"Spike is not an object!"-day °°° chapter 2
Written for clothed spike over at nekid_spike (Huh?).
To my surprise, it turned out that next year’s “Spike is not an object!”-day will be rather angsty (and - as I’m the author - silly but hey, no big surprise here). Sequel of “Spike is not an object!”-day but then, when all is said and done, it’s a PWP so there’s not much of a plot to miss.
Title: Angel’s not getting any!-millennium
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3355
Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn.
Summary: Angel’s a emotional fuckwit. So is Spike. Wesley gets hit.
Warnings: language (mine, I’m not a native speaker, no beta).
Rubbing his face, Angel curses the day. He has to admit that it could have been worse. The daily team meeting was over and Spike hadn’t shown up. Small mercies. Or, well, giant mercies, considering the night before.
Being forced to stay about half an hour in the same room as Wesley however was hell. To be precise, hell was a piece of cake compared to the endless awkwardness of avoiding eye contact, therefore beginning to speak at the same time, simultaneously apologizing to something entirely fascinating right next to the other man and then doing it all over again, knowing that Fred’s smart eyes wouldn’t miss their pathetic display of shamefaced trepidation in each other’s company. Never fuck the company. Or your friends. Especially not while you’re trapped in your lover’s closet while secretly watching him jerk off. Angel rubbed some more as if it could erase the memory, picturing a future he would be spending with avoiding Wesley and Fred and oh yes, Spike.
Really, what did he think last night? That Spike wouldn’t hear or smell them? Of course there was a small chance, considering the stale, moldy smell in the basement apartment and the noise of the porn, wasn’t there? There simply had to be, otherwise-
Angel doesn’t get around to thinking this tiny glimmer of hope through to the end since the door opens with dash. Of course. No mercies what size ever. Not for him.
“Spike.”
“Peaches!” Spike heads for the desk behind which Angel’s sitting and silently rues the day… well, every day, truth to be told. He walks around to stand besides Angel, props his ass against the edge of the monstrous piece of furniture, lights a fag and beams happily at Angel like floodlight. A cold shiver runs down Angel’s back. Beaming. Floodlight. At him. It’s terrifying.
“You missed the team meeting.” Used to tell Spike things in a way that got nothing to do with what he actually thinks, feels or wants, Angel sounds reproachful though he couldn’t have handled Spike there, sitting besides Wesley and making him think about glass and holes and warm fluids and tight channels and.. fuck.
“Yeah, well, wanking took me a lil’ longer this morning. Not gonna shag today, y’ know.”
“Too kind of you to inform me, Spike, but honestly, we all know, thank you very much.”
“Oh, there was a memo?”
“You sent it, for Christ’s sake!”
Spike tilts his head as if thinking hard. “Now you mention it. Must be the reason it wasn’t in my inbox.”
Angel really, really wants to glare at his annoying childe but can’t make himself, afraid to see Spike’s tongue sliding over his upper row of teeth combined with the all too well-known malicious shimmer in his blue eyes, showing Angel he’s seen through.
“Anyway, wanted to show you my new jeans. Thought you’d like to see, big sappy poofter that you are.”
“I’m not… and why should I be interested in your clothes? No, don’t answer. I’m not.”
Spike unbends and tucks his thumbs through his belt loops, drawing the jeans down a little and unveiling cubic hip bones, the lack of a brief’s waistband and polished silver buckles. “Low cut. ‘s fashion this century, and well, the only cut thing around. But you would know, Paddy.”
Angel growls but can’t avert his eyes from the black leather straps on Spike’s milk white skin. A fucking harness, sure as hell holding the glass dildo, which only 15 hours ago slowly slid in and out of Spike’s tight hole and presently- Get a grip, you pathetic excuse of a CEO.
Angel roughly calculates the odds that this is just one of the to be expected ways to drive him slowly insane and not a very obvious hint at the previous night. Coming to the result that the chances are a hundred to one, Angel decides that one isn’t all that bad and ignores the seductive pointer only inches away.
“Get out, Spike, some of us have to work.”
Spike sits back on the edge of the desk and wriggles his butt. Sounding sincerely regretful, he says “sorry, Peaches, can’t.”
“Did you just say sorry?” Angel stares at Spike, mouth slightly agape and somewhat missing the point.
“Sure. I really commiserate, you know.” Spike looks truly concerned, eyes round and lips pressed tightly together.
“With what?” Angel frowns. Floodlight. Compassion. I’m dust.
“You and your pathetic attempt to hide that you know fucking well what I’ve got up my tight lil’ ass right now.”
Angel freezes and says dismissively “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about”.
“Shall we go and ask Wesley?”
Hiding his face in his hands once more, Angel asks meekly “what do you want?”
“You think I want to blackmail you? Interesting idea.”
“I think you’re perfectly happy with embarrassing and exposing me.”
“True.” The blond nods, contentment written all over his face. “But you know what, you’re wrong. The dildo still lies on the couch where I left it.”
“So you don’t…?” Angel raises a brow and nods towards Spike’s ass.
“Nope. Disappointed, love? You sure look like.”
“I really don’t care what you stick or not stick into your rectum, Spike”, Angel spits out, successfully trying to sound disgusted and thinking as long as it’s my cock.
“Pity. Can’t go anyway.”
“O.K., Spike, I’m asking: why the hell can’t you go?”
“Cause what I’ve got stuck in my rectum”, he quotes in the air, “feels actually too nice when wriggling around here on your soddin’ cock enhancement desk to stop.” Smirking tantalizingly, Spike squirms on the edge, slowly sliding backwards until he sits on the wooden surface, and moans silently. Angel really wants to tell him to wriggle his ass elsewhere but is too fascinated watching the blond rocking his hips lightly back and forth while he takes the last drags of his fag, wondering what exactly it is that makes his obnoxious childe beginning to pant and his cock harden visibly under the tight denim, radiating this special smell that makes Angel want to fuck Spike right here, right now.
And God, he would, if today wasn’t damn “Spike is not an object!”-day. Angel snorts and rolls his eyes. What an idiocy, let alone the name. As if the little whore currently fucking himself on whatever on his desk wouldn’t do everything possible to be objectified by every lowlife within a radius of the whole damned planet while the only things that should be stuck up anywhere in Spike should be his sire’s very own body parts. But Angel won’t say that, won’t admit this negligible weakness. He really doesn’t care who’s fucking Spike. Why should he? He isn’t the jealous kinda guy. Not at all. And it wasn’t as if they were having some exclusive relationship-crap going on, was it?
A low, humming sound distracts his train of thoughts as well as Spike groaning and suddenly stopping his rocking motions.
“What’s that sound?”
Spike only grins broadly and abstracts a little remote from his pocket that looks vaguely like an iPod and waggles his brows. “Gotta survive the day somehow... and fuck, this feels good.” It does. It’s feeling like nothing else he has experienced before, softly massaging his guts and sending waves of arousal through Spike’s groin. Maybe, he thinks, it’s a little bold to test his latest purchase for the first time in Angel’s office but on the other hand - good thing to make the fucker realize that Spike’s perfectly happy without Angel’s big, silky cock ramming into him hard and those strong demanding paws all over his body. Will teach the poof a lesson. Well, one more lesson. The blond tentatively begins to move his hips again, trying to shove the vibrator a little deeper inside.
“Jeez, Spike, you’re a slut.” Angel sounds only remotely surprised.
Being too proud to show how offended he is, Spike pointedly raises the clicker. Literally biting his tongue he prevents himself from pointing out that there’s exactly one thing that makes him fuck around and inventing stupid things like “Spike is not an object!”-day and that’s Angel and his soddin’ refusal to tell him he shouldn’t. This and that it’s nice to feel desired, though not by the one bloody vampire he wants to want him, which fucking hurts.
Angrily, Spike presses a button on the remote with his head held high and instantly shivers and moans when the vibrator jumps to the next level, the stimulation decidedly more pervasive now. “Fuck”, he breathes, his eyes going wide and his cock twitching.
Unconsciously leaning forward in his chair, Angel licks his lips and feels his cock filling even more, desperate to be touched. “How many levels are there?”, he asks hoarsely, wanting to order Spike to give him the remote but doesn’t, knowing that today, Spike won’t give up that much control.
“One more.”
“Shift up, boy.”
Locking gazes with Angel, Spike hesitates, unwilling to submit to Angel’s will - again - but finally the need inside wins and he pushes the button once more. He closes his eyes and sucks in breath like a man in danger of drowning when the strong vibration finally reaches his sweet spot, not exactly hitting but teasing it with torturously sensual buzziness, emanating need to his heavy balls and weeping cock. His free hand opens his fly and his erection springs free, the damp head jutting out of the waistband.
Aroused beyond measure by the sight, Angel stretches his arm out to touch Spike’s cock but is shoved away briskly. “Nah! No touching Spike today!”
Angel huffs but retreats before he begins to rub his hand over his own crotch, a small wet patch already visible.
Spike’s voice is unsteady but determined when he adds “Hands off! You know the rules: if you objectify me “Spike is not an object!”-day becomes “Spike is not an object!”-week, or month, if you don’t behave.”
Angel growls but slowly lifts his hands as if he was hold at gunpoint. “You won’t keep up more than three days, you greedy little-“
“Huh! One more word and I’ll make it a month, beginning right now. Besides, plenty of aspirants to shag, ‘s not like I needed you, you arrogant git!” Damned, talking isn’t easy when your whole abdomen is on fire. Squirming on the desk, his hands clutching the wooden edge tightly, Spike desperately attempts to shove the damned thing deeper inside, trying to hide from Angel that he’s not a quarter as satisfied with his current predicament as he pretends. He should have given the anal vibrator a go in private because now, with Angel’s hungry eyes all over his body and the smell of both their arousal hanging in the air, it mainly achieves one thing: the intense need to be fucked by Angel, to bend over and being filled and nailed properly instead of the constant, burning, never-quite-enough arousal the item evokes but can’t satisfy.
Before he can conclude to stop this entirely or simply jerk off as fast as possible, Spike realizes that he has shoved his pants down, stepped out of his loosely attached boots and has tossed his jeans on the ground. He kneels on the desk, directly in front of Angel who’s clutching the armrests so hard that his knuckles shine bright white through the already pale skin.
“Damned Spike, are you trying to kill me?” Angel gasps as he revels in the sight of Spike’s body, the hard cook framed by the leather straps Spike’ trying to get rid of with slightly shaky fingers and in stark contrast to the black T-shirt he’s wearing.
Actually, Spike thinks, ‘s me who’s dying here if I won’t get fucked instantly. ’s not slutty, just damn, just please give up your fucking self discipline and take me, you bloody ponce!
Instead he says smirking maliciously “feeling a little neglected here, pet? Poor peaches, maybe you’ll be a little nicer the next time I’ll allow you to do more than gape. If I weren’t so sure that you wouldn’t be able to get a grip on yourself I’d tell you to undress to observe if balls really can turn blue but you’d shoot your load in no time like a kid, right?”
Angel only glares, his cock twitching, belying his attempt to appear indifferent and selling out how much Spike turns him on though his words enrage him.
Finally, the harness is off and Spike detaches the straps from the vibrator in his ass, letting the harness slide down along one thigh to lie on the desk. He grabs the base of the toy and pulls it out of his ass, moaning softly and then shoves it back with one hard thrust, making them both groan.
Speeding up his thrusts, Spike manages to fuck and mentally berate himself at the same time, which is astounding, given that the vibrator does graze his prostrate now with every move, sending warm jolts of pleasure through his sensitized flesh. No doubt this feels fucking good - though the slightly too short toy’s only a very poor substitute for Angel’s long, steel-hard shaft - but maybe, just maybe, fucking himself with a vibrating anal toy half-naked on top of Angel’s desk is a teeny-weeny less subtle than he had the teasing intended to be. Maybe it’s also a little too close to objectifying himself than intended but he honestly can’t bring himself to care right now and there sure as hell is too little stolen blood left in Angel’s brain for him to recognize the tiny contradiction.
They stare at each other, lust engraved deeply in their strained features but there’s one moment, when Angel’s losing control over his hooded gaze and Spike can see something else there, something desperate that’s got nothing to do with the growing patch on Angels slacks.
The dark vampire shakes his head, his whole body tense and fights hard to restrain himself. God, how he wants to get hold of the damned piece of plastic and throw it away to sink deep into the tight, cool channel himself while his own cock screams for attention, eager to thrust inside and fuck his childe senseless, making him beg and moan and cry out his name, while his hands and lips explore the satin-like skin. But there’s Wesley and Fred and Lorne and Harmony and about the whole fucking security, law and science departments, eager to get his place in Spike’s screwing schedule and so Angel only averts his eyes, torn between his desire for his beautiful childe and the raging jealousy he tries so hard not to feel.
“Watch me.” Spike’s inflection is demanding but tender.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Can’t.”
“Why is this then, pet?”
Letting his head fall back, Angel laughs humourlessly. “What do you think?”
Spike sinks back on his heels, panting heavily, and braces himself on his thighs. “You tell me.”
Blinking, Angel swallows hard, then reminds himself what’s at risk if he loses control. Alone security contains over 100 absurdly well-built and extremely easy employees, most of them eager to get a piece of his boy. None of them would annoy Spike with claims of ownership or emotional complexities or… don’t even think the l-word.
So he straightens in his impressive CEO leather chair and smiles grimly. “Because I haven’t got forever. Is getting off too much of an intellectual challenge for you, moron? That scrubby thing growing out of your abdomen and causing stains on my documents is your cock. Not objectifying, just saying. You wanna get off? Stop your anal phase and scrub the bloody thing.” At the end of his little speech, Angel nearly shouts and his hands are clenched.
Spike freezes. Honestly, what did he think? That he could force the gigantic asshole that is his sire to play nice or to appreciate him or to… don’t even think the l-word.
Grabbing the first thing he can think of, Spike extricates the toy from his ass and throws it full tilt at Angel, who ducks but can’t avoid getting hit at his head, before the vibrator recoils and lands in the middle of the room, vibrating and humming forcefully.
The two opponents stare at each other furiously, then Spike raises an eyebrow and pushes his lower lip forward provocatively, whispers “ta, mate” sarcastically and begins to jack off, his hand a blur, his features contorted, looking much more like he’s in pain than experiencing pleasure. It doesn’t take long before he cums, his orgasm feeling far too intense after the prolonged internal stimulation than it should and he wants it to, considering the fucked up situation.
After making a show of rubbing his hands so that his spunk is equally spread, the blond wipes them off at the documents on Angel’s desk, finally making Angel jump up and shoving him backwards. Spike falls off the desk with a crack, shouting out loud, but instantly stands up and walks around to collect his clothes, ripping of the harness that’s still dangling from one thigh. He dresses hurriedly while Angel tries to handle the mess on his desk, mainly to have to do something at all, noisily scolding Spike, who mirrors the insults.
Showing as much bravado as he can muster, Spike strides the office, giving Angel the finger and shouting “Happy “Angel’s not getting any!”-millennium, you soddin’ bastard” before he bangs the door behind him.
More howling than screaming, Angel utters a strangled cry and clenches his fist high up in the air. He wants to hit something, hurt and destroy something or, even better, somebody but there’s nobody and damned if all the tension doesn’t conglomerate in his throbbing cock. Equally enraged, frustrated and aroused, Angel slumps back in his chair and opens his fly, hastily curling his big hand around his weeping cock and jerking off fast and rough, only slightly on the pleasant side of hurtful.
Squeezing the angry red head with every upward stroke, he feels his balls drawing even closer to his body and his orgasm rushing through his body when there’s the sound of footfalls. Startled, he whirls around with his chair, only to see how a thick jet of cold semen is hurled through the air and lands splashing on Wesley’s lips the moment he opens his mouth. “Ang-“. Seconds pass while Wesley’s starring at Angel’s still hard cock and Angel at the white stain slowly running down Wesley’s chin.
With a jolt, Wesley regains control over himself. He wipes the spunk off his face, small droplets staying where they are above the one corner of his tense mouth, and with that, he brings Angel back, too, who franticly stuffs his cock back into his trousers and zips up, nearly getting the delicate tissue of his foreskin between the notches of the zipper.
“Wesley, I-“
“Shut up, Angel.” The Englishman straightens his shoulders und corrects the fit of his glasses. “Do you see any chance that we’ll meet in the future without you ejaculating?”
Hanging his head in shame, Angel nods.
“Fine. Then let’s forget this… unfortunate incident and talk about the research consider… what’s that noise?” Turning toward the source of the humming sound, Wesley walks towards the middle of the office. Thunderstruck, Angel realizes what it is that’s attracting the human’s attention and jumps up to follow Wesley but it’s too late. Looking down on the vibrator on the carpet, slowly circling around itself, Wesley coughs slightly, then looks at Angel directly.
“Then again, probably not.” He pointedly places the document folder he has brought along on the desk, disgustedly lifting an eyebrow when he recognizes the state of the papers there. Without wasting one more word, he leaves.
Angel just stands there, in the middle of his office, too weary to even rub his face and for a moment he considers if crying wasn’t an option after all. Of course, it isn’t and so he trudges to his chair, collapsing into it feebly, his arms hanging loose at his sides.
How he hates fucking “Spike is not an object!”-day.
To my surprise, it turned out that next year’s “Spike is not an object!”-day will be rather angsty (and - as I’m the author - silly but hey, no big surprise here). Sequel of “Spike is not an object!”-day but then, when all is said and done, it’s a PWP so there’s not much of a plot to miss.
Title: Angel’s not getting any!-millennium
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3355
Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn.
Summary: Angel’s a emotional fuckwit. So is Spike. Wesley gets hit.
Warnings: language (mine, I’m not a native speaker, no beta).
Rubbing his face, Angel curses the day. He has to admit that it could have been worse. The daily team meeting was over and Spike hadn’t shown up. Small mercies. Or, well, giant mercies, considering the night before.
Being forced to stay about half an hour in the same room as Wesley however was hell. To be precise, hell was a piece of cake compared to the endless awkwardness of avoiding eye contact, therefore beginning to speak at the same time, simultaneously apologizing to something entirely fascinating right next to the other man and then doing it all over again, knowing that Fred’s smart eyes wouldn’t miss their pathetic display of shamefaced trepidation in each other’s company. Never fuck the company. Or your friends. Especially not while you’re trapped in your lover’s closet while secretly watching him jerk off. Angel rubbed some more as if it could erase the memory, picturing a future he would be spending with avoiding Wesley and Fred and oh yes, Spike.
Really, what did he think last night? That Spike wouldn’t hear or smell them? Of course there was a small chance, considering the stale, moldy smell in the basement apartment and the noise of the porn, wasn’t there? There simply had to be, otherwise-
Angel doesn’t get around to thinking this tiny glimmer of hope through to the end since the door opens with dash. Of course. No mercies what size ever. Not for him.
“Spike.”
“Peaches!” Spike heads for the desk behind which Angel’s sitting and silently rues the day… well, every day, truth to be told. He walks around to stand besides Angel, props his ass against the edge of the monstrous piece of furniture, lights a fag and beams happily at Angel like floodlight. A cold shiver runs down Angel’s back. Beaming. Floodlight. At him. It’s terrifying.
“You missed the team meeting.” Used to tell Spike things in a way that got nothing to do with what he actually thinks, feels or wants, Angel sounds reproachful though he couldn’t have handled Spike there, sitting besides Wesley and making him think about glass and holes and warm fluids and tight channels and.. fuck.
“Yeah, well, wanking took me a lil’ longer this morning. Not gonna shag today, y’ know.”
“Too kind of you to inform me, Spike, but honestly, we all know, thank you very much.”
“Oh, there was a memo?”
“You sent it, for Christ’s sake!”
Spike tilts his head as if thinking hard. “Now you mention it. Must be the reason it wasn’t in my inbox.”
Angel really, really wants to glare at his annoying childe but can’t make himself, afraid to see Spike’s tongue sliding over his upper row of teeth combined with the all too well-known malicious shimmer in his blue eyes, showing Angel he’s seen through.
“Anyway, wanted to show you my new jeans. Thought you’d like to see, big sappy poofter that you are.”
“I’m not… and why should I be interested in your clothes? No, don’t answer. I’m not.”
Spike unbends and tucks his thumbs through his belt loops, drawing the jeans down a little and unveiling cubic hip bones, the lack of a brief’s waistband and polished silver buckles. “Low cut. ‘s fashion this century, and well, the only cut thing around. But you would know, Paddy.”
Angel growls but can’t avert his eyes from the black leather straps on Spike’s milk white skin. A fucking harness, sure as hell holding the glass dildo, which only 15 hours ago slowly slid in and out of Spike’s tight hole and presently- Get a grip, you pathetic excuse of a CEO.
Angel roughly calculates the odds that this is just one of the to be expected ways to drive him slowly insane and not a very obvious hint at the previous night. Coming to the result that the chances are a hundred to one, Angel decides that one isn’t all that bad and ignores the seductive pointer only inches away.
“Get out, Spike, some of us have to work.”
Spike sits back on the edge of the desk and wriggles his butt. Sounding sincerely regretful, he says “sorry, Peaches, can’t.”
“Did you just say sorry?” Angel stares at Spike, mouth slightly agape and somewhat missing the point.
“Sure. I really commiserate, you know.” Spike looks truly concerned, eyes round and lips pressed tightly together.
“With what?” Angel frowns. Floodlight. Compassion. I’m dust.
“You and your pathetic attempt to hide that you know fucking well what I’ve got up my tight lil’ ass right now.”
Angel freezes and says dismissively “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about”.
“Shall we go and ask Wesley?”
Hiding his face in his hands once more, Angel asks meekly “what do you want?”
“You think I want to blackmail you? Interesting idea.”
“I think you’re perfectly happy with embarrassing and exposing me.”
“True.” The blond nods, contentment written all over his face. “But you know what, you’re wrong. The dildo still lies on the couch where I left it.”
“So you don’t…?” Angel raises a brow and nods towards Spike’s ass.
“Nope. Disappointed, love? You sure look like.”
“I really don’t care what you stick or not stick into your rectum, Spike”, Angel spits out, successfully trying to sound disgusted and thinking as long as it’s my cock.
“Pity. Can’t go anyway.”
“O.K., Spike, I’m asking: why the hell can’t you go?”
“Cause what I’ve got stuck in my rectum”, he quotes in the air, “feels actually too nice when wriggling around here on your soddin’ cock enhancement desk to stop.” Smirking tantalizingly, Spike squirms on the edge, slowly sliding backwards until he sits on the wooden surface, and moans silently. Angel really wants to tell him to wriggle his ass elsewhere but is too fascinated watching the blond rocking his hips lightly back and forth while he takes the last drags of his fag, wondering what exactly it is that makes his obnoxious childe beginning to pant and his cock harden visibly under the tight denim, radiating this special smell that makes Angel want to fuck Spike right here, right now.
And God, he would, if today wasn’t damn “Spike is not an object!”-day. Angel snorts and rolls his eyes. What an idiocy, let alone the name. As if the little whore currently fucking himself on whatever on his desk wouldn’t do everything possible to be objectified by every lowlife within a radius of the whole damned planet while the only things that should be stuck up anywhere in Spike should be his sire’s very own body parts. But Angel won’t say that, won’t admit this negligible weakness. He really doesn’t care who’s fucking Spike. Why should he? He isn’t the jealous kinda guy. Not at all. And it wasn’t as if they were having some exclusive relationship-crap going on, was it?
A low, humming sound distracts his train of thoughts as well as Spike groaning and suddenly stopping his rocking motions.
“What’s that sound?”
Spike only grins broadly and abstracts a little remote from his pocket that looks vaguely like an iPod and waggles his brows. “Gotta survive the day somehow... and fuck, this feels good.” It does. It’s feeling like nothing else he has experienced before, softly massaging his guts and sending waves of arousal through Spike’s groin. Maybe, he thinks, it’s a little bold to test his latest purchase for the first time in Angel’s office but on the other hand - good thing to make the fucker realize that Spike’s perfectly happy without Angel’s big, silky cock ramming into him hard and those strong demanding paws all over his body. Will teach the poof a lesson. Well, one more lesson. The blond tentatively begins to move his hips again, trying to shove the vibrator a little deeper inside.
“Jeez, Spike, you’re a slut.” Angel sounds only remotely surprised.
Being too proud to show how offended he is, Spike pointedly raises the clicker. Literally biting his tongue he prevents himself from pointing out that there’s exactly one thing that makes him fuck around and inventing stupid things like “Spike is not an object!”-day and that’s Angel and his soddin’ refusal to tell him he shouldn’t. This and that it’s nice to feel desired, though not by the one bloody vampire he wants to want him, which fucking hurts.
Angrily, Spike presses a button on the remote with his head held high and instantly shivers and moans when the vibrator jumps to the next level, the stimulation decidedly more pervasive now. “Fuck”, he breathes, his eyes going wide and his cock twitching.
Unconsciously leaning forward in his chair, Angel licks his lips and feels his cock filling even more, desperate to be touched. “How many levels are there?”, he asks hoarsely, wanting to order Spike to give him the remote but doesn’t, knowing that today, Spike won’t give up that much control.
“One more.”
“Shift up, boy.”
Locking gazes with Angel, Spike hesitates, unwilling to submit to Angel’s will - again - but finally the need inside wins and he pushes the button once more. He closes his eyes and sucks in breath like a man in danger of drowning when the strong vibration finally reaches his sweet spot, not exactly hitting but teasing it with torturously sensual buzziness, emanating need to his heavy balls and weeping cock. His free hand opens his fly and his erection springs free, the damp head jutting out of the waistband.
Aroused beyond measure by the sight, Angel stretches his arm out to touch Spike’s cock but is shoved away briskly. “Nah! No touching Spike today!”
Angel huffs but retreats before he begins to rub his hand over his own crotch, a small wet patch already visible.
Spike’s voice is unsteady but determined when he adds “Hands off! You know the rules: if you objectify me “Spike is not an object!”-day becomes “Spike is not an object!”-week, or month, if you don’t behave.”
Angel growls but slowly lifts his hands as if he was hold at gunpoint. “You won’t keep up more than three days, you greedy little-“
“Huh! One more word and I’ll make it a month, beginning right now. Besides, plenty of aspirants to shag, ‘s not like I needed you, you arrogant git!” Damned, talking isn’t easy when your whole abdomen is on fire. Squirming on the desk, his hands clutching the wooden edge tightly, Spike desperately attempts to shove the damned thing deeper inside, trying to hide from Angel that he’s not a quarter as satisfied with his current predicament as he pretends. He should have given the anal vibrator a go in private because now, with Angel’s hungry eyes all over his body and the smell of both their arousal hanging in the air, it mainly achieves one thing: the intense need to be fucked by Angel, to bend over and being filled and nailed properly instead of the constant, burning, never-quite-enough arousal the item evokes but can’t satisfy.
Before he can conclude to stop this entirely or simply jerk off as fast as possible, Spike realizes that he has shoved his pants down, stepped out of his loosely attached boots and has tossed his jeans on the ground. He kneels on the desk, directly in front of Angel who’s clutching the armrests so hard that his knuckles shine bright white through the already pale skin.
“Damned Spike, are you trying to kill me?” Angel gasps as he revels in the sight of Spike’s body, the hard cook framed by the leather straps Spike’ trying to get rid of with slightly shaky fingers and in stark contrast to the black T-shirt he’s wearing.
Actually, Spike thinks, ‘s me who’s dying here if I won’t get fucked instantly. ’s not slutty, just damn, just please give up your fucking self discipline and take me, you bloody ponce!
Instead he says smirking maliciously “feeling a little neglected here, pet? Poor peaches, maybe you’ll be a little nicer the next time I’ll allow you to do more than gape. If I weren’t so sure that you wouldn’t be able to get a grip on yourself I’d tell you to undress to observe if balls really can turn blue but you’d shoot your load in no time like a kid, right?”
Angel only glares, his cock twitching, belying his attempt to appear indifferent and selling out how much Spike turns him on though his words enrage him.
Finally, the harness is off and Spike detaches the straps from the vibrator in his ass, letting the harness slide down along one thigh to lie on the desk. He grabs the base of the toy and pulls it out of his ass, moaning softly and then shoves it back with one hard thrust, making them both groan.
Speeding up his thrusts, Spike manages to fuck and mentally berate himself at the same time, which is astounding, given that the vibrator does graze his prostrate now with every move, sending warm jolts of pleasure through his sensitized flesh. No doubt this feels fucking good - though the slightly too short toy’s only a very poor substitute for Angel’s long, steel-hard shaft - but maybe, just maybe, fucking himself with a vibrating anal toy half-naked on top of Angel’s desk is a teeny-weeny less subtle than he had the teasing intended to be. Maybe it’s also a little too close to objectifying himself than intended but he honestly can’t bring himself to care right now and there sure as hell is too little stolen blood left in Angel’s brain for him to recognize the tiny contradiction.
They stare at each other, lust engraved deeply in their strained features but there’s one moment, when Angel’s losing control over his hooded gaze and Spike can see something else there, something desperate that’s got nothing to do with the growing patch on Angels slacks.
The dark vampire shakes his head, his whole body tense and fights hard to restrain himself. God, how he wants to get hold of the damned piece of plastic and throw it away to sink deep into the tight, cool channel himself while his own cock screams for attention, eager to thrust inside and fuck his childe senseless, making him beg and moan and cry out his name, while his hands and lips explore the satin-like skin. But there’s Wesley and Fred and Lorne and Harmony and about the whole fucking security, law and science departments, eager to get his place in Spike’s screwing schedule and so Angel only averts his eyes, torn between his desire for his beautiful childe and the raging jealousy he tries so hard not to feel.
“Watch me.” Spike’s inflection is demanding but tender.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Can’t.”
“Why is this then, pet?”
Letting his head fall back, Angel laughs humourlessly. “What do you think?”
Spike sinks back on his heels, panting heavily, and braces himself on his thighs. “You tell me.”
Blinking, Angel swallows hard, then reminds himself what’s at risk if he loses control. Alone security contains over 100 absurdly well-built and extremely easy employees, most of them eager to get a piece of his boy. None of them would annoy Spike with claims of ownership or emotional complexities or… don’t even think the l-word.
So he straightens in his impressive CEO leather chair and smiles grimly. “Because I haven’t got forever. Is getting off too much of an intellectual challenge for you, moron? That scrubby thing growing out of your abdomen and causing stains on my documents is your cock. Not objectifying, just saying. You wanna get off? Stop your anal phase and scrub the bloody thing.” At the end of his little speech, Angel nearly shouts and his hands are clenched.
Spike freezes. Honestly, what did he think? That he could force the gigantic asshole that is his sire to play nice or to appreciate him or to… don’t even think the l-word.
Grabbing the first thing he can think of, Spike extricates the toy from his ass and throws it full tilt at Angel, who ducks but can’t avoid getting hit at his head, before the vibrator recoils and lands in the middle of the room, vibrating and humming forcefully.
The two opponents stare at each other furiously, then Spike raises an eyebrow and pushes his lower lip forward provocatively, whispers “ta, mate” sarcastically and begins to jack off, his hand a blur, his features contorted, looking much more like he’s in pain than experiencing pleasure. It doesn’t take long before he cums, his orgasm feeling far too intense after the prolonged internal stimulation than it should and he wants it to, considering the fucked up situation.
After making a show of rubbing his hands so that his spunk is equally spread, the blond wipes them off at the documents on Angel’s desk, finally making Angel jump up and shoving him backwards. Spike falls off the desk with a crack, shouting out loud, but instantly stands up and walks around to collect his clothes, ripping of the harness that’s still dangling from one thigh. He dresses hurriedly while Angel tries to handle the mess on his desk, mainly to have to do something at all, noisily scolding Spike, who mirrors the insults.
Showing as much bravado as he can muster, Spike strides the office, giving Angel the finger and shouting “Happy “Angel’s not getting any!”-millennium, you soddin’ bastard” before he bangs the door behind him.
More howling than screaming, Angel utters a strangled cry and clenches his fist high up in the air. He wants to hit something, hurt and destroy something or, even better, somebody but there’s nobody and damned if all the tension doesn’t conglomerate in his throbbing cock. Equally enraged, frustrated and aroused, Angel slumps back in his chair and opens his fly, hastily curling his big hand around his weeping cock and jerking off fast and rough, only slightly on the pleasant side of hurtful.
Squeezing the angry red head with every upward stroke, he feels his balls drawing even closer to his body and his orgasm rushing through his body when there’s the sound of footfalls. Startled, he whirls around with his chair, only to see how a thick jet of cold semen is hurled through the air and lands splashing on Wesley’s lips the moment he opens his mouth. “Ang-“. Seconds pass while Wesley’s starring at Angel’s still hard cock and Angel at the white stain slowly running down Wesley’s chin.
With a jolt, Wesley regains control over himself. He wipes the spunk off his face, small droplets staying where they are above the one corner of his tense mouth, and with that, he brings Angel back, too, who franticly stuffs his cock back into his trousers and zips up, nearly getting the delicate tissue of his foreskin between the notches of the zipper.
“Wesley, I-“
“Shut up, Angel.” The Englishman straightens his shoulders und corrects the fit of his glasses. “Do you see any chance that we’ll meet in the future without you ejaculating?”
Hanging his head in shame, Angel nods.
“Fine. Then let’s forget this… unfortunate incident and talk about the research consider… what’s that noise?” Turning toward the source of the humming sound, Wesley walks towards the middle of the office. Thunderstruck, Angel realizes what it is that’s attracting the human’s attention and jumps up to follow Wesley but it’s too late. Looking down on the vibrator on the carpet, slowly circling around itself, Wesley coughs slightly, then looks at Angel directly.
“Then again, probably not.” He pointedly places the document folder he has brought along on the desk, disgustedly lifting an eyebrow when he recognizes the state of the papers there. Without wasting one more word, he leaves.
Angel just stands there, in the middle of his office, too weary to even rub his face and for a moment he considers if crying wasn’t an option after all. Of course, it isn’t and so he trudges to his chair, collapsing into it feebly, his arms hanging loose at his sides.
How he hates fucking “Spike is not an object!”-day.