tabaqui | "Two Fusiliers" - part 3/3 - Adult

"Two Fusiliers" - part 3/3 - Adult - S/A

Monday, February 19th, 2007 11:46 am

At last, at last! Wow, this took too long. But it's done! Yay! I *still* think it's a little odd, but it is what it is. :)

All for you, Snow - 'cause i adore you and luff you and, you know, all that.
*smoooooooch*

Thank you thank you,

darkhavens for the once-over. You rock!
Title and cut tag text are from the Robert Graves poem, Two Fusiliers.
Chapters one and two are here.
Enjoy!

By Death: we faced him, and we found
Beauty in Death,
In dead men breath.

Spike ground himself down, slowly. Watching through half-closed eyes as Angel bit his lip – lifted his chin, taking in a quick, hitching little breath. Spike flexed his fingers on Angel's chest and Angel's hands slid from Spike's ribs to his hips – curled around them and pulled Spike down a little harder – a little closer.

"Ah, Jesus...Spike..."

"Yeah...c'mon –" Spike rubbed his thumbs over Angel's nipples – dragged blunt nails down Angel's sides and leaned back, bracing one hand on Angel's thigh. Angel shifted under him and arched up, and Spike took his own unsteady breath – lifted his hips and then drove himself back down onto Angel's cock. Heat and pressure and the ache of muscles pushed a little too far and it was... "Fuck..."

"Doin' my best," Angel murmured and Spike laughed softly – let Angel lift him and pull him back down, thighs flexing.

Spike had people. He had men and women who welcomed him with open arms – open mouths. Hot human kisses and cold vampire ones – demonic rutting in alleys and bedrooms and back rooms. But it was never the same. He could never let his guard down – never just disengage and sink into it. Turn his brain off and become nothing but nerve endings and skin. *At least I could always trust you, Angelus...most of the time. Trust you to want this as much as me...* Spike hitched himself up and sank down again, head falling back, back arching – hips rocking.

"Spike..." Angel's hand ran up Spike's chest – curled around his neck, tugging him down and Spike went easily, folding over Angel, thighs slipping wider – cock pushing into the hard flatness of Angel's belly. Kissing like Angel was oxygen and Spike actually needed it, taste of bourbon and blood on his tongue. "I missed you...missed this so much..." Angel said, lips against Spike's, moth's wings.

"Not enough to stay," Spike said. Said before he thought, really – and wasn't that the case so much of the time, when it came to Angel? Angel's hands ceased their slow sweep down Spike's back and Spike sighed.

"Don't start, Spike. Why can't you ever –"?

"Just not built that way," Spike said. Abruptly he sat up – got up, his body giving a little shiver as Angel slipped free of him. He stalked over to the window and leaned there. Forearm on the grimy glass, head on forearm. Staring out at the patchwork of nighttime L.A. The chunks of darkness – burnt out buildings and blocks – seemed to be bigger. Seemed to have grown, edging out the places where light – and life – still existed. *Christ, I need a cigarette. Need a drink and need my fucking head examined.*

"Why is it always my fault?" Angel muttered, and Spike almost laughed.

"'Cause you take the blame so fucking well. Wear your guilt like a Cartier's crown of thorns, you do."

"Oh, fuck off."

Spike listened to Angel shifting around – getting up and doing something and then walking over to join him. Familiar snick and Angel's fingers, holding a lit cigarette, appeared. "Thought you quit?"

"Once every century," Angel said, and Spike grinned – took the offered cigarette and lifted it to his lips.

He could taste Angel on the filter and he took a long drag and then turned, leaning his shoulder into the thick fall of faded cotton curtains. Angel leaned on the other side of the window, his own cigarette a fire-fly glow in the gloom. They smoked in silence for a moment. "Didn't mean to say that, you know. Just...slipped out."

Angel shrugged. "It's okay. I...kinda deserve it." Angel took another drag of his cigarette and made a wry face – reached over and slipped it into an empty beer bottle that was sitting on the window sill. "I guess...I don't like thinking about it, you know? I said I'd fight for the city – protect the people..." Angel looked out the window, his fingers tapping lightly on the glass. "And I didn't. I failed. We beat the Black Thorn but – that just opened the city up to all the other little gangs and factions the Thorn was keeping in line. I was so focused on one thing... I didn't see the bigger picture."

"Wasn't anything you could predict," Spike said finally, absently tapping ash onto the floor boards. Not meeting Angel's gaze because here he went again, giving in. Finding excuses and letting Angel off the hook. And why? *Because I'm fucking lonely, and there's no one left, and I don't want to do this anymore. Not by myself.*

"Maybe. But I could see it happening before I left and I just..." Angel leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. Studying the floor or his toes – the hard-on that hadn't subsided for either of them. "I was just...sick of it, Spike. So damn – sick of it all. Cordelia and Wes and Gunn...Fred..." His voice cracked a little and he swallowed. Spike felt his own throat ache at her name – at their failure. "They all suffered because of mistakes I made. Because when it comes right down to it, I'm not... I'm not a leader. I never was."

"Didn't do as bad as all that –" Spike protested, and Angel shook his head, sighing.

"Yeah, I really did. I got so caught up in my – fate, or – destiny, whatever you want to call it I forgot about the consequences. I forgot there were consequences. Or I just...wanted to ignore them. After that night..." Angel picked at the hem of the curtain, every line of his body eloquently speaking of sorrow and regret. "I just couldn't anymore."

Spike felt the corner of his mouth quirk a little in a crooked smile and he leaned down and let the butt of his own cigarette slip into the dregs of beer, hearing the tiny hiss as it landed. "Could have used you, you know," Spike said. He mirrored Angel's pose, arms crossed, and Angel stopped fiddling with the ragged edge of the curtain and looked up at him. "It was bloody difficult, being the only white hat with the balls to fight."

Angel's eyebrows went up and he looked searchingly at Spike. "That's it? You're not going to tell me I deserve to – to burn in hell or that I've ruined everything, fucked it all up, made your life miserable?"

"No point in repeating what you already know," Spike said, chuckling, and Angel scowled. "Oh, don't be like that. You did what you had to do, Angelus. Sometimes things just need to sift themselves, when all's been said and done. They wanted you to fight the good fight and all that –" Spike waved his hand. "All that bollocks, and you did your best."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Why'd you stay, Spike? Why didn't you take off to – some other place? Like Rome."

Spike snorted softly – tipped his head against the window, gaze seeing distant fires and city lights, almost indistinguishable. "After you've lived a few years, you finally get to know when a thing's over, Angelus. And that's over and done. Hell, it was done that night. No coming back from a betrayal like that." Angel made some soft noise and Spike looked over at him. "I wanted...hell, I don't know. I wanted to do what you couldn't. What you wouldn't. Wanted to prove...something." Spike sighed and turned so he could press his forehead against the cool, gritty glass. Let his eyes fall shut, blocking out the ruins of the city that wasn't his – never would be. It had just hurt, so much, when Angel had left. Hurt so much that the battered city had seemed the only refuge he had. "Proved I'm a stubborn git, I suppose. Proved I can hold a grudge. Haven't done a bloody thing else."

"That's not what I hear." Spike made a little noise of protest – shivered when cool hands dropped onto his shoulders. "I hear you've been – kicking ass and taking names." Spike laughed at that – at those words coming out of Angel's mouth, and he could feel Angel laughing silently behind him. Angel's hands rubbed Spike's shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles beside his neck . "I hear you've been brokering deals and setting up safe zones and...doing what I wanted to do. Making L.A. safe."

"Half the city's in ruins, Angel. There's always fighting – people leave and demons move in and..."

"And they respect you," Angel murmured, his mouth brushing against Spike's ear. His breath cool, his hands slipping down to stroke over Spike's ribcage. "They count on you."

Spike pulled in a deep breath, opening his eyes wide. Angel felt so...solid, behind him. Felt more real than Spike did, half the time. Felt like something he could rest against. For just...a moment. *Just for a night...just tonight...* "I scare 'em, is all. They know I'd kill every last one of them if I had to."

"Course you would," Angel whispered. "But you'd run through fire for them, too. They know it. I know it." Angel's chest pressed tight to Spike's back and Spike let himself be tugged back – let himself lean into the dense muscle and satin skin. Let his thighs slide open a little and moaned softly when Angel's cock pushed slowly back inside him. "They know what I know," Angel said, his voice a low purr – his arms around Spike. "They know that once you've set your mind to something, you'll do it – you'll never give up. They know that you've taken this place for your own and you won't let go." Angel's hips rolled slowly – pulled back and pushed forward and Spike leaned his head back against Angel's shoulder, his hands slipping off the window and finding Angel's hips – gripping tight.

"I can't just...leave the poor bastards. Not after what we did," Spike whispered, and Angel nodded against his skull – found a rhythm with his hips and settled into it.

"I know you can't. You're such a fucking romantic, Spike...trust you to fall in love with a city..."

Spike laughed – something a little closer to a sob – and turned his head. Pressed his lips into Angel's throat, tasting the spice-iron tang of his skin, the cool flesh warming under his tongue. "You bastard," Spike said, and Angel's mouth touched Spike's in a long kiss. "Why'd you come here?" Spike asked, finally getting space to breathe as Angel's thrusts came faster and harder – as his hands shifted to grip Spike's hips in a bruising hold. "Why'd you – you knew I wouldn't leave, you knew...fuck, 'Gelus, god –"

"Wanted to know for sure. Wanted to...make sure..."

"What? Sure of what?"

"Sure you'd still – oh, god, Spike –" Angel's left hand snaked up, curling over Spike's shoulder and jerking him back – his right wrapped around Spike's cock, stroking hard. Spike arched, cursing, his own hands going up to knot in Angel's hair – to yank his head down. They kissed, sharp-edged and desperate, iron taste of blood on Spike's tongue and a curling, tingling heat sizzling all through his body – knotting in his belly. They came almost together, shaking. Lungs dragging in useless, ragged breaths – bodies thrumming with arousal and satiation, almost as if a heart beat inside. Spike let Angel hold him up for a moment and then he braced against the window, pressing his forehead to the cool glass.

"Make sure I'd still what, Angel?" he asked, surprised to hear his voice come out a little hoarse – a little cracked.

Angel's mouth pressed wetly to the back of Spike's neck, little scrape of tooth and the rough-silk lap of his tongue. "I wanted to make sure you'd...still be here. When...when I came back."

"Came...back?" Spike felt himself go still – felt his muscles lock tight and Angel felt it, too. He sighed and stepped back, breaking their connection, but then putting his hand on Spike's shoulder and tugging him around. He looked mussed and anxious and sleepy all at once, dark eyes blinking, his mouth soft and a little swollen.

"When we win. When we beat the demon army. They're a pretty sorry bunch – probably take about a week."

"You miserable, lying bastard," Spike said, but it didn't come out nearly as vicious as he meant it. It came out rather like an endearment – a verbal caress. And Angel all but purred, a slow smile tugging his mouth wide.

"Yeah, I know. I practiced all the way here. Guess I did pretty good, huh?"

"Wanker. Sodding Irish git. Fucker." With every insult, Spike shoved Angel backward and Angel stumbled across the floor and onto the bed, lying there flat on his back and laughing. Spike straddled him, pinning his arms to the bed. "I don't need your bloody help, you know."

"I know. I know you don't," Angel said, but they both knew it was a lie.

"I'm the one as gives the orders," Spike added, leaning down and nipping un-gently at Angel's collar bones, and Angel arched up a little, gasping.

"I know. You're the...vamp in charge. Big – vamp on –"

Spike's head snapped up. "You've been talking to Harris."

"Every day," Angel said, making a face, and Spike laughed.

"Serves you right." He leaned there a moment above Angel, studying him. Taking in the familiar face that was...just the same. Ever the same. Eyes that danced with a not-so-secret glee – mouth that twitched and tried to stay sober. "Why, Angelus?" Spike asked softly, and Angel's gaze softened – his whole face relaxed into that rarest of expressions. Happiness.

"Guess when you've lived a few years, you know when a thing's...still there. Know it really never ended, and it never will."

Spike watched Angel for a moment longer and then he leaned down and kissed him, wrapping himself around Angel and feeling Angel's arms come up to pull him close – his legs tangle with Spike's. "Love you too, you old bastard."

"I know."

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