Rating: PG-13
Summary: All Spike wants is a dance...
Written for spring_spangel

Paris - 1892

Angelus was in a very good mood. The hunt had been particularly satisfying, the women especially attentive and their latest house an absolute treasure of a find. Even the brat was behaving himself, for some reason. All in all, it was the perfect recipe for a looming disaster.

He opened the door to the strains of music and the echo of delighted laughter. The sounds were drifting out of the ballroom, and when he followed them, he took a minute to lean against the door and take in the sight of his family enjoying themselves. William was leading Darla in a sweeping waltz around the edges while Drusilla laughed and spun about in the middle, head thrown back, arms raised as though to beckon an invisible partner.

But it was the blonde couple that held him riveted. They were a striking pair, moving in sweeping circles with breathtaking grace. The music slowly came to an end as they drew close, and he couldn't resist applauding them. Darla turned towards him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her beloved childe. "Angelus! I was hoping you'd be home soon. The gramophone we ordered just arrived and William-"

"Spike-" the younger vampire interjected.

Darla ignored the correction as though he hadn't spoken at all. "-was proving that, appearances to the contrary, he can be a gentleman when he likes." She laughed, bowing in a mocking curtsy that was returned with an equally mocking bow.

Drusilla darted over to the gramophone and the song began again. William bowed to Darla again, then turned towards Angelus and extended his hand with a smile. "May I have the pleasure, sire?"

"Are you out of your mind, boy? Men don't dance together!" Yet even as he scoffed at the idea, he couldn't help imagining what it would be like, to gather the boy in his arms and glide across the floor with him. The thought sent a bolt of longing through him, and he growled to cover up his sudden displeasure, although he wasn't sure if he was upset with William for tempting him or with himself for not taking him up on the invitation.

"I'm not a boy! 'Sides, we're not exactly men, are we?"

Angelus laughed, the sound unnaturally harsh in contrast to the lilting music that still filled the room. "Did you really think that I'd woo you like a woman just because I fuck you like one sometimes?"

Darla added her own taunt, but Angelus heard only the jeering tone, the words unnoticed as he watched pain blossom in the blue depths of William's eyes. The full lips thinned to little more than a slash in the angular face, and he gave a quick nod and terse, "Right, then," in response before he was gone. For a second Angelus considered going after him, but Darla tugged at his arm and he obediently led her out onto the floor. They danced for well over an hour more but the laughter and magic seemed to have vanished along with his youngest childe.

Chicago – 1923

He knew he shouldn't, but he followed her into the speakeasy. From deep inside, the demon whispered to him, urged him to seek her out and take her, let her pay for her puppy's life with a few pints of blood. And it was tempting. The thought of rich human blood flowing over his tongue, and better still, of being full for once... God, was it tempting!

She sat down at a table with several other couples, and a hand stretched out to scratch the dog's head. Something was apparently said, because she began to talk, gesturing first at the dog and then at the door, quite obviously upset. Angel shrank back against a pillar when the entire table turned in the direction the woman indicated, even though he knew logically that there was no way any of them could know she was talking about him.

The band started up and he was just turning to leave when a rough voice froze him in his tracks: "What say we have a go, luv, show 'em how it's done?" Fuck. He whirled around just in time to see the backs of a couple as they walked towards the dance floor. They took up a spot near the back, and he couldn't help taking a step closer, yearning to see them better.

Drusilla had cut her hair and the soft black waves fell to just below her chin. The bright red dress she wore was jarring, for he remembered her in the softer colors, but maybe that had changed. But the biggest change of all was in her escort. The Slayer's sword had apparently left its mark, for one eyebrow was slashed with a white scar. And his eyes... they were cold, glittering and deadly with no sense of emotion to soften them. The last vestige of William was finally gone, and Angel found himself silently mourning the loss.

Spike drew Drusilla's arm up around his neck and they began to move. From the first step, the dance breathed sensuality, with languid movements followed by sharp, quick thuds of heels upon the polished floor. They circled each other, looking for all the world like a pair of large cats trying to decide whether to fight or mate, and each time the music brought them together, he could hear the soft intake of breath from the surrounding people.

She dropped down, one leg sliding all the way out behind her and he reached for her, letting her hover for a second before pulling her up and into his arms. Her leg wrapped around his hip and he turned her, almost as though he was displaying the treasure that was his alone to the hungry gaze of the watching patrons. The music began to crescendo and they moved faster, feet flying in intricate steps as they wove in and out of each other's space, only to end when he slid his hand into her hair and bent her backwards in a silent demand for submission.

They didn't seem to hear the scattered applause, too lost in each other and the lingering bliss of the dance to care. Spike drew her back up and took her mouth in a hard, deep kiss that seemed to go on for hours. When he released her, she turned slightly, and Angel could have sworn that she looked directly at him, but she gave no outward sign if she saw him. He was tempting fate with every second he stayed, but he couldn't tear himself away just yet.

They were still beautiful, but it was a different beauty than he remembered. Harder, colder and crueler, they were every inch the deadly predators that he had once sought to shape them into. Angelus would have been proud; they were absolute masterpieces, true vampires in the fullest sense of the word. And he had no illusion that they would welcome him if they saw him again. Darla had surely told them about his soul after he'd fled from her in China, so he would count himself lucky if he wasn't staked on sight.

Finally he tore himself away. He had to leave before they spotted him, although before he could take the first step, a hand landed on his sleeve. He looked over to see deep blue eyes that weren't as cold up close as he'd thought and a teasing smirk. Spike's gaze flicked down to where his hand rested on Angel's arm, then back to Angel and he grinned. "Up for a spin, mate?"

Angel didn't bother to answer, just turned and hurried out of the club. Spike's laughter chased him all the way outside. The next night, he caught the next train out of town, not caring where it was headed, just knowing he had to get away from the seductive call of family and blood.

Sunnydale - 2001

Angel told himself that he wasn't skulking, wasn't spying, wasn't doing anything except following up on a vision. The Powers wouldn't have given Cordy the vision that sent him to Sunnydale if they didn't want him to follow up on it, after all. He was just doing his job as a warrior and champion for the Powers That Be. And he wasn't announcing himself because he wanted to spare her feelings. She had enough to worry about without him adding to the burden. But that didn't ease the slight tug of guilt at hiding in the shadows of the Bronze and watching her dance.

Watching her, he was taken back to when she had first come to Sunnydale. He'd done this then, too, basked in her light from a distance. But the longer he stood and studied her, the harder it was to imagine that earlier time. She was changed, hardened by the recent trials she'd had to endure, forged from the girl she'd been into a woman that was equal parts sex and death.

It showed in her dancing, too. Instead of the bouncy girl who used to dance with her friends, Buffy was by herself. The mini skirt and tank top had been replaced by skin tight blue jeans and a white bustier that was just this side of sheer. She was turned away from him, her full attention trained on a figure in the darkness just off the dance floor. Angel strained to see, but was unable to make out anything more than the vague outline of a man. But whoever it was, they had Buffy riveted, for she never took her eyes from them.

When he looked back at Buffy, he nearly stepped out to drag her off the floor. What the hell did she think she was doing, moving like that? Was she trying to get attacked by a mob of college boys? She was undulating in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, hips moving against an unseen lover, head thrown back in surrender, lips parted in a silent plea. Her hands slid first down her thighs, then back up, brushing along the sides of her breasts before rising above her head, a shameless display that left him hard and aching for relief.

And just when he thought things couldn't get worse, Buffy held out her hand and the man in the shadows moved to join her. Angel wanted to scream at the sight of bleached blond hair and black leather, wanted to storm over there and shake her, demand to know what the hell she meant by acting like that around Spike, of all people! And if they were getting cozy on the dance floor, then why had Cordy seen them smacking each other around while a building fell down around them?

Spike opened his arms and Buffy slid into them, fitting herself to his body like matching pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He buried his face in her hair, hands sliding down to grip her hips, although there was no need. She stayed with him, glued to him, and every move was liquid. They weren't so much dancing as having sex on the floor with their clothes on, but nobody around seemed to either notice or care... except Angel.

He growled softly and Spike's head jerked up, his eyes going straight to the wall where Angel stood. A slow smile spread across his face and he lowered his head, brushing a kiss right over the scar on Buffy's neck. She tilted her head back, mouth opening in a moan that was lost beneath the music, and he began to tease her in earnest, licking and sucking until she was writhing against him and Angel was ready to pound his head in.

The music stopped and Buffy seemed to remember where she was. She pushed away from Spike and when he stepped towards her, held her hand out to ward him off. He nodded when she said something, then leaned against a post and watched her walk off the floor. Once he was sure she was gone, he looked across the floor at Angel, blue eyes burning into brown. One hand slid down to hook in his belt loops, fingers splayed to highlight the very obvious bulge in his jeans. The blond licked his lips and mouthed, "Wanna dance?"

Angel shook his head and mouthed in return, "Never with you." He saw only the briefest flash of hurt in those brilliant eyes before they turned away from him back to the Slayer. Spike leaned down to whisper to her and when she looked over her shoulder, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the move oddly tender and gentle in comparison with the way they'd mauled each other on the dance floor. Finally she bit her lip and nodded, and he took her hand, drawing her over to the staircase and into the darkness beneath it.

While Angel watched, helpless to either stop him or leave, Spike pressed her back against the supporting post and bent to kiss her. Buffy clenched her fists in his coat and opened her mouth, and in the blink of an eye, what had been sweet became fierce. They kissed like they would devour each other, like they were standing in the center of a whirlwind that threatened to tear the world apart and they had to have each other or die.

He watched them for a second longer before he left. They could figure out the vision on their own, but he wasn't going to watch them any longer. It hurt too much to stand on the outside, knowing what it felt like to be the one holding Buffy steady and having once been the recipient of Spike's wild passion. He slid into his car and sat for a minute, turning over a few bittersweet might have beens before starting the engine and heading back to LA.

Dallas - 2007

The place was packed. Angel shifted in his seat, wondering again how he'd let himself be talked into this. When Illyria had announced her desire to 'learn more about the shell', neither vampire had been exactly thrilled, but Spike seemed a little more willing to help than Angel. Something about connecting with the humans being what she needed to not be evil and that she might end up surprising them yet. Her demand to return to Texas for the 4th of July celebration that Fred had always loved had come as a complete surprise, and not really a good one. Angel had been more than ready to refuse, but Spike chimed in with his opinion that a road trip was just what they all needed. Once again his boy had surprised him. No, not his boy, he corrected himself. Spike hadn't been that for well over a hundred years-not that Angel wanted him to be that again anyway.

Trying to distract himself from his increasingly confusing thoughts, Angel picked up the bottle in front of him and raised it to his lips for a long drink. He still wasn't sure why Spike had insisted that he come along tonight-this was obviously something the entire town turned out for, and they really weren't part of the town. Of course, that didn't matter to Spike, who never seemed to have any difficulty finding people to talk to, or Illyria, who was welcomed as the adored hometown darling, having given up the armor for a more normal sundress. The blue was gone and the soft, sweet smile she turned on everyone was undeniably Fred's, making Angel glad that Wesley wasn't here. It was hard enough for him to see his friend's ghost; he couldn't imagine being faced with the image of your lost lover.

“You need to cheer up, honey.” The warm voice pulled him out of his brooding and he gave the woman who'd sat down across from him a weak smile. She chuckled. “Well, that's a little better, but I don't know why you wanna be off here on your own. My baby girl's home for a while and it's a party!”

“I've never really been the life of the party,” he said, the lie springing easily to his lips. He had been once, but somehow he didn't think that Fred's mother would appreciate hearing about the way Angelus used to liven up the reception rooms of London with entrails and screams.

“Well, at least one of you boys knows how to have fun.” She looked over by the bandstand, her smile deepening a little. Angel followed her gaze to the pair that hadn't left the floor all night, and he hid a grin at the sight. Only Spike could somehow two-step with an ex-god that was pretending to be human and still look like a badass punk. Although where Spike had learned the smooth country dance steps, Angel couldn't even begin to imagine.

To watch them, nobody would believe they were anything but a happy young couple instead of two of the deadliest beings he'd ever met. They skimmed over the floor in time to the upbeat rhythm, every so often breaking free of their hold to spin and dip, moving in concert as though they'd spent years coming to the dance hall every Friday night. Angel could almost believe that it was really Fred there, her skirt flaring as she twirled, eyes bright with eager laughter, and his heart broke for the girl who'd been forced to leave the party much too soon. This was what she should have had, what all the happy girls he'd loved should have known, the simple pleasure of dancing in the arms of a handsome man. They didn't need to be burdened with vampires and hellbeasts and Old Ones. Too bad Fate hadn't agreed with him.

"So which one of 'em's yours, darlin'?"

"I'm sorry?" The question came right out of left field, and he could only hope she didn't mean what he thought she meant.

"Fred or Will? I mean, the way you keep lookin' at 'em, you've got it bad for one of 'em. Hell, I had to stop Roger from stompin' over at least three different times in the last hour.“

"Neither."

"Huh." The news seemed to throw her only momentarily, because after a second for it to sink in she grinned and said, "But you like one of 'em, right?"

"Not really. I mean, sure, as friends and all, but it's not like- I mean, we just work together and-"

"Say no more, sugar. It's not like we wouldn't have accepted you, but she could use a little normalcy in her life. Anyway, you might wanna make a move sometime in the next century or so. Guy like that doesn't stay single long." She winked at him, then started to get up when his hand shot out to wrap around her wrist.

Angel stared up at her, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Mrs Burkle, you've got to understand. I'm not-” he choked, trying to force the words out. They hovered on the tip of his tongue, but died when he looked over at the dance floor and met shining blue eyes. Spike bent to whisper in Fred's ear, and the two of them headed towards the table.

“Momma, I'd be careful about holdin' hands with Angel. You never know, Daddy might think he has to defend your honor,” the brunette teased in light tones, only to receive a playful smack on her from the woman who believed herself to be her mother.

“You hush! It might do your father some good to see that he's not the only buck in the field.”

Angel let go of her hand, then stared at the table, listening to the three of them laugh and tease, wondering again how his careful plan for an apocalypse and death in the field of glory had gone wrong enough to lead him here. A tap on the shoulder had him looking up to see Spike smiling down at him. "Care to take a turn, pet?" The blond tilted his head towards the dance floor to indicate what he was asking.

“Not here, Spike, unless you want to get us lynched.” Mrs Burkle opened her mouth as though to argue, so Angel hurried on. “If you're that eager to reenact Brokeback Mountain, go ask one of the cowboys and he might take you around the back.”

Spike's head jerked like he'd been slapped and any trace of color in the normally pale face drained away. He turned to go but Mrs Burkle put a hand on his elbow. With a dirty look over her shoulder at Angel, she said, “Come on, honey. I'm not stupid enough to let a good-lookin' man get away when he's askin' for a dance partner.”

She led Spike towards the floor and Fred-no, Illyria, had to remember that- sat down in the empty chair across from Angel. For half a second he expected the soft scolding he would've gotten if Fred really were here, but when he looked up it was to see ice cold eyes and the voice that sounded was flat and almost mechanical. “He staggers as one who has been struck a mortal blow, though you used no weapon.”

He turned to look and sure enough, Spike's usual careless grace had given way to clumsy stumbling and he was being all but dragged around the floor. “Sometimes you don't need a weapon,” he muttered, shame creeping in as he remembered how white Spike had gotten.

“Such wounding seems to me worse than a spear's thrust to the heart. The one is done and forever gone, while the other will fester inside.” Those sharp eyes never looked away from him and Angel began to think they'd once again underestimated the god's ability to understand humanity.

He shrugged, having no answer for her as to why words could hurt more than any blade when they became weapons. And they'd been his weapon against Spike for so long, since even before he received his soul, but how could he explain that to this curious creature when he wasn't even sure why it was himself? He took another drink of his beer and then that cool voice stated, “I will be remaining here with the Burkles after the festival.”

“What?!” He slammed the bottle down and glared at her. “No! You can't stay here! They don't know about Fred and-”

“And I will not tell them. They have experienced joy at the thought that their daughter is returned to them. Spike says they are a loving family, and that it is something much desired by humans. I would discover more of this.” She assessed him with a level gaze. “You will say nothing.”

Was he mistaken or was there a hint of vulnerability in those icy depths? Angel nodded, fascinated with her despite himself. “Fine. But we're leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, he told me as much while we were moving to the pounding of the skins.”

“Dancing. It's called dancing.” His throat closed up and he turned to look at bright head that was bent to listen to the words of the woman talking earnestly up to him. The pair had stopped and Mrs Burkle placed a hand over Spike's heart, as though to emphasize something she was saying.

“Yes, dancing.” She rose and began to walk towards them, pausing before she stepped back out onto the floor. “Oh, and Angel? Take care of him or I'm gonna have Daddy hunt you down.” The words, the tone... God, all of it was Fred. And then she was gone, flying out to join them, giving first Spike and then her mother hugs before she was claimed by her father for the rest of the dance.

Suddenly Angel had to leave. The room was too small, too crowded and loud and he needed to get out. He stood up and threw a few bills on the table, then walked away. Spike would figure it out and join him at the hotel later, but he couldn't stand here and watch this any longer. The brunette disappeared out into the hot July night, unaware of the pain in the blue eyes that followed his departure.

San Francisco - 2012

She was stunning. All brides are beautiful, but Angel was pretty sure that Dawn Summers was in a category all her own. Dawn McGowan, now, he reminded himself. He was still adjusting to the idea that Buffy's little sister was actually some mystical Key, and to realize that she was a woman and wife was almost too much to take in. And if he was having trouble with it, he could only imagine what it was like for Spike!

He looked over at his childe, who was sitting beside Dawn, their heads together in conversation, hands entwined. She'd barely let go of him since they arrived last Sunday, and it said a lot for her new husband that he greeted his bride's excitement with a tolerant smile and friendly handshake. Jeremy had been told quite some time ago about the once-dead vampire and Dawn's attachment to him, and when Angel had asked him about it, he'd just shrugged and said, "She has the rest of her life with me; She only gets him for the week. I figure I can afford to be a little understanding." Angel liked him for that.

They had all toasted the happy couple when Jeremy rose to his feet. "Thank you, everyone. We're so glad you could all be here to share this with us. Now, we're gonna do things a little differently today. You see, I have a debt to repay today. There's someone here who dedicated himself to protecting my wife, someone who stepped in and took care of her when she was alone in the world, and I'd like him to have the first dance." He turned towards Spike and held his hand out.

Dawn had clapped her hands over her mouth and was staring at her husband with shining eyes. Everyone there could see the love in her eyes, and nobody had any reason to doubt it, not after hearing his speech. Spike rose to clasp Jeremy's outstretched hand, then took Dawn's hand and led her out to the dance floor. At his nod, the DJ started the music, a beautiful soaring ballad that seemed to have been written for weddings and moments like these.

Spike laid a hand on Dawn's waist, drawing her into a formal position, and they began a slow waltz about the floor. They danced as though unaware of the observers, lost in their own private world where nobody else mattered. Spike bent his head and whispered something in her ear, and her reply brought a happy laugh that intertwined with the sweet melody. Angel swallowed hard at the sound, remembering back to when he'd stood and watched another waltz in another place and time. He wanted to believe that only Spike's partner had changed, but to do so would be to deny the changes he'd seen in his childe as well.

Angel swallowed hard as he watched Spike hug Dawn and then place her hand in her husband's with a smile. He knew what was coming, what always seemed to happen when he watched Spike dance. The other man would ask him, like he always did, and Angel would say no, like he always did. Except... except Angel was beginning to realize that he didn't really want to say no anymore. He was tired of watching from the sidelines. For the first time, he wanted to join the dance, hold someone close as they swayed to soft music-and not just someone, but Spike.

The blond had stayed by the head table when Jeremy led Dawn out to the floor for their first official dance as husband and wife, a faint smile lingering on his face. He was obviously pleased with his BIt's choice of a spouse, even though he'd ranted about her being too young to marry when they first got the call. Angel had attempted to help by pointing out that Dawn was 26, which was really only one year younger than Spike was when he was turned, but that had just resulted in one of his large pillar candles being thrown at his head. That had been three months ago and every so often he was still finding the occasional flake of wax in the couch cushions.

The DJ invited everyone else to join Dawn and Jeremy, changing the music to something that Spike must have recognized, by his smile. And it really was perfect for him, the strumming acoustic guitar and rough, scratchy voice with more mellow undertones matching the rough exterior and tender inside of his childe better than anything else he'd herd. Angel waited for those bright blue eyes to turn towards him, resolving that this time he wouldn't turn him away, would rise and take the extended hand and finally know what it was like to dance with his boy.

But the gaze that met his was icy, cold and distant enough to send a chill up his spine, and Angel's smile wavered and then disappeared. Spike's smile was mirthless, as though he'd been waiting for him to falter, and Angel felt his chest tighten when the blond turned away without ever approaching. He went to the head table instead, and his invitation was met with a radiant smile and nod. Buffy had to helped up from her chair to answer the request, but Spike didn't seem to mind. He said something that made her laugh as they walked out to join the rest of the dancers and she laughed, then gave him a gentle sock in the arm.

Angel swallowed as he watched them. Pregnancy suited Buffy, gave her a radiance that made her glow like she stood in sunlight, and he doubted Spike was completely blind to her appeal. They fumbled a little as they got into position, but soon found a stance that suited them. It was so different from the long-ago dance in the Bronze, the passion that had once burned so brightly banked to a gentle flame that promised to warm them for many more years to come. He would've been jealous if Buffy weren't so obviously in love with her husband and Spike so obviously enthralled with the idea of a tiny Slayer to come. He kept glancing down at her stomach with a little boy's look of wide-eyed wonder, and finally Buffy drew him off the floor and brought his hand to the swell of her belly.

Spike stood touching her until the song ended, then he took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, escorting her carefully back to the head table and her waiting husband. Xander rose to seat his wife, then grabbed Spike in a hard hug. The blond slapped his back and said something in his ear, finally stepping back to smile at the little family. After a few last words, he turned and without even seeming to think of looking back at Angel, walked off into the gardens.

Dimly, Angel realized he should get up, should go after Spike and tell him that things had changed and he wanted to dance now, but he couldn't seem to make himself move. He just sat there, cold and still and lonely. God, so lonely. Dawn walked over, hand in hand with Jeremy, and Angel pushed his misery aside, smiling as he got up to greet them. For the rest of the night, he was as pleasant as possible, determined that nobody would know what he'd lost... not even himself, if he could help it.

New Orleans – 2016

Angel shut the door behind him and tossed his coat over the arm of the sofa. He really hated Mardi Gras-the tourists were stupider, the demons more determined to take advantage of what they saw as an all-you-can-eat buffet, and Spike drunker and more absent than usual. Add to that the fact that he'd been accosted by another group of the Anne Rice fan girls, and he was in a very bad mood.

He started towards his bedroom, but the sound of music drifted out from the back of the townhouse, and he found himself following it instead. “Spike?” he called out, not surprised to receive no answer. Things had been strained between them recently, and he knew it was his fault. He just couldn't seem to stop wanting what he couldn't have, and it was making him more irritable and prone to snapping about things that weren't really as bad as he often made them sound.

The closer he got to Spike's den, the louder the music got, and he shook his head. No wonder Spike hadn't said anything; with the music this loud, it would be a wonder if he could hear anything for the next two or three hours! He paused just outside the door, wondering if he should just turn around, then decided to see what all the noise was about. Curling his hand around the knob, Angel eased the door open, then just stood in the doorway, too shocked to say or do anything.

Spike was dancing. God, how long had it been since he'd seen Spike dance? Although not like this. Never like this, or not even getting his soul back would've forced him away from the house and the man in front of him. Barefoot, wearing only his usual skin-tight black jeans, the blond was like an advertisement for sin. The song was one he'd never heard before, or at least hadn't paid attention to it if he had, but now he couldn't help think how fitting it was. Drums and a steady wailing guitar, with a rise and fall to the singer's voice, the whole thing mimicking a rhythm that made his palms sweat.

And Spike had picked up on that beat, his hips moving in an unmistakable grind, hands rising into the air to drop down to his chest, head thrown back as he stroked fingers along bare flesh. Angel's mouth watered, hungry to take over and be the one to run hands down to the waistband of those unbearably snug jeans, then further down... God! Spike circled his hips, shimmying down a bit, raising back up with a hard thrust, a moan tearing free of his throat. Angel wanted to step forward, wanted to wrap his arms around Spike and bring him back against him, let that supple body lead him in the dance he'd been missing out on for years.

When he saw one hand slide down below the waist and heard Spike's low groan that said plainly this wasn't just dancing, Angel whirled and ran. He didn't stop until he was inside his bedroom, leaning against the door and panting for air. Fuck! His hands were shaking as he fumbled with first button and then zipper, not even bothering to drop his trousers or even take his boxers down, just reaching inside and fisting his aching cock through the thin fabric. There was no time for teasing or drawing it out, not after witnessing the incredible erotic spectacle that was Spike's dance. Angel fisted himself hard and fast, and within seconds he was gasping Spike's name as he bucked up into his hand and drenched his boxers with semen.

Sagging bonelessly back against the wood, he realized that it wasn't enough. It would never be enough until... yes, that was it! Angel grinned as he pushed off the door. He had a lot of work to do if he was going to have everything ready by tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike dropped his keys on the table beside the door and kicked it shut behind him. “Anyone about?” he called, but there was only silence. That's all there ever was anymore. He sighed and went into the kitchen to get some blood, pulling up short at the sight of the yellow Post-It that was on the refrigerator door. Down the hall, it read, and Spike shrugged. Looked like the ponce wanted to play some kind of game tonight, so he supposed he'd go along with it.

Halfway down the hall another flash of yellow caught his eye. Angel's room, it read. Uh. Huh. If Angel thought they were gonna play hide the sausage just because the old boy was feeling nostalgic, he had another think coming! Spike turned and went up the stairs, going towards Angel's room as instructed. A third note told him to Knock twice, count to fifteen and come in. With a put-upon sigh, he rapped twice and started counting. There was a brief scuffle behind the door and then... music? Poncy music, too. Some drippy guy with an acoustic guitar and words that he couldn't quite make out.

Once he hit fifteen, Spike opened the door and stepped inside. He closed it, then turned around and felt his jaw drop at the sight of Angel dressed in one of his good suits, standing by a bed scattered with rose petals. Candles scattered throughout the room cast everything in a golden glow and Spike snorted. “Right. Big seduction scene, is it?”

“No,” Angel said quietly. “Not that seduction isn't something I'd welcome, but I had a question for you before anything else.”

“Gonna ask me to marry you, are you?”

The brunette shook his head and extended his hand. "I wanted to ask you... I mean, I know I've... dammit, I'm making a mess of this. Dance with me, Spike?"

Spike's smile fell away and he took a step towards Angel. He looked into his sire's eyes, almost afraid to hope that he'd finally see what he'd wanted and waited over a hundred years for. How many times had he asked Angel to dance, wanting just once to slide into his arms and feel that fit that he just knew would be there? And every time he'd been denied, but now... now Angel was the one asking him. And it wasn't a casual desire, not when he could see the hope and want and- fear? in that dark gaze.

For a few seconds, Spike hovered by the door, unsure of what to do. He could walk away, deny Angel the same way he'd been denied, crush his heart and know that the older man would have to live wanting what he couldn't have, just like he had. And it was tempting, there was no denying that. But he knew that if he turned away now, Angel would never ask again. They would continue as they had been and never mention what had happened here, but it would eat away at them until they finally split, and somehow Spike could tell that then it would be forever.

He slid his hand into Angel's and said simply, “Been wonderin' when you'd ask me.”

Angel's laugh was the relieved sound of a man who had been drawn on a rack before suddenly being cut free. He pulled Spike forward, wrapping one arm around Spike's waist and drawing him close. “I can be a little slow at times, but I'm hoping you'll let me make it up to you.” He squeezed the hand in his, bringing it to his heart before he released it to circle around his childe's slim hips.

Cradled in Angel's embrace, Spike rested his cheek against one shoulder, closing his eyes as he sought to impress everything about this moment on his memory. “Might be able to do that,” he whispered. “Did you have any ideas?”

“I thought we'd see about making this dance last a little longer... like a century or two.” Angel pressed a light kiss to one temple, smiling when Spike nuzzled at his throat with a soft happy sound. “How does that sound?”

“Sounds just about perfect, I'd say.” They swayed together for several minutes before Spike raised his head. “Course, you were plannin' on us takin' the dance to the bed at some point, right?”

Angel laughed. “Anywhere you want, baby.”

“Not a baby,” Spike muttered.

Two fingers slid beneath his chin, lifting his head until he looked into dark eyes once more. “No, you're my lover, companion and friend.” Angel bent to kiss him, a slow, thorough exploration of lips and mouth and tongue that left them both dizzy when they parted. “Dance with me, Spike... never stop dancing with me.”

“Never,” he promised, hands fisting in the elegant suit coat as he backed up, drawing Angel along with him. The song played on, filling the background with an endless promise of love as they set about relearning the steps to the oldest dance of all.