Spike stepped up on top of the roof, looking over at the oil and litter covered alley below. Angel – he could tell it was Angel and it turned him on and disgusted him in equal measure – was face down over the hood of an old Honda Civic, pants around his ankles and accepting what the fuckhead at his back was giving him.

 

Angel looked good like that, Spike thought, and it pissed him off that someone else was in the position to show him off like that. In fact, he looked really good like that and Spike was tempted to watch the events play out, watch Angel get pounded into the hard, cold metal and jerk himself off to the sight, but desire to possess what should be his overrode artistic impression. He dropped gracefully to the alley floor next to the man at Angel’s back and pulled him up, whispering in his ear, “Sorry, mate, I believe this was my dance card,” just before he snapped the poor bastard’s neck and let him drop to the ground in a heap at his feet.

 

Angel tensed up, suddenly registering the new voice behind him and recognising it immediately, and cursing God and Buddha and all his bad luck that the fucking blond menace would land himself behind him at a time like this. He should have sensed him before, he knew, but he was too busy burying himself in his ‘work’ and he didn’t want to have to deal with the reality outside it.

 

He kind of figured now that he should have bothered to retain at least some awareness of his surroundings. Because approximately the last fucking thing on earth he needed right then was to be literally caught with his pants down by Spike.

 

Because Spike wouldn't understand why Angel was doing what he was, and the bastard would somehow manage to ridicule his reasoning and make him feel ashamed and worthless, rather than...well, whatever it was he'd convinced himself he was feeling.

 

LA was an expensive city. He had no money, and regular work was a little hard to come by when you'd died before social security numbers were even dreamed of. Besides, he had no inclination to join the human race after his painful and disastrous relationship with the Slayer. Whoring seemed like a perfect solution.

 

He was pretty enough to earn good money, and he felt like he deserved the pain and humiliation; it was cathartic for him.

 

“Hello, Sire,” Spike hissed and he tilted his head back on a roar of laugher as he used his right hand to push Angel's chest down firmly down onto the car. He didn’t struggle all that much, Spike noted with not a little aggravation, and after a few seconds of half-arsed wriggling Angel was still underneath him. Well, fuck, if Angel wasn’t going to play, Spike hardly saw the point.

 

This was all about getting Angelus under him, making the great and powerful demon submit to him, to his every whim. It had happened before, once or twice, and he was sure that the great oaf would sooner go to his un-grave than admit what they’d shared, once upon a time, and that only made Spike want it more.

 

Made him want Angel more. Made him want to pound the sanctimonious prick into the Japanese piece of shit underneath them and made him want to make Angel scream. Scream for mercy and release and a million other things that Spike had no intention of giving, because this wasn’t about being nice.

 

It was about money and desire and making Angel his bitch, and he’d waited a long time for an opportunity like this to present itself, and a couple of months back, after the first time Dru left him, he’d heard rumours about what the brooding wonder had been up to and now he had come to check it out.

 

Angel pressed his face into the cool metal of the hood, closing his eyes briefly. He should fight; being pinned underneath Spike was wrong and humiliating...and all the other nasty little things which were actually the reasons for him turning tricks in the first place.

 

But his usual holier-than-thou routine might fall a bit flat, considering that his pants were around his ankles and his ass was bleeding because he deliberately let guys fuck him without slick just so that it would hurt more. He could tell that the scent had brought Spike's demon out. 

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, voice cold and flat, determinedly ignoring the sensation of having the blond pressed up against him and denying the memories that came flooding inexorably back.

 

“What am I doin’ here?” Spike asked, playful and light and sure that Angel was going to be even more pissed off with him for it. “Thought that’d be obvious.” 

 

Spike sidled up closer to Angel’s ass and shot his hands down to his pants, working the top button free of the tight denim.

 

“I’m here to reap the benefits of your new-found profession.”

 

He felt Angel tense up underneath him, knew that the other vampire was wondering how Spike had learned of his sociological demotion and how he’d been in position to take advantage of it so quickly, but Spike didn’t give him time to wallow.

 

“I’m here to fuck you, mate.”

 

Angel knew that it was time to put a stop to this before it went too far and that he should kick Spike back into his rightful place. Instead, he laughed. "Sorry, Blondie. Since you know all about my 'profession', you must realise that I don't do freebies."

 

Spike smirked. "No worries, mate. The Watcher lent me the money once I told him what it was for...Don't think he's really over you killing his bird and torturing him half to death. Some people really hold a grudge...So, tell me, Sire, what's the going rate? What are you worth?"

 

Feeling a confusing mixture of emotions, ranging from guilt to rage to a vicious little stab of pleasure at the memories, Angel flushed slightly as he said, "Depends...What do you want?"

 

Bingo! Spike thought, and let his hand fall on Angel’s bare ass. Angel was for sale, even for the likes of Spike and so long as Spike had the money Angel was sure do whatever was asked of him.

 

For the first time in recent years he was thankful for a Watcher’s generosity, and stuffed a rolled up wad of $100s into Angel’s clenched fist.

 

“I want to fuck you’re arse ‘til you’re raw, Angel,” Spike said, and he felt a shocked kind of elation that he was able to be that honest when so much inside him was telling him to roll over and let Angel take the lead, do this the way they used to. But that wasn't what was this was about and he had to remember that.

 

The fucker had to pay.

 

“I want to stick my big fat dick up your tight little hole and pound you ‘til you’re begging for me to do it more and harder and faster.”

 

Spike let his hand move down so that his fingers were playing in the crack of Angel’s ass.

 

“What do you think of that?”

 

"I think you can hurry up and get it over with," replied Angel evenly, although he knew that posturing was ridiculous; Spike could scent his unwanted lust.

 

"No problem, old man," he replied. "Though something tells me you'd be happy to do it all night long."

 

"Don't be stu-" Angel's words were cut off as Spike suddenly plunged three fingers inside him and twisted, causing him to emit a sound that was partway between a hiss and a moan.

 

"Oh yeah, you want it," taunted Spike. "And more than that...you owe me. And you know it."

 

Angel closed his eyes and ground his top teeth against his bottom ones. The fuck he owed Spike anything…The annoying little shit running around with a big fucking chip on his shoulder, thinking that getting inside Angel, forcing him like this, would make up for any slight against his person, imagined or otherwise. Idiot.

 

Angel was all too aware that the only way Spike would be collecting any debts was if Angel voluntarily paid them and when Spike’s fingers twisted just so inside him, brushing up against that spot that the blond hadn’t touched in over a hundred years, he froze, stopped moving, stopped unnecessary breathing and tried to hide the hated surge of lust and bleak nostalgia that told him again what he already knew. 

 

He’d be letting Spike take whatever he wanted, and not only because his own fist was still gripping tight the crumpled wad of money Spike had offered that amounted to more than he would probably make in a week. As much as he hated it, Spike owned his ass, at least for as long as it took the smaller vampire to get off.

 

His shoulders sagged, and he slumped his torso against the moulded red metal, letting Spike finger him like he was the last hole on earth, and steeling himself against the sensation, telling himself that it didn’t matter if he liked it, it meant nothing, Spike meant nothing, and soon it would be over, Spike heading back to Dru, and him back to the random strangers that were preferable to Spike.

 

And they were preferable, because he was almost frighteningly indifferent to them, whereas Spike...Well, he hated him passionately and knew full well that there were other, even stronger emotions that he wouldn't ever admit to...And, at the end of the day, maybe he did owe him something. But not for the reasons that Spike thought.

 

He didn't owe him because he'd cut and run after the curse, or staked Darla, or refused to help Dru, or left Spike on that fucking boat or any other of the bullshit reasons that the blond would come up with. It all came down to one thing: he hadn't trusted in what they'd had enough, hadn't loved Spike enough...And he'd never be forgiven for that.

 

He refused to whine or push back, seeking out greater contact, and he resolutely didn't protest when the fingers were suddenly withdrawn. Not that it mattered anyway; he was grinding up against the unforgiving hood now and knew what was coming. He braced himself for Spike's dick, craving the burn and the intensity. 

 

Spike stood still behind Angel, one hand resting on an ass cheek ready to open him up, the other on his own dick, stroking absently to keep himself hard. Angel’s easy acceptance of the situation wasn’t doing much for him. He didn’t want the bigger vampire to just lay there and take it; he wanted participation. He wanted Angel to fight, wanted him to beg, wanted some kind of reaction besides the muted desire he had been sensing all along.

 

Oh well, he’d just have to settle for getting those reactions when he was inside him, cock in his ass and teeth in his neck, tearing and rending and making him bleed.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Spike groaned quietly, his own thoughts turning him on all over again, almost as much as the sight of Angel bent over in front of him, waiting.

 

He directed his leaking cock to Angel’s ass, settled the spongy head over Angel’s hole and was about to push in, hard and violent, but the almost imperceptible shift of the body below him and the brand new surge of pheromones wafting up from his passive partner was at least some sort of involvement, and Spike wanted more.

 

He nudged his hips forward only the smallest fraction, lodging the very tip of his erection into Angel’s hole, just enough to grip it, so it didn’t slip free. He slid his hand back then, down over his shaft and to his balls, kneading the soft flesh expertly, and he let his fingers wander slightly, let them accidentally drift forward to tickle Angel’s sac, and he was too busy groaning in pleasure and trying to keep his hips still that he didn’t notice his hand drifting forward to wrap his fingers around Angel’s own drooling cock until his other hand dropped to replace the first one on his testicles and he was pumping Angel lazily in time with his own squeezing palm.

 

“Get the hell on with it, Spike,” Angel grunted, snapping Spike out of his pleasure-haze; he dropped both his hands to his sides as if they had been burned. “I don’t have all night.”

 

Spike grabbed Angel’s hips, digging his fingers in hard, and preparing to drive himself home. Yeah, Angel could act as indifferent about this as he wanted, but Spike knew better. He was getting off on this, the sex, the humiliation – he may not have wanted it, but now that it was happening, he craved it.

 

“Ask me nicely,” Spike told him, voice friendly and conversational, through a demon’s face.

 

“What?” Angel sputtered, disbelieving and twisted his head around to look at Spike. “You’ve got to be fucking joking!”

 

“You heard me,” he replied evenly, just a slight hard edge to his tone.

 

Angel growled quietly to himself. The little fucking prick just couldn’t be doing this to him! Well, there was no way in hell that he was going to beg for dick. Not going to happen. Hell would freeze over first. And he’d been there, so he knew for sure that it wasn’t happening any time soon.

 

He wasn’t quick enough to stifle a gasp as Spike rocked, penetrating him just an inch or so and then withdrawing again.

 

“Come on, Peaches…You and I both know that you want it…”

 

“You’re paying for my ass and that’s it,” he ground out through his clenched jaw, using every ounce of strength he possessed not to push back on the blond’s cock like a bitch in heat.

 

“No…No, that’s not true and you know it. Give me what I want…what I deserve…”

 

He couldn’t help but think that what Spike deserved was good old fashioned ass-kicking, topped off with a couple of left hooks and a boot to the jaw, but he knew what Spike wanted, what Angel wanted even though he was loath to admit it. And Spike had paid for it after all – he could always cling to that fact later, in his bed at night when he replayed this scene in his head over and over – and he wasn’t pulling in a slightly-below-the-poverty-line income by not giving his clients whatever they wanted.

“Fine,” he ground out, harsh and low, bracing himself against the car and trying to relax his lower half. This was going to hurt – in more ways that one. “It’d be really fucking swell if you could get the fuck on with it, Spike. Please.”

 

He heard the irritating sounds of Spike clucking his tongue behind him, exaggerating his mock-disappointment at Angel’s answer. “You can do better than that,” the blond said, and Angel growled aloud this time.

 

He was getting pissed off now, and not only because Spike was forcing him to admit to his repressed desires, but because it wasn’t a lie. He wanted Spike. Okay, maybe not in the general, ‘want him in my life’ way, but here, in the alley, on the hood of a piece of shit vehicle, anger and libido at fever pitch, he wanted Spike.

 

“Please, Spike,” he said again, and was careful to keep his voice soft and submissive. The sooner Spike believed that he believed what he was saying, the sooner he’d get what he wanted, and – even better – the sooner they’d be done.

 

“Please give it to me. We both need this.” And sure, they both had completely different reasons for needing it, but Angel thought it probably wasn’t the time to get into that. “Please.”

 

“See now,” said Spike softly, “That wasn’t so hard, was it…?”

 

Angel opened his mouth to respond and cried out sharply instead when Spike suddenly rammed inside him in one hard, swift motion, cursing colourfully.

 

His hands scrabbled over metal, trying to find purchase and failing. It hurt like holy fuck, even though the last guy had pounded him wide open, but it felt incredible, inspiring a rush of lust that made his head spin dizzyingly. “Please!” he repeated, barely aware that he was saying it.

 

Yes, he wanted this. Deserved this. Needed this. It was wrong and painful and humiliating – and all the other things that he’d spent considerable time making Spike experience in the past – but it made him feel like he was about to cream all over the paintwork before the other vampire had really gotten started.

 

Spike could feel Angel practically shaking and the power trip sent his arousal into overdrive. There was nothing quite like having the big bastard beneath him like this, giving it up oh so willingly.

 

“Fuck. Angel,” he vaguely mumbled, closing his eyes and digging his fingers tighter into Angel’s hips. If he let himself go enough, if he used his imagination, he could almost think that they were back in time, to one of these few instances that Angelus had craved William the same way that Spike now craved Angel, but the closer Spike got to that fantasy the more angry he became.

 

They weren’t those people any more, and the fact that they weren’t was half the reason Spike was so bent on making Angel submit to him, and he channelled his frustration into the fucking, pounding harder and faster, scenting the small droplets of blood that resulted from the brutal assault, and getting turned on all the more.

 

He could feel himself getting close, and he honestly couldn’t tell if Angel was anywhere near climax, and there was a far-off part of him that didn’t care. But if he was being honest, Angel getting off on this was most of the point, and at the same time as he changed the angle of his hips so that he was hitting Angel’s prostate mercilessly with each thrust, he leaned forward sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of Angel’s shoulder, long deep draughts bringing him home.

 

If truth be told – and it was a struggle to admit it to himself, so he certainly wouldn’t be telling Spike – he’d only been holding off from sheer will power because he was enjoying the sensations so much. The blond had been hammering a heady mixture of pleasure and pain through his body, and all the extraneous crap and the soul and the self-recriminations had disappeared. There had been nothing other than hard flesh and surprisingly soothing hands and then teeth slicing into him…and for once he could be a vampire and like it.

 

So, when he felt Spike pumping his cum deep inside him, he let go of his tenuous control and allowed the excitement sparking through him to reach a rapid and forceful peak. Even before the blond had finished spilling, he was writhing and cursing and splashing the rusty old Civic.

 

Spike didn’t lift off him immediately, instead slumping across his back and almost moulding to his body, trailing feather-light fingertips over his sides and arms. Angel allowed it, trying to pretend that it was because of the money and not because he craved the contact so badly. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t the real debt that he owed.

 

Hesitantly, he reached back and ran his hand through bleached blond hair. 

 

Spike felt himself getting lost in the sensation of dominating his Sire, of sticking his dick inside one the tightest, sweetest, most prized holes in all of his long association, and of finding release there. Of making the object of his long seeded lust find pleasure in exactly what he did, and Spike gave in, resting forward slightly and deriving post-coital comfort from Angel, offering the darker vampire the same thing.

 

But when he sensed a change in Angel, when a hand came in contact with his head, softly and gently stroking through his hair, Spike had had enough. Hadn’t Angel been paying attention? This wasn’t about fucking sentimentality or affection or any of the other poufy things that ‘his soulfulness’ was on about these days. It was… fuck! Spike didn’t want to think about what it was, and God damn Angel for making him!

 

He pulled back sharply, let his softening prick slip free of Angel’s arse and licked his lips of the precious blood of his line as he buttoned up his jeans.

 

“Ta mate,” he said, shaking off his demon and once again slipping into the beautiful face of an extraordinary human.

 

“Be seein’ you again, when I’ve got the dosh. Watcher owes me a little something more…” He trailed off, taking great delight in the imaginings of Angel’s mind after that last statement and headed off into the darkness, trying to forget what Angel looked like, bare and wanton and waiting for him.

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

 

Angel sat in his darkened apartment, staring into space and thinking that he’d like to down a bottle of whiskey…if he could be bothered to get up.

 

Even he couldn’t deny that he was brooding this time.

 

He just felt so…lost. He couldn’t quite figure out what had happened with Spike, why he’d let the other vampire do that…how he felt about it. He found himself almost wishing…No. He had to stop this.

 

Darkness was gnawing at the edges again. He knew the signs; if he didn’t pull himself out of this black hole sometime soon, he’d find himself dining on rodents in alleyways again. And honestly? He didn’t think he could cope with the filthy hair. He’d rather go back to Hell.

 

Sighing at his bleak humour, he pushed himself to his feet and strolled towards his kitchen. Why hadn’t Spike wanted to…

 

His musings were cut short and he whirled around as he sensed another presence, seeing a shorter man – not all human – with dark hair and striking eyes.

 

"I like the place. I mean it’s not much with the view, but it has a nice bat-cave sort of an air to it."

 

"Who are you?" he demanded, eyes flicking briefly to the deck of cards in the stranger’s hands.

 

"Doyle."

 

 

THE END.