Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words. Alas, as pretty as the characters are, they belong to Joss, our leader, and the rest of ME. Shame, really. I treat 'em nicer.
Distribution: Please, distribute at will. Just keep the name on the tin (i.e. MINE) and I won't hunt you down and wear your skin like a coat. plagiarists get flayed, people!

A/N: This has lived on my LJ forever and I'm not quite sure why I'm posting it here. But hell, if you guys like it, there's plenty more slashy smut where this came from.

"I ain't getting any older…" He stopped, mid stride, ruining his heroic march into the distance, to face his Slayer. "You're gonna give it to him, aren't you?" Angel nodded to the amulet in hanging from Buffy's wrist. He was stiff, stoic, but his voice betrayed his dissent. He just couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. The smell of Spike on her was sickening. It was also intoxicating. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as dust.

She looked him in the eye, "and if I am?"

He growled, eyes flashing gold. His demon would never handle being second best to his runt of a Grandchilde. But her hazel stare, daring and suddenly adult —when did she get so old? — sent it running scared. He didn't have a reply.

Spike was still watching them. Once the First had given up on him, he'd followed them outside against his better judgements. But boy was he glad. He'd waded through the mushy cookie-dough crap but hearing her defend him, in those four words, he'd wanted to jump up and down shirtless, flashing his non-existent 'in your face, Angel' tattoo. And so swept up in the sentiment was he that stealthy thoughts had thoroughly committed suicide and the branch beneath his feet splintered, alerting the silent Champions to his presence. "Well, bugger."

Buffy's 'adult face' swung in his direction, making him recoil slightly. "Have you been stalking us the entire time?"

He opened his mouth, but his snappy 'define entire' died on his tongue.

The Slayer glanced between the exasperating vampires and sighed. Her response came fitted with an eye-roll, "y'know what? I think I'll just leave you boys to it. I've got a war to fight." She turned to exit the cemetery but stopped and threw a final retort over her shoulder, "and boys, try not to kill each other, leave something for the First." A smile and wink and the ensouled vampires were alone.

"Well, you heard the Lady, hop to it, Peaches. Got a war to fight." He took a step toward the bigger man, cocky swagger, tongue rolled behind his teeth, he made a motion with his arms toward the gates, "if you don't mind…"

Angel leaned down to the blonde, catching aquamarine with rapturous brown gaze, "oh, I mind you walking, bleach boy."

Spike tutted, snickering at his Grandsire, "you're just jealous 'cause she's moved on. Buffy doesn't want you here. Not as a lover, not as a fighter. So why don't you just scurry back to somewhere you're of use, Los Angeles, maybe? Though I can think of other places I'd rather you be."

"Just 'cause you've got a soul doesn't mean it's this cool new thing. But wait, that's just something to add to your 'things Angel did first' list, under Dru and Buffy," Angel moved in closer, breath warm in Spike's ear, "and I do mean that the way it sounds."

Spike stifled a growl, struggling to quell his need to rip Angel's unnecessarily large forehead from his unnecessarily handsome face. Handsome, where in the hell did that come from? "Don't be a bitch, mate, doesn't suit you."

Without moving, lips still tickling the blonde's ear, Angel grinned, "and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Billy Boy? Hm? Well, we both know there's no such thing as 'just one time'." And he leant back, to watch the carnage unfold.

Eyes warred between blue and gold, voice between growl and whimper, fists clenching like restless claws. Then it stopped, Spike glanced up into his Grandsire's eyes, mouth settling into a lazy smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Angel was dumbstruck, and Spike took advantage, grabbing his frozen face in violent kiss and throwing him back, wiping his mouth theatrically on the back of his hand.

"Sorry, Sire, still don't swing that way. But if I did," he tilted his head, looking Angel up and down, scathingly, "and I was drunk enough…"

Snapping from his stupor, Angel rewarded Spike with a punch in the mouth, knocking the blonde across the graveyard and into the dust —cracking headstones as he went —smirk planted firmly on the younger man's face.

Laughing, Spike stood, brushing dirt from his beloved duster, "touch a nerve, did we?"

"Shut up, Spike." Angel blew enraged breaths through his nostrils, making them flare. Had it always been this hard to be around Spike? Sure, they'd spent decades at each other's throats, but this wasn't the same. Not a testosterone fuelled battle of wills, or even marking of territory. This was—and he shuddered to think it—chemistry.

"Witty retort, very original", he was already swaggering back, hungry for more. No more the runt of the litter, and the sooner Angel realised that, the better. And besides, he'd spent enough time as Buffy's piñata to learn to take a punch. If Angel wanted to keep swinging, he was more than welcome.

Not chemistry, nope. That wasn't even possible. But if he didn't lower that quirked eyebrow and 'come hither' stare, someone was getting the pounding of a lifetime. And not with fists. "Spike," he forced, through chapped lips, mouth once more draining of moisture, "don't."

Spike stiffened, frozen, any humour wiped from his stony face. He let a moment of silence hang between them, to make Angel sweat. Then; "is that a stake in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

He didn't see Angel until he landed, arse-first in the graveyard dirt, his Grandsire pressing hard into his thigh. The eyes hovering above his were pure black. Spike rested his hands behind his head, "well, this is an interesting tur—" Angel's mouth devoured his like some starved animal. Lips pulled roughly, tongue demanding entry. And as the blonde tried to gasp, Angel got the opening he craved.

Heavy hands pulled roughly at Spike's clothes, nudging, pawing, ripping until marble skin peeked through. He breathed the younger man in, tobacco, leather, dirt, sex all flooding his senses and dragging him back for more.

But Spike pushed him off, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Feasting."

Spike's eyes crawled over him, analysing, like people would an art instalment—something to be studied—"and here I was thinking you were jealous of me. Turns out it was Buffy. Interesting."

Angel bristled fiercely, but fought it with a lazy smirk, "you were mine long before you were hers."

"Things change."

"People don't."

Spike chuckled, "good thing we're not people then." But he rolled back, away from the brunette, to look at the stars. They both lay, sprawled haphazardly on the grass, Spike in decidedly less clothing. His duster was hung over a headstone, shirt shredded to nothing, trousers tented with a straining button. "Oh, fuck it."

He pounced on Angel, knocking out unnecessary breaths and swallowing confused mutterings. His mouth ravishing Angel's as his hands rendered him shirtless, buttons popping off and flying into the grass, flimsy fabric ripping easily beneath attentive fingers. Spike grinned appreciatively at Angel's bare skin. He pulled away from Angel's lips to taste it, Angel's muscles tightening under his tongue's duress. "Been a while, eh?"

Brown eye's pulled shut. "Forever."

Spike's tongue flicked at Angel's belly button, making the brunette writhe, "d'ya think this is the end? That I'm gonna die?"

Angel sat up, bringing Spike's ministrations to a halt. "Is that what this is, one last roll in the hay?"

Spike didn't have an answer. He wasn't thinking about reasons, just living. Feeling. Being other than dead.

Angel smiled, "better make it count then." He pulled Spike back down onto him, nipping playfully at the blonde's jutting bottom lip. Suddenly his head was spinning, swimming, the dizzying sweetness of Spike's blood and Spike's mouth killing him fast. He didn't notice his jeans were swinging around his ankles until a cold hand snaked around his very hard, very naked shaft. "Look at you, taking charge."

Spike squeezed Angel's cock and grinned, "wait 'till we get to the good part."

Angel hadn't let go like this in so long, and after all the crap of the last year, all the horror, damn if this wasn't nice. To be wanted, needed and used in the best of ways. "Just fuck me."

"What exactly do you think we're doing," the hand pumping Angel's cock moved to massage his balls as Spike spat in the other, "having tea and bloody crumpets?" He moved the spit-slick hand to Angel's ass, kneading the muscle and opening the bigger man up for him.

"I can think of a few thing's I'd like to eat… But I think I'll save that for dessert."

"If you don't shut up, I will gag you." Spike pushed three fingers deep inside Angel, hitting his prostate and making his writhe against his hand.

Angel swallowed. His legs fell open.

Their mouths met again, and Spike pushed himself inside, rocking against his Grandsire, whilst his hand began to stroke Angel's cock at a torturously slow pace.

Angel slid sensuously against Spike, wrapping his legs around the blonde's slim hips, making him drive deeper inside. They moaned into each other's mouths, devouring cries with sloppy kisses. Hands ghosted along both bodies, flicking nipples, pinching asses, rubbing furiously over exposed skin.

Angel's head fell into Spike's shoulder, pulling the younger man down, urging him to thrust harder, deeper, begging for more. He was so close, falling to pieces in Spike's hands, drowning in cataclysmic pleasure. He could feel the nails embedded in his back, marking and tearing the flesh, the brief, fragrant allure of blood the final blow.

He sank his fangs into Spike's throat, pulling the lithe body against his as the coppery ambrosia trickled down his throat. The sensation, too much, too overwhelming, too electric.

Their thin, fraying grip on control snapped.

They fell over the edge in tandem, Spike flooding Angel with his spendings, Angel coming vehemently into Spike's hand, the two of them collapsing onto the grass.

They couldn't talk, could barely breathe—luckily they didn't need to—but they rolled onto the dirt with smiles planted firmly on their faces. Long, white moments of bliss clouded their sight whilst they recovered, neither quite sure how they'd come to be here—or where things would go thereafter.

"She was right, y'know." Spike faced his Grandsire, looking suitably dishevelled in the moonlight, "we've got a war to fight. And you should head off and prepare the second wave."

"And you'll wear the amulet?" Spike nodded, "what if you die?"

He ran a hand through ravaged blonde curls and shrugged, "I've had a good run. Loved, lost, lived, died, killed, saved. Hell, I've even had a couple of good shags in my time" his smirk made an appearance, settling back on his lips as though it never left, "if I die, I die."

"That was very noble. And mature. And brooding. What the hell happened to you?" The brunette laughed.

"I bloody knew this soul thing was a bad idea. Next thing you know I'll be gelling my hair into stupid points."

Angel's nose scrunched at Spike's ignorance, "you couldn't pull this off."

"Neither can you." Spike turned so his head rested on Angel's chest, too exhausted to sit up. "But promise me this" his fingers began to trace patterns on Angels chest and stomach, tickling the muscles beneath, "if I do kick the bucket, don't let her go back to Captain sodding Cardboard."

"The commando? I swear it on both our graves." Angel stared up into the stars, watching them burn and fade, "but Spike, do you really think you're gonna die?"

Spike shrugged again.

"Well, d'ya wanna go one last time, just in case?" He lifted the blonde's face to his, giving him full view of his pout as he bucked his hips against the younger man.

"Honey, I thought you'd never ask."