Footsteps in the Sand - 3

That effectively silenced them both as they made their way through the basement of the apartment and into the complex network of tunnels under LA. Wesley allowed himself to marvel over Spike's navigational ability. He allowed himself to admire his purpose and speed. He did not let his thoughts stray to how good Spike looked in a borrowed denim shirt. He didn't let them stray to his wet hair or to imagine drying that hair as they stood naked together under a bright, warm light. He shook himself slightly and jogged a little to catch the vampire up. He glanced at Spike's face, noticed his set jaw, wondered once more at the perfection of the cheekbones and the long lashes... 'Shut up!'

'What?' Spike turned to him puzzled.

Wesley blushed deeply and was glad of the gloom in the tunnels. 'Sorry, didn't mean to speak that aloud.'

Spike smiled faintly. 'Oh. How much further? I need to kill something - quick.'

'Charming. Not far now. We should be under the museum, then we need to....'

They both heard a high-pitched, animalistic scream and started to run. Angel and Gunn were back to back fighting three horned demons with the usual assortment of fangs and claws between them. The new arrivals threw themselves into the fray. It would have been a forgone conclusion and over very quickly and easily, but for Wesley who, not on par, dodged a blow badly. Spike saw a claw tear across his shirtfront. Gunn dispatched one demon, Angel another, and Spike, after a brief struggle, the third that had attacked Wesley. They stood together for a moment, listening for any additions to the battle, then started their way back to the hotel. Gunn naturally fell into step with Wesley, and this left Spike to walk with Angel. Preferring conversation with horned demons trying to kill him than this infuriating Angel who was so bloody cold, Spike paused unnecessarily to fix his bootlace. Angel, being infuriating on cue, paused to wait for him. Spike had no choice but to pace alongside his sire in the dark. Angel let the humans draw slightly ahead, and Spike just knew he was in for some trouble. He was surprised at Angel's first question. 'Are you okay?'

'Err... yeah, four 'gainst three, luv, easy.'

'That's not what I meant, Spike.'

'Oh.'

'So?'

'So what?'

'Spike!'

'What? Yeah, I'm okay... fuck, Angel. I ain't been on holiday or summit - I was only gone one night.'

'Yes I know.'

Spike whirled around to face him; confrontation had always served as his best defence with Angelus. 'What do you bloody mean by that?'

Angel smiled faintly. 'I know it was only one night.'

This amplification made Spike see red. How dare Angel be so fucking... mature about this... this… what was this again? 'What did you just ask me?'

Angel smiled with genuine amusement but, as he had started to move forward, this was lost on Spike. 'I just wanted to know if you were... succeeding with your plan.'

Spike jogged to catch him up. 'What's he said to you?' Yep, adversarial... never let him down.

'Who?'

Bugger, he was forced to speak his name first. 'Wesley, Angel, who the bleedin' fuck do you think I mean?'

'That's an appropriate expression, isn't it, Spike? Loving the bleedin' fucks that keep creeping in recently. Are you trying to tell me something?'

'Uh? Angel, what are you blathering on about?'

Finally Angel stopped and turned to him. Unexpectedly, he took Spike's face in his hands and turned him slightly to catch some extra illumination from a chink of sunlight that meandered down through a hole in the street. Spike resisted at first but then allowed the intense scrutiny. Satisfied with something he saw in Spike's expression, Angel turned away and, before Spike could catch up, he was walking with the humans and engaging them in a perfectly comprehensible, sensible conversation.

Spike trailed miserably behind the trio. He felt like dragging his axe in the slime, but contented himself with slouching and sending Angel hateful thoughts. Everyone seemed out to make his life difficult, and he resented this immensely. All he had wanted was to hunt Wesley, seduce him, make him their sex-toy for a night or two, and get back to shagging Angel - it wasn't much to ask, and had seemed a good plan when it had occurred to him eight inches up Angel's arse only a week ago... and why the bleedin'... why the fuck did he have to think about that now when he was walking behind Angel's ass? He didn't want to watch those toned cheeks twitch in their soft grey pants. He wanted to watch Wesley. Oh... he could do that as well. Wesley's backside was just as much fun to watch as his sire's, and he started to undress them both and compare the ease with which cheeks parted to his eager, insistent hands.

'Spike!'

'Spike!'

'Spike....'

Finally roused from his pleasant revere, Spike realised they were back, and that Wesley was holding the hatch to the basement open for him. He climbed up but, as he took the cover, saw the human wince in pain. He pulled open the watcher's jacket and hissed at the raw, jagged slash marking Wesley's smooth chest. He turned to call to Angel, but Wesley laid a firm hand on his arm. Spike looked up at him, and their eyes locked. Wesley gave the faintest shake of his head, and Spike was overwhelmed by the emotion he felt pouring off the watcher. He paused mid-shout, and Wesley smiled at him. With that one smile Spike realised that he had lost the game, for there was no longer any game to be won. Far from Wesley being prey to be hunted and taken, this human had suddenly turned and met him face on in the killing field as an equal, and as an ally. For, as they looked into each other's eyes, they saw mutual understanding that Angel was the human-shaped universe around which they both gravitated, helpless.

Spike was stunned. He actually felt slightly dizzy. He was looking at a human and seeing it for the first time as an equal, as something… someone... that shared thoughts and emotions with him - something he had thought only higher creatures like Angel and Drusilla could do.

Wesley hung back from Angel as they went into the lobby, clearly unwilling to let Angel smell his blood loss. He turned pleading eyes on Spike so, although Spike wanted to tell Angel - although he was furious with Angel for not apparently noticing the state of his best friend - Spike held his tongue. He surreptitiously borrowed Angel's keys and, when the others were busy cleaning the weapon,s he led Wes slowly to the car and drove him back to the apartment. Spike still felt slightly light headed. He knew there were several reasons for this, but concentrated on the two most obvious ones: the smell of Wesley's blood, and the almost overwhelming realisation that Wesley was a great deal more than prey to him now. That there was a subtle contradiction between these two thoughts did not worry him unduly. What did worry him was what he was going to do about both. He tipped his head back momentarily, staring at the unedifying headlining of Angel's car.

Then he did something revolutionary. He did something scary. He spoke to Wesley as himself. No artifice, no games, and no personas - even his voice was different: it was the voice he used occasionally for Angel when they were alone, and had always used with Drusilla. 'You could have told him, Wesley.'

As if he sensed that he was in the presence of someone new, Wesley turned to Spike and, despite his pain, answered simply and without the defensive, aloof tone he normally used with Spike, 'He has enough to worry about. He lost one friend; he could not bear to lose another.'

Spike caught his eye, and Wesley saw his own passion for Angel reflected back at him. Thinking that Spike understood what this meant to both of them, he nodded slightly, as if the matter was now settled.

Spike carried Wesley up to the apartment and laid him on the couch. He peeled off the ripped jacked and shirt, dropping them carelessly to the ground. The wound was deep and already slightly puffy and infected. Wesley smiled faintly around his pain, 'Demon, I'm afraid. You never know where they've been.'

Spike laughed as he gently probed the edges of the cut. 'Oh, I think you could take a good guess though.'

'Thank you, Spike. That's conjured up all sorts of images I really didn't want just now.'

Spike patted him lightly on the head. 'Good, that'll keep you distracted then while I patch you up.'

'Doctor Spike?'

'Well, yeah... nearly two hundred years of fighting, mate, seen a lot of injuries... inflicted a lot of injuries.'

'On humans?'

Spike grinned and let his amber eyes flash momentarily. 'None that anyone need bother to patch up, no. So, what you got in the way of supplies?'

Wesley laughed openly. 'Just about everything. I'm a walking chemist shop... it's all in the bathroom.'

Spike fetched an impressive array of bandages, antiseptics - even a surgical needle and thread -and knelt down besides Wesley. He watched a trickle of blood seep down Wesley's ribs and soak into the fabric of the couch. It seemed such a waste: like watching money being burnt. The crimson drops caught the light as they left Wesley's wound; they gave off a low humming resonance that made Spike's still heart resonate back. His ears began to sing, and all other sound ceased in the room. He was falling forward, and the lake was very deep and very warm, and the waters welcomed him in....

'Spike!' Wesley's voice was hoarse and ragged, but there was no anger in it, only concern. 'Spike.'

Spike roused from his watching of the hypnotic blood, and put a hand to his face. Relieved by the smooth human form, he bent to his task of patching up the broken human. After a few moments, he paused and sat back on his heels. Wesley looked over at him, his eyes were wide and pooled with unshed tears of pain. 'What?'

Spike shifted on his knees slightly so he was closer to Wesley's head. 'It's not right, pet; it's too infected too soon. Dunno what was on those claws... all right, I won't go there... but I need to do something before I patch you up.'

'Do something?' Wesley's voice was little more than a croak.

'Yeah.' Spike looked down shyly for a moment and Wesley, once again, sensed the unusual candour he had felt in the car.

Quietly he repeated his question. 'Do something?'

Spike looked up directly at Wesley. 'Vampire spit, mate, it cleans and heals... keeps wounds flowing 'til they're healed I guess.... and has a bit of local anaesthetic in it or summit - so we can do it nice like, when we want to.'

'What?'

Spike tried again. 'When we bite, our spit goes into the blood and thins it, keeps it flowing and dulls the pain.'

Wesley began to laugh... as best he could, given his chest was slashed to the bone. Spike was incensed. 'Hey? 'S not funny; it's serious vampire shit I'm telling you here.'

'Leeches....' Wesley grimaced through his rising hysteria. 'Leeches... I always knew it. You're a leech, Spike.'

'Well, fuck you, too, Watcher!' but Spike grinned as he said it and shuffled back to Wesley's chest. 'Don't forget the healing bit as well; bloody sight more than leeches, I can tell you.'

'Maggots as well then.'

'Hey!'

'A leech and a maggot.' The pain from his laughter finally brought on the tears Wesley had been suppressing, and Spike took this opportunity to press his face gently to one end of the ragged cut. As soon as his cool tongue touched the burning edges of the wound Wesley's small movements on the couch stilled. Spike could smell the tears still streaming unconsciously from the human's eyes, but he was now silent and motionless. He ran his tongue over the whole length of the cut - not opening it up yet - just allowing his coolness to bring some initial relief. When he felt Wesley was receptive enough, he started to probe under the skin flap on one side.

The feel of the inside of Wesley's skin was exquisite. He had tasted nothing like it for years. He often wished he had known that he was to be chipped - he would have savoured his last kill more. He couldn't remember who it had been now or what they had tasted like, but he thought they might have tasted like this. The wound was very hot in the centre, and Spike let his tongue sit there a long while, easing his saliva into it. Eventually, the fresh, clean blood started to flow more urgently to his touch, washing the foulness of the demon away. Spike smiled around the flow and started to lick in earnest. Coppery fluid sent him into a frenzy of suppressed need. He swallowed again and again as the rich viscous liquid coated his tongue, and the walls of his mouth and his throat. His belly started to awaken from its enforced slumber. What was animal blood to a creature designed to feed on blood of the soul? He needed human blood; he needed to taste God flowing into him and being corrupted. It was his power and his blasphemy. Wesley was becoming him - flowing into him....

At first he felt only the lightest of touches on his hair, which he could easily ignore. The pressure increased and, eventually, Wesley's quiet but firm voice said, 'Enough,' and Spike knew his brief respite from burning need was over. Sadly, with a huge effort, he lifted his head. Dazed from the exquisite pleasure of feeding, he hardly responded at all when two feverish lips were pressed to his. Blood in his belly, blood swelling his penis, blood driving him, animating him - it was too much. Without the defences he normally wore around his heart... being just him - vampire - he fell from a great height and landed in a place where there was only need and desire and ... love for this human. The kiss exploded within him, sending shards of need into every part of his dead body. He tried to climb on top of the prone human and was only stopped when a deep, agonised groan played against his lips. Even this was superb, and Spike wanted to open his mouth so wide Wesley could scream into him and have that scream swallowed whole. Wesley pulled away though and began to pant, ragged, pained breaths sucked in with difficulty. Utterly remorseful that he had hurt his new precious obsession, Spike tenderly began to bandage the torn chest. He sat Wesley up and fed him some painkillers, then covered him with a rug. Wesley seemed lucid, but distant. He did not respond to Spike's light chatter, or to his offer of tea. Thinking this worse than it probably was, Spike got up to search the bathroom once more for something stronger to perk the human up.

He did not see the long, intense look that Wesley gave him behind his back. He had tasted a vampire's mouth. Why? Why had he pulled Spike from his chest and wanted to taste him? Had the feeling of being fed from been as stimulating as he had always feared and hoped it would be? The slight snuffling noises Spike had made, the pleasure Wesley had felt surging off the vampire, the feel of his fingers as they pawed unconsciously at his flesh, the purring... oh that light purring he had heard about, but not believed could be true... it had been more stimulating than Wesley thought possible. As Spike had lain on him, his penis had been rubbed under Spike's waist; he had swelled to the vampire's soft entry. The tongue slipping under the edges of flesh had, in his mind, slipped in between tighter edges, pushed in and swirled around deep hot channels that had never been touched, never been filled enough. Spike had moaned in his feeding, and Wesley had wanted to make him moan some more... a vampire body joining with his at last. When he had put his hands down to Spike's hair he had meant to push him in farther, encourage him more, sacrifice himself to the vampire's need - until he had seen the colour of that hair. The blond had shocked him momentarily. Dazed and in pain, he had wondered why it was not darker and longer and fuller and more easy to pull and entangle in his fingers. He always thought it would be. He realised, suddenly, that Spike had almost gone too far, that he was too empty, too drained - and had pulled the vampire away... but one kiss... could that be so wrong? He closed his eyes and pressed them to vampire lips and, in the darkened privacy of his own head, Angel's lips were as soft and as welcoming as he had prayed they would be.

Wesley woke in his own bed, lying on his back in pain, with a vampire draped around him like a second bandage. He lay very still, trying to get his bearings. He remembered the football, he remembered being sick over Spike... or was that someone else? He remembered a fight and being injured... but was that another time? It was a frequent occurrence in his current occupation. His pain told him it had clearly happened again. He remembered kissing Angel but, frighteningly, couldn't remember why or when this had taken place. He assumed this had just been a dream - again, a frequent occurrence in all his dreams - and then began to wonder why Spike was in bed with him, and why Spike was twisted around him like ivy. The only place Spike did not seem to be touching him was his bandaged chest, and he was grateful for small mercies. One cool, slim thigh was draped across his groin, one arm was around his neck, and Spike's face was buried in the hollow of his shoulder and he was... breathing... Spike was actually breathing into his warm skin with cool, drawn out, sleeping breaths. The sun filtered in through the tightly drawn curtains. Stubble pricked his face. He felt it was early morning and confirmed this when he turned his head slightly to look at the clock.

The movement woke Spike, who sat up. He didn't say anything, but watched Wesley closely for any sign that he was in love, too. He tipped his head on one side in his most endearing gesture just to help him out slightly and frowned when he saw no recognition in the deep, complex, human expression. At the frown, Wesley roused himself a little. 'What's wrong, and why are you in bed with me, Spike?'

For the first time in a long time, Spike had no ready answer to this. The answer in his head, "Cus I love you, and I want you now, and I don't want to think about anything else so don't make me", didn't seem quite appropriate. He couldn't believe it and flung his head back in annoyance when Wesley suddenly said, 'Have you contacted Angel and told him I'm okay?'

'Bloody hell! I said don't mention him.'

'No you didn't.' Wesley frowned, too, and they both sat in the bed frowning at each other for a while, puzzled as to what to do next. Spike solved the puzzle quite effectively, so he thought, by suddenly leaning forward and licking along Wesley's lips. Wesley had never had someone do that before; he'd only been kissed by three people: his mother had never been into licking of any kind (so his father maintained), his girlfriend found it hard to lick from her position of rigidity on the bed, and Cordelia had rather swum in his saliva too much for him to know if she was licking or not. Spike's tongue was soft and cool and sweet and ... needed to be tasted some more. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes and, once more, allowed Angel into him. Cool strong hands came around the back of his neck, strong thighs straddled his waist, and a surprisingly light Angel settled down on him for some prolonged, intense kissing. He was opened up; he was explored; his whole body was made to tingle with desire. Strong fingers worked in his hair, kneading his scalp to the pressure of the tongue. He slipped his hands up under Angel's habitually dark shirt, feeling up the strangely prominent spine. The feel of his warm hands on the cold back made the vampire squirm lightly in his lap, and Wesley groaned as friction made his penis throb. A hand slipped down, and he was eased out into the cool air. He put his own hand down and pulled the sheet higher to cover himself and felt the vampire grin into the kiss. Finally, desperate to breathe, he pulled away and leant his head back on the headboard. He felt a surprisingly soft hand against his face.

'Hey?'

He didn't want to open his eyes... but had to.

Spike, his head tipped on one side, was observing him curiously. Where had the Watcher gone? Wesley's tongue might have explored inside his mouth, but Wesley did not appear to have been attached to it at the time. He smiled faintly at him, as he moved his hand back to the swelling under the sheet. He didn't expose it this time, just put a hand lightly on it and stroked it thoughtfully for a while.

'What's wrong, Wesley? You want this, don't you? You kissed me last night, remember.' Spike did not miss the look that flickered across Wesley's face. 'You don't remember!'

Recovering quickly, Wesley fleetingly wondered how many other Englishmen had gotten themselves into situations they didn't want because they were too polite to say "no". 'It's not that, Spike, I'm... oh, I'm still hurt... look!'

They both looked at his wound for a while, and even Wesley had to admit that it hurt considerably less than it ought to, and was not too sore to touch. 'See, vampire spit.' Spike said this sadly, and as if his great gift had not been properly appreciated. Wesley could not bear to hurt anyone and impetuously leant forward to attempt another kiss. As he did, the sheet slipped off, and Spike's hand was finally stroking bare, aroused human flesh. Wesley closed his eyes once again and continued to seek for Spike's mouth. He opened his eyes, surprised when he appeared to miss. Spike had ducked his head down, slithered lower onto Wesley's thighs, and was swallowing him down.

Wesley gasped, flung himself back against the headboard, and couldn't have cared less who it was on the other end of his dick. It was... incredible: his first blowjob. He groaned, moaned, colours began to explode behind his eyes. A mouth, a mouth that talked and smiled and you could kiss, being placed around his penis! Lips stroking up and down, a tongue exploring, his slit being probed! Tight muscles drawing him out, sucking his sperm straight out of his balls - oh, shit! ... his balls being held, too. Thirty-four years old, and he had not known such physical pleasure existed. He risked looking down at the wrong vampire, found it easy, and watched with fascination as the blond head bobbed up and down, tasted, teased, and enjoyed him. He put tentative hands on Spike's hair and groaned his name. The movements stopped momentarily, so he groaned louder, and they resumed with intensity not there before. He didn't know which part of his groin to concentrate on. It was all pleasure, all tingle, all expectation, until the tip of his cockhead touched the back of Spike's throat. Then all thought focused only on that small, mushroom-shaped head, pictured it rubbing against the red wall of Spike's throat, seeing the slit oozing and stimulated on the slick column. He felt an orgasm swelling in his balls. They were encased by a cool firm grip, and the hand started to pump slightly as if it could sense his imminent release. He murmured Spike's name once more and, beyond belief, a deep resonate purring began in the throat that held his cock. It was too much. Heedless of his wound, he pulled himself as upright as possible and thrust himself further down that oesophagus, forcing himself in, burying his short rough curls against sharp features and eager lips.

He grasped the back of the vampire's head and started to ride out the most powerful and intense orgasm he had ever had. It washed over his entire body, draining the blood from his brain, making his ears hum, his heart beat rapidly, and the pleasure, oh, the pleasure as he came. He tightened his grip on the hair and thrust some more. He could see that tiny slit opening and pouring out its fluid, and the pouring sent waves of pleasure through his brain; it pumped on and on, and then swallowing... God, he was being swallowed! It made him weak with gratitude... he was swallowing him, 'Angel, Angel... yes, take me in.' He gasped the words as still more fluid poured from him....

...but the throat was withdrawn.

'No!'

The mouth was removed.

'Jesus, don't!'

The lips closed over.

'Christ, don't stop, don't stop.' Wesley's hand flew to his cock to keep the momentum of his orgasm going, but it was lost. He never quite crashed over into the replete satisfaction he knew that he could have found in that cool mouth... he opened his eyes. Ah.

Whose cool mouth?