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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Five Things Angel and Spike Never Did Pairing: Angel/Spike Author: Lynne Rating: PG-13 Setting: Multiple “My little Spike just killed himself a Slayer,” and as Dru speaks, Spike’s tongue presses against his bottom lip. It makes Angel want to bite it. He closes a hand around the back of Spike’s neck, leans in, and licks the Slayer’s blood from Spike’s cheek. The taste makes him groan. “Congratulations. I guess that makes you one of us.” Spike grins. “Tell you what. When the next one shows up, I’ll give you first crack at her.” Angel’s conscience stirs, but he crushes it back down. “We’ll kill her together,” he says, then leads them back to the missionaries. * Buffy struggles beneath Spike as he rears back for the bite. The school floor has just been waxed—Snyder had insisted—and she slides, heels and fists failing to save her. I’m sorry, Mommy, she thinks, hoping Joyce got away. She gasps and coughs as Spike bursts into dust above her. Angel’s hand plunges through the cloud and yanks her up against his chest. “Buffy,” he chokes. “Are you okay?” She nods shakily. “That’s the second vamp you saved me from,” she says, too lightly. “Must be love.” Angel sobs, and she can feel tears against her shoulder. “Must be.” * “No way is he babysitting my kid.” Cordelia sighs. “Spike would never hurt Connor.” “That’s what we thought about—” “Angel, that was years ago. Wesley failed, Connor’s safe, and Spike has changed. You need to start trusting him.” Angel kisses her forehead. “We’ll go to the movies tomorrow night. Promise. Tonight…” He disappears upstairs, returning with a three-year-old in one arm and Spike headlocked under the other. “Oi! Where we going?” “The zoo. Consider it a trial run.” Spike shrugs, strapping Connor into the stroller. “Hear that, little brother? Bet they got chimps there look just like your Da.” * Angel’s hands are tender against his skin. They trace every muscle, as if trying to memorize the landscape of his body. Spike lets them pull him down, wishing he’d read something at the poetry slam in honour of Angel’s hands. Something about Black Thorns and fingers moving in slow circles. “I love you,” Angel whispers, and Spike feels his chest hitch. People always tell him that when he’s about to die. But this last, grand stand was Angel’s choice, and Spike feels no need to save him. Instead he bites back a sob and says, “Show me.” And Angel does. * Angel sits on the beach, watching the waves etch their marks into the sand. Shifting and impermanent, each one replaced by the one coming after. Like him, now. He catches a whiff of cigarette smoke curling behind him and smiles. “That’ll make your teeth yellow.” Spike settles down next to him, crosses his legs, and shrugs. “Not like I use them much anymore.” Angel chuckles. “Never thought I’d be walking off into the sunset with you, of all people.” “Technically we’re sitting,” Spike says. He takes Angel’s hand in his, and together they watch the sun sink into the sea. -End Feedback |