"You know," Spike said, setting down his third bottle of Vodka, "I've said it a hundred times an' I'll bloody well say
it again; this shit just don't work anymore."
Angel sighed, his head falling back against the rest on his chair. "Yeah. I remember you saying that, Spike."
"Which just proves my point, yanno," Spike said, reaching into the crate - confiscated from a group of vampires they'd
recently fought - and pulling out another bottle. "'Cause last I checked, the whole fricking point to fucking alcohol
is the buzz. Yanno, the... memory loss. Gah, fuck it." He tipped the bottle back and guzzled it down, pulling it away when
nearly two thirds of the bottle was empty.
"You should... ah, stop that... I think I'm buzzed!" Angel sat up, grinning, but then he burped and slumped. "No."
"Haha! You got gas!" laughed Spike, throwing a cork at the other male.
Angel didn't bother reaching up to catch it and it smacked him in the temple. He merely blinked. "Spike?"
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah... I know."
It was quiet for a moment as they drank deeply and got drunk (or at least tried to; Spike declared points for effort) before,
suddenly, Spike began to think (this in itself was scary on the account that when he thought, things usually exploded... or
died). He began to consider his bad luck. And Angel's bad luck. They were brothers in bad luck. Weird.
Angel looked up as Spike lurched to his feet, frowning (Angel was frowning, Spike looked contemplative, which should have
tipped Angel off).
"You're... my momma."
"Spike, I think you're drunk," Angel said, staring at him.
Spike snorted. "You bloody well know that ain't true, mate," the blond said, staring at his feet. "We've known each other
"... yeah..." Angel shifted uncomfortably as Spike finally loomed over him, standing only three feet away. "So...?"
"So if I asked you something really fucked up and bloody weird, you wouldn't wig out on me, right?" Spike looked up and
met his gaze.
"It... would really depend on what you said," Angel said, swallowing at what he saw in Spike's eyes. His fingers clenched
at the arms of his chair as he scooted back in it, almost as if he thought he could sink into it.
"Aw, c'mon. Seriously?" Spike rolled his eyes and placed his hands on either side of the back of Angel's chair. His face
was inches away now, and Angel - for probably the second time in his life - felt utterly trapped; helpless. "That the best
ya got... mate?" Spike asked, voice dropping several octaves as his mouth neared Angel's.
"You should stop," Angel breathed, eyes wide.
Spike's mouth brushed his, even as the blond smirked. "Really? I don't think I will."
And then they were kissing, Spike's tongue invading Angel's mouth, forcing it's way inside. A pale hand snaked up, fingers
curling in dark hair, and despite himself, Angel felt a moan leave his throat. Spike growled softly at the sound, breaking
Angel from his... preoccupation.
"Spike!" He shoved him away, quickly standing up. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, glaring at the blond.
"You've been really fucked up all night!"
"Oh, shut up," Spike snapped, running a hand through his hair. "And where'd you learn to kiss like that?"
"I'm over two hundred years old; take a guess," Angel retorted, crossing his arms. He wanted to put some sort of barrier
between them, anything to keep Spike away. Angel wasn't quite sure what he should think about... what Spike had just done.
Crap... "What about you? D'you practice on your arm or something?"
Spike snorted. "I've had plenty of broads... most of which usually die or leave me for pretty boy soldiers 'cause I'm evil."
"I hate pretty boy soldiers," Angel muttered in agreement. "They're so... pretty... and soldier-y and... stuff." His eyes
flickered up to see that Spike was staring. At Angel's mouth. He swallowed and looked away. "And who cares? She's... happy.
She moved on. Yeah."
"If you wanna think of it that way, sure. And I used to have a chip in my head 'cause of him. Till I died and you... er,
brought me back." He coughed. "Thanks for that... again."
The following silence was just a bit awkward (okay, so it was REALLY awkward). Both weren't quite sure what to say (and
Angel was still freaking out over that kiss), until Spike cleared his throat. "I wanna kiss you again."
"..." Angel scowled slightly and looked up at Spike. "Do you." It wasn't a question.
"Too bad." The older vampire looked away.
"You liked it; admit it."
Angel didn't answer, but Spike was right. That's why Angel was so bothered by it. He was supposed to be in love with Buffy,
and here he was kissing Spike of all people. It was like he was cheating on his love for Buffy. Or something like that.
The thought was really stupid.
"Well... I don't want to do it again."
"Yes you do."
"No. I don't."
"I will if I can kiss you."
"Why are you even asking?"
"Oh... You've gotta point."
Spike pushed Angel back into the chair and kissed him again. Only this time, his hands were wondering and his knees were
pressed into the seat, one between Angel's own knees. He slid his leg forward, smirking when he pressed against a very real
erection (which would have made him wonder about blood-flow if he weren't too busy seeing if he could make Angel cum in his
pants). Angel groaned.
Grinning, Spike tore his mouth away and began kissing a burning trail down Angel's throat. Angel pushed at his shoulders,
gasping despite the fact that he didn't need to breathe. Spike's hand fumbled for a moment with the zipper of Angel's pants.
"Nng... No, Spike," Angel gasped, but it was already too late. His eyes opened wide (when had he closed them?) when Spike's
hand closed around his cock. His hips jerked and one hand lifted to grab onto Spike's bicep, intending to... do something.
He suddenly couldn't remember what.
All he knew was the feeling of the air on his cock, how fast Spike was pumping him, how tight his balls were... Everything
that had the slightest thing to do with Spike touching him where he wanted to feel him touching. His fingers slid down Spike's
leather-clad arm, dropping onto his thigh. Spike jumped slightly when Angel rubbed him through his pants, but he only growled
and pumped Angel's cock faster, squeezing harder.
The blond sucked at the flesh on Angel's throat, drawing his blood to the surface. Angel moaned and suddenly shoved Spike
back, much to his surprise. He pushed him to the floor and caught his mouth in a demanding kiss, making Spike smirk.
"What? You suddenly game?" Spike asked when Angel pulled away and started unzipping Spike's jacket.
Angel growled, grabbing him up by his shirt and jerking his jacket off. "You talk too much."
"So I've been told... multiple times."
"Just shut up."
Cordy stepped into the office the next morning, a box of doughnuts in one hand and her purse in the other. However, what
she saw in the break room made her pause, puzzled. Angel and Spike sat at the table, sharing a bottle of Vodka and a mug of
blood. That wasn't what had her worried.
No, what worried her was the fact that both of them were only in their pants. Except Cordy was pretty sure Angel didn't
wear jeans, and anyway, those jeans were Spikes.
"You guys wear the same sized pants?"
Both of them jumped and twisted to stare at her, wearing the same look on their faces; like a deer in headlights. It was
a little surprising that they hadn't already noticed her. "What?" Angel asked, blinking.
She looked back and forth between them, puzzled, and that's when she saw it (it had been hidden by Spike's head a moment
before). "Angel... You know you have a hickey, right?"
"... what?" He looked at Spike accusingly.
Spike coughed, and if he weren't a vampire, he probably would have been blushing. "It's not a hickey," he lied, staring
at the tabletop.
Cordy looked at Angel, then Spike, then their pants. "Oh... my... god..."
"It's not what it looks like!" Angel said, getting up and holding his hands out placatingly.
She snorted. "It isn't? Angel, hon, you have a hickey the size of a small apple and you two are wearing eachother's pants.
And it's 'not what it looks like'?" She lifted a brow at him pointedly.
He grimaced. "Okay... I guess it depends on what you think it looks like."
Cordelia smiled wryly. "Hurry up and switch your pants back at least, before anyone sees you."
"Yeah, just bloody fucking cover it up," Spike muttered before guzzling the rest of the Vodka.
Angel winced and gave Cordy a look. "He's... fragile."
"I can hear you." Spike tossed the bottle across the room, watching it shatter against the fridge. "And I am not."
"Yeah, you sort of are," Angel retorted, scratching at the place where his hickey was on his neck. He shook his head. "Do
you want it covered up?"
"... I don't... really care," Angel admitted, scowling. "You're being a girl about it."
Spike straightened, looking insulted as he turned to glare at his apparent lover. "I am not!"
"Okay, guys..." Cordy sighed. "Spike. Are we making it disappear or no?"
"Okay. But can you at least put on shirts? I'm currently having envy and jealousy issues."
They looked at her. She rolled her eyes. "It's the hair."
"Hair?" they chorused.
"I've felt Angel's hair. It's awesome. I'm jealous. What shampoo do you use?"
Angel and Spike looked at eachother before the latter got up and they walked toward the door. "I think we left our shirts
in the copy room," Spike was saying as they left.
"The copy room?" Cordy asked the empty room. "Oh my god!" She would never copy things in there again.