Fractured
A/N: So, I’ve been following this awesome, dark Spara fic by DreamsofSpike called “White Magic,” and there was a moment where I felt the fic could be a Spangel. With Ms. DoS’ blessing, I wrote an alternate moment that takes place during her fiction. If you haven’t read it (but I strongly recommend that you do), Buffy goes to a very dark place where she not only abuses Spike, as she did canon, but tortures him as well. Tara and Dawn help him escape, and they go to L.A. and ask Angel and his team for help. This part diverts from the original fiction about chapter 39, and pertains to the solution of getting rid of a symbol Buffy carved on Spike in order to hurt him.
Disclaimer: I am clearly not the brain child of BtVS or AtS, nor do I recieve profit from occasionally borrowing the characters and playing with them. That being said, James Marsters, however, does belong to me. That's right- I said it...
Link to original story “White Magic” can be found here:
http://www.darktreasures.net/dbd/viewstory.php?sid=13&ageconsent=ok
“Fractured”
“Have you found anything yet, Wes?” Angel asked agitatedly, arms folded tightly as he paced back and forth in front of the ex-watcher’s desk. Wes, so engrossed in the old tome before him, quietly muttering to himself with furrowed brow, missed the question.
“Wes!” Angel yelled, his worry and fear overcoming him, causing him to yell. Wesley glanced up at him once before looking down again, scanning the passage again while using his index finger.
“Oh dear,” Wes said, taking off his glasses before glancing up at his boss and friend.
“Well?”
“I haven’t found a spell to reverse it just yet, but there is… something. I just don’t know…”
“What is it?” Angel asked eagerly, willing to do anything at this point to stop the pain afflicting his childe. Spike was upstairs in Angel’s room with Tara, writhing in pain as Buffy continued to torture him from Sunnydale with the symbol.
“According to this, I can counteract the effects of the symbol on Spike, but only by placing a similar symbol on someone else. It would essentially absorb everything directed at him through the symbol. Angel, I’m sorry I can’t find something more feasible sooner, but I will continue to try.” Angel’s mouth thinned into a grim line, and then he turned away from him, leaning back against Wesley’s desk.
“How long do you think it’ll take for you to get rid of the symbol altogether?” He heard Wesley sigh, flipping through a few of the pages.
“I’m not sure. A day or two? It’s just so obscure… Where did Buffy even find such a thing?” he asked more to himself than Angel.
“Wes, can you do the spell? The one that counteracts the effects of Spike’s symbol.”
“Well, only if I have a willing participant, but I don’t…” Wes trailed off, peering at his friend, taking in his slumped shoulders as he gazed out the office door, his eyes looking up the stairs. “You’re not seriously considering…”
“Yes, I am. He’s mine to protect. I told him I would help, and I will.” Angel’s tone left no room for argument.
“I understand that you wish to help him, Angel, but taking his place- the last time you saw him, he had you tortured,” Wesley pointed out calmly.
“He was upset,” Angel replied simply. Wesley looked utterly confused. He got up from his desk chair, and walked around so that he could face Angel.
“He was upset? Angel, there are people who need your help. And if you’re incapacitated because you feel it necessary to-”
“I do, Wes. He’s family.”
He’s mine he thought.
~*~*~*~
Less than an hour later, Angel walked upstairs to where the pained vampire lay. When he opened the door, seeing his shaking form spooned by the blonde haired witch, he gripped the doorknob tightly, attempting to keep his emotions in check. With a clenched jaw, he walked stiffly towards the bed.
“Tara, give us a moment,” he demanded, though the softness of his tone took some of the sting out of the statement.
“Did you find anything?” she asked worriedly, sitting up. Spike whimpered at the loss of contact, and Tara placed her hand gently on his back, rubbing him soothingly from his shoulder blade to his lower back.
Angel found the action condescending- as if she were stroking a pet.
He didn’t like it at all.
Stifling a growl, he replied, “Yeah.” He remained standing stock still a few feet away from the bed as he waited for her to leave. Tara ignored him, however, and kissed Spike gently on his brow before getting up. She slowly backed away, keeping her eyes on the platinum blonde.
“You’ll take care of him?” she whispered, turning her head towards him to look him in the eye. Angel merely nodded, still waiting for her to give them privacy. When the door clicked shut behind him, he moved towards the bed, sitting on the side next Spike. He removed the small dagger that was placed upside down in his pocket as he studied the wayward vamp.
“Spike,” he said, his commanding tone causing Spike’s tightly shut lids to open. His eyes appeared dull and gray in the dim lamplight of the room, and Angel found his hand involuntarily reaching out to caress his sharp cheek.
“I need to see the symbol. I have to cut it-draw blood in order to make it stop.”
“That… that can’t be all there is to it,” Spike said softly in disbelief.
“Well, no, I have to mix it with my blood, say a couple of words… But the pain will stop. Can I…” Angel’s eyes drifted down to Spike’s jeans before coming back up again to look at Spike, who nodded at him. Spike rolled over onto his back, grimacing as hateful words that only he could hear stabbed him deeper than the magical, curse inflicted pain. Aided slightly by a hesitant Angel, he managed to pull the black denim down to his knees. His eyes followed the blade of the knife in his elder’s hands, and watched as Angel began to slice into a similar looking symbol on his own wrist.
“Where did you get that?” Spike asked with disbelief.
“Wesley. It’s the only way I can help you,” Angel replied, keeping his eyes on Spike’s symbol as he sliced into it in a similar fashion. Spike winced, but stilled Angel’s arm right before he touched his bleeding flesh to his.
“It’s gonna transfer the pain to you, innit?” the younger asked rhetorically. Angel remained silent, not looking at him. “Why?” Spike asked quietly. “Why would you ever care about-”
“Because I never stopped caring,” Angel said fiercely, staring intensely at Spike, who looked as confused as ever.
“You never cared about…” Spike paused, attempting to remove the tremble from his voice. “You never cared about me.”
“What makes you say that, William?” Angel’s expression and tone of voice softened simultaneously, and it somewhat unnerved Spike. “Why do you think I gave you that piss poor treatment when I lost my soul?”
“Well, ‘cause you went insane from being caged by your soul for so long.”
“No. Well, a bit. I mean, with the whole ‘destroy the world’ thing. But with you, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted to punish you, just like I wanted to punish Buffy.”
“What? Why?”
“It… it hurt to see you like that, Spike. In a wheelchair… It hurt because I cared about you. Sure it didn’t bother me at first, but as the weeks past, and you were still limited to that chair- it just wasn’t right. You aren’t meant to be confined; you never were. Seeing you damaged like that pained me, and feeling that for you, finally admitting that I felt anything for you sickened me. Your rebelliousness always intrigued me. I might be the one referred to as ‘the one with the angelic face’ in the history books, but you…” Angel trailed off, caressing Spike’s unruly, platinum curls. “You’re the golden one.” Angel swallowed, looking out the window into the night. A contradicting image of Darla turning to dust and one of her saddened by her own heartbeat flitted across his mind’s eye. He hadn’t seen her since the night they made love.
Love.
“It’s funny how I could dust Darla, try to set her and Dru on fire, and I couldn’t hurt you. I could never…” With a look of determination, as Spike was stricken into immobility at Angel’s confession, he slammed his wrist down upon Spike’s exposed thigh, muttering the Latin words as a pale, blue light emanated from between the two symbols. They gasped simultaneously, and then the light disappeared. A moment later, Angel could hear Buffy’s voice in his head, and began to feel invisible flames licking at his skin.
He laughed internally, the sound carrying back to the Slayer.
Is that all, lover? I’ve been to Hell for a hundred years- this is nothing. Buff, you can’t take what doesn’t belong to you. Spike is mine , you understand? You know, you’re almost as bad at torture as you were at sex. Tsk, tsk. Maybe you were just in the ground too long. You’re worst than rusty-you’re stale.
Angel could feel her surprise and fear through the bond.
Good. Let her come here, and we’ll see just how much control she thinks she has…
Judging by the fact that he didn’t feel anymore pain, he figured either the magic ward Wesley set up around the hotel was working, or Buffy was stunned into submission. Either way worked.
Spike sat up abruptly, staring at Angel with his mouth agape.
“You did it. You really did it.”
“She had no right to claim you. Ever.”
“What difference does it make? No one else has,” Spike said in a matter of fact tone.
“If it was to happen, it should have been someone deserving. Someone who cares about you.” Spike looked at him hopefully. Angel’s eyes asked a silent question, and Spike gave the barest hint of a nod.
Angel leaned forward, resting his face on the crook of Spike’s neck. As he breathed in his scent, he shifted into game face, biting gently at the soft, pale flesh. He raised his unmarked wrist to Spike’s mouth, sighing as he felt his fangs pierce his flesh, slowing drinking the borrowed blood from his body. Angel drew in only a mouthful before he released Spike’s neck, licking the twin puncture marks.
“Mine,” he whispered. Shifting out of his vampire countenance, he pulled back to look at the younger vampire. Spike released his wrist once he realized he was finished, looking slightly embarrassed as his face returned to its human guise as well. He pulled a pillow across his lap, shielding his semi erection.
“Hey,” Angel said, placing his large hand underneath Spike’s chin, coaxing him forward. He kissed him with every ounce of tenderness that was in his body, his tongue gently lapping at Spike’s full lips. Spike opened his mouth in turn, letting him in. It was familiar, and yet so foreign.
The first and last time they were intimate was to comfort one another in lieu of the Immortal defiling their women.
Now, it was to comfort Spike from being defiled by Buffy- the woman they both loved.
Spike pulled back, resting his forehead against Angel’s.
“S’ funny, you know. The women come and go, and no matter how much you pretend to hate me, you’re still here.”
“Well, someone’s gotta do it.” With that, Angel leaned back in, kissing him passionately. He slowly pulled the pillow away from Spike, caressing him to full excitement. Angel broke the kiss once more, staring at Spike as he rose from the bed, and then slowly descended to his knees. He kept his eyes on Spike as he pulled back his foreskin, and then dipped his head, slowly taking him all the way into his mouth. He sucked and swallowed before moving up his hard, thick member, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head. Spike moaned, thrusting his hips forward, grasping Angel’s dark hair in encouragement.
Though Angel wanted to draw out Spike’s pleasure, he knew he wouldn’t last. Spike had been so utterly denied pleasure, that he simply couldn’t wait-he needed immediate release.
Angel obliged him.
He sucked and licked him eagerly, rapidly, not minding at all as Spike tugged on his hair, holding his head in place as his hips jerked senselessly, coming in long streams into Angel’s mouth. Angel swallowed almost of his milky fluid, but left a little into his mouth.
Spike collapsed backwards onto the bed after he came, breathing unnecessarily. Three stray, fat tears of elation and relief rolled from the corners of his eyes.
Angel had been utter perfection.
Spike lay immobile as Angel pulled off his boots and jeans.
He didn’t object.
After a few moments passed, he realized that Angel was still on his knees on the floor, lightly touching the thigh with the symbol on it. Spike sat up a bit, and saw that Angel was staring at him, his eyes darker with passion, as he caressed himself with a lubricant of Spike’s spendings and a bit of his own saliva.
“Can I… I want to-”
“Yes,” Spike interrupted him softly. “Yes.” Angel sighed in relief, rising up. He leaned over him, bracing his weight on one hand as the other stroked himself with vigor. He released himself, reaching for the end of Spike’s T-shirt, but was intercepted by Spike, who silently shook his head “no.”
Angel understood without question.
Spike began to unbutton Angel’s plum shirt, caressing his broad, unmarked chest. Angel pulled down his pants a bit more, guiding himself to Spike. As his wet tip brushed Spike’s entrance, Spike found himself shuddering with an uneven mixture of anticipation and fear.
The fear was tipping the scales.
“Spike, look at me.” Spike complied, seeing Angel look at him with utter tenderness.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. Spike pulled him closer, kissed him, and tilted his pelvis toward the brunette.
“Not worried this will be a moment of perfect happiness, are you?”
“Like this… it’s more of a fractured happiness, isn’t it?” Spike gave him the barest hint of a smirk at that, causing Angel to smile momentarily.
With care, Angel slowly sunk into him, eyes never leaving his. Once he was in to the hilt, his eyes fluttered closed as he took in the fact that Spike surrounded every inch of him.
It was blissful, and yet somehow, painful as well, for Angel couldn’t forget why they were here, and he was doing this.
For solace.
For pleasure.
For love.
He pulled nearly all the way out before thrusting in a tad quickly, causing them both to groan out. Angel tried desperately to keep up a languid pace, but once again, Spike was all too eager, yearning for immediate pleasure as opposed to drawing out.
Spike was beyond tired of waiting.
Angel had no choice but to thrust vigorously into him, hurling them both towards the edge if their desire.
Their mingled moans, grunts, and heavy panting, the sound of skin slapping against skin consumed the otherwise quiet room.
Angel shifted back into game face as he felt Spike claw at his back, his legs wrapped around his torso as Angel hammered into him. Seeing Spike with his head thrown back, mouth slightly agape was more than enough to cause Angel’s descent into oblivion. With a roar, Angel lunged forward, sinking fangs into the blonde’s neck, exploding deep inside of him, causing Spike’s own eruption upon his bare chest and stomach.
When was the last time you unleashed it?
Neither had felt that satiated in a good, long while.
Imperfect, but complete.
Disclaimer: I am clearly not the brain child of BtVS or AtS, nor do I recieve profit from occasionally borrowing the characters and playing with them. That being said, James Marsters, however, does belong to me. That's right- I said it...
Link to original story “White Magic” can be found here:
http://www.darktreasures.net/dbd/viewstory.php?sid=13&ageconsent=ok
“Fractured”
“Have you found anything yet, Wes?” Angel asked agitatedly, arms folded tightly as he paced back and forth in front of the ex-watcher’s desk. Wes, so engrossed in the old tome before him, quietly muttering to himself with furrowed brow, missed the question.
“Wes!” Angel yelled, his worry and fear overcoming him, causing him to yell. Wesley glanced up at him once before looking down again, scanning the passage again while using his index finger.
“Oh dear,” Wes said, taking off his glasses before glancing up at his boss and friend.
“Well?”
“I haven’t found a spell to reverse it just yet, but there is… something. I just don’t know…”
“What is it?” Angel asked eagerly, willing to do anything at this point to stop the pain afflicting his childe. Spike was upstairs in Angel’s room with Tara, writhing in pain as Buffy continued to torture him from Sunnydale with the symbol.
“According to this, I can counteract the effects of the symbol on Spike, but only by placing a similar symbol on someone else. It would essentially absorb everything directed at him through the symbol. Angel, I’m sorry I can’t find something more feasible sooner, but I will continue to try.” Angel’s mouth thinned into a grim line, and then he turned away from him, leaning back against Wesley’s desk.
“How long do you think it’ll take for you to get rid of the symbol altogether?” He heard Wesley sigh, flipping through a few of the pages.
“I’m not sure. A day or two? It’s just so obscure… Where did Buffy even find such a thing?” he asked more to himself than Angel.
“Wes, can you do the spell? The one that counteracts the effects of Spike’s symbol.”
“Well, only if I have a willing participant, but I don’t…” Wes trailed off, peering at his friend, taking in his slumped shoulders as he gazed out the office door, his eyes looking up the stairs. “You’re not seriously considering…”
“Yes, I am. He’s mine to protect. I told him I would help, and I will.” Angel’s tone left no room for argument.
“I understand that you wish to help him, Angel, but taking his place- the last time you saw him, he had you tortured,” Wesley pointed out calmly.
“He was upset,” Angel replied simply. Wesley looked utterly confused. He got up from his desk chair, and walked around so that he could face Angel.
“He was upset? Angel, there are people who need your help. And if you’re incapacitated because you feel it necessary to-”
“I do, Wes. He’s family.”
He’s mine he thought.
~*~*~*~
Less than an hour later, Angel walked upstairs to where the pained vampire lay. When he opened the door, seeing his shaking form spooned by the blonde haired witch, he gripped the doorknob tightly, attempting to keep his emotions in check. With a clenched jaw, he walked stiffly towards the bed.
“Tara, give us a moment,” he demanded, though the softness of his tone took some of the sting out of the statement.
“Did you find anything?” she asked worriedly, sitting up. Spike whimpered at the loss of contact, and Tara placed her hand gently on his back, rubbing him soothingly from his shoulder blade to his lower back.
Angel found the action condescending- as if she were stroking a pet.
He didn’t like it at all.
Stifling a growl, he replied, “Yeah.” He remained standing stock still a few feet away from the bed as he waited for her to leave. Tara ignored him, however, and kissed Spike gently on his brow before getting up. She slowly backed away, keeping her eyes on the platinum blonde.
“You’ll take care of him?” she whispered, turning her head towards him to look him in the eye. Angel merely nodded, still waiting for her to give them privacy. When the door clicked shut behind him, he moved towards the bed, sitting on the side next Spike. He removed the small dagger that was placed upside down in his pocket as he studied the wayward vamp.
“Spike,” he said, his commanding tone causing Spike’s tightly shut lids to open. His eyes appeared dull and gray in the dim lamplight of the room, and Angel found his hand involuntarily reaching out to caress his sharp cheek.
“I need to see the symbol. I have to cut it-draw blood in order to make it stop.”
“That… that can’t be all there is to it,” Spike said softly in disbelief.
“Well, no, I have to mix it with my blood, say a couple of words… But the pain will stop. Can I…” Angel’s eyes drifted down to Spike’s jeans before coming back up again to look at Spike, who nodded at him. Spike rolled over onto his back, grimacing as hateful words that only he could hear stabbed him deeper than the magical, curse inflicted pain. Aided slightly by a hesitant Angel, he managed to pull the black denim down to his knees. His eyes followed the blade of the knife in his elder’s hands, and watched as Angel began to slice into a similar looking symbol on his own wrist.
“Where did you get that?” Spike asked with disbelief.
“Wesley. It’s the only way I can help you,” Angel replied, keeping his eyes on Spike’s symbol as he sliced into it in a similar fashion. Spike winced, but stilled Angel’s arm right before he touched his bleeding flesh to his.
“It’s gonna transfer the pain to you, innit?” the younger asked rhetorically. Angel remained silent, not looking at him. “Why?” Spike asked quietly. “Why would you ever care about-”
“Because I never stopped caring,” Angel said fiercely, staring intensely at Spike, who looked as confused as ever.
“You never cared about…” Spike paused, attempting to remove the tremble from his voice. “You never cared about me.”
“What makes you say that, William?” Angel’s expression and tone of voice softened simultaneously, and it somewhat unnerved Spike. “Why do you think I gave you that piss poor treatment when I lost my soul?”
“Well, ‘cause you went insane from being caged by your soul for so long.”
“No. Well, a bit. I mean, with the whole ‘destroy the world’ thing. But with you, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted to punish you, just like I wanted to punish Buffy.”
“What? Why?”
“It… it hurt to see you like that, Spike. In a wheelchair… It hurt because I cared about you. Sure it didn’t bother me at first, but as the weeks past, and you were still limited to that chair- it just wasn’t right. You aren’t meant to be confined; you never were. Seeing you damaged like that pained me, and feeling that for you, finally admitting that I felt anything for you sickened me. Your rebelliousness always intrigued me. I might be the one referred to as ‘the one with the angelic face’ in the history books, but you…” Angel trailed off, caressing Spike’s unruly, platinum curls. “You’re the golden one.” Angel swallowed, looking out the window into the night. A contradicting image of Darla turning to dust and one of her saddened by her own heartbeat flitted across his mind’s eye. He hadn’t seen her since the night they made love.
Love.
“It’s funny how I could dust Darla, try to set her and Dru on fire, and I couldn’t hurt you. I could never…” With a look of determination, as Spike was stricken into immobility at Angel’s confession, he slammed his wrist down upon Spike’s exposed thigh, muttering the Latin words as a pale, blue light emanated from between the two symbols. They gasped simultaneously, and then the light disappeared. A moment later, Angel could hear Buffy’s voice in his head, and began to feel invisible flames licking at his skin.
He laughed internally, the sound carrying back to the Slayer.
Is that all, lover? I’ve been to Hell for a hundred years- this is nothing. Buff, you can’t take what doesn’t belong to you. Spike is mine , you understand? You know, you’re almost as bad at torture as you were at sex. Tsk, tsk. Maybe you were just in the ground too long. You’re worst than rusty-you’re stale.
Angel could feel her surprise and fear through the bond.
Good. Let her come here, and we’ll see just how much control she thinks she has…
Judging by the fact that he didn’t feel anymore pain, he figured either the magic ward Wesley set up around the hotel was working, or Buffy was stunned into submission. Either way worked.
Spike sat up abruptly, staring at Angel with his mouth agape.
“You did it. You really did it.”
“She had no right to claim you. Ever.”
“What difference does it make? No one else has,” Spike said in a matter of fact tone.
“If it was to happen, it should have been someone deserving. Someone who cares about you.” Spike looked at him hopefully. Angel’s eyes asked a silent question, and Spike gave the barest hint of a nod.
Angel leaned forward, resting his face on the crook of Spike’s neck. As he breathed in his scent, he shifted into game face, biting gently at the soft, pale flesh. He raised his unmarked wrist to Spike’s mouth, sighing as he felt his fangs pierce his flesh, slowing drinking the borrowed blood from his body. Angel drew in only a mouthful before he released Spike’s neck, licking the twin puncture marks.
“Mine,” he whispered. Shifting out of his vampire countenance, he pulled back to look at the younger vampire. Spike released his wrist once he realized he was finished, looking slightly embarrassed as his face returned to its human guise as well. He pulled a pillow across his lap, shielding his semi erection.
“Hey,” Angel said, placing his large hand underneath Spike’s chin, coaxing him forward. He kissed him with every ounce of tenderness that was in his body, his tongue gently lapping at Spike’s full lips. Spike opened his mouth in turn, letting him in. It was familiar, and yet so foreign.
The first and last time they were intimate was to comfort one another in lieu of the Immortal defiling their women.
Now, it was to comfort Spike from being defiled by Buffy- the woman they both loved.
Spike pulled back, resting his forehead against Angel’s.
“S’ funny, you know. The women come and go, and no matter how much you pretend to hate me, you’re still here.”
“Well, someone’s gotta do it.” With that, Angel leaned back in, kissing him passionately. He slowly pulled the pillow away from Spike, caressing him to full excitement. Angel broke the kiss once more, staring at Spike as he rose from the bed, and then slowly descended to his knees. He kept his eyes on Spike as he pulled back his foreskin, and then dipped his head, slowly taking him all the way into his mouth. He sucked and swallowed before moving up his hard, thick member, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head. Spike moaned, thrusting his hips forward, grasping Angel’s dark hair in encouragement.
Though Angel wanted to draw out Spike’s pleasure, he knew he wouldn’t last. Spike had been so utterly denied pleasure, that he simply couldn’t wait-he needed immediate release.
Angel obliged him.
He sucked and licked him eagerly, rapidly, not minding at all as Spike tugged on his hair, holding his head in place as his hips jerked senselessly, coming in long streams into Angel’s mouth. Angel swallowed almost of his milky fluid, but left a little into his mouth.
Spike collapsed backwards onto the bed after he came, breathing unnecessarily. Three stray, fat tears of elation and relief rolled from the corners of his eyes.
Angel had been utter perfection.
Spike lay immobile as Angel pulled off his boots and jeans.
He didn’t object.
After a few moments passed, he realized that Angel was still on his knees on the floor, lightly touching the thigh with the symbol on it. Spike sat up a bit, and saw that Angel was staring at him, his eyes darker with passion, as he caressed himself with a lubricant of Spike’s spendings and a bit of his own saliva.
“Can I… I want to-”
“Yes,” Spike interrupted him softly. “Yes.” Angel sighed in relief, rising up. He leaned over him, bracing his weight on one hand as the other stroked himself with vigor. He released himself, reaching for the end of Spike’s T-shirt, but was intercepted by Spike, who silently shook his head “no.”
Angel understood without question.
Spike began to unbutton Angel’s plum shirt, caressing his broad, unmarked chest. Angel pulled down his pants a bit more, guiding himself to Spike. As his wet tip brushed Spike’s entrance, Spike found himself shuddering with an uneven mixture of anticipation and fear.
The fear was tipping the scales.
“Spike, look at me.” Spike complied, seeing Angel look at him with utter tenderness.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. Spike pulled him closer, kissed him, and tilted his pelvis toward the brunette.
“Not worried this will be a moment of perfect happiness, are you?”
“Like this… it’s more of a fractured happiness, isn’t it?” Spike gave him the barest hint of a smirk at that, causing Angel to smile momentarily.
With care, Angel slowly sunk into him, eyes never leaving his. Once he was in to the hilt, his eyes fluttered closed as he took in the fact that Spike surrounded every inch of him.
It was blissful, and yet somehow, painful as well, for Angel couldn’t forget why they were here, and he was doing this.
For solace.
For pleasure.
For love.
He pulled nearly all the way out before thrusting in a tad quickly, causing them both to groan out. Angel tried desperately to keep up a languid pace, but once again, Spike was all too eager, yearning for immediate pleasure as opposed to drawing out.
Spike was beyond tired of waiting.
Angel had no choice but to thrust vigorously into him, hurling them both towards the edge if their desire.
Their mingled moans, grunts, and heavy panting, the sound of skin slapping against skin consumed the otherwise quiet room.
Angel shifted back into game face as he felt Spike claw at his back, his legs wrapped around his torso as Angel hammered into him. Seeing Spike with his head thrown back, mouth slightly agape was more than enough to cause Angel’s descent into oblivion. With a roar, Angel lunged forward, sinking fangs into the blonde’s neck, exploding deep inside of him, causing Spike’s own eruption upon his bare chest and stomach.
When was the last time you unleashed it?
Neither had felt that satiated in a good, long while.
Imperfect, but complete.