Spike was tired. Most afternoons he had to force himself to wake and feed. It had been two weeks since the cheerleader bought it. He’d hung around the group at Wolfram & Hart for the most part, trying to make nice with Angel, who’d been devastated by Cordelia’s appearance and subsequent death. He’d gone out to raise a glass or two with the others, in honor of her memory. S’not like he knew her well, but he’d come to care for the others, who had.
There had been a few demons that needed slaying over the last few weeks. Spike had no problem dealing with them. Felt good to let loose the demon and fight, and it gave Angel some needed time off. The assorted negotiations Spike sat in on were much harder. He told himself it was to keep an honest ear in, so Angel didn’t hear any lies. Spike told him nothing but the truth, even when he didn’t want to hear it.
Each day, the temptation to just stay in bed grew. Even the thought of some fists and fangs action wasn’t enough to lift the veil of melancholy that settled over him. The solitude did not soothe Spike’s nerves; he felt twitchy and ill at ease. He decided to amble over to Wolfram & Hart to see what was on the agenda for the day.
Spike stepped out of the elevator, and headed for the bank of offices. He heard general office sounds all around, computers beeping, intercoms buzzing, Harm’s shrill voice coming through the intercom on occasion, the steady hum of people interacting. Nothing out of the ordinary; nothing to be wary of.
Headed into Angel’s office, unannounced as always, Spike found him with his head in his hands. Not sobbing, but the sadness was palpable in the air surrounding him. Spike could actually taste the tension he exuded.
Closing the door behind him, he said, “Oi! Angel! Thought you might like some company, so I came to…”
Spike didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Angel rose swiftly from behind his desk, grabbed Spike around the throat with both hands and shoved him against the wall.
“Spike, I can’t deal with you and your crap right now. I haven’t slept in almost two weeks, and I’m barely managing to keep from falling apart as it is. Go away!”
Attempting to loosen Angel’s grip, Spike bucked forward slightly, his lower body coming into contact with Angel’s. Upon contact, Angel dropped his hands, releasing Spike, who stumbled with the sudden loss of support.
“S’all right, mate. Wasn’t tryin’ to rile you up any. Just wanted to make sure you were… Dunno, actually. Was worried about you.” Spike mumbled.
Looking up into Spike’s blue eyes, Angel could tell he was actually being sincere, and his level of animosity dropped sharply, his shoulders sagging with the weight of Cordy’s death still affecting him.
“Sorry, Spike,” Angel mumbled. “I’ve… well, I’ve been on edge here. And we’ve never exactly cared how the other one felt. I just assumed you were here to cause trouble.”
“That’s one of your problems, Angel,” Spike said. “You… wait a minute. Did you actually apologize to me?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. Must be the grief talking.” Angel didn’t bother looking at Spike, just continued to stare at the floor, finding something interesting in the carpet’s intricate pattern.
Always the more tactile of the pair, Spike placed his both his hands on Angel’s shoulders, pushing him upright, so that he could look his grandsire in the eyes.
“Angel. Look at me, mate.” Spike tried. “Sire, please! You aren’t doing anyone right by falling apart yourself. C’mon, let’s go somewhere, lift a pint or twelve, and try and get you sorted.”
Startled out of his daze by Spike’s use of the title he hadn’t uttered since that night in Sunnydale High School, Angel looked directly at the blond vampire and quietly acquiesced.
Angel spoke quietly. "Spike, what's with the 'Sire' bit? The last time you called me Sire, the venom that came from you could have poisoned half the population of Sunnydale."
“That’s the $64,000 question, innit, mate? Something’s off, bothering me enough I just can’t think straight.” Spike shook his head, trying to make the words make sense. “Would you mind haulin’ up to your flat, so’s we don’t have to deal with anyone else?”
Nodding, Angel walked to his private elevator, holding the door for Spike to enter. Not a word was spoken as they entered Angel’s suite. Walking to the bar, Angel swiped a bottle of JD for Spike, and Irish whiskey for himself. Wolfram & Hart might be many things, but they certainly kept a well-stocked bar.
They settled themselves on the couch, clinked their bottles together, and upended them. Both enjoyed the burn as the liquor slid down their throats, the false warmth settling in their bellies.
Spike was the first to speak. “Dunno how to make this better for you, Angel. I mean, we’ve all had people we cared for die on us. And we’ve both had them come back from the dead a time or two, as well.” A sad smile curled his lip as he continued, “Hells, we’ve both come back from the dead at least twice, so how come this is throwing you for such a loop, and why do I feel so… whatever it is that I feel?”
Angel thought for a bit, before he answered. “Cordelia was the first person since Buffy that I had deep feelings for. She didn’t let me sink into the background. She was loud, abrasive, self-centered, annoying and mostly more trouble than she was worth.” At that, he gave a small laugh, and continued, “In fact, boy, she reminded me of you, not long after you’d been turned.”
As he waited for the stinging remarks he was sure would follow, Spike took another swig of his whiskey and just sat quietly. At this point, it wasn’t worth winding Angel up.
After a few moments, Angel began again. “And just like you, William, she kept me on my toes. Cordelia had a way of making every day a new challenge. Made me happy to get out of bed each day, never knowing what it would hold.”
“I think what I’ll miss the most are Cordy’s hugs. The week she was here, Spike… I’d been hugged more in that week than in all the years since Buffy and I…” Angel looked up at the sound of Spike’s sobbing.
Sitting on the couch, not more than a few cushions away, was Spike. Shoulders trembling, tears pouring down his razor-sharp cheekbones, Spike looked… broken, for want of a better word.
Looking up at Angel, the younger vampire had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. “Angel, those last few days before I died in the Hellmouth, Buffy and I found a little solace in each other’s arms. Since becoming corporeal again, the only time I feel anything is when we fight and we argue. It’s an old dance between us, mate. I’m used to it.”
Spike began to shudder in earnest, and his sobbing was almost non-stop. Angel couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t believe how much pain Spike was evincing. Without being fully aware of it, he opened his arms as he said, “Come here, my boy.”
Faster than the eye could follow, Angel found himself with an armful of violently shivering Spike. Thighs pressed together tightly, hard enough to bruise thanks to the blond’s sharp hipbone. Grateful for the vampiric trait of not needing air, Spike’s arms were wrapped tightly enough around his grandsire’s back as to preclude the ability to do so if needed, his head nestled in the crook of the elder vampire’s neck.
Angel could feel Spike lean heavily into his side, as if he wanted more than anything to crawl up into his lap, but was afraid to do so, and ashamed to ask. Needing it as much as the younger vampire, Angel wrapped his arms more tightly around his back, and shifted them both, so that Spike was fully ensconced in his lap, legs straddling his hips, groins tight up against each other.
Baring his neck, Angel whispered, “Drink, Will. We both need this.”
Spike drew back quickly, as if he realized where he was for the very first time. “Sire, are you sure?” He couldn’t remember the last time he was offered Sire’s blood, and he was overwhelmed by the invitation.
“Yes, boy, I’m sure,” came from Angel.
Needing no further convincing, Spike’s gameface dropped into place, and he sank his fangs deeply into willing flesh.
In a reciprocal movement, Angel sank his fangs into his boy's jugular. The suckling was loud and greedy as their hips churned in time to the gulps and swallows of familial blood. Hard flesh against hard flesh, the layers of clothing provided enough additional stimulation that the two vampires quivered to completion within moments of each other.
Panting heavily from his exertions, Spike attempted to remove himself from Angel's messy lap. Angel tightened his hold, silently requesting Spike to stay where he was.
Taking a deep, unneeded breath, Angel said, “Spike, I figured it out. We've both been feeling disconnected. From everything and everyone. We've spent so much time trying to do what's right, or what's not so wrong, that we've forgotten what's important. As much as we piss each other off, there is nobody else who shares our past.”
Spike looked into Angel’s warm brown eyes, as tears fell gently down his own cheeks.
“What’s the matter now, boy? I don’t understand,” Angel sighed.
“Luv, those are tears of happiness. I think I finally feel properly sorted. What had unsettled me so before, was the need I felt all around me. Everyone needed comforting. Everyone got comforting. Except me. Not so much on behalf of Cordelia’s death… but just in general. Haven’t been anyone’s cuddlebunny since I’ve been back. Harmony doesn’t count.”
“Don't think this is wrong, to take a bit of familiar comfort from time to time,” said Angel. “It’s good for the both of us. Good for the souls.”
Don't laugh, please - it's pretty much the first time I've written any kind of action at all... damned vampires. See what they made me do?