Three sheets to the wind and sopping wet besides, Spike stumbled up the hallway lurching from wall to wall and muttering to himself as he went.
“Trundled off like a bloody skateboard… an’ then sploosh… this time, third time lucky, innit. Gotta- gotta give it a whirl. Said we’d do it, he did, so no harm there.”
Losing track of the apartment numbers he stopped dead, swung around to recount, forgot to move his feet and folded unceremoniously, his head banging hollowly into the wall behind him as he hit the floor.
“Bugger.”
The world was spinning, in tighter and tighter circles, dragging him down the plug hole of existence – stomach first – and a suspicion wavered obliquely through Spike’s head that reaching the bottom wasn’t a shit-hot idea, a split-second before he did.
**
“Spike?”
“Damn it, Wes, look at the mess.”
“Never mind that, Angel. We need to get him inside.”
Voices came from a long way off, echoing in his ears and edged with a shushing sound like waves over pebbles. Spike cracked open his eyelids and found his vision filled with blue-shot grey; steady, concerned, slightly crinkled at the corners.
“’lo, pet.” Okay then, speaking wasn’t a good idea. And when did that camel crap in his mouth?
“Spike? Thank goodness, he’s awake.” A hand cupped his face and Spike nuzzled into it, beyond anything more than “warm” and “Wes”. The sleepies crept over him again and all he wanted to do was rest against this human’s skin and let his living heat bring warmth where none had been for years.
It wasn’t to be. “Grab his arm” resulted in the world heaving, which resulted in his head exploding and he fell sideward landing wetly on something lumpy. Possibly two somethings.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry. Were they leather? Let me get-”
“Don’t bother. It’s gonna stain. Just get him inside.”
Their second attempt to move the inebriated vampire turned out more successfully. Spike hung between the two taller men, head lolling and boots leaving twin mud tracks along the carpet.
“I wonder what he’s doing here,” Wes pondered aloud as he hit the elevator call button with his elbow.
Angel shifted the soggy weight on his shoulder, cringed at the stench of bay water seeping into more of his clothes and stared up at the ceiling. “Dawn on the horizon, Spike drunk as a lord. I’d guess he was after a spot to hole up.”
“Indeed. Quite likely.” Wes flushed and fixed his gaze on his feet. He’d actually meant Spike being on the floor below his, rather than in the building at all, but Angel wouldn’t know that.
The elevator arrived and they manoeuvred into it, Angel pressing the button and tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the door to close. “He probably doesn’t even know you live here. Just your bad luck he picked this place.”
Wes couldn’t answer, certain that anything he said would raise Angel’s suspicions, though why that was such a bad idea he wasn’t sure. Except that his friend’s good opinion mattered to him and Angel’s dislike of Spike was so blatant that any suggestion that the two of them were involved was bound to result in judgement and un-spoken worry over Wes’ well being. And, frankly, it wasn’t any of Angel’s business.
The elevator doors opening saved Wes from further introspection and they hauled Spike along the correct corridor and finally into the apartment.
When they dumped him on the couch – at Wes’ insistence, Angel considered the floor more than good enough – Spike groaned and curled up, his soaking duster leaving a wing shaped puddle behind him. He was waking up, had a horrible feeling he was sobering up and – Christ! What was that awful smell?
“Stinks,” he muttered, covering his mouth and nose with his hand, only to flinch away as the stench got worse. Did that mean it was him?
“It’s seawater, Spike. Midnight swim?”
“Funny. Tosser.”
Hang on. Hadn’t he gone to Wes’? And if so, why was Angel there?
Pushing his hands against the back of the couch, Spike sat up and gingerly opened one eye, squinting into the offensively bright lights. Tall, dark and looming. Yep, it was Angel alright. “What the bloody hell are you doin’ here? Or, I know, woke up in hell didn’t I, and this is some idiot’s idea of a joke.”
“The only idiot around here is you.”
“There’s coffee in the kitchen, Angel, if you would be so kind.” Wes reappeared in the doorway carrying several towels and a bathrobe and, grumbling quietly about not being Spike’s servant, Angel wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, oblivious to the non-verbal exchange going on behind him
Spike stared at Wes, drinking in the sight of clean, slightly rumpled, freshly showered watcher and in return, Wes felt distinctly hot under the collar, all too aware of that scalding gaze scouring him from top to toe. Telling himself this needed to be all business, Wes shook himself and said, “Let’s get those wet clothes off you.”
“Want me naked do you? Not sure as I should. Could be you’ve got nefarious designs on my body.”
The leer which accompanied the words should be illegal in several states, Wes thought, and at this rate he’d be lucky to get Angel out of the apartment before he became an unwitting witness to activities that were undoubtedly illegal in several more. “Unless you consider wanting to avoid the total ruination of my furniture in some way nefarious, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” he said, holding out the towels and robe. “The bathroom’s through there, if you wish more privacy.”
“Know exactly where the bathroom is, love. And a right nice one it is too, ‘specially the shower. Though the tile’s a might-”
“Spike,” Wes hissed, “Do you want An-”
“You didn’t invite him in,” Angel said from the doorway, his forehead creased with thought and two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands.
Wes floundered, unable to produce the boldfaced lie called for in the face of Angel’s assertion.
Luckily Spike suffered from none of the same qualms; “Invited me over for a drink, didn’t he. Unlike some, Percy here hasn’t forgotten his manners. Still a gentleman he is, knows how to extend the hand of friendship to a fellow ex-pat.”
“Thank you, Spike. Yes, Angel, I invited him over. I believe a general invitation will serve if given to a specific individual, correct?”
Angel nodded, his objections drowned by their watertight front, though it didn’t make any sense. Wesley didn’t even like Spike, did he? Placing the coffee carefully on the table, he stood back, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and stared down at his ruined pants; the butter-soft calf skin now darkened in uneven patches by stinking bilge water. Ruined, and Wes hadn’t even noticed he was wearing them.
“Still haven’t said what the hell you’re doing here. Some evil share dealing you needed sorted or was it a date?” Spike settled back on the couch and toed off his muddy boots, all the while watching Angel’s reaction to his words. Blushing wasn’t an option for vampires but there were other ways of telling and wasn’t that interesting; looked like the old boy had designs on the watcher. The inclination to sing out and tell Angel that, for once, Spike had got there first was strong, but he resisted. Wes had made it clear he didn’t want Angel to know about them and if Spike was going to get what he came here for, he had to play nice.
“Erm…” Angel stuttered and Wesley, unaware of the undercurrent, threw him a lifeline.
“Angel came to make sure I was alright. It was my own fault, I didn’t check in with the office after our appointment and he was concerned that some unfortunate accident had befallen us.”
“Quick call not enough, then? Know phones weren’t invented back in sixteen hundred and frozen to death but you could make a little effort to keep up with the times,” Spike said, standing unsteadily and shedding his duster with more of a splatter than a slither.
Wes smiled and handed Spike a towel for his hair, which was plastered to his face in a most unbecoming fashion. Spike took it with an answering smile and fingers that lingered against Wes’ for a second longer than was strictly appropriate.
“Seventeen hundred,” Angel muttered trying to work out how he had gone from welcome guest to third wheel in such a short space of time.
“You still here?” Spike asked rubbing his hair into stiff tufts and curls, and glaring at Angel through a pause in the towelling. “Don’t let us keep you, mate. Sure you’ve lots to do, helping out the well-heeled and such.”
Just about trampled into retreat, Angel turned to locate his coat and paused when he heard Wes chuckle. Wes chuckle? Wesley never chuckled, or, at least, he had never chuckled for Angel. The sound transmuted his embarrassment into irritation and he lashed out at the customary target. “I’ll go when you do, Spike. I’m sure Wes has better things to do than baby-sit you all day.”
The two vampires measured up to each other across the room, matching glares enough to bubble paint from wood, or possibly freeze it to shattering point, Wes wasn’t sure which. What he did know was that he wanted to get Spike alone. After two aborted attempts, today was the day he was going to have him; the memory of being encased within that tight cool flesh, even for the few seconds it had lasted, was enough to make his cock begin to swell.
All his blood rushing southward did little for his higher brain functions but Wes did his best to be polite. Unfortunately his eyes couldn’t leave Spike’s face for a second so the attempt was wasted. “Angel, don’t let me keep you from anything important. I’ll call later with the details of the Framling case. In the meantime, Spike obviously needs to get cleaned up and I’m more than happy for him to take advantage of the facilities and spend the day here.”
Angel stuttered to a halt for the second time in quick succession and stared at the men before him. Prompted by Wes’ defence, Spike had looked towards him and was now completely captivated by the watcher, his eyes darkening from summer to midnight blue. His face held an expression Angel had seen before and had never thought to see again, at least not unless Buffy was in the room; pure unadulterated want. Those lips, from which Angel heard only insults and curses, yet knew were capable of the gentlest whispered endearments and throaty moans, parted and Spike’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to find words suitable for the occasion.
Wesley silenced him with a single lifted finger and such a look in his battleship eyes that Spike stood helpless before it. Angel felt his gut contract in sudden envy; to be desired with such single mindedness was as unfamiliar to him as it was craved.
Finally realising that his presence was at best ignored and at worst detested, Angel turned away, snatched up his coat and dressed. As he reached the door he looked back, ready to say his farewells and such comments as were normally expected when humans parted. He didn’t bother. They would have gone unheard. Instead he slipped silently from the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.
***
The catch dropping rang through the room like a passing bell, driving before it every worry of discovery. Spike found his voice, though only enough of it to say one word and, upon hearing his name spoken in desolate need, Wes came to him and silenced him again, this time with the softest of kisses.
It was sweet, like sap rising, with the copper edge of desire that encouraged Wes to press harder, pushing Spike back against the wall, forcing his tongue between lips that tasted of salt and desperation. When they broke away reluctantly to breathe, it was Spike who was gasping, clinging to Wes’ shoulders with fingers incapable of doing more than mindless bruising.
“Want you,” he said, his forehead hard against Wesley’s own, their bodies mirroring that desire from tip to tingling toe.
“And you shall have me,” Wes answered. “But not until you are clean. You stink like the Thames on midsummer.”
Spike frowned, his bottom lip pushing out into a pout that Wes simply had to nibble, which led to another round of kissing, and clothing being tugged aside until skin could be felt and tasted. Finally Wes pushed the insistent vampire away, shaking his head in determined fashion. “Shower,” he said. “I want to do things that frankly would be unhygienic after a dunk in the bay. How you have put up with that smell all night is beyond me.”
“Whiskey helps,” Spike mouthed against his neck. “Couple of bottles and the stench doesn’t much matter any more.”
“Even so.” Wes backed away, his hands defensive; “I have not had that benefit and would greatly appreciate you making at least a nominal effort to get clean.”
“Fine. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Spike said, reaching past Wes to grab the towels and robe from the couch. “Bring the coffee will you?” He stalked towards the bathroom, pausing at the door just long enough to drop his jeans, before walking in.
**
The hot water pounded down mimicking the thudding on the inside of his head and, as Wes hadn’t followed immediately, Spike indulged himself, leaning against the cool tiles, his eyes closed, and groaned. Fighting with Angel and flirting with Wes had driven his hangover away for a while but now it had returned full force. It wouldn’t last long; vampiric healing being what it was would soon send it running for the hills, but in the meantime, he felt like shit and could really do with some coffee to clear his head
Wes crept into the bathroom, having left a respectable amount of time so as not to seem too eager. Last night’s seduction had been a spur of the moment thing. Today, as he hovered outside the closed bathroom door, unsure of whether to enter, it had felt more deliberate and made his hands tremor with nerves. Now his mouth tasted of coffee sharpened by the splash of whiskey he’d allowed himself as a fortifying treat, redolent of cold Christmas nights in Warwickshire, rather than balmy So-Cal mornings.
Sun streamed through the necro-tinted window, picking out beads of water on the gilded tiles and thick pile carpet where the shower door remained ajar. Through the frosted glass Wes could see the vague outline of a figure, hands braced against the wall, head hanging between them.
“Coffee,” he asked and received no reply; it appeared someone had exaggerated his powers of recuperation. Smiling quietly to himself, Wes popped the fresh coffee on the sink and stripped off his clothes, determined to wake Spike as gently as he could.
“’f you’re getting in, bring it with you.”
“I thought you’d fallen asleep.”
“Am. S’only an illusion I’m speaking at all.”
Wes chuckled, grabbed the mug and pulled the door open, seeing his lover entirely naked for the first time. For a moment Wes was riveted to the spot, suddenly terribly self-conscious and aware of every imperfection and scar on his skin. Spike was beautiful, with skin the colour and lustre of freshly cut ivory and as sleek as a well-fed cheetah, every muscle clearly delineated and rippling as he moved.
“Give.”
An open hand thrust blindly in his direction got Wes moving and he filled it with the mug of coffee. Spike took his weight off the wall, wavering unsteadily on the spot, and sniffed the mug before swigging the entire contents in one gulp.
“Better?” Wes asked when the mug was poked back at him. Spike nodded, turned himself into the spray and tipped his head back, letting the water cover his face. The angle showed off his body perfectly, from broad shoulders to tapering hips, his spine channelling a rivulet of water between the globes of his ass in such a way that all Wesley wanted to do was drop to his knees and follow it with his tongue.
“Gonna join me?” Spike said, peering over his shoulder to see what had happened, only to find the watcher standing, coffee mug clutched tightly in one hand, as naked as the day he was born, and apparently staring at Spike’s backside. Flexing his glutes, Spike permitted himself a smile when Wes’ breath visibly hitched, his nostrils flared and that magnificent cock rose to the occasion.
‘See something you fancy?’ – the words were on the tip of his tongue, full of every ounce of brash impudence he could muster. And then Wes looked up. Verbal thought fled Spike’s mind as the lust in those steel blue eyes spoke in a language beyond words, one that spoke directly to his hind brain and sent a rush of desire flooding through his body. “Uh…” did escape and sounded vaguely appropriate for the mood, or at least Spike hoped it did.
Without breaking eye contact, Wes put the mug aside and advanced, and Spike backed away despite himself, only stopping when he ran into the wall. Wesley continued forward and Spike was suddenly aware of how much taller than him the other man was. The boots had always added at least an inch and a half to Spike’s height and barefoot he had to look up, and up again, to meet Wes’s gaze.
“Turn around.”
Wesley’s voice was like blades on ice, sure and sharp, and Spike swallowed, blinked, and obeyed, unable to do otherwise. He’d always suspected they did something to watchers, implanted something in their psyches that turned the mildest mannered of them into men who could command obedience from the most wilful of creatures. If Angelus ever got him to comply so quickly.... Then the memory was wiped away in one brash sweep of soft hands brushing against his shoulders. Spike had to force himself still, not because he expected a blow but because he didn’t know what to expect and the sheer fact of not knowing was setting his skin on fire.
“You’re tense.”
The soft-spoken words were running down his belly in a warming trail that led straight to his groin. Too true, he was tense.
“Just relax.”
The hands flexed and then left, replaced by the ephemeral touch of a chest to his back and he heard the rattle of bottles in the rack. He let his head drop forward, the cold tile numbing on his water heated skin, and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He felt strange, as though the world outside had ceased to exist, as though they were back in the Viper as it sank beneath the waves of Santa Monica Bay, grey green water steadily replacing the midnight sky. His ears wanted to pop, he wanted to crawl out of his skin; stuck in suspended animation, he wanted something to happen – preferably a good hard fuck, his libido recommended.
With a quick slip/slide, the hands returned, running up his arms and across his shoulders, pausing to knead and work at muscles Spike hadn’t even realised were tight. He groaned and rolled his head on the wall. “Feels good.”
“I’m glad. Though a little less alcohol would have been better still.”
Spike could only grunt in reply as Wesley turned him into a puddle of relaxed vampire. It was strange, he reflected, as those skilful hands manipulated his body, but the arousal he’d been feeling, the desire for fast and hard, had burned out. Or maybe banked was more apropos, as it was still there, smouldering in his belly, making his cock throb and sending tides of desire through him, but now it felt more like a building tsunami than a whirlpool.
“Have you fallen asleep again?” Wes whispered in his ear and Spike shook his head, pressing back against the body behind him in an attempt to explain without a recourse to clumsy words.
“Sure?”
The slightest of nods was all Wes needed and, letting the water and his lips guide the way, he sank to his knees, tracing his way down Spike’s back with open mouthed kisses. When he reached that soft spot, that slightest of dips where back became buttocks, he paused, using his teeth and tongue to work at the skin, wanting to leave a memento of his presence, however temporary. He filled his hands with twin clutches of muscle, squeezing them first together and then apart, his thumbs pressing between and rubbing, as one would to ease a cramp.
Spike squirmed back against him, undulating as he pushed into Wesley’s grasp and water covered Wes’ nose, making him splutter slightly. He tightened his grip, nipping the silky skin until Spike whimpered and stilled. As a reward he returned to sucking and allowed one hand to wander down between Spike’s legs to play with his balls, rolling and weighing them in his palm. Finally satisfied, he raised his head and smiled at the red welt he’d left, tonguing at it briefly when the spray threatened to obscure it. Pretty, he thought, as such things went; vivid crimson against skin turned silver under the sheeting water and sunlight.
As he mouthed further down, Spike twisted and Wes caught a glimpse of worried blue eyes before his tongue found its mark.
“Fuck! Wes… What the hell…?”
It was like nothing Spike had felt before, this wordless worship of his body. Dru, for all her sensuality, preferred games that revolved around knives and chains and her, and Buffy was all sharp fists and sharper words. Angelus, the only man to touch him, had done so without much kindness, taking his pleasure and leaving Spike to muddle through in his own hand. This… this probing gentle breach, stole away his breath and left his fingers scrabbling for purchase as his knees failed. The rack, where bottles and pots stood sentry against the passing years, became his anchor, holding him upright as the undertow tried to pull him under.
Insistent pressure on the back of his thigh and, the obedient fellow he currently was, Spike lifted his leg, exposing more of his body to Wes’ tender touch. Lips and teeth sucked and nibbled, stimulating nerve endings that had slept for too long, making his hole twitch and grasp demanding more and now. Then a tongue, hotter than a sunbeam, pressed deep inside pushing a sob from his chest and sending his idle hand arrow fast to his cock, to strip it with jerky uncoordinated movements.
Nimble, like a finger, yet smoother and slicker than any digit, Wes’ tongue pried him apart from the inside out, circling, rotating and rolling.
“Wes, yes, Wes,” tumbled from his mouth, the words falling over themselves in their haste to be free and Spike arched, his breathing faster and punctuated with small gasping cries. The undertow now a riptide sweeping away his sense of here and now, until all that existed was Wes and the all-consuming need to come. And, when it finally broke over him, through him, it hit in head, chest and groin, sending his brain spinning like found pebbles in a rock tumbler and tearing a wail from his lungs as he spent against the tile, his cock pulsing in his hand.
The force and suddenness of Spike’s climax took Wes by surprise, driving him back on his heels, his hand behind him to retain his balance on the slippery ceramic. Luckily he recovered quickly enough to support his partner as he started to slide down the wall, the exhaustion that had dogged him since dawn finally catching up.
“Whoopsidaisies,” Wes said, hooking Spike under the armpits and standing him back up on legs that, for a second, refused to co-operate. Spike wobbled and leaned heavily against him, head resting in the crook of Wes’ neck, fitting there like a hermit crab in its new shell. The spray continued to drive down, filling the air with suffocating steam and for a fleeting, wonderful moment, Wes thought he’d got away with it.
Once his knees were locked, Spike squinted up at the man holding him, pushed a shaky hand through his soaking curls and mumbled, “What did you just say?”
“Um…” Wes said. “Just, helping you up.”
“Nah. I heard. Think you’re film star now, do you? Don’t look much like Julia Roberts.”
Wes smiled. “I think you’ll find it was the reclusive bookshop owner who delivered that particular line.”
Could be. Spike searched his memory of the movie, watched two years and a lifetime ago at the Summers’ house. Wes was right, it was Hugh Grant that said it, which meant… No way!
“Well, that’s all right then,” he covered quickly. “Though, if that makes me Julia Roberts, I’m expecting the same pay rate she got in Pretty Woman.” Thinking the subject closed, Spike grabbed the bath oil and, using his back as shelter from the water, poured out a decent handful .
Wes had other ideas; “Actually, I think the unusual room mate may be the more appropriate role, after all his name was Spike- Ooh!” Wes nearly swallowed his tongue when Spike grabbed his erection with an oiled hand and gave it a quick stroke/squeeze.
“Watch who you’re comparing me to, watcher,” said Spike with a mock growl. “Fellow Englishman here. I shag humans not sheep.”
“Y-yes, I h-had noticed,” Wes stuttered, reaching out for Spike as the vampire turned and presented his back again, his legs apart and his arms braced against the wall. Surely he couldn’t mean…? “What are you doing?”
Spike shot a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “We’ve done the fancy preshow business, so now you give it me good’n proper. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it.”
“Well, I… That is…”
“Wes. Fuck. Now. Unless you want me to do you?”
“No,” Wes said quickly and then, rethinking what he’d just implied, added, “Later, maybe, but-”
“No buts, just get on with it.”
It would take a stronger man than he to disobey that sort of order Wesley decided as he stepped forward and dipped down to a more appropriate height. The first slide in was just as he remembered, so tight, so smooth; cooler than him but far from cold in this bathroom come sauna. It was like being enclosed in a silken glove that fluttered and clenched around him, and he had to stop for a second, to appreciate this for what it was - a chance to finally finish what they started weeks ago, and to prevent it being over too soon. But his control soon returned and, wrapping his arm around Spike’s waist, Wes straightened up, feeling Spike grunt as the last inch pushed home and forced him onto his toes.
“Are you-?”
“Fine. Good. Uh… F-feels good.”
“Good,” Wes breathed and started to thrust gently, easing himself in and out.
Spike spread his arms wider, his hands gradually clenching into fists as his body began to ride the currents of arousal once again. Steam billowed around him, piquant with Wes’ scent and he inhaled, holding the air in his mouth and lungs to better savour it.
Slowly, steadily, they rocked against each other, getting acquainted with one another’s bodies, both marvelling at how good it felt to be with someone else after so long alone.
Wes, presented with a bowed head, took the opportunity to nuzzle into Spike’s neck, licking and kissing at his nape, and when that garnered little reaction, biting and rolling pinches of skin between his teeth.
The hint of something more brought Spike’s lust surging to the fore and he tried to ride back but the angle was all wrong and he couldn’t find purchase. “Harder,” he growled eventually. “Fuck me harder.”
“I don’t want to hurt-”
“Wes, I’m a sodding vampire! You are not gonna to hurt me.”
“Of course, yes.”
That seemed to do the trick and, a few moments later, Spike was being treated to the sort of fucking that in his mind fell into the category of ‘damned fine’. For a human Wes had some decent hip action going for him, with plenty of snap and more than a little grind.
Spike reached for his cock, which had risen again, only to have his hand hijacked. “Let me,” Wes whispered before wrapping his hand around the still sensitive flesh.
It felt brilliant, another hand on him, but was awkward for both of them. Unable to steady Spike with two hands, Wes found his balance easily upset and finally pulled out saying, “I’ve got a better idea. Turn around.”
Expecting Wes to drop to his knees again, Spike was slightly surprised when he was lifted up away from the water, his back pressed against the shower wall and Wes said, “Wrap your legs around me and hang on.”
Spike did as he was bid, groaning as Wes tugged him down onto his cock, the new position pushing him in so deep that Spike reckoned he’d sound like he had a nasty case of laryngitis by the time they’d finished. And then Wes moved, sending Spike writhing and panting up the wall as the head of his cock rubbed hard over Spike’s sweet spot.
“Fucking hell, Wes. Do that again.”
“What? This?” Wes chuckled, snapping his hips.
“Christ! Yeah. That.” Locking his heels behind Wes’ back, Spike stretched his arms above his head, his fingers finding and hooking over the plumbing. Perfect. Supported from below and above, he felt secure and was finally able to fuck back against Wes, giving as good as he got.
This was so much better. By simply tipping his head Wes discovered Spike’s nipples, which appeared to be very sensitive if the vampire’s reactions were anything to go by. Moving from one to the other, Wes bit and sucked, leaving tooth prints and hot wet agony in his wake until they rose and felt like diamonds on his tongue.
And then Spike managed a shimmy that drove all thought from Wes’ mind. Clutching the vampire tightly to stop him moving, Wes sought out his mouth, clashing their lips together as he pounded into that taut lithe body capable of withstanding any punishment he saw to fit deal out.
Spike sobbed into the kiss, his prick trapped between their bodies scoured by ridged muscle and rough curls as Wesley filled him again and again. They were both close, jay walking the edge of orgasm, Wes’ sweat mingling with the pumping spray and making their skins, already slick, wetter still.
Finally, and trusting his security to Wes alone, Spike released the pipe. One hand fell automatically into silky dark hair, tugging at the roots harshly enough to make Wes moan and fuck him harder. The other curled into the watcher’s back, pinching at the skin and tracking it with five fingered scratches, pulling him close and closer; skin to skin, flesh to flesh, burning up from the inside out as he was filled with heat from his ass to his mouth.
“Wes,” he said, “Need more. Tell me. Please, tell me.”
Gasping for air in the spray sodden air, Wes obliged; “So good, so tight. Wanted this. So long watching you, wanting you, coming in my hand, your name. Spike. God, Spike, so close. Need you.”
It wasn’t love and it never would be, but it was good enough. Spike shuddered, pushing down and impaling himself on Wes’ cock as his climax rushed through him, come flooding out between them, his whole body shaking helplessly. Wes followed suit within moments, thrusting once, twice, three times before he too lost control, coming hard and deep, and sobbing Spike’s name as he twitched and jerked.
They tumbled down, Wes’ legs failing him, and landed in a tangled heap of bruising elbows and hips just as the hot water decided enough was enough and drenched them both with a frigid blast.
“Fuck!” Spike yelped scrambling to his feet, the cold banishing any hope of post coital afterglow. He leapt from the shower tugging Wes after him and then, realising the watcher was dead on his feet, swept him up and carried him bodily into the bedroom.
A fluffy towel later and they were both dry, collapsed face down on the bed and staring at each other over a chasm of sheets growing wider as the seconds ticked past. What exactly did one say at times like this, Spike wondered, studying the face of the man who’d just shagged him through the wall. Telling him he had pretty eyes, though true, seemed utterly… girlie; not the sort of thing one bloke said to another. William might be busy composing sonnets, comparing them a summer sky in his head, but Spike wasn't going to wax lyrical. Although....
His gaze dropped from eyes the colour of a spring day over Windermere and lingered on Wes’ mouth, remembering how it felt around him, milking the pleasure from his body. Maybe poetry was the thing after all, though not one of his own bloody awful efforts. Gently placing one finger against Wes’ bottom lip, Spike started to speak, for once letting another choose his words:
“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair…”
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