Footsteps in the Sand - 6

He pulled a resistant Angel down the stairs and to the door of the courtyard. Angel looked out anxiously. 'You have got to be joking Spike; it's pouring with rain!'

He thought he heard a gleeful "duh" before being thrust out into the downpour. The rain was warm. It didn't matter how long he had lived away from his native home, he could never get used the to fact that rain could be warm. It fell vertically and was warm. Spike, who had also been brought up on horizontal, ice-cold rain, stood for a moment in awe at the beauty of the storm. Their pale bodies glowed slightly in the reflected light from the lobby. Their hair plastered down into their eyes, and Spike laughed at the effect on Angel. Angel grinned and tipped his head back, trying to catch the rain in his mouth. They heard a rumble of thunder, and a brilliant flash of lightning immediately illuminated the whole scene. Right underneath the storm, the vampires trembled at the power they felt in the air. Spike looked down in wonder as the hairs on his arm stood up; he shivered and shook his shoulders to relieve the tension. Angel whistled slightly and moved unconsciously away from the tree that dominated the centre of the yard. He held out his hand to Spike, and they touched for the first time since leaving the safety of the hotel. Spike stood close to Angel and ran his hands through his hair, then Angel's, slicking it back. He let Angel capture his hand and try, uselessly, to lick the rain off. There was too much - it fell in rivers over his body. Another crash of thunder, another blinding flash, and both vampires cowered slightly, laughing at their own fear.

Spike suddenly twitched up his eyebrow and ran one hand teasingly around to Angel's backside. He pursed his lips, as if searching for something, and gave a complacent nod when one finger slipped into Angel's soaked channel. Angel laughed and leant into Spike, holding on to his shoulders and enjoying the feeling of sharing the rain. Spike gently probed for a while but, gradually, his movements became stronger and more insistent. He pushed Angel back to the tree and kicked his legs apart. 'Ever fucked... err... made love in a storm, pet?'

Angel looked anxiously up to the sky. 'Have you ever seen a vampire hit by lightning?'

'Come on, poof, you're dead... live a little.' His soft, amused words eased into Angel's mind as easily as the cock into his stretched, wet hole. He braced himself on the tree and, just as Spike made his first urgent thrust, lightning once more split from the heavens, simultaneously with a vast crack of thunder that hurt even vampire ears. Angel swore and made to pull away for cover. Spike laughed and pushed him firmly back into place. To his utter astonishment, Angel heard Spike begin to sing. He gleefully asked Angel what he was gonna do if lightning struck him and preceded to accompany his thrusts and heaves with the chorus and verses that answered that all too apt question. Angel thought the choice of song was coincidental, until he heard Spike ask quietly what it was going to take to make him love him, what he needed to do to be heard. Angel had the overwhelming and frightening impression that something about the rain, the lightning, and the storm were critical to what had been happening to them over the last few days. Spread-eagled, crucified against the tree, Angel could only hold on tighter to the smooth branches. Who was he to think himself Spike's God, carrying the wandering childe when he was lost? In an iconoclastic fury, Spike de-throned his God as the rain poured over them in an ever-increasing torrent.

Angel never quite worked out in his own mind whether the powerful orgasm he sent crashing into the tree was due to fear from the storm and a desperate desire to return to the safety of indoors, or whether it had been Spike's soft, melodic voice easing under his skin and challenging his pretensions. Whichever, it crashed through him and made him cry out, his animalistic scream echoing around the yard and drowning out Spike's voice.

Wesley heard the cry as he lay disoriented in Spike's bed. It was part of his dream. Angel was on him, and he was filled by the power of Angel's body, but someone was screaming, and he feared it was he. He tried to wake, but being awake only fell back into the half-conscious, drugged state where the dream was pleasant once more, and Angel was within him. In this dream he heard voices on the stairs and laughter. He thought he sensed someone else in the room with them, but this was also Angel so, confused, he let this part of the dream slip away.

Angel finally had his way and got Spike into a bath with him. Spike lay sated and content, surrounded by Angel's poofy bubbles, not thinking too much about anything. He had successfully gotten Angel over the embarrassing love business and back to being a proper shag-anything demon. Okay, it had only been a tree, and the tree only got shagged cus it had been in the way, but it was a start. He wondered whether Wesley had ever done it in the rain and thought, being English, that this was unlikely and possibly, with English rain that froze your bollocks, a physical impossibility. He felt Angel stir in the water behind him and rested his head back against Angel's shoulder. He didn't really think Angel could read his thoughts, but just to be on the safe side he thought good, safe things for a while all featuring Angel and how bloody gorgeous he was - the poof would love that. When all went still, he resumed his new plan for Wesley. Rain. It had to involve rain; it was good rain; it made small channels slick and ready for penetration. Another shift. He stopped thinking. Suddenly a quiet voice slipped into his ear and his blood ran colder than usual in his veins. It was that voice, that flawless copy of the oh-so-correct English tones. 'So, you still want to have me, Spike.' It was not a question; Wesley's voice had made a simple observation.

Spike didn't move. He blinked as if caught in a bright light. The voice continued, and if he closed his eyes, Wesley was holding him in the water. 'But Spike, I want Angel. And do you know something really funny? Angel wants me. Haven't you seen it? The way he looks at me; the way he seeks me out? He wants my warm body; he wants to enter me and fill me and make me cold like him. Where will you be, Spike? Will you watch Angel as that shaft slips into my body, not yours? Do you want to see pleasure on his face from the satisfaction of my body? You know how he looks at you, imagine that look for me... would you like that?'

Spike did imagine it, and he didn't like it.

Angel was surprised when his quiet whispering was cut off by a firm, curt, 'Shut up.'

He was about to protest, but stopped, shocked, as Spike continued, and Angel realised he was not the only vampire with the ability to mimic. Suddenly, his own commanding sire's tones - slightly exaggerated and given a wholly unnecessary and unrealistic Irish lilt - punched into the steamy air of the bathroom. 'This stays in this room, got it? You are mine, and I won't share you.' He gasped in outraged, amused fury and pushed Spike off him, climbing out of the bath. Spike grinned and cocked an eyebrow at him. Angel looked at his irrepressible, incorrigible, inconsistent childe and began to laugh. Spike caught his infectious mood and joined in and Wesley, at last almost awake, thought he was in the strangest dream of all, for he heard vampires laughing - genuine, human, rip-roarious laughter that made you want to join in and laugh too. He didn't join in. Laughing in a dream seemed inappropriate and rather rude somehow.

Pleased with the affect of his new game, Spike climbed slowly out of the bath and pursued Angel into the bedroom, alternately making outrageous commands in Angel's voice and denying them colourfully in his but, both too tired to make much use of the desire that flared up in Angel's body, they contented themselves with curling up in the bed and listening to the fading storm. Every so often, Spike would say, 'Mine,' putting maximum emphasis into the seriousness and slightly anal qualities of that assertion. Angel only countered by saying equally seriously, 'He wants me, Spike,' and making his voice increasingly pompous and English. They were too amused by this new game to sleep so, eventually, Spike sat up and lit a cigarette, leaning back against the headboard, ignoring Angel's complaints.

Resigned and happy to watch the intoxicating sight of Spikes' lips and hands working and playing with that small thin column, Angel gave in to the inevitable. He laid his head on Spike's belly, his face slightly turned to Spike's, just watching him. Spike put up with the intense scrutiny for a while, but then said in an amused voice, 'Like what you see?'

Startled from his concentration and brooding, Angel answered unguardedly for once, 'I love it.' Spike looked down coolly, but Angel did not miss the significance of a hand starting soft stroking and playing with his hair. He pushed his head back into the caress, and they lay quietly for a while as Spike chain-smoked his way through the remainder of his cigarettes. Angel finally roused from his near-hypnotic watching of Spike. 'What are you thinking about?'

Spike looked down. 'You.'

Angel huffed a little ruefully. 'Like that's likely.'

Spike heard the underlying pain in Angel's voice. 'Look at me, Angel.'

Angel pursed his lips a little. 'I have been, Spike, for the last two smoky hours.'

'No, Angel, I mean look at me. Like you do when you stand watching me sleep.'

Angel sat up, immediately wary and alert. Spike's expression was unreadable, but he repeated his command. 'Look at me.'

Reluctantly, Angel felt his gaze drawn towards the dark blue eyes. He looked through the glass and, with surprise, saw that Spike was finally still... still and staring, just as intently, back at him. Angel withdrew his gaze and closed down; no one was ever allowed to see inside him. Spike merely raised one eyebrow, turned his gaze slightly, but then looked back as if confirming one or two points and looked away again with a small, satisfied smile. 'That was interesting.'

Angel pursed his lips, feeling badly wrong-footed by Spike. 'What was interesting?' Infuriating smirk was going to get wiped off a certain face, if it appeared.

It didn't - an even more infuriating self-complacency materialised. 'Just checking.'

'Don't try to play mind games with me Spike; you'll lose.'

'I'm not having to try, pet. Hell, I'm barely awake.'

'I'll humour you, just this once. What were you "just checking"?'

Spike chuckled.

'Spike.'

'I was just looking, Angel, to see if you'd learnt your lesson from all this yet.'

Angel laughed, but even he could hear the nervous insincerity in it. 'Pathetic, Spike, pathetic.'

'Yeah, you're right, pet. Pathetic. Never mind then, wanna shag again?'

'Shut up. What do you mean, learnt my lesson? What lesson?'

'Oh luv, you just don't get it, do you? You can say no, pet. You'll never lose me. Just say no occasionally, hey? How much more would it have taken for you just to say, no?' He ran a finger down Angel's cheek in wonder. 'Why so beautiful but so insecure?'

Angel took Spike's finger, let it drop, looked away, and looked back. Still, that overwhelmingly irritating self-complacency emanated from the vampire in his bed. 'Spike.' He could still call on an appropriate sire tone when required. 'Are you seriously trying to tell me that all this fucking around with my best friend has been you teaching me a lesson?' He started to laugh. 'You really are pathetic, aren't you?' His laugh rang hollow in his ears and he felt, once again, the feel of smooth bark and stripping of affectation.

Spike smiled. 'Angel, you think no one can love you. You think you're unlovable. So, what, I suggest some recreational fun, and you immediately leap to "he doesn't want me after all" and think you've got to acquiesce to anything I suggest just to keep me? Fuck Angel, what if I'd wanted to bite Wesley, would you have let me do that, too? But, oh no, you make up this whole elaborate scenario in your head that you're giving me freedom to learn for myself. I bet you even saw yourself as some sort of caring sire, carrying his poor lost child. Well fuck you, Angel, grow up a bit, hey? I love you. I've always loved you, and demon love, human love... it's immaterial. Love is just love with me. You can say no, Angel. You can tell me you're afraid. You can just tell me you love me occasionally. If you want. And say no.'

'No.'

Spike laughed and snuggled down alongside Angel's stiff, tense body. He didn't try to push Angel any further, but just stroked gently up and down one thigh, occasionally slipping a little higher than necessary and a dipping a little lower than was probably appropriate for the moment. Angel felt this, too, and removed Spike's hand with an irritated swipe. 'I tried to say no, but you never listen to me.' He slid down, too, so they lay side-by-side.

'I listen, Angel. I hear everything you don't say.'

Angel was quiet for a moment. 'It's only been two weeks, Spike. It seems like you've been here forever, but just two weeks. I've improved?'

Spike chuckled at Angel's need for reassurance now. 'Yeah, you're getting there.'

Again there was a long pause as Angel tried to figure and calculate all the twists and turns of this strange Wesley affair. Eventually, he sighed and turned on his side to look at Spike. 'Was any of this the truth, Spike?'

Spike twitched up his eyebrow. 'What do you want the truth to be, Angel?' He waited for the outrage he had heard in Wesley's reply to that same question. Angel merely smiled and replied, 'Our truth.'

Spike grinned. 'Now you're gettin' it. Okay then. Yes, Angel, some of it was true. When I saw your fingers in Wes; that was true. I'd kill you rather than lose you, Angel, remember that, hey? You're mine. When I shag you that's always true... call it what you like ponce... I call it shagging. I do it cus I love you, so what does a fucking name matter? But the rest? Who knows, I don't really keep score. It's unlife, pet. It ebbs and flows with its own truths and realities.'

Angel began to stroke up and down Spike's arm thoughtfully. 'When did you get to be so wise under that total fuck-up exterior?'

Spike held the finger still. 'I had a good teacher.'

'I wasn't a good teacher, Spike; I used and abused you, remember?'

Chuckling, Spike began to slide down Angel's body. 'Who said I meant you?'

Knowing he was not going to win this round in a game he had not been aware he was playing, Angel relaxed to Spike's gradual descent and only asked with amusement - and as if he didn't already know the answer - 'What are you doing?' but the answer did surprise him.

'I'm going to make love to you, Angel.'

'Oh. Not shag then?'

'Well, I might slip into shag mode a little, if I get bored, but, nah... love this time.'

He continued to slide down the bed until he reached Angel's feet. Angel folded his arms behind his head and peered down. He wouldn't have thought, given his swollen and red-tipped erection that his feet were the most interesting place to begin such a journey of discovery, but Spike seemed to know what he wanted. He sat cross-legged with one foot in his lap and reached over for the moisturising lotion he usually derided as too poofy. He twitched his eyebrow up at Angel and proceeded to pour the cool, viscous liquid onto Angel's foot. It ran down over the instep and arch and slithered between Angel's toes. Like a sculptor with clay, Spike took Angel's slick foot in both hands and began to knead and pommel the sensitive flesh. Angel watched mesmerised as Spike's cock swelled in the space that his foot occupied and gradually got included in the smooth movements. Sometimes Spike's hand slid up his foot, sometimes a purple-headed cock was trailed deliciously up to nestle and rub between slippery toes. His other foot was captured, and together they were formed into a silky fissure through which Spike thrust his ever-hardening shaft. The tip appeared again and again through the gap, Angel could watch the foreskin being dragged down and exposed at each push. The slit glistened and leaked tiny droplets of crystal-clear fluid, which ran down the sole of his foot in an icy trail.

When he felt himself starting to come, Spike dropped Angel's feet and hunched over for a moment, re-gaining his self-control, and only when he felt ready did he begin a slow journey back up Angel's body. He spread Angel's legs on the mattress and knelt between them, idly tracing his fingers up over the shins, knees, and thighs. He kept his gaze locked on Angel and almost hypnotised him with the slow repetitive movements, up and down, up and down: no deviation from the path, no break to the rhythm. Only when Angel groaned and put a hand out to him, did Spike smile and bend. He nuzzled into Angel's root, smelling the freshly washed hair, its odour overlaid with the scent of arousal. Spike cupped Angel's sac in both hands and, incredibly, began a similar kneading and working as he had with the feet. Angel sat up momentarily with a sharp intake of breath at the blissful agony but at a warning glance from Spike, lay carefully back down. Spike shuffled forward and again brought his own cock into play with the balls he was fondling. He held them together, one hand wrapped around both, and as he gave himself a slow hand-job, Angel's sac was stretched up and squeezed down until he cried out for mercy and for it never to stop.

Spike released Angel's sac but only replaced it with his cock. He had them both in his hands now, two strong shafts sticking through the tight ring of his hands. He began to rise up on his knees, and Angel's cock was tugged at its root. He gasped again, and this time the pain was so perfect, Angel began to pant. He tried to lift his hips to relieve the tension, but Spike continued to pull. Just as he thought he'd have to intervene and stop him, Spike sank down and pushed both palms deep against the sides of Angel's cock. The sudden change of sensation threatened to overwhelm Angel and bring on his simmering orgasm, but Spike didn't give him a chance to pause. He knelt up again, wrenching Angel's cock up, stretching his perineum and flattening his balls, as the skin tightened over them. Once more down and the hard pressing up, and the stretch and burn, and Angel had to stop him or make him take him - one or the other - anything but this agonised pleasure. Spike smiled at him, but before Angel could respond to the look, Spike's smile was on him, consuming him. His cock hit the back of Spike's throat before he had even registered that it had been swallowed. Angel thought he could feel nothing more exquisite until Spike put his own hands to his packed throat and pressed in with his thumbs, hard.

Angel screamed. Spike began to clench and unclench his throat muscles, pressing and rubbing his thumbs against the ridged cockhead through the front wall, as he forced the soft tip against the back. The scream became urgent, low grunting as Angel felt his orgasm welling out of his balls. Spike suddenly withdrew his whole mouth, compressing Angel's shaft the whole way with his lips, and when Angel cursed the loss of sensation, plunged on it once more, only deeper and harder into his throat. Unable to make a coherent sound, Angel only cried one long note as he pumped his fluid down Spike's raw, shuddering throat. He thrust himself up on one hand and grabbed the back of Spike's neck with his other. He wrenched his childe further onto him, more penetration of that white column, more friction on those hot, raw walls. Again and again, Angel's spurts of cum blasted down Spike's throat; he swallowed repeatedly, compulsively as he drank Angel. He did not release the penis in his mouth until he felt it beginning to soften and, even then, he licked and suckled it in his mouth, as he let it fall.

With no pause, Spike retrieved the lotion and poured some onto his own shaft. It was hard and swollen to an almost painful looking, rigid column of flesh. Angel watched, fascinated, as Spike pushed its glistening mass against his entrance, which appeared to be no entrance at all. Spike's throat was beginning to bruise and the darkening thumbprints looked like tattoos from some ancient demon ritual. They made Angel feel possessive: he felt old urges to mark Spike some more swell in his demon heart. He closed his eyes to the temptation, only to open them as he felt the inevitable penetration. The stretch on his anus was superb, but nothing to the feel of Spike's solid penis filling him. He held his legs up slightly to give Spike more access only to have his feet grasped and shoved to either side of his head. Spike reared up as he pushed, and he lay on the backs of Angel's thighs for a moment, fully embedded and luxuriating in the compactness of Angel's ass.

When he was ready, he broke his silence for the first time since starting his worship of his sire's body. When he tried to speak, his voice was raw from the working of Angel's cock, but the low huskiness only made Angel moan slightly. 'Angel, I don't know how to show you any more than this that I love you. Is it enough?'

Angel put a hand to Spike's face and nodded, totally entranced by the soft, loving moment then raised his eyes in surprise when Spike's expression changed in an instant: all the tender and unfamiliar longing replaced by an all too familiar, cheeky smirk. 'What ya nodding at ya ponce? I ain't started yet.'

Spike giggled with never-ending delight in his own games and decided it was time to show Angel what "enough" really meant.

He hammered into Angel with all the force of his powerful demonic body. Angel thought he'd been filled; he had no idea. His bowels shuddered to the force of Spike's impact. Slick from the lotion, Spike rode and swam and heaved and jerked against Angel's tight walls. Flaccid, languid and spent soon gave way to a matching, hard erection, and Angel's cock bounced on his stomach as his guts were pummelled from the inside. Spike held fast to Angel's ankles, forcing the strong muscles to bend and stretch unnaturally, as he pushed Angel further and further into the mattress. It wasn't enough. He pulled out and, in one swift move, dragged Angel over to the open window and forced him to spread against the ledge. Nails dug into white-painted woodwork, as the strain of the pounding hit Angel. Even his legs were barely strong enough to hold him, as Spike lifted and thrust his penis in. Angel stretched back his neck, and the cool night air washed over his sweating body, making him shiver slightly. The sound of the rain running in rivulets off the guttering seemed to mirror the rushing in his ears as his final and most explosive orgasm of the night began to build. He dug in harder and stretched his legs some more and began to thrust back against Spike as if Spike were attempting to force him through the window and into the yard below, and as if he were resisting for his life.

The resistance and the thrusting back finished Spike. He'd been holding his orgasm for too long now to withstand the feel of Angel's hard ass being thrust back into his balls, or to hear Angel's unconscious cursing and screaming of his name. To Spike, the sound of the rain only heralded what he felt as a great flood from his body into Angel. He soaked him; he filled him; he surfed in his own cum. Angel's anus was saturated with it; it spilt out onto the floor and pooled at Spike's feet; it cooled his hot erection; it joined with the smell of the storm to make the room awash with the primordial scent of sex.

Another cloudbank burst above them, and the sound of steady drumming turned into a cacophony of sound in the room; it drowned out the sound of panting and moaning and soft curses as the replete vampire fell from the body that had given such satisfaction. Spike knelt, his forehead on the floor. Every inch of his body seemed to tingle and spark from the residual force of his orgasm. He felt a hand on his shoulder, looked up and, with a smile, took the offered penis in his mouth once more to give Angel his sweet relief. Even Spike could feel Angel's legs buckling from the strain they had taken, so he eased him back until he was sitting on the ledge, and knelt between those exhausted thighs, concentrating on the need in his mouth. He didn't force Angel onto his throat this time, this was a time for soft, loving strokes with his tongue, for teasing under the foreskin and sucking gently and languidly until with a shudder and long drawn out groan, Angel emptied into him for the last time that night. Although soft working had brought him to his peak, Spike could feel the unusual force of this orgasm. He felt Angel drawing his legs up slightly, felt him crease up with its intensity, felt desperate fingers digging painfully into his scalp, heard in the groan that Angel was utterly overwhelmed by the sensuality of coming in his childe's mouth once more.

Spike didn't pull away; he waited for Angel to take the lead. There wasn't much leadership shown from the senior vampire: he slumped and pooled and curled foetal-like on the floor. Spike poured himself over Angel, and they lay entangled in the sweat and the blood and the cum and cool, pure rain, washing in from the storm. Angel only roused when Spike tipped his head back to demand a kiss. He sat up with a groan but held Spike's face in his hands, turning it from side-to-side as he inspected the vivid marks on his neck. He gave an annoyed shake of his head. 'You shouldn't have.'

Spike tried to answer, but his bruised throat had closed over and it only came out as an incomprehensible croak.

'You should feed, Spike.'

Spike swallowed and tried again. 'Tummy's a bit full, pet.' He got up and left Angel to puzzle over that one while he got himself some water from the bathroom. He was pleased with his reflection this time. He scratched his chin and regarded himself carefully. It was all going very well, and the vampire staring back at him from the non-existent reflection was looking suitably pleased with his unlife.

He had told Angel the truth about some things that were lies, and he'd lied successfully about things that were true… but then he'd been doing it for days to himself. It was tiring lying to yourself and fucking with your own mind, but he didn't object to the effort. Angel was worth it.

All in all, he felt his protective custody of Angel was going extremely well. Give the ponce a few more weeks, and he'd be sure enough of himself - sure of his childe - to let go a little. Months? Maybe a year? Didn't matter; he'd been carrying Angel for nearly two hundred years; he was a work in progress. Love. What did Angel know about love? He wanted human love? Spike knew all about human love with its cloying, clingy ways, and its focus on the now. He needed Angel to love him for eternity, and human love was utterly inadequate for that task. What was Buffy to either of them now? Angel had based his entire idea of love on that one infatuation with a teenage slayer. Spike knew Angel rarely even thought about Buffy now and, if he did, it was with a fond nostalgia, and the guilty knowledge that he ought to think of her more. He desperately needed Angel to see that his love, their love, demonic love, sire / childe love, did not alter when it alteration found, was not subject to the slings and arrows, it went on, like rain... sometimes there, sometimes not, but always with the knowledge that it would return. Creatures of the elements, their love was elemental. So he played his games, pushed the boundaries, broke the rules. He was secure in his love for Angel and, with a little more effort, Angel would share that faith.

He adjusted his features quickly as he heard Angel come in and bent again to drink some water from the tap.

Angel looked at Spike's slim body bent over the sink. He moved to stand behind him and just rocked against the hard cheeks for a moment. Spike put a hand back and stroked down his flank lightly, acknowledging the intimacy. When his throat was eased, he stood up, and Angel wrapped his arms around the smooth chest and followed Spike's gaze to the mirror. 'Why do you do that all the time?'

'What, luv?'

'Stare at the emptiness.'

Spike laughed. 'You see emptiness?'

Angel twisted his head to look questioningly at Spike. 'And you don't?'

'Nah, I see all sorts.'

'What like?' Angel was genuinely puzzled.

'Well, look at you, for instance.' Spike waited patiently until Angel made at least a pretence of looking at his reflection. 'I see you as you really are, when I look at you there.'

'What? Non-existent, blank.'

'No, pillock, whatever I want you to be. My truth. Or ours soon... when I've worked on you a bit more.'

'Oh.'

Spike took Angel's arm and pulled him away from the too bright light and led him back to the bedroom. Angel glanced at the clock. 'Wesley will be awake soon. I should dress.'

'Oooo... you've mentioned the 'W' name.'

'And why shouldn't I?'

'Oh, come on, don't tell me you aren't just a little curious?'

Angel felt his head beginning to spin and tried to blame it on lack of feeding rather than the dizzy dance he was being led by his childe. He really didn't want to have to ask. 'Curious about what, Spike?'

'Oh Angel... about what he thinks when you accidentally brush against him. When you are training with him and your bodies writhe together....'

'I don't writhe with Wesley, Spike.'

'He wants you to.'

'He does not. Wesley is... innocent of....'

Spike collapsed in a heap on the bed, thumping the mattress in an attempt to control his glee. 'Innocent? Wesley? Fuck, Angel, I think he's one of the darkest people I've ever met. You are such a spasoid sometimes.'

Angel came over and knelt on the bed alongside him and thumped him once or twice to stop the manic laughing. 'Why do you have this obsession about Wesley? Just go, will you? Go next door and fuck him or whatever, and get this 'thing' out of your head. I'm sick of it.' He paused and looked down at Spike's grinning expression. He tipped his head on one side, thinking. He pulled Spike up until their eyes were level and, once more, gave him an intense inspection. He saw nothing but Spike looking straight back at him, entirely focused on him… but the sound of the rain poured over him, the feel of smooth bark was under his hands, and Spike's quiet singing, asking him those unanswerable questions, whispered in his ears. Could he risk it?

'No.'

Spike closed his eyes briefly and nodded, then pulled him down and, as he was kissing Angel, lightly and in preparation, Spike whispered into the kiss, 'Good boy, and look little one, it's raining.'

Angel began to fall into the soft kisses; his childe's fluid body began to envelop him and at each kiss, each touch aimed to draw out one more orgasm - always one more orgasm - he whispered the quiet injunction 'No,' and knew for the first time that in saying no to the suppleness of Spike's love, he was saying yes to their future and its endless possibilities. So emphatic and so affirmative were Angel's insistent nos that when a warm, hesitant human hand lay lightly and questioningly on his back, he hardly paused. He lifted his head and hissed an urgent, desperate, 'Yes.'

As warmth sandwiched itself between their cool bodies in a reverential, disbelieving response to that affirmation, Spike saw in Angel's face that he finally understood. To them - to eternal creatures - no could mean yes… that no could mean whatever they wanted it to mean and, in that frantic exchange of intent, no real exchange had been made.