Title: I hate you
Rating: NC17 slash
Summary: Spike doesn’t fall down unconscious when he’s drunken too much in Lover’s walk
Spike was hurting - head exploding, world going woozy and ears ringing like mad kind of hurting. Watching Angel sitting there, reading, as if nothing was wrong. As if there wasn't a dangerous vampire waiting to rip his throat out, or at the very least blacken his eye. God he hated the bastard. Wanted, needed to kill him, end it. He had to end it once and for all.
Yes, Angel, this was the final night of your life, had to be. And so thinking, Spike forced his way through the door. Well actually he fell through it, but he didn't have to admit that part to anyone. Spike crawled up, staring up at Angel as he did so. His pack of cigarettes fell out of his pocket. Suddenly there were three of them and Spike kept grabbing to one of the ones that wouldn’t lay still.
Just one fag…just the one. There you are, he needed that. Needed it as much as he needed to kill his grandsire now. Couldn’t be that hard, he thought, seeing the poof getting up to his feet. He could take him. Could so take him.
“It’s your fault. You bloody sodding waste of a pig’s…, waste of a … It’s your fault damn it. Your bloody whoring fault, stealing my Dru, taking my girl so…”
And there was the sobbing. Oh god no, not in front of him.
Angel tried to reach out to him and Spike hit him right back. Couldn’t let that stupid poofter of a grandsire of his think he’d gone soft. Soft skin was touching his. God he missed Dru, needed her, needed him. He punched him again. He needed him and the bastard had ignored him; forcing Angel to the floor, straddling him.
“I hate you, you god forgotten bastard. I hate you hate you, hate you…”
And why did Angel have to ruin this by not even trying to fight back. Just lying there and taking it when he should be beating the crap out of him. Damn bastard could never do anything right.
“Have you gotten over your little temper tantrum yet, Spike? Cause it’s really getting tiresome.”
Spike hit him again. Angel didn’t even bother to pretend he was hurt. Smiling is what he was, grinning, laughing at him as if he were some bloody good joke that he’d forgotten for so long and had just remembered.
And again; slipping as Angel ducked out of the way. Spike tried to crawl up to his feet and see where the bastard was. Unfair, he’d gotten reinforcements. Who the hell were those pretenders supposed to be anyway?
“Oh come on Spike, can’t you do better than that?”
He kicked the middle one in the crotch and saw him go down.
“Yes. ” Like shooting the winning goal in a world cup finale between England and Germany.
Angel fell to the floor and Spike tried to go after him, slurring words of hate against Angelus and Darla, the whore, who’d be so ashamed of her boy now. Angel grabbed his leg, pulling him down alongside him and Spike fell on top of him. One leg between Angel’s.
“She left me you bastard.”
He spit in the bastards face and watched him lick it up. He was forced back as Angel grabbed his mouth, kissing him. And instead of pushing him away, he’d feel his own tongue slip down in between Angel’s open lips, touching first teeth, then flesh and falling down, too drunk even to fully know his own name.
Growling as the bastard started tugging on his shirt, but tearing off Angel’s pants and not caring if some of the buttons were irretrievably lost. Was going to dust the bastard, kill him. Yes, with his big, big, no, huge stake… stake him. Until Angel grabbed his cock and used it as leverage to pull him down under him.
“Hey, no, not…” Spike could feel Angel’s teeth gently nibbling on his skin as the poofter kissed him all the way down to his nipples… All protests evaporated at that point.
“I hate you too Spike”, Angel said right before forcing himself over Spike’s hips and pulled down Spike’s pants deep enough for his legs to be trapped together.
Angel just stared down at him, before going down on him and Spike no longer fought when the bastard finally turned him over, pulling his legs apart as far as his pants would let him.
“That’s it, boy. Ripe and ready.”
Not a boy. Spike pushed his head backwards, feeling his skull almost crack as he hit the Neanderthal’s enormous forehead. Pushing him away.
”Not your boy.”
And realizing somehow that Angel wasn’t quite as strong as he’d imagined him to be, yet not caring, he fell back until he lay on top of Angel and somehow managed to hit the most vulnerable places. Tearing his pants apart as he did so. He wondered if the bastards cock was hard enough to crack. But no, instead he felt it slip inside of him and he didn’t care, riding it like a stick in the ground, scratching an itch he couldn’t get to himself.
“Hate you more.”
But lying there sated, surrounded by his grandsire’s fluids, feeling strong arms surrounding him, holding him, even if only till he pushed him off, feeling that the booze was starting to wear off.
“Hate you.” And they both knew he meant, “I love you.”
And when Angel hit him down, it felt like a kiss, just like his fist in Angels face felt like a caress, neither of them caring much about either the blood or the scratches. Staring in each other’s eyes.
“I hate you.”
What else were sires good for?
Writing For: : Jenna
LJ Name: : nasty_shrew
Pairing Option #1: Spike/Xander
Pairing Option #2: Spike/Angel(us)
Brand of Hurt: Both/Either ... really not fussed here.
Wants: snark and cigarettes
Doesn't Want: souled!Spike and sub!Spike ... what? I just like my
Spike good 'grr'.
Maximum Rating Preferred: NC 17.
Additional Details: A happy ending is not necessary, though appreciated:)