Epiphany -- Revisited
"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Spike shut off the television and rose to his feet as Angel
hobbled into the room. He hurried to Angel's side and propped an arm around the taller vampire.
"It looks like you've been hit by a truck or, at the very least, a sledgehammer."
Angel... giggled. It hurt to giggle -- hell, it hurt to stand still -- but Spike's eerily accurate guess
was simply a cake topper to his night. "As a matter of fact, both. Repeatedly."
Spike helped him to the bathroom of the Hyperion suite. "The twits didn't accept your apology?"
When he'd returned to the hotel to change after rescuing Kate, Angel had filled his childe in on the
plan to apologize to his former co-workers -- and one-time friends -- in hopes that they would
allow him back into their lives. It hadn't worked. They still despised him, Cordelia especially. Her
simple words about how he'd hurt her feelings cut him deeper than Gunn and Wesley's distrust and
Angel was going to make it up to them... somehow. It would take time, effort, and a lot of
groveling, but he would do it. He needed to do it, not for redemption or to make himself feel better,
but because they deserved his apologies and groveling. He would do it because they mattered.
"No, this was Lindsey," Angel groaned as he let Spike strip him. Voice roughened from the pain, he
said, "Never piss off a redneck -- they tend to run you over with their steel penises."
The scarred brow that Angel liked to bite arched greatly. "'Steel penises?'"
"I mean, trucks," Angel corrected with a smirk. His body creaked and groaned as he sank down on
the cold toilet seat. "Little shit even had real cowboy boots on, and flannel." A thoughtful look
crossed his face. "He actually looked sort of... lickable, as Cordelia would say."
"Fancy lawyers now, do you?" Spike said casually... before dumping a bottle of peroxide on Angel's
chest. Angel yelped, snarling dark eyes shooting to meet Spike's. The blond stared innocently back.
"Oops. Sorry. Accident."
Accident, my left nut, Angel thought, glaring icily at his childe as Spike cleaned him up. The idea that Spike was jealous -- again -- tickled Angel's mind, and he grinned. "No, not lawyers."
He tugged on a belt loop on Spike's black denims. "I like little boys in jeans."
Spike scowled. "I'm not a little boy."
"Yes, you are," Angel countered. He leaned back against the toilet tank, his rapidly swelling
manhood testifying to how much he liked certain little boys in jeans. "Take off your shirt," he
Spike stared at him for a moment. Angel stared unwaveringly back. A tense silence built in the
bathroom that continued to grow even as the blond vampire removed his black tee-shirt. Corded
muscles on his lean body flexed as he pulled the shirt over his head, then wadded it up and tossed it
into the corner.
Angel straightened and snagged Spike's belt loop again. He pulled the younger man between his
legs, settling his hands on Spike's slight hips, and his lips tasted the coolness of the blond's pale skin.
Angel felt Spike's muscles tighten under his mouth, making them more defined as he sprinkled a
path of light kisses across his childe's abdomen. His tongue found Spike's navel and dipped inside,
earning a hitched gasp from the boy.
Angel pulled away and focused on Spike's denim-clad crotch. The tight material outlined an
unmistakable bulge. The brunette pushed Spike backwards a step, releasing the other man's hips,
and leaned back against the toilet tank. His gaze swept over the blond, drinking in the sight of his
aroused boy in snug black jeans, and his manhood jumped in approval. "There's nothing sexier than
little boys in jeans," he murmured, his eyes darkening with need.
"Told you, m'not a little boy," Spike mumbled, shifting and crossing his arms over his chest.
Angel grasped his swollen shaft and stroked it three times before holding it upright. He stared at Spike
through half-lidded eyes, and an unspoken order rose in the air. In response, Spike thrust his jaw
out, his blue eyes sparkling with defiance.
"Don't make me hurt you, boy," Angel rumbled. "Just because I've 'seen the light' doesn't mean I
won't take you across the hall and tan your recalcitrant hide."
The tension in the room magnified. Angel could see the war going on behind those insouciant azure
eyes, and he wondered if allowing Spike to top him had been a mistake. Yes, he was sorry he'd
pushed everyone away when the darkness had overtaken him. Yes, he was sorry it had taken
sleeping with Darla to understand how far he'd gone. Yes, he was sorry that he didn't love his childe
as the blond obviously wanted to be loved. But, no, he sure as hell wouldn't allow his boy off his
leash, because the one thing his descent into darkness had taught him was that he liked being Master.
And Spike made the perfect sub. He also looked like sin in black jeans.
Finally, just when Angel had decided enough was enough, Spike slowly sank to his knees. The
younger vampire was about to take Angel into his mouth when Angel pulled his hard length away.
A pointed look met the questioning furrow of dark brows, and Angel watched as a flash of
understanding was chased by anger before settling into a mask of unhappy
resignation. Then his little boy kissed the tip of Angel's penis in subservient deference, and
grumbled, "Master, may I?"
Angel felt his lips twitch, and his cock pulsed in his hand. He refrained from patting Spike on the
head and saying: "good boy" -- he didn't feel like getting his privates bit off. No, encouragement
and gratitude was the better response in this case. "I would love it if you did," Angel told him with a
low purr. "Seeing you in just those jeans has turned me on something fierce."
The unhappy resignation on Spike's expressive face changed into surprise which was quickly
followed by smug pride. Angel hid the roll of his eyes by closing them, and hissed when Spike
immediately engulfed him. He removed his hand from around his shaft and slid it into the blond's
thick locks. He didn't force Spike yet; he only cupped the back of Spike's head as it began to
bob over Angel's lap.
"Mmmmm," Angel moaned as his boy's cruel mouth worked its magic. After the night he'd had, a
blowjob was exactly what the doctor ordered. The only thing that would be better was if it was
Lindsey on his blue jean-clad knees showing the proper respect to his better.
Angel surged upwards, clutching the back of Spike's head and thrusting his hips as the image of a
subservient Lindsey surfaced in his mind. The picture changed to Angel sitting in the back of
Lindsey's sun-faded red Ford on a cloudless night, staring up at the clear Oklahoma sky and
listening to the wind brush through the wheat, with the brunette's head in his lap and prosthetic
"Neyaaaagggggg...," Angel gurgled helplessly as an orgasm slammed into him with enough force to
make him crack his head on the toilet tank as his body jerked spasmically. He held onto Spike's
head like a bull rider holding a bullrope as he bucked wildly. He came in great spurts, flooding
Spike's mouth as he rode out the most intense eight seconds of his unlife.
When it was over, Angel collapsed onto the toilet as if all the bones in his body had been broken.
His harsh panting echoed in the bathroom, and his throat was so dry he couldn't swallow. A sheen
of sweat coated his skin, making his cuts and scrapes itch. His hand shook as he brought it to his
face to wipe away the sweat.
It took a while, but Angel eventually managed to calm down enough to blink away the haze that
clouded his vision. Spike knelt in front of him still, a faint smirk of amusement caressing his lips.
Angel lightly kicked him -- which was actually using all the strength he had -- and gestured at the
first aid kit on the sink. "Finish patching me up," he rasped, his throat still dry.
Spike made every effort to thrust his jeans-covered erection in Angel's direction as he set about
doing as told. Angel ignored the blatant message in favor of silently singing an Irish dirge in honor
of his dearly departed mind.