Five Things
Jan. 17th, 2007 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunA/N: Once again for girlpire who likes five things every now and again. Plus, I think she's upset and I'd like to see her unupset. Okay, that's not really a word but the feeling is genuine...
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Five Times Angel(us) Thought Spike Was Beautiful
England, 1880:
"Do you think she'll find a good one?" Angelus asked Darla, barely hearing her reply. He worried about allowing Drusilla to create a Childe. Her madness infected everything she did, and he couldn't trust her to feed properly without supervision, let alone make a new vampire. Making his excuses, he left Darla's side and followed the scent of his vicious girl to a dank alleyway. She had her fangs deep inside the neck of a golden haired boy, sucking the life out of his veins. He hadn't seen the boy properly when they'd collided but now that he'd seen him, he wasn't about to allow Drusilla to have him as her new baby.
"Shove over, lass. Let Daddy take it from here. He's not meant for you, " Angelus commanded, putting his power and authority over her into his voice.
Dru pouted and looked as if she might argue the point. Angelus raised a finger to silence her, the threat and menace in that simple action stilling Drusilla's tongue. She flounced out of the alley, and Angelus knew he'd be paying for this transgression for at least a century. Neither of his women would appreciate his newfound passion for a scrap of a boy, and he could only imagine Darla's wrath at his unapproved creation of a Childe. Vampires just didn't go around siring folks willy-nilly. Their own sires must approve, if not of the Childe, of the act itself. Seeing as he hadn't consulted Darla, she was bound to be a wee bit irritated with him. Ah well, he'd risk her holy water and crosses retribution in exchange for this beautiful boy.
China, 1900:
There he was, the one Angelus couldn't bear to abandon. He'd left after the soul had burned its way into him, unable to stand the reek and stench of death that clung to all of them. But he couldn't stay away from them, from him. Now, look at him. Walking arm in arm with Dru, cock of the walk, taking in all the glorious violence around them like two children in the park. He'd never seen William looking so beautiful, so strong and handsome, before. It called to Angelus, blood surging forth and singing in his dead veins.
He'd killed and Angelus could smell it, the bitterness of defiled purity wafting over him. His demon howled in triumph when Drusilla told them that blood had come from the veins of a Slayer. His soul howled in pain, seeing his sweet Childe so corrupt and tainted. Even as he feigned indifference, he leaned closer, fighting the instinct that demanded he lick the blood from the boy's face and fuck him senseless. He should be celebrating and instead he was mourning. And through it all, the demon, the soul, the swirling turmoil that eddied and flowed around them, all he thought of was how he'd struggled to be back with them and how fruitless it had been. His boy, his beautiful wicked boy, lost to him forever and he couldn't bear it.
Los Angeles, 1999:
Yeah, so he was pissed. Spike feeding in his town. The little shit ought to know better. But even in his anger, Angel could appreciate the lovely picture Spike made. His face buried in the warm neck, growls and groans of pleasure almost overwhelming the woman's whimpers of fear. When he spoke, Spike's head swooped up revealing a demonic face that Angel knew he should abhor. But he couldn't because it attracted him, made him weak with want. He stood fast because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Spike was running, lean legs eating up the ground and as Angel chased him, he forced himself to focus on the hunt. If he focused on the pretty picture his boy made, he'd blow off his redemption and then just blow Spike. Spike had run headlong into a fence and he turned around, blonde hair shining, blue eyes sparkling. Damn it, Angel thought, this would work a helluva lot better if I didn't think he was the most beautiful demon on the freaking planet.
Los Angeles, 2003:
It was late. He was so tired. Somehow, fighting evil had gotten harder, more draining. Maybe it was this building, this soul-sucking place. Maybe it was just that evil seemed to have gained a few pounds and inches. It had been easier, in the beginning. Fight the good fight, every night, on the streets. Face to face with evil and suddenly, he was face to knee-cap. The evil was bigger here and he didn't know if he could fight it at all. Fists and fangs were no use here, he reflected as he crawled into bed.
He groaned pitifully at the sound of Spike's voice. The bastard was haunting him in the literal sense and every time Angel turned around there was Spike, ready to take the piss out of him again. He looked over and the harsh words he'd been planning to hurl at Spike paused as he drank in the view. Spike's voice was soft and his face, fractured by shadows, was haunting. Angel had yet to become accustomed to the sunlight that flooded his world these days. He...they belonged in the dark. The cold light of evening suited them both, but on Spike, it gave him a radiance that sunshine never could. That wonderful face, limned in moonlight, brought forth a stirring inside Angel. He'd forgotten how absolutely entrancing he found Spike's face. Sharp and hard and defiantly beautiful, all angles and curves, and it wasn't real. There was sorrow in that thought, that his boy, his Childe, his Spike, was no longer real. Just an illusion and one that Angel felt he couldn't bear to see now, looking so beautiful and regretful in the shadows.
Los Angeles, 2003:
They had split the better part of two bottles of Jamison's Irish Whiskey between them, sorrowing over the loss of their "perfect girl". Spike had been regaling Angel with tales of his misadventures in Sunnydale. The antics of his Niblet, the many times he flustered The Watcher, and to Angel's great delight, the humiliations of Xander Harris. Spike had gone quiet though, when he spoke "Xander's Demon Bird", and Angel poked his shoulder. Spike shrugged him off, explaining that he and Anya had had an unfortunate one night stand, saying "We both needed a bit o' comfort and we ended up hurting everyone, including each other. I think I might regret that more than anything I ever did, Angel. She was a lovely bint, though. Honest and real and she's dead now. I remember that night, she told me she had a sexy dance. Right sorry I never got to see it."
Angel looked at Spike, eyes sparkling. "Show me your sexy dance, Spike."
Spike smirked. He stood up, pulling off his duster and laying it carefully aside. The boots were unlaced and tugged off, as Angel smiled genially. When the shirt came off, Angel began to wonder what sort of dance Spike would consider sexy. After the jeans were cast aside, Angel gulped heavily and grabbed the bottle.
Spike dropped to his knees in front of Angel, falling almost between Angel's legs. He gazed up, and smiled that terrible seductive smile he saved for these occasions, moments of mischief and devilment. His hands glided down his abdomen, and his eyes fluttered closed as he grasped his now-erect cock. Fingers held loosely around the shaft, he began to stroke himself slowly. Angel felt his own cock twitch and shudder in sympathetic response. Bubbles of juice oozed out, the tip a bright cherry, and Spike was moaning now, body riding up and down as if Spike were impaling himself on...Oh god, Spike. Impaled. It brought heat to his belly, thinking of Spike riding him.
As he watched Spike fisting his thick cock and his other hand roling and tugging his luscious furry sac, Angel felt himself get lost in the beauty of the moment, in the beauty of Spike's body. He lept off the couch and kneeled down, mouth closing around that hard delectable pole in Spike's hands. When Spike shuddered and shot sweet creamy cum deep in Angel's mouth, he chanted Angel's name like a litany, like a prayer. And pulling back to gaze at Spike, face blissful in post-orgasmic haze, Angel couldn't remember anything he'd ever seen as beautiful as this.
The End
girlpire who likes five things every now and again. Plus, I think she's upset and I'd like to see her unupset. Okay, that's not really a word but the feeling is genuine...Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Five Times Angel(us) Thought Spike Was Beautiful
England, 1880:
"Do you think she'll find a good one?" Angelus asked Darla, barely hearing her reply. He worried about allowing Drusilla to create a Childe. Her madness infected everything she did, and he couldn't trust her to feed properly without supervision, let alone make a new vampire. Making his excuses, he left Darla's side and followed the scent of his vicious girl to a dank alleyway. She had her fangs deep inside the neck of a golden haired boy, sucking the life out of his veins. He hadn't seen the boy properly when they'd collided but now that he'd seen him, he wasn't about to allow Drusilla to have him as her new baby.
"Shove over, lass. Let Daddy take it from here. He's not meant for you, " Angelus commanded, putting his power and authority over her into his voice.
Dru pouted and looked as if she might argue the point. Angelus raised a finger to silence her, the threat and menace in that simple action stilling Drusilla's tongue. She flounced out of the alley, and Angelus knew he'd be paying for this transgression for at least a century. Neither of his women would appreciate his newfound passion for a scrap of a boy, and he could only imagine Darla's wrath at his unapproved creation of a Childe. Vampires just didn't go around siring folks willy-nilly. Their own sires must approve, if not of the Childe, of the act itself. Seeing as he hadn't consulted Darla, she was bound to be a wee bit irritated with him. Ah well, he'd risk her holy water and crosses retribution in exchange for this beautiful boy.
China, 1900:
There he was, the one Angelus couldn't bear to abandon. He'd left after the soul had burned its way into him, unable to stand the reek and stench of death that clung to all of them. But he couldn't stay away from them, from him. Now, look at him. Walking arm in arm with Dru, cock of the walk, taking in all the glorious violence around them like two children in the park. He'd never seen William looking so beautiful, so strong and handsome, before. It called to Angelus, blood surging forth and singing in his dead veins.
He'd killed and Angelus could smell it, the bitterness of defiled purity wafting over him. His demon howled in triumph when Drusilla told them that blood had come from the veins of a Slayer. His soul howled in pain, seeing his sweet Childe so corrupt and tainted. Even as he feigned indifference, he leaned closer, fighting the instinct that demanded he lick the blood from the boy's face and fuck him senseless. He should be celebrating and instead he was mourning. And through it all, the demon, the soul, the swirling turmoil that eddied and flowed around them, all he thought of was how he'd struggled to be back with them and how fruitless it had been. His boy, his beautiful wicked boy, lost to him forever and he couldn't bear it.
Los Angeles, 1999:
Yeah, so he was pissed. Spike feeding in his town. The little shit ought to know better. But even in his anger, Angel could appreciate the lovely picture Spike made. His face buried in the warm neck, growls and groans of pleasure almost overwhelming the woman's whimpers of fear. When he spoke, Spike's head swooped up revealing a demonic face that Angel knew he should abhor. But he couldn't because it attracted him, made him weak with want. He stood fast because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Spike was running, lean legs eating up the ground and as Angel chased him, he forced himself to focus on the hunt. If he focused on the pretty picture his boy made, he'd blow off his redemption and then just blow Spike. Spike had run headlong into a fence and he turned around, blonde hair shining, blue eyes sparkling. Damn it, Angel thought, this would work a helluva lot better if I didn't think he was the most beautiful demon on the freaking planet.
Los Angeles, 2003:
It was late. He was so tired. Somehow, fighting evil had gotten harder, more draining. Maybe it was this building, this soul-sucking place. Maybe it was just that evil seemed to have gained a few pounds and inches. It had been easier, in the beginning. Fight the good fight, every night, on the streets. Face to face with evil and suddenly, he was face to knee-cap. The evil was bigger here and he didn't know if he could fight it at all. Fists and fangs were no use here, he reflected as he crawled into bed.
He groaned pitifully at the sound of Spike's voice. The bastard was haunting him in the literal sense and every time Angel turned around there was Spike, ready to take the piss out of him again. He looked over and the harsh words he'd been planning to hurl at Spike paused as he drank in the view. Spike's voice was soft and his face, fractured by shadows, was haunting. Angel had yet to become accustomed to the sunlight that flooded his world these days. He...they belonged in the dark. The cold light of evening suited them both, but on Spike, it gave him a radiance that sunshine never could. That wonderful face, limned in moonlight, brought forth a stirring inside Angel. He'd forgotten how absolutely entrancing he found Spike's face. Sharp and hard and defiantly beautiful, all angles and curves, and it wasn't real. There was sorrow in that thought, that his boy, his Childe, his Spike, was no longer real. Just an illusion and one that Angel felt he couldn't bear to see now, looking so beautiful and regretful in the shadows.
Los Angeles, 2003:
They had split the better part of two bottles of Jamison's Irish Whiskey between them, sorrowing over the loss of their "perfect girl". Spike had been regaling Angel with tales of his misadventures in Sunnydale. The antics of his Niblet, the many times he flustered The Watcher, and to Angel's great delight, the humiliations of Xander Harris. Spike had gone quiet though, when he spoke "Xander's Demon Bird", and Angel poked his shoulder. Spike shrugged him off, explaining that he and Anya had had an unfortunate one night stand, saying "We both needed a bit o' comfort and we ended up hurting everyone, including each other. I think I might regret that more than anything I ever did, Angel. She was a lovely bint, though. Honest and real and she's dead now. I remember that night, she told me she had a sexy dance. Right sorry I never got to see it."
Angel looked at Spike, eyes sparkling. "Show me your sexy dance, Spike."
Spike smirked. He stood up, pulling off his duster and laying it carefully aside. The boots were unlaced and tugged off, as Angel smiled genially. When the shirt came off, Angel began to wonder what sort of dance Spike would consider sexy. After the jeans were cast aside, Angel gulped heavily and grabbed the bottle.
Spike dropped to his knees in front of Angel, falling almost between Angel's legs. He gazed up, and smiled that terrible seductive smile he saved for these occasions, moments of mischief and devilment. His hands glided down his abdomen, and his eyes fluttered closed as he grasped his now-erect cock. Fingers held loosely around the shaft, he began to stroke himself slowly. Angel felt his own cock twitch and shudder in sympathetic response. Bubbles of juice oozed out, the tip a bright cherry, and Spike was moaning now, body riding up and down as if Spike were impaling himself on...Oh god, Spike. Impaled. It brought heat to his belly, thinking of Spike riding him.
As he watched Spike fisting his thick cock and his other hand roling and tugging his luscious furry sac, Angel felt himself get lost in the beauty of the moment, in the beauty of Spike's body. He lept off the couch and kneeled down, mouth closing around that hard delectable pole in Spike's hands. When Spike shuddered and shot sweet creamy cum deep in Angel's mouth, he chanted Angel's name like a litany, like a prayer. And pulling back to gaze at Spike, face blissful in post-orgasmic haze, Angel couldn't remember anything he'd ever seen as beautiful as this.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2007-01-17 08:27 am (UTC)oh yeah baby...
no subject
on 2007-01-17 02:37 pm (UTC)Yeah, I watched "Entropy" the other day and Spike denied he had a sexy dance. Now, I knew that couldn't possibly true. Of all of the characters, Spike is the one who most needs a sexy dance. And Spike being Spike, it would involve rhythm but not music. Mainly, this whole list was a vehicle for the Sexy Dance. Still, I think it turned out well...
::snog::
Now where'd I put that mask?
no subject
on 2007-01-18 04:31 am (UTC)It turned out very well indeed...
*gropes you*
no subject
on 2007-01-18 05:05 am (UTC)More?
no subject
on 2007-01-17 08:50 pm (UTC)But then again, how could anyone not think that Spike's beautiful?
no subject
on 2007-01-18 05:05 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-19 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-20 12:26 am (UTC)I'm glad you like it and I will show you Angel's sexy dance. However, I don't think it will be quite the same as Spike's. But, I'll put some Angel nudity and slashiness in there for you. I may make this a semi-regular thing. Every month or so, I'll do Five Things For Girlpire...hmm, that reminds me, I need to get cracking on that com we talked about.
Sigh...I'll email.
no subject
on 2007-01-20 06:30 pm (UTC)five things for girlpire... i'm liking the sound of that. :D i created a new journal to test out some different layouts for your com. i'll let you know when i'm satisfied with one.