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Title: The Storm
Author: Ducks
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Setting: PWP



Spike is whimpering.

Despite his exhaustion, the soft signals of his Most Favoured's distress cut
through Angel's sleep like a hundred tiny swords, snapping him immediately
to full alertness.

Thunder pounds on the roof of the Hyperion as a late winter storm rages over
Los Angeles, drowning out the normal sounds of the city night. But when
nature's fury abates for a brief moment, he hears it again -- a tiny sniffle
and a pathetic mewl from beside him, muffled by the bedclothes. Angel turns
over slowly and wraps his arm around the younger vampire's waist.

"Hey... what's wrong?" he whispers, tapping a brief, soft kiss to the nape
of Spike's neck.

"Nuthin'. Lemme be," he snaps, and pulls away. Angel can hear tears in his
voice, and moves closer once more.

"Spike... it's just thunder. It won't hurt you."

The blonde shrugs him off with a curse, and burrows deeper into his pillows.

Another thunderbolt crashes, and Spike yelps, then cries harder. Angel
sighs and reaches for him again, pulling the smaller man into the shelter of
his arms. Of all the many surprising things there were to know about his
Childe, still the most surprising of all, it seems, is his pure terror of
thunderstorms.

"It's okay, Will. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you," he promises,
pulling the boy tightly against his chest. Spike burrows closer still, but
doesn't relax, lying there quaking like an army of Slayers is after him.

Angel reaches a gentle hand down, tucking a finger under Spike's chin to
raise his gaze. Eyes the shade of the very storm that scares him stare up,
full of irrational terror and shame-inducing tears. The expression shreds
something in his heart... it's so rare to see his boy afraid... vulnerable.
Usually so tough and arrogant, spitting in the face of dangers that would
turn most creatures to quivering puddles of mush, to see him now shiver and
cry makes half of Angel want to hold him... and the other half want to kill
something for frightening him. He chooses a gesture somewhere in between,
leaning down and kissing the trembling lips.

The contact stirs something not quite so soft in the elder vampire. He
sweeps his tongue deep into Spike's liquorsweet mouth, willing the fear out
of him as if he might drink it. So like the last kiss of prey, the flavor of
that apprehension. And knowing that it comes from this fierce, dangerous
creature... this beautiful monster and tender child of his own making...
it's even more delicious. Angel's blood hums instantly with hunger.

Spike dives frantically into the embrace, as if he too is thinking that his
Sire, the Great Hunter, might know how to devour his fear and make it
vanish. He knows full well that it's stupid to be afraid of a little storm,
when they are at the top of the food chain, but he can't help it. Storms
were bigger, even, than them. They were vampires... immortal, sure... but
Mother Nature still had Her finger on the strands of their existence, and
thunder only stood as a reminder that immortality was a relative concept.
If he got hit by lightning, he would still burst into flames and be left
nothing but a pile of ash turning to mud in the rain.

Another cursed frailty that had followed him to the Other Side.

But with Angel's mouth against his, that most familiar tongue sweeping his
palette, his teeth... those huge, strong hands cupping and stroking his
face...

Well, frankly, Mother Nature could fuck right off. The lightning can't get
him, as long as Angelus is near.

Angel turns Spike gently onto his back, listening to the fire growing in his
blood as it rushes straight to his groin, hardening him instantly against
Spike's smooth, cool skin.

He personally loves thunderstorms, and this is exactly why. Thunder is loud
and full, and makes the Earth thrum with rage and power, just as his desire
for his Childe makes his body pound with delicious need. Lightning lights
the sky with flame, like the heat of passion... like the blinding white
light of orgasm. And the rain... the sweet drops wash the world away and
create it anew, just as making love to this pure, simple, beautiful being
beneath him always refreshes his weary soul.

He lets his mouth and hands wander, spreading comfort and want in equal
measure over every perfect marble inch of his lover... the concave shadow of
cheekbone... the sharp angle of jaw. He laves long and lazily at the thick
veins that never pulse, and feels a shiver of his own to hear Spike's tears
turn to blissful sighs. Angel smiles to himself... there's nothing better
than a storm to make his boy forget about a storm.

He continues his journey, intent to distract Spike by pushing all of his
most sensitive buttons. He runs blunt teeth down the length of his First
Made's still jugular... over his Adam's apple, nipping lightly at the bulge
there until his actions elicit a deep moan from below.

Then, he moves on. Tongue in the hollow of Spike's throat... flickering
across the thick clavicle, from shoulder to shoulder. Down, tracing the
sternum over quiet heart, and over, flicking his left nipple to pebble
point, then sucking it gently for a moment before biting down.

A shudder ripples through Spike. "Uh, Christ, Angel..." His hands wind into
his Sire's hair, abrading his scalp as his fingers are lost in thick, soft
sable. Angel moans in return, and repeats the same attention to Spike's
other nipple, and the cycle begins again.

Spike has a very different feeling about the lightning Angel sparks in his
body than for the one outside. This fire, this consumption, is something he
craves... spends half his damn unlife trying to get more of. As his Sire's
mouth continues downward, licking that sweet burn over each of his ribs,
between each cut in the muscle of his abdomen, and finally dipping into his
belly button, he lets everything slip away.

This is their eternal dance... Angel's soft mouth nibbling and sucking his
hip bones... Spike's lean hands smoothing down his broad back, his waist,
and coming to rest finally on his rear, squeezing. Angel grunts, driving
his hips unconsciously into the mattress, the smooth sheets caressing his
already oversensitive erection almost to the point of making him come on the
spot.

He takes his boy's throbbing member firmly in hand, and gives it the same
sort of attention he is imagining for his. Angel can almost feel each touch
against his own skin... slow circles of gentle tongue around its base, where
the curls end, and swirling upward, spiraling trails up the turgid length.
He closes his lips tightly over the bulging head at last, and can't help but
moan as he starts to suck.

"Aaaaaangellllll..." Spike groans, hands reflexively clutching at his
shoulders, fingertips gripping skin just that much too tightly... giving him
just that much pain, and Angel's moan becomes a growl that eases out of him
before he even knows it's coming.

Angel loves taking Spike into his mouth... loves the way his penis jumps and
pulses like a living thing as he devours it whole. It's almost like the end
of a hunt... taking the victim... taking it all, taking it deep, and sucking
the life out of it. Feeling its head jerk against the back of his throat,
like a final death paroxysm as he swallows it.

"Oh, Christ... Angel... fuck!" Spike cries out, so loudly that Angel can
feel it vibrate in the groin beneath his lips, "That's so fucking good.
Suck it... Angel... ohgodyeah."

Angel opens his eyes and looks up the Adonis landscape to see Spike's
face... the shadows of lust, blue eyes open half-mast, watching, and it
turns him on even more to see the expression of bliss waxing there.

Their affair... the sex... it's all wrong, and all right. A vice he can't
foreswear, twisting their roles... half demon, half-human, and Angel
wouldn't have it any other way. Flesh and blood, nails and fangs. The
storm outside and the boiling in his veins, the slurping of his mouth around
Spike's cock. It's so animal, so base and feral, it's almost as good as a
kill.

He releases Spike from his mouth and ascends his body, rubbing their forms
full-length together until he reaches those eyes. The blue flashes with gold
as the demon surfaces with the power of the rut, and Angel feels a wolfish
grin steal across his mouth as he leans in to claim his Childe's.

There's fang, now... a nick against Spike's tongue, and the smaller man
shivers as Angel sucks the drops away. It's so good, like this... so good
to be a demon, to be the whelp as his Master begins to snarl softly,
grinding his crotch into Spike's own, their raging cocks rubbing together
even as their tongues tangle in the blood that wells from tiny, only
half-accidental wounds.

He wants to be the fledgling in this... wants the loss of control. No...
beyond just loss, he wants his power *taken*, ripped from him, and
sometimes, like tonight, he wants it so badly, he could explode from it, and
he begs.

"Sire, please!"

Angel loves it when Spike begs. When he trembles and quakes like a small
child beneath him... like the pup he hasn't been in a hundred years or more.
He feels the demon surge and howl from the blood and the growing scent of
arousal and submission fighting for space with the electricity of the storm
in the air. He loves to let the lust out to play... the lust for violence,
the lust for storm, the lust to be King and to partake in the exchange of
vital essence that he misses in his deepest core. This ritual makes him
whole, somehow -- makes him hot and alive, and tenderness evaporates under
the crushing power of it.

"Please what?"

It's a game. A game they both love, and when the sun is out, and they play
human for the mortals who share their days, they pretend this never happens.
They play tame, and that the cold and dead from refrigerated bags is enough.

But it's not. They share that secret knowledge... sometimes a clandestine
glance, a flash of fang, a quick fuck behind closed office doors, Spike bent
over the desk, and Angel railing him as he feeds from his throat.

"I want you inside me. Angelus... take me. Fuck me, please. Now."

Spike doesn't mind begging. He knows it won't count against him when the
night is gone, and that Angel tucks the whimpering and supplicating away in
the back of his mind where the demon is caged, until they are once again
like this.

Like this, he isn't Angel. He's the Other. The Darker. William's true
center, his cruel, magnificent progenitor, the dealer of blood and death and
pain and power and life everlasting. He is everything, these nights.

"You want me to fuck you, Will?" Angel growls, teasing the head of his cock
into the crack between Spike's firm cheeks. His Sire is adamantine, huge
and wet, and yes, Spike wants him to fuck him. Wants him to impale his very
being and make him his bitch. Make him cry. Rail him and pound him and rip
him apart.

"Yes," he hisses, arching his hips up into Angel's. "Give it to me,
Angelus."

Angel groans low, deep, mean in his chest, taking his boy by the shoulders
and flipping him over, shifting his grip to the lean hips to pull Spike up
on his knees.

The teasing is the best part of the game, almost. His vicious stripling
writhing beneath him, mewling and purring, growling and rocking back on his
haunches to urge Angel home. But he loves the teasing, the waiting, the
building tension in cock and balls and blood. So he rubs his aching member
along the curves and cuts of the sweet ass being offered up like a sacrifice
before him. He softly caresses the round muscles with his length... the
dark crease between... bends over, blanketing the boy so he can whisper in
his ear.

"Tell me what you want, William."

A groan and a shiver from below. "I want you, Sire. I want your cock inside
me."

Angel teases the tip beneath Spike, rubbing it against the equally throbbing
penis he finds there... brushing under his sac and back up, slowly, to his
entrance.

"Do you want it slow, hm? Do you want me to slide in easy and fuck you
softly?"

He already knows the answer, but it doesn't matter. This is part of the
game. He reaches to the nightstand for the oil.

"No. No, hard. Please, hard," Spike cries. He wants to be driven. Abused.
Slammed and split in two until he can't take it anymore. "I want it hard,
Angel. Hard."

Angel's whole body spasms at the guttural words. Enough of the game. He
pours the oil onto his hands and with one, greases Spike. With the other,
himself.

Some nights, he doesn't bother with this at all. Others, he tears Spike's
veins open first, and smears them both slick with the blood, using that to
ease his entry. But tonight, he wants this... the sensual liquid... wants
to feel it warm from the friction of their bodies blending. He positions
himself just outside.

"Are you ready, boy? "

"Yes! Christ, yes!"

Angel rams himself home, hard and deep in a single thrust, fast and
furiously sheathing himself inside the body of his mate. Spike howls at the
vicious invasion, and his muscles clamp down defensively, forcing the larger
man to put some effort into pulling out, and then slamming home again.
Out... in again... the muscles relax. Out... sliding... in... blood
raging... out... unnecessary breath quick and short... in... muscles
straining...

It's so good. So good to be swallowed. To be enveloped. To be in. Angel
closes his eyes tight, digging his fingertips cruelly into the flesh of
Spike's hips, using the purchase to increase the pace to punishing pain and
perfect ecstasy. Listens to the lightning crack in time with their bodies
smacking, slamming together... the screaming of bliss in blood and bone and
cock until the noise in his body drowns out the thunder.

Angel drapes himself over and around Spike's lean form, and hammers him.
Still, after all this time, he is unable to believe the pure, raging ecstasy
of this union.

"Ah! Spike! You... FUCK! You feel... so good... so tight... so... oh, God, I
love being inside you!"

"Yes! Angel!" Spike cries, slamming backward, matching his Sire's merciless
pace thrust for rending thrust. He never feels as full as when Angel is
buried deep inside him. Never as warm as when his innards are burning with
the abrasion of his Maker's assault. Pleasure crashes through him, crushes
him, annihilates him like wildfire in his cells. "Harder! Fuck me harder!
Give it to me!"

Angel snarls and complies. He can feel the bruises forming on his hipbones,
and he doesn't care. He reaches beneath and claims Spike's engorged cock in
his grip, stroking him hard and fast in his still-slick fist, because he
knows from the waves of mind-numbing fire that jet through his nerves, that
he won't last much longer.

Some nights, the storm is like that. Hard and fast and brutal. Some nights
it's soft and sweet, and long, like their bond.

"Spike!" he shouts... barks... howls... It's a noise, not a word. A
feeling, not a concept, and he says it again and again as he drowns in the
power. "SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!"

"Sire! Master! Yes! Please ohholy fuck I'm gonna come... oh christangel!
FUCK!"

It's thunder and lightning, earthquakes and hurricanes... the whole universe
created and destroyed at once where their bodies meet and crash together.
Flesh of one flesh, blood of one blood, the history or an entire race, of a
centuries-old lust, of all the untamed animals in creation, between them.

No thought. No thought at all, at the end. No Angel, no Spike, just
demons. Angel remains buried in the boy's ass, flipping him onto his back
with a pull of his leg and a spin that no human could ever accomplish. Keeps
fucking him, claiming him, marking him, dominating him as he dives down, his
hand on Spike's dick crushed between them as he tears into the cool flesh of
his throat. Spike howls and does the same, ripping into his Sire as he
comes, emptying into Angel's hand with jerking spasms that rock his frame,
coating their stomachs and chests. Angel drinks hard as he fills Spike
with the climax of the demon tempest that consumes his soul every
day.

He shudders with the last of the fire leaving him, and collapses, still
softly nursing at the wound in Spike's neck. The blood... so sweet... thick
with lust and love and perfect understanding. He sighs and puddles into the
younger vampire's arms.

Spike wraps around him, pulling him close, and purrs himself swiftly to
sleep.

Angel raises his head, smiling to see his Childe relaxed and soothed back to
slumber. He withdraws from his body gently and rolls to the side, but stays
close, tired skin pressed to tired skin. He pets his lover's hair tenderly,
watching... listening to the song of the storm outside... and the one
slowing inside himself.

He'll stay awake until it all passes, in case Spike wakes again and is
frightened. He brushes a soft kiss to the alabaster forehead, and delights
in the sleepy dreamsmile he gets in return.

It's nice when the storm eases. Very nice indeed.

~FINIS~


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