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moonlettuceTitle: Melt
Author: Me
Pairing: It's a Wanker fic (Wesley-Angel-Spike-Xander) *grin* I need to write more with these four, just so I can use that name...
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
robintcj and zortified.
It all started when Zort posed the question:
Xander/Spike or Wesley?
And I answered with:
Spike and Xander bending Wesley over the desk...
Both Zort and Robin wanted more details.
So they got them:
In fact, Spike and Xander bending Wesley over the desk with Angel watching. Because Angel wants Wesley, wants him more than he's ever wanted anything, but he can't have him. Can't have him because he knows the minute he sinks into that body will be utter bliss and although he knows that Wesley has enough darkness in him to make the perfect vampire, Angel isn't ready for Angelus to make it a reality.
So he watches while Xander slowly undresses Wesley, licking and kissing as each bit of skin is uncovered. Watches as Xander's slick fingers slide into Wes's body. Watches as Xander bends him over the desk. And he watches as Spike walks up and Wesley's fingers claw for purchase on the desk as the hard cock pierces him.
And then I got told to 'do it again.'
So I did:
Angel watches as Spike sinks into Wesley, head thrown back as tight, pulsing heat surrounds his cock. Xander is running fingers through Wesley's hair, murmuring words Angel doesn't want to hear, soothing him as Spike slides in and out.
Angel doesn't realise he's gripping the arms of the chair he's sitting in until he hears the crack, feels the splintered remained of the wood fall through his fingers. The smell surrounds him. Wesley and Spike and the cloying scent of apples from the oil still covering Xander's fingers. And it's only when Spike's eyes met his that Angel realises he's growling. Growling from need and from want and from a cock so hard it's going to burst through his trousers at any second. Angel can't tear his gaze from the challenge in Spike's eyes, can't tear his gaze away, even as he's standing and moving, closing the distance between them with every step...
*
Spike watches Angel approach, never once faltering in the lazy strokes that take him in and out of Wesley's body, watches until Angel is so close Spike can feel the non-existent breath ghosting over his skin.
"Stop."
It's more of a growl than any sort of formed word.
Spike just smirks as his cock cleaves back into Wesley, making Wes whimper. "Make me."
Angel looks back at where Xander is mouthing words against Wes's cheek, fingers running over his lips and sliding into his mouth, a mirror of Spike's cock.
Wesley's fingers flex against the desk and Angel's hand drops, thumb running over knuckles that are too warm, too white.
"Angel."
The whisper is so soft, even Angel almost misses it. So soft it takes him two beats of Wesley's heart before his hands wrap around Spike and tear him away from Wesley, cock all but ripping itself from Wes's body as Spike is thrown back.
Wesley screams, and Angel doesn't know if it's with loss or with pain, but he's back before the final notes dissipates into the air. Back, cock out and sliding into Wes's tight heat like home was a word with no meaning until now.
The scream hasn't even died before it's replaced. Keening wail of need and want rising up around them. Angel doesn't know if the sound is coming from him or Wesley; is half-certain they're both adding to it.
"Angel."
Wes's voice stronger now as Angel's fingers entwine with his, grasping them as though the fate of the world depends on the contact.
"Wesley."
The name slips from Angel's lips as he moves, cock sliding in and out. He can feel it bubbling within him, can feel every want and every desire simmering under the surface. And as it all rushes out of him in one flood of pleasure only one word remains constant, only one name anchors him.
Wesley.
Because, as cool fingers lazily caress warm, it's the only word he needs.
*
Xander's already moving as Angel rips Spike from Wesley's body, reaching the blond just as the scream piercing the air changes into a moan. His fingers run over Spike's arms, touching bruises that are already fading.
Spike looks at him, eyes glinting yellow as he moves Xander's hand down to his still hard cock.
Xander wraps his fingers around Spike, oil and pre-cum staining him, branding him. He can hear Angel fucking Wesley behind him, can smell it in the air, and it makes his dick want to burst out of his skin.
Spike's fingers tighten on his.
"I want."
Spike doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't need to. Because no matter what Spike wants, Xander will give it to him.
"Need."
Spike's lips haven't finished forming the word before Xander is straddling his hips, hand reaching behind him to line Spike's cock up with his body. He sinks down, not stopping until his skin is flush with Spike's and he's holding all of the vampire within him.
He'd never realised how hot vampires could be until that first time he'd taken Spike's cock into him. Had thought it would be like fucking a cylinder of ice, cold and distant. But Spike had held him and fucked him and all Xander could remember was the heat, like fire and lava and pain in a way that isn't.
"Move."
The word is growled as sharp teeth nip at his neck. Hands steady him as he raises himself slowly off Spike's cock, feeling his body clinging and denying and wanting so much to keep Spike inside. His body wants the heat, craves it, needs it. And as Xander drops down, cock burying its way back into his body, he closes his eyes, and lets the fire take him.
*
Spike's fingers dig into Xander's arms as he sinks down onto Spike's cock, tight heat grabbing him, holding him.
"Mine."
The word slips out as Xander raises and lowers himself onto Spike, hips moving with a sensualness belied by the rough fingertips, by the calluses running over Spike's chest.
Hands that work wood and stone take more care with skin that is harder to break than either. Soft brown tan standing out against the paleness.
"Mine."
Word more forceful now, deliberate in a way it's never been before. He's been Angel's and he's been Dru's and none of them have compared to the boy surrounding him, engulfing him.
He can feel it welling within him, this possession, this compulsion. He needs to hold, to own, to burn his name into Xander's skin in such a way that it will always be there. His. His and his alone. Fingers grip at Xander's chin, forcing the boy to look at him, forcing brown eyes to meet blue.
Mine.
He feels it with every bone in his body, with every breath he doesn't take.
Mine.
Every look, every caress belonging to him alone.
Mine.
The word won't stay silent anymore, won't remain behind lips that need to speak it.
"Yours."
And Spike doesn't realise what he's said until Xander's pupils dilate, tongue darting out to lick at dry lips before his mouth forms the word Spike is waiting for.
"Yes."
*
Wesley can't stop the whimper as Angel's cock slides from him, blazing emptiness threatening to engulf him until cool fingers rest on overheated skin. He knows he should move, can feel the edge of the desk biting into his thighs, but lethargy and satiation are a dangerous combination.
"Wesley?"
Forcing himself to move, Wesley pushes his body away from the desk, turning to face Angel. The vampire is still dressed, the image of propriety apart from the cock hanging from his trousers. And Wesley can feel the flush rising to his face, can feel the rasp of Angel's clothes as they press against him, fabric rubbing against him with every thrust of Angel's cock.
He can't stop himself from reaching out, doesn't want to. Fingers wrap around Angel's cock, flesh still warm from being inside his body. The cock in his hand twitches and Wesley can feel it hardening under his touch.
It's not until he tightens his grip that Angel wraps his own fingers around Wesley's wrist. Wesley looks up, meeting Angel's eyes, want and need and hope and hesitation swirling in a miasma.
"We shouldn't."
But they already have, and doesn't Angel realise that Wesley doesn't care. Keeping his gaze fixed on Angel's, Wesley drops to his knees, tongue darting out to lap at the head of Angel's cock. Angel's grip on his wrist tightens and it's only a second before the flash of pain transmutes into something like acceptance.
Because he needs the pain, needs it to be there, needs Angel to know it's there. Needs Angel to come to the same conclusion he has. Needs Angel to understand that it's never going to be perfect. It'll be need and desire and lust and love, but it'll never be perfection. Wesley knows there's too much between them for it to ever be that. But even imperfection is worth fighting for sometimes.
*
Angel knows he should stop Wesley from getting to his knees. He wants to make his fingers tighten on Wes's wrist, wants Wes to see that the only way forward is through more pain. He wills his fingers to squeeze, wills them to drown the soft acceptance and understanding in Wes's eyes with hurt. But his fingers aren't squeezing, aren't hurting anyone, and the only thing Angel can feel is the blood rushing through Wes's body as his thumb presses over the vein he knows is there.
Beat.
Loud and *there*, like thunder on the horizon. It's always been the hardest part of what he is, this constant background noise. Living his life to the drumbeat of hundreds of pulses. Each out of synch yet in perfect harmony, and calling to him every second.
Beat.
The tang in the air winds its way around him. The smell of arousal and sex almost drowns it out, but it's too strong, too present to be denied. Wesley has bled tonight, metallic tinge running through every other scent coming from him. He's bled for Angel, and that part of Angel that he tries to keep hidden wants him to do it again.
Beat.
He wants to feel the blood running through his fingers. Wants to watch as slick trails roll languidly over Wesley's skin. Eyes close and Angel can almost see it, the red branding into skin that can bruise with every touch. Patterns and designs signing Angel's name into every pore, every crevice, every inch of skin laid out before him.
Beat.
Leaning down, his tongue would dart out, smearing the blood over Wesley's flesh, intoxicating and addictive. And it wouldn't be enough, it would never be enough, it isn't enough.
Eyes opening, Angel pulls Wesley to his feet, fingers still tight around his wrist.
Wesley looks at him, fear driven from his eyes by need.
"I-"
But Angel doesn't want words, doesn't want anything except to taste. He tugs Wes towards him, pliant and easy.
Angel can feel his teeth growing as he lowers his mouth to Wes's neck, can feel Wesley's skin parting as they slide into him, as much of a homecoming as seating his cock in Wesley's body.
Because if Wesley's anything, it's a thousand temptations all wrapped up in a body that's all too willing.
And step by step, the edge gets closer.
*
There's a part of Wesley that's railing against this, that's screaming at him to push Angel away. But he doesn't. He doesn't, because it's the part of himself that he learned to ignore long ago. It's the part of him that knows a vampire can only exist for 2.67 seconds after a stake pierces his heart. It's the part of him that whispers about the quickest way to kill Angel in the dead of night. It's the voice he doesn't listen to anymore, even if it still speaks. It's the voice that's drowned out by the phantom of breath that isn't really there as Angel's mouth hovers over his neck.
Wesley tilts his head, fingers curling in on themselves as he exposes more of himself to Angel. Angel's fingers tighten around his wrist, a brief reminder that Wesley can't escape. But Wesley doesn't want to escape, doesn't want to be anywhere else but here. And he'd beg if he could, if he had the words.
Don't.
And then no words are needed as Angel's teeth slice into Wes's skin, sharp pain flashing through him, taking and violating and a thousand other things Wesley's sure he could think of if only Angel wasn't drawing everything he was out of him. Angel's lips move gently on his skin, coaxing the blood that would rush to meet him anyway.
Stop.
The fingers release Wes's wrist, dropping to his cock, running over flesh that got hard at the first touch of teeth. His hand hovers for a moment before grabbing at Angel's shirt, fabric bunched up so tightly his knuckles turn white.
Don't stop.
Angel hums suddenly, and Wes jerks as the vibrations echo through him, thrusting into Angel's hand. He can feel the smile against his neck and closes his eyes, watching as the lights dance in the darkness, languid need washing over him as Angel continues to drink.
And then it's gone before it settles, ripped away as Angel's teeth leave him. His eyes snap open and he can see the reflection of accusation staring back of him.
"Why?"
Why did you stop? Why did you leave?
"If I take too much, you'll die."
Only Wesley doesn't know if the word on his lips is agreement or regret.
"I don't want you to die, Wes. After all, there's still so much for us to do."
Angel's tone is soft and lilting as his fingers continue to work on Wesley's cock, hard and wanting and slick with the pre-come spread by Angel's hand. Words, gentle and understanding, as they are murmured into Wes's ear.
And the voice in Wesley's head is slowly replaced by another.
*
Xander's fingers are still gripping Spike's shoulders as his cock softens inside the boy's body. Tremors are running through Xander, squeezing out everything Spike has to give. Eyes the colour of cocoa at sunset pin him with their gaze as Xander smiles.
"Again."
The word is accompanied by a forceful clench on Spike's cock. And normally, Spike wouldn't hesitate, would roll them over and fuck Xander until he's begging, until he's raw and drained and still wanting more. But this time something stops him, something makes him look over to where Angel is. And that's when he realises. Realises that the scent of blood in the air is to do with something more than just the size of Angel's cock.
Spike watches as Angel suckles at Wesley, fangs twitching and wanting to bury themselves in something warm and living.
And with his eyes on Wesley's neck and his soft cock still seated in Xander, all Spike can think of is being spread out underneath Angel. Of Dru bringing him back to her Daddy, dropping him cat-like, like a dead bird, at the feet of her master.
He'd screamed that night. Screamed and begged and pleaded, and he still can't remember if he was begging Angelus to stop, or to never let go.
"Dru may have made you, but you'll always be my boy, Will."
Irish lilt both cruel and soft, searing its way into his mind.
Sire.
Because Angelus was wrong. Dru may have turned him, but Angelus *made* him. Made him a hunter, made him a whore.
Sire.
Because as much as he loves Xander (and hadn't that been a kicker), there's always going to be part of him that belongs to Angelus, always going to be part of him that believes he should be on his knees, that believes he should be by Angelus's side.
"Sire."
The word slips out, unbidden. Almost silent, but loud enough for another vampire. Yellow meets yellow as a century's worth of hate and need and desire and pain crashes between them.
And the vampire that looks back isn't entirely Angel.
*
It takes a few seconds for Xander to realise Spike's attention is somewhere else but him. That the eyes that had been looking at him moments before are now focused over his shoulder. Xander doesn't need to ask who Spike is looking at; the mixture of emotions shining out from the yellow is more than enough to announce just who is holding Spike's gaze.
"Spike?"
Voice as soft as the hand he lays on Spike's cheek as the blond turns to face him. And there are words there, he knows there are. He can almost hear them catching in Spike's throat. Leaning forward, Xander rests his forehead against Spike's, waiting.
A beat, and then two, and then
"He's my sire."
Rejection and pain and hunger and longing all wrapped up in a parcel of three words.
"He doesn't mean it, Alexander. He's still your father."
Because if he learned anything from his mother, it's that it doesn't matter what they do, you don't give up on family. Learned it sitting next to her when he was younger, knowing not to speak when her programmes were on. Watching her as her eyes focused intently on the TV and she nodded along to everything that was said, tutting at the appropriate places. Silent, as talk shows with psychologists that took apart the middle-American family and rebuilt them blared from the screen in living Technicolor. And she watched it all, trying so badly to be the perfect mother, with her membership to Oprah's bookclub fitting right alongside the bottle of vodka in her bag.
Spike's eyes meet his, yellow flecks still edging into the blue.
"He's still my sire, Xan."
Because you really don't get to choose your family.
"I won't have a faggot for a son!"
But sometimes you get a second chance at having one.
Pushing himself to his feet, Xander holds out a hand, only a beat passing before Spike's fingers wrap around his.
And his fingers running along Spike's in soothing motions, Xander leads them both over towards Angel.
*
Angel's eyes are fixed on Spike as the younger vampire closes the distance between them. For all of Spike's bravado, there's something vulnerable about him. Something that reminds him of the night Drusilla brought home a boy called William, all fear and pain and hunger.
"Isn't he beautiful, daddy."
Angel's hand reaches out, fingers rubbing over cheekbones defined enough to slice him to the core. The pad of his thumb brushes across soft lips and the years blur as a young man stands before him, both hesitant and wanting as the demon within him fights the Victorian upbringing his body remembers.
"Will."
The name is a ghost, a phantom; a remembrance lost in the harshness of reality.
Spike opens his mouth slightly, allowing Angel's thumb to slip inside. And all Angel can think of is those lips on a different part of him. Lips wrapping around his cock as easily as they had the words written in the poetry book Angelus had stolen for him. A deep purr rumbles through him as Spike's tongue flicks the end of his thumb.
"My boy."
Always his boy. Even if he lost Will to Spike and Spike to hatred somewhere along the way, that never changed.
Spike's eyes flick to Wesley and Angel knows what he is seeing. Angel's boy, maybe, but no longer alone. With a hand on each of them Angel studies the two men before him. Dark and light, more alike than either of them would care to admit. The steady thrum of Wesley's pulse under Angel's fingers a counterbalance to the stillness of Spike. Mirror images on a surface that gives no reflection.
His boys. His to have and his to hold. And his to bind together.
His eyes holding Spike's gaze, Angel bends his head, lapping at the clotting blood on Wesley's neck, metallic tang bursting onto his tongue.
The whimper that escapes from Spike's lips reverberates through the silence surrounding them.
"Sire."
The word little more than a plea as Spike's eyes fleck with gold.
Curling his fingers around Spike's neck, Angel pulls the younger vampire closer, their faces a non-existent breath apart and Wesley's body sandwiched between them.
And with Wesley's blood still staining his lips, Angel lowers his mouth to Spike's and forgets the taste of loss.
*
Wesley can feel Spike's body behind him, pressed close as Angel kisses the younger vampire. He stands motionless between them, willing himself not to move, not to touch, not to do anything that would give away just how much he needs Angel.
There's fear running through him, a steady staccato keeping rhythm with the vibrations he can feel coming from Angel's chest, with the purr Spike is eliciting from him.
Ebb and flow, tides of fear and despair washing through him. Spike will take Angel away. Spike can give Angel so much more than Wesley can. There is so much history between them, so much that Wesley can't even hope to compete with.
It's long moments, too long, before Angel pulls back, the red of Wesley's blood gone from his lips, gone to Spike. Fingertips touch his face, ghosting over his skin in a parody of touch as Angel moves away from him, cool air brushing over his body where Angel is no longer pressed against him. And Wesley is left alone with Spike. Left alone, and trying not to remember the feel of Spike's hard cock as it pushed inside of him. Because it's always going to be there, the knowledge that Spike had his body before Angel did. That Angel only claimed him after Spike had been there first, even if it was only for the briefest moment before Angel ripped him away.
Fingers brush his cheek, turning his head to meet blue eyes, electric gaze holding him. Wesley wants to say something, knows he should say something. But all the words seem to crumble to ash before him. And Spike knows it. Grins briefly, before it fades from his face.
"Wes."
"Spike."
So much said in only two words.
Don't take him. Don't leave me alone.
Stay.
And Spike hears him. Hears the words that never make it past Wesley's lips, that never form anything more than a mindless sound in Wesley's head. Hears, and answers with
"He's my sire."
Soft voice, admission that seems to pain Spike more than Wesley would have thought. Admission that Wesley can only meet with one of his own.
"I love him."
"He'll hurt you."
Experience shining through in Spike's words.
"I know."
Angel will hurt him because Angel already has. But what Wesley can't explain to Spike is that the pain of being with Angel is only a faint shadow of the pain he feels without him. Can't explain it to Spike because he still can't explain it to himself.
Spike nods, understanding colouring the blue of his eyes. And maybe he doesn't have to explain it at all. Maybe Spike understands because Spike has been there. And that's when Wesley knows, knows that Spike will be the one he turns to when he has to. Knows that Spike will never judge, will never ask, but will always answer when he calls.
Because they're both Angel's. And that's the one thing that's never going to change.
*
It's not until Angel leaves that Spike looks at the man in front of him. He can feel the warmth coming from Wesley's body, can almost feel the trembling running through the lean frame. He knows what Wesley feels like, both inside and out, and his cock twitches at the memory of heat. Heat and tightness and Spike can feel the yearning to bury himself back in the body he only possessed for a few tantalising moments. He can't stop, doesn't want to stop himself from reaching out, as his fingers touch Wes's cheek, gently forcing the other man to look at him, to do anything but stand there silent, statue-like.
Blue eyes slowly look at him, and Spike almost feels lost. But he gave up on writing poetry years ago, and if the word effulgent ever crosses his lips again he's going to have to stake himself. It's only when Wes's eyes flicker that the self-depracating smirk wipes itself from Spike's lips. The silence buzzes around them, and it's too quiet and too loud and Spike needs to say something before he says too much.
"Wes."
Acknowledgement met with
"Spike."
Name spoken like it's painted in need and fear. As though Spike will sweep in and steal his man like a bad country song. Only Spike doesn't need Angel any more. Has some one else who is a hell of a lot more important to him now. But even that doesn't erase the past, *can't* erase the past, and no matter who either of them are holding there's still that connection between him and Angel that's never going to break. It'll bend and stretch and unravel, but it'll never break, never falter in its solidity, because when it all comes down to it
"He's my sire."
But Spike knows that although that word means everything, it will never mean enough. Because he may be Angel's, but so is Wesley. Marked and claimed and less than a step away from eternity. And the image of chocolate brown eyes and a soft grin float through his mind.
"I love him."
For a moment Spike isn't sure which one of them is speaking, isn't sure who they're talking about. But the voice is Wesley's, and his own admission is still locked up inside him.
"He'll hurt you."
Angel won't mean to, but he'll do it all the same. Because Angel can't help himself, it's just the way things are.
"I know."
Wesley knows and he doesn't care. It's there in Wes's eyes. Bright and pure and oh so dangerous. The knowledge that Wes will do anything Angel asks of him, will see the Heavens fall and the skies run red before he allows anything to take Angel from him. Spike understands that. Because once Angel has you, you can't escape. You don't want to escape. His touch is like a thousand burning needles, and you don't know if you're pleading with him to stop or begging with him to stay. Usually, it's a little bit of both.
But Spike knows the day will come when Wesley need to escape. Will need somewhere to gather himself before the pull drags him back to Angel's side. And he knows he'll offer that refuge. Will take Wes in and listen and understand, and then take him out and get rat-arsed. They'll help each other drown in bad whiskey and good sex and then Wesley will leave. He'll leave and go back to Angel's side. And Spike will watch him go, ready to be there the next time Wesley needs him to be.
Because both of them know that loving Angel may be a world of hurt and pain and need and want, but he also knows neither of them would have it any other way.
*
Xander doesn't know what to say. He's had so many years of hating the vampire standing in front of him, that he not sure if that's ever going to change.
"Xander."
"Dead-"
He stops himself. Bites off the epithet that comes so easily to his lips.
"Angel."
If it was difficult to say that name with any sort of civility before, then it's a thousand times worse now. Because Spike has never told him the stories of Angelus, has never had to. And Xander has never asked. He's read about the relationship between a vampire and their sire in the million and one books Giles has. Has read about Angelus, and his preferred methods of torturing his victims. His own mind has married the two, and he's frightened to ask Spike anything in case what he thinks is true. Would rather live with the uncertainty than find out the reality is worse. And High School science thoughts of a cat in a box have never felt so close to home.
But if Spike wants to try and rebuild the relationship (and it's strange how one word can stick in your throat and threaten to choke you) he had with Angel, then Xander isn't going to stop him. He'll support him and stand by him and pick up the pieces if Angel really does turn out to be as big an asshole as Xander thinks he is. And if he also happens to keep a couple of sharp stakes around, well then Spike doesn't have to know.
"So, you and Spike."
Angel's smiling, and Xander's not sure if it's meant to be reassuring.
"Yes."
Because he doesn't have to make this easy.
"He's..."
Mine.
But Angel's words have trailed off, and Xander doesn't know what's so interesting over his shoulder, but he'll bet his life it has to do with Spike and Wesley and something he's pretty sure he doesn't want to see.
And Angel's eyes are shuttered for only an instant before they rest on Xander, darkness pinning him.
"I'm not Angelus."
I won't hurt him.
Xander can hear the unspoken words, he's just not sure if he's ready to believe them yet.
"If you do, I'll kill you."
It's not an empty threat. Angel may be stronger and faster, but Xander plays dirty. He learned at an early age that the nice boys end up dead and drained, but the devious fuckers always survive.
Angel nods, holding out a hand.
"Deal."
Xander looks at Angel's hand for a moment, long fingers that have wrapped around every part of Spike's body now reaching out to him. A beat passes before he takes Angel's hand. Fingers wrap around his, strong and sturdy and so much colder than Spike's. It almost feels like making a deal with the devil but Xander's done a lot worse for a lot less.
And, shaking Angel's hand, Xander tries to ignore the chill running through him.
*
Angel can still feel the heat from Xander's hand in his as he moves back towards Wesley, fingers already stretching out towards Wes's cheek, wanting to replace the warmth he has with the warmth he needs. Wesley's body moves against his, the two of them fitting together so perfectly it makes Angel wonder why he ever thought this was a bad idea.
Blue eyes look at him as Angel lowers his head, lips pressing against Wesley's as heat and desire and the metallic taste of need explode across his tongue.
Angel knows that this is something he's never going to give up. And if it takes Wesley losing his warmth for eternity to become a reality then that's what will happen. Because Angel has had centuries of denying himself, centuries of walking away and it's about to stop.
"I'm never letting you go."
The words are a murmur against Wesley's mouth, and he can feel the smile under his lips, can feel the answering word.
"Good."
There's movement in the corner of Angel's vision and he can see Spike and Xander, bodies touching and words whispering into ears. He could hear what they're saying if he wants, but he's too focused on Wesley, too focused on the heat and the blood and flesh that's pressing against him.
"I want you."
That'll never stop, never change. He feels it every time he looks at Wesley, that need that runs through every part of him.
Wesley's breath hitches as he answers, hand stealing down to Angel's cock and fingers wrapping around a hard column of flesh.
"You have me."
Angel brushes his lips briefly across Wesley's mouth before turning him around, Wes's back against his chest. Wesley is still loose from last time Angel's cock was inside him and he slides in easily, the clenching heat welcoming him home.
Angel's arms wrap around Wesley's chest, feeling the pulse thunder through Wes's body. His cock jumps with every beat, the tremors running through him, and if Angel closes his eyes, it almost feels like he's alive.
"Angel."
His eyes open at the whisper of his name and he sees Wesley tilting his head to expose his neck, offering the one thing he shouldn't. Because Angel already has the taste of Wesley's blood in his mouth and if he has it there again then he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.
"Angel."
Doesn't Wesley know that a sacrifice isn't supposed to sound so damn willing?
"Angel, please."
Maybe it's the 'please' that does it. Maybe it's the breathy plea behind Wesley's words. Maybe it's that Angel wants this so much he doesn't really care about the consequences any more.
He feels himself slip into gameface as Wesley all but writhes in his arms, impaled on Angel's cock and begging with every movement. He drops his face to Wesley's neck, cock throbbing as he inhales the aroma of want and need pouring off every inch of Wes's skin. Cock throbbing as he licks at a patch of skin, pulse vibrating through his tongue. Cock throbbing as he lifts his head, smiling at the look of total surrender on Wesley's face. Cock throbbing as he bites.
Angel comes as he sinks his fangs into Wesley's neck, sharp canines sliding through skin and a metallic explosion on his tongue that nearly makes him come again. The blood that spills into his mouth tastes of family and redemption and something that's sweeter than both of them.
And somewhere, deep down inside of him, someone laughs.
End.
Author: Me
Pairing: It's a Wanker fic (Wesley-Angel-Spike-Xander) *grin* I need to write more with these four, just so I can use that name...
For
robintcj and zortified.It all started when Zort posed the question:
Xander/Spike or Wesley?
And I answered with:
Spike and Xander bending Wesley over the desk...
Both Zort and Robin wanted more details.
So they got them:
In fact, Spike and Xander bending Wesley over the desk with Angel watching. Because Angel wants Wesley, wants him more than he's ever wanted anything, but he can't have him. Can't have him because he knows the minute he sinks into that body will be utter bliss and although he knows that Wesley has enough darkness in him to make the perfect vampire, Angel isn't ready for Angelus to make it a reality.
So he watches while Xander slowly undresses Wesley, licking and kissing as each bit of skin is uncovered. Watches as Xander's slick fingers slide into Wes's body. Watches as Xander bends him over the desk. And he watches as Spike walks up and Wesley's fingers claw for purchase on the desk as the hard cock pierces him.
And then I got told to 'do it again.'
So I did:
Angel watches as Spike sinks into Wesley, head thrown back as tight, pulsing heat surrounds his cock. Xander is running fingers through Wesley's hair, murmuring words Angel doesn't want to hear, soothing him as Spike slides in and out.
Angel doesn't realise he's gripping the arms of the chair he's sitting in until he hears the crack, feels the splintered remained of the wood fall through his fingers. The smell surrounds him. Wesley and Spike and the cloying scent of apples from the oil still covering Xander's fingers. And it's only when Spike's eyes met his that Angel realises he's growling. Growling from need and from want and from a cock so hard it's going to burst through his trousers at any second. Angel can't tear his gaze from the challenge in Spike's eyes, can't tear his gaze away, even as he's standing and moving, closing the distance between them with every step...
*
Spike watches Angel approach, never once faltering in the lazy strokes that take him in and out of Wesley's body, watches until Angel is so close Spike can feel the non-existent breath ghosting over his skin.
"Stop."
It's more of a growl than any sort of formed word.
Spike just smirks as his cock cleaves back into Wesley, making Wes whimper. "Make me."
Angel looks back at where Xander is mouthing words against Wes's cheek, fingers running over his lips and sliding into his mouth, a mirror of Spike's cock.
Wesley's fingers flex against the desk and Angel's hand drops, thumb running over knuckles that are too warm, too white.
"Angel."
The whisper is so soft, even Angel almost misses it. So soft it takes him two beats of Wesley's heart before his hands wrap around Spike and tear him away from Wesley, cock all but ripping itself from Wes's body as Spike is thrown back.
Wesley screams, and Angel doesn't know if it's with loss or with pain, but he's back before the final notes dissipates into the air. Back, cock out and sliding into Wes's tight heat like home was a word with no meaning until now.
The scream hasn't even died before it's replaced. Keening wail of need and want rising up around them. Angel doesn't know if the sound is coming from him or Wesley; is half-certain they're both adding to it.
"Angel."
Wes's voice stronger now as Angel's fingers entwine with his, grasping them as though the fate of the world depends on the contact.
"Wesley."
The name slips from Angel's lips as he moves, cock sliding in and out. He can feel it bubbling within him, can feel every want and every desire simmering under the surface. And as it all rushes out of him in one flood of pleasure only one word remains constant, only one name anchors him.
Wesley.
Because, as cool fingers lazily caress warm, it's the only word he needs.
*
Xander's already moving as Angel rips Spike from Wesley's body, reaching the blond just as the scream piercing the air changes into a moan. His fingers run over Spike's arms, touching bruises that are already fading.
Spike looks at him, eyes glinting yellow as he moves Xander's hand down to his still hard cock.
Xander wraps his fingers around Spike, oil and pre-cum staining him, branding him. He can hear Angel fucking Wesley behind him, can smell it in the air, and it makes his dick want to burst out of his skin.
Spike's fingers tighten on his.
"I want."
Spike doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't need to. Because no matter what Spike wants, Xander will give it to him.
"Need."
Spike's lips haven't finished forming the word before Xander is straddling his hips, hand reaching behind him to line Spike's cock up with his body. He sinks down, not stopping until his skin is flush with Spike's and he's holding all of the vampire within him.
He'd never realised how hot vampires could be until that first time he'd taken Spike's cock into him. Had thought it would be like fucking a cylinder of ice, cold and distant. But Spike had held him and fucked him and all Xander could remember was the heat, like fire and lava and pain in a way that isn't.
"Move."
The word is growled as sharp teeth nip at his neck. Hands steady him as he raises himself slowly off Spike's cock, feeling his body clinging and denying and wanting so much to keep Spike inside. His body wants the heat, craves it, needs it. And as Xander drops down, cock burying its way back into his body, he closes his eyes, and lets the fire take him.
*
Spike's fingers dig into Xander's arms as he sinks down onto Spike's cock, tight heat grabbing him, holding him.
"Mine."
The word slips out as Xander raises and lowers himself onto Spike, hips moving with a sensualness belied by the rough fingertips, by the calluses running over Spike's chest.
Hands that work wood and stone take more care with skin that is harder to break than either. Soft brown tan standing out against the paleness.
"Mine."
Word more forceful now, deliberate in a way it's never been before. He's been Angel's and he's been Dru's and none of them have compared to the boy surrounding him, engulfing him.
He can feel it welling within him, this possession, this compulsion. He needs to hold, to own, to burn his name into Xander's skin in such a way that it will always be there. His. His and his alone. Fingers grip at Xander's chin, forcing the boy to look at him, forcing brown eyes to meet blue.
Mine.
He feels it with every bone in his body, with every breath he doesn't take.
Mine.
Every look, every caress belonging to him alone.
Mine.
The word won't stay silent anymore, won't remain behind lips that need to speak it.
"Yours."
And Spike doesn't realise what he's said until Xander's pupils dilate, tongue darting out to lick at dry lips before his mouth forms the word Spike is waiting for.
"Yes."
*
Wesley can't stop the whimper as Angel's cock slides from him, blazing emptiness threatening to engulf him until cool fingers rest on overheated skin. He knows he should move, can feel the edge of the desk biting into his thighs, but lethargy and satiation are a dangerous combination.
"Wesley?"
Forcing himself to move, Wesley pushes his body away from the desk, turning to face Angel. The vampire is still dressed, the image of propriety apart from the cock hanging from his trousers. And Wesley can feel the flush rising to his face, can feel the rasp of Angel's clothes as they press against him, fabric rubbing against him with every thrust of Angel's cock.
He can't stop himself from reaching out, doesn't want to. Fingers wrap around Angel's cock, flesh still warm from being inside his body. The cock in his hand twitches and Wesley can feel it hardening under his touch.
It's not until he tightens his grip that Angel wraps his own fingers around Wesley's wrist. Wesley looks up, meeting Angel's eyes, want and need and hope and hesitation swirling in a miasma.
"We shouldn't."
But they already have, and doesn't Angel realise that Wesley doesn't care. Keeping his gaze fixed on Angel's, Wesley drops to his knees, tongue darting out to lap at the head of Angel's cock. Angel's grip on his wrist tightens and it's only a second before the flash of pain transmutes into something like acceptance.
Because he needs the pain, needs it to be there, needs Angel to know it's there. Needs Angel to come to the same conclusion he has. Needs Angel to understand that it's never going to be perfect. It'll be need and desire and lust and love, but it'll never be perfection. Wesley knows there's too much between them for it to ever be that. But even imperfection is worth fighting for sometimes.
*
Angel knows he should stop Wesley from getting to his knees. He wants to make his fingers tighten on Wes's wrist, wants Wes to see that the only way forward is through more pain. He wills his fingers to squeeze, wills them to drown the soft acceptance and understanding in Wes's eyes with hurt. But his fingers aren't squeezing, aren't hurting anyone, and the only thing Angel can feel is the blood rushing through Wes's body as his thumb presses over the vein he knows is there.
Beat.
Loud and *there*, like thunder on the horizon. It's always been the hardest part of what he is, this constant background noise. Living his life to the drumbeat of hundreds of pulses. Each out of synch yet in perfect harmony, and calling to him every second.
Beat.
The tang in the air winds its way around him. The smell of arousal and sex almost drowns it out, but it's too strong, too present to be denied. Wesley has bled tonight, metallic tinge running through every other scent coming from him. He's bled for Angel, and that part of Angel that he tries to keep hidden wants him to do it again.
Beat.
He wants to feel the blood running through his fingers. Wants to watch as slick trails roll languidly over Wesley's skin. Eyes close and Angel can almost see it, the red branding into skin that can bruise with every touch. Patterns and designs signing Angel's name into every pore, every crevice, every inch of skin laid out before him.
Beat.
Leaning down, his tongue would dart out, smearing the blood over Wesley's flesh, intoxicating and addictive. And it wouldn't be enough, it would never be enough, it isn't enough.
Eyes opening, Angel pulls Wesley to his feet, fingers still tight around his wrist.
Wesley looks at him, fear driven from his eyes by need.
"I-"
But Angel doesn't want words, doesn't want anything except to taste. He tugs Wes towards him, pliant and easy.
Angel can feel his teeth growing as he lowers his mouth to Wes's neck, can feel Wesley's skin parting as they slide into him, as much of a homecoming as seating his cock in Wesley's body.
Because if Wesley's anything, it's a thousand temptations all wrapped up in a body that's all too willing.
And step by step, the edge gets closer.
*
There's a part of Wesley that's railing against this, that's screaming at him to push Angel away. But he doesn't. He doesn't, because it's the part of himself that he learned to ignore long ago. It's the part of him that knows a vampire can only exist for 2.67 seconds after a stake pierces his heart. It's the part of him that whispers about the quickest way to kill Angel in the dead of night. It's the voice he doesn't listen to anymore, even if it still speaks. It's the voice that's drowned out by the phantom of breath that isn't really there as Angel's mouth hovers over his neck.
Wesley tilts his head, fingers curling in on themselves as he exposes more of himself to Angel. Angel's fingers tighten around his wrist, a brief reminder that Wesley can't escape. But Wesley doesn't want to escape, doesn't want to be anywhere else but here. And he'd beg if he could, if he had the words.
Don't.
And then no words are needed as Angel's teeth slice into Wes's skin, sharp pain flashing through him, taking and violating and a thousand other things Wesley's sure he could think of if only Angel wasn't drawing everything he was out of him. Angel's lips move gently on his skin, coaxing the blood that would rush to meet him anyway.
Stop.
The fingers release Wes's wrist, dropping to his cock, running over flesh that got hard at the first touch of teeth. His hand hovers for a moment before grabbing at Angel's shirt, fabric bunched up so tightly his knuckles turn white.
Don't stop.
Angel hums suddenly, and Wes jerks as the vibrations echo through him, thrusting into Angel's hand. He can feel the smile against his neck and closes his eyes, watching as the lights dance in the darkness, languid need washing over him as Angel continues to drink.
And then it's gone before it settles, ripped away as Angel's teeth leave him. His eyes snap open and he can see the reflection of accusation staring back of him.
"Why?"
Why did you stop? Why did you leave?
"If I take too much, you'll die."
Only Wesley doesn't know if the word on his lips is agreement or regret.
"I don't want you to die, Wes. After all, there's still so much for us to do."
Angel's tone is soft and lilting as his fingers continue to work on Wesley's cock, hard and wanting and slick with the pre-come spread by Angel's hand. Words, gentle and understanding, as they are murmured into Wes's ear.
And the voice in Wesley's head is slowly replaced by another.
*
Xander's fingers are still gripping Spike's shoulders as his cock softens inside the boy's body. Tremors are running through Xander, squeezing out everything Spike has to give. Eyes the colour of cocoa at sunset pin him with their gaze as Xander smiles.
"Again."
The word is accompanied by a forceful clench on Spike's cock. And normally, Spike wouldn't hesitate, would roll them over and fuck Xander until he's begging, until he's raw and drained and still wanting more. But this time something stops him, something makes him look over to where Angel is. And that's when he realises. Realises that the scent of blood in the air is to do with something more than just the size of Angel's cock.
Spike watches as Angel suckles at Wesley, fangs twitching and wanting to bury themselves in something warm and living.
And with his eyes on Wesley's neck and his soft cock still seated in Xander, all Spike can think of is being spread out underneath Angel. Of Dru bringing him back to her Daddy, dropping him cat-like, like a dead bird, at the feet of her master.
He'd screamed that night. Screamed and begged and pleaded, and he still can't remember if he was begging Angelus to stop, or to never let go.
"Dru may have made you, but you'll always be my boy, Will."
Irish lilt both cruel and soft, searing its way into his mind.
Sire.
Because Angelus was wrong. Dru may have turned him, but Angelus *made* him. Made him a hunter, made him a whore.
Sire.
Because as much as he loves Xander (and hadn't that been a kicker), there's always going to be part of him that belongs to Angelus, always going to be part of him that believes he should be on his knees, that believes he should be by Angelus's side.
"Sire."
The word slips out, unbidden. Almost silent, but loud enough for another vampire. Yellow meets yellow as a century's worth of hate and need and desire and pain crashes between them.
And the vampire that looks back isn't entirely Angel.
*
It takes a few seconds for Xander to realise Spike's attention is somewhere else but him. That the eyes that had been looking at him moments before are now focused over his shoulder. Xander doesn't need to ask who Spike is looking at; the mixture of emotions shining out from the yellow is more than enough to announce just who is holding Spike's gaze.
"Spike?"
Voice as soft as the hand he lays on Spike's cheek as the blond turns to face him. And there are words there, he knows there are. He can almost hear them catching in Spike's throat. Leaning forward, Xander rests his forehead against Spike's, waiting.
A beat, and then two, and then
"He's my sire."
Rejection and pain and hunger and longing all wrapped up in a parcel of three words.
"He doesn't mean it, Alexander. He's still your father."
Because if he learned anything from his mother, it's that it doesn't matter what they do, you don't give up on family. Learned it sitting next to her when he was younger, knowing not to speak when her programmes were on. Watching her as her eyes focused intently on the TV and she nodded along to everything that was said, tutting at the appropriate places. Silent, as talk shows with psychologists that took apart the middle-American family and rebuilt them blared from the screen in living Technicolor. And she watched it all, trying so badly to be the perfect mother, with her membership to Oprah's bookclub fitting right alongside the bottle of vodka in her bag.
Spike's eyes meet his, yellow flecks still edging into the blue.
"He's still my sire, Xan."
Because you really don't get to choose your family.
"I won't have a faggot for a son!"
But sometimes you get a second chance at having one.
Pushing himself to his feet, Xander holds out a hand, only a beat passing before Spike's fingers wrap around his.
And his fingers running along Spike's in soothing motions, Xander leads them both over towards Angel.
*
Angel's eyes are fixed on Spike as the younger vampire closes the distance between them. For all of Spike's bravado, there's something vulnerable about him. Something that reminds him of the night Drusilla brought home a boy called William, all fear and pain and hunger.
"Isn't he beautiful, daddy."
Angel's hand reaches out, fingers rubbing over cheekbones defined enough to slice him to the core. The pad of his thumb brushes across soft lips and the years blur as a young man stands before him, both hesitant and wanting as the demon within him fights the Victorian upbringing his body remembers.
"Will."
The name is a ghost, a phantom; a remembrance lost in the harshness of reality.
Spike opens his mouth slightly, allowing Angel's thumb to slip inside. And all Angel can think of is those lips on a different part of him. Lips wrapping around his cock as easily as they had the words written in the poetry book Angelus had stolen for him. A deep purr rumbles through him as Spike's tongue flicks the end of his thumb.
"My boy."
Always his boy. Even if he lost Will to Spike and Spike to hatred somewhere along the way, that never changed.
Spike's eyes flick to Wesley and Angel knows what he is seeing. Angel's boy, maybe, but no longer alone. With a hand on each of them Angel studies the two men before him. Dark and light, more alike than either of them would care to admit. The steady thrum of Wesley's pulse under Angel's fingers a counterbalance to the stillness of Spike. Mirror images on a surface that gives no reflection.
His boys. His to have and his to hold. And his to bind together.
His eyes holding Spike's gaze, Angel bends his head, lapping at the clotting blood on Wesley's neck, metallic tang bursting onto his tongue.
The whimper that escapes from Spike's lips reverberates through the silence surrounding them.
"Sire."
The word little more than a plea as Spike's eyes fleck with gold.
Curling his fingers around Spike's neck, Angel pulls the younger vampire closer, their faces a non-existent breath apart and Wesley's body sandwiched between them.
And with Wesley's blood still staining his lips, Angel lowers his mouth to Spike's and forgets the taste of loss.
*
Wesley can feel Spike's body behind him, pressed close as Angel kisses the younger vampire. He stands motionless between them, willing himself not to move, not to touch, not to do anything that would give away just how much he needs Angel.
There's fear running through him, a steady staccato keeping rhythm with the vibrations he can feel coming from Angel's chest, with the purr Spike is eliciting from him.
Ebb and flow, tides of fear and despair washing through him. Spike will take Angel away. Spike can give Angel so much more than Wesley can. There is so much history between them, so much that Wesley can't even hope to compete with.
It's long moments, too long, before Angel pulls back, the red of Wesley's blood gone from his lips, gone to Spike. Fingertips touch his face, ghosting over his skin in a parody of touch as Angel moves away from him, cool air brushing over his body where Angel is no longer pressed against him. And Wesley is left alone with Spike. Left alone, and trying not to remember the feel of Spike's hard cock as it pushed inside of him. Because it's always going to be there, the knowledge that Spike had his body before Angel did. That Angel only claimed him after Spike had been there first, even if it was only for the briefest moment before Angel ripped him away.
Fingers brush his cheek, turning his head to meet blue eyes, electric gaze holding him. Wesley wants to say something, knows he should say something. But all the words seem to crumble to ash before him. And Spike knows it. Grins briefly, before it fades from his face.
"Wes."
"Spike."
So much said in only two words.
Don't take him. Don't leave me alone.
Stay.
And Spike hears him. Hears the words that never make it past Wesley's lips, that never form anything more than a mindless sound in Wesley's head. Hears, and answers with
"He's my sire."
Soft voice, admission that seems to pain Spike more than Wesley would have thought. Admission that Wesley can only meet with one of his own.
"I love him."
"He'll hurt you."
Experience shining through in Spike's words.
"I know."
Angel will hurt him because Angel already has. But what Wesley can't explain to Spike is that the pain of being with Angel is only a faint shadow of the pain he feels without him. Can't explain it to Spike because he still can't explain it to himself.
Spike nods, understanding colouring the blue of his eyes. And maybe he doesn't have to explain it at all. Maybe Spike understands because Spike has been there. And that's when Wesley knows, knows that Spike will be the one he turns to when he has to. Knows that Spike will never judge, will never ask, but will always answer when he calls.
Because they're both Angel's. And that's the one thing that's never going to change.
*
It's not until Angel leaves that Spike looks at the man in front of him. He can feel the warmth coming from Wesley's body, can almost feel the trembling running through the lean frame. He knows what Wesley feels like, both inside and out, and his cock twitches at the memory of heat. Heat and tightness and Spike can feel the yearning to bury himself back in the body he only possessed for a few tantalising moments. He can't stop, doesn't want to stop himself from reaching out, as his fingers touch Wes's cheek, gently forcing the other man to look at him, to do anything but stand there silent, statue-like.
Blue eyes slowly look at him, and Spike almost feels lost. But he gave up on writing poetry years ago, and if the word effulgent ever crosses his lips again he's going to have to stake himself. It's only when Wes's eyes flicker that the self-depracating smirk wipes itself from Spike's lips. The silence buzzes around them, and it's too quiet and too loud and Spike needs to say something before he says too much.
"Wes."
Acknowledgement met with
"Spike."
Name spoken like it's painted in need and fear. As though Spike will sweep in and steal his man like a bad country song. Only Spike doesn't need Angel any more. Has some one else who is a hell of a lot more important to him now. But even that doesn't erase the past, *can't* erase the past, and no matter who either of them are holding there's still that connection between him and Angel that's never going to break. It'll bend and stretch and unravel, but it'll never break, never falter in its solidity, because when it all comes down to it
"He's my sire."
But Spike knows that although that word means everything, it will never mean enough. Because he may be Angel's, but so is Wesley. Marked and claimed and less than a step away from eternity. And the image of chocolate brown eyes and a soft grin float through his mind.
"I love him."
For a moment Spike isn't sure which one of them is speaking, isn't sure who they're talking about. But the voice is Wesley's, and his own admission is still locked up inside him.
"He'll hurt you."
Angel won't mean to, but he'll do it all the same. Because Angel can't help himself, it's just the way things are.
"I know."
Wesley knows and he doesn't care. It's there in Wes's eyes. Bright and pure and oh so dangerous. The knowledge that Wes will do anything Angel asks of him, will see the Heavens fall and the skies run red before he allows anything to take Angel from him. Spike understands that. Because once Angel has you, you can't escape. You don't want to escape. His touch is like a thousand burning needles, and you don't know if you're pleading with him to stop or begging with him to stay. Usually, it's a little bit of both.
But Spike knows the day will come when Wesley need to escape. Will need somewhere to gather himself before the pull drags him back to Angel's side. And he knows he'll offer that refuge. Will take Wes in and listen and understand, and then take him out and get rat-arsed. They'll help each other drown in bad whiskey and good sex and then Wesley will leave. He'll leave and go back to Angel's side. And Spike will watch him go, ready to be there the next time Wesley needs him to be.
Because both of them know that loving Angel may be a world of hurt and pain and need and want, but he also knows neither of them would have it any other way.
*
Xander doesn't know what to say. He's had so many years of hating the vampire standing in front of him, that he not sure if that's ever going to change.
"Xander."
"Dead-"
He stops himself. Bites off the epithet that comes so easily to his lips.
"Angel."
If it was difficult to say that name with any sort of civility before, then it's a thousand times worse now. Because Spike has never told him the stories of Angelus, has never had to. And Xander has never asked. He's read about the relationship between a vampire and their sire in the million and one books Giles has. Has read about Angelus, and his preferred methods of torturing his victims. His own mind has married the two, and he's frightened to ask Spike anything in case what he thinks is true. Would rather live with the uncertainty than find out the reality is worse. And High School science thoughts of a cat in a box have never felt so close to home.
But if Spike wants to try and rebuild the relationship (and it's strange how one word can stick in your throat and threaten to choke you) he had with Angel, then Xander isn't going to stop him. He'll support him and stand by him and pick up the pieces if Angel really does turn out to be as big an asshole as Xander thinks he is. And if he also happens to keep a couple of sharp stakes around, well then Spike doesn't have to know.
"So, you and Spike."
Angel's smiling, and Xander's not sure if it's meant to be reassuring.
"Yes."
Because he doesn't have to make this easy.
"He's..."
Mine.
But Angel's words have trailed off, and Xander doesn't know what's so interesting over his shoulder, but he'll bet his life it has to do with Spike and Wesley and something he's pretty sure he doesn't want to see.
And Angel's eyes are shuttered for only an instant before they rest on Xander, darkness pinning him.
"I'm not Angelus."
I won't hurt him.
Xander can hear the unspoken words, he's just not sure if he's ready to believe them yet.
"If you do, I'll kill you."
It's not an empty threat. Angel may be stronger and faster, but Xander plays dirty. He learned at an early age that the nice boys end up dead and drained, but the devious fuckers always survive.
Angel nods, holding out a hand.
"Deal."
Xander looks at Angel's hand for a moment, long fingers that have wrapped around every part of Spike's body now reaching out to him. A beat passes before he takes Angel's hand. Fingers wrap around his, strong and sturdy and so much colder than Spike's. It almost feels like making a deal with the devil but Xander's done a lot worse for a lot less.
And, shaking Angel's hand, Xander tries to ignore the chill running through him.
*
Angel can still feel the heat from Xander's hand in his as he moves back towards Wesley, fingers already stretching out towards Wes's cheek, wanting to replace the warmth he has with the warmth he needs. Wesley's body moves against his, the two of them fitting together so perfectly it makes Angel wonder why he ever thought this was a bad idea.
Blue eyes look at him as Angel lowers his head, lips pressing against Wesley's as heat and desire and the metallic taste of need explode across his tongue.
Angel knows that this is something he's never going to give up. And if it takes Wesley losing his warmth for eternity to become a reality then that's what will happen. Because Angel has had centuries of denying himself, centuries of walking away and it's about to stop.
"I'm never letting you go."
The words are a murmur against Wesley's mouth, and he can feel the smile under his lips, can feel the answering word.
"Good."
There's movement in the corner of Angel's vision and he can see Spike and Xander, bodies touching and words whispering into ears. He could hear what they're saying if he wants, but he's too focused on Wesley, too focused on the heat and the blood and flesh that's pressing against him.
"I want you."
That'll never stop, never change. He feels it every time he looks at Wesley, that need that runs through every part of him.
Wesley's breath hitches as he answers, hand stealing down to Angel's cock and fingers wrapping around a hard column of flesh.
"You have me."
Angel brushes his lips briefly across Wesley's mouth before turning him around, Wes's back against his chest. Wesley is still loose from last time Angel's cock was inside him and he slides in easily, the clenching heat welcoming him home.
Angel's arms wrap around Wesley's chest, feeling the pulse thunder through Wes's body. His cock jumps with every beat, the tremors running through him, and if Angel closes his eyes, it almost feels like he's alive.
"Angel."
His eyes open at the whisper of his name and he sees Wesley tilting his head to expose his neck, offering the one thing he shouldn't. Because Angel already has the taste of Wesley's blood in his mouth and if he has it there again then he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.
"Angel."
Doesn't Wesley know that a sacrifice isn't supposed to sound so damn willing?
"Angel, please."
Maybe it's the 'please' that does it. Maybe it's the breathy plea behind Wesley's words. Maybe it's that Angel wants this so much he doesn't really care about the consequences any more.
He feels himself slip into gameface as Wesley all but writhes in his arms, impaled on Angel's cock and begging with every movement. He drops his face to Wesley's neck, cock throbbing as he inhales the aroma of want and need pouring off every inch of Wes's skin. Cock throbbing as he licks at a patch of skin, pulse vibrating through his tongue. Cock throbbing as he lifts his head, smiling at the look of total surrender on Wesley's face. Cock throbbing as he bites.
Angel comes as he sinks his fangs into Wesley's neck, sharp canines sliding through skin and a metallic explosion on his tongue that nearly makes him come again. The blood that spills into his mouth tastes of family and redemption and something that's sweeter than both of them.
And somewhere, deep down inside of him, someone laughs.
End.
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Date: 2004-12-22 02:25 pm (UTC)