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Reality Check - Chapter 22
Under the influence of the hot shower, they were brave enough to examine their bodies and smiled at the preternatural healing that had already kicked in. The burns still hurt enough to need treating, though. Slowly… with cool ointment and gentle hands.
Although they had not planned it, this quiet nursing of each other healed more than their burnt skin. When Angel ran his palm over Spike’s chest, swirling it over his heart, some bands around his own lifeless organ snapped free. It began to well, not with life, for that was now denied him, but with love. For the first time, when he said the words, they had a deep wellspring of vulnerability behind them. He did what he’d promised himself he’d never do again: he let himself be in love.
Spike felt the change in the slow, rhythmic rubbing on his skin and opened his eyes. Angel caught his gaze; his eyes dilated, heavy. One thumb began to stroke Spike’s nipple, and it wasn’t for healing.
Spike caught his breath at the need he felt charge between them.
Before they could stop, they were kissing, and there was no doubt in either mind where they were going with it. It was utterly wrong in so many ways: hardly slow steps as Angel had planned, and fraught with dangerous associations.
If they discussed what they were doing and worked maturely through the rape and all the bitterness that followed, then they did it silently by hands parting thighs and fingers pushing in through tight heat that ached to be penetrated. They didn’t really care about the past now. It was as if they had died out in that deep ocean and were reborn. On this new start, they made their own rules, and the first was that they wanted to fuck. They’d always wanted to fuck, and a hundred years and counting was too long to wait for something so fundamental between two men.
Angel pushed into Spike more on instinct than experience. Spike clenched too hard from total inexperience, and they had to start again, his scream of pain scaring them both. Angry that he’d been so pathetic, Spike snarled and pulled Angel down for a vialent, needy kiss, and on the intensity of that, Angel pushed back in. This time, he squeezed and rubbed Spike’s shoulders instinctively, and it was exactly what Spike needed to allow the vast intrusion into his body. Angel timed his entry to the tiny flickers of concern and pain in Spike’s eyes. When one flared, he stopped and played gently, teasing Spike balls and pain-softened cock. When the eyes returned to their steady blue, he urged himself deeper, forever seeking some elusive core that he’d always dreamt of taking, but now understood could only be given freely.
At last, the joining was complete. Angel lay over Spike, braced on strong arms on either side of his shoulders. The slightest twitch in his cock was now shared: Spike’s eyes widening as his guts replied with a spasm of pleasure.
Very slowly, with as much care as he had once handled his other child, Angel clenched then relaxed his buttocks, causing his cock to pump once in the tight channel. It was his turn to cry out. Neck taut, back bent in a graceful arc, he sent a ragged sound of pleasure to the heavens. He thrust in again and swore, clutching Spike around the neck and pulling him closer, farther on, needing to go deeper.
Suddenly, they both felt some final resistance deep inside Spike’s body give, and whether this was a fearful, last grasp on his dignity by strong muscles, or something emotional ripping apart to let Angel in, they never knew. They only knew pleasure.
Spike began to buck, demanding Angel’s penetration, his fingers clawing at the broad back, drawing blood.
Angel found a rhythm of long hard thrusts into the tight tissue that clamped around him with a pressure he’d only experienced alone, fucking his fist.
Then Angel opened his eyes and saw that he was fucking Spike, and all the pleasure that welled inside him began to flood, pouring into his brain and his heart and all the places that had died. He cried out with the intensity of it all and pushed Spike’s thighs back so he could watch the entry, see where they joined, take in what it was that they were doing. The magnitude of seeing his red, swollen, angry shaft stretching Spike made the pleasure flood even to his eyes, emerging as tears, streaming down his blistered cheeks. When he pulled out, a tiny ring of muscle unfolded and came with him, tucking back in when he pushed back. It seemed to him like lips, and he pulled out, falling to them and kissing them, tasting them with his tongue.
Spike jerked and tore at Angel’s hair, beyond caring that Angel’s tongue was acquainting itself with a place no tongue had ever touched—his inside walls.
Angel could not go deep enough. He rolled Spike into a tight ball, flattening and spreading his cheeks, mushing his mouth wetly to the swollen opening. He probed with his fingers, stretching him so his tongue could wriggle in. Neither heard that they were panting and moaning; the sensation of touch overrode all others.
With a cry, Angel flipped Spike over onto his hands and knees, and hissing his encouragement, Spike dipped at the waist, offering up what Angel so desperately wanted.
It was nothing they’d experienced before. So slick and hard, Angel glided into Spike’s body like sword returned to sheath. Relaxed, opened, wet, Spike received him as easily as a woman and didn’t find anything in this that bothered him one jot. He wasn’t offering Angel what a woman did; he knew exactly what Angel wanted; he wanted it himself and felt a clench of desire in his balls that he would soon know Angel so intimately.
Angel fucked Spike’s face into the mattress over and over, both loving the position. Kneeling to the spread backside, he discovered a pleasure that he had not even known he’d missed. He was so hard with desire that when he pulled out at the end of each long, slow fuck in, his cock bounced high onto his belly and had to be coaxed slowly back into the slippery red flesh waiting for it.
Instinctively, Angel put his hand out to find Spike’s hair, wanting to ride into him on those reins of control, but his greedy fingers found only air and stubble.
Suddenly, his hand was seized, and Spike entwined their fingers.
And everything slowed.
They came back to a stunned awareness of what they were doing. Angel pulled Spike up, crushing him against his chest, arms wrapped possessively around him. He slipped out of the tight body, and they twisted around, kissing; now enjoying this joining as much as the other. Moaning, tasting tongues, mouths irresponsible and greedy, they tumbled into a mass of aroused flesh.
Then Angel was on his back, and Spike lay on him, holding him in the hot hollows of his armpits, stroking the luxuriant, silky hair.
Without thinking, Spike sat up, and suddenly, they were re-enacting a scene that had already taken place in the bed that night. Angel didn’t even hesitate. He just cried out, ‘Fuck, yeah!’ and sat up, trying to feed his cock into Spike.
When they were docked, Angel lay back down with a sigh of deep contentment and said very distinctly, his fingers gripping Spike’s thighs, ‘This is what I was looking for in all their softer flesh.’
Spike spread his fingers on Angel’s chest. ‘What? This?’ He lifted up until only a thin chain of Angel’s precum joined them, then plunged back on, unerringly seating himself on the hard protrusion of Angel’s body.
They both said, ‘Oh, fuck!’ simultaneously, and Spike repeated the exercise over and over until Angel bit through his lip, so hard was he trying not to unman himself by screaming out in his pleasure.
Blood aroused them further, and now, peaking on the edge of total exhaustion, Spike leant down to suck Angel’s lip into his mouth. His saliva dripped onto Angel’s tongue, and they mashed their mouths together, sharing all these fluids—not consciously aware of their great providence being as they were, but somehow subconsciously appreciating their preternatural bodies as they never had before.
They were awash with bodily fluids, slick with sweat and spit and Spike’s precum, which Angel began to milk from the heavy cock laying between them. He squeezed and milked with his fist, occasionally putting his hand to his lips to lick the palm like a cat licking a very different kind of cream.
Spike’s head bowed with exhaustion as he rode Angel’s hard body.
Sensing that they both needed to come soon or not at all, Angel suddenly rose from the bed, dislodging his eager rider. He dragged Spike into position—hands and knees on the edge of the bed—and stood between the open thighs.
For a moment, he indulged himself with fingers, scissoring them inside the friction-hot ass. Then he lifted his heavy cock and positioned it against the slick, stretched edges.
With hands spanning the slim waist, he brought them both off.
Only another preternatural body could have withstood the battering Angel gave it. Legs spread as if on the deck of a ship heaving on waves, feet planted to the floor, massive hands holding with a death-like grip, he was something conjured from the nightmares of Christian bigots: he fucked Spike in the ass with demonic power. Vocal cords tore at the end: cries of orgasm becoming pained and ragged, trying to express pleasure too deep, too fundamental to wholly leave their bodies.
They could not have spoken about the experience even if they had wanted to.
They only gave each other a small look, grunted, then collapsed in death-like heaps on the bed, not even able to pull covers over their sated bodies.