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[personal profile] sevendeadlyfun
Pairing: Spike/Angel

Rating: R

Warnings: language, violence, m/m kissage

A/N: The fragment of poem in this part is from Invictus by William Ernest Henley.


   
Spike stood and stalked around the bed, coat sliding off his lean form. Angel’s eyes followed him, and watched thoughtfully as Spike climbed on the bed behind William. Angel realized with a jolt of alarm that those mocking eyes were amber and not blue. That revelation came at the exact same moment as Spike sank his fangs into William’s soft pliable neck.


    Scrabbling up, Angel lunged for the two…men? Demons? Angel couldn’t figure it out. It almost didn’t matter as Spike reared back in a fluid motion, dragging William along. Standing once again, he continued to suck, the gulps and purrs of demon feeding audible in the agonizingly silent room. Angel kneeled on the bed, his posture somehow supplicating.

    He wanted to move, tried desperately to force his limbs to bend to his will. He stayed frozen in position, an observer in this scene of death. Angel took in every second, saw the tears slipping down William’s face, the flecks of blood frothing around Spike’s mouth. Then he saw a diaphanous figure take shape next to him.

    “Spike?”

    The translucent form nodded and gave him a sad smile, his fingers reaching out and passing through Angel’s face. There was no contact, but the implications of that caress struck Angel with the force of an atomic bomb. Everything he’d seen somehow came into focus and he renewed his struggle against the invisible bonds that held him fast.

    “It’s no good, Angel. You can’t save the life of a dead man. A hundred years to late to save him, pet,” said the Spike figure next to him. “Best just to let him go with a bit o’happiness. It’ll all be over soon. Just sorry you had to see it. Wouldn’t hurt you for anything, luv.”

    Angel’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t push the words past his throat. He wanted to plead with this fading form, beg him to save William. All he could do is put his heart in his eyes and hope that the words would follow.
   
    The demonic Spike pulled up from the neck of his victim, eyes narrow and hard. He laughed, the sound vicious and unsettling. “Oh that’s rich. You want him to help? How do you expect that would work? Suppose he could hover me to death. Sorry, pillock, but he ain’t your savior. He’s nothing now.”

    Angel moved his head a fraction of an inch in denial. Spike wasn’t nothing. Spike was his Childe, born in the blood of Aurelius. That made him someone, made him important.

    “I can hear you, Angel. No privacy inside the mind, sweet. Could hear you calling me and that’s why I’m here. But, Angel, he’s right. No form, no shape, no presence. My actions don’t affect the world, my desires stopped mattering to anyone. Hell, I was raped by a sodding human girl. Even you,” he whispered,” don’t see me. ‘Born in the blood’, luv and that’s all. Not myself, but something that’s yours. A creation that’s been damaged and I can’t go on like that. Only existing in the presence of someone else. But who am I when no one else sees me?”

    Three pairs of eyes bore down on Angel and he had the feeling that his answer would matter tremendously. He thought, pausing to flick through the images of Spike he carried in his mind. A soft luscious human man, all sweet curls and warm fragrant blood. A whipcord thin demon, fists and fangs flying. A strange and disturbing combination of the two, laughing and snarling, both sides equally appealing and appalling. Who was Spike?

    Gathering his strength, Angel tried to speak one last time and felt the words climbing out of throat as he croaked, “Not…nothing. Everything!”

    Spike seemed to grow more opaque as Angel stubbornly continued, voice strained, “You see…in my head? I see…you. This…is…you. Three…faces…of…Spike. All…important. All…beautiful. If I…don’t see…it’s still…you. Always.”

    As the shimmering figure of Spike contemplated this, solidifying and fading away, Angel heard the faint thumpthump of a heartbeat. His words pulsed into the core of the dead man, forcing life into his bloodied fragile frame. Scents wrapped themselves around Angel, giving him awareness of their previous absence. The William in the room wasn’t his Will, his demon Childe. It was the man whose life he’d stolen, the very human part of Spike. A part that seemed to be struggling to live.

    “Spike,” William called. “Spike.”

    Angel pushed again, using the only weapon he had left. Words poured forth, easier now. “Save him, Spike. I can’t. I never could. Give him back his life.”

    The demon Spike snarled, arms tightening around his prize. “Not gonna happen, tosser. I’ve won this round, fair and square. My game, my rules, remember?”

    Spike’s insubstantial form abruptly hardened, and his head whipped up. “Wrong as usual, you git. MY game, MY rules.” With that, Spike launched himself at his demon, casually lifting him and throwing him across the room.

    The demon bounced off the wall, standing in a defensive crouch. His fangs glinted in the dim light, and his voice dripped with faux sympathy. “Aww, poor little lost boy. Izzat all it takes? A few crumbs from Angel and you’re the Big Bad Hero? Without me, you’re a moldering corpse, baby.”

    Spike stood there, hand softly stroking William’s cheek. A shared smile and Spike leapt forward, strong leg kicking the demon in the chin. Whirling, he followed the kick with a brutal punch to the gut.

    “Know that, darling. That’s why I’m only going to beat you half to death. Now, I suggest you stay down. We’ll both be feeling this later and I don’t fancy spending months dealing with metaphysical agony. While you’re down there, think a bit on this fact, mate. If I’m nothing, what’s that make you?”

    Spike threw his shoulders back, stretching as if to awaken a body long asleep. Reaching out a hand, he beckoned to William. The nude man came willingly, arching himself into the welcoming embrace. Lips met in a gentle loving kiss and William faded gradually, snow melting under the heat of Spike’s mouth.

    The demon stared up at Spike, eyes hateful. Spike returned the glare with an amused smirk. Reaching out the opposite hand, he motioned for the demon to stand. Reluctantly, the demon obeyed and Spike met him nose to nose. They stood that way for many moments until Spike broke the contest of wills with a sigh.

    “In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody but unbowed. I get it, okay? Now get back where you belong. I’m gettin’ tired of all this self-examination. It’s bloody boring.”

    The demon gave Spike the international sign for friendship, fingers up and facing outward. Spike returned the sentiment and the gesture as the demon too faded from view. Angel felt his limbs loosening and unfurled them, raising up and leaving the bed behind.

    “Spike…” Angel started, unsure of what to say next.

    “Angel,” Spike replied, voice tired. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

    Those words and there was that damned dizziness again, the world spinning and tilting as he fell down and down and down. He could only hope that they were actually leaving Spike’s mind and that when they got back, there’d be no more lace. As he fell, he flailed about, seeking the solace of Spike’s touch and there it was, a body pressed up against his, real and solid and comforting.

    Angel’s eyes fluttered open and there he was, face inches away, blue eyes bleary and exhausted.

    “Hey,” Angel said and winced at the inanity of his own words.

    “Hey yourself,” Spike responded thickly, voice froggy from disuse.

    “I just…that was…what the fuck was up with the lace, Spike?”

    And he smiled as heard a hoarse bark of laughter. Spike was back. Spike was laughing. Maybe the rest could wait until tomorrow.

                                                                                    TBC…

on 2007-01-21 10:19 pm (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] lilithbint.livejournal.com
Only existing in the presence of someone else. But who am I when no one else sees me?”
you made me cry... *grin*
well done, wonderful chapter.
So... what was with the lace then????

on 2007-01-22 12:10 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
Oh wow. Crying...that's bad. But it's good. So..yay?

Thanks, hon. The lace? Well, that would be telling...::grins::

Don't worry. I won't leave a plot thread unraveled!

on 2007-01-22 05:31 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] dreamsofspike.livejournal.com
oh he brought him back!!! that's good...hope he's okay...though something tells me he's still gonna need quite a bit of tlc, yeah? :) great chapter, love :)

on 2007-01-22 01:16 pm (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
Was there ever a doubt? :)

And yes, TLC forthcoming along with Buffy traumatization...I'd say bashing, but it isn't really bashing. Just a nasty surprise and some facing of the music. And since this all started out as a Fmk request for you, I might throw in a little het just for you!

I'm glad you're enjoying it, sweetie!

on 2007-03-31 03:46 pm (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] treadingthedark.livejournal.com
Really fascinating story.
Interesting insights into Spike and his relationships and the imagery is fantastic.
Is there more and I just can't find it?
Thanks

on 2007-04-01 04:22 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
Uhm...not yet? ::ducks::

I promise I'll finish it soon. The plot thread got away from me, but I'll track the bugger down and make it come back.

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