Greed
Okay guys - my apologies I haven't been able to be online all week, more or less! *sob*
And the month ends today and I haven't finished my seven deadly sins! *cries*
But in an effort to get one under the wire, here is Greed.
Spike/Angel
Spike only noticed the bottle wasn’t a twist off when a splash of beer escaped and burned the rough tears forcing the cap off had left in his palm.
He threw the cap across the room and mentally tossed away his anger, too. He shouldn’t let the poof affect him like that. Not anymore. He dropped in front of the television with a sigh and switched to hold his beer in his right hand while he flexed his left and studied the regular gashes that described the shape of a bottlecap.
The door to the apartment swung open, startling him, and a familiar form sauntered in.
“Oh hell no.”
Angel dangled a single key by his head. “Did you know the firm seized all of Lindsey’s assets?”
“Thought Mrs. Park was a mite obliging on the rent, me not paying it and all. Peaches, whatever you have to say you can turn your fat arse around and say it to the wind. I made myself perfectly clear.”
Angel leaned against the door frame. His shoulder rose and fell as he tucked the key back into his pants pocket. “Didn’t come to apologize, Spike.” He tilted his head and smiled.
“And you can stop with the sweet and cute act - we both know it won’t work on me.” Spike pointedly reached forward and snapped on the television.
It was a talk show - and some mindless cacophony of clapping, the host trying to recap before commercial, but he fastened his attention on it and drained half his beer.
The door swung shut and the lock slid home. Three lazy strides crossed the room. (Try as he would to concentrate on what Montel was saying, Spike catalogued Angel’s every move with wary care.) The sofa sank and creaked as Angel sat. He spread his arm along the top of the couch and fingertips brushed Spike’s shoulder.
Spike shrugged him off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Angel obligingly moved his hand to Spike’s thigh, where it was batted away like a fly. “Come on,” Angel said. “How can you possibly be this upset?”
“Told you I’m not going to be your side-project. No more, Angel. Not even going to look at you while you smell like wet dog.”
Angel frowned. “Nina doesn’t smell like wet dog.”
“Does to me.”
Angel let out a deep, put-upon sigh, that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He rolled to face spike, setting his knee on the other side of his lap and resting his forearms on the younger vampire’s shoulders. Spike glared daggers at him. With a soft expression that belied any affect of the icy stare, Angel said, “Don’t be jealous, baby.”
“I’m not jealous. It’s a simple formula. You might have heard of it. One plus one. Either you’re with wolf-girl or with me.”
“No.”
Spike pushed him away, hard enough that he had to bend awkwardly to avoid knocking the TV off its stand. He leapt to his feet. “You don’t get to say ‘no’! This wasn’t a question, mate.”
Angel straightened his coat. “Yes, I do. You’re being greedy.”
“Me? All I want is the simple fidelity most blokes take for granted - though lord knows why since it’s apparently bloody extinct.” He spat the last word out and gestured angrily at the brick wall behind him. “All I have in my life now that isn’t yours is this shitty flat, and now you’re showing me that’s not mine, either.”
Angel couldn’t suppress the little-boy-winning-an-argument grin. He shrugged. “I want you. And Nina. And you both want me. I don’t see the problem.”
“Problem: I say no. Thank you for playing, get out.” He pointed to the door and held his hand there, waiting.
Angel loosely grasped his wrist. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.” Spike punched him and was startled when Angel simply rolled with the blow and grabbed him around the waist, pressing their bodies together. “And you’re hard.” He ground his hips forward against the evidence in question. “Come on, Spike, what happens between me and anyone else has nothing to do with us.”
Spike felt the temptation to just give in and get a good shag tugging at him. He quashed it firmly and raised an eyebrow. “So it shouldn’t bother you if I ring up Buffy, then?”
Angel’s smile evaporated instantly. Spike smirked at his victory. “Yeah,” he said, tilting his chin up, “you want open? That’s both ways.”
“Watch yourself, boy.”
“Ha.” Spike twisted out of Angel’s grip and danced backward. “Problem is your inflated sense of your own irresistibility, dark avenger. I just said I don’t want your cheating wide arse, so get. Out.”
With a sudden explosion of strength, Angel threw Spike against the wall. He hit like a clapper against the bell. Tiny white stars veiled his vision. Angel turned him, pressing Spike’s belly to the wall, trapping his arms, twisted, between them. “No, Spike,” he said, leaning his full weight on him. “You do want me. We both know it, and you’re going to admit it.”
“Sod off.”
Angel pressed his ear over Spike’s, using his head to hold Spike’s in place. “Is that one of the million ways you have of saying ‘go have anal sex’? Because I have to tell you, Spike, that was kind of the idea.”
“Lucky shot, peaches, but give me a moment and I’ll beat you. Again.”
Angel growled, faintly, against his ear. A vibration that stirred Spike’s traitorous libedo, and he knew Angel could smell it plain as he could smell the thick, cloying lust wafting off his sire.
“That isn’t how this is going to work, Spike. See, I don’t just want you, I want to hear you tell me how much you want me. I want to hear you beg.”
“Won’t happen. You’re as sexy as paste.”
Holding Spike’s crossed wrists in one hand, he wriggled his other hand between Spike and the wall and began unbuttoning his fly. “I get what I want.”
“Not this time.”
“Every time.”
Spike hissed as his erection was freed and, his lust short-circuiting his pride for the moment, pushed back against the hard body caging him in.
“Come on, Spike, just give in, give me what I want. Beg for it.”
The words were as effective as ice water. Spike’s eager press turned into a hard shove. “Seems you’re the one can’t keep your hands off my luscious body.”
Angel licked his lower lip. “It is luscious.”
Spike pushed Angel toward the door. “Flattery gets you fuck-all.”
The push was answered with a roundhouse punch and before you could say “Round Eight Hundred Thousand and One” they were reducing the meager particle-board furnishings to kindling.
Reeling from a header into the refrigerator door, Spike smashed a piece of counter in half and threw it at Angel, “You’re lucky none of this is real wood, or I’d be rid of your poufy…”
The insult wasn’t finished because Angel’s “poufy” shoulder slammed into Spike’s gut, robbing him of breath.
Spike made an airless lunge, but Angel was ready for him, flipped him onto the counter and the world went dark as his skull smacked the faucet.
After the momentary confusion of awakening passed, Spike was not surprised at all to find himself chained to his own bed. He raised his head, eyebrow raised. “This is getting really fucking tedious.”
Angel sauntered toward the bed. “I like to stick with the classics.” He stopped a few feet from the side of the bed, where Spike could have the best view (of course) and started slowly undressing.
“You want to shag? Fine, one more for the road. But this is it, Peaches. This is all you get.”
Angel stepped out of his pants and onto the bed. “So you do want me?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “No begging. None of that shite.”
Angel crawled over him, slowly, muscles shifting with purposeful grace. “I want to hear that pretty, pretty begging.”
“An’ I’m sure you can tell me how you wanted ice water in hell.”
Angel’s response was to dip his face into the hollow of Spike’s neck and nip at the soft flesh. He chuckled as Spike’s chest rose in a gasp and his right side tightened into gooseflesh.
Angel licked and teased his way down Spike’s torso. He laved the gentle depression where thigh met torso, drawing his tongue slowly closer to the curls, licking them now and again, nipping at the sensitive skin between his thighs, but not touching the rigid column of flesh that bobbed in protest, gently slapping his face.
When this didn’t get him any response he latched onto one creamy thigh and sucked hard enough to raise dead blood to the surface, pinking and darkening it to nearly black.
A whimper escaped tightly pressed lips. Angel sank fangs into the flesh, taking a little taste while he ran his fingernails gently up and down Spike’s hips and quivering stomach.
A stream of invective replaced the whimpers, calling Angel every name in the book and a few he was sure Spike had invented just for him.
It was just like drawing. You start out with gentle strokes over the full of the canvas, and gradually lines and shapes became more prominent, the pencil straying over them again and again to darken and solidify the form. So his scratching and biting grew harder, delicate welts and beads of blood forming at the inside elbow, the pelvis, the neck. Spike was thrashing now. Angel let his cheek brush the silky head of Spike’s cock whenever he passed it, and sometimes he would turn and let it slide over his lips, or he would open his mouth and slowly advance on it, just to breathe against the flesh and move away.
“Something you want, Spike?” He paused to look him in the face. His teeth were clenched, his throat stretched.
“Beer would be nice,” he managed in a strained voice.
Angel chuckled. Spike gave a whine of shocked disappointment as he stepped off the bed and padded, unhurried and stark naked, into the kitchen - around the ruined table and chairs and scattered evidence of their battle. He opened the fridge and leaned down perhaps a bit more than necessary to select a beer from the bottom-most shelf.
He carried it against the hard plane of his stomach, the bottle sweating droplets against his satin shining skin.
Spike, too late realizing that he was staring, licked his lips.
“Mm,” Angel set one knee on the mattress at his side. “Thirsty?” He raised beer to his lips and took a long, slow drink. A cold droplet of condensation fell just a centimeter from Spike’s nipple. He shivered at the sensation.
Angel rolled the cold bottle against Spike’s cheek, neck, and the red marks on his arm. “Want it?”
“Want you to stop teasing.”
Angel’s face lost all humor, he was perfectly still. “Beg.”
“No.”
Angel shrugged. He took another gulp of beer and leaned down.
He opened his mouth against Spike’s throat, the wet, cold beer inside flowing against flesh heated by bruises.
Slowly he dripped beer from his mouth over every wound on Spike’s body - mixing the cold relief with the sting of alcohol on wounds. He nipped his way down the wrists slowly, over the metal cuff and spread Spike’s curled fist open with insistent fingers, so he could kiss the still-present wounds on the palm. Then he licked between each finger, sucking on the tips while his body undulated against Spike’s, their cocks dragging against each other randomly - all too infrequently, streams of pre-cum joining their bodies and glistening in the low light.
“Fuck,” Spike said.
“Mm?” Angel never ceased laving the fingers in his mouth, exalting in the rough texture of the pads, the neat edge of the nail.
“Oh, fuck it. Yes, Angel, I want you. Now. Come on.”
“Hmm.” Angel straightened, braced on his arms around Spike’s head he humped against him, twice, very slowly and surely, and Spike bit his lip, neck arching back even more as he groaned. Friction at last!
And then Angel shifted, went to the other hand, repeating the attentions he’d given to the first, he took a swig of beer and pressed his lips, slightly open, the inside forearm, working his way slowly up, dribbling beer along the taut arm.
“Angel! For fuck’s sake! I’m going to explode!”
Angel let a finger slip from his lips with a loud pop. “Beg,” he said, and then licked the crinkled, sweat-salt palm of Spike’s right hand.
Spike quivered all over. “Please. Please, Angel, you big fucking pouf, please fuck me.”
“Hm. Doesn’t sound sincere.” Angel trailed his fingers gently down the center of Spike’s torso, ever so gently - almost not touching - over his cock and then dug his fingers hard into the flesh underneath.
Chains and bedframe groaned as Spike tried to fold in half against the sudden pain which only increased his desire. “Fuck!”
“When you beg,” Angel reminded, and raked his small hard nails up to Spike’s stomach, up his side and over the ladder of his ribs to the exquisitely sensitive underarm.
Only when the general form was properly filled in could you turn your attentions to details like this - the soft flesh and light, curling hairs damp with sweat and sweet with desire. Angel licked the tangy flavor, swirling his tongue through the hollow and nipping here and there to raise a blush to the skin.
“Please, you son of a bitch. Yes, all right - you win. I want you. I’ll always want you, you insufferable bastard.”
Angel dragged his tongue back down over the tracks his fingernails had made - felt the slight roughness of the welts and their height and breadth. He stopped to nip his nipple, and then, because it was only fair, nipped the other one, laving and chewing the tiny buds until they were slightly swollen and red. Then he returned to his downward progression, letting the fringe of hair on his head tickle along the delicious bumps of Spike’s abdomen he gave a long, slow lick to the very tip of Spike’s cock - not holding it, letting it bob away as he tasted the musky fluid.
“Christ! Whatever you want! You sadistic prick!”
“Mmm,” Angel said, sounding like he was considering, he pushed Spike’s thighs as far apart as the chains would allow and started paying very particular and detailed attention to his balls, perineum, and all areas adjacent, mapping out the complex surface in gentle, hard, painful and tickling touches, all varied and controlled, painting sensation like color, subtle compliments and contrasts until every inch was sensitized and Spike was begging in earnest.
“Please. Do whatever you want. Anything you want. I’ll do whatever you want. Just fuck me. I can’t take it anymore. Want to feel you, Angel. God! Christ!”
Angel savored the sound. That was what he’d wanted to hear - when Spike gave in and just poured his soul as wholly into begging as he had into refusal. For the first time he let his fingers dip lower, into the little dent of Spike’s ass. He was rewarded with an instant lifting of hips. Spike tried to impale himself on the gentle fingertip playing over his most sensitive flesh.
The tickle was intolerable. Agony and ecstasy and Spike simultaneously wanted it to stop immediately and never, ever to end. He writhed and strained.
The room smelled of sweet wheat and beer and hunger. “Yes, yes, damn it, do it. You magnificent son of a bitch.”
Angel considered that he, himself, had been more than patient, holding out on his own pleasure to prolong the teasing. He licked at Spike’s pucker, working his fingers in saliva on the surface while he gently humped Spike’s shin, eager himself for more stimulation.
Incoherent half-words joined moans and pleas. “Just… fuh… Angel!”
Angel watched the intoxicating sight of the puckered opening forcing down on his thick fingers, fucking onto him. Angel built him up to a steady boil before rubbing his body thoroughly up Spikes, every inch of skin dragging against him, wriggling to maximize contact while Spike panted.
“Tell me the truth, baby, do you really want me to fuck you?”
“Dick!”
Angel chuckled. Their bodies were moving together, wriggling side to side on a sheen of sweat. “There’s that, yes, but do you want me to fuck you? Want me to use you to slake my own lust? Or do you just want to get off?”
“You’re a fucking prick and you know what I want.”
“Mm… not good enough, Spikey. You have to give me what I want to get what you want.”
Spike thrashed his head back and forth. “Twat. Cunt. Fine. Please, Angel, I wanna be fucked. I want you. Insufferable self-important git!”
Angel licked his cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
Angel slid into him in a smooth stroke like a well-oiled machine. Both men groaned in pleasure, frantic motions stilled to thrill in the moment.
Angel set up a languid rhythm and Spike strained to meet his lips and they kissed hard and deep, tongues and lips bruising against teeth as they rocked.
“Fuuuck, gonna cum,” Spike gasped the moment their lips broke. “God, already… just a little…”
Angel quickly reached between them and tugged Spike’s balls hard.
“OW!”
“No coming.”
Panic settled on Spike’s features. “Oh no. No we are NOT playing that game.”
“Beg for it.”
“Angel, please don’t be a complete bastard and let me come. Please!”
Angel tilted his head as though considering it, then smacked his lips. “Nah.”
“ANGEL!!”
The steady and relentless thrusts were building a wall of pleasure inside Spike, a threatening explosion, sparks shooting through his brain and all along his nerves. “Please oh god whatever you want. You get it all, anyway, why do I bother to fight? Please, Angel…”
Angel bit his own lip hard to hold off orgasm in the face of such beautiful pleas. He grabbed Spike’s hips and lifted them off the bed, changing his angle and pounding hard into Spike’s sweet spot on each thrust, he held one hand at the base of Spike’s dick, squeezing hard when he felt the vein expand, though Spike cursed and thrashed and fucked up on him.
“Anything. Angel, please. I won’t complain, you can have the dog-girl. I just… please? Whatever you want, just don’t leave me…”
It was like a crushing velvet weight dragging him over a precipice - Angel couldn’t stop himself from spending at last, long, hard, and deep, he felt emptied and melted, falling against Spike like putty.
Next to his boneless limbs, Spike was taut as a trip-wire, and vibrating, his hips working in short thrusts, all the motion he had available to him, feverishly trying to get off before Angel came to his senses and…
Angel tugged his balls hard, again, and rose on to his knees.
“Angel!” Spike pleaded, straining with all his might against the bounds, as though he could bend his body in half to get his dick closer.
Angel shushed him. “Don’t be greedy,” he said, and walked out the door.
And the month ends today and I haven't finished my seven deadly sins! *cries*
But in an effort to get one under the wire, here is Greed.
Spike/Angel
Spike only noticed the bottle wasn’t a twist off when a splash of beer escaped and burned the rough tears forcing the cap off had left in his palm.
He threw the cap across the room and mentally tossed away his anger, too. He shouldn’t let the poof affect him like that. Not anymore. He dropped in front of the television with a sigh and switched to hold his beer in his right hand while he flexed his left and studied the regular gashes that described the shape of a bottlecap.
The door to the apartment swung open, startling him, and a familiar form sauntered in.
“Oh hell no.”
Angel dangled a single key by his head. “Did you know the firm seized all of Lindsey’s assets?”
“Thought Mrs. Park was a mite obliging on the rent, me not paying it and all. Peaches, whatever you have to say you can turn your fat arse around and say it to the wind. I made myself perfectly clear.”
Angel leaned against the door frame. His shoulder rose and fell as he tucked the key back into his pants pocket. “Didn’t come to apologize, Spike.” He tilted his head and smiled.
“And you can stop with the sweet and cute act - we both know it won’t work on me.” Spike pointedly reached forward and snapped on the television.
It was a talk show - and some mindless cacophony of clapping, the host trying to recap before commercial, but he fastened his attention on it and drained half his beer.
The door swung shut and the lock slid home. Three lazy strides crossed the room. (Try as he would to concentrate on what Montel was saying, Spike catalogued Angel’s every move with wary care.) The sofa sank and creaked as Angel sat. He spread his arm along the top of the couch and fingertips brushed Spike’s shoulder.
Spike shrugged him off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Angel obligingly moved his hand to Spike’s thigh, where it was batted away like a fly. “Come on,” Angel said. “How can you possibly be this upset?”
“Told you I’m not going to be your side-project. No more, Angel. Not even going to look at you while you smell like wet dog.”
Angel frowned. “Nina doesn’t smell like wet dog.”
“Does to me.”
Angel let out a deep, put-upon sigh, that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He rolled to face spike, setting his knee on the other side of his lap and resting his forearms on the younger vampire’s shoulders. Spike glared daggers at him. With a soft expression that belied any affect of the icy stare, Angel said, “Don’t be jealous, baby.”
“I’m not jealous. It’s a simple formula. You might have heard of it. One plus one. Either you’re with wolf-girl or with me.”
“No.”
Spike pushed him away, hard enough that he had to bend awkwardly to avoid knocking the TV off its stand. He leapt to his feet. “You don’t get to say ‘no’! This wasn’t a question, mate.”
Angel straightened his coat. “Yes, I do. You’re being greedy.”
“Me? All I want is the simple fidelity most blokes take for granted - though lord knows why since it’s apparently bloody extinct.” He spat the last word out and gestured angrily at the brick wall behind him. “All I have in my life now that isn’t yours is this shitty flat, and now you’re showing me that’s not mine, either.”
Angel couldn’t suppress the little-boy-winning-an-argument grin. He shrugged. “I want you. And Nina. And you both want me. I don’t see the problem.”
“Problem: I say no. Thank you for playing, get out.” He pointed to the door and held his hand there, waiting.
Angel loosely grasped his wrist. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.” Spike punched him and was startled when Angel simply rolled with the blow and grabbed him around the waist, pressing their bodies together. “And you’re hard.” He ground his hips forward against the evidence in question. “Come on, Spike, what happens between me and anyone else has nothing to do with us.”
Spike felt the temptation to just give in and get a good shag tugging at him. He quashed it firmly and raised an eyebrow. “So it shouldn’t bother you if I ring up Buffy, then?”
Angel’s smile evaporated instantly. Spike smirked at his victory. “Yeah,” he said, tilting his chin up, “you want open? That’s both ways.”
“Watch yourself, boy.”
“Ha.” Spike twisted out of Angel’s grip and danced backward. “Problem is your inflated sense of your own irresistibility, dark avenger. I just said I don’t want your cheating wide arse, so get. Out.”
With a sudden explosion of strength, Angel threw Spike against the wall. He hit like a clapper against the bell. Tiny white stars veiled his vision. Angel turned him, pressing Spike’s belly to the wall, trapping his arms, twisted, between them. “No, Spike,” he said, leaning his full weight on him. “You do want me. We both know it, and you’re going to admit it.”
“Sod off.”
Angel pressed his ear over Spike’s, using his head to hold Spike’s in place. “Is that one of the million ways you have of saying ‘go have anal sex’? Because I have to tell you, Spike, that was kind of the idea.”
“Lucky shot, peaches, but give me a moment and I’ll beat you. Again.”
Angel growled, faintly, against his ear. A vibration that stirred Spike’s traitorous libedo, and he knew Angel could smell it plain as he could smell the thick, cloying lust wafting off his sire.
“That isn’t how this is going to work, Spike. See, I don’t just want you, I want to hear you tell me how much you want me. I want to hear you beg.”
“Won’t happen. You’re as sexy as paste.”
Holding Spike’s crossed wrists in one hand, he wriggled his other hand between Spike and the wall and began unbuttoning his fly. “I get what I want.”
“Not this time.”
“Every time.”
Spike hissed as his erection was freed and, his lust short-circuiting his pride for the moment, pushed back against the hard body caging him in.
“Come on, Spike, just give in, give me what I want. Beg for it.”
The words were as effective as ice water. Spike’s eager press turned into a hard shove. “Seems you’re the one can’t keep your hands off my luscious body.”
Angel licked his lower lip. “It is luscious.”
Spike pushed Angel toward the door. “Flattery gets you fuck-all.”
The push was answered with a roundhouse punch and before you could say “Round Eight Hundred Thousand and One” they were reducing the meager particle-board furnishings to kindling.
Reeling from a header into the refrigerator door, Spike smashed a piece of counter in half and threw it at Angel, “You’re lucky none of this is real wood, or I’d be rid of your poufy…”
The insult wasn’t finished because Angel’s “poufy” shoulder slammed into Spike’s gut, robbing him of breath.
Spike made an airless lunge, but Angel was ready for him, flipped him onto the counter and the world went dark as his skull smacked the faucet.
After the momentary confusion of awakening passed, Spike was not surprised at all to find himself chained to his own bed. He raised his head, eyebrow raised. “This is getting really fucking tedious.”
Angel sauntered toward the bed. “I like to stick with the classics.” He stopped a few feet from the side of the bed, where Spike could have the best view (of course) and started slowly undressing.
“You want to shag? Fine, one more for the road. But this is it, Peaches. This is all you get.”
Angel stepped out of his pants and onto the bed. “So you do want me?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “No begging. None of that shite.”
Angel crawled over him, slowly, muscles shifting with purposeful grace. “I want to hear that pretty, pretty begging.”
“An’ I’m sure you can tell me how you wanted ice water in hell.”
Angel’s response was to dip his face into the hollow of Spike’s neck and nip at the soft flesh. He chuckled as Spike’s chest rose in a gasp and his right side tightened into gooseflesh.
Angel licked and teased his way down Spike’s torso. He laved the gentle depression where thigh met torso, drawing his tongue slowly closer to the curls, licking them now and again, nipping at the sensitive skin between his thighs, but not touching the rigid column of flesh that bobbed in protest, gently slapping his face.
When this didn’t get him any response he latched onto one creamy thigh and sucked hard enough to raise dead blood to the surface, pinking and darkening it to nearly black.
A whimper escaped tightly pressed lips. Angel sank fangs into the flesh, taking a little taste while he ran his fingernails gently up and down Spike’s hips and quivering stomach.
A stream of invective replaced the whimpers, calling Angel every name in the book and a few he was sure Spike had invented just for him.
It was just like drawing. You start out with gentle strokes over the full of the canvas, and gradually lines and shapes became more prominent, the pencil straying over them again and again to darken and solidify the form. So his scratching and biting grew harder, delicate welts and beads of blood forming at the inside elbow, the pelvis, the neck. Spike was thrashing now. Angel let his cheek brush the silky head of Spike’s cock whenever he passed it, and sometimes he would turn and let it slide over his lips, or he would open his mouth and slowly advance on it, just to breathe against the flesh and move away.
“Something you want, Spike?” He paused to look him in the face. His teeth were clenched, his throat stretched.
“Beer would be nice,” he managed in a strained voice.
Angel chuckled. Spike gave a whine of shocked disappointment as he stepped off the bed and padded, unhurried and stark naked, into the kitchen - around the ruined table and chairs and scattered evidence of their battle. He opened the fridge and leaned down perhaps a bit more than necessary to select a beer from the bottom-most shelf.
He carried it against the hard plane of his stomach, the bottle sweating droplets against his satin shining skin.
Spike, too late realizing that he was staring, licked his lips.
“Mm,” Angel set one knee on the mattress at his side. “Thirsty?” He raised beer to his lips and took a long, slow drink. A cold droplet of condensation fell just a centimeter from Spike’s nipple. He shivered at the sensation.
Angel rolled the cold bottle against Spike’s cheek, neck, and the red marks on his arm. “Want it?”
“Want you to stop teasing.”
Angel’s face lost all humor, he was perfectly still. “Beg.”
“No.”
Angel shrugged. He took another gulp of beer and leaned down.
He opened his mouth against Spike’s throat, the wet, cold beer inside flowing against flesh heated by bruises.
Slowly he dripped beer from his mouth over every wound on Spike’s body - mixing the cold relief with the sting of alcohol on wounds. He nipped his way down the wrists slowly, over the metal cuff and spread Spike’s curled fist open with insistent fingers, so he could kiss the still-present wounds on the palm. Then he licked between each finger, sucking on the tips while his body undulated against Spike’s, their cocks dragging against each other randomly - all too infrequently, streams of pre-cum joining their bodies and glistening in the low light.
“Fuck,” Spike said.
“Mm?” Angel never ceased laving the fingers in his mouth, exalting in the rough texture of the pads, the neat edge of the nail.
“Oh, fuck it. Yes, Angel, I want you. Now. Come on.”
“Hmm.” Angel straightened, braced on his arms around Spike’s head he humped against him, twice, very slowly and surely, and Spike bit his lip, neck arching back even more as he groaned. Friction at last!
And then Angel shifted, went to the other hand, repeating the attentions he’d given to the first, he took a swig of beer and pressed his lips, slightly open, the inside forearm, working his way slowly up, dribbling beer along the taut arm.
“Angel! For fuck’s sake! I’m going to explode!”
Angel let a finger slip from his lips with a loud pop. “Beg,” he said, and then licked the crinkled, sweat-salt palm of Spike’s right hand.
Spike quivered all over. “Please. Please, Angel, you big fucking pouf, please fuck me.”
“Hm. Doesn’t sound sincere.” Angel trailed his fingers gently down the center of Spike’s torso, ever so gently - almost not touching - over his cock and then dug his fingers hard into the flesh underneath.
Chains and bedframe groaned as Spike tried to fold in half against the sudden pain which only increased his desire. “Fuck!”
“When you beg,” Angel reminded, and raked his small hard nails up to Spike’s stomach, up his side and over the ladder of his ribs to the exquisitely sensitive underarm.
Only when the general form was properly filled in could you turn your attentions to details like this - the soft flesh and light, curling hairs damp with sweat and sweet with desire. Angel licked the tangy flavor, swirling his tongue through the hollow and nipping here and there to raise a blush to the skin.
“Please, you son of a bitch. Yes, all right - you win. I want you. I’ll always want you, you insufferable bastard.”
Angel dragged his tongue back down over the tracks his fingernails had made - felt the slight roughness of the welts and their height and breadth. He stopped to nip his nipple, and then, because it was only fair, nipped the other one, laving and chewing the tiny buds until they were slightly swollen and red. Then he returned to his downward progression, letting the fringe of hair on his head tickle along the delicious bumps of Spike’s abdomen he gave a long, slow lick to the very tip of Spike’s cock - not holding it, letting it bob away as he tasted the musky fluid.
“Christ! Whatever you want! You sadistic prick!”
“Mmm,” Angel said, sounding like he was considering, he pushed Spike’s thighs as far apart as the chains would allow and started paying very particular and detailed attention to his balls, perineum, and all areas adjacent, mapping out the complex surface in gentle, hard, painful and tickling touches, all varied and controlled, painting sensation like color, subtle compliments and contrasts until every inch was sensitized and Spike was begging in earnest.
“Please. Do whatever you want. Anything you want. I’ll do whatever you want. Just fuck me. I can’t take it anymore. Want to feel you, Angel. God! Christ!”
Angel savored the sound. That was what he’d wanted to hear - when Spike gave in and just poured his soul as wholly into begging as he had into refusal. For the first time he let his fingers dip lower, into the little dent of Spike’s ass. He was rewarded with an instant lifting of hips. Spike tried to impale himself on the gentle fingertip playing over his most sensitive flesh.
The tickle was intolerable. Agony and ecstasy and Spike simultaneously wanted it to stop immediately and never, ever to end. He writhed and strained.
The room smelled of sweet wheat and beer and hunger. “Yes, yes, damn it, do it. You magnificent son of a bitch.”
Angel considered that he, himself, had been more than patient, holding out on his own pleasure to prolong the teasing. He licked at Spike’s pucker, working his fingers in saliva on the surface while he gently humped Spike’s shin, eager himself for more stimulation.
Incoherent half-words joined moans and pleas. “Just… fuh… Angel!”
Angel watched the intoxicating sight of the puckered opening forcing down on his thick fingers, fucking onto him. Angel built him up to a steady boil before rubbing his body thoroughly up Spikes, every inch of skin dragging against him, wriggling to maximize contact while Spike panted.
“Tell me the truth, baby, do you really want me to fuck you?”
“Dick!”
Angel chuckled. Their bodies were moving together, wriggling side to side on a sheen of sweat. “There’s that, yes, but do you want me to fuck you? Want me to use you to slake my own lust? Or do you just want to get off?”
“You’re a fucking prick and you know what I want.”
“Mm… not good enough, Spikey. You have to give me what I want to get what you want.”
Spike thrashed his head back and forth. “Twat. Cunt. Fine. Please, Angel, I wanna be fucked. I want you. Insufferable self-important git!”
Angel licked his cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
Angel slid into him in a smooth stroke like a well-oiled machine. Both men groaned in pleasure, frantic motions stilled to thrill in the moment.
Angel set up a languid rhythm and Spike strained to meet his lips and they kissed hard and deep, tongues and lips bruising against teeth as they rocked.
“Fuuuck, gonna cum,” Spike gasped the moment their lips broke. “God, already… just a little…”
Angel quickly reached between them and tugged Spike’s balls hard.
“OW!”
“No coming.”
Panic settled on Spike’s features. “Oh no. No we are NOT playing that game.”
“Beg for it.”
“Angel, please don’t be a complete bastard and let me come. Please!”
Angel tilted his head as though considering it, then smacked his lips. “Nah.”
“ANGEL!!”
The steady and relentless thrusts were building a wall of pleasure inside Spike, a threatening explosion, sparks shooting through his brain and all along his nerves. “Please oh god whatever you want. You get it all, anyway, why do I bother to fight? Please, Angel…”
Angel bit his own lip hard to hold off orgasm in the face of such beautiful pleas. He grabbed Spike’s hips and lifted them off the bed, changing his angle and pounding hard into Spike’s sweet spot on each thrust, he held one hand at the base of Spike’s dick, squeezing hard when he felt the vein expand, though Spike cursed and thrashed and fucked up on him.
“Anything. Angel, please. I won’t complain, you can have the dog-girl. I just… please? Whatever you want, just don’t leave me…”
It was like a crushing velvet weight dragging him over a precipice - Angel couldn’t stop himself from spending at last, long, hard, and deep, he felt emptied and melted, falling against Spike like putty.
Next to his boneless limbs, Spike was taut as a trip-wire, and vibrating, his hips working in short thrusts, all the motion he had available to him, feverishly trying to get off before Angel came to his senses and…
Angel tugged his balls hard, again, and rose on to his knees.
“Angel!” Spike pleaded, straining with all his might against the bounds, as though he could bend his body in half to get his dick closer.
Angel shushed him. “Don’t be greedy,” he said, and walked out the door.