Spike's arousal, making the mortal moan and thrust backwards into the
vampire.
As Angel's orgasm grew, he shifted into his vampire guise and pressed
his ridges into Spike's back. Finally reaching the pinnacle of his pleasure, he
thrust once more and as he came, shuddering, Spike did as well beneath him. The
vampire's fangs tore into his neck and he -literally- sucked the life out of
his body. Spike moaned in pleasure and pain, pressing back into Angel.
Finally Spike was too weak to hold them up any more and he collapsed on
his stomach, Angel slowly removing himself from his neck. Slicing his wrist
quickly, he held it in front of Spike's mouth.
Spike eagerly drank until he eventually passed out from the lack of
blood. Angel shifted back into his human guise and pulled himself off the limp
body.
Smiling fondly at his childe, he pulled the covers over his body and
slowly retrieved his own clothes. He put them back on, but stayed by Spike's
side until he, too, drifted off - although his slumber wouldn't
reveal any change when broken.
Spike sat up quickly, looking to his left to see Angel asleep in the chair. He smiled and reached a hand to his own face. Cold. He was cold again. Shaking his head vigorously, he shifted into his vampiric form and grinned as his hunger for blood rose once more.
Hopping out of bed, he replaced his clothes quickly and strode into the
kitchen. He opened the fridge and was about to grab a bag of blood when he
remembered why they'd done this entire thing. So he could get his own blood,
his own way.
Spike was about to escape through the back door and find the nearest human when the memories of the whole ordeal flooded back to him. Everything Angel had done for him. A part of Spike wanted to just grin and go anyway, but for once he let the other side win, the side that wanted to return to the bedroom.
“Angel,” he whispered.
The vampire woke up quickly and stood just as fast upon seeing his childe. “Spike! You're...are you...okay?”
“Top notch,” he responded.
Angel smiled. “Good. So I guess that...um...” He looked awkward.
“Thanks.” Spike placed a hand on one cheek and kissed him lightly.
Drawing back, he broke into his vampire form again, and flashed a toothy grin.
“I've gotta go check something, though...”
“Go on.” Angel waved him off and watched him race off to the stairs. He
sighed and sat down on the bed. Either he'd done a very stupid thing, or a very
smart thing.
Four hours later, Spike returned. Angel had been talking to Doyle for the past while, trying to explain the whole sire/childe thing the Irishman had asked about when daring to return to Angel's living quarters.
“Hi, Spike,” Angel said from the kitchen table.
“Well?” Doyle asked, looking at him.
Spike grinned. “It worked.”
“That's good,” Angel said, but stayed seated.
“Why the sudden brood?” Spike asked jovially, sitting down at the table with them.
“I don't think he's completely okay with the whole he-turned-you-into-a-killer-again thing...” Doyle observed.
Angel nodded silently. “I know it was the best thing for you, Spike. But the rest of the human population, I'm not too sure about.”
Spike sat back in his chair. “Look.” He seemed to take a moment to think. “I can bite 'umans again, but I'm not gonna kill 'em.”
“What?” Doyle and Angel said simultaneously.
Spike grinned. He thrived on surprising people. “It's just that workin' with the slayer and her friends, I've realized that maybe keepin' 'umans around for a bit ain't so bad after all.”
Angel smiled. “That's really mature of you Spike.”
“Oh sod off,” the vampire muttered, embarrassed. “I should 'ead 'ome anyway.” He got out of his chair and retrieved his duster from his bedroom.
He returned to the kitchen, silent. He just kind of glanced at Angel every so often as he tried to appear busy with checking the jacket was okay.
Angel got the hint and stood up. Without saying a word, he pulled his childe up against him and wrapped his arms around his back. Spike held on for a few minutes, allowing himself to indulge in the pleasure of his sire's embrace, until he pulled back. “Such a poof,” he murmured, but his sappy smile wouldn't go away.
“Nice meetin' ya,” Doyle said kindly, smiling.
“Likewise,” Spike said. “And if Angel 'ere is ever in need of some action, be sure to take care of 'im for me, will ya?”
The look on Doyle's face was priceless, as it wasn't a look of terror: it was a grin and a spreading blush. Angel shook his head and gave his childe a small wave.
Just before getting out the door, however, Spike stopped and turned around. “Been wonderin' this for a while, now...why'd you take my jacket?”
Angel smiled. “Because I know you love it as much as you love me.” His voice was teasing, but Spike knew he wasn't kidding and he knew he wasn't lying either.
“Always, you tosser. Always.” And with that Spike was gone.
THE END