|The Chinese Buffet, Part Two - The Buffet
||[Feb. 26th, 2005|05:40 am]
Big Easy After Hours
|||||Sid & Nancy on the tele||]|
Yeah, I took my sweet fuckin' time.
So sue me.
"Car gremlins?" Spike offers, reaching up to grab the hand locked around his neck, trying to dislodge Angel's steel grip.
"Uh uh, William." Angel says in warning.
"Well, uh, you see, uh, the light, it's um...." Ohhh, DAMN. He was hoping to put that baby with his other Important-Stuff-I-Stole-From-Angel trophies. He's got a drawerful going back 124 years, and it's woefully low at the moment. A chunk of the Viper would've been a prize addition. He really doesn't want to give up his little souvenir of their first car shag, so he tries one last time: "It got stolen by stupid car thieves?" Yeah, it's lame. But maybe if Angel wallops him hard enough, he'll tire himself out and give up and Spike will get to keep the light.
"Ok, that's it - don't say I didn't warn you." Angel opens the door, then drags Spike over both seats as he gets out, his hand still firmly around Spike's throat. He shoves Spike over the hood of the car, pushing down his pants, having no trouble since they were still undone. He raises his hand and then starts to rain crack after crack, speaking totally in Gaelic.
"Ow! Owwwww!! Hey! Bloody! OW! HELL!!" Spike splays his hands across the hood, which is still warm from the car having been running for so long, and howls. "Ow! Owwww! FUCK!"
This only causes Angel to smack harder and faster, speaking louder.
Tears are welling up in Spike's eyes. Okay, ass-smackings from the Sire good. Ass-beatings from the Sire while bare-assed, over a car hood, and listening to said Sire spew Gaelic curses like the demented Irishman he is..... bad. "OW! Fuck! OWW! Shit! Quit already! OW! Stop, you crazy Mick bastard!"
Angel stops once to say evilly: "Ohhh, mistake, Spikey." Then he takes turns applying quick stingy smacks to each of Spike's ass cheeks.
Spike isn't making much sense anymore - all he can manage is "Owowowowowowowowowowowow!!" while sobbing like a great big toddler. DAMN, this sucks. Is a fucking dome light worth this?
Angel stops finally and backs up, shaking out his arms and walking in tiny circles, muttering to himself about stubborn childer and expensive cars and expensive shirts and no sense of property, until he does sound like a completely batty bastard.
Spike doesn't dare to move - he hasn't been told to yet, so he stays bent over the hood, sniffling, and whispers, "Daddy?"
"WHAT?" Angel screams, then he stops and takes a deep breath and tries again. "What?"
Spike cringes a little, but manages to mutter, "It's in the left-hand pocket of my duster." God, his ass hurts. Angel wasn't lying - Angelus never smacked like that... he lashed, he cut, he bled until fledgling William was numb. This isn't a numbing pain at all - it's hot and it stings like a bitch and Spike knows he's gonna have a two-day bruise at least. Fuck the light, he wants an icepack.
Angel deflates at this. Spike's tone, the pain he hears in his voice; the guilt comes washing in like a river and it collapses him to his knees where he looks over the water and whispers: "Doesn't matter... I'll fix it, get a new light. You can get off the car, baby. Get in and I'll take you out to eat, Will."
Spike stands up, straightens himself out, wincing as his tight jeans press on his sore ass. He looks over at Angel, who's facing away from him, on his knees in the grass. A long-buried memory comes creeping up to him: Angelus sitting in his armchair by the fire, still panting with fury and exertion, and William curling up at his feet, resting his blond head on his Sire's knee, the blood pouring down his back in thick, sticky rivers. Spike goes to Angel and sits beside him cautiously, and getting no response, he lies down on the damp ground and puts his head on Angel's right leg, trying to purr.
"Soul doesn't make you a good person... it just gives you a conscience." Angel says, his voice sounding distant. But his hand comes up and strokes down Spike's back softly. "I'm sorry, baby."
Spike purrs a little louder. "S' okay, I had it comin'." He snuffles into the fine weave of Angel's expensive slacks and brings an arm up to hug his Sire's knees. "You're still a good Daddy. Always have been."
"You're strange, Spike, if you think I always was." Angel says with a tint of amusement in his voice. "I shouldn't have done that. Why didn't you just tell me where it was?"
Spike can't help but snicker. "I wanted to keep it, you nonce! Souvenir and all." He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and laughs. "And yeah, so'm strange... but even when you were a soulless, evil bastard you were still a good Daddy. Just..... in a soulless, evil sorta way."
"Hum," Angel says thoughtfully. "Guess it would depend on perspective. I'll take your word for it. Come on, I have to feed you sometime today... which is always pointless and money-sucking, but I never seem to mind." He stands and holds out his hand. "Come on, baby - Chinese."
Spike takes the profferred hand and stands up, cringing as he unfolds his body. "You can make up for my sore arse by buying me the full buffet dinner - Japanese sushi bar and all." He walks back to the car with Angel and climbs into his seat gingerly, making little "ooh-ooh-ow-ooch-oh-ouch-ooch-ow" noises as he tries to sit.
Angel manages to look guilty and amused at the same time, which is a stretch for someone with as few facial expressions as he usually makes, and starts the car, pulling out to head to the restaurant. They make it in only a few minutes, no more problems hindering them on the way thanks to Angel's guilt and Spike's sore ass. He pulls in and shuts off the car.
Spike drags his duster up out of the floor and climbs out of the car, shrugging into his coat. As Angel walks around the car, approaching him, Spike reaches into his pocket and holds out the Viper's dome light, the multicolored wires sticking out everywhere like the serpent-strands of Medusa's hair. "Here," he mutters, "you won it, fair and square."
Angel takes the light, then stuffs it back into Spike's pocket, kissing his head, whispering: "You're all I need, plus you earned it. Come on." He leads them inside, and a waitress approaches.
"Smoking or non-smoking?"
"Smoking," Angel replies; the waitress nods, and Angel pushes Spike ahead with a light smack to his ass.
Spike yelps, which makes the waitress turn to look at him. He gives her a charming, innocent grin - well, the best he can muster through the burning sensation engulfing his entire ass region - and she smiles back, satisfied, before turning away again. Following her to the table, Spike throws a dagger-eyed look at Angel, who gives him the same innocent look Spike just gave the waitress. When they arrive at the table, Spike is horrified to discover it's a plain wooden table with two nice, HARD-looking chairs. Oh god. "Um," he says, trying to be casual, "don't you have a booth or somethin'? You know, somethin'... SOFTER?"
"I'm sorry, Sir - busy day." The waitress replies, looking apologetic.
"It's alright, Ma'am - this will do." Angel looks at Spike. "Sit, baby, it's ok - wood never hurt anyone." Angel sits. "I want a water and a beer - anything Irish, if you got it."
"We have Guinness," the waitress says.
"Perfect," Angel purrs, causing the girl to blush.
Spike glances at the Chair of Doom before telling the waitress, "I don't care what you bring me to drink as long as it's strong and it'll get me drunk." Then he proceeds to try to sit in the chair, whimpering and wincing and "owowow"ing.
"Sunburn?" the waitress asks, looking sympathetic.
No, that great Irish prig with the smug grin over there just beat my arse raw. How 'bout that booze? "Uh, no. Ummm..." What the hell kind of problems do humans GET with their arses? "Hemorrhoids." The minute the word has left his mouth, he hears Angel snort; he glares at him and eases down onto the wooden seat. Ham-handed Paddy prick.
The waitress ooh's in sympathy, sets down the menus, then goes off to get them their drinks. As soon as she is gone, Angel starts to chuckle.
"What?" Spike growls, embarrassed. "Fuckin' seat's gonna kill me."
"Poor baby," Angel says in a baby-talk voice.
Spike gives him a "god-my-unlife-is-hell" eyeroll and digs his smokes out of his pocket. "Yeah, yeah.... poor baby. Daddy better not forget the soddin' sushi."
"Daddy never forgets anything," Angel says, then gives Spike's body a once-over before the waitress returns.
"Do you know what you want?"
Angel nods, and points to Spike. "He wants the full buffet dinner, sushi bar included."
"And for you?"
"Nothing, I'm fine, thanks."
"Alright, you can help yourself, then."
Spike grins. "So I noticed." He slowly rises from the chair, bracing himself on the table, and shrugs off his duster. He drapes it over his chair and starts off towards the hot food line; pausing, he turns and looks over his shoulder at Angel, who's still at the table. "Well, c'mon!"
"What do you need me for?"
Spike sighs and takes the lit cigarette out of his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "To carry the plates, o' course!"
Angel rolls his eyes but stands, rolling up his sleeves. "Oh the lows I have sunk to when I am my Childe's indentured servant." But he walks over nevertheless... but not before smacking Spike's ass once hard. "That's for my help."
Spike yelps so loudly everyone in the immediate vicinity turns to look at the two vampires, the smaller one rubbing his butt and glaring, and the larger, darker one smirking like he's just seen his worst rival fall in a mud puddle. "You prick," Spike hisses under his breath. "You better be able to carry a lot."
"Oh, please, Spike - think of your many badly-placed Irish jokes when it comes to me and rethink that comment, hum?" Angel says, his eyebrow raising.
Spike's lower lip curls out into a pout. Okay, so he's been bested... but hey, sushi bar! "C'mon then," he mutters, and stalks ahead, dragging Angel by one hand.
Angel follows like a puppy because hey, why not - he just got one up on Spike.
Of course, Spike bypasses the hot food and heads for the sushi first; he grabs a small black lacquered tray and hands it to Angel. "Hold this." When the elder vampire just looks at him, Spike grumbles and turns his Sire's hands palms up, then places the tray across them; he then proceeds to load little ceramic plates and teeny-weeny bowls onto it in a surprisingly organized fashion.
Angel says nothing, but watches. This will either prove to be a learning experience or one of the most humiliating things he's ever done for love.
Spike takes a pair of chopsticks from a nearby cup of them and starts picking up bits of food; little round pink things wrapped in black stuff, little wads of some sticky-looking junk, a rolled-up something-or-other with what looks like a tiny Easter egg in the middle of it, and some apparently innocuous cracker things. He fills up the little bowls with various sauces, one of which is pale green and resembles the cucumber sauce on a gyro sandwich; he glances at Angel, grins a little wider, and adds more of the green sauce to the dish. "You're gonna hafta try this," he says, smiling. "I'll get extra."
"Oh, oh no, Spike. This is disgusting... this is disgusting, and I used to be one of the most vile, nasty, tortuous demons to have ever lived. I thrived on guts, blood, and gore but this.....this is just wrong." Angel says, with one of the most sickly faces he can muster.
Spike laughs. "You've been around how long and you've never eaten sushi?" He heads back to the table, calling over his shoulder. "Never thought I'd be one up on you in the experience department!"
"Well congrats, enjoy your victory." Angel sits, setting the tray down. "Because I certainly don't mind losing this one." He picks up his beer and takes a long slow sip.
Spike discovers his drink is a cup of sake - rice wine - which isn't too bad; it goes with his meal and will damn well get him plastered if he drinks enough of it. And as he sits down and his sore ass reminds him just why he ordered the stuff in the first place, he takes a healthy swig and then another. "Good shit," he mutters, and picks up his chopsticks.
"I'm sure," Angel replies as he lowers the bottle. He looks around him, scanning the restaurant. He always does, he can't help it; it seems everywhere he goes, he scans, he watches, he observes. "Place is pretty," he says out of nowhere as he looks around.
Spike looks up, an octopus tentacle hanging out of his mouth. "Uh huh," he answers noncommittally, and slurps up the sauce-covered appendage like a spaghetti noodle. "Really, Angel," he says, chewing, "you oughta try this stuff."
"God that's sick." Angel replies, and goes back to staring off away from Spike, finding a particularly nice pattern on the wall to get lost in.
Spike snickers. "At least try one thing for me," Spike says, and picks up a relatively harmless-looking bit of sushi with his chopsticks. It's a circular roll of pink fish wrapped in black stuff, about the diameter of a silver dollar and about as thick as Angel's little finger. "Here," Spike says, "I'll even put lots of sauce on it so it doesn't taste all fishy." He dunks it into the green sauce, coating the little pink disk liberally with the stuff. Having slathered the bite-sized morsel down properly, he holds it out to Angel, sauce dripping from it, and smiles expectantly.
Angel swallows hard and looks at the offending food item. "I'm a vampire, Spike," he offers in the way of an out.
Spike gives Angel his best Don't-You-Love-Me pout. "Pleeeeease, Daddy? For me? Me and my poor sore arse? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?" His lower lip starts to quiver. "I just wanna share my food wif you... don't you wuv me?" Yeah, okay, so people are starting to stare. But hey, it'll be worth it.
"Spike, it's green and black and looks like it will grow arms and feet and start screaming 'Brains, I need brains!!' at me any second - please don't make me do this."
"The green stuff is just the sauce," Spike whines. "And the black is just nori leaves. Look, I'll even hide the black stuff better." He dunks it in the green stuff some more until his chopsticks are holding an indiscernible blob of green. "I'm a vampire too, and I love sushi," he points out, dangling the tidbit in front of Angel's mouth. "Pleeeeease, Daddy? I won't make you try anything else... pleeeease, just this once?" He bats his eyelashes at Angel charmingly.
"Fine," Angel sighs out, then closes his eyes and opens his mouth, praying to every god he knows (and then some) that he doesn't have a gestating baby demon pop out of his stomach three days from now from some hidden funky egg inside of this creepy freaking food item.
Spike grins from ear to ear and pops the dripping thing into Angel's mouth... and waits.
Angel clamps his mouth shut and refuses to upchuck this HOT, BURNING, piece of FISH HELL out in front of EVERYONE. So he pushes back his chair and rushes off into the bathroom, where he promptly opens a stall and spits out the food, swearing loudly and profusely in all kinds of languages. So loud, in fact, it carries through the air ducts and out into the restuarant.
Spike, meanwhile, is laughing so hard he's about to fall out of his chair. Maybe he overdid the wasabi a tad, but hey, that'll teach the Sirier-Than-Thou ponce to burn his ass and then force him to sit on a hard wooden chair. Spike manages to stop laughing long enough to slug back the rest of his sake, light another cigarette, and call for a refill.
When Angel comes out of the bathroom, his face still damp and the top of his shirt soaked, he manages to make a round apologizing to everyone in a scratchy, raw voice. He makes it back to Spike, where he just sits, picking up his napkin, unfolding and folding it.
Spike gives Angel about three minutes before looking up and asking innocently, "Little too hot then, Daddy?" He pops a rice ball into his mouth, smiling sweetly.
"Do. Not. Speak. To. Me.... If. You. Speak. To. Me....... I. Will. Forget. I. Love. You. Forget. I'm. Souled....... And. I. Will. Make. These. Kind. Gentle. Folk...... Think. Godzilla. Was. A. Fluffy. Chameleon..... Are. We. Clear?"
Spike actually looks hurt. "Was just a bloody joke," he mutters, picks up his tray, and heads back to the buffet lines.
The napkin rips and Angel looks down and shuts his eyes. How does he manage to always do this, he wonders. Angel is calm, Spike messes with him, Angel gets mad, Spike gets upset, Angel feels guilty. Angel knows it was a joke - Angel also knows why Spike did it. Sighing, he stands up, goes outside, then returns before Spike comes back, setting his long jacket - folded into a sort of cushion - over the hard wood seat. He sits in his own and just waits, fingering his bottle of beer. Damn guilt anyway.
Spike returns a few moments later with a large dish of chocolate-vanilla twist ice cream, heavily peppered with rainbow-colored sprinkles. He pauses when he sees the coat folded over the seat of his chair, and smiles broadly. He sits down, sighing with relief when his tender backside doesn't get pressed into a hard slab of unforgiving wood, but rather a soft cushion from the most forgiving Sire in the world. He settles down with his dessert and scoops up a spoonful, holding it out to Angel. "Here," he says softly. "It'll take the stingin' away." Seeing the look on Angel's face, Spike takes a bite of the stuff himself, and offers another spoonful. "See, nothin' wrong with it."
Angel nods, leans over, and takes the spoon into his mouth, making a small moan of pleasure as the cool liquid slides down his raw throat.
"Good, innit?" Spike whispers, and feeds Angel another icy-sweet spoonful like a good dutiful childe.
Angel nods again and swallows, making another sound, his eyelids fluttering. Yeah, it was damn good at the moment.
Spike has another bite, then offers Angel one; as he goes to reach across the table, he knocks his pack of Marlboros off the table with his elbow. "Bollocks," he says, eats the mouthful of ice cream himself, and hands the spoon to Angel. "Help yourself," he says, mouth full, and disappears under the tablecloth after his smokes. "Be right back."
"Okay," Angel mumbles, taking the spoon and dipping it into the ice cream, then spooning it into his mouth.
Suddenly there are fingers on Angel's leg; they work their way up his thigh and encroach dangerously on his groin area. There's a small, almost inaudible chuckle coming from under the table.
Angel tightens his eyes and waits..if he just waits, maybe that little shit will prove this to be another joke a la Spike.
Those agile fingers set to work on Angel's fly, easing the zipper down silently, and cool fingers reach inside to stroke Angel's cock through his boxers.
"Spike!" Angel hisses softly. "Stop..Spike..stop."
The only response he gets is a purr and a squeeze.
"Fuck..." Angel moans and grips the edge of the table with his free hand.
Spike manages to get Angel's hardening cock free, and closes his ice cream-filled mouth over it, licking the cold, sticky-sweet stuff over every inch he can get to.
Angel garbles and shoves a bite of ice cream in his mouth, swirling and sucking slowly - anything, just so he doesn't spit obscenities again. He already did that once tonight.
Spike's head dips and bobs as he goes to work, licking and sucking and nibbling diligently. He feels sort of bad about the wasabi now that Angel's given in and padded Spike's chair; he figures this is the best way to apologize. Of course, if they get caught, it'll be another public indecency ticket for the both of them, and maybe some jail. But hey, if Spike's gonna apologize, he plans to do it in style.
Angel lays his head down on the table and just mutters quietly: "No redemption for this, going to hell for this, going to hell, no atoning possible...oh yeahhhhhh baby, oh god baby harder, faster."
"Shhh..." Spike whispers, and licks the dripping tip. "Quiet, Daddy." Then he goes back to what he was doing - with twice the fervor.
Angel bites into the tablecloth, sucking it into his mouth. Let them look, let them think. He doesn't give a flying fuck right now. Maybe we'll get the nice cop that came to the mall, he thinks idly.
Spike reaches up to cup Angel's balls, rolling them, squeezing them, his mouth working Angel's shaft at a feverish pace. "Love you, Daddy," he whispers, lower than mortal ears can hear. "Love you so much, such a good Daddy, so good, so sweet to your baby boy..." He takes Angel's cock deep into his throat and swallows a few times, his tongue pressing the underside.
Angel screams into the tablecloth and cums hard in Spike's throat, his hips jerking.
Spike massages Angel's thighs gently, sucking his cock clean, then tucks him away again and reappears from under the table, licking his lips. "Found my smokes," he says, as if nothing just happened, and holds up the pack.
Angel spits out the tablecloth and nods weakly, then mouths 'I love you' - because he has lost all ability to speak.
Spike smiles, leans across the table, whispers, "I love you too," and kisses the tip of Angel's nose.
Angel smiles dumbly, his white pearly teeth shining - then a spoon appears with ice cream, outstretched for Spike.
Spike chuckles softly and opens his mouth like a good boy.
Angel puts the spoon in Spike's mouth and his eyes flare with desire as Spike's mouth closes around it; he whispers, his voice harsher then before probably from the screaming, "Can we go now?"
Spike licks the melting ice cream off the spoon lewdly. "Depends."
"On whether or not you're takin' me straight home and shaggin' me into the mattress."
"I was thinking on top of the Viper in some quiet park, but that's good too. So can we go?" Angel says softly.
"Yeah," Spike says simply, and stands up, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.
Angel stands, grabs the bill, goes to the counter, and pays, not looking behind him but knowing Spike is following with both their coats in tow. They get into the car and there is no sound as they drive back home; he parks and gets out, heading towards the house.
"Angel," Spike calls, coming up behind him.
"What?" Angel stops looking back at Spike.
Spike drops both coats on the grass, grabs Angel by the front of his shirt, and drags him in for a long, deep, breathless kiss. When he finally releases his Sire, he looks up at him coyly from beneath long dark lashes and asks, "So, uh... wanna go see if the trampoline came yet?"