Title: Counting the Ways
Author: jenny
E-mail: ladymoluk@hotmail.com
Website: www.lovethatdares.com
Fandom: Angel the TV series
Pairing: Angel/Spike/Wesley
Rating: NC-17
Summery: Spike goes to LA when Buffy dumps him only to find that his sire has a "real child". Spike and Connor do not hit it off.
Disclaimer: Not mine, all belong to Joss Weldon and Co.

Counting the Ways

The teenager sat behind the reception desk as if he owned the place. It immediately pissed Spike off, having taken three hours to find the hotel in the first place.

"Where's Angel?"

The kid looked up.

"Hello. Welcome to Angel Investigations. Can we help you?"

Fuck you. "We can't do anything." And where were his bleedin' parents? "Where's Angel."

"Father's upstairs."

Good, he did have parents. Fucking take him home then. "I'm not interested in your father, where's Angel?"

The kid continued to stare at Spike, not wavering in his intense concentration. "Angel is my father."

Silence.

"Uh huh." Spike came closer. He'd fucking done it again. Bit bloody young though. He stopped, sniffing and sensing. "Hey! You ain't a vampire!"

The kid bristled. "Who are you?"

"Me! Who am I? Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Conn... Stephen. Angel's son."

"Son!" Spike felt sick, dizzy. When? The kid was sixteen? Seventeen? When had Angel shagged ... and what was he thinking? Angel couldn't have a kid... he couldn't... bloody hell. Did that mean... he could? Dead bodies. Dead hearts. Dead fucking cum! So, what? Sixteen years ago, Angel had...

"Connor! Get back. Stay away from him!" Spike turned, and there he was: the driving force of his unlife.

"What do ya mean, stay away from me?" Who was this kid... what was happening?

"Why?" The kid looked at Angel.

"He's a vampire. He's dangerous."

"Demon!"

"Ouch... fuck..." Spike found himself restraining the child. It was as easy as blinking - well, alright, slightly more difficult than he'd anticipated - but still easy. He held Connor in a headlock.

"Let him go."

"Angel, what's happening? Who's the snotty brat?"

"Spike, let him go, or I'll kill you."

Spike let the child drop and stepped back, but the kid rounded on him again, attacking viciously.

"Connor! Stop. Stop it! Let him go; he's... that is...stop!" Angel intervened and held his son back from his childe.

Spike stood dumbfounded. Angel's arms around the brat... Angel's face close to the boy's... Angel's concern for this child! He clenched his jaw, bit his lip, and backed out of the hotel into the safer darkness.

Angel couldn't know why he was in LA. Angel couldn't know what had happened with... but there was nothing left now.

Angel let Connor go and turned to him. He paused, but turned to the open door and followed Spike out into the dark.

"Spike?"

"Spike!"

He caught up but, being utterly ignored, had no recourse but to pin Spike to a wall. "Spike!"

Tears? No. Spike? "Hey." He put a hand out tentatively. Knee in the balls effectively ended that little moment of empathy, and he doubled up in pain, as his childe stalked coldly away.

He caught up with him again in a bar and winced as he sat down.

"Spike."

"Wanker."

"Let me explain."

"Oh, this'll be good."

"Darla..."

"Darla?"

"Yes, Darla."

"Fuck, two dead groins. Two deads make a live then?"

"Something like that."

"But you weren't with Darla sixteen years ago."

"Nine months ago I was. Connor was a baby last week; he was..." Tears? Spike had never seen tears in Angel's eyes even when a hot poker had caught on a rib and had to be extracted before re-insertion.

Spike pushed his drink towards Angel.

Angel drank.

"Connor was taken from me to a hell dimension. Time passed differently there."

"Uh huh."

Angel smiled faintly. "That's useful."

"Useful?"

"Well, I mean... Jesus, Spike... first edition... second edition. Any advice?"

Spike looked horrified. "I ain't your bloody son, mate. Unless you've a very irregular and bleedin' illegal-in-all-states-even-Kentucky relationship with the little fucker."

"Spike! And don't call him that."

"Well, bloody hell, Angel! I was your..." he trailed off. It was difficult to define or to speak what he had been to Angel once. His entirety?

Angel nodded as if Spike had defined the indefinable but added firmly. "Was."

Spike looked at him, took his drink back and nodded grimly, too. "Was. I've moved on a bit since then, mate... warmer, slipperier and with boobs... oh, an" don't take so much effort to bring off."

Angel looked down, trailing his finger in the spilt beer on the bar. "I bet she doesn't get you off the same though."

Spike's jaw dropped. That was pure... him! He laughed. "That she don't, Angel; that she don't."

"So."

"So."

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, yeah..." Fuck, which story had he decided on in the end? "Dru's back; she wants to see you."

"No."

Fucking hell, he'd taken hours to think up that story. "She says it's important."

"Nothing about her is important. That's the point, Spike."

"Ah. She's your childe."

"She's a demon I created when I was Angelus. Nothing more. That is all meaningless now."

"Now that you have a real child."

"Yes. Now I have a real child."

"Meaningless."

"Yes."

"I'm meaningless."

Silence.

"I guess I am." Spike got up and left.

Angel followed him out. Spike was leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette, the illumination from the tiny flame of his lighter casting flickering shadows on his lean face. Angel watched him for a few moments.

"Where are you staying?"

"What?"

"In LA, where are you staying?"

Spike laughed. "You've been a ponce too long, Angel. Where do you think? An abandoned building... a sewer. I'm a corpse. And meaningless. What did you expect?"

"I own a hotel, Spike. Four occupied rooms, sixty-four vacant. Stay if you want. One night anyway."

"What's Baby Angel gonna think about that?"

"Don't call him that."

"What's he gonna say? Daddy's ex-fuck coming to stay."

Angel turned to him. "If you tell him that, I will kill you, Spike."

Red washed over Spike's eyes. "Can I tell him that you murdered me then?" He started to walk away. "Shall I tell him how you like it, Angel? How you sound when you come in my ass?"

Angel caught his arm and punched him in the belly, and he dropped to one knee. "Fuck off, Spike. Go back to Sunnydale. You're not wanted here." He started to walk away.

"Oooh. Look boys, fags fighting!"

Raucous, drunken voices came out of the night air. Spike started to climb to his feet, but was pushed to the wall by two young men. One cupped his balls. "Hey, faggot, give us a kiss then."

The gob of spit Spike deposited into the man's face only enraged him more. He punched Spike in the balls, and Spike's hissed intake of breath told Angel just how painful the punch must have been. Why didn't Spike defend himself?

He only stood up with a resigned look on his face. The second man kicked Spike's legs apart and started to unzip his jeans. "Let's see what the fag's got? Give us a suck, man."

The man didn't see the blow coming: he was slammed into the wall and knocked unconscious instantly. The second one took one look at Angel and fled.

Spike took one look at Angel and let fly a string of obscenities.

Expecting thanks, Angel recoiled at the power of Spike's brutal, verbal attack. Then he shoved Spike into the wall. Spike shoved back, hard, and they began scrapping viciously in the alley, blows a hundred years in the making traded over and over and again. Expecting an easy victory, Angel began to fail: Spike was quicker, harder and more intent on winning. Angel felt his kneecap dislocate and his shin snap from a particularly well-aimed kick. His shoulder dislocated when he fell and Spike landed on top of him. Agony flooded his body. He tried to stand but went down to a spinning kick in the face. He put his hand up to ward Spike off, but Spike had... disappeared. Dragged away, kicked, and cut with a knife, Spike retaliated blindly. He hit out with a furious punch... and collapsed in agony. Human! The brat. Oh. Fuck.

Spike lay defeated on the ground. He felt a stake on his chest, felt it jerked away, heard an argument, felt a kick to his head, and knew no more as the thought "Welcome to LA" flashed across his mind.

He woke in a bed to the feel of gentle hands giving him pain. He groaned and tried to turn away from the source of the pain, but was held firmly onto his back. "Don't move."

Angel. Of course.

He opened his eyes and swore at the dark head lowered over him for a while, as he watched a large gash across his lower belly being cleaned and bandaged.

"Little bastard tried to kill me."

"I think he was trying to eviscerate you. He knows how to kill vampires better than that."

"Maybe he overheard and was gonna cut me nuts off."

Angel stilled for a moment then resumed. "No, he didn't arrive until later. I sensed him."

"Guess he just don't like me on principle then."

"Good principle."

"Love you too, wanker. And shouldn't I be patching you up? How's all the breaks." He snickered lightly and sighed, pleased with himself.

Angel looked up briefly. "Lorne's already done it."

"Lorne?"

"A friend, he lives here with me." Angel heard the confusion that this simple sentence could cause and smiled inwardly, also pleased with himself.

Spike didn't reply to this; Angel had reached the center of the wound, and he merely winced a little. Angel worked silently until, with the briefest of hesitation, he asked, "Does that happen often?"

Still churning over the Lorne comment, Spike deliberately misunderstood Angel's question. "What, my sire denying me? Yeah, happened once or twice, I do recall."

Angel paused again and caught his eye. "Thugs, Spike."

"What do you think, Angel?"

"I would think, knowing you, yes."

"You don't know me. Don't give yourself that satisfaction."

"I don't know these, that's for sure." Angel brushed a hand lightly over Spike's abs. "Where'd you get them?"

Spike's lips twitched up. "Not from you, I'm thinking."

If Angel could have blushed, he would have. As it was, he visibly recoiled and looked guilty. "I know... I've not had much time to work out... changing diapers, bottles, sleepless nights, seeing my son stolen from me into a hell dimension."

"Oh, yeah. Bummer, I'll give you that."

Angel worked quietly for a while; Spike watched his lowered head. The hair had been longer and less groomed; this face was thicker and more anxious - but this was the still the same creature that had stalked him, murdered him, and obsessed him for nearly two hundred years. They both had the right to be looking a little rough around the edges.

Angel was moving across to the far side of the wound, and his forearms had to rest across Spike's groin, naked under the sheet. The more he tried to find a position to rest his arms where he couldn't feel anything, the more he felt the swelling he was creating.

"Stop it, Angel, for funk's sake."

"Well, turn over a bit then; I need to reach that side."

"Hurts too much to move."

"Baby. Since when are you adverse to a little pain, Spike?"

"Yeah, well, it seems to hurt more when you're always on the receiving end." Angel's watchstrap dragged across the tip of Spike's cock, and he winced a little, laughing. "Enough! Come on, Angel; give a bloke a break."

Angel looked annoyed but, when he glanced up at Spike, his lips twitched up in response to the infectious expression.

He sat back, smiling slightly. "I'm finished anyway. I'll fetch you some blood."

"You will feed that blasphemy as well as tend to it?" The immature, strident tones washed over both vampires from the doorway.

Spike watched in fascinated disgust as Angel's whole demeanor changed, his face shutting off to him, but then opening up with an expression of patient, fond tolerance. He stood up and turned to Connor.

"Connor, I was too hasty before. He surprised me by coming here, but Spike is... he's ... shut up Spike."

"Hey! I didn't say a bleedin" dickie bird!"

"You were about to."

"Why does he speak like my... father?"

"Because he's English, Connor. I knew him a long time ago... Spike!"

"Not saying a thing, pet; I'm riveted by this."

Connor took a step towards Spike, menacingly, but Angel put a restraining hand on his arm. "Don't."

Spike folded his arms behind his head and repeated, "Yeah, don't spotty."

Connor's eyes flew wide open, and he tried to push past Angel.

"Spike! Shut up!"

"Yes, demon, shut up."

"Hey! Angel... the baby's upsetting me."

Angel gave Spike a furious look and took Connor around the waist, dragging him and half-carrying him out of the room. "Don't forget me blood, mate. Nice and warm an" a little bit of Ready Brek stirred in, if you've got it; makes it..." he grinned and slid down under the sheet for a snooze.

When he woke, the room was dark, and a mug of cold, congealed blood sat on the nightstand. He grimaced but drank it anyway: his stomach hurt, throbbing slightly, and he knew he needed it. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. His jeans were slung over a chair, so he reached over, wincing at the stretch, and grabbed them, looking in disbelief around the room: hideous wallpaper, horrible carpet, large bed with a saggy, musty mattress - and that was all. He stood up and padded out of the room, wandering around for a while. Angel's room was fairly obvious - spartan, neat, masculine - Angel. Another room was occupied. He peered around the scrawling on the walls, shuddering in horror: it looked like the cave of a stoned bat. He moved on. It didn't take him long to find it: new furniture, a bright cover on a new bed, matching curtains and a bookcase full of well-read books. He examined them. Everyone was an old friend and shared - some on long coach journeys, some during the long daylight hours, more shared when the exhaustion of endless orgasms had overtaken them, and they had curled replete under soft covers that smelt of their passion for each other - all in this room. His room: the child of his loins and of his heart.

"You cannot come in here. Get out, demon."

"Fuck off, kiddie; I'm already in."

They stood eying each other warily.

"Father said I couldn't kill you. He didn't say I couldn't hurt you."

Spike laughed. "You and whose army, sprog?"

Connor lunged at him; Spike laughed and dodged. Connor lunged again, another dodge. Connor stood up and looked at Spike. "You are fast and strong. Faster and stronger than my father, I think."

"Maybe."

"You could hurt him."

"Maybe."

"I will kill you, if you do."

"Maybe."

"You do want to hurt him!"

"Maybe." This was fun. Angelus had learnt within a few days never to play this game with him. The human child was too easy.

"Will you stop saying that!" The teenager's voice, rising, began to crack.

Spike had to keep the giggle out of his voice. It was more irritating when he kept it serious. "Maybe."

Connor lunged again; Spike dodged, tutting. In his fury, Connor misjudged the force of his attack and crashed into the bookcase. It spilled over, the books scattering around the floor. He knelt to pick them up, placing each one reverently in its place. As he picked up one that had fallen open, he hesitated, looking at the inside flap. He turned to Spike and hissed, "You!" Spike came over to see. The name "Spike" had been scrawled in large, blood red writing over the page. Spike shivered slightly, as the memory of matching letters, which had been delicately flayed into his body as a punishment for such defacing, aroused him.

"Father gave you these books, too?"

It was on the tip of Spike's tongue to tell him that Angelus had given him a great deal more than just books, but contented himself with "Yeah "course."

"What are you? Who are you?"

"Angel... your father made me... sired me."

Connor looked sick. "He spawned you? You have his demon?"

"Nah, I swapped it last year for some jelly babies... get used to it, mate."

"Don't call me mate. And get out of my room."

"Well, don't come into mine then."

"I won't."

"Good."

"Good."

"Where's Angel?"

"I'm not going to tell you, and it's not your room; it's just the room father dumped you in, furthest away from him."

Spike could have made a devastatingly rapier-like reply to this that would have proved categorically that his room was better than Connor's, but he began to think that he was not being shown off in his best light, so merely raised his eyebrow and smirked, spun on his heel and left for ... his room ... which was hideous: dingy, smelly and damp. He rummaged for his shirt and found it screwed up, ripped and bloodied to one side of the bed. He threw his head back in annoyance. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He stomped back to Angel's room and ripped open his closet door. The tightly packed clothes spilled out, thirty, forty shirts - incredible. Black, gray, blackish-gray, charcoal...

"Not those."

Spike turned to find Angel watching him from the doorway. "I need a shirt." Angel nodded and indicated a trunk in one corner of the room.

"Take one from there - they're old ones, before I came to LA - I don't wear them anymore."

Spike opened the lid, and the memories assailed him: Sunnydale, the factory, Angelus. He picked one up, violent emotions twisting his guts, but he kept any of this from his face and asked mockingly, "These don't fit you anymore then?"

Angel looked annoyed. "They're just old, Spike, and I don't care about them anymore." It wasn't lost on either of them that Angel could have as easily been talking of Spike.

Furious, but still reining this in, Spike made a show of examining one black shirt. "My blood still on it?" He didn't look up at Angel.

"No. Blood's easy to get rid of these days, Spike."

Spike now saw no reason to hide his feelings. They both knew they weren't talking about dry cleaning.

"Fuck off, Angel."

Angel only laughed. "Grow up, Spike."

Spike smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I would have done, Angel; just like the brat will; if you hadn't have murdered me." He pushed past Angel in the doorway, shrugging on the shirt as he went down the stairs.

He was startled to find a sea of strange faces in the lobby. Cordelia he recognized, the other three - well, two and an odd-looking green demon - were new to him. They looked up at him in surprise and then questioningly at Angel who followed him down.

Spike immediately guessed who Lorne was. He was gorgeous; Spike could picture that dark, smooth skin sliding over Angel's on his large, soft bed. Odd that he had an arm intimately around the fey, wisp-like female - but then this was LA.

Angel nodded at Fred and Gunn. "This is Spike. He's an old acquaintance of mine. He got injured last night and is staying until he's recovered."

This surprised Spike. He turned to glance at Angel: he had assumed he was being kicked out. Angel didn't catch his eye. The gorgeous man came over. "Hi, I'm Charles Gunn, and this is Fred."

Un huh...so who was...?

"And as Angelhair didn't see fit to introduce yours truly, I'm Lorne." Spike turned, bewildered, to the green demon.

"You! You and Angel?"

Lorne stepped back, amused, and glanced at Angel. "Woa, we have a feisty one here, puffball. He's ringing out loud and clear, and he ain't even singing." He turned to Spike. "Quieten down, little one; you'll deafen these pitch-perfect lugs of mine."

Spike turned to Angel. Angel twitched up his lips... but couldn't maintain the fiction any longer. "Lorne's just a friend, Spike. We destroyed his club; he's staying here and helping me with..." Angel looked down, memories of his lost baby still too painful to bear.

As if conjured by thought, Connor came down the stairs.

"Uh oh, driller killer's coming." Spike glanced up in surprise at Lorne's soft comment. He'd assumed Connor was the favored child with everyone. Lorne caught his look, and they shared a moment of complicity about the boy. The tension noticeably increased when Connor arrived, and Angel seemed at a loss how to handle the many and conflicting emotions in the lobby.

Like a spark in a powder-keg, Spike suddenly asked, "Where's the Watcher?"

Angel glared at everyone, daring anyone to answer. Gunn coughed; Fred fidgeted with her hair; Cordelia looked sad. Lorne just flicked a speck of dust off his immaculate suit and replied, "We don't talk about him, cheekbones-to-die-for."

"Lorne!" Angel's voice stopped even that innocent explanation.

Ignoring Angel, Spike continued to look at Lorne. "He's dead?"

Unwilling to have Spike run through a litany of possibilities, Angel was forced to reply. "Wesley stole Connor. That's why he was in the hell dimension."

Spike looked amused. "Guess he is dead then!"

Cordelia intervened. "He's left us; Wesley doesn't work here any more."

Lorne shuddered theatrically. "My, ain't it fun living on Walton's" Mountain, but if this happy family gathering will excuse my crappy mood, I'm just going to slide along..."

As if sensing the tension mounting in everyone, Angel suddenly said to Gunn, "Weren't you going to a movie tonight with Fred?" making frantic eye movements in Connor's direction as he spoke.

Gunn and Fred immediately agreed, and Fred asked the boy to join them. He shrugged and walked past Spike, casting him a mutinous look. Spike stood his ground, smirking and, as Connor passed him, said in a sing-song voice, "Bye, bye, baby."

Connor lunged at him once more, and Spike once more danced gleefully away, but he was caught by Angel and dragged off towards the kitchen. Connor was negotiated out by Fred.

When they were alone, Angel whirled on Spike. "What is wrong with you, Spike? He's just a boy; he's been brought up in hell; he's adjusting, and you..."

"He's a self-righteous prig, Angel."

"He's my son."

Spike looked up sharply, began to grin, saw Angel looking sheepish, and said gleefully, "You walked right into that one, mate; that was easy even for me!"

Angel sat down and kicked out a chair for Spike. "Please, Spike, stop winding him up. He doesn't take to being teased. He reminds me of someone I used to know." He looked directly at Spike.

Spike just shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the similarity, but he sat down. "So, what's the story with Wesley? I thought you guys were all cozy and about to announce soon?"

He saw an expression flit across Angel's eyes as dark as he'd ever seen. "Change the subject, Spike." Angel got up and fetched them both some food.

"Okay. What's with the "he's staying" then? I'm fine... bit sore, but the rugrat didn't hurt me that bad."

"Don't call him that, and I thought you might want to stay until you can tell me the real reason you came here."

"I told you, Drusilla..."

"Drusilla is in London."

"Ah. How do you know that?"

"She's my childe; I make it my business to know."

"Oh." Spike didn't want to explore the contradictions in this or all the implications of it; his mind was flicking over his alternate reasons for coming, trying to remember his fallback position. Suddenly he brightened. "Oh, yeah, I've a message from Giles..."

"No you haven't, Spike; tell me the truth."

"I got blown up."

"What!" Angel began to laugh. It was a good sound. It was familiar - albeit a few decades old. Spike pursed his lips, and then smiled.

"Bloody soldier boy..."

"Riley?"

"Yeah, wanker came - no, that's too good for him; bet he don't stoop to pullin" it himself - well, he came back..."

"Buffy?"

"Nah, he's married now... and who's tellin" this story, you or me?"

Angel leant back in his chair and indicated for Spike to continue.

"He got a bit upset over shit an" all and blew me crypt up. So, I'm homeless."

"Ah. But what about an abandoned building or a sewer?"

Spike thought it was a bit rich to be called on his false assertions, given Angel's earlier contradictions. "Fuck off, Angel. I need a place to stay for a few nights... "til I get meself sorted."

Angel exchanged their mugs of blood for whisky and sipped thoughtfully. "What upset him?"

"Who?"

"Spike, are you going to tell me why he blew you up? Other than the fact he'd met you that is."

"Droll, mate, very droll. I'm not splittin" me sides, but droll."

"Don't prevaricate, Spike; I can easily find out. I could ask Buffy."

The fact that no quick reply and no cursing came forth - just a pursing of lips and a sipping of whisky - rather told Angel what he needed to know.

"Buffy. You and Buffy."

Spike looked up, his usual bravado somewhat subdued. "Yes."

Angel took a sip of whisky. "How?"

Spike smiled and couldn't resist. "Well, mine sticks up, and hers..."

"Spike!"

"It just happened, Angel. She was lonely; she needed... she needed you; I was just there."

"I meant you."

Surprised and wrong-footed, Spike was at a loss for a moment. He looked at Angel. "I was lonely; I needed..." he looked down. "Anyway, she was just there." He looked at Angel puzzled. "I thought you'd be angrier."

Angel refilled their glasses. "I would have last month, or even last week maybe. But, Buffy? Sunnydale? It's all..."

"Meaningless?" Spike finished Angel's thought rather bitterly.

Angel looked at him over his glass. He didn't allow Spike to drop his gaze. "I'm sorry I said that, Spike. I didn't mean it. Not meaningless, but..."

"What Angel? Just what?"

"Confusing. Too much of a contrast to this..." He indicated the hotel, his son, and his whole unlife in one small gesture of his hand. "I have no idea what to do with him, how to reach him, and suddenly there you were - someone I know as well as I know myself..."

"I told you, mate; you don't know me at all. I've changed."

"You've been temporarily subdued, Spike; you can't really change. You told me that yourself."

Spike looked at Angel with a bitterness he could not disguise. "I told you I'd always love you, and I was wrong about that, too."

Angel looked furtive. "Look, Spike... about... that. I meant what I said: Connor is not to know. I want him to respect me, like me, love me even. It's hard enough his father is a vampire, without him knowing..."

"What, Angel? That he fucked his childe? That he likes cock? That he stuck it up my ass?" His voice rose uncontrollably, as his fury bubbled out. Angel looked down, his dark eyes veiled.

"That he's made three hundred years of mistakes he regrets more than he can ever speak of but can never escape from." He pushed his unfinished drink to one side and stood up. "Pick any room you want, Spike, if you don't like the one you're in. Only, make sure it's a long way from mine or Connor's. You can stay until the end of the week then sort your stuff and get out."

Spike stayed on in the kitchen after Angel's angry departure. He finished the bottle of whisky and rummaged for another, which he took back with him to the depressing room. The wallpaper seemed to be crawling off the walls at him; the green carpet seemed almost spongy and sucking him down. He sprawled on the smelly mattress, feeling lower than he'd felt since... he could still hear the thump her body had made on the ground - awake, asleep; it made no difference.

Why had she dumped him? Why had she used his name like that? If that old, hated name hadn't been spoken, he wouldn't be here now... but rejected, home destroyed, he'd needed comfort, and he could only find that in one place. Now even that source of succour was dried up.

He'd been replaced.

He lay on his stomach, his head resting on folded arms in the gloom. He turned on his back and lit a cigarette, enjoying briefly the red-tipped glow in the dark. He sensed him come in, but didn't bother to move. "Good movie? Not get too scared?"

"If you try to hurt him, I will kill you."

"Yeah, yeah, change the record. Think Angel might have something to say "bout that." Forcing the thought that Angel might actually think "Good" from his mind, he tried to concentrate on the whelp's voice.

Connor came around into Spike's eye line. He seemed pleased with something. "Demon, you forget... he would never know. You don't leave any trace, because you are just a filthy bag of hell's dust held together by evil."

"Hey, cheers, mate - that's good to know."

Riled by Spike's complacency, Connor tried again. "You are chipped. Father told me. You can't stop me."

"That I can't."

"I could kill you now."

"You could try. I can run pretty smartish when I'm running for me life."

"You aren't alive."

"Neither is Angel." He saw a chink in the child's certainty. "Yeah, he climbed out of a coffin in a misty, cold land you ain't even heard of probably. He was the greatest vampire ever sired. Did you know that? The Scourge of Europe... shall I tell you of his exploits?" He could see now that his slight advantage was lost: he wasn't telling the boy anything he didn't already know. He changed tack slightly, a gleam of an idea sparking. "Your mother, "course, she..."

Bull's-eye. He could hardly reign in his smirk. Curiosity burnt in the lad's eyes. "Yeah, real odd that, weren't it... Angel fancying his mother like and fucking her... then you! Surprised you ain't got two heads..."

Connor backed away, gave a low, disbelieving cry and ran from the room. Spike cursed and sat up. They hadn't told the brat. He threw back his head in disbelief. He'd only wanted to rub in something he thought the kid already knew... not tell him... bloody hell! He'd done it now. He glanced towards the door, hesitated, cursed again, and then followed Connor out.

Connor was in Angel's room, the door shut, angry voices flinging out. The word "mother" was predominant and the loudest.

Spike sucked his teeth for a moment, deliberating, hesitated about knocking, but then turned on his heel, fetched his coat, and left. He had the distinct feeling that he had outstayed his welcome at the Hyperion Hotel.

On the way out, he rummaged in the files for something he wanted then made his way over to the address he had scribbled on a piece of paper. He was just about to knock, when a dark, sour-looking man came out and pushed past him. Cursing, he checked his address again and moved towards the next door.

He felt the man pause and turned to find himself under scrutiny. The man seemed to be staring intently at his scarred face and hair, as if trying to dredge association up from somewhere deep in his mind. "William the Bloody." The man finally spoke with disinterest as if, having made the connection, he was no longer interested, and then turned away to continue with his journey.

Spike's jaw dropped. "Fuck" was all he could think of to say.

"Not right now" drifted to him from the retreating watcher.

Chapter 2

Spike trailed after Wesley, stunned by the overturn of all his expectations of this watcher. This was a man: he gave definition to red-blooded, and that blood sang to Spike. He reeked of power and pain.

Fully aware that he was being followed, just not caring, Wesley went into a crowded, noisy bar. He squeezed onto a stool and ordered a glass and a bottle of whisky. Spike squeezed in next to him, unhappy in the mass of potentially aggressive humans.

He waited, as Wesley took what was clearly not his first drink of the night. He watched the second go down. Only on the third did he say, "I know you're dying to ask me why I'm here."

Wesley roused - as if he had genuinely forgotten Spike's presence. "I'm not even registering that you are here; so that is hardly likely."

"So, you ain't curious at all, "bout Angel and the brat?"

"Who's Angel?"

"Uh huh. Well, what about Cordelia then? Seems I remember you were partial to that particular bit of perfect flesh."

"You speak of old history, Spike."

"Come on, Watcher; lighten up. Offer me a drink at least."

The eyes Wesley turned on Spike burnt into him, but he pushed the bottle over and summoned another.

"That's better. Now we can have that little chat about Angel."

Wesley got up and walked away. He climbed up to the balcony and leant on the rail, watching the throng. Spike followed and stood a little way behind, watching him.

A young woman eased her way up to Wesley, angling for a drink and some company. Wesley turned to her, and the words he spoke - unheard by Spike over the noise - made her back away, flushing. That's when Spike saw it for the first time. Ragged, livid - a scar for a lifetime: it throbbed its pain at Spike.

The crowd got worse and he began to be jostled. He was pushed towards Wesley and found himself squeezed against him, pressing the human into the rail. The watcher's body was incredibly tense, like a steel coil waiting to unwind, but even at this too intimate contact, he did not acknowledge Spike's presence. So Spike blew lightly on the scar. That roused him. He turned to Spike, killing fury in his eyes. He tried to push his tormentor away. Spike resisted as easily as if a child shoved him. Wesley pushed some more, his eyes widening in surprise at Spike's immovable body. In desperation to be left alone with his pain, he punched Spike in the belly - an almost tentative blow - Spike merely raised an eyebrow at him, caught at the fist and held it still. They were jostled again by the drinking crowd - Spike back into the rail, Wesley against Spike. Their bodies rubbed together; Spike heard a groan, thought it was his, realized it was the human's. He thrust his hips forward slightly, hard meeting hard. Wesley grasped hold of Spike's hand and, in the struggle to be free from the vampire, accidentally bent a finger back towards the wrist. Spike winced at the pain, gasped, hissed, moaned - and pushed his hips forward some more.

Wesley tried to pull away, but the lure of Spike's reaction to the pain seemed to hold him transfixed. He stared at Spike, and Spike wondered if the watcher was thinking of another vampire and another kind of pain - one he wished he had not caused, but could not now take back. Wesley took another of Spike's fingers and, as if in a trance, bent it back, too. Spike groaned his arousal once more, and at the realization he was giving a vampire pleasure from pain, Wesley finally began to reanimate.

He groaned and pushed his groin into Spike. He dislocated another finger, rubbing into Spike's pain, trying to feel it. Abruptly he broke away and pushed out of the bar. He did not look back. Spike followed the trail of pungent male arousal. He walked a few feet behind along the quiet streets. He snapped his fingers back as he walked, flexing them and massaging them distractedly.

He didn't know why he was following the dangerous, confused human: maybe that was why - because he was dangerous. Spike had felt intimate sexual pain with this human, and that made him hot with desire.

He knew what the watcher wanted, even if this confused human didn't know it himself. Relief through pain was something of his trademark, and he was more than willing to explore it with the deliciously dark human.

Wesley kicked open the door to his apartment and went through, leaving it wide. After a few paces, he said hoarsely, without turning around, "In."

Spike stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. The second blow to his belly was much, much harder and not at all tentative. He doubled over and fell to one knee, and Wesley's knee slammed into his face. The human was sweating and panting- his confusion and pain making him almost maniacal. His eyes were dilated, his flesh hot - his body's tension uncoiling at last to Spike's pain.

Spike was sprawled on his back, and Wesley flung himself down. He ripped at Spike's shirt; he didn't even bother with undressing his victim: as soon as a small, exposed "v" of Spike's chest appeared, he increased his cold, purposeful actions. He took his dark, angry shaft out and worked himself over Spike, one knee on the hard chest, aiming at the face. Spike reached up to the watcher's face, but his hand was grasped and his fingers once more bent unnaturally back. As if this was the final pain the human needed, a hard bullet of cum shot into Spike's face. Spike turned, and the rest of the load erupted over his cheek and hair.

Wesley finished, grunted, put himself away, and stood up. He poured a drink, turned on the television and slumped in a chair, not watching it.

Spike wiped at the cum on his face and did up his shirt. He sat up and looked at the watcher for a while. "Feel better?"

"Fuck off, Spike. Shut the door on your way out."

"Mind if I clean up a bit first? I imagine Angel'll recognize the smell of your cum, and it is his shirt an" all." He watched the watcher carefully - no response. Wesley continued to stare blankly at the flickering screen. Spike went into the bathroom and washed his face and hair as best he could. He glanced around. The place was filthy and neglected: old towels were abandoned sodden on the floor; sweat stained clothes were dropped on every surface. He wandered into the bedroom. The place smelt like places he'd tortured humans in: pain stained the air. He shivered slightly but, as he turned to leave, found Wesley blocking his way. A trickle of fear ran down his spine. That was good: he'd stayed alive for nearly two hundred eyes precisely because he did know when to feel fear. What was not so good was his total inability to do anything about that fear now. As he had no way to protect himself physically, he attempted to reason with Wesley.

"Angel misses you."

Wesley advanced; his face was devoid of expression. Spike had seen more cheerful zombies. "Okay, then, Angel's glad you're gone?"

Still no response.

Spike backed away, judging how much distance he had left.

The blow caught him slightly unprepared: he hadn't expected it to be so hard, or so accurately placed on his eye. He howled in exaggerated agony, and fell to his knees, holding up his arm to ward off another blow. "Wesley! Come on, mate, talk to me, hey? They all miss you, honest they do; you should have seen the prom queen's face when I asked where you were." Wesley twisted Spike's uplifted arm behind his back, forcing him to his feet. He continued to twist it up, and Spike knew it was about to dislocate.

"The little "un, mate - the scraggy one with all the "air - she was crying "bout you." The hold on his arm slackened slightly, and he pressed his advantage. "Yeah, Fred, she was all shook up and wanting to talk to me 'bout you, but the fucker wouldn't let 'er, an' they all hate the brat..." He pulled away and faced Wesley. "Look, the wanker did this to me..." he tugged his shirt out of his jeans.

Later that night, Spike wondered if the gash that was still livid on his belly had reminded Wesley of his own slashed neck, for he suddenly looked even more confused, and sat on the bed, heavily. Spike, circling his arm, sat down next to him.

"I want you to go."

"No you don't."

Wesley turned to him, his eyes drilling into Spike. "Why are you here? What do you want?" Spike never got a chance to answer: Wesley grabbed him and savaged his lips with a kiss. Surprised, Spike pulled away.

"What the funk's that for? Thought you'd had 'nough of me tonight."

Wesley turned and pushed Spike back onto the bed, straddling him. "I don't want you." He unbuttoned Spike's shirt, nevertheless. When he had exposed the smooth chest, he ran his hands lightly over it, resting them over Spike's nipples as if... confused for a moment - but he shook it off and unfastened the jeans.

Spike put a hand out to still the human. A wank over his face was one thing; he had a feeling this was going to get a lot more serious.

"I don't want this, watcher."

"Did you speak?"

Unable to protest too much, Spike decided to await developments. He had not missed the confused pause over his flat chest and wondered how much more confusion the human's dark mood would enable him to overcome. Wesley moved down slightly so he could peel off Spike's jeans then, when the vampire was naked, he sat back on the pale thighs looking him over silently.

"Wesley..." Spike's other eye received a vicious blow. "Fuck, watcher! Ugh..."

Spike shut up, for Wesley took his sac in one hand and began to twist.

Wesley resumed his slow appraisal of the body. He shuffled down, kneeling between Spike's legs and bent them up. He looked at Spike's puckered entrance and wrinkled his brow a little. He took his cock in one hand and began to work it to hardness. Spike slid away slightly on the bed but, again, a hand on his sac stilled him.

The twist was more vicious this time, and he cried out in genuine pain. Wesley swelled quite quickly after that cry, and he twisted again, clearly pleased. Spike realized things had now taken the serious turn he had been trying to avoid.

When Wesley began to press the tip of his penis to his cool flesh, Spike tried once more to break through the barriers. "Wes!"

Wesley did not look at him, but he did still his movements. "If you're gonna do that, you need something to lubricate, mate. I ain't all slippery, and no we're you gonna be able to thrust hard enough to make me bleed... so use something, hey?"

As if in a trance, Wesley reached out to his nightstand. Spike closed his eyes, grateful for small mercies, but screeched and opened them in shocked outrage when Wesley scratched a pair of nail scissors across his inner thigh.

A tiny dribble of blood speckled the watcher's fingers; he withdrew his hand, staring at it in fascination, and then wiped the blood over Spike's hole. Spike had had enough and scrambled off the bed, grabbing his clothes. The human was just as fast, and he was propelled into a wall, Wesley fighting to find his mouth once more.

Wesley opened his mouth over Spike's and worked until he could push his tongue in. With his other hand, he reached around and found Spike's blood-flecked hole. "Don't fight me, vampire; you want this as much as I need it."

"Fuck you, watcher; I ain't got any choice in this. This is rape, you know."

Wesley paused, tipped his head back and looked at Spike. His eyes held the tiniest spark of humanity, and Spike gritted his teeth.

"You want this. You've practically lain down and begged for it."

"No, I've lain down and taken it, cus there's not much else I can do."

"What do you mean?"

Spike paused and regarded the human incredulously. Wesley removed his finger from Spike's ass. He stepped back a little, animation visibly returning to his features.

"Me chip, mate!"

"Your what?"

"Wesley! I'm chipped - I mean, I have a chip in my head now; I can't hurt humans; can't even give you a bleedin' wedgie!"

"What do you... Why didn't I know this?"

"I don't bleedin" know! Why didn't you? Shit, I thought you did! Fuck... did you think I wanted to be wanked over? Did you think I wasn't fighting back cus I wanted that!"

"Fuck, Spike, yes! Why did you come back here? Why did you come in?"

"Cus I wanted you!"

"Wanted me!"

"Duh... yeah! Jesus, mate, don't you know how sexy you are? Fuck... were... "til you shoved those fucking things in me!"

Wesley muttered his anguish and dropped the scissors."What have I done?"

Once more, Spike followed him to the bed. They sat side-by-side. Wesley bent and put his face in his hands: it seemed as if some final straw had broken him entirely. This was not good: Spike had not come here to find a broken, useless human - he needed a watcher. He put his hand to Wesley's back and began small, unfamiliar circles of comfort. Wesley began to rock himself back and forth.

"I didn't mean it."

Spike felt the despairing human was not referring to anything that had happened between them that evening.

"Tell me?" He scrambled back a bit so he could reach the top of the covers and pulled them down to cover his nakedness. He sat crossed legged behind Wesley and waited.

After a long, long silence, Wesley said quietly from his hands, "I thought Angel would kill the child and ... he is precious, Spike. He has been sent to save the world."

"Fucking funny, mate. No way." Wesley turned to him.

"I know; it hardly seems possible, but all the prophecies say so."

"Bloody hell, wish I weren't immortal sometimes; I really don't wanna be around when that brat ascends to the right hand. Can you imagine him? "That's my right hand; don't you come on here"." Spike did a fairly accurate impression of teenage spite, and Wesley smiled despite his misery.

"Angel was going to kill him; I took him to save him."

"But you took him to a hell dimension, Wesley - bit dumb, weren't it? Couldn't you have left him with some little ole lady somewhere?"

"No!" Wesley looked shocked. "He was taken from me ... that's when this happened." He put a hand to his scar briefly.

Spike looked confused. "You took him to save him... but he was taken from you... and you were nearly killed defending him?"

Wesley looked down. "Essentially, yes."

"Okay... then I'm flummoxed. Why is Angel all pretend "I'll fucking kill Wesley" then? Seems to me you did a good thing."

Wesley eyes watered, and he blinked a few times. "Angel didn't see it that way. And he actually did try to kill me."

"Nah, you're imagining things, pet. He might think it..."

"In the hospital, Spike... he suffocated me. Tried to. Would have... if the alarm hadn't have gone off."

Spike was silent, and a certain conversation with Connor about mothers trickled into his mind. He looked down glumly. "You ain't got a spare room, I suppose? Think I may have outstayed me welcome with soulboy then."

Wesley smiled faintly. "Seems we both have."

Spike looked up. "So, what's with the first time try-out of the homoerotica then, pet?"

Wesley flinched. "How did you know?"

Spike grinned but didn't reply directly. "What did you think?"

Wesley pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "I didn't really have time to analyze it... if you know what I mean."

Spike inspected him through lowered eyes. "So... how's about we take it in slow time now, and I take you through all the highlights?"

Wesley glanced down at the scissors, and then at Spike's swelling eye in disbelief. "After what I did?"

Spike leaned closer and ran a finger over the prominent stubble. "Mate, I've smashed down a building as foreplay; one little poke with a sharp instrument'll only get me all excited - know what I mean?"

He guided the stubble to him and placed his lips softly onto Wesley's, licking slightly. Wesley responded by opening his mouth. Pleased, Spike pulled away again. "So... tell me why."

Wesley looked down. "Because there is no one else, and I need someone."

"Nope, wrong answer."

"Because... " Wesley faltered and looked up, saw no judgment in Spike's eyes so, with a deep breath, continued, "Because it was never enough in the past, and I need more now."

Spike put a hand on his thigh. "Shall I give you more?"

Wesley nodded.

"Shall I take some of the pain away?"

Another nod.

Spike paused. "Will you take mine away?"

Wesley looked up sharply. "Yours?"

"You're not the only one he's gotten tired of, Wesley, and he's been mine for three lifetimes." Wesley now took Spike's face in his hand and rubbed the sharp cheekbone with his thumb.

"You're all bruised."

"Comes with the job, luv." Wesley nodded. He ran his hands over the livid cut on Spike's belly. "He did this? The boy?" Spike nodded and looked down at the hand. He looked up, caught Wesley's eye, and moved the hand down under the sheet.

They both groaned simultaneously and, at this, grinned at each other, pleased. The atmosphere shifted subtly with this mutual acknowledgement of pleasure. Wesley peeled the sheet away and looked for a while at what his hand was enjoying. He stood then and peeled of his pants and his shirt. As he was about to drop the shirt to the floor, he suddenly sniffed it and grimaced. "Good grief."

Spike laughed, "Yeah, didn't like to say, mate."

"I need a shower."

"Think I might, too, then."

Wesley laughed at that and turned towards the bathroom, but hesitated for a moment. "Don't watch my bottom, please; it's still too disturbing." Spike caught him up and slapped him on it instead.

Wesley looked around his bathroom in dismay. "Oh dear, who's been here?"

Spike kicked the worst of the mess to one side and stepped over the rim of the bath, turning on the water. "Come on, you sad fuck. I ain't gonna clean yer clothes, but I'll clean what they go on."

Wesley stepped under the water with him. "This feels extremely odd."

"Come on, mate. You went to public school: this must be old ground for you."

"Err... everyone was a little smaller then, Spike."

"Can't help being well hung, pet."

Wesley laughed, looking down. "I wasn't referring to... oh."

"Fancy highlight number one then?"

"No, but I suspect I'm rather committed now."

"Kneel down. That's it." Spike put his hands to Wesley's dark hair, burying his fingers into the thickness. "See how it's standing up for you, human? You've gotta... fuck." His lesson was cut abruptly short when Wesley licked up from the root to the tip. "Fucking hell, watcher, do that again! I've never had a bloke's hot tongue do that." Seeing as he is blithely offering to instruct Wes, the likelihood of never having had this experience before seems slim.]

Wesley, pleased with this encouragement, did it again.

Pleased with the effect of his encouragement, Spike smiled fondly down at the kneeling man. "Now, hold it here, see, tight around the root. There, ya got it. Just imagine it's yours, pet, and do with it what you'd like. That's the beauty of all this; that's why it's so good - it's all what we want, what we know we like."

Wesley took Spike's sac into his mouth. "OH! Jesus! I didn't mean... but fuck, don't stop! Spike's desperate moaning flared a response in Wesley. He swirled and rotated Spike's balls, pressing his tongue into the smooth skin to separate them, and then crushing them together with his lips. Wesley tried to recall how many times he had enjoyed this with his own hand, pleasuring himself for hours. To do this for another man though - it was incredible.

What else did he enjoy? Wesley let the sac fall from his mouth and took in the tip of Spike's penis instead. Both uncut, this penis was as familiar as his own, but now he could slip a tongue in and seek the small drops of fluid he knew would be there. Now he could use his teeth.

Spike looked down at the dark hair streaming with water. When Wesley pushed his tongue under his foreskin and swirled it over his cool knob, Spike had to brace himself on the walls. His knees started to buckle at the intense pleasure washing up from his throbbing balls. He so wanted to come, so wanted to be needed. He ached to have someone call him by his name and take his cum. He felt an orgasm building... but held Wesley's head still. The human looked up questioningly, so Spike shook his head fractionally. "Too soon." He pulled Wesley to his feet and smiled. "Sorry, but it's been a long time. I'll come too soon."

"Oh. How long?"

Spike thought. ""Least twelve hours I'd say."

Wesley spluttered. "Twelve hours!"

Spike twitched up his lips. "How long for you, mate?"

Well other than..." he indicated in the direction of the living room, clearly too embarrassed to speak of what he had done there. "With someone, err... a few years."

Spike frowned. "You are joking, right?"

Wesley leant in a little closer and tentatively tested his lips against Spike's. "It feels like it now, anyway."

They kissed properly for the first time. Spike wrapped both hands around the back of Wesley's head, pulling him out of the stream of hot water. He leant back against the wall, and Wesley leaned onto the cool body, melting into the intense, intimate kiss. They both closed their eyes automatically, so they could enjoy each sensation quietly and in their own heads. It was superb: Spike could taste the whiskey and the need; Wesley could taste cold, sweet saliva and passion. They continued to open their mouths wider and wider. Wesley's leg automatically came up over Spike, rubbing their erections together, as mutual orgasms began to build. He pushed in harder and dominated Spike's mouth with his tongue. He rubbed his stubble against Spike and did it again when Spike moaned. Spike's fingers tightened in Wesley's hair; Wesley meshed his into Spike's; they could get even closer now. Wesley felt his lips start to bleed from the pressure and the tearing at Spike's mouth.

When he tasted the fresh, urgent, hot, human blood; Spike came. He erupted violently against Wesley, his cum coating the human's curly hair, slicking between their hard bellies. Wave after wave of heavy, thick fluid shot against Wesley. Spike's desperation in the kiss intensified as he sucked Wesley's lip, drawing out the precious fluid, desperate to bite some. Wesley clashed his tongue against Spike's teeth and made that bleed, too, and as the last shots of cum drenched him, Wesley fed his soft, warm, seeping tongue down Spike's throat. He did not pull away when he felt the penis twitching against him soften, but only worked the graze more and licked his blood over the walls of Spike's mouth.

They only roused and broke from the kiss when the water ran cold and Wesley began to shiver.

Spike turned away and hung his head slightly. "Fuck."

Wesley put a hand to his chin and turned him. "Was that... okay?"

Spike tipped his head back as if pondering something on the ceiling. "You missed your calling, mate; just who was teaching who there?"

Pleased, Wesley stepped out of the bath and looked at himself in the mirror. "I need a shave." Spike sat on the rim of the tub, watching, as Wesley slowly and carefully scrapped away some of his pain. His lips were swelling badly now and rather gave him the look of a model who had just had collagen implants. When he was finished, he turned from one side to the other, regarding his face and his neck. "I like the look. What do you think? Scarred but sexy?"

Spike laughed. "I told you, you were sexy."

Wesley turned. "Yes, you did, didn't you? You are the first person who's ever said that to me."

"Thousands of people've said it to me."

Wesley huffed. "In your dreams, Spike."

Spike gave him a disingenuous look. "No, seriously, pet - just before I killed 'em - I made 'em say it. "s {capitol S after apostrophe, it's still the beginning of the sentence] fun." {And I just need to say, one more time, I love this part. Made them say it... so Spike. ]

Wesley gave Spike a double take and shivered slightly. "You know how to ruin a mood, vampire."

Spike twitched up an eyebrow and slowly and provocatively cast his eyes down Wesley's body. "I wouldn't say yours was ruined, Wes."

The erection bouncing against the sink rather proved Spike's point.

Spike eased to his feet and slid up to the freshly shaven face, licking up one side and teasing the swollen lips for a moment. "So... watcher... have you thought through this little experiment of yours?"

Wesley kissed back. "What do you mean, Spike?"

"Well, you got any preferences? You want to take it, or give it, or..." he twitched up one eyebrow suggestively "try both? An" that's the option I'd recommend. From experience, like."

Wesley laughed, shocked at the blatant laying out of his choices. "I have absolutely no idea."

Spike grabbed his hand and started to pull him back to the bed. "Come on, let's play around for a bit and see what happens, hey?"

Wesley let himself be played with. Not only had he swapped female for male, he had swapped reticent and well brought up for... this... this whirlwind of sex. Spike was everywhere. He licked; he sucked; he fondled - he brought Wesley to heights of pleasure, only to crash him down again with withdrawal and absence. Not being able to find any good products in the bedroom or bathroom, Spike had resorted to olive oil and had poured it cascading over Wesley naked, wet body. It had formed droplets of oily slick on the soft human skin.

Clean and sweet-smelling, Wesley's body was irresistible to Spike. He didn't know where to start... but the nipples seemed a good place. He flicked the tiny pebbles until they rose and flushed. He squeezed them, watching Wesley's face closely for that barrier of pain he could not cross. Wesley arched his chest into Spike hands, and Spike tweaked the nipples once more before plunging his mouth onto them. Wesley had never had his nipples played with: no one had ever even considered them before. Spike's pinching fingers and willing mouth took him outside of his pain, and he had not expected this. He felt his orgasm rising... until a firm, cool hand clamped down on him, and Spike's warning look made him hold it in.

As if rewarding him, Spike moved down Wesley's belly slightly, stroking his soft chest hair and playing his fingers through it. He reached the belly button - again, something Wesley had never given much consideration to and hadn't realized was connected to the tip of his cock. The probing in the soft indentation made him swell more, and Spike's hand became an agony of anticipation. Spike wriggled his tongue in, lapping at him and making small noises of pleasure. Wesley folded his arms under his head and was beginning to relax to the sensation, when his legs were bent up, and the tongue transferred to somewhere more intimate.

All these firsts... but this was the most shocking: a tongue was inside him; a tongue was probing him. Wesley sat up abruptly, as Spike's tongue found his prostate gland. He pulled Spike's head away - dazed eyes, looking into dazed eyes. "What..."

Spike immediately pushed his finger in, sliding on the slippery oil and found the spot once more. He let his finger reply for him. Wesley moaned and pulled Spike to him, so he could bury his face into the shoulder for privacy. He wanted to smell skin and taste skin as he was given this pleasure. Spike was finding it difficult to maintain his fist on the human's root, so let him go and let him have his orgasm. He worked his finger gently and sensuously over the tiny gland, swirling around the hot walls. He watched as Wesley's hands went to his cock and knew what the watcher was experiencing: an assisted orgasm... sensations he'd never experienced... a finger inside him... the overwhelming need to cum. He'd been there, felt that, and knew that it was good. Surprised, Spike felt the watcher pull away and stop his slow pulling on his shaft. Wesley's eyes were glazed over with pleasure, his voice very low. "More, Spike, I want..." He looked directly at Spike. "I want more inside me."

Spike groaned and buried his face against Wesley's chest for a moment, the pleasure of being wanted overwhelming him, but he sat up with a sad expression. "I don't know that I can, mate, me chip an" all... a finger's one thing, but... you'd stretch an"..." Wesley grasped his face with both hands, hard.

"Spike! I've known nothing but pain for weeks. That will be pleasure. I want it; how can it hurt me?"

Chapter 3

Spike didn't hesitate. He dragged Wesley over onto his hands and knees and pushed his legs wide, heaving him up by his belly so his entrance was at maximum stretch, opened slightly, and the cheeks flat. He knelt up to the hole and offered it his penis, pouring oil over the thick shaft. Wesley suddenly put his hands around. Spike thought, for one awful moment, that he was going to be stopped, but the human only took his cheeks in his hands and pulled them apart more for the vampire's penetration. Spike slid in on a moan of deep, unguarded pleasure. Human ass - hot, slippery, soft, delicate - he began to move. He'd never been gentle with a lover before, his partners either victims about to die or the undead like himself. Or her. She was unique and gentleness had not been a feature of their relationship. This was new for him and, in its newness, exquisite. He worked slowly in and out, letting the ring of muscle stretch to accommodate him. When it had and he could see it tight but not damaged around him, he experimented with gentle side-to-side motions and deep, tight penetration. He could only get about five inches in, and the root of this cock stuck out. He hesitated, but then said quietly, "Try pushing me out, luv."

"What?"

"You know... do the human thing, and push down hard."

"I'm not bloody pregnant."

They both laughed at the essential ludicrous of their position, and a very strong sense of furtiveness and illicitness at what they were doing hit them both. They felt liberated, naughty - as if about to be caught out in an immoral, dirty act. Spike said, "Oh, yeah," as he thought about penetrating a watcher. Wesley only moaned as he realized a vampire was fucking him, but he pushed - hard - and barked with a harsh sexual pleasure, as Spike gained three inches. He pushed again, all his belly muscles straining, as he shoved his whole backside hard against Spike's groin, pulling himself open with his hands as hard as he could... and felt a slight tear. It was delicious. It made his backside throb slightly, and he sucked his breath in at the feeling. Now Spike filled him totally.

The blood glistened on Spike's shaft each time he pulled out. It mixed with the oil and swirled around him. He put a finger down and played lightly around Wesley's hole for him, pressing it, tickling the perineum. They both laughed again, as Wesley put his head down into the mattress groaning.

Spike felt cheeky and repeated his earlier question. "Feel better?"

"Fuck off, Spike. Through the backdoor this time."

This sent them both in paroxysms of laughter, so much so that Spike pulled out and sat back on his heels. He stilled momentarily, enjoying the sight of Wesley's hole closing over, the blood still seeping out. Wesley cursed and glared back at him from the mattress. "Err..."

"Don't worry, pet. Best bit's yet to come." He proved his point by re-entering Wesley's slick, stretched hole without so much need for gentleness and knowing he could embed to his root. Wesley arched back, and Spike caught hold of his hair in one hand, twisting it around his fingers. He leant back slightly, fixed the image of their bodies in his mind, then closed his eyes and plummeted down into his orgasm. He rode Wesley, straining his neck back, pulling on his hair, thrusting into him. Wesley only responded to the increase in tempo by taking his hands off his backside and placing them on Spike's hips, digging his nails in, drawing blood. Spike knew he had not found Wesley's soft spot for him again and opened his eyes to concentrate on his shaft going in just right. He found it. Wesley screamed: a low feral scream of a man laid bare. His hands were jerked away; they flew to his cock, and Spike watched the human's elbows working, as he urgently pumped his own release. He increased the power of his thrusting now he had found his aim. He kept his eyes open, fascinated by the sight of the human's ring stretched so far, so tight around him. He felt his foreskin rubbing over his tip as he pulled back, felt it rubbing deliciously over the spongy flesh on pull back. Then his balls began to swell. He grunted out, "Soon, I'm gonna come soon..."

He felt Wesley's jerking hands speed up, felt him start to shudder - a deep shaking that registered through the walls of his ass. Spike gasped, as his penis shared Wesley's orgasm. He smelt the cum emptying uselessly into the mattress, reveled in Wesley's high-pitched scream of relief and release, and then knew no more except himself - his own body and the tidal wave that hit him. His sac shivered as its balls contracted; his shaft twitched, and he went rigid on Wesley's ass; he jerked slightly, felt it coming, concentrated on the image in his mind of this act and felt the deep, deep release of an intense orgasm. Minutes seemed to pass as he emptied. The room was loud with a sound he couldn't place, a smell he could and which drove him on. His cock was hot, heated by the watcher's tight walls leaking their heat into him. He could still conjure the taste of the watcher in his mouth, his blood rich with his untapped passion... and still the cum spurted from him. Wesley's bed was soaked in cum, the human pool already seeping in, Spike's spilling out of the tight hole and dripping down to pool at his knees. One last jerk, and he stopped.

Unable to move, Wesley lay crushed into the mattress, every part of his body throbbing and alive. Every corner of his brain was consumed by the sex; there was no space at all in that blissful moment for the pain and the fear that had eaten him for so long. He felt blessed, and a deep sense of gratitude washed over him. He turned slowly, groaning, as the small of his back began to protest the unnatural pounding and odd position it had been subjected to. He felt Spike slip out and groaned once more. Spike collapsed onto his face along side him, giving proof to the rumor that he was dead. Wesley heard a muffled "Fuck" from underneath.

He laughed and repeated with amusement, "Not right now."

Spike turned his face and stuck his tongue out. They were both clearly extremely pleased with themselves and felt oddly that they'd scored points over someone or something they did not like to name. Spike pursed his lips and put a friendly hand on Wesley's, just playing with his fingers absentmindedly.

"'s good. I enjoyed that."

"So did I. I still am."

"Yeah. Guess I can stay the night then?"

"Why are you reluctant to get back, Spike? That's twice you've asked to stay."

Spike fidgeted and winced slightly at the memory of an angry, raised voice behind a closed door. "Yeah, I kind of told Connor who his mum was."

"Angel's sire? He knew that; I am sure."

"Maybe, put like that, but sire and mother don't really..."

"You called Darla Angel's mother?"

"Er... yeah." Spike was surprised when Wesley laughed.

"I think you'd better consider buying a passport, Spike."

Spike sat up. "You think it's that bad?"

"Spike, he tried to kill me."

"Yeah, but you stole the sweet, innocent baby and took him to hell."

Wesley waited for the pain. He waited for the unbearable guilt to wash over him, but in Spike's teasing, mocking tone, it did not come. He was finally talking about it and to someone he knew would understand the true meaning of betraying Angel.

"Why are you here... I mean in LA, anyway, Spike? Shouldn't you be back in Sunnydale, helping to save the world?"

"Nah, world's too shitty. Decided to look me ole sire up."

"And you didn't know about Connor?"

"No. I didn't. Angel didn't see fit to inform me of that little fact."

Wesley sat up, too, enjoying his nakedness with Spike. "There you go then. Even-stevens I'd say."

"How do you work that then?"

"Well, come on, Spike. He should have told you about Connor, and he should have told Connor about you and Darla. It's Angel's fault. Go back and tell him."

Spike laughed and began to kiss along Wesley's arm, casting him seductive looks through lowered lids. "Shall I tell 'im you said to say that?"

Wesley watched the erotic slow progress up his arm, desperate for it to reach his mouth. "If you like. I'm damned and outcast, Spike, hanging from a tree. I can't get any lower."

"Sure you can, pet; you could fuck a vampire."

Laughing, they rolled, kissing on the bed until Wesley's bodily exhaustion began to creep over him. He put his head on the pillow, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry, Spike; I'm only human..."

Spike lay down, too, and put his face close against Wesley's, almost touching, close enough to feel the soft human breath on his face. Wesley opened his eyes. "I'd like you to be here in the morning."

Spike grinned and snuggled in. "I like strong tea with milk, no sugar. And I don't get up before lunch. Ever."

Although they had shared physical intimacy, sharing the bed was new and strange to them both. Wesley lay slightly rigid; Spike turned away from him. A few minutes passed. Wesley was hoping he didn't snore, dribble or do anything else human and embarrassing when his whole body was suddenly possessed by cold limbs. Spike coiled around him; Wesley melted to the embrace, and not caring what happened - sensing that anything human would only amuse and please this strange vampire - Wesley fell into the most restful sleep he had had for some weeks.

He still woke every so often during the night, a light rising to the surface of deep sleep. Once, he had the impression that Spike was sitting up; once, he thought he smelt cigarette smoke, but every time he woke a cool hand was on him - sometimes on his back, sometimes on his belly - so each time a sense of calm descended over him. His first thought on waking in the morning was, "Someone to fetch tea for; how nice." His second thought was, "I'm being sucked off; how nice."

Spike's mouth was soft around him. He opened his eyes and watched, as Spike's languid head floated up and down on his stiffening penis. The delight of not having to give himself urgent, early morning relief washed over him, and he lay back to enjoy the sensation. The sounds of the traffic drifted in through the open window; occasional shouting and music came through the wall from the neighboring apartments, and he was here, being sucked off by a vampire - a beautiful, male, vampire that he fancied. Life was strange.

Spike continued his slow rolling and sucking of Wesley's penis even though he knew the human was awake. He let him enjoy the sensation, let him relax to the pleasure but, eventually, he pulled away and, continuing to play gently with Wesley's erection, said, with a cheeky raise of one eyebrow, "So, you feel like doing a bit of swapping this morning?"

Wesley coughed lightly. "Good morning to you, too, Spike. And, swapping?"

"You know... you give it to me?"

"Oh. Do I have... not that I don't want to... only..." he trailed off rather miserably but looked up, surprised, as Spike only lifted his thigh slightly in response.

"Good, glad you said that, cus you know, I get enough of that from Angel. This makes a bit of a change for me," and with that he began to play with Wesley's hole in preparation for another entry. Wesley watched him for a while, feeling his sore entrance respond with surprising delight to the new stretching. When Spike had his tip just pressed in, Wesley said quietly. "Angel?"

Engrossed in the sensations of Wesley's ass, Spike only murmured, ""Course, he always wants to take me; I wouldn't dare suggest he takes it for once."

"Angel?"

Spike looked up and heard his own words. "Well, not Angel, I suppose. Angelus. Bit pedantic, mate."

"You spoke in the present tense, too."

"What?"

"Spike, is Angel fucking you?"

There was a silence, and Spike stilled his gentle entry of Wesley, then pulled out completely and sat back on his heels. "Fuck. It's been... over a hundred years? It still seems like yesterday, as though he still is." He looked down. "No wonder he's moved on."

"The soul would make a difference, too, I should think."

"Yeah. Guess. A hundred years." His voice was full of soft, regretful wonder.

"So, Spike... does Angel still... how shall I put it...?"

Spike grinned. "I'll make a suggestion, shall I?"

Wesley smiled. "Does Angel still fancy men, do you think?"

Spike looked thoughtfully at Wesley. "I don't know as he ever did, pet; I'm not exactly "men", am I?"

"Well, no, but you couldn't do this if you didn't like another man's body, could you? I mean, he must like this..." he put a hand on his own cock and stroked it lightly. Spike's eyes widened and he felt a tingle shoot through his balls at the simple act. "... are you expecting him to want to take up with you again? Is that why you came here?"

"I don't know as I'd thought it through that carefully. The bitch called me William; William made me think of Angelus; thinking of Angelus makes me think of Angel, an" I guess thinking about the ole fucker is always good, so I got in me car and came."

"Would you though, if he wanted to?"

"Damn right I would. Why? You planning to try it with him?"

"Bloody hell, Spike, get your mind out of the gutter, will you? Angel is my best friend; I love him like a brother; I would do anything for him..." Wesley trailed off, sunk miserably in his own thoughts, but Spike grinned. It was just what he wanted to hear. He wouldn't have such a hard time on his hands after all. He put his finger back into Wesley's hole and played with him for a while, waiting for the human to give him his full attention.

Eventually Wesley roused and hissed as his prostrate was given a particularly skilful rub. "In, now." Spike grinned and got back to what he enjoyed the most.

As he watched Spike's shaft slip in, Wesley couldn't help but ask, "If you do get back with Angel, and you resume your... err..."

"...fucking?"

"I was going to say relationship - but actually, fucking sounds a lot more appropriate - if you do, what about this?"

"You liking this then, Wesley? You thinking you might want to do some more of this, more edited highlights?"

"There's more than this?"

Spike tipped his head back and laughed out loud. "Bloody hell, watcher, you've got a lot to learn, and yeah, I like your ass; ain't gonna give this up. "Sides, even if I do get back with Angel, that's only vampire fucking around. It don't mean nothing." As if proving his point he knelt up against Wesley and just played gently with the stretch around his shaft. In the light of the morning and without the frantic lust that had driven them both the previous night, they had the time and the inclination to look and to feel and to touch and to wonder at the sensations their bodies could produce. Spike took Wesley's penis in his hand and played with the foreskin as he worked inside Wesley's hole. He pressed into the sensitive human perineum, trying to feel himself through the walls. Wesley began to pant as he felt his balls swelling. Spike pulled a pillow around and stuffed it under Wesley's backside, and he was lifted into a better position for the deep penetration Spike wanted. When all was just right, he began a long drawn out working of the human. He fucked Wesley for what seemed like hours. Every time Wesley threatened to come with powerful shuddering and jerking of his body, Spike clamped a hand down on his root and prevented it. He pushed in and out, in and out, the waves of pleasure being driven up his shaft and into Wesley's. They moaned in unison; they swore together, their eyes sometimes locked on each other, sometimes closed, leaving them the privacy of their own thoughts and desires. When he felt the time was right, Spike began.

"I'm worried about Angel." His voice, low and ragged, matched the passion that was being created in the room. Wesley only groaned and tried to lift himself some more onto the pillow... ever higher... ever more penetration. "I don't trust the brat. He reeks of hatred for Angel."

Wesley's eyes opened, and he tried to focus for a moment. "He loves Angel; you told me that... no, Gunn told me that. Push harder, Spike, please, just there, oh... yes..."

"It's a front."

"Let me come, please Spike; I need to come; I'm... oh, Jesus, don't do that."

"Wesley, he's lying, and Angel can't see it."

"You're just jealous, Spike. Please, please, I beg of you... no! Don't tighten, oh, God, no more; I'm dying."

"Hush. Maybe I am; I don't deny it, but that don't change the fact he's lying."

"Angel would know. Let me... oh, God..."

"Angel's blinded by the light of his love and the darkness of his guilt. He's lost."

"Yes, yes, yes, there, that's right, oh... you're so... how do you... yes. The others would see for him. Cordelia - she's spot on. Lorne's bloody psychic. They'd know. NO! Don't!"

"They do see. He isn't listening to them. He needs someone he loves to tell him."

"Tell him then... oh, fuck... oh, fuck... I need to say fuck... fuck... I'm going to die if you do that."

"Shhh, stop exaggerating, and he don't love me like that. I'm too much part of him; I'm in the light; I am the darkness; I'm him; he's me... I can't help him to see." A long pause. "But you can."

Wesley stilled the thrashing movements he was making on each thrust, each skewer of Spike's penis inside him and growled out an angry reply. "No!"

"Yes. Is that good, Wesley? Shall I let me fist go just a little? Can you feel the cum rising?"

"Oh, thank God; let me come."

"Yes, then. I want you to speak to Angel."

"No! I can't."

"Yes, you can... you can cum, Wesley. Wouldn't it be great to cum... over your belly, hard shots of cum for me to see? Say yes."

"No! NO! God, don't stop me again."

"Yes, then."

"No! Please, Spike, please have mercy. I can't. He hates me; I betrayed him. I'm Judas."

"Oh, hush, pet. Stop that; just say yes; it's so much easier, and I'll help you... like I'm helping you with this... wanna see how supple I am?"

"Oh, God, swallow me... in your mouth, I'm coming, I'm coming... NOOOO!"

"Yes, then. Is it yes?"

"You... oh! Please... take me in your mouth again. Yes. Yes. Yes, Spike, yes. It's yes now... ah! Ah! AH!"

Spike was sucking hard so couldn't comment on the watcher's capitulation. Wesley exploded down his throat. He'd never felt cum so warm, so violently propelled. He knew the watcher had wanted to see Angel really; now all he had to do was think of a way for them to meet. Planning was fun, especially when you were swallowing copious loads of warm, early morning cum.

Wesley did not speak for a while after his orgasm. He lay still, allowing Spike to finish his, deep inside him. He watched, annoyed, intrigued, and intensely turned on, as Spike brought himself off in his warm body. It was a favorable position to watch Spike from - Spike's belly banging against his open thighs; the abs rippling as he worked; the smooth chest heaving for unnecessary air; a pale neck stretched back; long, slender fingers wrapped over his knees - he could watch Spike for hours and never tire of the sight of that body. He saw Spike's face change as he was about to cum; wondered what it was like for that dead, lifeless body to feel such unnatural animation and force of life and saw the answer in the corded neck; heard it in the high-pitched scream; felt it in the cold wash that flooded him. Unnatural sensation, but oh, how intensely pleasurable it was - even the leaking out, cooling and soothing to his stretched, sore hole.

Spike slipped out and sat back, and then bent over and put his forehead to the mattress. Wesley eased off the ruined pillow and rolled onto his stomach. He groaned as a hand slid over his backside. "No. Please. Enough."

"I just wanted to say good boy for agreeing, Wesley. You know you've done the right thing." Spike's tongue, licking at him and cleaning him, made any contradiction to this seem rather pointless.

"You are the devil, Spike."

"Thanks. Not yet, but I'm hoping to be promoted one day." He slapped Wesley on his backside and flung himself down. "Where's me cuppa?"

"God."

"Go on, make us a brew, an" we'll discuss tactics."

"Joining the army? Please say yes."

"Tactics to get you and Angel together. It's got to be just right."

"How about we wait until I die and meet him in hell?"

"You ain't going to hell, pet. You're far too valuable in heaven. Too valuable here, now. So, stop all that self-indulgent, sexy, feelin' sorry for yerself - feel sorry for me instead and make me a bloody cup of tea."

Wesley got up and wrapped a sheet modesty around his waist, waiting for the laugh of derision from Spike. Spike only looked thoughtfully at the ceiling as if inspiration could be found there.

Feeling a little manipulated, Wesley said with quiet amusement. "You'll have to go back today and see him, or you'll lose your influence with him, too."

Spike looked at him horrified. "Oh, bloody hell. Still, guess he ain't gonna whip me or beat me or fuck me to unconsciousness, is he? He's got a soul now; what could he do?" Wesley laughed at his wistful tone and went to put the kettle on. He chuckled to himself as it boiled. He knew he'd put Spike on the spot and had the distinct impression that the vampire would be squirming. The thought of Spike squirming made him groan a little, and he pressed lightly into the counter. A pair of strong arms slipped around him and began to work at the knot of the sheet. "Spike!" Wesley put a warning hand down. "I utterly refuse to make tea for you naked. It's totally inappropriate."

"Inappropriate? After we've just..."

"That was the bedroom. This is my kitchen; I will not... don't!" Wesley tutted as Spike hopped naked on the counter. "I shall never, ever make another sandwich there; you know that, don't you?"

He fetched Spike a towel and threw it at him; Spike tutted, too, but draped it decorously over his lap.

Wesley couldn't resist the continuing the pressure on the annoying vampire. "So, Spike, when are you going back? Angel might be worried about you."

"Fuck off."

They both laughed before Wesley could even reply with his "Not right now."

He passed Spike a cup and leant on the counter opposite him. "Angel won't see me. I don't care what plan you think you have; he won't. I know him!"

Spike pushed out his bottom lip a little and looked shifty. "I didn't really have a plan, mate. I kinda just thought... you come back... we'll all be there... he'll shout... you'll kiss and make up... but I'll admit, it's not me most stunnin' plan, is it?"

"No."

"Guess I'm going back then - "til something comes to me."

"Come on, take a shower, and I'll put your stuff in the washing machine."

Spike grinned. "That'll be a first for 'em then," but he hopped off and went distractedly towards the bathroom. The water was scalding hot once more, and he let its soporific effects work on his tense body. He dried distractedly then slumped on the sofa while his clothes washed, watching Wesley make an attempt to clean and clear away the detritus of his betrayal. Wesley felt Spike's eyes on him and turned. Spike repeated for the third time, "Feel better now?"

Wesley looked directly at him then nodded once, a small nod of understanding and gratitude. He came slowly over to Spike and sat next to him on the couch. "I almost want to say, don't go back, stay here."

Spike grinned. "Wish I had this effect on some other people I could mention."

"But I do want to see Angel. I do want to try and explain to him what I did and why..."

"I know, pet."

Wesley looked down, embarrassed. "When will I see you?"

Spike accommodatingly moved aside the towel. "Now?"

It was a restrained, almost wistful blowjob. At each suck, each lick, Wesley felt he was losing something he had only now realized he could have. At each swell and rise of his orgasm, Spike felt the impending confrontation with Angel like a tight band around his balls. He did cum; Wesley did swallow... but it gave neither of them any real satisfaction. Wesley sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Spike leant in, just to lick one small droplet falling from the human's soft lips, but Wesley captured his mouth, desperately pushing Spike down onto his back. What he'd not been able to say or show in the blowjob, he tried to demonstrate in the kiss.

They were both surprised by its intensity, by its... sweetness. They kissed like new lovers, friends, playmates. Finally, Spike slid out from under Wesley and pulled him into his shoulder. "If we go on, mate, I'm just gonna stay here all day."

"Good."

"Nah. I need to do this "fore... well, I ain't that brave these days, so better go face the bleedin" music."

"Soon though, will I see you soon?"

Spike pulled on his jeans and Angel's shirt, both warm from the dryer, feeling oddly more naked and vulnerable with these clothes on. He glanced across at Wesley and replied quietly, "Yeah, soon."

It took him a long time to navigate his way back through the tunnels, but he didn't exactly hurry. His feet felt leaden, his dead heart heavy. He entered the lobby, waiting for the screaming to start... to find it deserted. He wandered over to the counter and almost jumped when Lorne popped up from behind.

"Sweet blond one! You're dead!"

"Duh! Newsflash... not. Where's Angel?"

"No, little testy one, I mean..."

"...just tell me, demon, was he mad...?"

"Oh, you can bet your sweet bottom dollar on that, but..."

"Oh, fuck. Shouting?"

"Sweetie, it was worse than..."

"Breaking of things?"

"Look bro" I'm tryin' to tell you here... demon on a mission..."

""He still mad?"

"Okay, I'm starting to think serenity; I'm seeing lotus blossoms..."

"Do you think he'll see me?"

"I think he might, honey, cus I'm trying to tell you..."

"Tell me he'll stake me, right?"

"Hush, hon. You already are staked, my little cacophony of self-absorption."

"What?"

"Destructo boy" told him he'd killed you... Angelpie's been a little testy since - if you know what I mean."

"Oh... so the shouting..."

"Sure was, cupcake."

"The breaking of stuff?"

"All broken over those fabulous blue eyes of yours."

"All for me?"

"You'd better believe it, hon."

"Fuck."

"Well, haven't I just made someone's day. And oh, those dimples are just to die for! Couldn't you just fill them with tequila and suck them dry?"

"Shut the fuck up, ya poof." But Spike clasped Lorne by the cheeks and squeezed them lightly, still grinning at him. "Where is the other poof, and I need a drink."

"Angelhair's gone killing. And I'm just betting you've never tried a Marilyn Mouthful?"

Spike sat in the kitchen, dubiously watching Lorne mixing and tasting a frightening selection of strange, alcoholic potions. "Why did the little git tell 'im that then? Just making trouble, I guess."

"Oh, I think a little green-eyed monster has risen in this hotel recently. Here, sip, bro"."

Spike drank and gagged, spluttering the contents of his mouth across the table. "Fucking what is this!"

Lorne sipped his complacently and watched Spike carefully.

"So, littl' Angel's jealous of me, is "e?" A satisfied, sly grin crossed Spike's face.

"More than one little green monster here then, I'm thinking. Feel good, does it, being jealous of a munchkin?"

"Fuck off, demon. I'm not jealous of that little tosser; why should I be? I'm worried "bout Angel, "s all. He's gonna hurt Angel. It's written all over the self-righteous wanker."

"Oh relax. You're wrong."

"No, I'm not. I know humans; I've been knowing the bleeders for nearly two hundred years - "s why I'm still here. That kid wants to kill Angel."

"No, the kid wants Angel to love him, and he'd kill Angel and himself to make Angel do that. There's a big - Frank's opening-night-in-Los-Vegas big - difference."

"That's... stupid." Spike began to feel almost hypnotized by the demon's startling eyes; he pushed the drink away, suddenly afraid it was drugged.

"It's not drugged, pretty one. Why would I need to do that?"

"Hey... you're reading me mind!"

"Umm, and what a Dorothy-in-Kansas whirlwind of a mind it is where sweet peaches is concerned."

"Look, that kid is dangerous. It's why I'm getting the... anyway, he is."

"Wesley? You've been with Wesley? Well, bubba, kudos to you for that!"

"Oh, Christ on the cross, stop bloody doing that readin' thing! And yes, I went to see the watcher. He's got to come back and talk some bleedin" sense into Angel. No one else seems able to!"

Lorne looked pleased. "You, sugar, are brighter than that hairstyle would allow. And hey! Wesley's coming home! I feel a chorus of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" is needed!"

To Spike's great relief, this threat proved empty; Lorne merely continued to sip his drink. With a resigned sigh, Spike took his up again. "So, watcher ain't needed then... if the kid ain't dangerous."

"Oh, I didn't say he wasn't dangerous, sex-on-a-stick; he's just not dangerous to Angel. I wouldn't leave him in a room with you unless I needed some glittery dust for a nice collage. And Wesley is needed here more than you will ever know. And there's just got to be a song in there somewhere."

"You tellin" me I shouldn't tell Wes that the kid's off the hook "bout Angel?"

Lorne only looked at him expressively.

"You're a devious green bastard, ain't you?"

"Well, colour me incredulous, but at least I plan with my gorgeous pants still firmly in place."

"Hey! Stop doin" that! That's gotta be illegal or summit. And don't I have to be singing? Ana-whatever demons read people singing!"

"I hear your song loud and clear without a melody, blondie, and I'm thinking torches and trilogies! No wait! I'm seeing Wesley; I'm seeing all that fabulous stubble and that dark, brooding expression. Ooh, I'm seeing something pale and very hard rising and, hmm, it's slipping in, and I'm hearing Kylie. Sing on girl! "I should be so lucky"..."

Lorne proceeded to sway around the kitchen with his glass doing a bad impressing of the diminutive Australia singer. Spike started to laugh; the demon's complete refusal to be pessimistic relaxed him and took the edge off his usual sharp defensive mechanisms.

Lorne finished his tuneful parody and sat down receiving applause from a vast, appreciative audience. When he had acknowledged it enough, he turned to Spike with an amused smile. "Why don't you take those tight little buns upstairs, darlin', and wait for even-tighter-in-the-ass to get home. I'll tell him you're not dead - so it's not such a shock to that old heart of his when his sour-puss mood vanishes."

Spike grinned and, downing the rest of his drink in one go, bounded up the stairs to his room. As he passed Angel's, he couldn't help but see the devastation that had been wrought there. Bed coverings had been shredded, clothes ripped out of the wardrobe, the bookcase overturned, a lamp smashed, and the contents of drawers strewn across the floor. Gingerly, Spike made his way across the detritus of Angel's despair. He kicked a book and absentmindedly picked it up. Glancing at it, he stilled. He looked around and picked up the other books he could see. He put the half dozen of them on the bed and sat down, almost afraid to look. He picked the first one up again and opened it at random. Angel's bold, elegant handwriting filled the margins of each page. He had thought Angel had given Connor all their books. He was wrong. Angel had kept the most loved, safe in his room.

Demons loving poetry - the Scourge of Europe and William the Bloody reading poetry - how they had hidden that little secret from the others. He picked up another and smiled at the memories that assailed him. "How do I love thee?" Angel had shown him how that night: they had counted the ways together, each position, each entry, each move on each other's bodies remembered... and there in the margin, a bold number ten, crossed out and amended later to fifteen as their passion had taken even more sating before the final count was done.

Unbidden, Spike felt tears spring to his eyes. Why had Angel kept these books but not kept the faith with him?

Chapter 4

Angel returned from a long case, physically exhausted - which he needed - and emotionally so wrung out that he could not bear to stop long enough to examine the pain. Connor trailed behind him, his face full of barely concealed misery.

Lorne did not intercept Angel as promised; he was quietly asleep on the kitchen table and did not wake as Angel glanced despairing at him. Angel made his way up the stairs. He curtly told Connor to shower and change and meet him later. The boy slunk away trapped by a lie he wished with all his heart he could recall, but did not have the adult skills yet to do so gracefully.

Spike stood up as Angel came in. He didn't even have time to register the thought, "Demon didn't tell "im", before he was seized. Angel thrust him violently back into the wall. He clasped his face between strong hands; he turned him one way and the other; he stood back; he came closer. He crushed Spike to him in a hug so strong Spike felt bruises blossom on his back. Angel tried to speak, but his voice was choked. He pushed Spike back against the wall once more, hesitated, and then crushed his lips to Spike's in an urgent, possessive kiss. There was no love in it; it was driven by the blind terror of loss, by feelings that the loss had reawakened, and by relief so powerful he thought his body would shatter.

Spike began to respond to the kiss. He opened his mouth slightly to allow the possession; his hand came up to Angel's hair, but Angel pulled away.

Desolate, defenses down, Spike groaned and begged disbelievingly, "Don't, please, Angel..."

Angel turned back and crushed him again then said low but clear in his ear, "I'm only going to lock the door."

They said nothing more to each other. They had no need for words. Two hundred years of shared history. Two hundred years of an intimate blood connection kicked-in, and their bodies and minds worked on autopilot. Angel undressed Spike: that was his job. Spike watched Angel undress, held his clothes, examined his wounds, and bathed him slowly and with great care: these were his delights. They moved to the bed - a seamless transition. Bodies rolled; one became dominant, and the slow penetration began. The smooth column stretched, fangs descended, the soft skin was licked in preparation and then the piercing, then the bleeding, then the taking. Angel drank his childe into him once again. The sense of loss still overwhelmed him, and he wanted his most precious childe inside him, safe. He drank until Spike went limp, until the body under him held no life, not even the powerful unlife he had given it. He drank until his whole childe swilled around inside him, reanimating him, reawakening the connections and feelings he had allowed to become dormant. He drank until Spike was no more, until there was no separation, until they were demon, together, sharing the most intimate thing of all, one body. Then Angel sat up a little to feel the power of Spike within him. He closed his eyes the better to hear Spike in his mind, to taste Spike in his heart, to hear him in his bowels, and Spike's voice was strong within him; it sang of pain and need and longing and love. Angel heard the song of Spike's loneliness; he heard the chorus of his fear and despair; he heard the crashing crescendo of his rejection. When his childe was wholly known to him once more, he took his belt from the floor and twisted it around his upper arm. Tightened, the belt began to pressurize his blood. A small knife... a large cut to his wrist, and the blood spurted to the back of Spike's throat. Angel stroked the lifeless body, forcing the powerful jetting blood to run down into his childe's belly.

With his demon returning to him, soothed, healed, and understood, Spike reanimated. He opened his eyes to fasten them on amber. He opened his greedy fangs and mewed to be given more. His sire crushed him to a smooth throat and helped the weakened fangs to push on through to the other side. His belly started to swell; he could not tell if it was his blood or Angel's flowing into his mouth, and he realized it didn't matter. Blood was blood; he'd always known that. He did not need to be pushed away; he took his fill, and then let go, gracefully.

Angel lay on his back and stared at the ceiling that would never be the same ceiling for him again.

Spike lay panting and slightly overwhelmed alongside him. "Yay for not destroying the bed then?"

Angel looked around his room, as if surprised by the devastation. "I thought you were dead. Connor told me you were dead."

"I know. I saw the incredible hulkette downstairs."

"I didn't think I could feel that much pain again. It was like Connor, but worse."

"Worse?"

Angel looked down thoughtfully for a moment as if thinking his reply through before he answered. "I never felt I deserved Connor. But I made you: you are mine in a way more fundamental than a human could ever understand. When he said he'd... when I went to your room..." Angel gave Spike a very direct look. "I saw fear in a handful of dust."

Spike, distracted by the memories that assailed him from Angel's deliberate use of that familiar, well-loved poem - the smell of Angelus" hair as he'd been drained for the first time, the feel of the slow revival, the warmth of his sire's passion against his cold limbs - answered quietly and with a hesitation in his voice. "And that's good, is it?" His toes were still dead, yet his fingers tingled to the remembrance of Angel's blood. His balls ached and throbbed for release, and his penis swelled and surged with the blood. His neck throbbed with an intense agony, but he could not really feel attached to the pain. He was floating free of his undead body, hovering between the two sources of blood, neither wholly himself, nor wholly Angel.

Angel was quiet for a long time before he answered. His voice sounded equally as distracted as Spike's. "I think it is. I've been cut off, unable to reach him, unable to ask for help. Then you came and I felt... angry. Another lost child, more evidence of my failure to bind to me what is mine. But when I thought you'd been... when he told me... I saw true loss then. I suppose I just need to appreciate what I have."

"Which is?"

"Family. You, Connor, Cordelia, Fred and Gunn..."

"And Wesley?"

Angel turned his eyes to Spike and shook his head fractionally. "I won't talk of him, Spike; don't slide him in like that. Wesley is dead to me. If I ever see him, I will kill him - soul or no soul. He took my baby from me... yes, I have Connor back... but I'll never hold his tiny body in my arms again, never smell his hair, freshly washed and soft against my face. I'll never see him learning to walk, teach him to read, share childhood with him. It's all gone, Spike; all taken from me by that man. And do you know the worst of it? I can't reach him now precisely because of that. So I lose Connor twice because of him. He was never my child; how can he be my son now?" Angel turned on his stomach to face away from Spike, and Spike could smell bitter, salty tears. He put his hand on Angel's back and trickled one finger lightly up and down the pale skin.

"You'll have his children, pet."

Angel rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand and turned to face Spike with a puzzled look on his face.

"You're unchanging, luv. Hell, in a few years he'll look more like your dad than your son anyway. An" with a little luck, the lad'll have kids of his own, and you'll be the youngest, fittest granddad there ever was. You'll have it all again, pet." He had thought this would comfort Angel; it only seemed to depress him more.

"He won't be here then at this rate. I don't know how to talk to him, Spike. There's no shared history, no understanding, no love to get him to love me. I failed you so badly..." Spike looked as if he was about to interrupt this. "...yes, I did. I need to get it right this time. So, no rules for him, no discipline; it was all wrong; I was too domineering, and it just drove you away and made you hate me."

Spike laughed and Angel sat up a little, angry at the reception of his heart-felt declaration. Spike turned his head once more, too lazy and too tired to do anything else. "I'm here, ain't I, pet?"

"What's that got to... "

"Angel! Two hundred years! You managed to bind me to you for two hundred years! Sure, I kicked against every rule, resented every bit of discipline... but I'm here now. I never loathed you, sire; I've always needed you, always wanted you." Angel gave him a slightly disbelieving look and saw from Spike's wry smile that he didn't need to mention the word "pokers".

"I shall have to punish him for this, I suppose."

Spike sat up too. "This ain't the time, luv. I know I just said all that "bout the rules, but he don't need rules right now, I'm guessing. Connor needs you to try an" understand why he did it..."

"I'll never understand it, and don't call him that..." Angel's automatic response to Spike cut off abruptly. He suddenly realized that his childe had called his son by his proper name for the first time. He turned slightly, Spike moved an arm, and Angel lay in Spike's strong embrace, their mixed blood gradually stilling in their dead veins, the temporary animation of their bodies fading as a languid need to sleep began to overtake them.

Increasingly distracted by his throbbing balls, wanting to sleep, Spike put a tentative hand onto Angel's thigh. "Are we gonna..."

Angel removed the hand. "I can't."

Spike propped himself up on his elbows. "Fuck, Angel, come on, luv. Both naked, both... oh. Hey! What's going on?"

Angel ground out from gritted teeth, "I just told you; I can't."

Spike eyed Angel's flaccid cock with fascination. Totally soft, it lay curled against one hip, lifeless, dormant and...

"Hey! Don't flop it around like that!""

"Jesus, luv, what's wrong?"

Angel put an arm over his face for privacy. "I... you know... well, you don't... but the crying and the sleepless nights... then he went... then I found out about Wes... him... and I keep seeing Darla's c... err... Darla when I look at Connor now and... it just won't..." He gave a small, self-indulgent wail. "It just fucking won't, Spike; so don't bother..."

Silence.

Angel expected sympathy, or at the very least concern; snorts of suppressed laughter, therefore, made him uncover his eyes furiously. He opened his mouth to speak, but a soft knocking on the door silenced him. Giving Spike a livid, intent look, he called out, "Yes, what is it?"

"Father?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "Get into the bathroom."

Spike nodded, grabbed his clothes and headed out of sight, as Angel opened the door a fraction, a towel held firmly around his waist.

"I have been waiting for you, father; why are you so long?"

"Go to your room, Connor. I need to... I'd like you to talk with me. Please."

Connor nodded and went slowly back to his room. Angel dressed and, glancing approvingly at Spike doing the same thing, followed his son out.

Spike dozed in his room for a while, but thoughts of Angel distracted him. Flaccid. That was serious: serious for a bloke - devastating for a vampire - unheard of for the Scourge of Europe. Spike had known Angelus to be still able to get it up after a night of almost continuous orgasms. Flaccid. Bloody hell. If anything he had seen or heard convinced Spike that Angel needed Wesley back, it was this. He would not have gone so far as to say that the state of Angel's cock was directly linked to Wesley, but there was a connection. Maybe it was guilt, maybe just unhappiness, maybe repressed anger that needed to be expressed, whatever. Angel was floppy, and that was not going to be tolerated. After an hour or so of pondering and planning - well, five minutes of that and an hour or so of snoozing, Spike went back downstairs to Connor's room. The door was ajar, and the boy sat on the bed with his head sunk gloomily in his hands.

"Hey." Spike spoke softly from the doorway.

Connor raised a tear-streaked face to Spike, mutinous anger radiated from him still. "Don't come in here, demon."

"K, pet, I won't. Just here okay though?"

"No. I want you to go away."

"That ain't gonna happen, not from this door, not from Angel's life, and not from my own. Wishing don't make it true either."

Connor stood and came to the door. "You've made him hate me."

"He don't hate you, luv, believe me; he don't hate you. An" I don't either. You ain't gonna kill Angel, so I've got no gripe with you."

"Kill father?"

"Yeah, it's what I saw in you, but the green poof reads better than I do, an" he says you're not gonna hurt 'im."

At the reference to Lorne, Connor bristled. "You are a vampire, and you consort with filthy demons. I will not speak with you."

"Hey!" Spike took a step towards him, menacingly, but still not crossing the disputed threshold. "You need to grow up a bit, lad. Angel told me that that demon looked after you when you were a baby as if he were your bloody mum. I've known humans that would have buggered you before you were six months old and sold the fucking pictures on the Internet. So don't you come over all human high and mighty righteous human with me, mate."

Connor actually seemed to be thinking this over. His face creased up as he puzzled over the sudden uncertainty in his world. "Why do you come here and tell me this? What do you want?"

"I need your help."

Connor reared back slightly. "My help? Me help you?"

"Help Angel."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ask me in, and I'll tell you."

Connor hesitated still but, eventually, stood back and let Spike enter. Spike straddled a chair and leant his arms on the back, waiting for Connor to sit once more on the bed.

"Angel's not happy."

"Can father be happy?"

Spike laughed. Out of the mouths of babes... "Happier than he is now, yes. He lost a friend, and he misses him."

"Wesley Wyndham-Price?"

Spike nodded impressed. "You're quick and smart; I like that."

Connor could not suppress the grin of pleasure at this rare praise. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get Wesley back here."

"How?"

"Ah... you sort of gave me the plan, like."

"I did? How?"

"By telling Angel "bout staking me."

"Oh." Connor looked down embarrassed.

"Never no mind, pet; all's well that ends well, hey? Angel was... pleased to see me alive, and he's gonna be with Wesley, too."

"Ah, I understand. You will tell father his friend is dead."

"Got it in one, 'cept..."

Connor smiled. "I'm going to have to tell him."

"Spot on. See, no way Angel's gonna believe me... he can read me..." he saw Connor's intrigued face. "It's blood see; he's got my blood; I've got his... it's like twins I guess, you just sense the other one. So, he knows I've already asked "bout Wesley; he's gonna be suspicious. You don't know the fuc... the man, you've never met 'im; so if you find him and tell Angel, he'll have no reason to doubt it."

"Except that I've already told him one lie exactly like that?"

Spike was furious and impressed in equal measure that Connor had seen the main flaw in his plan. Killing two birds with one stone was not as easy as it looked.

"Still better than me, mate."

"So, how am I supposed to find this, Wesley, so I might tell father."

Spike cheered up. "That's the best part, luv. You go there to kill "im!"

"Good."

"No! Jees, father like son... not for real; that's what you tell Angel. You went to Wesley's to kill him cus you overheard Angel saying he wanted Wesley dead."

"And when I get there, Wesley has already been killed?"

"Not killed... dead by "is own hand."

Connor leant forward, fascinated. "How?" Caught up in his own narrative, Spike leant forward, too, their heads mere inches from each other.

"That's the best bit, see; he's gonna be hanging by his sheets from the ceiling fan; they'll be twisted; you'll have to lift "im up to get "im down, an" he'll be real heavy an" all. You'll struggle but, overwhelmed by guilt..."

"Why am I guilty? I was going there to kill him anyway."

"Cus you're Angel's son... an' who's telling this bleedin" story? So, you get "im down and take the gray silk sheets from around his neck..."

"How do you know they are gray and silk? Why not white and linen like mine."

"Bloody hell, mister pedantic, white and linen then!" Spike kept the memories of the feel of that silk off his face as he continued. "His face'll be all black, and his tongue'll be sticking out and bloated..."

"...will his eyes be open?"

"... yeah, and staring at you, almost following you around the room..."

"What are you two talking about?"

They reared back simultaneously but caught each other's expression and grinned. Angel caught the look between them, and his dead heart swelled slightly, and some of his pain went away for a moment. He looked from one to the other and repeated his question. "What are you two talking about?"

Spike, the senior, took the responsibility for answering. "You. What else?"

"Oh. Well, I've ordered some take-out, Connor. Come down, will you?"

"Hey, what "bout me? I love a good curry; nice spicy take-awe's just what I need."

Angel stood back as Spike and Connor went past. Spike waited for Angel and gave him a cheeky look as he followed Connor down the stairs, nodding at the teenager. Angel pursed his lips but then smiled back at Spike, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

After dinner, Angel went downstairs to do some training, and Spike slid his chair closer to Connor's.

"So, when should I go to Wesley's?"

Spike laughed. "You don't actually have to go there, pet, remember? You just have to say you did."

Connor looked down as if disappointed he was not really going to get to grips with a real hanging corpse. "I'd forgotten. When should I tell him?"

"Well, you could go there tonight feasibly. Angel'll probably sleep tomorrow... so tell him when he wakes, hey? He'll be at his most vulnerable then, you know... sleepy and hungry. I always used to tell him shit and the like then, got me off the hook hundreds of times."

Connor eyed Spike speculatively. "You have known father for a long time."

"Yep, on and off - mostly off."

"And you knew... her?"

"Yeah, sorry "bout what I said earlier, mate. Vampires are a bit of a law to themselves when it comes to sex an" the like."

"Tell me about her. No one will speak of her."

Oh, shit. "She was incredibly beautiful."

Connor's eyes sparkled. "Was she kind?"

Spike swallowed slowly. "She was to Angelus... sometimes."

"Was she happy?"

This surprised Spike. "Yes, she was. I never thought about it before, but she was. She loved her unlife, pet; never you worry "bout that. She romped through eternity and reveled in what she was."

"She was like you then."

"What?"

"I've never met a vampire like you before. Father... my other father told me all vampires were devil's spawn, and that they carried the devil's guilt on their faces, forever marked by his evil."

"Oh. He sounds like a fun kind of guy."

"My mother came back, didn't she... after she was staked?"

"Yeah, so I heard... brought back human, then done in again by Dru... but you really don't wanna go down that twisted little family saga." Spike almost winced at his slip; he really didn't want to have to explain that Darla had been the lad's mother and his niece, as well as his father's mother and granddaughter... he wasn't too sure even he understood it all. He needn't have worried; Connor was distracted by some thought of his own.

"So, she could come back again?"

He looked up at Spike with a wistful expression on his face, and Spike recoiled. He hadn't even seen that one coming. "Hey, no, luv. That ain't likely... and if she did, she'd be a bit dolally, I'd guess. Only so many times you can die, luv, "fore it addles yer brain." He saw another question coming, so quickly diverted the conversation. So, matter in hand? Tomorrow, when Angel wakes up... go to him and tell him the good news, yes? An" practice a bit "forehand will ya? I always practice lying to Angel first; it's much more realistic that way."

"Alright. What if he wants to go there to see the body?"

"Ah, well, body won't be there, trust me." ( "Body's gonna deep in my body and relieving these bloody balls of mine." ) "Tell "im you called 911, and it's not there now." Connor was beginning to look dubious about the complexities of this brilliant plan, so Spike decided it was time to make a swift exit.

He made his way jauntily back to Wesley's. He had just the slightest niggling doubt that he had forgotten some minor thing in all his devious planning, but he didn't let it worry him too much. He was juggling a lot of balls in the air... and wasn't that a nice image to roll around in his mind while he strolled towards a pair of those that were soft and warm.

He knocked and was let in. He looked around in wonder then shrugged his shoulders slightly and flung himself on the couch. "Preferred it as it was, more homely."

Wesley only smiled at this reaction to his frantic cleaning and sat alongside Spike on the couch. "I didn't think you'd be back so quickly."

Spike grinned. "Miss me?"

"I'm only just recovering, Spike, and some things... well... So, do I take it, it didn't go well with Angel?"

"Don't be so pessimistic, Watcher. It went like clockwork, like a Swiss..."

"He'll see me?" Even Spike was touched by the look of eager relief on Wesley's face.

"Not yet, pet, but he will."

Wesley got up, annoyed at his display of emotion. "Just tell me, Spike, and stop playing games."

Spike paused for a moment wondering whether, if he ever did that, he would just stop all together, but shook the thought off and followed Wesley into the kitchen. He ignored Wesley's cry of protest and hopped up onto the clean counter once again. "I've set a plan in motion, watcher, that's all." He saw Wesley's impatient expression and continued, rolling his eyes slightly. "He's gonna be told you're dead. He'll be all..."

"That's your plan?" Wesley's voice rose embarrassingly in pitch, so he turned, calmed himself, and then turned back. "That is your plan, Spike? You are going to tell him exactly what he wants to hear?"

"Oh don't be so melodramatic, watcher. I know the poof a lot better than you do, and he does not want you dead. If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Wesley could not deny that there was a certain truth to this claim. He remained unconvinced however. "So what then?"

Spike smiled. "Oh, that's the best part, mate; I get to go and weep at yer funeral."

"Oh, bloody hell." Wesley put the kettle on: it seemed the best thing to do. The whole plan seemed elaborate to the point of madness. "Did you actually just ask Angel to speak to me?"

Spike slid from the thought "Fuck, that's a good idea" to his mouth actually saying "Course I did: what do you take me for, an idiot?" without the slightest flicker betraying him. He grinned and hopped down. "Come on, we've gotta be going."

"Where, why?" Wesley backed away in alarm; the briefest image of being placed alive in a coffin for effect flashed through his mind.

"Hotel. You've gotta be away from here "case Angel comes to check up."

"Oh, God."

"Don't sound so bloody grateful, will you?"

"When is he likely to get here?"

"Well, kid's..." Spike paused as if he'd suddenly noticed that his bootlaces were coming undone, bent to fasten them, so by the time he stood up once more he had covered his potential slip. "He's being told tomorrow."

Wesley, distracted by the ramifications of his death, did not notice Spike's reference to his new ally.

Packed, Wesley started to leave. "So, where am I staying?"

"Dunno. You've got to book it now."

"Me?"

"Well, duh! I mean... I could just get a job and... like... earn some money and... oh, just fucking book it, will you?"

They walked together to the hotel Wesley had selected. Wesley wanted the exercise and a chance to talk to Spike without the distraction of having to drive in downtown traffic.

He mulled over once more what he wanted to say, what he had practiced saying and then just said it. "I am not going to..." God, it was more difficult to say out loud than he had anticipated. "...see you any more, Spike."

"What ya going do then, pet, fall in a hole suddenly?"

"You know what I mean."

"Say it then."

"Sleep with you."

"I don't remember sleeping."

"Shut up, will you? Have sex then. There. Do you understand that?"

"Oh yeah, I understand that."

Spike continued to walk complacently along, admiring cars, commenting on the LA nightlife, and exchanging knowing looks with the others of his ilk they occasionally passed.

Wesley knew he was being played, but he couldn't work out the rules and decided he had nothing to lose with being up front. "So, you have nothing to say about that then?"

Spike pursed his lips, looked as if he were thinking deeply, and then said with a grin. "Nope."

"Oh."

"What did you want, watcher? An argument? Histrionics? Begging?"

"No, obviously not..." ("Yes, that would have been nice") "I'm not that naive. But I had thought you might want an explanation of my decision."

"Oh. Right. As if I couldn't work that out for meself."

"You have no idea, Spike, why I..." Spike suddenly grabbed his arms and swung the human to face him. He peeled off his shirt collar a little and ran his fingers over the jagged scar. "Don't. Please."

Spike ignored the soft plea and pressed his thumb lightly to the wound. "You've decided what's Angel's had better stay Angel's, hey? Have I got the gist of it?"

Wesley pulled away and walked on angrily: not only did his decision show him up to be a coward, it made him look as if he were admitting he had made an error in taking Connor.

Spike trailed behind, studying him carefully.

"Don't even suggest we try to keep anything from him, Spike. If you think I'm crawling around the hotel in a clandestine relationship with you under Angel's very nose, you've another think coming...

... And don't suggest we tell him either. Vampires may have deviant sex lives, but Angel has a soul now. He would not tolerate us... seeing each other... if he was... seeing you...

... And don't try to persuade me that he might actually enjoy the thought of his two... his... of us together. I won't be part of some sex-game between you and Angel...

... If I ever do come back to work at the Hyperion - which I'm by no means certain of with this ridiculous plan of yours - I would be a colleague of yours then, and any sort of sexual behavior would be totally inappropriate...

... Even if Angel didn't mind and we kept it out of the office and at my apartment, it just wouldn't work. Every time I... every time you... I'd be thinking about you and Angel and... your body against his... and...

... Oh, God."

"Are you ready to shut up and shag me yet?"

"Bloody hell, yes. Where is this damn hotel?"

"Don't care, in here." Spike pulled Wesley as forcibly as he could into a filthy, dark alley. Wesley protested and tried to pull away, but Spike cupped him through his jeans and pressed his swollen balls up into his groin. Wesley doubled over at the unexpected urgency of his erection and allowed himself to be thrust against a wall.

"I can't, Spike; I'm sorry; not here. It's just too..." Spike ate the feeble protest as he explored Wesley's mouth. He worked down Wesley's fly and released the solid shaft into the darkness; it stood proud from the confines of the jeans. He reached in once more and freed Wesley's balls, glancing down at the satisfactory sight the whole tackle made, naked in the alley. Before Wesley could protest more, Spike was on his knees.

A blowjob from a vampire pressed against a wall at the back of some squalid LA apartment block: Wesley could not remember a time when he had been more turned on. He knew he was coming, wanted to cum, and wanted it hard and fast and emotionless. The emotions could come later... but he'd foresworn this relationship... he could not... dared not... wanted to... needed to... he wanted to be inside Spike that night. When he spurted into Spike's eager mouth, Wesley was imagining a hotel bed and a supine vampire, and he knew he could not give up this new lover tonight.

Spike licked him clean, tucked him away and stood up. "Come on then, can't be far now."

Wesley stayed braced against the wall, his toes still tingling. "You are incredible, do you know that?"

Spike actually gave him an almost shy smile. "A compliment... an" I ain't even about to torture you to death."

Wesley laughed, tipping his head back to the faint sky above the tall buildings. "You're incredible, sexy, funny, annoying..."

Spike grinned. "Hotel, mate, you can show me then, hey? I'm a little..." he took Wesley's hand and crushed it to his bulge, "...anxious to get there!"

Chapter 5

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Within five minutes they were there. Wesley booked in and tried not to be furtive. Two men, no luggage save one tiny overnight bag, one room? - he felt a clandestine shame washing over him and refused utterly the offered assistance to the room.

He was silent in the lift. He fumbled with the key. They stepped in and looked around. Spike folded his arms in annoyance and looked expressively at Wesley. "Twin beds? You booked a room with shagging twin beds?"

"I didn't think and... I don't want to think... oh God." Wesley sat on the end of one bed with his hands over his face, his desperate mood in the alley dissipating in the neutral sterility of the over-lit hotel room. "One minute all I can think about is your body. You took me in an alley, for God's sake. That sort of thing just doesn't happen to me. And God, what am I saying? Maybe I should start with the fact you're a vampire... I mean that's rather important, wouldn't you say? And Angel... my God, I should have started with him... he nearly killed me for the baby; what would he do if he could see us... what are you doing? Oh." Wesley leant back a little as Spike started a slow striptease, just undoing the bottom button on his shirt and sliding his hand in onto his belly.

"Go on, pet; don't mind me."

"Err... yes... so, it's not surprising I didn't think about beds. Do you know I've never had sex in a hotel room? And I'm here..." The second button reveled some of the hard muscular body to Wesley, and his voice dropped a little in tone. "...here with a vampire for God's sake, one who would..." Spike let the shirt drop to the floor and stood with his head bowed as if a willing sacrifice. "... kill me if he could... " Each inch of the zip intrigued Wesley. How could Spike make it take so long to go down? "... if it wasn't for that chip..." Engorged, vertical, unwavering in the harsh hotel lighting, Spike's cock dominated the room. The sound of jeans hitting the floor was unheard by either of them.

"Suck me, Wesley. Make it good." Wesley fell to his knees and to the cock he wanted in his mouth more than he cared about his own life for that split second of time. Spike reached behind him, switched off the light and leant back against the wall, just glancing down every so often at the hungry human attached to him. He spread his arms and rubbed the soft hairs of his forearms on the flocked wallpaper, tickling himself as a deep feeling of contentment washed over him. Was there anything to compare to a blowjob from a human? Yes, Wesley would gag if he pushed in too far. Yes, he needed to breathe and couldn't maintain the supernatural pressure of a vampire's mouth, but it was so ... degrading? ... uplifting? He was letting the prey bring him off. He was fornicating with the enemy. Fuck it; it was just warm and soft and the tongue felt bloody great... oh, yeah, under the foreskin... over the tip... good boy Wes; you learn quick...

Spike risked putting his hands on Wesley's hair and just encouraging him a little more onto his root. He was desperate to feel the back of Wesley's throat and groaned when the human unexpectedly relaxed his muscles enough for him to slip down. "Yeah, luv, do that again, please."

Wesley tried to nod, and did as he was asked. "Ahh, yeah, that's good; now use your teeth a bit, too... "s good. Again. Yeah." Spike ran his fingers through Wesley's long, thick hair and began to thrust towards his mouth a little. "Hmm, up and down, up and down, that's good, luv, that feels so good." His balls began their familiar tingle, and he reached down and encouraged Wesley's hand to fondle them as he sucked. He braced his legs and spread himself open some more so Wesley could nuzzle into his whole area. Wesley's hands became as frantic as his mouth. He was making greedy mewing noises, as if he wanted more and couldn't get it. Spike decided it was time to give him more. He leant back and allowed his balls to jettison into the human mouth and his sperm to wash over Wesley's throat and pour down faster than the human could swallow... but the human didn't pull away until he felt the penis in his mouth soften. Only then did Wesley collapse, holding his throat and coughing painfully.

Spike dragged Wesley onto his back and straddled him; he bent down sucking at his mouth; he licked across the scar and, once more, entwined his fingers in the soft hair, pulling Wesley like a rag doll up to his mouth.

Wesley was full of vampire, smothered by vampire, overwhelmed by vampire: Spike seemed everywhere, blotting out and obliterating pain, worry, fear, insecurity, self-doubt. He was just a man with a man's needs, and he did not think further than the male body fulfilling those needs in that room.

When he leant into Wesley's mouth, Spike raised up slightly. When he lowered, he found himself sitting on a warm, exploratory hand. He looked down with approval but did not speak, fearing to break Wesley's almost trance like mood. Wesley ran a finger up and down Spike's crack; he pulled it to the front over the hardening penis. He discovered Spike's perineum; he held the soft, cool balls and marveled at the perfection of the fit in his palm. He went to the place that scared him and intrigued him in equal measure, and just placed a tip of his finger there, not pushing, not stroking - just sensing the indentation and the rough puckered skin. Spike groaned faintly and put his face into Wesley's shoulder, lifting up some more in encouragement. A soft whispered "Try it" eased across Wesley and make him feel bold. He licked his finger and placed it back, this time pressing. He gasped when it went in quite easily and lightning did not strike him. Spike chuckled against his shoulder and wriggled a little on the finger.

"I want to find... you know. How do I... oh, God, it's so embarrassing. Spike reared back and braced his hands on Wesley's chest, a look of exquisite pleasure on his face. "Oh! Good! I imagine I've found it then?"

Spike nodded slightly but then rolled his head around on his shoulders as the old, familiar pleasures began to build. ""s been too long, too long, too long... I need this..." Speaking more to himself than to Wesley, Spike's voice was low and almost ragged with desire. "Harder, play with me hard; I need it."

Wesley suddenly sat up and pushed Spike backward with his free hand onto the floor. He now knelt to Spike's entrance and could watch with eager participation as he shoved his finger up to the knuckle. Spike almost howled, but choked it off and wriggled some more in delight. "Even harder, harder; I need cock there; make it like a cock for me."

It wasn't hard to do. Wesley was strong; he had large, powerful hands and strong fingers honed from years of fighting and training with Angel. He rammed his finger in until the knuckles of his hand slammed into Spike. Spike, his eyes shut and hidden under one folded arm, panted out ragged encouragement as Wesley began to work the finger as if he were oiling down a weapon. He felt he could give more, so added another finger, then a third. It felt incredible; Spike's anus was soft and almost warm and so smooth; it stretched around his fingers like a strong band, teasing and tempting him further in. He pulled out a little and squeezed in his last finger, four strong human fingers working inside the tight walls. He forgot about the spot he had wanted to find - from the look on Spike's face and from the hissed, delighted obscenities, he seemed to be hitting it unconsciously. He concentrated on the wiggling and the thrusting. It was so frustrating, he wanted to thrust higher; he wanted to make Spike scream for more, but he couldn't... unless... he pulled out again fractionally and eased his thumb past the stretched ring. Six inches now, Spike tore and Wesley slid in on the slippery fluid. He stopped, shocked, but suddenly hands were on the back of his head; incredibly strong abs were holding Spike upright and Spike's face appeared in front of him ... and he was desperate. Wesley had never seen such raw need on Spike before. He began to push his fist in, overwhelmed by what he was doing, afraid, but the face held him in a hypnotic stare of encouraging need... and then the one word hissed out from lips close enough to kiss. "More."

It was all he needed. Wesley used his fist as if he were punching at the unfairness of his life. It was like running in water - you got nowhere, but it exhausted you. Spike flung himself back and drew his legs up, his anus absorbing the pounding, the blood running freely down Wesley's forearm as he grunted and shoved and worked inside the hard, invulnerable body. He began to sweat and the droplets fell into his eyes, stinging. He began to pant and realized he could not hear it for Spike's moaning.

Wesley wanted to thrust harder, needed to hold onto something for support, found a hard, cold column of flesh and grasped it like a handle. That brought the scream he wanted, and with the scream a violent shudder from the vampire as he creased up and ejaculated over his belly and chest. Wesley continued to punch into Spike until the last twitch of the penis in his hand, and when the moaning stopped, heard his own heartbeat loud in the room. Sweat, blood, cum: he was covered in all three. He lay on top of Spike, heedless of his weight, and waited for his heart to stop pounding. Spike seemed to be thinking of this, too, for a hand slid between them and lay against his racing heart. He thought he heard another faint moan, and smiled at the simplicity of that sound.

All time seemed to stop for them. They lay tangled on the floor in pools of their own fluid. Wesley thought he might have dozed, for he suddenly started at Spike's soft nuzzling into his ear and quiet, amused observation. "You can pull it out now."

Shocked, unprepared, overwhelming embarrassed, Wesley acted before thinking and wrenched his forearm out of Spike. Spike gasped and sat bolt upright again, half cursing and half laughing. "Bloody, fucking hell, watcher, I can tell no one's ever done that with you... just you bloody wait."

Wesley felt a trickle of fear laced with anticipation run down his spine and could not help a curious glance as Spike's strong, perfectly shaped hand. Spike grinned and patted his cheek. "Undress, hey... we could do with a shower."

Wesley nodded dumbly and tried to stand, but he had cramp in both legs and felt acutely embarrassed by what he had done to Spike. Spike half-lifted him onto the end of one bed and sat behind him rubbing his shoulders for a while before wrapping his arms around Wesley's neck and propping his chin companionably on his shoulder. ""s been nearly two hundred years since anyone's done that to me, pet, and I don't remember it being that good."

"That was... good? I mean... I saw that it was... but... I had heard about such... but obviously never..."

"Yeah, I thought not. Lasses don't go in for it really; Dru never would either way."

"Oh, good God."

"Hey, pet, if you can't talk about it, don't do it." Spike softened his injunction by licking Wesley's ear a little.

"Spike, I was brought up to talk about nothing. You know that. You must have been like me once... how did you...?"

"I had a good teacher, pet."

"Angelus."

Spike laughed. "Yeah."

"He did... he used his..."

"Yep."

"Oh?" Spike didn't reply to the maudlin self-doubt evident in this short reply, he only took Wesley's hand and, pulling it around, placed the fingers to his still stretched hole. He swirled them around again, and couldn't help a small groan of genuine pleasure at the feel once more.

"Is that making you hard again, Wesley? Do you like the feel of my hole?" Wesley nodded sadly to both questions. "Good, cus before the night's out, it'll be your cock bringing me off in here."

Wesley tipped his head back, considering this possibility, and then nodded faintly. "Yes."

Spike laughed at this overwhelming enthusiasm and started to drag Wesley towards the bathroom, but he suddenly paused, and a sparkle of glee flashed in his eyes. "Oh yeah." He dived for the telephone and the room service menu, and began a long, complicated and thorough ordering for them both. Wesley watched over this shoulder, attempting to bring a modicum of restraint into Spike's enthusiasm to spend his money. When Spike rung off, Wesley glanced nervously down at the carpet, which was now badly stained by blood and other substances.

Spike followed his look, laughed and ripped Wesley's shirt off, dropping it over the offending marks. "See, watcher, think laterally..." Spike trailed off as Wesley's musky, human scent hit him. He stood up and pushed Wesley back against the wall, running his hands up through the soft hair on his chest. "God, I could eat you."

Spike's harmless words, spoken only in the heat of his lust, made Wesley freeze. Spike laughed lightly at what he had said and stepped back, eyeing the watcher thoughtfully. Wesley watched him warily. "What? Spike?"

Spike gave the tiniest flick of one eyebrow and an infinitesimally small shrug - as if it was of no matter - and said causally, "You could let me have just a little snack, you know."

Wesley backed away, sliding comically around the wall, his eyes unnaturally wide. "No."

Spike shrugged again. ""k, no biggie."

He turned away, but Wesley repeated more forcibly. "No."

Spike grinned. "I said no biggie; don't get yer knickers in a twist "bout it. Oh, and speaking of which..." he turned back to the wary human and started to take off his jeans, casting amused glances at his face every so often. "Relax, pet; I can't if you don't want me to, remember?"

"It's not that I'm afraid of, Spike."

Spike looked up sharply and saw it. Before Wesley could hide the look, Spike saw a flicker of desire to sink even lower, to explore the things he now only feared as nightmares. He stood back, regarding the human. "You know some humans get off on it, don't you, Wesley?"

Wesley nodded. "They are sick."

"Possibly. Ain't nothing wrong in being sick, mate; in this world it's the healthy thing to be, I'd say."

"Don't try and seduce me to do this, Spike. I won't cross that line. God, I've crossed enough lines with you already. I won't do it; so don't ask me to."

Spike's reply was prevented as the room service arrived. Naked, Spike slid out onto the balcony and let Wesley, after some rearranging of his jeans, answer the door. Wesley brought two beers out into the warm night and passed Spike his cigarettes and matches. Spike took them gratefully and lit one, offered it to the human and, when it was refused, took a long grateful drag himself. He stretched slightly, had a long drink from his beer and tipped his head back laughing.

Wesley watched him, amused. "What?"

"Unlife, pet, it has its moments."

Spike turned and leant on the rail, smoking and drinking contentedly. Wesley wandered back into the room, feeling slightly disoriented. He had been so down and so up recently, he was beginning to lose his ability to tell which was which. He sat once more on one of the beds, drinking the beer and thinking about Spike. The pale body drew his eye. Spike's backside stuck provocatively towards him, swaying slightly as if to music only the vampire could hear. Wesley looked at the room service cart. He looked again at Spike. He stood up with a groan that he had meant to be resigned but wasn't sure didn't come out as just desperate and removed his jeans.

Spike heard Wesley's approach before he felt the hard bulge pressing into him. He tensed fractionally, waiting to see what Wesley would do. When a cool substance was pressed against his throbbing hole he moaned appreciatively and glanced over his shoulder to see the human unwrapping a second pat of iced butter. He laughed and Wesley only said seriously. "It's all I could find, and it's no worse than olive oil."

"So, this is it, is it, watcher? Is this where you do the dirty deed?"

"Shut up, Spike; I'm finding this difficult enough as it is without your unhelpful comments."

Spike laughed again and turned around, pulling the hesitant human to him for a kiss. "You idiot, Wes; it ain't difficult, and there's just us here... no one judging you, pet."

Wesley laughed ruefully at his own seriousness then pursed his lips and, glancing briefly over the rail at the street some floors below, lifted up one of Spike's thighs. "Let's hope I don't push up too hard, hey, Spike," and with that amused comment he eased himself into Spike's slippery and still stretched hole.

Face to face.

Spike grasped the rail behind him, his cigarette and drink falling from his hands; Wesley lifted the thigh higher for better access and, bracing his legs, started thrusting. The two naked men began an intense rhythm of sex on the balcony. Spike spread his arms across the rail and leant so far back that, for a moment, he could see the street upside down below him.

Wesley lifted Spike's other leg. Spike's biceps locked on the rail. Wesley thrust. Spike thrust back and wrapped his thighs securely around Wesley's waist, unwilling to test his healing powers on great heights again. Wesley looked down at the body wrapped around him, grunted with approval and allowed himself to concentrate on the feel of being inside another man's ass.

He had to admit, it was exquisite... far more so than he had anticipated. He couldn't decide if the eroticism of the act was entirely due to the feel of the tight channel encasing him, or whether it was that combined with the thought of what he was doing. He could not deny that they made an erotic picture together. Spike seemed lost in the sensation himself, and Wesley watched intrigued as pleasure flicked over the vampire's face. He experimented a little with the angle and depth of the thrusting and was rewarded by soft moaning and by the delightful view of Spike's penis swelling and wavering in the night air... but his legs began to falter. His arms ached to the strain of the position and, as if sensing this, Spike unwrapped his legs in one fluid movement and turned and bent himself against the rail. Wesley stood behind him, his penis now exposed. He stroked it a little and played it against Spike's hole.

Spike twisted around and looked down. "Yeah, do that again." Wesley rubbed the sensitive tip to the puckered skin as much as he could bear, and was delighted to see a bubbling trickle of pre-cum glistening against the red tip. Spike, still watching, hissed and continued his low encouragement, "Play with me some more, Wesley; let me watch you; hmm, that's so good." Desperately wanting to be back inside, Wesley pushed on the small of Spike's back to get him to bend more, and then with a groan of desire, he entered once more.

No thoughts now. In this position, Wesley felt only cock: he had become erection. All thoughts leaked from him, as his pre-cum leaked into Spike. He was hard; he was embedded in tight ass, and he could release a lifetime's frustration into this body and have no repercussion from that violence. Wesley began.

Spike braced against the onslaught. He had not thought the watcher could be so strong. He pushed back against him, gripping the rail with his fists. He arched back and thrust up his backside, feeling he would split open to this human penetration. He heard Wesley's anguished cries as he tried to jettison his pain into Spike. The human became frantic, writhing and smashing into the hard backside. Spike held on. It was mind-blowingly good, and he relished the primordial taking and plundering. He knew when Wesley was about to cum for the harsh cries rose in pitch and became a staccato begging for release... and then it came. A hot spurting into his coldness, nails digging into him unconsciously, welts raked down his back, legs trembling against him, and still more hot fluid pumping into him and running out, tickling down his inner thighs.

Spike laid his forehead against the rail, reached down with one hand - now freed from the need to hold on - and began to pull himself to his own orgasm. Wesley began to pull out, but Spike whipped his other hand around to clamp him even close to his backside. "Press in more, Wesley." His voice was ragged with desperation, and Wesley groaned at the softness of his penis. He could make no indentation in the vampire's pleasure for him. Suddenly, without conscious thought, he pulled away, and Spike let out a sharp expletive and increased the speed of his pulling as a cold, hard object was pushed into his opening.

Wesley didn't let thought come back into his brain. He just acted, just moved, just wanted to give pleasure, so he swirled the top of the thick green beer bottle around inside Spike, almost swelling himself to the guttural sounds of pleasure from the vampire. He pushed it in more, and more; he wanted to see how far he could go with this descent. Where was rock bottom? Was there somewhere so low that you could not climb back out? This was probably it. So he pushed harder to make sure. Spike screamed and came... over his hand, out through the rail - plops of cum falling like rain into the warm LA night - and Wesley fell with them. He pushed Spike over more, tipped the bottle, and emptied the rest of his beer into the new receptacle. Wesley looked down. Oh, there was somewhere even lower... he saw steps descending into the confines of his own damnation. He bent and licked the alcohol dribbling out of Spike's ass.

It was too much even for Spike. The intensity of Wesley's mouth on him, the eager way his tongue probed him, the insistent sucking at the stretched edges of his hole, brought another brief, sharp orgasm and, as he stood hunched over, it splattered onto his feet and pooled a dark stain on the light gray concrete of the balcony.

Spike collapsed. Wesley collapsed.

It was cool and quiet at last.

Eventually, Wesley heard a match being struck. He saw a light flare behind his closed lids and thought briefly that he must be very close to Spike to see that.

He felt arms under his arms. He was placed on a bed. He heard water being run. He opened his eyes to examine the place he had taken himself to. It was very, very satisfying. Being right at the bottom, there was now only up - there was room for hope again. He smiled at the relief of having a clear path in front of him once more and opened his eyes for real.

"Bloody hell." Spike's face was mere inches from his. The vampire bent down for a quick kiss then grabbed Wesley's hand and pulled him towards the bathroom.

"Bath's too small for two, you first, mate; I wanna surf the porn channels for a bit."

Wesley started to give him a horrified look, but saw he was being teased and pouted a little. Spike laughed. "You've done me in, mate; I'll take at least... oh, ten minutes to recover from that; no porn "til then, hey?"

Wesley lay in the bath. He heard the television being turned on and the channels flicked. He heard sounds drifting up from the street and, just as in his apartment, noises from other rooms... oh. Bloody hell.

"Err... Spike."

"What, pet."

"Do you think we made a little bit too much noise?" There was silence as Spike considered this, thinking back over the blowjobs, the fisting, the fucking, the bottle, the rimming...

"Nah," and the sound of another beer being opened drifted into Wesley in the tub. He slid under the water and let the odd pounding noise block any other sounds.

He was lying to himself, and he knew it. There was one more descent seducing him, and he feared that more than all the others... feared but also needed in equal measure.

He climbed quietly out of the bath and rummaged in his wash bag. He not look as he did it: he kept his eyes fastened on the stranger in the mirror. As he pressed, he wondered if Spike had smelt it already and thought - when he saw the rigid back - that he had. He climbed onto the bed behind the naked vampire and pulled him back into his arms, resting comfortably against the headboard... and then he pressed to Spike's mouth: the razor had done a good job on his wrist, and the blood flowed freely.

Like a starved kitten, Spike mewed and purred as the warm, fresh, human blood seeped into his mouth. It wasn't as good as arterial blood, but it held its own attractions. Wesley fed the vampire and almost swelled once more to the pleasure. He pulled away a little; Spike gently eased him back with small begging noises. He wriggled Spike slightly on his lap and enjoyed the feel of the cool body in his arms and the weight on his groin. He eased away again; Spike eased him back.

Spike was totally in his power, and that power was the final descent of all.

So low now there was no more distraction to stop him seeing the truth: in total darkness, no light blinded him.

Had he taken Connor to spite Angel? Had he been jealous of his beloved vampire's adoration for that mewling creature? Here, now, in the sanctity of his own degradation, Wesley could examine his motives for the first time, as the vampire suckled and licked and played and drank.

Why hadn't he told Angel what he feared? Why take the baby clandestinely? Why allow him to be stolen? Why consort with Angel's enemies? Spike's hand went to his pale penis, and Wesley watched his own blood flowing in and erecting the vampire's soft column of flesh. He felt Spike warming in his arms from his blood and his reasoning only became clearer, for Spike felt as Connor had felt in his arms. He heard the soft cries of puzzlement as the trusting baby had been lifted from his cot and taken.

The warm air of the park flowed around him once more; he was carrying the baby... and then the pain, the terrible pain in his neck and the feeling of ...

The feeling of... had he felt relief that the baby had been taken from him? Small lights began to explode behind his closed lids; he did not remember closing his eyes. Why did he feel so tired? He had felt tired when Angel came into his hospital room. So tired, but so grateful: Angel had come to him. Angel wanted to forgive him. He was asleep now, and the sleep was deep and good and all was dark and quiet - until the hands! Angel's hands on him... the pain in his neck once more... the look on Angel's face... the hysteria in his voice he had never heard before. Wesley sat up with a cry and pushed Spike off. He took the bloody face in his hands and shouted at Spike, "I didn't mean to hurt him, I didn't; I wasn't jealous..." he started to laugh. "Spike! I did it for the right reasons and... and... Angel... " he burst into tears, and as the ragged emotion washed over him, as the blood loss hit him, as the exertion of the night overcame him, Wesley passed out on the bed in a dead faint.

Spike was in something of a dilemma now. He had the very distinct feeling that he could probably continue to feed from the human until death, and he would never know it: the razor slash on Wesley's wrist still bled freely. Spike watched the flow of red into the harsh white sheets with disgust at himself. He didn't really deserve to be a vampire. He ripped up one of the napkins from the cart, bound up the wound, covered Wesley with a couple of blankets, and sat on the opposite bed watching him thoughtfully. Wesley had proved to be a good find, and Spike was pleased with him. He'd had some stunning orgasms and had enjoyed making Wesley cum as well. So, the little problem of Angel did have to be solved.

Chapter 6

Wesley was not the only one thinking that Angel might not take too kindly to this amusing little dalliance. Angelus would have enjoyed it... hell, Angelus would have initiated it, led it, and then fed most vociferously on Wesley when the human had been shagged out... but now... how would a soul affect Angelus" attitude to some of the more exquisite delights of unlife?

Spike tried to picture the scene.

A quiet day at Angel Investigations: Angel comes down the stairs dressed in gray (big surprise there then). Spike and Wesley, two gorgeous men dressed casually, but with effect, are working together in the office... fuck that...

Wesley, an associate of Angel's, is working in the office. Spike - the hero of this drama - is lounging in a provocative way on one of the couches.

Angel: "What are you doing?"

Spike: "Lounging provocatively." Shit, dialogue was hard to do. Stick to the story.

They all decide it's boring and go upstairs and shag.

Hmm. Even Spike could see that this was a major work in progress. Bloody hell, couldn't anyone else do some planning for once? He was saving the watcher and Angel; he was working on Angel's erectile dysfunction - and oh, he just had to remember that little phrase to drop on Angel next time he saw him - and he was helping Angel 'bond with the fuckup. What more did everyone want? And all that from one plan! Someone else could help him keep Wesley and Angel, cus there was one sure thing - he wasn't going to give either up.

Spike lounged provocatively for a while, attempting to take his drama up into the bedroom, but found the action as hard to get right as the dialogue. His characters had an annoying way of going about their own business and ignoring him. Wesley had started to take a shower and Angel was reading a book, and however hard his imaginary self lounged or provoked, no one was shagging him.

He got bored and started flicking the TV channels again. He glanced over at the watcher and realized, with an exasperated sigh, that he would probably be out for very long while. He turned back to watch the telly but suddenly grinned, fished out Wesley's wallet, made a phone call and switched to a much more interesting channel. Oh, yeah. Now that was nice. Spike propped himself up on the pillows for a better view and took his erection, stiffened with Wesley's blood, in his hand.

The girl was on a sunlounger. She had on the briefest of bikini bottoms and her full, ripe breasts pointed deliciously at the cloudless blue sky. Spike watched that intense blue for a moment, then cursed when he realized he'd missed the bit where she pulled her panties aside. The result was good though; her folds opened in all their pink glory to the inquisitive investigation of the camera. As she worked herself, she began to glisten and Spike moaned slightly and increased the speed of his fist on his cock. The camera pulled back and the girl took a bottle of sun oil and dribbled it over her belly; the rivulets of warm oil dripped off her tanned, tight skin and over her fluffy curls.

Riveted, unwilling to look away, Spike leant over and twitched Wesley's blankets down a little - in case he was too hot, like. He glanced away from the TV then and smirked, pleased with the effect Wesley's soft cock and balls made on his tanned, smooth skin. He looked back. That was good, oily finger was now working over the folds, dipping into the creases and crevices, and the camera had moved closer so every droplet of oil sparkled in the sunlight on every soft, blond curl. Wesley's dark curls framed his... Spike giggled quietly, leant over to the cart and arranged some grapes decoratively around the human's soft, hairy globes. He laughed out loud at the effect and went back to watching the girl.

She had become inventive with the bottle of oil - it was disappearing inside, being thrust up to moans of pleasure - Spike was sure she was enjoying this for the camera panned up to her squirming, open mouth every so often, her lips opening and closing with the intensity of the pleasure from the pretend cock.

Spike shifted beds and moved his still life over to one side slightly so he could make better use of having two hands. He knew he was onto a loser expecting Wesley's blood-drained body to produce an erection - hell, he had most of Wesley's blood, and he was enjoying it very much, thank you - but he hoped a slight swell might be forthcoming. He stroked both penises and turned them into the bottle, feeling her tight walls for the both of them.

She withdrew the bottle, opened it and poured a handful of the glistening fluid right over her flushed, spread lips. Spike grinned, grabbed some maple syrup from the cart and did the same to Wesley. The cock was much more fun to pull now and he was getting some faint response. Wesley clearly felt this, too, for he groaned in his deep, coma-like sleep, and whatever dream had flickered across his mind, it helped Spike's enjoyment immensely. Wesley swelled, and the penis rose from its nest of fruit, the syrup running down as Spike hoped it would onto the soft, dark curls. He bent his head, his face still turned to the telly and sucked Wesley like a lollypop as he watched glistening oil pushed in and used to probe deeply into the ragged hole.

Oh. That was interesting. A cock appeared in the shot. A large, erect, cut cockhead hovered over the soft lips. It brushed against the curls; it explored the folds. The girl's moaning increased - as did Spike's sucking. The cock was magnificent, flushed purple and glistening as enticingly as the pink entrance waiting for it.

When the camera panned around slightly, Spike groaned so hard he had to stop sucking and concentrate on his own cock. The shot was now just to one side of the anonymous man's - handyman's - ass and it was hard, like granite, smooth and dimpled in all the right places. Anonymous hand reached out, and Spike waited for the inevitable penetration and was intensely pleased and surprised when the cock went lower, when the hand opened up another hole. He hopped off the bed and dragged the telly closer and to one side of the bed, praying he didn't disconnect the cable, then hopped back on... facing Wesley.

Was this immoral? He certainly hoped so.

He lifted Wesley's thighs and pressed himself to the girl's virgin ass. Obviously it was virgin ass - her look of theatrical shock told him that. He grunted as his cock slid in and she poured some more oil over both of them, the camera overhead with a perfect shot of her spread pussy and his glistening shaft pushing in through her tiny, tight ring. With his head turned to the side, watching, he smiled at the toned belly thrusting into her - not as toned as his, but he didn't expect they got many vampires in porn... and now, that was a thought, and a whole new plan... fuck it, this was good enough, and look at that bloody sky!

He began a slow working of his cock inside the girl. She groaned in a low, masculine, ragged voice, so he started to hum slightly to cover her up, but eventually leant over to turn the TV up, and that was much more effective. The music was good too - music for anonymous humping.

The girl was working herself as he pounded into her ass, her fingers wriggling in her hot cunt, rubbing hard on her clit. He'd seen girls rub harder, but then his experience was a little unique and he forgave her - she couldn't really compete with the dead or the supernatural.

She dipped her fingers into herself and shoved them in to match his thrusting and he knew he was beginning to cum. He smiled as the other butt clenched and stilled and, as the girl was filled by every anonymous man's cum, she screamed out her orgasm to the bright sunny day.

Spike grunted in satisfaction and pulled out. He looked down at Wesley and noted how pale he was looking, how cold his skin felt and pulled the blankets back over them both and made them as comfortable as possible in the narrow, single bed. He lazily watched the rest of the film for a while - more penetrations - it got dark - it got light again - he came a few more times, occasionally over Wesley, sometimes into the cool sheets. He stayed awake until the horse had finished, but then he drifted off into a pleasant, relaxed sleep, wondering briefly about events in the Hyperion, but not caring enough to stir.

Wesley woke first.

He stretched as best he could in the cramped bed and felt... wonderful. He felt completely relaxed as if a huge, immovable weight from around his neck had been cut loose. Whatever the outcome of Spike's plan, whatever happened between him and Angel, he knew now that what he had done, he had done for the best, and with the best of motives in his heart. Yes, he had been wrong. Yes, it had all gone terribly, terribly wrong... but, given the same information and the same set of circumstances, he would do the same thing again. He smiled and felt that his life could now go on. It might take different turns, turns that might take him away from Angel, away from LA, but it was not over... and that was a good thought. He turned his head and looked toward the bright sunlight behind the closed curtains. It seemed appropriate somehow, as if he were at the end of a long, dark tunnel and light was ahead of him.

He tried to stretch again and felt the hard, sinewy body pressed to him... the body that was so much of the darkness.

He felt strangely... sticky and started to pick squashed, extremely gummy grapes from his crotch with annoyance. The TV was hissing on full volume and had been dragged close to the bed. He leant over and switched it off. He had a worrying impression that he had been at a party in his absence. He looked at his bandaged wrist and then down at the sleeping vampire.

He had fed this creature his blood. Part of him was inside that... dead body. His blood was inside... that demon. Wesley sat up, feeling incredibly nauseous and tried to put this down to the blood loss, the over-exertion and not having had any supper. He hung his head and concentrated on not vomiting. He looked up when the waves of nausea passed and saw a bottle of beer open on the nightstand. He felt his stomach rise and just made it to the bathroom before he heaved and wretched dryly into the toilet bowl. Feeling better he stood weakly and crept back into the bedroom. He was afraid Spike would wake at the noise, and he didn't want to have to face him yet. He was about to slide back into his warm side when he looked down in dismay. The bed was full of bits of food; blood stains smeared the sheets; a familiar crusty yellowness mocked him from the white cotton; blood and... other substances streaked the carpet; food was squashed into every crevice of his body: it seemed Spike's party for one had been a fun affair for those that had been invited.

Wesley heaved again and dashed for the bathroom, holding his head weakly over the stained bowl. Finally empty, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, thinking. After a while he heard Spike groan, shift in the bed and curse slightly. Wesley got up, grabbed a towel and, tying it around his waist, went directly out in to the bright sunshine on the balcony. Even if Spike woke fully, he would not be able to come within half the room's width of him here... in this vampire-free zone.

The sun was incredibly good on his naked skin, and Wesley leant on the rail, watching normal life pass him by. Every inch of his body ached; his legs were stiff; his back hurt; one hand felt as if he had played a vigorous game of tennis; his head felt split open and throbbed its blood loss to the rest of his aching nerves... but his mind became calm when he thought about the baby. He tipped his head up as if acknowledging a debt to some higher being and allowed himself to think about Angel. He smiled. Angel understood about redemption and forgiveness. If Angel could see no guilt in his eyes, perhaps the vampire would understand why he had done what he had done.

He turned and glanced into the room once more. Spike was still comatose on the bed, and he was glad. He could not face Spike yet. He needed more time to think about this... this situation. What had he gotten himself into? Why was he allowing himself to be degraded by a vampire? He thought about Spike's body and noticed with alarm, but also some faint amusement that his cock twitched merely at the thought of that sinewy, hard form. Then he thought about the things he had done with that unnatural body, and he felt sick inside... in his heart, in his head - where he usually felt so pure. That was it... in one way he felt so vindicated, happy that he had forgiven himself, pleased he had a future... but Spike was like a dark smudge on this new start. He did not fool himself: his body wanted Spike, but his head and his heart wanted to move away from the darkness of guilt and on into the light of forgiveness.

He had been using Spike to explore the true meaning of pain, substituting Spike for another vampire he had wanted to confront those issues with.

Spike turned in the bed, and Wesley backed slightly more against the rail as if this simple act of turning threatened him. He wanted Spike to be gone from his life... but he needed Spike to confront Angel for him. It was a dilemma and a test of his resolve.

He went quietly back into the room. Seeing Angel again won out over self-disgust.

Spike either heard his entrance, or had been awake all along for without rising from the bed or opening his eyes, he said, "What time is it?"

Not noticing the lack of the usual fond names in Spike's address, Wesley glanced at his watch, informing Spike with surprise that it was nearly lunchtime. "No wonder I feel hungry."

Spike wriggled one eyebrow and stretched lazily. "I don't."

Wesley flushed. "Don't think that's going to be a regular feature of our relationship, Spike. I had some issues I needed to... well, suffice to say, I won't be risking that again."

"Relationship? So you ain't falling down that "ole and not seeing me anymore then?" Spike sounded strangely bitter as he said this and sat up without catching Wesley's eye.

Wesley backed away, and the thought "No hole big enough" flashed across his mind, but he kept thoughts of Angel uppermost in his mind and sat next to Spike on the bed.

"I'm not sure I have any choice in the matter; I need you." If Spike noticed the ambiguity in this reply, he didn't say. He gave Wesley an impenetrable look then slid his hand under the knotted towel. He fiddled around for a while then frowned.

"I'm disappointed, watcher; where's the early morning urgency I enjoyed the other day?"

Wesley eased the hand out and glanced at the detritus of sex in the bed. "It went away with someone's late night urgency, I think."

Spike gave up and just moved closer for a kiss. He gave Wesley a light peck then sat back, studying the lack of response from the human. "We've not done that much, have we? Everything else, but not that." He sounded almost wistful, and Wesley gradually felt a more responsive mood washing over him - he couldn't help it. He didn't want the degradation and the pain - lips, caresses and gentle endearments, however, he was starved for, and like any starving man... he fed when food was offered. He wanted those lips; he wanted the intimacy of kissing this vampire. He grasped Spike and pushed him back onto the bed; he climbed over him once more, laying his whole, heavy, warm body on him. Spike moaned in pleasure, and Wesley took the moan as his entry to the soft mouth he craved. Spike lost himself to the kiss. He didn't think about fucking or his erection; he was lost to Wesley. Kissing this human was almost as good as feeding off him, and even though he sensed Wesley was distracted, he needed this intimacy; he needed someone just to want him.

Wesley couldn't concentrate on the kiss; Angel still dominated his thoughts. Eventually he pushed Spike away and covered this action by exaggerating his need to breathe.

Spike made to hug him - as if the human's weakness made him even more desirable - but Wesley stood up and moved back into the sunshine that was streaking in through the window. With his back to Spike, he spoke firmly. "You should go. We need to get your plan to action. What's first?"

Spike frowned slightly. It never did to put one of his plans under too much scrutiny - they were usually better when they were allowed to evolve naturally. "Angel's being told soon. I wanna be there when he is." He watched the human's back thoughtfully, but did not comment on the outcome of that musing.

Wesley did not feel Spike's gaze and replied rather hesitantly. "Oh."

"What's that for?"

"I don't... I want... Spike, what if he doesn't care?"

Spike had no answer for this, so only swung off the bed and began to dress.

Wesley turned and watched. "What should I do?"

"Stay here. I'll tell you when it's time, and where. Hey, you can watch the porn channel; you've paid for it after all." With that last slightly sour comment tossed over his shoulder, Spike left before he felt belligerent enough to call the human on his fickle passion.

He made slow progress through the unfamiliar sewer system, still mulling angrily over the events of the morning with Wesley. He arrived, with no conscious volition of his own, at just the right time. He took this as a message of support from the fates and stood back to watch developments.

Cordelia was at her desk. Fred and Gunn were cleaning weapons and giggling together on one of the couches. The demon was doing something at the reception desk that looked like knitting - but Spike didn't even want to pursue that thought. Connor, like a master strategist, was lurking around looking moody. Spike was impressed; he'd clearly been practicing his "I've just found a dead body" look, for he slouched particularly well and had a hang-dog expression on his face that even Spike would have been hard pressed to match.

On cue, Angel came down the stairs. His hair was a little rumpled, and he tried to straighten it. His shirt was half tucked in, so he pulled it out. He'd been asleep and was still muzzy. Perfect. Spike grinned and leant a little way into Wesley's office, able to see the action but not be noticed too much.

"Father."

Angel looked up, not particularly perturbed. "What?"

"I have... I have something to tell you."

Cordelia looked up, but there was no particular cognizance in the look. Spike felt again that frisson of doubt that he'd forgotten something important.

"What, Connor? You can tell me anything, you know that." Angel already had the look on his face of a parent resigned to being told bad teenage happenings.

"I went to that man, Wesley's, apartment..."

Everyone looked at the boy. Lorne even stopped the thing he was doing with colored ribbons that Spike didn't want to think about. Gunn put a hand on Fred's arm; Fred stopped the standing movement she had begun.

Angel came right into the lobby with a deep frown on his face. "Why?"

"I needed to see him, to ask him why he did it." Good one! Spike hadn't seen that coming and was impressed. Not as good as his story, and wouldn't sell so many copies, but probably better in the circumstances.

Angel started to speak, but Connor interrupted. "He's dead."

It occurred to Spike fairly rapidly after that, what he had forgotten. Fred gasped and flung herself at Connor, asking a rush of unanswerable questions. Cordelia, bizarrely, flung herself on Angel and pounded on his chest ineffectually and ... wow, where had she leant those words, again, impressed! Gunn was hovering uselessly like most men in a crisis, but Lorne... ah, that was interesting, the demon was looking directly at him, and the look was not one of unmanageable grief. Spike squirmed slightly under the gaze, but turned his eyes back to the interesting activities in the lobby.

Thank the powers he had forgotten to let the others in on his plan! Again - another sign! For this was better than he could have hoped for. He was extremely pleased with how all this was going and wanted to hear the bit about the hanging and the straining sheets, the heavy body and the bulgy eyes - he'd not mentioned the stain of a hanged man's last shuddering cum to the boy, thinking this inappropriate for his audience, but began to wonder if it was too late now to bring it into the story.

Fending Cordelia off, Angel managed to ask the appropriate questions of his son. When Connor told of the suicide, all voices stilled in the lobby.

Surprisingly, it was Gunn who broke the shocked silence. "You should have talked to him, man. This is bad."

Angel gave him a piercing look. From his position in the doorway, Spike could not tell whether this was a look of "you are stating the bleeding obvious" or "I'm the dark brooding avenger and my word is law!" Spike liked turning Angel into Judge Dredd and tried it again, giggling quietly at the effect of total pomposity it achieved. He glanced once more at Lorne and discovered, to his utter annoyance, that the demon was still staring at him. He let one finger rise surreptitiously against his leg and knew that Lorne had seen the sign. He twitched up an eyebrow to the penetrating appraisal and turned back to the weeping and the wailing.

He almost missed Angel's exit, which would have been a pity, as the vampire had to do that dark-avenger exit peeling off one furious female and shaking off the other. He looked up at the stairs, seeking escape, clearly decided that it wasn't safe enough from female wrath, and headed towards his training room and presumably the sewers. If a comment about shit returning where it belonged caught his ears, Angel clearly ignored it, and appeared to give Cordelia the benefit of the doubt that he had misheard some other soft, polite words.

Angel left a vacuum of grief behind him. Connor looked around bewildered at the reaction to his simple tale. He then looked over at Spike with a questioning look, and Spike came out from his hiding place in the doorway.

Lorne came towards him. Spike turned to Connor to congratulate him, but was floored by a surprisingly hard punch in the face from the furious demon.

"Bloody fuck! What was that for?" Spike shied away a little as he stood, but Lorne grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him center stage.

"Tell them!"

"What? All right, all right. He's not really dead you tossers, bit tired maybe," he grinned, but quickly got back to his explanation as he saw Lorne's expression. "He's perfectly safe an" holed up in a hotel. Ouch! What! Bleedin' hell woman - I'm chipped, no fair! No! Let me go... bugger off... hey! Two against... bleedin' hell, three... 'gainst one... not fucking cricket and fucking not shitting football either. Oi! No balls! Bad analogy! Shit, mind me nuts! Jesus... demon! Help!"

Lorne took pity on Spike and stood between the three furious humans and the vampire. "Hey! Jolly-green-giant steps back. Now! We can kill gorgeous tail-on-fire after he tells us the score."

Spike looked at Connor and winked. "Good job, mate."

Connor smiled nervously at him. He'd only known one human his entire life, and living with Holtz in a hell dimension had hardly prepared him to cope with Cordelia and Fred in a mood.

Cordelia pushed her way past Lorne and slammed Spike into the counter. She was surprisingly strong, and a brief thought of suntan oil flickered into Spike's mind. He opened his mouth to comment on this when she slapped him viciously across his face. "We love, Wesley! You had no right to tell us that."

Spike pursed his lips, his thoughts running along a continuum from "Fuck off and die, all of you" to "I love Angel, and I'd do anything it takes to help him" and settled on, "Angel will realize he's been all wrong "bout this now. Someone needed to do something."

He seemed to have picked on the right thing to say for once. This struck a chord with all of them and seemed to mirror what they had been thinking, but had been too close to the drama to act upon.

Surprisingly, Connor helped the situation by saying quietly, "Father is very sad, and I would wish him happier."

Cordelia turned to him, thoughtfully, clearly thinking about Angel. She looked at Gunn and Fred. "There's not been much happiness here recently, has there?"

Fred came up to Spike, and he flinched a little. She laughed, a light peeling laugh. "Oh, ah don't hit like Cordelia can. I'm too littl', but tell me again. He's safe?"

Spike stared, mesmerized by her soft words, and the love for Wesley evident in her eyes - and if he ever ended up that love-wussy with anyone, someone stake him. Please. He answered with his best "I'm a soddin' vampire and don't give a shit about anyone'" tone in his voice and told her Wesley was as safe as a proverbial. Fred smiled and hugged herself delightedly and turned to the others with joy in her voice. "He's okay; he's not dead."

Spike took his opportunity. "See! See how much better that makes you feel. Couldn't have felt that without feeling so shitty first, could you? Now that's what Angel's gonna feel, too. So, what hymns should we 'ave at the funeral, do you think?"

To Lorne's amazement, the humans got into an excited huddle, planning Wesley's funeral. The girls began to discuss what they would wear; Gunn what size of limo they could afford. He grimaced, grabbed the offending vampire once more by his lapels, and dragged him complaining into Wesley's office and kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. He advanced on Spike, who backed away, looking hurt and innocent. "What? What?"

"You - foolish vampires, both of you. Angelpie, so tight in his own misery he can't see out of it, and you... you... playing with forces you can't even begin to imagine. What do you think Angel is going to do now, bro?"

"Well..."

"What if he's off somewhere, staking himself?"

Spike brow creased.

"Oh yes, so sure of Angel's love for Wesley, weren't you? Well, kudus to you, little blood sucker, cus you were right. Angel does love Wesley; I know that; you know that... but you don't know how much. You've thrown a spark into a powder-keg, and I only hope the explosion blows that little cocksure smile off your face."

Spike felt a pout coming on and tried to change it into the cocksure smile he'd just been accused of. No good. "You don't really think..."

"I don't know, little one; if I knew that I'd have risked doing something like this myself."

"Maybe I should go after..." His reply was cut off by laughter from the lobby, and he took the opportunity to escape and stomped out furiously. Gunn and Cordelia had Fred laid out on the floor and were saying somber prayers for her dearly departed soul. Spike shook his head in disbelief "Jees, remind me never to use any of you in one of me plans again. The kid's worth a hundred of you. What if the poof comes back suddenly? You've gotta keep up the story until Wesley makes his dramatic appearance an" all the kissing's over. Got it!"

They stood, sobering down and trying to suppress the mirth they had not felt for so long.

Spike nodded approvingly, glanced challengingly at Lorne and said determinedly, "So... hymns."

Chapter 7

It quickly became clear to Spike that some culling of the humans had to be done and, whilst he secretly enjoyed imagining doing this for real, he contented himself with suggesting that Fred thin out to Gunn's until the funeral. She was utterly incapable of hiding a single emotion, and he despaired of her maintaining the fiction for even one night. Connor also went with them, so that only left the demon, him and Cordelia. Cordelia agreed to stay away from work for a day or two, so that left the hotel occupied only by demons. Spike eyed Lorne out of the corner of one eye.

"I'm staying right where I am, honey. No one reads me. Your secret's safe."

Spike didn't look convinced, and Lorne only laughed. "You're the one Angelpie's gonna be blocking his ears to; you've got "sneaky plan" flashing like a neon sign on your forehead."

Spike needn't have bothered worrying. Angel did not return to the hotel that day, that night, or the next day. The others gathered in the lobby for the journey to the cemetery. Angel had still not made an appearance. Spike thought it best not to mention Lorne's suggestion that Angel might be off topping himself in some guilt-ridden orgy of self-destruction. He was glad he hadn't, for Angel appeared suddenly from the basement. He glanced at the assembled humans in their somber clothes and paused on his way up the stairs. Lorne stepped forward.

"Funeral, sweetiepie. You coming? It's the least ... ya know?"

Angel tipped his head back slightly and looked from one to the other, his gaze resting longest on Spike who was having trouble with his lighter and was bending over try to light it, his hands shielding his face as if in a strong wind. Angel nodded faintly and trailed out after them.

Gunn, Cordelia, Fred and Connor traveled in the car they had booked. Lorne and Spike were left going with Angel. Spike immediately jumped into the back seat and Lorne, after glancing at Angel's face, climbed in next to him, smoothing out a slight rumple this maneuver created in his suit.

"My, don't we all look just fabulous in black... but what am I saying? You always look good in it, sugar."

Spike shook his head fractionally to shut him up, but Lorne completely ignored him and carried on a particularly inane conversation with himself all the way, as if deliberately attempting to annoy both vampires.

The service started. They stood alongside the grave. Angel stood a little to one side, his head bowed, his hands folded together, silent, reserved.

A short reading, some prayers, and Spike began to look around anxiously. He was supposed to be here by now. Some more prayers, some mumbling, which he took to be prayers as well, and where the bloody hell was he? He felt the other's eyes on him and resolutely kept his eyes cast down to the coffin. The coffin got lowered, and he was beginning to panic. Timing in his plans was important, and this was going badly wrong. Throwing on of the earth began. Angel came forward, knelt and took a handful of the soft brown, dusty earth. He stood alongside the open grave, staring down at the wooden box. Spike glanced up at him through his lowered lids and caught a small sob-like sound. Angel threw the soil and turned away as if too moved to have people see his grief. His shoulders shook slightly, but he regained self-control and took his place behind the others waiting for them each to pay their respects.

Panic had begun to set in. Spike could feel it. No one wanted to throw soil. Everyone wanted tearful reunions and a happy ending. Spike actually looked around the dark cemetery, trying with his enhanced vision to pluck Wesley out of the darkness. Another small sob-like noise from Angel was the only sound heard in that silent place.

The service finished. They trailed back to the hotel. Nothing else had been done or planned, as there wasn't supposed to be a wake. They stood in the lobby, shuffling their feet and waiting for Angel to go so they could vent their fury on Spike. Angel didn't go, but he did repeat the small sob he had made once or twice that night.

This time at the sound - without the distraction of waiting for Wesley to appear - Spike looked up sharply. When the sound came again, he took a step back. Everyone turned to look at him. He was pale, even for him, and for some reason was easing out of his duster and hedging towards the open door.

One more sob and, bizarrely, Spike made a dash for the door, saw his way blocked by Angel, looked frantically around and flew up the stairs, shouting something that sounded like "Help," but that was lost to the screech that came out of Angel, as he took up pursuit of the disappearing vampire.

It had all happened so quickly, no one had time to take it in. Gunn started to go after Angel, but Lorne put a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Let's just say there's about to be some fur an" feathers flying, hon, an" you surely don't want to be there to see that."

Spike swore under his breath as he crouched in one of the disused lift-shafts. The bastard had known. Fucking sobbing? The git had been laughing! He tipped his head on one side trying to hear any pursuit and, when it was silent, crawled out of the gap between the lift and the doors. Fuck knows where he was: one corridor in this hideous place looked like any other. He set off cautiously, convinced he'd hear Angel if he were anywhere near. The place was very, very dark and very, very... he shook himself slightly, wishing he'd not watched "The Shining" quite so many times.

He'd begun to relax fractionally but turned a corner and found Angel lounging up against the wall, one leg bent up, a baseball bat dangling from one hand.

Spike froze. Nowhere to run really. Angel turned to look at him. Spike held his gaze. "Is he dead?"

Angel did not reply, but he licked his lips slightly as if remembering something particularly tasty. Spike pursed his lips, considering his options. "We don't have to do this, Angel."

"I do," and with that Angel launched himself off the wall and the bat connected with Spike's arm, shattering his elbow. Spike howled in pain, but wrenched the bat from Angel as the vibrations loosened it from his grip slightly. He took it in his good arm and swung it at Angel's head. Angel went down hard and unconscious for a brief moment. It was all Spike needed, he hit him again, raised the bat for a third swing, but his ankle was seized in an iron grip. He wrenched free and ran. He found some stairs and took them two at a time; his broken arm screamed at him, but he ignored it and tried to orientate himself to the maze of corridors and rooms. Another staircase. He heard a bellow behind him and the sound of something being broken. He took a firmer hold on the bat and descended some more.

A set of double doors appeared in front of him, and he flung through them and found himself in a huge, dark, abandoned kitchen. He cursed and turned to find a better escape when a dark figure appeared in silhouette behind the doors. He'd seen "Jurassic Park" lots of times, too; he skittered away behind one of the long metal counters and hunkered down out of sight. He knew Angel knew he was in there, but he only needed one more good shot, and he might be able to knock the fucker out for long enough to make a more permanent escape.

Angel came in through the swing doors and stood just to one side, listening. He advanced. Almost close enough. Another step. Spike shot up and swung the bat. Angel ducked and caught Spike on the side of his head with a broken table leg. Spike felt blood pouring down his cheek and slithered away over another counter and dived through another door. He stopped. Fuck. He'd come into an old cold store. No way out. Not now anyway: Angel had come in after him and shut the door.

They had an area about the size of a bedroom. They made good use of every inch: almost every inch got splattered by vampire blood. The floor ran with their blood, as it poured off them. Blow after blow made with the weapons they held, dropped and wrenched from each other. No one heard the screams of pain; no one heard the cursing or the taunting. Once more, Angel began to fail first, but Spike was unlucky; at one particularly hard blow to his head, he thought he felt his chip move slightly and was utterly panicked by the idea of it shifting through his brain. He faltered for a second, put a blood soaked hand up to the bloody pulp of a face - and Angel saw his opportunity. He flung himself on Spike and pinned him down by force of his superior weight. Spike was trapped, and he knew it. Face to face, they lay still; Angel's blood and sweat dripped onto Spike.

Angel's voice was ragged, harsh after the shouting and screaming. "Give it up now, Spike; your plan's failed."

Inches between them, Angel's blood flowing over him, Spike grinned. He slid a hand between them and cupped Angel. "Oh yeah?"

Angel hissed and rolled off onto his back alongside Spike. He did not comment on Spike's hand still cupping him. He just put a hand down to join him. Hard. He was achingly hard. His penis strained to be free... so he freed it. His balls throbbed in their confinement. He swore, and ripped his pants off entirely, kneeling up, his head tipped back, eyes closed, lost to the urgency of needing to cum. Spike took his hand away and watched Angel jerking widely on his erection. Angel began to pant slightly and moan as he felt his orgasm cresting. He bent over with one hand braced on the bloodied floor and shot a powerful bullet of cum down to mix with the swirling red. Over and over again, sperm shot from Angel's penis. He emptied himself and collapsed heedless into the puddle on the floor when he was done.

He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down disbelievingly: still hard. He looked at Spike. Spike grinned and fell on him, his mouth returning to that penis as if one hundred years had not passed. Covered in blood and spent cum from the floor, Angel tasted like Spike's unlife: all the hunting, all the feeding, all the torturing, all the sex and all the endless flowing of the blood... all here on this thick column. Spike groaned as he sucked, and the groaning brought on another swift release from Angel. He grasped Spike's head and forced him lower; he shouted out his name as he came just as powerfully as the first time, but for longer now, encased in the soft temptation of Spike's mouth.

Spike didn't pull away when he had drunk all he could of Angel's sperm: he started to clean him. He licked around his cock, over his balls, teasing through the soft wiry hair with his tongue. Another swell, another groan from Angel, and he pushed Spike back onto his shaft, as a weaker orgasm rose in him and jetted out into Spike's mouth.

Exhausted, shuddering slightly, Angel pulled Spike up onto his shoulder and held him close for a long while.

Broken bones began to heal, wounds stopped bleeding. Angel's whole body hurt with a dull agony that felt... exquisite. He wanted more, so relished the pain that he felt himself swelling once again. He took Spike's hand in his and worked himself with both, using Spike's hand to play and fondle with his balls as he concentrated on the tip of his foreskin that he liked to pinch and tease. Another orgasm - almost painful this time, as he had so little sperm left to lose. He let his cock drop from his hand and brought the small quantity of cum up to Spike, rubbing it in his face and around his hair, marking him.

He nuzzled into the scent, nibbling and preparing Spike for another penetration, and to Spike's blissful, whispered "Yes," Angel pierced Spike's pale skin and began to drink him in greedy swallows of childe blood. Spike stretched out to the feeding, to the claiming, to the love. He traveled with his blood to Angel and played around in that body for a while, reacquainting himself with his sire's demon. This time, Angel did not drain him dry; he fed deeply but only for a short time, and then pulled away and loomed over Spike, as he lay languid, peaceful, and in pain on the floor.

Angel took Spike's face in both of his battered hands and tried to speak but found it too difficult to say what he wanted to. The blood and sweat had stopped dripping, but now Spike felt cool drops that smelt of salt and grief dropping onto him. He pulled Angel down onto his chest and held him tightly. He had sensed that Angel had not cried much over Connor's loss and feared the power of the grief washing over him now... but Angel didn't let his grief overwhelm him. He pulled away and regained his self-control, lying beside Spike, staring up at the featureless ceiling.

Spike broke the silence first by repeating his soft question. "Is he dead?"

Angel turned to look at him.

Spike nodded as if this answered him. "How did you know?"

Angel smiled, and it was the first genuine smile of amusement that night. "I'm supposed to be a private investigator, Spike."

"Oh."

Angel shook his head in disbelief. "Did you not think I might go there?"

"Duh, I'm not that stupid; that's why he left."

"He'd cleaned the place, and there were flowers, Spike."

"What! Fucking poof."

"Hardly the actions of a man about to hang himself from the freshly washed sheets off his newly made bed. Oh, and he used a credit card to book the hotel, Spike... duh again?"

"Fuck. So... you went there, too?"

"Yes."

"You did see him?"

Angel sighed. "Yes, I did."

"Is he dead, Angel? Will you just tell me."

"He would have been, Spike, but..."

"But what?"

"But... the room was full of stubbed out cigarettes. Yours."

"Ah. So...?"

Angel propped himself up on one elbow and began to unbutton Spike's shirt. He made no comment on his actions, just continued a slow inexorable removing of Spike's clothes. He looked up and caught Spike's eyes in his powerful gaze. "I knew if I killed him, I'd lose you."

Spike blinked slowly, pleased, and smiled shyly back at Angel. "And that would be a bad thing?"

Angel laughed and bent his tongue to Spike's exposed belly. He trailed the cool tip across Spike's ridged muscles and poked it into his belly button a little, casting him seductive looks through lowered lids. "I think it would be, yes."

Spike hissed at the simple eroticism of Angel's actions, his hole throbbing slightly in anticipation of where they would lead. He sat up and leant back on braced arms to watch as Angel worked on his jeans, undoing them and pulling them off when he had freed them from his boots. Naked now, Spike removed Angel's shirt.

Angel began to play with Spike's body, exploring him, turning him around, examining him like a cat with a live mouse it was too full to bother killing. Spike melted to Angel's hands, allowing every opening and probing, every close inspection until his sire was totally satisfied that nothing had changed; all was as it had been when it had been given.

Finally, Spike had to ask: Angel had not volunteered the information. "You know, don't you?"

"Your smell was so strong on him, it would have hurt me to hurt him." Angel spoke but did not look up from Spike's body.

"So?"

"What would you do, Spike, if I made you choose?"

Spike hesitated. "Choose, I guess."

Angel looked up briefly and grinned. "Good answer. Okay, then, let's cut to the chase. Who would you choose?" Although Angel's voice was steady, and his face showed nothing but suppressed amusement, Spike knew his sire better than that. He didn't bother with words as a reply; he pulled Angel up to his face and placed a kiss, soft and submissive, on his lips. He cast an amused smile up at Angel's pleased face, and then reared up, pushed Angel onto his back and began to ravish his lips and plunder his mouth in possessive kisses. Angel laughed and pushed him away, returning to his slow, detailed worshiping of his childe's body. Spike folded his arms under his head and relaxed to the adoration. He let Angel explore and play for a while, but then returned to his question.

"So?"

Angel smiled. "Could I make you choose? I can't remember a time when you've ever done anything I've asked, ordered, begged or tried to trick you into doing."

Spike pouted. "A bit harsh, mate. Hypothetically then, if you didn't make me choose?"

"What do you think, Spike? Do you really think I'm going to let you fuck Wesley on the side?"

"Uh huh."

Angel stopped and sat up alongside Spike. "Is that all. Uh huh?"

"Angel, are you going to give Connor up?"

"What? What do you mean, Spike. Connor is my son, I can't... won't ever give him up... again."

"So... uh huh. And I'm supposed to do what - while you spend hours every day with him, do things with him, spend most of your time with him. Shall I take up fucking knitting or something...?"

Angel didn't reply at first. He was staring thoughtfully at his childe. Eventually, he said neutrally, "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"No, I know you hadn't." Spike sat up and patted his pockets until he found his cigarettes, lit two and passed one to Angel. Angel took it absentmindedly, and smoked it from force of long-forbidden habit. They sat crossed legged across from each other, smoking contentedly until Spike suddenly poked Angel in the belly.

"Hey!"

"Angel... just fucking say yes. You should try it, mate; he's so bloody warm and... floppy." Angel laughed and Spike poked him again. "Not like that; I mean, jees... like a bag of blood... ya know, when it's warm from the microwave... you know how it sits in yer hand, and you can cup it and rub it 'gainst yer face... he's like that." Spike caught Angel's amused expression. "And I ain't gonna explain it any more. I just want him, Angel. He'll give me something to do when you're off with the lad."

"I can't see Wesley agreeing to being your puppy-in-a-pocket."

Spike knew he'd won.

He tried to keep a gleeful expression of triumph and anticipation off his face, but without success. "Wesley ain't gonna know, is he?"

Angel gave him a fond squint through the smoke and moved a hand to stroke the slim thigh.

"Wise. You know I won't tolerate him coming back here."

"Never thought you would."

"The others seem to think that's what it was all about."

"What'd" they know, pet? They're just humans."

"True. Connor..."

"He's a brick, that one, luv. He'd do anything for you." Angel looked down shyly, as Spike continued. " All he wanted was for you to be a bit happier, mate. Stop angsting over 'im. He's okay - lies like a trooper."

Angel tipped back his head as if seeking for strength. "So, Wesley stays away from here."

Spike nodded. "In more ways than one, pet, promise."

"When I want you, you'll be here?"

Spike hesitated. "When I want you, will you be here?" Angel looked at him sharply but then nodded as if understanding the true import of Spike's question. "I'm sorry. You're not my property any more, Spike. I can't have it both ways, can I? Human child and vampire childe."

Spike shook his head slowly. "No. You can't." He lit another cigarette from the stub of his previous one and took a long drag. "You can have me as just... vampire." He looked around at the blood and flecks of skin on the walls and floor. "You can have me as just this... vampire."

"When you fit me in between Wesley's... floppier turns."

Spike laughed. "He wasn't the only one floppy when I got here, Angel. Don't forget that." He cast his eyes down to Angel's lap provocatively, then up again to his face. He flicked up one eyebrow. "Why don't you take that for a proper test drive, Angel, and we'll work me shag-timetable out later."

They threw away their cigarettes simultaneously. Their mouths met and tasted of nicotine and sex. Angel pushed Spike onto his back and slid a hand up the underside of his thigh, lifting it as he stroked. He bent to Spike's hole and licked it in preparation, pushing his tongue in, wetting all around the edges. He pulled away for a moment and looked around their concrete room. "Do you want to take this upstairs?" Spike shook his head and pushed Angel's face back.

There was no desire in either of them for foreplay; there was no mystery; there was nothing to discover. They had known this pleasure a hundred thousand times, and the memories were acute for each of them. Angel knew exactly when Spike felt pain from his penetration, for the pale column of his childe's shaft rose and betrayed him. He knew when he had found Spike's prostrate, for he could sense a slight clenching of the anus holding him tight.

Spike watched Angel's face. The eyes flickered shut and opened slowly, as the pleasure of mounting his childe started to overwhelm him. He saw the clenching of the jaw, which he knew would soon lead to a cool washing of his bowels and the beloved sound of Angel cuming in him. Angel put one hand on Spike's belly in exactly the same place he always put it when he was about to cum... and came... a strong flooding wash and rapid jerking inside the familiar body.

Spike jettisoned his load onto his belly, relishing the spasmodic jerking of his cock and the satisfied grunts from Angel as some of the sperm hit him. He was even more delighted when Angel bent his face to the fresh pool and began to lap at it, for he knew what would surely follow. Fangs went deep into his belly and fed from his stomach and chest - Angelus attempting to find his heart to rip and tear. The agony made him scream and harden once more, and Angel clamped a strong hand over Spike's mouth so his childe could bite into his palm and make him rise again, too. Angel's penis swelled deep inside Spike's anus, as his tendon was sliced by powerful fangs and another orgasm washed out and into the slim pale body writhing beneath him.

Angel licked and nuzzled into the wound he had made on Spike's belly, now the only fresh one on his battered body. He rubbed his shredded hand over Spike's face, absentmindedly, as he licked and probed with his tongue. Spike turned his face and purred to the marking and the claiming and the scenting, and groaned when Angel withdrew to fall alongside him in the dark.

After a long while, Spike heard Angel's voice, thoughtful and quiet in the still air. "It's what this was all about, wasn't it, Spike. Blood and pain."

Spike propped himself up on his elbow and played idly with Angel's now flaccid cock. "Did you want to stay like this forever, mate? Jees Angel... flaccid. It scared me. But it was so bloody obvious what you needed." He turned Angel's face to him and spoke very slowly and very clearly as if to someone slightly mentally impaired. "You - are - a - vampire. You - get - off - on - pain." He sank back, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "You actually told me you held a baby's soddin' hair to yer face, luv. I mean... come on..."

Angel rolled over onto his belly, not liking the way this conversation was going. "You wouldn't understand, Spike. You don't have a soul; you've never been a father."

"True and true. But I know you, Angel. You're in me, luv - you made me. Soul or no soul, you can't be human. You can't deny the dark side, Angel."

"Don't romanticize it, Spike. This is not an episode of some damn epic space war. There is nothing good or noble about being a demon."

"Ooh. Don't tell me you've actually heard of the electric theatre, Angel..."

"Shut up, Spike. I've been trying to get up-to-date... stuff Connor might like."

"Yeah, well. Don't make no difference what you say, Angel; what you do kind of proves my point, don't it? One smack with that old baseball bat and your balls were rocking "round the clock, weren't they... oh, and that's a modern tune, pet."

"Fuck off, Spike." Spike might have been more offended by this if he hadn't have heard the underlying amusement in Angel's tone. He crept a hand over to Angel's resistant back and began an irritating tickling down one side.

"Stop that."

"'Fraid I'm gonna find some fatty bits?"

Angel flipped over and pinned Spike on his back, rearing over him furiously. He saw Spike's face and dropped his head onto his chest. "You do it every time, don't you, Spike? You push my buttons like I'm your own personal keypad."

"Yeah, an" it works every time, too, luv." As if to prove his point he cupped Angel's hanging balls lightly in one hand and began a soft working of them. Angel hissed, and then bent lower to Spike's ear.

"Hurt me again."

Spike hissed in response and, sliding into game face once more, wrenched the soft sac hard, and then ground it up into Angel's pelvis. Angel screamed at the glorious pain and ripped into Spike's neck, tearing at his ear.

They fought as if to the death - snarling, naked demons whose pale bodies glowed faintly in the ambient light. They only stopped when Angel came once more into Spike's torn body and even the effort of pulling out was too much. They slept curled together, embedded, sated, and in a kind of pain that sent them into fearful, but longed-for dreams.

Angel woke first, stuck to Spike. The peeling off woke Spike.

Angel sat with his head lowered into his hands. Spike rummaged for their clothes and threw Angel his.

"What's happened here? What happens now?"

Spike pulled Angel to his feet and started to dress him. "We've got back to where we should be, that's all, Angel." Angel stilled Spike's hands on him and took his face between his hands.

"This is what you want? This is how it's going to be now? You go and see Wesley; I stay here with Connor, and when you come back... we do this?"

Spike didn't catch Angel's eye, but continued doing up Angel's shirt for him, as if engrossed in this simple act. "It's called fucking, Angel. And yeah, that's exactly it... we don't have to do it in here though... bit too cell-like."

Angel shuddered. "No. But this is it then. Vampires."

"Yep." He finally looked up. "What else did you expect?"

Angel didn't reply, but turned towards the door, casting a final, shuddering glance around the tiny locker. "I'm going to shower."

Following him out, Spike shrugged his shoulders. "'k. I'm going to Wesley's."

It was said. It tested the waters. The dam held. Angel merely shrugged slightly, too, and went up the stairs.

Spike pursed his lips; he kicked at something with the toe of his boot; he lit a cigarette but threw it away unsmoked. He looked in the direction Angel had gone, clenched his jaw, looked once more at the floor, then spun on his heel and went out to see whether it was day or night.

Chapter 8

Wesley answered the door slowly. He had his glasses propped up on his head and a large, heavy book in his hand. When he saw Spike, his jaw fell open, and the book slipped to the floor. "Bloody hell, what were you doing playing on the railway line, Spike?"

Spike's hand flew to his face. "Oh, that bad, hey?"

"God." Wesley pulled him inside and placed him on the couch, then fetched a bowl of hot water and a cloth, and began cleaning the wounds covering Spike's face.

"He came to the hotel."

"I know, pet."

Wesley held Spike's face still. "He did this?"

Spike put a hand on Wesley's arm. "It's not what you think, luv. He did but..."

"He knew about your ridiculous plan, Spike. It was all a complete failure."

Spike grinned and placed a swift peck on Wesley's lips. "I wouldn't say that, luv."

Concentrating on the bruises and cuts, Wesley did not look up. "He won't have me back, Spike, and he didn't want to hear my explanation. I'd call that a total failure, wouldn't you?"

"That's not what the plan was for, pet. That's the next stage... Hey! Don't do that, that hurt!"

"No! No, no, no. I am not going to get involved in another of your plans... and what do you mean, that's not what it was for? That was the whole point wasn't it... to get me back to Angel Investigations?"

"Nah, Angel had a little problem that needed to be taken care of." Spike indicated his face and the general state of his body. "Problem now solved. Now we move onto stage two."

Wesley shook his head and went to refill the water bowl, but Spike, shedding his coat, followed him into the kitchen. "It's nice to be tended to an" all, luv, but there's not much wrong now... so... how's about we take this to the bedroom?"

Wesley turned with a slightly furtive look and glanced at the clock. "I'm sorry, Spike; I didn't think you'd be over so soon after... well, I thought you'd have more issues with... I've got Cordelia, Gunn and Fred coming over at eight." He saw Spike's expression and smiled shyly. "I suppose your plan did work to some extent. All the rest of Angel Investigations seem to have forgiven me, and if the mountain can't come to the Mohamed..."

"Bloody, fucking, sodding, shitting, cunting NO!! I've just been fucked four ways to hell and back for you, and you don't want to shag? You've got a bleedin" dinner party?"

"Spike, calm down. It's not a party. They are coming over for research... that's why I was... never mind; I can see you aren't in a mood to be reasonable... and you can't hit me with that, remember... your chip... ouch..."

"...Spike?"

"...Spike, are you all right?"

Wesley stood helplessly as Spike held his head, kneeling on the floor. Eventually he stood and cast Wesley an evil look. "You owe me a shag."

Wesley winced, but absurdly felt the debt. He walked stiffly past Spike to the bedroom, not seeing the amused smirk that followed his progress. Spike had just found a new use for the human's habitual guilt. He caught up with Wesley and pushed him against the bed, nuzzling into his neck. He slid his voice down to his most seductive - his chip made it impossible to shag the totally unwilling, "Come on, Wes, we've got half an hour... I'll make you cum real fast... an" we can shower together... I need a shower and I want some more doctoring... what 'da 'ya say? Wanna play doctors in the shower with me?"

Spike knew that Wesley glanced once more at his watch before he groaned an agonized "Yes," but he forgave him and swiftly capitalized on his conquest by slipping a hand around and down the front of Wesley's jeans. Wesley sucked in his belly in response, and Spike connected easily with the tip of his cock. He grinned and, flicking one eyebrow up, eased the waistband down just enough to let the cock stick up, exposed. He murmured an appreciative noise over Wesley's shoulder at the sight.

He was briefly annoyed when Wesley batted him away and modestly covered himself with one hand, but let the incident go when the human turned to face him, saying almost angrily, "Come on then, but it's got to be quick."

Spike turned Wesley around again. "Spread." He kicked Wesley's legs apart and made him hold onto the edge of the mattress. Slowly, he reached around and undid Wesley's fly the rest of the way, peeling the jeans off Wesley backside and down as far as his knees. Wesley began a feeble protest, but Spike ignored him. He knelt behind the offered backside and began to lubricate it with his tongue. The warmth of the body surprised him as ever. He pressed with one finger inside the anus, but Wesley winced in pain: Spike collapsed once more in agony on the floor.

Wesley waited for Spike to recover, glancing nervously at the clock. God help him; he did want Spike... despair at his confrontation with Angel plummeting him back to the edges of the black mood that had drawn him to sex with the vampire in the first place. He did want Spike... just not now and not in this way. Maybe in a warm bed when he had showered first... maybe if Spike could be more normal... maybe if they could be a little more decorous in their activities... maybe if they had more in common... just maybe. He could think of nothing else but that they were coming: the friends he thought he had lost. Spike, he could have anytime, but this was Fred... this was Cordelia... this was Gunn...

He decided to speed things up a little and get it over with, so took his jeans off completely. He sat on the edge of the bed, learning some new and interesting turns of phrase from the prone vampire. Eventually, Spike's chip stopped firing off, and he crawled onto the bed alongside Wesley, peeling off his clothes, too. He eyed the human warily; it had not escaped his notice that Wesley seemed less prepared, less emotionally numb, somehow, to cope with what he wanted to do to him.

Wesley's distraction with the clock and yearning for respectable sex, however, vanished rather when he saw Spike's body once more. A flare of desire made him feel hot and almost weak inside. His penis, which had swelled just to Spike's presence, now began to twitch for release... but he could still muster none of the black urgency that had driven him to seek release in pain or humiliation. He wanted to cum, and he wanted to cum pleasantly, quickly, and with a minimum of fuss and mess. He took Spike's hand and encouraged it onto his cock. Spike removed it, and with a harsh laugh said, "Turn over; I need to take you."

Wesley shook his head. "There's no time. Just hold me as I..." A squirt of warm cum plopped onto Spike's hand and dribbled over his wrist. Wesley gave a satisfied sigh and was about to reach for Spike when a loud knocking, accompanied by a familiar voice, made him turn swiftly. "Oh... bloody hell! They're early." He jumped off the bed and pulled on his jeans, straightening his hair. He gave Spike a nervous glance. "You'll have to stay in here. They won't be long; I promise."

Spike didn't reply. He let his expression speak for him. Wesley had the grace to look guilty, but left, shutting the door firmly.

Spike stayed kneeling on the bed with his cum covered hand stretched out theatrically. He replayed the whole scene in his head a few times, laughing in disbelief every time he got to the part where Wesley had cum on him and left. He debated marching naked into the living room and just checking with Wesley that that had actually happened, but didn't. He had the distinct and scary thought that if he pushed this human too far, too soon, Wesley might tell him he was only using him and call him William.

After he'd played the martyr for the while, he flung himself down on the bed and decided to wait the humans out. After all, how long could they stay? ... and he needed a small snooze. He wrapped himself up in the silk sheets and began a necessary pre-snooze review of his plan. Angel was cured - huge success there. Wesley was on his way back in - annoying laughter from next door confirmed that. That only left the kid. Spike's plan was still a bit vague where Connor was concerned, so he skipped that part and went back to Angel. He liked thinking about Angel. He particularly liked thinking about Angel whispering his name... hang on... screaming his name - that was better. He liked the image in his mind of Angel spread like a blanket over him... whoa there... Angel spreading him like a victim against a wall. Jesus, he was more tired than he thought and packed Angel-thoughts away until he felt strong enough to corral and control them.

The human voices still floated out from the living room. There was only one thing left to do really... so he did it. He took his erection in his hand and began to play thoughtfully with the foreskin. He was slightly sore, and remembered with a smile Angel's teeth assisting one particularly enjoyable orgasm. Bugger. Angel again. Dismissing all thoughts of... him... Spike took a firmer hold on his root and began to pull in long, measured, and practiced-over-centuries strokes. That was good, almost as good as ... not even going to go there. He was close to coming. He came. It was good... but he felt strangely desolate, and his body ached for strong arms, twisting and entwining, and soft endearments borne of shared blood.

When he awoke, Wesley was curled alongside him. He looked rumpled in the early morning light and very edible, so Spike tasted him for a while in his memory. He grinned and slipped under the sheet, taking a very warm, very soft penis in his mouth. He sucked on it like a piece of candy, giggling to himself at the feel of it rising in his mouth. Wesley groaned and came before he had really woken properly or sensed where he was.

He pulled away from Spike and sat up, rubbing his face. "Sorry, they didn't go until three. It was so late, I didn't wake you."

Spike shrugged and crawled up Wesley for a kiss. Wesley smiled and tried to relax into the strangeness of waking with Spike when his head was full of the agency and his friends" lives once more. Suddenly he pushed Spike away as a thought occurred to him. "Spike... they think you may be dead... deader... no one's seen you since the funeral and something about Angel chasing you..."

Spike swung his legs off the bed and reached for his jeans, patting his pockets for his cigarettes. Had it just happened again? Had Wesley just pulled away from one of his kisses?

Eventually he made a mumbled comment about having to get back, waiting to see what Wesley would say.

Wesley hesitated so long that when he did persuade Spike to stay, he could not have rightly said whether the persuasion was from guilt at the hesitation or genuine desire for Spike's body.

Spike ignored the fact he was being used - he had recent practice at ignoring this - and stayed for some recreational sex with his new pet.

Puppy-in-pocket, however, needed very careful handling. He suddenly seemed extremely... fragile. Spike wondered if he was merely finding contrast with someone... and he wasn't going to go there. He used as much lubrication as he could find; he entered agonizingly slowly; he tried not to push or heave; he took it like he was fucking a virgin on her first date and as if he actually cared about that. It worked in a fashion. He came - but he did not find a sweet release in the cold jetting into Wesley's body. Wesley came, too, but his orgasm seemed to satisfy him, for he lay panting slightly in the bed. Spike curled into him, wanting to entwine his limbs and be enmeshed in the other body, but Wesley pulled away and glanced once more at the clock. "Sorry. Again. We're working today. I promised to meet Gunn. I... I... I have you to thank for this, Spike. I know I'll never truly be back where I was... I know Angel will never see me... despite any complex and cunning plans of yours, Spike... but I have the others back, and that almost seems enough this morning. It's so much more than I could have hoped for really." He got out of the bed and pottered around the bedroom, talking at Spike and gathering stuff for a shower.

Spike sat, watching him with a look of bemused tolerance on his face. He'd decided to give Wesley the benefit of the doubt... it was his first day reclaimed... he was clearly over-excited... he'd calm down eventually... hell, he might even regain some of that sexy, black angst.

Spike was nothing, if not patient.

Wesley wandered off to the shower, apparently forgetting the vampire sitting naked in his bed.

The patient vampire flung himself into his clothes and left, hurling a torrent of abuse at the human in the shower.

Spike stomped through the now familiar sewer, kicking at things and hoping something might try to stop him. He felt like a good killing. Angelus had always... fucking hell! He'd done it again. Why did he always have to refer everything back to Angelus? Must remember to tell Angelus this... must let Angelus know that... Angelus will like that...

Suddenly, Spike grinned and stopped. He pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the filthy floor.

He sped up and ran the last few miles to the hotel. He flung himself up through the basement and into Angel's room. He laughed as he caught Angel still in bed and dived onto him. Angel woke with a grunt... but ripped at Spike as if he had not had him for over a century.

Angel could not wait to get Spike's clothes off; he just tore them from the pale body. He didn't lubricate, he thrust in dry and stifled Spike's screams with his hand. Spike bit once more and Angel had to suppress his howl of pain... and the orgasms were glorious. Spike shuddered his forever into the midnight blue sheets, the milky, opaque liquid pooling like early morning haze. Angel jetted his into the blood of his childe for it to be carried up the tight channel with his thrusting.

They laughed, as they pulled apart. Spike collapsed onto the bed and went to pull Angel down on top of him, but at the last moment diverted the action so it appeared that he had just been making himself more comfortable. Angel, about to snuggle into his childe, turned slightly and lay apart from him. "Vampires, Spike?"

"That's right, mate, vampires. See? Told you this would be good."

"You come, you see, you fuck."

"Is that from another electric theatre presentation, mate? I don't recognize that."

Angel laughed faintly. "So, you've come from ..."

"Yeah."

"Ah."

"You had a good evening with Connor?"

"Yes, I took him to a movie."

"Oh."

"Good?"

"No. Hideous. So, are we allowed to be... talking like this... just vampires as we are."

"No, guess not. I've gotta shower anyway and get some food. Humans ain't too good at feeding vampire guests."

"Unless they're..." Angel looked at Spike and his amber eyes sparked behind their covering of soulful brown. Spike groaned.

"Oh, yeah, unless... they're... fuck... hanging up..." he bit into Angel's lip, and Angel moaned at the taste of his own blood. "... and their blood's draining..." he straddled Angel's chest and wriggled and rubbed himself on the new erection. "... you slit their throats, Angelus, and caught the pouring out in your mouth..." Angel swelled so hard at the memory that Spike was able to embed deeply, and he closed his eyes to the pleasure of the fullness in him. "... hurt me, Angel, give me pain now, please..." Spike gasped as Angel put a hand to his throat and began to squeeze, livid marks blossoming on the pale column. When the pain became unbearable, Spike's agonized writhing brought them both off. The ache propelled his cum forcibly into Angel's face; Angel's shot high in Spike's body and tingled its cold presence for many minutes, as it washed around and dribbled back down.

Angel's hand was cramped around Spike's throat. He had to prize it free with his other hand. He'd crushed the windpipe, and Spike was unable to speak more than a croaked whisper. He grinned and wriggled some more, enjoying the pulling-off-Angel's-cock sensation that always excited him and made him ache for more.

The space alongside Angel looked so inviting, and he felt so weary: he wanted nothing more than to slide into that deep blue pool and soak himself in his sire's presence. Angel glanced at the space too, but looked sadly away.

Spike nodded and climbed off. He tried to speak, could not get the words out, and so left for his own room.

Within two days, Spike knew he had made a huge miscalculation with this plan.

The realization first hit him the following day when his early morning wake up call on Angel was reciprocated by his sire. He woke to the feel of Angel's cool, heavy, sleek, perfect, so-desired, so-fuckable body sliding over him, giggling slightly. He pretended to be asleep - he let Angel work harder to wake him. When a finger slipped in, even he could not keep up the act, and he laughed softly into Angel's neck. "Morning."

Angel purred against his mouth. "Good morning." He was smiling and his face was open, the longing desire evident in every feature. Suddenly Spike stilled and removed the finger.

"You're already hard."

Angel nuzzled into Spike's neck, licking up towards his ear and biting gently on his earlobe. "I've been lying in bed for ages thinking about coming up here."

Spike felt a tingle of desire course down his spine, but he tried not to show this in his response to Angel. "But this is just vampires, remember."

Angel pulled away and looked at him. "Oh. I forgot. So...?"

"Well, I don't know! Do something vampire like."

"You mean hit you or something?"

"Duh. Yes. Pain and blood, remember - that's all this is."

Angel helpfully punched Spike. "Ouch - bloody hell - watch the nose, Angel. You didn't have to hit me on me bleedin" - hey I'm bleeding!"

Angel licked at the blood on Spike's face and slipped into game face. Spike reciprocated and Angel took him hard and fast and came in a salvo of cum deep in his body. He pulled out, went back into his human form and sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting his clothing.

Spike sat up against the headboard, shaking slightly from the force of Angel's penetration. He looked at the bent back and lowered head for a moment, returned to human form and asked quietly, "What else was there? What did we use to do now?"

Angel turned to him, frowning. "I don't remember. Hunt?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"I can't do that now."

"Neither can I."

"So, I suppose I'll see you later then." He cast a look at the tiny, uncomfortable bed.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to see... Wesley today?"

Spike hesitated. "Probably not."

"Oh. Okay then."

"You got plans with Connor?"

"Err, no, he's going out shopping with Cordelia. Daylight... you know."

"Oh."

"Well, I've got stuff in the office to do then."

"'k, pet. I'll maybe see you later."

"Okay."

"I could come down if you like when I get hungry... maybe we could..."

"Oh, yes. I'll wait to feed "til you get there then."

"Good."

"See you." He glanced once more at the bed, got up and left.

Spike slammed his head back into the wall in frustration.

Wesley.

He dressed and almost ran to the apartment. Wesley was just up, pottering around in his pajama bottoms, watching TV, drinking tea, and eating some toast. He seemed annoyed to see Spike.

Spike paused and took off his coat, heading towards the kitchen. Wesley followed him. "What's up, Spike? Did you come here to...? I mean..."

"Yeah, later maybe. I thought we could maybe talk for a bit, ya know... spend some time together. Make me some toast, hey? Lots of butter and marmalade, if you've got it."

Wesley stood bemused with his toast halfway to his mouth. "You want to eat toast and talk?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Oh, nothing, I suppose, nothing. All right, go and sit down; I'll bring it in."

He stood at the toaster wondering frantically what they could talk about. The only thing they had in common was Angel, and Wesley didn't want to talk about Angel with Spike. He feared the things he might hear.

He carried the breakfast in and sat alongside Spike on the couch. "All right then, Spike. What should we talk about?"

Spike munched his toast thoughtfully. "I dunno. Just stuff."

Silence ensued. Eventually Wesley risked, "I'm working on a case with Gunn today."

"Good. Demon?"

"Yes, a big one."

"Huh."

Spike finished his toast and watched the telly for a while, mulling over the key highlights of the conversation so far. He wondered how Angel was getting on in the office and whether he was hard, too, and thinking of him.

Suddenly Spike groaned and said abruptly. "Come on, I've finished talking, get into the bedroom."

Without speaking, he got up and made his way towards the bed. The opportunity for an orgasm in a human was never to be passed up. He stripped and regarded Wesley in the stripy pajamas, grinned and slipped a hand in through the front opening in the soft flannelette material. Wesley was hard, warm, and Spike allowed his mind to shut down and his body to respond on autopilot. He pushed Wesley against a wall, sank to his knees and released the whole ensemble. It looked perfect, standing proud against the soft material. He licked up from the hanging balls to the tip of the erect cock and then down and swirled his tongue around each testicle. Wesley groaned and put his hands lightly onto Spike's head.

Vampire?

He'd show Wesley a thing or two about being a vampire. In one swift move he lodged Wesley into his throat, rapid, urgent swallowing motions, rubbing and stimulating the human penis on all sides.

Wesley screamed, his knees buckled and he trickled a warm stream of cum deep into Spike's throat. Spike groaned, pulled off and regarded the soft cock with disbelief. He looked up at Wesley who was panting rapidly, his head hung down.

"I've gotta go." He began to dress.

"Err... what? Why? That was a bit sudden... err..."

"Sorry, mate, prior appointment..."

Spike ran almost the whole way back this time and burst into Angel's office, leaking and desperate.

"Where is everyone?"

Angel flung himself around his desk and crashed Spike into the wall. "Out. All out. Spread." He twisted Spike around and ground him into the wall. He slid both hands down the insides of Spike's jeans and cupped his bare cheeks, groaning.

Spike tried to speak, but heard his voice faltering with suppressed desire. "Pain first, Angel. Don't forget the vampire shit."

Angel moaned and Spike thought he heard a repressed "No" in the moan, but ignored it. "Come on, Angel, hurt me."

Angel feebly batted at Spike but swiftly replaced his hands inside the back of Spike's jeans, cupping and squeezing the hard flesh of his cheeks.

"Angel! Pain! Blood! Now!"

Angel stood back looking furious and aroused in equal measure. "All right. All right. We should take this upstairs anyway... clients... I'll count to ten, Spike. If I catch you, you won't walk for the rest of the day."

Spike's eyes flew wide, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"One."

Spike backed towards the door.

"Two." Angel became Angelus.

Spike hissed and started to run, and he just caught a quiet, amused, "Three" before he hit the stairs at full pelt.

He was beginning to get to know the hotel a little better now and made directly for the back staircase to the kitchen. It wasn't where it was supposed to be, and he cursed, wondering if he was on the right floor. He headed up instead and made his way along a clearly abandoned hallway, kicking at an old mattress as he went. He pushed open the door to a bedroom, didn't want to get trapped, so moved on. He found another staircase and went up, clambering over disused furniture and some old suitcases.

A quiet, whispered, fearful "Ten" came from somewhere behind him.

Spike giggled in glee and ran down the dark hallway. There was nowhere to hide except in one of the bedrooms, so he pushed open the nearest door and went through. He stopped in surprise. It wasn't a bedroom, but the eaves of one wing of the hotel. The space ran the whole length of the hallway, had an arched roof supported by roof struts and one or two filthy, blackened dormer windows. He walked in, craning his neck to the arching roof, brushing away cobwebs as they caught in his hair.

His hand was seized in a powerful grip, but he ignored it and only said in wonder, "Hi."

Angel had his neck craned back, too. Spike looked at him. "Didn't you know this was here?"

Angel shook his head. "Never come up here before. Look, it must be fifty feet long?"

"More."

Angel pulled Spike into his arms. "What did I chase you up here for? Remind me."

Spike chuckled. "Something painful, I seem to remember."

"Hmm. Good." He pushed Spike against the wall and cupped him through his jeans. "Take them off."

"Do it yourself." The blow to his belly for his arrogance made Spike wince in delight: it was hard and accurate and made him swell to the need for release. Angel clearly felt this, too, and flipped Spike around, ripping at the offending jeans, pulling them down to Spike's knees. Spike began to step out of them, but Angel stopped him.

"No, like that. I want to see you and take you like that."

Spike groaned and allowed Angel to take him. Angel didn't even remove his clothes, he just took himself out and worked into Spike, bending him over, spreading him as much as the half-mast clothes would allow and fucking him hard and urgent in the gloom of the attic. Just before he came, Angel pulled out and finished himself off with one hand over Spike's bent back, his other hand massaging and probing Spike's hole as his cum slammed into the waiting cheeks.

Angel finished but almost immediately fell to his knees and twisted Spike around to his mouth. He swallowed Spike in greedy mouthfuls, urging his cum to propel down his throat with low, vibrating moans of appreciation.

Angel kept his hands on Spike's backside, clenching them and digging his nails in until he felt Spike was totally spent, and then raised up and used them to pull him in for a kiss. Before their mouths met, he pulled back fractionally.

Spike opened his eyes and brought himself back from the place he had been in and looked at Angel. Angel looked back at him, his head slightly on one side. "Are we allowed to kiss?"

Spike felt that this was a very important question somehow, and that a lot more than touching his lips to Angel's depended on his answer.

He pulled away and bent to rearrange his clothes. Angel sat down with his back against the wall, watching Spike thoughtfully, but silently.

Spike lit a cigarette and began to pace. The room was so large that he almost disappeared from Angel's sight before he turned and paced back the other way.

"Kissing?"

"Yes, Spike, is kissing allowed? Given that we are just doing the vampire thing here."

"Did we kiss a lot before?"

"Sometimes."

"Uh huh."

"Was it vampire-like then... painful and demonic... part of the dark side an" all."

Angel laughed. "Sometimes."

"Uh huh. But not all the time."

"No, not all the time - mostly though. And you have Wesley now... for ... kissing."

"Yes. I have Wesley."

"Does he... like kissing you, Spike?" Maddeningly, Angel discovered he had a missing button on his shirt and this engrossed him, and prevented him from being able to look at Spike as they talked.

Spike took a long drag of his cigarette and looked thoughtfully at Angel's lowered head. "I'm not sure that's the important question here, pet."

Angel nodded faintly. "I know. But I don't want to ask the other one."

"Ask it anyway, Angel. Please."

Angel looked up at him. "Do you like kissing Wesley?"

Spike smiled, pleased.

Angel held out his hand and, as if that hand were magnetic, Spike moved inexorably towards him. He sank to his knees between Angel's bent thighs. Angel took Spike's cigarette and stubbed it out carefully, never taking his gaze from Spike's. His hands came up around Spike's head, and for a long time neither of them knew anything more but the taste and feel of each other's mouths. They rolled across the floor, seeking more intimacy and more contact, they groaned, moaned, hissed and purred as the sensations began to overwhelm them. Spike couldn't pull Angel close enough to him; he couldn't get enough of this... man... who was no longer just his sire. The strong, powerful body threatened to obliterate his own senses until there was only Angel - only the taste of him and the sound of him as he groaned to the kissing.

At first, Angel could taste the fresh nicotine on Spike, overlaid by a subtle, but unmistakable, trace of human cum. After this initial burst of impressions though, all he could taste was Spike: all he could think was that he was kissing Spike and that this was not his childe. There was nothing submissive or childlike in these returning kisses; he was kissing a man whose passion for him was evident in every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips, every opening of the soft cool mouth.

Angel came first, into his pants, but before he could pull away, embarrassed, shocked, and apologetic - Spike came, too, and shuddered as he released his thudding orgasm into his jeans. He lay down on Angel, panting unnecessarily but satisfactorily and realized, with a chuckle of amusement, that they were now at the other end of the long attic room. He nodded the discovery to Angel, and Angel craned his neck around, bemused.

He soon looked back at Spike though, and his face was full of questions. Spike shook his head slightly. "I don't know, Angel. If you're going to ask me what just happened, I don't know."

Angel nodded as if this answered him quite satisfactorily. He wrapped his arms lightly around Spike's back and relaxed to the feel of the body on him. Spike sank his head into the hollow of Angel's shoulder and lay very still - which felt kinda right for someone who had no place he'd rather be.

They knew time was passing for the beams of light moved, filtered through the LA dirt coating the windows, as the sun passed overhead and on towards the evening. They only roused when Spike's stomach gave a huge, not-to-be-ignored rumble. Angel laughed. "Weren't we going to feed together today or something?"

Spike shrugged. "Don't care. Don't move."

"Come on. We'd better shower. I'm stuck to my clothes, and they're stuck to you."

"Good."

"Join me, then?"

Spike lifted his head. "In the shower?"

"Yes."

"Fuck."

"Maybe."

Spike chuckled. "I'm gonna have to invest in some new threads if I stay here much longer."

Angel smiled but didn't reply at first. He climbed to his feet and made a show of dusting Spike down a little. "I think we may have to invest in quite a lot of things, Spike." He didn't elaborate further, but walked slowly through the attic, tearing away the cobwebs they had not disturbed on their lower progress through it earlier.

Spike followed him out thoughtfully, and they made their way down to the lower floors. They passed a room, and Angel paused outside briefly, but then moved on with a sad expression. Spike poked him in the ribs. "What?"

"That was Lorne's room."

"Was?"

"He's gone. He didn't get on... he wanted to run a new club, and it seemed for the best."

"You'll miss him?"

Angel didn't reply, but continued to walk slowly down the stairs, his shoulders returning to their habitual hunched position as the weight of the world returned to them. The effect of mentioning the green fairy was not lost on Spike.

Just as they were about to turn into Angel's room, Connor appeared with a number of shopping bags, his expression a picture of eager distain at the thought of the clothes Cordelia had made him buy. "Look, father, I cannot possibly need all these things - do you want to come and see what I've got?"

Angel hesitated and glanced at Spike, anticipating trouble. To his profound relief, Spike chuckled and swung gracefully away towards his own room. He didn't even look at Angel but said naturally to Connor. "Hey, get those new glad-rags on, an" I'll take you to a movie tonight, hey? Guarantee it'll be more exciting that the one the po... yer dad took you to last night."

Connor hesitated for a fraction then beamed at Spike and pushed on into Angel's room. Spike didn't turn to look back at Angel, but he gave a small, surreptitious wave of his hand as a farewell salute, knowing that he was being watched.

Knowing he would be understood, Angel only said distinctly, "Thank you for that, Spike."

Spike grinned and went on to his own room.

Chapter 9

They met that evening in the lobby like shy, secret lovers that had accidentally brushed hands earlier in the day. As he proudly patted Connor down and gave him some money to spend, Angel could not look at Spike. As Spike received instructions from Cordelia on what to see and not to see, Spike could not look at Angel... but their minds were seized by the presence of the other, and they longed to be able to look and speak and ...

Suddenly the doors clashed back and Wesley staggered in, carrying Gunn in his arms. Fred, crying and patting uselessly at both of them, stammered out an explanation. Spike moved to intercept; Angel was quicker, and he tried to take Gunn from Wesley. They could not do the transfer without causing Gunn more pain, so they carried him together into the office and laid him on the couch.

Angel shouted for the first aid box; Wesley handed it to him before the last words had formed on his lips. Angel needed water; Wesley had Cordelia and Fred organized and bringing fresh when required. Angel needed an explanation he could understand; Wesley was the only one who could provide it, and they knelt side-by-side over the prone figure, quiet suppressed questions being answered by quiet repressed replies.

Gunn was more stunned than dying and when this fact was established, began to make a relieved recovery. Wesley began to quietly pack up the supplies and was surprised when a mug of tea was pressed into his hands. Spike grinned at him and winked, and Wesley looked anxiously at Angel. "I won't stay, Spike, but thank you for the offer."

Angel, his head lowered, did not look up, but he said intently, "You can drink your tea, but then get out."

Wesley nodded, but put the untouched drink down on the desk. "Yes, of course; I wouldn't have come at all, but Fred could not carry him and she insisted on coming here, not the hospital."

Angel nodded briefly, still not looking up. Wesley turned to go. He looked at Spike, was about to speak when Cordelia caught his arm and said, glaring at Angel, that she would walk him back. He smiled at her, pleased, and he left without another glance at Spike. Before the couple reached the door of the office, Angel said quietly. "You did the right thing bringing him here. It must have been difficult for you."

Wesley nodded, his back still to Angel, and left.

The trip to the cinema now postponed, Spike offered to do some training with Connor, and this offer was leapt at by the teenager. Spike was pleased; it gave him something mindless and easy to do - something that would enable him to... think.

He had just seen Wesley, and there had been... nothing. That Wesley did not want him anymore had been obvious the moment he had woken in the hotel room and had watched the human enjoying the sunshine... but he had been happy to use his puppy and enjoy his warm body. Until now... now things had changed... the kiss had changed everything. Unlife had divided into what had been before the kiss and what was now to come. His mind and body were full of Angel, and that left him with a fairly major problem: how did he get Wesley back into Angel's life if the "fuck-him-back" option - which was what he was currently working on - was off the agenda?

Connor went ahead of Spike into the basement, and they left Angel and Fred fussing over Gunn. Spike, mulling over tactics, strategy and plans in general, was annoyed when his concentration was disturbed by a hesitant question from Connor.

"That was the man that took me?"

Spike nodded.

"He does not look as I thought he would."

"No, he's not the child-catcher, is he?"

"Who?"

"Never mind, pet. So, what do you want to do? Boxing? Martial arts? Or just a good scrap?" He grinned at the boy and began to take off his shirt and boots. Connor followed suit and went to the weapons cabinet.

"These." He held up two swords. "I need to be faster."

Spike nodded and caught the one Connor threw at him. "Swords it is then."

They circled each other, testing the weight and balance of their weapons, made a few faints, and then got down to the serious business of showing off to the other how clever they were with the weapons. After a while Connor began to sweat, and even Spike was beginning to feel he was having a good workout. Neither of them noticed the quiet, dark figure perched on the stairs watching them, nor saw his smile of pleasure.

Angel stood up as quietly as he had arrived and went back up to Gunn.

Spike was concentrating on the figure circling him when he was suddenly assailed by a question the boy had clearly been preparing and rehearsing. "Why did he take me?"

"You'd better ask Angel "bout that."

"He won't speak of it."

Bloody hell. "It's all to do with a prophesy "bout you."

"Tell me."

Spike paused in his defensive movements, was about to try and frame an answer, when he stopped. He looked at Connor, and a slow grin spread over his face. "Later, pet, let's finish this, hey? You'll never get faster if you don't concentrate."

Connor seemed to accept this happily enough and went back to circling Spike. Spike could barely keep the grin off his face, as they continued to train.

When the two combatants finally emerged, Connor came up to Angel with glowing, excited eyes, wiping his face with a towel, eager to tell him about the training. Angel hesitated briefly, but then put an arm on his son's shoulders. When it was not resented or shaken off, he turned it into a hug, pulling his son tightly into his embrace. The vampire found this intimate contact surprisingly easy. His body, usually so stiff and awkward around the boy, melted into this wholesome flesh of his unnatural flesh. He wondered briefly if hugs earlier that day were still affecting him, for he did not tense, even when the hug was returned.

Eventually, Angel pulled away and teased Connor back up to his room, pretending to swipe at him with easy hits that the boy was fast enough to dodge.

He watched Connor go into his own room and then stretched his hand out behind him, knowing that cool fingers would take it. They went into Angel's bedroom together.

Spike slowly unbuttoned Angel's shirt. "Gunn?"

"He's all right. Fred took him home."

Spike nodded and began to undo Angel's pants. "You owe me one shower."

Angel chuckled. "You need one shower."

Spike twitched up his eyebrow. "I need washing, do I?"

"Hmm. There are places I'd like to clean, yes."

The water was hot and powerful and flattened their hair, filled their mouths, ran off their bodies, warming them. Spike loved the feel of his skin with this borrowed warmth and pressed his hands to Angel's belly to see if he felt as good. He felt better; so he left his hands there for a moment, pressing into the dense muscle, and then flaring them up and over the prominent, erect nipples.

Angel groaned and stretched up at the caress. Spike slid his hands under Angel's arms, into the soft dark hair there, running it between his fingers, untangling the silky strands.

They ignored their erections, even though these bounced against each other, the tips touching then twitching and jerking away. Angel put his hands to Spike's face and pressed his thumbs into Spike's eyes gently. This simple act seemed to confirm to Spike that something fundamental had shifted in their relationship since the intense kiss in the attic. Able to give so much pain, Angel now only gave him pleasure and gentle touches designed to flare the desire between them. This was not familiar at all. This was all foreplay and anticipation. This made them ache and moan and run shy hands over hesitant bodies. This was just the two of them without vampire defenses - and he ached to the human need in both of them.

Spike took his hands from Angel's soft armpits and moved them lower to other soft hair. Angel groaned as Spike's long fingers tangled and untangled his wiry curls. Spike rubbed them with soap and scrubbed them with his nails, scratching teasingly all around Angel's root, washing his balls and then up his shaft.

Angel smiled, took the soap from him and began to mirror Spike's soft ministrations. As he washed his childe, he lifted one of Spike's legs over his own, so his hands could slide right up between the slim thighs, soaping and massaging Spike's hard cheeks. Spike moaned softly as Angel began to wash around the puckered skin of his hole, dipping just the tip of his finger in repetitively, stretching and stimulating the sensitive nerve endings.

Spike groaned when Angel stopped, but the sound caught in his throat when Angel handed him the soap once more. That he was supposed to mirror the erotic washing was evident when Angel, with only a slight hesitation, lifted his own leg.

Disbelievingly, Spike began to investigate Angel with his finger. He could not press it in. Two hundred years of ingrained behaviors kept his finger outside, swirling around the puckered flesh. That was overwhelming enough.

Not for Angel apparently. He turned around and spread his arms out on the wall of the shower and pushed his backside towards Spike. His hole was visible from that position without Spike having to do anything, and the sight of his sire, spread like a minion and begging to be taken, entranced Spike.

He risked the tip of one finger and felt his knees go weak at Angel's deep groan of desire.

He moved his finger around, gently probing and stimulating the tight walls. He had to hold on to the shower with his other hand to prevent his legs giving away completely, for Angel had begun to pant, his head tipped back and his face held in the stream of water. The hot stream did not cover the scent of tears; Spike knew they were there and smelt the surrender and passion they heralded. It was so easy to take him after that - after this silent acknowledgement of their new relationship - for Spike realized with an ache of desire that he was not taking his sire after all: he was taking Angel, the man, and that thought was so erotic he almost shuddered as he placed his cockhead to the soft entrance.

Inside Angel: Spike could not make his mind accept that he was actually inside Angel's tight ass. He let his conscious mind go for a while; he could think about this later; now there was only the pushing and the pulling out, holding the cheeks apart so he could watch his purple-red shaft glisten in and out of the pale, smooth flesh. There was only listening to the moaning and the panting... and finding that place that would make his pleasure, Angel's. He found it, and Angel gasped. He found it again and again and again, his hard cockhead rasping over it, making it swell and throb... and then the gush of release for them both - Angel's against the tiles, Spike's against the swollen nub, into the unyielding channel, over his jerking cock and out into the stream of hot water.

Spike felt tears on his cheeks, too, but unwilling to let conscious thought back so rapidly, tipped his head in a mirror image of Angel's into the stream of water. He did not want to pull out. Angel didn't want him to either and clamped the muscles of his anus tight to Spike's penis, holding him in possessively. Spike lent against him, wrapped his arms around the powerful body, and tried to crush him into his body to make them one again. Angel's arms came around him and pulled him even closer.

Spike's penis began to stiffen again. Angel felt it twitch inside him, and he chuckled at the delightful sensation. He wriggled a little, back into Spike, grinding his cheeks into Spike's groin. Spike laughed as his erection began to demand that he thrust, as if this organ alone drove him. This time he wanted it harder, faster, and Angel seemed to want this, too, for he suddenly bent right over and grabbed his ankles. Spike gasped his delight, as he gained an unexpected two more inches of Angel's ass. He dug his nails into Angel's hips and began an urgent, rapid humping into the slick channel. Riding on his own spent cum, he thumped into the hole deliciously. Every time he thwacked against Angel's rump, his balls were pummeled and pounded; they began to protest and swell and ache so delightfully that Spike couldn't help soft cries of pleasure at the swelling. Angel opened his legs a little wider to improve his balance and, with one hand braced on the wall for support, he used his other hand as a matching channel around his own cock.

Angel came first this time, his orgasm making him rear up with its intensity; the powerful muscles in his backside spasmed as he came, and Spike found himself pounding into an ass so hard and tight around him that when his own orgasm hit him he cried out incoherent, meaningless nothings... that meant everything to Angel as Spike pumped uncontrollably into him.

Spike was almost too tired to notice the soft vastness of Angel's towels or the soft warmth of his bed. He willed himself to notice the entanglement and the entwining and fell asleep with a grin on his face that still seemed to be there on waking early the next morning.

Angel was awake; he was propped up on one elbow, watching him sleep. Spike stretched and turned to face him. "What? Poof."

Angel grinned, too, but then shook his head, questioningly. "Who are you?"

Spike laughed. "You allowing strangers to fuck you, Angel?"

Angel flopped onto his back. "I think I'm almost dizzy. Things happen to me too fast these days."

"Old fart."

Angel smiled up at the ceiling. "I've been thinking."

"Oh, bloody hell, am I going to like this?"

Angel opened his arm, and Spike accepted the offer of his embrace willingly. "We can't do this..."

Spike pulled away but, before he could open his mouth, a powerful hand clamped over it. "Shut up, Spike. Don't say a word until I've finished." Angel glared at Spike who just nodded, his eyes wide with suppressed anger.

Angel removed his hand but spoke in a rush, trying to get the words out before Spike could interrupt. "We can't do this in my room anymore; it's too close to Connor's, and you haven't really got a room yet; so what if I had that old attic space converted into a suite for you, and you could sort of..."

He didn't get to finish after all. He found it impossible to speak with Spike clamped to his lips like a blond limpet-mine. He liked it when the mine exploded, giving them powerful, matching orgasms merely from the feel of Spike's writhing body.

They pulled their mouths apart, impressed with themselves, watching their cocks sending the last few drops of cum between their bodies.

Angel looked at the space alongside him in the bed that Spike had so recently been occupying, and rolled, tipping him back into it. "There. That's where I've wanted you since you started this dumb plan of yours, Spike."

Spike nodded and propped himself up on his elbow. "Yeah, been kind of wanting to be here myself."

Angel stroked Spike's face thoughtfully. "Why didn't you just come in then?"

Spike shrugged. "You had Connor an" all... an" I didn't want to be... you know, in the way."

Angel suddenly sat up. "Spike! Are you jealous of Connor?"

Spike looked at the expression of slowly dawning comprehension on Angel's face. Looked back just to check that he really was only just getting this fact now and began to laugh. He couldn't control it... he tried to shout out "Duh!" but it got choked off in the threatening hysteria. Eventually, Angel clamped a frustrated hand over Spike's mouth and shook his head ruefully.

Spike calmed enough to push him away, and he hiccupped slightly as he said with a tiny slither of bitterness, "What do you bloody expect, Angel?"

Angel realized that Spike was serious and said incredulously, "That's what Wesley was all about, wasn't it? You were trying to make me jealous, too?"

Spike pouted a little. "Did it work?"

Angel laughed. ""Of course not. I don't care about Wesley anymore and... you're just... I mean..."

Spike sat up. "Good, cus I've gotta be going. He'll be wondering where I've got to."

Angel stopped laughing. "You're going to Wesley's now?"

"Well, duh! I need a bit of warm ass during the day, luv."

Angel watched Spike getting dressed.

He watched Spike moving towards the door with a jaunty, nonchalant stride.

He watched Spike open the door.

He slammed the door shut just as Spike was about to go through.

Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath and let it out slowly, his knees shaking slightly. "I actually thought you were going to let me go then."

Angel flattened him against the wall, his mouth just working lightly against Spike's ear. "I did too... for one minute... for one second."

"So, jealous then?"

"Enough to kill you, yes."

Spike tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and said intently. "Say that again."

Angel smiled and obliged. "Jealous enough to kill, Spike - you, him, anyone, everyone."

Spike nodded as if he were giving affirmation to some silent interrogative, then opened his eyes and kissed Angel. It wasn't as passionate as some of their earlier kisses. It didn't make either of them cum, or either of them particularly hard. They didn't lose themselves - they were both just there, both aware of themselves and the other... but the kiss sealed something between them that confirmed the strange newness of their relationship. It was possessive, but not the childe seeking the sire or the sire responding.

Spike kissed Angel, and the kiss sent shivers down both men's spines.

Eventually, Spike stood back and held Angel's face still. "I do have to go, and I am going to Wesley's. Be here when I get back and trust me, hey?"

Spike could see that this was pushing Angel's faith in him almost to the limit, but Angel nodded and turned back towards the bed without another word.

Wesley opened the door, recognizing Spike's distinct knock. The smile of unwilling anticipation slid off his face when he saw Connor standing a little way behind the grinning vampire. "Morning, pet. Put the kettle on; we've come for brekkies."

"Hello. Err... what...?"

Spike came in breezily, pulling the reluctant boy behind him. "Lad's got some questions, watcher. Best you answer them, hey? Way beyond me... prophesies and shit."

Spike left them to it and sat on the kitchen counter thinking about Angel and wishing he were back at the hotel. He doubted Angel meant it about the attic room - he'd known Angelus too long to have faith in Angel's largess. After an hour or so and no commotion, he went back into the living room. Wesley had his books spread around the floor, and he and Connor were sitting cross-legged together in the middle, studying some ancient texts that the watcher was translating slowly. Spike grinned.

"Come on, we've gotta go."

"No! We've just started, and there is so much here I want to learn. Look, Wesley has texts in Greek and Latin. I wanted to learn these, but we had no books, and father was too... it was hard there..." he faltered, aware - even though still so young - that he was giving pain to his new companion.

Wesley bowed his head. "I am so sorry, Connor. I never meant to..."

Connor looked at him steadily. "I have no reason to hate you for taking me. I know no other life and father was... Holtz was good to me and loved me, and now I have my real father back."

Wesley looked up and nodded, unconvinced. "I would like to help you to understand a little why I did it though... these..." he indicated his beloved texts "... will help you, I think."

Spike could hardly suppress his glee. "Yes, that's all very well, kid, but I have to get you back now. I have to go, and I can't leave you to get back on your own. Angled kill me... hah! Again."

He grinned happily at them, waiting for the characters in his new drama to do what they were supposed to.

"I could bring him back, Spike... when we are finished. I won't stay of course, or come in, but I'll bring him to the door."

"I'm not a child; I can get back on my own."

"Of course you can, but your father would be angry that you had to, and why make him angry when you don't need to?"

Oh, good little characters. Spike was pleased with them and nodded his approval of the plan as if that solution had not occurred to him. "All right. See ya, sprog."

He enjoyed the walk back through the sewers. There was a sense of anticipation that seemed to infect him even down there. He found himself humming slightly and laughed as he climbed up into the training room.

The hotel was deserted.

He felt a shiver of fear.

He checked Angel's room - empty. He checked the kid's room - empty. His room - empty. Loss, that familiar ghost, nagged at him. Every time... every bloody time he let his heart go, every time he let someone in...

He made towards the stairs to check the lobby and offices once more when he heard a crash from above. He looked up. He grinned. He took the stairs two at a time - they were clear now, the detritus of neglect having been recently cleared away.

Angel was almost lost in the gloom, but his preternatural body reflected the dim light from the windows. He was naked to the waist and... filthy. The attic, however, was clean and empty. He turned as Spike flew in, skidding to a halt in amazement. Angel only shrugged at the interruption and turned back to the last box he was shifting out into the hallway.

"I've got an architect coming over later today; I wanted to make it clearer before he took a look."

Angel was impressed and horrified in equal measure how easily and how quickly Spike managed to commit his money to the conversion. At the end of the long consultation, Spike wanted it left as one large room. He liked the rafters, so they stayed, too - Spike giving Angel amused, seductive impressions of wrists being bound together and suspended, as the architect innocently examined them. Spike wanted the windows replaced with newer ones and a spiral staircase put under one to give him access to the roof. He said he needed a wooden floor, so that was planned in at vast expense. Almost as expensive was the emperor-sized bed he ordered later that day with an assortment of quilts and blankets that would have kept him warm through even an English summer.

Most expensive though was the bath and shower that they had built at one end. Again, Spike didn't want walls confining him anymore and had these fixtures placed in the open space - just a tiled area of floor with small drains, indicating where one part of the room ended and another began. Angel perched alongside him on the empty boxes watching the fittings being plumbed in, convinced he would never be able to relax, showering with no walls around him.

Angel had had plenty of time to watch the renovations with Spike and became increasingly morose as he watched his son disappear every day. Connor had decided to learn not only Greek and Latin, but other more archaic languages. He studied avidly, almost as hard as he worked on his fighting skills with whichever vampire felt like giving him a lesson... but for the academic study, he only wanted Wesley. Spike watched them together at Wesley's apartment. The boy seemed to hang on the Englishman's every word, listening with rapt attention to the formal tones. A wistful expression sometimes crossed his face, and Spike knew that Wesley's accent had touched a nerve in the boy. It was time to turn his plan up a notch.

Spike let Angel's foul mood overtake him just enough to leave him pliable then casually said one morning, when Angel was half asleep and wrapped in his arms, "My old room won't be needed soon, pet. You could let the sprog 'ave it to study in."

Angel mumbled something in reply and settled back closer to Spike. "You could pop in then every so often, and see how 'e's getting along like. You speak all that shit, too, don't you?"

Angel smiled despite his better intensions and twisted around in the bed, looking at Spike intently. Spike squirmed under the gaze. "What?"

Angel continued to look; Spike began to get genuinely annoyed. "Angel! What?"

Angel laughed quietly and shook himself slightly. "Nothing. I just thought for a minute... no." He looked again. "Spike... has this all been part of some long and devious plan of yours? I mean... I'm here in bed with you... Connor and I are good together now... And Wesley... Is Wesley the final piece of some complex jigsaw in your head? Are you seriously trying to get him back into my life under the pretext of tutoring my son?"

Spike looked utterly scornful. "Bloody hell, Angel, if I could plan like that, I wouldn't be the total fuck-up I am... but thanks, mate... for the vote of confidence. Yeah... go on thinking that; that's real nice to hear."

Spike tipped onto his back, and reached for his cigarettes, smoking quietly and exclaiming his innocence of such Machiavellian ability every so often with a small shake of his head and the occasional tut.

Angel watched him for a while then put his head into Spike's shoulder and said quietly. "All right. They can use your old room."

"Oh. 'k, pet. But it's of no matter, like. Do what you want though. I mean, if you want that, then I think it's probably a good idea. Yeah, good idea Angel; I'll tell 'em you want them to study here then, shall I?"

"Shut up, Spike. Don't push it."

Spike grinned to the easy invitation and licked Angel's ear. "Don't push what, luv? This?" He slipped the tip of one finger into Angel and allowed it to play enticingly with the tight muscle, stretching it and ticking around it. Angel hissed in response and turned onto his belly, his face turned to one side, watching Spike.

"I'm going to write to Riley Finn and thank him for this."

Spike chuckled. "Include the Slayer in the note, too, will you... and be sure to say that William sends his regards."

The next day Angel tried to avoid Wesley. When the human emerged every so often from the new study to make himself some tea, or chat to his friends, Angel made sure he was elsewhere.

The following day Angel awoke alone. He tracked Spike down to the study. Spike was not only up and out of bed before lunchtime, but was sitting next to the watcher as he tutored Connor. Spike saw Angel and gave him a slight, distracted nod but, not noticing Angel, Wesley said something to him, and Spike leaned in closer, a hand resting lightly on Wesley's thigh.

Angel watched Wesley's face as he looked down at Spike's hand.

Angel stepped in.

Spike did not look up, but his hand began small circles on Wesley's thigh.

Angel leant casually in the doorway, not saying anything.

Spike needed to look more closely at the book, the light seemed bad in the room. He leant closer to Wesley and slid his hand a little higher.

Angel came closer and stood at the end of the desk, watching them.

He saw Spike put his face against Wesley's and open his mouth to speak; his lips would have almost touched Wesley's cheek if Wesley had leant fractionally closer. If the human had replied to the soft question he might have turned and their lips might even have...

... for the first time since he had tried to kill Wesley, Angel spoke to him calmly, preventing his reply to Spike. "How is Connor getting along?"

Finally aware of Angel's presence, Wesley moved his thigh; he kept his face averted and his eyes cast down, but replied with a quiet sense of authority in his voice. "He is like his father, Angel, smart and keen to learn."

"What text are you using?"

Wesley held the book up. Angel came even closer. Connor showed him some work he had translated. Angel corrected a word or two for him. Wesley disagreed. They began to discuss the translation. They stopped at a quiet sound and both turned to look at the blond vampire who seemed suddenly to have discovered a hole in the heel of one boot. "Did you say something, Spike?"

"No, pet, I was just thinking it might be snacktime. I'm starving... hey, sprog, wanna make some popcorn? It's great floating in blood, it soaks it up an" turns red slowly... an". Bloody hell - get a sense of humor you two. Come on, lad, I'll show ya..." He went out with an arm around Connor and a large, self-satisfied grin on his face.

Wesley knew that Spike had engineered his return to Angel Investigations, but he couldn't be too sure that Angel had not just allowed himself to be maneuvered. Once they had begun talking, Wesley's presence in the agency began to return to something of normality. For some reason Angel seemed keen to stay in the hotel more and was glad that Wesley took on cases once again. Wesley needed his office to work from, and his move back to his old, familiar desk seemed the final proof of his reinstatement.

He watched the slim vampire sometimes out of the corner of one eye as he worked. Then he would turn and watch his friends. These very separate parts of his life were... incompatible. He knew he could not have them both. His body occasionally ached for Spike's - just ached for relief - but his mind and his heart were satisfied with what he had. Once or twice, Spike caught his eye as he was looking at him, and their gaze locked on each other. Spike would purse his lips, and a thoughtful look would cross his face, but Wesley sensed no desire in the vampire for his warm, human body. This puzzled him slightly, for Spike's desire for him over the last week was the one thing he was sure about. He wondered if Spike had renewed his... relationship with Angel, but did not really see why even that would explain Spike's lack of interest in him. Spike, as the vampire had told him himself, did not see sleeping with Angel as anything other than convenient sexual relief, and something that did not impinge in any way on his other amusing activities.

Wesley was confused, and this confusion made him jittery and unnecessarily cool around everyone. He sometimes thought about leaving LA altogether - even returning to England - but the intense blue eyes always watching him as he thought this made his resolution falter.

One afternoon, he looked up from his desk and saw both vampires sitting on the stairs of the lobby. Spike sat one step behind Angel, and Angel sat between Spike's open legs, his arms dangling loosely over Spike's thighs. Spike had his arms lightly wrapped around Angel's neck and he was smoking a cigarette from that awkward position, his chin resting on Angel's shoulder, blowing smoke into his sire's ear. Angel was protesting, but not too much, and occasionally caught Spike's hand and brought the cigarette to his mouth to take a long, satisfied drag. This seemed to amuse them both intensely and their quiet, suppressed laughter reached Wesley quite distinctly in the office.

Wesley felt a pang of jealousy stab him until a quiet, serious voice behind him said, "Father is happy these days."

He turned to find Connor still pouring over his books, his back to the lobby, unaware of Wesley's thoughts or the direction of his look. He nodded thoughtfully at the strange coincidence and turned back to watch the vampires. He was: his beloved vampire was happy. Wesley could feel Angel's happiness and the last vestige of guilt at causing so much pain slipped away.

Spike's other hand had crept into a gap in Angel's shirt where one button had seemingly come undone. Angel had a hand on the wrist as if he were attempting to stop him, but again, he didn't seem to be trying to do this too hard.

The cigarette burnt lower; the hand got lower. Wesley could feel Spike's descent as if that hand lay on him. He jumped when a warm hand was placed on his arm, and Connor put a piece of work in front of him. When he turned back, the stairs were empty. Gunn came in, still limping slightly. Fred pretended to sit on Wesley's lap and laughed when he said she was too heavy. Cordelia tried to make him some tea, but it was undrinkable: a normal day at Angel Investigations.

The stairs remained empty, but he was not, and he smiled quietly to himself as he listened to the warm human chatter around him.

Chapter 10

In the quiet of the attic retreat, Spike would not let Angel move. He held him in an embrace so tight, Angel was glad he did not have to breathe. "Thanks, pet."

Angel smiled and tried to kiss him, but he couldn't move enough even to do that. "You're welcome, Spike. I am honored to be included in one of your schemes for once rather than being the victim."

"Never a victim luv, always just the reason."

"The reason? I don't get it."

"Yes, you do, Angel, frequently now, and usually for a considerably long time."

"Spike..."

"You're the reason, luv. You aren't the victim of my plans, you're the reason for them... the reason for me... just being, I guess."

They were quiet for a while, Spike just stroking Angel's back until he heard Angel's soft question. "Do you think he got it?"

Spike kissed into his hair. "I think he did, Angel. How could he not?"

"Good. I wouldn't want..."

"What, luv? For him to be hurt?"

Angel hesitated and being aware of his hesitation and the cause of it, only became more vehement in his lie. "No! He deserves whatever comes to him, but I wouldn't want him to be..."

"What, Angel?"

"Trying to take you from me."

Spike let Angel go and pulled him into a sitting position. "Angel, look at me." Angel couldn't and kept his face averted. "Angel! Look. Feel." Spike put Angel's hand on his arm, on his leg, on his belly. "I can't be taken, Angel. I'm strong, and I'd fight back. I'm not being taken anywhere. You're stuck with me now." He giggled slightly comma]and Angel looked at him a little confused. "I'll be here while you're changing your grandkids nappies... hell, when you're potty training yer great-grand kiddies maybe. Just as I am now, Angel... only maybe I'll work on me abs some more... just to keep reminding you how fat you are."

Suddenly, Angel gave him a strange look. He scrambled off the bed and dived for the door. He was gone only a minute... but enough time though for Spike to feel the icy hands of his ghosts trying to pull him down. Angel came back; he flung himself onto the bed. "Here." He shoved an open book into Spike's hand. Spike took a long smoke of his cigarette, tried to appear unconcerned, but looked down.

The hundred-year-old number, scribbled in the margin of Angel's book, had been crossed out and a bold "16" in new ink had been written and underlined. Spike smiled and tossed the book carelessly to one side. "Poof. Whose counting?"

Angel pulled the book back. "I am, Spike. We did everything as vampires. We've done everything as sire and childe... but now this."

Spike looked at him and pursed his lips; he knew what Angel meant, he just wanted to hear it.

Angel understood. "Everyday's most quiet need, Spike... that's new for us, isn't it?"

Spike smiled, pleased with Angel, and pleased with his unlife. He pulled his lover down into his arms, whispering half to himself, "This is our calm surrender to the rush of day." What poem is this from?]

Angel pulled away, looking at him questioningly. Spike chuckled, "Don't worry, pet, more modern poetry just saying the same thing, "s all. Just know, Angel: right now, for tonight, for eternity, it's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you."

He saw Angel's face, felt the almost overwhelming intensity of Angel's need for him and tugged at Angel's hair lightly and mockingly, "Come on poof. You'll be tellin" me you'll love me better after death at this rate."

Angel ignored the mocking tone. He climbed over the slim, chuckling body. He rubbed his hands over the hard muscles of Spike's belly, flaring his palms over his nipples and up under his arms. Spike stretched and watched the magnificent body above him. Suddenly he began to laugh openly. "Angel, take a shower."

Angel groaned and lowered his head onto Spike's chest. "No. Please, don't make me."

Spike pouted, even though he knew Angel couldn't see it. "I call that pretty rich from someone who's just professed to love me more than his soul."

"Don't misquote, and you know I hate it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Angel. No one will come in - I've got me "Spike's Room: Vampires Shagging - Bugger Off" sign up. You know I won't watch... look, I'll read this 'ere poetry book. 'k? So, shower. Now."

Angel gave in. He wanted Spike: he wanted to cum in Spike. If being watched as he showered would get him inside that tight body and have it writhing beneath him, well he'd do it. He stomped over to the odd arrangement and pulled the chain that let the hot water cascade down from the large showerhead. He shivered slightly, even though the water was hot, feeling as if many eyes, peering from the shadows of the room, were on him.

There was only one pair of eyes on him. Spike flipped over onto his belly on the bed and swung his legs contentedly, watching Angel. Angel was worth watching. It was now the body he remembered; hell, maybe it was the body his body was recreating: regular, hard, prolonged sex with him was clearly doing Angel good. He doubted - if push came to shove - whether he would be able to defeat Angel now. Each muscle was honed to perfection. Every inch of flawless skin glistened under the water. Every movement only showed the body off to more advantage.

Spike didn't stay on the bed for long. Angel knew he wouldn't. He felt eager arms encircling his waist, an erection pressing against his belly. No wall to brace against, Spike just bent over and Angel slipped into his body as if sliding his hand into a glove. Spike grunted as Angel rammed deeply in, he lost his balance slightly so reached over for the rim of the large, Victorian tub. There's a tub too or the shower is over a tub?] Spread, now braced, Spike became a vessel for Angel's passion. He rode into Spike's body with ever increasing force. His urgent panting filled the spaces in the large room - Spike's moans a low counterpoint to the sound of Angel's breathing. Angel wanted to cum deep inside Spike. He loved it when Spike took him, but this was... this was what he really needed. He heaved Spike up from his spread position, lifting him up slightly, and then ramming him down onto his hard cock. Spike cursed at the increased penetration and managed to groan out, "I'm cuming, fuck; I'm cuming."

Angel put his mouth to Spike's neck and, as he shuddered his orgasm up into Spike's body, he sucked Spike's blood out through a savage tear in his neck. In all ways, too many to count, he loved Spike, as their bodies melded in that dark room.

However much he wanted to, however much he got Wesley to take on more cases, Angel could not stay all day and night in the attic with Spike; he had a life and a job, both of which were gradually returning to as normal they as ever would be for him. Occasionally Spike stirred himself enough to help on a case, but usually he lounged with an impressive knack for doing nothing remotely useful for hours on end. Angel didn't complain too much, he liked the constant smell of cigarette smoke that had invaded his home, and the trail of mess that usually led to Spike's location. One day he slid quietly out of the office towards one of the couches in the lobby, smiling at the thin trail of smoke that drifted lazily up. He glanced around to check they were alone, then leapt with a screech of delight over the back and onto the reclining figure.

Connor screamed.

Angel screamed, but louder and angrier when he saw the hastily hidden cigarette.

"What are you doing?"

Connor looked mutinous. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I haven't told you anything yet. Give that to me."

"I can easily get another."

"Connor, that's not the point. Smoking is bad for you and will kill you. Besides, it's totally addictive, if you start..."

"Spike smokes, and you don't stop him."

Ah. Angel sighed. "Spike is an adult; he's not my son, and he's already dead." Angel was pleased with this decisive argument and held out his hand. "Now give it to me, and we won't talk about this again."

Connor threw the cigarette onto the floor and stormed off.

He came down later that day, smoking again.

Angel flew at him and ripped the cigarette away. Connor just laughed and took out a packet from his back pocket, waved it at him and ran out, pausing on the threshold in the sunshine. He stood in the sun and lit up, watching Angel carefully through the smoke.

Angel picked up a chair and threw it furiously in his direction and stormed down to his training room.

"That was mature." Spike sat down on the steps, watching Angel kicking the wall.

Angel replied between gritted teeth. "He's only a boy; he's not supposed to be mature."

Spike laughed and lit up. "I wasn't talking about him."

Angel paused and came up to him, ripping the cigarette from his mouth. "It's your damn fault, Spike. If you didn't..." he stopped and sat next to him on the step. "Sorry."

Spike relit and offered it to Angel who took it gratefully. "What am I going to do, Spike?"

Spike took hold of Angel's wrist and made him hold the cigarette for him, too. He blew a cloud of smoke up, thoughtfully.

"Want to leave it to me?"

Angel looked at him. "Is this going to be another cunning plan?"

Spike huffed. "Duh."

Angel still looked dubious. Spike grinned, patted him patronizingly on the head and jumped up. "See ya."

The next day, Connor came into Angel's office looking sheepish, slightly mutinous still, but with an obvious air of a teenager on a mission. Angel didn't look up.

"I'm sorry."

"What for, Connor? For smoking when I expressly asked you not to?"

"No. For using the sunlight against you."

Angel looked up sharply. Connor flushed; Angel could smell his blood heating in his body as clearly as he could see the warm glow spreading out on the boy's cheeks. He nodded, and looked back down.

"Father..."

"What, Connor?"

"Will you buy me a motorbike? Spike's teaching me to ride his."

Angel paused and wished he needed to breathe. He sighed deeply anyway and looked up. Before he could reply, Connor came closer and sat on the edge of the desk. "See, we have to ride together now, but if I had my own, we could..."

"Connor, how did we get from you having a lingering death through smoking to me buying you an instant death machine?"

Connor frowned and wondered, not for the first time, if this strange father of his was slightly dense. If seemed very clear to him... had been even clearer when Spike had explained it. "Well, I'll help pay for the bike by not buying cigarettes... think how much money I could save."

"You were stealing the cigarettes from Spike."

Connor had the sense not to point out that Spike had been giving them to him freely. "Yes, but I would have had to buy them soon enough... smoking is very addictive, father, and I would have been on... oh, sixty or seventy a day by now if Spike hadn't let me ride his bike. So, can I have one of my own?"

Angel smiled and, without thinking, put a hand on Connor's hair and ruffled it a bit. Connor blushed once more, but didn't move away. He took the affection as a positive sign and made a big show of not smoking for the rest of the day.

Spike, exhausted from his efforts on Angel's behalf, had taken himself off to bed for a vampire day. Even Angel had been forced to admit that the bed had been a good buy. It was large enough for interesting games, soft enough to sleep the sleep of the undead and, with all the blankets and quilts Spike had insisted on, it was a womb-like lair that shut them off from the world. It was also an Angel magnet, and Spike grinned quietly to himself when he felt the edge depress slightly.

"It's still day, Angel; shouldn't you be out earning our living somewhere? Ow! Bloody hell!" Angel smacked him again, the marks of his hand livid on Spike's naked backside.

"Fucking stop that! I'm not a bleedin" baby, stop with the smack... Ow!"

Angel knelt alongside Spike, his hand raised for another smack. He looked at Spike. Spike turned and looked back at him. Their eyes dilated, and Angel fell on him with a groan, blows raining down over the pale, writhing body.

Angel came over Spike, Spike came into the mattress, and they lay tangled in the spent fluids, their bodies shuddering with post-orgasmic delight.

Angel chuckled. "I was supposed to be furious with you. I was driven up here by fury. I remember getting onto the bed wanting to smash you, hurt you, and punish you. What happened?"

Spike propped himself up on his elbow and looked at him. "I'll look after 'im, luv. I'd never let 'im get hurt; you know that - not now. It'll be good for 'im."

"They're dangerous, Spike. He'll get killed."

"Life is dangerous, Angel; you can't keep him from it. If you do, you'll drive him away."

"But a motorbike, Spike!"

"Buy him a car then."

"What?"

"Angel! Buy him a car. Buy him a car an' teach 'im to drive."

"Me?"

Spike ran his finger lightly up Angel's cheek. "I can't give you his childhood back, Angel. I would if I could. But bloody hell, mate, you'll be missing all this if you don't lighten up. Buy him a fuckingly cool car, and teach him to drive!"

Angel laughed and rolled onto his back. He eyed Spike speculatively. "Sorry about the smacking."

Spike laughed. "No you're not. Wanna try it again?"

Angel sat up. "That's not us anymore, though, is it, Spike? We did vampire; now we're doing this. Every hour's most quiet need, remember? This is love? Hey! What? Shut up! Hey! No, you can't smack me! I'm your sire! Spike!"

Spike didn't stop. He brought his hand down hard and repetitively onto Angel's backside, the cool, solid flesh hardly shaking under his onslaught. Angel stopped complaining when the pain made him swell. He wanted to be inside Spike again, his penis aching to return to those tight walls - but Spike didn't let up. He continued to beat Angel until he came himself, in a shuddering orgasm over flesh he had bruised and bloodied. He lay down on top of Angel, rubbing his cum into the hot, stinging flesh. Angel groaned at the coolness of Spike's body on the unnatural heat and came into the mattress, his penis jerking and twitching its release until he took it in one hand and directed the flow.

Spike was silent for a while until Angel felt him slide off and make his way to one dark corner of his room. He turned his head to watch Spike's naked journey and frowned when he came back with something held behind his back.

Angel turned over, wincing a little at the unpleasant dampness in the bed. "Am I going to like this, Spike?"

Spike grinned. "Are you a vampire, pet?"

Angel smiled. "I used to be, I think. I'm not sure what I am these days. I don't seem to get a lot of time to think about it."

Spike sat on the bed and shook the hidden object slightly, flicking up one eyebrow. It jingled.

Angel made to see what was there, but Spike shifted back out of the way. He shook it again, this time lifting his eyes to the rafters above them.

Angel followed his gaze.

"Me, or you?"

Angel looked at Spike, debating his reply.

"Come on, Angel. The choice is yours... this time. Give pain, or receive it?"

"I thought we had moved past this, Spike."

"We've moved back to it, luv. It's not all we are anymore, but we can do it because we choose to. So, decide."

Spike hung from the manacles, twisting slightly in the filtered light of his room. The stretch made his broken, beaten body seem unnaturally thin, only contrasting more the size and urgency of his erection. He hung his head, waiting for Angel to begin again, longing for the pain that fed his demon and made it happy.

Angel stood slightly to one side, not looking at his victim, smoking - as if he were doing this merely as a pause in the torture. He grinned: this was the new torture - and how utterly appropriate it was. He put the glowing tip to Spike's red-tip and nearly came himself when Spike's scream rent the air. The smell of burning, preternatural cockhead just engorged him more.

He held Spike's body still to him and took another drag on the cigarette, reheating it, and then applied it to one raised nipple. Before Spike could gasp, Angel pressed his cool mouth to the burn and salved it with cool saliva. Spike moaned and tried to press his erection to something, but Angel avoided the contact.

He moved around to Spike's back and regarded the slim, swaying figure.

Each knob on Spike's spine was then decorated by a small circular burn. It was beautiful, so much so, Angel added some more across his shoulders. He was going through the pack of cigarettes very quickly and wanted one more mark before he finished. Spike had stopped screaming a long time ago. His head hung down, lost to the intensity of his pain. His cock, which had spewed its release so many times to the punches and the snapping of his bones, bounced softly and limply to one side of his thigh. Angel had not allowed himself to cum. He had saved up the power Spike's pain had given to his erection, savoring the final pain he wanted to share with his childe.

He took a deep drag of the last cigarette; lowered Spike slightly so he could stand and bear his own weight, spread his cheeks and put the slim, hot column to Spike's soft entrance. He hadn't expected it to go in, but it burnt the puckered skin; it seared the fragile nerve endings; it brought a fearful scream from Spike... and a begging for more.

When he had burnt Spike as much as he could, Angel pushed through the blistered edges of the hole. He rode on Spike's burn, tearing it open and making it bleed profusely. He reached around to hold the body still so he could penetrate it fully and found Spike engorged and needing release once more.

Unable to thrust without making Spike sway agonizingly away from him, Angel was forced to brace his legs in a half-crouch, thrusting up into Spike, lifting his limp body off the ground with each push. He didn't last long. The pleasure of taking Spike - unconscious, limp, bleeding and broken - broke Angel's reserve. His demon screamed; a flood of intense relief swept through his dead body, and he shuddered and jerked his release into the receptive body.

He carried Spike to the bed and laid him on the stained sheets. He fetched cool water and bathed the burns. He inspected each livid mark that matched exactly the spread and shape of his hand. He felt the broken bones over. Frowning at the damage he had done, he pulled Spike into his lap and, in a familiar and delightful gesture, sliced open his own wrist and began to feed his healing blood to his childe. It didn't take long for Spike to latch on himself and cling to the narcotic effects of the rich liquid. When he was sure Spike could manage on his own, Angel took care of Spike's erection for him, grasping firmly on the cockstem, pulling at it, squeezing the soft balls, teasing over the burnt and healing slit. Spike's groan against his wrist and the way he lifted his hips slightly to cum made Angel's penis twitch once again, but he willed it down, wanting to enjoy the sight of Spike's cum plopping gently out of the red, swollen tip.

Spike didn't speak as he came. He just shuddered, and then curled on his side slightly away from Angel and fell into a deep sleep, not waking when Angel pulled him closer. Intending to brood on what had happened between them, Angel drifted off to the smell and feel of Spike's hair against his face. Exhausted from inflicting so much pain for so long, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he was alone. Spike was not there anymore. He sat up with a jolt of fear almost as intense as when Connor's lie had sent him spinning in despair to Spike's room. He peered into the gloom, felt a cool draft on his face and looked up to the open dormer window at the top of the stairs.

Spike sat in his favorite small area of flat roof, his knees drawn up, wrapped in a rug, smoking thoughtfully. Every inch of his body hurt. He had only just been able to crawl out of bed to retrieve his emergency pack of fags before hauling his sorry ass up here into the cool night air. He looked over the spectacular view from his God-like position and felt... complete. His unlife was perfect. This moment was perfect. If he could stop, he would want to stop now, before it all changed again. For that was the problem... his whole life - everything he had - depended upon Angel. No Angel... no hotel. No Angel... no money. No Angel... no mind-blowing, gut-shuddering orgasms... and all right, he had to admit it... no Angel, no... love... nothing. Angel was everything: Spike's demon bits, his human bits, his unique just-Spike bits... they were now all captivated, entranced, and surrendered to Angel.

So, small problem... Spike needed Angel to be happy. To be happy, Angel needed his strange family around him, supporting him... and it was nearly all there... it was nearly perfect... except for that one missing link... and it was an important link; Spike could see that. He'd been wrong to think the watcher was the only one who could advise and counsel Angel, there was someone else... someone powerful, resourceful and brave.

Spike smiled as he lit another cigarette from the stub of his previous one. He had to admit - this last plan was not just for Angel. He wanted it himself: it wasn't often he met anyone who could see right through him to his core and still so obviously like him and approve of him.

So, Spike began to plan... but his expression changed the instant he realized Angel was watching him from the window ledge.

"You're planning again, aren't you?"

Spike smiled and shook his head sadly. "I wish I was as good as you give me credit for, Angel. Sorry to disappoint you... thumb's up me bum and coasting in neutral here, mate.

Angel climbed out and crawled over to join Spike, placing his back a little too firmly against the wall, peering anxiously over the edge.

"Must you do this here?"

Spike laughed and pretended to push Angel over the edge. He received another blow for his troubles and couldn't hide the wince as Angel's playful punch landed on his still aching body.

Angel took Spike's face in his hands. "Are you okay with... what I did?"

Spike gave him an incredulous look and leant back against the wall, maneuvering Angel's head down to his lap. "Luv, I'm a vampire; I thrive on having a burnt willy."

Angel sat up from the offending part and began to peel away Spike's blanket. "Let me see."

Spike gave him an outraged look and slapped him theatrically on the hand. "Piss off. I'm not letting you see my willy!"

"Spike! What the hell are you..."

"Angel. That was the bedroom, this is the kit... err, roof. It's totally inappropriate."

Not too sure that he wasn't just having the piss taken out of him, Angel allowed Spike to pull him back onto the soft blanket.

Grinning to himself, Spike stroked Angel's hair, running his fingers through the soft locks, occasionally sharing his cigarette with the quiet vampire in his lap. Angel tried to stay quiet, but after a few moments he said between gritted teeth.

"Stop it!"

"What, pet? This stroking annoying you? Too West Hollywood for you?"

"You're plotting. I can hear the cogs grinding from here."

"That's your fat belly rumbling, mate; I'm not doing anything."

Angel fell into a light doze as the soporific effects of Spike's hands on his face soothed his tired body.

"Angel... "been thinking "bout that old meat locker."

Abruptly woken, Angel's groan did not escape Spike's ears. "The meat locker?"

"Yeah, the one we..."

"I know what we did in there; why are thinking about it?"

"It was sound proof, wasn't it?"

Angel sat up. "Spike, what we do in your room is... separate to the rest of my life here. It's just us up here... private. No way are you having a torture chamber in the basement of my hotel."

"Angel! I wouldn't call it torture; I quite like your singing."

Silence.

"Angel?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't even go there, Spike."

"Oh, come on Angel. Even you've got to admit what a great club you could have in those old kitchens, and think of the benefits for the lad - he'd learn to get along with demons a bit, wouldn't he?"

Angel had buried his face into Spike's groin, had his hands over his ears and was humming so he couldn't hear. Spike ignored him and carried on, a hand on the strong back, circling his will into Angel's resistance.

"Yeah, a demon club. Might even bring in custom to the agency. Course, you'd 'ave to find someone to manage it, like..."

The End