‘You’ve taken him from me again. Taken my boy. You will pay Angel, suffer for this, I promise you. A century in hell will be as nothing for what you have done.’
All night he had suffered this, hour after terrible hour of threats and promises from his demon, and he was no more ready to face the others than he had been when he got back. The room was dark, as always but the darkness in his heart was greater. He loved Cordelia, didn’t he? Surely that was the point. She was what Buffy had never been. The light in his darkness, the one who could accept him for what he was, who didn’t look at him and see the dark mysterious romantic hero, but the socially inept vampire who, on a bad day, was scared of his own shadow.
So why couldn’t he resist Spike? Why did it only take a moment in that man’s arms for him to completely forget Cordelia? How could he find humanity with another demon? He couldn't. Only through contact and relationships with humans could he find humanity and embrace it. And to do that he had to defeat Angelus, had to find a way of putting his demon back in his cage for good.
“Dad?” Connor, that was his boy. Not the demon masquerading as lover that had been in his arms and body earlier that day.
“Dad? Wesley called and he said he won’t be in, and Gunn asked if I wanted to go out with him and Fred. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
And wouldn’t it be nice to be able to tell him to go ask his mother but she was dust and had been a demon like him. What chance did the kid have with demons as parents? It would be better if he were turned at least he would no longer be a freak. No! That was Angelus speaking. He didn’t want to turn Connor, didn’t want to see his son frozen in this moment of youthful perfection.
“Connor. Go with Gunn.” There was silence from outside the door and Angel realised his words must have sounded harsh to the boy outside. Summoning his inner reserves, he added, slightly less brusquely. “And have a good time, okay.”
“Thanks.” Footsteps receded down the hall and Angel settled in for yet another a day wrestling his demon.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
10th February 2003
Night-clad, the figure picked its way cautiously along the corridor of the hotel, pausing periodically to listen for any sound of movement from the inhabitants. This should be an easy job; one child guarded by only two adults and one of them untrained. No sign of high tech gadgetry, not even a burglar alarm, almost standard issue for modern city dwellers. Access through the roof door had been ridiculously simple, and if Kenji hadn’t had absolute faith in his ability to detect such things he would have believed he was walking straight into a trap. But there were none of the usual indicators; careful surveillance of the target had shown no abnormal behaviour by the group, it had been business as usual at the agency for well over a week. No unidentified visitors had passed through the doors just a handful of clients who had been cleared by quick and efficient background checks at the behest of his new employers.
The young assassin paused again, spinning toward a shadow he felt certain had moved, remaining motionless until his hyperaware senses assured him that nothing living could possibly be hiding there. Of course it could be the vampire, Kenji thought with sudden and untypical mirth. He had almost laughed when the woman had warned him of the mythical creature that was rumoured to dwell in the building but, more in need of the job than he wanted to admit, the assassin had reasoned that humouring her was worth the slight loss of face. So he had humoured her, and woven some fancy tales of his involvement with other supernatural creatures, all of which she had accepted without blinking. A truly strange woman, he had agreed to carry the symbol of her religion, as she seemed insistent that it would protect him and the cross now lay alongside his dagger in one of the folds of his belt.
Painstakingly slowly Kenji continued on his way, past the rooms that contained the guards and onwards to the door that concealed his target. Again the illusion of movement alerted him and he froze the skin on his neck starting to crawl as if he was indeed in the presence of something evil. Hallucination, it had to have been; it was impossible for anything to move with such speed and stealth, no more than a flicker across the eyes. Ten steps away and he crept backwards, suddenly unwilling to leave that dark corner un-watched. Five steps and the door was right behind him and Kenji could feel the pulse in his throat, the sweat beading on his brow, and his breathing coming faster and faster. There was something there, in the darkness, in the shadows, watching him, hunting him, and waiting…waiting for him.
Ridiculous, stupid, childish nightmares. Digging deep into his reserves of courage the young man gritted his teeth and turned back to the door, taking a step forward before he realised his way was barred by a figure. A large man standing with his back turned watching at the now open door. One of the guards? Undoubtedly and this was where Kenji started to earn his fee. Silently he removed his sword from his belt and raised it above his head, briefly asking the blessing of his esteemed ancestors for a killing blow before bringing it down to cleave the man’s head in two.
Incredibly it never landed, instead his wrists were captured, almost nonchalantly by a one handed grip that sent the sword tumbling from his numb fingers. The shadow man turned, revealing a demon’s face with burning yellow eyes, flattened nose, and sharp elongated teeth. It was frowning at him, holding its finger to its lips, demanding his silence. He could feel its devilish inhalation as it leaned forward until its mouth was no more that a centimetre from his ear, and Kenji knew that he was about to hear his death described in the demon’s tongue.
“Aren’t kids cute when they’re asleep?”
Since when did demons speak with an American accent? The shock of that, as much as the coolness of the beast’s breath on his cheek caused the assassin to gasp.
“Tell you what. You start running now and I’ll not rip your head off until I catch you. What d’you say? Sound like fun?”
His hands released, Kenji staggered backward shot a terrified glance at the demon and ran.
“You didn’t kill him.” It was a statement not a question, and Angel looked up to see Cordelia standing in the doorway of her suite.
He shrugged and allowed his human face to reappear. “It was a kid. Wolfram and Hart must be getting pretty desperate to send someone like that.”
A faint crash came from the top floor and they both winced in sympathy at the assassin’s somewhat haphazard retreat. Angel grinned, his dark eyes suddenly full of mischief and devilment. “Plus it was more fun scaring the bejeesus out of him.”
Cordelia pulled her robe more tightly round her and craned her neck towards the stairs. “So this one was human. I guess it’s getting harder to recruit demons for this gig. Five deaths on the same job have got to count for something even at Assassins-R-Us.” She paused studying her lover with lowered hooded eyes. “What do you think, is the rest of the night our own?”
Feigning innocence and thoroughly enjoying his playful mood Angel countered with, “Why? Got something in mind?”
“Why don’t you get in here and find out.” She swung round revealing an expanse of tanned thigh and sashayed back into her room, leaving the door open for Angel to follow.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
17th February 2003
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
Sleepyhead? God, it was bad enough ending up in a ‘relationship’ with a human without said human treating him like a four year old.
“Time?”
“Four thirty and if you opened your eyes you’d be able to see that.”
With a disgruntled groan Spike buried his head back under the covers, intending to stay there until the sun went down at least. It wasn’t going to happen though, in a move that defied the workings of gravity and the befuddled minds of tired vampires, Wesley grabbed the quilt and dragged it off the bed, effectively depositing Spike in a neat pile on the floor down the opposite side.
“Oi, not bloody fair.” He tried to grab it back, and was deftly evaded by his now-lover who twisted out of his reach and wrapped the bedding firmly around his own body. With a petulant pout the vampire grabbed his jeans and slid them on. “Time was you’d have woken me up with something much nicer.” He added a little leer just for good measure and smirked when Wesley blushed.
“Yes, well, in my experience if I wake you up nicely it takes us three hours to get out of the bedroom, and seeing as you are due at the hotel in just over an hour it seemed expedient to use this tactic.”
“Bollocks.” The hotel. He’d forgotten. Today was the day he’d promised to start training with Connor. He’d put it off this long by claiming that the kid didn’t really need him, after all with Angel to train with what did the teen need with him. But it hadn’t cut the mustard, and now even Cordy had phoned to plead with him to come over, and he really hadn’t been able to refuse. In a fit of pique he kicked the wardrobe and then started cursing again as the solid wooden furniture had its revenge on his bare feet.
Wesley was putting the bed back together and studiously ignoring the little show of temper, so it had turned out to be completely pointless. And after the Watcher had finished, not forgetting to tuck down the corners and smooth out the creases, Spike had an insane desire to jump up and down in the middle of it just for fun. Sometimes Wesley was worse than Giles in his pernicketiness.
“Have a shower and get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen getting breakfast.”
That was the other thing. For the first week or so it had been a novelty to have someone who treated him with gentleness and respect but now it was starting to chafe, he was beginning to feel - shudder - domesticated. Not even Buffy had managed that and Spike found himself trying to get a rise out of the man at inappropriate times, pushing at him in the hope of exposing that dark side he concealed so well. Maybe sparring with Connor was a good idea, a bit of gratuitous violence was just the ticket for an itchy demon, and all he had to do was avoid Angel while he was there. With a somewhat miserable sigh he did what he was told.
**
The blood was ready to heat, the eggs were simmering gently, the kettle was coming to a rapid boil, and Wesley was desperately unhappy. He had what he thought he’d wanted. That cool pliant body had, over recent weeks, become his playground to do with as he wished, and truly he couldn’t ask for a more attentive and enthusiastic lover. Except that wasn’t entirely true. Whenever they were together, Wesley always had the feeling that Spike was somewhere else, with someone else, and it didn’t take much imagination to work out where and with whom. How was he supposed to live up to the memory of Angelus? He was human for god’s sake, not some unstoppable psychopathic demon. Was that what Spike really wanted? Angelus back in his bed. He’d certainly walked away from Angel without a fight, the two had only met on a couple of occasions since the autumn, and each time the rest of the gang had been painfully aware of the atmosphere between them.
With a sad sigh he poured the boiling water into the teapot, buttered the toast, and put the mug in the microwave. Sometimes fantasies turned out to be so much better than reality.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
28th February 2003
Connor gave him a cheerful grin as he shot passed and on up the stairs, by the looks of his overheated face he was heading for his room and a shower, and Gunn returned it, pleased at how well the kid had settled back down. His relationship with his father was healthier than any of the human members of AI had dared to hope for, and Angel seemed to have got over whatever was causing his depression. That could be due to the increase in business the agency had seen, the same thing that had led him to indefinitely postpone his and Fred’s move to Texas. The vampire hunter loved his work and now the finances were looking better he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.
He whistled quietly to himself as he flicked through the reports he was supposed to be writing up while he did his stint on the phone, just letting his mind drift.
“Kid’s getting better.” In contrast to the sweaty teen that had just beat a retreat upstairs, the only sign the vampire had been sparring was the beginnings of a rather impressive black eye.
Gunn raised his eyebrows. “So I see.”
“What this? Just walked into a door, mate.”
They laughed together and again the vampire hunter was struck by how things had changed. Just a week or so ago when Spike had first reappeared at the hotel the mood had been tense, now everyone, including Fred was starting to relax.
“Any beers kicking around?”
“Yeah. Try the fridge but take care as you open it ‘cos I had to shove Angel’s stocks to the back to fit them all in.”
The sound of the front doors opening had Gunn abandoning his papers and spinning round, a smile on his face to greet Fred who was due to return at any moment with dinner. Only to find himself face to face with Angel who was covered in filth and looked fit to bust heads.
“Damn things. Stupid place to hole up, waste of bloody time and effort.”
Ah yes. When he’d said everyone…
“What the hell are you still doing here and what are you doing in my fridge?”
Angel and Spike still weren’t getting along; they just avoided each other and sniped behind each other’s backs.
“Training your bloody kid and having a beer with a mate, mate.”
Now there was going to be trouble and he was stuck between the two of them, glowering over his head with all the menace of a flash flood, and Gunn briefly wondered if he would look stupid crawling across the floor to escape.
“Fine, you can get out. If you want to have drinks with my employees you can do it when they’re not working.”
“Okay, that’s enough…” They weren’t listening but there was no way he was going to let Angel get away with that. “I don’t work for you anymore.”
“You can keep your sodding beer. I wouldn’t drink it if it was the last stuff on the bloody planet.” The can rebounded off the wall of the lobby and proceeded to spray beery foam all over one of the couches. Well, that was adult and about what he’d come to expect from both of them.
He was shoved forward in his seat as Spike barged past, aiming for the exit, only to be halted in his tracks by Angel grabbing him by the arm.
“If you think you’re going to leave that mess…”
There was a pause. Gunn risked a glance in their direction, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Angel had the smaller vampire pinned against the wall with one hand and he was…sniffing him! Like a big dog. Running his nose up and down Spike’s neck, inhaling, and his expression was getting angrier by the moment. By contrast, the look on the other vampire’s averted face was vacillating between fear and frustration. Fear? That was something he had never expected to see on Spike’s face. This was the vamp that had happily bearded Angelus in his lair with nothing but…well, he didn’t really want to dwell on the details, but there was certainly something going on right now.
“You’ve let him take you.” He, who, what?
And then it was all action again, Spike pushing Angel away from him and following up with a punch to the older vampire’s head. “What the fuck did you expect, Angelus?”
Oh, man. Now was definitely the time to leave. Gunn slipped off his stool and headed for the door. As he went through it he heard Spike still yelling.
“That I would hang around waiting for any bits of you that were left after the chit had finished!”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Angel stepped back from the confrontation letting his hands drop to his sides, and Spike stared at him as if he were the victim of some kind of spell.
“What?”
“I said you’re right. It’s none of my business any more. I let you go and you have every right to have anyone you choose in your bed.”
“So what was with the cave-vamp act?” Still unsure of exactly what was going on, Spike wasn’t about to let his guard down, after all it wouldn’t be the first time Angelus had tried that trick on him. Consequently, he was gobsmacked when Angel slumped on to a couch and put his head in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as if in tears. Spike sniffed the air and the saline tang was there, Angel was weeping. He sat down next to his Sire and put a hand on his arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I-I don’t know what to do.” There were sniffs in amongst the sobs and Spike moved closer, stretching his arm across Angel’s shoulders offering what little comfort he could.
“Talk to me.” A small shake of the head. “Come on, Angel. You need to tell someone and I’m the one who’s here.”
“An-Angelus.”
“What about him? Bastard’s gone for good, yeah? No more, here today and gone tomorrow. That soul’s well and truly stuck down.”
Another small shake of the head and Spike felt a sudden sinking sensation in his gut. “Would you like to clarify that a bit, love? Not expecting an imminent visit from his psycho-ness are we?” Shrug. Shit! Fifty feet to the door, if he left now he might just make it. But this wasn’t Angelus - yet, and he probably owed Angel enough to at least hear him out.
“Okay. Starting to get a bit nervous now. Is he back? - No, I’d be nailed to the wall by now if he was, so what are you saying? He’s been back? Could come back?”
“He’s here. In my head. Talking to me.”
“Well, yeah. He’s a demon; it’s what they do remember? Get bit, demon moves in, next thing you know the neighbourhood’s gone to hell in a hand basket.”
Another shake but this time accompanied by a slightly wan smile at his quip. “Louder than before. I’d forgotten. It’s been such a long time.”
And suddenly it all made sense - well not all, obviously, otherwise Spike reckoned he could just write the Theory of Everything and retire on the profits, but he at last understood what Angel was going through. And the answer to that was pretty much what he’d experienced when the chip was first shoved in his head. No wonder the old man had been off his stroke if Angelus was playing head games with him.
“Is there anything I can do?” Probably a pretty useless offer but he had to try.
“Be here?”
“I’m always here for you, Angel. You know that.” His other arm joined the first one and he pulled that huge frame against him, holding it tight and rocking them both gently, a comforting purr rumbling through his chest.
Enclosed in his Childe’s embrace, Angelus relaxed. He was learning, a strange experience for such an old demon, but he was discovering that he rather liked this new William and the way he responded to Angel’s gentler approach. Beating the boy tonight when he’d smelled the Watcher on him and pushed Angel away in a burst of uncontrollable rage would have achieved nothing. Yet a few tears and a quiet confession, and William was willing to stay and hold him, and be there for his Sire. Honey and vinegar - who would have thought that his uncontrollable Childe could be won over so easily with sweetness.
**
“Wakey, wakey.” The softest of cool breaths ghosted over her face and her lips curled into a sleepy smile in response.
“Mmmm?” Stretching languorously she reached out for her lover and captured him in her arms, pulling him down so that he lay at her side on the bed. This separate rooms idea was working out much better than she’d expected; not having to share her personal space with another fitted well with the lifestyle she’d had for the last few years and Angel invariably woke her in the mornings so they could spend a few hours making love. All in all an excellent plan.
When he made no further move she pushed towards him craving his touch and he stilled her hands with a whisper. “Not now, lover, I want to talk.”
“Umm?” Her mind was still half-asleep but she listened as he started speaking in a quiet voice that hinted at his Irish roots.
“There was another assassination attempt. A demon this time, I’m not sure what type, it vaporised when it died and I was thinking.” There was a small pause and Cordelia snuggled closer sharing her body warmth. “The boy is doing well sparring with Spike and you don’t seem to mind my… him being around. What if I asked Spike to stay here? Just three or four nights a week, then he could guard Connor and give the rest of us a break. What do you think?”
Spike staying at the hotel, not something she really wanted but if it would mean that Angel had more time for her, rather than spending his nights watching over his son. “Yeah, why not. Now come here and thank me properly.”
As their lips met Cordy felt his body shudder under her touch, and he pulled away slightly before returning to kiss her even more passionately than before. She sighed under his caress and wondered how she had ever managed to survive without the feelings of love and safety being in this man’s arms evoked.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
1st March 2003
Wesley woke from a rather disturbing dream in which he was being held in a vice while his ankles were being assaulted by set of percussion beaters and reality was almost as surreal. Spike had him pinned to the bed with one arm and leg and was obviously dreaming, kicking out in his sleep, not an unusual occurrence in itself, but typically the vampire wasn’t wearing his boots, or his jeans and T-shirt. The clock showed it to be seven thirty and small shafts of sunlight creeping from the bottom of the curtain onto the floor confirmed it. Damn, he’d overslept, which probably meant his alarm clock was somewhere over the other side of the room where Spike would have thrown it when it interrupted his sleep.
He managed to escape from the vampire’s clutches and staggered to the bathroom intent on showering and getting to work before tardy became irredeemably late. Only to remember that it was Saturday and he had a day off, unless his bedmate had a vision that required his services. Still, a shower was a good idea, as was tea, and he could spend the day reading quietly until Spike woke up and demanded his attention. Wesley smiled slightly as his thoughts turned to his lover; the last couple of weeks had seen yet another sea change in their relationship, and now the vampire appeared to be giving himself over completely to what they were building together. From what he’d seen that probably had a lot to do with the way Angel treated him during his visits to the hotel, but for once Wesley found he could only be grateful for the older vampire’s churlish behaviour.
By four in the afternoon he had finished the translation, which had turned out to be nothing more than the rantings of a mad man convinced that the recitation of the works of Shakespeare would bring about the end of the world, and was starting to get impatient. He put aside his books and pens and the other detritus of his work, replacing books carefully on the bookcase, and made his way into the bedroom, pausing at the door to silently watch for a few moments before entering. Spike was still asleep, face down, totally still, and the more rational part of Wesley’s mind traitorously questioned what he was doing sharing his bed with a corpse. But such a pretty one, truly an objet trouvé, which had appeared in his life and invaded it without so much as a by your leave and who was he to cast such a thing aside.
Quietly he entered the room and shed his clothes, letting them drop to the floor in a careless heap. Later he would curse his negligence and pick them up, shaking out the creases and folding them neatly onto the chair, right now he just wanted to be naked. Another moment of watching and again his internal monologue pointed out another of the peculiarities of sharing his life with this demon, the lack of any sound from the figure on the bed. No regular push/pull of breathing, no comforting half-snore or wheeze, and he knew from experience that an ear laid against that muscled belly would detect nothing. He compared this to his own body, with its noisy life sustaining audio commentary, the way it sweat from exertion and scarred so easily, and he ran his fingers across the evidence of many adventures. What could an eternal demon possibly see in this? Any time spent with only himself for company and he couldn’t deny the way it seemed to age and die before his very eyes.
‘If it were done when `tis done, then `twere well it were done quickly.’ Macbeth, strange company as a bedfellow and yet maybe not so strange. After all Macbeth was a killer and so was the creature beside him, though he doubted Spike had ever felt remorse before he’d gained his soul. He sat on the edge of the bed and let his hand ghost millimetres above the prone back. How much of the demon was still there? They had never finished their conversation and Wesley found himself wondering yet again, how William could possibly have survived unscathed trapped with a demon for over a hundred years, surely it would drive most men insane.
There was the faintest of movements and he withdrew his hand, unwilling to relinquish his moment of inspection and consideration. This was a rare enough chance, the vampire normally far too active to suffer such exacting study. Did Angelus ever draw him? Wesley couldn’t imagine Spike ever staying in one place long enough to be captured on paper, unless restrained and that thought was enough to increase the rate of his pulse in his throat.
There was nothing in the apartment that would serve, not that would hold against a vampire’s strength but using a lover’s eye rather than a Watcher’s everything he needed was laid out before him. Gently Wesley eased the old black T-shirt up, exposing a short span of pale flesh before pulling it more forcibly until it covered the vampire’s head and arms.
Spike wriggled to ease its way and grabbed at it to remove it completely. A hand and a whispered, “Leave it,” stopped him and he lay still, wondering what Wesley had in mind. He’d been awake for a while, listening to the human as he moved around the apartment but too sleepy to bother attracting his attention. Now he was curious, the shirt enclosed his head, stopping him from seeing, and was tangled round his arms and although it would be easy to release himself, that obviously wasn’t the plan. When hands lifted him slightly he co-operated, raising his hips and feeling belt, button and fly being released, and the belt dragged free from its retaining loops, only to be twisted and fastened around his wrists. A tentative tug confirmed that the other end had been attached to something, probably the bed-head and this was starting to get extremely interesting, maybe he had hadn’t misjudged Wesley after all. The jeans went next, the human straddling his thighs as he yanked them down just far enough, hardly off his hips and clearing his ass, leaving the constricting material cutting into his groin.
It was a fine view, Wesley decided. A glorious body cropped head and tail, and reduced to its singular parts, rather like the images in magazines when the model’s body was reduced to a simple, yet erotic torso, clad in nothing more than the readers’ fantasies. And he indulged himself, rubbing his hands firmly up that fine skin from buttocks to shoulders a few times, returning with his nails leaving faint red traces that faded as he watched. Again, this time slightly harder and the tracks took longer to disappear. More? Why not. No feigned gentleness left, he used his fingers like a sculptor’s gouges, carving imprints that remained bloody when he’d passed. And there was his reward. An un-needed breath drawn into long dead lungs, the only indicator of arousal from a body that refused to flush or heat under his touch.
His own urgency increasing, he transferred his attentions downwards, using bloodied fingertips to pry apart twin half globes barely revealed from their tantalising covering of black denim and there lay his prize. A pink rosebud, almost pouting and certainly begging for a kiss. He obliged, using his tongue to loosen muscles that twitched and snatched around him the deeper he went, the flavours of soap and leather bursting into his mouth. Pull away and kiss, press in again and feel as the hard body in his arms bucked and gasped and breathed. Again, this time adding a small hard suck fore, aft and on, and now the breathing was constant, rapid. Maybe a thumb, just in there and let it bring a friend, for old time’s sake, and the ride abruptly became rougher until he offered a reprimand by way of a hiss and a curse. Looking down at his hands, Wesley saw his fingers spread dark against unchanging alabaster skin, thumbs deeply embedded and wasn’t that just perfect, his digits creating the ideal guide to bring him home. The smallest of shifts in weight brought the head of his erection up in line with his knuckles and he pushed forward, slowly, slowly, watching that further stretch that accommodated him so neatly, feeling as his sensitive tip was squeezed and clamped by reflexive action.
Totally absorbed and virtually oblivious to the slow torture he was perpetrating on his lover, he decided that such fun should be repeated, not hearing as the chanting of his name started to emerge from under leather and cloth when he withdrew. One thumb, two thumbs, cock, an unholy triumvirate, three and that being the magic number, he simply had to go again. The faintest rip of leather bindings starting to tear finally alerted him that such behaviour was no longer going to be tolerated and this time he continued onward, sinking deep through muscle warmed by friction into tissues still chill and untouched. The contrast was extreme; a tight twitching heated band around his penis while the head was wrapped in a cool velvet glove. With a moan he dropped forward, moving his hands upwards until they rested on strong shoulders that flexed under his touch and bore the added weight with ease.
As if suddenly broaching a wave, reality returned and with it the sounds he had missed. The traffic thundering outside, the neighbour’s radio blaring some noisy rendition of a popular song and over it all the desperate cursing and swearing from Spike as the vampire tried to convince Wesley to ‘get the fuck on with it.’
Snarling into the shirt, Spike was getting to the end of his fairly short tether. For about half an hour he had humoured his lover as the Watcher indulged his passion for play but this was getting ridiculous. A rich smell of blood from the welts on his back was tantalising his demon, and had been joined by that from his hands where his nails had dug half-moons deeply into his palms as he tried to stop ripping away the tenuous bindings that held him. The cloth over his head, which initially seemed like nothing more than a blindfold, was now creating the illusion of being suffocated as the cloth covered his mouth when he panted for breath. It was an unnerving sensation and the vampire found that it heightened the sensations from the rest of his body amplifying every burning touch to the nth degree. He would have been humping the bed long ago if Wesley hadn’t expressly forbidden him to move.
He bit back an ‘about time’ and managed to transmute it into a groan when he was penetrated properly for the first time. His position and clothing determined it wasn’t deep, but the angle was perfection and had the head of Wesley cock nestling inside him right up against his prostate. Wriggling slightly trying to get the man to do something, anything, he felt a stilling hand against his hip, holding firmly against his attempts to move. In retaliation he clenched hard, remembering belatedly as Wesley moaned and swore against his neck, that preternatural strength meant all his muscles.
“Again.”
He obliged and it elicited another groan and, finally, movement as Wesley leaned up with his palms on his shoulders and started to rock, every minute thrust sending sparks through Spike’s body, which congregated in his cock still trapped against the bed and catching on the zip of his jeans.
“Again.”
And now they were setting up a rhythm, each stimulating the other so they were mutually fucking, rocking, humping, and their breathing became synchronous, punctuated by quiet moans and choked off curses. Fingers digging deeply into Spike’s trapezius muscle, legs still straddling the other man’s hips, Wesley arched his back, increasing the tension in his spine and decreasing the points of skin to skin contact. It reduced overall physical sensation, but the position created the illusion of having his orgasm forcibly extracted by those incredible muscles clenching and grasping around him. The feeling was intense, anonymous and liberating, taking him out of his own body flying on excess oxygen, adrenaline and endorphins. He was accompanied by the sounds of his racing pulse and fleeting breath setting a punishing beat he could do no more than obey. It was like touching the sky, like being stoned and it was taking him higher by the moment. Then he fell, plummeting back into his body, pleasure coursing through from over-stretched spine to balls and he was coming, shuddering and jerking, again and again until every drop of moisture had been wrung from his sweating trembling body.
Somewhere along the line he remembered hearing Spike swearing pretty loudly, so he presumed he’d come as well but Wesley felt he should check. He tried to move and groaned, only managing to slip sideways and roll onto the bed. He’d ask sometime when he could feel his body again, maybe tomorrow would be soon enough. Then there was the loud sound of cloth ripping and suddenly Wesley found himself wrapped in cool arms that held him gently as he slipped into post coital sleep.
**
The tantalising smell of fresh coffee roused him a couple of hours later, and Wesley dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his robe and followed his nose sleepily into the kitchen.
“Mmm, coffee.”
“Thought that might wake you up. Machine’s bloody complicated though. Don’t you have instant?”
The vampire was showered and completely dressed again, and he smiled hopefully as he handed over a steaming mug of something as black as tar and smelling excessively sweet. Wesley took a tentative sip and winced. It tasted like hell, was twice the strength he was used to and had enough sugar in it to stand a spoon up in. He smiled back and put the mug on the side.
Spike’s shoulders dropped at his reaction and he muttered, “It’s horrible isn’t it. I can’t even make coffee.”
“It took Cordelia three years to work out how to use one and Angel still can’t.”
He brightened at that. “Not just me then. It’s the machine’s that are crap.”
“Something like that.” Easing his lover to one side, Wesley started again, emptying the grounds into the bin, and the brewed coffee down the sink. Behind him Spike was hovering, as he was wont to do when he wanted to talk, and Wesley continued with his tasks until the silence was broken.
“Umm. Angel wants me to go and stay at the hotel a few nights a week.”
That came from nowhere. “Why?” He tried to squeeze every hint of jealousy and doubt out of his voice, but he felt his throat tighten as he spoke.
“It’s not that, honest. He wants help looking after the kid. You never told me the lawyers were still after him.”
The assassination attempts. He suspected they were cramping Angel’s style somewhat and it was only logical that he would ask another vampire to help him, after all neither of them slept during the night unless they had to.
“How many nights?” Ironically it wasn’t even as if he would miss Spike’s presence in his bed, in fact he may well see more of his lover if he was at the hotel, but the nagging feeling that there was more to the arrangement wouldn’t go away.
“Three, maybe four. Just until the kid’s safe.” The vampire must have sensed his mood because the arms were back and turning him round and soft lips were pressed against his. “Do you mind? Really? ‘Cos if you do, I won’t go.”
There was nothing but honesty in those clear blue eyes, and some of Wesley’s discomfort evaporated. “It’s up to you, Spike. If Angel requested your assistance and you want to help him, then go. Although from the way the pair of you have been fighting recently no one else in the hotel will get much sleep.”
“We made up. No more fighting, promise.” With a grin the vampire released him and grabbed a holdall from by the door. “See you tomorrow then.” The door slammed behind him and Wesley was left in the kitchen wondering what the hell had just happened.