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The Darkness	By : pepperlandgirl Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Threesomes/Moresomes > Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William) > Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2043 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS or BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Darkness
- 1
Title: The Darkness
Rating: R for slash, violence, bloodplay…
Summary: Post “You’re Welcome”. Buffy comes to the funeral and Angel tries to find his way out of the darkness….unsuccessfully.
Pairings: Spike/Angel, Spike/Buffy, Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Angel/Spike.

She was the last person Angel expected to see. The small band of mourners lingered around Cordelia’s grave, hunching their shoulders against the February wind and wrapping their arms around each other in support. Angel stood apart from all of them, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his head down. He sensed her before he saw her—heard her strong heart beat, smelled her rich blood, caught her distinctive scent—and he looked up and spotted her before anybody else noticed.
“Buffy…” He breathed. Wes heard him and glanced up, and then one by one, they all spotted her.
She walked straight to Angel with casual power, as though she belonged there. As though it made perfect sense.
“I came as soon as I heard…” Buffy started.
“Why?” Angel asked curtly.
Buffy seemed taken aback by his tone and his question. “She was my friend too,” Buffy finally said.
Angel snorted. “You haven’t talked to her for years.”
Buffy frowned. “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t come to pay my final respects,” she pointed out.
“You came to check up on me,” Angel stated without preamble. “Why didn’t you just send Andrew again?”
“Maybe here isn’t the best place to talk about this Angel…”
Angel’s head hurt, and he felt exhausted to his bones. Every single day of every single year of the past two centuries weighed on his mind and heart and flesh. The world was grinding him down and now the one person that had kept him focused, kept him centered, gave him hope…she was gone. And his, first, original hope was staring at him with hard green eyes like he was some sort of stranger.
Maybe he was.
“Fine, let’s go back to the Fortress of Evil,” Angel said, only slightly sarcastic.
“I never called it the Fortress of Evil…though Andrew does have a knack for stating the obvious.”
Angel spun on his heel without a word and trudged to his car. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see that Buffy was following him, but the rest of the gang was not. They all hung back at a distance, uncertain and concerned. Wes did take a step forward, but Angel noticed Fred touch his arm and stop him. Just as well. They couldn’t help them anyway.
Angel drove to W&H without speaking, and Buffy made no attempt to break the silence. He thought she would. He thought she would ask questions and demand answers and muscle her way back into his life and business because she could, because she was curious, because she was the Slayer, because she thought she still had a hold over him, because she thought she still had the right. Because they both liked to pretend there was a connection, locking them together despite the time and endless space between them.
“This is where you live now?” Buffy asked when they parked in the large, underground garage, surrounded by gaudy and expensive cars.
“Yes.”
There were two elevators. He chose the one on the right—his. It felt small and cramped when they stepped in. The last time they met there was kissing and talk of basking…Angel blinked at the memory. It seemed rather distant, like it never happened…He had lost Connor and Cordy and sold what was left of his battered soul for the privilege of never seeing his son again and then she turned him away…
“Nice place,” she commented once the doors opened, revealing his pent house.
Angel pulled his jacket off and tossed it aside carelessly. “Yeah, it’s great.” He walked over to the fridge and thoughtlessly pulled the blood out. He had been feeding more and more lately. Cordelia ate chocolate by the pound when she was upset. Used to eat chocolate by the pound…
Buffy crossed her arms. “Did she die because of this deal?”
Angel wasn’t terribly surprised by her bluntness. “No. It’s a long story.”
“I know most of it.”
Angel downed his blood. “Did you come here to fight with me?”
“I came here to find out what the hell is going on.”
“A funeral.”
“Why didn’t you call us when she died? We would have liked to know."
“I thought you didn’t want to hear from me anymore. You don’t trust me, right?”
Buffy sighed. “I can’t trust an evil, multi-dimensional law firm with a weapon as powerful as a slayer.”
“There are hundreds of slayers out there, Buffy. If we wanted one, we could find one.”
“And we’d come in and get her,” Buffy informed him.
“So did you just come here to tell me how evil and untrustworthy I am?”
“Giles has information on several of your clients. Clients that are guilty of some truly horrific crimes. And you haven’t done anything about it.” Buffy shrugged. “Seems like something fishy is going on.”
“It’s complicated, Buffy.”
“Try me.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Angel said softly.
“You may not have noticed, but I’m not a child.”
“And this is none of your business.”
She held her hands up. “Hello? Slayer here. Threats to the world is my business.”
“Not this,” Angel said simply. “I told you once that L.A. is my town…”
“And what you’re doing is affecting more than just L.A.,” Buffy interrupted. “How am I supposed to believe that you’re s on on my side when I hear about the sort of…people…you protect?”
“We’re trying to change from the inside,” Angel said. It sounded lame in his own ears, and he could only imagine how lame it sounded to Buffy.“I had to do this because I felt it was the right thing to do.”
Buffy took a step forward. “The right thing to do would be to destroy this place and everything associated with it.”
“There are powers…that you can’t even conceive of, Buffy. I can’t take them all on…nobody could.”
“But you’re not going to try? You’re a coward.”
“Buffy…you better stop now.”
“Or you’ll what?” She challenged, glorious and confident in her own strength.
“Just…get out. Get out of my house, get out of L.A., go back to wherever it is you came from,” Angel snapped. He didn’t need her here, questioning his decisions, questioning his actions. She couldn’t understand…what he had done, what he was willing to do, for Connor, for Cordelia. And she wouldn’t even try.
“No, I’m not done talking about this.”
“Get out,” he repeated.
“Not until I get some answers,” Buffy insisted.
Angel grabbed her arms with the intention of picking her up and carrying her to the door—he wasn’t thinking clearly. Without hesitation, she pushed his arms away and belted him across the room. He slammed against the wall, but jumped to his feet immediately. Something snapped inside of him, broke like a fragile piece of glass, and he flung himself at her.
There was a certain comfort to the fight, because he knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, knew she wasn’t going to hurt him. If felt good to wreck the apartment and hear the glass shatter beneath her body, feel the plaster break under his weight, feel the sharp slivers of wood push into his skin when she threw him on top of the table. Dancing closer and closer to the edge because now it didn’t matter how much he flirted with it.
Angel kicked her hard enough to send her staggering backwards into the bedroom. She was already growing winded, and Angel thought maybe she wasn’t training as hard as she should. Maybe now that she shared her sacred duty, she didn’t take it as seriously any more. She shouldn’t be tired,
he was just getting warmed up. He felt like he could go all night. Now that he was moving, he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to sit down and let the memories of Cordy’s smile and hair and laugh and kiss catch up with him and overwhelm him.
Her reaction time slowed. She didn’t duck fast enough,didn’t kick fast enough, didn’t move fast enough. His fist connected with her temple solidly and she fell backwards onto the bed—her eyes closed. Out. Angel’s eyes widened, and he held his fist up in front of his face and slowly
uncurled his fingers. It occurred to him that as soon as she came she she would probably make him wish he was dead—if not actually kill him. Why not? She had been willing to do it before, and he wasn’t even the head of Evil Inc then. He had to stifle a mad giggle. Oh god, am I losing it? Angel moved quickly. If he tied her down while she was out, she wouldn’t be able to stake him as soon as she woke up…
He was thinking clearly. He was thinking clearly enough to realize he wasn’t thinking clearly.
She opened her eyes much sooner than he thought she would.
“You chained me to the bed?” She exclaimed.
“Buffy…”
“God, that’s such a Spike-move…”
Angel frowned. “Spike chained you to the bed?”
“Spike chained who to the bed?” Spike asked, casually walking into the room as though he owned the place. “Somebody did a number to your…” Spike’s voice trailed off when he noticed Buffy, chained to the bed, and looking murderous.
All three of them froze.
Sometimes Angel went to Fred’s lab, just to see how things were going. Once she was in the middle of an experiment, and Knox had set a vial of something thick and yellow next to her hand. She bumped it and the glass tube came in contact with her beaker and both shattered. The chemicals touched each other and reacted violently, creating an explosion and a cloud of smoke that took over a day to clear out. The tips of Fred hair had been singed and her face covered in comical black soot…that she quickly washed off because it would cause wicked chemical burns.
Angel thought the beaker was about to shatter.
The moment went on for an eternity. And Angel knew something about eternity. He had an eternity to contemplate an eternity. Buffy gaped at Spike with an open mouth, then turned her questioning eyes to Angel. Spike stared at Buffy, glared at Angel, stared at Buffy, his eyes moved quickly and Angel could easily sense the growing rage. Which was fine with him, because he felt like his skin was on fire.
“Angel?” The question fell out of her mouth and landed between them like a boulder.
The sound of her voice is what prompted action, and Angel braced himself for Spike’s attack. The glass in the window was shatter proof, and he did nothing but bounce harmlessly off, and then launch himself at Spike. If he had been holding back with Buffy, he didn’t offer Spike the same
consideration. He tore himself open and poured his confused grief and anger onto Spike in a torrent of fists and kicks and snarls.
Spike was good though, on his feet, moving fast, laughing. Laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing enjoying himself like he always did. A bitter edge to it, and he said something. Spoke, threw insults with his fists. Sharp little quips meant to sting more than a hit, off-hand comments designed to knock Angel off-kilter.
They destroyed the bedroom. The put holes in the walls. They put holes in each other. Angel kept expecting the sharp pain to go away, but it didn’t. It lurked just beneath the physical pain, and no amount of fighting would dull it.
Angel forgot Buffy was in the room. His body didn’t forget. His body always knew she was in the room. The demon hated it and so did the soul and she put him on edge all the time, but he forgot she was there. Spike was moving too fast and too furiously and if broke his concentration,
even for a second, it would be over.
He trapped Spike against the wall, but he didn’t have a weapon. He never had a weapon for Spike. And the darkness didn’t break the darkness. Spike kicked his legs out, and they both landed on the floor, heavily. Spike on top. Angel moved, flipped them over, pinned him against the floor. Their faces were less than an inch away. Spike’s body was strong and firm beneath his, full of pent up
energy—energy that still hadn’t been expended. Energy and lust and joy. Spike had joy in him, somewhere. Hidden maybe, but there.
Angel’s joy was dead.
The kiss was bitter and not unexpected. Angel didn’t know who started it or why, and Spike’s lips felt cold and hard. Not like Cordy’s sweet mouth. His mouth was as hard and unforgiving as his body. Angel’s face shifted, his fangs extended, cut into Spike’s tongue. His blood was as bitter as his mouth, and Spike responded in kind. His fangs were razor sharp and tore at Angel’s mouth mercilessly and the battle continued without fists.
Angel clawed at Spike’s clothes, his fingernails sharp and cruel and they ripped into the thin material into Spike’s skin and his flesh. Spike howled, but Angel didn’t stop. He dug deeper and deeper into Spike’s chest. He wanted to find it…
Spike grabbed the back of Angel’s hair and pulled back hard, yanking his face away. His fingers curled tightly around the back of Angel’s skull, tight enough to make it feel like his head would crush under the pressure. With his other hand, he yanked on Angel’s shirt and buttons went flying.
Angel pulled his bloody fingers away from Spike’s chest and cupped his face with them, smearing his blood across his pale, fine skin. It looked dark and scarlet, it looked like war paint. Angel licked the blood from Spike’s face, and Spike arched sharply beneath him. They both growled, their eyes flashed, and Angel—hungry again and again—forced Spike’s head back and tore at his throat.
Spike bucked beneath him, but didn’t try to push him away, didn’t try to fight him. The blood erupted in Angel’s throat—warm not hot. Putrid, not sweet. It tasted like him. It tasted darkly familiar like secret, beloved sins. Angel’s cock was hard and he thrust it against Spike, and felt the evidence of Spike’s black lust. Spike’s growling continued, and Angel echoed it. Threatening, warning, angry. He could feel fresh blame bloom down his back where Spike clawed at him. And oh it ached everywhere.
Blood and skin and clothes went flying around them. Angel didn’t remember losing his pants, didn’t remember pushing Spike’s away. He retracted his fangs from Spike’s neck, and only had time to lick the drops of blood from his chin before Spike hit him hard in the ribs and flipped Angel onto the floor.
Angel expected Spike to get up…expected Spike to stand up and walk away…expected him to go to Buffy because now Angel could hear her again, vaguely. Distantly. And if Angel could hear her, then Spike could hear her, and the artificial warmth from Spike’s blood would freeze his veins…
Spike straddled Angel and without warning, buried his fangs into Angel’s shoulder. It hurt, and he could feel each drop of borrowed blood drain from his bodies and return to Spike’s. Their cocks—hard and soft and slick and ready—rubbed against each other. Angel reached between them and wrapped his hand around Spike’s cock, as tight as a vice. Spike jerked his hips forward, thrust against Angel into his hand, and Angel’s own body pushed forward, his cock straining
for Spike.
Spike lifted his head and swallowed a final mouthful of Angel’s blood. He didn’t bother licking the crimson stains from his lips and mouth and smiled grotesquely in the moonlight. There were even drops of blood in his hair. Spike leaned forward and whispered in his ear—slowly with precision—“Suck dick, dick.”
Angel picked up Spike and threw him backwards. He smashed into the wall and fell hard on his ass. Angel got to his hands and knees and crawled across the room quickly. He fell on Spike, all hands and open mouth, and Spike pushed forward until the tip of his cock touched the back of Angel’s
throat. Spike buried his hands in Angel’s hair and thrust into his mouth furiously. Growls were coming from deep in Angel’s throat and Spike was answering in kind and they sounded more like they were fighting than fucking and over the din of their roars, Angel could vaguely hear Buffy.
Shouting stop. Shouting to them to stop. Chains rattling. Trying to force herself free. Could she see them? Did he care? Did Spike? Spike was moving fast and hard and his yellow eyes were rolling wildly and his fingers flexing and relaxing against Angel’s scalp and Angel allowed one fang
to scrape softly against Spike’s shaft, let the blood drip down his throat drop by succulent drop. The shared blood tasted sweeter this time.
Stop, stop, stop…
Spike pushed on his head harder, pushed him down, and exploded. Cum and blood coated Angel’s mouth and throat.
“Let me go!” Buffy shouted, piercing the dense fog in Angel’s head.
They both turned their heads slowly and regarded her with bright, yellow eyes. Angel could feel it. Could feel Spike. Could feel the inky black desire that pushed him further and further. Didn’t have to look at Spike again. Didn’t have to ask him. Didn’t have to tell him. They both knew.
Buffy wasn’t going anywhere.
Angel untangled himself from Spike and jumped to his feet. Spike pulled himself to his feet, and Angel could see his marred and bruised and bloody body clearly in the moonlight. The air cackled with tension and hunger and Buffy opened her mouth to make more demands, to voice her disapproval.
When she saw the two of them, standing side by side, she snapped it shut. Angel made the first move and surprised everybody in the room by grabbing her shirt and ripping it off. Spike growled behind him, but that was all.
“Angel…Angel,” Buffy licked her lips and Angel could hear her fast-beating heart—nervous maybe a little scared. “Let me go.”
He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to let her walk out of her with Spike in tow, leaving him alone again. He didn’t want to be alone with nothing but his dreams and his soul for company. If he touched her, Spike would attack him again. So he ran his blood stained hand across her cheek. A mockery of a caress. He heard Spike move then, and he walked around to the other side of the bed and reached for the lock.
“Don’t,” Angel said softly.
The lock slipped from Spike’s finger, and they stared at each other across the bed. Buffy’s heart hammered in his ears. Angel felt like they were all moving underwater. Angel licked his lips and then bent and kissed Buffy hungrily, slipping his tongue into her mouth so she could taste Spike all over him. He did it to goad Spike, and it worked.
Spike yanked on the chain hard enough to rip it off the bed. Angel could hear it rattle as Buffy wrapped her wrist around it and brought it hard across his back. He thought it was hard enough to break his ribs and he could feel the pain from his teeth to his groin. He lifted his head and straightened slowly, and caught Spike’s smirk.
Spike grabbed the end of the free chain and wrapped it around his hand. Buffy pulled hard and Spike fell forward onto the bed, covering her body with his, kissing her mouth fiercely. Angel watched Spike licked and kissed away any reminder of him on her lips. Angel’s eyes widened at the ferocity of the kiss as it deepened, and he could feel the heated fury generated between the two of them.
Buffy’s body was slick with sweat, and Spike was slick with the blood and they smelled alive. The sweat and sex and anger and blood smelled alive and it made him sick and it made him throb. Angel kneeled on the side of the bed and put his hand flat on Spike’s back. Spike didn’t stop, wasn’t distracted by Angel’s touch. Neither of them were distracted by him at all.
Angel liked the way Spike felt beneath his hand. He liked Spike’s smooth skin. He liked the tension of his muscles, the way they flexed and quivered. Angel ran his hands up and down Spike’s back, along his spine, around his ribs, across his thighs. He pushed Spike’s legs open, and cupped Spike’s balls, rolling them around his fingers.
They were still kissing. Spike’s free hand was all over her body. They were kissing like they were dying, like it was ending, like they were saying goodbye again. Angel didn’t like that. Angel didn’t like the thought of goodbye kisses. Angry, he bit Spike’s back again and again. He sunk his teeth deep enough to draw blood, but didn’t drink any.
Spike straightened and pushed Angel off of him hard enough to send him falling to the floor. Rivulets ran down his back and Angel crawled on the bed immediately and, starting at Spike’s ass, ran his tongue slowly up his back, catch each drop of blood. Spike pulled Buffy to a kneeling position and Angel heard her gasping for breath before their mouths met again, sealing in a desperately passionate kiss.
Angel felt Spike tense, felt him move, felt him slide into Buffy and Angel growled with frustration. He wanted it…he wanted to be inside of her again and inside of Spike and inside of something living and inside of something dead and inside of something hot enough to warm him again.
Angel moved away from Spike and positioned himself behind Buffy. They barely acknowledged him, but he didn’t care. He’d use them now for what he needed because he didn’t need love or attention. The only person he wanted that from was gone and it would be more comforting to…
Angel grabbed Buffy’s hair and forced her head back, breaking the endless kiss. Without warning, he vamped and bit into Buffy’s neck. She couldn’t fight back, couldn’t break away. She was still chained to the bed, and the other chain was tangled around her and Spike, holding them together and making her immobile. She yelped with surprise and she tasted like what he remembered of the sun.
Spike didn’t stop thrusting into her, didn’t break his rhythm at all. If anything, he moved faster. The vibrations reverberated through Angel’s body, making the fresh blood dance in his mouth. It filled him so fast, engorged every cell, coated his flesh, made his skin hot, burning. He didn’t take a lot—didn’t take too much…It occurred to him that he could though. It occurred to him that he could fuck her and turn her and lose his soul in her and three of them…the three of them could rule the world…
Spike had a soul, but he’d go for it. Or maybe he’d kill both of them, dust them and leave the fragments of their corpses on the bed. Could he do it? Would he do it? Oh, he could.
Spike reached around Buffy then and grabbed Angel’s throbbing cock. Angel almost whimpered with relief. His fingers were long and his hand warm and dry and wrapped around him so tightly. The blood went directly to his groin, his balls tightened, his head felt like it was a balloon, floating feet above his body.
And for one second, the pain vanished. It wasn’t happiness. Nothing close to that perfect moment. But it was a moment of relief. He felt absolutely numb yet hot. He retracted his fangs and lapped at the wound until the blood stopped. He didn’t stop though, he kept his tongue and lips on her
skin, didn’t break the contact to the living world. He rested his head on her shoulder, and Spike continued to jerk him off, moving his wrist in tandem with his hips. Buffy moaned and whimpered and Spike moaned too and Angel thought he might have.
He came hard in Spike’s hand and all over Buffy’s back. He shuddered and his body felt like molten rock. He thought he could sink to the bed and sleep for a million years. The rage had dissipated and his mind was fuzzy. They both screamed, shattered Angel’s fragile peace, and fell against each other, as boneless as Angel felt.
While they held each other and caught their breath, Angel released Buffy from the chain holding her to the bed. They fell to the bed then—the only thing that had been keeping them upright was the force of the chain. Angel stood up and swayed on his feet. He didn’t know where he was going, but the bed was too crowded and bloody and he needed something…air or something.
Spike grabbed him before he could get far and pulled him back to the bed. Angel was still hard and throbbing, the slayer blood in his veins would keep him achingly aroused for hours, maybe days. He didn’t know. Angel stayed standing, leaning against the bed, and Spike wrapped his arm around his thighs, holding him there. He wasn’t expecting to feel Spike’s hot mouth wrap around his shaft, wasn’t expecting to feel Spike’s sharp teeth scrape gently down his shaft, wasn’t expecting him to suck him the way Angel always liked.
Angel put his hand on the back of Spike’s head and tried to direct the speed. Spike allowed him to move his head faster and faster. Angel liked the control. Angel liked the sounds coming from him, liked the way his mouth felt, liked the edge of pain. He exploded in Spike’s throat and thrust
wildly into Spike’s mouth until he swallowed every bit of it. Spike let go of him then and collapsed against the bed and Angel staggered backwards, falling on the floor and the glass and the trash without thought.
Angel stayed there for a long time and he thought maybe Buffy fell asleep. He didn’t know. Spike was silent so he must have been asleep. He was exhausted. Sleep wouldn’t be enough though. Violence and sex wasn’t enough. They weren’t enough. Despite the sizzling blood roaring through his veins he felt empty. Spike and Buffy’s blood mingled in his mouth and body and he had never been more hungry.
But for a moment…well, for a moment, he had almost felt whole again. At least not so fucking empty. So hungry. So alone and lost. So pointless. Because he was and it was all so pointless. He did it to save Cordy, he did it so Connor wouldn’t kill her, he did it to save Connor from himself, and now she was just gone. So pointless. A sham. His whole existence was a fucking lie.
Angel tried to stand, but he couldn’t. Instead he crawled over to the bed and used it to pull himself up. He landed heavily on the bed, his chest against Spike’s back. Spike didn’t pull away from Angel’s touch. Spike was curled around Buffy and Angel curled around Spike and sleep wouldn’t be enough because nothing ever was anymore, but he let his eyes fall shut anyway.
What passed as his life would go on…because that was his curse.
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The Darkness