Holiday: St. Patrick's Day
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Category: male/male

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Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Not only the beer is green on St. Paddy's Day.

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Jealous
by Saber ShadowKitten & Tinkerbell

"One drink, mate. That's all I want," Spike said, latching onto Angel's leather-clad arm and dragging him towards the door.

"Of *green* beer?"

"You can't *taste* the green beer. You just look at it."

"I thought you were supposed to drink it."

"Christ. You are. I mean it don't have a taste, mate. Just for show."

"Well ...."

"Fuck! I thought you Micks were all drunkards!"

Angel gave Spike a look.

"Glare all you want, Pet. I'm going in."

Spike darted around a pair of badly singing drunks coming out the door. Angel gave a long-suffering sigh and followed, cursing Spike's blond head.

The bar was lively, full of mostly drunk Irish and a few smart completely drunk Englishmen. Music that usually accompanied the stomping of feet played loudly, and a few enthusiastic patrons were trying to step along. Spike had proceeded directly to the bar, pounding on it with a fist to summon the bartender.

Angel winced. He hated St Patrick's Day. Most things Americans associated with the holiday had nothing to do with Ireland. It was all just crass commercialism designed to sell cereal and green beer.

"Here. Drink up." Spike reappeared with beverage in hand and shoved a disgustingly green mug in his face. Angel eyed it suspiciously. "Just drink it, Angel." True to his word, Spike downed half his beer and wiped the foam from his lip with his sleeve. "See, nothin' to it, mate."

Angel took a tentative sip. Ergh. It was American pisswater. The green color did nothing to improve it. What he really wanted was a Bushmill's, neat.

Spike took another long draught, sizing up the patrons of the bar as he did so. Well, well, what did we have here? A nice little redheaded bird giving him the eye. Spike glanced at Angel, who was glaring into his beer.

"I'm going to get something else," Angel told Spike, and headed for the bar.

"Yeah, you do that, Pet," Spike said.

Angel spent another annoying ten minutes trying to get a decent drink, and when he turned around,Spike was nowhere in sight. 'Figures,' he thought. 'Drags my ass in here, then vanishes. Well, good. I can go home.' The brunette vampire caught a glimpse of platinum blond glinting pink under the light of a neon beer sign.

Shouldering his way through the boisterous crowd, Angel made his way in Spike's direction... only to pull up short when he saw Spike and a redheaded girl getting to know each other better. Much better, by the looks of things, since their faces seemed to be connected.

"What the fu ..." Angel didn't realize he had spoken aloud until a girl next to him looked his way. In one quick flick of his wrist, Angel downed the remains of his drink and turned back toward the bar.

***

Spike disentangled himself quickly from the redheaded piranha. He was all for a little flirting. Had to make sure hanging with Angel hadn't killed his ability to charm the knickers off of someone, didn't he? But this chit didn't seem to grasp the concept of "no."

"Where you going, cutie pie?" she whined in his ear.

"Somewhere that's not here."

Before the redhead could realize he had insulted her, Spike had let the crowd swallow him up. "Damn bloody Irish," the blond grumbled. "Give 'em an inch, and they try to stick their tongue down your throat."

Now if only that theory applied to Angel.

Speaking of Tall, Dark, and Broody ... Spike stood on his toes, searching.

****

"'Nother," Angel demanded, thunking his empty glass down on the bar.

The bartender quirked an eyebrow at Angel. "This is your last, buddy. I gotta cut you off."

"Cut me off!" Angel growled. "Cut me off?" He grabbed the bartender's wrist and leaned forward,letting a hint of fang show. "You'll cut me off when I say so."

The bartender was surprisingly unfazed. "Sorry, man."

"Listen," Angel snarled, "you'll give me another drink if I say you will. You have no idea who you're dealing --" he gave a yelp of pain when a hard hand clamped around the finger he was shaking in the bartender's face.

"Sorry, mate," Spike grinned at the bartender, taking hold of Angel's wrist and tugging. "I'll get him home, right?"

Angel jerked away from Spike, stumbling back into several patrons. "Get off!"

The bartender just shook his head and began clearing away Angel's pile of overturned glasses. "I hate this holiday," Spike heard him mutter.

Spike shook his head. "Bloody Mick."

"Don't call me that!" Angel shouted, startling the people closest to him.

"Then don't act like it."

The crowd began to edge slowly away, leaving Angel alone in the middle of the floor. "Erin Go Bragh!" he shouted, raising a fist in the air.

"Yeah, yeah, Ireland Forever," Spike replied. "Now come on." He tried to take Angel's arm, only to be shoved away -- hard.

"Leave me be," Angel muttered, backing up. "Go play with your friend."

"Friend?" Spike's brows furrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The redhead chose that moment to make her untimely appearance, and latched onto Spike's arm. "There you are," she purred.

Spike tried to shake her off, but it was like trying to pry the gun out of Riley's ass.

Angel watched Spike try to disentangle himself for a moment before pushing by the two of them and heading back to the bar.

"Damn it, Angel..." Spike snarled. He glared at the redhead. "And would you GET OFF," he finally shouted.

She turned in a huff and flounced away.

Spike started for Angel immediately, only to be cut off by a lumberjack on steroids suddenly blocking his path. The blond looked up... and up. "Move," he said in a deadly cold tone.

The Incredible Hulk's eyes narrowed as he stared down. "We don't want your kind in here," he stated.

"What, queers?" Spike sneered.

"No, Englishmen!"

"Oh, for fucking Christ's sake," Spike said, and shoved. The lumberjack went down with an earth-shaking thud, taking a barstool and several people with him.

Spike stomped over the fallen people and latched onto the back of Angel's collar. "We are leaving. Now."

"I'm not. Not me. Not leaving."

"Yes, you are," Spike ground out. "Even if I have to drag you out of here by your fat Irish ass."

Angel grinned drunkenly at a girl next to him. "Hi. Wanna go to bed with me?"

The girl looked disgusted and eyed Spike. "Sorry," Spike told her, then winced. Why was he apologizing for the drunk idiot? Because Angel was *his* drunk idiot, idiot. Great, now he was calling himself names in his head. Spike sighed. It was time to leave. Actually, it was time to leave an hour ago, he corrected himself. Angel was going to be hell to get home.

"Trust you to ruin a perfectly good pint," Spike said, looping his arm around Angel's neck in a choke hold and dragging him towards the door.

"Gah ... leggo, lil shit ..."

"Now who's calling who names?"

*****

"Bugger, Angel, you weigh a bleedin' ton," Spike grunted as he dragged Angel's worthless hide to the bedroom.

"S'my clothes. My clothes are heavy."

"Uh-huh. I think that's your lard ass, Pet." Spike dropped Angel on the bed with a grunt. "Y'ain't gonna puke, are ya?" Spike eyed him doubtfully and gauged the distance to the bathroom.

"Not unless I look at you," Angel muttered, falling back onto the bed.

Spike sighed and crouched. "I don't know...," the blond yanked off one of Angel's shoes, "...why I bother..."

Angel kicked his foot out, catching Spike on the chin. "Hey!" he protested.

"Get away," he mumbled, flinging an arm over his eyes.

Spike glared at the offending foot, debating whether to take a bite out of it but decided hobbling Angel would only mean more work for him. The second shoe came off and landed across the room with a thump. There was silence for a while as Spike stood at the foot of the bed. Then, Angel spoke.

"Did you like her?"

"Who?" Spike pulled off his duster and hung it on the bedpost.

"That girl. She was ... attractive." Angel sounded surprisingly sober.

"What girl?" Spike bent to unlace his Docs.

Angel snorted. "The one who was sucking your face off."

Spike's ears perked up. Jealous? Could it be? Docs kicked off, he yanked his tee-shirt over his head, wadded it up and tossed it in a corner of the bedroom. "You mean the redhead?" he asked with a small smirk. He chanced a look at Angel, who was lying with his arm still covering his eyes, effectively blocking his expression.

"Yes. The redhead."

"She was a bit of all right," Spike said vaguely.

"She was more than a bit of anything," Angel muttered.

Spike sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. "Angel...," he said slyly. "Are you jealous?"

Angel uttered a short bark of laughter. "Jealous! Of what? And is the bed moving?"

"Jealous of the redhead," Spike grinned.

"Why would I be jealous of her?" Angel said

"She was petite, busty, curvaceous..."

"Shut up," Angel interrupted. "Just shut up."

Spike chuckled. "S'all right, you know."

Angel lifted his arm. "What is?"

"To be jealous. I've been, plenty of times."

Angel looked doubtful, but turned on his side to face the blond. "I just ... didn't like it," he said, sounding very young.

"Good," Spike said, leaning back on his elbows.

"Why good?"

Spike snorted. "Because, Angel. A body needs t'know they're wanted, y'know?"

Angel looked startled. "I always want you."

"Yeah, well ... you got a funny way of showing it, Pet."

"I'm... I'm sorry."

Spike rolled his eyes. "I don't want your soddin' apologies." The blond rubbed his hand along Angel's black-clad thigh. "Unless you care to apologize in a non-verbal manner..."

Angel smiled softly, and lowered his eyes. "I might be able to do that."

"No 'might' about it, Pet," Spike murmured, and crawled up to where Angel's head lay on the pillow. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he began to thread Angel's hair through his fingers. Angel turned into the caress with a sigh and buried his face in the cool place where Spike's bare torso met the waistband of his jeans.

"You're an ass," Spike said with affection.

"Yeah, but I'm *your* ass."

"You forget that more than I do," the younger man said wryly. "What was that caveman routine all about?"

"Can we not discuss it?"

Spike snorted. "Whatever. Got anything else you wanna do instead?"

Angel's response was to dart his tongue out to taste the soft skin of Spike's abdomen. Spike's fingers stilled briefly, before continuing to card through Angel's dark locks. Angel glanced up before taking another selfish swipe across Spike's stomach, this time lingering at the indentation of his navel.

The hard muscles beneath the skin under his mouth tensed, then relaxed.

Another swipe, and Spike was suddenly on top of Angel, pinning the older man to the bed. Almost nose to nose, Spike stared hungrily into Angel's eyes. "I love you but sod this tender bollocks, and let's fuck."

Spike swallowed Angel's laugh, and their tongues dueled for several delicious minutes. Then Angel suddenly flipped them over and broke the kiss. He raised his head and looked down at the blond. "I love you, too," he said. "And it's not my fault I keep getting hit on. I'm just sexier than you."

Spike made a face, grabbed the back of Angel's head, and dragged him down for another kiss. They rolled again, Spike trying to get back on top, but Angel was having none of that... and they ended up rolling right off the bed.

Angel ended up on top, sprawled fully on the leaner man. He quickly gave Spike a look of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Spike chortled in response, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners. Why did he bother asking?, Angel thought with a scowl before he swooped down and smothered Spike's laughter with his mouth. He felt Spike's hands slide around his waist and down to palm his ass as the kiss intensified. The blond arched his hips as Angel ground his against Spike's, and they both moaned deeply at the contact.

Angel had too many clothes on. He broke the kiss and pushed himself to his knees. Spike followed him and, before he could even unbutton his shirt, the blond had shoved his long fingers into Angel's hair and captured his mouth again. His boy was in a kissing mood, Angel thought. Horrors. Whatever shall he do?

The shirt was quick to go, and Angel wrapped his bulky arms completely around the more slender man. Spike was devouring Angel's lips and mouth with a passion that turned Angel's insides to jelly. No more Batvamp; hello, Jellyman, vanquisher of toast and peanut butter sandwiches everywhere.

Angel smacked his hand onto Spike's jean-clad ass, his large palm practically covering his childe's entire bottom. Spike broke the kiss, glared at him, and smacked his ass in response. Angel's brow went up. Spike's lips curled back. Gauntlet thrown.

Nimble fingers clawed off the rest of the remaining clothing, not caring of the red welts they left on smooth skin. Biting kisses and bruising touches, they rolled on the floor in eager abandon. Fangs appeared and blood began to well in small nips and cuts, running together and leaving tiny drops on the plush carpeting. Rugburns formed as passion grew, and Angel tamped down his growing feelings of shame at his childish tantrum. Time enough later to dwell and brood.

The dark-haired vampire lifted his head and looked down at the blond pinned beneath him. Golden eyed and panting, with lips swollen and trickling blood,

Spike stared back at him with unwavering hunger. "You really didn't like that redhead?" Angel asked, annoyed at himself for even wanting to know.

Spike blinked. Scowled. Flipped Angel over and proceeded to shag the broodiness out of him.

Angel threw his head back and cried out hoarsely as Spike sank down on him. "Oh yeah," Spike drawled, leaning down to murmur in Angel's ear. "I really preferred that little chit."

Angel laughed out loud at the insolence of it all, making Spike grin. The blond vampire started to move, rocking his hips back and forth. Angel's fingertips scrambled at his thighs before grabbing a hold on his hips. "Warn a fella... next time... afore ye start," Angel panted, in a really horrid Irish brogue.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Don't open your mouth till we're done, huh? Can't stand the thought of screwin' a Mick."

Angel slammed upwards, gripping Spike's hips in a punishing grasp. "Who's fucking who?"

"Whom."

Angel growled in warning, not drunk enough anymore to deal with Spike giving him elocution lessons. Fortunately, Spike heeded it.

The blond lowered his head and began to thrust in earnest. Angel lay as still as he could on the carpeted floor, letting Spike dictate the pace, gritting his teeth against the urge to come entirely too soon. But then Spike's fangs were in his neck, the world shifted on its axis, and Angel heard himself groaning like a bitch in heat. He felt Spike drive home once, twice more, then felt the blond begin to shudder on top of him That was all it took. Angel arched up his pelvis flush against Spike's backside and let his climax overtake him, forgetting all about redheads, green beer, and St Patrick's Day.

Spike collapsed bonelessly on top of Angel, uncaring of the stickiness between them. He slid his fangs from his sire's neck and licked at the wound.

After a long silence, Angel croaked, "Thirsty."

Spike propped himself up on Angel's chest and grinned. "Wanna grab a beer? I hear for St. Pat's they dye it green..."