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Footsteps in the Sand - 4

Spike sat back on his heels looking at him. He kept an open, level expression of deep consideration on his face, and finally only gave a small nod and started to climb off the bed. Wesley put a restraining hand on his arm. Spike didn't shake it off, only leant into it slightly as if for support, but then removed it gently with one of his own. He stood up.

'I'm so sorry, Spike... it was you....' Wesley trailed off. He could not imagine how Spike must feel and knew that nothing he could say would make it any better. How could he now tell him that he was happy it had been him, that he had wanted it to be him - until that intense blood drain had let slip unconscious thoughts he would now have withdrawn if he could. He could not. Too late... much too late. Angel's name had been spoken in that room.

Angel, Angel, Angel. The name resonated in Spike's brain. Where was he? Why was Angel not here? Why had he taken Wesley's penis into his mouth? It was warm and slightly soft, and he wanted the cool hard familiarity of the penis he had come to know almost as well as his own. So, where was Angel? Why wasn't he here, now, telling him what to do? Spike gave a small sob, half way between a gasp and a sigh and backed out of the room.

Wesley heard only the sort of cry anyone might make in those circumstances but, by the time he had manoeuvred his still sore body out of the bed, Spike was gone.

He'd never shopped for anything other than booze in a Pharmacy before. He had no need of human pills and potions, and found it all bewildering. He finally found what he was looking for and bought the toothbrush and toothpaste. When he got back to the hotel, it was almost lunchtime. He could see Angel hunched over his desk, Cordelia working on the computer, and Fred and Gunn in the kitchen, still giggling. All so familiar already; all so like home in only two weeks; all lost to him now. He slipped noiselessly up the stairs to his own room and shut the door firmly. He ripped open the packets and squeezed some of the stripy paste onto the shiny bristles. It tasted like Buffy, and he worked it around for a while, confused by the new sensation. Where was it all supposed to go? He sort of spat, wiped a bit, and decided he needed water. He peered cautiously out and made his way into the bathroom. He filled his mouth and started again. As he worked, he stared at himself in the mirror. Having no reflection, he could see what he liked for a while, until the truth overrode even his capacity for self-deception.

He had taken the game too far; he had been seduced to the extent that he had not even recognised it for what it was... just a game still. It had enraptured him, allowing himself to feel in love with Wesley. The heady sensuality of it had toyed with him... and what now? He had stirred up repressed desires in Wesley and ... then there was Angel... but again, where was Angel? Where had he put Angel for the last few days? His sire had not been tucked securely in his heart where he had been for nearly two hundred years. He had not been singing in his brain where he had been since their explosive reunion last week. He had not been tingling in his balls, which he did all the time, every moment of the day and night, Angel, Angel, Angel. Spike had packed him away and locked him down for a while, so he could make up rules for his game, break the rules he had laid down for himself, destroy the rules that held them together.

In breaking those bonds, he had lost Angel.

He had watched him fading away to be replaced by the amusement to be had from Wesley's brighter light. He saw Angel's recently closed-off face, heard Angel's toneless voice, replayed every moment when that face had withdrawn more, and that voice had slipped further away from him.

He brushed harder. He slipped into vampire face and tried that way, able to scrub now until his human gums bled when he returned to them. It was to no avail. He could still taste him, and knew that Angel would too... and in the taste of that cum, Angel would know the truth. Spike had never had any intention of sharing Wesley with him. He had wanted that human softness all for himself.

So, again, where was Angel?


Angel, it appeared was just outside the door. It was not locked, but he did not come in. 'Spike?'

Spike took one more look at himself, saw only a loathsome creature in that empty reflection, and opened the door.

He brushed past Angel, not looking at him, and went into his room. Angel followed behind him. Feeling trapped, Spike pushed past him again and went up to the training room. He felt better with a weapon in his hand and began to slash at Angel's punch bag with a sword.

'Don't do that.'

'Fuck off, I'll do what I like.'

'As usual, then.'

Spike whirled on Angel and Angel, seeing only a flashing sword, took a neat, necessary step back. Spike looked surprised, realised he was still holding the weapon and dropped it as if it were suddenly hot. He looked at his hands curiously as they began to shake. His knees wobbled, and he collapsed on the floor with his face buried. He did not realise that Angel had come towards him once more, until he felt an arm placed across his shoulders.

Angel knelt slightly behind Spike and watched his lowered head closely. All the pent-up and tightly controlled feelings spilled out and rapid emotion flickered across his face as he watched his childe.

When he thought Spike was ready, he tightened his grip and said quietly into one ear, 'Better it had stayed in our room then, Spike, after all?'

Spike raised his tear-streaked face to Angel's and shook his head fractionally, not understanding Angel's meaning.

Angel smiled, and Spike's dead heart flipped over a little at that look. 'I told you, little one, it isn't like it was for us anymore.'

'What do you mean, Angel, and why are you here like this? What the fuck is going on?'

Angel smiled and pulled Spike to his feet. He kept hold of his arm and led him over to the stack of training mats in the corner. He sat down and waited patiently for Spike to follow. Being Spike, he refused to do the expected, and hopped up onto the pommel horse instead. Angel tried to stay serious as memories of the feel of that horse slipped into his mind, but pulled his face back into the caring sire expression he was going for, and answered Spike.

'You had to see for yourself, Spike; you wouldn't listen to me. If I'd have told you no, you'd have gone after Wesley to spite me. So I told you yes, instead.'

'I wouldn't have... and what do you mean, told me yes?' Spike started to readjust one cuticle, and Angel knew by this simple, familiar gesture, that Spike was feeling under pressure.

'You asked me if I minded you having recreational sex... so, Spike, don't you see now why I said that I did?'

'Nope.' The cuticle started to bleed so, not looking up, Spike started on a new one.

'How do you feel now?'

At last, Spike looked at Angel. 'What do you mean? I'm just bloody peachy, mate, had a good time with ole Wes an'....' He trailed off, unable to sustain his own pathetic lie. 'Fucking awful. How do you bloody think I feel?'

'I know, I've followed every step of your twisted path, Spike.'


'Oh God, Spike, do you think I haven't been watching you every minute of the day? Do you think I don't hear every sigh you make, hear every breath you take? Jesus, Spike, I sense you when you aren't here, I long for you like I long for.... ' Spike looked up, amazed at Angel's impassioned tone. He had not missed its absence until this moment, and now the last week seemed like a dream where he had been the only one on a stage - all the other players merely backdrop to his obsessed performance. 'Like I long for my redemption, Spike. I love you more than I love my soul, and you think I've not been with you every step of the way this week?'

'You've hardly given me the time of day, Angel.' Spike knew his tone was petulant, but he couldn't help it.

'Spike, what would you have done if I had interfered?'

'Given it all up and given you a cuddle?' Spike couldn't help the small grin that accompanied these words and grinned some more at their effect on Angel, for he got up and came to stand between Spike's legs.

'Okay, Spike, in the alternate reality where you don't instantly obey my every wise injunction like you do in this one... in that reality, what would you have done if I had interfered?' He ran his hands up Spike's thighs lightly as he asked this, not catching Spike's eye.

'I guess I'd have gone hell for leather over it even more and probably ended up destroying everything. Like I've done.'

Now Angel looked up. He caught Spike's face between his hands. 'Nothing's even dented, Spike; all whole, all perfect.'

Not wanting to comment on all the implications of Angel's words, Spike contented himself with focusing on the negative. ''Cept Wesley, maybe?'

'Ah. So, you discovered the source of the Wesley reticence, did you?'

Spike's eyes flew wide open. 'You knew it was you?'

'Spike! Just how much of an anal cretin do you take me for! I'm hurt.' The playful way his hands were undoing Spike's fly, rather belied his words.

Spike was getting more and more angry with this know-it-all Angel. 'Look, mate, your ardent bloody admirer and number one fan was nearly killed yesterday, and you didn't even bloody notice that, did you?'

'He had a claw gouge eight inches long, about a quarter of an inch deep at its deepest, and it was slightly infected. You, no doubt, used one of your many interesting and useful orifices on it, and probably bandaged it up quite neatly.'

Spike stilled Angel's hands on his zip and tipped his chin up to look at him. 'Who's been playing games here, Angel? Have you been trying to fuck with my head.' He saw Angel's expression and laughed suddenly.

Angel tried to speak and took a few attempts to say with amusement, 'I don't even know where to start answering that, Spike. I'm not trying to fuck with your head; I'm trying to fuck with you right now....'

'No....' Spike still held Angel's wrists in a firm grip, but did not resist when Angel twisted his hands to be able to stroke the inside of his wrists.

'I've screwed it all up, Angel. You won't want to fuck with me when you know what I've done.'

'What, fucked Wesley, and suddenly discovered it wasn't what you wanted at all?'


'Doing impressions of Xander Harris, then? Ouch.' Angel winced as Spike gave him a quite effective Chinese burn to both wrists, but laughed at his outraged face. 'What else then, Spike, do I not know? That Wesley refused you? Ah, I see, he called my name then, didn't he? What were you doing? Thrusting inside him? Coming in him?' He watched Spike's face as he went through these alternatives. 'Ah, I get it, the tooth brushing... I thought you were trying oral hygiene for once... he came in your mouth, didn't he? And cried my name as he did?'

'You're a fucking wonder, you are, mate. You should be on the stage, reading fucking minds, and I hate you so much....'

'So much that you won't let me pull away now and get you out? Hate me so much that you won't let me see if the taste of you stays on my tongue?'

Spike grinned. 'No, not that much. Taste away, fucker.'

Spike watched thoughtfully for a while, as Angel bent his head to his penis and took it reverently in his mouth, but he was not finished with his puzzle yet. 'Angel?'

Not surprisingly, he got very little response. 'Angel!' He accompanied this with a tug to Angel's hair, and Angel reluctantly let the shaft slip out of his mouth and stood up.

'Err... what Spike?' He continued to play Spike's penis with his fingers, pinching the foreskin up and scratching a nail over the soft, spongy tip.

Finding it difficult to talk, Spike ground out between gritted teeth, 'So, luv, you said nothing broken? We're... okay, are we?'

Angel let the erection slip from him and took Spike into his arms. He pulled him off his perch on the pommel horse and pressed him standing up against the soft leather. Spike felt as if he were being overwhelmed, obliterated by the force of Angel's presence. Angel held his childe's head into the hollow of his shoulder. 'Spike, I love you more at this moment than I have ever loved or wanted you. It's like...' he paused, trying to find the right words, '...you've discovered human love, Spike. You thought you knew all about it, didn't you? You thought you loved me, but you loved me as a demon, Spike. You wanted to piss around and come back to me, like we always did. But I've changed, and I couldn't explain it to you. How could I? You had to see it for yourself.' He pushed Spike away so Spike was pinned between the leather and his solid body, forced to look at him. 'You're not pure demon anymore, Spike... no!' Spike tried to pull away, unwilling to hear this. 'You've become something else, as I have... different, but the same effect. We can't piss around anymore Spike. It's you, and it's me. That's all. No one else - ever. Do you understand?'

'So, not broken?'

Angel laughed at Spike's quiet focus on this important point. 'No love, not broken; never in any danger. I look after what's mine.'

Spike grinned and could feel his confusion ebbing away in the strong insistence of Angel's words. He didn't have a fucking scoobie what Angel was going on about - but it wasn't broken. They weren't broken. He wriggled an eyebrow suggestively. 'So, mate. Seeing as I'm out an' all, and up an' all... how's about you looking after what's yours properly?'

Angel fell to his knees before Spike had even finished. Spike lent back against the pommel horse, and enjoyed his blowjob. He wished he could have a cigarette, but they were in his coat. He wondered what Wesley was doing and idly imagined the mouth around him was a little warmer. He waited for the bolt of lightening to strike him down and, when it didn't - duh! surprise there then - he took the fantasy a little further. Angel's hair looked remarkably like Wesley's hair from this position, and he ran his hands lightly through it.

... If the taste of mint in his mouth confused him momentarily? Well, he sucked his teeth to get rid of it. It was good being a demon; you got blowjobs when you needed them, and you didn't have to think about complicated shit that got you all confused. As if he wasn't a proper demon anymore.... It was unthinkable. For if he wasn't, then what was he? He sucked a little harder to get rid of that unnatural, infuriating taste, and concentrated on thinking it was Wesley sucking him off. He had to admit that this forced fantasy was not easy to maintain. He doubted Wesley would be able to sustain prolonged suction and a non-breaking seal with his lips for over fifteen minutes. Angel was good; Spike had to give him that… and they were okay, that was main thing. If Spike read closely between the lines of those impassioned speeches, Angel had as good as given him his permission to carry on with his game… and he didn't need his permission anyway… but it was good to have, so what next? He had a tricky little problem to worry and tease out, and it was made of plastic and wires - or he assumed it was, he'd never actually seen it - and it limited all his fun. He could not seriously see himself pushing into Wesley's frail, human, virgin ass and enjoying, for long, the exquisite tearing that would inevitably ensue. More probably he'd end up in agony, the mood broken, and his glorious stonker… well, okay, his erection might even he helped along by the pain, but he wouldn't. Even he couldn't push on through that to the other side. So, dilemma… but that was of the good… problems were good; he was supposed to be a master strategist - fuck it, he was a master of strategy, and he would overcome… he always did.

He felt an orgasm building so put to one side for a moment the deliciousness of planning Wesley's seduction and let himself cum forcibly and enjoyably into Angel's mouth. He rode into the strong throat muscles until he had been totally swallowed, then slipped out and sank to his knees, too. Angel caught at his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Spike tried to resist this intimacy. He didn't mind blowjobs, but kissing when you were planning was too tricky. Besides, he didn't want Angel to taste Wesley… no, hang on, they'd covered that… he didn't want him to taste the toothpaste… no, that didn't seem likely. What else did he have in this mouth then that he had to keep from Angel? It was a puzzle, and it kept him occupied as they showered together and Angel dressed to return to the office.

Angel sat as his desk in his habitually still pose, waiting for Wesley to come in. He noted the human's slow walk and the care with which he lowered himself into his chair. He went out and sat on the edge of the watcher's desk.

'How's the wound, Wes?'

Wesley could not catch his eye, and took off his glasses to clean them to make that the reason for this inability. 'Oh, Spike told you then? It's fine... really, Angel, just a scratch, and I've been looked after well. I mean.…' Stuttering slightly, Wes replaced his glasses and reached for a pen as if that would steady his nerve. Angel put a soft hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. 'I'm glad that all is well, Wesley. I can't do without you here, you know that, don't you?'

Wesley blushed, pleased, and tried not to glance at Angel's thigh on his desk. 'Yes, well, you have me, so that's all right. Where… where are the others?'

'Spike's gone to bed, I think.'

'Ah. I think he sort of watched over me all night, so he must be tired.' It sounded lame, even to him, but Angel did not challenge him on the lie.

Angel was getting used to being lied to by those he loved the most. He only smiled at someone else's failed attempt to fool him and went back to his office, still chuckling slightly every time he thought of Spike and Wesley or, occasionally, Wesley and Spike - just to vary the images.

As usual when Spike slept the day away, Angel visited him once or twice. He'd been doing this on and off for nearly two hundred years and never tired of the pleasure it gave him. He loved to stand in the room and watch his sleeping childe. Spike was almost at his best asleep. Spike was not easy to love - he was easy to adore, to want, to need, to like, but love? No, not to love - that took concentration and effort, and an ability to see beyond what was apparent. Angel had discovered this ability to read Spike, and hence to love him with an undreamt of passion, in only one week, and the kick he got from it still absorbed him. It seemed to him now that Spike's emotions were encased in glass, and that he could see through this cage as easily as if it were not there at all. Nothing was hidden to Angel: all Spike's complex planning, all his volatile emotions, all his doubt and angst and passion - all there, raging against the glass. He never told Spike all this; he let him think he just had a sire's knack of good guessing sometimes. So, Angel could never stand and watch Spike enough as he slept, for he was watching something that held him utterly captive to love… but how much should he let Spike rage inside the glass cage before he hurt himself? Angel had watched, pained, as Spike had stalked Wesley. He knew that Spike's heart was more fragile than many humans' and feared that Spike would be hurt. He had watched Spike's increasing confusion over his game with that same fear. He had held Spike in his heart, silently, carrying him in his thoughts most carefully just as Spike believed himself to be abandoned. He had brought him safely out of the complexities of last night only to see Spike attack another wall and start the metaphorical banging of his head once more. He knew that Spike was not finished with Wesley and, after his close inspection of Wesley just now, he knew that Wesley was still very vulnerable to Spike's game.

Angel turned away from Spike and deposited the items he had brought with him, leaving as silently and as calmly as he had arrived. It was time to end the game. He was tired of it. He wanted Spike back in his bed, compliant, happy and … well, just Spike. Angel grinned. It was good being a demon - sometimes.

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