Lawson’s corpse fell from his arms, its head smacking into the blued-steel engine
supports on the way to the floor and landed, sprawling, with fish-dead eyes
staring back up at him. No hint of accusation coloured those eyes, just dull
acceptance, and somehow that was worse. Guilt he could have lived with - Hells,
he’d lived with it for long enough - what was a touch more tarnish at this late
date.
At least this one was justified, he argued with himself. Turned for the good of the others; their only hope of getting back to shore, of saving their lives and that made it the right thing to do, didn’t it?
“Might’ve guessed you’d be back here hoarding the goodies.”
Angel’s shoulders tightened perceptibly at the sound of Spike’s voice, inappropriately loud and intrusive for this place of rest.
“Leave any for me, or do I get to nibble on the other anchovies?”
“Forget it,” Angel growled, keeping his back turned and his gaze fixed on Lawson. “I already told you they’re off the menu.”
“Good to see time hasn’t mellowed the brooding then,” Spike said and Angel heard the scuffle/shift of a body being moved behind him. He swung round in time to see Spike hoisting the body of the unconscious German officer up and nuzzling into his neck.
Sensing eyes on him, Spike glanced from Angel’s disgruntled gaze to the body in his arms and said indignantly, “What? It’s not like he needs it. Bloke’s dying, and good riddance is what I say. Doing my bit for King and country here.”
The scent of the human blood hung sweet on the air and after the taste he’d had of Lawson, Angel found his fangs itching in sympathy as Spike began to feed. He took a hesitant step forward, and then another. Spike was right, surely. It was almost a duty to ensure the officer didn’t survive. And it was years since he’d shared a feed with another vampire, years since he’d felt the rush that came with it and smelled the tang of arousal that was automatic in an undead body flush with hot living blood.
Spike raised his eyes and snarled a warning as Angel approached, immediately eliciting one in return as Angel switched to game face, no longer able to resist the pull of blood and family. Keeping their gazes locked, Angel sidled up and lowered his head to sniff at the dying man’s neck. There was no scent of fear, something which simultaneous disappointed and relieved him. Fear always made the blood taste better but Angel wasn’t certain he could actually go through with this if the man had been conscious and scared. It had been bad enough earlier when Spike was threatening him for information.
Tentatively he sank his fangs into the saggy flesh and groaned in delight as blood spurted into his mouth. Lawson had been all but bled out by the time Angel had got to him, blood already sluggish as it pumped into his mouth. This was different; this body was still fighting for life and it told as the heart speeded up trying to compensate for the flood leaving it.
His hand hunted Spike’s, their fingers entwining as they fell into the age old pattern of vampires sharing a kill; the human body pressed between them, stealing its warmth, and moving against it, their own bodies coming alive as they consumed the last of its vitality. At last the human’s heart gave up the unequal struggle and stuttered to a halt and Angel had to fight his way free of the bloodlust that threatened to consume him. The sub seemed to resonate with the heartbeats of the other sailors and the desire to keep feeding and feeding until there was nothing left was overwhelming.
Ironically it was Spike’s presence that brought him back. It was easy to turn bloodlust into simple lust and this was something they had done a thousand times before. As the corpse slithered down between them, Angel stepped forward and brought his mouth crashing down onto Spike’s, feeling rather than hearing the moan that spread through the younger vampire’s body as he responded.
And, Christ, this was something he had missed almost more than feeding; a blood-heated body against his own. Not the burning heat of a human and the ever present temptation to feed close contact with them brought, but cooler, hungrier, sleeker, harder.
Angel’s hand tangled in Spike’s hair and he yanked his head back, baring his throat, desperate for that acknowledgement, that simple indication of dominance. Spike whimpered, his fingers clutching the front of Angel’s navy issue sweater as Angel pierced his throat taking a single draught of stolen blood and letting the taste of family roll over his tongue. After that there was no going back.
Spinning Spike round, Angel slammed him into the engine, snarling as he met token resistance. But it was only token, and the second Angel answered it with a fist to the ribs, Spike raised his hands and braced himself against the bulkhead, leaving Angel free to do what he wanted, as was his wont.
The jacket was the first to go. There was no way in hell Angel was fucking anyone with a swastika on his arm. The shirt followed and he finally got access to the skin he was craving; smoother than any human, untouched by sunlight and still as perfect as he remembered.
“Looking good, boy,” he muttered, running his hand down Spike’s flank and then around to his chest, plucking at his nipples until Spike was cursing under his breath and moving his hips in time. “Trousers,” Angel added, almost as an afterthought. It was tempting to simply rip them off but not many of the sailors would be Spike’s slim build and getting replacements might be difficult.
Spike unbuttoned quickly, and pushed his trousers down, returning his hands to their previous position the second they were on the floor. A brief smirk flittered over Angel’s face. It had taken years to get Spike trained but it had finally stuck. When it came to rank between them, Spike knew exactly where he stood, or more precisely – knelt. Oh, and that was a thought; Spike on his knees doing what he did so well with that smart mouth.
Angel shook his head. There was time for that later. It would be a good twenty four hours before Lawson awoke and if he was going to keep up this pretence he had to find something to keep Spike occupied.
“You doing this, mate, ‘cos it’s getting chilly down here.”
“Shut it or you’ll be screaming the place down.”
“Promises, promises,” Spike grinned and Angel smacked him hard across the backside eliciting a satisfying yelp. He did it again and this time Spike wiggled back at him, obviously asking for more. Another possibility for the long hours ahead, Angel thought, and there was always something distinctly fulfilling about tanning Spike’s ass, watching change from the most delicate porcelain to glowing rosy red under his hand.
If he hadn’t been hard already, that image alone would have been enough to get him there. Letting one hand linger on the small of Spike’s back, Angel loosened his own pants and bit back a moan as the chilly air in the sub contacted his artificially heated skin. The residual warmth from the now dormant engines was dissipating rapidly and in another few hours it would be unbearably cold down here. Not that it mattered to a vampire.
In a quick move Angel sliced his wrist open for the second time and used the blood as a perfunctory lubricant, and pressed two fingers deep into Spike’s body. Spike flinched and gasped, and Angel sensed he was fighting the urge to tense up. Maybe he was being too sudden? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all?
Overcome by a sudden wash of insecurity, Angel began to stammer out what could have passed for an apology, only to hear Spike say, “Bloody just do it, Angelus.”
“Are you sure?” Angel asked and then felt like clipping his own ear. He was never going to get away with this if he started asking things like that.
“Course I’m sure,” Spike retorted and thrust back, making his wishes totally clear. “If you stop now, I’m going to bend you over and fuck some sense into you instead.”
As if he would… Or more to the point, could.
Finally satisfied that this was what they both wanted, Angel replaced his fingers with his cock and sank home in one thrust.
“Holy, shit!” Spike groaned, his back arching as he rose up on his toes to accommodate their difference in height. “Hard, Angelus. Give it me good.”
That wasn’t a request to be turned down lightly. Catching Spike’s thigh with one hand, Angel lifted it to give himself better access and began a punishing rhythm, fucking hard enough to drive Spike bodily into the metal with each thrust. Almost immediately Spike’s hand arrowed in on his own cock, matching Angel stroke for stroke and clenching around him until Angel was panting in a desperate need to come.
It was never going to last long. Not since Darla had Angel felt free to unleash his entire strength on another body, and with hot blood inside him fuelling his desire, it seemed like only moments before he felt the telltale tightening in his groin.
“Gonna come,” he gasped into Spike’s neck.
“Fuck, no! Don’t stop, you git. ‘M too close.”
“Come with me, boy.” The order rolled off Angel’s tongue as though he’d last given it yesterday and a shudder of recognition ran through Spike’s body at the tone.
“Angelus.”
But it was too long since he’d heard his name sobbed like that. Too long since his cock had been buried in a tight clutching hole. Too long since he’d been able to tear into flesh as he came, pulsing deep into a silken channel that took it all and more, sending his climax singing through him, ripping away breath and vision, and replacing all with white hot heat as he pounded his completion into Spike’s willing body, hips jerking and fingers bruising until he froze and spilled, hearing his own name echoing around the bulkheads as Spike joined him.
They slumped simultaneously, heads colliding, and their combined grunts of pain made Angel chuckle. Spike elbowed him in the ribs and muttered, “Poof,” half-heartedly through his heavings for breath.
Angel dropped a kiss onto the nape of Spike’s neck, tasting the salt sweat
of his skin and sighed in contentment. If this was what the navy offered, he
should have signed up years ago.
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