Fic: Moving On
Sep. 30th, 2013 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clockwork_hart1Title: Moving On
Rating: PG-13
Summary:Angel and Spike work on that 'moving on' thing that Andrew was talking about. Stupid fluff. Yup, I wrote fluff!
Distribution: Feel free, as long as my name remains on it
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words and I gain no profit. Characters belong to The Boss and co. (M.E.), and thank God they do, or I would have nothing to dream about
Originally posted here
"So, moving on.." Spike leant back on the sofa, lips pursed in boredom as he attempted to glare holes in Buffy's stupid Italian ceiling.
"Yeah", Angel stretched out his arms just to be doing something—the epitome of nonchalance—"moving on."
A beat of silence consumed the room, growing into a full orchestral suite as the two vampires tried to look anywhere but at each other.
"Moving on." Angel.
"Moving. On." Spike.
More silence. Gnawing, rotting silence.
Both wondered what they were even doing there, sat stiffly on the expensive leather couch currently doubling up as Andrew's bed in Buffy's stylish Italian apartment, basking in how completely over the two of them their sweet Slayer obviously was. But, of course, neither of them moved.
Spike let out a loud, deep, unnecessary breath to try and fill the palpable silence when he finally turned to Angel. "So…"
Angel had slipped into broody face, and his lips were pursed in a pout. "How are we supposed to move on from her, Spike?" His voice was little more than a whimper.
Finally everything got too much. Spike snapped. "For Christ's sake, come here!" He grabbed his Grandsire's face in both hands and slammed their lips together in a brutal kiss.
Lips met hungrily and tongues did furious battle. Lips, teeth, tongues all meeting in glorious fashion as both Vampires succumbed to the passionate kiss. Angel pushed his Grandchilde back on the couch, his muscular body hovering over the blonde's. Firm hands began searching and exploring as if this experience was new.
And it was. This was not the meeting of Angelus and William the Bloody, a furious affair akin to brawling. This was need and guilt and loneliness; shared pain a conduit.
Spike's shirt was ripped open, severed buttons baring alabaster skin. Angel grinned into burning blue eyes and began to kiss along Spike's throat.
"Hey guys, just forgot my cell—sweet merciful Yoda, my eyes!" Andrew shrieked, covering his eyes like an eight year old and slamming the door shut behind him. He snuck a peek from between his fingers, but made show of turning his head away. "What the hell are you doing?"
Spike smirked at the little geek, pulling his arms from under Angel's shirt to rest seductively behind his head. Ever the showman. "What does it look like?"
Angel's mouth twisted into a matching smirk, "we're moving on", and he brought his lips back down to the blonde's.
"Ahhh!" Andrew screamed into the darkness. He shot up, rustling the bed sheets and tried desperately to catch his breath.
"What is it Andrew?" A soft hand came to rest on his bare shoulder.
"Did our boy have a bad dream?" Another voice whispered softly in his ear.
"No Sofia," he turned to the first girl and kissed her firmly on the lips, "no Bella," he faced the second girl and did the same before all three of them tumbled back onto the bed, soft feminine hands exploring his body in the darkness. Skin slicked with sweat, Andrew whispered into the gloom, "it was the most wonderful dream."
Rating: PG-13
Summary:Angel and Spike work on that 'moving on' thing that Andrew was talking about. Stupid fluff. Yup, I wrote fluff!
Distribution: Feel free, as long as my name remains on it
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words and I gain no profit. Characters belong to The Boss and co. (M.E.), and thank God they do, or I would have nothing to dream about
Originally posted here
"So, moving on.." Spike leant back on the sofa, lips pursed in boredom as he attempted to glare holes in Buffy's stupid Italian ceiling.
"Yeah", Angel stretched out his arms just to be doing something—the epitome of nonchalance—"moving on."
A beat of silence consumed the room, growing into a full orchestral suite as the two vampires tried to look anywhere but at each other.
"Moving on." Angel.
"Moving. On." Spike.
More silence. Gnawing, rotting silence.
Both wondered what they were even doing there, sat stiffly on the expensive leather couch currently doubling up as Andrew's bed in Buffy's stylish Italian apartment, basking in how completely over the two of them their sweet Slayer obviously was. But, of course, neither of them moved.
Spike let out a loud, deep, unnecessary breath to try and fill the palpable silence when he finally turned to Angel. "So…"
Angel had slipped into broody face, and his lips were pursed in a pout. "How are we supposed to move on from her, Spike?" His voice was little more than a whimper.
Finally everything got too much. Spike snapped. "For Christ's sake, come here!" He grabbed his Grandsire's face in both hands and slammed their lips together in a brutal kiss.
Lips met hungrily and tongues did furious battle. Lips, teeth, tongues all meeting in glorious fashion as both Vampires succumbed to the passionate kiss. Angel pushed his Grandchilde back on the couch, his muscular body hovering over the blonde's. Firm hands began searching and exploring as if this experience was new.
And it was. This was not the meeting of Angelus and William the Bloody, a furious affair akin to brawling. This was need and guilt and loneliness; shared pain a conduit.
Spike's shirt was ripped open, severed buttons baring alabaster skin. Angel grinned into burning blue eyes and began to kiss along Spike's throat.
"Hey guys, just forgot my cell—sweet merciful Yoda, my eyes!" Andrew shrieked, covering his eyes like an eight year old and slamming the door shut behind him. He snuck a peek from between his fingers, but made show of turning his head away. "What the hell are you doing?"
Spike smirked at the little geek, pulling his arms from under Angel's shirt to rest seductively behind his head. Ever the showman. "What does it look like?"
Angel's mouth twisted into a matching smirk, "we're moving on", and he brought his lips back down to the blonde's.
"Ahhh!" Andrew screamed into the darkness. He shot up, rustling the bed sheets and tried desperately to catch his breath.
"What is it Andrew?" A soft hand came to rest on his bare shoulder.
"Did our boy have a bad dream?" Another voice whispered softly in his ear.
"No Sofia," he turned to the first girl and kissed her firmly on the lips, "no Bella," he faced the second girl and did the same before all three of them tumbled back onto the bed, soft feminine hands exploring his body in the darkness. Skin slicked with sweat, Andrew whispered into the gloom, "it was the most wonderful dream."
