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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: The Reunion Tour Author: Dovil Pairing: Spike/Angel Rating: NC-17 Setting: Does not actually matter Spike figures he’s had a fair few things up his arse in a hundred plus years of existence. Tongues, fingers, a doll's leg thanks to Dru. Coming down from an orgasm lying in his own wet patch as Darla came into the room, backing rapidly out and laughing hysterically while she called for Angelus. Not one of his better moments, but Dru did mean well. And of course there’d been cock. Not that there’d been many, only one if he had to be completely honest. Not that he’d been a prude or squeamish about it, just seemed that after Angelus pranced off to save puppies and become the feared Scourge of Alley Rats that he kind of forgot all about that part of his own anatomy. His arse had a Closed sign hanging over it and he never thought anything more of it. Not when he had Dru and her ready ripe wetness and all the joys her body had to offer. Though Miss Edith was no longer allowed on the bed at the same time. He’d learnt his lesson there. So now that Angel was back in his bed it was all a bit of a learning curve once more with the sudden doubling up of penises and all. First time around things hadn’t gone that smoothly. Completely god awful, quite frankly. The first thrust in had Spike yelling bloody murder and punching Angel out cold before he’d even been able to get around to thrust number two. They’d slept in separate beds for a week after that. Two weeks later they were back to frantic hand jobs. Three weeks later Spike had once again returned all his prized possessions to the bedroom or ‘worthless crap that if I trip over it once again it will be going in the bin’ as Angel had labelled it. Though Spike had noticed that Angel had still kept Spike’s dresser drawers and side of the wardrobe free. And once again things were back as they had been, except after that fun experience Spike had very firmly nailed the Closed sign back up again. And quite frankly Angel had been somewhat put off trying it himself after Spike’s somewhat disappointing reaction. After all Angel had been the King of Torture not the King of Not Being Able To Sit Down For A Week. Spike offered to buy him a haemorrhoid pillow if he just let him have a go. Angel politely declined. Angel sat in meetings not thinking about said meetings, puzzling instead over what was going wrong. He had a penis, he wanted to stick it somewhere, and as lovely as hands and mouths and skin on skin was there was still a niggling feeling that there was an even better place to put it. And Spike wasn’t letting him, which was just typical. He remembered vaguely of many times in the dim distant past of enjoying Spike’s backside with much gusto, and when the girls were out and he’d locked the doors, of Spike enjoying his. After Darla and the dolls leg incident he’d decided it was prudent not to be caught with anything inserted in certain places. As enjoyable as it could be. So what was wrong? Had time made Spike heal over? He thought back to human anatomy and found this highly unlikely. Did souls repeal penises from preforming sodomy? No, he was sure that the souled often revelled in a good round of lusty buggery. He shuffled in his seat and was painfully grateful that there were no mind readers on staff. There was a moment of paranoia and he quickly made himself think of something innocuous, like desks, desk were innocuous. Except when Spike was bent over one while he grabbed Spike around the waist and…okay, he was done with innocuous. He made a note to himself, fire mind readers, they was just too much room for embarrassing blackmail. No, what was needed was seduction back in his portfolio. And he was the horny vamp for the job. Angel slid further down in his chair and decided to make a (quiet) mental list of seduction tips while he nodded along to what Wesley was saying and stroked his pencil in a profoundly disturbing way, until Angel realised that he was alone as everyone had seemingly decided that the meeting could be called off early and had quickly scuttled out the door. Which just gave him more time to get his plan into gear and his penis safely nestled into a soon to be willing orifice. Angel lip twitched and he could feel his spirits lifting. So much so that he quickly thought back to that puppy he was unable to save in ’78. That memory was sure fire soul glue. So later that evening while Spike was enjoying watching a room getting fabric glue gunned on to a wall while a woman had a chisel reshaping her nose and a loud jolly person threw peppers into a sizzling pan, thanks to a rapidly flicking remote control, Angel sat down a brown paper bag with a satisfied thump and sat down next to him on the couch, a twinkle in his eyes and a disturbing amount of twitching in his pants. Spike, looking inside, was rather happy to see that there were several bottles sitting nestled in the bag, his favourite kind, because they were all filled with alcohol. Siting innocently next to the alcohol was another bottle the same size, a bottle of lube, enough lube in fact to facilitate a couple of frisky sperm whales, should they so be inclined. Spike felt his bottom try to disappear even further inside him, which was no mean feat considering, and turned a wary eye on Angel. Angel and his twitching pants. There was quickly hand holding and puppy eyes and the quick twisting off of liquor bottle tops and the passing of bottles over and soon Spike realised that his pants and t-shirt had somehow flung themselves on to a lamp and an armchair respectively. He quickly toed his socks off while Angel wasn’t looking, realising that the image he was presenting wasn’t quite at its best. There was one final bottle to be opened and Spike swallowed nervously and then curled his toes in pleasure as Angel’s swallows were anything but nervous and Spike’s cock was on the receiving end of a rather nice tongue lashing. Much nicer than the ones he otherwise sometimes got. Then there was the moment when, finally, the solitary bottle of lube was opened and shoulders were squared and Spike was lying there like some kind of sacrificial virgin, knees splayed and up and an eye clenched in horror as another one darted about looking for an escape route. He had his left fist balled up in ready anticipation. Next thing there was a mouth back on him and a slick finger up his arse. And not to sound like a poofter or anything, but it was a very nice finger, a very nice finger that was welcome back any time, and look at that, several minutes later it had brought a friend along. Spike heard the sound of a plastic bottle being squeezed again and started writing a letter to the manufacturer in his head as a third wetly worked its way inside. Angel definitely needed more fingers because this was fantastic, Spike decided. And suddenly he realised again why it was that he’d had such a hero worship for Angel back in slightly more unsavoury days. Sure, he was big and tall and had really cool coats, and yeah all the other demons stood around and fawned over Angelus, looking at Spike differently when Angelus casually pointed him out and said that Spike was with him. But Angelus had also been a complete and utter whore in the sack and had regularly left Spike a twitching whimpering mess with not one ounce of moisture left in his body once Angelus’s cock had been through with him. Now he remembered why he’d bothered to stick around for nigh on twenty years! His memory really was slipping and he briefly wondered if maybe drinking fish blood might be the way to go. Spike metaphorically slapped himself on the head, well he couldn’t otherwise do it, not with his hands squeezing on to Angel’s biceps for dear life as the reunion tour of Angel’s cock and Spike’s arse did the rounds again. Like the failed last time there was much swearing, but this time it was happy swearing, very happy swearing, in fact there may have even been an endearment or two thrown in and a long strung out ‘Naaaghhh!’, not that Spike would admit that even under torture. There was kissing, there was slippery sliding and enthusiastic thrusting, there was a strange moment when Angel yelled ‘Puppies!’ but Spike decided that the poor lad was just overcome. There was wide eyes and grunting and faces like they were having heart attacks as they came to a rather happy, if messy, conclusion. Spike couldn’t stop grinning, lying on the couch, Angel on top of him, half of bottle of lube inside him, but that was okay because Angel was half unconscious and couldn’t see him anyway. He decided that Angel probably couldn’t even feel him and pressed a kiss on to Angel’s shoulder, felt a squeeze on his hip and didn’t care and left another kiss on the other shoulder, not wanting it to feel left out. Dropped his hand lower and ran it down Angel’s back until he had a good squeeze of some prime vampire arse, looked at the half bottle of lube lying discarded on the floor. Squeezed Angel’s arse again and decided that in ten minutes time when he could feel his toes and other assorted bits once more that this was going to turn out to be a very, very good night indeed. My arse was a frigid ice-cube Made wanton by the joy of Lube Yeah, Spike thought, my poetry really does suck. -end Feedback |