Kimmy Jarl

Spike and Angel sketchy

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 21:42:42 GMT

Just a small sketch of Spike and Angel. It goes with my story Dressed Like a Human. Because I say so. (It also goes with those words from a song by Leonard Cohen: "When it all went down / I was there for you / And by your law / It all was done..." Of course I had to think about the end of Never Fade Away. Because I always do)

fic: Dressed Like a Human S/A Part 4/4

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 09:38:58 GMT

Title: Dressed Like a Human (4/4)
Author: Kimmy Jarl
Rating: R
Warnings: M/M sex
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Angel the Series, and I get no money from writing this story.
Setting: Post NFA
Summary: When Angel fought in that alley behind the Hyperion, one part of him wasn’t there. One part of him was in the rainforest.
AN: Written for the grazieprego Spangel Ficathon. More or less inspired by my prompt: “Let’s pretend we’re human and that we meet for the first time.”

IIII

”Well… I’m Spike.”

If Spike had laughed right then, or done anything that hinted at mockery, it would be over. But Spike was so hesitant, so… respectful, he hardly tipped the scales at all. He was looking at Angel with a vigilant sort of attention, his eyes wide and wondering.

“Spike.” Angel nodded, once.

“Guess I was washed away, huh?” Close to a whisper.

“Guess so.”

It was a balancing act, like holding a plate of water without spilling a drop.

Spike looked away, as if he’d suddenly become aware that he was staring. Angel sat in silence, his back straight, not wanting to disturb the precarious stillness. He waited until he felt a lightness, an impulse that urged him to his feet.

Spike rose with him, and briefly reached out to support Angel, one hand on his back and one on his chest. Angel almost snorted.

I’m human. Not an invalid.

But look at him, this stranger.

Spike.

This stranger who cared about him.

Angel dipped his chin and smiled, small and gentle, a smile that made Spike blink and flounder.

“Right… right.” Spike reached for Angel’s shoulder, but hesitated, his hand in the air between them. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Good. I’ll…” Spike took a step backwards.

Angel followed.

“You…” Angel said, and raised his hand to touch features that were familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. His thumb stroked, jawbone to chin. The face of this stranger. “You… are a very kind man.”

“Yeah?” Spike stared up at him, gaze mesmerized and far-away. “And you… have a very straight nose.”

A ripple in the water, and Angel almost laughed.

“No, wait.” Spike frowned. He pushed Angel’s hand away, slowly and without much force. “I’m not a kind man.”

“You were kind to me.”

“Only because…” Spike fell silent, glancing down.

Angel felt light.

He pulled Spike closer, one arm around his waist, and spun him around in half a dance step. Spike followed, compliant. Not complaining.

“Do you want to be kind?” Angel’s cheek rested on Spike’s hair.

“Yeah.” A murmur.

“I like it when you are.”

“Yeah?”

Angel’s hands on Spike’s back, lightly cradling. They were rocking from side to side. Strange. Spike’s forehead was on Angel’s shoulder, and Angel stroked Spike’s neck, again and again.

An impasse.

He closed his hand around Spike’s neck, gently, easing him up, to look at him. Spike’s eyes were downcast. So silent. He glanced up, and Angel pulled him forward, lightly touching their lips together. Very silent. Spike’s hand, flat on Angel’s chest, just resting there. And Angel was hard, a desire that only seemed natural. Spike’s eyes didn’t leave Angel’s as his hand slid lower, down to Angel’s fly and the front of his trousers.

And this was Spike. Where was that balance?

“I remember you,” Angel said.

“I know.”

Spike’s fingers curled around the shape of his erection.

There was a knock on the door.

For a moment it didn’t register. Angel froze, confused. What was that sound? Spike was holding his dick through his trousers.

“Excuse me.” The door started to open.

Angel quickly sat down on the bed, hunched over, elbows on his knees.

The major stood in the doorway. He looked taken aback to see Spike in his room. His eyes trailed back and forth between them, before he focused on Angel.

“I’m sorry. If it’s a bad time I’ll come back later.”

“Well…” Spike started, his tongue curled around his teeth.

“It’s not a bad time,” Angel interrupted. “Not if you’re quick about it.”

“Of course.” The major shot Spike an uncertain glance, almost like he was asking for his support, before turning back to Angel. “I was merely thinking it would be wise to give you a few numbers by which you could contact us, if the need should arise.” He cleared his throat. “In addition, since we’re leaving tomorrow, I was wondering whether you might consider saying a few words to my men before we depart.”

“I’ll think about it,” Angel said.

“Very well. See you tomorrow then. Goodnight.” The major nodded, somewhat awkwardly, and closed the door.

“That got rid of him,” Spike said.

“Hn.”

Angel lowered his head and closed his eyes, still leaning down on his elbows. What had just happened? He had sat down on the floor and cried. He’d done that. He had kissed Spike on the lips, just now. That wasn’t a dream. He had cried, but why shouldn’t he cry? He had the right.

Did he have the right?

Maybe not.

Angel sighed. He needed… He needed time to think.

“They put a chip in my brain, you know,” Spike said, conversationally. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, like he was planning to hang around and chat for awhile.

“Spike. Please go away.”

“No.”

Spike had a way of saying no that was more than just a no. It was a “no, and I’m just saying it to annoy you, but you’re an idiot if you think you could ever change my mind”.

Before Angel knew it he had Spike across the throat, pushing him up against the wall.

He had Spike, right up against him, their bodies pressed together. Angel grit his teeth. He wanted… He wanted to reach within Spike’s clothes and he wanted to punch him in the face. So he punched him. Once to jerk his head to the side, to split his lip and draw blood. Spike turned back to look at him, a thin trail of blood on his chin.

Now he’ll leave.

But Spike didn’t leave and he didn’t fight back. He let Angel hold him up against the wall and he squared his shoulders and put his arms down along his sides. Stood there. Defying Angel by making himself available.

And Angel could not hit him again.

A conversation, as blunt as it was brief, had Spike on his back on the bed, their clothes strewn across the floor, Angel tasting the blood from Spike’s lips in his own mouth. Spike was here, and Angel had to go slow, had to make himself realize that this was what he chose to do. He knelt between Spike’s legs and he had two fingers inside of him, gliding easily on the oil he had found in the bathroom. A tight channel for his fingers.

“Fuck.” Spike hit him on the shoulder and dragged his limbs across the sheet, a slow sinuous squirm. Angel felt Spike’s muscles tighten around his fingers. “Get on with it.”

Angel’s thumb stroked the soft skin where Spike’s thigh met his groin. His intimate parts were right there.

I’m going to fuck him.

He pushed Spike’s knees up and apart. Moved over him, placed himself at Spike’s entrance.

“Hang on,” Spike said, “This isn’t going to make you too happy, is it?”

“Not a chance.” Angel pushed inside.

Face to face, inside of Spike, flesh parting and stretching and Spike frowned, wincing – Angel felt him wince.

“That is not to say…” Angel met Spike’s eyes and shook him, a small shake to make him listen. Important to make it clear. “Not because of you. This is good. You don’t make me not happy. You get that, right?”

“Hah,” Spike breathed. A slow smile. Spike grabbed Angel’s forearms, caressing slightly. “You’re sweet. Did anyone ever tell you…?” Deep breath. “The soul made you sweet.”

“I don’t think so,” Angel said. He had to smile too. Spike was relaxing underneath him, their bodies fitting together like pieces in a puzzle.

Angel lifted his hips and lowered them, a slow slide, watching Spike’s face all the while. Spike’s eyes were wide, that wondering look, his lips parted. Angel lifted and sank down and Spike rose to meet him. Small rocking motions, they together, deep and deliberate, without taking their eyes off each other.

Spike’s face was so soft. Looking at him with such a soft face. Who would have thought?

He didn’t want it to end, and it was crazy.

Crazy.

This place is filled with ghosts.

Slowly, gradually, his thrusts became harder. He moved to his knees, moved Spike with him, so he could drive in with greater force. It was… here and now. A note that kept playing on and on until he couldn’t bear it anymore.

God.

Muscles tightened and trembled. Everything tightened. Angel panted. He moved seamlessly into orgasm, and he kept thrusting, filling Spike, holding on to him.

“Angel…” Spike reached for him, five blunt nails across Angel’s back.

Angel lowered his face to Spike’s shoulder – couldn’t quite look at him as he felt Spike come. Held on to him. Slim planes and hard curves, like a living, moving statue in his arms. Still Spike.

Angel pulled away and lay down next to him, but had to reach for Spike’s chest, around his chest, and pull him closer. Angel pressed his mouth and nose against Spike. Not a kiss, just pressing their faces together.

Shit.

Naked on the bed. Spike rested his head on Angel’s shoulder, put one arm around his waist. A strong grip around his waist.

Okay… okay.

It was dark outside. Night. Not silent, but almost. Business as usual. Except… he’d raised the stakes when he’d killed the members of the Black Thorn, hadn’t he? He couldn’t just wait, watching the night. He needed alliances. Illyria. She was a wildcard, but a valuable one. He had to remember to thank her. And at one point or another he needed to get in contact with Giles and the slayers. With Buffy. But not just yet.

“Hey.” Spike’s fingers squeezed his side. He sounded… grumpy. Huh. “You really going to make nicey-nice with the soldier boys in the morning?”

Angel nodded. “Diplomacy, Spike. You know what it is.”

Spike was silent for a moment. “You started plotting already, haven’t you?” he said. “This mean you’re not taking off to Australia after all?”

Angel lay still, thinking about it, Spike’s arm around his waist like a vice. This was Spike. Who cared about Angel.

I’m on your team.

“No. Not going to Australia.”

“Good. I mean… I bet kangaroos taste like crap.”

Angel smiled. He reached over the side of the bed for the fallen blanket. Pulled it up to cover the both of them.

(End)

Part 1

And here's an odd little drawing of Spike and Angel that kind of goes with this story.

fic: Dressed Like a Human S/A Part 3/4

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 10:02:51 GMT

Title: Dressed Like a Human (3/4)
Author: Kimmy Jarl
Rating: R
Warnings: M/M sex
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Angel the Series, and I get no money from writing this story.
Setting: Post NFA
Summary: When Angel fought in that alley behind the Hyperion, one part of him wasn’t there. One part of him was in the rainforest.
AN: Written for the grazieprego Spangel Ficathon. More or less inspired by my prompt: “Let’s pretend we’re human and that we meet for the first time.”

III

Angel lay on the bed, under the covers. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t. Thick curtains hung over the windows, but the room was still warm and shimmering with sunlight. He heard voices outside the window. Men, women and children, their voices excited and matter-of-fact, as they walked the sunlit street. The sound of a car door slamming shut.

Back to business as usual.

Maybe he shouldn’t complain. They had been lacking, in need of direction, when the Powers had sent him their one time vision. The Circle was dead. He shouldn’t complain. But as he lay there, tired but not sleeping, he said the words in his head, over and over like a prayer: Not proportionate. Not proportionate.

Angel fell asleep, finally, and dreamt about a dragon being chased by helicopters.

He woke up a few hours later. Someone was poking him.

“Hey, wake up.” Poke. “Hey, wake up.” Poke.

“Spike, what the hell?”

Spike was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Awake yet?” Spike said. And poked him again.

Angel pushed Spike’s hand aside. “Spike. Get out of my bed.” He struggled to a sitting position. He felt sleepy, and he couldn’t quite shake it.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Spike said. “I just wanted to talk. Besides…” He smirked, small and quiet. “Not the first time I’m in your bed, is it?”

“Please don’t remind me,” Angel groaned.

Looking back, it seemed sometimes that all he’d done before he got the soul was to fuck. An endless parade of humans, almost always woman, their flesh plump under his hands, rich with blood. He’d fucked Darla, all the time, and Drusilla. And – if only for the sake of variety – he’d fucked Spike. Sex had meant so little back then.

Except with Darla. Because she was Darla.

Angel leaned back against the wall, his bare feet dangling over the side of the bed.

“Get out.”

“But…”

“Spike.” He made his voice firm. Not that he expected Spike to listen. This was Spike, always annoying, always with an opinion of his own. A nuisance. Sometimes unexpectedly capable. Sometimes… Spike had been a friend. They’d had fun together. Angel could remember, clear as if it was yesterday, a small convent outside of Paris, Angel taking his time with a young nun, licking the blood off her small breasts, and Spike, fully dressed in her clothes, the frock and the cap, drunk and giggling on sacramental wine.

“You were right.”

“’Course I was. When?”

“I can’t stand the sight of you.”

“Say what?”

Angel sighed. He put one of his ankles over the other and slumped back against the wall. “What do you want, Spike?”

“Nothing.” Spike stood up.

“Come on. If it’s important enough to wake me up for…”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“Probably not.” Angel patted the bed. “Sit. Talk.”

Spike hesitated, and then sat down next to him and scooted backwards to lean back against the wall. His boots were muddy and smelled of the sewers.

“So…” Angel said, after Spike had been silent for some time.

“So… you can’t stand the sight of me.” Spike sounded like he was pouting.

“You know why,” Angel said, looking at the drape-covered window. Talking to Spike was easier sitting side by side. “It must be the same for you.”

“It…” Spike fell silent.

Angel glanced to the side and found Spike staring at him, his mouth slightly open. “Looking at you,” Angle said. “It makes me remember… what you are. What I am.”

“A vampire?” The question was low, tentative.

“Maybe.” Maybe.

But that was stupid.

Angel looked at the curtains, trying to reinvoke the feeling of the rainforest, the life-in-death stillness of the rainforest floor.

Slowly, like he was deep in thought, Spike said, “To live again in human form.”

“And have his past washed clean,” Angel supplied.

Silence.

“You still believe in that?” Spike asked.

“Not a matter of belief.”

“What then?”

“A carrot,” Angel said. “The Powers waved it in my face, to make me go where they wanted.”

Spike shifted, uneasily. “It’s a rotten deal anyway.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s prophesy,” Angel said. “It might be wrong, or we might have to wait ad infinitum. Isn’t that how a prophesy usually works?”

“Huh,” Spike said.

“And now it seems we’re chasing the real apocalypse,” Angel said. He glanced at the ceiling. “The final final battle.”

“The end of days,” Spike said.

“Heaven on Earth.”

“Judgment day.”

“And the dead shall rise,” Spike intoned. “To live forever.”

“Unless you’re a vampire.”

“Or one of us.”

“You.”

“No, you.”

Angel heard Spike snicker, and he smiled in spite of himself.

“You ever think,” Spike said. “That the reason it has to be one of us is because we might still be alive when the trumpets sound?”

“Yeah, that makes no sense at all.”

“Guess not.”

He remembered signing it away. Remembered having to squash the distracting thought that maybe – just maybe – this was one of those didn’t-deserve-it-until-he-gave-it-up kind of deals. Fighting for no reward, after all, wasn’t that a more deserving kind of fighting?

Not that any one of them have ever gotten a reward.

What was so funny, just a minute ago?

“Angel…”

“It’s all over.” He felt cold.

“No, it’s not.” Spike patted his shoulder, awkwardly. “We’re still here. Two heroic… heroes, moving on with our lives.”

“Not that simple.”

“Listen,” Spike said. “You don’t have to leave.”

Angel shook his head. “Have to.”

Spike kept patting his shoulder. “You want to fall apart, go crazy for awhile? That’s fine. I’m pretty sure this hotel has a basement.”

Angel pushed Spike’s hand away and got to his feet. He felt crowded. He paced, back and forth across the floor. He couldn’t… not. Maybe it was the words “fall apart”, spoken like that, like an invitation.

He stopped pacing. Stood still in the middle of the room, the carpet rough under his feet. Cold. He brought his fingers to his face.

“Hey…” Spike said.

The real and final one.

This was not real.

It was not proportionate.

Angel stood still, his head down. He wanted to step out of his skin. He couldn’t even move. His fingers were on his face, and he didn’t move one inch.

“Hey,” he heard Spike say. “Come here. Sit down for a bit.”

Angel sat down on the floor.

“Um… right.” Spike hunched down next to him, too close. Angel pushed him away.

Spike fell on his ass.

Spike was drunk and giggling on sacramental wine.

It wasn’t proportionate.

Spike was gone, and then Spike was kneeling beside him, a glass of water in his hand.

“This is holy water,” Spike said.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes. It is.”

Spike’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head back and pulling Angel closer against his chest. “You’re human,” Spike said. “You died in the alley and now you’re human. Your past is clean.”

“Spike…”

What the hell?

“Schhh.” Spike’s lips were close to his ear. The grip in his hair tightened. “You’re human, go with it. You think I don’t understand? You said it yourself, it’s the same for me. There is no shame between us.”

No shame?

“This is holy water,” Spike said, and poured the water over Angel’s face.

The water was cool. It ran down his cheeks and his neck. Angel could taste it on his lips. It didn’t burn.

It didn’t burn.

“Good,” Spike said. “Now tell me… which one of them do you miss the most?”

Angel struggled, but Spike held him still – he let Spike hold him still.

“Tell me,” Spike said, and Angel didn’t care that it was Spike, that this was Spike holding him. The question was the important thing.

“All of them,” Angel said. He could remember the rainforest now. “Cordelia. She was… there was no one like her. Fred… Fred.” His throat felt tight, and he took a deep breath. “Wesley. We had our falling outs, but really Wesley was… the best of friends.” He said it again, because the words had tugged at his insides. He wanted to feel it again. “He was the best of friends.”

There was water on his face. He was back in the rainforest, the place beneath the leaves, where it was dark and peaceful and everything was warmth and life. In a distant place, he was crying. He was crying without making a sound, but his face was wet and his back was bowed.

He stayed in the forest for a long time. Outside the room the sun came down. Spike’s arms were around him and his head was on Spike’s chest. He stayed there as time passed.

Calm. He felt calm and better somehow, like he really had washed something away. Then Spike’s arms disappeared from his back, and Angel swayed where he sat, out of balance and shivering from the stirrings of cold. He didn’t want to leave, not just yet.

Go with it.

He looked at Spike, at the man who had held him, and his eyes felt clean and new. It was raining, far away and deep inside.

No shame between us.

“Who are you?” Angel asked.

Part 4

Part 1

fic: Dressed Like a Human S/A Part 2/4

Sat, 18 Apr 2009 18:32:06 GMT

Title: Dressed Like a Human (2/4)
Author: Kimmy Jarl
Rating: R
Warnings: M/M sex
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Angel the Series, and I get no money from writing this story.
Setting: Post NFA
Summary: When Angel fought in that alley behind the Hyperion, one part of him wasn’t there. One part of him was in the rainforest.
AN: Written for the grazieprego Spangel Ficathon. More or less inspired by my prompt: “Let’s pretend we’re human and that we meet for the first time.”

The first night after the battle, Angel caught one of the troll-creatures behind a dumpster, rooting through a pile of trash. He killed that one with his sword. The second troll he tracked through the sewers for hours, and caught it in an alley, feasting on the flesh of a dead woman. He killed that one with his hands.

Then it was nothing, and nothing, and then he found a couple of vampires in an abandoned building, sharing the blood of a tattooed man between them. Angel staked one of them, the other got away, and the tattooed man died. Back to business as usual.

One week after the battle, he went to visit Gunn in the hospital.

The Initiative had confiscated a whole floor of the hospital, though very few of them had actually been wounded. Angel found Gunn next to a stripped bed, shrugging into an army jacket.

“Hey, man,” Gunn said.

“Hey.” Angel stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his coat.

A stubble of dark hair covered Gunn’s head.

“I hear you’ve taken up residence in our old haunt,” Gunn said.

“Yeah,” Angel said.

The Initiative had set up base in the Hyperion, and while Angel searched for the last of the demon army, the soldiers were doing some cleanup of their own, involving vans and roadblocks and possibly chain-saws.

“Can’t be easy,” Gunn said, straightening the collar of his jacket, not looking at Angel. “That place is filled with ghosts.”

There was a small painting in a frame on the wall behind Gunn.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Angel said. He’d been staying away, really, most of the time.

“No?” Gunn picked up a small knapsack. He loosened the string to root thought the contents. “Back to the streets for me,” he said. He glanced up at Angel. “I’m sure Anne could use a lawyer.” Gunn shrugged. “Just, you know, so you know where I am if you need to find me.”

Angel nodded. “Right.”

Angel backed away, so he no longer blocked the doorway. The corridor was empty, none of that hustle he’d been expecting to see in a hospital.

“Wait!” Gunn said from behind him.

Angel waited.

“Are… you alright?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah. Fine.” Gunn smiled. A grim smile. “See you around, Angel.”

“See you around.”

***

Most of the soldiers had moved out by now and the corridors of the Hyperion were empty too. When Angel walked through the second floor, he heard Spike talking to someone down in the lobby. Angel stepped up to the balustrade, slow and quiet so he wouldn’t be noticed.

Spike was sitting on the counter. He looked relaxed, his knees wide, a big mug in his hands. He was wearing dark jeans and a torn t-shirt. No coat. Even at this distance, Angel could smell the blood in the mug that Spike was holding. Pig’s blood. Cordelia used to drink soup from that mug.

“But why not drink human blood then? Isn’t that what vampires do?”

It was the Initiative major, Hemmingway, his back to Angel. Angel remembered telling him that first day, that, no, there was no need to order human blood from the hospital, pig’s blood would do well enough, but thanks.

“It’s the taste,” Spike said. “The taste of humans brings on the bloodlust, makes a vampire more… grr.” He put the mug down and raised his hands like claws and growled in a way that was about as threatening as a parent playing pretend with his children.

“Really?” Hemmingway said. He sounded interested, in a skeptical sort of way. “I didn’t know that. Is it true for Angel too? Even with the soul?”

“Sure,” Spike said. “The soul makes him feel more human, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a vamp, does it?”

“Makes him feel more human? Is that what a soul does?”

“What else would it do?” Spike drank deeply – and noisily – from the mug.

Angel frowned. What was Spike playing at?

“Right.” Hemmingway crossed his arms over his chest. “And feeling such kinship with humans, he doesn’t want to see them get hurt?”

“You got it.” Spike raised the mug, an ironic toast.

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“There always is.” Spike shrugged and leaned back on the counter.

“The Initiative have re-categorized dozens of Sub T:s on account of being somewhat harmless to humans. Vampires are definitely not one of them. Except for him – and you,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re anomalies.”

“Not going to argue with you there, mate.”

“Of all the Sub T:s that-”

“Demons.” Spike interrupted, suddenly smiling. “Forget that Sub T business. Just call us demons. It’s liberating.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hemmingway said, a bit uneasily.

“Come on,” Spike said, wheedling. “Demons. Dee-mons.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The major backed away, glancing at the doorway. “Look, I have some work to do. Do you know when Angel might be coming back?”

Angel froze, his hands on the balustrade.

“Not a clue. Out heroing, keeping the streets safe for the little kiddies. Protector of the city, Angel is.”

“So I’ve seen.” Hemmingway nodded, sounding strangely respectful. “I’d like to talk to him before I leave.”

“Why?” Spike tilted his head to the side. “You want him to speak to your men? Kind of a thank you and goodbye?”

“You think he will?” Hemmingway was smiling now, Angel could hear it in his voice.

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Spike said, his face solemn.

Angel wondered how the major didn’t see that Spike was toying with him. Angel waited for a self-satisfied smirk to appear on Spike’s face when the soldier turned his back. Predictable. But the smirk didn’t come. The soldier left and Spike just sat there, hung his head and kicked the counter, once, twice, with the heel of his boots.

“You haven’t told them,” Angel said, and Spike’s head jerked up. He looked around, eyes wide, until he noticed Angel up on the balustrade.

Angel walked to the stairway. Slowly, one step at a time. He felt weighted down. “You haven’t told them about the soul.”

“None of their bloody business.”

“It doesn’t make sense. They think you’re soulless, and they’re just leaving it at that?” Angel heard the sound of his own voice. It was dull. Like he didn’t care.

“Tamed, aren’t I? Took the leash off themselves, they did.” Angel gave a brief nod. He only had a sketchy knowledge about what Spike was talking about, but he understood well enough. “Besides,” Spike said. “I’m working for you. Seems you’re famous.”

“They don’t know as much as they think they do.”

Angel reached the end of the stairs. It occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken to Spike, not once since the day of the battle.

“Seems you’re something of a legend. You have a groupie in Sammy.” Spike smiled like someone sharing a joke. Like he wanted Angel to smile back. It wasn’t working.

“You mean that Hemmingway?”

“Uh-hu. I don’t think he believes in the soul, though.”

“Doesn’t believe…?”

“I know!” Spike gasped, both hands to his chest, putting on a show. Angel could see him doing it. “I mean, look at you!” Spike gestured, a magician presenting a trick. “You are a living testament, the proof of divinity.”

“Shut up.”

To his surprise, Spike did shut up. He looked down and kicked the counter again, once, twice.

Spike had a bruise on his jaw. Angel wondered how it had gotten there.

“We should talk,” Angel said. “Let’s go before he comes back.” Angel looked around, but they were still alone.

“Sammy?” Spike jumped down from the counter. “He’s not so bad. Reminds me of that git Andrew, not sure why.” He frowned, looking at the ceiling, mimicking deep thoughts. “Maybe it’s the hair.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Angel turned and walked up the steps, not waiting for Spike to follow.

Angel’s room was on the third floor, one of the smaller ones, empty of furniture except for a single bed pushed up against a wall. The Initiative, for some reason, had swept the floor and stocked his bathroom, filled the cabinet with shampoos and lotions.

Angel turned around and found Spike closing the door behind him, looking at Angel, waiting for him to speak. Angel wasn’t sure what to say. The room felt very small.

When he looked at Spike he could see his soul. It was strange, seeing it there, knowing it was there, incongruous on a vampire, like a shirt that didn’t fit.

“I went to see Gunn.”

Spike nodded. “Good. He’s been asking about you.”

“Yeah, well.” Angel hunched his shoulders. “He has a place to go. Where he can do good.”

Spike was squinting at him, like he wasn’t quite making sense. “What are you on about, then?”

“I guess you’ll be next. Buffy…” No, not Buffy. “Andrew. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” Angel’s voice was tight and angry.

“What?” Spike stared and him, blinking. “You’re well and truly off, aren’t you?”

Off? Maybe he was. There was a strange disconnection between his actions and his registration of what he was doing. He looked to the side, and he thought: I’m looking to the side. “Do what you want,” he said. “I don’t care.” And he thought: that’s what I said.

“You…” Spike took one step forward and then back, hectic, like he couldn’t stand still. “But I thought…” Spike stopped before him, anger in his voice. “I’m on your team, remember?”

“What do you expect me to do, Spike?” Anger was easy to find.

“Oh, I don’t know. Fight. For truth… and justice. All that crap.”

Angel glared. He had a good glare.

“I can’t believe it!” Spike threw his arms up in the air. “I’m bloody useful, I’ll have you know. Saving babies… and – and babies! I nearly died with you fighting a fucking army, in case you’ve forgotten! And now…” Spike’s voice trailed off. Now he just looked sad.

“It’s not like that,” Angel said. “You’ve been great, really.”

Very… enthused.

The echo was chilling, in a distant sort of way.

Angel closed his eyes.

“You really don’t get it, do you, Spike? I don’t have a team anymore. It’s over.”

“Over?” Spike said the word like he wasn’t sure what it meant. “How can it be over? It’s never over. Never. You’d think dying would make it over, but oh no it doesn’t...”

“Yeah, well,” Angel said. “I’M TAKING A BREAK!”

They stared at each other, silenced by his shout. Angel wasn’t sure what his face showed, but Spike caved, just like that.

“Yeah. A break. You should do that. Take a break. A vacation, like.” Spike backed away.

Angel filled his lungs with air, letting it go very slowly. A vacation?

I should go to the rainforest. To live like a worm.

He filled his lungs with air again. It was relaxing.

The room was very silent.

“What’s with the bruise?” Angel asked, deliberately changing the subject. Changing it into a simple conversation.

Spike touched the side of his face. “The Blue Wonder,” he said. “Still packs a punch.” An uncertain smile, like he wasn’t sure about Angel’s simple conversation thing, but ready to play along.

“Illyria.” How could he have forgotten about Illyria, even for a second? “How’s she doing?”

“Usual. Up on the roof a lot. Contemplating the color of the sky, or some such. She…” Spike shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “She keeps asking questions. Seems she’s gotten it into her head that she needs a teacher. Someone to guide her.”

Angel paused. “You?”

“Seems like,” Spike muttered. “But who the fuck knows.”

Angel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “You, Spike, guiding a god. The mind boggles.”

“Yeah, well.” Spike lifted his hand to rub at his neck. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will.”

It was a strange moment. For a second they were both there, sharing the same time and place, both surprised by the fact.

Before looking away in acute embarrassment.

“Well, I should…”

“Yeah.”

Spike headed for the door. Turned around before opening it.

“So about this vacation thing…”

“Yes?”

“If you’re planning on taking off, going somewhere, like say, Australia…”

Australia?

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Spike left, and the door closed behind him.

Part 3

Part 1

fic: Dressed Like a Human S/A Part 1/4

Fri, 17 Apr 2009 17:39:23 GMT

Title: Dressed Like a Human (1/4)
Author: Kimmy Jarl
Rating: R
Warnings: M/M sex
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Angel the Series, and I get no money from writing this story.
Setting: Post NFA
Summary: When Angel fought in that alley behind the Hyperion, one part of him wasn’t there. One part of him was in the rainforest.
AN: Written for the grazieprego Spangel Ficathon. More or less inspired by my prompt: “Let’s pretend we’re human and that we meet for the first time.”

Part I

When Angel fought in that alley behind the Hyperion, one part of him wasn’t there.

One part of him was in the rainforest.

Angel had never actually been to the rainforest, but he could imagine the place, could imagine the humid air, the warmth and the vines. A place where new trees grew out of the trunks of old ones and leaves, even as they fell, was sprout and sustenance and life. The floor was layers and layers of fallen leaves and that was a place of calm and purpose and truth.

Drogyn, who could not lie, had tasted like the rainforest.

Gunn had fallen long ago, but Angel hadn’t seen him die, so at the back of his mind Gunn was still alive, and there might still be time to get Gunn to a hospital, if they could win this.

Angel fought with a shield on his left arm, a shield he had yanked from one of the troll-creatures right before it died. It became a pattern – deflect with the shield, find a place to stick his sword, and the sword was there. The blood was warm as it ran from the blade to Angel’s hand.

A brick wall behind them serving as protection, Spike had been able to toss his coat aside in favour for a chain-mail shirt with a hood that covered half of his face. At least once Angel had seen that shirt save his life. Mostly, he didn’t look at Spike, but he was aware of him, there to the left, and he was aware of the enemies, as they fell for Spike’s sword.

Illyria screamed as she fought, an unearthly howl. Her long, thin limbs deflected attacks with impossible ease, and it was she, above all, that made their assailants hesitate sometimes, made them approach with care and circle with caution.

None of them died as easily as their enemies, but the enemies never seemed to end.

And above, perched on the roof like a bird, was the dragon.

Chaos and precision. Screaming. Angel fought – fast – and he didn’t seem to tire. He felt like it could go on forever. Inside, the chaos didn’t follow. He felt calm, a spot inside that was in balance, a spot right behind his throat, the balance that was the life-in-death place of the rainforest. Spike and Illyria fought on each side of him, they together. Nothing to do except fight.

Then, a difference, a different tone to the chaos. A sound.

The sound of helicopters.

All at once, the battle had shifted. The alley lit up with gunshots and explosions. The ground shook, and demons were dying out of sight. The calm place of the rainforest was forgotten – it was like waking up. The enemies, no longer united, became individuals, stumbling over each other and turning around in confusion.

Angel left the protective wall and went for the demons, meeting their scattered defense. One of the troll-creatures struck Angel with a big club, felled him to the ground – and screamed, Spike’s sword in the troll’s chest, the flick of Illyria’s across his throat. Angel, on his feet again, took the head off something that looked like a dog more than anything else. The demons, they were cornered. So few of them now. Some ran, and they were met with the dull coughs of automatic weapons. Each side of the alley was blocked. A great roar, for a moment, made everything stand still. The dragon, a gust of wind from its wings, as it left the rooftop and was gone, climbing higher and higher into the sky.

It didn’t seem very long before they killed the last of them – two demons who fought back to back, red eyes glowing, no weapons except their claws. Looking down at their corpses, Angel briefly wondered what lies they had been told, to make them come after him in this alley.

Then, he heard shouting. Shouting in English.

“Here!” And “Hold your fire!”

“Wait,” Angel said. Wait…

He felt like he was vibrating. To his right, Illyria lowered her sword, and Angel saw her hand tremble. A spotlight from one of the buildings found them, and they waited, bathed in white light.

Black clad figures appeared from all sides, guns raised and ready. Round, smooth helmets covered their heads.

“Hey!” One of the figures lowered his gun. He walked up to them, gloved hand outreached, palm out.

The man stopped a few steps away and raised the visor of the helmet, an act distinctly reminiscent of a military salute. Angel experienced a strange aha moment, when he realized the probable origins of that gesture. The face behind the helmet was older than Angel had expected, creased with wrinkles, smiling.

“Angel, sir!” The man’s voice was loud, as he shouted. “I should have known we would find you in the thick of this.”

“Do I know you?” Angel’s hand clutched the sword. Who…? Wolfram and Hart? Surely not.

“You don’t know me, but I’ve heard all about you.” Grinning. Winning a battle might make a man grin like that. “Angel of LA. You’re famous.” The man saluted, a proper salute his time. “Major Samuel Hemmingway, US Marine.” He lowered his hand and grinned again. “Third branch Demon Initiative.”

“Hn,” Angel said.

He lowered his sword.

“A demon army came in through a portal, huh?” The major crossed his arms and shook his head. “Hate it when that happens.”

Spike took a step closer. “Happened a lot, has it?”

“Not really, no.” The grin slipped from the major’s face. “Just trying to be funny, I guess.”

“Yes,” Spike murmured. “Well done.”

Something in Spike’s voice made Angel turn towards him, just in time to catch Spike’s arm as he staggered.

Angel frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Spike didn’t answer, and his face was turned away. All Angel could see through the opening in the hood of the chain-mail was the outline of Spike’s brow and cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, when his eyes fell shut.

“Are you…? Do you…?” It was a possibility. Angel had to whisper.

Keep your voice down.

This is a house of prayer.

“Do you feel… human?”

Spike turned his head to look at him. It was a look that clearly said: “No, you enormous idiot.”

Oh. Angel let go of Spike’s arm.

“Felt a bit knackered, is all,” Spike muttered.

“Hey.” The major yanked off his helmet, revealing a head of close-cut grayed curls. “Are you injured? I’ll call for the medics.” He spun around and started shouting. “Medics!”

“No,” Angel said. “Not for him.”

Spike was now completely steady on his feet. He stood still, perfectly still, by Angel’s side. The rain had washed the chin-mail free of blood, and it shone coldly in the white light. Angel looked away.

How could he for one second have thought that Spike was human?

“Were…” The Initiative soldier cleared his throat. “Are there more than the three of you?

“Yes.” Angel said.

Gunn had fallen somewhere further down the alley. Somewhere… over there. Beyond that pile of bodies.

Angel raised his gaze, straightening as he took it all in. Blood like tar over the cracked asphalt, the ground covered with the bulbous, twisted shapes of the dead. Roaming lights and billowing shadows. Weapons – spears – tilted upwards from clutching, lifeless hands. This…

This was a battlefield.

Angel wondered what was different, and then he knew.

It had stopped raining.

Part 2

Various Buffy character sketches

Mon, 16 Mar 2009 20:27:07 GMT

Faith, Giles, Dru, Spike, Angel and Willow

Drawings, Spike

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 19:59:57 GMT

Drawings, Buffy

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 18:42:23 GMT

Drawings, Xander

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 15:53:56 GMT

I have all those sketches of Buffy-characters lying around. Thought I’d post a few here.

Wonder why Xander always seems to turn out the most interesting-looking? :)

drabble: wes, illyria

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 18:09:41 GMT

Drabble, written for open_on_sunday

Death came in a box. It was a pale stone sarcophagus, old as time, filled with sand.

Sand.

(“She was just curious.”)

Because sand was what she got in her hand – when she reached for life.

(“I think I hate her a bit for that.”)

(“Say her name.”)

Winifred Burkle.

Death came in a box. A sneer on her mouth and her fingers curved with ancient, mysterious greed. She won’t stop asking questions.

Is she, perhaps, curious too?

This death. This dead girl death.

She tilts her head to the side like she could see the world better that way.

drabble: wes

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 18:08:10 GMT

Drabble, written for open_on_sunday

It was the shortest battle. His back was hurt, and he didn’t get to kill any of the vampires.

But still...

Angel never asked Wesley why. Why the fight, why Los Angeles? Why would he be so devoted?

Angel might think it was the Watcher in him (or the hero-worshipper in him). But Wesley knew. If Angel ever asked he would be able to say: I was in a fight once. No one might remember my part except to laugh. It was short – I was of no use to anyone. But Angel, I was there. And I never stopped fighting.

Spike/Angel fic: A Better Kind of Hell

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 18:48:15 GMT

Title: A Better Kind of Hell

Author: Kimmy Jarl

Rating: ADULT

Paring: Angel/Spike

Warnings: Sex…or, no. PORN. And ANGST, and SAP, and several attempts at HUMOUR. Mostly it’s the PORN I’m warning you about^^

Summary: Post-NFA. Spike and Angel and a candy. In hell.

Disclaimer: I do not own Angel, and I get no money from writing this story

AN: Written for the Halloween challenge at nekid_spike

---

The boat was small and there was no sky.

They were inside an enormous cave, on a river so big and silent, Spike had never seen anything like it.

Maybe he raised his own voice just to break that silence. Maybe shouting at Angel had become something of a habit.

Or maybe he had good reasons to be shouting.

“I told you,” Angel said. A stone that finally spoke. “We were probably going to die.”

“That’s not the point.”

Angel glanced at him from a shadowed brow.

“What’s the point then?

“The point is… the point is…” What was the point? Oh, yeah. Spike glared at Angel. “The point is – it’s all your fault!”

Angel flinched.

Spike lowered his eyes.

Damn.

Shouting at Angel was no good if he flinched.

“What kind of hell is this anyway?” Spike muttered. He glanced up. “Was it like this the last time you went?”

Angel looked around, slowly. Taking in the black water, the boat, the cave.

That one skeleton steering the boat.

“No,” Angel said. “It wasn’t like this.”

“More fires, right?”

“Right.”

Angel kind of smiled, a small tug. Spike got that sometimes. He wasn’t sure if Angel knew.

“You reckon the fires are waiting on the other side?” Spike squinted. He could just make out the shore, grey and dim in the distance. He frowned. “Maybe it’s the river Styx. Or maybe…” He looked at Angel, alarmed. “Maybe it’s that river that makes you forget stuff. What’s it called? What’s it called?” He snapped his fingers.

“Lethe.”

“Right, Lethe.” He gasped. “See, it’s starting already! I’ll forget my own name next.” Pause. “Checking, checking. My name is Spike. Checking, checking.”

Definitely a smile this time.

“Come on,” Spike said, standing up. ”Let’s turn this boat around. We’re heroes, right? Not lambs to the slaughter.”

Angel looked mildly interested, which was all the encouragement Spike needed. He stalked the short distance to the end of the boat. Stared the skeleton straight into its empty sockets.

“Turn around,” Spike said. He made a small circle in the air with his forefinger. “We’re going back.”

The skeleton just continued to push the boat forward, with that long pole it held in its bony hands. Possibly it was pushing a bit faster.

“Hey, I said…” Spike reached out – bloody heap of bones – and his hand went right through. The skeleton looked solid, but it was no more solid than a whisp of mist. Spike tried to grab the pole, but he couldn’t touch that either.

Brilliant.

He moved his weight from side to side and the boat lurched sharply, but didn’t slow down and didn’t turn around.

“Stop that.”

It was no use, so he might as well stop. Not because Angel told him.

Spike sat down again, on the bottom of the boat. The boards were cold and hard against his back.

Had the shore come a tiny bit closer?

My name is Spike, checking, checking.

“Aren’t you the least bit worried?” Spike said. “We lose our memories and we’re gone. Wandering around the land of the dead, not knowing who we are. Those empty spirits Dru used to complain about, come Halloween. That will be us!”

Angel just sat there, arms crossed. Big block of stone.

“There are worse kind of hells,” he said.

“You’re glad.” Spike pointed at Angel. “You are!” Discovery in his voice. “You’re glad we’re going to forget.”

“We’re not going to forget, Spike.” Loud and aggravated.

“You don’t know that.”

Spike looked towards the shore, almost sure he could see the grey people, dressed in rags, not looking at each other. Just standing around or walking aimlessly. Forever.

“We could swim back.”

Spike got to his feet. The boat rocked.

Angel didn’t move.

“Come on,” Spike said. “Fancy a dip then?”

The water was ink black, silent and still. There was something repulsive about that stillness. He supposed he couldn’t blame Angel for not jumping right in.

“Here goes…” Hand on the railing, Spike swung himself over the side of the boat.

There was hardly a splash when he hit the water. And cold – numbing – surrounding him. Spike felt the surface closing over his head. A silence. Very, very silent. He was… what was he doing?

He was grabbed, a hand on his collar and a strong arm pulling his head above the water.

“Get back in the boat.”

Someone lifted him like he didn’t weight anything and he was sitting, water dripping from his hair and his chin. Someone leaning over him. Some…

“Angel!”

“Don’t go running off.” Angel sat back down and crossed his arms. It was like he hadn’t moved at all.

Spike shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

And then, as if he needed any more proof that there was something funky going on with the water, he wasn’t wet anymore. He reached into his pocket – dry – and pulled out a package of cigarettes – also dry. Though when he searched for the lighter, he couldn’t find it. Probably dropped it in the water.

Damn.

And damn.

”Don’t happen to have a lighter, do you?”

“No.”

Angel still uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into the spacious pockets in his coat, sighing all the while. When he pulled them out, his right hand was closed around something that wasn’t a lighter. He turned his hand over and opened it, revealing – a candy. A red, hard candy in a clear plastic wrapper.

“Didn’t know you walked around with candy in your pockets.”

Angel didn’t react, he just stared down at the candy with a small frown on his face.

“Kind of an odd thing to be carrying into the final battle. Not that I’m judging, mind you. There was this one time-”

“No,” Angel said. “I got it from…” His voice trailed off. “I was having coffee and I got it from…” He looked up, frowning and indignant. “I forgot.”

“See! Not so funny when that happens, is it?”

He wondered what Angel had forgotten. Probably nothing important.

Angel was still holding the candy, red and shining on his large palm.

“Well,” Spike said. “Are you going to eat that, or what?”

“I guess.” Angel twisted the candy between his fingers. The wrapper made a stiff candy-wrapper sound. He let the wrapper fall, and Spike watched how it got caught in a nonexistent breeze and drifted away across the water. Clear plastic disappearing into the darkness.

He felt stab of loss, as strong as it was incongruous.

Angel put the candy in his mouth and several long moments went by in silence except for the sound of Angel sucking on a candy.

“Share, why don’t you?” Spike muttered.

Angel gave him a level stare. Then he took the candy out of his mouth and holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he offered it to Spike. Smirking a bit, as if he was sure that Spike wouldn’t want it.

The candy was smooth and wet and very red – almost glowing with a light of its own. Spike leaned forward, rocking the boat and closed his lips around the candy and Angel’s fingers both. With a sound of dismay, Angel pulled his fingers back and wiped them on the front of his coat. Spike was left with the candy. It tasted of cherries and chemicals, and it was sweet enough to make the muscles of his jaw twitch.

Spike kept glancing at Angel, small tiny glances, while he turned the candy over in his mouth, making it last. He had an idea, and now that he had it, it wouldn’t let go.

“Let’s fuck.”

“What?” Angel blinked. “No!”

Angel turned his attention to the water, intent and preoccupied. His whole body indicating that the last few seconds had never happened.

The last traces of candy melted in Spike’s mouth. When Angel finally glanced at him, a flicker of dark eyes, Spike raised his eyebrows in an inviting wiggle.

“Forget it,” Angel snapped.

“You know, I probably will!”

He was unable to keep the stress out of his voice and he knew Angel could hear it. Angel always could.

Angel sighed. Frowned.

Sighed again.

“All right.”

“All right? All right!”

They stared at each other, neither of them making a move.

“All right,” Spike said. He took a deep breath. “Let’s get this party started.”

He stood up and began to undress, starting with his boots. His coat, his trousers and shirt ended up in a dark pile next to the boots and he turned to Angel, naked.

“Well, kit off! Time’s awastin’.”

Angel was warming up to the idea, Spike could tell. He watched Angel undress. Watched Angel watching him while he undressed.

Angel placed his clothes on the bottom of the boat and pulled them smooth, a makeshift bed.

Nice.

Angel stood straight. Big and wide, skin very pale in the dark. Spike smiled. One step closer and he placed his fingertips on Angel’s chest.

“Lovely, you are,” he said.

Angel looked at him like he was saying “Are you kidding me?”, but also like he was saying “Do you really mean it?”.

Big, brooding, insecure tosser.

Spike leaned in for a kiss, awkward, not sure suddenly that this was the thing to do. Sex, that’d done it before. Once – well, maybe twice. But kissed, never. Noses almost touching, he stared at Angel and Angel stared back, dark and unreadable, and then Angel smiled. That little tug, that told Spike that he was doing something right.

Oh, good.

Kissing Angel was very strange, but they kept at it and after awhile it didn’t feel all that strange anymore.

It felt good. Like life. Like warmth.

Angel’s tongue against his, Angel’s hands on his back, his shoulders, his arse. Angel’s dick hard against his stomach. He panted into Angel’s mouth.

There was a brief struggle, down on the bottom of the boat – the negotiating of positions – before Spike found himself flat on his stomach, Angel kneeling between his legs.

Why break the habit of... once, maybe twice?

Spike looked back over his shoulder and saw Angel stroke his own erection, firm strokes up and down. Making it glisten. Spit – not the most effective of lubricants. Spike didn’t care. There was something… something so engaging about having Angel kneeling behind him like this, his cock hard and ready. It made Spike feel light-headed and dizzy. It made him tremble.

“Yeah, ” he breathed. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Angel lay down on top of him, covering him completely. He felt Angel’s hands on his buttocks, holding them apart. Felt Angel’s dick against his opening, thick and solid, pushing against him. Spike made himself relax. Angel was prying him open, sinking into him, so carefully, so inexorable slow. Not stopping and not easing up. It didn’t hurt though, not hardly at all.

Fully inside, Angel kissed Spike’s neck.

“Good boy,” he said, and Spike huffed his laughter into Angel’s coat.

Silly old man.

Love you.

Angel raised his hips and sank down, slow and inexorable.

“Yeah…”

Angel’s arms were around his shoulders, and their fingers twined together, clasping right beneath Spike’s mouth, and Angel’s cock glided thickly inside him, back and forth, ceaseless and slow. Spike lifted his hips to meet him, working his body within the steely confinement of Angel’s arms. Like waves, the way they rocked together.

Spike felt warm.

He panted against Angel’s knuckles, his feet straining against the clothes Angel had laid out on the deck.

My God.

And Angel kept him, that slow pace without end, until his body shuddered with sensation, jolts of electricity inside of him, and all the world was narrowed down to Angel’s cock in his arse and Angel’s breath on his cheek.

“P-please.” He might be weeping. It was wet between his mouth and their hands.

“Yeah,’ Angel breathed. He lifted up, lifted Spike with him, to his elbows and his knees.

Somehow he had not been ready, had not expected the next push. How Angel slammed into him, slammed hard and deep. A shout, short, wordless and he sank down on his hands and elbows, arching his back, offering himself.

More.

Angel.

Angel’s hands around his hips and Angel’s cock impaling him again and again. Opening him all up with strong sure blows. It was… he was drifting, inside his head, and his body was jerked back and forth. His fingers clenched, convulsive, over the fabric of Angel’s coat.

“Hah.”

Angel.

Killing him and loving him and owning him.

Angel’s hand went down to Spike’s cock – hard and leaking – closing around it. Caught, he was. A hand that squeezed and stroked in a punishing rhythm. A fire, there in his belly. Angel. Opening him all up.

“Hah.”

It was too much... too much.

He wanted...

He wanted to scream and to holler.

He...

Spike came then, couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried. And Angel fucked him through it, fucked him as he gasped and shuddered.

As the world fell away.

Drained and distant, Spike leaned his head on his trembling arms. His eyelids were heavy, opening and closing, a muted kind of fireworks going on inside of him.

Weak, as Angel fucked him.

Slaps, flesh on flesh and the wet sounds of Angel’s dick in his arse. Spike heard the sound of water, as the boat rocked, hard and hectic. Angel was making small groans, like a man on the brink. But Angel didn’t come. And the fucking continued, the fireworks, while Spike slowly became aware of the cold dark air of the cave, the ache in his guts, the hard boards beneath his knees.

The skeleton that was watching them.

Spike flicked it off, the bony bastard, with two trembling fingers.

Small groans. Angel on the brink of coming. Spike rocked back and forth.

Maybe this was the way they would stay?

“W-wait. A-ang…”

Angel.

Spike.

Checking, checking.

He was using so much force, Angel did. The sledgehammer strength, bearing down on him. He always tried so hard, Angel. He always did the hard thing.

Spike wanted to see his face.

Twisting around, he caught Angel’s wrist.

“Wait.”

Angel’s eyes widened and he backed away, his wrist pulling away from Spike’s grip. The erection pulling out of Spike’s arse, leaving him… gaping, hungry, empty.

Angel.

Spike moved to his back – really terrible weak – and reached out his hand. Angel looked at Spike, at the hand reaching for him and seemed to hesitate. Hard to tell what Angel was thinking. Spike let the hand fall. He smiled and his eyes never left Angel’s, as he lifted his knees and slowly parted his legs.

A trembling breath, from Angel.

“Come here then, big guy.”

Angel moved over to settle on top of him, before he sank into his arms and into his body.

Something like wonder, on Angel’s face.

“Yeah,” Spike murmured. “Yeah. It’s good.”

His arms around Angel’s wide back, he held on. And Angel held him, cradled him and fucked him.

“It’s good,” Spike said, soothing his hands all over Angel’s back. “You’ve done good.”

A sob. Something like a sob.

“It’s fine.” He closed his fingers around the back of Angel’s neck. “Let go. Let it go, Angel.”

Thud, like a heartbeat, when Angel crushed him closer. Angel’s mouth on his, and Spike closed his eyes and touched Angel’s tongue with his own, brief, light touches. Slowly they kissed as his insides were flooded with Angel’s come. Spike felt it leaking out of him, as they held on harder, as the kisses became messy and insistent. Angel, kissing him with emphasis. A trail of saliva ran down Spike’s cheek.

“It’s fine,” Spike whispered.

His hand crept into Angel’s hair.

Angel’s hand on Spike’s back, rolling them to their sides. Tangled together. Spike hooked his leg around Angel’s hip, feeling Angel’s softening cock shift inside of him, wet and slippery.

Yeah.

Angel’s mouth left his and kissed his nose, briefly, before pulling back. And there they lay, facing each other.

Breathing.

Not moving.

Almost shyly.

A jolt went thought the boat and Spike heard a dull, scraping noise.

“That’s the shore,” Angel said.

And then… there was nothing.

Manga style pics

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 18:45:27 GMT

Spike and Spangel manga style. (well, I try...)

So silly… and NOT worksafe.

(click to enlarge)

A bunch of questions for YOU

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 21:29:59 GMT

This is a Meme. I had to google that word. A meme is “used to describe a catchphrase or concept that spreads quickly from person to person via the Internet.” Aha.

A nice bunch of questions. Got them from spikes_evilbint If you answer them for me, I'll do the same for you :)

01) Are you currently in a serious relationship?
02) What was your dream growing up?
03) What talent do you wish you had?
04) If I bought you a drink what would it be?
05) Favorite vegetable?
06) What was the last book you read?
07) What zodiac sign are you?
08) Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? Explain where.
09) Worst Habit?
10) If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride?
11) What is your favorite sport?
12) Do you have a Pessimistic or Optimistic attitude?
13) What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
14) Worst thing to ever happen to you?
15) Tell me one weird fact about you.
16) Do you have any pets?
17) What if I showed up at your house unexpectedly?
18) What was your first impression of me?
19) Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
20) If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?
21) Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
22) What color eyes do you have?
23) Ever been arrested?
24) Bottle or can soda?
25) If you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it?
27) What's your favorite place to hang out at?
28) Do you believe in ghosts?
29) Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
30) Do you swear a lot?
31) Biggest pet peeve?
32) In one word, how would you describe yourself?
33) Do you believe/appreciate romance?
34) Favourite and least favourite food?
35) Do you believe in God?
36) Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you?

poem drabble

Sun, 21 Sep 2008 13:49:07 GMT

A tiny little stream-of-consciousness-type fic about Spike and Angel.
Rated G
Title: Once there was

Once there was a man called Secret dreams of light. His father was called Secret dreams of darkness. They could never agree.

The father taunted the son and pushed him away (in the name of light). The son strung the father up, and beat him. A sacrifice to darkness.

The father said he didn’t feel guilty. ("Not about Spike!”) And the son professed no regret. (“I didn’t have a soul back then, did I?”)

And the son moved in to the light and still they didn’t agree.

“Kill them all,” the father said. Kill the darkness he meant, for he was a warrior of light. (But his name was Secret dreams of darkness).

“Let’s go to work,” the father said, lifting his sword. The son didn’t say anything. His name was Secret dreams of light.

Is This Seat Taken? Buffy fan comic

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 18:24:40 GMT

Buffy fan comic. With Spike in a wheelchair, and human again. AU. Pre-slash Spike/Xander?

Link to Deviantart

Buffy fic: Puzzle Pieces, Spike/Xander slash

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 17:26:21 GMT

Title: Puzzle Pieces

Author: Kimmy Jarl

Rating: NC-17

Warning: Sex. Blood. Rape, kind of. It’s dark and ugly. Really.

Pairings: Spike/OC, Spike/Xander

Summary: This was Spike. Of course there was something wrong with him. Season four. One-shot.

---

Spike lay on his back, panting, waiting, stomach churning. This was going to hurt, it was really going to hurt. He inched further down, his butt off the edge of the sarcophagus. Between his raised legs, the creature. Couldn’t name his kind, but he was big, big as Spike had known he would be.

“Do it, do it, do it.” A chant. Who cared what no one else but this creature could hear.

Deep red, like the rest of him, and too big, Spike knew. A fist and a forearm. Easily. His own cock was pale. Standing, almost forgotten, that ache. It was distant. His whole being focused on the creature. Broad, muscles, veins, face like brick, skin like brick. Horns. Not a conversationalist, but easy to sway, once Spike had removed the demon’s loincloth and pumped that red monstrosity to its full – full – size. And laid back.

The head pressed up against his opening, dry and warm. Watched the creature take a stance, knees bent, clawed hands grabbing on to him, half lifting him. Spike felt fear. It was choking him, oh yes. And then the push. Like a machine, it came, a machine of torture, pushing him open that bar of iron. A machine.

Tearing him, the first slow push. Opening him to completion and then more. Felt it plough through his insides, digging, rearranging. Saw his stomach move from the force inside. Somewhere under his ribs it settled. Torn muscles spasmed, bleeding, panicking to get it out. Lungs hyperventilating. Shock.

Shock through his entire body.

Withdrew with a harsh sound, felt rivulets of blood escape, was showed back inside, the ram of iron into the fleshy channel it had shaped for itself, and again under his ribs, a shove like a kick inside. To his lungs, to his throat, all the way through, the kick. His throat.

And again.

Again. Again. Again.

In the rhythm of fucking.

Slaps. Wet slaps that sent drops of blood on his chest, his legs, drip, drip, on the cold stone floor. Strong hands showing him back and forth, skin scraping, legs apart.

A rag doll.

His own erection lost, most everything lost, but keeping his eyes on the creature, feeling the pain fill him. Fill him, fill him. Jostled back and forth, back and forth, face like brick above him, claws around his hips, back and forth, neverending.

---

Xander sidestepped a headstone, squinting in the bright morning light. So Spike hadn’t taken Anya’s advice and moved into something other than a crypt. And Giles talking about chips and higher purposes, and Spike choosing a crypt in a cemetery. Very… demonstrative of him. Yeah, that’s what he would say: Hey Spike, evil undead guy sleeping in a crypt, I know you only do it for show, you big faker. Or wait, maybe not so much a faker, being undead and all, but what about a refrigerator for the blood and never you mind, I don’t care how you keep your blood fresh. I only came, Spike, because I have a question about vampires, if you don’t mind talking about it.

Asking politely because it was a serious question and he wouldn’t like to see it turn into an argument. He’d even set the alarm for way early on a Sunday, which would be before bedtime for Spike, right, so he wouldn’t disturb him in his sleep. Crypt was his home, after all.

How weird wouldn’t it be if Spike ended up staying, fighting only demons, the chipped helper of the Scoobies. The advantages was obvious, Spike on their side in a fight, it could really tip some scales, almost as good as a second slayer – no, not that second slayer – and what was he thinking Spike on their side? No way was that good thinking. It was just his will to survive that was being uppity, making him think the crazy thoughts.

Still, Spike would be extra good to have in a fight. Their backup, hey, extra firepower in case of apocalypse.

There it was, the crypt. One of the old ones, cracked edges smoothed with time. And with a big wooden door. The door was slightly ajar.

A violent shove from the inside swung the door open all the way, cracking against the crypt wall. Well-honed reflexes made Xander take a few stumbling steps backwards and promptly fall down. Holy Jeepers Fucking Mary. Big demon coming out of Spike’s crypt. Horned head ducking through the doorway. Straightening, and yeah, that was a big demon all right. All big with the horns and the shoulders and the being there in the bright morning sun.

Demon looked around, angling his head as if the sun was bothering his eyes. Seemed like he was looking at Xander for a bit, but decided to ignore him. Stomped away between the graves, leaving monster hoof prints in the grass.

Huh.

Xander got to his feet, refusing to acknowledge just how much his legs were shaking. What, big red demon, nothing to it, see them all the time. And again what was he thinking, Spike on their side? Inviting demons for tea, probably paying them off to kill them all in their sleep, oh God what if he was paying them off to kill them all in their sleep?

“Hey, Spike,” Xander stepped into the crypt, cold air enveloping him. “Was that your big red demon leaving just now, or…”

No.

Last bit of air pressed out of his lungs, a convulsive gasp. Just…

No. To what he was seeing.

Spike. On his stomach down on the sarcophagus, legs spread. And the blood, and the more blood on the floor and all over his back and his legs and between his legs, Xander didn’t know, had never thought an asshole could gape like that, and holy fucking Christ in heaven, his hand could fit in there.

Cold air filled his lungs, freezing him, making him shiver.

No, he’d gone into the wrong crypt, nothing to see here, and why hadn’t he thought demons could hurt people like that, why hadn’t he thought…

“Guess that guy didn’t come by for just tea, huh?” Merest whisper.

Looked at Spike’s face, resting on the stone, turned towards him. Spike’s eyes were open, making him start.

“Um…” Xander edged away, then stepped closer. Spike’s eyes didn’t leave him, blue and shiny wet and lined in black. “Spike?”

“Yes?” His voice was slow and dreamy. Drifting.

“Spike, I…” Almost touched his shoulder, but pulled his hand back. Gaze drifted too far down, and he wrenched it back to Spike’s face. Spike looked stoned. Stunned. Or something.

“Is it over?” Voice drifting.

“It… it is morning,” Xander fumbled.

“Hn.” A hint of a smile, appearing, disappearing. “Fucked me through the night.”

“Holy God, Spike!”

Spike blinked, some moisture escaping his eyelids. His head lifted off the stone. He looked completely alert suddenly, and he breathed in and Xander heard the pain in that breath.

“What do you want then?” Spike put his hands flat on the stone, as if he was readying himself to get up.

“Nothing.” Not to ask his question, this not the time for that.

“Nothing, he says.” Spike looked at him keenly. If there had been tears in his eyes before, they were gone now. Lips twisted into a slow smile. “I think there is something you want.”

“What are you…?”

Spike pushed himself up to his knees. Not a trace of pain on his face. He gave Xander an open-mouthed look, eyes lidded. A porn star kind of look.

“Spike!” Xander raised his hands. Oddly he was filled with concern. Don’t get up, he thought, don’t move, you’re hurt. On the inside of Spike’s thighs he saw a fresh rush of blood, and stained something whiter, thick tendrils of it, and Xander realized belatedly that it hadn’t been just blood that he had been seeing on Spike, on his back, on the back of his legs.

“Xa-ander…” Spike came closer, fingers gripping the edge of the sarcophagus, neck arching. Like a cat asking to be patted.

“Ok, stop that, stop that now!” Yeah, stop. Stop it.

“Oh, come on. Let’s get dirty.” One foot joined the hands on the edge of the sarcophagus, his outline muscle from shoulder, hip, and thigh. And Spike looked… less wounded and more like something wild, the blood a slaughter of his own making, his eyes wide and strange in his pale face. “Let’s do it. Do me hard, Harris. You’ll like it.”

For a second Xander could see it. Could see him fucking Spike, could see taking him from behind, getting off on the unnatural openness of him, slamming into him with more force than he’d ever dreamed of taking Anya. Lovely quirky Anya who’d promised to come by later today and–

“My God, Spike, what’s wrong with you?” Xander took several steps backwards, his heart pounding. Pounding in his groin too, feeling swollen with desire. But he shook it off, dismissed it, ignored it, stomped it down. “What’s wrong with you?” In a softer voice. This was Spike, he remembered, who had come to his enemies for help, Spike, who had tried to kill himself not too long ago. Of course there was something wrong with him.

“Suit yourself, boy.” Spike jumped down to the floor. He sounded cranky. Dissatisfied.

“I should just go. Leave you to…” Clean up. Heal up. Never talk about this again.

“Off you go then.” Spike flicked his hand towards the door. His stance wide. Standing there naked.

Xander stared, thinking that Spike was leaving grubby footprints in his own crypt, and feeling kind of worried about that. “Don’t you… should I get you something?” Like blood.

“I…” A heavy shrug, and Spike took a deep breath through his nose. “Fetch me that blanket.” He glanced behind Xander.

Xander looked around. Found it on the floor, the same brown hole-y blanket Spike had worn on Giles’ doorstep. Xander bent down to get it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Gave it to Spike who wrapped it around his shoulders, pulled it tight around his body.

And stood there, looking at each other.

Spike sighed. A normal tired kind of sigh. His voice soft, almost apologetic. “You caught me at a disadvantage.”

“I’d say.” Picture of the red demon exiting Spike’s crypt flashed through his mind. Fucked me through the night. Xander grimaced. “Is that’s your way of saying that you know you were being all sick masochisto guy, that you were out of your mind coming on to me, that you are just beyond disgusting, with cum dripping out of your ass like a really disgusting kind of ice cream.” Words just poured out of him.

Spike’s fingers tightened around the blanket. Lips pressed together. “Disgusting, am I?” Ire transformed into something else as Spike stepped right up to him, smirking. Hand snuck out and the blanket fell off his shoulders. “You sure about that?”

Xander gasped as Spike’s palm pressed between his legs, making him aware of the heaviness there, the warm gathering of desire. Spike’s hand stroked, and Xander was stuck, his breath heavy, transfixed under the pressure, under Spike’s face so close to his own, Spike not smirking anymore, silent staring, the hand intimate and unreal. And he was getting hard. Snake charmer Spike, hypnotizing him with his eyes and his touch, the fact of it, firm but light. God. His knees felt weak.

“S-Sp…” Glanced down at him, white body behind the open blanket. Cock limp and uninterested.

Sick. Dizzy sick.

Pushed him away, hands on Spike’s chest, the shove made them both stagger. Xander shouted, “God, Spike, don’t you have a bit of humanity in you?”

And there was his question right there. He hadn’t meant to ask it now. Hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation.

Spike, silent, wrapping himself in the blanket, and Xander finally turned around and walked out. Sun like a liberation on his face. Pushed the door shut, but not fast enough not to hear Spike answer.

“The emptiness is the human part. The part that is missing.”

buffy fan comic

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 18:28:00 GMT

So I made a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan comic, 7 pages short. It's about Xander.

(Text from a song by 16 Horsepower: Hutterite Mile)

Also on Daviantart:

Part one
Part two