Backup, Chapter 2
Jun. 22nd, 2006 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatotherpervTitle: Backup: the Won’t Back Down sequel
Author: Mel (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU sequel to WBD, the boys learn how to be men and face the world together. Um, some less pretty things are gonna happen here. I’m just sayin’.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please :)
Won’t Back Down and related ficlets are here
A/N: Alright,celticseductres wanted a 1960 Ford Thunderbird convertible, but it turns out I’m not a car gal, I only play one on tv. So when I wrote this chapter, I was picturing what I realized later was a Firebird instead. <coughs> oops. sorry babe. I needed something trashier…though I think your car is prettier than mine :)
Also, this isn’t intended to be the next day after part 1, although it seems like it. Couldn’t figure out a way to work in a hint on that, so—here’s your notice.
“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery
~*~*~*~
Chapter 2
“Peaches!” Spike bellowed over the din of the garage equipment, the whirr and whine. Where was that git…he’d been waiting in the car for twenty minutes past closing for him to come out…probably saving a kitten up a tree or some rot. Spike didn’t normally pick him up from work, but they’d fallen asleep by accident at his house last night, so he’d dropped Angel off this morning.
A big bruiser of a middle-aged man stepped out from behind a car, wiping his hands on a rag. He bore some kind of slope-foreheaded resemblance to Angel, so Spike supposed this must be his uncle, although he hoped Angel never developed a beer gut quite that voluminous. At least the man still had a full head of hair, so things were looking up.
“You’re not Peaches,” Spike observed unnecessarily, one quirk of the lips away from smirking.
The man eyed him suspiciously and extended a hand to grip Spike’s tightly in a bruising handshake. “Tony. You lookin’ for Liam?”
“Err, yes sir.” The polite address just sort of slipped out under the disconcerting scrutiny, but it hardly seemed to placate the man. At the continuing stare, he supplied, “I’m Spike.”
“I really don’t think he'll appreciate you callin’ him that name, you know.”
Spike had a brief flashback to how very much Angel had appreciated it this morning. Twice. He coughed. “Um…”
“Hey Uncle Tony, I’ll close up shop if you’re ready to get out of here.” Spike turned to find Angel standing behind him, come to the rescue. “Spike’s here to give me a ride home.” Angel threw him a fleeting wink, gone before it was hardly even seen, and Spike smirked.
But something told Spike the wink wasn’t fleeting enough, because Uncle Tony’s eyes narrowed and flickered back and forth between he and Angel. “Liam, can I talk to you for a minute in the office?” He walked away without waiting for an answer.
“Sure,” Angel replied easily to his back. His eyes lingered on Spike’s for a moment before he went to follow him.
Angel felt a little queasy as he shut the office door behind him. Uncle Tony was leaning on the front edge of his desk, arms crossed. The office was a small space, so Angel was standing less than an arm’s length away. He crossed his own arms in nervousness, tucking his hands into his armpits.
“What’s up?” he asked after thirty seconds of unrelieved silence.
The muscles around his uncle’s mouth flexed in disapproval. “Who is that kid? He the one you’ve been runnin’ off with lately?”
“Um…just a friend. He moved here in January, so I’ve been—”
“Liam, cut the crap.” Angel was at a loss, as his uncle studied him like a bug under his boot. “I’m not stupid, you know. I got two good eyes in my head.”
“Uh….” Angel tried not to fidget. This probably wasn’t going where he thought it was.
“You know, I got nothin’ against the gays.” Angel choked on his own pooling saliva at the abrupt reassurance. “I don’t hate ‘em. Not like I want them to, you know, burn in hell or nothin’. I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to see it all lovey-dovey around here, if you get me. You get me?”
His uncle paused for an acknowledgement, so Angel nodded his head stupidly, mind reeling.
“We always knew you was a little different, what with liking to cook, and your doodling. I never thought—I mean, you don’t look like a gay, not like your little friend out there, with the makeup and the jewelry, but…I don’t think any of us would have ever thought that right off, not for real, even though sometimes we joked…what I’m trying to say is, I’m not gonna hate you, Liam, if you own up to likin’ dick. I just don’t want to see none of that myself, if you understand.”
Angel gaped, unable to string two words together. His uncle looked out through the office windows onto the shop floor, where Spike was jittering like a perpetual motion machine.
“He’s a good lookin’ kid I suppose. Kinda fruity, and he’s got a mouth on him. But he’s got some manners. He the one with the DeSoto from a while back?” Angel nodded on autopilot. His uncle whistled. “Kid must be loaded then. Well, that’s good right? Got you, like, a sugar daddy.” He barked a laugh uncomfortably, and Angel turned bright red.
“Does—” Angel cleared his throat. “Does everyone know?”
Uncle Tony turned a sharp eye on him. “Everyone, like your dad? No, kid, if your dad knew, you’d know it. God knows what Suzie sees in that dumb bastard. Your mom, though, she had her suspicions. Said you been smilin’ a lot, all moony-like, but you been spendin’ all your time with this boy, so she knew it wasn’t a new girl.” He gave Angel a long look. “I don’t have to tell you, not to let your father find out.” Silence reigned in the little room as that warning hung heavily over his head.
Angel’s chest felt tight. His uncle stood up and grabbed his car keys in a clatter off the corner of his desk. “Alright, kid, I’m outta here. Don’t forget to lock up.”
Angel stepped aside for him to pass, but his uncle stopped with his hand on the knob, door cracked open. “You two are usin’ protection, right? Cuz—I know you’re young and you think you’re gonna live forever, but….”
Angel nodded, heart stuttering in his chest. A big hand squeezed his shoulder, and then his uncle was gone.
When Angel looked up from his place slumped against the wall, Spike was hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
“You alright, pet? Look a little green around the gills.” Spike was eyeing him like his head might spontaneously combust, which Angel thought it might.
“He knows.”
Spike hesitated. “Figured as much.” He paused. “What did he have to say?”
Angel thought about that for a moment. “He was pretty good about it, I guess.”
“Uh-huh…so why do you look like you’re about to toss your cookies all over my shoes?”
“It’s just….” Angel followed Spike out into the garage. “My family isn’t exactly….” He didn’t finish the thought, because he didn’t think he had to.
Spike stopped and turned around. “I get it, yeah? Family’s the hardest to tell.” He stepped closer and took Angel’s hand, and Angel looked up from where his eyes were fixed on his shoes. “Least now you know one of em’s more or less on your side. Right?”
Spike studied at him with that rare concerned face that always made Angel’s tummy flutter. “Right.” Spike took hold of his chin, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. Angel tried to let go of his morbid thoughts, and Spike’s eyes sparked against his when his tongue flicked out to taste the lingering fingertip.
Spike pulled him in by the neck. “Damn straight I’m right,” he mumbled against Angel’s mouth, and Angel’s tongue slid forward to lap at his lips and shut him up.
Fused at the mouth, Spike nudged him backwards until he was leaning against the ’73 Firebird that was in for a coolant leak. One of those clever hands ground hard against his cock, which was already half-hard in his cover-alls, and he moaned.
Spike pulled back just far enough to break the contact of their mouths, and Angel was pinned by intense blue eyes that shifted between his own, their faces so close that Spike was all he could see. The top portion of his blue-gray uniform fell away with the rapid zzzzt of the zipper and Spike’s thumbs traced down Angel’s obliques over top of his undershirt. A little shove sent the cover-alls sliding down around his ankles, and Spike fondled him through the cotton of his boxers, breaking eye contact at last to suck on Angel’s earlobe in that toe-curling way.
Spike dropped to his knees and Angel panted, clutching the frame of the car as his boxers were peeled down to join the uniform on the floor. He watched as a pink tongue licked a stripe up his cock from his balls to the edge of his head, Spike’s eyes dirty and heated on his. Angel swallowed hard, and Spike made a show of flicking a flat tongue against the crown of his cock, tapping the ball of his tongue-ring against his slit at a pressure just at the threshold of pleasure-pain. Angel groaned and jerked his hips up towards that sweet torture. Then Spike closed his lips around Angel’s cock, sliding down and rubbing his tongue soft-hard, muscle-metal along the underside of the shaft. Angel whined and closed his eyes just as Spike was reaching into his pocket. There was a click and then cool, slippery fingers were sliding along the part of his cheeks and Angel slumped down further and accommodated room for them to slip inside his body. His whole world was narrowed down to Spike: Spike’s hands and Spike’s lips and Spike’s tongue and Spike’s eyes which were once again holding his, a distraction and a reassurance.
Impatient, Angel pulled Spike off his knees and clung to him in a feverish, desperate kiss, before turning around and bracing himself against the hood of the Firebird, Spike’s mouth wet against his shoulder near the seam of his wifebeater as Angel heard the tearing of foil. When Spike began a slow slide into his body, Angel pushed back hard, just wanting fast and rough and mindless. Spike got the picture quickly and obliged, slamming Angel rapidly forward against the car, hands fisted tightly in the material at his waist. Angel was blind with the pleasure, the gold stencil of the raptor beneath his hands blurry before his eyes, and distantly he was grateful that his uncle had shut the garage doors that opened onto the street.
It was over as quickly and frantically as it began, Angel clenching and shouting as he spurted all over Spike’s hands and the black finish of the car, and Spike following him with a shudder six driving thrusts later. They stood in place breathing raggedly, Angel’s head hung with exertion and Spike’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, closely fitted, breathing sideways against ribbed cotton.
“Thanks,” Angel said quietly. He cringed…he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that. It was just that Spike knew what he needed better than he did, sometimes. Angel dwelled on troubling things less, with him around.
“No need, little lady. Your arse is thanks enough,” Spike drawled in a bad Western accent, and they both snickered, because Angel didn’t even have it in him to get heated up over being referred to in the feminine.
Spike traced the edge of Angel’s tattoo with a light fingertip, not wanting to move yet. “Always meanin’ to ask you what this means.” Angel looked over his shoulder, brown eyes flicking from Spike to the tattoo.
“Oh, uh—” Angel shifted and Spike pulled away, cleaning himself up while Angel straightened his clothing. “Me and Faith both got tats at Christmas this year. To remember her mom by…the griffin was just something I wanted, but the A…her mom is the one that called me Angel. Like a little kid pet-name, you know?”
“She pass on, then?” Spike posed the question casually, matching Angel’s tone.
“Yeah.” The worry-lines twitched between Angel’s brows. “When we were fourteen. She was a really nice lady…kinda like a mom to me, too.” His tone was wistful but not grieving, as though he’d come to terms with the loss. Spike nodded.
“Should change into your street clothes, luv. I’ll just be out here, washing your jizz off the car.” Spike smirked. Angel’s head whipped around to look at the white globs oozing down the paint job. That would have been mortifying.
“Fuck!”
Spike laughed and patted him on the bum. “That’s what I’m here for. Run along now.”
more!
Author: Mel (
btvslover82)Pairing: Spangel
Rating: NC-17 slash, some het elements but no more than PG-13
Summary: teen human AU sequel to WBD, the boys learn how to be men and face the world together. Um, some less pretty things are gonna happen here. I’m just sayin’.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please :)
Won’t Back Down and related ficlets are here
A/N: Alright,
celticseductres wanted a 1960 Ford Thunderbird convertible, but it turns out I’m not a car gal, I only play one on tv. So when I wrote this chapter, I was picturing what I realized later was a Firebird instead. <coughs> oops. sorry babe. I needed something trashier…though I think your car is prettier than mine :)Also, this isn’t intended to be the next day after part 1, although it seems like it. Couldn’t figure out a way to work in a hint on that, so—here’s your notice.
“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery
~*~*~*~
Chapter 2
“Peaches!” Spike bellowed over the din of the garage equipment, the whirr and whine. Where was that git…he’d been waiting in the car for twenty minutes past closing for him to come out…probably saving a kitten up a tree or some rot. Spike didn’t normally pick him up from work, but they’d fallen asleep by accident at his house last night, so he’d dropped Angel off this morning.
A big bruiser of a middle-aged man stepped out from behind a car, wiping his hands on a rag. He bore some kind of slope-foreheaded resemblance to Angel, so Spike supposed this must be his uncle, although he hoped Angel never developed a beer gut quite that voluminous. At least the man still had a full head of hair, so things were looking up.
“You’re not Peaches,” Spike observed unnecessarily, one quirk of the lips away from smirking.
The man eyed him suspiciously and extended a hand to grip Spike’s tightly in a bruising handshake. “Tony. You lookin’ for Liam?”
“Err, yes sir.” The polite address just sort of slipped out under the disconcerting scrutiny, but it hardly seemed to placate the man. At the continuing stare, he supplied, “I’m Spike.”
“I really don’t think he'll appreciate you callin’ him that name, you know.”
Spike had a brief flashback to how very much Angel had appreciated it this morning. Twice. He coughed. “Um…”
“Hey Uncle Tony, I’ll close up shop if you’re ready to get out of here.” Spike turned to find Angel standing behind him, come to the rescue. “Spike’s here to give me a ride home.” Angel threw him a fleeting wink, gone before it was hardly even seen, and Spike smirked.
But something told Spike the wink wasn’t fleeting enough, because Uncle Tony’s eyes narrowed and flickered back and forth between he and Angel. “Liam, can I talk to you for a minute in the office?” He walked away without waiting for an answer.
“Sure,” Angel replied easily to his back. His eyes lingered on Spike’s for a moment before he went to follow him.
Angel felt a little queasy as he shut the office door behind him. Uncle Tony was leaning on the front edge of his desk, arms crossed. The office was a small space, so Angel was standing less than an arm’s length away. He crossed his own arms in nervousness, tucking his hands into his armpits.
“What’s up?” he asked after thirty seconds of unrelieved silence.
The muscles around his uncle’s mouth flexed in disapproval. “Who is that kid? He the one you’ve been runnin’ off with lately?”
“Um…just a friend. He moved here in January, so I’ve been—”
“Liam, cut the crap.” Angel was at a loss, as his uncle studied him like a bug under his boot. “I’m not stupid, you know. I got two good eyes in my head.”
“Uh….” Angel tried not to fidget. This probably wasn’t going where he thought it was.
“You know, I got nothin’ against the gays.” Angel choked on his own pooling saliva at the abrupt reassurance. “I don’t hate ‘em. Not like I want them to, you know, burn in hell or nothin’. I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to see it all lovey-dovey around here, if you get me. You get me?”
His uncle paused for an acknowledgement, so Angel nodded his head stupidly, mind reeling.
“We always knew you was a little different, what with liking to cook, and your doodling. I never thought—I mean, you don’t look like a gay, not like your little friend out there, with the makeup and the jewelry, but…I don’t think any of us would have ever thought that right off, not for real, even though sometimes we joked…what I’m trying to say is, I’m not gonna hate you, Liam, if you own up to likin’ dick. I just don’t want to see none of that myself, if you understand.”
Angel gaped, unable to string two words together. His uncle looked out through the office windows onto the shop floor, where Spike was jittering like a perpetual motion machine.
“He’s a good lookin’ kid I suppose. Kinda fruity, and he’s got a mouth on him. But he’s got some manners. He the one with the DeSoto from a while back?” Angel nodded on autopilot. His uncle whistled. “Kid must be loaded then. Well, that’s good right? Got you, like, a sugar daddy.” He barked a laugh uncomfortably, and Angel turned bright red.
“Does—” Angel cleared his throat. “Does everyone know?”
Uncle Tony turned a sharp eye on him. “Everyone, like your dad? No, kid, if your dad knew, you’d know it. God knows what Suzie sees in that dumb bastard. Your mom, though, she had her suspicions. Said you been smilin’ a lot, all moony-like, but you been spendin’ all your time with this boy, so she knew it wasn’t a new girl.” He gave Angel a long look. “I don’t have to tell you, not to let your father find out.” Silence reigned in the little room as that warning hung heavily over his head.
Angel’s chest felt tight. His uncle stood up and grabbed his car keys in a clatter off the corner of his desk. “Alright, kid, I’m outta here. Don’t forget to lock up.”
Angel stepped aside for him to pass, but his uncle stopped with his hand on the knob, door cracked open. “You two are usin’ protection, right? Cuz—I know you’re young and you think you’re gonna live forever, but….”
Angel nodded, heart stuttering in his chest. A big hand squeezed his shoulder, and then his uncle was gone.
When Angel looked up from his place slumped against the wall, Spike was hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
“You alright, pet? Look a little green around the gills.” Spike was eyeing him like his head might spontaneously combust, which Angel thought it might.
“He knows.”
Spike hesitated. “Figured as much.” He paused. “What did he have to say?”
Angel thought about that for a moment. “He was pretty good about it, I guess.”
“Uh-huh…so why do you look like you’re about to toss your cookies all over my shoes?”
“It’s just….” Angel followed Spike out into the garage. “My family isn’t exactly….” He didn’t finish the thought, because he didn’t think he had to.
Spike stopped and turned around. “I get it, yeah? Family’s the hardest to tell.” He stepped closer and took Angel’s hand, and Angel looked up from where his eyes were fixed on his shoes. “Least now you know one of em’s more or less on your side. Right?”
Spike studied at him with that rare concerned face that always made Angel’s tummy flutter. “Right.” Spike took hold of his chin, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. Angel tried to let go of his morbid thoughts, and Spike’s eyes sparked against his when his tongue flicked out to taste the lingering fingertip.
Spike pulled him in by the neck. “Damn straight I’m right,” he mumbled against Angel’s mouth, and Angel’s tongue slid forward to lap at his lips and shut him up.
Fused at the mouth, Spike nudged him backwards until he was leaning against the ’73 Firebird that was in for a coolant leak. One of those clever hands ground hard against his cock, which was already half-hard in his cover-alls, and he moaned.
Spike pulled back just far enough to break the contact of their mouths, and Angel was pinned by intense blue eyes that shifted between his own, their faces so close that Spike was all he could see. The top portion of his blue-gray uniform fell away with the rapid zzzzt of the zipper and Spike’s thumbs traced down Angel’s obliques over top of his undershirt. A little shove sent the cover-alls sliding down around his ankles, and Spike fondled him through the cotton of his boxers, breaking eye contact at last to suck on Angel’s earlobe in that toe-curling way.
Spike dropped to his knees and Angel panted, clutching the frame of the car as his boxers were peeled down to join the uniform on the floor. He watched as a pink tongue licked a stripe up his cock from his balls to the edge of his head, Spike’s eyes dirty and heated on his. Angel swallowed hard, and Spike made a show of flicking a flat tongue against the crown of his cock, tapping the ball of his tongue-ring against his slit at a pressure just at the threshold of pleasure-pain. Angel groaned and jerked his hips up towards that sweet torture. Then Spike closed his lips around Angel’s cock, sliding down and rubbing his tongue soft-hard, muscle-metal along the underside of the shaft. Angel whined and closed his eyes just as Spike was reaching into his pocket. There was a click and then cool, slippery fingers were sliding along the part of his cheeks and Angel slumped down further and accommodated room for them to slip inside his body. His whole world was narrowed down to Spike: Spike’s hands and Spike’s lips and Spike’s tongue and Spike’s eyes which were once again holding his, a distraction and a reassurance.
Impatient, Angel pulled Spike off his knees and clung to him in a feverish, desperate kiss, before turning around and bracing himself against the hood of the Firebird, Spike’s mouth wet against his shoulder near the seam of his wifebeater as Angel heard the tearing of foil. When Spike began a slow slide into his body, Angel pushed back hard, just wanting fast and rough and mindless. Spike got the picture quickly and obliged, slamming Angel rapidly forward against the car, hands fisted tightly in the material at his waist. Angel was blind with the pleasure, the gold stencil of the raptor beneath his hands blurry before his eyes, and distantly he was grateful that his uncle had shut the garage doors that opened onto the street.
It was over as quickly and frantically as it began, Angel clenching and shouting as he spurted all over Spike’s hands and the black finish of the car, and Spike following him with a shudder six driving thrusts later. They stood in place breathing raggedly, Angel’s head hung with exertion and Spike’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, closely fitted, breathing sideways against ribbed cotton.
“Thanks,” Angel said quietly. He cringed…he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that. It was just that Spike knew what he needed better than he did, sometimes. Angel dwelled on troubling things less, with him around.
“No need, little lady. Your arse is thanks enough,” Spike drawled in a bad Western accent, and they both snickered, because Angel didn’t even have it in him to get heated up over being referred to in the feminine.
Spike traced the edge of Angel’s tattoo with a light fingertip, not wanting to move yet. “Always meanin’ to ask you what this means.” Angel looked over his shoulder, brown eyes flicking from Spike to the tattoo.
“Oh, uh—” Angel shifted and Spike pulled away, cleaning himself up while Angel straightened his clothing. “Me and Faith both got tats at Christmas this year. To remember her mom by…the griffin was just something I wanted, but the A…her mom is the one that called me Angel. Like a little kid pet-name, you know?”
“She pass on, then?” Spike posed the question casually, matching Angel’s tone.
“Yeah.” The worry-lines twitched between Angel’s brows. “When we were fourteen. She was a really nice lady…kinda like a mom to me, too.” His tone was wistful but not grieving, as though he’d come to terms with the loss. Spike nodded.
“Should change into your street clothes, luv. I’ll just be out here, washing your jizz off the car.” Spike smirked. Angel’s head whipped around to look at the white globs oozing down the paint job. That would have been mortifying.
“Fuck!”
Spike laughed and patted him on the bum. “That’s what I’m here for. Run along now.”
more!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-29 04:46 am (UTC)I can also just hear Spike's fake western acdent (maybe becuase of that episode where he pretends to be Xander's cousin to fool Riley). Anyway that was funny too. And Angel's momentary panic over the mess they made on the car was priceless.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-29 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-29 04:08 pm (UTC)lol that's so funny. My dad works with this guy from Texas I think, who has taught my dad that you can say anything you like to someone as long as you say it in the right voice and end it with "bless your heart".
no subject
Date: 2007-04-29 04:17 pm (UTC)