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shapinglightHere's the final ficlet, the contrast one, which takes me back to my Spangel 'shipping roots.
Setting: Post-AtS season 5
Rating: NC17 for m/m sex, perhaps best avoided if the idea of Spike as Illyria's pet being taken too literally, and Spike being okay with it, squicks you.
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Illyria
Author's Note: I haven't posted anything like this on this LJ for a very long time. May come as a shock to some of you, I suppose.
Day Off
"Wake up, sleepy head."
Angel was roused by the touch of hard lips to his and the feel of a lithe, cool body, pressed to his backbone.
He moaned slightly, and rolled over, flinging his arms around that coolness and drawing it close.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight." The voice was sad - sombre even. Angel groaned aloud and opened his eyes.
"How long do we have?"
Spike gazed back at him, blue eyes wintry. "Not long. She's usually dead on time."
"Not long enough." Angel leaned forward, nipping at Spike's lower lip. "God, Spike, you should have woken me earlier."
Spike smiled - or rather his lips moved. The smile never reached his eyes. "I like watching you sleep."
Angel couldn't help pouting a little. "No fair. What about you?"
Spike's gaze went blank for a moment. "I don't sleep. Not any more."
"I'm sorry." This time, when Angel leaned forward, he took a long, lingering kiss, while his hand caressed Spike's hard chest and belly, on which the indigo tattoos scrolled their mysterious message, then dipped lower to squeeze soft flesh that quickly grew stiff and moist in his grip.
"You're so damn beautiful! I love you, Spike. I love you so much."
Spike's face was bleak. "Took losing me for you to discover that, did it?"
Angel kissed him again. "I'm an idiot. You don't need to tell me."
"It's okay." Spike turned around suddenly and knelt up on all fours, presenting himself to Angel. "We still have a little while. Fuck me."
Angel ran his hand down the prominent spine, to tight half-globes of pale, delectable flesh, overlaid with indigo. He leaned forward to dip his tongue into the enticing darkness. "You sure?"
"'Course I'm bloody sure." Spike sounded more like his old self suddenly -not the wistful stranger who'd travelled places and witnessed sights Angel couldn't even imagine. He wiggled his behind. "Get to it, mate."
The slick was nearby, as always. One day a year was all they had so Angel came prepared.
Angel took his time over it, lavishing lots of attention on Spike's most sensitive spots - his nipples - pierced for the leash - his genitals- that spot deep inside which made him squirm and swear and grip the sheets so hard he tore them.
Only when Spike was a panting, moaning jelly of desire, soft and open, did Angel attempt to penetrate him, and even then he was slow - careful - teasing - waiting for Spike to beg for it. Why should the Godking have all the fun?
"Please!" Spike wailed. "Please!"
"All in good time." Angel lavished kisses down the ridged spine, ran his tongue over the tattooed whorls, that made his tongue tingle with magic. Then, fingers easing the way, he began to push, while Spike sobbed and swore and hollowed his back, begging for More!Now!Harder!
As always, it was over far too soon. Spike fell forward onto the bed in a pool of his own spunk, and Angel fell on top of him, blanketing him with his body.
"Why are you crying?" Spike asked.
"I'm not," Angel protested, but then he felt the moisture on his cheek. "Oh."
Spike rolled slightly to one side, regarding him from eyes gone bleak again. "It doesn't do any good. Nothing does."
"Oh God!" Angel couldn't help himself. Sobs wracked his body while Spike held him and whispered soothing nonsense into his ears.
"There," Spike crooned. "There."
At last, spent in every way, Angel curled into Spike's chest, tracing the serpentine pattern with his fingers. It pulsed and moved, each time different to the last.
"I keep hoping she'll get tired of you and let you go," he said.
Spike snorted. "Won't happen. Not for millennia anyway."
Angel raised his head, looked Spike straight in the eye. "I'll wait then."
Spike smiled his sad smile again. "You'll grow tired of me first."
"I won't," Angel insisted. "When I want something, I don't give up until I have it. She may be Godking of the Primordium, but she's just an amateur next to me when it comes to the waiting game."
"We'll see." Spike's bleak gaze didn't change. "In any case, you shouldn't do that to yourself. You should find someone else. Go out and live your life."
Angel set a hand to Spike's cheek. "But that's the trouble, see? There is no one else."
"Bloody idiot." Spike kissed him.
They showered together, washing the spunk off each other, then again, when one thing led to another. As Spike's fangs pricked his neck and other parts of Spike moved deep inside him, Angel leaned his face against the wet tiles and reflected that it was true. One day could last a thousand years.
It had to end sometime, though.
Clean and dry, they went back into the bedroom, where Angel stripped the bed and flung the dirty sheets in the laundry basket (to be brought back out later, so he could shroud himself in Spike's scent for a little longer).
Spike meanwhile, knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, hands loosely gathered to conceal his genitals, white head bowed. Waiting.
Right on time, she came - a vast whirling, many-limbed darkness, that resolved itself into a slim woman's body - a body with a face that even now gave Angel a pang to see it.
"Time to go, my pet," Illyria said. In one indigo-tipped hand she held a collar and leash, which she set about Spike's neck.
"My king." Spike crawled to her feet, bending to kiss them. Then he knelt up, head resting against her thigh, while she caressed his white curls and crooned to him. His expression was resigned, but peaceful, and Angel felt a pang of envy.
Spike loved him, but he loved Illyria too.
Illyria gave Angel a stiff nod, one rival to another. Maybe she felt envy, like he did? Then, master and pet were gone.
"Till next year," Angel said.
Setting: Post-AtS season 5
Rating: NC17 for m/m sex, perhaps best avoided if the idea of Spike as Illyria's pet being taken too literally, and Spike being okay with it, squicks you.
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Illyria
Author's Note: I haven't posted anything like this on this LJ for a very long time. May come as a shock to some of you, I suppose.
Day Off
"Wake up, sleepy head."
Angel was roused by the touch of hard lips to his and the feel of a lithe, cool body, pressed to his backbone.
He moaned slightly, and rolled over, flinging his arms around that coolness and drawing it close.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight." The voice was sad - sombre even. Angel groaned aloud and opened his eyes.
"How long do we have?"
Spike gazed back at him, blue eyes wintry. "Not long. She's usually dead on time."
"Not long enough." Angel leaned forward, nipping at Spike's lower lip. "God, Spike, you should have woken me earlier."
Spike smiled - or rather his lips moved. The smile never reached his eyes. "I like watching you sleep."
Angel couldn't help pouting a little. "No fair. What about you?"
Spike's gaze went blank for a moment. "I don't sleep. Not any more."
"I'm sorry." This time, when Angel leaned forward, he took a long, lingering kiss, while his hand caressed Spike's hard chest and belly, on which the indigo tattoos scrolled their mysterious message, then dipped lower to squeeze soft flesh that quickly grew stiff and moist in his grip.
"You're so damn beautiful! I love you, Spike. I love you so much."
Spike's face was bleak. "Took losing me for you to discover that, did it?"
Angel kissed him again. "I'm an idiot. You don't need to tell me."
"It's okay." Spike turned around suddenly and knelt up on all fours, presenting himself to Angel. "We still have a little while. Fuck me."
Angel ran his hand down the prominent spine, to tight half-globes of pale, delectable flesh, overlaid with indigo. He leaned forward to dip his tongue into the enticing darkness. "You sure?"
"'Course I'm bloody sure." Spike sounded more like his old self suddenly -not the wistful stranger who'd travelled places and witnessed sights Angel couldn't even imagine. He wiggled his behind. "Get to it, mate."
The slick was nearby, as always. One day a year was all they had so Angel came prepared.
Angel took his time over it, lavishing lots of attention on Spike's most sensitive spots - his nipples - pierced for the leash - his genitals- that spot deep inside which made him squirm and swear and grip the sheets so hard he tore them.
Only when Spike was a panting, moaning jelly of desire, soft and open, did Angel attempt to penetrate him, and even then he was slow - careful - teasing - waiting for Spike to beg for it. Why should the Godking have all the fun?
"Please!" Spike wailed. "Please!"
"All in good time." Angel lavished kisses down the ridged spine, ran his tongue over the tattooed whorls, that made his tongue tingle with magic. Then, fingers easing the way, he began to push, while Spike sobbed and swore and hollowed his back, begging for More!Now!Harder!
As always, it was over far too soon. Spike fell forward onto the bed in a pool of his own spunk, and Angel fell on top of him, blanketing him with his body.
"Why are you crying?" Spike asked.
"I'm not," Angel protested, but then he felt the moisture on his cheek. "Oh."
Spike rolled slightly to one side, regarding him from eyes gone bleak again. "It doesn't do any good. Nothing does."
"Oh God!" Angel couldn't help himself. Sobs wracked his body while Spike held him and whispered soothing nonsense into his ears.
"There," Spike crooned. "There."
At last, spent in every way, Angel curled into Spike's chest, tracing the serpentine pattern with his fingers. It pulsed and moved, each time different to the last.
"I keep hoping she'll get tired of you and let you go," he said.
Spike snorted. "Won't happen. Not for millennia anyway."
Angel raised his head, looked Spike straight in the eye. "I'll wait then."
Spike smiled his sad smile again. "You'll grow tired of me first."
"I won't," Angel insisted. "When I want something, I don't give up until I have it. She may be Godking of the Primordium, but she's just an amateur next to me when it comes to the waiting game."
"We'll see." Spike's bleak gaze didn't change. "In any case, you shouldn't do that to yourself. You should find someone else. Go out and live your life."
Angel set a hand to Spike's cheek. "But that's the trouble, see? There is no one else."
"Bloody idiot." Spike kissed him.
They showered together, washing the spunk off each other, then again, when one thing led to another. As Spike's fangs pricked his neck and other parts of Spike moved deep inside him, Angel leaned his face against the wet tiles and reflected that it was true. One day could last a thousand years.
It had to end sometime, though.
Clean and dry, they went back into the bedroom, where Angel stripped the bed and flung the dirty sheets in the laundry basket (to be brought back out later, so he could shroud himself in Spike's scent for a little longer).
Spike meanwhile, knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, hands loosely gathered to conceal his genitals, white head bowed. Waiting.
Right on time, she came - a vast whirling, many-limbed darkness, that resolved itself into a slim woman's body - a body with a face that even now gave Angel a pang to see it.
"Time to go, my pet," Illyria said. In one indigo-tipped hand she held a collar and leash, which she set about Spike's neck.
"My king." Spike crawled to her feet, bending to kiss them. Then he knelt up, head resting against her thigh, while she caressed his white curls and crooned to him. His expression was resigned, but peaceful, and Angel felt a pang of envy.
Spike loved him, but he loved Illyria too.
Illyria gave Angel a stiff nod, one rival to another. Maybe she felt envy, like he did? Then, master and pet were gone.
"Till next year," Angel said.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-25 10:52 am (UTC)That's no good. Poor you. I hope you're better soon.