Jubilee - Chapter 1

Spike didn't know whether to be annoyed, worried, or amused that Angel turned him down… absolutely no, no way, never, not, on yer bike (well, that was Spike's interpretation of Angel's insistent, no - Angel had never managed the Albert Square lingo, although he had tried in one or two games). Whatever, the answer was still no. He could not go as one of Xander Harris' crew.

Spike sat back down at the bar and eyed Harris over his drink. Didn't stop him playing with him a bit, though, did it? He continued to stare at Xander for a few days and was glad to see him depart for his decking job hot, flustered, hard, and very, very confused.

It was more than a month before Spike went to LA again. His car was playing up; Angel went out of town one weekend… always something. So, a month apart and nothing more interesting to relate than the fact that Spike had had to find out what a head gasket was.

Even Spike could not turn changing a cylinder head into a fun game to tell Angel. So, he intended to give Angel a very hard time about the missed Harris opportunity, before he gave him a hard time in other ways.

He followed Angel, as he went to make coffee and slid his arms around his waist, laying his cheek against Angel's back.

'So… what's with the Harris thing, Angel?'

'Nothing.'

'You jealous of me an' him then?'

'Hah.'

'You disgusted?'

'Nope.'

'You want 'im?'

'I'm not even going to reply to that; let go; I've got to fetch some milk.'

'I like it black.'

'Don't even go there; he's off limits, too.'

'Ahh, Harris is off limits, is he? Fucking hell, you've had 'im already, haven't you?'

'Again, not having this conversation.'

Spike was utterly delighted now. It was like finding a pimple on your lover's back: an unpleasant flaw that draws you like a magnet and proves the very intimacy of your relationship. He continued to squeeze.

'Before you brought 'im to the school, you had 'im!'

'Err, I think he'd have been about sixteen then, Spike.'

'So?'

'That would have been illegal.'

'Are you taking the piss?'

'What do you think?'

'Okay, so why not? It would have been perfect, luv. Just the two of us, humping our big planks around… think of it. I'd have shown him all my best lumberjack moves.'

'It's too close to home, Spike. Like the saying goes, 'Don't do it on your doorstep'.'

'What, fuck?'

'Well, no, actually it's shit, but same difference, I guess.'

'Hmm, scat as well… he might just have gone for that.'

To give Angel his due, he nearly choked on his coffee. 'You are utterly disgusting, Spike.'

Spike only wiggled his scarred eyebrow. 'New game?'

'NO! Physical impossibility and eww!'

'Okay, so Harris out, Watcher back in the game then?'

'I guess.'

Spike sat down opposite Angel at the table and put his bare feet on Angel's companionably. It really annoyed him when they didn't have the place to themselves and they had to be decent in case the strange waif-like creature that now inhabited the top floor darted in to apologise about something. Angel was trying to get Cordelia to encourage her to go out more. Tonight, was not a go out night apparently. Spike watched Angel for a while. Angel had been kind of quiet since Spike had arrived for his usual blitz of sex and presents. There had been no presents… an outrage Spike was saving up to use against Angel in case he needed a get-out-of-jail-free-card later on. But more importantly, there had been no sex.

Should he have put these the other way round? Sex, presents. Presents, sex. Hmm. Right the first time.

Spike was not happy... and clearly Angel was not either.

'Come on, pet, what's wrong? Tell me.'

'I've just had a bad week, Spike. But that's not what this….' He waved his hand between the two of them. 'Iit's not what we are about. I don't want to think about work when you're here. I just want to think about.…'

'Me?'

'Well, I was going to say sex, but I guess that’s kind of one and the same thing.'

Spike grinned and began to work his foot up Angel’s leg. 'But if you're distracted, you're obviously not thinking about me anyway and maybe forgetting to buy me a pressie… fess up, Angel. What's wrong.' Spike hated to play his trump card so early, but the occasion, and Angel's sad face, had called for it.

'Yeah, sorry about that. Go on the net tonight, and I'll buy you something.'

'Don't try to distract me… what's up? Cus you clearly aren't.' As Spike now had his foot in Angel's lap, he was on safe ground mentioning this.

Angel took a sip of his coffee and started playing with a small spill on the table, drawing in it with his finger. 'I had my body stolen… well, swapped, and it was….'

'Stolen. Your body was stolen?' Spike was outraged, horrified, intrigued and disbelieving all at the same time. 'How? Who? What did they do? Fuck… where did you go… why didn't you call me?'

'Shut up! If you shut up, I'll tell you. An old man swapped his body with mine… he'd done it before, and his victims all died, but he had my body for almost a day and a night, and I couldn't contact you because I was attached to an incontinence pad and banned from using the telephone. '

Spike started to laugh. He couldn't help it. Angel was so funny sometimes. No one else would probably have seen this, but Spike found him to be an endless source of amusement.

'Let me guess. He did good… I mean bad stuff, using you, and now you feel all guilty…?'

Angel seemed to shrivel a bit. He hated it that Spike knew him so well, but loved the intimacy it implied. 'It's not just that though….'

'What, luv?' Spike had, by now, started to use his foot judiciously in Angel's lap, so Angel's reply wasn't as fulsome as it might otherwise have been.

'It was the endless peeing, Spike, and I couldn't see anything, and I felt sick and dizzy, and I smelt. Oh God, Spike… I was just human, and old, and I suddenly realised… I don't want it all that much. You have no idea how good it felt to be in my body.'

Spike stopped his ministrations and just looked at Angel. Angel looked back, heard what he'd just said, and delighted Spike by laughing for the first time that evening.

'That's more like it.'

'Sorry, I'm not good company tonight. Want to just go to bed… and sleep?'

Spike did. He could have sex wherever and whenever he wanted throughout the demon and quite a lot of the human community, but undressing, getting into bed, lying in the arms of a lover, falling asleep and feeling safe, were all things he cherished about his new life with Angel.

They took their time undressing, watching each other, then slid into the cool sheets finding that perfect entanglement of limbs that left them wondering where they individually began and ended. Spike lay for hours listening to Angel not sleeping. He wondered whether to pursue the conversation. Angel was an intensely private person, and Spike knew if he wanted to tell him, he would. He was pleased with his patience, therefore, when Angel said voluntarily, 'I don't think it's all over, yet.'

Spike sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees; he wanted Angel to know he was listening and taking this seriously.

'He didn't die… I went back, and he hadn’t died. He's disappeared.'

'That's…' Spike made a fifty, fifty guess, '…bad? That's bad, isn't it?'

'I think he may have had another stone. I crushed one, but I didn't check to see if he had another, and now he's gone.'

'Oh, bloody hell.'

'Quite.'

'And…' Angel pulled Spike into his arms and almost crushed him, so tight was his embrace, '…I'm being followed. Have been for a few days now.'

'They must be good.'

'That's what I thought.'

'Demon? Human? Lawyer?'

'Indistinct. Human. I think.'

'Impossible. You could shake any human.'

'But they know where I live… I'm not exactly inconspicuous.'

Spike was really worried. Angel had just come back into his unlife, so he was not about to lose him now. But it made up his mind about something that had been nagging at him.

'Good time for a little holiday, wouldn't you say?'

'Ahh… you wouldn't happen to be thinking of a certain Spa town in England, would you?

'Might be… and is that a spark of life I see returning to the I'm-in-terminal-flaccid-shock-cus-I-got-an-airing-with-a-human-this-week Angel cock?'

'Turn over.'

'Subtle, always so….'

Spike always found it hard to speak when Angel's tongue first opened him up after any period of abstinence. Didn't matter how many times he'd felt that softness graze over his tight entrance, the first lick always undid him. Two of Angel's possessions meeting. He pushed the small of his back down as far as he could, lifting his ass for Angel's pleasure. Angel murmured his appreciation and knelt up behind Spike.

'No game?'

Spike turned his head on the pillow and put his hand back to Angel's, entwining their fingers. ''K, pet.'

Angel smiled and reached for some lotion, pouring it liberally over his penis, cupping his balls and swirling them in the cool liquid. He stayed working himself for a few minutes with one hand, his other hand playing with Spike's fingers. After a while he released Spike's hold and put his hand out to play with other interesting Spike parts. He pushed a slick finger into his hole and teased him; he cupped Spike’s balls and ground them lightly together in their soft sac. Spike groaned and took his penis in a loose fist and began to pull it. He was delaying his pleasure, waiting for Angel. By the time Angel had worked three fingers into Spike, they were both cresting near to their release. Angel could feel the thick vein on the underside of his erection throbbing. His balls became almost too sensitive to play with. He could see from Spike's expression that he was very near to coming, and Angel wanted to be inside him when he did. He slid his fingers out and put the exposed tip of his erection against the loosened hole. He slid in easily and deeply. Spike arched down slightly more, and Angel embedded himself against the hard bones of Spike's ass. Spike could feel Angel's wiry curls scratching at his skin; he felt Angel's sac swinging against him. But most of all, he felt that stretch that took him over the edge of his orgasm. He came in a deep, satisfying spill over his hand. Angel heard his soft grunt of release and moaned with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around Spike's slim waist and hauled him up higher and tighter against him. Spike pushed back against Angel's cock, as if to squeeze him out and was rewarded by a deep moan of pleasure from behind. They started their familiar rhythm: Angel pushing in against Spike's resistance, Spike's clenching as he withdrew.

When Spike heard Angel's familiar, low keening cry, he started a quiet, hissed repetition he knew would drive Angel over the edge, 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.' Spike felt his stomach raked by Angel's nails, gasped with the delicious pain, and shuddered, as Angel jerked his orgasm into him. Angel rode Spike in short stabs, as he milked the final few drops of his essence into the tight, receptive channel. When he was spent, he sank back onto his knees and pulled Spike tightly to him, his cock softening deep within Spike's body. Spike brought his legs forward, so he was sitting in Angel's lap. Angel's hands rested naturally on Spike's spent cock, and he played gently with it, combing through his dark curls and drawing patterns in the seed coating Spike's chest.

A deep sense of contentment came over Angel. It was almost as if, buried deep in this body, his body seemed less vulnerable to the constant threats he had to face. Angel was tired of his life in LA. Spike had made him value his unlife more, perhaps. He was getting more pleasure from it than he had ever remembered. He could not put into words what he felt about this creature that gave him so much intense pleasure and, at the same time, allowed him to enjoy so much pain. Spike was almost an orgasm incarnate for Angel. He chuckled quietly to himself when he thought this, and Spike stirred from the almost trance-like state he had gone into watching Angel's hand play with him and feeling the cum leaking out of him around Angel's softening shaft.

'The poof speaks?'

'Just thinking about you.'

'How come you're still soft then?'

'Not all thoughts of you lead to a hard-on, Spike….' Angel laughed and buried his face in Spike's hair. They could both distinctly feel Angel's cock swelling again. He tightened his arms around Spike's waist and sighed deeply into the soft, blond locks.

'That's a sad sigh for someone who don't need to even make noises like that.' Spike took one of Angel's hands and put it back over his cock. Feeling Angel's cock rising in him had stimulated his soft swelling and made the blood rush to harden him. He made Angel's unresisting hand into a fist and got him started on some easy, gentle pulling. Every so often, Angel stopped, distracted by his thoughts, but Spike was on watch for these lapses and put him right every time.

He thought it was time to move Angel's thoughts onto more pleasurable subjects, or at least to wind him up a bit so he didn't have time to brood. He wriggled a bit in Angel's lap, making Angel's groan with pleasure then, when Angel least expected it, he said in an amused tone, 'Do you think the boy would have liked top or bottom best?'

If this had been an attempt to annoy Angel, it backfired badly, because Angel immediately said, 'Bottom. Trust me, bottom.'

Spike flung himself off Angel's cock and turned to face him, mock horror plastered across his face. 'You bloody bastard, you have had 'im. All this time I've been working him, softening him up, driving him crazy, thinking I'd be fucking a first-time-freddie, and you've been there before me.'

Angel just laughed and took over his own erection. Spike pouted for a while but finally did the same. They knelt face to face, each working their own cock. Angel twitched his eyebrows provocatively, keeping his gaze fixedly on Spike. Spike's pout turned to a grin, and he did not drop his gaze.

'What was he like?' Spike still wasn’t sure if he believed Angel or not. He had the distinct feeling that he was being played.

'Warm.'

'And?'

'Soft.'

'And?'

'Loud?'

'Oh, fuck you, was he?' This almost tipped Spike over the edge; he loved them to scream. He would have liked to hear Harris using his vocal chords for something more interesting than riding him. He suddenly had the thought that Angel knew this little preference of his only too well and, again, he felt he was on the blunt end of an Angel wind up.

'How come you didn't lose your soul… you're lying, aren't you?'

'I'd already lost it with Buffy.'

'Oh. Where were you?' Spike decided to probe this suspicious shag a bit closer.

'Over a car hood.'

'Oh, bloody hell!' One of Spike's favourite positions, especially if the engine was hot. Nothing like being warmed from both sides. 'What did you use?'

'Choc….' Angel tired to get the word out, but spluttered and started laughing at Spike's furious face. He tried again. 'I took him over a car hood, riding on chocolate, and he screamed like a stuck….' No good. Angel totally lost it. He fell on his side, tried to get up, but couldn’t. Every time he looked at Spike's incensed face, he cracked up again. He was so unused to laughing, it quite overpowered him.

Spike threw himself on Angel, took Angel's wrists, and pinned them to the bed, totally preventing Angel continuing with his satisfying wank. He had to stop, too, but it was a small sacrifice to make.

'You're bloody lying. That's all my favourite stuff. No way would you use chocolate. It'd get on your poofy clothes.'

'Well, we showered well afterwards….' Angel was almost beginning to believe his own fantasy. It may have had something to do with the fact he had been incredibly close to coming and was now in a sort of half-cum, half-not-cum limbo. Just watching Spike's face made him even harder.

'You said he was only sixteen, so you're bullshitting me, Angel.'

'Well, I'd relate all the details of why a sixteen-year-old ass is so memorable, Spike, but I'm allergic to flames.' This cryptic comment was totally lost on Spike, but then he was concentrating on the image of Harris' ass coated in chocolate. Hardening chocolate that had to be licked off. Chocolate with long lick marks through it, trails of licks leading to….

'He screamed your name, when he came.' Angel had gone too far, and he knew it when he saw Spike's face crease up with the knowledge he'd won the game. Spike fell off Angel, chortling to himself.

'Don't try to out-piss me, Angel. I'll beat you every time.'

'Yeah, well. Had you going for a minute there.'

'If you weren't so anal, we'd have been enjoying a Harris game for real now.'

'Do you think he'd have gone for vampire sandwich?' Angel turned his face and grinned at Spike. They knew they were both thinking about a far more interesting filling to that sandwich than Xander Harris.



Giles had not had a good month either.

He was not an emotional man, had always rather prided himself on being calm, reserved, and very English. This, of course, given he had had little competition for reserved and mature from the emotional American teenagers he had recently lived with. He did not like to be ruffled. He did not like his ordered life being threatened. Spike’s visit had ruffled and threatened him a great deal more than he had at first realised.

His desperate search for that elusive, cold cock had come to an abrupt end one day in the public lavatories of the Cathedral Close. Bending one slim, pale body over the toilet bowl he had seen something clutched in a small hand.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nuffink.’

‘Show me.’

‘It’s me fucking Jubilee Medal, that’s all, tosser. Got it in school today.’

Giles’ head had hit the locked door, so violently had he reared back from that reply.

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m young, honest, mate.’

‘No... no... I don’t want you young... that’s not what I meant... oh, God, no.’

He stumbled form the urine-splashed stall and leant over the sink, afraid he would heave. When he lifted his head, he did not recognise the face that peered back at him. Rupert Giles was gone, and in his place was nothing more than a loathsome creature.

Everything he had always valued in himself: his decency, his honesty, his desire to do right, his morality, they had all been swept away, and now he had nothing left but a loathsome old man who had nearly fucked a school boy.

Giles had gone sadly back to his now-hated flat. He had gone into that bedroom for the first time in two weeks. He had not changed the sheets; he had not even picked up his discarded pyjama top. It still lay on the floor where Spike had thrown it.

Loathsome.

What had he done? What had he allowed to be done to him in this bed? He sat on the edge and ran his fingers over the encrustation. He had a demon’s old cum under his hand. It was beyond belief that he had sunk so low.

Loathsome.

And what had he thought, as he’d lain with Spike? What awful, disgusting things had he thought about Buffy? His precious Slayer, more beloved than he had words to express. Sullied. Had Spike somehow tricked those thoughts out of him? His memories of her were ruined.

Loathsome.

Giles went into the bathroom and looked again in a mirror. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to the pain he felt, hoping that tears would not come.

Inevitably, they did.

He had cried a lot since Spike left.

Loathsome.

Because, for all his disgust and anger, paramount these last two weeks had been desire.

His body desired Spike more than it needed air to breathe, and that was the worst thought of all.

So Giles’ anger had started to grow. From the tiny seed that was a medal clasped in a not-so-innocent hand, Giles’ anger grew strong, reaching up, towering over him, and casting him in its deep shade.

One day, Giles rose from yet another sleepless night and realised his anger was now strong enough to make a very sure and solid structure that he could climb to find his revenge.

He had a plan. It was dangerous, expensive, time-consuming and complex, but he fed all such doubts to the bonfire of his anger and warmed himself in their flames. Two weeks later, when his plan was set in motion better than he could have hoped for, he returned to his flat calmer than he had been since he had walked into his kitchen and found Spike fully dressed, bags packed, and leaving him.

All he had to do now was wait for them.

If they came.

He hoped they would.

Giles had been carrying Spike around in his head the whole time since that tantalising farewell at the train station, so he was not surprised a few days later to sense that Spike was watching him. Spike had been his daytime companion. Whatever he had been doing, he had imagined Spike there doing it with him. It was a sad reflection of his lonely childhood and sometimes made him feel as if he were trapped in a sick parody of the Hundred Acre Wood. He sat in pubs, sharing a pint with Spike. He had heard Spike laugh at his clever, dry wit. He had allowed this fantasy Spike to be more real and more pleasurable than human company.

So, one evening when he heard Spike’s quiet laugh for real, he had not turned in shock at the sound. He had waited a moment, and then turned, but there had been no one there. When standing at the bar later to buy a drink, pressed against the wood by the crush, trying to attract the girl’s attention, he had felt a slim, cold body pressed against his. This time, he had turned more quickly but, again, there was no one there. He started to feel watched. When he went to pee and had taken a moment in the quiet stall to press tired hands to tired eyes, he had smelt a familiar brand of cigarette smoke drifting from the stall next to his. When he came down to his car one morning, he found a neat pile of cigarette ends lying in the gutter, as if someone had stood smoking, looking up at his bedroom window for a long time.

Giles looked down at this first tangible evidence of Spike’s presence and smiled. He had hidden the smile quickly, lest the hunters saw that they were, in fact, the hunted.

Giles bided his time. They would come to him.

The city continued to swell with the influx of people in for the three-day, Bank Holiday, drinking spree. Jubilee fervour hit the residents of this ancient city. Giles went out into the warm June night and strolled toward his favourite pub. He had been keeping familiar routines recently. He was his own bait in a tempting trap.

The pub was packed; it was good night for reunions.

He was not surprised, therefore, to look up from the bar where he had propped himself to a raised section of the pub, to see Spike standing looking at him. Angel stood close behind him, also looking at him.

He was shocked, however, when he realised what they were doing. Spike was gripping the top of the partition that surrounded this small raised area. Angel had his hands over Spike’s, and they were both making imperceptible movements as Angel, quite evidently, rode into Spike, his actions concealed by their long leather coats.

Giles felt a frisson of fear and anticipation trickle down his spine.

This was too blatant, too unheeding of any civilised conventions. Then Giles realised that that was exactly why they were doing it. Because they could. Because they were dead, and life was just a sham, just a game, and they were only tricks of the light given form by stolen blood.

It was a declaration of independence, an up-yours to the human world.

Angel rested his chin on Spike’s shoulder. Spike put his arm up to caress him. Angel’s eyes were lifted to Giles in a mockery of supplication. Spike only grinned at him, his eyes half closed in pleasure.

Giles looked around at the heaving pub. Did no one else see it? But, of course, no one else could see it. It was too extreme, too beyond their expectations. All they saw was two striking, young men, standing too close together. It was very un-English behaviour and best ignored.

Angel kept Giles’ eye contact, even as he came. All he allowed himself was one long blink and a slight raise of his head.

Spike continued to grin at Giles and actually licked his lips, as Angel pumped him with his cold seed.

With a last smile at Giles, Angel slipped his hands out of sight, perhaps pulling Spike’s jeans up, perhaps readjusting himself, then he stepped back, and their long dusters fell into place.

Giles did not see them leave. They seemed to dissolve into the smoke and noise of the crowd.

He did not know what emotion they had intended to arouse in him by this display of their power.

He suspected it was not glee.

He went home, made his final preparations, and lay a long night through thinking about the way Angel’s hands had lain on Spike’s in that intimate, familiar way, and how they had lain on him causing him more pain and humiliation than he had ever experienced in his life. He thought about how Spike had taken Angel’s cum, as if it were his privilege and right, but how he had tricked Giles into giving him his.

He laughed to himself.

He was going to enjoy this.



They were there again the following night. This time, Angel stood alongside Spike until he had Giles’ attention. Once they knew Giles was watching, Angel blatantly went behind Spike and slid his hands out of sight again. Giles was made to watch the slow entry. He saw Angel’s face crease in unmistakable pleasure, knew that they wanted him to remember what it was to enter that tight, cold channel. He studied Spike’s face; saw again that cheeky grin and rise of those oh, so seductive eyebrows. Unbelievably, he felt himself stiffen to their display. He turned away, so they would not see his smile.

He turned away, so they would not see him place a call on his mobile.

When all was ready, he turned back to enjoy the show.



Angel groaned lightly into the back of Spike’s head. They had showered together before they had come out and the soft, blond spikes had that delicious wet hair smell. He rubbed his face in it for a moment before looking back at Giles.

Angel felt liberated and energised by this game. Los Angeles was a very long way away, and not just in a literal, spatial sense. He had not been in this country since he had been Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. He had not heard these accents or smelt these familiar smells for a very long time. Everyone here spoke like Spike, well, as close to Spike’s accent as Angel was able to distinguish, and he found that very, very erotic. He had been permanently hard since they had arrived, not only from this, but from anticipation of the game.

‘He’s looking different.’

Spike’s words startled him out of his revere. ‘What?’ He shifted position slightly and felt his penis gain an extra inch of Spike’s tight passage. It was not the best position for entering his childe, the clothes restricted him, and he was not unmindful of the fact that they were surrounded by hundreds of drunken Englishmen, but he was enjoying it nevertheless.

‘He looks pleased about something. Look at ‘im.’ Spike nodded his head slightly towards Giles who was leaning nonchalantly on the bar, looking at them. Suddenly, he saw Giles collapse forward. He clutched at his chest, as if suffering a heart attack. He fell to the floor, striking his temple on the corner of the bar. Immediately, he was surrounded by concerned, but unhelpful people trying to lift him and give him more space.

‘Fuck. Look. He’s gone down.’

Angel put his hands on top of Spike’s on the rail and increased his thrusting slightly, as if this display of Giles’ weakness stiffened him. They watched together as two men in ambulance uniform came in and bent to check Giles’ pulse. The crowd cleared around him, he was put on a stretcher and carried toward the door. He came to for a minute and looked around as if shocked and disoriented by his fall.

Spike saw him look directly at him, Giles raised his hand as if to try and reach out to him across the crowed floor, and then he was gone.

‘Oh. That’s a bit of a bummer then, isn’t it?’

Angel did not reply, but he nuzzled into Spike’s ear and started a low groaning.

‘You can stop now, luv, if you want. He’s gone. Not much point. Come on, we’ll go back and shag in comfort, hey?’ Spike tried to push Angel off him, but he was too close to orgasm. He came with a deep shudder, his fingers crushing Spike’s hands under him. ‘Ow, fuck, Angel. Let go, you bloody bully. That’s me wanking hand you’re crushing there.’

Angel mumbled a quiet ‘Sorry’ and let go, watching as Spike shook the offending hand and rubbed it childishly.

Angel stood up and tried to readjust their clothing. He did not do a very good job and one or two of the punters standing near them realised, with a shock, what they had been doing. One burly, tattooed man sneered at them, ‘Bloody faggots, fuck off to your own place.’

Angel whirled around and punched him in the face. The man’s nose spread out like beefsteak, his teeth punched in, leaving bleeding, gapping holes. They ran to the sounds of his blood-choked screams.

Spike was incensed. ‘Angel! What the bleeding hell are you doing? You can’t go around punching people, even a fat geezer with bad tattoos like that.’

Angel was laughing hysterically and increased his speed.

Spike kept up with him, effortlessly, but tried to catch his arm. ‘Fuck, Angel. Slow down, you’re attracting attention going this fast.’

Angel slowed to walking and grabbed Spike. He kissed him passionately.

Spike pushed him off and gave him a rueful grin. ‘Okay, I’m gonna let you shag me in pubs again, mate. Liking the new Angel.’

Angel spoke for the first time since coming in Spike. He took Spike’s face in his hands and said quietly, ‘Take me back to the hotel, now.’

Spike laughed and cupped Angel’s quite noticeable bulge. ‘You planning on using this on me then?’

Angel laughed. ‘All night, all day, and all tomorrow night.’ He pushed Spike along the pavement. ‘Go. Now.’

‘Being here really agrees with you, Angel. Knew you needed a break from that lousy city.’

‘Oh yes, I feel quite invigorated, quite unlike my self. I can’t think why.’ Angel grinned and stretched his arms out in a lazy display of his power.

Spike looked at him. This was not the Angel he had come to know and deride.

Which was funny really, as somewhere in an ambulance, a middle-aged man called Rupert Giles was being restrained by two men as he fought against them. He was vehemently denying his identity, too.

It didn’t matter how much he struggled against them, they were stronger than him.

They didn't much like having a crazy drunk on board who claimed to be an Angel.

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