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Forward to Time Past by Unbridled_Brunette
 
Chapter Thirty-Six
 
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Chapter Thirty-Six





For an excruciatingly long moment, neither of them moved.

Angelus’ jaw came to rest at Spike’s cheek, and the feeling of it was so familiar, so full of unpleasant connotations that it seemed—at least in the brief span of silence and motionlessness that followed—as if he were frightened by it. Perhaps he was. But he was no longer the timid fledgling he had once been, and he was no longer willing to be cowed. He listened to his own stilted breathing—to Angelus’ lack of it—and he forced his body to relax.

“Can’t say I’m thrilled to hear it.”

“You’ll be even less thrilled in a moment,” answered Angelus, and although he didn’t exactly laugh, beneath his harsh tone there was a hint of amusement. One big hand lay splayed across Spike’s chest; the other rested low down on his stomach. The older vampire’s touch was possessive, almost unbearably intimate if not altogether sexual. It took all the strength in him for Spike to hold his calm.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I made it clear during our last row that you’re not getting anything more out of me…or into me. ”

Angelus hesitated, then. A pause so infinitesimal that it was almost nonexistent. But Spike knew him. Despite the antipathy between them, he knew Angelus probably better than anyone; he understood him. Therefore, he was easily able to take advantage of the opportunity that Angelus’ indecision offered him. He forced the hands away from his body, pulled free of the broad chest. His intercourse with the Slayer had taught him something about speed, and he spun to face his grandsire so quickly it was almost as if he had been standing opposite him the entire time.

“Where’s Dru?” Spike demanded. It was the question that had been on his mind since the moment those arms wrapped around him. Angelus shrugged with careless grace.

“You know, Darla and I found a lovely palazzo to use while we were in town. Much better, I tell you, than this rat’s nest. You kept my Dru here? No wonder she was so glad to see us.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, no? Well, you can go ask her yourself, once we’re finished here. She’s in your cramped cupboard of a lav. With Darla.” He smirked. “They’re taking a bath.”

Immediately, Spike started to pass around him, moving in the direction of the bath; but Angelus grabbed the back of his shirt and held him back. “Ah, ah,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you to wait until we’re finished here? We’ve got things to discuss, Willy.”

His jaw clenched. “Spike.”

“What’s that?”

There was a challenge in Angelus’ tone, and Spike rose to it without hesitation. It was almost reflexive, the rage that followed. He turned so quickly that his shirt tore as it pulled out of Angelus’ grasp. Without fully comprehending what he was doing, Spike backhanded him with all the force in his arm. A jolt of pain shot through his knuckles as they connected with his grandsire’s cheekbone, and the older vampire lurched backward. He would have fallen had the high back of the settee not caught him.

“I said, it’s Spike, now.”

He stood with loose-limbed elegance, his sharp eyes belying the casual pose. He was anticipating Angelus’ next move, and he hadn’t long to wait. Like a bull charging, the other vampire lunged for him. Spike readied himself for the attack, his hands outstretched. But what he had forgotten was the weight of his grandsire, the bulk of muscle and thick bone. The striking force of Angelus’ big body was enough to send the smaller vampire stumbling backwards onto the floor. Angelus also tumbled forward, unable to stop the momentum that carried him. He would have fallen onto Spike, if Spike had not quickly thrust one leg upward. His foot caught Angelus in the hollow beneath his breastbone, and he kicked out as hard as he could, redirecting the force of the descent and sending Angelus neatly over his head. Arse over elbows, Angelus rolled twice before he caught himself, pushing his boots into the floorboards and flipping himself upright. When he turned around, Spike was already on his feet, staring at him.

“Something wrong, old man? Because from what I remember, your aim used to border on decent, and now you can’t even hit a cow’s arse with a banjo. Are all those years finally catching up to you?”

Angelus’ eyes flashed gold in response, his fangs descending over his bleeding lips. He fell forward again, this time grabbing Spike by the forearms, swinging and releasing him with the ease of a man throwing a sack of meal. Even as he reeled backward into the wall, Spike struck out with one leg, sideswiping Angelus on the right side of his head. Both of them ended up on the floor: Spike on his back, Angelus on his side. But Spike recovered first. He grabbed an ugly plaster statue of Pan from its equally ugly pedestal and began beating Angelus with it. He was driving for the other vampire’s head, but despite the large target it presented, Angelus was able to dodge rapidly enough to avoid the blows, and the weapon struck his ribcage instead. Spike delivered several good hits before the other vampire managed to hook a leg around the back of his ankle and jerk him to the floor.

Bloody hell!” he cursed. On his back once again, he just barely managed to roll out of the way and escape Angelus, who was trying to pin him down. In order to do this, he had to drop his statue, and a second afterward, Angelus snatched it up.

Unable to regain his footing before the other vampire caught up with him, Spike grabbed the leg of a small decorative table. Still supine, he swung the table sideways just as Angelus leaned to hit him with the statue. Again, he was aiming for the other vampire’s head, but Angelus wasn’t in the right position for it. Instead, it struck the side of his outstretched arm, knocking the statue out of his hands.

“Still in human face, Willy?” Angelus mocked him, not bothering to retrieve his weapon. He dropped to his knees and grabbed Spike’s shoulders, adding, “Still forgetting your place in the world?”

In response to this, Spike forced his torso upward and head-butted the snickering vampire. It had the desired effect: Angelus tipped backward. However, it also left Spike with a throbbing pain in his forehead.

“Goddamn it,” he swore, rubbing the injured area even as he struggled to his feet. “Is your skull made out of bloody granite?”

Angelus pulled himself upright. Like Spike, he gingerly touched his head. His forehead was bruised, but it was the lump on his temple from where Spike kicked him that seemed most serious. His fingertips came away from the side of his head streaked with blood, and he grimaced. Nevertheless, his arrogance remained intact.

“Ah, William. You’re still soft as shite, aren’t you? How long do you think you can keep this up? You know you can’t win against me.”

Spike snorted. “That a fact? Well, c’mon then and show me. I’ve got no other plans.”

The yellow eyes rolled in frustration, and a sigh escaped the bloodstained lips. Angelus rolled his shoulders impatiently—“If you insist”—and took a step forward.

Prepared to meet his adversary halfway, Spike moved forward as well. On the third stride, something rolled beneath the sole of his boot, and when he looked down, he saw that it was a piece of the table he had hit Angelus with earlier. Apparently, one of the spindly legs had snapped off on force of impact and landed some distance away from them. Now, Spike stepped over it as if he did not see it there. However, he paused just after and waited for Angelus’ strike. When it came, he bent swiftly at the knee, reaching behind him and seizing the splintered leg in his fist. With a swift, underhand movement, he thrust the ragged tip of the wood into Angelus’ flesh.

He might have killed his grandsire had his aim not been off. Instead of his chest, the sharp point plunged into the muscle of Angelus’ shoulder. The pain of it seemed to shock the older vampire, and he stumbled backwards. The corpse Spike had brought for Drusilla lay to the far right of them, and in his blind retreat, Angelus tripped over one of its outstretched legs, falling to the floor with great force. He tried to climb to his feet while at the same pulling the shaft from his shoulder. In the latter, he succeeded; but before he could completely regain his footing, Spike kicked his legs out from under him. Angelus jabbed the bloody stake at his chest blindly, but Spike grabbed the shank as well. For several minutes, they struggled for it; but in their haste, their hands were fumbling and clumsy. The stake slipped out of both their grasps and clattered to the floor, rolling some distance away.

Angelus rolled onto his stomach and reached out to retrieve the weapon, but Spike took a more aggressive approach and rather than dive for the stake, he dove for Angelus himself. He straddled his grandsire’s waist and leaned down before he could react, pulling one muscled arm up and around until it was pinned securely against Angelus’ lower back. Then, he slid down, tangling his legs around Angelus’ long ones, in effect rendering them motionless.

Angelus bucked upward, but he was weakened from loss of blood, and he could not break free. Spike lay across him, the length of his body just slightly forward of Angelus’ so that his mouth was pressed against the older vampire’s ear.

“How’d you find us? Huh? Darla tell you? Not without a fight, I’d wager. She was glad to be rid of us. The bitch. But you—you just couldn’t bear to let us go, could you? You couldn’t bear to give up that control.” Spike pressed his face closer, at the same time giving Angelus’ arm a brutal jerk. “You might be able to control Darla; you might even be able to control Dru. But you can’t control me. Not now. I thought I’d made that clear.”

A sardonic smile flitted across his face, and his voice dropped to a whisper, deadly and calm, as he added, “Seems like you weren’t paying attention, that first time. So, I think we’ll have us another lesson, now.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~





He felt Angelus’ body twitch beneath him. A subtle movement but one that was rife with fearful expectation. Fear. It bled power, and he—Spike—drank it in.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Daddy? Can’t take it like you give it?”

He forced his free hand beneath his grandsire’s prone body, taking hold of the waist of his trousers roughly. The intoxicating sense of the other vampire’s fear strengthened at the contact. But with it came something else, something that was almost—

Arousal?

Curiosity?

And suddenly Spike knew that his attempt at intimidation wasn’t working exactly the way he had expected it to. It wasn’t the physical aspect of it that unsettled his grandsire; it was the lack of control over the situation. The alien feeling of someone he once perceived as weaker than himself suddenly in the position to dominate. However, judging from the sudden jump of swollen flesh against Spike’s wrist, it wasn’t just fear that held his grandsire in thrall.

The mere thought of it was appalling to him, and he pushed himself up and off Angelus’ body. His intent had certainly not been to give the bastard another opportunity to explore the uncharted realms of homosexual love. He hadn’t even planned to follow through with it; he just wanted to give the other vampire a taste of what it had been like for him. The humiliating sense of helplessness and degradation. The horror of it.

Obviously, Angelus viewed things a bit differently.

On his feet now, Spike delivered a vicious kick to his grandsire’s ribs—an intentional mirroring of Angelus’ past behavior toward him.

“You honestly think I’d put it to you? Sorry to disappoint you, mate. But even if I were inclined to take a male companion, you’d be the last fucking person on earth I’d pick.”

With that, he turned away. He was halfway to the small convenience room on the other side of the flat when suddenly Angelus’ voice called out from behind him. Cocky even in defeat and no less convincing because of it, he said, “You’d like to think you don’t need me anymore, William. But you’re wrong. Because I have something you want.”

Spike paused, mid-step, and turned slowly toward his grandsire. “And what could you possibly have that I would want?” His tone was scathing, yet he could not entirely hide his curiosity at the idea.

Perceiving this, Angelus smiled slightly. He rose to his feet before answering.

“I know the location of the new Chosen One,” he said.

Carefully indifferent to this revelation, Spike leaned against the wall and reached for his cigarettes. It wasn’t until he lit one and took the first drag that he murmured: “Do tell.”

“She’s in the Netherlands.”

Where in the Netherlands?” Spike demanded irritably. “Which province?”

“Not so fast,” said Angelus. “First, I’ve got a proposal for you.”

“A proposal,” echoed Spike. He sidled closer to his grandsire. “What kind of proposal, huh?”

“A wager. You and I will travel to the Netherlands together, and the first of us to kill her will get the prize.”

“And that would be—?”

“Drusilla.”

Spike snorted dismissively. “And why the buggering hell would I bother to wager for something I’ve already got?” he asked.

“You really are some can of piss, Willy. You think you own Drusilla? I’m her sire. She might be with you now, but if I tell her to leave with me tonight, you bloody know that she will do it. She doesn’t have a choice.”

Spike sighed. “Could be right, at that,” he admitted in what seemed to be a defeated tone, and Angelus smirked.

His self-satisfaction was short-lived, however. In the next moment, Spike had thrown a vicious punch that set him staggering. Before the older vampire could recover himself, his grandchilde picked up the twice-discarded statue of Pan and began to beat him with it.

This time, his weapon found its intended target.

When the worst of his anger had passed, Spike finally threw down the statue. Angelus’ hair was matted and wet with blood, and he wasn’t moving. Cautiously, Spike prodded at his grandsire’s ribs with the toe of his boot, but it was obvious that the other vampire was out cold. Satisfied, Spike pulled the limp, long body up against him, bearing most of its weight on his shoulder. With effort, due to the difference in their heights, he managed to drag it across the room to one of the big windows that looked out over the square. His intent was to open the window and then toss his grandsire out of it, but when he reached for the latch, Angelus slipped off his other arm and fell forward against the frail glass. It shattered beneath his weight, and Spike winced and then laughed as he heard the distinct sounds of the body falling to the streets below.

“Sorry, mate. But I don’t make wagers.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~





Whatever they might have been doing earlier, by the time Spike reached the convenience room, Darla and Dru were merely sitting together in the large tin washtub. Chest-deep in the water, Darla was leaning against the slant of one end, and Drusilla was sitting slightly forward of her. Darla was washing Dru’s back in a way that was neither tender nor sexual; rather, it seemed almost as if she were bored, her mind focused on other matters. When she saw Spike enter, Darla dropped her cloth and stared at him, aghast. And angry.

“Get out of here!”

Completely ignoring her, Spike launched himself over the ledge of the tub. A wave of warm water lapped out onto the floor as his body landed. He was still fully clothed, and his thin wet shirt clung to his chest as he pushed himself upright, sitting on the opposite end of the tub from the two women.

Naturally, the bathtub wasn’t large enough to comfortably seat three people, and with an angry cry, Darla started to rise. Before she could exit the water, however, Spike propped his booted feet against the wall behind her. His legs sprawled on either side of her body, just grazing against the tops of her shoulders and completely blocking her in.

Her mouth hardened, and her expression made it clear that she was not at all impressed by his blatant show of disrespect.

“I suggest you remove your legs, William, before I lose my patience and break both of them off.”

Already drunk off his success with Angelus, and unwilling to yield before her while Dru was watching, Spike merely sneered back: “Like to see you try it.”

She made an abrupt movement, maybe in preparation to make good on her threat. Then, she stopped. Though her tone was cool, her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she asked: “Where is Angelus? I assumed he would have dealt with you by now.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, love. He didn’t do that so much as—” He paused, fighting back a grin. “Well, he stepped out for a moment. Had to drop in on some of the locals, I think.”

Darla looked suspicious. “What is that supposed to—”

But Spike ignored her. He was looking at Drusilla.

“Surprise, pet.”

Dru’s dark eyes widened at him, a hint of a smile around her lips. “Have you got a surprise?”

He folded his arms behind his head and grinned wryly. “I’ve got the new Slayer. All wrapped up pretty and waiting for us.”

Eyes heavy-lidded and mouth smirking, he looked the picture of insolence, lying there. He felt every bit the victor this evening and every bit the Alpha male. It was not until a fierce pain erupted in his nether regions that he began to rethink his position in the hierarchy of the bathtub.

“Didn’t I tell you to remove your legs?” Darla asked.

Shocked, his eyes traveled from her face to her hand, which now held the greater portion of his genitals in an iron grip.

“Right. Guess I’ll be lowering my legs, then.”

He dropped them, and she stood up, naked and streaming water. Spike clenched his jaw, glaring at her as she unhurriedly stepped from the bathtub and began drying herself with a towel.

“Bitch.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

Rather than answering, he arched his eyebrows in a blatant challenge. She snorted and shook her head. “It is very fortunate for you that I don’t enjoy wasting my time.”

Still naked, a bundle of clothing in her arms, she sauntered out of the room. Spike stared after her with hatred in his eyes.

It was Dru who finally broke through the hostile silence some minutes later. “Where?” she asked.

He looked at her. “What?”

“The Slayer. Where is she wrapped up?”

“Oh.” Something in her empty tone soothed his burning ego, and he slouched back against the wall of the tub. “She’s someplace in the Netherlands, I think. Little Dutch girl with her finger in the dyke, trying to hold back all the nasties. I thought we might pay her a visit, flood her with our attention, so to speak.”

Drusilla just looked at him for a moment, her dark eyes completely blank. Finally, she said childishly, “I don’t like Italy.”

“No? Well, do you like the Netherlands any better?”

“I might. I shouldn’t know until I am there.”

“Then you’re willing? You don’t want to stay here with Angelus?”

A quick glance at the open door—the room into which Darla had retreated—and then Drusilla answered tentatively: “I want to be with my Spike.”

His heart softened at that. He felt gratified not only by the notion that she wanted to be with him, but also because it proved, yet again, that Angelus was a ponce who didn’t know his arse from his elbows. Spike reached for her, gently drawing her forward by her arms so that she lay stretched across his chest. “Glad to hear it,” he said.

She kissed his ear and his jaw, skillfully working her way around to his mouth and then lingering there. “Shall I go on?” she murmured against him. “Tell you how much I wish to stay?”

“Won’t complain if you do.”

She slid down his body, her hands dipping beneath the water to caress him and undo his fly buttons. When she put her mouth on him, Spike dropped his head back against the narrow edge of the tub and closed his eyes.

Really, it hadn’t been such a bad night, for all that.

Preoccupied in this fashion, neither Spike nor Dru heard the door slamming as Darla left the flat. She was looking for Angelus, and she found him. However, when she finally did, the sun was up, and she had no choice but to drag him into the nearest building, a bookshop to one side of the apartments. By the time they returned to the flat the following night, it was too late for retaliation. Spike and Drusilla had exited by way of the back door, and they were already well on their way out of Rome.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~


 
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