"Harder," he grunts, bringing his teeth down on his full bottom lip. "Har- harder- Spike-"
A rush of warmth spreads through my groin and I growl between clenched teeth, tightening my fingers around his upper arms and leaving faint bruises.
Angel.
Tied up.
Begging...
...oh, god, I'm not gonna last very long. He's gotta fucking stop that begging shit before I lose all semblance of control.
"Oh, Christ, Angel," I moan, throwing my weight forward again and again, pushing deeper. He lets out a wordless cry, his fists clenching convulsively inside their cotton-nylon bonds. I wrap my arms tightly around his chest, rocking back and forth inside him, saying something- anything- vaguely along the lines of "ohfuckangelohgodyes"- whatever, babbling meaninglessly, so maybe I should just shut the fuck up, but I can't seem to manage it at the moment and neither of us seems to mind...
"Will," he gasps, "Will, touch me- please-"
I take him firmly in one hand and he moans, leaning his head back into the hollow of my shoulder. My hand keeps the rhthym and he begins to tremble, thrusting into my grasp, muttering "don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop" in hushed, desperate tones.
I'd tell him that the likelihood of me stopping right about *now* is slim to fucking none, but I'm guessing he prefers the tactile version by way of explaination. Besides, his head is arched, just so, and his neck is exposed..
...and ah Christ...nakedboundsubmissiveAngelblood...
I hear him wail and it sounds very very far away.
***
He hasn't untied me yet, but I don't
care. He is nuzzling my bloodied neck, and murmuring to me about how good
it all was, and this is vampire jello without the benefit of a big honking
head injury. I think I'm melting. He leans in again, tugs my head back
to the crook of his arm again, and kisses me..
yes yes yes
This is what I need. You want me to avenge all the wrongs of the Universe from demon spawn to bad interior decorating? I'll gladly do it. I'll do it naked, and with a popsicle up my ass. Tell you what, you can even keep Shanshu. I just want one thing.
My boy.
Biting and grasping and thrashing and whispering and
snarling..?
***
"We need him now, we haven't any time!" Wesley pounds on the door. "Angel! Are you in there?"
The squeaking of mattress springs and small muffled moans fade suddenly into dead silence. Angel sighs and bends his head over. His torso jerks spasmodically and I hear a small sound, almost like a sob.
"It's not fair," he whimpers.
"It's just not fucking *fair.* I know I've done lots of terrible
things but I've tried very hard to be good and I've *asked* them not to
disturb me during the day and this is the only time we have to be alone
and it's just not
*fair.*"
"I know, pet," I murmur, nibbling at his neck for good measure. A shiver runs through him and he dashes his head against the wall in frustration.
"I'll go see what they want," I say helpfully, jumping up off the bed. I'm halfway to the door when Angel's voice stops me. "Spike! Clothes!"
"Oh, yeah." I grab Angel's poncey bathrobe off the chair and pull it on hastily. I wrench the door open and give the two mortals my best Big Bad glare. "What the bloody hell do you two wankers want?"
"We've got to go," Wesley says self-importantly. Gunn stands behind him, that bloody huge axe thrown over his shoulder. "Right now."
"Well, we bloody well can't." I start to shut the door in his face and his hand shoots out to stop me.
"Spike-"
"You *told* him we could have the day to ourselves!" I retort. "You fucking *promised,* Wyndham."
"That was before a tribe of Skmal demons invaded the local YMCA," he shoots back testily.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since we've had any time together?"
"Your sex life is not my concern, Spike."
"It's gonna bloody well be your concern when his dick explodes during some apocalyptic battle!"
Gunn snickers and Wesley tries his best to glower at me. "Where's Angel? We have to hurry."
"He can't."
"And why's that exactly?" he shouts, infuriated.
I step aside, giving Weasely a full view of the bedroom. "'Cause he's tied naked to the bedstead, that's why."
I've never seen the skinny little ponce's eyes go so wide before. Gunn, for his credit, looks away immediately, even shielding his eyes with one hand. He slaps Wesley on the arm with a stunned "Man, quit lookin'!" and turns to face the wall.
"Uh," stutters Wesley, closing his trap and glancing away. "Uh. Yes. I mean, of course. Err. Sorry. Terribly sorry." He reaches down to adjust the front of his trousers in what he probably thinks is a nonchalant manner.
Angel glances over his shoulder at his employees with that confused-puppy-dog look that he does so well.
"Uh, guys?" he says helplessly. "Think you could give me a minute to get dressed? I'll be right out."
"Um," replies Wesley. "Uh."
"Sure thing, man." Gunn grabs Wes by the arm and hauls him out of the room, never once glancing in the direction of his naked and well-bound boss.
"That does it," Angel sighs when they are gone. "I'm firing them. I'm firing them first thing tomorrow. Spike, can you untie me?"
***
I am the former Scourge of Europe. Dark Avenger, helper of the hopeless. With my duster flaring majestically in the evening breeze and my trusty sword firmly in hand, I-
"Oi," a voice hisses furtively. "Wanker!"
I whirl around with no small measure of annoyance. "*What*?"
"Wanna shag?"
I heave my best ever-suffering Sire sigh. "Not now."
He begins to push his lower lip out, ever so slightly, and I actually squeeze my eyes shut before I can fall under the evil influence of the SpikePout.
"What?" he says indignantly. "Why?"
"Because I'm busy."
"With what?"
I gesture around the dark alleyway with my sword. "With- stuff. Business. Reconnaissance."
What starts off as a muffled snicker escalates very quickly into full-fledged hysterics. I haven't seen him laugh this hard since I set that car alarm off.
"Stop it!" I say helplessly. "Stop it right now!"
Spike, who has doubled over in laughter, tries his best to control himself. "Right. Fucking reconnaissance. Proper little soldier-boy you are-"
Even this veiled reference to my ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend is enough to force a growl from the back of my throat.
"Bloody hell," he continues, "when are you going to stop taking yourself so seriously?"
"When I'm done fighting the forces of darkness," I retort, aware before the words even leave my mouth that the statement isn't going to win me any points on the Please-Take-Me-Seriously meter.
He seizes me by the collar and pushes me up against the side of the nearest building. "You know as well as I do that the Skmal are big, slow, stupid motherfuckers who can't possibly get here from their lair on South Street in any less that two and a half minutes." Two minutes and fourteen seconds is Spike's oral-sex record.
I shouldn't let him do this.
He drops silently to his knees before me.
I really do know better.
Pulls down my zipper using only his teeth.
I'm two hundred and forty-seven years old. I *should* know better.
Slides his tongue torturously around the tip of my cock, eliciting a small whimper from the back of my throat.
I should know better. But I really, really, really don't.
I thread my fingers through his hair, letting out a series of soft gasps that match the rhthym of his mouth around me.
It's at that very moment that Gunn comes tearing down the alleyway, brandishing his homemade axe and screaming bloody murder.
Fuck.
***
It seems that Weasely almost got set on fire. Or...disemboweled, or held for ransom, or something.
Point is, he's fine now. A little bruised and a lot pissed off, sure, but fine. And it's not my bloody fault. Nobody forced Angel's dick out of his pants when the Skmal were only two streets away.
Wesley stands before me, steely resolve face firmly in place, hands planted indignantly on hips. Gunn stands beside him, that bloody huge axe thrown over one shoulder in a manner which almost looks casual, but isn't.
Angel is somewhere nearby disposing of demon body parts. I, meanwhile, am pigeonholed in an alleyway, back pressed against the wall, my escape prevented by two grubby humans and one wicked sharp axe.
I could kill them both in seconds.
Take one head in each hand and break their necks like *that.* I won't,
of course, because the mincing poof wouldn't approve, and Wesley keeps
the office fridge well-stocked with beer, and Gunn- well, okay, Gunn's
kinda cool. So I'm not gonna
kill them. I'm just pointing out that I *could.*
I know I could outrun the wankers if I could just get past that bloody axe.
"You almost got Wes here killed," Gunn says hotly, tightening his fingers around the handle.
Those two are shagging each other, I swear to fucking Christ they are. Angel vehemently denies it, but I'm certain.
"I know," I say, affecting my best I'm-a-Good-Boy-and-if-I-Flutter-my-Eyelashes-You'll-Forgive-Me act. "But-"
"Shut up," Gunn snaps.
"I didn't bloody finish!" I retort angrily.
"Charles," Wes says wearily before
turning to face me with a resigned sigh. "Spike, I understand how
difficult it is for Angel to balance his personal and professional interests.
But I'm sure you realize how much easier that would be if you weren't
constantly inticing him into alleyways
for a quick grope."
"Yeah, but I-"
Wesley holds up a silencing hand. "We're going to do you a favor."
"You are?" I respond in surprise.
"Yeah," Gunn says begrudgingly.
Wesley pulls a handful of cash out
of his pocket and hands it to me. "Take him out to dinner.
Somewhere nice. Show him a good time. Help him relax.
Shag his brains out, I don't care. But bloody well wait until we've
cleaned out this demon nest.
And no more oral ministrations during
battle, are we understood?"
I've barely begun to pull a pout when Wesley snaps, "And the protruduing lower lip doesn't work on me, so don't bother."
"Fine," I mutter bitterly.
He flashes him best "Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Associate" smile. "Excellent," he says brightly.
Gunn waves his axe threateningly in my direction. "And next time, *warn* somebody when you've got the boss tied to the bed!"
Angel appears in the mouth of the alleyway, brushing dried flakes of slime out of his hair. "We probably should go ahead and scour out the surrounding area to make sure they're gone," he says before turning to me. "Spike, do you want me to drive you home first?"
If I get him anywhere near a bed, he won't be coming back to this alleyway any time tonight. He knows it, I know it, and his poncey "associates" know it, too. Wesley eyes me expectantly. Gunn raises his eyebrowns and waggles his axe.
I take a deep breath.
I'm expecting big karmic payback any second now. Preferably in the form of chocolate body paint, a case of Guinness, or an album of rare Sid Vicious recordings.
"No," I say, trying my damnedest not to whine. "You stay and- uh- reconnaiss...ize. I'll see you at home later." I turn away from his surprised stare, light a cigarette, and trudge back to the Hyperion.
I think I'm going soft.
Bloody hell.
He returns only moments before dawn,
soaked to the gills in demon-slime (and there's another monochromatic shirt
for the dustbin), cursing under his breath in what sounds like an odd combination
of Gaelic, French, and Skmal blood-sacrifice rites.
He sheds his ruined clothes without
turning on the lights, not even sparing a glance in the direction of the
bed, and stumbles into the shower. The expletives resume again, becoming
louder and more profane. I suspect we've run out of shampoo.
A few minutes later, he collapses
in bed next to me with a tired sigh. I press myself against his back
and kiss the back of his
neck.
"Spike, not now," he mutters sleepily.
I lean back on the pillows with a
frustated sigh. There are certain things that I am better at that
anyone in the world. Maiming. Sex. Mortal Kombat. Point
is, I don't bloody well like being ignored when I'm trying to display my
talents. But... I can be
patient.
Wait 'til tomorrow night. I'll teach that wanker to ignore William the Bloody.