Demon Chemistry - 7

The bar was loud, crowded and high tech - chrome and steel surfaces reflected everything, everywhere. Spike shivered slightly and put his nerves down to the number of potentially lethal humans that might notice his all too absent reflection.

He took another drink and re-made his small house of beer mats. A dark-haired man slid onto the stool alongside him and ordered a drink. He was wearing a white linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves and an incredibly expensive watch on his wrist that caught the light and drew Spike's gaze. The man was sleek, prosperous and made him feel ill at ease and shabby. He took another drink.

A girl sidled up to the man, squeezing in between them. When he turned to speak to the girl, Spike saw his face full on for the first time. He was gorgeous, no more than thirty, and gave the impression that he was fairly concerned with how he appeared to the girl.

She angled for a drink, and he bought her one. She was about to sip it in her most practiced and successfully seductive way when the man suddenly said, 'Sorry, I'm waiting for someone.'

'Wait with me.'

The man shook his laughing, 'I would, but I'd be in trouble then.'

The girl shrugged but threw him a slightly vicious look and moved off. 'Think you pissed her off a tad there, mate.'

The man turned to him. 'It can't be helped. I'm taken.'

Spike nodded. 'That's life.'

'You?'

'I'm with someone.'

'Cool. You're British?'

'Nah. I just put the nancy-boy accent on in LA bars. It works a treat.'

The man laughed. 'You on holiday?'

'Yeah, kinda.'

'So, what do you do?'

Spike thought about this. 'Well, I kinda just holiday I guess… extended.'

'Lucky.'

'Not really. Can drag… you know what I mean?'

'Not really. My friends tell me I'm a workaholic.' As he spoke, he glanced at his watch as if he had somewhere else he had to be.

Spike nodded at it. 'Nice.'

The man looked down, pleased. 'Yeah, it's new. A present.'

'Huh. Someone likes you.'

The man chuckled. 'I was told it was to remind me that times they are a changing.'

'Uh huh. You've rich and cheesy friends then.'

'I think it's stolen, but I didn't mention it.'

Spike laughed. 'Probably a good idea.'

The man seemed to relax slightly and turned to Spike. 'You want a drink?'

'Always.'

'Jees, I love that accent!'

Spike tipped his head back and laughed. 'See! It's working already.'

Before the man could comment on the reply, his beeper sounded. He fumbled in his pockets and fished it out, tapping it morosely. When he got the message, he frowned. 'Sorry, got to go.'

'Work?'

'Always work. Told you. Look… err… I'm usually here from about eleven. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night?'

Spike laughed. 'There ya go! Something else you could use your stolen watch for!'

The man grinned and moved away in the crowd. Spike turned back to his drink and sipped it thoughtfully.



When Spike awoke the following day, the strange encounter in the bar came back to him. He rolled over in the old bed and glanced at the clock Angel had leant him. He groaned. It was almost four, and he had the feeling Angel would be pissed at him for not being more useful. He showered slowly, keeping his arm out of the water and made his way slowly down the stairs. He was right. Everyone was busy, everyone was working, and they all looked up at him with accusatory looks. He stared them down. 'I'm not being paid, so I'll do what I like. Where's Angel?'

'Still in bed.'

'What? What the hell am I up for then?'

Cordelia spluttered and said pointedly. 'I don't know, Spike, are you? He was working late last night. Where were you?'

'Busy, bint. F-off.'

'Why don't you take him up some blood, Spike? I'm sure he'd… get up for you.'

'Cordelia, could you help me with something here.' Wesley frowned at her. She completely ignored him and continued to enjoyably bait Spike.

Spike gave her a suitable sign and went back to bed.



Being Friday night, the place was even more crowded. Spike leant on the rail of the upper floor, watching the bar below. It was gone midnight, and the man had not appeared. He felt Angel trying to seek him, and kept him out by closing his eyes once more and allowing the sound of the mob to confuse him. When he opened his eyes, the man was at the bar, staring up at him. Spike did not acknowledge the look, but a deep tingle caught at the base of his spine and flared to his groin. The man looked as though he may have come from work, for he looked out of place in his faded jeans and shirt. Spike thought he couldn't have chosen anything better to wear, anything that suited him more. He didn't feel bad in the shabby familiarity of his own clothes, but still wondered if he ought to persuade Angel to buy him something new.

He watched the man's slow ascent of the stairs, noted with approval the bottle of whisky and glasses in his hand, and followed his progress to a booth at the back where he sat and poured out two generous drinks. He did not acknowledge Spike either, but they both knew each was acutely aware of the other's presence.

Spike pushed his way through the crowd and slid into the booth opposite the man. Only then did he look up from his drink and smile. 'Sorry, I got delayed. Work.'

'Bloody odd job you've got there, mate. You a doctor or something?'

The man chuckled. 'Not exactly. But you waited?'

'Seems so.'

'Why?'

Spike pursed his lips then looked at him through lowered eyes. 'Why do you think?'

Again, that intoxicating tingle coursed through his spine, and he wondered if the dark-haired man felt it too.

It seemed that he did, for he glanced shyly at Spike and said hesitantly, 'Are you trying to seduce me?'

Spike laughed out loud. 'I don't know. Am I? I've not had much practice at that.'

The man looked puzzled. 'Why?'

Spike grinned. 'Never had to seduce, been a kinda take man meself.'

'Ah. So you're not planning to just take me?'

Spike paused. 'I'm not sure if I could. Could I?'

The man didn't reply for a while, but then Spike felt a foot gently rub up his shin. He groaned and leant back with his eyes closed, and the foot made its inexorable progress up to rest against his groin. He put his hand under the table and took the man's ankle in his hand, rubbing up the leg slightly. When he opened his eyes, the man was looking at him speculatively over the rim of his glass. Spike twitched up an eyebrow and pressed the foot harder to him.

People began to mill closer to where they sat, and the man withdrew his foot and sat up again. Spike eyed him thoughtfully. 'You bothered by this? I get the impression this is kinda new to you.'

'It is.'

'Huh.'

'You?'

Spike hesitated. 'With a bloke, yeah.'

The man immediately rejoined. 'Well I meant that... obviously I've had women... I'm not a eunuch or anything... just… this is new.'

Spike grinned. 'Not a eunuch, hey?'

The man didn't blush, but he did fiddle nervously with his glass. 'I haven't dated much recently, I'll admit. I kind of got ... hurt a while back, and I've found it difficult. What about you?'

'I've ... never really been on my own; there's always someone, but they've not really meant much.'

'Why not?'

'There was someone a long time ago, and I got kinda screwed up. 'Fact, I kind of died, and since then I've been a bit insane.'

'You're making me feel real thrilled about this now.'

Spike laughed. 'I've been getting over it recently. I think you'll be okay.'

'So... you want to take this somewhere?'

Spike immediately tensed. 'What do you mean? Your place? Bit… sudden, ain't it?'

The man smiled, amused. 'No, not my place… not yet, anyway. I know a bar I think you might like.'

'Why, is the booze free?'

'No, it's English.'

'English booze, I don't understand? Cider? Bloody ale?'

The man laughed. 'The bar is English… it's a pub; I thought you might like it.'

'Oh, this'll be good.' The man frowned slightly at the tone of cynicism in Spike's voice, but got up anyway.

Spike trailed after him to the parking bays and eyed the car up with interest. 'You got a small dick then, mate?'

Again, the man did not blush, but he looked faintly annoyed. 'What?'

'Well, hell, someone with a car like this is usually… compensating.'

'I got a deal.'

'Huh. It's nice.' He hopped over the door. 'I feel like bleedin' royality.'

'Didn't your mother ever tell you not to get in cars with strangers?' Spike turned to him and gave him an impenetrable look.

'No, funnily enough, mate, she didn't. Bad mother, hey?'

The man merely grunted, put the car in drive and swung away from the curb. Spike leant back against the door and watched him drive.

'So, tell me about your work.'

The man looked at him. 'Tell me about not working. That sounds much more interesting.'

'Nah, I told you, lots of hanging around and daytime telly. It's boring.'

'Why don't you get a job?'

'Good question. I've been thinking about it. Had a sort of an offer recently; I'm just checking out the staff perks, and I may take him up on it.'

The man seemed to find this amusing for some reason and didn't speak for a while then said, still laughing, 'Good pay?'

Spike pouted a little. 'Better be, or I ain't doing it.'

'What line are you in?'

'Mayhem.'

The man spluttered slightly. 'Is that a company name?'

Spike smiled. 'Good idea. Maybe I'll set up me own subsidiary of this geezer's empire. "Mayhem Incorporated". Then I could have fuckingly cool business cards too. Oh, and a beeper that goes off all the time.'

The driver didn't reply to this, but a faint smile played about his lips.

'So, how far's this pub?'

'Here,' and he swung in front of a mock-Tudor facia from which the sounds of laugher drifted out.

Spike eyed the outside of the pub with mounting horror. 'I'm gonna hate this.'

'Why?'

'I have … if it's done up to look like a tavern, I'm leaving.'

The man seemed to think this through, then said rather quietly. 'I'm sorry; I thought you'd like it.'

Spike instantly regretted acting like a prat and laid his hand on the man's thigh. 'Hey, sorry, mate, just me old fuck-up stuff coming back. Sorry.' He looked down at his hand. The man moved his thigh, stretching the faded denim over his incredibly toned muscles. Spike groaned and looked directly into the brown eyes. The man held his gaze and began to lean forward. Spike mirrored him, and they kissed - eyes open and wondering what they were doing. Spike closed his eyes first, and his hands snaked up to the back of the man's head. He twisted his head slightly to one side and probed at the other's mouth with his tongue, seeking entry. He was allowed in, and the man's hands took Spike's face, and his thumbs ran over his sharp cheekbones. Spike felt desire flaring up through his groin, making his nipples ache to be touched and his body to be penetrated. He wanted to take this man, too; he wanted to hear him grunt as he was thrust into; he wanted to cum deeply into his body. The stranger seemed to sense his thoughts, for he moaned louder and then pulled away, staring intently into the blue eyes that held his gaze.

Spike fished in his pocket for his cigarettes and lit up, staring at the man through the smoke. He leant back and watched Spike, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'We're going to do this tonight, aren't we?'

Spike nodded. 'I think we are.'

'Hotel?'

Spike shook his head. 'Nah, too restrictive. My place.'

The man jerked his head back, seemingly a little floored by this. 'You… err… have a place? Here in LA…? I thought…'

'Come on, I'll show you.'

Spike directed him through the near-deserted streets to the abandoned factory he and Angel had cleared of vampires. The man looked at it, looked at him, and didn't switch off the engine.

'No way.'

'Hey! Respect, man… or some such poofy American expression. This is my place.'

'Since when?'

'Well, okay, I dragged in a few supplies this evening, but possession is nine tenths, ain't it.'

The man ignored the question. 'Supplies? I'm not liking the sound of that.'

'Mattress, booze, music. Supplies.'

'Oh I thought you meant…'

'What… thought I was some kinda freak… gonna torture and eat you?'

The man fiddled with his watch almost unconsciously. 'No. I knew that. Mattress then.'

'Yeah. You coming in?'

'Yes.'

Spike heard the faint beeping sound and tuned it out - he had other slightly more important things on his mind. It was only when the man cursed and fished in his pocket that he realised what the sound was.

'No!'

'I'm sorry.' He looked down at the message. 'Fuck. I've got to go.'

Spike looked at his face. 'What's wrong?'

'Get in; I'll drive you back into a better part of town, but I have to go - NOW!'

'I'm good here. Go. Tomorrow night?'

The man suddenly leant over and seized Spike's mouth with his own; he pressed himself as much to Spike as he could and said intensely. 'The pub. Soon as I can.'

Spike nodded, ran his hands lightly through the man's thick brown hair. 'See ya.'

He hopped out and watched the tail lights of the car disappear into the dark night. He sat on the mattress in the old factory for a while, smoking and thinking. Angel came to him, trying to enter, and this time Spike let him in. He didn't let Angel look around and kept his eyes closed, just enjoying the joining. He sensed Angel was annoyed and angry about something, so he put some time and effort into appeasing him, keeping his mind carefully closed off to other things he didn't want Angel to probe.

He sensed Angel with humans, sensed his anguish about one of them, and followed him to a hospital - the harsh fluorescent lighting illuminating Angel's mind.

The hotel was very quiet when he returned, only Cordelia there anxiously sitting by the telephone.

'Gunn's been hurt.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'How?'

'Angel told me.'

'Oh. Where is he now?'

'Dunno, still at the hospital, I guess.'

'Where have you been?'

'Why, bint? What's it to do with you?'

'Don't hurt him, Spike. If you do that, I'll kill you, and you know I can.'

Spike looked defensive. 'I'm not gonna hurt the fucker. Why should I? 'E's giving me this place to doss in, ain't he?'

'He's been mister grumpy-demon face all day. And it's something to do with you; I know it. You're avoiding him; don't deny it.'

Spike flicked a casual eyebrow up at her. 'Maybe. Maybe he's avoiding me.'

'Why? I thought you two were… God! Blush, much!'

Spike smiled and was about to reply to this but heard Angel's voice outside and slid quietly upstairs.



The man was leaning on the bar when Spike arrived. Again, he was dressed inappropriately for his surroundings, this time in black leather jeans and a dark plum coloured silk shirt. The clothes made Spike shiver slightly, and he watched the man's backside with a fascinated lust as the stranger leant casually on the counter, one leg hooked over the rail.

Spike didn't even notice the décor, the atmosphere, or the other drinkers until, with a shiver of distaste, all his senses were overwhelmed at once. There was a large television screen in one corner of the pub, raucous East-London accents blared out from some soap opera. A small group of men with distinct bum-cracks - who Spike could only assume were English - were playing darts. One wall was decorated with brasses, one with pictures of horses and dogs, another with pictures of regimental dress, and the last with stuffed badgers, foxes, and one small squirrel, presented over a saddle and some tack. Spike shivered again and felt he had walked into England after a nuclear winter… a microcosm of every pub in the land, all bundled together in this one place as if to preserve some cultural identity that did not exist anymore anyway. He almost felt nauseous - so close to home, yet so far away.

Totally ignoring the man he wanted almost more than he could say, he made his way over to the darts players and challenged them to a game. He smiled at the nagging thought that he only wanted to do something that would show him off to his best advantage... but allowed himself, this one time, to be the poof. He shrugged off his coat and flexed his arm, feeling the man's intense scrutiny from behind. It actually put him off his stroke, and he laughed, dropping his arm and shaking his head apologetically at his opponent. He tried again, but almost twitched as the staring made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Regardless, he threw and, without even bothering to see where the dart landed, turned away to take the offered drink from one of the players. A chorus of appreciative murmurs followed his accurate throw. Spike took a long drink, as he watched his opponent take his turn.

He was there in his peripheral vision now, a dark presence at the bar. Spike blinked slowly, and then looked up, wondering if time had somehow slowed down, for the man was coming towards him. Beat: he wanted his heart to beat - anything to express physically what was surging through his body. Dead like this, he was repressed; no physical manifestation of the desire and the need was possible. Too close for normal personal space, the focus of all Spike's attention stood behind him as he waited for his next play. He could feel the man's soft breath on his neck, could feel light brushes of their clothing as other people jostled them.

He swallowed and took his turn. Just before he let the dart fly, he turned briefly and for the first time saw the man's expression. He missed the board completely and frowned, annoyed at the hoots of derision from the other seasoned players. Someone else was chuckling, too. Spike pushed past him on the way to the bar, deliberately making the push a little too forced, a little too hard. The man staggered slightly, but continued to chuckle and followed Spike to the bar.

'I see I have the same effect on you as you have on me.'

'Huh. Don't see you missing your aim and acting like a total jerk, mate.'

'You've not seen me at work all day.' The thought that the man had been thinking of him all day pleased Spike, but he tried to retain some street cred - albeit English street cred, which was subtle and no one knew you had it - and just ordered them both a drink. Suddenly, he turned to the man, embarrassed.

'Err, sorry, luv; I'm a bit skint… until I take up that job offer, ya know?'

The man eyed him thoughtfully, perhaps wondering if he was being taken for a ride, then seemed to make the decision not to care, and flippantly threw a large note on the bar. He collected the drinks and nodded at an empty booth in one corner.

Spike watched the soap for a while - anything not to have to begin the conversation. He didn't know what to say other than "fuck me now", and that didn't seem much of an opener. His companion suddenly chuckled and leant his head on his hand, just watching Spike. Spike allowed this for a while, and then said slightly aggrieved. 'What? What ya looking at, ponce.'

The man frowned. 'Don't call me that; I don't like it.'

Spike raised an eyebrow, incredulously, but said nothing.

After a while, a quiet voice said, 'I'm looking at you, because I can.'

'Hmm, thought that's what you were doing. Like what you see?'

''Yes, I do. It's a bit street punk for me, but new is good, too.'

Spike looked at him. 'Huh. What's your usual style then?'

'I've usually gone for people I can dominate, I think. I've been told I'm a control freak. I fold laundry. Hell, I iron laundry. Sad, much?'

Spike laughed. 'Don't even own a bleedin' iron, me.'

'I'd noticed.'

'So… totally incompatible then?'

'Seems so.'

'So… that's not your foot travelling up me leg then.'

'Maybe we've got body parts that are compatible.'

Spike laughed and groaned at the same time at the man's ability to keep a totally straight face. He slid further down the seat to make access easier. 'I really want you to speed up there.'

That made his companion smile, and he kicked off his loafer and pressed his bare foot to Spike's bulge. He raised one eye and twitched his lips. 'There you go, totally compatible; my toes are going to orgasm right now.'

Spike narrowed his eyes and looked at him through lowered lids. 'I don't want toe-cum on my jeans. I only washed 'em last month.'

This only got another faint smile and an increasingly educated fondling. Spike moaned softly and buried himself in his drink to cover. 'You're gonna have to stop that, or I'm gonna cum.'

'Good.'

'Not good.'

'Yes good.'

'What if it was me only shot tonight.'

'Oh. Not good then.'

'Why, you got plans?'

'I have.'

'Hmm, that sounds promising. What?'

'Total compatibility check… all body parts.'

'Oh, God… stop! Now!'

The foot was reluctantly withdrawn. The man sighed, amused. 'Guess I'm getting the next round in as well?'

Spike laughed, slightly crunched up. 'Yeah, and not just cus I'm skint.'

'So, what do you think of this place?'

'It's fucking awful.'

'Oh. I like it.'

'What? You've been here before?'

His companion took a sip of beer before he replied carefully. 'Yes, I like the atmosphere. An old girlfriend of mine was British, and it reminds me of her.'

Spike looked at him rather bitterly, but when the man caught the look, said, 'Don't say British.'

'What?'

'I said, don't say British. I won't call you a ponce; you don't say British, 'k. It really pisses me off.'

'Jees, what crawled up your ass?'

Spike looked away in disbelief at the inopportune time for this question but looked back, surprised, when a deep, amused chuckle from the man opposite him made the drinks on the table rattle slightly. He tipped his head to one side, studying the laughter. 'You should do that more often, pet; it suits you.'

He was given an odd look and suddenly deserted as the man went to fetch more alcohol. He didn't come back directly, but lingered chatting to the barman. A girl slid up to him at the bar in a near repeat of the incident when they had first met. This time the man didn't brush her off so fast and shared a drink with her, clearly flirting slightly.

Spike pursed his lips, looked down at his empty glass, kicked at the opposite seat for a while.

When his companion returned he didn't look up and maintained a stony silence. Once more he felt the foot, not bothering now with the slow journey up his leg but just pressing into his slightly subsiding erection. When he got no response, he said, still with a slightly amused tone to his voice. 'What's wrong?'

'Why did you do that? Are you trying to prove something to me?'

'Err… do what?'

'Skank off with that girl.'

'I'm not going to laugh, but I assume that was some kind of Brit… English joke? Skank off meaning…?'

'Meaning I'm sitting here, wanting to fuck you in that leather 'til your smug soddin' backside bleeds, an' you …'

'Smug. My backside is smug? Interesting.'

'Shut up. Is this a cultural thing, mate? Cus where I come from, you don't do that. That's plain bloody rude.'

'Hey. I'm sorry. It was work.'

'Oh well, I feel better now. Now I know I was stood up for work… AGAIN!'

'Yeah, sorry.'

Spike felt this was going badly wrong and debated bailing and just making his way back to the hotel. He played with his rings as he weighed his options carefully.

'That one's cool, where'd'ya get it?' Spike's companion leant over and held one of his hands as he looked at the intricate silver ring on Spike's thumb...

... and that was it. That was all it took.

Spike stared at the tiny space where their skin touched. It was alive; it was trying to eat him whole, and he wanted to lie back and be swallowed. There was no hesitancy, no mistaking intent: desire flooded them both, and Spike felt himself swell to hardness at the look he was given. 'I want you.'

Spike almost choked back, his voice as lost as the rest of him. 'Yes, now.'



The man seemed to remember the way to the factory, for, although Spike didn't speak, he found it easily. He didn't seemed phased this time by the thought of entering and followed Spike as he made his way up the central stairs. He only started to look puzzled as Spike ignored the top level and went higher through a small hatch and out onto the roof. The man looked around in wonder. 'Outside.'

Spike chuckled. 'Yeah, something wrong with that?'

'No, only… ' He was stopped short by a hand on the front of his shirt. Spike was swirling one finger around one small button. The man looked down and chuckled. 'About time.'

Spike laughed, too. 'I've only known you two nights, I'd say this was kinda fast and furious, but you're from LA, guess your reference points ain't quite the same.'

The man ignored him and watched, seemingly mesmerised as Spike undid each button in turn. When the shirt was undone, Spike slipped it from the broad shoulders and let it drop to the floor, standing back to admire his handiwork. He couldn't keep the look of intense desire out of his face as he cast his eyes up and down the semi-naked body.

Spike came forward and pushed the man's chest. He was forced to back away, his heels catching on the edge of the mattress. He smiled and fell deliberately. Spike eased onto him, straddling him, moving slowly up his body until he sat on the solid thighs. He rocked gently, tipping his head back at the feel of the tight, filled leather beneath him. The man spread his hands to the edges of the mattress, clenching and unclenching his fists to the rocking motion. Gradually, Spike began the slow seduction he had planned. He put out a hand and turned on the CD player, soft rock music drifting out across the roof. The man turned his head, his brow wrinkled. Spike laughed at his expression. 'Trust me, luv; it's real good to shag to.'

Spike picked up a bottle of lotion he had purloined from Angel's bathroom and poured it liberally over the naked chest beneath him. Again the man frowned at the bottle, but relaxed as the scent of the lotion spread between them. He put his hands to his jeans, but Spike batted them away. 'All in good time.'

'Are you going to... I mean... am I... who is...' The man closed his eyes and tipped his head to one side in his confusion.

Spike ran a finger over his smooth cheek. 'I want to show you what it's like. Will you let me?'

The head jerked back, the eyes widened, and a soft sense of inevitability crept between them. Spike felt the man's resistance ebb away. They were strangers; they might never meet each other again; there were no winners here and no losers.

Briefly, Spike felt Angel trying to reach into his mind, but he shut him out once more. He closed his eyes and listened intently to the music and, after a while, Angel's frantic search for him ceased, and he withdrew. When he was alone again, Spike began to run his hands over the man's chest, flaring his fingertips over the erect peaks of his nipples, loving the sensation. With his gaze intently locked on the stranger, Spike began to unbutton the jeans. His hands were slick from the lotion, and he fumbled over them, laughing at the man's look of amused superiority. 'I usually rip 'em off me victims; this ain't so easy.'

'Victims? Am I your victim?'

'If you don't help me get these off you will be, yeah.'

The man grinned, finished his own undressing, raising his hips with Spike still straddling him and easing the jeans off, throwing them carelessly to one side. The boxer shorts Spike coped with quite well, they tore satisfactorily, and he threw them in the direction of the jeans.

The man now lay naked beneath him. Spike gave a low, appreciative murmur and saw the hard, lean body swell beneath him at this admiration. 'Do you know how beautiful you are?'

The man laughed and turned his face slightly. In the gloom, Spike could not see if he blushed or not. 'Hey, don't turn away from me.' He took the man's chin and gently turned the face back to him. He ran a thumb over the lips, and they parted at his touch, a light nibbling given to the tips of his fingers. Gradually, more and more of Spike's fingers were taken into the man's mouth, and as he fed his fingers into the welcoming cavern, Spike leaned down to follow them with his tongue. He lay on the man's cool, slick chest, and they explored their desire for each other with their mouths. Spike had never, ever experienced a kiss like it. The one in the car had been intense - this one made him want to ... cry… and being dead, demonic, hard, evil, bad and generally pissed off most of the time, that was ... a revelation. He didn't know why it was; the kiss just seemed to make suppressed feelings and memories well up in his mind, until he felt as if he were suffocating. He pulled away, and the other looked at him with an unreadable expression. 'Can't breathe?'

Spike laughed and felt his own foolishness. He leant back down to lie on the man's chest once more and just stared into the dark eyes, looking back at him. He felt a pair of strong arms snake across his back, a pair of strong legs entwined themselves over his backside, pinning him completely. He tipped his head to one side and wriggled. 'You making me your prisoner?'

'Could I?'

'I don't take to rules and boundaries well, no.'

'Would you try to run away from me?'

'If I did, would you come after me?'

'I'm not letting you go, so we'll never know, will we?'

'We have to leave this roof sometime, luv. We're just strangers passing in the night, remember? I don't know jack about you, and you...' Spike laughed at the irony and truth of his assertion, 'you surely don't know diddly squat about me.'

The man began to nuzzle into Spike's neck. 'What could there be to know but this? What could I need to know but this skin, this taste, and this smell? What more could I want but your voice, your body, your thoughts, and your desires?'

'But what if I turn out to be different... not what you expected?'

'I have no expectations, so how can I be disappointed? I just want you.'

Spike asked the question he dreaded. 'And then? When you've had me, what then?'

The man laughed. 'Then I'll have you again.' He kissed Spike's ear. 'And then I'll have you once more.' He pushed his face into Spike's hair and inhaled deeply. 'Then I'll have you just one more time.' He licked lightly over Spike's lips. 'And then I'll start again and just have you.'

'Ponce.' Spike was flipped over onto his back as the word left his lips. Strong hands explored him; he was undressed and lay supine, his naked body now explored and examined. When the insistent hands began to raise his thigh, when a strong finger began to explore him inside as well as out, Spike suddenly rolled them back to their original position. They lay, flesh on flesh; a low melodic beat washed out of the player and seemed like a pulse in the night between them. Spike bend his head down to kiss the man, and the man came up to meet him, and they were lost to the feel of the flesh and the swelling of their bodies. They rolled repeatedly on the mattress, sliding down the other's body, surging back up for mouths to meet, tumbling over so backs could be stroked and explored. Their penises were dominant between them; every touch made sensitive tips send frissons of pleasure into their balls, every rub and roll over each other making them groan and moan their need. They were melding into each other, strong bodies, each taking pleasure from the other as they would have it given to them. Being both men, they knew where to touch, what to lick, and what to play with and tease. The lotion gave way to more natural lubrication between them as cool precum leaked out and salted their already sweating bodies.

Spike found himself on top; his penis lay on the man's. He lifted thighs; he took his achingly hard shaft in his hand and hovered it over the man's puckered, tight hole. His mind hovered, too, until a hoarse, raspy voice said, 'Do it. Do it now before I change my mind.'

So he did: he pushed in on sweat, precum and lotion, and the tight muscles clamped around him; the anus spasmed in fear at the intrusion; the man gasped and cried out ... and then Spike began to move gently against the stretched walls. Now the anus spasmed in pleasure; now the man gasped in surprise; now the muscles relaxed, and Spike moved rhythmically to the pulse of the music, to the pulse of the man's deep breathing and to the pulse of his dead heart.

He could not feel the small gland when he hit it, but the man did. He sat up slightly and cried out, grasping desperately for his own erection and marvelling at the way it swelled to the movements inside him. In the intensity of his own build up to orgasm, Spike watched the man's expression avidly; he drank in the look of surprise; he fed on the look of ecstasy. It only made him harder, and the man felt the increased swelling inside him, for he gave a low, feral grunt of pure lust at the feeling of being so full.

Spike needed more than this lyrical rhythm: he needed more than the gentle thrusting. He looked down, put both legs over his shoulders… and dug in for some real vampire action. As the man began to scream, Spike turned up the music, so the sounds blended seamlessly into his consciousness, as he rode the whirlwind to his release.

He stabbed. He thumped. He whacked. He worked from side to side. He mashed himself around inside the tight rectum, and his body thrust him into a crashing, thunderous orgasm. His cries blended now with the music, drowning out any sound from the man, but Spike watched the man's face screw up as if in agony or ecstasy, and a string of cum arced from his cockhead, splattered over his chin and dripped off onto the smooth, heaving chest.

In the eye of his storm, Spike calmed. He marvelled that his heart did not beat: he felt it ought to be leaving his chest like some cartoonish red pump, in and out, in and out. He let the man's legs slide off his shoulders; they crashed into the mattress as if their owner didn't have the strength to control them. Spike slipped out on the cum that ran back down the man's rectum, and he just knelt at the end of the makeshift bed, watching that opaque dribble as if it signified a great deal more than sperm leaking out of another man's backside. Eventually, he roused enough to turn the music down and lie beside his silent partner. They lay on their backs, side by side, neither speaking. Spike felt the silence acutely and pursed his lips a little, wondering what to say. He had no idea what the other felt or thought about what they had done together.

Suddenly, he felt Angel probing at the edges of his mind. He initially, instinctively, tried to shut him out. He reached over for his cigarettes and thought through the consequences of letting Angel in, as he drew deep breaths of smoke into his lungs. He had only to close his eyes, listen more to the music, and Angel would have been dead and blind to where he was and what he was doing... but Spike didn't. He opened his eyes to the night sky, then turned to the man lying next to him and studied him intently, letting Angel see every inch of the sleek body. He examined the hair; he looked intently at the face in profile; he let his eyes hover over the nipples, swollen and flushed from orgasm; he lingered over the trail of cum, glistening in the light from the candles; he paused long over the springy thatch of hair and the penis, semi-hard still and twitching from the recent release.

Satisfied that he'd shown Angel exactly what he was doing, he turned back and folded one arm under his head and smoked contentedly, waiting for some reaction.

As if the man had felt the intense scrutiny of Spike's eyes, he turned and propped himself up on one elbow. He turned Spike's face to him and smiled. 'I look like a grade-A ponce, Spike, thank you for that.'

Spike grinned and kissed him. 'You've been a ponce for nearly two hundred and fifty years, Angel; you should be used to it by now.'