Rating: NC-17
Spoilers:There may be some from Season 5, but very vague at best. The story is mostly AU but takes place before things get too wonky with Glory (hence why there is no mention of her most wonderful beautiousness herein).
Disclaimer:Characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc. Grrr. Argh.
Summary:A tall, handsome stranger drops in on Anya and Spike's little ex-demon support group. Anya can't bring herself to leave, but the boys don't seem to mind an audience.
Soundtrack:"Erotica" by Madonna.
Notes: This story is a plotless wonder and really just for fun. I have always been interested in the character of Anya so I had a good look around inside her here. The boys behave pretty terribly at the end, though. Please don't be mad at them. Boys will be boys, after all.
Archive:I would be most flattered if you'd like to, but please let me know before.
Dedication:For Tracy for her wonderful, inspirational laugh.
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Anya:
I have to wait until a group of ghoul-hunting teenagers who reek of beer and marijuana leave the cemetery before I approach the door of Spike's crypt. He'll probably snark about me being late. It's always something with him.
I knock and he opens the creaky door right away. I don't say it, but I love him in those battered black jeans. They're all holy in the right places and hug his ample parts in the most lurid way. And that shirt is literally sprayed on him, accentuating his beautifully defined torso. God, if Spike wasn't such a shithead most of the time, I might have to dump Xander for him. But then I'd be boinking a vampire and that would be repulsive.
"Did anyone see you?" he says in that sexy, deep voice of his.
"No one ever sees me, Spike," I sigh. "You ask me that every time I come here. I promise you I know how to move about unseen. I've been breathing vicarious slayer stealth for ages."
He just smirks, which seems to be his response to everything. I love that smirk. Most of the time, it pretty much says everything that needs to be said about everything going on around us.
"Did you bring me Cheetos?" He grabs for the grocery bag I'm holding and sticks his nose in it, sniffing the contents like a curious alley cat. When you break it down, he pretty much IS a curious alley cat, only Spike is slightly better groomed.
"I got your Cheetos, I got Salsa Flavored Doritos, regular Fritos and I even got dip. Although, I wasn't sure what would go better with Jack Daniel's-onion or ranch-so I brought both."
His smooth, pale brow wrinkles in consternation. "No bean dip?"
I pat his firm, muscular arm in mock sympathy and say, "not after last time, cupcake. I thought I'd experienced all the worst smells in every dimension until I ate bean dip with a vampire."
He laughs and I'm glad-not because I was worried about insulting him, but because I love to make him laugh. That's probably why I keep coming here every Tuesday in secret, just so I can find another opportunity to make this peroxided, undead hottie dissolve into scratchy, sultry giggles.
"Fair enough," he says, taking the sack from me and heading for his make-shift kitchen.
The television is on and I walk around to see the picture. "Gads, is this Casablanca?"
"What's wrong with that?" he says. "You got something against Bogart?"
I wrinkle my nose to show my distaste. "It's just . . . so sappy. Movies like this were made for lonely, sentimental losers pining over some imaginary lost love. It's so pathetic. `Play it again, Sam,' indeed. It's all just an excuse to eat too much junk food and sob into an alcoholic beverage feeling sickeningly sorry for yourself." When I look up at him, he's just smirking at me with his eyebrows all arched-of course.
"Rough day, luv?" he inquires.
I heave a sigh. "Where's the booze?"
Carrying the two bags of chips under his arm, he brings the fresh bottle of Jack and two glasses to the chairs in front of his stolen TV. This is where we always sit on our cozy Tuesday night drinking binges. The last few weeks, we've done a lot less drinking and lot more reminiscing about our respective demon old days, but it's still good-cathartic. And I like talking to Spike. He understands me. Unlike Xander and his faithful Scooby pals, he doesn't seem to be at all put off by my frankness. In fact, he seems to find it refreshing. So, here we are again on a cold Tuesday night in March, plopped in front of the tube and tearing into the Jack and snacks.
"Wanna talk about it?" he says.
"Nah. I just want to eat fattening stuff and get drunk. How was your day?" I settle back in the chair and rest the open bag of Doritos in my lap. He's balanced the two containers of dip on the arm of his chair so I have to lean over to get at them. He probably did that so he can look down my top. I suppose, if that really bothered me, I would have worn a turtle neck instead of this tight- fitting pink v-neck thing.
"I didn't do much," he says, pouring us each a glass of Jack. "In fact, I was feeling a might lazy today. I read the entire newspaper from front to back, then took a long nap."
"Wow. The news must have been gripping."
"Insanely."
We touch our glasses together in what has become our traditional toast. "To sex and money," we say together then we both do our first shot of the evening.
Once again I frown at the old movie on the TV. "Can't we watch something else?"
"Not much on offer tonight," he says, reaching for the remote control. "Sweeps were over last week." He flips by a few channels- news, car chases, reality shows, game shows, shopping network, nature shows, news, infomercials-and then he hands the clicker to me. "You pick, luv. I don't rightly care what we watch."
I search the meager selection again and stop on the nature show- something about the mating habits of lions in Africa. Not too bad. It's kinda sexy, actually. Lions have always intrigued me. All that growling and screwing and lying in the sun. What a life.
Just as I reach for the ranch dip, there's a light knock at the crypt door. We both look wide-eyed at each other, wondering if we're about to be caught hanging out together. Not that we've ever done anything illicit, but it would still be terribly hard to explain.
I whisper to him and say, "are you expecting anyone?"
"Not a soul." He mutes the television then stands up and slinks to the door, pressing his ear to the cold metal. For what seems like decades, he just listens and then I think I hear something-I almost swear I do-a tiny swishy whisper or something. And then Spike opens the door.
I'm holding my breath, expecting to have to think on my feet and explain my reason for being there to my boyfriend or any one of his good little gang. But the person standing outside the crypt door is a stranger to me-well, for a second. When he walks into the candlelit room, I recognize him immediately, even though I've only seen him once.
Angel freezes when he sees me then offers a sort of crooked, weirdly polite smile.
"Uh, hi. I . . . didn't realize Spike had a date."
"Oh, I'm not his date," I clarify. "We're just drinking buddies. Nice to see you again."
He looks all glowery and confused, which I'm guessing is a pretty common expression for him. "Have we met?"
"Sort of. Thanksgiving at Giles'. I'm Anya." I walk over and extend my hand because that's what you do, and he takes it because he's trying to act like a gentleman. He doesn't use his full grip on me, but I like the feel of his big hand. You know that thing they say about men with large hands? It's completely true. Trust me. Xander's hands are enormous.
Angel looks at Spike and lowers his voice to a purry whisper. "Why does this pretty girl smell like Xander Harris?"
Clearly he doesn't remember meeting me.
"Because she's his bird," Spike says, his baritone saturated in sarcasm. I decide to let him get away with the rudeness this time because I'm sensing something very interesting happening between him and Angel. I don't want to distract them from whatever it is by getting huffy.
Tall, dark and brooding looks at me in disbelief. "Really?" he says.
"Yes, really," I reply wearily. I get so tired of this question. "What the hell is wrong with Xander, anyway? Why do people keep asking me that?"
Angel smiles apologetically, but I'm not sure I'm happy about the thing he's apologizing for. In fact, the apology is even more insulting than the insult.
"Sorry," he says. "I don't mean to be disparaging. It's just . . . I've known Xander Harris a long time and I'm always curious why such pretty women go for him."
"Because he's nice," I explain. "He's very amusing. And he has a big, wonderful penis."
Spike grins at my comment proudly as though he'd written my lines, then walks toward the little kitchen again. "Want a drink?" he asks Angel.
"Sure." The tall one is dressed to the nines in what looks like a $4,000 Armani suit but I can't really tell in the bad light. Whatever he's got on, it fits him perfectly. He slips out of the coat and drapes it over the edge of Spike's coffin and then he walks over to sit down. Trick is, there are only these two chairs in the upper room. He takes the one Spike was using before and once again, I am keenly aware that something interesting is stirring. I'm pretty sure I know what it is, though. I've known lots of vampires in my day. With them, as with any other species of creature, there are some unavoidable constants.
Returning with the bottle, Spike pours Angel a drink then sets the bottle down between the two chairs. He stands in front of his newest guest for a moment, just looking at him. "What brings you to town, peaches? Lookin' in on our not so merry slayer?"
He shakes his head. "Not this time," he says and the way they look at each other makes me feel tingly. Oh, yeah. There is definitely something going on here. "I had business in San Francisco and I thought I'd stop in on my way home. See how you and the chip were doing."
They keep an unflinching gaze on each other but they're sort of smirking-you know, in a flirty way. Glancing down, I realize Spike is pressing his knee into Angel's thigh.
"Me and the chip are doing as fine as can be expected," Spike says, his voice all gravelly and low. "Don't we look fine?"
I swallow as Angel's glittering eyes move up and down Spike's lean, muscular frame. He's smiling now, smiling like a hungry wolf. I start to wish there was some ice in my drink.
"Fine and dandy," Angel concurs.
Grinning, Spike says, "you need somewhere to crash? My crypt is always yours."
"If you don't mind. Just for tonight." Angel sips his drink and I see him wince from the taste. Must not be a Jack man. No . . . he seems much more the scotch type, doesn't he? "But I don't want to interrupt, if you two have plans."
"Oh, no," I say. "We were just hanging out. Nothing we can't do any old time." I start thinking I should be polite and leave because they're flirting like freakin' crazy. I know I'm probably keeping them from just pouncing on each other and going at it like horny dogs. Then again, if they want to be alone, they can say so, can't they? Of course they can. I was here first, after all.
I decide to stay put until otherwise advised and I pour myself another drink.
"Well," Angel says and he reaches up, hooking Spike's pocket with his fingers. "Why don't you sit down, Spike?" He tugs and the blond's knees bend, breaking his fall gently against the chair's cushion. Angel tugs again, a little more insistent that time, and Spike topples forward. His hands come out and brace against the back of the chair, on either side of Angel's head.
Now their noses are about two inches apart and they just sort of . . . eyeball each other. I can see their nostrils working, sniffing the other's scent. All this primal attraction is intensely erotic to me. I feel my blood rush and I cross my legs trying to maintain composure. Looking at them so close to each other and almost kissing, I bet Spike's also glad I didn't bring the bean dip.
Angel looks over at me and smiles in a strangely shy way. "Um . . . I don't want to offend you, Anya . . . but we're going to . . ."
"Have fierce, raw vampire sex," I finish for him. "I know all about it. I've had lots of vamp friends over the years. You're his sire, right?"
He sort of blinks at me with that half-stunned, half-incredulous expression I see so often on people's faces. I have yet to figure out why that is.
"Well, not directly," he says. "I sired his sire."
"Oh!" I say brightly. "So, you're his GRANDsire. How nice. All that chemical stuff still applies, though, doesn't it? The whole need-to-jump-each-other's-bones-whenever-possible-just-to-keep-all- the-fluids-in-good-working-order thing?"
Again, he blinks. "Um, yeah. That still applies."
I laugh a little at the next thought I have and then I share it. "It's sort of like a vampire oil change."
"Sort of," he says, but he's smiling. He thought it was funny, also.
"Hence, why you're in Sunnydale to see Spike and not Buffy," I conclude, of course for my own benefit. Just so I have all the facts in order. Angel knows why he's here, he doesn't need me to tell him.
Spike is still smirking at me as he settles down into Angel's lap. My comments are amusing him. He's straddling the taller one and his long, pale fingers disappear up under Angel's shirt. I can see them moving gently beneath the expensive fabric, tickling, stroking, probably playing with the silky hairs around the navel. They'll be biting each other's lips soon. Any minute now.
Angel looks at Spike and his prominent brow crinkles with trepidation. He doesn't know if he wants to do this in front of me, but I've already decided I was going to wait to be asked to leave. Truth is, I don't want to miss the chance to watch them go at it-if they'll let me. I've always thoroughly enjoyed watching two attractive men have sex.
"I don't know if I want . . ." Angel says but Spike cuts him off by kissing him. It's a good kiss, too-nice and soft, deep and wet. The kind of kiss that turns your brain into so much oatmeal. I can't take my eyes off the point where their mouths are connected. When I see a flash of their pink tongues, I can't help but lick my own lips. For some reason, they're very dry all of a sudden.
Somehow, Angel manages to break free from that luscious kiss and he looks at me again, his brow wrinkled with curiosity. "Wait," he says and Spike starts putting little kisses along the side of his neck. "You said you've had a lot of vampire friends?"
"Mm hm," I reply cheerfully.
"Well, isn't that a little weird for someone who hangs out with the slayer?"
"I hang out with the slayer because my boyfriend does," I explain. "She and I don't really amalgamate well."
Spike giggles again and gives me a little wink. I smile brightly at him, pleased that he enjoyed my choice of words.
Angel turns to Spike and lowers his voice to a gravelly whisper. "Is she looking after you?"
"Buffy?" he says in disbelief, his dark eyebrows arching. "Looking after me isn't the way I'd put it. She's not busy staking me, but she sure as hell isn't coming `round to cook me biscuits, either."
"You're alive," Angel says.
"I'd think that was self evident, peaches."
Suddenly very curious, I say, "why do you call him that? Does he taste like a peach?"
Spike grins and reaches behind himself to tickle the insides of Angel's long, powerful thighs-just above where he's knees bend. Lots of nerve endings there. "No," he says in response to my question, his tone all playful and sexy. "He tastes a lot more like a ripe cantaloupe. Or maybe a bit like mango if he's been drinkin' scotch."
This makes Angel smile, which is nice. He has a great smile. And I knew I was right about him being a scotch man. Then, once again, Angel turns his attention to me, even though I can tell he's struggling to keep his cool as Spike continues to stroke the inside of his thighs. That makes me crazy. I don't know how he's able to remain coherent.
"How is it that you've had so many vampire friends?" he asks me.
I realize he has no idea that I've ever been anything but human. "Oh, well, I used to be a vengeance demon," I inform him. "In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I'm probably about 800 or so years older than you are."
Angel blinks at me then looks at Spike for confirmation.
"Yeah," my drinking buddy says. "Anya's been around. She knows Drac."
"Well, we hung out a few times," I explain, not wanting to imply that my association with The Dark Prince was anything more than it really was-a few random dates here and there. "We're not close or anything."
"Ah," Angel says, his expression getting more and more confused. "So . . . how did you . . . get here?"
"Sunnydale?" I say. "Oh, I was drawn here. The Hellmouth and all."
"I mean, how is it that you're human?" he clarifies and his tone a slightly cranky. Must be all that thigh stroking Spike's doing. Angel's annoyed by the distraction of our conversation and he's anxious for the pleasure to begin.
I smile and look down at my drink. "Well, Angel, let's just say that we're up to our eyes in curses in this room."
"I'm not cursed," Spike says. "I'm chipped."
"Right," Angel says, all sarcastic-like. "And that's so much better."
Spike chuckles, then leans forward for another one of those brain- melting kisses. Angel is completely taken over by it that time. His eyes close and he sighs so deep it sounds more like a growl and then he drops his glass onto the rug under the chair. I watch the glass hit the floor and spill its remaining splash of Jack out onto the rough fabric and the whole thing is in a strange kind of slow motion. I realize my cheeks are hot and my heart is beating quite quickly. For an instant, my eyes are drawn to the silent image of the lions on the television. A big male is swatting flies off his ass with his tail while two females drag a freshly killed gazelle to him like an offering. The females are bony and hungry looking but they bring him the food first. Don't human males wish.
When I look up at my vampire companions next, Angel's fingers are working on Spike's belt. It doesn't take him long until those sexy jeans are undone and open and being wiggled down Spike's narrow hips. I'm only flustered by the blond's sudden nudity for a second until all my attention is drawn to his thick, large, semi-erect penis. My god, isn't that gorgeous! My mouth floods with saliva and I swallow, then I take another drink from my glass in hopes of calming the sudden wave of carnality washing through me.
Angel is still kissing Spike as his pants go flying halfway across the crypt. The soft sucking noises and little grunts are getting more and more intense as their arousal builds. Spike stands up for a moment just to get his t-shirt over his head, then he climbs right back down into Angel's waiting lap. The kissing ensues again, hard, fervent, sucking. I can see their sharp fangs stretching and growing as their tongues caress each other. And then-there it is-the vibrant, bitter scent of blood in the air. I see it dripping down both their chins as they kiss and kiss . . . Spike quivers and growls and Angel's big hands slide up around his hips, holding him, drawing him close.
I realize I've stopped breathing and correct that immediately. I certainly don't want to pass out before the really interesting things begin.
The chair has become too confining for them and Angel rocks forward until they reach the floor. Spike's legs wrap around the brunette's hips and his hands are working underneath to get the buttons open on Angel's shirt. The kissing has never stopped and now that they're swallowing blood, the deep sounds they make are unmistakably feral.
I'm transfixed as Spike gets Angel's expensive clothing off, casting it aside in a pile by the chair. They're both naked now and their necks and faces are smeared with dark blood. Vampire blood is almost blue-black, it's so rich and viscous. On their pale, smooth skin the fluid leaves marks that look a little motor oil. This reminds me of my earlier comment about the vampire oil change and I have to cover my mouth with my hand so they don't hear me giggle. Not that they would. They have other things on their minds, most certainly.
They roll on the floor as they continue to devour each other's mouths. Hands everywhere, legs tangling, grabbing for purchase so they can rub their hard penises together. I can barely see between their bodies, they're pressed so tightly together. Hipbones grinding, bellies heaving as they pant. And the moans . . . those growly, beastly moans. God, it's incredible.
I have to pick up my feet as they roll over to the chair where I'm sitting. I fold my legs up and grab my ankles with my hand, hanging on tight as though I might blow apart suddenly. I feel like that's almost possible, what with the way the adrenaline is racing in my veins. I can't take my eyes off them as they grope each other, Spike's fingers digging into the flawless skin of Angel's back . . . down the spine, up over the broad shoulderblades . . . the pads of his fingers touch the pattern of the griffin tattoo so accurately, it looks like he's reading Braille. Angel shivers and groans, then he breaks their kiss and starts biting his way down Spike's body . . . little nips, not skin-breakers . . . he's just bringing up the sensation on the surface of the blond's flesh.
Spike's eyes are closed and his beautiful mouth is open, full lips swollen and bloody from their kissing. His usually well-managed curls are damp and getting loose as the sweat beads on his body. I love the way those curls stick to his forehead and earlobes. It's almost like they WANT to cling to him, to taste his perspiration. In that moment, he's more alluring than I've ever seen him. He's wanton and bare, so aroused he can hardly stand it. I can't take my eyes off his face for a moment . . .
And then quite suddenly, his back arches and his body goes taut and he moans from the bottom of his belly as an orgasm literally tears through him.
I had been so fixated on his amazing face that I hadn't even noticed Angel was sucking his cock. My attention shifts and I lean slightly to the right to see around the brunette's bobbing head. Oh, now this is a sight . . . Angel's eyes are closed and his lips are wrapped tightly around the thick shaft of Spike's penis, sliding up and down it in long, slow strokes. He's taking the whole thing, too-all the way down to the soft-looking wisps of pubic hair that are actually much lighter in color than I thought they `d be. Turns out Spike's natural haircolor is closer to honey than I imagined. I sigh. That just makes him even more delectable.
After a few more loud yelps of intense pleasure, Spike relaxes on the floor again, his whole body heaving with deep breaths he doesn't even need. I wonder why they do that. Breathing that hard takes a lot of effort. One would think that if you didn't NEED to do it, why bother? Must just be reflex.
I watch as Angel slowly releases Spike's spent, but still hard cock. He licks the tip to get every last drop of the cream that looks pinkish in the candle light. Maybe it is pink, now that I think about it. It would be, wouldn't it, when one's diet consists almost entirely of blood, alcohol and snack foods? Then he continues licking up Spike's beautifully rippled belly, lapping the sweat collecting there. Spike pets the back of Angel's neck with his fingers, drawing him up until they're kissing again. Deep and hungry, Spike must be tasting his own musk in Angel's wet mouth. I swallow again, then reach for the bottle on the floor by my chair and replenish my drink.
Angel gets up on his knees, straddling Spike on the floor. They're very close to me-a very few inches away, in fact-and I can smell all the yummy fluids at play now. Sweat, blood, pre-ejaculate, semen. Angel looks at me and licks his lips. Smudges of blood color his chin and cheeks making it look like he was recently intimate with a mixed berry pie.
I meet his seeking gaze and my heart starts pounding really hard. He's trying to read me, I can feel it. Why is he doing that? What does he care what I'm thinking?
"Enjoying the show?" he says and his tone is just a bit threatening. For some reason, I'm not alarmed by it, but exhilarated.
"I am," I say, quite honestly. "I'm hoping you're going to have an orgasm now. I'm looking forward to seeing that very much."
Angel smirks crookedly then looks down at Spike. "No wonder you like her," he says. "She's a big perv."
"Among other various and sundry qualities." Spike winks at me again and I give him a little smile. But I'm keeping an eye on Angel. Something about his behavior is pricking my fight or flight nerves.
"Well, then," the brunette says. "You'll love this, vengeance girl." In a fast series of graceful movements, Angel switches their positions and quite suddenly, I'm looking at Spike instead.
"Hello, luv," he says, grinning. I imagine his body feels amazing, having just come so hard.
"Hi, there," I say. "Are you going to please him, now?"
He reaches for my glass and drains it in a single gulp, then he hands it back to me. "Actually, I'm gonna torture him a bit. Look at him."
We both do and Angel stretches his arms over his head so we can look at as much of him as possible. The hairs under his big, nicely defined arms look soft and pettable. Once again, I notice his large hands and then my eyes travel down the length of his body to see if that old theory has held up again. It has. His penis is huge and perfect. It reaches up his damp belly in a slight curve, the thick tip dark red and dripping.
"He certainly looks like he needs torturin'," Spike concludes. "Wouldn't you say?"
"He looks like he needs something," I say quietly, knowing I'm blushing terribly and not caring one tiny bit.
Spike's left hand comes up to his own tummy and he strokes himself there. I wonder if he's even aware he's doing it. His belly must be very sensitive because he keeps doing that-when he could just as easily be playing with his penis. I find it interesting that he prefers to touch his lovely abs instead. It makes me want to kiss him right under his navel just to see if he likes it.
Still taking in the delicious spectacle that is the prone Angel, Spike says, "I think he needs tickling."
Angel's eyes flash but he doesn't lower his arms to defend his vulnerable sides-like I would have if someone had just mentioned tickling me. God, I hate being tickled. Instead, Angel just looks at the blond-dares him.
"Would you like that, peaches?" Spike teases gently. He's still petting his tummy, too, but now he's tugging at the line of silky blond hairs that lead to his genitals. That must really feel good to him because his eyes are half closed.
"How about this," Angel says softly. "Make me come now, tickle me later."
Letting his head back, Spike laughs playfully. "Aw, come on-that's no fun. You know I love it when you wiggle and beg me for it." Then he lunges forward and his long, elegant fingers grab at Angel's sides just below the ribcage-right where it's deadly sensitive. The brunette flinches and then his arms do come down, instinctively grabbing Spike's wrists and holding them tight. But he can't help but laugh. Again, I'm touched by how wonderful Angel's smile is. It completely changes his face, his demeanor-everything. That smile almost turns him into a boy.
They go rolling the other way and I have to fight to keep from protesting outloud. I want them to come back. The combined scent of their sweat and arousal is a thousand times more intoxicating than the Jack Daniel's. I watch them grappling and giggling and a few times I get excellent views of Angel's engorged privates. When he's on top of Spike I can see his big heavy balls. Looking at them is almost painful to me, I want to touch them so bad. I swear I can guess how they would feel-the softness of the hairs underneath, the weight of the sacks. There's nothing more masculine to me than a good pair of testicles. I don't know why, but I love to touch them and play with them. It makes me feel oddly safe.
They're wrestling like children now, smacking and tickling, snatching at each other's limbs, trying to gain dominance. Fortunately, though, their struggles are leading them back to where I'm sitting. I see Spike maneuvering to get his hand around Angel's ankle and I know what he's going to do-he's going up end the big boy and land him on his back. That'll be something. I can't wait to see what he does once he's accomplished that.
The move is daring and Angel isn't expecting it. He's got his weight on his right leg and Spike grabs that ankle, tugging it out from under the brunette effortlessly. Impressive. I almost applaud, but realize that would distract them so I just keep my hands down. Angel is on his back in no time, a look of surprise crossing his handsome face for a second before Spike covers his mouth with another deep kiss. My. I could watch these two kiss for the next twenty years and never tire of it. So much passion and knowledge of the other's desires. Those kisses show without a shred of doubt that not only do these creatures adore each other, but they adore pleasing each other.
I anticipate that Angel will fight now that he's been flipped over unexpectedly. But he doesn't. He just sighs and takes in that kiss with every muscle in his body. His fingers play in Spike curly hair and his long limbs relax as he breathes in and out deeply. I get it now-the breathing thing. They're smelling each other. Makes perfect sense when you apply logic, doesn't it, Anya?
The long muscles in Spike's back shift nicely under his pristine white skin and I find myself almost reaching out to touch him. I pull my hand back and tuck it securely under my folded legs, just in case it tries to do that again. Naughty hand.
Spike breaks the kiss with a good slippery smack, then reaches up and yanks the seat cushion off the other chair. He slides his left hand under Angel's lower back and lifts him quite easily up until the cushion can get under him. When he lets go, Angel's hips are nicely elevated and Spike smiles, tenderly stroking the hairs inside the brunette's thighs.
They look at each other but they don't say anything. The air in the crypt has changed suddenly. Everything seems polarized and frozen, like time is waiting for them to make the next move. Spike's fingers pet the soft-looking crease at the top of Angel's thighs-right where the legs meet the hips. Angel just watches him and breathes. Waiting. We're all waiting.
Slowly, Spike bends forward with a line of kisses down the inside of Angel's left thigh. He takes his time and Angel shivers, but he trusts Spike-that's obvious. He closes his eyes and his hands relax at his sides. The angle of Spike's head makes it so I can't really see what he's doing behind Angel's thigh, so-without really thinking about it-I just slide down on the floor and lean in to get a better look.
Now I can see everything. Oh, my-CAN I. I hold my breath, trying desperately not to disturb them. I know how delicate this can be . . . if delicacy is the intention. I'm not quite sure yet, truthfully.
Spike's lips are wet and open and I can see his tongue sliding slowly along the silky-looking skin under Angel's tailbone. He follows the crease in the flesh, licking between those tender, firm butt cheeks, caressing the skin with each pass, putting little kisses on the cheeks once in a while. Angel moans softly and I almost do, too. Spike's actions are so incredibly affectionate. I must admit, it's not what I expected from them. My frame of reference on vamp family boinking is that it's generally quite violent. But these two . . . they're redefining the whole thing for me.
I try to remember to breathe, but not pant, as I watch Spike's tongue find its mark and begin to gently circle Angel's cute and very vulnerable anus. The brunette freezes for a moment, then his toes curl in the air above Spike's head. I know just what he's feeling. There's nothing on earth or in any other dimension that even comes close to this incredible sensation. It's the best thing sex has to offer, at least in my opinion. And I should know. I've had lots and lots of sex.
I sit up a bit so I can get a good look at Angel's face. His eyes are closed, lips parted, tongue tracking slowly and repeatedly over the edge of his front teeth. He's imitating the path of Spike's tongue. I'm sure he's unaware of this action, but it makes me smile. He's lost to the pleasure. As Willow would say, he's "blissed out".
Turning my attention back to Spike, I watch as he steps up the intensity of his licks. Angel's little rosebud is totally relaxed and open now, tingling with sensation and heat. Maybe not heat, them being room-temperature and all, but I'm sure he feels absolutely wonderful, nonetheless. His lovely penis is trembling and leaking on his belly, the tip is so full now it looks like it hurts. His big balls are drawn up tight, ready to shoot. He sighs and the breath comes out all ragged and choppy. Oh, yes. He's having a very good time.
Spike moves his tongue into a wet pointing probe and then he gently pushes it into that willing, wanton hole. Angel groans and his fingers tense up into fists. His toes are curled so tightly now, the tips of them have gone whiter than his already white skin. Another glance at his cock shows me that he's struggling not to blow. The tense organ shudders and lifts away from his body softly, then drops back down against his belly, wetting it with pre-come.
Sitting up on his knees again, Spike balances his weight on his right elbow and softly strokes Angel's balls with his left hand. He cups them and holds them, his touch amazingly gentle. Then he starts with the little kisses again-softly around Angel's anus, up and down the silky crevice, all over his smooth cheeks and up his thighs. This goes on so long, it because torture to watch-I can only imagine the state Angel is in. I would be pulling Spike's hair out by now if he made me wait this long for an orgasm. Angel's stamina is awe- inspiring.
Then, finally, Angel takes in a deep breath and begins to mumble in soft, pleading tones. What he says is completely unintelligible, but the meaning gets across. He's done being tortured. He needs release.
Spike tilts forward gracefully and runs his wet tongue up and over those tense balls, up the hard base of Angel's throbbing cock and finally his mouth covers that painfully distended tip. In my peripheral vision I see his left hand is up to something down below and I bite my bottom lip as Spike slides his index and middle finger into Angel's body in a smooth, neat penetration. His tongue extends to trace a gentle line around the glands and up the big vein at the back of Angel's penis. He just laps the trembling organ, he doesn't suck it. Sucking would be too much right now. Angel is way too sensitive. He's been hovering on the edge of an intense orgasm for almost fifteen minutes and when it hits-it's going to be explosive. I can't wait.
Spike's naughty fingers are doing something inside Angel's body . . . they're reaching, looking for something. I know what it is, even though Xander won't let me do this to him. He thinks it would compromise his brute straightness. If he did let me do it just once, he'd want it all the time. Spike keeps licking the twitching head of Angel's cock and his fingers find what they're after-that swollen prostate deep inside. I can tell by the way his wrist angles that he's pressing it nice and firmly. Angel's body jolts, then freezes, then begins to rock uncontrollably. And then he practically screams as the contractions hit him like an attack.
I sit up straight so I don't miss it when that lovely penis erupts. It's quite a sight, I must say. Blast after blast of creamy fluid splatters across Angel's torso and Spike keeps up the gentle licks through the whole spell of convulsions. His beautiful lips become slick with semen and he laps at it, sighing deeply from the taste. I can smell it in the air-clean and spicy, musky and a little bit coppery. That must be the blood in Angel's system. But then the copper smell gets even stronger and I realize another component has been added to all this sweat and ejaculate. Spike's sharp fangs have slid into the tender flesh of Angel's belly, just to the left of his still dripping, pulsing cock. He made two tiny wounds that are bleeding quite vigorously. The blood is mixing with the creamy semen and the combination paints Spike's perfect mouth like pale lipstick. He's making these excellent slurping sounds and I can hear his throat clicking when he swallows. God. There's just something about sexy men ingesting each other's essence that really gets to me. I'm going to need a towel pretty soon.
Angel's fingers are in Spike's curls again, gently tugging and stroking them as the spasms begin to die away. His broad chest rises and falls quickly at first, then slower as he gradually comes back to earth. His eyes are still closed and his mouth relaxed and open. I envy how he feels right now. Pure satisfaction. It's mind-boggling what creatures will do to achieve that state-and such a tragedy the feeling never lasts more than a moment or two.
Spike puts a few more kisses on Angel's belly, then he sits up and looks at me with an impish smile. His face is glistening with Angel's sex fluids and I can tell-Spike couldn't be happier. He wipes his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and then, quite unexpectedly, he brings his thumb to my mouth.
I just stare at him for a frozen second, trying to find a way to protest this, but knowing . . . knowing I don't remotely want to. I keep my eyes on his glittering blue ones as I moisten my lips, then lean forward until his wet thumb slips into my mouth.
The taste is familiar but new, strange but succulent. It's both of them-a concentrated blast of all the yummy smells in the air--Angel's semen and blood, both their sweat, Spike's saliva. The combination is absolutely delicious. I suck the tip of his thumb very gently until it's clean, then I back up-knowing I have to stop. If I don't, I will most certainly misbehave.
Spike is smiling at me playfully. "Am I wrong?" he says. "Cantaloupe."
I breathe a shaky laugh and look down, feeling my face burn with blush. "Yes," I concur in a strained voice. "It's quite a bit like ripe melon. Sweet."
Angel rolls onto his side and sort of crawls toward me on his hands. His dark eyes are shining and his skin is glowing with sex sweat. He's irresistibly alluring. I feel the need to back away slightly, pressing my shoulders into the chair behind me.
"No fair," he says, his voice all deep and purry. "You get to taste me and I don't get to taste you? That's not nice demon etiquette, is it?"
"Um . . ." I stammer, not knowing what the hell to do. He's advancing on me with the most seductive smile, creeping with his shoulders arching like a big panther. "I . . . can't let you . . ." I say. "Xander . . ."
"Xander's not here," Angel says, still moving forward-not that there was a great deal of distance to cover in the first place. I was practically perched on Spike's back to get the best view of the proceedings.
Suddenly the dark one is right in front of me and I can smell everything on him. He's watching my face, clocking my expression, testing me. This must be the way he seduced victims back when he was soulless. Back when he would behave this way all the time, not just when his brain was fried with post-carnal chemicals.
"I . . . can't," I say, wanting to more than anything I've ever wanted in my long, long history. His lips look like ripe cherries. I love cherries.
"Angel," Spike says, his tone only mildly warning. "Give the girl a break. Even if you do get her to open a vein for you, she'll only hate herself in the morning. And I'll never hear the end of it."
"I . . ." I have to clear my throat, but then I forge on. "I thought you were a good boy now. Why are you being all . . . seductive guiltless vampire hottie with me?"
Angel smiles a little and actually bats his eyelashes. "Having a soul doesn't change who I am. It just makes things a lot less fun." His eyes comb my face, then flit down my neck and down my shirt, taking in the attractive curve of my small, but perky breasts. My nipples actually burn under his gaze.
"Well," I say, forcing myself to scoot back. "I have to decline your . . . totally unscrupulous offer."
Spike chuckles and I glare at him. "You could be helping me," I snap.
"Helping you what? He's just playing, pet. He's not really gonna bite you. He can't."
"Somehow I severely doubt that," I say, looking in Angel's dark, intensely flirtatious eyes again. He licks his cherry lips very slowly and I feel my insides tingle dangerously. It's only then that I realize how wet my undies are.
"Well, I could bite you," Angel says. "But it's not likely I will. I mean, you don't WANT me to, do you?" Again, he licks his lips and again, the big asshole, Spike chuckles. Oh, the fun they must have had back in the day, torturing all those poor unsuspecting girls before they made a meal of them.
"Shut up, you!" I yell at my soon to be former drinking buddy.
"Oh, come on, luv." Spike crawls up into the chair I'm leaning against and stretches his long, naked legs out between me and Angel like a barrier. "Is that better? Do you feel safe now?"
I glare at him and heave a sigh. "No. I'm leaving." I stand up on wobbly legs and find my handbag. I'm shaking so much I drop it and when I bend over to grab it, the contents tip out onto the crypt floor. Isn't this always the way? Try to make a smart, decisive exit and you end up dumping your purse.
I kneel to scoop up my lipsticks and pens and mints and then I feel- and smell-Angel behind me. He just crawled across the floor and flanked me with his arms and now he's pressing against my back with his beautiful, sweaty naked chest. I try not to breathe, try not to get my senses full of him, but it's absolutely no use. His powerful pheromones assault me and my legs go all rubbery. I'm on my ass on the cold stone floor the next second, leaning against him and wishing, wishing so hard, that I could just throw him down and mount him. I won't, of course. With Xander in the picture, I just simple can't.
He laughs softly and my body shakes with the vibration of it. "You want me to, don't you?" he murmurs. "You want me to take a bite of your pretty neck and suck and suck and suck . . ." He brushes his nose against my ear and I hear myself whimper.
"Spike," I plead. "Help me, dammit."
"He's not gonna do it, Anya. Even if you beg. He's just playing with you. It's how he gets his kicks these days. Especially since he can smell how much you want him."
I flinch when he says that and move away from my beastly seducer. Turning back, I look right into those dark eyes and give him a good glower. "So, that's it? You think you can do all this to me just because I can't control how much you turn me on? That's just . . . mean."
He smiles brattily. "I'm not doing anything to you. I'm just sitting here."
This time I glower at Spike. "You are such a shit, letting him carry on like this!"
He spreads his hands and lifts his eyebrows. "What the hell do you want me to do? He's not even touching you."
"You-" I clamp my jaw shut in frustration, then I scramble back to my feet. I know I'm missing a few things from my bag, but I can't care about that now. Now, I just have to get the holy flying hell out of there.
"Anya," Spike says, finally going all sympathetic. "Don't go, luv. I'm sorry. I'll make him stop. But I promise, he won't bite you."
"You don't know that!" I shout as I grab the door knob. "You should have been protecting me against your duplicitous, wanton sire-boy here! Champion of the people, my demon-momma's butt! You're just a big, horny dog like all men!!"
Angel starts giggling in this maddening, high-pitched way that makes me want to kick his fangy teeth in. I glare at Spike again, but that time he's looking a little sheepish. About time! He knows I'm really pissed off.
"What if he did?" I shout. "What if he HAD tried? You wouldn't even have stopped him, would you? You probably would have helped him!!" I've worked myself up into a great angry lather now and I stomp out into the crisp night-but not before I get in the last word. Turning around, I yell back into the crypt at the top of my lungs. "You bastard, Spike! Friends don't let friends eat friends!"
Just like I knew they would, the two of them burst out laughing and I have to leave before I inflict bodily harm on both of them. Bastards. I'm angry enough to rip their super-strong vamp arms off. Men are such shits. I can't believe I just allowed them to do that to me.
At least I make it all the way back to the car before I shove my hand into my panties and come so hard I nearly pass out.
************
Spike:
Standing outside Anya's building the next night, he waited until he saw her lights go out. Glancing around to make sure he wouldn't be seen, he shimmied up a big oak tree beside the building and slipped into her bedroom through the open window.
Having just gone to bed, she was still awake and she sat up in her silky red nightie and glared at him.
"What the hell do you want?" she shouted. "I'll scream."
Spike held up his hands. "Easy, luv. I came to apologize."
It took a few minutes, but finally her pretty face softened reluctantly. She flopped back against the pillows and pulled the covers up over her body protectively. "You SHOULD apologize, you jack-ass!"
He laughed softly, then proceeded toward the bed cautiously. When she didn't tell him to stop, he sat down on the corner of the mattress. "You have every right to be angry. I don't know what happens to me when I'm with him . . . we just . . . we've always . . ."
"Been assholes together," she finished, but her tone was much mellower than when he first arrived.
Spike looked down guiltily. "Yeah. I reckon that's it." He shrugged. "We're just boys, I suppose. That never really changes."
"Boys who never die," Anya pointed out. "One would think that would afford some level of maturity."
Choosing to ignore that remark, he grinned at her knowingly, lowering his chin. "He got to you, didn't he? Angel is very persuasive."
She turned away from him and pulled the covers up to her neck. Her brow knit deeply and he could see her jaw clenching through the smooth skin of her cheek. "I couldn't believe him," she mumbled. "He actually thought he could . . ." She heaved an annoyed sigh and shook her head, as if to clear the memory of Angel all naked and lovely and playing with her.
"He's still here," Spike purred. "In case you fancy coming `round again."
Glaring at him, Anya said, "oh, shut up, Spike. You know I can't. Even if-"
"You want to more than anything?" he said very softly.
She said nothing. She just sighed ruefully.
"I saw how he affected you," he went on. "I've seen him do that for over a century. I know how he is. Worse, HE knows. Uses it shamelessly. He loves to tease. But he wouldn't have bit you- really."
Frowning, Anya sat forward but she still kept the blankets pulled up around her pretty breasts. "I didn't leave because I was afraid he would bite me, Spike," she said, her voice low and matter-of- fact. "I left because I wanted him to. I was THIS close to committing a terrible offense toward Xander. I got so upset because I was so drawn to him." She lowered her voice again. "To both of you. I had to get out-and fast. But I don't appreciate you making it worse for me. Shithead."
"I know, luv," he said, smiling at her gently. "But don't be too hard on either of us. You're only human. And that's what vampires do. We seduce, we lure. We conquer. That's what it's all about for us. It's instinct."
Anya sighed and brushed a stray bit of hair away from her face. "I know all about vampires, Spike. I'm just saying that I should have been above such a vile temptation."
He reached out tentatively and touched her knee through the blankets, waiting to speak until she looked at him again.
"Anya, it was an extreme situation. Lots of chemistry and primal influences afoot. Just go easy on yourself, all right? And please forgive me for behaving like a prat to a friend." He smiled one more time, then stood up and headed for the window. Before slipping out into the night, he looked back at her with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. "See you Tuesday?"
She flopped back against the pillows and rolled her eyes. "Only if you promise to keep your clothes on." Her lips turned up in a playful grin. "I'm only human, after all, and you are an incredible hottie."
He gave her a wink. "Likewise, pet." And then he was back outside and down on the street.
Even though he knew Anya was off limits, Spike couldn't stop smiling for hours.
the end.