Wesley put a book back carefully on the shelf, whilst Doyle wiped down the crumbs off the table. They were both far too aware that Angel was spending what could be his last moments with Spike. Buffy had left hours ago and, aside from the two phone calls the vampire had made to the hospital, Angel hadn't strayed from his lover's side. They all knew that Faith could be anywhere, and whilst the feeling that she would come here dominated, waiting was growing increasingly hard to do. Wesley had pulled out book after book, trying to prise out some extra knowledge, something that would give them an alternate cure, but the few obscure references he'd found all said the same thing - that Spike could be cured only by the blood of the Slayer. He wondered if Angel had thought about feeding Buffy to Spike and dismissed it almost immediately. There was too much between them, too much heartache already passed for Angel to go down that road. Besides, Wesley knew this was an act of revenge - Faith would die for what she had done to the younger vampire, and her death would restore him. Nothing less would work. 'Wes?' The ex-watcher looked up, the same worried expression etched over Doyle's face. Since Cordelia's rather brusque acceptance of their relationship, they'd hit what felt like a lull. There was nothing stopping them becoming lovers to the outside. They were acknowledged as a couple, Spike had passed over some explicit, frightening and, in one case, somewhat impossible techniques. He'd offered his services over and over to initiate the pair of them, and proposed himself as spectator, telling them what went where. Wesley was sure he was kidding, but sometimes that glint had been visible enough to make him wonder. If Spike recovered, Wesley was going to take him up on one of those dirty video evenings, just to watch his chiselled face crack a grin when the seventies' actors started moaning. That sly, oozing sex-appeal grin was something he didn't want to be without and he wondered if Doyle felt the same way. Doyle slipped his arms around Wesley's back, wondering if the man actually knew how sexy he looked when he was worried. 'It's gonna be okay, man. There's no way Faith's gonna miss the ending.' 'Spike dying, you mean,' murmured Wesley. 'No, I'm sure you're right. This wouldn't be as fun for her without the main event.' Doyle felt the choke in Wesley's voice, the hard knot in his belly tensing as he realised how worried the man was. 'He's not gonna die,' said Doyle, 'She'll come soon.' Wesley nodded and rested his head against Doyle's, grateful for the solid strength of the half demon. He felt Doyle chuckle and pulled back, a troubled look across his face. 'What's funny?' Doyle shrugged. 'Well, here's you and me worried about whether Spike's gonna live, when it's our asses that she's gonna kick first!' Wesley raised an eyebrow. 'I hadn't thought of that.' 'Well, I think we'd better, Wes. Cause from what you've said this girl ain't one for taking prisoners. We could end up squashed flat when she runs in to get the brooding one.' 'True,' said Wesley. 'Do you think we ought to leave?' Doyle shook his head. 'Nah, just lets you and me just try and stay somewhere she's not gonna trip over us.' 'Like where?' Doyle looked around. 'Well, how about your book stacks? There's hundreds of the damn things in there and it's not exactly in the line of fire.' Wesley looked past Doyle to the small room, knowing its layout by heart, wishing like mad he'd found something of use within its archives. If they grabbed a few weapons, holed up in there, there was a chance Faith wouldn't see them. And if Angel did need a hand taking the girl down, they'd be ready, Wesley more than willing to oblige. 'Come on then,' he said, picking up the axe from the kitchen table. 'Where are we going?' Wesley smiled at him - soft, subtle, and intensely kissable. 'We're going to need supplies aren't we?' Doyle nodded, that look of confusion still visible. 'What are you thinking? Food and Water?' Wesley grinned and all misgivings left the half-demon's mind. 'Something like that, yes.' * Angel pushed back the covers, slowly stroking the sponge down Spike's body. Somehow, the frame seemed lighter, as though the poison had taken away what little fat the vampire had. He traced the sponge over every inch of fevered skin, aching to take the pain away, needing to do something whilst he waited Faith's arrival. It all came down to this, the destruction of a Slayer. For years he had laboured to protect the Slayer of the moment, and Angel had taken that responsibility, taken that opportunity to become someone. Now, because of similar loyalties, he was going to violate that protection. It wasn't even a question anymore. He'd wondered if Faith deserved a chance to change, knowing that she had possibilities, however deeply they were buried. But Spike was what he wanted, and for the vampire to live, Faith had to die. There really were no other options. All he could do now was wait until she came, glory etched across her face, waiting for him to make a final attempt to save his lover. In the mean time, all he could do was watch over the slender frame, wishing he couldn't see his bones through his skin. Spike had been well fed, even if the source of his nutrition was pig's blood. But in the past two days it all seemed to have drained from him, and he looked like the corpse he was. Angel had tried to feed him, had even offered his own blood in the hope that Spike could gain some strength from its potency, but nothing had worked. Wesley and Doyle had stayed away from him for the latter half of the day, and Angel suspected, when he was able to think of anything other than Spike, that they wanted him to have time alone with the man he loved. A last time. Spike shifted in his sleep and struggled to open his eyes. 'Pet?' Angel smiled even though he knew Spike couldn't see it, stroked the vampire's hand, though he knew Spike could barely feel it. 'Hey,' he said gently, 'You back with us?' Spike let out a low chuckle which would have reassured Angel, if it weren't for that throaty cough which broke it up. The dark vampire ran water round Spike's lips, moistening them, wondering if it worked as well for vampires as it did for humans. 'Pretty much,' he shifted uncomfortably, 'fucked, Pet.' Angel offered him a half-smile. 'Don't worry, I know how to get the cure.' 'When?' The laboured speech of the normally loquacious vampire was slowly wearing down Angel's emotions. He could take Spike being ill, because he would bring the cure. He could take Xander being shot at, because he knew the boy would recover. All these things were horrible, and Angel hated that they had happened, but he could cope. Hearing Spike's degeneration was tearing him apart, and he knew he had to hold it together to beat Faith. He'd never heard Spike desperate before - he'd heard him annoyed, (frequently) he'd heard him passionate, (more frequently) and he'd heard him upset twice. He'd never heard him desperate to hold on and it was breaking Angel's heart. He touched his lips to the damp forehead, savouring the taste. 'Soon,' Angel promised. 'Now sleep, save your strength.' Spike laughed again, the passion he usually employed painfully absent. 'Daft bugger,' he managed, then slipped back into unconsciousness. Angel closed his eyes, focussing on what had to happen. He promised them that Slayers, whether they be friend or foe, would no longer enter their vocabulary. He promised that he would free Spike and deal with the consequences of that, hoping against hope that Spike would choose him. He promised that he would keep his family together. He promised the future. On the hope of an Angel, a Slayer this way comes. * Wesley and Doyle holed up in the darkness, watching as Faith walked slowly round Angel's apartment, picking up ornaments and examining them, wondering whether the vampire knew she was here yet. Wesley knew theoretically that there was little that slipped past either vampire, they were both highly sensitive to smell and sound. But Faith had been quite silent, and both men had wondered if she had heard them breathe - if she knew they were hiding there. With a breezy grin, the Slayer flung her arms wide, embracing the challenge as though she had lived especially for this moment. The potency of a Slayer's lure was legendary. Wesley remembered reading diaries from centuries past, describing how the demons would come to her, wanting to fight the sole creature whose role it was to destroy them. They had come to be slaughtered, vested in the knowledge that they only had to be lucky once, she until the day she died. What creates such beings, wondered the Watcher? I've studied all my life and I only have the haziest of knowledge on that subject. We Watchers have believed as long as we've existed that we fight for the greater good, killing off demons and the undead as we see fit, but when a Slayer can be bad, and a vampire can be a warrior of virtue, where do we make our judgements? Doyle wrapped his arm around him and Wesley shifted a little, careful not to make any noise, crossbow still tightly clenched in his left hand. In his wildest dreams, (and after one particularly descriptive account of a demonic ritual, they had been very wild) Wesley had never imagined he would find comfort in the arms of a demon. Okay, so he was a half-demon, but Doyle was powerful enough to kill, and he could, if he wanted, choose the evil path. That he didn't was more than to his credit, it proved that there were areas of council lore that should be questioned. We do not know the enemy by sight, thought the Englishman, we do not know at all. Doyle looked at him and Wesley offered him a worried smile. The Irishman smiled and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Wesley's own - comfort in the dark. When this is over, thought Doyle, you and I are going to go home, go to bed and get some sleep. And I want you in *my* bed, I want to hold you in the dark, like this, but I want to show you the night can be safe. After all this tension, Wes, I want to make you relax. And maybe, some other stuff too. Wesley blinked at the intensity of Doyle's eyes, wondering if he was imagining the desire he could see. It was dark here, and everything felt like it was almost over. He should be afraid, but there was comfort here, companionship, and for the first time, Wesley didn't feel alone. It was an accomplishment of sorts. * 'Come on big guy!' Faith turned around, waiting for Angel to descend on her; waiting for his killing blow. 'You got the balls, I know that, so why don't you get your ancient ass out here and play a little?' No answer. She grinned and turned toward the bedroom. 'What? Are you having your last mercy fuck?' When this didn't receive an answer, she moved to turn the handle. 'Or is it something more unpleasant?' Angel opened the door, a carefully constructed blank expression on his face. There was none of the passion Angellus used - this was far colder than that vampire could have managed. This was the cold chill of Angel, lover in immortal danger. 'Faith,' he said briefly. She blinked and leaned forward, cocky grin on full wattage. 'Is that all I'm gonna get?' Angel just looked at her, turning the knife he held over in his hands. Faith ignored its presence and carried on in a decidedly cheery voice. 'You know, I would have thought, what with all the time you and B stood together, that you'd have managed some kind of witty comeback by now.' Angel merely shifted into a fighting stance, arms ready to grapple with the Slayer. To bring her down. And still the girl talked. 'I don't get it Angel - all the demons I've fought usually say something. Granted it's pretty much "you're gonna die", but I usually get *something*.' He raised his eyes to hers, anger visible there alone, his emotions, his needs far from her now. She shrugged and pulled out a stake. 'Just a sentence?' Angel lashed out quickly, cutting a line down Faith's neck with the blade. As she clasped her hand to her neck and looked at him expectantly, hope resurfaced in the vampire's mind. 'You're going to die Faith.' She raised her spare arm. 'Finally! Although, gotta say Angel, old man, you're not much for originality.' He kicked her legs out from under her, flinging the blade at her leg before she got up. With a pained laugh, she struck out, beating on the vampire as hard as she could, all the anger coming through her fists. Payback's a bitch, and I'm delivering, she thought with a grin, punching Angel as hard as she could, waiting for him to buckle under her blows. He took the punishment, working round the front room, aware of his every step. She was so confident that she could do this, almost too confident. He'd seen this attitude before, seen people so desperate, so disgusted that surviving no longer mattered. Faith wasn't fighting to live, she was fighting to win, to do all the damage she could. If she died because of it, it wouldn't matter, as long as Angel lost everything he loved. As long as the vampire was defeated. She stabbed forward with the stake, only Angel's instincts preventing her from doing more than grazing his chest. He pulled back, looking for the anger in her eyes. It was there, she was enjoying this, but the desperation was greater and for a moment his heart bled. 'What's the matter big guy? Longer you take to kill me, more likely it is that your little buddy becomes ashtray filling. But only for a moment. He kicked out viciously, sending her flying back against the wall. 'You want to die Faith? Is that it?' She wiped her mouth, tasting her own blood, spilling from somewhere inside. 'I want to win.' Angel backed up, picking up the sword from the wall. 'Not going to happen.' She grinned at him, straightening up and hurling the delicate cabinet at the vampire. 'Now this is more like it, Love. Banter before death.' As Angel ducked, she launched a flurry of blows on his chest, reaching for her stake when he banged onto the floor. 'Shame this is your exit, Babe.' She kissed him hard, raising the stake high above her head. 'Guess who won, Angel?' He struggled to move and she delivered a harsh punch with her free hand. 'But don't worry, Spikey boy'll be following you in a minute or so.' Angel grunted, unable to move away from her. She'd pinned his arms beneath her knees and he couldn't pull free. Couldn't dodge, couldn't stop her from landing that stake. Couldn't win. I'm so sorry Spike. She clicked her tongue on the side of her mouth. 'No last words? Okay then.' As the stake came near, there was a whistling noise and Faith suddenly wrenched backwards, the stake slipping from her hand, landing harmlessly by Angel's shoulder. Quickly, he shifted under this distraction, sliding out from under her, his mind already on his next move. As Angel got to his feet, looking for a new weapon, he saw Wesley standing in the corner of the room, crossbow still raised. He followed the stunned man's glance to the Slayer. Two bolts protruded from her shoulder, blood seeping from the fresh wounds. He looked back to Wesley and saw Doyle coming forward, gently lowering the weapon. Doyle gestured to Angel. 'You'd better fix your boy.' Angel paused a second before nodding and carrying the Slayer into his bedroom. Wesley didn't stop staring at the already congealing blood on the floor. 'I was her Watcher,' he said in a distant voice. 'I know man,' said Doyle, 'And you were a fine one.' Wesley shook his head. 'I wasn't, I was awful.' He raised his eyes uncertainly to Doyle. 'I could have prevented all of this.' Doyle shook his head. 'You couldn't have done, Love. No one could.' 'I should have,' the ex-watcher said in that same blank voice. 'I should have known better.' Doyle pulled him, shook his arms until Wesley managed to focus. 'Angel's in there now with Spike, healing the only man he's ever loved. Do you want that to have gone differently?' Wesley swallowed and shook his head. 'Right then, so you did the right thing, okay?' 'I don't know,' said Wesley, the merest tremble in his body. 'I shall never know.' Doyle pulled him close a second and kissed him hard. 'She'd have killed us next, you know?' 'I know.' 'And I for one, am not all that keen on that.' Wesley almost smiled, but his shock was tangible, something that wouldn't disappear anytime soon. Doyle brought him into the kitchen and sat him down, producing a bottle of whiskey from his pocket and filling a tumbler with the alcohol. 'This is going to knock me out,' said Wesley. Doyle knocked a load back. 'Then I'll carry you home,' he said. Wesley huffed in amusement. 'That a proposition, Francis?' Doyle smiled. 'Fancy sharing my bed tonight?' Wesley nodded. 'Yes, I think that would be a very good idea.' He sipped at his drink. 'Did you call me "love" earlier?' Doyle shrugged and refilled his glass. 'You're not the only one who missed the little fucker you know.' * Angel dumped Faith on the bed, checking her pulse, seeing that she was breathing, barely. A last twinge of guilt passed through him as he contemplated killing her but, looking at Spike, knowing he had lasted long beyond the time Angel had been poisoned, strengthened his resolve. He sat down next to her and pulled Spike gently into his lap, pressing the slender body back against his own, spreading Spike's legs and reaching for Faith. He struggled to grab the Slayer, his panic adding to the difficulty. Angel pulled her upright, her head lolling back against Spike's shoulder, baring a throat through which blood throbbed slowly. With a last thought to what he was doing, Angel scratched his finger along her neck, opening her skin, the blood flowing freely in front of Spike's nose. 'Come on,' he urged, pressing Spike's face forward. But Spike had neither the strength nor the ability, and it dribbled past his mouth uselessly. Angel swallowed hard, wondering how to do this. A memory flashed past his brain, reminding him of the possibility, but it was gone before he could latch onto it, and Faith was bleeding fruitlessly in their arms. He reached for the memory, catching its trails and remembered what had once been. Spike couldn't feed......... Will couldn't feed, so he had......... Will couldn't feed, so Angellus had done it for him. With a growl, Angel slid Spike into one arm, grasping Faith to his throat. He sunk his fangs in deeply, tasting the power inherent in her blood. It flowed easily into his mouth, and before he could give way to temptation and swallow it, Angel turned to Spike and pressed his lips against his childe's. Almost unwillingly, Spike's mouth slipped open and Angel pressed his tongue inside, filling the vampire with the blood of the Slayer. Spike choked, struggling feebly in Angel's arms. The dark vampire growled and, obeying some deep instinct, Spike swallowed, the first meal he'd had in days entering his system. With a pleasured moan, he shuddered and Angel, not daring hope that this was victory, turned back to the Slayer. He drank and passed it to his childe over and over, each time feeling a little slide into his mouth, aware that Spike was growing stronger and that Faith's pulse was ebbing away. He didn't know how many times his lips had touched Faith's neck, how many times Spike had suckled on the blood, tasting the potent liquid, his cure filling his body. Angel could see, could feel the strength returning to his lover's body, but he didn't stop. When Spike's hand came up in front of his face, he shuddered, confused and shaking at the night's events. Angel opened his eyes and met Spike's face, his lips coated with blood, pale, but once more in control. 'What?' he asked, wondering where the trembling tone had come from. Spike gestured to the girl. 'One more mouthful.........and she's dead.' Angel shook his head. 'She's your cure. She.........' 'She's human,' said Spike and groaned, the Slayer's blood doing it's work. 'I don't,' started Angel, 'I don't understand.' Spike growled and sat up, his bones, against all probability, aching. 'She's human, and you don't let the buggers die.' Angel looked at him, recognising both the need and the resolve. He looked at Faith a moment before turning back to his childe. 'Are you sure?' he almost murmured. Spike leaned back against the pillow. 'I'm back, Love, and I've never been any more certain.' Still Angel waited. Spike growled and pushed his sire and the girl to the edge of the bed. 'Get her to a fucking hospital.........no more fucking killing!' Angel blinked, leaned forward and kissed Spike before getting to his feet, hefting Faith into his arms. He opened the door and turned back to his childe. 'I would have done anything to bring you back.' 'I know,' said Spike, wiping the last of the blood on his hand and licking it away. 'Same applies, Pet.' Angel nodded and ran out, the last of his fears about Spike fading as dawn approached. And as he left Faith in the capable arms of the paramedics, he realised anything was possible. If a vampire could change its purpose without a gypsy curse, there was hope for all creatures. Even Faith. With a last look at the predawn sky, Angel disappeared back into the tunnels and back to Spike. Back home. *
The couple grunted hard, rolling round on the bed with abandon, baring as much as possible, completely uninhibited. Naked bodies thrusted, pushed and slapped against one another, slathering each other in baby oil, making sure that everything was at the right angle. As he drove hard inside his partner, the broad shouldered man let out a moan, watching his cock sink in deep, his partner's ass slapping against his thighs. With a loud grunt, he turned slightly, letting his hand push against the curvature of the younger man's ass. 'That's right, fuck yourself on me, Baby.' Spike spluttered out his popcorn, laughing so hard that Angel had to hit him on the back to stop him choking. As the younger vampire rocked back and forth on the sofa, Angel shifted slightly, allowing Spike to settle back against his body once more. His childe had recovered quickly, the potency of the Slayer's blood working its magic, but he wasn't up to full strength yet, and Angel worried. Smiling, he snaked a hand round Spike's waist - so far, his worrying had paid off every time. 'That's bloody priceless, mate,' grinned Spike, reaching for another handful of buttery popcorn. 'Who scripts these damn things?' 'Monkeys?' suggested Doyle, 'Or someone who really does think all plumbers are just sex waitin' to happen?' 'They obviously haven't seen our plumber,' said Wesley. 'Mr Arbuckle isn't looking for anything other than a hefty pay check when he says "arrrh, that's gonna cost you.".' 'You've got your own plumber?' asked Spike, 'You know his name?' Doyle grinned and rubbed Wesley's arm. 'Wes remembers everyone. He keeps it all written down in a book.' 'Nonce,' said Spike, shaking his head. Wesley rolled his eyes, the comment fading from his lips as Doyle slid his hand down to the Englishman's fingers. Every touch lately had stirred him and he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer. Glancing up at Doyle's eyes, he judged the feeling was mutual. 'I think it's kind of nice,' said Doyle, 'People like being remembered.' 'They do,' agreed Angel, 'Could you teach Cordelia how to do it?' 'I thought she was getting better?' said Wesley, 'She's even improved the coffee.' They all nodded. For some reason the brown sludge she presented had become more coffee-like lately. So much so that each of them had been caught at one time or another with a mug in their hand. 'She has improved,' said Angel, 'But she tends to refer to clients as "the little people".' 'When she's filing?' Angel shook his head. 'To their faces.' Spike chuckled. 'Bloody priceless, that girl. You couldn't pay to find anyone that incapable.' 'Why would you want to?' asked Wesley. Doyle squeezed his fingers affectionately. 'Xander seems keen.' Wesley looked at him a moment, and Doyle knew he was wondering if Cordelia still held a threat between them. He could have told him, had actually stated on more than one occasion that whilst she was a good friend, all romantic notions for her had long since left his mind. And left his heart. But he didn't want to say all that in front of the vampires. For one thing, he was pretty sure that they knew it all already. The onscreen couple were still grunting away, and Angel turned the sound down. He shook his head and put the remote control on the side of the sofa. Spike pressed back against him, his ass once again the firm muscular expanse of flesh that Angel fantasised about every moment he wasn't looking at it. The younger vampire knew exactly what effect he had on Angel and grinned, his mind building up an exquisite picture of what would happen when Wesley and Doyle finally left. Whilst he was poisoned, Spike's feverish brain had conjured up all sorts of Bosch-like images of the future. He knew that Angel wanted to restore him, knew also that he would stake Spike the moment he tried to kill another human. He couldn't exist with Angel being his permanent watcher, waiting for the moment when Spike failed. They'd managed to gain some equality in their relationship, taking it far past the one they'd had a hundred years previously. This was not the bond between sire and childe, this was far greater, a meeting of equals in battle and, much more frequently, in bed. So Spike had chosen, believing with all that he was that it was worth the price. He'd tasted Slayer's blood for the first time in so many decades. It was as powerful as he remembered, flooding his system with more than just a cure. He felt like he could do anything - take over the world, send it to hell, open a chain of bloody Big Mac restaurants for vampires. He could do anything he wanted, but what he truly desired was his mate. Spike wanted to stay with Angel for all eternity and, if swearing off humans was the way to achieve that, he could do it. So he had given Faith back to Angel and, whilst they still had to decide what to do about the rogue Slayer, Angel understood that the choice had been made. He had mentioned vague plans for returning to Sunnydale, but Spike was happy enough at the moment, knowing that it would happen one day was sufficient for now. He could wait. Angel started stroking inside his shirt, fingertips sliding over the flesh of his belly. He could wait because he had the best distraction a vampire could have. Not that he was planning on sharing. 'This film is boring,' he said aloud, 'We should have got something erotic.' Wesley, distracted for a moment by Doyle's smile, blinked and looked at the screen. 'I've never seen one of these before, and, I have to say, I don't think I shall be watching again.' 'Oh?' said Spike, 'That's why you put your glasses on is it? Because you didn't like it?' Wesley felt his cheeks flush with colour and struggled to regain control. Doyle's fingers tickling his palm hadn't been on his list of arousing activities, but the list was being reassessed and added to, certain items underlined and highlighted. 'I can't see very well without them' he said, 'and I wasn't having you laughing at me for squinting.' Spike grinned. 'Didn't know you cared what I thought,' he said, ' I'm touched.' 'Definitely touched,' murmured Angel quietly, softly sliding his fingers towards the waistband of Spike's belt. The younger vampire grinned and shifted on the couch, giving Angel easier access. Fingers teased at the fine hair, brushing against Spike's rapidly hardening cock, its sensitive head twitching at every contact. 'So,' said Spike, 'If we're not watching the film, shouldn't you two be buggering off?' Angel cringed at Spike's tone - he may as well have said 'Piss off, we want to shag'. It took him about three more seconds to realise that this was about as subtle as Spike got. And if the others stayed any longer, his lover was going to get a lot more graphic. He almost sighed with relief when Wesley got to his feet. The heady smell of arousal filled the air, and Angel guessed that Doyle and Wesley were going to be in for a lot more teasing after tonight. 'Okay, Spike,' said 'we're off.' 'Good,' said Spike, grinning seductively at him. 'Cause this ain't a spectator sport.' Okay and there was the NOT subtle thing again. Angel shifted and pulled out from under Spike, ignoring the growl of protest he made. 'Thanks for coming round,' he said as calmly as he could manage, hoping that neither man would notice his erection in the dim light. 'Next time you get to choose the video.' 'Ugh,' said Spike, 'Bloody rooms with bloody views.' Wesley pushed his glasses up his nose, wondering why he felt so hot. 'I was thinking more of "Women in Love".' They stared at him. 'Isn't that like Room with a few views?' asked Doyle. 'Not,' said Angel, that half smile back on his mouth, 'if it's the one I'm thinking of. Allan Bates, Oliver Reed?' Wesley offered him a grin. 'Yes,' he said slowly, 'that's exactly what I was thinking.' Angel chuckled and opened the gates to the elevator. Doyle followed the Englishman, slightly bewildered. 'I don't remember that one.' Angel winked at him. 'I'm sure Wesley can fill you in.' 'I bet he bloody can,' whooped Spike from the sofa. 'Now piss of you two, I wanna shag.' Both men looked at Angel with a modicum of pity. Angel shrugged and closed the gate. 'Never know how you handle that mouth of his,' said Doyle. 'He fills it, Pet,' grinned Spike. Wesley stepped forward. 'If you need help gagging him.........' Angel nodded. 'I'll call.' Doyle hit the button and the elevator started its rickety journey up to the office. Angel watched until it was out of sight and turned back to the Cheshire cat on his sofa. 'Now what was that about filling it?' Spike pulled his shirt off and dumped it on the floor. 'Come over here and I'll show you, Love.' As seduction methods go, this one worked well. Angel always was fond of a practical demonstration. * The elevator clunked to a standstill in the office. As Wesley stepped out, all he could think of was the man breathing hard next to him, and how much he wanted to see that body, stripped of all the layers Doyle tended to favour. It had been an image screaming at him all night, and he couldn't get past it to form any kind of coherent thought. 'Wes?' He turned to Doyle, and saw that need reflected clearly, wondering how they were going to do this. If they were going to do this. Best to find some kind of subject to talk about. Something safe. 'So,' said Wesley, 'That film, definitely not what I would have chosen.' Oh well done, Wesley, he thought with a wince, just steer Doyle straight back onto sex. God, he wished he could steer Doyle onto sex. The erection he'd been sporting was getting painful. He needed some release and he wanted to do something that wasn't a solo activity. Maybe he should mention that mud wrestling after all. Doyle didn't seem fazed in the slightest. In fact, thought Wesley, he looks quite......... 'Doyle? Why are you taking your jacket off?' .........comfortable. 'Wes, man,' Doyle began, sliding his coat down onto Angel's desk, 'Just relax a minute. You're getting all tense.' 'Well you're stripping off,' said Wesley, his cheeks reddening, 'It makes me.........tense.' Doyle grinned and stepped toward him. 'It's just my coat,' he said, brushing a hand down Wesley's neck. 'I'm perfectly respectable.' Wesley chuckled at the idea of a perfectly respectable Doyle. 'What?' 'Oh.........nothing,' huffed Wesley, still smiling, 'I just.........wanted you a bit.........unrespectable?' 'A bit dirty, you mean?' Doyle's hand reached the collar and slipped to the top button, sliding it out and stroking the hollow of Wesley's throat. He could feel the Englishman swallowing hard and he stepped forward, pressing his body against Wesley's, finding to his delight that he wasn't the only one excited. 'Now that's something you don't see every day,' he murmured. 'Hmm?' Pressing his fingers against the pulse, Doyle edged Wesley against the desk. 'A Watcher with his eyes closed.' Wesley blinked and looked at him, finding that irresistible smile and another part of his own inhibition fading away. It helped that Doyle didn't seem at all bothered at finding him so aroused. Should I feel this comfortable, he wondered? Why on Earth does this feel so right? 'Can't see anything with your eyes shut,' Doyle lectured gently. 'Should I be looking?' Doyle grinned and pulled open the second button. 'Well I'm figuring yeah, cause I don't plan on missing a minute of this.' Another button came undone and Wesley could feel the cool breeze from the air conditioning on his skin. He shivered, and gasped as Doyle's fingers strayed inside the crisp cotton. Doyle caught his open mouth, kissing the lip that glistened, tasting the fear and lust. He wanted to take away the fear, although he wasn't sure why he felt so authoritative. He'd never been here before, had never done anything like this with any man, and even when he'd spent the night with Wesley, they'd instinctively worn something in bed, protecting themselves from an act neither understood properly. But they knew the implications, felt the need. And if this was an act of discovery, a little clumsy and unsure, then so be it. They had time. And for once, they had the opportunity. He started kissing his way round Wesley's mouth, feeling the man shiver, his lips trembling until Doyle felt them land on his face, kissing back, tasting him. Doyle groaned as Wesley pushed forward, his hips straining for some kind of release, some kind of pleasure he'd only imagined. Doyle pressed back, aware that Wesley had lost his balance and was toppling onto the desk. With a bump, Wesley leaned back and rubbed his head, slightly sheepish and wondering why his clumsiness extended to all areas of his life. He picked up slightly when he noticed Doyle was removing yet another of those obscurely coloured layers, revealing a vest he recognised. 'Isn't that one of mine?' Doyle nodded, grinning as he heard the near growl in Wesley's voice. 'Yeah, it ended up in my wash load and I didn't really want to return it.' Wesley shook his head. 'Why?' Doyle pulled it slowly over his head and offered it to the ex-watcher. 'Because it smells like you.' Wesley accepted it with his mouth open. 'Oh,' he managed, 'That sounds.........oh.' Doyle chuckled and sat on the edge of the desk, brushing his fingers over the bare skin, half hidden by a shirt. 'You know, I'd kind of like it if I wasn't the only one sitting round in my pants?' 'What? Oh, oh, right,' said Wesley, sitting up and hurriedly trying to get out of his shirt and coat. Doyle chuckled and touched his arm. 'I don't think this is a race, Wes. In fact, from what I remember, the idea is to try and finish last.' 'From what you remember?' asked Wesley incredulously. 'You've done this before?' Doyle raised his eyebrows and Wesley finally understood. 'Oh! You mean women.........ah!' Doyle grinned and kissed him gently. 'Well I think the same rules still apply.' Wesley kissed him back. 'Most of them, anyway.' Doyle nodded and ran his fingers slowly over Wesley's skin, already thinking that he hadn't seen enough of its smooth expanse. Wesley was trembling, though Doyle guessed it wasn't just due to the cool temperature of the office. He slid his fingers down to the waistband and saw a worried set of eyes flash at him, the sensation both new and exciting. Doyle winked at the Englishman, and felt the skin cease its nervous flutter. When Wesley's fingers came to feel the soft mass of hair on his own chest, Doyle let out a groan, reassuring the nervous Englishman that he was doing something right. He bent forward, covering Wesley's body with his own, lips meeting those of his lover on new grounds. He felt Wesley's fingers strain at the coarse material of his jeans, tracing the shape of his erection, flashes of heat and cold passing through his body. Wesley ran his tongue over Doyle's lips, feeling this building sense of anticipation grow. He wanted sensations he couldn't quantify. He wanted to feel wholly possessed by Doyle, to be able to let go in a way he'd never been able before. He felt more comfortable around the Irishman than he'd felt with anyone and, despite the knowledge that he was in the office of his employers, this was the first time desire hadn't felt forced. He was flushed with lust, stretching from his head all the way down to his toes. Doyle managed to pull away long enough to rest his fingers at the fastening on Wesley's pants. 'You sure about this? I mean, now?' Wesley couldn't speak, but he managed a nod, panting hard with the anticipation of Doyle's rough fingers on his skin. Doyle grinned briefly and bent his mouth back to Wesley's as his fingers flicked open the fastening, feeling the soft cotton beneath. 'And you say I wear too many layers,' he grinned gently, pressing his mouth against the corner of Wesley's. 'Better safe than.........' Wesley trailed off as Doyle's fingers found him, tracing the hard length with a trembling hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of unfamiliar skin against his own, the curiosity with which Doyle seemed to cover every millimetre of his cock. He pushed up, and felt Doyle's hand close round him, massaging the flesh with a practised rhythm. Swallowing hard, Wesley opened his eyes again, finding his lover sitting up and watching as the head slipped between his fingers, disappearing and reappearing with a delicious regularity. 'That okay?' asked Doyle, fairly confident of the answer. Wesley nodded, biting his lip as he tried to regain control. Doyle's hand was so warm, and it would be so easy to just give in to the pleasure. He could sense that if he just relaxed, he'd cum within seconds. Laying back, he closed his eyes and just let the sensation wash over him, wondering if anything could feel as good as this. Doyle curled his fingers over the head, seeing the drops of milky pre cum on his hand. He could feel Wesley holding back and, whilst he was pleased that he could have such an effect, he wanted to hear the man let go for once. With a slight hesitation, he lowered his mouth, flicking his tongue out as he reached his fingers, tasting the salty fluid and finding it didn't taste as bad as he'd expected. Wesley groaned, his hands flying to his hips, feeling Doyle's cheek and understanding what was happening. Doyle smiled at this acceptance, running his tongue over the sensitive head, feeling it quiver under his mouth. He kept his fingers moving, sliding the skin up and down, Wesley's fists opening and closing as the Englishman tried to keep in control. With a final lick, Doyle gently slid the end up into his mouth, feeling its smoothness and the all over body clench Wesley gave. 'Bloody Hell,' managed Wesley, opening his eyes and finding Doyle tentatively taking more of his hard length into his mouth. Doyle raised his eyes to him questioningly and Wesley dropped his head backwards. 'Oh God, that feels good.' Doyle chuckled, and the hum passed through Wesley's body, his every nerve ending tingling. 'Mmm, don't stop.' Doyle grinned and started to build a steady rhythm between his fingers and his mouth, his own cock throbbing as Wesley twitched and pulsed beneath his hand. He felt Wesley's hands come down to his shoulders, not so much holding him there, as struggling to retain any kind of restraint. But Doyle picked up the pace, loving the way the Englishman was losing it, feeling the pulse building. 'Oh God.........Doyle.........Francis.........you have to.........I'm going to.........' Wesley tried to pull away, unwilling to let himself spill into Doyle's throat, but the Irishman wouldn't let go, and he no longer had the control to stop himself. 'Oh God.........' With a deep moan that seemed to come from somewhere in his belly, Wesley came, pulsing hot liquid into Doyle's mouth. The Irishman swallowed, its saltiness not so offensive, the satisfaction of making Wesley lose all his inhibitions much more important. He sucked gently until Wesley stopped shuddering, his own erection pressing against his jeans. Sliding up to Wesley's neck, he was amazed as the Englishman pulled him close, holding him tightly, with a relaxed attitude he'd never seen him with. 'Thank you,' whispered Wesley, kissing Doyle's forehead. 'That was.........' 'Good?' offered Doyle. Wesley smiled and kissed him again. 'Wonderful,' he answered. Doyle grinned. 'So that's all right then.' Wesley chuckled and sat up, stroking his fingers down Doyle's hairy chest and to the waistband of his pants. 'What are you up to?' asked Doyle, suspicion happily dawning. 'Attempting to return the favour,' said Wesley, his fingers quickly unfastening Doyle's pants. 'Any tips?' Doyle smiled and rested his hands behind his head. 'Well it seems easy enough. As long as you're enjoying yourself, that seems to be the main thing.' Wesley slipped his hand to the firm column that protruded from between the fastening. 'Oh I think you can guarantee that,' he murmured, fingers flicking over the flesh. 'What makes you so sure?' asked Doyle with a grin. Wesley smiled, and the Irishman saw his cock twitch in anticipation. 'Because I'm not going anywhere until I get it right.' Doyle swallowed hard as Wesley started licking the sensitive skin. With the Englishman's talent for perfection and study, this could be a long night. He smiled again, and gave in to the pleasure. Things were definitely looking up. * On the stairway, the naked couple watched as Wesley and Doyle tried out different ways of pleasuring one another. Spike grinned at Angel, brushing his cock with highly educated fingers. 'Told you,' he whispered. Angel shook his head. 'I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it.' Spike kissed his way up the broad shoulders and nuzzled at Angel's neck. 'Why, Pet?' Angel watched as Wesley sank his mouth down as far as he could, Doyle's body arching under the pressure, wanting more. The vampire felt himself begin to breathe, feeling a little dirty, feeling a whole lot aroused. 'I always thought Wesley was an "in the bed, missionary position" kind of man.' Spike grinned and to build up a familiar pressure round Angel's cock. 'And now you know he's not?' Angel shrugged, turning away from the office and meeting the seductive fire of Spike's eyes. 'I don't know.' He smiled and started stroking his way down Spike's back, finding the irresistible curve of his ass. 'Maybe I'll ask him for tips.' Spike chuckled gently and kissed the vampire. 'Maybe you should.' There was a loud groan from the office and they turned back as Doyle came, his body trembling hard. Angel watched, a frown coming over his face. 'That's my desk. It's going to smell of sex.' 'It usually does, Pet,' reminded Spike. 'Yeah,' said Angel, 'But that's you and me and I don't mind that.' Spike grinned and pulled Angel close. 'Never mind, Love. Maybe they'll sort out the tilt on that bloody thing.' Angel laughed, quietly. 'No, I don't think so.' 'Why?' Angel kissed him, fingers, teasing his ass, already eager for more. 'Because after a year of the damn thing wobbling, it'd feel weird if it was straight.' 'Nothing in this office is straight, Pet,' said Spike. 'Except maybe for Xander.' 'Yeah,' said Angel, leaning forward to kiss him. 'Everything but Xander.'