Brand New Start
Summary : Waking up in the city that never sleeps.
Pairing : Spike/Wesley/Lilah
Rating : R
Spoilers : Through "Unleashed"
Feedback : Greatly appreciated (APostModernSleaz@aol.com)
Archive : More than likely okay, but please ask first
Disclaimer : The characters used within are the property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, and of course Joss Whedon. It's their sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Notes: All for Soda, who requested "Speslah," bugged me until I wrote it, and beta read it to boot. Now, can I tell my prof it's your fault I neglected to read Richard III this weekend? (Completed 10/19/03)
The new office is significantly smaller than anything either of them had grown accustomed to in the past several years. Even Lilah's office in Hell had a better view. For Wesley, it's mostly a throwback to the squalid office he, Cordelia, and Gunn had used during Angel's Darla period.
It's not that their new business isn't making much money. On the contrary, in fact. Wesley's knowledge of demons and obscure languages and Lilah's law training and ruthless business savvy keep them well beyond comfortable.
It's just that real estate is much more expensive in New York City.
Lilah had just finished collating the Gates report when her office door swung open.
"You're not dead," she'd stated with little interest. Hell had a way of giving everything a thick coating of inertia.
"Not just yet."
Wesley grinned. "I took the elevator."
Their first week in New York, Wesley clears a nest of vampires out of Grand Central. His contact at the transit authority cuts a generous check. As it turns out, the east coast is much more cognizant of the supernatural world, and willing to deal with it as quickly and efficiently as possible.
He celebrates by taking Lilah to Nobu. She orders the unagi roll. He orders a sushi/sashimi combo, but ends up picking off her plate in between cups of sake.
The funny thing is, Angel's carefully constructed world might have held up. Everything was in place. Business was running smoothly at the new Wolfram and Hart. They'd gotten Spike corporeal, though still a vampire. They were a big, dysfunctional family again.
Then, Wesley noticed some unusual business expenditures. Namely, why was Angel making trips upstate in the dead of the night, several times a month? Why had a dummy corporation been established to give a college scholarship to a young man named Stephen Mallory?
Too much didn't add up. Not about Angel's activities, or the events of the past several years. Three visits to a shaman and a thoroughly intrusive spell later, Wesley remembered everything.
Their second week in New York, a very rich and very prominent businessman hires Lilah to advise him. She advises him to contact her friend in Chinatown if he wants to keep the Relinquor demon he'd promised his soul to from collecting.
On Wednesday, they find themselves on an empty subway car coming back from a pretentious art instillation in Brooklyn. Wesley slides Lilah's skirt up and rocks into her, matching the rhythm of the silver train as it bullets through the tunnel. Her screams are drowned out by the screeching of the brakes as they pull into Delancey Street, and it's even better than the time they fucked in the bathroom of a private jet.
"You understand why I had to do it."
Wesley sighed. "I do. And I don't."
"And you're really going to save her?"
"If you can."
Angel leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hands. "You know the price?"
"Hmm. And now you're gonna go tell Fred, Gunn, and Lorne about Connor."
Wesley shook his head. "No. They don't need to know. The way their memories were affected is...inconsequential. Not like what you took from me." A beat. "They should know, but it needs to come from you."
Angel nodded, remaining silent for a moment. Then: "You're really leaving?"
Wesley stared coldly at Angel. "How could I not?"
Their third week in New York, Spike shows up on their doorstep at three in the morning.
It's been five days since Spike arrived in the city. He has yet to tell either Lilah or Wesley why he left Los Angeles. All they know is this: it was bad, had something to do with Angel, and resulted in Spike commandeering one of the firm's helicopters and a decent chunk of change to cross the continent.
"Couldn't think of anywhere else to go," he'd shrugged, grinding a cigarette butt under his heel.
He goes out every night, cleaning up the messes Wesley can't be bothered to handle and neutralizing some of the damage Lilah's clients have done during the day.
A perfect, symbiotic relationship.
Lilah crosses her arms and turns to Spike, who's hunched over a back issue of Soap Opera Digest, still trying to find out what exactly happened on Passions. She jerks a thumb towards the microwave. "You heated blood up and forgot about it. Again."
"Oh, damn, it's probably all coagulated now, too."
"Well, yeah, but more to the point, it's disgusting."
"Well excuse me, Miss I Had A Meeting With A Regurgitating Frovlax Demon yesterday, but when did you get all dainty?"
Wesley snickers at this. Lilah rolls her eyes. "You stay out of this. And you," she turns back to Spike. "This is different because I don't expect to prepare my food anywhere near a Frovlax demon."
Spike simply gives her the two-finger salute and goes cheerfully back to his magazine.
Jackhammers rattling outside his Bleeker Street apartment drive Spike to the office early. It's an overcast day, and thanks to the subway he's able to reach the place without catching fire. 'Course, he doubts anyone in New York would even notice if he had. Hell, he'd probably make a few bucks from onlookers.
Spike stomps on every stair the two flights up to the office, trips over a stray cat and bangs into the door, and he still manages to walk in on Wesley bent over his desk with Lilah's ankles crossed at the small of his back.
She peers at him over Wesley's shoulder and grins. "Come back...in a few minutes," she pants. Wesley spares him a glance before getting back to business.
Spike smirks and leans against the wall, taking in the picture. Nothing he hasn't seen before. In one of the cases, anyway.
"You're kidding." Lilah smoothes a dollop of patchouli-scented body lotion across her arms and stares at Wesley's reflection in the mirror across from their bed. She sees him sit up behind her and take the bottle of lotion, pouring some into his hand and rubbing it into her back. "You and Spike?"
"What, you're telling me you and Lindsey never...?"
"Interesting diversion, but it won't work."
Wesley grins wolfishly and sits back. "It was only once, a couple of years ago. I was in Sunnydale, meeting with a source for some intel. There was a bar, and a healthy amount of scotch."
Lilah closes her eyes and thoroughly enjoys this mental image for a few minutes. "Important question."
"Mm?" He nips at her earlobe.
"Who was on top?"
Wesley chuckles. "Wouldn't you like to know."
She decides to find out the next night. They usually close up early on Fridays, enjoy a night in with takeout and bad movies. Tonight, Lilah invites Spike over to watch Crime and Punishment in Suburbia and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.
"Dunno, Pet. Might have a hot date with this Wall Street bird tonight."
He shows up at eight on the dot.
Wesley pulls Lilah into the kitchenette under the premise of getting more popcorn. "I know what you're doing. You can't possibly think this is a good idea."
"Not only good, also a helluva lot of fun." She smiles and bumps the refrigerator door closed with her hip.
"We have to work with Spike."
"So? That's never stopped either of us before and you know it. C'mon, Wes." Lilah wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him. "You can't tell me you missed how excited he got yesterday. Poor guy's had a rough couple of months."
"And you're such a philanthropist."
Spike's got good instincts, usually. Can tell if he's being set up, seduced, or otherwise manipulated. But Lilah laces everything with innuendoes and double-entendres. Bloke can't tell which way he's facing when talking to her.
It isn't until she begins to absently stoke his thigh during the second movie that he's sure he knows why she invited him over. Without a word, he swings his leg over and sits on her lap, crushing their mouths and hips together with a groan. Spike sneaks a glance at Wesley and is amused to see lust valiantly fighting for dominance over jealousy in his eyes. Spike responds by pulling her shirt up and running his hands over her breasts, gently brushing over her nipples. When she's keyed up enough to vibrate through the roof, Spike hops off and makes a showy bow to Wesley.
"Just heating her up for you, mate."
Wesley grins, unbuckles his pants, and climbs atop Lilah, sliding himself between her thighs. Spike, meanwhile, laughs aloud when he notices the strategically placed bottle of Eros Bodyglide right next to the telephone. Not very subtle, but funny as hell.
When Spike pushes into Wesley, Lilah snickers and kisses Wesley on the forehead. "I knew it!" she says.
The next morning, Lilah goes to heat up some oatmeal and finds, of course, a mug of coagulating blood in the microwave. She shudders and pours it down the drain. As she bends over to turn the sink on, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the faucet. The scar on her throat is fading. Part of being saved, she guesses. Won't miss it, that's for sure.
And if she ever did start to miss it, she could always fly back to Los Angeles and let Angel know she has not one, but both of his darling boys. He'd resupply her mark in a heartbeat.
And it would be worth it to see the look on his face, she thinks with a grin. Lilah hears Wesley stirring in the bedroom. A few minutes later he appears, bleary-eyed and doing a guy's version of the walk of shame. Wesley pulls the bathrobe closed and nods at the vampire passed out on the couch, television remote clutched in his hand.
"You still think this was a good idea?"
Lilah stretches lazily and shoots him a wicked grin. "Revolting remains of his mid-morning snacks aside? Oh yeah. If only to see you--"
"Finish that sentence and there'll be no spanking tonight," Wesley warns, crossing the room and playfully swatting at her ass.
Lilah laugh, leans into him and rests her head against his chest. "And they say New Yorkers don't have time for romance."