Author: Flurblewig
Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating/Warnings: NC17 for sexual acts
Timeline/Spoilers: AtS S5, post 'Soul Purpose'
Genre: Smut/humour
Length: 1,284 words
Disclaimer: Not mine. We all know that.
A/N: Thanks & hugs to my wonderful beta
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debxena - who does a marvellous job of helping me keep track of whose body parts are where :-)He isn't snooping; in his own mind Wesley is very clear on this point. What he's doing is checking Angel's apartment for bugs, sigils, or any other signs of mundane or mystical interference. After the Selminth parasite fiasco, they have to improve their security - and since Angel flatly refuses to allow him to install CCTV cameras, the sweeps will just have to be done manually.
So he has a perfectly good reason for examining the items of clothing in the wardrobe. It's ridiculous to feel bad about it - it isn't like he hasn't seen Angel's clothes before, is it? He's not doing anything wrong, here. He's just doing his job.
He runs his hand down the length of the trousers. He's owned such items himself, of course, but his were hardwearing, protective leathers - made to withstand wind, road dust and, for an extra fee, demon slime. These are - soft. Luxurious. Made to be stroked.
He doesn't entirely know what makes him put them on. But oh, they feel good. The leather sheaths him like a second skin, tight and warm and sensuous. He thinks about how this material has also caressed Angel's body, and swallows as the crotch area suddenly gets just that little bit tighter.
He turns around, with vague thoughts of finding a mirror, and walks straight into Spike.
"Are you done up here? Only Lorne wants to start the warding ritual and - " Spike breaks off, staring at him. "Well, shit. Look at you."
"Spike. I - uh - "
Spike circles him slowly, eyes never leaving the lower half of Wesley's body. "So what was it, then? What got you?"
"What?"
Spike grins. "You're wearing black leather trousers, mate. Might as well hang a sign round your neck saying 'evil now'." He circles closer. "You still smell human, so it wasn't a vamp."
"Oh. Oh, I see. No, well, actually I -"
"Bet it was some kind of demon possession thing, huh? Maybe you messed around with one too many old grimoires, or something. Left yourself open for some big old nasty to come and take the reins for a while."
Wesley tries to back up, but Spike just keeps getting nearer. "So now I suppose you'll be wanting to test out the whole dark side thing. Wanting to get on with the mayhem and destruction and dirty hot sex, right?"
"No, Spike, I just - the, the what?"
"Dirty hot sex. Come on, it's the first thing anyone does when they turn evil, you must know that. Exploring life without inhibitions, that kind of thing."
The voice is right in his ear now. If Spike had to breathe, Wesley would be able to feel it on his skin. What he most certainly can feel, however, are the fingertips tracing lightly down the back of his spine.
Move, he tells his legs, but they don't obey. Maybe there really is something to this possession idea, because the lower half of his body seems to have developed a life of its own. Not only are his legs not him away from the vampire currently ignoring all civilised conventions of personal space, but his cock is continuing to harden under the suddenly-restrictive leather.
He opens his mouth to object, confident that at least his vocal cords will still be on his side, but before he can speak he finds himself roughly spun around. Cool, firm lips lock over his, and somehow Spike finds his tongue before he can. He's shocked - so shocked he forgets that he's not supposed to kiss back.
Possession. That really has to be the only sane explanation. Certainly saner than the idea that he is, of his own free will, kissing Spike. That his hands are following his own instructions when they start running through Spike's hair and that his aching, swollen cock is responding to genuine desire.
Spike breaks the kiss and pulls back, leaving Wesley's lips feeling bruised and cold. "Right," he says. "I've got a proposition for you, Big Nasty. You do what you like to me, get all that bad stuff out of your system, and then you let the real Wesley back into the driving seat. Okay? We got ourselves a deal?"
Wesley blinks rapidly. Really, this has gone far enough. And of course he's going to tell Spike that. He'll tell him any minute now, just as soon as he's reached out and buttoned Spike's shirt up again, because the sight of so much bare skin is rather distracting.
Okay, okay, the shirt can wait. The jeans will have to be done up again first. Spike is pushing the denim slowly down his hips, his eyes and his hot, lazy grin focused intently on Wesley, and honestly this really has got to stop right now.
So Wesley reaches out with shaking fingers and somehow ends up with a handful of smooth, hard cock. Spike hisses and pushes forward into Wesley's hand. "Okay," he says. "I'm taking that as a yes."
Yes. The word reverberates around Wesley's head. His hand seems to take it as an ongoing command and starts to stroke slowly up and down. It's been a long time since he's had a cock other than his own in his hand, but he doesn't seem to have forgotten the knack; not if Spike's expression is anything to go by.
Then fingers are fumbling with his own zipper, and his erection springs free into eager waiting hands. He takes in a sharp breath as Spike rubs their cocks together, the friction burning its way through every cell of his body. Waves of fire shoot from his groin straight into his brain.
Spike's voice hums in his ear, deep and harsh; closer to growl than speech. Wesley thinks maybe he hears his own name, but he's not sure. He can't seem to register much above the sound of hitching, panting breath and a rough keening that he eventually realises is coming from his own throat.
He struggles for control, for sanity, for something - but then those cool are back pressed against his own, and he's missed this, yes he's missed this so fucking much and it just feels so good.
He breaks the kiss only when his lungs start screaming for oxygen, and draws in a wild gulp of air. The roaring in his ears subsides, and when he no longer thinks he's going to faint he leans forward again - but Spike's mouth is gone. He almost whimpers, but then feels those cool lips slide over the head of his cock and draw him in deep. His hips pump helplessly as the long muscles in his thighs begin to tremble. Spike's hands grip his legs, kneading and caressing, roaming over skin and leather. Wesley looks down, his hands fisting in Spike's hair, and meets eyes flickering yellow under heavy lids. Blunt teeth scrape lightly down the length of his cock, and he feels his knees buckle and spill him to the floor as he comes with a wordless scream on his lips.
Strong arms catch him, hauling him upright. "S'okay," says a voice in his ear, as he struggles for breath. "I got you."
Eyes fully blue again look into his, and a smile that could only be described as satisfied strips his lungs of air all over again.
"So, pet. Is that you in there again now? Did we exorcise the demons?"
Wesley swallows and passes a shaking hand over his face. Eventually, he finds his voice.
"No," he says firmly, as he drops to his knees again and reaches for Spike's cock. "I think we have a long, long way to go