Title: To find ground
Fandom: AtS season 5
Timeline: sometime after end of Buffy season 7 and partly into Angel season 5
Status: finished - 356 words
Genre: slash Spike/Angel, hurt/comfort?
Notes: Originally posted 16th November, 2004 (first writings in this fandom for me)
Short summary: two companion pieces in Spike and Angel’s POV, rated mature for words and imagery
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Spike
The bruising hands tethered him to the ground, possessed him and told him of an existing now to live in.
The big cock spearing him, pushing, pulling, insistently and unforgiving. Desperately showing him pleasure still existed.
Rough grip pulling on sweat curled hair, landing him rough and thoroughly against a rock hard chest, gave him anticipation. There was suddenly expectance, something around the bend to stay and look for. To find.
And then it came, the reason he struggled with still being here. Punished, unallowed rest, the dreams of burning up mixed with a touch he couldn’t believe in. Because that would hurt more than the fire. Suddenly there it was, hope delivered as Angel’s teeth sank deeply. Swallowing his blood, his sorrows, but giving him a home. Blood bound ground to stand on.
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Angel
He could almost taste the grayness on his Childe, the smothering of something, curled around him, mixed with his skin, his scent. Him.
It scented like…
It was the sick smell of giving up. The same scent an animal gave away as it dragged itself off to lie down and die.
He wouldn’t allow it. His property was his to damn, to destroy, to fuck and to neglect.
It was all again; history repeating itself in a nightmare that suddenly had turned into an ever existing mare, riding him day and night. Spike became a broken tooth he couldn’t stop touching, flaring pain or numbness depending on whether you touched the nerve or not.
It finally cracked, power pushed into skin and bones, leaving blue tracks once again on white.
His boy needed to know he was more than a shadow, needed to feel, that he was no longer ashes to the wind, a shadow yo-yoed into hell and back. Nothing more than a paperclip in this grinding machine of his. Bent, broken with no one to see it.
Angel would make him see it. Blood and bones, soul and history, fighting till the abyss Spike danced with closed it jaws.
Marking him, punishing him into the now, fucking him into tomorrow and draining blood for a future.
Owning him again.
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