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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: God Bless You All Author: Serasempre Pairing: Spike/Angel Rating: NC 17 Setting: Post-NFA So God bless you all For the song you saved us For the hearts you break, every time you moan I get all numb We're the same numb And it brings our knees to the earth. He first noticed the chains on his wrist. No. That was later, after the moan. He’d heard moaning. That was the first thing he heard. He smelled blood. Blood was the beginning. He smelled blood before he knew he was alive, or there were things to be done, there was nothing to be done, the voice inside his head wouldn’t go away, or that there were voices, or chains on his wrists. There were chains on his wrists, and his ankles, and his waist, and one around his neck. He was chained, and he was hungry, and he smelled blood. Angel opened his eyes to nothing. A sharp sound, cotton on concrete, brought his woozy attention to the left, just over his shoulder. A shape, a sleeve, a man curled himself tighter around his paper-bag covered bottle and whimpered in the dark. “Please don’t hurt me again,” he said. “God bless. I’m numb. Don’t hurt me again. God bless.” There was something to Angel’s right. A television, early morning news? No, infomercial. Selling Popeil’s latest contraption to stupid, fat, bloody humans with more blood, more money, more money than sense. He couldn’t see it well at that angle. The flicker of the screen made the beams between him and it shimmer around the edges. He could still smell blood, living and dead. He looked down. His wrists were a mess, as were his ankles. He was sitting in a chair, his chin hooked over the back, looking down at his wrists, scabbed, torn, ripped by the chains. He could tell by the feel that his ankles were the same, that there was chain around his waist, holding him, too heavy, keeping him from breathing. If he could be free for a minute, just a minute, he could breathe, and think. Except he didn't need to breathe. But he did need to think. A cheerful, familiar, irritating voice sang out. “Oh, sod off ya wanker. Think I don’t know it costs you 5.99 to make? I’m not buying.” “Spike?” A shuffle, rustle, the smell, the peculiar smell of William, dead, but flushed with rosy health. Angel’s neck snicked into place when he looked up, strained against the chain. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Spike?” “Yeah, yeah. It’s me. Didn’t expect me. Can’t remember.” Spike squatted and began to remove the chains from Angel’s wrist. He looked up and smiled, a little lopsided, all Spike. “Don’t remember, do ya?” “Remember what?” Spike sighed and recited in a sing-song voice. “Today is July 21st.” Everything went black. “Fight in the alley, everything going BOOM!” Spike demonstrated with a wide wave of his hands that threatened to tip Angel off the chair. “Sorry, mate.” Spike bent back to the chains. “I remember the fight. There were so many of them. I killed a dragon.” Angel looked up at Spike again. “I did that, didn’t I? Killed a dragon?” “Oh yeah, you killed him all right. Great bloody buggerin’ thing fell down and smashed three buildings. We weren’t fightin’ in an alley then, by God.” “What day is it?” “Tuesday.” Angel sighed. He’d forgotten, in the joy of seeing a familiar face, how difficult Spike could be. He cocked an eyebrow as he sat up and chafed his wrists. “The date?” “August 14th.” “I’ve been out for 3 months?” Angel blinked. “That can’t be. I’d be dead, or close enough, crazy, anyway.” “Who says you’re not?” Spike, surly, came to his feet in one smooth move; stepped back and hung the chains on a nail. “More fit for Bedlam than Dru ever was, ask me.” “I look like… like shit… and I’m starving, but I haven’t gone hungry for 4 months.” “Ponce.” Spike pointed to the drunk in the corner. “There you go, a little wine with your meal. It’ll do you good.” Angel stood and lunged to rip Spike’s head off in a move that was once smooth, shocked and angry that Spike would offer him human blood. He never made it. Everything went black. Angel swam up out of blackness. On the floor this time, the chains back around his wrists, and ankles, and waist. “Spike? SPIKE!” “Angel. Ya big git. Today is September 11th. Got that?” Angel lunged for Spike but was pulled up short by the chains. He collapsed back on the concrete, writhing in pain. Spike poked his ankle with the toe of one boot. “Got that out of your system, have you? Always got to go for me. Every damned time.” “Start talking.” Angel, even chained to a dank cement floor sounded menacing, perhaps even more than when he chatted up the help on the top floor of Wolfram and Hart. Spike bent down and began undoing the chains. “You haven’t been out of it the whole 4 months. Every once in awhile you wake up, demand blood, fight me, drink it, we shag, you pass out. Then it happens all over again.” “We… shag?” Spike looked away, face to the TV. “Wasn’t goin’ to tell you that. Just slipped out.” Angel pulled himself into a rickety chair and they sat in silence for a moment, the drone of happy people selling nonsense both strange and familiar, a nauseating sound. “What do you mean we… “ Angel waved his hand toward the bed beside him. “There? We? You and I? I mean… us?” Spike shot Angel a look, tightening his jaw, and then glanced away, flipped a cigarette out of his pocket and made a show of lighting it. “It’s not like we haven’t before. You remember…. “Yeah.” Angel could barely hear his own voice. If he’d been less dehydrated, his palms would have sweat. “You bring my knees to the earth,” he whispered. “When Dru and Darla said we wouldn’t.” “I remember.” "In… Greece, was it? They were watching. There was a bet.” “I said, I remember!” “Oh. Right.” Spike shook himself, recalled he felt put upon and frowned. “Anyway, wasn’t the last time.” “Angelus was the last time.” “Oh, like I’m not really Spike now, got a soul an’ all?” He snorted. “Right. Give me a break.” “I don’t… do that.” “Yeah. You do.” “Why are we here, Spike? Are we hiding from Wolfram & Hart? Are we the only ones left?” “Yeah, you might say that. The only ones left. Just you and me, just like old times, only without Dru and Darla.” “Which is what the only ones left means.” Angel said it slowly, harsh, knowing he was pissing Spike off, but helpless to stop. He felt so angry, it was filling him fuller than air. If Spike touched him his skin would split and poison would spill out. Spike surprised him. “Angel, I hate this part.” “What part?” Angel reached out, the anger dissipating in surprise. He surprised himself by giving Spike a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Just...tell me.” “Okay, but don’t interrupt, all right? I hate it when you interrupt, and you always try to hit me.” Angel tried to get past the noise in his head to get the point, “Right. I won’t hit you.” “Or interrupt.” “Or interrupt.” “We’re living in a basement because you keep going crazy. I tried to find us better digs, but you… you’re not quite right.” “There’s a song in my head.” “Damn it, Angel. You promised.” Spike threw his cigarette on the floor in disgust. “No interruptions!” Angel watched the cigarette sizzle and die then looked up, his eyes lost, wounded innocence in his strangely old face. “I know. I did, but I keep hearing this, and it won’t go away.” He began to sing, softly, “So God bless you all / For the song you saved us...oh.../For the hearts you break, everytime you moan...” “Deftones.” “Deftones?” Angel frowned. “Do I listen to the Deftones?” “Yeah. You must. You’ve been singin’ that damned song for the last 4 months.” “I listen to the Deftones.” Angel filed that away. “I’m sorry. I’m listening now.” “Everything’s changed.” Spike ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. His voice rose, higher and higher. “I don’t know how to tell you! I tell you and tell you and it never changes!” He punched the wall. I don’t know how to make things change!” “You can’t do anything but what you can do, Spike. You taught me that.” “I did?” Spike turned back, looked at Angel and nodded. “Right. Here goes.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes level with Angel’s, and began. “Four months ago we were fighting all the forces of hell that Wolfram & Hart could pull together. They ripped some of their people from other dimensions, from other times, from other worlds. It was a mess. You fought like a crazy man. Every time someone fell, you fought harder. Illyria,” Spike shook his head, a little grin on his face, “She was something. She fought right along side you, until the second dragon. She took it out, but.. it went up in flame. It took her out too. Then it was just you and me. He reached out, laid a hand on Angel’s arm. “Then…” “Then?” “Everything stopped. They all stopped. All the monsters, all the fighting. You kept killing, for a minute, but they just stood there, and then I stopped, and then, finally, you stopped, and we all stood there for a minute.” Spike looked away, gathered his thoughts. “They started glowing, until they burst… just broke open, all this glowing light filling up the air, until there was nothing left. And it spread, and spread, until I blacked out.” Spike wiped his forehead with a shaky hand. “That’s it?” Angel snarled… angry. “That’s all? We’re living in a basement because Wolfram and Hart threw light at you?” “At us, you fuckin’ bastard, and I don’t see you finding us better quarters.” Angel sat back. “I can’t very well do that, now can I? I mean, look, I’m chained up in a god-damned basement, serving as your unconscious love slave while you contaminate me with human blood!” “I TOLD you you’d hit me!” “Well you deserve to be hit!” “You promised! You bloody wanker!” They both sat back, their chests heaving for air they didn’t need. “So, what happened?” “I just told you.” “I mean, what happened after? How did we get away? How did we end up here? Are we still in LA?” “We’re still in LA, sort of. And we didn’t get away.” Angel dropped back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. “I’m tired and I’m hungry. Will you get to the point?” He heard the swish of Spike’s coat, the brush of denim. The bed depressed beside him and he felt the cool presence of another vampire. “We’re not in our LA, or not in the same. I don’t know. It’s September 11, 2001.” “2001?” “Yeah.” “We can start over? We have to start over? Do you still have a soul?” Angel’s hands flew over his own chest, groping. “Do I? Is Doyle still alive?” “I don’t know. Maybe. Or someone who looks like him. When did he die in our world?” “Oh, no. He died a couple of years ago.” Angel’s hands fell back. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘our world’?” Spike reached down off the bed and pulled the drunk up between them. “This isn’t our world. Things are different here.” Angel attempted to shove the stinking thing back off the bed. “How do you know?!” “There’s no Sunnydale.” Weak tears slid from the corners of Angel’s eyes, startling him, shaming him. “Of course there’s a Sunnydale.” “No. There isn’t. I checked.” Spike cleared the dirty clothes away from the man’s neck and bent the man’s head to one side, offering the neck to Angel. “I thought I, we, could start over again. Somehow.” “Why are you offering me human blood?” “You don’t have to hurt him. Much. He offered. I pay him in wine.” Angel stared, at the stinking, bewhiskered creature, and then back at Spike. “What?” “It’s not like it’s the first time, you stupid bastard!” Spike shoved the unresisting body against Angel, slid off the bed and up. “I couldn’t get pig’s blood. Not enough! And then, there I was, mindin’ my own business, tryin’ to get back to you before dawn, and this guy is layin’ in the alley, and he asks for money. So I tell him I’ll pay him for a little work, and he didn’t mind, so who am I to mind? So I paid him, and I take him to the mission a couple, three times a week and make sure he gets a free meal, and I pay him and he gives us blood.” “I get all...numb We're the same numb And it brings our knees to the earth” “Stop it!” “What?” Angel looked down, realized he was a little drunk. He had blood on his chin. He wiped it away with one hand and looked back at Spike, lying naked beside him. The television droned on. “Why do you keep watching that shit?” Spike just stared at him. “What?” “You were singin’ that bloody song again.” “You don’t like it?” “It’s a fuckin’ depressed song, mate, and you sing like banshees wail!” “It’s my song. It means something. If I could just figure it out.” He looked down at himself. His wrists looked better. He was still skin and bone, but damned fine skin and bone. Huh. Bone. And would you look at that. He reached down and stroked his dick. “You remember how we used to do this?” Spike snorted. “I don’t think I want to play this time, Angel. You’ll just forget again.” Angel rolled his shoulders toward Spike, his hips still flat on the bed, his right hand still stroking his dick. “No I won’t. And you like this. I remember. Uncircumcised dick in your mouth. Sliding your tongue around the head. I remember. So do you.” Spike stirred, the thought of hiding his erection passing through his eyes and banished with a blink. “You know me too well.” “I like seeing you on your knees.” “Am I s’posed to be surprised at that? I don’t think so.” Spike rolled as he turned, his mouth and hands sliding over Angel’s hand, moving it away, fondling Angel’s dick. The familiar-strange shudder rippled through Angel’s body and he hummed. “yeah. I get all numb at the knees when you do that.” Spike lifted his head. “It’s because a vampire’s mouth isn’t anything like a human’s mouth. We’ve got more muscle control, more strength, and yet we’re colder, so it’s more tingly, stronger suction, more pressure….” Angel twisted one hand in Spike’s hair and pressed down. “Less talking.” Angel fell back flat on the bed. “Yeah. Right.” “When you sing it's over Such a strange numb It could bring back peace to the earth” “Angel?” Angel shook his head, startled, alert. His chest lifted and fell, drug in a breath to swirl and release from frozen lungs. “What?” “You were singin’ that fucking song again.” “I was? What are you doing?” “I’m about to fuck you.” “Yeah? Where’s that drunk?” Spike reached off the bed and drug the man up by his hair. The wino’s coat caught, released the smell of urine in a virulent cloud. “Oh. Ugh. When we’re done, let’s find something a little more appetizing, shall we?” Spike laughed. “Right mate. I’ll get you some pig’s blood.” He lowered himself between Angel’s knees, sliding off the bed, his tongue, and lips and hands, sliding over Angel’s hips, his thighs. He slid a finger up Angel’s ass. “You remember this?” Angel’s dick jerked. “Hurry up.” “No. I like it when you beg.” “I. Don’t. Beg.” “Bet you do this time.” Spike pulled the wino up by his head again and slashed the man’s cheek. He captured the blood, warm and smelling of Colt 40 and life, on the end of his fingers. Angel watched, fascinated, felt the pull of Spike’s finger, out of his ass, the hot blood rubbed against it. Watched, slit-eyed and dizzy as Spike’s game face disappeared between Angel’s upbent knees. Felt Spike’s cold tongue, the sharp flinch of fang, hot blood rubbing against his ass, working its way inside of him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards. “Jesus.” “Begging yet?” Spike peeked up above Angel’s dick, wriggled his eyebrows. “No.” Spike captured Angel’s dick in one bloody hand, squeezed, stroked up and down. Angel watched the slide, smelled the blood, felt more warmth and strong fingers against his ass. He hissed as Spike bit the inside of his thigh, right beside his balls. “Oh fuck.” The pull of blood and alcohol zinging out of his body, the pressure of two, then three fingers, the strong hard hand wrapped around his dick, Angel writhed against the sheets, captured handfuls in his fists and ripped. The feeling stopped. “Fuck.” “Fuck!” Spike knelt on the edge of the bed between Angel’s legs, his dick held in one bloody hand. “What’s that you say?” “I said,“ Angel tried to capture Spike’s skinny body between his knees, but Spike, stronger with fresh blood and mischief, held Angel off, “Fuck. Me.” Spike leaned in, his body becoming one glorious pale line, a curve, a wonder. Angel’s hands slide up Spikes arms, along the lines of his chest. He flicked a nail against Spike’s nipple and watched it bleed. “Oi. Fuck. That hurt.” “I know.” Spike rubbed his dick against Angel’s ass. “What do you know about that?” Angel’s teeth ground together. “I know you need to fuck me.” Spike pushed, alabaster hard dick against Angel’s ass, slid it in, just past the ring of muscle, the head of his dick captured, held. He stopped again, sweating in the cold air. He lowered himself over Angel’s body, torso to torso, let Angel’s dick rub against his belly. “You want something?” Angel reached up, a smile on his face, and stroked Spike’s face, the outer curve of his ear, the back of his neck. “Oh yeah.” Angel punched Spike in the face. Spike, startled, jerked back, forced Angel’s knees almost flat, and rammed his dick up Angel’s ass. “That’s what I wanted.” “You could have asked.” “Oh?” Angel arched an eyebrow. “Like this, you mean?” He took his voice up a half octave. “Oh, please Spikey, please fuck me.” He wriggled under Spike’s slender weight. “Please fuck me?” His voice caught and his eyes widened in sudden realization. “Please, Spike? Fuck me.” Sweat broke out on Angel’s face. “Fuck. Jesus. Spike. God. Fuck me, please.” Spike began to move, slowly, his belly rubbing against Angel’s dick, his own dick sliding out to the head, pulling against the ring of the anus, sliding back. Angel writhed and begged, his voice breaking. “Oh god, oh fuck, spike, jesus, spike, Fuck me, please, fuck me. Please fuck me, fuck me hard, oh fuck. Oh. Fuck.” His arms came up and gripped Spike’s wrists hard enough to bruise, his body bucking under Spike’s increasing speed and force. “Oh yeah, Angel. Yeah, fuck you. That’s what I’m good at.” Angel screamed. He heard the voices first. Popeil, interrupted for a special broadcast. He smelled blood, heard the television, and sat up, looking over the beam in the way to watch, fascinated, as towers burned and people rained down from the sky. “Fucking ponce.” Spike rolled over, attempted to pull the covers free. “So God bless you all For the song you saved us..oh... For the hearts you break, everytime you moan And God bless you all on the earth...” “You’re singing that fucking song again!” Spike sat up, enraged. “Angel, will you shut the fuck up?” “I wasn’t singing. I was just repeating.” A hand fell on Spike’s thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise. Spike looked up into hard, amused eyes. “I figured out why it was important, that’s all. And the name’s Angelus.” He nodded at the TV. “I don’t know what world we’ve ended up in. But I think this one’s going to be just fine.” -End Feedback |