Lust
Here it is, the last of my seven deadly sins! After being so mean to Spikey on the other six, I thought I'd give him a good time this time. And, really, c'mon! Lust!
Parings: Spike/Wes, implied Spike/Harmony, Spike/Lorne, Wes/Fred. Really implied Spike/Everyone. :)
Lust (ensemble)
It was Lorne’s birthday (at least as close as they could figure - Fred was the leading world expert on the time differential between Pylea and Earth, and had done some mathematical gymnastics that no one was willing to discuss, much less question, so yes, it was now decided that May 3rd was Lorne’s birthday.)
She sat in place of honor under the pink shade umbrella at the end of the pool - though it was night time she insisted that the umbrellas stay up. “It just looks depressing without them!” Her enormous mai tai had a pink umbrella of its own and Wesley was trying very hard to keep his eyes on it, rather than the paper on her lap with her sprawling notes on date calculations. He most certainly wasn’t looking at the gentle curve of her breast and how the top of her teal-green one-piece lifted away from her skin every time she exhaled. Swim-wear left so little to the imagination, and yet he was imagining. He could almost feel the spandex under his hands, feel her ribs vibrate as she chuckled…
No, she was with that Knox wanker. They’d had coffee. Stupid little…
“I need a drink,” he said, interrupting her mid-formula.
Fred pressed the papers into her sarong. “You didn’t have to listen if you weren’t interested, silly.”
“No, no, fascinating. I… drink.” A waiter passed with a tray of neon-colored concoctions and he raced after him.
The waiter was heading back to the bar anyway so Wes ended up propped against it, looking out over the Wolfram and Hart roof, where bright colored lanterns hung on strings and employees - evil and not- padded about in swimming clothes.
No one was actually swimming, however, except one…
Wesley gaped as Spike climbed up out of the water, smooth as an eel, water pouring off of sculpted muscles.
At the top of the ladder, Spike scowled. “What are you watchin’, watcher?”
“Hm? Oh. Watching. Um, nothing, really, just… uh, enjoying the solid life?”
A slow smile slipped across Spike’s mouth like a forearm gliding through water. “All those perks like buoyancy and displacement, yeah.”
Wesley watched his hand skim down his flat stomach, gathering droplets into a stream off his fingertips. Wesley felt moisture growing in his mouth, too.
“Right,” he said, turning on his heel and grabbing a drink at random from the bar. It was all that wanker Knox’s fault. He had the bluest balls in the history of balls - and being a member of the watcher’s council he knew a thing or two about those - how could he withstand a sight like THAT?
Wet footsteps padded behind him. “Somethin’ botherin’ you, watcher?”
Wes found himself between a potted plant and the parapet, a ridiculous purple drink in his hand. He tried to keep his eyes from drifting downward as he asked, “Did, uh, Harmony pick that suit out for you?”
Spike chuckled and there was a snap of wet spandex. “Yeah. Thought I’d give the daft bint a thrill.”
Helplessly, Wes glanced down and saw Spike’s thumb slide back and forth along the narrow waistband of the very tiny silver Speedo. It clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination but how they managed to make the snake-skin print look so textured.
Something clattered and fell over the edge of the roof. Oh, it was his drink. Wes glanced down the slanted glass roof, a parabola of moisture all the evidence of his beverage’s plummet.
A cool, wet hand settled on his waist, soaking through the fine silk of his hawaiin print shirt (chosen for the occasion and its luau theme.)
“Think it’s time you did something other than watch,” Spike whispered, a cool tongue flicking out to trace the edge of Wesley’s ear.
Every drop of blood in Wesley’s body surged, like a well-trained army, to a single point, leaving him light-headed. “Oh fuck,” he said - the extent of intelligent conversation he was capable of at the moment.
Spike blew into his ear. “Pool shack,” he said.
It is a little-documented fact that a grown man can make it from the parapet at the end of the roof to the tiki-themed pool shack in three seconds. Perhaps lust temporarily empowered one with flight. However it happened, Wes barely blinked before he was pressed up against a rough wood wall decorated with aluminum tubes and nets and other pool equipment of dubious use. All he was aware of was the tongue in his mouth, the smell of chlorine, and water-roughened hands peeling him out of his clothes.
“Oh, fuck!” he said, grasping that teeny silver Speedo and feeling it leap like a fish in his hand.
“That’s the idea, yeah,” Spike said, and set about licking and biting along his throat and down to his collarbone, where he stopped and sucked hard at the dip above the clavicle.
Skin-on-skin contact became the most important thing, ever, his flesh burning from inside and Spike was so, so cool. The swimsuit vanished and he was holding cock, pleasant and heavy in his hand, rubbing up against his own.
“Bloody hell, watcher! Slow down! You’re about to pull it off!”
Wes widened his stance, lowering himself to meet Spike’s hips in a steady grind, his hand clenching both cocks together while Spike whimpered against his neck and started to make sweet pleading noises.
They strained against each other - the vampire no doubt holding back his strength for the human’s benefit though he moaned and pleaded and writhed like a worm on the hook until at last something broke for both of them and a hot and wet burst exploded between them, coating their stomachs. Spike scooped his hand between them and then pushed Wes over the stand-up pool vacuum, prepping him with hurried fingers coated in a mixture of jiz, cold and hot.
Wes had thought he was finished, but an expert touch, a twist over his prostrate and he was pushing back eagerly, his cock half-filling again. Spike knew a thing or two they didn’t teach at the watcher’s academy. (Wes made a note to advise the curriculum board.) His broad cock forced its way in, stretching and filling him with just a hint of pleasant burn and then he was scrambling for a better hold on the plastic venting below him so he could press back into each long, slow thrust. It was an undulating fuck, every inch of body adding its force from the floor on up. Wet skin heating with friction, and pleasure building and building like pressure behind his balls and up his spine - how could you want sex so much while in the midst of having it? - need and pleasure and need grew until his vision blacked out and he was coming again, twitching until every last drop was wrung from him.
Spike smacked him on the bum. “Thanks, Percy. You’re number three, by the way.”
Wes wondered what that meant as he stumbled out of the pool-shack, tucking his shirt back into his pants. In a chaise lounge not five yards away, Harmony raised her glass in salute. Her hair and make-up were in disarray and her conspiratorial wink was about as hard to miss as a derailed freight train. Ah, so that was number two, surely.
Leaning against the building side with his hands in his pockets, Angel glowered at them both. NOT number one.
Spike, looking unfazed, stopped at the pool edge and bent over - impressively over - to scoop up a handful of water. The thong bikini seemed to nearly disappear from that angle. He stood and splashed the water over his head, smoothing his unruly hair back into a slick cap, sending tiny rivulets down his back and shoulders. He tossed an undeniably cheeky look back at Angel and strutted - oh yes that was a strut no doubt - back to the bar, where Lorne was leaning on one elbow, talking animatedly with Gunn.
Angel, Wes, and, really, anyone who happened to catch that little display of flexibility, felt their tongues hanging out, panting dry puffs of air against the crushing weight of desire.
Spike wrapped an arm around the green demon and whispered in his ear. Lorne threw back his head in an expansive laugh, red mouth open against green features. He turned and gave Spike a peck on the forehead while the vampire’s hands snaked under his mango-colored jacket and did - well, something very fascinating.
Curiosity and lust both satisfied, Wes opted to find an open chaise lounge for himself - walking and standing were both proving difficult.
He sighed, sinking into the comfortable cushions and feeling the pleasant ache of well-fucked muscle. Over by the bar Gunn was excusing himself while Spike had perched on one of the bar stools to have the reach to nibble at the base of Lorne’s horns. Judging by the ecstatic expression on the Pylean’s face, Spike was once again putting his extensive demonology knowledge to work.
Angel was still pouting. Fortunately, he now had Gunn stepping between him and the rather erotic display.
Fred giggled. Wes blinked, surprised he didn’t notice her approaching. She plopped down on the end of the lounge beside his, long legs carelessly spread in a way that would be unladylike on anyone less charming. “I was wondering why Harmony said buying Spike those swim trunks was a gift for Lorne! Look at that - they’re running off to the elevator equipment closet. Again!”
Sure enough, We caught a glimpse of a pale buttock and bright fabric disappearing into a nondescript door in the building side. “Amazing. Uh… where did Harmony say she got those?”
Fred threw Wes a flirtatious grin. “Well, the trunks themselves were off-the-rack. It was the lust charm that cost extra. I gotta thank her. This party’s going to be one everyone remembers!” She adjusted her sarong and craned her head. “But Lorne’s gonna have to stop at seconds if the rest of the guests are going to get a turn!”
Wes felt his heart thump loudly and, he was certain, still completely as he stared at Fred. She threw him a long, slow wink. “And you thought I was nothing but equations, didn’t you?”
“Hardly. Never. You are…” He stammered, unable to form a word that encompassed how amazing Fred was.
“Mmm hmm.” She took his hand. “I think the pool shed’s temporarily free.”
Parings: Spike/Wes, implied Spike/Harmony, Spike/Lorne, Wes/Fred. Really implied Spike/Everyone. :)
Lust (ensemble)
It was Lorne’s birthday (at least as close as they could figure - Fred was the leading world expert on the time differential between Pylea and Earth, and had done some mathematical gymnastics that no one was willing to discuss, much less question, so yes, it was now decided that May 3rd was Lorne’s birthday.)
She sat in place of honor under the pink shade umbrella at the end of the pool - though it was night time she insisted that the umbrellas stay up. “It just looks depressing without them!” Her enormous mai tai had a pink umbrella of its own and Wesley was trying very hard to keep his eyes on it, rather than the paper on her lap with her sprawling notes on date calculations. He most certainly wasn’t looking at the gentle curve of her breast and how the top of her teal-green one-piece lifted away from her skin every time she exhaled. Swim-wear left so little to the imagination, and yet he was imagining. He could almost feel the spandex under his hands, feel her ribs vibrate as she chuckled…
No, she was with that Knox wanker. They’d had coffee. Stupid little…
“I need a drink,” he said, interrupting her mid-formula.
Fred pressed the papers into her sarong. “You didn’t have to listen if you weren’t interested, silly.”
“No, no, fascinating. I… drink.” A waiter passed with a tray of neon-colored concoctions and he raced after him.
The waiter was heading back to the bar anyway so Wes ended up propped against it, looking out over the Wolfram and Hart roof, where bright colored lanterns hung on strings and employees - evil and not- padded about in swimming clothes.
No one was actually swimming, however, except one…
Wesley gaped as Spike climbed up out of the water, smooth as an eel, water pouring off of sculpted muscles.
At the top of the ladder, Spike scowled. “What are you watchin’, watcher?”
“Hm? Oh. Watching. Um, nothing, really, just… uh, enjoying the solid life?”
A slow smile slipped across Spike’s mouth like a forearm gliding through water. “All those perks like buoyancy and displacement, yeah.”
Wesley watched his hand skim down his flat stomach, gathering droplets into a stream off his fingertips. Wesley felt moisture growing in his mouth, too.
“Right,” he said, turning on his heel and grabbing a drink at random from the bar. It was all that wanker Knox’s fault. He had the bluest balls in the history of balls - and being a member of the watcher’s council he knew a thing or two about those - how could he withstand a sight like THAT?
Wet footsteps padded behind him. “Somethin’ botherin’ you, watcher?”
Wes found himself between a potted plant and the parapet, a ridiculous purple drink in his hand. He tried to keep his eyes from drifting downward as he asked, “Did, uh, Harmony pick that suit out for you?”
Spike chuckled and there was a snap of wet spandex. “Yeah. Thought I’d give the daft bint a thrill.”
Helplessly, Wes glanced down and saw Spike’s thumb slide back and forth along the narrow waistband of the very tiny silver Speedo. It clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination but how they managed to make the snake-skin print look so textured.
Something clattered and fell over the edge of the roof. Oh, it was his drink. Wes glanced down the slanted glass roof, a parabola of moisture all the evidence of his beverage’s plummet.
A cool, wet hand settled on his waist, soaking through the fine silk of his hawaiin print shirt (chosen for the occasion and its luau theme.)
“Think it’s time you did something other than watch,” Spike whispered, a cool tongue flicking out to trace the edge of Wesley’s ear.
Every drop of blood in Wesley’s body surged, like a well-trained army, to a single point, leaving him light-headed. “Oh fuck,” he said - the extent of intelligent conversation he was capable of at the moment.
Spike blew into his ear. “Pool shack,” he said.
It is a little-documented fact that a grown man can make it from the parapet at the end of the roof to the tiki-themed pool shack in three seconds. Perhaps lust temporarily empowered one with flight. However it happened, Wes barely blinked before he was pressed up against a rough wood wall decorated with aluminum tubes and nets and other pool equipment of dubious use. All he was aware of was the tongue in his mouth, the smell of chlorine, and water-roughened hands peeling him out of his clothes.
“Oh, fuck!” he said, grasping that teeny silver Speedo and feeling it leap like a fish in his hand.
“That’s the idea, yeah,” Spike said, and set about licking and biting along his throat and down to his collarbone, where he stopped and sucked hard at the dip above the clavicle.
Skin-on-skin contact became the most important thing, ever, his flesh burning from inside and Spike was so, so cool. The swimsuit vanished and he was holding cock, pleasant and heavy in his hand, rubbing up against his own.
“Bloody hell, watcher! Slow down! You’re about to pull it off!”
Wes widened his stance, lowering himself to meet Spike’s hips in a steady grind, his hand clenching both cocks together while Spike whimpered against his neck and started to make sweet pleading noises.
They strained against each other - the vampire no doubt holding back his strength for the human’s benefit though he moaned and pleaded and writhed like a worm on the hook until at last something broke for both of them and a hot and wet burst exploded between them, coating their stomachs. Spike scooped his hand between them and then pushed Wes over the stand-up pool vacuum, prepping him with hurried fingers coated in a mixture of jiz, cold and hot.
Wes had thought he was finished, but an expert touch, a twist over his prostrate and he was pushing back eagerly, his cock half-filling again. Spike knew a thing or two they didn’t teach at the watcher’s academy. (Wes made a note to advise the curriculum board.) His broad cock forced its way in, stretching and filling him with just a hint of pleasant burn and then he was scrambling for a better hold on the plastic venting below him so he could press back into each long, slow thrust. It was an undulating fuck, every inch of body adding its force from the floor on up. Wet skin heating with friction, and pleasure building and building like pressure behind his balls and up his spine - how could you want sex so much while in the midst of having it? - need and pleasure and need grew until his vision blacked out and he was coming again, twitching until every last drop was wrung from him.
Spike smacked him on the bum. “Thanks, Percy. You’re number three, by the way.”
Wes wondered what that meant as he stumbled out of the pool-shack, tucking his shirt back into his pants. In a chaise lounge not five yards away, Harmony raised her glass in salute. Her hair and make-up were in disarray and her conspiratorial wink was about as hard to miss as a derailed freight train. Ah, so that was number two, surely.
Leaning against the building side with his hands in his pockets, Angel glowered at them both. NOT number one.
Spike, looking unfazed, stopped at the pool edge and bent over - impressively over - to scoop up a handful of water. The thong bikini seemed to nearly disappear from that angle. He stood and splashed the water over his head, smoothing his unruly hair back into a slick cap, sending tiny rivulets down his back and shoulders. He tossed an undeniably cheeky look back at Angel and strutted - oh yes that was a strut no doubt - back to the bar, where Lorne was leaning on one elbow, talking animatedly with Gunn.
Angel, Wes, and, really, anyone who happened to catch that little display of flexibility, felt their tongues hanging out, panting dry puffs of air against the crushing weight of desire.
Spike wrapped an arm around the green demon and whispered in his ear. Lorne threw back his head in an expansive laugh, red mouth open against green features. He turned and gave Spike a peck on the forehead while the vampire’s hands snaked under his mango-colored jacket and did - well, something very fascinating.
Curiosity and lust both satisfied, Wes opted to find an open chaise lounge for himself - walking and standing were both proving difficult.
He sighed, sinking into the comfortable cushions and feeling the pleasant ache of well-fucked muscle. Over by the bar Gunn was excusing himself while Spike had perched on one of the bar stools to have the reach to nibble at the base of Lorne’s horns. Judging by the ecstatic expression on the Pylean’s face, Spike was once again putting his extensive demonology knowledge to work.
Angel was still pouting. Fortunately, he now had Gunn stepping between him and the rather erotic display.
Fred giggled. Wes blinked, surprised he didn’t notice her approaching. She plopped down on the end of the lounge beside his, long legs carelessly spread in a way that would be unladylike on anyone less charming. “I was wondering why Harmony said buying Spike those swim trunks was a gift for Lorne! Look at that - they’re running off to the elevator equipment closet. Again!”
Sure enough, We caught a glimpse of a pale buttock and bright fabric disappearing into a nondescript door in the building side. “Amazing. Uh… where did Harmony say she got those?”
Fred threw Wes a flirtatious grin. “Well, the trunks themselves were off-the-rack. It was the lust charm that cost extra. I gotta thank her. This party’s going to be one everyone remembers!” She adjusted her sarong and craned her head. “But Lorne’s gonna have to stop at seconds if the rest of the guests are going to get a turn!”
Wes felt his heart thump loudly and, he was certain, still completely as he stared at Fred. She threw him a long, slow wink. “And you thought I was nothing but equations, didn’t you?”
“Hardly. Never. You are…” He stammered, unable to form a word that encompassed how amazing Fred was.
“Mmm hmm.” She took his hand. “I think the pool shed’s temporarily free.”