On the Other Side

Chapter 29





He was sitting on the sofa, wrapped and tangled in the blankets, staring unseeingly at infomercials, when the phone rang.



Cursing, he struggled to free himself from the twisted material but ended up falling off the couch instead. Luckily, he’d landed within reach of the phone.



“’lo?”



“Uhm…Spike?”



“Angel.” Spike felt his face stretch into a grin.



“Yeah.”



And suddenly, everything was ok. Almost as if all his joints loosened at once, his body was…relaxed. He wasn’t sure when he’d last felt that way. A long sigh of pleasure reverberated into the mouthpiece. At the answering sigh, a tingling sensation took up residence in his stomach.



He didn’t speak.



Neither did Angel.



He thought he should probably say something, but it just felt so nice to know that they were connected, that Angel was on the other side of the line. Still, a conversation usually involved talking of a sort.



“Uhm…” “Uhm…” They both giggled as they spoke, as one, into the receiver.



“I, uhm…know there’s probably a rule or something that says I’m not supposed to call you for another, like, three days or something, but...I just couldn’t help it. I-I had to talk to you, and you left so quickly, and…”



“I hate my curfew.”



Angel chuckled. “I’m beginning to feel that way myself.”



For a moment, the reason behind his way-too-early curfew crept into his mind but, raising a mental shovel, he beat it back and locked it away.



“I wish you were here.”



The warmth that had blossomed in his chest twisted and began to ache. “Me too.”



Silence stretched between them for a few moments as each boy’s mind wandered to the evening’s events.



“Well, technically, I could come now, but I’m feeling a bit hellish. Not sure I’d make the trip.”



“Why? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”



“Nothing to worry ‘bout, mate, m’ just feeling a little woozy.”



“Oh. Oh! Oh, shit. I poisoned you!”



“Angel, you don’t really believe…”



“Oh! Oh, oh! Fuck! I should’ve…I…oh, fuck!” At this point, Spike could almost hear Angel begin to pace. “Whatdoido? whatdoido? what…? Oh! I know, we’ll sue Frito-Lay! I’ll call my dad first thing in the morning – what do you think is a fair settlement?”



It was all Spike could do to keep from laughing out loud. “Angel…”



“Oh, shit! I took all the garbage out – I threw away the evidence!”



He had to admit, the boy was cute when he got flustered, but it seemed things were getting a little out of hand. “ANGEL.”



“What?”



“Luv…”



“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Spike. I-I…I’m sorry. Please…”



Finally, it seemed if Angel had run out of steam. “Angel, you didn’t poison me; I’m fine.”



“You sure?”



Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘m sure, ya wanker.”



“Do you think…I mean, could I come see you?”



Spike righted himself from his sprawled position in the floor and leaned against the sofa. “Come here?”



“Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I’d like to see that you’re ok.”



Spike’s attention was drawn to the stairwell. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but…he wanted it so badly. “Ok, but we’ll have to be quiet.”



Ten minutes later, there was a tap at the door. Spike untangled himself from his nest of blankets and answered.



“I’m…uhm…” The words clogged up in Angel’s throat. He waved his hands in the air, unhelpfully, as if the movement would act as a lubricant for the sentence wedged in his windpipe. Lubricant. Fuck. “Uhm…”



Head tilted, brow furrowed, Spike studied the brunet still standing on the porch. He wondered why the daft bugger didn’t come inside; it was cold. Cold? His stomach sank as he realized why there was a mime at his doorstep. “Oh…” He felt that damned blush creeping up his neck and groaned; Angel now knew exactly how far down the blush traveled. “I’ll just…go run and find a shirt, yeah?” He turned, leaving the door standing wide open.



When he came back a moment later, Angel was still on the doorstep, blinking in shock. He watched as the brunet, who finally seemed to snap out of his daze, fumbled in his pocket before withdrawing a slightly battered can. He offered it to Spike. “I brought soup.”



Reaching out, Spike gripped Angel’s outstretched arm and pulled until the older boy’s body was flush with his own; the moment they touched, the awkwardness was gone. The can hit the floor with a thud. He felt Angel’s arms slip around his waist and pull him closer. Twining his fingers in the brunet locks, Spike’s eyes drifted shut as the gap between them slowly closed.



He pulled back at the last moment, pressing his fingers against Angel’s lips. Confusion barely veiled the hurt in Angel’s eyes and Spike’s breath caught in his throat; Angel was…beautiful. “I just thought…” Sighing, he broke out of Angel’s hold, turning to shut the door. “Since I’m sick… I wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”



Suddenly, he was pinned against the door by Angel’s large frame, and Angel’s mouth was on his, and Angel’s tongue was dancing the Rumba on the roof of his mouth. When the kiss broke, he looked up into eyes dark as coal.



“First of all, it’s just a little food poisoning; that’s not something you can catch.” Spike gasped as Angel began raining tiny kisses over his lips, eyes, nose. “And secondly, I’ve spent the better part of the evening with my tongue down your throat, so I’d imagine if I were going to catch something I’d have done it by now, don’t you think?”



A question? What was the question? Completely dazed, Spike shook his head. Or nodded. He wasn’t quite sure. But then Angel was taking his mouth, and possessive hands were sliding up his back, pulling them even closer, and the thoughts that were trying to form dissipated.



Out of breath, Angel finally pulled back, his face flushed, eyes bright and glassy, lips swollen and red. He grinned at the blond. “Hi.”



Spike knew he was grinning like an idiot, but couldn’t make himself give a damn. “Hi.”



He gasped as Angel swung him up against a broad chest and carried him to the couch, sitting him sideways and propping him up against the arm. He busied around for a moment, removing the pillow and blankets from the floor where they’d fallen earlier and tucking them around Spike to make him comfortable.



Having run out of things to do, Angel placed a palm against the younger boy’s cheek; Spike pressed his face into the caress. “Can I get you anything?”



Inhibitions drowned with pleasure, Spike gazed into brown eyes and said the first thing that popped into his head. “Just you.” For a moment, he thought he might’ve gone too far, but Angel seemed anything but displeased as he pressed a hard kiss against Spike’s forehead.



With a smile, Angel moved to the opposite end of the soft and sat facing Spike, pulling Spike’s blanket-wrapped feet into his lap. He glanced at the television. “What’re we watching?”



Spike picked up the remote and turned the volume up just a bit. “That Ron fellow’s been raving about his fan-fucking-tastic new invention. Cooks chicken, or roast, I think.”



Angel didn’t answer, he’d become enthralled with the screen. “Hey, they’ve got a new size. Shit, he’s got a whole turkey in there!”



Spike arched one eyebrow. “You telling me you’ve heard of this bloke?”



“Ron Popeil?”



Spike’s eyebrow climbed another notch.



“Set it and forget it?”



Spike’s eyebrow attempted to crawl off his forehead and into his hairline.



Angel’s face melted into a sheepish smile. “Ok, so I don’t exactly watch these things, but when you’re up at 2 ‘o clock in the morning trying to study you’ve gotta have something to drown out all the noise.” At Spike’s puzzled look, he continued. “No one sleeps in the dorm at night. Actually, I think more of us sleep during the day than night. One night last semester, at about 3 in the morning, a bunch of the guys from 3rd West hooked a hose up to one of the bathroom sinks, doused the floor, poured dishwashing soap on it, and played slip ‘n slide…naked.”



Spike cringed. “Ouch.”



“It actually wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”



Spike’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”



Angel just grinned. “Oh, hey…Saturday…we’re having another party – it’s pretty much standard every Saturday – but I thought maybe you’d like to come again?”



“Sure, luv, but don’t expect me to participate in any game that involves rubbing myself against soggy 30-year-old carpet – I might be a teenage hormone bomb, but I have some standards.”



Somehow, during the conversation, Angel’s hands had wormed their way inside the blanket and were massaging Spike’s feet – palm rolling from heel to ball, strong, thick fingers kneading his ankles. “Wow. Fuck, that’s good.”



Angel’s eyes popped open and he withdrew his hands, dropping Spike’s feet back into his lap. “I’m sorry.”



“Sorry? What are you on about? Said it felt good, didn’t I?” Kicking back the covers, he slid down further into the couch, resting his heels against Angel’s belly. “Rub.” He smirked at the visible shudder that ran through Angel’s body at his tone. “’S the least you can do after poisoning me and all.”



Angel’s hands twitched, as if starting to reach out to grasp Spike’s feet then changing their minds at the last moment. “I…”



“What?”



“It’s just that I have this…thing with socks…”



Spike slid his feet back a few inches. “What? You don’t like socks? Here…” He reached down, grasping the toe of his left sock. “…I can take them off.”



“No!” Angel reached out, covering Spike’s hand with his own, their fingers twining over the cotton.



“So…you like socks?” Spike blinked, his eyes clearly spelling out the unspoken words. “Cause I’ve got a whole drawer-full upstairs; I’d be glad to get them for you. Would be a hell of a lot more entertaining than this fellow.” He gestured toward the television.



Angel rolled his eyes. “No, not just socks…socks....on feet.”



“You like socks…on feet.” Spike leered. “So if I were to do this…” He ran one foot up Angel’s chest and inside the brunet’s shirt collar and began stroking lightly along the collarbone.



Angel groaned in reply, reflexively wrapping both hands around Spike’s other foot, caressing from the seam at the toes all the way up the calf to the cuff at the top, then back down again in long, smooth, sensual touches. Smirking, Spike traced the line of Angel’s jugular with his big toe then rubbed the soft cotton against the older boy’s earlobe.



“Shit, Spike…” Angel finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding, gripping Spike’s foot tightly then reaching up to capture the other one. After catching his breath, he turned hesitant eyes to the younger boy. “You don’t…think it’s…weird? Disgusting? Sick?”



Spike pulled his feet from Angel’s grasp, and slipped from beneath the blankets to crawl towards Angel. “Weird? No. Not at all. It’s kinda sexy, you know…” He reached up to smooth back a lock of hair that had fallen onto Angel’s forehead.



Angel turned his head to press a kiss against the blond’s palm. “Yeah?”



Spike slithered closer, wrapping his arms around Angel’s neck. “Yeah. My boyfriend…” He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the word. “…has a fetish and I intend to use the knowledge to my full advantage.” Angel smirked and, wrapping his arms around Spike’s torso, pulled the younger man into his lap crossways. “Hey!”



Angel gathered the other boy even closer. “Hey what?”



Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike pouted. “’Mnot a baby.”



“Shush. When you’re sick, you have the right to be a big baby, and you need some rest.”



Spike snorted. “Where’d ya read that, then?”



Angel’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s in the Man’s Handbook - didn’t you know?!”



In spite of his protestations, he snuggled into Angel’s neck, finally feeling the warmth of sleep’s embrace, and mumbled against the skin. “Now I know you’re taking the piss.”



Drifting into oblivion, Spike smiled; Angel’s laughter was like sunshine.