fenderlove (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fenderlove) wrote2011-01-05 12:20 am
fenderlove) wrote2011-01-05 12:20 am
Strictly Come Vampires :: a Spike/Angel fic.
My first fanfic of the new year. I feel productive. :D
Title: Strictly Come Vampires
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Angel.
Rating: R. Not worksafe! :D
Summary: Angel is forced to participate as Wolfram and Hart's representative in a charity event on New Year's Eve. Can Spike help him not make a fool out of himself?
Notes: AU in which Angel is still in control of Wolfram and Hart and is still working towards reforming it and its image as of 2010.
Strictly Come Vampires
"No."
Wesley sighed, "Angel, if you would only listen..."
"No," Angel replied, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly.
After all that Angel had suffered through, he could not believe that this burden would fall on him. This was one indignity too many, and he was putting his foot down. There was nothing that anyone could say to him to make him take back his refusal. Nothing in the whole world.
"But it's for the children."
Angel glared at Wesley, irritated that the ex-Watcher would appeal to his better, more guilt-ridden, nature.
"Funny, I thought it was to make Wolfram and Hart look more philanthropic and less like the nougat-y center of all evil," Spike muttered as he rested a shoulder against Angel's weaponry wall.
"And it's for the children," Wesley repeated.
"The only thing that will happen if I agree to this, and I'm not saying that I am, is that I will successfully look like an idiot," Angel held up the invitation, his eyes filled with scorn as he looked at the embossed words that mocked him.
~ The Champagne Swing ~
Dance your way from 2010 to 2011!
All proceeds to benefit the Los Angeles Children's Art Foundation.
"You're not going to be embarrassed," Wesley said, "It's a dance marathon, so you only have to keep on your feet with your partner. Just a little box-step, nothing fancy. No one's asking you to Lindy Hop with a lampshade on your head."
"I'd pay to see that, actually," Spike leaned forward to get a better look at the engraved card, "Mr. Angel and Guest... So who's the unlucky filly whose toes will be trod upon by your great clodhoppers?"
Angel gripped the bit of cardstock tightly, "I haven't asked anyone yet," and then pointedly to Wesley, "I just found out about this stupid thing today."
Wesley nervously began, "Well, you see, I took the liberty of finding a date for you since it was so short notice-"
"Oh my God, Angel, I am so excited!" Harmony practically squee'd as she came into the office, carrying an armload of boutique catalogs that she dumped on Angel's desk. "A big fancy dance in a real ballroom, not some cruddy gym. And there'll be lots of rich people and photographers and maybe an open bar! We're going to have such a super fun time!"
Angel sat there in stunned silence.
Spike couldn't help but smirk, "Yeah, Angel, it's going to be, like, the most funnest party ever."
Wesley attempted to explain, "Harmony is a very good dancer, Angel, and since Fred is visiting her parents for the holidays... Well, Harmony was available and..."
"Which dress do you like better- the sparkly pink one or the sparkly blue one?" Harmony held up two catalogs in front of Angel's face. "I kinda like the pink one."
"Of course, you do," Spike muttered.
Harmony pouted, "Hey, I'm just trying to make sure that I'm going to match-"
"It's a big kids' party, Harm," Spike responded, "There are no silly corsages or having to make sure your panties go with his cummerbund."
Wesley thought for a moment, "Are cummerbunds still the thing?"
Angel sighed, "I'm not wearing a cummerbund."
"What's a cummerbund?" Harmony tilted her head slightly.
"About fifty francs if you can find a French prostitute," Spike replied.
"Could everyone please get out of my office?"
Ignoring Angel's request, Wesley pondered, "The French switched to the euro, didn't they?"
"Don't get me started on the European economy," Spike shook his head.
In no mood to deal with anyone, Angel repeated, "Everyone out!"
"Fine, Mr. Grumpypants, but if I buy a dress that doesn't go with your outfit, it'll be your fault!" Harmony scooped up her catalogs and left.
Wesley stopped at the door as he was leaving, "Remember, Angel, it's twenty-four hours on a dance floor. You've got almost two weeks to get rested up."
Angel felt like crawling into a hole. Twenty-four hours? He had thought that these charity dance marathons had went the way of bobby-socks and duck-tails. It's not that Angel couldn't dance; he just didn't dance well. Oh sure, he'd danced with Buffy at her prom, but that was little more than shifting one's weight from side-to-side, turning in a slow circle. Nothing difficult about that, especially when compared to a bunch of teenagers, but dancing in front of L.A.'s elite and the Society Section coverage? Hell almost seemed preferable.
"What's got you so riled about this thing?" Spike asked as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of Angel's desk.
"You know I don't like dancing."
Spike smiled as he recalled a few memories, "I seem to remember you really enjoyed it on occasion."
"Well, not anymore," came the reply as Angel tossed the invitation into one of the desk drawers. "And didn't I tell you to leave?"
"All right, I will, but consider this your Christmas present," Spike said as he got up and walked out of the office. He was gone for all of ten seconds before he poked his head back in, "Oh, and I'm borrowing your Morgan Supersport until Boxing Day."
Angel started to warn the blonde not to touch his cars upon penalty of death but it wasn't worth it to bother. It was the charitable time of the year, to give unto those in need. Without any income (save what he scammed off the cash advances on Angel's corporate credit card), Spike was in need, but he was also annoying, which meant what the boy really needed was a swift ass-kicking. Being the magnanimous sort, Angel decided letting Spike have one car for a week couldn't hurt.
If he brings it back without a scratch, I might put him on the payroll, Angel thought to himself, but after further contemplation the word "nah" came to mind.
******
Christmas Day came and went without incident. The whole building was silent as Angel sat in his armchair with a bottle of Hendrick's. Sometime before the holiday vacation period began, the Wolfram and Hart interior decorating squadron had descended on Angel's apartment and put up Christmas falderal. He felt a little offended that no one had bothered to ask him if he even wanted decorations thrown about his personal space. What was worse was that the decorations the designers had picked out were all very modern, stark whites, blacks, and reds were everywhere. There was no real warmth to anything; it made the room seem extremely sterile and cold.
Angel's friends had gone off to do their own activities, vacationing in other cities or going to parties with clients and such. He felt very much on his own. Connor had visited him a few days earlier once he was finished with his graduate work for the semester. They'd had a nice dinner, exchanged gifts, and it had been very comfortable. However, Christmas Eve and Day were for Connor's other family. Mr. and Mrs. Reilly didn't know that Connor wasn't actually their son, and they deserved the boy's time as much as Angel did. It was a lot to ask of a young man, splitting his time between his graduate studies, patrolling, and two separate homes, one of which didn't know the other existed.
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse with a sharp ding, and Angel got his hopes up that Connor might be dropping in unexpectedly. However, he was very disappointed when Spike strode in as if he owned the place. The blonde vampire had a box under one arm and was wearing a black sweatshirt with "Stanford University" emblazoned across it.
"Spike, how the hell did you get in here?" Angel demanded, his speech slurred, "And what are you wearing?"
"You like it? Connor gave it to me," Spike had a smug expression, "And you should probably tell Harmony not to keep the secret override code for the elevator on a Post-It in that wretched Lisa Frank trapper-keeper she calls a datebook."
Angel took a long drought from the bottle in his hand and sunk a bit deeper into his chair.
Spike looked carefully at the bottle, "Oh, no, you've gotten into the gin. Has someone died?"
"No," Angel replied glumly, "I ran out of everything else in the liquor cabinet."
"You drank all the Jameson's?"
"Yes."
"All of it? Even that bottle in your desk downstairs that you think that I don't know about?"
"I said yes!" Angel snapped and then added, "Stay out of my desk!"
Spike appeared rather put out, "You are very lucky that you don't need a functioning liver anymore."
Tossing the empty bottle at the overflowing bin and missing it by a mile, Angel watched as Spike sat down on the plush sofa with the box on his lap.
"What's in the box?" Angel asked as he got up and staggered into the kitchen, hoping to find some Baileys hiding in a cabinet.
"You should know better than to ask that question," Spike laughed to himself, but stopped, "Right, you've probably never seen Se7en, have you?"
Angel grumbled something unintelligible and went back to rummaging through the cupboards.
Spike stared at the Christmas decorations in the room and grimaced a bit, "You know, I come from the Voltaire 'Paint it Black' School of Design, but this room is very depressing."
"They did it. They're trying to make me throw myself out a window," Angel slurred and threw open the refrigerator door.
The fridge was filled with blood and expensive food. There was a whole seven course meal with all the trimmings just needing to be heated up available, but Angel didn't have much use for it without a human-someone around to eat with. He slammed the door, but then quickly opened it back up to scrounge around for more booze.
"There's not a bit of verdant colour anywhere in this room... The garland's are black with red glitter all over it. And this tree looks horrid. It's just a bunch of white plastic sticks, looks like it's made out of bones. Who designed this stuff? Hot Topic?" Spike frowned as he got up and went to make sure Angel wasn't about to drink drain cleaner or stake himself on a spatula handle. "Might as well get a pink aluminum tree at this point."
Angel started to giggle when Spike said "aluminum," which he pronounced al-u-mini-um. The brunette was getting more unsteady on his feet, and the room was starting to get fuzzy. Grabbing onto the counter, Angel took a few deep, albeit unneeded, breaths.
"Whoa there," Spike grabbed Angel's arm before the larger man fell over and turned him around towards his armchair, "This way, Mr. Bunker, to your chair."
"I haven't drank this much in a really, really long time," Angel said as he relaxed against the plush material.
Spike tried to get his grandsire situated, "I can tell. You used to not get so bloody sauced. Must be getting old."
Angel looked longingly at a few of the empty bottles to the right of his armchair, "Yeah..."
"You stay here, and I'll see if I can find something a little less 80-proof-y," Spike went back into the kitchen.
Angel called after him, "Can it be whiskey? Find some whiskey, okay?"
Waking up sometime later, Angel couldn't remember closing his eyes nor getting into his own bed. He ran his hand lazily over his chest, realizing his shirt was off but his trousers were still on. His head was pounding from the ensuing hangover, and he fell out of bed and practically crawled to his bedroom door. A heavenly aroma hung in the air, and he staggered into the living room to see Spike lounging on the couch, his sock-covered feet propped up on one of the armrests. There was a wine glass of what appeared to be blood balanced precariously on the blonde's stomach as he reclined on the very expensive, white leather sofa.
Turning his head slightly in Angel's direction, Spike grinned, "Good morning, Starshine. The reluctantly sober world says hello."
"How long was I out?"
"'Bout six hours give or take a few of your death-rattling snores," Spike took a sip of blood and offered the glass to Angel, "Care for some hair of the otter? Or a little lasagna?" He gestured towards the plate on the coffee table, "It's microwave fresh."
Angel pushed Spike's feet off the armrest and went to sit down, "Move."
Knocking back the rest of his blood and drawing his legs closer to his side of the couch, Spike glared, "I forgot how damn grouchy you are when you first wake up."
Not feeling awake enough for any kind of witty retort, Angel leaned his head back, covering up his eyes with his hand.
"So what brought about the sudden drinking binge? The crushing loneliness of the holidays or the fact that if you fall on your face on the dance floor it'll be the most talked about faux pas of the season?" the blonde asked as he casually surfed through the million-plus television channels with the remote.
Angel groaned thinking about how much alcohol he had consumed, "I think it was probably both."
"It's not going to be that bad, you know. From what Wesley said, you just have to keep moving on your feet, and you've done more strenuous things for a day straight before... Much less wholesome things too."
"I guess I just don't want to embarrass myself-"
It was Spike's turn to sigh heavily as he pushed himself off the sofa, "All right then, you great whingy thing."
"What?"
Spike took hold of Angel's wrist and tried to pull him to a standing position, "I'm not going to listen to you moan about this for the next week, so I'm going to help you."
As Angel begrudgingly stood, Spike quickly pushed the coffee table out of the way, flicked off the TV, and grabbed the remote for the stereo and switched it to a station which was playing Cy Coleman.
~ Those fingers in my hair, that sly come-hither stare, that strips my conscious bare... It's witchcraft. ~
Resting one hand on Angel's shoulder and forcing the larger man to place his hand on his waist, Spike smirked, "Ah, this brings back memories."
"I suppose you want some sort of apology for making you take the lady's part," Angel groused as Spike laced the fingers of their free hands together.
"Not so much an apology as an explanation for why I was never allowed to take the gent's part," the blonde replied. "Now, it's just a step to the left and a swing to the right."
Angel rolled his eyes, "I know how to slow dance."
Spike retorted, "Then why are your feet glued to the floor? If you want to lead, you've gotta prove it."
Still somewhat tentative in his movements, Angel let his hip press into Spike's, directing the smaller man when to move forward or back. Their bodies pressed closer together as their weights shifted from step into step, finally moving out into a larger area as Angel grew more comfortable.
~ And although I know it's strictly taboo, when you arouse the need in me, my heart says, "Yes, indeed" in me. Proceed with what you're leading me to. ~
"You've been worried for nothing," Spike said quietly as they turned, trying not to trip over one another. "Just a bit rusty is all."
Angel kept looking down at his feet, "This is hopeless."
"Well, then let me take the lead," Spike took a few paces backwards, pulling Angel with him, "Don't over-think it. The only thing you need to keep in mind is 'quick, quick, slow.'"
Spike demonstrated his meaning, taking two quick slides to left and one back to the right. Angel allowed himself to follow the steps, relaxing more when he didn't have to think about which direction they were turning.
"This is pretty easy," Angel replied, somewhat surprised that he was enjoying himself.
"Just a two-step with a little extra pizzazz, and you can speed it up or down depending on the song," Spike said. "Now, spin me."
"Spin you?" Angel repeated.
"I can't very well spin you; my arm won't reach over your massive head, so take the lead and spin me. 'Quick, quick, slow' a few times, then turn, then you spin your partner, rinse and repeat as necessary. It's a no-fail way to dance," Spike answered. "It's gotten me through the century at any rate."
~ There's the devil in you tonight. And although my heart adores you, my head says it ain't right. Try to let you make advances? Oh, no. ~
Angel gracelessly let Spike turn under his arm, and then they fell back in step. For a while, they continued in the same pattern, changing rhythms to whatever song came on the radio. Trying to be bold, Angel unexpectedly dipped Spike, almost smacking the blonde's head into the coffee table.
Spike glared at him as they broke apart, "Let's not try that again without proper warning."
"Sorry," Angel ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe now would be a good time for a break?"
"Too bad you drank all the booze already," Spike said, picking up the white box he'd brought with him to the apartment. "Lucky then that I always come prepared." Opening the lid, he removed two bottles of Thatchers Cider and tossed one to Angel, "Doubt the Boy Scouts could do better."
The two vampires sat down on the couch, clinking the bottles together in toast. Angel savored the taste of the cider as it slid down his throat, tangy and rich. They drank in relative silence, listening to the quiet crooning of Frank Sinatra on the radio and watching as the sun began to rise through the breaks in the cityscape thanks to the luxury of necro-tempered glass.
"Happy Day-After-Boxing-Day," Spike raised his bottle towards the sun as it was reflected as a sea of oranges and reds that bled across the skyscrapers. Taking another drink, he grinned, "Much better than that weak apple-piss Americans call cider."
Angel nodded, and then a rather puzzled expression fell across his features, "Did you come up here just to dance with me?"
Spike started to laugh. Loudly.
"What's so funny?"
"I told you I was going to bring your car back on Boxing Day," Spike attempting to stifle his laughter.
Angel frowned, "You never bring my cars back when you say you will. In fact, you rarely bring my cars back at all. The last one wound up halfway to Terre Haute before the cops tracked it down."
Spike replied, "Well, I was trying to be nice about it... and I got these two bottles of cider for free at the import grocery near my apartment, and I didn't expect to come here and find you drunk out of your head in need of tending throughout the night..."
Though he didn't want to admit it, Spike had not wanted to spend the holidays alone. With everyone else that would have anything to do with him busy or out-of-town, he didn't have much choice in seeking out his grandsire's company. The dancing had turned out to be fun, nearly getting a concussion aside.
"Thanks," Angel responded, and then things became quiet once more.
A few moments passed by slowly before Spike felt a weight on his thigh. Angel had reached over and lightly placed his hand there, his thumb gently moving back and forth over the denim.
Shoving his hand away, Spike demanded, "Are you still drunk?"
"No!" Angel shook his head, "Well, maybe a little, but mostly no."
As he went to put his hand back in the same spot, Spike didn't stop him, and Angel slid his fingers between the smaller man's thighs, letting the tips of his middle and forefinger softly press against Spike's crotch. Fingers moving in slow circles, feeling flesh grow firmer beneath the denim, Angel heard Spike make a little moan as he spread his legs further apart. Reaching over, Spike let his hand run over the back of Angel's neck and tread up through his hair. It was enough encouragement for Angel to lean across the small space between them and capture Spike's lips with his own. The kiss was soft at first and then turned a little messy as they fumbled with their clothing, tossing them carelessly in all directions.
As Angel knelt on the floor between Spike's legs, there was a moment when Angel, as he took in the smaller man's nude form for the first time in a century, caught a glimpse of William ghosting across Spike's features. The blonde's thighs tensed as he brought his knees up as though he was nervous of anyone viewing his most private area, but Angel thought that perhaps he imagined it because, when that brief moment had passed, Spike had returned to a comfortable level of wantonness, splaying himself with one leg thrown over the sofa's armrest as he pushed his backside to the edge of the cushion, presenting all of his attributes with vainglorious ease.
"It's been a while," Spike smiled as Angel placed several kisses and licks along his inner thighs.
The statement was both an confession on his own part and assumption about Angel. Spike felt Angel's hands gently kneading his skin, spreading him open, his tongue slipping between the blonde's cheeks and pressing against his puckered flesh.
"I can tell," Angel spoke as his fingers joined his tongue in preparing Spike's entrance. "Do you need anything more?" he asked as his fingers slipped inside, loosening the tightness there.
Spike gasped, "No... Don't worry with any slick. Just hurry up."
It took a bit of maneuvering and one hand on top of the sofa-back, but Angel pushed himself flush against Spike's body, penetrating his tight ring as it clenched and spasmed. The younger vampire's face twisted in pain and pleasure as he was stretched, but he forcefully locked his legs around Angel's waist, bringing him closer.
"Are you okay?" Angel stilled himself with some difficulty, the scent of blood barely tangible in the air.
Breathing heavily, Spike nodded, letting his hands rest on Angel's shoulders. Angel began shallowly thrusting, feeling the softness of Spike's body, the tensing of his muscles as he arched up to meet more of the older vampire's touches.
"That's what I love about English boys... They always fuck back," Angel mused as he palmed the tip of Spike's member.
Spike tried to stifle a laugh, "Your bedroom talk could really use some work. It also makes me worry that you might have been fantasying about some of other English fellows you've been around."
The movement of their bodies together became more frenzied and impassioned the closer their climaxes loomed, like a wave crashing into a giving shore. The more tender kisses and touches turned into bites and nails being dug into skin as the sounds of their coupling filled the empty apartment. As Angel rocked his body forward with more intensity, Spike became more vocal, unintelligibly moaning as he scratched long furrows down Angel's arms. Spike's internal muscles clenched on Angel as his orgasm overtook him, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' as Angel's spendings splashed sticky and cool within his body.
"Definitely been unfairly too long..." Spike sighed as he practically melted into the sofa cushions as Angel's weight settled on top of him post-orgasm.
Angel smiled as he withdrew and rolled next to Spike on the sofa, "Couldn't agree more."
Enjoying the afterglow with a healthy dose of what was left of the cider, the pair listened to the sultry tones of Eartha Kitt emitting from the stereo, both afraid the other would say something to ruin the mood for themselves. Neither vampire was sure where this impetuous act would lead them or what it meant though they could both agree that it was pleasurable and left them spent and in need of showering.
Finally venturing to break the silence, Spike said, "I suppose now you're a little less uptight about dancing at least."
"I think so, but I'd like to practice more," Angel replied.
Spike felt a little hopeful as he turned on his side to curl up a bit more to the larger man, "I wouldn't mind helping out."
"Maybe you could sort of supervise?"
"Supervise?"
Angel explained, "Well, since I'm not sure what constitutes dancing for Harmony, we could have a practice run, and you could offer advice."
Trying to disguise a crestfallen expression, Spike nodded, "Sure."
The awkward quiet between them returned, and eventually, Spike had gathered up his clothing, pulling on his sweatshirt and yanking his jeans up, grimacing at the way the material felt against his stomach and crotch still wet with his spendings. Angel remained on the sofa, quietly watching the city transition into its morning routine, as Spike left the apartment.
******
"What the hell are you doing?"
Angel was finding it more and more difficult to reign in his temper as the rehearsal session with Harmony drew on. Each time he took her hand she wanted to turn around and grind her ass against his groin. She, too, was growing increasingly frustrated that Angel did not seem to understand anything except his hokey old way of doing things and his tragic taste in music.
"It's called 'dancing.' Duh," Harmony replied haughtily, placing her hands on her hips, silently hoping that she would never become so depressingly out-of-touch in her vampiric life as Angel had. "How can I move if you keep pawing all over me?"
Reclining in Angel's armchair, Spike suggested, "Maybe you should try a little less Back That Thing Up and a little more Disney Princess, Harm'."
Though she rolled her eyes, Harmony gave it a shot, allowing Angel to take her hand and turn her about, but she returned to her annoyance after a few minutes.
"This is stupid, and this music is boring," she frowned. "No one is going to be dancing this way."
Angel growled at her, "And no one is going to be doing that bumping and grinding thing either."
"You'd be surprised what passes for dancing these days, Angel," Spike said stepping between the pair. "Take a break and let me play Swayze for a minute."
"You better not try to feel me up," Harmony replied as Spike wrapped his arm around her waist and tried a few steps.
Spike couldn't seem to get her to follow him, "Damn it, I'm trying to lead here."
Harmony bristled, "How come you get to lead?"
"Because..." Spike stopped to think a moment, "Well, because I'm taller."
"Not when I wear my cha-cha heels you're not. You just think that because you're a guy you get to lead," she pouted. "I'm empowered. I can take charge."
"You're supposed to be dancing, not fighting. There's a balance," Spike said as they broke apart. He turned to Angel, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder, "Watch and learn."
Angel tensed at first but remembered the steps he had learned before and was able to execute them with a little more grace and dignity than he had previously. Spike was more forcefully pressing against him this time, but it wasn't unpleasant. Angel found himself enjoying how it felt with the blonde's body solidly against his own. His hand slid down from Spike's waist to just above the delta of his backside. After a while, they were just swaying in place.
"This isn't half bad," Angel said quietly.
Spike laughed, "It's not bad at all."
"You two should get a room," Harmony stuck out her tongue as she gathered up her purse and jacket, "I've got to pick up my dress from the alteration shop."
"Bless her pink leg-warmers," Spike muttered when the elevator doors closed after Harmony left.
Angel replied, "I'm not really looking forward to New Year's Eve."
"Have you thought about getting a different partner?" Spike asked.
"Yeah, but where would I find someone to go on such short notice?"
Spike raised his eyebrow, giving his grandsire a "Are you that stupid?" look.
Angel shook his head, "No, we can't. I mean, it would be weird."
"We're in California over a decade into a brand new century neither one of us should be seeing, so anyone who has a problem with it can bite me," Spike added a little nip to Angel's chin for emphasis.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I think I'll be fine with Harmony."
Spike's eyes narrowed, "You're serious?"
Angel searched for the words to try to explain his apprehension yet he could not find them. He stared dumbly at the floor. In his mind, Angel saw unpleasant headlines and embarrassing photos splashed across the Society pages with Spike drunkenly groping him in front of old matrons or punching a senator or something equally humiliating.
"It's just..."
Before Angel finished, he looked up just in time to see Spike's fist coming straight at his face. By the time he returned to consciousness, Spike was gone, and his stereo was missing.
******
It was just past midnight marking December 31st when Wolfram and Hart's private limousine pulled up to the Bankmore Terrace Hotel, a little old world splendor in a modern metropolis. Angel fiddled with his cufflinks nervously as he stared up at the hotel as the glamorous denizens of Los Angeles's business elite poured down a red carpet into the lobby.
My hotel was better, Angel thought to himself as he dodged as many cameras as possible on his way inside.
Harmony was no where to be seen once he entered the hotel's opulent lobby. He'd sent a car to pick her up, and he figured she'd be there before him standing out like a shiny pink bouncy ball, but he didn't see her as he handed his invitation to the welcoming committee and received the number to pin to his suit jacket. He felt somewhat stifled in a formal tuxedo, but he could endure.
The ballroom was windowless due to its position in the center of the hotel (a convenience for a vampire hoping not to turn into a combusted pile of ash) and was flanked by two grand staircases, leading to a balcony above with cocktail tables, to either side of the dance floor. It was a flittering mess of gauzy golds and cream colours. Champagne was passed around on gold-plated trays, and laughter mingled with the music of the live swing band.
At the stage area, an emcee began welcoming the assorted guests, giving instructions about the rules of the event, when the breaks would be, where the bathrooms were, and the like. Angel leaned against one of the Tuscan pillars that ran the length of the room, feeling a bit of relief as he realized that he couldn't actually participate if Harmony didn't show up. That relief lasted all of five minutes before he saw a sight that both made an uncomfortable feeling ball up in the pit of his stomach and filled him with a strange sense of contentment.
Spike came down the opposite staircase and appeared to have raided David Bowie's closet. He was wearing a dark blue Belle Epoque style jacket covered in appliques and small silver chains hanging from collar to shoulder. His tight jeans stood out amongst a crowd of couture gowns and tuxedos. He looked like pure sin with his hair sticking up and his eyes kohled. Spike also had a grin that could have rivaled the Cheshire Cat.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked in disbelief.
"I got tired of you having the emotional maturity of a flapjack and decided to be more proactive," Spike replied, pointing to the number pinned to his sleeve that corresponded to Angel's. "I bribed Harmony with a shopping spree in exchange for her invitation."
"Have you been getting cash advances off my credit card again?"
Spike smiled, "No, of course not. I promised that I wouldn't do that any more."
Angel was relieved until Spike smirked and added, "I just left your card with her after I dropped her off at the nearest Neiman Marcus."
Taking a deep breath, Angel nodded, "I deserve that."
"Yes, you do," Spike replied, "but I forgive you."
As the call went out to take the dance floor, Spike linked his arm with Angel's.
"You look nice," Angel said, as he felt both of Spike's arms wrap loosely around his neck.
"Just a little something I threw together. Goodwill and a hot glue gun are a boy's best friend," Spike pressed a little closer when he felt the weight of Angel's hands on his hips.
As the music started with a bombast of brass and bass, Angel said, "How do you think I'd look in a jacket like that?"
"Horrible," Spike replied with a small laugh.
It took Angel a few minutes to get used to the fast tempo of the band, but eventually he found his rhythm. There was a swirl of glitz around them, but they could let that fall away, just the two of them. Somehow, they had always found each other whether they wanted to or not, and now it felt right.
The hours ticked away through the morning and afternoon. The band swapped musicians during the few breaks that they received, and the music would shift between slower jazz songs and a swifter swing style allowing for short restful periods for the dancers. Only one couple needed to keep dancing for the whole twenty-four hours to keep the charity donations flowing, and steadily it was that Spike and Angel were the only remaining pair.
"Fifteen minutes to go," Angel said as Spike turned underneath his arm.
Spike was fairly amused with how silly Angel could be when he was having actual fun, "I thank my boots for being far more comfortable than high heels."
Looking around at the couples that had had to drop out due to fatigue or foot pain, Angel replied, "You in heels is a sight I wouldn't mind seeing."
"You're a dirty old man."
"Keep that to yourself. I heard some ladies by the punchbowl who think that I'm your sugar-daddy."
Spike rolled his eyes, "You bloody well are."
"Hush," Angel playfully smacked Spike's flank, which only elicited more laughter from the blonde. After a pause, he whispered in Spike's ear, "Hang on."
"Hang on to what?" Spike clung to Angel's shoulders when the larger man dipped him.
It wasn't the most graceful dip in the history of dancing, but it was largely enjoyable experience.
Spike gasped softly as his groin pressed into Angel's as he was righted on his feet, "That wasn't the kind of ample warning I was hoping for, but I'll take it."
"I kind of hope you'll be taking something else later," Angel smirked as the countdown to midnight began.
"Oh, you are just filled with innuendoes tonight, aren't you?" Spike leaned his head on Angel's shoulder. "I hope you aren't expecting some great sexual escapade after this is over because my back is hurting, my knees are killing me, and I'm going to drag out an epsom salt foot-bath."
At the stroke of midnight, the new year was ushered in with typical fanfare with pomp, confetti, and dropping balloons while the band began to play Auld Lang Syne. Angel tipped up Spike's chin, kissing him deeply, as other couples began to do the same while cheers and the clinking of champagne glasses went up around them.
Neither vampire had any idea, however, that a photograph had been snapped of them the moment their lips had locked, and it appeared alongside a glowing article praising the L.A. Children's Art Foundation's charity efforts.
"You know if I had known that they were taking a photo, I would have tried to look like less of a tart," Spike tapped his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.
Angel continued massaging Spike's feet gently as they lounged in bed, "I can't believe you're making me do this."
Spike whapped him on the side of the head with the newspaper, "You love my feet."
"I love that thing you do with your feet," Angel replied.
"You remember that?" the blonde shook his head.
Angel said, "Kind of hard to forget."
"Maybe I'll indulge you later, when I can actually feel my toes again," Spike smiled.
"There's other things we could do until then..."
Spike pulled back the comforter inviting Angel to rejoin him. As Angel leaned over to kiss and gently bite Spike's neck, he couldn't help but think to himself that 2011 was already off to a wonderful start.
x-posted on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike.
Title: Strictly Come Vampires
Author:
fenderlovePairing: Spike/Angel.
Rating: R. Not worksafe! :D
Summary: Angel is forced to participate as Wolfram and Hart's representative in a charity event on New Year's Eve. Can Spike help him not make a fool out of himself?
Notes: AU in which Angel is still in control of Wolfram and Hart and is still working towards reforming it and its image as of 2010.
Strictly Come Vampires
"No."
Wesley sighed, "Angel, if you would only listen..."
"No," Angel replied, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly.
After all that Angel had suffered through, he could not believe that this burden would fall on him. This was one indignity too many, and he was putting his foot down. There was nothing that anyone could say to him to make him take back his refusal. Nothing in the whole world.
"But it's for the children."
Angel glared at Wesley, irritated that the ex-Watcher would appeal to his better, more guilt-ridden, nature.
"Funny, I thought it was to make Wolfram and Hart look more philanthropic and less like the nougat-y center of all evil," Spike muttered as he rested a shoulder against Angel's weaponry wall.
"And it's for the children," Wesley repeated.
"The only thing that will happen if I agree to this, and I'm not saying that I am, is that I will successfully look like an idiot," Angel held up the invitation, his eyes filled with scorn as he looked at the embossed words that mocked him.
~ The Champagne Swing ~
Dance your way from 2010 to 2011!
All proceeds to benefit the Los Angeles Children's Art Foundation.
"You're not going to be embarrassed," Wesley said, "It's a dance marathon, so you only have to keep on your feet with your partner. Just a little box-step, nothing fancy. No one's asking you to Lindy Hop with a lampshade on your head."
"I'd pay to see that, actually," Spike leaned forward to get a better look at the engraved card, "Mr. Angel and Guest... So who's the unlucky filly whose toes will be trod upon by your great clodhoppers?"
Angel gripped the bit of cardstock tightly, "I haven't asked anyone yet," and then pointedly to Wesley, "I just found out about this stupid thing today."
Wesley nervously began, "Well, you see, I took the liberty of finding a date for you since it was so short notice-"
"Oh my God, Angel, I am so excited!" Harmony practically squee'd as she came into the office, carrying an armload of boutique catalogs that she dumped on Angel's desk. "A big fancy dance in a real ballroom, not some cruddy gym. And there'll be lots of rich people and photographers and maybe an open bar! We're going to have such a super fun time!"
Angel sat there in stunned silence.
Spike couldn't help but smirk, "Yeah, Angel, it's going to be, like, the most funnest party ever."
Wesley attempted to explain, "Harmony is a very good dancer, Angel, and since Fred is visiting her parents for the holidays... Well, Harmony was available and..."
"Which dress do you like better- the sparkly pink one or the sparkly blue one?" Harmony held up two catalogs in front of Angel's face. "I kinda like the pink one."
"Of course, you do," Spike muttered.
Harmony pouted, "Hey, I'm just trying to make sure that I'm going to match-"
"It's a big kids' party, Harm," Spike responded, "There are no silly corsages or having to make sure your panties go with his cummerbund."
Wesley thought for a moment, "Are cummerbunds still the thing?"
Angel sighed, "I'm not wearing a cummerbund."
"What's a cummerbund?" Harmony tilted her head slightly.
"About fifty francs if you can find a French prostitute," Spike replied.
"Could everyone please get out of my office?"
Ignoring Angel's request, Wesley pondered, "The French switched to the euro, didn't they?"
"Don't get me started on the European economy," Spike shook his head.
In no mood to deal with anyone, Angel repeated, "Everyone out!"
"Fine, Mr. Grumpypants, but if I buy a dress that doesn't go with your outfit, it'll be your fault!" Harmony scooped up her catalogs and left.
Wesley stopped at the door as he was leaving, "Remember, Angel, it's twenty-four hours on a dance floor. You've got almost two weeks to get rested up."
Angel felt like crawling into a hole. Twenty-four hours? He had thought that these charity dance marathons had went the way of bobby-socks and duck-tails. It's not that Angel couldn't dance; he just didn't dance well. Oh sure, he'd danced with Buffy at her prom, but that was little more than shifting one's weight from side-to-side, turning in a slow circle. Nothing difficult about that, especially when compared to a bunch of teenagers, but dancing in front of L.A.'s elite and the Society Section coverage? Hell almost seemed preferable.
"What's got you so riled about this thing?" Spike asked as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of Angel's desk.
"You know I don't like dancing."
Spike smiled as he recalled a few memories, "I seem to remember you really enjoyed it on occasion."
"Well, not anymore," came the reply as Angel tossed the invitation into one of the desk drawers. "And didn't I tell you to leave?"
"All right, I will, but consider this your Christmas present," Spike said as he got up and walked out of the office. He was gone for all of ten seconds before he poked his head back in, "Oh, and I'm borrowing your Morgan Supersport until Boxing Day."
Angel started to warn the blonde not to touch his cars upon penalty of death but it wasn't worth it to bother. It was the charitable time of the year, to give unto those in need. Without any income (save what he scammed off the cash advances on Angel's corporate credit card), Spike was in need, but he was also annoying, which meant what the boy really needed was a swift ass-kicking. Being the magnanimous sort, Angel decided letting Spike have one car for a week couldn't hurt.
If he brings it back without a scratch, I might put him on the payroll, Angel thought to himself, but after further contemplation the word "nah" came to mind.
******
Christmas Day came and went without incident. The whole building was silent as Angel sat in his armchair with a bottle of Hendrick's. Sometime before the holiday vacation period began, the Wolfram and Hart interior decorating squadron had descended on Angel's apartment and put up Christmas falderal. He felt a little offended that no one had bothered to ask him if he even wanted decorations thrown about his personal space. What was worse was that the decorations the designers had picked out were all very modern, stark whites, blacks, and reds were everywhere. There was no real warmth to anything; it made the room seem extremely sterile and cold.
Angel's friends had gone off to do their own activities, vacationing in other cities or going to parties with clients and such. He felt very much on his own. Connor had visited him a few days earlier once he was finished with his graduate work for the semester. They'd had a nice dinner, exchanged gifts, and it had been very comfortable. However, Christmas Eve and Day were for Connor's other family. Mr. and Mrs. Reilly didn't know that Connor wasn't actually their son, and they deserved the boy's time as much as Angel did. It was a lot to ask of a young man, splitting his time between his graduate studies, patrolling, and two separate homes, one of which didn't know the other existed.
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse with a sharp ding, and Angel got his hopes up that Connor might be dropping in unexpectedly. However, he was very disappointed when Spike strode in as if he owned the place. The blonde vampire had a box under one arm and was wearing a black sweatshirt with "Stanford University" emblazoned across it.
"Spike, how the hell did you get in here?" Angel demanded, his speech slurred, "And what are you wearing?"
"You like it? Connor gave it to me," Spike had a smug expression, "And you should probably tell Harmony not to keep the secret override code for the elevator on a Post-It in that wretched Lisa Frank trapper-keeper she calls a datebook."
Angel took a long drought from the bottle in his hand and sunk a bit deeper into his chair.
Spike looked carefully at the bottle, "Oh, no, you've gotten into the gin. Has someone died?"
"No," Angel replied glumly, "I ran out of everything else in the liquor cabinet."
"You drank all the Jameson's?"
"Yes."
"All of it? Even that bottle in your desk downstairs that you think that I don't know about?"
"I said yes!" Angel snapped and then added, "Stay out of my desk!"
Spike appeared rather put out, "You are very lucky that you don't need a functioning liver anymore."
Tossing the empty bottle at the overflowing bin and missing it by a mile, Angel watched as Spike sat down on the plush sofa with the box on his lap.
"What's in the box?" Angel asked as he got up and staggered into the kitchen, hoping to find some Baileys hiding in a cabinet.
"You should know better than to ask that question," Spike laughed to himself, but stopped, "Right, you've probably never seen Se7en, have you?"
Angel grumbled something unintelligible and went back to rummaging through the cupboards.
Spike stared at the Christmas decorations in the room and grimaced a bit, "You know, I come from the Voltaire 'Paint it Black' School of Design, but this room is very depressing."
"They did it. They're trying to make me throw myself out a window," Angel slurred and threw open the refrigerator door.
The fridge was filled with blood and expensive food. There was a whole seven course meal with all the trimmings just needing to be heated up available, but Angel didn't have much use for it without a human-someone around to eat with. He slammed the door, but then quickly opened it back up to scrounge around for more booze.
"There's not a bit of verdant colour anywhere in this room... The garland's are black with red glitter all over it. And this tree looks horrid. It's just a bunch of white plastic sticks, looks like it's made out of bones. Who designed this stuff? Hot Topic?" Spike frowned as he got up and went to make sure Angel wasn't about to drink drain cleaner or stake himself on a spatula handle. "Might as well get a pink aluminum tree at this point."
Angel started to giggle when Spike said "aluminum," which he pronounced al-u-mini-um. The brunette was getting more unsteady on his feet, and the room was starting to get fuzzy. Grabbing onto the counter, Angel took a few deep, albeit unneeded, breaths.
"Whoa there," Spike grabbed Angel's arm before the larger man fell over and turned him around towards his armchair, "This way, Mr. Bunker, to your chair."
"I haven't drank this much in a really, really long time," Angel said as he relaxed against the plush material.
Spike tried to get his grandsire situated, "I can tell. You used to not get so bloody sauced. Must be getting old."
Angel looked longingly at a few of the empty bottles to the right of his armchair, "Yeah..."
"You stay here, and I'll see if I can find something a little less 80-proof-y," Spike went back into the kitchen.
Angel called after him, "Can it be whiskey? Find some whiskey, okay?"
Waking up sometime later, Angel couldn't remember closing his eyes nor getting into his own bed. He ran his hand lazily over his chest, realizing his shirt was off but his trousers were still on. His head was pounding from the ensuing hangover, and he fell out of bed and practically crawled to his bedroom door. A heavenly aroma hung in the air, and he staggered into the living room to see Spike lounging on the couch, his sock-covered feet propped up on one of the armrests. There was a wine glass of what appeared to be blood balanced precariously on the blonde's stomach as he reclined on the very expensive, white leather sofa.
Turning his head slightly in Angel's direction, Spike grinned, "Good morning, Starshine. The reluctantly sober world says hello."
"How long was I out?"
"'Bout six hours give or take a few of your death-rattling snores," Spike took a sip of blood and offered the glass to Angel, "Care for some hair of the otter? Or a little lasagna?" He gestured towards the plate on the coffee table, "It's microwave fresh."
Angel pushed Spike's feet off the armrest and went to sit down, "Move."
Knocking back the rest of his blood and drawing his legs closer to his side of the couch, Spike glared, "I forgot how damn grouchy you are when you first wake up."
Not feeling awake enough for any kind of witty retort, Angel leaned his head back, covering up his eyes with his hand.
"So what brought about the sudden drinking binge? The crushing loneliness of the holidays or the fact that if you fall on your face on the dance floor it'll be the most talked about faux pas of the season?" the blonde asked as he casually surfed through the million-plus television channels with the remote.
Angel groaned thinking about how much alcohol he had consumed, "I think it was probably both."
"It's not going to be that bad, you know. From what Wesley said, you just have to keep moving on your feet, and you've done more strenuous things for a day straight before... Much less wholesome things too."
"I guess I just don't want to embarrass myself-"
It was Spike's turn to sigh heavily as he pushed himself off the sofa, "All right then, you great whingy thing."
"What?"
Spike took hold of Angel's wrist and tried to pull him to a standing position, "I'm not going to listen to you moan about this for the next week, so I'm going to help you."
As Angel begrudgingly stood, Spike quickly pushed the coffee table out of the way, flicked off the TV, and grabbed the remote for the stereo and switched it to a station which was playing Cy Coleman.
~ Those fingers in my hair, that sly come-hither stare, that strips my conscious bare... It's witchcraft. ~
Resting one hand on Angel's shoulder and forcing the larger man to place his hand on his waist, Spike smirked, "Ah, this brings back memories."
"I suppose you want some sort of apology for making you take the lady's part," Angel groused as Spike laced the fingers of their free hands together.
"Not so much an apology as an explanation for why I was never allowed to take the gent's part," the blonde replied. "Now, it's just a step to the left and a swing to the right."
Angel rolled his eyes, "I know how to slow dance."
Spike retorted, "Then why are your feet glued to the floor? If you want to lead, you've gotta prove it."
Still somewhat tentative in his movements, Angel let his hip press into Spike's, directing the smaller man when to move forward or back. Their bodies pressed closer together as their weights shifted from step into step, finally moving out into a larger area as Angel grew more comfortable.
~ And although I know it's strictly taboo, when you arouse the need in me, my heart says, "Yes, indeed" in me. Proceed with what you're leading me to. ~
"You've been worried for nothing," Spike said quietly as they turned, trying not to trip over one another. "Just a bit rusty is all."
Angel kept looking down at his feet, "This is hopeless."
"Well, then let me take the lead," Spike took a few paces backwards, pulling Angel with him, "Don't over-think it. The only thing you need to keep in mind is 'quick, quick, slow.'"
Spike demonstrated his meaning, taking two quick slides to left and one back to the right. Angel allowed himself to follow the steps, relaxing more when he didn't have to think about which direction they were turning.
"This is pretty easy," Angel replied, somewhat surprised that he was enjoying himself.
"Just a two-step with a little extra pizzazz, and you can speed it up or down depending on the song," Spike said. "Now, spin me."
"Spin you?" Angel repeated.
"I can't very well spin you; my arm won't reach over your massive head, so take the lead and spin me. 'Quick, quick, slow' a few times, then turn, then you spin your partner, rinse and repeat as necessary. It's a no-fail way to dance," Spike answered. "It's gotten me through the century at any rate."
~ There's the devil in you tonight. And although my heart adores you, my head says it ain't right. Try to let you make advances? Oh, no. ~
Angel gracelessly let Spike turn under his arm, and then they fell back in step. For a while, they continued in the same pattern, changing rhythms to whatever song came on the radio. Trying to be bold, Angel unexpectedly dipped Spike, almost smacking the blonde's head into the coffee table.
Spike glared at him as they broke apart, "Let's not try that again without proper warning."
"Sorry," Angel ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe now would be a good time for a break?"
"Too bad you drank all the booze already," Spike said, picking up the white box he'd brought with him to the apartment. "Lucky then that I always come prepared." Opening the lid, he removed two bottles of Thatchers Cider and tossed one to Angel, "Doubt the Boy Scouts could do better."
The two vampires sat down on the couch, clinking the bottles together in toast. Angel savored the taste of the cider as it slid down his throat, tangy and rich. They drank in relative silence, listening to the quiet crooning of Frank Sinatra on the radio and watching as the sun began to rise through the breaks in the cityscape thanks to the luxury of necro-tempered glass.
"Happy Day-After-Boxing-Day," Spike raised his bottle towards the sun as it was reflected as a sea of oranges and reds that bled across the skyscrapers. Taking another drink, he grinned, "Much better than that weak apple-piss Americans call cider."
Angel nodded, and then a rather puzzled expression fell across his features, "Did you come up here just to dance with me?"
Spike started to laugh. Loudly.
"What's so funny?"
"I told you I was going to bring your car back on Boxing Day," Spike attempting to stifle his laughter.
Angel frowned, "You never bring my cars back when you say you will. In fact, you rarely bring my cars back at all. The last one wound up halfway to Terre Haute before the cops tracked it down."
Spike replied, "Well, I was trying to be nice about it... and I got these two bottles of cider for free at the import grocery near my apartment, and I didn't expect to come here and find you drunk out of your head in need of tending throughout the night..."
Though he didn't want to admit it, Spike had not wanted to spend the holidays alone. With everyone else that would have anything to do with him busy or out-of-town, he didn't have much choice in seeking out his grandsire's company. The dancing had turned out to be fun, nearly getting a concussion aside.
"Thanks," Angel responded, and then things became quiet once more.
A few moments passed by slowly before Spike felt a weight on his thigh. Angel had reached over and lightly placed his hand there, his thumb gently moving back and forth over the denim.
Shoving his hand away, Spike demanded, "Are you still drunk?"
"No!" Angel shook his head, "Well, maybe a little, but mostly no."
As he went to put his hand back in the same spot, Spike didn't stop him, and Angel slid his fingers between the smaller man's thighs, letting the tips of his middle and forefinger softly press against Spike's crotch. Fingers moving in slow circles, feeling flesh grow firmer beneath the denim, Angel heard Spike make a little moan as he spread his legs further apart. Reaching over, Spike let his hand run over the back of Angel's neck and tread up through his hair. It was enough encouragement for Angel to lean across the small space between them and capture Spike's lips with his own. The kiss was soft at first and then turned a little messy as they fumbled with their clothing, tossing them carelessly in all directions.
As Angel knelt on the floor between Spike's legs, there was a moment when Angel, as he took in the smaller man's nude form for the first time in a century, caught a glimpse of William ghosting across Spike's features. The blonde's thighs tensed as he brought his knees up as though he was nervous of anyone viewing his most private area, but Angel thought that perhaps he imagined it because, when that brief moment had passed, Spike had returned to a comfortable level of wantonness, splaying himself with one leg thrown over the sofa's armrest as he pushed his backside to the edge of the cushion, presenting all of his attributes with vainglorious ease.
"It's been a while," Spike smiled as Angel placed several kisses and licks along his inner thighs.
The statement was both an confession on his own part and assumption about Angel. Spike felt Angel's hands gently kneading his skin, spreading him open, his tongue slipping between the blonde's cheeks and pressing against his puckered flesh.
"I can tell," Angel spoke as his fingers joined his tongue in preparing Spike's entrance. "Do you need anything more?" he asked as his fingers slipped inside, loosening the tightness there.
Spike gasped, "No... Don't worry with any slick. Just hurry up."
It took a bit of maneuvering and one hand on top of the sofa-back, but Angel pushed himself flush against Spike's body, penetrating his tight ring as it clenched and spasmed. The younger vampire's face twisted in pain and pleasure as he was stretched, but he forcefully locked his legs around Angel's waist, bringing him closer.
"Are you okay?" Angel stilled himself with some difficulty, the scent of blood barely tangible in the air.
Breathing heavily, Spike nodded, letting his hands rest on Angel's shoulders. Angel began shallowly thrusting, feeling the softness of Spike's body, the tensing of his muscles as he arched up to meet more of the older vampire's touches.
"That's what I love about English boys... They always fuck back," Angel mused as he palmed the tip of Spike's member.
Spike tried to stifle a laugh, "Your bedroom talk could really use some work. It also makes me worry that you might have been fantasying about some of other English fellows you've been around."
The movement of their bodies together became more frenzied and impassioned the closer their climaxes loomed, like a wave crashing into a giving shore. The more tender kisses and touches turned into bites and nails being dug into skin as the sounds of their coupling filled the empty apartment. As Angel rocked his body forward with more intensity, Spike became more vocal, unintelligibly moaning as he scratched long furrows down Angel's arms. Spike's internal muscles clenched on Angel as his orgasm overtook him, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' as Angel's spendings splashed sticky and cool within his body.
"Definitely been unfairly too long..." Spike sighed as he practically melted into the sofa cushions as Angel's weight settled on top of him post-orgasm.
Angel smiled as he withdrew and rolled next to Spike on the sofa, "Couldn't agree more."
Enjoying the afterglow with a healthy dose of what was left of the cider, the pair listened to the sultry tones of Eartha Kitt emitting from the stereo, both afraid the other would say something to ruin the mood for themselves. Neither vampire was sure where this impetuous act would lead them or what it meant though they could both agree that it was pleasurable and left them spent and in need of showering.
Finally venturing to break the silence, Spike said, "I suppose now you're a little less uptight about dancing at least."
"I think so, but I'd like to practice more," Angel replied.
Spike felt a little hopeful as he turned on his side to curl up a bit more to the larger man, "I wouldn't mind helping out."
"Maybe you could sort of supervise?"
"Supervise?"
Angel explained, "Well, since I'm not sure what constitutes dancing for Harmony, we could have a practice run, and you could offer advice."
Trying to disguise a crestfallen expression, Spike nodded, "Sure."
The awkward quiet between them returned, and eventually, Spike had gathered up his clothing, pulling on his sweatshirt and yanking his jeans up, grimacing at the way the material felt against his stomach and crotch still wet with his spendings. Angel remained on the sofa, quietly watching the city transition into its morning routine, as Spike left the apartment.
******
"What the hell are you doing?"
Angel was finding it more and more difficult to reign in his temper as the rehearsal session with Harmony drew on. Each time he took her hand she wanted to turn around and grind her ass against his groin. She, too, was growing increasingly frustrated that Angel did not seem to understand anything except his hokey old way of doing things and his tragic taste in music.
"It's called 'dancing.' Duh," Harmony replied haughtily, placing her hands on her hips, silently hoping that she would never become so depressingly out-of-touch in her vampiric life as Angel had. "How can I move if you keep pawing all over me?"
Reclining in Angel's armchair, Spike suggested, "Maybe you should try a little less Back That Thing Up and a little more Disney Princess, Harm'."
Though she rolled her eyes, Harmony gave it a shot, allowing Angel to take her hand and turn her about, but she returned to her annoyance after a few minutes.
"This is stupid, and this music is boring," she frowned. "No one is going to be dancing this way."
Angel growled at her, "And no one is going to be doing that bumping and grinding thing either."
"You'd be surprised what passes for dancing these days, Angel," Spike said stepping between the pair. "Take a break and let me play Swayze for a minute."
"You better not try to feel me up," Harmony replied as Spike wrapped his arm around her waist and tried a few steps.
Spike couldn't seem to get her to follow him, "Damn it, I'm trying to lead here."
Harmony bristled, "How come you get to lead?"
"Because..." Spike stopped to think a moment, "Well, because I'm taller."
"Not when I wear my cha-cha heels you're not. You just think that because you're a guy you get to lead," she pouted. "I'm empowered. I can take charge."
"You're supposed to be dancing, not fighting. There's a balance," Spike said as they broke apart. He turned to Angel, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder, "Watch and learn."
Angel tensed at first but remembered the steps he had learned before and was able to execute them with a little more grace and dignity than he had previously. Spike was more forcefully pressing against him this time, but it wasn't unpleasant. Angel found himself enjoying how it felt with the blonde's body solidly against his own. His hand slid down from Spike's waist to just above the delta of his backside. After a while, they were just swaying in place.
"This isn't half bad," Angel said quietly.
Spike laughed, "It's not bad at all."
"You two should get a room," Harmony stuck out her tongue as she gathered up her purse and jacket, "I've got to pick up my dress from the alteration shop."
"Bless her pink leg-warmers," Spike muttered when the elevator doors closed after Harmony left.
Angel replied, "I'm not really looking forward to New Year's Eve."
"Have you thought about getting a different partner?" Spike asked.
"Yeah, but where would I find someone to go on such short notice?"
Spike raised his eyebrow, giving his grandsire a "Are you that stupid?" look.
Angel shook his head, "No, we can't. I mean, it would be weird."
"We're in California over a decade into a brand new century neither one of us should be seeing, so anyone who has a problem with it can bite me," Spike added a little nip to Angel's chin for emphasis.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I think I'll be fine with Harmony."
Spike's eyes narrowed, "You're serious?"
Angel searched for the words to try to explain his apprehension yet he could not find them. He stared dumbly at the floor. In his mind, Angel saw unpleasant headlines and embarrassing photos splashed across the Society pages with Spike drunkenly groping him in front of old matrons or punching a senator or something equally humiliating.
"It's just..."
Before Angel finished, he looked up just in time to see Spike's fist coming straight at his face. By the time he returned to consciousness, Spike was gone, and his stereo was missing.
******
It was just past midnight marking December 31st when Wolfram and Hart's private limousine pulled up to the Bankmore Terrace Hotel, a little old world splendor in a modern metropolis. Angel fiddled with his cufflinks nervously as he stared up at the hotel as the glamorous denizens of Los Angeles's business elite poured down a red carpet into the lobby.
My hotel was better, Angel thought to himself as he dodged as many cameras as possible on his way inside.
Harmony was no where to be seen once he entered the hotel's opulent lobby. He'd sent a car to pick her up, and he figured she'd be there before him standing out like a shiny pink bouncy ball, but he didn't see her as he handed his invitation to the welcoming committee and received the number to pin to his suit jacket. He felt somewhat stifled in a formal tuxedo, but he could endure.
The ballroom was windowless due to its position in the center of the hotel (a convenience for a vampire hoping not to turn into a combusted pile of ash) and was flanked by two grand staircases, leading to a balcony above with cocktail tables, to either side of the dance floor. It was a flittering mess of gauzy golds and cream colours. Champagne was passed around on gold-plated trays, and laughter mingled with the music of the live swing band.
At the stage area, an emcee began welcoming the assorted guests, giving instructions about the rules of the event, when the breaks would be, where the bathrooms were, and the like. Angel leaned against one of the Tuscan pillars that ran the length of the room, feeling a bit of relief as he realized that he couldn't actually participate if Harmony didn't show up. That relief lasted all of five minutes before he saw a sight that both made an uncomfortable feeling ball up in the pit of his stomach and filled him with a strange sense of contentment.
Spike came down the opposite staircase and appeared to have raided David Bowie's closet. He was wearing a dark blue Belle Epoque style jacket covered in appliques and small silver chains hanging from collar to shoulder. His tight jeans stood out amongst a crowd of couture gowns and tuxedos. He looked like pure sin with his hair sticking up and his eyes kohled. Spike also had a grin that could have rivaled the Cheshire Cat.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked in disbelief.
"I got tired of you having the emotional maturity of a flapjack and decided to be more proactive," Spike replied, pointing to the number pinned to his sleeve that corresponded to Angel's. "I bribed Harmony with a shopping spree in exchange for her invitation."
"Have you been getting cash advances off my credit card again?"
Spike smiled, "No, of course not. I promised that I wouldn't do that any more."
Angel was relieved until Spike smirked and added, "I just left your card with her after I dropped her off at the nearest Neiman Marcus."
Taking a deep breath, Angel nodded, "I deserve that."
"Yes, you do," Spike replied, "but I forgive you."
As the call went out to take the dance floor, Spike linked his arm with Angel's.
"You look nice," Angel said, as he felt both of Spike's arms wrap loosely around his neck.
"Just a little something I threw together. Goodwill and a hot glue gun are a boy's best friend," Spike pressed a little closer when he felt the weight of Angel's hands on his hips.
As the music started with a bombast of brass and bass, Angel said, "How do you think I'd look in a jacket like that?"
"Horrible," Spike replied with a small laugh.
It took Angel a few minutes to get used to the fast tempo of the band, but eventually he found his rhythm. There was a swirl of glitz around them, but they could let that fall away, just the two of them. Somehow, they had always found each other whether they wanted to or not, and now it felt right.
The hours ticked away through the morning and afternoon. The band swapped musicians during the few breaks that they received, and the music would shift between slower jazz songs and a swifter swing style allowing for short restful periods for the dancers. Only one couple needed to keep dancing for the whole twenty-four hours to keep the charity donations flowing, and steadily it was that Spike and Angel were the only remaining pair.
"Fifteen minutes to go," Angel said as Spike turned underneath his arm.
Spike was fairly amused with how silly Angel could be when he was having actual fun, "I thank my boots for being far more comfortable than high heels."
Looking around at the couples that had had to drop out due to fatigue or foot pain, Angel replied, "You in heels is a sight I wouldn't mind seeing."
"You're a dirty old man."
"Keep that to yourself. I heard some ladies by the punchbowl who think that I'm your sugar-daddy."
Spike rolled his eyes, "You bloody well are."
"Hush," Angel playfully smacked Spike's flank, which only elicited more laughter from the blonde. After a pause, he whispered in Spike's ear, "Hang on."
"Hang on to what?" Spike clung to Angel's shoulders when the larger man dipped him.
It wasn't the most graceful dip in the history of dancing, but it was largely enjoyable experience.
Spike gasped softly as his groin pressed into Angel's as he was righted on his feet, "That wasn't the kind of ample warning I was hoping for, but I'll take it."
"I kind of hope you'll be taking something else later," Angel smirked as the countdown to midnight began.
"Oh, you are just filled with innuendoes tonight, aren't you?" Spike leaned his head on Angel's shoulder. "I hope you aren't expecting some great sexual escapade after this is over because my back is hurting, my knees are killing me, and I'm going to drag out an epsom salt foot-bath."
At the stroke of midnight, the new year was ushered in with typical fanfare with pomp, confetti, and dropping balloons while the band began to play Auld Lang Syne. Angel tipped up Spike's chin, kissing him deeply, as other couples began to do the same while cheers and the clinking of champagne glasses went up around them.
Neither vampire had any idea, however, that a photograph had been snapped of them the moment their lips had locked, and it appeared alongside a glowing article praising the L.A. Children's Art Foundation's charity efforts.
"You know if I had known that they were taking a photo, I would have tried to look like less of a tart," Spike tapped his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.
Angel continued massaging Spike's feet gently as they lounged in bed, "I can't believe you're making me do this."
Spike whapped him on the side of the head with the newspaper, "You love my feet."
"I love that thing you do with your feet," Angel replied.
"You remember that?" the blonde shook his head.
Angel said, "Kind of hard to forget."
"Maybe I'll indulge you later, when I can actually feel my toes again," Spike smiled.
"There's other things we could do until then..."
Spike pulled back the comforter inviting Angel to rejoin him. As Angel leaned over to kiss and gently bite Spike's neck, he couldn't help but think to himself that 2011 was already off to a wonderful start.
x-posted on
nekid_spike.
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Thanks for reading! :D
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