Title: Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now

Author: Hellblazer

Pairing: S/A

Rating and Warning: NC-17,Mature adults only. The following contains m/m sex, violence, coarse language, drug use, nudity and adult themes.

Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are the properties of Warner Bros. and Fox. No rights infringement is intended.

Credits:Thanks to JJ and Irene for the beta-ing.

Abstract: Spike/Angel and Doyle angst from the side lines. Set after Spike's been gelded, but before Doyle dies, for obvious reasons. Not strictly set within the series, obviously. Dramatic licenses taken. Spike, distressed at the sudden turn his life has taken, visits the one person who might understand his predicament. Whether that person will give a damn or not is another matter.

Darkness. He climbed up from the tunnels into the dark and solitary sanctuary that was the bat cave. At least, that's what Cordelia called it. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he missed the pop culture references. But he got that one.

Angel paused. Something in the darkness. Vampire. One of his. Spike, walking into the pale yellow pool of light cast by the table lamp Angel flicked on.

"What do you want?" Angel sighed, world weary.

"Unfinished business."

Spike slammed across the floor in the blink of an eye, grappling with Angel, fierce faced and fanged, throwing Angel up against the wall, pinning him there.

"The Gem of Amara - I want it."

"You’re too late, Spike."

Spike slammed him back up against the wall.

"Give me the fucking gem."

"I don't have it! I destroyed it."

Spike stopped throttling Angel and just held him pressed against the wall like a struggling cockroach.

"What?" He couldn't believe it. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Angel answered honestly.

Spike's face slipped back, he let Angel go, and slumped down, suddenly looking very young and troubled.

"Why do you want the gem so bad?"

Spike shrugged. "I thought it might cure what they did to me. I've tried every thing else, save sticking a bloody knife in my head."

"Need any help?"

Spike shot him a look.

Angel frowned. All the fight had gone out of Spike; it wasn't natural. "Back up a bit. Who did what to you?"

"Some fucked up government outfit. Put a chip in my head. I can't hunt. I can't kill. Something in here stops me." He whacked his forehead, a hard punishing blow.

"Fuck it," he muttered. "Right." He stood, coming to a decision.

"Where are you going?"

A shrug. "Sunbathing. This lift take me up to the roof?"

"Spike, don't."

Spike turned on him, coldly angry. "What do you care?"

"I care," Angel murmured.

Spike looked at him. "Yeah. Right." He pushed the button for the lift.

Angel pulled him back from the opening doorway. He turned Spike around and Spike recognised that look in those bloody so dark you could drown in them eyes.

"You weren't thinking of trying anything, were you? What about your soul, mate? I'd heard you'd grown rather attached to it," he reminded, softly sarcastic.

The corner of Angel's mouth quirked up. "I care about you, but I don't care about you that much."

"Well, that's all right then. I hate you too, you sodding, smarmy, stuck up bastard…" Spike insulted back as Angel kissed him.

"I hate you."

"I hate you too." Spike's palm pressed and rubbed over Angel's crotch.

"You want to die that badly," Angel warned.

"Yes," Spike answered, kissing him.

Suddenly they were clawing at each other's clothes, Angel dragging Spike into the bedroom, throwing him onto the bed, pouncing on him.

Spike crawled over Angel's naked flesh. "Miss me?" he teased.

"No."

"Not even a little bit?"

Angel smiled. "No."

"Liar." Spike's face was almost touching Angel's. "Fucking liar." He went down on Angel's tongue.

They rolled together across the bed.

Spike lay arching up from the pillows. Angel slowly licked and kissed his way down Spike's back, slithering down to settle between his thighs. He smiled, dipped down and…Spike twitched.

"I didn't think you remembered…"

"I remember," Angel smiled softly, dipping again. Spike closed his eyes, hugging the pillow. Damn Angel. He did remember. Spike undulated along the sheets, muscles flinching and clenching in response to Angel's touches, making Angel laugh softly in satisfaction. He could still play Spike like a finely tuned instrument if he chose. Damn, Spike looked so good like this. Good enough to eat.

Spike felt the nip of teeth, and sank into the mattress with a smile on his face.

Angel flipped Spike over and pressed him down into the mattress. Just like old times.

Spike arched his throat to his sire. Such submissiveness shocked Angel, and turned him on. Really turned him on.

Angel fed off his mouth greedily, going down on his tongue. Spike , ever the little whore, let Angel do anything he wanted. It was a terrible turn on, and Angel had decades of repression clawing at the gates. Spike only dug his nails in when Angel threw him open and entered him, rutting like a wild beast. Spike gazed up into the yellow eyed animal lust with such a look of quiet acceptance and resignation he reminded Angel very much if Dru, just before he took her. He came with a low growl, his teeth deep inside Spike.

He tore himself away, making himself stop before he drained Spike completely, leaving his offspring pliant, passive, light headed and quiet.

"I could have…" Angel threatened softly as they nuzzled, Spike tasting his own blood on Angel's lips.

"Sometimes I don't care," Spike replied equally softly, making Angel stop. He'd rarely seen Spike look so vulnerable, or brought so low. There'd always been a hint of brittleness about Spike, a sense of sometimes being overwhelmed or out of his depth. It was a fragility Angel always found attractive - had always found attractive in his victims.

Spike left Angel's lips to roll back onto the pillow, reach for his cigarettes, lighting up and taking a long drag. The cigarette lighter flared in the darkness.

"So that's safe sex, is it?. One completely meaningless fuck and look, Ma, no Angelus."

"You're disappointed?"

"Fuck no. Angelus would kill me. This way we've both been nobbled. Besides, there was the whole ruining your plans to send the world to hell thing. I'm not up for payback on that yet."

"Spikey saves the world."

"Shut the fuck up." He jabbed his cigarette at Angel.

"Ow."

Spike rolled onto Angel, grinning. He took an especially long drag on his fag, making the tip glow a bright burning red, before grinding the searing cigarette into Angel's left nipple, making Angel writhe underneath his long, lean body.

Dark eyes measured him. "I thought you couldn't hurt people any more."

"Living people," Spike qualified, smirking as he took another drag.

Angel arched under the burning touch. Just like old times.

Spike hitched up his leather jeans as he wandered into Angel's kitchen, bare feet silent on the floor. He had his head in the fridge as the lift clattered open.

The blond head popped up, completely benign. "Hello. Doyle, isn't it?" He greeted offhandedly. "I'm surrounded by bloody Micks," he complained sotto voce to the cupboard.

Doyle looked askance. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Getting breakfast." Spike snagged a bag of blood from the fridge, and, after a moment's thought, grabbed a beer as well. He patted his back pockets, feeling in vain for his cigarettes, the third essential part of a healthy breakfast.

"Where's Angel?" demanded Doyle, not liking this one bit.

"He's here." Angel appeared from the bedroom, frowsy and barely awake and sleep tousled. He tossed the half empty pack of Silk Cuts to Spike who caught them with one hand without even looking.

"Cheers." He put the blood and beer down on the counter and lit up, catching Doyle's expression, just for a moment.

Doyle deliberately broke eye contact, appealing to his boss and his friend. "Angel, what the hell is he doing here?" He glared at Spike. "The last time we saw you, you were sticking railway spikes into Angel."

Spike shrugged, casting a very warm glance towards Angel. "With us that practically counts as foreplay, doesn't it, mate?" he nodded at Angel. "I only hired that moron so I could keep my mind on the job, and not get so distracted…" His voice dropped to a breathy whisper.

"You didn't!" Angel blurted out.

Spike's eyes were burning into his. "J Arthur? Too bloody right I did. Seeing you hanging there in those chains…" he reached for his Silk Cuts. "Been too bloody long, it has."

Angel smiled a predatory smile and Doyle felt the temperature of the room rise yet another ten degrees. The paint would start bubbling on the walls at any second. He didn't know about vamps but he reckoned he could feel the sweat trickling down his back.

Spike grinned. "Yeah, well, I owed him one." He grew serious. "Sorry, mate, but Angel and I go way back. He made me the man I am , the vampire I am." He gestured, then deflated. "Was."

"Spike…" Angel brooded in sympathy.

Spike brushed off his concerned look. "Two tame vampires. What a laugh."

"Tame?" Doyle glanced warily at the blonde vampire.

"Some government organisation put a chip in Spike's head." Angel furrowed his beautiful brow. "He can't bite people."

"Oh," said Doyle, not seeing where the problem was, exactly.

"Vampires are not meant to be fucking vegans. It's against all the laws of natured. They've fucked me up, but good. Clockwork bloody fucking orange. It's bloody barbaric."

"What, the before or after picture." Blue eyes sparkled.

Spike growled. "Watch it, bloody bog trotter - ow, fuck." He winced and drew back.

"Hey, it works." Doyle was impressed. Angel caught his eye and shook his head. Don't. You just didn't tease Spike. Not unless you could take it.

Angel moved into the light, and Doyle saw the fading cigarette burns down his chest. Christ on a cross, he'd never understand these vampires and their twisted little games. He glanced at Spike, breaking the blood bag with his teeth and pouring the blood into a coffee cup. He wandered over to the couch with the cup, the beer in his other hand and the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Angel got a not on my good table expression on his face and swooped over to slap down coasters and ash tray before Spike could do any serious damage.

"Thanks, Dad," Spike beamed, still shedding ash down his chest as he laughed. Angel was always such a house frau.

Angel shot him yet another wilting look.

"You made him?" Doyle accused in disbelief.

"Yeah," Angel admitted with a weary sigh. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"I know," grinned Spike, his voice low and seductive, making them both shiver.

Doyle stared at Angel, shocked. Not only that he and Spike…but that they still… "I thought you couldn't…you know, that curse thing?"

Angel shrugged. "Not with anyone I really care about. That leaves Spike out of the equation."

Another cheeky schoolboy grin from the couch, belying Angel's words.

"Angel, what is he doing here? How long is he staying here?"

"He needs my help." It was as simple as that -- and as complicated.

Doyle glared at Spike again, making a mental note never to use that cup of Angel's ever again.

"Why don't you just cut it out?" demanded Doyle.

Angel and Spike exchanged looks.

"It might not be safe," Angel explained. "There may be failsafes."

"I'm not going out that way," Spike insisted. It lacks dignity." Walking into the dawn was at least poetic. Angel understood it. Doyle could see it.

Spike automatically rested his head on Angel's broad, tanned shoulder. Angel slipped his arm around Spike, probably without even being aware of the action.

Doyle looked at the two of them, standing there like that, poster boys for the undead lifestyle. American gothic on bad drugs he decided. Or something.

"I can see you two want to be alone." Doyle sneered. "I'll just go up and open up the shop then?" He muttered to himself as he slouched off, unnoticed and, hands deep in his pockets, slouched off, completely and utterly miserable, and heartbroken, if he wanted to be honest with himself, which he didn't.

"Doyle," Angel called, but the door to the lift had already closed.

History nothing, Doyle sneered to himself. This constant wash of antagonism and affection screamed family. A sick, twisted little sex, death, loathing, need, hate, company, loyalty, jealousy type dynamic, but the blood tie was obvious between the vampires, a connection that went deeper than their recent disputes, deeper than skin. Gem nothing. Miracle cure bollocks. Spike had sought out his sire and master, the closet thing to a soulmate he had left. It was weird and it was sick and yet strangely touching and that disturbed and upset Doyle all the more.

Angel, the big bloody brooding knight errant, never could resist a damsel in distress, and who should come crying for help but his old drink buddy. Fucking brilliant. Doyle had no chance of competing against that. No chance.

"Where's Angel?"

Doyle jerked his head back towards the lift shaft. "Spike's back in town."

"Spike?" Cordelia had the decency to frown. "Won't he kill Angel?"

"No. This time it looks like a social visit, not business."

Cordy shrugged. Vampires. Whatever.

Doyle cast yet another sad, longing glance towards the lift.

Down below Angel took Spike's feet off his table, took his cigarette from his mouth and ground it into the ash tray, then straddled him.

"Aren't you the least bit worried about your soul, Ducks?" Spike had to ask, really not wanting to suddenly find himself facing his true sire.

"So make it bad," Angel purred, his face a mere centimetre from Spike's.

Spike considered this. "Well, that's alright for my performance anxiety. What about you?"

"I don't think casual sex counts. Not if I'm not emotionally invested. It's just like eating then, isn't it."

"It's your soul, sunshine. You want to shag, fine. If not-"

Angel shut him up with a hard kiss. "I hate you."

"Good enough," Spike agreed, and let Angel's mouth claim his in a violent kiss that pushed him back, deep into the lounge's leather padding.

"Angel, love," Spike murmured between very involved kisses. "You wouldn't think of doing this without the knives, would you?"

Angel stopped necking instantly, then smiled wolfishly. "Of course not." He stood, and was back with a fistful of kitchen implements in the blink of an eye.

"How do you want it?" he asked, hovering above his willing victim.

"Surprise me," Spike decided.

Doyle peeked through the crack in the door, holding his breath. What he saw held him in a horrible fascination. Angel, naked and gorgeous, thrown back over the lounge. Spike lying over his lower limbs, Angel's fist tight in his blond hair. At first Doyle thought Spike was blowing Angel, but then he saw the blood, trailing away from a deep gash in Angel's thigh. Spike's lips were red as he drank, his cheek brushing Angel's erection. One hand gripped Angel's waist in a vice like hold, keeping him still, while the other roamed freely, playing above and between Angel's legs, making Angel moan.

Doyle stomped upstairs, stalked past Cordelia and started pulling heavy chains, stakes, holy water and crucifixes from the cupboard stash he kept for emergencies.

"Doyle? What's with all the Buffy accessories?"

He turned pained and world weary blue eyes on Cordelia. "Just taking precautions. I don't think Angel and Spike are practicing safe sex."

"Do vampires need condoms?"

Doyle rolled his eyes. "I think Angel is enjoying himself too much. Which from our point of view is not a good thing. A short nasty shag, just maybe, but those two…"

" You watched? Ew - what sort of a pervert are you?"

"One who wants to stay alive," muttered Doyle thickly, fear colouring his accent.

"Gross, Doyle. You know , you really ought to get over your Angel obsession."

"Will you just bloody well shut up. This is serious now. If Angel turns…"

"He won't. He can't."

"I wish I had your faith."

Doyle slumped down at the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer and snatched up the bottle of scotch. He poured himself a quadruple. Angel. He rested his head on his hands. Angel. He knew he'd never get that image out of his head. Ever. Even when, especially when he wanked. Christ, a half caste demon in love with a cursed vampire, a vampire who saw him as just another piece of furniture. Could you get any more pathetic?

Angel stared unseeing at the ceiling as he came again into Spike's liquid cool mouth. Oh god. Oh man. Oh yeah. He frowned. He could feel Doyle's misery through the floor. He focused on it, pulling himself back from the brink of really enjoying himself. He remembered the things he'd done, the things he'd done to Spike, with Spike, and let the pain of remorse wash over any pleasure Spike might be giving him now. He sat up and gently pushed Spike back.

"Had enough?"

"No, but - better not push it. I was starting to…to really enjoy it," he admitted.

"Can't have that, can we." Spike was sarcastic, yet gentle. "We're a right pair," he ruminated.

"I know."

Their eyes met and they shared an understanding. The need for this understanding had brought them together.

"Why did you come here, Spike?"

"You know why," he answered quietly. "She won't do it. Says I'm not worth it. So now it has to be you."

Spike snapped the bowl off the wooden spoon. He pointed the sharp ends towards his chest, positioning it over his heart. Angel took hold of it. He leant in and Kissed Spike, long and slow.

"Do it," Spike insisted quietly.

"I can't," Angel admitted.

Spike's hand tightened on the improvised stake. Angel stayed his hand.

"Don't. We’ll find another way."

Spike met his eyes. "Or I learn to live with it?"

Angel touched his forehead gently to Spike's. "Yes."

"Like you."

"Maybe."

Spike glanced at his clothes, strewn across the floor.

"Don't go yet. I'd like to talk, just talk. That's partly why you came here, isn't it?"

"Actually, I wanted to kill myself. Or get drunk." He shrugged.

"I don't want to talk."

"We won't talk," Angel agreed.

Spike drew back. "I need to get drunk," he decided.

Angel smiled indulgently. "We can get drunk."

"Doyle, we're going out to get drunk, you want to come?

"Is that how you solve your problems," came the Irish sneer from the corner.

"Don't you?" Angel shot back.

Doyle glared at him. "Gee, it sounds like so much fun, but you vamps run along now, and I'll mind the store," he added pointedly.

Angel looked from Doyle to Spike. "Come on," he tilted his head towards the door and the blond followed.

Doyle slumped down in his chair, defeated.

"I don't get it. One minute they're trying to kill each other, the next…"

"They're family Cordelia."

"It's sick."

"They're vampires. They are, by definition, a perversion of nature, but deep down under all the kinky sex, I think they care. But deeper down, they still want to kill each other."

"Weird. How can you be attracted to someone who makes your skin crawl?"

Blue eyes looked up. "Xander Harris," was all he said.

Cordelia frowned. "Angel has a big mouth."

"Looked just right to me," Doyle murmured to himself, shuffling paperwork.

Spike nursed his seventeenth vodka glumly. "I'm not drunk. I don't feel drunk," he complained.

"Keep drinking."

Obediently Spike knocked it back and refilled his glass from the bottle in one movement.

"Where will you go now?"

Spike looked blank.

"Bloodydale, I guess," he answered finally. "I don't have much fucking choice in the matter, do I?" he answered after a while. He caught Angel's look, and sighed. "She's fine, last time I saw."

"It helps, to know you're there, watching over her."

Spike rolled his eyes to heaven.

They sat in silence some more.

"You seeing anyone?"

"No. You?"

"No."

They fell back into silence. It was going to be a long night.

Angel, Doyle thought, shuffling the papers without even seeing them. Angel. Angel and Spike. He shook his head. Maybe getting drunk wasn't such a bad idea.

Doyle was still there, hunched over the desk, when Angel came back just after dawn, reeking of pub. He'd heard two sets of clattering footsteps, two wasted vampires lacking in the stealth department, giggling and whispering to each other like a couple of frat boys sneaking in before curfew.

"Doyle, you still here? Been here all night?" Angel started to tease, then stopped, slapped good and hard with the guilt from just one glimpse of Doyle's haggard face.

"You haven't slept?"

"No, like you care. Somebody actually has to run the office you know. Like making sure we don't run out of coffee," he added pointedly as Angel made a beeline towards the filter drip. Angel was becoming addicted to the stuff.

"Good night?"

"Kind of uncomfortable, actually."

"Good."

Angel sighed and put his cup down. He squinted. He had a killer hangover, and it was only just beginning. He'd had sex with Spike, which he still didn't want to think about. He didn't need this, too.

"Spike's scared." Angel tried to explain. "I've never seen him scared before. This place, this lab they took him to, it has him really freaked."

"Freaked?"

"Disturbed."

"He's disturbed all right."

Angel ignored him. "He said they were dissecting and experimenting upon demons. Lined up in cages like lab rats. Demons like us." Angel added pointedly, dark eyes holding Doyle in his gaze.

Doyle shook himself free of the mesmerising gaze. Sure, Angel might not realise he was doing it, using the old vampire mambo, but he still did it, especially whenever he wanted to make a point.

"So it's a government funded witch hunt instead of the usual rabble with flaming torches. We've been there before. At least, you have."

"So has Spike. He's never seen anything like this before. Except maybe Germany."

Doyle glanced away, not liking the image. "Did he say what it was like?"

"Big. Expensive. Sophisticated. Like something out of a Bond film, built just for us, our kind, to catch and kill us."

"How'd yer man escape then?"

"

Spike? He's not as dumb as he looks. Rat cunning, when he needs it. They haven't built a cage yet that can hold him. He'd learnt to survive long before I met him."

"Didn't survive you though," teased Doyle, the regretted it. "Do you think they've got one of those holocaust camps in LA then?

Angel shrugged. "I don't know. But the idea makes me very uncomfortable."

"You're not the only one," Doyle agreed, with real feeling.

"Doyle," he tried to reach out to the young man, but Doyle got up and moved to the other side of the office.

"Stay away from me, "Doyle warned bitterly.

Angel thumped his cup down. "What crawled up your butt," he demanded, regretting the words the instant he said them.

"As if you don't know," Doyle muttered.

"Spike?"

"Good guess." The blue eyes dripped venom.

"He's family. He needs my help. I can't just throw him out onto the street."

"Some families do just that."

Angel managed an enormous sigh. "I know Spike doesn't fit the profile of our usual client, but, I've treated him badly in the past. He deserves…"

"He's a sick bastard who deserves everything he gets."

"Spike was the sane one," Angel reminded softly.

Doyle didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about it all. He glared at Angel. If that dumb lump of handsome couldn't figure out what it was all about…

"What's wrong?" Doyle muttered to himself. I'm in love with you, you great big undead fuck. I worship the fucking ground you walk on and you barely notice I'm breathin'. Out loud he said: "Nothin'. Spike's not a pet though. He'll bite you." He diverted his eyes from the enormous and violent hickey Angel was still sporting. "He'll tear your bloody head off. He'll kill you," he warned.

"Maybe," Angel acknowledged. "Probably."

"Leave him like he is. He's safer that way."

"I know."

"But…"

"It's cruel. I wouldn't wish what I go through on anyone, not even Spike."

"Life's a bitch."

"I know."

"He tortured you."

"I've done worse to him. Much worse."

Doyle just stared at him. Sometimes Angel was a whole another world, strange and frightening. "I don't understand you, man."

"Spike and I, for more years than I can remember, we were like Butch and Sundance."

"Angel, it's no way to live, shagging someone you can't stand just for a bit of release. I know, I've tried it, too many times to mention."

"Then don't."

Doyle looked at him blankly. He hadn't expected that. I just wish you'd come to me for a meaningless fuck, or even a meaningful one. But the words remained unsaid. Maybe Angel didn't care. Maybe he cared too much. All Doyle knew is that he wanted that English bastard gone. And gone now.

"Well that's all very well but your man there is a stone cold killer and he can't be trusted. He's bad news. Tell him to get the fuck out of our lives. He's not wanted here. I don't want him here."

Angel suddenly, finally got it. "Doyle? Are you jealous?"

Doyle stared at him like he'd been slapped. "Fuck you," he whispered, turning away. He shook Angel's hand from his shoulder. "Don't touch me. Don't even talk to me. You're playing with fire with your man there, and you just don't care."

"I care. I just need someone."

"Vampire, not demon. Your own kind."

"Yes, but -"

"Just leave me alone!" Doyle backed away before it got worse and he did something really stupid like cry or beg Angel to have sex with him.

"I can't, Doyle. You're too human, I care too much. It's too dangerous." But the words remained unspoken.

Doyle stalked away, kicking open the door, giving Angel a blast of sunlight. He hunched over and walked away, leaving Angel unable to follow him, as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Doyle!" Angel called out to him, but it was no use. He let him go.

He came downstairs, thinking only of what he could say to Doyle to make things right.

Spike was watching television, quite content in the cathode glow. He glanced up at Angel. "What was your little tiff about, then?"

Angel Looked blank.

Spike sighed. "You and the mick upstairs. Lots of shouting."

"Oh, that." Angel clearly didn't want to expand on the subject, but Spike was never one to leave a bone unworried.

"What was it about?" he asked again brightly, ever one for gossip.

"Doyle…he…he's…"

"Jealous, yes I know. Fancies you rotten? Knew that too." Spike grinned ever so smugly and kept helping himself to a large hair of the dog.

Angel looked utterly dumbfounded.

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't know. Still, you never were the brightest of sparks. Brooding looks will only get you so far…" He stopped. Angel was looking decidedly moody and Spike didn't fancy being thrown out onto the street. Not first thing in the morning, at least.

"So know you know, what are you going to do about it?' he asked quietly.

Angel brooded.

"Well, that always works." Spike carried his glass and bottle over to the couch, settled down and flicked the telly on, his pale skin reflecting the soothing glow.

"Everything alright?" There was sweet concern in that voice.

Damn. He still loved Spike, even after all these years. "Yeah," he lied.

Spike knew that everything wasn't okay, that sooner or later…

Angel flopped onto the couch beside him and leaned back, tired beyond measure. He glanced up at the screen. "You watch this?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Okay."

"It's either this or get caught reading Little Women, and that would ruin my tough guy image, " Spike rejoined with cheerful false bravado. "Such as it is," he added regretfully. Tired eyes turned to Angel.

"It gets easier, right, this sodding half life on butcher's leavings."

Angel's eyes told him the answer.

Spike turned back to the screen. "Fuck."

He felt Angel touch his hand, just for a moment. Just a brush of cool flesh, but he'd needed that.

"I still think I might go ahead and top myself," Spike announced absently, staring at the screen.

"

Later," Angel agreed impassively. "I'm in no mood to vacuum right now.

They both watched the screen blankly.

Spike turned to Angel and kissed him, rubbing his hand into his crotch. Kisses turned to necking. Teeth came out and they drank as they brought each other off.

Spike settled down with his head on Angel's lap, Angel stroking his hair softly, both watching the telly again.

Angel felt for Spike, felt something for Spike, felt something more than an ex should rightly feel. It wasn't just the long lean black clad figure draped across him, or the slightly hunted look his predicament had bestowed upon him, the look which went straight to the heart of Angel. It wasn't even the embodiment of lust and desire, Spike being the ultimate in sexual predators, after al. Maybe it was just that. Maybe he'd forgotten why he'd liked Spike in the first place. Clever, wicked, sexy Spike.

He tried to push the thoughts away, but Spike was still there, and Spike still needed him, and, damn him, Angel needed that too.

Then there was Doyle. He gazed up at the ceiling. Doyle. He'd make it up to him, somehow, he promised. Sometime. There was time, he reasoned, to work things out. He was wrong. Spike would leave and Doyle would die and Buffy would still burn a hole in his heart and that was that.