On the Other Side
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,105
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,105
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Spike pushed the leftover rice around his plate. “So you’re Pre-Law?”
“Yeah. For now. It’s pretty much the family business; my father’s really been pushing me to continue the tradition, especially now since he’s hoping to enter politics.” Angel put his fork down and reached for his glass, swallowing almost obscenely. Spike watched the muscles in Angel’s neck convulse and twitch with fascination; it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Angel replaced the glass, wiping the moisture from his lips before continuing. “He thinks it would ‘make him look good’ if his son were to follow in his footsteps, take over the family practice.” The brunet sighed, spastically wadding up and straightening his napkin before finally settling it back in his lap. “Truth is…I’m not sure it’s my thing, ya know?”
Spike leaned forward a bit, tilting his head. “No?”
Sighing, Angel pushed his plate away, propping his elbows on the table and linking his fingers together. He squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead against folded hands before continuing. “It’s kinda silly, I know, but I’ve always, since I was a kid, been…interested in art.”
“Art?” Spike crossed his arms on the table, but jerked back against his chair when Angel’s arm shot across the table. “What are you…?”
Angel kept his outstretched hand in place, pulling the napkin from his lap with the other. “Here…” Looking at Spike’s arm, he crooked his finger.
Spike warily extended his arm to meet Angel’s, stiffening when his forearm was grabbed. His brow furrowed as Angel began to dab at his wrist with the napkin.
“You got some sauce on your sleeve.”
“Oh. Bugger.”
The sly smile on the brunet’s face went straight to Spike’s groin; apparently Angel had taken Spike’s comment in a slightly different way than he’d intended. Angel snickered in amusement and, with one last wipe and one not-so innocent squeeze, Angel released Spike’s arm and re-arranged the napkin in his lap.
Spike cradled the arm against his body, compulsively rubbing the damp fabric. He looked up just in time to catch Angel swallowing, again. Spike reached for his own glass, draining it before clearing his throat.
“So…art. You paint, or draw, or…what?” He bit his lip to keep from blushing; the look on Angel’s face told him the brunet knew exactly where Spike’s thoughts were.
Mercifully, the older boy chose not to call his bluff, focusing instead on Spike’s clumsy attempt to draw the conversation into more suitable-for-public territory. “I work mostly with charcoals, although I have done a bit with acrylic, and I took Conway’s sculpture class Junior year – excellent class; I’ve always thought about continuing with that. No time, I guess.”
Spike made a face. “Conway?? You actually liked that bitch? I’m taking one of her classes this semester, most boring hour of the day. Bloody waste of my time, really.”
Angel’s brow furrowed at that; he shifted in his seat, sliding up to sit on the edge, so he could focus on the blond. “You don’t like her? What class are you taking?”
Spike sighed heavily, tossing his napkin into his nearly empty plate. “Fundamentals of Art.”
Angel smirked, sitting back in the chair lazily. “Art for Mentals, huh? You’re much too smart for that – why’d you pick that one?”
“Required, isn’t it? ‘snot like I could avoid it.”
“No, I know you need the credit, I just thought…,” His hand drifted towards the glass of water that had been sitting, unused, since the beginning of the meal, idly linking together the drops of moisture clinging to the drink and watching them run down the sides of the glass to soak into the tablecloth. “Well, I mean…you’d have enjoyed one of the higher-level classes, I think.”
Spike blinked in surprise; someone thought he was smart? He stamped down the urge to say something he had no doubt would be unbearably embarrassing.
“Guess it’s a little late for that now, huh?” He watched the ring of moisture surrounding Angel’s glass as it slowly widened. “So…uh…you think if I mention to Conway that you’re my…” The word died in his throat. What was he thinking? He couldn’t call Angel his… What would Angel think? More importantly, what was Angel?
The confusion and terror must’ve shown on his face, for suddenly Angel’s fingertips were brushing against his own, drawing his attention to big brown eyes.
“Boyfriend?”
Any chance Spike had of breathing before was certainly gone now. The brush of Angel’s fingers went straight to his groin; he reached down reflexively to re-adjust and relieve some pressure. When he looked up, the blush was unstoppable; dark eyes glittered with lust and amusement. He tried to jerk his hand away, but Angel was too quick, linking their hands together firmly, gently caressing Spike’s palm and tracing the line that ran below his fingers. They were…connected, somehow, and try as he might, Spike couldn’t break eye contact with the older boy. He struggled for breath, becoming increasingly uncomfortable in the rising heat, needing desperately to fidget in his chair, to expel some of the energy he felt rising within, but Angel’s gaze held – held him.
“How ‘bout I come to visit her one day, huh? When you just happen to be in class?”
Spike’s voice came out scratchy and thin. “H-uh?” He coughed, breaking the spell, and reached for his glass. He nearly panicked when he realized it was empty, before snatching Angel’s water glass and emptying it. He blinked a few times before his gaze fell on their still-linked fingers. He was unbearably warm again.
“Uhm…class. Yeah, that sounds…nice. Would be…nice, that. Only if you want too, that is, cause I’m really not doing that badly, I mean, I’ll pass and all, so if you’d rather not, if wouldn’t be a big deal, although it would be nice, to see you again, that is, not that I won’t, I mean…I will, won’t I? Not that…I mean…it’s just…”
He was interrupted by the waiter, who removed the empty plates and placed a positively sinful chocolate confection in front of Angel.
Spike winced, making a great show of studying the carpet; of all the times to channel his little brother. He looked up just in time to catch Angel licking ooey-gooey chocolate sauce from his spoon. A tiny groan escaped Spike’s throat, catching the brunet’s attention.
Angel looked up, blinking innocently, and offered the spoon to Spike. “Want some?”
Spike nearly whimpered. It was official. This was the end.
Angel was going to kill him before the evening was over.
Spike pushed the leftover rice around his plate. “So you’re Pre-Law?”
“Yeah. For now. It’s pretty much the family business; my father’s really been pushing me to continue the tradition, especially now since he’s hoping to enter politics.” Angel put his fork down and reached for his glass, swallowing almost obscenely. Spike watched the muscles in Angel’s neck convulse and twitch with fascination; it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Angel replaced the glass, wiping the moisture from his lips before continuing. “He thinks it would ‘make him look good’ if his son were to follow in his footsteps, take over the family practice.” The brunet sighed, spastically wadding up and straightening his napkin before finally settling it back in his lap. “Truth is…I’m not sure it’s my thing, ya know?”
Spike leaned forward a bit, tilting his head. “No?”
Sighing, Angel pushed his plate away, propping his elbows on the table and linking his fingers together. He squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead against folded hands before continuing. “It’s kinda silly, I know, but I’ve always, since I was a kid, been…interested in art.”
“Art?” Spike crossed his arms on the table, but jerked back against his chair when Angel’s arm shot across the table. “What are you…?”
Angel kept his outstretched hand in place, pulling the napkin from his lap with the other. “Here…” Looking at Spike’s arm, he crooked his finger.
Spike warily extended his arm to meet Angel’s, stiffening when his forearm was grabbed. His brow furrowed as Angel began to dab at his wrist with the napkin.
“You got some sauce on your sleeve.”
“Oh. Bugger.”
The sly smile on the brunet’s face went straight to Spike’s groin; apparently Angel had taken Spike’s comment in a slightly different way than he’d intended. Angel snickered in amusement and, with one last wipe and one not-so innocent squeeze, Angel released Spike’s arm and re-arranged the napkin in his lap.
Spike cradled the arm against his body, compulsively rubbing the damp fabric. He looked up just in time to catch Angel swallowing, again. Spike reached for his own glass, draining it before clearing his throat.
“So…art. You paint, or draw, or…what?” He bit his lip to keep from blushing; the look on Angel’s face told him the brunet knew exactly where Spike’s thoughts were.
Mercifully, the older boy chose not to call his bluff, focusing instead on Spike’s clumsy attempt to draw the conversation into more suitable-for-public territory. “I work mostly with charcoals, although I have done a bit with acrylic, and I took Conway’s sculpture class Junior year – excellent class; I’ve always thought about continuing with that. No time, I guess.”
Spike made a face. “Conway?? You actually liked that bitch? I’m taking one of her classes this semester, most boring hour of the day. Bloody waste of my time, really.”
Angel’s brow furrowed at that; he shifted in his seat, sliding up to sit on the edge, so he could focus on the blond. “You don’t like her? What class are you taking?”
Spike sighed heavily, tossing his napkin into his nearly empty plate. “Fundamentals of Art.”
Angel smirked, sitting back in the chair lazily. “Art for Mentals, huh? You’re much too smart for that – why’d you pick that one?”
“Required, isn’t it? ‘snot like I could avoid it.”
“No, I know you need the credit, I just thought…,” His hand drifted towards the glass of water that had been sitting, unused, since the beginning of the meal, idly linking together the drops of moisture clinging to the drink and watching them run down the sides of the glass to soak into the tablecloth. “Well, I mean…you’d have enjoyed one of the higher-level classes, I think.”
Spike blinked in surprise; someone thought he was smart? He stamped down the urge to say something he had no doubt would be unbearably embarrassing.
“Guess it’s a little late for that now, huh?” He watched the ring of moisture surrounding Angel’s glass as it slowly widened. “So…uh…you think if I mention to Conway that you’re my…” The word died in his throat. What was he thinking? He couldn’t call Angel his… What would Angel think? More importantly, what was Angel?
The confusion and terror must’ve shown on his face, for suddenly Angel’s fingertips were brushing against his own, drawing his attention to big brown eyes.
“Boyfriend?”
Any chance Spike had of breathing before was certainly gone now. The brush of Angel’s fingers went straight to his groin; he reached down reflexively to re-adjust and relieve some pressure. When he looked up, the blush was unstoppable; dark eyes glittered with lust and amusement. He tried to jerk his hand away, but Angel was too quick, linking their hands together firmly, gently caressing Spike’s palm and tracing the line that ran below his fingers. They were…connected, somehow, and try as he might, Spike couldn’t break eye contact with the older boy. He struggled for breath, becoming increasingly uncomfortable in the rising heat, needing desperately to fidget in his chair, to expel some of the energy he felt rising within, but Angel’s gaze held – held him.
“How ‘bout I come to visit her one day, huh? When you just happen to be in class?”
Spike’s voice came out scratchy and thin. “H-uh?” He coughed, breaking the spell, and reached for his glass. He nearly panicked when he realized it was empty, before snatching Angel’s water glass and emptying it. He blinked a few times before his gaze fell on their still-linked fingers. He was unbearably warm again.
“Uhm…class. Yeah, that sounds…nice. Would be…nice, that. Only if you want too, that is, cause I’m really not doing that badly, I mean, I’ll pass and all, so if you’d rather not, if wouldn’t be a big deal, although it would be nice, to see you again, that is, not that I won’t, I mean…I will, won’t I? Not that…I mean…it’s just…”
He was interrupted by the waiter, who removed the empty plates and placed a positively sinful chocolate confection in front of Angel.
Spike winced, making a great show of studying the carpet; of all the times to channel his little brother. He looked up just in time to catch Angel licking ooey-gooey chocolate sauce from his spoon. A tiny groan escaped Spike’s throat, catching the brunet’s attention.
Angel looked up, blinking innocently, and offered the spoon to Spike. “Want some?”
Spike nearly whimpered. It was official. This was the end.
Angel was going to kill him before the evening was over.