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Footsteps in the Sand - 5

Wesley was surprised that Giles called for Angel and summoned him to Sunnydale. He had always found Giles stiff and formal around Angel and had assumed that's what usually happened when someone tortured you sadistically for hours. He knew he wasn't too fond of Darla, and always went particularly English whenever her name cropped up. That Angel should come out of his office, announce he was needed in Sunnydale for a few days, and leave, puzzled Wesley. He knew that Angel had just been up to see Spike and wondered fearfully if Spike had said anything about last night. He doubted it - he had the distinct impression that Spike was as wary of Angel as he was - but he couldn't be sure by Angel's expression as he left.

He worked quietly for a while, trying to make up for a lost day, but the room at the top of the stairs drew his attention continually. He desperately wanted to try and apologise to Spike, but how do you do that to someone you had called by another name as they sucked you? How did he face Spike, not only knowing what they did together, but also knowing that Spike now knew of his hidden desires? What use would Spike make of those secret thoughts? What a weapon he had unwittingly given the vampire that only a few days ago he would have staked without compunction. Wesley could stand the indecision and fear no longer. He made one of the longest journeys of his life to Spike's room. He knocked hesitantly, but then pushed the door open and went in. As Angel had claimed, Spike was asleep - naked and asleep - the twisted sheets barely covering his rump. Wesley coughed a little but got no response. His heart began to beat too rapidly, and he glanced over desperately and longingly at the open whisky bottle on top of Spike's fridge. Could he? It was still only day. Like that damn daytime TV, he felt boundaries were being crossed. He took a long drink anyway, and the familiar warmth and courage seeped into him. He poured a drink for Spike and took it to the bed. He stared at Spike's naked backside. It was incredibly toned and each cheek would cup nicely in a hand… and what had he come up for? He took another drink. Spike stirred slightly and turned over. The sheet half turned with him, but just visible, just outlined and darker than the rest of the surrounding flesh, Wesley could distinctly see a patch of dark hair. It drew his eye, so he looked away and took another drink.

It was incredibly hot in the room, and the ticking of a clock somewhere started to beat inside his head. A raging thirst began to consume him, so he took another drink. Embarrassingly, his lips seemed a little numb, and some of the whisky dribbled down his chin. He wiped it on the back of his hand and stared in fascination at the damp trail left on the familiar skin. He jerked up and felt that he'd been staring at his hand for a long time, but that was not possible. Spike would have woken surely?

He shook Spike's shoulder and coughed again.

'Stop that irritating bloody coughing, will ya? I've been awake since you put one foot on the stairs, Watcher. Will you never remember I'm a bleedin' vampire?'


'Cop a good look?' Spike sat up, but this time he did not cover his nakedness. He'd done the "I love Wes and am incredibly embarrassed and shy" bit - it had been fun while it lasted, and he thought he'd played it particularly well (especially the part where he'd backed into the wall; that'd been a nice touch, and he filed it away to use again later) - but it was time for more direct tactics. His naked bollocks had always worked well for him in the past, so he gave them an airing now.

Wesley cringed and shrunk into himself, downing his fresh tumbler of whisky in one go. 'What'd'ya want then, pet? Wanna finish that orgasm properly?'

'Good grief, Splike.' Wesley tried again. 'Good glief, Spike.' That wasn't much better, so he poured another drink to try and loosen his stuck tongue. 'I came to aporrogise for what I did, and why are you wobbling?'

Spike tipped his head on one side and took the glass from Wesley. 'How much have you had today, mate? You're pissed as a fart.'

Wesley reared up slightly, but his muscles betrayed him, and he sort of slumped instead. He put a hand out to Spike for support, and Spike pulled him further onto the bed. Wesley gratefully lay on his back and watched Spike spin above him. 'I am not. I do not dwink durinnng the day.'

'Uh huh.' Fortuitous was the word that sprung to Spike's mind. This strange incapacity seemed to get around his little technological problem very nicely. He tried a small experiment and poked Wesley in the arm. A giggle. He poked a little harder in the belly. A distinct chuckle. He jabbed against the bound wound and flinched, waiting for his bleeding fun-buster to kick in. Nothing. Wesley continued to lie on the bed happily chuckling to himself and, apparently, trying to take his glasses off with a wandering, inaccurate hand. Well, wasn't this a nice little fishy served on a little dishy? Spike knew exactly what to do with wandering hands. He peeled off Wesley's shirt - it was like taking proverbial from a baby. He undid Wesley's jeans and removed them as well. He played with the silk boxer shorts for a while, enjoying the feel of Wesley's soft cock under his hand. It did not seem to harden, which was a disappointment, but there was plenty of time. He started to get off the bed. 'Gonna lock the door, mate… don't want….' He frowned as that maddening taste of mint returned briefly. 'Anyway, need the door locked.'

Wesley replied dreamily, 'No need, pet.' He giggled at the nickname. 'Angel's flown to Sunnydale.' This sent him into paroxysms of laughter, and Spike turned from the still open door and shook him slightly.

'Why? Why'd he do that? What did you say? Was he going to see Buffy?' And that bloody toothpaste was driving him mad… that was the last time he would ever brush his teeth if he lived to… fuck, for eternity. No more mint!

'I don't know, Spike.' Wesley tried annunciating every word very slowly and very precisely, and seemed pleased with the effect. 'He did not say, and why am I naked?'

'Cus I'm going to fuck you are you sure he didn't say why he was going? How did he look?'

'Broody.' Wesley burst into laughter again at his own brilliance, and Spike straddled his chest with a menacing look.

'If you laugh one more bleedin' time, Watcher, I won't care about this chip; I'll rip you a new hole and fuck you through that.'

'Oh, goody, where?'

'No! That's fucking irony, you bleeding pillock! Fuck Wes, what are you bloody on?'

'Your bed….' Spike gave up trying to get a cognisant partner. He'd shagged things a lot less attractive than Wesley drunk. He squirmed back a little and pushed the wobbly, unresponsive thighs up. Okay, he could do this. He ignored the giggling and took his cock in his hand. He closed his eyes and started to work himself to full hardness. It wasn't bloody easy, what with the manic giggling and the fucking mint. He tried to concentrate and ran lightly through his favourite fantasies, and even tried some he'd not used before. Nothing. He screwed his eyes tighter shut and reached out his other hand to explore what should have been an enticing, puckered entrance but was beginning to seem like his fucking nemesis.

His hand was captured and stilled in an incredibly strong, cool grip. He opened his eyes, and it was like looking into the eyes of the devil himself. He couldn't speak, but had no need to, as Angel leant into his ear. 'Good boy, Spike, you've got him ready for me.'

His voice returned but, at the squeaky tones that came out, he wished it hadn't. 'What?' He coughed and tried again. 'What?'

'Undress me, Spike. I want that body under me. I want his warmth.'

'Look, Angel….'

'No, Spike, this is what you wanted; now undress me.' Spike didn't obey, so Angel only smiled and did it himself. He stood provocatively at the side of the bed, stripping - as if to music only he could hear. Wesley lay and watched him from the bed, but both vampires could sense he might as well have been watching baseball: he seemed to be making no sense of what he was seeing. Spike frowned at Angel's nakedness, and his obvious arousal. He put his hand out tentatively to the arousal he had not seen for many days and had missed like blood, but Angel batted his hand away. 'Move over.'

'Angel….' He was pushed off Wesley, and Angel took his place. Angel had no problem with the small hole; two slickened fingers slipped in easily. Spike sat back on his heels, fascinated and revolted in equal measure, and something else that he could not name, but that screwed him up inside and tore at him as if it were a chip in his belly.

Angel grinned and stretched himself over the pliant body beneath him, running his hands up from Wesley's groin to the chest, tweaking his nipples then nestling them under his warm armpits. He groaned slightly at the feel then slowly drew them back down the same trail. He bent over and swirled his tongue around the small belly button and sat back on his heels laughing with glee.

'I'd forgotten how much nicer warm skin is, Spike.'

Spike hit lightly at Angel's arm. 'Nicer than what? Angel?'

Angel only turned to him with a feral look and shoved his fingers higher into Wesley's ass. He closed his eyes momentarily then began a slow, even thrusting and probing that made the human pant and moan.

Spike put a hand on Angel's arm. 'Don't do this.'

Angel ignored him. 'Oh, fuck, Spike... I've found it. Here, feel this.' Angel withdrew one finger to make room for Spike to play too. Spike only looked at him horrified. 'Come on, I've found... oh, God... I'd forgotten... his prostrate, Spike... feel it... and look, his cock is rising; I'm good.' Angel glanced at Wesley's face, but the watcher was staring unfocused at the ceiling fan, his eyes jerking in their sockets and slipping out of line slightly.

'Angel....' Spike's voice was full of suppressed emotion that he could not yet have named, but Angel interpreted it, nevertheless.

'Come on, childe, I'm not going to fuck him alone... you wanted this, so here you are... enjoy it, will you?'


'Jesus, Spike, stop the record, will you? Angel, Angel, Angel - you broken or something?' Unbelievably, at Angel's mocking tone, Spike's lower lip began to tremble - what was bleedin' wrong with everyone today? Was he drunk, too? He frowned and bit it, but it didn't help; it continued to wobble and then started to pout. When Angel began to work a second finger leisurely into Wesley once more, Spike had had enough. The trouble was, he couldn't see too well for some reason, and couldn't stop him. He dashed the back of his hand across his eyes to clear away... was it smoky in here or something?… and saw Angel bending over to lick across Wesley's stretched and slightly bleeding entrance.


He pulled at Angel's shoulder and put himself firmly between them.

'What are you doing, Spike? Do you want first bite? Oh, you can't... well, first lick then? Go on. Share and share alike.'

'I don't want to share.' Fucking hell! Voice shaky too?

Angel laughed. 'You don't want to share... fuck you, Spike! You aren't getting him all to yourself; I've ruined that little plan of yours.'

They fell finally, tears rolling unchecked down his face. 'Not him, you bloody wussock, you! I don't want to share you!'

'Ah.' Angel sat back on his heels, regarding Spike carefully. 'That's different then.'

Spike wiped at his tears once more and turned his face away, shamed, but Angel held him by the chin and turned him back to face the intense scrutiny. 'So, are you just worried we might be broken again, doing this to get some reassurance, and going straight back to banging your head against another wall?'


'Spike....' Angel forgot the irony and saw he needed to be extremely clear. 'Why don't you want to do this? This is exactly what you wanted: me, you, Wesley, all naked, all in bed. Think of it; think of the things we could do, how many permutations, how many times we could cum, and in how many places.'

'I ... I .... '

'What, little one? What?'

Totally undone by Angel's soft, caressing endearments, Spike flung himself off the bed and made for the door. Angel caught him easily and propelled him forcibly into his own, adjacent room.

'Let me go, wanker.'

'As if that's going to ever happen, Spike.'

'Go back to Wesley, if it's what you want so much.'

'If I'd have wanted Wesley, childe, I wouldn't have drugged him insensible and left him on the bed.'

Spike paused in his useless struggling. 'Drugged?'

Angel giggled faintly, 'Yeah, he's been on the roof, Spike.'

Spike jerked his head back, clearly puzzled. Angel's eyes twinkled slightly with barely concealed glee. 'Oh the ropes?' He smiled at Spike's naivety and filed away for future interesting games the fact that Spike had obviously not kept up his obsessive interest in psychedelic fun.

'Never mind, childe... just take my word for it; if I wanted Wesley, I would have him. Just like you.'

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed, miserably studying his bare feet. Would he look good in a toe ring? 'I thought you'd gone to Sunnydale.'

'I thought you'd try to trick me and fuck Wes behind my back, so that's what you were supposed to think.'


Angel came slowly over to the bed and climbed on, kneeling behind Spike. He wrapped his arms tightly around the resistant body and leant into Spike's ear. 'Come on, Spike, let's go back, yes? Roll that warm body between our cold ones, so he won't know where I begin and you end?'

Spike twisted around with look of abject horror of his face, not just at Angel's near-exact capturing of his recent plan, but at that actual thought. 'No! I said, I don't want to. I can't share you, Angel.' He looked forward, momentarily, with confusion and fear flickering across his face. 'Why is that? What does is matter what I do, what you do? It was supposed to be the sharing it that mattered, the telling. I'm a demon, Angel; that's all I am. What's happening to me?'

'Shh.' Angel pulled Spike back a little so his head was resting firmly against his chest, and wrapped his arms even tighter around the sinewy body. 'It's like before, Spike, only in reverse.'


'I discovered you - a warm, human man - and I wanted you. I took you, and I corrupted everything that was in you... you were my blasphemy, Spike.... 'Spike nodded at this, he knew that feeling only too well. 'I made you soulless; I made you evil; I made you immoral, and I made you corrupt.' Spike smiled for the first time since Angel's appearance and began to stroke lightly on Angel's arm.

'Thanks, mate, 's good to hear.'

'That's very convincing, Spike... but now I'm unmaking you.'

'What?' Spike twisted around and looked at Angel's smug face with horror.

'It had to start somewhere, Spike, so... I started here, tonight. You are not just soulless anymore; you are not evil - corrupt and immoral I'll give you... I don't want too many changes too quickly, do I? - but, you had to see all that for yourself. Even when I told you to stop, you just veered off in another direction and carried on... to this... to Wesley in your bed, and me supposedly in Sunnydale.'

Spike huffed slightly, pushed Angel onto his back and lay beside him propped up on one hand. 'It would have been a lot easier if you had been, mate. I'd have been ten inches up....'


'...fuck you... nine inches up his ass, and you none the wiser.'

'No, you wouldn't have, Spike. You'd be somewhere trying to hide it from me, tearing yourself up about it and miserable.'

'Hey... demon here... no misery, thank you very much; evil desires thwarted - that's all.'

'Evil desires? Like not wanting to share me?'

'I only don't want to share you, mate, cus you're so fucking old you might croak on me if you overdid it with that delicious body next door... and hey! What we gonna do with the evidence?'

'Leave Wesley to me... don't ask... don't know.' At this, Angel got up and, giving Spike a look that even Spike - for all his total disregard for rules of any kind - understood instantly, went back to the insensible human in Spike's room.

Angel knelt on the bed and pulled Wesley into his lap. Wesley giggled, but made no other sign that he was conscious. Angel checked carefully around his wound, checked him over minutely for other damage, and even pressed a cool finger to his hole to check that the bleeding had stopped. When he was fully satisfied that, physically, Wesley was none the worse for wear, he put his lips to Wesley's ear and began a low, even whispering. 'Do you dream like this often, Wesley? Do I come into your dreams and hold you like this?' He felt Wesley nod faintly against his chest. 'Dreaming is so good, isn't it? Do I touch you?' He put a gentle finger back to Wesley's entrance. He held it still for a moment. Did he have to push it in to make his point? He pushed it in anyway - just the tip - just swirling and stretching the warm muscle and feeling for that soft spot. 'If you dream about me, Wesley, I'll do this for you....' He pressed against the soft swelling and held firm as Wesley squirmed in his arms. 'Do you like that? It's good, isn't it? But it's just a dream, always a dream, and stays a dream. Do you know what would happen if it wasn't a dream? Do you want to know?' He withdrew his finger and heard Wesley groan. Pushing the human flat on his back once more, Angel straddled his chest. His erect, hard penis, bounced against his stomach in front of Wesley's unfocused eyes. 'Still a dream, Wesley; it's still just a dream. But if you think you'll do this when you wake, do you know what I would do? If you touch Spike, you won't ever dream again Wesley, for you'll feel death, like this....' He put one large, immensely strong hand over Wesley's mouth and nose, and gradually closed them off. 'Can you feel the pain, Wesley? The lack of air? Yes, that's right; I can see that you can. Scary, isn't it, when dreams become nightmares? For that's what I'll be Wesley; I'll be your nightmare if you ever touch what is mine again. Dream about us Wesley; enjoy that instead.' He watched as Wesley faded gently into unconsciousness then released his grip, checking to make sure he had not left any mark. He pulled Wesley back into his arms and began a slow, thoughtful stroking of his soft penis. 'Wake up, Wesley, come back to me.' He felt the human stir once more and slipped a finger back into the welcoming channel. 'There, my friend, is that better? Keep dreaming Wesley... maybe one day when he's grown up a little more... when he has the strength to share... we'll come back to you... would you like that?' He could not tell if Wesley nodded or not, so pulled out, turned him in the bed, and pulled the blankets carefully around the sleeping form. 'Dream, Wesley, it's all just a dream.'

When he returned to his room, Spike was standing smoking at the window. He smiled at this sign of obedience and noted, with approval, that Spike did not question him about Wesley. He rewarded this by coming to stand behind him and wrapping his arms tightly around him once more. Spike seemed soft, almost pliable. 'It's raining, listen.'

They stood in silence listening to the rare, heavy, thunderous rain beating on the courtyard beneath them. 'Reminds me of home.'

Angel could sense that Spike's nostalgia was partly due to curiosity about and perhaps even concern for Wesley.

'It's sorted, Spike. He'll be fine by tomorrow. He'll have a headache and be a bit quiet, I should think.' He took Spike's cigarette and took a long drag himself. Spike tutted and recaptured it.

'It'll kill ya in the end, pet, devil's weed... and when did you start smoking again?'

'I haven't. I just felt like sharing something with you.' Spike flung around with an expression of mock-horror on his face.

'You bastard, Angel, you are so fucking smug sometimes.'

'I know. It's good being a sire, Spike; I'm always right.' He backed playfully away towards the bed.

'Come back here!'

'What, and make love in an open widow when we have a big, soft bed?'

Spike looked curiously at Angel. 'Make love?'

Angel stopped. 'Spike, it's what all this has been about. Don't you get it yet? It's why you couldn't go through with Wesley, why your game upset... all right... angered you so much. You need love... human style love... and commitment to one person....' He had to stop when he saw Spike's face. His lips twitched. 'Come on, we'll take it slowly. You can still call it fucking or shagging if you need to.'

'Damn right I will.' Spike mumbled in an annoyed manner, but the slow purposeful steps he took toward Angel, and the expression on his face, rather belied his words. He pushed Angel onto his back and, almost immediately, without much preparation, he lifted Angel's legs and groaned as he pushed a sucked, slick finger into the tight entrance. His groan was matched by Angel's, and they smiled into the new familiarity of the act.

Spike eased his finger in until he could feel the soft swelling he sought. Angel whispered, 'See Spike? Only mine....'

Spike laughed. 'Fuck off, poof, one prostate....' He rubbed it, and Angel gasped 'Is just like any....' He pressed it and scratched with his nail 'Other bloody prostate; I ain't picky.'

Angel's hands came round to the back of Spike's neck, and he was pulled down to a cool, urgent mouth. 'How about kissing then, Spike; is that all the same to you? Are you just fucking me still?'

Spike smiled into Angel's mouth and licked along it as if tasting him and considering his answer. He pursed his lips then looked down as if a little shy. 'No. Kissing you is pretty unique....' He proved his point by pushing his tongue between Angel's lips and moaning to the push. He licked around the soft, sweet walls and wrestled with Angel's tongue for a while, but then suddenly pulled away and, with a cheeky twitch of one eyebrow, said slyly, 'I'd better try all me other favourite bits, then. Just to make sure like.' He slid down a little and nibbled on Angel's left nipple for a while, every so often glancing up seductively at Angel and giving him the benefit of his opinion on whether it was fucking or loving. Each part of Angel's body had to be explored in this way: his strong biceps, his soft underarms, his steel-like forearms, and his hard, ridged belly. Angel's legs were parted, but only the hairless thighs examined and the soft hair on his shins tickled with Spike's tongue. Each toe was examined briefly and categorised as fuckable or loveable before, unable to take any more, Angel pulled Spike up by his hair and pushed him towards his obvious, painful, and throbbing erection.

Between gritted teeth, Angel managed to say, 'Spike, at this moment, I don't care if you think you are fucking the whole of your human acquaintance, just fuck me, will you?'

Spike laughed and contented himself by muttering for while about superiority, demons, shagging in general, and wussiness, but as he was thrusting into Angel all the time, neither of the vampires took too much notice of what he said.

Eventually, the vocal accompaniment to the thrusting stopped. Spike threw his head back and stilled for a moment, and when he looked down, Angel was looking back at him, his eyes wide, and his expression open and lain bare. Spike took his time reading each word written on those so-familiar features. He put a hand out tentatively and stroked down Angel's wet cheek. He licked the tears from his finger. He closed his eyes, reached out, and Angel laid his palm against Spike's hand. Spike felt Angel entwining their fingers, and he began once more to push into the slick channel. As he felt his orgasm building, he opened his eyes to watch Angel again. Angel didn't speak, but Spike heard volumes from those dark, intense eyes. He blinked slowly and, as if in a trance, felt his whole body shuddering to a vast, almost overwhelming orgasm that made him cry out and crush Angel's fingers as they lay between his. It was too intense, too much pleasure; he rode wildly into Angel, jerking spasmodically as his sperm shot deep into Angel's body. He didn't stop; he crashed out, pulling away, his head sinking to the mattress. 'Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell....'

Angel smiled at his shocked recitation and released his crushed fingers from Spike's grip, encouraging his childe's hand down to his still unsatisfied erection. Spike didn't look up for a moment, but allowed his hand to be used for Angel's relief. Suddenly, he stopped the quiet chanting and pulled Angel to sitting. He gave him an intense look, and then slid backward off the edge of the bed, bracing and spreading against the mattress.

It was Angel's turn to murmur quiet obscenities. He could hardly move for the intense desire that washed over him as he looked at Spike's position. He got up and stood behind him, just pressing his erection lightly along Spike's bent back. His penis was red-tipped from need, and it made a startling contrast to the pale skin it rested on. He swayed into Spike; his balls squeezed lightly against the back of Spike's thighs. He rubbed from side-to-side for a while, his sac now swinging and stretched. He could wait no longer. He reached around and took a jar of lotion off the nightstand and began long strokes up his shaft, coating it in the glistening substance. Some of the cool lotion dripped onto Spike's back, and Angel rubbed it in with long strokes that dipped down between spread cheeks and swirled around hanging balls. Spike didn't move, and he didn't make a sound. He had his neck stretched back and was staring fixedly out of the window, as if listening to some far away sound being brought to him by the down-pouring rain.

When he was ready, Angel bent his knees slightly, flexing to get into a good position, then slid up and into his childe. He slipped his hands around the top of Spike's strong thighs and held them in the creases of his hips. Anchored, balanced, he began to work. Each stroke was made with deliberation and care, each pull back timed to allow Spike no respite from the stimulation to his soft, ready swelling. Eventually, Spike's head lowered, and he rested his chin on his chest, as he was pierced and penetrated with such precision and power. Angel's dug his nails into the folds of his hips to keep his grip; he could feel every swing of the heavy sac against him. His own erection had swollen again slightly in response to the stimulation, and his ears still rang from the power of his own orgasm. He feared all his senses might suddenly shut down, that they might overload: it was too much... his whole body, filled and taken by Angel. His body, his mind, both fixed on Angel's cock, both penetrated, both taken... but God, there was more... Spike knew there was more, and it overtook him like the rush of an orgasm, only stronger... this was Angel, only Angel; he needed only Angel; he wanted only Angel... too much; he could take no more until the flood came, and he was filled by Angel's cold cum jetting into him, flowing over every inch of him and washing away the doubt and the fear and the emptiness of being a demon. He cried out and flung his head back once more; Angel pulled him to standing and heaved him closer, still jerking into him, still emptying a week's abstinence into his tight, cool ass. He shifted his grip to Spike's belly and almost lifted him off his feet as he pushed higher and longer and took all the weight on his flexed legs, jerking up, grunting with the effort until the last waves of his orgasm passed from him into his childe.

Angel let Spike fall from him onto the bed, his knees buckled, and he crashed onto his sprawled childe. They were both panting, and their bodies - slick from sweat and blood and semen and the cool, sweet-smelling lotion - slid against each other. The soft sound of skin on skin entranced them both, and Angel wiggled some more on Spike, rolling and rubbing their cool bodies together. Spike turned over to watch Angel on him. Angel did not ask Spike if he missed a warm body between them. He already knew the answer to this question; he had seen it in Spike's face as he had cum. He had read it in his urgency to be taken; he had heard it those soft, shocked expletives. He felt it now in the relaxed, supine nuzzling of Spike's mouth into his chest. He rolled off and laughed quietly at the final sucking sound their skin made as it parted. 'Ugh.'

Spike propped himself up on his hand and idly traced patterns on Angel's chest. He looked oddly vulnerable and almost defeated. Angel put his hand out and rubbed his thumb up Spike's cheekbone. 'Too much for you?'

Spike didn't reply and continued to swirl his finger thoughtfully in figure of eights between Angel's prominent nipples.

Angel felt a slight frisson of worry creep down his spine. He had wanted self-awareness for Spike; he had wanted ... he had wanted Spike to want only him. Depressed, anxious, scared Spike was not part of the plan.

He gave Spike's hair a gentle tug. 'Hey... shower? Bath? I'm sticky, and you know how I hate mess in the sheets.' He waited to see if this reminder of their familiarity sparked a response in his childe.

Suddenly his hand was seized in a hard grip, and he was wrenched from the bed and dragged towards the door. Spike turned back to him, and his face was full of ill-suppressed intensity: it was as if he were trying to tell Angel something that he had no words for. 'Got a better idea, come on.'

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