and I just had to mix it with el_gilliath's prompt about bloodplay. Because she asked.
Title: All the Bells and Whistles
Characters: Spike/Angel, past mentions of Spike/Buffy, Spike/Dru, Spike/Harmony
Word Count: 2,024
Summary: A look at Spike's relationships, past and present. Set season five of Angel minor spoilers for that, but mostly it's just PWP
Author's Notes: Yes, I have written something and it may just be porn, but porn serves it's purpose.
He’s good at this.
He thinks he should be. He’s had a century or so to perfect the art and though it’s nothing like killing someone, nothing like biting into someone’s neck and drinking them deep and hard, sinking your fangs deeper until you hear that last shuddery gasp of breath, it’s pretty up there on Spike’s list of favorite things.
Sex, hard and rough and just the good side of desperate and blood is the only thing that can compare when it comes to sex in Spike’s mind.
Sex with a little blood… even better.
He’d spent decades with Dru; he knows all the ways sex and pain can be good. Remembers the way she used to enthrall him, dark hair framing her face and just as he’s about to come, she’d sink her fangs in, drink and push on the back of his head until he’s drinking too.
He remembers the way they used to play with their victims. She’d been good at it, luring in some poor unsuspecting sod with her smile and keeping him enthralled with her eyes. It’d never been something Spike head enjoyed though. Sex with his food never really appealed to him when he had someone as beautiful and indulging as Dru had been.
But then Dru had been gone and Spike had been left alone.
He likes to think of Harmony as a fit of insanity… several times over. She’d been an easy lay, pretty blonde hair and luscious body, but neither were quite enough to overlook the fact that she shot her mouth off way too much.
But it’d been convenient and Spike still doesn’t like playing with his food that way.
Then there’d been Buffy.
Beautiful Buffy with her long flowing blonde hair and an appetite for sex to rival his own. He hadn’t had to be easy with her. She’d wrap those deceptively strong legs around his waist and make him fuck her, make him thrust wildly until they were both coming so hard their vision went white and their bodies gave out.
Sometimes he’d bite at her neck, dull human teeth and she’d tell him not to leave any marks that would show. He’d growl and mouth at her neck some more. He’s a vampire. Blood with sex should have been a given, but at the time it’s not like he could have bitten her even if he’d wanted to.
But he hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted to be delicate with her. He’d wanted to take time with her, explore her body, but she’d wanted it fast and hard and now, anything to get rid of the noise going on in her head. And he’d given it to her.
And now he doesn’t even have that.
Instead he has this.
Strong steady arms holding him up and pressing him back, back into the hard wall that’s almost holding him up, but not quite. His legs wrapped around someone else’s waist, someone else pounding into him, making him beg for it, make him want it more and harder.
There’s no thinking about anyone else when he’s like this. No imagining that he’s with Buffy.
Sometimes he wonders if Angel imagines he’s with Buffy. It’s the days that Angel doesn’t wait for much. Just bends him over that expensive wood desk and rips his clothes off.
It’s gentle because everything with Angel seems to be gentle, even when he’s trying to be rough. Even when he’s on edge. There’s always the waiting, the lube that seems to pop up from nowhere and the fingers pushing deep inside of him, stretching him until he’s loose enough for Angel to push in.
It’s those days when his face is smashed against a desk or the specially tinted windows or the couch and Angel’s growling at him to be quiet that Spike thinks he might be thinking of someone else, might be thinking about Buffy.
There’s no blood during those times.
But there are other times, times like this time when Angel’s still frazzled from the day and the company and his people and he needs it more than he wants it.
It’s always face to face on those days, but hard and demanding. Clashes of lips in hard bruising kisses and still more lube than is absolutely necessary, but there’s also a big, bulky body pining him down.
Angel’s strong, stronger than most of their encounters would lead anyone to believe, but Spike’s always known. They’ve done this before, back when Angel was Angelus and he’d been just little fledgling Willie.
Angelus always knew how to make it hurt more than feel good, but Spike remembers always going back for more. Remembers not being able to stop himself from wanting more because it’d been like it was in his blood at that point. The need swimming through his veins like a fire and Angelus had always liked to mock him for it.
And at those points, Spike just wouldn’t care.
This is different though. Angel’s different in all the ways that count and similar in all the ways that matter. Still knows how to fuck like a champion and how to make Spike feel small and it just not matter.
This time it’s against the elevator because they’d been trying to make their way up to Angel’s penthouse. It’d been a lost cause from the start; they never make it up that far on a good day.
Spike hadn’t been too keen on the idea of being smashed against the cold concrete, but he’d been too hard to care. He hadn’t expected Angel to turn him around, to use that vampire strength and rearrange him like he’s some sort of doll, but it just hadn’t mattered because his pants are gone and Angel’s still clothed and as gorgeous as ever and he wants to fuck Spike, needs to fuck Spike.
And who is Spike to turn down sex.
Especially when he knows it’s going to lead to blood, Angel’s blood on his tongue and in his mouth. He can tell just by the way Angel’s arms hold his leg, sturdy and wrapped around Angel’s waist and the way his body pins him to the wall.
He can tell just by the way Angel just thrusts into him, no warning, not that Spike ever needs one, and the way Angel thrusts and tilts his hips and moves Spike. He can tell just by the shuddery way Angel breathes and the way Angel’s eyes are open and staring straight into his face.
He can tell by the frantic pace and the way Angel moves and just by all of it.
Nothing matters but this. Alarms could be going off, intruders could be invading and they’d still be lost in this. They never say anything, but that doesn’t matter either.
If Spike were inclined to believe in such things, he’d think this was where it was supposed to be. He’s not blind to it. The last two members of a dying breed and they’re both fighting for the good side. No one would get them but each other and it’s almost fitting that they bicker and bitch and fight and rant, but there’s always this. Always that weird something between them that keeps them coming back for more.
Spike had thought it would end with the little werewolf, but here they are, Angel pining him against a wall as he just fucks like there’s nothing else left in the world to do and Spike holds onto Angel’s shoulders because that’s all he can do.
And when he mouths at Angel’s neck, tongue lapping at the skin and he’s not even aware he’s whimpering for it until Angel’s telling him to do it, just god please do it and Spike’s sinking his fangs in deep and taking in all that blood, sweet even if it’s not human because it’s Angel’s.
He’s aware of the moment Angel comes, hoarse shout and that feeling of cum inside him. He’s not sure how long they stay there for, Angel taking in harsh breaths and Spike doesn’t even notice when he pulls away from Angel’s neck, but he does.
It’s delicate after that, back to gentle Angel who pulls out carefully and makes sure Spike gets to his feet okay.
It’s hard again when Angel frowns, realizes Spike hasn’t come and his dick’s still hard and the hand on him is hard, but the lips on his face and neck are just this side of too gentle, but Spike doesn’t care.
Angel’s hands are big and strong and he knows just how to stroke, how to pull to push Spike over the edge and then he nips at Spike’s neck, just a hint of fang, but it’s enough to make Spike bleed and Spike’s coming all over Angel’s hand.
This is the part that he doesn’t like so much. The part where they both shuffle off to their respective beds and sleep and went until the morning where they get up, almost like people for Christ’s sake, and save the world all over again before coming back here.
Angel’s hand is still on his arm and this time it’s different but Spike doesn’t know why.
“Stay.” Angel says, so quiet that if Spike hadn’t have vampire hearing, it’s very doubtful he would have heard.
Spike frowns, gives Angel a puzzling look and he shouldn’t be getting this close, not with the suspicions so heavy in the air and the rest of the team thinks Spike’s on their side, but there’s never really any clear cut sides when Angel’s involved.
“Why? So’s we can make love in that big shiny bed of yours. You can sing some pretty songs and I can read you some god awful poetry that waxes lyrical about your dick.”
Angel frowns, but his hand doesn’t move and Spike’s seeing Angel. The same Angel he’s spent so many years annoying and not some cool, collected businessman that’s been the cloak Angel’s been dressing himself in.
It’s little, nothing full blown yet, but it’s just a matter of time before the team really starts questioning Angel’s loyalty and not just making assumptions about it.
“I just… I want you to stay. Is that so hard to fathom?”
If Spike were more in touch with people or vampires in this case, he’d know the signs of reaching out.
He sees them now and he doesn’t know what to offer Angel other than a not so warm body for the night, which seems to be all Angel wants.
“Considering it’s us?”
“It’s always been us Spike. That hasn’t stopped you before.”
Spike purses his lips and he’s feeling a bit dizzy from the sex and the blood and he remembers a time when he could go five rounds and not break a sweat.
He blames the soul just on principal.
“No, I guess you’re right about that one.”
“So… you’re staying?”
If this were Angelus, he’d think it was some kind of game. Angelus had liked to play them often enough that Spike had always been more than a little skittish when it came to him giving into something.
But this is Angel and everything is just a little too desperate and soulful for it to be anything but a genuine question.
Spike wants to think about it. Think about what it means because there’s something going on with Angel, he can tell, but he’s pulling the cloak and dagger routine that Spike hates.
“Yeah, why not?”
Angel smiles, small and almost unseen and it creeps Spike out, but at the same time makes him feel something. Something he really doesn’t want to think about. Something that means just a bit too much considering the people involved.
He doesn’t know what’s going on and he should probably stop Angel from pulling him into the elevator. Ask him what’s going on, demand it. Maybe it’ll come to blows and fucking in the elevator. Maybe they’ll actually make it to the penthouse, to Angel’s bed.
But if he doesn’t say anything, he knows they will.
He figures he can think about it in the morning.