All About Spike - Plain Version
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We Are The Champions
By Fit of Pique
Buffy wants to put Spike and Angel in a room and let them rassle it out – with
oil. Me too.
notes: Spoilers through "Chosen"
R (swearing, slash)
All hail the mighty Joss, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox Film Corporation, and
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Saussy, my most excellent beta
reader, and Circe_tigana for the plot bunny. This was written for the flashficathon
first scene is directly from the shooting script for “Chosen”
INT. SUMMERS' HOME – BASEMENT –
So where's tall, dark and forehead?
Let me guess. You can smell him.
Yeah, that and I also used my heightened vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing
It was a…hello. I was surprised.
Most people don't use their tongues to say hello. Or, I guess they do, but…
There was no tongues. Besides, he's gone.
Just popped round for a quickie, then?
Good, good, I haven't had quite enough jealous vampire crap.
He wears lifts, you know.
One of these days, I'm just gonna put you two in a room and let you rassle it
No problem at this end.
(Warming up to it)
There could maybe be oil of some kind involved…
We Are The Champions
INT. SUMMERS' HOME – BASEMENT – NIGHT
Later that night: Spike is sleeping on his
cot with his arms wrapped around Buffy, spooning her. Buffy is awake. She is
caressing Spike's hand when she suddenly gets a dreamy, faraway expression on
Fade to a sterile, empty room. There are
two doors on opposite walls and these doors open simultaneously. Two champions
emerge, naked except for ornate wrestling title belts. Their skin gleams with
oil. They circle one another, expressions wary and bodies tense with
anticipation, trying not to be too obvious about examining one another’s
Not so high and mighty without your buggering lifts, are you?
More than mighty enough to remind you who always wins when we get into it.
Things change, mate. I've changed. Not the same...
While Spike's talking, Angel sweeps his
legs out from under him and takes him down.
One thing hasn't changed. You still talk too damn much.
Spike struggles to get up, but Angel has
him pinned to the floor with his knee. He stops struggling.
You're right. Some things don't change.
Spike moves lightening quick, pushing Angel
off balance and then hitting him not very hard in the crotch. Angel rolls away,
clutching himself and moaning.
You're still not that bright.
(Voice dripping with venom)
And you still fight dirty. You're going to pay for that, boy.
Angel rises to his feet, shakes the pain
off, and the two vamps resume their cagey circling. Think two big lions, with
really shiny belts.
(Cracking his neck and bouncing on his toes)
Speaking of things that never change…you might want to work on some new
threats, you wanker. That shit didn't scare me 100 years ago and it sure as
hell doesn't scare me now.
(Rolling his eyes)
You'll have to excuse me if I refuse to take advice about change from someone
who’s had the same bad hairdo for 40 years.
Oi! I can't believe you of all people are insulting my hair! You look like a
soddin' toilet brush.
Oh yeah? Well, you're so pale and skinny, you look like a...
(Glaring furiously, jaw clenched in anger)
Isn't this just bloody domestic? Less yappin', more scrappin' chubby!
Slow motion sequence: The two champions
begin to wrestle in earnest, going through a series of fluid moves, sliding
against each other in an almost erotic fashion. Angel eventually gets Spike in
a headlock at waist height. Spike shrieks and tries to pulls away.
Speaking of q-tips, get that fucking tiny thing away from me, you bloody
That's not what you used to say.
(Breathlessly, in a bad impersonation of Spike's accent)
Oh, Angelus! Give it me good. Pound that huge, hard cock into me! Oh, fuck
yeah! Feels so bloody good...
Spike continues to struggle while Angel
mocks him. He eventually slips out of the headlock and pushes Angel in the
back, sending him careening headlong across the room and into the wall, which
he hits with a thud. Angel just manages to roll over before Spike is on him,
straddling him and pinning down his arms. Angel squirms a little and Spike
tightens his grip on his wrists and squeezes him more firmly with his thighs,
unwittingly creating some pleasurable friction. They both moan.
(Looking up at the ceiling)
Oh bloody hell.
(In a husky voice)
Goddamn it, Spike.
Spike looks down at Angel, a confused look
on his face.
Me? What did I do? This is all your bleedin’ fault, you ponce!
My fault? How the hell could this be my fault?
You gave me a taste for this, didn’t you?
Before Dru turned me, I would never have…well, let’s just say, sodomy wasn’t on
Throughout this exchange, the two men have
been moving against each other very subtly. It couldn’t even really be called
thrusting, but the effect is the same. Angel flips Spike over so he’s on the
bottom and pins both his wrists above his head with one hand. His other hand
glides across Spike’s chest, flicks his nipples, and then trails absently down
Right. And that’s because you were such a manly man. I think we both know your good left hand was the only thing on the menu before
you were turned, William.
Spike’s expression turns dark.
Well, at least I wasn’t a worthless drunk.
(Scornfully and with great exaggeration)
No, you were a poet.
Spike sits up quickly and head-butts Angel,
hard, and they’re off again, rolling across the floor, landing the odd glancing
punch but mostly just grappling, using the belts to get a grip and then trying
to roll one another in an attempt to get on top. They both look intent and
cross, but they’re visibly aroused now, grunting and breathing heavily from
exertion. When Spike is on top, Angel reaches behind him, flicks open the belt,
and tosses it aside. He does the same with his own. Spike watches. They stare
at one another for a moment.
Would be a shame to waste all this oil.
And then they’re moving together, kissing
one another hungrily and thrusting and sliding and groping and moaning and
panting and in not very long at all they’re shouting and coming.
They gaze at one another with sated, almost
adoring looks on their faces, and then the moment passes as quickly as it came,
which was pretty damn quickly.
I see you haven’t built up any bloody stamina in the past 100 years.
I try not to get too happy, you fucking idiot. Luckily, this fits the bill
And fade back to the basement. Buffy is
sleeping soundly, looking supremely satisfied. Spike’s awake now, propped on
one arm and staring at Buffy with an astonished expression.
Fade to black.
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