The Clockwork Vampire

by Spirit

Doyle dropped off his coat on the sofa and headed for the hidden whiskey bottle behind the cupboard. He unscrewed the cap and slugged a load back, ready to listen to whatever it was that Wesley had to say. The Englishman had reacted badly, make that maybe too badly, to the news of Megan's death. He guessed that Angel's lack of brooding hadn't helped - if there was one thing Angel and Wesley had in common, it was their natural ability to blame themselves for everything. Wesley had assumed responsibility for every nasty act that Faith had performed, presumably including Megan's murder. How had it been, to have his hero acting as though it didn't really matter? I mean, it had to be that, didn't it? It couldn't be because he was in love with her or anything.........could it? He watched as Wesley slumped on the sofa, eyes almost shut from lack of sleep, reddened where he'd let a few bitter tears fall. When they'd got out of the hospital, Doyle held his arms out, waiting for the emotional outburst he was sure would come. But Wesley had said nothing, just casually walked away from the doors, signalling for a taxi. The Irishman wasn't even sure if he knew Doyle was still there. And then, when the cab stopped, Wesley turned and faced him, pain all to clear in his sorrowful expression. They'd said nothing in the cab, short of telling the driver their address, watching whilst the man took their measure. Doyle could almost feel the judgements being made. He could guess at the thoughts the cabbie had. "Not my business," maybe, or - "It takes all sorts". Or maybe, he was just thinking, "Couple of fags coming from of them's got something, or maybe got a friend who's died. Shame." As they got out and paid, the driver grinned pleasantly at him and bid him a good night, and Doyle was sorry for making judgements. God only knew there had been too many of them tonight. What he needed was.........shit.........he needed a drink. He stared into the bottle now, wondering why he'd felt the need to stash it. Wesley had never complained about his drinking habits, and by the looks of him now, he wasn't about to start complaining. The man looked death-like himself. As he turned to get another glass, dull tones echoed from the sofa. 'So let us melt, and make no noise, no tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move. T'were profanation of our joys to tell the layetie our love.' Doyle frowned, wondering what it had come from, not quite understanding Wesley's sentiments. When people he'd known had died, he'd offered up a good old Irish wake - lots of drinking and celebrating life. The English, he knew, did it differently. They tended to go all solemn and quote depressing lyrics and things. Morrissey was quite a God-send for the astute mourner. Best to go with what you know. He passed Wesley a glass of whiskey and knelt before him on the floor, waiting for something, anything that would help work out what to do. Watching Wesley knock it back, he figured at least he'd see what a depressed drunk looked like from a different perspective. 'Wes? You wanna talk about it?' 'About what?' Doyle scrunched uncomfortably and reached for the bottle again. 'I don't know, man. About her being dead.........or something?' Wesley snorted and reached for another shot of whiskey. Doyle's hand covered his and stopped him. 'Come on, Wes. You're shutting me out and I thought I had dibs on being depressed guy round here.' If he was waiting for a smile, Doyle was always going to be disappointed, as Wesley shook his hand away and pulled the bottle closer. With a shrug, the Irishman sat back, leaning against coffee table and feeling a little fed up. 'So come on Wes, talk to me.' He held up his hand. 'If you say "about what" again I'm gonna have to hit you, so come on, give.' Wesley glared at him a moment before answering, but Doyle wasn't about to let a little bad eyeballing get him down. Not when there were so many other wonderful options that could do it. 'What do you want to know? That she's dead? That no one seems to care but me? That I.........' He broke off, covering his face with one hand, as if daring the tears to come and further unman him. Doyle leaned forward and gently pulled the whiskey away, watching as Wesley's shoulders shook with the pressure of not-crying. Once his control had been broken, he found it hard to rail his emotions back in and today wasn't helping that at all. 'You're not responsible, if that's what you were going to say.' Wesley looked up. 'I can't be anything else.' 'Bullshit.' 'It's not bullshit. Its true. I was her watcher and if I'd done a better job there wouldn't have been.........she would have.........Megan wouldn't be dead.' Doyle licked his lips and nodded. He'd known it would be something like that. He'd known.........he'd felt the pain, known the resistance and tried to be ready for this. But it hurt, as truth always did. 'So if you'd been a better Watcher, Faith wouldn't have felt bad and wouldn't have gone around kicking the ever-loving shit out of people?' Wesley pinched his nose. 'I failed my post. I failed her, and everyone else she's hurt since.' 'So you'd rather that you'd tried to stop her going bad and missed out on everything that happened because of that?' Doyle watched the Englishman flinch, wondering if this was the right way of bringing him round. He pushed on. 'You'd rather you were back in Sunnydale instead of messing about with the likes of us.' 'Francis.........' 'No seriously, Wes, I wanna know. You'd rather be the big man in Sunnydale than be here with me?' There, he'd said it and boy was it a huge.........oh man, not a relief, a thing, a great big thing that Wes could say yes or no to. Damn everything he'd ever believed if the answer was no. 'That's not fair,' said the ex-watcher. Doyle's heart sank. 'So it is a no, then.' 'I didn't say that.' Doyle stood up and tried to remember where the second bottle was.' 'Well it wasn't a fuckin' yes either.' ' know I didn't mean that. You're using my words against me.' 'Oh yeah?' Doyle pulled open a cupboard and hauled out an almost empty bottle of Glenfinnigh. 'Doyle, stop that.' 'Drinking? Ah, but you can't stop me drinking anymore than I can stop you blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault.' 'It is my fault!' 'It's not. It's that Faith girl you're so eager to defend. She's responsible, she did it all and you're not exactly man enough to stop a Slayer.' As soon as the words were out he regretted it. But Wesley was already closing his eyes, taking it in and reacting in the worst way he could imagine. 'Wes, stop, don', don't leave, okay. I'm sorry.' Wesley picked his coat up and moved toward the door whilst Doyle tried to get in his way. 'I'll stay at a hotel tonight. I'll be back for my things in the morning.' 'Wes don't, c'mon, you know I was just pissed.' 'You're not drunk, you're sober, and I think you've made your feelings quite clear.' He tried the door and Doyle grabbed his hand. 'Dammit, pissed off, man, not drunk, and I've not said anything.' Wesley rattled the handle and, realising it was on the latch, looked around for the key. 'I'm not man enough for you, fine, but don't try and make excuses. I know how you feel.........' Doyle threw the bottle to the floor and grabbed Wesley's collar, pulling the stupid, dim-witted, pompous.........arrogant.........annoying.........loyal.........affectionate man closer. 'Oh you know, do you? You've got it all figured out?' 'Doyle, let go, this is childish.' 'Oh this is childish? Okay, try this. I'm so dumb that I'm standing here with you face to face ready to move mountains if you'll just get it through that thick head of yours that I love you.' He paused and watched Wesley's eyebrows rise, his mouth drop open and his hand fall from the door. Doyle huffed and tried a grin. 'You know, that didn't sound so cheesy when I tried it in front of the mirror.' Wesley shook his head. 'You never sound.........cheesy.' 'I don't?' The Englishman offered him a grin. 'Well sometimes, when you're trying to wheedle something out of Cordelia.' 'Extra paper-clips.' 'Yes.' Doyle realised he was still gripping Wesley's collar and let go, relaxing his hand round the man's neck. 'So.........I'm kind of looking for a reaction here.........something more than a cheap gag?' 'Hmmm? Oh, I love you too. But I thought you knew that.' Doyle shook his head and wondered if the grin was as dopey as it felt. 'Nah, I mean, I kind of knew you liked me.........' 'What with me sharing your bed and all.' 'Yeah.' Wesley wrapped his arms round Doyle's back and pulled him closer, resting his forehead against the Irishman's own. Doyle could actually feel him relax, some unidentified tension gone, replaced with security, the knowledge of being loved, of being wanted. The loss of Megan McGill hadn't been a threat to them, but to Wesley's own beliefs. How can you account for a death that is inadvertently something you caused? Doyle knew the answers were never going to be simple, and that to some degree, Wesley was always going to feel that responsibility. In some way, it was part of what attracted him to the Englishman anyway - he'd learnt not to run away from his mistakes, something Doyle still wasn't so good at. He hoped that maybe Wesley would help him do it. Right now, however, he had different things on his mind. Snuggling against the Englishman's neck, Doyle could feel the steady thump thump against his chest. He was still tired, almost exhausted from the day's events and the lack of sleep from the night before. But he wanted this, wanted to close out this horrible day with something better. Besides, his cock was throbbing and now seemed as good a time as any. 'Wes?' 'Hmm?' 'You wanna go to bed?' With a slight stretch, Wesley nodded. 'Oh God yes, I feel like I could sleep for a week.' 'Oh.' The Englishman leaned back and caught Doyle's sheepish expression. 'Is something wrong?' Doyle offered him a grin and gestured towards the bedroom. 'I was thinking a whole lot more literal than sleeping.' He was an advert for a Warner Bros cartoon, Doyle decided. He'd never met anyone who did the 'eyes popping out their head' thing so well. Or so often. 'Look Wes, if you don't want to, it's okay. I guess I can use some sleep as well.' 'Not bloody likely.' With a ferocious grin, Wesley launched himself on top of the Irishman, knocking him backwards to the floor. As his head hit with a bang, Doyle groaned, ready to berate his lover, but warm lips were upon his, hands caressing his face and neck, sliding down towards his shirt, ready to tear it open. There was passion in the Englishman yet, guarded by a fear that he might be too much, that his desire could be too strong for some. But right now, none of that mattered, and Doyle ran his tongue up to meet Wesley's, welcoming the body that pressed against his own. When Wesley knelt up, running his hand down Doyle's day old shirt, shredding the buttons and exposing a thick matt of dark hair, he didn't care, loving this almost predatory version of the man he loved. And when long fingers stretched to feel the springy warmth of his hair, Doyle almost purred, revelling in the attention to detail. He reached up, trying to find a way through Wesley's clothes, frustrated by the neatness of the man's attire. He was more than a little surprised when Wesley sat back and hauled his own shirt off, nearly strangling himself before he remembered to remove his tie. 'Nice work if you can get it.' Wesley chuckled and reached for Doyle's belt. 'I keep thinking I should say something like, "come and get it", but it feels so cheap.' 'Nothing wrong with cheap.' 'Oh, thank you.' Doyle chuckled and brushed Wesley's face with the back of his hand. 'You're not the one lying on his back, unable to do what he really wants.' Wesley paused and leaned down, gently nipping at Doyle's mouth, feeling the plump skin tense under his lips. 'And what is it that you want, exactly?' Doyle grinned and squirmed a little, rocking the Englishman off. 'Comfier place than this, for one.' Wesley flushed red and looked around. 'Ah, yes, I suppose, yes. You're right. Um.........shall we.........?' The Irishman chuckled and stood up, reaching for his own belt and unthreading it. He unzipped his pants and kicked them off, losing his shoes at the same time. Realising that the 'socks-only' look was kind of weird, he pulled them off too, leaving a rather breathless Wesley with a solid body to look at. Solid in every way. 'Why don't we just.........' '.........Go to bed?' murmured Wesley. 'Yes, that does sound a most excellent suggestion.' With a grin, Doyle pushed open the bedroom door, and waited whilst Wesley stripped and hurried past him, landing dead centre on the bed. It was still mussed up from the night before, but for once, Doyle guessed that making sure they had perfect sheets wasn't the highest priority on the Englishman's agenda. And by the firm column slapping against his belly, Doyle was fairly certain that Wesley wouldn't mind messing the bed up even further. As he let go of the door, Wesley grimaced and leapt up. 'Wes?' Wesley paused before he opened the door, as if he realised what Doyle might be thinking. He kissed the Irishman quickly and ran out, returning minutes later with a small box, sealed with an air-tight lid. 'What's this?' asked Doyle as Wesley sat back on the bed, one leg pressed against his own. 'It' thought I'd' Doyle frowned at him and reached for the box. He pulled off the lid and started picking up its contents, grin widening as he looked at each one. He looked up into Wesley's rather red face, and pulled out a small tub. 'You actually bought a selection?' Wesley's cheeks actually got redder. 'Well I sort of.........asked Spike, and then he said that Vaseline was.........and I just thought.........' Doyle chuckled and flipped the lid off the tub. 'You actually thought about this, haven't you?' Wesley nodded and then stroked along Doyle's cheek. 'I've thought of little else, recently.' 'Well that's good to know. I was beginning to think I was the only one aching to have a goodun.' 'A what?' Doyle kissed him, teasing his lower lip with his teeth. 'Going all the way, man.' 'Oh.' As he leaned into the kiss, Doyle could feel Wesley tensing, and before he said anything, the Irishman knew what was coming next. 'Umm, Francis?' Doyle sighed and leaned back, keeping up a steady caress down the man's side. 'No, I don't know how Angel and Spike decide who goes on top. Maybe they toss for it.' With a muffled snigger, Wesley sneaked his hand around Doyle's cock, massaging its length with his fingers. 'I don't have a problem with that.' He moved closer and started nibbling his way around Doyle's neck, grinning every time the half-demon twitched, the pulse in his neck matching that in Wesley's untrained fingers. They'd been so close, had almost been here on so many occasions, but this time felt different. This time they both knew what they were going to do, both wanted it, even if they weren't entirely certain how it was going to pan out. As his cock pulsed harder, Doyle groaned deeply and leaned forward, knocking Wesley pleasantly back onto the bed. Almost as if he heard the Irishman's unspoken request, Wesley lifted his knees, letting Doyle press closer to him, thick length pressing up against his own. Long fingers sneaked down to his balls and Doyle shifted upwards, suddenly eager to do this now, ready to complete this circle, wanting to make love to the only man he'd ever felt this way about. He reached out, banging his hand on the bedside table and searching frantically for the box. Wesley picked up the tub and, breathing heavily, pushed it into Doyle's fingers. They broke away from the kiss for a moment, one questioning if this was okay, the other offering a nervous reassurance. The Irishman grinned and felt the shudder all the way down to his cock. 'Francis?' 'Hmm?' Wesley shifted to watch him as Doyle dipped his fingers in the slick substance. 'Shouldn't we, I mean, shouldn't we read the instructions?' Doyle grinned and kissed him hard before waving his greasy fingers at him. 'Wes, this is Vaseline. You can use it on a baby's ass and other dry places. I don't think it's got a "how to" for sex.' Wesley nodded, and if it hadn't been for the stiff length in front of him, Doyle might have thought the Englishman was sitting a really tough exam. He lay down on top of him, fingers sliding behind Wesley's balls and stroking at the hitherto untouched ass. 'Tell you what, we'll just give this a go and you can sort me out if I'm going wrong.' Wesley chuckled and wrapped his hands round the small of Doyle's back. 'Grade you, you mean?' 'Something like that.' 'Well I guess I can.........oooh!' Doyle nuzzled his mouth and waited for Wesley to start breathing again. 'That okay?' The Englishman opened his eyes and tried to focus. 'It's different.' 'Different bad, or different good?' With a moan, Wesley slid backwards down Doyle's finger. 'Good,' he managed. Doyle was fairly surprised at just how tightly his finger was caught. With an experimental thrust, he started moving in and out of the warmth, pleased as the low moaning grew louder. When Wesley grasped at his hand, he pushed another finger inside, the 'pshig' noise somehow not funny, somehow adding to the need. Wesley was moving with him now, pushing back as Doyle twitched his fingers, his cock throbbing and hard, almost ready to burst. 'Francis, now,' Without a word, Doyle slid his fingers out, looking at the reddened, slick hole that didn't seem capable of stretching wide enough to accommodate him. But Wesley shifter on the bed, raising hips, pushing against the air, needing Doyle as much as the Irishman wanted him. With the remnants of the slick on his fingers, Doyle rubbed his cock, groaning as the flesh twitched again and again. His eyes fixed on Wesley's face, he pushed forward, the head pressing against the slippery opening for a moment before sliding inside. 'Whoah!' Doyle paused as Wesley's eyes flashed open, the Englishman sweating and writhing beneath him. 'Should I stop? Wes, are you all right?' Struggling to stay clear of mind, Wesley nodded and stretched his hands up to Doyle's waist. 'Tight, just a little.........surprised. Go on, more.' Doyle smiled at how close Wesley was to losing control and pushed forward, his cock sliding slowly forward, gripped tightly by the firm muscles. He pulled back a little, reassured that he wasn't hurting the man, and with a quick thrust, felt how quickly Wesley was accommodating to his size. As his cock sunk in deeper, Wesley groaned, and Doyle guessed he'd just pressed against the magic spot. The hardening length against his belly confirmed that whatever he was doing, Wesley liked it. Slowly, he began to build up a rhythm, making sure he pressed forward hard enough to make Wesley quiver. It felt so different than anything he'd done before, the warmth and squeezing enough to make him lose control at any moment. Somehow the low moaning was more erotic than any breathing he'd heard with his previous partners. He was growing stronger, feeling as though he could beat anything the world threw against him, if only they'd let him be here, do this, do anything with Wesley. They'd been rivals, friends and now, lovers, discovering how to do all sorts of acts they'd only heard of. Well, in some cases, Angel and Spike had provided very graphic details on how to, but God, this felt so good. He leaned forward and struggled to capture Wesley's panting mouth, slipped his tongue inside, feeling the strange and yet compelling feeling of possession, pushing forward with every breath, feeling insane, feeling different, and oh God, so damn good! He soared above anything he'd done before, balls twitching and tightening, ready to let go, wondering if he could do anything that would compare to this, suddenly not thinking at all. And with a deep and tuneless groan, Doyle spilled deep inside his lover, thrusting hard until he was empty, coming back to Earth with the widest grin he'd ever worn. Wesley moaned against his mouth, pressing up into Doyle's belly as the stimulation grew too much. He yelped as hot sticky liquid coated the Irishman's chest, matting the hair and making them both as gooey as Hell. None of which seemed to matter to either of them, and they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, wondering why they'd waited so long, glad that they'd got there at last. As Doyle pressed his mouth to Wesley's ear, he wondered what he should say. Thank you for letting me fuck you seemed ungrateful, and yet......... 'Nothing's ever felt as good as that, Wes.' 'Yes,' murmured the tired Englishman, 'I'd agree with you there.' There was silence, and then......... 'Should we go shower?' 'Bath,' said Wesley agreeably, 'Which you can run, whilst I just.........' He closed his eyes and Doyle grinned. Sometimes, you just had to let the good times roll. And other times, you gave them a recovery break. Doyle got up and went to run the bath, eyes scanning the room for something different to use. He wondered if bath oil would sting. *

'So let me get this straight, you're a fucking ghost and you're haunting dead people?' Megan looked down, as though she were examining her corporeal form. She seemed to tail off somewhere around the ankles, and it seemed to worry her. Not that having a horny and annoyed Spike shouting at you wouldn't do that already. Angel switched the microwave on and waited for the ping. Waited in short, for the blood that would sate Spike's aggression for the moment.........with any luck. Frankly, he was just too worn out for this shit, and if he had to put up with a ghost in the apartment, Angel just wanted to go to bed and relax. If she was haunting now, she'd be haunting later when he woke up. But apparently, Spike wasn't prepared to settle with that. 'Oi, ghost girl, quit ignoring me and get your dead arse out of my bloody apartment.' Angel winced at the snarl in Spike's tone. He knew why Spike was annoyed - getting that vampire from horny to calmed down always took sex, and lots of it. And Angel had never liked having sex when his relatives had been in the house even when he was human. Doing the naughty when a descendent was in the room was one of the quickest ways to keep him flaccid. And that wouldn't do at all. Megan glared at him and crossed her arms, reflecting Spike's pissed off stance. 'You really don't go in for the family thing, do you?' Spike snorted and picked up the axe lying on the coffee table before he realised it couldn't exactly threaten someone who was already dead. With a scowl, he leaned over and grabbed a jar from a cupboard, holding it out to her. 'Can you get in here?' Megan raised an eyebrow at him. 'Do I look like a genie?' 'Do I look like I care?' Ping! Angel reached into the microwave and pulled out the mugs, passing one to Spike, ignoring the arrogant look he was given. This was family, and it had taken Angel years to learn that you didn't get involved. Spike slurped down the blood, vamping out and not caring whilst Megan looked longingly at the liquid. 'Dammit, I'm not going to be able to drink anymore either!' With a grin, the younger vampire sat down and delicately sipped down the remnants of his meal. 'Thought ghosts were supposed to give up their worldly cares, Pet.' Megan huffed and attempted to sit on the kitchen table. She sank through it a couple of times before assessing where its level was, and hovered a couple of centimetres above its grainy surface. She sighed again and Angel wondered if he was going to have competition in the brooding stakes. Not that anyone came close, really, but the last thing either of them needed was a suicidally depressed spirit. Actually, that didn't even bear the weird logic of thinking about. 'I'm not exactly a ghost. I never strictly died.' 'Well your body's dead.' Megan glared at him and Angel recognised the promise of an oncoming war. 'Thanks to whom? I didn't get myself killed, so it must have been you,' she said to Spike. The vampire leaned back in his chair and shifted back to human. 'Can't blame me if you're clumsy enough to get kidnapped by lawyers. You must have been pretty stupid to let that happen.' She glared at him. 'I'm only human, I can't escape from the stupid hunters they sent. I don't have supernatural powers like some relatives I could mention.' Spike grinned and looked over to Angel. The torture benefits of having a ghost in the house had just begun to dawn on the blond one, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Especially if they acted like this the whole time. It was hard enough coping with one individual who descended to child-like arrogance when they argued. To have two was more than Angel thought he could stand. He'd had enough trouble trying to navigate the strange and vicious terrain of Spike's arguments with Wesley, and feeling like Daddy didn't get him going. Of course, Angel knew that Wesley was held in high affection these days, and that part of Spike's bickering was to cover that fact up. He'd mentioned it to the vampire on several occasions, half-wondering why he even bothered to try and hide it. Even Cordelia had mentioned that Spike was family, that they were all, like it or not, a part of this freaky connection. Spike had growled, rolled Angel over and proceeded to take Angel's mind completely off anything but the blond vampire's talented tongue. Not that he was complaining, not really, but Spike's natural ability to avoid talking about anything that he didn't want to had left him wondering sometimes. Spike wasn't really into in depth where-are-we-going-with-this-relationship talks, which was, he had to admit, a good thing. Buffy had insisted on endless do-you-love-me-enough-to-get-past-this discussions, ones which had wiped him out on more than one occasion. His childe, on the other hand, assessed things quite simply - you love me, I love you, what more is there to discuss and why don't we both strip off right now? Which didn't mean he was incapable of romance.........just that his methods were always slightly bizarre, unless you understood Spike. Thankfully, Angel did understand Spike, and when the vampire had dumped a very old and very tattered manuscript in his lap one evening, he'd taken the time to find out what the battered piece of paper was. Spike had shifted fitfully on the sofa, waiting to see if he'd like it, obviously prepared to issue a threat if the older vampire revealed its nature to anyone. But Angel had never been more touched by a gift. The paper was full of hashed out words, elegant script creeping across its width. It took him a few minutes before he recognised the content, and as the simple verse revealed itself to him, he wondered what the Rossettis had thought of the wayward young man who'd crossed their path. He tried to remember how they'd died, wondering if his prize had been taken as one of the spoils, but Spike raised an eyebrow at him, accurately guessing what Angel was thinking, and he was ashamed. Then he remembered he was dealing with a violent ass kicking vampire and grinned at him, feeling loved and appreciating the gesture. Right now, as Megan and Spike were yelling at each other, he couldn't quite remember how that emotion went. 'I did not!' Spike grinned at her. 'Oh sure you did. You came over here, expecting Weasly to lay down and say, "come on Babe, let's do the wild thing" didn't you?' He paused, registering the look of bewilderment on her face. 'I don't think Wesley's ever said Babe in his life.' Spike raised his hands in supplication. 'Whatever. He probably had *some* pet name for you and you were just dying to jump his bones.........' She waved a semi-transparent hand at him - died there, been that. 'So you're dead now. Well big whoop. I'm dead too and it doesn't bother me.' Angel winced at Spike's bluntness. He'd never have made a good agony aunt, not even when he was human, but even Spike should have known that death was a touchy subject. Megan didn't look all that bothered though. Perhaps it was being around vampires so long, or her last excursion into the dark side of the world, but she seemed more bothered by the idea of being unable to drink than being able to breathe. 'Anyone tell you you're a real ass at times, Granddad?' 'Don't call me that.' She grinned. 'What are you going to do, drain me?' Spike huffed a moment, hating not being able to follow through on a threat. He glared at his descendant for a moment before turning away, eyes lighting on Angel's mini-library. The dark vampire could almost see the wheels clicking in his brain, somehow feeling very close to his childe. Spike nodded to him. 'Hey, Love, you got books on how to get rid of unwelcome spirits?' Glancing briefly at a scowling Megan, Angel nodded, wondering what the etiquette was on exorcising a family member. Did you have to get a special rite to work? 'Oh fine, get rid of me, why don't you. I thought you had to sort out a ghost's dying requests before we could "move on to the light" or something.' Spike tilted his head to one side. 'All right, Love. You tell us what will get you out of here and we'll do it.' She stared at the floor for a moment, before meeting his gaze. 'I don't know.' Spike growled and walked away. 'That's bloody brilliant, pet. I finally offer to sort a human's problem out and you don't have a sodding clue what the problem is! Fanfuckingtastic!' Eager to diffuse the situation, Angel gestured to the stairs. 'Can you move out of here at all?' 'Out of the apartment? I don't know.' Spike snorted against the doorframe. 'Well you don't know much, do you?' She ignored him and trod on the step, working out where her feet might be and slowly moved up the stairs. 'Hey! I can do it!' Spike opened his mouth to say something, whilst Angel clamped his hand over the blond vampire's mouth. 'Can you get to the office?' 'Umm, I don't know.........hang on.' There was a pause, in which Spike stopped struggling and raised an eyebrow at Angel. He moved his hand away, groin twitching at the wicked grin that emerged beneath his fingers. Megan's voice fluttered down, distant, but still excitable. 'Hey, I think I might be able to get out of this place for a bit.' 'Good,' shouted Angel, 'why don't you see how far you can get?' For a few silent minutes, the vampire stood there, waiting for the wail that would announce her return. When it seemed clear she was off on walkabout, Spike wrapped one hand casually around Angel's hip. 'Go as far as you can and don't come back, right?' Angel allowed himself a half smile. 'Well, she wasn't leaving with your method, and I had.........plans.' They looked to the chocolate cake in the kitchen, delicious images passing through both minds. 'Dirty bugger,' said Spike, walking over and opening the fridge door, 'anyone would think you wanted to shag, or something.' Angel reached past him and drew out a large tub of double cream. 'Or something can be added, if you want.' He flicked off the lid and dipped two fingers in the cold froth, vivid ideas about how the next half hour was going to play out. Spike leaned forward and flicked his tongue out, snaking round the digits and drawing the cream off. 'Nice choice, Pet.' 'Mhmm.' The blond grinned evilly at him and turned to cut a good wedge out of the chocolate cake. 'Only I thought chocolate fudge cake was supposed to be served hot.' 'It is.........' began Angel, 'only I didn't like the idea of burning' Spike grinned as the dark vampire gestured vaguely to his groin. 'Now, now, love. If you can do it, you ought to be able to say it.' He brushed Angel's hand away and started stroking gently along the stiffening length. Angel groaned and tried to concentrate, but dammit, it was so hard. As he started to really lose control, Spike drew his hand away, opening the microwave door and setting the thing to heat up. 'Come on then, what was it you were worried about.' Angel scowled at him, sensing the mischievousness, aware that until he said it, Spike wasn't going to lay a hand on him. And God, did he want him to. 'Love?' Sometimes, Angel decided, it didn't matter how old he was, or how many times he'd been in this situation. Sometimes he couldn't control himself and had to give up any semblance of authority to that which wielded it with deadly precision. In other words, nothing can defeat the power of the penis. He hated it when Xander was right. God, he wished it wasn't so. Sensible, brooding Angel would have liked to sigh meaningfully and walk out, leaving Spike in no doubt that he was above games like this. Oh yeah, he was the man, or rather, the vampire, and he wasn't going to take this childish bullshit just to get his leg over. Only it was more than childish bullshit, and far more than getting his leg over. Spike was his, for better or worse; the vampire belonged to him. Okay, he could deal with that. What bothered him more was that the blond only had to grin like *that*, and Angel was undead putty in his hands. His cock virtually jumped to attention every time Spike came in the room, as though there was a conversation between it and the blond, of which his brain took no part. And yet, as easy as it would be to ascribe this fascination to lust, Angel knew that he was in love, stupidly, deliriously in love with the vampire who'd tried to kill him.........a lot. There had been times when he'd wondered about the definition of perfect happiness. Not so much these days - he was trying hard to adapt to Spike's nonchalant existence. The Powers that Fuck about had allowed him this haven in the midst of war, giving the vampire a reason to fight, giving him a need to be more human. In his own inimitable way, Spike was about as human as any creature of darkness could be. He fought for what was his, protected what needed protecting, and lived by his own morals. And he made Angel feel damned good. Too good to question whether perfect happiness would still make his curse fail. Which why he was standing in his own kitchen, cock treacherously twitching in its aroused state. 'What was that, Pet?' Spike was still grinning like a maniac, counting down the seconds until the fudge melted. 'Balls, Will.' 'Hmm?' Angel grabbed hold of the vampire with both hands, willing himself not to give in to his second craving and strangle him. 'Balls. I didn't want to burn my balls.' Spike's grin widened. 'But barbecued cock is okay, is it?' Give me strength! 'Okay,' said Angel, trying to keep calm, 'I didn't want to burn my cock, my balls, my ass, or anything else with hot fudge sauce. Is that good enough for you?' The microwave pinged and Spike removed the steaming mass, laying it on the table and reaching for the cream. He winked at Angel. 'Bit of foul language there, Love. Didn't think you'd sully your mouth with cock.' He had him there. Angel tried hard to stifle a grin. 'I'm not that prim.' Spike chuckled and moved over to the cutlery drawer. 'Sure you're not. If I didn't know better, I'd say that mouth had never had cock in it.' 'But you do know better,' said Angel, coming forward, tiger-like, 'do I have to remind you?' Spike pulled out a spoon, looked at it, looked Angel up and down, then tossed it back in the drawer. 'Go on then.' He poured the cream over the cake and pushed it towards his sire. 'Do your worst.' Angel knelt down and slid his hands to the loose button fly of Spike's jeans. Within seconds, they were undone and by the vampire's ankles, revealing a slender column that bobbed as Spike chuckled. Angel grabbed the plate and, hesitating at the stickiness, plunged his fingers into its warmness. The cream felt icy next to the sauce, mingling to produce a rich gluey mixture which stuck to his hand, heating it. Raising his eyes to Spike's, Angel wrapped his fingers round the length, grinning when he heard the vampire moan. He slicked his hand up and down slowly, coating Spike's cock in chocolate and cream, aroused in spite of his natural neatness. He was eager to taste, to feel that mass in his mouth, shifting in and out as Spike groaned his need and satisfaction. With a final look to his lover, Angel stretched his tongue out, flicking a lone crumb off the end, relishing its chocolatey taste. Pleased, he swirled round the head, taking the surface layer of cream off, pulling back a little as Spike tried to ease forward. He grinned, knowing that at least he wasn't the only one who lost control. 'Suck it,' murmured Spike. Angel ran his tongue along the underneath, reaching the swollen sac below, tracing figure eights across Spike's balls. As the vampire clenched, Angel blew softly, tasting the salty sweat that built up below the cake. Spike's thrusts became more insistent, and he drew back to the tip, waiting for Spike to give in, to tell him he what he wanted, what he needed. To say he wanted Angel. 'Love.........please?' Okay, that was good enough. Angel sank his mouth down, enclosing the swollen head between his lips. The 'phsst' that escaped from Spike's lips was accompanied by a surge forward, and the older vampire had to stretch wide to accommodate him. He felt the chocolate build up outside his mouth and licked its gooey goodness off Spike's cock, feeling it slide back and forth with slippery ease. I chose this, he thought happily, curling his fingers round Spike's ass, I picked chocolate fudge and God, did I make the right decision. Spike's eyes were closed now, and sweat began to build up across his body, soaking his T-shirt and dripping down his waist. One hand was closed in Angel's hair, not clenched, but holding him against his body. The other was lightly tapping the older vampire's back in time with his thrusts, fingers stretching as he pushed deeper into Angel's throat. He was pushing harder, thrusting faster and his balls trembled as Angel sucked, growing closer to orgasm. And Angel pulled him nearer, laving the sticky cock with his tongue, willing his lover to come. Willing him to lose control. With a deep groan, Spike flooded Angel's mouth, the vampire's knees buckling with the force of climax. He clung desperately to Angel's shoulders, washed in heat, temporarily powerless as his sire sucked the salty fluid down. Angel grinned and slowly released Spike's cock, running his tongue round the excess of cake that coated his lips. He felt the younger vampire slip down to his knees, unable to stand properly and not seeming to care an awful lot. When he finally able to focus, Spike leaned forward and kissed his lover hard, tasting everything in the momentarily warm mouth. Angel responded eagerly, his own body demanding attention now, ready to do everything to this man, ready to feel the whirlwind that so invariably came with touching him. 'That was okay,' said Spike, eventually. 'Okay?' Spike grinned and got to his feet, kicking off his pants, picking up the cake and walking to the bedroom. 'All right, better than okay.' He looked at the mattress, stripped of its usual bedding and shrugged. 'How d'you feel about me returning the favour, Pet?' Angel pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the table. His pants soon followed and within seconds, he was walking toward the bedroom, the predatory look back on his face. 'I feel like I want more than good oral sex.' Spike chuckled and shook his head. 'Come on, we had this conversation earlier. If you can do it, you should be able to say it.' Angel reached forward and grabbed hold of Spike's T-shirt, soaking his fingers in sweat. 'Fine.' 'Yeah?' The material tore as Angel pulled backwards. 'I want to fuck you.' Spike grinned and grabbed the cake. 'Well you only had to ask, Pet.' Angel's mouth descended on his, and in that moment of passion, his unbeating heart ached, as he realised what was so nearly lost. If the spell had worked a moment later, or if he Spike had noticed him a minute scarcely bore thinking about. But the present was far too good to try and get away from anyway. Spike's naked body curved against him, damp flesh sticking to his own, lean under his body. With a growl, the younger vampire rolled him over, sticky hand sliding down Angel's belly to the thin line of hair above his cock. Angel felt the deep breathing begin; human, so close to human now, and waiting for the closeness he could only ever feel with this man. Spike's hands moved quickly, slipping down and round his balls before he knew it. As he groaned, the long fingers slid up, coating the base of his cock, sliding the warmness all over his skin. He pushed upwards urgently, needing to feel those hands, that ass, around his cock, feeling Spike's legs spread, knees pressed to the mattress. Sitting up, moving forward and then, ohh.........the tip of his cock, slicked and so damn warm, sliding up into the body above him. Spike growled as the head passed the tight ring of muscle and leaned forward, pressing himself against Angel's chest. 'Come on then, Love. You wanted to fuck me.........' Angel's eyes flashed open and he grasped the back of Spike's neck, pulling his mouth close, meeting his eyes. 'No,' he managed, 'wanted to make love.........' Spike registered his intensity, then winked. 'You say potayto, I say potahto mate. Actually you say no potaytoes at all.........' 'Spike.' 'Yeah I know, shh and let the vampire make.........' He shhd as Angel wrapped his arms round his back and started nibbling at his lips. The rhythm from his mouth was insistent and Spike responded quickly, meeting Angel's tongue, sucking on it, kissing with furious intensity. Angel growled and kissed harder, matching the stroking rhythm of his hips with that of his mouth. He tasted his lover over and over, feeling the vampire hold him back, hands slipping under Angel's shoulders, clinging to his body and pushing down against the cock inside him. They'd never been this close, and Angel was reluctant to let Spike move even an inch away. As they found a quicker beat, his arms tightened and his lips clung to his lover's, more anxious and hungry, teeth grazing the skin, breaking it, blood slipping into his mouth. He growled, hearing Spike echo it and suckled harder, feeling his own lips cut, the younger vampire feeding from him, saliva swirling between them, his whole body seemingly sheathed within Spike's. He could feel himself burning up within this tight embrace. He couldn't lose him, not ever and when he thought he had, he was willing to give up everything - every shred of his penance gone, just because Spike didn't exist. Angel hadn't known how important this all was, and now, in their room, in their apartment, it was all that mattered. Love, blood and the dark. It wasn't everyone's ideal, but it was what they had. And he burned for it. He groaned as Spike's tongue twirled round his, hungry for more, pounding backwards against his cock, enclosing him in the warmth, sticky chocolate dragging along the length of him, easing his way. Everything throbbed, pulsing in a mockery of the life blood he'd once possessed. His knees bent, and Spike's ass bounced against his thighs, tightness pulling him towards the inevitable, taking him to a place he'd only ever seen with his childe. Nothing else came close. Spike's fingers curled up into his hair, messing it up, stroking his skull, loving him. Angel could feel the swell beginning and ran his tongue along his lover's lip, hands sliding down Spike's back, reaching the tight curve of his ass, pulling himself deeper inside. With a growl, he felt his balls throb hard and his cock pulsed, before everything exploded and he came, spilling deep inside the warmth of his lover. 'Will.........' he whispered against Spike's mouth. 'I know, Pet, I know,' murmured the younger vampire. '.........Love you.' Spike grinned and nuzzled against his lip. 'I know, Love.' He moaned softly and rested his head on Angel's shoulder, sliding off his body, not caring about the mess on the bed, not really conscious of anything but being here right now. Angel stretched and found a comforter from the dresser, too tired, too spent to do anything but pull it over both of them and close his eyes. He drifted into sleep, his heart still soaring, content that he would still be himself by tomorrow. He couldn't ask for more. And by the door, the swirling figure floated in half tones. If she'd still had breath, she would have let it go right now, but she was dead, a cold shadow of what she once was. And yet, she could still feel the passion. 'Delicato flagranto morto,' she murmured, 'always wondered what it meant.' She grinned and left the room.