The game ended and Spike turned to Angel. “Right. As ever, you win.” He sounded far from resigned and equally far from bitter. He stood up and stretched, hands locked behind his head, back arched. Angel appreciated the show, but he wondered if Spike knew that the arousal Angel felt had been building steadily over the last hour, fuelled not by anything as blatant as the display Spike was putting on now, but by just watching Spike’s face, eager and intent, alight with amusement or anger. Spike knew less about hockey than Harmony, but it hadn’t stopped him giving a running, scathing and entertaining commentary on the game.

Angel still hadn’t quite worked out if this was one bet Spike wanted to lose, but as he’d always known that he’d end up winning, he didn’t spend much time pondering that. Didn’t really matter, did it? Spike owed him this night and Angel had decided, almost coldly, that he was going to collect. Angel’s defeat in their last fight, his self-doubt about his destiny – that couldn’t be wiped clean by having Spike under him for a few hours, but Angel was honest enough to admit that it would be sweet.

“I win. So tell me, Spike; just what did I win? Let’s get it all clear before we start.”

Spike relaxed, sitting back down beside Angel on the couch and folding his arms. “You win me. Body and blood. No fighting, no struggling, just me...obeying you.”

Angel felt his lips twist in a smile. “You can’t even say it easily, can you?” He moved so that he was facing Spike fully and reached out a hand, cupping Spike’s face. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb across Spike’s full lower lip, remembering how it tasted, blood-slicked and swollen. “I broke Drusilla, but you, you never yielded, no matter how much I hurt you. Took me a while to work out why.” Spike was keeping still under his touch, holding himself in place by an effort of will that Angel found himself admiring. “You wanted to be like me, didn’t you? And I never broke, so you couldn’t either.”

“You broke when you got your soul. When Darla threw you out,” Spike said, not defiantly, but with a certain curiosity. “Didn’t know what was going on back then, but I could see you’d changed.”

Angel let his fingers tighten around the face before him, waiting and watching for the moment when Spike winced. It came sooner than he expected and something deep inside him stirred and awoke when he realised Spike was already playing, already giving Angel what he wanted without resisting. Spike was tense because he was trying to spot his cues, guess what Angel wanted, not because he was in any way apprehensive. Angel knew he should be merciful and give Spike orders; make it easy for him, make it simple. But making Spike work was far more satisfying. And did he mention gratifying? That Spike still knew him this well was...nice.

Part of Angel wanted to hurry and rush. Wanted to strip Spike bare, and touch a body his hands had never forgotten, wanted to take the edge off his hunger and slake his thirst...but they had all night. He leaned forward and kissed Spike, letting his hand slide around Spike’s neck, squeezing it gently. Spike’s mouth opened under his immediately, returning the kiss, and Angel pulled back sharply.

“What?” Spike whispered, his eyes already hazing over with arousal.

“You –” Angel swallowed. He’d never kissed Spike often, and when he had, it had been the prelude to pain. Kisses were excuses to bite and he’d taught Spike to mistrust his mouth when it pressed delicate, airy touches against Spike’s flesh. Angel had loved to time the downward slash of fangs so that they plunged or scraped against a body beginning to relax as pleasure suffused it. The betrayal and shock that threaded through Spike’s cry of pain had never grown old.

Spike shook his head impatiently, clearly guessing some of what was going through Angel’s mind. “Don’t think so much, Angel. Don’t remember.” He held Angel’s gaze. “This is new. That’s the whole point of it.”

Angel bit his lip. “Too new,” he confessed. “Or I’m out of practice.”

Spike stared at him. “Out of – Angel, you spent two decades fucking me. You’ve come in me, on me and in front of me. There’s not a square inch of your body I haven’t touched and not an inch of mine you haven’t left bruises on.” He stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. “Let me refresh your memory –”

Angel watched the shirt buttons pop open under impatient fingers and stood just as Spike began to shrug out of it. He reached out and took hold of Spike’s wrists, clamping down just this side of pain. Wordlessly, he let his hands slide along Spike’s arms and up to the collar of the shirt. He could have ripped it off Spike, or pulled it down so that Spike’s arms were trapped, but he chose to simply push it back off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Spike stood, holding position, his face carefully blank and Angel chuckled. “Relax, Spike,” he murmured, the feel of cool skin beneath his hands calming and exciting him at the same time. “I’m not going to bite – oh, wait. Yeah. I probably am.”

Spike tilted his head, offering his neck in what Angel knew was just a gesture. They both knew that would come later, not now, but he rewarded the token with a kiss; not on Spike’s mouth, not yet, not again, but on his neck, feeling Spike shudder and lean towards him, his arms going around Angel.

Angel felt a shock of surprise at that. For a moment he almost felt anger. Spike hadn’t been told to move – then it faded. Angelus would never have allowed Spike that much freedom, would probably have found that a willing Spike wasn’t quite what he’d expected – but Angelus wasn’t in charge. Not tonight. Not ever again, Angel hoped.

Angel moved closer to Spike, silently encouraging him to continue, letting his mouth move lower, trailing kisses across Spike’s throat. He could feel Spike’s hands on his back through the silk shirt he wore, stroking his back, soft and slow. Angel smiled and bit down hard enough to hurt and felt Spike’s fingers curl and his nails dig in as he followed Angel’s lead. It was like tugging on a string and watching a marionette dance and he was sure Angelus would have loved that, but he wanted more.

He stepped back, smiling lazily at Spike, and nodded his head at Spike’s jeans. “Off.”

Spike pouted. He’d forgotten Spike did that and how provocative it looked. He’d wiped it off those lips with a fist, or, if Spike tried it when he was already on the ground, he’d used his boot. Now he wanted to stop Spike doing it in other ways; with a kiss so that the pout softened, with a tickle, strong fingers digging mercilessly into ribs until Spike spluttered with laughter, lips stretched wide in a grin...or by pushing fingers or cock against those closed lips until they parted obediently.

He might have tried the kiss, but Spike was already wriggling out of his jeans, making even that look graceful, kicking them aside carelessly and standing there naked without seeming to care that Angel’s gaze had dropped automatically. Not that Spike had anything to be ashamed of. The body he remembered was as perfect as ever, pale skin smooth over hard muscles.

Angel sighed out a breath he hadn’t known he’d taken and moved forward, one arm going around Spike, the other going for that cock, impudently bobbing, hard and ready. Without thinking, he scooped it up and slightly to the side so that he could get in closer and so that it lay along the groove of Angel’s hip. Spike thrust into that groove, starting to sense Angel’s tolerance of him acting independently.

It had its limits though. When Spike began to tug at Angel’s shirt, hard enough for the stitches to tear on a seam, Angel growled, the noise rising within him instinctively. Spike’s hands dropped immediately and Angel felt a pang of regret. He took Spike’s hands and brought them up.

“Do it carefully,” he said. “Slowly. We’re not in a race here.”

Spike grinned, Angel’s lighter tone clearly reassuring him. “Speak for yourself, mate. I’ve been hard since I got here. Can’t we just –”

Angel growled again, this time making sure Spike saw the lack of real threat behind it. “You always were too impatient, Spike.”

He let Spike strip him of his shirt and then undid his own trousers, letting them slide to the floor and stepping out of them. He hooked his fingers in his shorts but Spike knocked his hands away gently and sank to his knees, kissing along the length of Angel’s cock, using his tongue and teeth, until the thin fabric clung damply and Angel moaned, wanting to feel Spike’s mouth on his flesh. “Those you can tear,” he said hoarsely.

“About fucking time,” Spike muttered, his hands busy.

Angel’s hands went to Spike’s hair, regretting its shortness. He’d liked running his hands through it, gripping and cupping Spike’s head, feeling the curve of his skull hard against his palms. Now his hands slipped over short, slicked strands, but it was still enough to anchor him as he threw his head back and drove into Spike’s open mouth, all thoughts of drawing this out forgotten.

Too long. Too long since he’d had this from Spike. Angel heard himself making sounds that were frantic, desperate noises, not words, as he felt Spike’s hands on his ass, clawing at him, encouraging him to go faster. Cool wetness engulfed his cock, coating it, caressing it – then Spike’s hands pulled him open and he felt a finger brush against his opening, not even needing to do more than that to make him come, hips jerking helplessly, throat torn by sounds he’d forgotten he could voice, sounds he would have normally stifled – but not here and now.

Because this was Spike, and Spike didn’t matter. And Spike would have known exactly what Angel meant by that.

Angel pulled free of Spike and fell to his knees beside him so they were staring at each other, eyes wide. Spike reached out after a moment and took Angel’s hand, pulling it against his cock. Angel felt the heavy fullness strain and jump as he touched it and pushed Spike back, following him so that they were lying together, kissing him as he worked Spike’s cock with a total lack of finesse. Spike was writhing and bucking, thrusting up into Angel’s fist, his mouth fierce against Angel’s. Angel jerked his head away, wanting to see Spike’s face when he came.

“That’s it,” he murmured, flicking his thumb over the wet head of Spike’s cock as his hand slipped upwards, “come for me, Spike. Come as hard as you like.”

He moved so that he was lying beside Spike, one leg thrown over Spike’s to hold him still, and glanced down. His hand was blurring now, moving with a speed that gave Spike nothing to do but give in to the sensations ripping through his body. Angel went back to staring at Spike’s face, watching the pleasure twist it and darken Spike’s eyes. Then Spike came, his head going back and his eyes closing – he always did close them, Angel remembered, no matter how often he was punished for it – and Angel’s grip tightened just a little more before he released Spike.

Angel reached out and grabbed his shorts, using them to clean his hand and, as an afterthought, Spike’s stomach. Spike chuckled. “Time was, you weren’t so fussy.”

Angel shrugged, bringing his hand up to Spike’s mouth. “Feel free to finish the job.”

Spike met his gaze and bent his head forward, letting his tongue flicker over Angel’s palm teasingly. Angel let him do it, enjoying the feel of Spike’s tongue and, if he was being honest, getting a kick out of the sight of Spike lying there, relaxed and easy with him.

Angel stood and reached down a hand to Spike. “Come here. I want you on a bed next time.”

Spike allowed himself to be pulled up but didn’t move towards the bedroom. Angel paused and turned around. “Spike? There a problem?”

Spike shook his head. “No. Just – I was about to tell you if you wanted me there, you’d have to make – sorry. Not the plan, yeah? Old habits.”

He took a step towards Angel and then stopped again as Angel held up his hand. “Oh, I think a little bit of resistance is fine, Spike,” he said, walking over. “I think I can handle that...”

Spike caught his mood and his meaning and gave him his best impish grin. “Prove it. Get me from here to there in under a minute and I’ll -”

He never got chance to finish. Angel ran at him in a sudden burst of speed, tackled him and they began to wrestle, dodging each others feet and fists; playing at it with no intent to do real harm, until Spike said, “Twenty seconds left...” and Angel scooped him up and began to walk towards the bedroom. Spike carried on struggling, but he was laughing too hard to do it properly.

Angel dropped him on the bed and glared at him. “Five seconds outside the limit. You weren’t supposed to struggle <i>that</i> hard.”

Spike lounged on the bed, laughing up at him. “Kiss my ass,” he said flippantly. “Day you can’t manage to – hey!”

Angel looked down at a nicely positioned Spike and smiled. “Well, I couldn’t kiss it when you were lying on your back, now could I?” he asked reasonably.

Spike twisted his head around and pulled a face. Angel had grabbed him, rolled him over and put a knee in the small of Spike’s back. “Could have just asked.”

“I could have, yes. Didn’t. Stay still,” Angel said, moving to kneel beside Spike. “Let me see. Yes, this looks like a good a spot as any...”

Spike relaxed, pillowing his head on his arms and wriggling his backside just a little. “Now, this is new,” he said.

The kiss was swift and hard and the slap that chased it was even harder. Spike yelped and began to roll over, but Angel stopped him. “No. I want you like this. Lie still, don’t move and let me –”

“Let you do what?” Spike said. “Put me over your knee? That didn’t end so well last time, did it now?”

Angel’s hand patted Spike’s backside lightly. “I remember that,” he said. “Paris, wasn’t it? You’d done something to make me angry. Like waking up. Or opening your mouth. Go on; refresh my memory.”

“I killed the girlfriend of the man you were doing a deal with and you lost the chance to get Darla a present she’d set her heart on.”

“Oh, yes. That. Which is why I let her and Dru watch. Tell me, Spike,” Angel’s hand came down hard against Spike’s flesh, “if they hadn’t been watching would you still have tried to stake me when I was done?”

Spike growled low in his throat and Angel slapped him again. “Want to know, Spike.” His voice was inflexible. “Not supposed to make me fight to get anything out of you tonight. That includes the truth.”

“Fine. No, I bloody well wouldn’t have. I’d have done what I always did when you’d finished hurting me.”

“Spread those legs of yours and waited for me to make it all better. Something to look forward to when I was hurting you, was it?”

Spike turned his face away so that all Angel could see was the back of his head. “Think that’s fucking hilarious, do you?”

Angel ran his hand over the quickly fading handprints he’d left on Spike’s backside. “No. Just wish sometimes it had worked.”

That brought Spike’s head around, blue eyes staring up at Angel with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. “It did, you daft bugger. What makes you think it didn’t?”

“I tortured you, Spike. Anytime you stepped over a line I’d drawn, or even if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spike drawled, “and I let you. Right pair, weren’t we? ‘Course, we still are. Don’t see why having a soul makes much difference to a bloke’s cock.” He rolled onto his side and glanced down, smiling, then resumed his position. “Do what you want, Angel. Still a vampire. I can take as much as you give, always could, always will.”

“You’re so full of it, Spike,” Angel said softly. “Not making any promises about the future, but I’m not planning on hurting you tonight.”

“Pity,” said Spike.

“No, it’s not,” Angel said, keeping his voice steady. “I broke you, Spike. Broke you into pieces and built you back crooked because that was the only way I knew how to do it.”

Spike sighed. “Least you didn’t leave me in pieces. Look, Angel, don’t go adding me to your list of things to brood over. Just – don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Angel glanced away and then forced himself to look directly at Spike. “Spike? Got to tell you something. That game tonight? I knew the result.”

He waited for Spike’s reaction, cursing the sudden impulse that had made him confess and waiting for Spike to hit him and storm off.

Spike shrugged. “Me too. It was on in the bar earlier, before Wes and Gunn arrived. So?”

Angel stared at him. “You knew and you still picked the other team?”

“Well, of course I bloody did! Came here feeling guilty, didn’t I? I wanted to lose. Wanted you to win. That was the point of it. Or I’d have walked out feeling even worse.”

“Guilt? You?”

“I’m all over it now,” Spike assured him. “Now I’m just feeling frustrated. For God’s sake will you just get on with it? I’m naked here and you’re sitting yards away bloody yapping on! Are you <i>trying</i> to hurt my feelings?”

Angel couldn’t help looking. “I see that,” he said uncomfortably. “The naked part. And no, I’m not. I just...”

The heat that had led to them rolling around all over the carpet seemed to have died down, quenched by his own conditioned reflex: good times on the horizon? Turn and run away fast. And that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to lie beside Spike, wanted to try kissing him to see what it felt like, long, slow kisses with hands stroking and touching, kisses getting harder, more demanding, until ...

“Want me to make this easier?” Spike said, scrambling off the bed. Angel watched him saunter over to their clothes and bend over. His fist clenched as he fought the urge to walk over there, so silently even Spike couldn’t hear him, grab Spike’s hips and push him down, holding him in place and rubbing his cock over that impudent arse until Spike was making those needy little whimpers, the ones that had always made Angelus smile, the ones Angel could still hear if he tried.

Spike stood, holding two belts in his hands and walked back slowly. He stood beside Angel, tossing one belt to the bed and offered him the other. Angel took it because he didn’t know what else to do. Spike held out his hands, wrists crossed. “Bind them.”

Angel hesitated. “Why?” he asked. “Weren’t we supposed to be not doing the forcing and the -”

“Just do it,” Spike ordered. His eyes softened a little. “Trust me,” he said.

“Yes, because that’s such a habit of mine,” Angel muttered. He looked at Spike, bit his lip, and then did as he was told; not letting himself think about what had always followed when he’d bound Spike in the past.

Spike flexed his wrists and nodded. “That’ll do.” He knelt on the bed and wriggled, his movements hampered, until he was lying in the middle on his back. He raised his arms above his head and looked meaningfully at Angel, who was caught in memories, trapped in the past. “This would be where you get the other belt and hook me up to the bed,” he said.

Angel picked up the belt and looped it between Spike’s wrists and then the bar across the top of his bed. “Don’t go using a granny knot,” Spike said.

“As if,” Angel said, his fingers moving quickly. “There. Now what, since you seem to be in charge of this production.”

Spike lay, arms curved and taut, body open and caught his lower lip between his teeth, gazing at Angel with limpid blue eyes. “Production? More like a charade, I’d say.”

Angel frowned. “I don’t get it.”

Spike spread his legs and arched up, just a fraction of an inch and Angel’s cock hardened before Spike had settled back down again.

“I’m helpless, Angel,” Spike said, his voice husky and low. “Helpless and in pain. You help the helpless, don’t you? Help me.”

“Pain?” Angel said. “What pain?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Give me strength. Look down there. Does that look comfortable?”

Angel shook his head. “ That is so – and I knew what you meant.”

“So where’s the helping hand? Or mouth - whatever. Not fussy.”

Angel looked him over, moving to kneel between Spike’s legs at the foot of the bed. “You sure you want to be like this, Spike? All...helpless?”

A look of uncertainty passed over Spike’s face as he nodded and Angel ducked his head quickly so Spike couldn’t see his grin – or see his face change, shifting with that paper tearing sound as muscles and skin shifted and fangs came down. He raised his head slowly, looking at Spike through eyes that saw him differently, all his senses heightened and refined. To the demon within, the kill was all that mattered and every bit of sensory input was geared towards that goal. Spike looked good enough to eat either way.

“See anything to make you change your mind?” he challenged.

Spike let his own face alter, just for a moment. “Not really.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you scared, Spike. And I don’t want you thinking you’re in charge here.”

Spike tugged sharply at his wrists. “Do I look like I think I am?”

Angel moved up the bed, straddling Spike’s chest and took hold of the belt that linked Spike’s wrists to the bed. It wasn’t easy to snap it but Angel wasn’t in the mood to fail. It parted and he grunted with satisfaction and threw it aside, letting his face slip back to human again. He moved off Spike and nodded to him. “Think you can do that to the other?” he asked.

“Rather not,” Spike answered. “That was your belt you just broke; I’m sure you’ve got a dozen more. This is the only one I own.”

“Break it, Spike,” Angel said, his voice flat.

Spike brought his hands in front of him, sighed in a martyred fashion and tried to twist and tug his wrists apart. The leather strained, held, then tore and he let the pieces fall away. “Well, at least it means I get to touch you,” Spike said, reaching out a hand and running it along Angel’s chest. “In all sorts of interesting places ...”

Angel caught at his hand. “Except you still don’t get it, Spike. On your back, hands above your head and hang on to the bed. If you move again without being told, I’ll make Paris seem like a fond memory. Unless you don’t mind getting your ass turned red in front of an audience.”

“You wouldn’t bloody well dare!”

“Would. In front of anyone who wanted to see. You’ve annoyed a lot of people here in a short space of time. I’m guessing standing room only. Why aren’t you moving? I asked you to do something. You’re supposed to do it without arguing. Not feeling the obedience, Spike, really not.”

“I was like this two minutes ago!” Spike protested, moving back and reaching up to wrap his fingers around the bar of the head board.

Angel shook his head. “No, you weren’t. You were pushing me into doing it your way. You always did like pushing me, Spike, seeing how far I’d let you go. Well, that was it. That far. Not an inch more. Got it?”

Spike nodded and Angel’s face hardened. “This would be the part where you say something. And you even start to roll your eyes and you can do this blindfolded.”

“I get it, Angel. O.K? I get it.”

“That’s much better,” Angel said, patting Spike’s leg approvingly. “Wait here.”

He stood and walked into the bathroom and found a small bottle of lube, seal unbroken in a cupboard on the wall. He’d seen it there when he explored his new apartment, stocked with everything he’d have bought for himself and a hundred things he’d never have thought of, and wondered why it had been included when Wolfram and Hart, of all people, must have known he wasn’t likely to be using it. He opened it and stared into the blank expanse of mirror. That wasn’t needed either, but it was there. For the first time, he wondered who had lived here before him.

Then he opened it and went back to Spike.

The vampire was still in position and Angel smiled. “Good boy,” he said, moving to kneel between Spike’s legs again and this time patting Spike’s cock. The look Spike gave him would have melted stone. Angel grinned  – pissing Spike off always cheered him up - and shifted to game face.

“You going to feed from me now?” Spike asked, his head moving restlessly against the pillows, his arousal.

Angel looked thoughtful. “Think appetiser, not main meal,” he said.

“What?”

“You know, not talking would work well here. How about that? Whimpering, moaning, maybe the odd slip as you scream my name followed by ‘more’, ‘please’ or ‘I don’t remember it being that big’, but other than that, let’s have a silent Spike, shall we? You can just nod this time.”

Spike looked speechless which was just perfect. Angel sighed happily and bent over, running the edge of a fang in a short line along the inside of Spike’s thigh, lapping up the blood as it appeared, the cut so shallow it healed as he licked it. Spike gasped, either at the flicker of pain or the feel of Angel’s mouth. Angel didn’t care which. He knew Spike wasn’t unhappy, for all his indignation. There was persuasive proof of that a few inches away. He’d get to it soon...

Angel moved over Spike’s body, striking at random, sometimes sinking his fangs in deep enough to leave a mark, sometimes kissing Spike with a gentle, lingering pressure that left no more than a faint warmth and a gloss of dampness. Spike was moaning now, making plaintive, hungry sounds Angel had never coaxed from him before, begging wordlessly without restraint, without caring how vulnerable he sounded. Angel rolled him over, still making him keep his hands over his head, hands that were clutching desperately in the few moments that they were free, hands that wanted to touch Angel’s body, wanted to caress and explore as they never had before. Angel worked his way down Spike’s back, scoring it, marking it, claiming it and then paused, just as he reached the curve of Spike’s backside.

“On your back again,” he whispered.

Spike took a second to respond, not, Angel knew, because he was reluctant – not now – but because he was beyond the point where words meant anything. Angel had seen Spike’s face shift back and forth between human and vampire and knew that the hundreds of tiny bites had Spike’s demon howling inside him, thirsting to taste the blood of his attacker. The air in the room was rich with the tang of fresh blood, intoxicating and arousing to them both. Angel knew that he could keep his own demon in check; it was part of the fun in any fight; channeling and controlling the strength the demon gave, without ever letting it dictate. Even as he was now, his body held still by an effort of will, his lips spilling ‘please’ with every touch from Angel’s mouth, Spike was doing the same and Angel felt pride stir within him.

Spike moved at last, releasing the bar he held, rolling to his back and reaching up to anchor himself once more. Angel stopped him, moving Spike’s arms to his side. “No. I want you to be able to touch me. And you can speak, if you like.”

Spike’s lips parted and he looked up at Angel. “Fuck me? Please?”

Angel reached for the lube and let it drizzle into his hand in a cool, clear stream. “Plan on it,” he told Spike. “I really do.”

He wrapped his hand around his own cock first, shuddering at the touch, allowing himself one swift stroke before turning to Spike.

“You don’t need to take your time, Angel,” Spike said as Angel opened him with careful fingers. “God!” He writhed against Angel’s hand, pushing down, his control shattered. “Going to come...”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” Angel reminded him. He used his free hand to hold Spike’s cock and added a third finger as his mouth came down to take Spike in as deeply as he could. Spike made an incredulous sound and then Angel pulled his fingers out and shoved them back in hard, and Spike came, helpless and howling. Angel waited for him to finish, letting the taste of Spike’s come mix with the lingering taste of his blood, and then took his hand and mouth away and rolled Spike over, pulling him into position on his hands and knees.

“But you’d better be able to do it again,” Angel said, rubbing his cock slowly over Spike’s opening and leaning forward just enough to let it move in an inch. “Because if you don’t come when I’m in you, I’m going to be hurt.”

He began to move, rocking his hips forward in a steadily quickening rhythm and Spike’s head turned. “Not a problem,” he said.

Angel left one hand on Spike’s hip and slid the other along the length of his back until it cupped the back of his neck. He squeezed until Spike lowered his head in submission and then brought it back to Spike’s hip.

“Good.”

***
 
The morning found them sleeping side by side, heads away from each other; Spike sprawled out on his stomach, Angel on his back.

But their hands were touching, and as they woke their fingers curled and held fast to what they had won.










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