Nominated at The Forbidden Awards for The Passion Award: Best Spangel, round 5
Fandom:Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel the Series
Warnings: m/m sex. The best kind of warning you can have.
Summary: Spike just loves winding Angel up.
Disclaimer: It may come as a surprise but I'm not Joss Whedon or Mutant Enemy and therefore I do not own Spike or any of his many shagging and verbal sparring partners. I weep for the injustice of it all and play with these characters in the fiction I write because this is pretty much all the fun I have.
Smut table: Spike/bunches of people.
Winding Him Up
Spike sauntered into Angel's office, wedged himself at an angle into the chair in front of Angel's desk, one leg straight out in front of him, the other thrown over the arm, and sprawled, staring at Angel until the big git looked up, annoyance clearly written on his face.
"What do you want this time, Spike?"
Spike wet his lips and watched Angel's eyes unconsciously follow the movement.
He curled his tongue behind his teeth, smirking as he eased himself with much fanfare -- and lots of arching and groaning -- into what he thought was an irresistible pose. "There's lots of things I want, you plonker, but for now, I'll settle for a good coring."
Angel's eyes widened and he straightened in his massive leather chair so fast it creaked. "What?"
"Don't make me spell it out for you. Even you can't be that stupid. You and me equals shagging, wanker."
Angel's lips pursed but Spike smelled a bit of arousal on the air. "Get out, Spike. I have work to do."
Spike snorted, shifting in the chair. He spread his legs out in front of him and placed one hand very high up on the inside of his thigh, not far from his bulging crotch. Angel's eyes flickered down briefly. "Yeah, right. This company could run itself. In fact, I wager you're just a pretty figurehead that old W and H have sitting up top to keep out of the way, but that's beside the point. I'm bored, you've got no other prospects, so I'm thinking--"
"I'm hard up and you're bored so let's have sex?" Angel practically screeched, poufy, standing up hair waving a bit with his outburst.
Spike raised his eyebrows. "That's about the size of it. Yeah."
"Get out, Spike," Angel grit out, hands clenching on the edge of his desk so hard Spike could hear wood splinter. "Get the hell out before I have security come in and throw your ass out."
Spike glanced out the window pointedly. "You wouldn't. It's bloody daylight."
"Try me and see."
Spike rolled his eyes and abruptly stood. He held his hand out. "If you're going to kick me out of here, give me some dosh so I can go...do something to cure me of my boredom."
Angel snarled but dug into his pocket for a wad of cash, the expensive material tightening over his erection. He didn't count it and tossed it at Spike, who had to bend down to retrieve the crumpled bills.
"Now, get out and leave me alone. Bother someone else for a change."
Spike took the money and strolled out of the office with an extra twist to his hips, inclined his head towards Harmony, who was on the phone but not too busy to giggle and coo at him as he passed.
He heard Angel grumbling to himself through the closed door as he hit the down button and grinned, propping himself in a corner of the elevator.
This was a familiar dance. All he had to do was wait for it.
The ponce had given him only thirty bucks so he got a couple of cheap bottles of whisky and finished that off without really having any fun at the Peppermint Stick like he normally did. Sunshine flounced away when he shrugged and held out a handful of dollars that wouldn't buy his usual lap dance; that sent the wind right out of his...sails.
Her departure, however, was almost worth his not being able to pay for something more. She had the sweetest ass in the whole place.
The Viper he'd stolen handled like it was meant to be in the air instead, smooth and purring and damn fast. He was enjoying his drive immensely -- got hard because of the leather and the smell and the sounds; hot cars were definitely sexy -- when the mobile that had come with his borrowed car rang.
Nearly jumped out of his skin but he managed to turn down the blasting music and answer the cell without causing an accident.
"You stole my Viper again, asshole."
"Hello to you, too, Angel," Spike said cheerfully, caressing the steering wheel.
"Get back here so I can kick your ass."
"Yeah, that's incentive to come back. Like you could kick my ass, anyway."
"I knew I should've put some sort of fingerprint lock on that damn car," Angel growled, more to himself than to Spike. "Or maybe a spell that only recognizes me as the driver."
"Yeah, probably," Spike agreed. "My sticky little fingers just couldn't resist. Clean, sexy lines, my favourite colour, leather, fast as hell... That's a bloody fantasy, right there. If it was alive I'd fuck it."
Angel sighed. "Bring back the car, Spike, or I'll have the police come get it."
Spike pouted. He had no doubt that Angel meant his threat; he'd done it before.
Getting hauled in and thrown into jail to stew for three days wasn't fun. Especially with the big and burly hairy types in the surrounding cells leering and making interesting and disgusting threats and/or propositions.
He sighed and was just about to acquiesce when Angel mumbled, almost too low for even him to hear, "Come up to the penthouse as soon as you get here."
And then the phone was dead in his ear, dial tone mocking.
Spike leaned back in the seat, gunned the engine and practically flew back to the law firm.
He loved it when Angel gave in.
Spike took his time when he got back to Wolfram and Hart because he knew it would piss Angel off even more.
He practically sashayed up the dozens of flights to Angel's pad, the trip up all those stairs making his journey even longer.
Angel was there to greet him at the door, looking pissed off and hungry; his hair was sticking up all over from where he'd been running his hands through it. He grabbed Spike by the collar, slammed the door shut and dragged Spike to his lair...uh, bedroom, where he proceeded to jerk Spike's duster off, rip Spike's jeans cleanly down the center in the back and slam into him with almost no lubricant at all.
But Spike was ready. He was always ready for Angel.
If the thrusts were just this side of too painful, Spike didn't care because he loved winding Angel up until he broke and just fucked the shit out of him.
He loved being pounded into, face smashed into the mattress, hands knotted in the sheets, backside getting the ride of the decade with that massive cock breaking him open, with Angel grunting like an overweight, out of breath water buffalo behind him.
When he came it wasn't because either one of them touched his dick, it was because Angel fucked him that well.
Here Endeth the Story
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