You are viewing btvsats_love

nondenomifan (formerly angelswilliam) [userpic]
Teens and up Spangel: Angel Song 1/2 (Next part Adults Only)
by nondenomifan (formerly angelswilliam) (nondenomifan)
at May 30th, 2014 (11:12 pm)
giggly
Tags:

current location: my recliner
current mood: giggly
current song: Robin Hood: Men in Tights

Fandom: Angel the Series
Ship: Spike/Angel, Buffy (in absentia)/Spike
Rating: Teens and up
Genre: Slash
Word Count: 3315
Warnings: None.
Summary: Post "You're Welcome," Angel, Season 5 (100th Episode). Spike reacts to being played the only way he knows: annoying Angel...but he soon finds out that now that the cat's out of the bag, he no longer has a place to stay. Everyone but Angel thinks he should be under Angel's watchful eye. Spike is hurt by Angel's refusal. Angel finally reluctantly agrees, with some rather restrictive conditions. Everyone leaves his office, and he tells Spike to go make himself busy somewhere else while he finishes his business....
Disclaimer: Not mine. The people who created, wrote, produced, and distributed the original characters and/or plots own everything this writing is based on. This is just me having fun. Besides, I'm broke and you won't get nuttin' from me if you sue.
Feedback: Please, and thanks so much! This was my first slash (or, preAuthor: nondenomifan
Title: Angel Songlude to slash) piece (as dfasgiles). It's also my first "song fic," if you could really call it that, because the lyrics weren't really an integral part of the story; they're merely a force of change. Constructive criticism, even if negative (could use a little more description of scenery and movement around the dialogue), is more than welcome. Destructive criticism ("that was crap," "your writing is immature") will get you drop kicked out the door. In other words, if you have something negative to say, give me solid ways I can improve my writing. Otherwise, keep your negativity to yourself. There is such a thing as constructive praise, as well; but I will accept good old-fashioned praise. Yeah, I'm double-standard like that.
Author's note: The song lyrics included in this fic are from Ghost of the Robot's song "Angel." When I heard it, I immediately thought of Season 5-7 Spuffy, but especially Spike's feelings toward her and the life she had to lead during that time. Of course, James Marsters sings the song, so that didn't influence my thoughts at all. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not a bit.
Distribution: If I'm a member of your archive, community, forum, group, etc., you can have it. Anyone else, comment with an invite. Cross-posted to: a_fluffy_angel, allaboutspangel, btvs_ats_slash, btvsats_love, eroticjossverse, fluffy_spike, nekid_spike, rekindlespangel, slash_world, spangel_, spike_fics, and my friends-only fic/icon journal nondenomifan.

After the humiliation of discovering--in front of Angel, of all people--that he had been played, Spike had pretty much decided to avoid his Grandsire for a spell, retreating back to the little apartment "Doyle" had set up for him. At least he had gotten something worthwhile out of the deal.

As usual, he took the Viper from Angel's selection of fine automobiles, knowing that it was the poufter's favorite car. It made Spike feel better about his public embarrassment to annoy his Grandsire a bit--more.

He squealed out of the parking garage, leaving twin patches of rubber from the drive tires on the cement behind him. Score another grumble from the great porcupine, Spike thought smugly.

* * *


He pulled into the parking garage of his extremely humble abode about 45 minutes later, after he'd had his fill of driving Angel's favorite car all over L.A. like a maniac, narrowly escaping accidents as he went. It occurred to him, as he stepped out of the driver's side door, that the car was likely to be stolen in this part of L.A. He shrugged, flipping his leather duster over one arm and dangling the keys from his opposite hand as he strode toward the door to the building's apartments. He didn't even bother to punch the remote lock button on the keys.

He opened the stairwell door and took the drab, gray stairs down a flight to the basement. He opened the door there to the basement apartment corridor and made his way three doors down on the left.

"Home, sweet home," he murmured sarcastically. He went to unlock the door and found that his key didn't fit in the lock. "What the--BLOODY HELL!" He tried turning it upside-down, tried wiggling it around both ways, but to no avail. The thing wouldn't go in the lock. "What the Hell is going on?" he demanded.

That's when he saw the piece of red paper barely sticking out from under the door. "What's this?" He picked up the rocket-red paper and read: "Eviction notice. Rent more than 30 days overdue. Please contact the office to remove your belongings within 30 days, or they will be donated to a charitable organization." The hand holding the paper fell to his side.

"We'll see about that! My man told me he was paying the rent on this place, so--" Spike's face fell. "He also told me his name was Doyle and that he worked for the Powers That Be. I am such a bloody fool."

He crushed the piece of paper in his hand and threw it at the door before turning and running back out to the car. He hoped it was still there, knowing that Angel would be much nicer to him if he brought his baby back to him in one piece.

***


When Spike returned the car to the Wolfram & Hart parking garage, the attendant looked him up and down. "Boss is waiting for you," he warned.

"Is there anything in this place he doesn't know about?" Spike complained.

"Not much," the attendant replied before opening the electronic gate to allow the car entry.

"Bollocks." Spike pulled forward and parked the Viper in the only open spot marked, "Reserved: CEO of Wolfram & Hart."

Spike had just opened the door of the car when he looked up to see Angel standing there, arms folded across his chest.

"Have fun on your joy ride?" he asked, his frown lines almost as deep as his Vampire wrinklies.

Not one to be intimidated, Spike replied, "Yes, thank you," and tossed him the keys. "Might want to get a new set of tires, though."

Angel caught the keys with a snap of his hand and followed Spike as he walked toward the door leading to the elevators. "What did you do to the tires?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Angel grabbed his Grandchilde and spun him around. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I would. Now, are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

That got a laugh out of Spike. "Like you beat me into submission for the cup of perpetual torment?" The look on Angel's face inspired him to push further. "Ah, I can see I've hit a sore spot. Kinda stings that your 'foolish boy' got the best of you in a fight, does it? Poor old Gramps is losing his touch!"

"You think you're really funny, don't you?" Angel asked, putting his face in Spike's. "I'm not laughing."

"Never did have a sense of humor."

"Sorta like your sense of honor?"

"Hey!"

Angel grabbed Spike by the crook of the elbow and dragged him toward the elevators. "We're going to go have a talk with Wes. Right now."

"About what?" Spike's eyes narrowed.

"You'll find out when we get up there."

Well, that's it, then, Spike thought to himself. Angel's going to have his Spell Research Department perform some boogedy-boogedy on me, and then I'm done for.

* * *


"He's out of control, Wes," Angel said, indicating Spike, who was busying himself looking at random trinkets in Wesley's office.

"Seems rather tame to me," Wes said with a shrug.

Spike whirled to face him. "You take that back!"

"Shut up, Spike," Angel said without even looking at him.

"You see?" Spike demanded of Wes. "You see the way he treats me? It's bloody rude, is what it is! I only came here because I've got no place else to go--"

"Try your apartment," Angel snapped.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, you ponce," Spike grit out. "Key doesn't fit the lock anymore. 'Doyle' stopped paying the rent."

Angel clucked his tongue once. "What a shame."

"Bloody right it is!" Spike began. "What exactly am I supposed to--" He noticed Angel's amused expression and narrowed his eyes. "You don't give a leprechaun's arse, do you?"

Angel shrugged. "Not really."

Wesley stepped up to them, then turned to Angel. "I think I have a solution that will be beneficial to all concerned."

"This I'd like to hear," Angel said, not taking his eyes off Spike's.

"As you two are of relatively equal strength--"

"No, I'm stronger," Spike corrected him, folding his arms across his puffed chest. "Proved that in the opera house."

"As I was saying," Wesley tried again, "you're relatively equal in strength--" he turned back to Angel-- "so he should probably stay with you, so you can keep an eye on him--make sure he's truly on our side."

Spike sputtered, and Angel shook his head vehemently. "No way."

"Temporarily, of course," Wes amended hastily.

"Not even for one night--not even for one second!" Angel said. "It was bad enough when he was a--whatever he was--and peeked in on me whenever he chose! But, to have his corporeal form there with me? No way.""Don't worry, Peaches," Spike finally managed after hearing Angel's tirade. "Wouldn't work, anyway. You're far too tight in the arse about everything being in its exact place. I couldn't stand it."

Angel nodded. "There it is," he told Wes. "Wouldn't work."

Wes rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Angel! What other choice do we have?"

Angel's eyes lit up suddenly. "He could sing for Lorne! God, why didn't I think of that sooner?"

Lorne, Fred, and Gunn entered his office, Lorne shaking his head.

"Sorry, Angel Face, but, no can do," he told him. "After you hired that siren to join the steno pool, I haven't been able to read anyone for two weeks." He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. "Still recovering from that one."

Angel's face fell. "Have you tried lately?" he asked desperately. "Maybe you can read people, now, and you just don't know it."

"Sorry, Boss." Lorne shook his head again. "Been trying every day, having Harmony sing for me."

"There's the ultimate sacrifice."

"Shut up, Spike," Angel snapped.

"Now, that was uncalled for!" Spike objected, eyes wide. He turned to the ensemble behind him. "You think he treats me fairly? Doesn't even give me a chance to speak my mind!"

"Like you were really saying something important," Angel murmured.

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you had more to say?" He got a not-so-friendly glint in his eye. "Please, do continue." He finished with an invitational sweep of his right hand.

"Well, um, no." Spike faltered. "I didn't have any more to say."

Angel grinned smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "See? He's an idiot. What possible help could he be to us?"

"And you're a bloody ponce of a poufter who uses nancy-boy hair gel!" Spike shot back, getting back in Angel's face.

Wes shoved at their shoulders until Spike stumbled back from Angel. "Listen to yourselves! You're both at least three times older than anyone else in this room, yet you're both behaving like school children! Act your age, for God's sake!"

Angel and Spike continued to glower at each other, chests heaving and nostrils flaring with the effort of angry breaths that neither really needed.

Wes gave a curt nod. "Good. Now, Angel, if you have a better idea--"

"Put him out on the street," Angel said, his eyes never leaving Spike's.

"I am not amused," Wes said. "Angel, be reasonable. Spike has been instrumental in some of the good we've done since he recorporealized. He even helped some before he was corporeal. You can't deny that."

Angel glanced at Wes. "And, that means I should open my penthouse to him because...?"

Spike rolled his eyes, walking a circle of the room with his arms out at his sides in exasperation. "You act like I'm going to be interfering with your nonexistent love life. You and your hand need some privacy?"

Angel advanced on him. "That's it."

Wes stepped in front of him. "It's only temporary, Angel."

"Right," Angel agreed, "because I'm about to kill him."

Lorne approached, then. "Uh, Angelfood? I'm sure I'll be able to read him within the week. I mean, think about it, sweetie. You're not going to be in that penthouse with him 24 hours a day. You don't even spend more than about 6 hours up there when you're alone. He's a Vampire, too, right? He probably doesn't sleep anymore than you do. And, you'll both be unconscious, so, no harm, no foul, right?"

Angel sighed, his eyes glancing at the gathered "fang gang" and its apparently newest member. He then turned toward Spike and stuck a finger in his face. "You're only in the penthouse when I am. You shut up when I turn the lights out. You get out of bed when I do, and you stay out of my way. Got it?"

"Gee, I feel so welcome."

Angel glared. "Got it?"

Spike sighed. "Fine."

Wes put a hand on Angel's shoulder. "May I take that as a yes?"

"Fine," Angel echoed Spike's earlier lack of enthusiasm.

* * *


After everyone had said goodnight and left Angel's office to let him sort out the details with Spike, Angel moved to sit at his desk, completely ignoring Spike.

"I suppose I should say thank you," Spike said, unable to stand the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

Angel smacked his pen down on a short stack of papers he'd been signing and looked up at Spike. "I've got a lot of work to finish before we go upstairs," he told him. "Can you make yourself busy--somewhere else?"

Spike frowned, then headed toward the door. "Suit yourself," he tossed over his shoulder. "When you're ready for beddie-bye, follow your nose, and you'll know where to find me."

Angel rolled his eyes, then looked back down at his paperwork, hoping that if he ignored Spike he'd go away. He did.

* * *


Spike roamed the halls of Wolfram and Hart, deciding he wasn't going to make it easy for Angel to find him. He'd put his scent all over every inch of these halls of plasticwood and magic glass until his Grandsire went crazy trying to pick up the right trail.

Eventually, he ended up in the staff lounge--or exclusive watering hole, as the case may be--just below the lobby on the other side of the parking garage. The place was deserted and dark, save for the neon lights under the shelf that held the more expensive booze in front of the mirror of the bar. Not even the bartender was there. Well, he supposed that figured, as there was no staff to tend to at this hour and Angel's office had its own wet bar.

Reaching over the bar, he snatched the bottle of JD. Popping the quaint pouring funnel off the bottleneck, he tipped the bottle to his mouth and drank long and deep. Sometimes, it was good that he didn't have to breathe--really good.

At the bottom of the bottle, he had a nice, comfy buzz going--nothing more (Damned Vampire constitution)--which was really all he needed. It was just enough to make reality seem a little less objectionable.

He let his gaze wander the room until it settled on a baby grand piano that was tucked tidily away in a corner, surrounded by more hooded neon lights over plate-glass mirrors. Cocking an eyebrow, he ambled over to the shiny black instrument. He fingered the surface of its music shelf pensively for a moment, then shrugged and, maneuvering to position himself between the pillow-topped leather bench and the keys, he tugged on his jeans and sat down.

"Been a while," he murmured. "Let's see if I can make anything decent come out of this thing."

He cracked his fingers in stereotypical piano-player style, then feathered them onto the keys in classic C Major position. He had had lessons as a boy and continued into young adulthood, so he could pretty much transpose any work into the key with the least amount of ebonies involved.

Tipping his head to one side, he ran through the pieces he knew in his head for a moment, then began to play Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." It fit his mood: contemplative, somewhat heartbroken, somewhat troubled.

* * *


Angel had just started getting a good rhythm going in his work when he heard the music start. Was that...Beethoven??? Who in the heck would be...? Spike.

Angel shook his head, unable to stop a smile. As much as he'd hated Spike through the years, he'd always held admiration for the boy's musical talent and the passion that went along with it. It was part of why Angelus hadn't killed him. Angelus liked the classics, and William had been well versed in them. My passionate William.

Angel shook his head again, harder this time. Where the hell did that come from? Angelus used to think that way about William in a mocking sort of way, though Angel knew there was an underlying adoration that Angelus had refused to face because it was too close to human emotion. But, the feeling that rose up in Angel's breast as those words entered his thoughts--"My passionate William"--that feeling was intense and could only be described as affection and, most disturbing, something more.

Angel stopped his thoughts and turned his attention to the music seeping through the structure that was Wolfram & Hart. The soundproofing was turned off in his office for now, and he was glad. He would've missed this, otherwise. It was a treat to be savored.

Making a decision, Angel closed the folder for the case he'd been working on and put it in his right-hand top drawer. He plunked his pen back into its holder, then leaned on the desk with his chin resting on his folded hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Spike was everywhere.

So, my boy doesn't want to be found, eh? Angel shook his head. He forgets who he's dealing with.

* * *


Angel took the main elevator to each floor and waited for the doors to open. He then held the "Door Open" button as he stepped around the door frame of the elevator and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. After he had covered every floor, he made his decision on which floor held the most recent trail of ode de Guillaume: the parking level.

He followed Spike's scent from the parking level elevator through the garage to the mini-mall lobby. All the stores were dark, as was the lounge. Piano music drifted to him once again, though, as did something else: William's soft singing voice.

Unable to hear the exact words of the lyrics and intrigued in spite himself, Angel crept up to his side of the lounge's door frame and leaned against the wall. He heard the following words:


She comes home to me after a hard night's work
Falls in my arms and sleeps like a bird
Startled, she wakes up, like she don't know me
Cocks back her fist like she's going to slug me
Like, who are you anyway
And, what are you doing with me?

She's an angel
But she can't see it
She's got wings,
But she can't feel 'em
She's an angel
But she can't see it
But she's flying above me every day
Every day of my life

Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them
She carries the chains of a million decisions
That weren't even hers to begin with anyway
But she carries them all
All the people around her
Never even notice that she's very, very tired

She's an angel
But she can't see it
She's got wings
But she can't feel 'em
She's an angel
But she can't see it
But she's rising above me every day
Every day of my life


Angel's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly, as he realized who the song was about. Buffy. Spike had said he loved her, but Angel hadn't believed him. But to listen to the lyrics of that song--undoubtedly written by his passionate, poetic William--he'd have to be a fool not to acknowledge that Spike did, indeed, love Buffy. He loved her because he understood her. And, to understand Buffy was to be in awe of everything she was and everything she'd become through it all. If anyone knew that, it was Angel.

Deciding he'd been being horribly unfair to Spike, he swallowed his pride--and his tension--and rounded the lounge's doorframe to step inside the dimly lit room. "That was nice."

Spike's head snapped up, his widened eyes focusing on Angel. "What the bloody Hell are you doing here?"

Angel shrugged as he walked across the room toward the baby grand. "You told me to follow my nose when I was ready to turn in. That's what I did--no thanks to you."

"Yeah, well." Spike's gaze traveled down to the ivories as he caressed their surface with his right hand. "You pissed me off."

"So I gathered." Angel now stood directly in front of the piano. "I've been being a jerk. I'm not going to apologize or explain myself. I can only tell you that it's going to stop. Okay?"

Spike's eyes slowly came up to meet his, narrowing. "Right. Just like that."

"Just like that." Angel turned to head toward the main elevator. "You coming?"

"Where?" Spike still eyed him warily.

"To the penthouse...unless you want to sleep that whiskey off on the piano bench."

"I'm coming, you big pouf."

Angel smiled to himself as he heard Spike jogging to catch up to him. They then made their way up to the penthouse and settled in for the night.

To be continued in "Past Errs"