Old Times #11  1880

Angelus drank him down thirstily, milked him of everything he could before reluctantly letting him slip from his mouth. He sat up, swallowed thickly, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Spike was spread out beneath him, looking vulnerable, pale, his arms thrown across his face. Quiet now. Seemed as if the lad was hoarse, all screamed out! At last! Well, he'd promised him he'd make him scream, bleed, beg for mercy, hadn't he..… But this way? Not quite what he'd had in mind. The way the young idiot made him feel…. It was disturbing. Yet addictive.

He'd be buggered if he'd let him see how he was affecting him, how much he craved him! He'd be buggered….. The very thought of that deliciously large cock penetrating him had Angelus hard again. Seemed he couldn't keep his mind and imagination from straying to what he and the lad could, should, do together, no matter what!

"Honour's even" Spike's words were muffled.

Angelus bent and grasped Spike's forearms, moved them away from his scraped and grimy face.

"Honour's even" he repeated, slowly opening his eyes. "Seems to me." Almost cat-like, he stretched his body and raised his back from the ground.

Angelus could feel Spike's thighs tighten beneath him, see his stomach muscles work as he moved to a sitting postion. He swallowed hard again, still tasting the other man, and unable to bring himself to move away. A small smile twitched at Spike's lips as he demanded eye contact and refused to let it go. His hands slid slowly up Angelus' thighs, moved around his broad back, held on tight as he pulled himself in closer until their noses almost touched.

"And seems to me" he all but whispered. "We need another bout. A decider."

He could smell himself on Angelus; decided he wanted to taste himself too. And find out how that cruel Irish mouth felt against his when neither could utter curses, insults, taunts.

But slowly. Test the waters.

"What d'you think?" he murmured, fingers twining in Angelus' tangled hair, stroking his nape, imperceptably bringing their lips a little nearer.

The brown eyes closed, those Irish lips parted slightly. Otherwise motionless, waiting, wanting. Angelus was suddenly very clear about the game they were playing, would continue to play. Spike thought he loved Drusilla, needed her, wanted her. Was trying to divert his grandsire's attentions away from her. But he also had need and want for Angelus.

Fully reciprocated.

If that's what it took to keep them all together, and allow the men to enjoy each other as they cut a terrifying swathe through Europe and beyond, then he'd back off gradually. Let him have his precious lady, the epitome of Angelus' artistry, to himself. No winners, no losers.

The kiss when it came was slow, sensual, moist and warm. He must be sickening for something to so utterly enjoy this disgusting display of tenderness. But men like them didn't sicken for anything, did they?

"Enough" Angelus eventually forced himself to speak, drawing back. "Or there'll be no time for a third round…"

*******************

Drusilla's happy chatter about their night's mayhem was halted abruptly. "Oh!" she exclaimed, clapping her lace-gloved hands together. "Pretty!"

The two men turned at the sound of her voice, hastily suppressing grins; water dripping from their naked bodies, glistening on their bruised, bitten skin, pearling in their curling pubic hair.

"But so naughty!" she continued, more crossly. "Playing wrestling games without us."

Wash as they might, there was no still no disguising the pungent stench of sex and semen in the cavern.

"And a good deal more besides, my dear" Darla declared, eyeing her man from beneath an arched brow.