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Title: What
not to Wear
Author:
Miss Murchison
Rating:
R-ish for this snippet
Disclaimer:
All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.
Notes:
This is the second of three Buffy/Spike/Angel stories, each from a different character's
point of view. This snippet works as a Spangel standalone, so I'm leaving it as
one although I've also posted a longer version,
Wear that and I'm Calling the Whole Thing off. Links to the
other threesome stories can be
found at the bottom of the page.
Eunice
convinced me that the only
logical end to Season 5 of Angel was to have Buffy, Spike and Angel
wind up as a threesome. This fic describes an interlude in that
relationship from Angel's point of view.
Buffy has gone off for a few
hours, Spike has a nightmare while sleeping on the couch, and Angel is
trying to cope.
Poor
Angel, he seems to have the worst time trying to enjoy sex in my fics!
Or do I mean that he has the best time trying not to enjoy sex?
You be the judge.
Angel
had—-or so he assured himself—-intended to make a simple, charitable
effort to wake Spike from a nightmare and offer a few words of comfort.
How had this turned into a frenzied make-out session?
An uncomfortable constriction in the vicinity of his crotch raised
another question. Why the hell was he wearing leather pants? The answer
to that one was easy. He'd been trying to appear suave and sophisticated
to Buffy, in contrast to Spike's scruffiness. Instead, he'd found
himself dry humping Spike, while wearing one of the most uncomfortable
garments known to mankind, while Buffy had taken off on an errand and
was probably not thinking of either of them.
And if she were here, Buffy would make fun of his guilt. Which wasn't
fair. It wasn't homophobia, Angel told himself virtuously. It was
Spikeophobia. If it had been another male body beneath him . . .
But it wasn't. It was Spike's lean form, Spike's bare chest, Spike's
too-discerning azure eyes in his too-pretty face, Spike's shapely mouth,
which was about to open and say something that would simultaneously
enrage and arouse Angel—-
But even Spike couldn't snark with Angel's tongue halfway down his
throat. He could lean into the kiss, though, and he could certainly
squirm beneath Angel, creating a different kind of friction between
them. Now that they were in close contact with harsh denim, those
leather pants seemed like an even worse idea.
Angel realized his hand had crept down and his fingers were undoing the
zipper on Spike's jeans, even as their lips and tongues frantically
pursued their desperate kiss. Spike bucked up against Angel, helping the
other man yank on the jeans, wriggling his butt until the fabric finally
made its way down to his knees, his freed and very rigid cock rubbing
against Angel's still-covered one.
Angel was desperate now to finish disrobing Spike so he could get out of
his own ever-more-constricting clothes, and he attempted a maneuver too
athletic for the narrow confines for the couch, tugging downwards again
at the jeans while trying to maintain their lip-lock. They both tumbled
to the floor, grasping at each other and the sofa cushions, landing in a
confused tangle on the carpeted floor.
"Bugger!" yelled Spike.
One of Angel's arms found the other man's waist and pulled him close
again before he realized that Spike was now facing away from him. The
embrace made Spike's comment distressingly apt by bringing his perfectly
rounded ass in contact with Angel's crotch. Angel's unwilling reaction
made it clear that dealing with the leather pants was a chore that could
be postponed no longer. Even carpet burn would be preferable to his
current situation.
Abandoning his attentions to Spike's jeans, Angel reached for his own
zipper, sighing and gasping as his hand plunged within and he touched
himself. His relief was short-lived, however, as his vampire senses
alerted him to a presence that he normally would have perceived
approaching long before it was actually in the room with him.
Buffy, looking cool, sophisticated, and not the least embarrassed, was
standing just inside the doorway to the hall, her arms folded across her
chest, keys dangling from manicured fingers. From the top of her
carefully coiffed hair, to her understated jewelry and simple white
blouse, to the sleek line of her long black skirt and her elegant dress
shoes, she was a beautiful, perfectly groomed vision.
Angel, in contrast, was lying on the floor, one arm holding a
three-quarters-naked Spike tightly against him, his other hand plunged
deep inside those damnable leather pants and clutching his own engorged
cock, while, most mortifying of all, his lips were caressing the nape of
Spike's neck. He struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, but
Spike shifted his weight, trapping Angel's arm beneath him, even as
those pants suddenly became tighter than humanly or demonically
possible, confining Angel's fingers in their incriminating positions. At
least he was able to lift his head, stopping the shameful rain of kisses
he'd been bestowing on the other man. But when he tried to explain, all
he could stutter was, "I, uh, Spike, that is, we . . . we were . . . ."
Perfectly arched eyebrows quirked over amused green eyes. "Having a
wardrobe malfunction?" Buffy suggested helpfully.
Longer version of this fic:
Wear that and I'm Calling the Whole Thing off
Buffy's point of
view:
Shame
Bad, Sex Good
Spike's point of
view:
It was
a Dark and Stormy Fight
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