Taken Out



“Where’re you off to, then?”

Wesley didn’t even flinch as Spike appeared in front of him; deceivingly solid, unless you knew what he was. “Let me see. I’m dressed in leathers, carrying a bike helmet, and it’s long past sundown. Where do you think I’m going?”

“Bar? Get drunk? Get picked up by someone who appreciates the way you wiggle your arse in those trousers and can’t wait to peel them off you?”

Wesley made sure not to let his face show either offence or indignation, which infuriated Spike just as much as it was supposed to. He carried on towards the elevators leading to the garage at Wolfram and Hart. “None of the above. Home, food, bath, bed, sleep. Possibly a small whiskey, a single glass of wine. No more.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re still following me after that? I rather thought you’d have been sufficiently bored to go and find someone else to bother.”

“Probably would if I didn’t know you think it’s boring too. Besides, you don’t know the first thing about the word; try being a –”

“Spare me your recitation of woes.” Spike opened his mouth and Wesley’s eyes glinted a warning. “I really mean that. Shut up about it.”

“Fine.”  Pretending to be injured and hurt, Spike folded his lips together in a parody of obedient silence as he followed Wesley into the elevator.

He stayed quiet during the short ride down and while Wesley walked over to his motorbike, and then leaned against the wall, eying it appraisingly. “Ever really open her up? See what she can do?”

Wesley pursed his lips, considering the advisability of replying and then grinned, nodding. “Once or twice. Handles like a dream.” He caught himself before he could launch into an enthusiastic description of the bike’s capabilities. Spike was surprisingly easy to talk to, he’d discovered, but he was suspicious about his motives.

“Mine got buried with the rest of Sunnydale, I suppose. Miss it. Not as much as a body but – oh, sorry. Off limits, yeah? Take me with you for a ride?”

Wesley frowned, taken aback by the abrupt question. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“M’not. Go on; take me two-up until I run out of leash. Not like I’ll weigh you down. Be fun to go fast, feel the wind in my hair, the bugs in my teeth...well, no, I won’t, but even so.”

Wesley gave him a look that combined appraisal with wariness and then shrugged. “If you can hold on, you can come.”

A full lower lip pouted out in an impish grin. “With lines like that, you sure you’re not headed for a bar?”

Wesley stepped close to Spike. “Spike...you’re insubstantial and, if I remember your words correctly, incapable of any sort of physical gratification.”

Spike stared into eyes as blue as his own, his amusement fading. “Yeah. So?”

Wesley held up his middle finger, drawing an invisible line in the air a millimetre away from Spike’s body, starting at his mouth and ending an inch below his balls, watching the interest and frustration flare high in the thin face. “So don’t try and goad me into giving you some vicarious pleasure that I’m not in the mood for.”

Spike blinked and shook himself, as if he’d just woken up. “Why not?”

 “Because I just told you not to.”

“No; why not in the mood?”

“I think that falls under the heading of ‘none of your business’, Spike.”

With an air of having said all that was needed, he turned away and slid his leg across the bike, kicking up the stand and feeling the machine roar to life between his  ...yes, he acknowledged wryly, it was a thrill, and not solely physical either, and he didn’t intend to trade it in for the sleekest car his new salary could buy.

He didn’t look around but he hesitated just long enough to let a passenger get on. He flicked his eyes down and saw that Spike had wrapped his arms around him. As he watched, those arms sank in slightly, moving through black leather as though it were fog and the arms were real. Wesley shuddered and spoke firmly.

“Don’t do that.”

“Can’t help it.”

Wesley accelerated away, going far too fast, and headed out along busy city streets in the direction of his apartment. He knew Spike was still there; he couldn’t feel him, he obviously couldn’t shake him off, but he knew. At the first red light he glanced down again. Pale hands lay spread against his thighs, the fingers curled as though to grip and hold. Again, Wesley felt a curious sense of reversal; he wasn’t solid to Spike, wasn’t capable of providing even the most tenuous anchor. Spike could pour into him until their bodies were merged...possess him literally....but Wesley couldn’t do anything to him in return. Who had the power?

A blare of noise from half a dozen cars told Wesley that he was committing the cardinal sin of not moving when the light was on green. Biting his lip, he moved off, weaving through traffic and heading out of the city, away from home now and towards the coastal road. If Spike wanted a joy-ride, he’d give him one.

The buildings dropped away and Wesley, not particularly bothered about traffic police given who he worked for, put the bike through its paces, cornering low and tight, taking his speed to the edge of safety and going just a fraction further. Spike waited until Wesley was on a straight section of road before breaking a long silence.

“You’re hard.”

Wesley felt the bike kick and skid, spraying gravel as he lost control of it for a moment. Spike’s mouth was beside his ear, ignoring the barrier of his helmet, and his whisper was clear above the engine noise. He made sure nothing was coming towards them and looked down. Spike’s hands were placed so that if Wesley had been naked, one hand would have been cupping his balls, the other wrapped around his cock. Of course, he’d been hard before he’d seen that, before that voice had started to whisper...

Spike didn’t stop talking once he’d seen the effect his words had, calmly telling Wesley everything he’d like to do to him once he got him out of his leathers. Wesley couldn’t get any harder and was damned if he was going to come fully dressed, so he concentrated on driving – they were going to the exact place he’d planned to go to and not stopping so much as a yard before it -  and tried to block the voice and the images it was thrusting into his mind.

“...tied down, not because you’d want to run off, but just so you’d be held. Braided leather? Maybe. No need for anything strong. If I told you not to move, you’d hold still, wouldn’t you? Or maybe I’d be the one spread out with you trailing those hands of yours over me, on me, in me, until I was begging? Want to hear me beg, Wesley? Heard you do it...watched you wank yourself dry in your office, doors locked, long lunch hours, or that shower they give you just for you. Soap and slither and sighs. Wish you’d say my name when you come, but you never do, just close your eyes and break ... want to be the one to make you, break you, take you hard, take you slow...”

Wesley fixed his eyes on his goal, brought the bike to a halt and turned off the engine. He pulled off his helmet, hung it over a handlebar and waited. Spike stood beside him, his face ... no amusement in it, no; he was just...waiting.

“Enjoy your ride, Spike?”

“Did you?”

Challenges had to be met, had to be won. Nothing else was acceptable; that was what he’d been taught. Wesley got off his bike and began to walk.

“Wesley?”

“Follow me, Spike.”

He didn’t have to take more than five paces and he congratulated himself on locating the spot so precisely.

“Wait! I can’t go any farther.”

“I know,” Wesley told him. “I found your limits as soon as I knew they existed. Marked them on a map, studied it ... I know every bar on your cage.” He smiled at Spike, keeping his eyes cool, his voice level. “You had your fun. Now you can pay for it and walk back.”

Spike looked out to sea. “Wasn’t fun. Was all I’ve got to give you.” He looked at Wesley. “I ever get my body back, I’ll let you do everything I just said. That sound like I’m joking?”

Wesley stared at him and then walked back to the bike. The cliff top was deserted and the only sound was the rushing of the waves far below. He beckoned to Spike and watched him saunter over, the bravado a thin slick over loneliness, no more. How could he not recognise that look?

When Spike stood beside him, Wesley held his gaze for a moment and then looked down. “I’m hard, Spike. So much so that I could come with a touch.” His hands were busy for a moment and then he looked up at Spike. “Not a coffee cup, but you could try...”

Spike stretched out his hand tentatively to stroke against Wesley’s cock, growling quietly as his hand passed through it. “Can’t. Fuck it.”

“Better try harder then. You got it like this, you can bloody well finish the job.”

Spike looked up in surprise and laughed. Wesley felt his own lips twitch in an answering smile and then Spike’s fingers curled around his shaft for an instant, just a moment. Cool, strong fingers...the sensation vanished and he groaned. “Spike...do that again...please...”

Spike looked at him. “Should see how you look, Wes. Going to fuck you over this bike one day, with you naked ...no, wearing just that leather jacket, so your backside’s bare and I can touch you.”

“Wish...you...would...”

Spike set his teeth and tried again. “Can’t. More I try...Wes? You do it. Put your hand where you want mine.”

Wesley was leaning back against the bike, breathing in shallow gasps. His hand came up and began to work his cock and he watched as Spike placed his hand over Wesley’s and copied his slow strokes.

“Going to come...”

“Fuck it. Let go!”

Wesley’s hand fell away and Spike’s replaced it, taking hold of him and jerking once, twice...Wesley came, feeling the fleeting touch linger until he’d finished. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to see Spike watching him anxiously.

Wesley held up a hand to touch Spike and let it fall back. “This is...frustrating.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You got to come and you’re telling me it’s frustrating?” He shook his head. “Going to take me home with you? Or do I still have to walk?”

Wesley calmly zipped himself up and reached for his helmet. “You can ride and you can come back with me, but, Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t like back seat drivers. Any more comments about my sense of direction –”

“Wes, you’d have saved half a mile if you’d taken a left at ...”

“Comments like that one, in fact, and –”

“Yes?”

“I won’t take a shower when I get home.”

Spike considered. “Quiet as a mouse.”

Wesley smiled. “I didn’t say you couldn’t talk,” he said. “It’s a long way back. Entertain me.”


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