Author: Mithril

E-mail: taptap2@gmail.com

Title: Outcast

Pairing: Angel/Spike

Rating: Adult, Slash

Summary: Spike has lost all status and standing in the vampire community.

Distribution: Various S/A friendly lists.

Spoilers: Mid-season 5 AtV spin-off/AU. Spike appeared from the medallian at W&H, and later became corporeal again with Fred's help. Angel and Spike fought for the cup of Perpetual Torment (btw, did you ever wonder why it was called that when all other discussions about it make it out to be such a good thing, and whether that might have had something to do with Spike being determined not to let Angel drink from it (i.e. save him from perpetual torment) and thus finding the strength to beat him in that fight? Hmm...). Illyria/The Shell never happened – Fred is still with them. Hamilton is in place, but there has been no reference to the Circle of the Black Thorn. This is a Sire/Childe story – that's my thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel or Spike or anything else from ME.

Feedback: Always welcome.

Part 7:

Angel stood absolutely still and let the hot water stream over his face and down his body, feeling the heat infuse his preternaturally cool flesh. It felt marvelous. He'd fed before entering the shower, and gotten rid of his usual waking erection just minutes since, and now he thought he might just stand here for as long as the hot water lasted – which could be a blessedly long time considering the state of modern plumbing in America combined with the magical powers of Wolfram and Hart. That's what he wanted to do, but when he heard a stream of low but heartfelt curses come from the next room, he flew from beneath the spray, grabbed a towel in passing, and hurried out the door, securing it about his dripping body as he went.

Spike lay just where he'd left him, but he was now awake, gesturing and muttering invectives. Angel noted the movement of arms and hands with satisfaction. The shower streamed on in the room behind him, bleeding away its precious heat, but he stoically ignored it, focusing on his childe's face instead. He'd already determined there was no one else present – which was unlikely anyway, considering the protective wards Wesley'd had the Wolfram and Hart witches perform on his suite more than an hour ago.

He'd made the call immediately upon waking. During it, while they waited for the witches Wesley'd summoned, the human had asked about the strange conclusion to yesterday's meeting, and Angel, after a moment's consideration, had disclosed the reason behind it. Despite their somewhat shaky past, Angel still trusted Wesley, and more importantly, he knew that Wesley was fond of the blond vampire in his own way. Wesley had been both shocked and concerned, and in complete agreement about the wards. He'd also offered to clear Angel's schedule as much as possible, uncomfortable with leaving Spike alone too long in so vulnerable a state – especially in the Wolfram and Hart environment.

Angel had gratefully accepted, and they'd reviewed the few things that he felt he should be involved in that day, and the things that could be rescheduled. None of it actually required his presence, but his ever-present guilt complex won out, over-riding Wesley's objections that he could handle those few things on his own. The witches appeared during that discussion, and the magik was performed quickly. Angel had noted the shimmering haze as they chanted the incantation many floors below, and hoped it was indicative of success – within Wolfram and Hart, you could never be absolutely positive about anything. Still, on the surface, at least, it appeared that his childe's foul mood had nothing to do with intruders.

"What is it, Spike?" he asked patiently, folding his arms about his chest and trying to maintain the stern expression that his childe would no doubt expect, and perhaps more importantly, be most comfortable with right now.

Spike rolled his eyes and his cursing ratcheted up a notch before he gestured to his midsection theatrically. Angel's eyes widened as he focused on the area indicated and found an extremely impressive erection tenting the covers. The frown he'd struggled to keep in place melted away and the resultant smirk was pure Angelus.

"Well, lad, I'd think you'd be pretty happy to have that particular function back again, especially now that your hands are apparently working, too," he teased.

Spike's own eyes widened with surprise at the hint of the Irish that colored Angel's words, but then narrowed again quickly. "Apparently being the operative word here, git," he replied angrily.

Angel's frowned was genuine this time as he shifted his gaze to the blond's hands. They moved freely enough. "I don't..."

"My hands work, my fingers don't," Spike broke in quickly. "They're still numb and tingly, but I can't move them. Christ," he muttered at the end, staring down at his unresponsive fingers and the erection that still strained at his groin.

"Well if you're beginning to get the feeling back in them, they should be working completely within a day, maybe less," Angel finally said.

"Oh, great!" Spike exploded. "I'll just reschedule my wank for tomorrow." Sarcasm dripped from the words.

Angel stood frozen, suddenly aware that own erection was beginning to tent the cotton of his towel in an embarrassing way. He turned abruptly, muttering about the shower, and quickly retreated into the bathroom. Once behind the door, he threw the towel aside then stepped beneath the still-hot spray. Leaning against the tiled wall with one hand, he wrapped the other about his thick cock and began to pump it furiously. Six strokes was all it took before he came, his release shuddering through him.

Leaning his cheek against the cool tile Angel felt his body slowly relax from the strength of the orgasm that had overwhelmed him. It was far stronger than the one he'd had just half an hour before, but Angel purposely did not focus on that, not ready to investigate the reason behind that stronger response now. Instead, after the stream of water had washed away the last traces of his release from both his body and the wall, he finally turned off the water, dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist once more. Then he stood, silent and still, staring toward the door and the bedroom that waited beyond it.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind as to what he would have done, given the circumstances, back in the day. William's body had been his own personal playground then, and he would have made use of it, pleasuring both himself and his incapacitated boy until both were sated and content. Even now a part of him urged him to step through the door and do so again. That action would be nothing compared to the intimacy they'd already shared in the blood. But still he hesitated, recent events clearly on his mind. They'd been through a rough time this past week, and that was saying a lot, given the hundred years' separation of the twentieth century, and the combative seven years after that had followed. They had both changed, despite the non-changing, eternal demons that dwelt within them, and that changed everything else, as well. How and Why mattered now, when they hadn't before. He considered all these things, chewing his bottom lip reflectively, then squared his shoulders and opened the door.

"I only have a few things to do today, so I won't be gone long. Wesley had wards put in place this morning, so you should be fine here while I'm gone," Angel said, striving for a casual tone as he moved toward the walk-in closet. He only glanced peripherally at his childe in passing, but he noted the tense jaw and unblinking stare directed to the ceiling above the bed. Spike's arms lay still at his side, and the erection beneath the covers appeared undiminished. In the dressing room he pulled on silk boxers and charcoal trousers, all the while tuned to the outer room. Spike remained silent. Wool socks and Italian leather shoes followed, and then a black silk shirt, which he left untucked and unbuttoned. Grabbing the suit-jacket, he left the closet and tossed it over the armchair beside the bed before easing down to the mattress.

"What now, ponce?" Spike ground out between clenched teeth, still staring up at the ceiling.

"I won't be gone long," Angel repeated, "but you need to feed before I go, and sleep as much as possible to complete the healing." He slid his arms about the thin body and eased him to a sitting position, then tugged the silk shirt off one broad shoulder, baring his throat and the pale scar that marked the site from which he'd first fed his childe over one hundred and twenty years before. Spike had fed from there twice more back in the day, and once in the last two days. The bite mark on his wrist was already gone, but the scar on his throat remained unchanged and always would, an eternal reminder of the unchanging bond that would always exist between a sire and his chosen.

Spike's gaze was no longer blank. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide, then opened his mouth to say something. Before he could get the words out, Angel interrupted.

"Are we going to go through this again?" he asked sternly.

Spike blinked again and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. When it opened a second later Angel glimpsed sharp fangs an instant before they sank hungrily into his throat. His arms tightened automatically, holding the smaller vampire close as a wave and a moan shuddered through his body with the pull of the blood. Spike groaned in concert, the sound almost immediately escalating to a growl as his already-aroused body responded instinctively to the power of his sire's blood. He convulsed, jerking in Angel's arms, but never stopped feeding, lost in the blood haze. Two very recent orgasms couldn't stop Angel's own response in turn. His cock had hardened the minute his childe's teeth broke through his flesh, and a second after the blond came he did too, in a violent climax that made his jaw ache, so tightly was it clenched against the pleasure.

For a few long minutes Angel was unaware of his surroundings, feeling only the blood connection as it coursed out of him and into his childe. A moment more and even that sensation began to fade as his blood was drained to a dangerously low level. With a will of iron, he gathered his strength and began to murmur softly, communicating instructions to his insensate childe through a dark, irresistible thrall. Spike's fangs retreated, pulling out of his flesh with a slick, seamless glide, and his head fell forward to nestle into the soft curve of shoulder and neck.

Angel held Spike close, not wanting the connection to end, despite his own growing weakness. Finally he eased the still body back to the bed, then stood on shaky legs beside it. He tugged the blanket back and tossed it to the floor, then pulled the sheet off the bed and gathered it up, sticky with his childe's release. He allowed himself a long look at the sleek, slumbering form, sighed, then turned for the bathroom, where he stripped off his own recently-donned clothing and tossed them, along with the sheet, into the hamper. A third shower followed, this one just long enough to rinse the cum from his own body.

When Angel emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he had one towel wrapped around his waist, another slung over one shoulder, and a third in his hands, soaked and wrung, still steaming. Spike hadn't moved an inch. Somehow, despite that stillness, he managed to look like a debauched angel tumbled across the mattress. Angel sighed, sat down beside him and gently cleaned his childe off with the hot, wet towel, then patted him dry with the other. Both towels were tossed unceremoniously into the hamper on his way to the linen closet, where he retrieved a clean sheet. He allowed himself one last look at the pale perfection of the smaller vampire's body before covering him with the sheet and tucking it firmly about him and under three edges of the mattress. The blanket followed and it too was tucked until Spike was enclosed in a cozy vampire lair.

Retrieving a clean pair of silk boxers from his bureau, Angel entered the walk-in closet and inspected the rows of suits hanging there. Normally he enjoyed this part of the day, but not today. The Armani suits and silk shirts couldn't hold his wandering and unfocused attention now. Unable to choose, he decided to feed first, but when he stepped into the bedroom he was once again caught by the peaceful picture Spike made slumbering in his bed. He glanced back toward the closet and frowned, then finally picked up the bedside phone and punched in a four-digit extension.

"Harmony, tell Wesley he'll have to cover for me at the two o'clock meeting..."

He listened absently while her inevitable rambling response followed, still staring at his sleeping childe.

"Tell him he can reach me at my apartment if he needs me," he added, when a pause opened up. He hung up before she could reply and sighed, wiping a hand tiredly over his face. It was already past noon and the full effect of the sun was heavy upon him. He felt weighted down and heavy, and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and give in to the call of sleep. He hadn't allowed himself that daytime pleasure in too long, and although a part of him chastised himself for giving in to his base vampire nature, another part was almost giddy with anticipation and relief.

Keeping human hours was far more difficult than he let on. Certainly his friends never attributed his brooding frowns and general surliness toward that, and he never enlightened them, preferring they believe it was all due to soulful regret over past sins. Telling them he was simply tired would be exposing far too much vulnerability, and that was something Angel simply did not do. Spike never made the attempt. He showed up, when he did, at five at the earliest, and Angel was surprised he went to that effort, all in all. And then there was Harmony. Her hours generally matched his own, but Angel was frankly astonished that she was able to do it with such a chipper attitude. He put it down to the fact that she was just not a typical vampire, never had been, and probably never would be.

Angel swayed slightly, lost in thought. Blood, he needed blood, the hazy thought filtered through. But he just couldn't make himself move away from the cozy picture the large bed and his sleeping childe presented. A familiar sense of possessiveness and protectiveness swelled within him. He'd felt this way about William, worrying constantly about his childe through his dangerous fledgling years, and through the even more dangerous years in Europe that followed. Those worries had largely been unfounded, inspiring the third emotion that he most commonly felt with his childe - pride. More than a century later and he still felt all three, though he'd admitted none of that to the far more surly Spike his childe had become. Finally he untucked one edge of the covers, slipped beneath them and sighed with relief. The room was dark, the bed was extremely comfortable – amazing what several thousand dollars could buy – and his childe slept just inches away. The weight of the sun urged him down and with another sigh he let it take him, fading into a deep sleep.