Reunion - Revisited

by Saber ShadowKitten
Revisited II 8

Boundaries. They defined us, controlled us, structured us, hindered and helped us. Sometimes they were limitless. Sometimes they were so narrow, you couldn't even turn around.

Everyone reacted differently to the boundaries imposed upon them. Some people hated them and they constantly rebelled, whether by guns or by words. Some people loved them; they liked to play in them and with them, inventing new ones or reinventing the old.

There were others who needed boundaries. Without them, they ran wild, uncontrolled, but they didn't feel free. They were straining for someone to capture them, to hold them, to create their boundaries.

Take Spike. He was someone who needed his boundaries set for him, and when they were, he was at his happiest. When he was on his own, there was a desperation about him that he tried to hide behind false confidence and attitude. He felt lost, at ends; his lack of direction lead to danger, more to himself than to others. It was so obvious that he wanted someone to take control.

And when someone did take that control, when someone set his boundaries, he had a place and a purpose. The boundaries that were set for him gave him something to push against, to see how far he could make them bend, and what made them break. He had guidance, rules, a stricture to measure himself against.

Most importantly, he felt needed. Wanted. Someone took the time to create the boundaries specifically for him, to enforce them and keep them enforced. He was given attention. He was never alone.

Spike had never been the dominant. He didn't know how to be. When he was free, when he was boundary-less, he was too busy flitting between hair-brained ideas and unattainable goals to take the time to become a dominant. Those that followed his direction were only following sire loyalty, or bought in by his charisma and attitude, but he didn't have any real control.

Drusilla had set his boundaries by her words and tantrums. His sire had set his boundaries by fists and fangs. And unless he was cast aside, no matter what happened, he stayed with the one who set his boundaries, always submissive. Always content.

Angel's boundaries had become blurred. At one time, everything was black and white. Light and dark. Good and evil. Since he had his soul, he was on the side of good, and it was his duty to fight and destroy all things evil. Simple. Easy. A stake to the heart, a crack of the neck, and the stalwart, innocent, and pure humans were once again saved from the fiendish, nasty, and impure demons.

But not all demons were evil, and not all humans were good. The bad guys now wore three-piece suits, worked sixty hours a week, and exercised regularly. They turned death into life, bad into good, and then destroyed it all over again. Worse, they toyed with others' boundaries, changing them without warning, manipulating them without regard to the consequences.

Angel had felt his boundaries shift the moment Darla rose, a vampire once more. He'd tried so hard to save her, even gave his life for hers, but it still wasn't enough. And when he'd tried to do his duty, when he'd tried to stake the evil demon that had risen wearing Darla's face, he found that there were no longer such colors as black and white. There was only the dark grey tone of madness and despair, stained crimson with the color of anger.

Angel's boundaries had been redefined once before, over a year and a half ago, when Spike had come calling, needing his own boundaries to be set by his sire. At that time, the center of the line dividing black and white had overlapped, and Angel had straddled the two, but he still knew what was good and what was evil. Now, he had no clue. His boundaries had been smashed by Wolfram and Hart, something they'd hoped to achieve and had succeeded greatly.

Up was now down, left was right, and demon and Angel were one.

Lines and borders no longer existed. There was only anger, madness, and despair: demon, man, and soul. Nightmare, reality, and fantasy were mixed together, and for the first time, Angel needed someone to come and reset his boundaries.

Angel gazed down upon the sleeping blond vampire, the smell of sex strong in the room. A note addressed to Angel was on the night-stand beside an open bottle of lubricant. He picked it up, read it, and shook his head. Had it really only been a day and a half since he'd exchanged his boy's body for information on Darla's whereabouts?

The note from Tablisha was dropped in the trash, and Angel unlocked the cuffs from Spike's wrists. Blue eyes blinked open and looked sleepily up at him. "Angel?"

"Get cleaned up and meet me in my room," Angel said, putting the cuff keys back in the night-stand drawer. He didn't wait for Spike to respond, knowing that the younger man would do as told.

The door to room 217 was left open a crack so Spike could get in. Angel stripped out of his clothing as he crossed the carpeted room to the windows. Naked, he pushed back the heavy draperies, allowing the moonlight in. He snorted. A full moon, the time of madness. How fitting.

Angel pulled back the covers on the bed, neatly smoothing the folded edge of the coverlet. He unplugged the phone before climbing into bed and adjusting the cool sheet over his waist. With one arm behind his head, he stared out the window at the bright full moon, and waited.

The soft swish of the door against the carpet was followed by the click of it firmly closing. Bare feet padded almost silently across the floor and came to a stop at the end of the bed. Angel shifted his gaze from outside to his naked childe awaiting instruction. Spike knew where his boundaries were, but tonight Angel needed his boy to step outside those well-defined lines, if only for a few minutes, and take control. He was lost, and he needed his blue-eyed boy to remind him who he was and where his internal boundaries lay.

Angel lifted the sheet in invitation. He turned onto his side as Spike joined him in the bed, readjusting the sheet so it partially covered them both. The blond's hair was damp and he smelled like soap, fresh and clean, innocence hiding a devil. Angel brushed the backs of his fingers along Spike's high cheekbone while looking into azure eyes filled with questions and anticipation.

Without saying a word, Angel shifted and pressed his lips lightly against Spike's. He did nothing to further the kiss, instead he waited for Spike's natural antsiness to take effect. It wasn't long before Spike tentatively moved his lips against his sire's.

The older vampire angled his head, giving Spike both permission and better access. A small nibble and a brush of tongue, and Angel parted his lips to allow Spike inside. Spike moved closer, slanting his mouth over Angel's, deepening the kiss. Thin, nimble fingers slid up the dark-haired man's arm and around his shoulder to skim over the tattoo adorning his back.

Angel rolled onto his back under Spike's prompting. He felt the blond's hard length pressed against his abdomen, his own shaft swelling in response. Spike dropped a knee between Angel's thighs and began to gently thrust his hips, his lower body rubbing intimately against his sire's. Angel smoothed his hands down Spike's back, feeling the dips and ridges beneath the lean man's skin, and came to rest on the beginning swell of his backside.

Spike broke away from Angel's mouth, pressed a kiss on his chin, and started to nibble along his jaw. Angel tilted his head and he was rewarded with a soft sigh of pleasure as his ear was captured by blunt teeth. Gentle tugs on the lobe were in sync with Spike's gentle thrusting.

Angel shifted beneath the younger man, and his swollen manhood throbbed with desire as it rubbed against the coarse curls on Spike's lower abdomen. His hands curved over Spike's buttocks, pulling the blond tighter against him as he arched his hips. The friction against his cock was just right, and he began to move with Spike's thrusts.

A gasp and a low moan sounded by his ear before Spike lifted his head to look at Angel. The blond's forearms pressed down the pillow on either side of Angel's dark head, supporting his weight as he moved with his sire. Their eyes caught and locked, black on white in the dark room. Spike didn't drop Angel's gaze, nor did Angel demand he look away. In that moment, control was passed, and temporary lines were drawn.

The thrusting became harder, faster, the hunger for pleasure overcoming them. Spike moved quickly, sealing his lips over Angel's and viciously plundering the older man's mouth. Flesh bucked against flesh, the unnatural coolness of their bodies heated by the friction. Heavy pants were dragged from bodies that no longer needed to breathe as the sexual tension climbed.

Spike's eyes were golden when he broke the kiss, raised his head, and met Angel's gaze. The normal boundaries had been erased, and Angel knew Spike's floundering panic would surface once he realized those boundaries were gone. But before Angel took control again, he wanted... he needed...

Angel tilted his head, baring his neck to his childe. Spike struck instantly, as if he were afraid his prize would be snatched away. Razor sharp fangs pierced Angel's jugular and white-hot pain blossomed immediately, searing him to the core. Soul, man, and demon shuddered under the possessiveness of the bite, all three parts of him telling him it was wrong even as he started to orgasm. There were certain boundaries...

Angel grabbed the back of Spike's head, but instead of pulling him off, held him tighter. With an uncontrolled roar, Angel climaxed, bucking against the other man. Spike shook in his arms as the younger vampire followed him over the edge, still sucking greedily on his neck. Everything was pulsing, throbbing, spurting, and it felt so good.

The intense waves of pleasure eventually calmed and Angel was able to focus again. He was clutching Spike tightly against him, and the blond was making snuffling noises as he continued to drink. "That's enough," Angel said, his voice low, but firm.

The groan of disappointment made Angel laugh. Long, wet catlicks ran over the wound after Spike removed his fangs. The older vampire gently brushed his hand over the still slightly damp locks on the back of Spike's head. Comfortable, Angel let his gaze drift out the window to the full moon.

Angel felt clearer, not so lost. Tonight, a new set of boundaries had fallen into place. From now on, he catered to his own wants and desires. He controlled his own actions. No more Angel, the puppet-boy, with strings pulled by Cordelia, Wesley, and the Powers That Be. No more Angel, the 'Dark Avenger', who was forced to save humans who didn't deserve saving. From now on, the only one that mattered to him was him...

"Tell me what I did right," Spike whispered drowsily in his ear. "So I can do it again."

...and his boy. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.