Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Buffy, Spike/Dawn, Spike/Xander
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I wouldn't mind spending this kind of a day with Spike
He woke up hard, his dick already wet with precome from where the tip had popped free of the foreskin. Not that it was really unusual- he woke up like this at least once or twice a week, and he wasn't about to complain about the dreams that brought it on. They were usually dreams of the past, of Dru writhing beneath him, or Darla riding him until he begged, but mostly dreams of Angelus fucking him or sucking him or-
Spike swore as his dick jerked, and he reached down to take hold of it. He closed his eyes, remembering how often he used to wake up like this as a fledge, his cock rubbing against Angelus' hip until the skin was shining with precome. To give him credit, his sire almost always let him come in the mornings- teasing was for later, and he did that enough, using hands and mouth and dick to make him desperate to come, but mornings were for sex, pure and simple. While he'd spent a good deal of his time fucking Dru, or watching Angelus fuck Darla, he'd slept at Angelus' side for the first five years of his life, and he'd woken up hard a lot more often then than he did now.
Of course, back then he'd had Angelus beside him, with his hip riding against his dick, and his hand sliding down to wrap around his leaking cock when he woke up. He groaned as he remembered the low voice purring in his ear, still husky from sleep, telling him how pretty he was and how hard he was going to get fucked later. Angelus was usually hard himself by then, but Spike had always waited until his hand was drawn down and his fingers molded around his dick before he touched him, because he seldom lasted long once he had his sire's cock in his hand. Feeling the slippery slide of flesh through his fingers, the sleek pulses of occasional precome, coupled with the low moans his touch aroused and the way Angelus' hand would tighten around him... he'd had to have been made of stone not to come!
It was just his own hand now, but the memories were still vivid, even after a hundred years, and he felt himself starting to get close, so he switched to his favorite memory. One morning, Angelus hadn't taken him in hand, but instead had stretched out beside him and told him to watch him, instead. He told him how he'd woken up hard that morning, how he'd waited for Spike to wake up, and as he'd stroked himself and reached up to pinch his nipples, he'd whispered about his dream. Spike had hardly been able to believe it as his sire jerked off in front of his astonished eyes and told him that it was a dream of his childe fucking him that had made him so hard, made his need to come so urgent that he couldn't stand for Spike to touch him.
He'd come when Angelus had that morning, going off like a rocket without any contact at all, painting Angelus' hip with pearly streaks as he watched his sire come at the thought of getting fucked. Just like then, he felt Angelus' lips brush his and heard him whisper, “I want to make that dream real tonight,” and just like then, he came again with a groan on his lips at the thought of finally getting what he'd wanted for years.
Once he was done, he leaned over to grab a discarded shirt and wiped himself off, then headed upstairs to feed, doing his best not to think about the can of worms he'd just opened. He never had gotten to fuck Angelus, of course- the summons from the bitch had seen to that. Angelus had kissed him good-bye and promised to see it out when he left, but he'd never come back, and Spike's world had gone inside out and upside down in the aftermath.
Best not to think about that, though, not unless he wanted to spend the rest of the day in a truly bad mood. He shoved the memory to the back of his mind and turned his attention to getting something to eat. Pulling the fridge open, he grabbed the container of blood out and looked down at the thick mass of cold blood, wondering as he so often did which god he’d pissed off bad enough to end up like this. Closing his eyes, he raised the jar and did his best to pretend that it was human blood as he forced it down- or even better, Slayer’s blood.
Yeah, that was it. Slayer blood, heated from the dance, pumping out into his mouth in great spurts, running down his chin. He could practically feel her body against his and hear her cries as he sank his fangs into her throat and drank her down in thirsty gulps, and by the time he set the empty jar down, he was as hard as if he really had been feasting off of the Slayer blood he fantasized about.
Glancing over at the sarcophagus, Spike smiled, recognizing a perfect assignation spot when one presented itself. He seldom used it anymore, preferring his bed downstairs, but it did make for a nice napping spot, and he could see himself laying the Slayer down on top of it for a few hours of playtime. She’d look a right treat, spread out on those ridiculous peach sheets he hadn’t bothered to get rid of, and he slid a hand down to give his erection a squeeze as he thought about it. God knew, the girl could use a good shag- she probably had no idea what an orgasm was, given the berks she seemed to be fond of dating, and he wouldn’t mind passing an afternoon making her scream and beg for more.
She’d come knocking on his door, demanding to know about this or the other demon menacing the town, as if he had Encyclopedia Demonica tattooed on his ass. He’d offer up the information she was wanting in return for a proper shag, and she, being the good little White Hat that she was, would first protest, and then give in. She’d strip for him at his command, and he’d lay her out, then peel his own clothes off, watching her eyes widen when she got a good look at him. Maybe he’d even give her a bit of a show, too- she might not look like it, but he’d be willing to bet that she was a kinky bitch, might get off on seeing him wank a little. Not that he’d make himself come like that, just get himself nice and hard before he went over to see to her.
Spike worked his hand slowly over his cock as he thought about all that luscious golden skin just begging for him to touch and taste, his eyes drifting lazily over the sheet on the sarcophagus as though the Slayer really were laid out on it, writhing under his hand. He’d bring her off with his fingers, then shove her legs open and eat her out, he decided, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting a woman’s juices again. It had been a while since he’d done that- he hadn’t been about to bother with Harmony, not when she was just a convenient hole to stick his dick in, but with the Slayer, he knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself. She was made for it, and he doubted she had any clue of how good he could make her feel with a flick of his tongue.
After he’d brought her to four or five screaming orgasms with his mouth, he’d be willing to bet that she’d beg for his cock- assuming she still remembered how to form words, that was. Crawling up onto the sarcophagus, Spike lowered himself down onto the sheet, groaning when his aching dick was greeted with the sleek caress of satin. It was a far cry from what he imagined the Slayer’s hot, wet pussy would feel like, but a sight better than his own hand, and he reached down to fold it around his shaft before he pushed himself up on his forearms and started to move. He could almost hear the Slayer moan as he started to fuck her, and he forced himself to keep it slow, shifting his hips as he thought about settling in for a long, slow fuck.
But as good as that was, his dick had other ideas, and it wasn’t long before he was imagining her nails streaking down his back as he fucked her hard. That first time was likely to end up rough, almost animal in nature, their bodies slapping together while they tore at each other, and the thought of her being as desperate for it as him made his dick even harder. She’d moan and cry out, and he’d grunt and groan as he drove himself inside her as hard and fast as he could, and they’d go at each other like wild things that couldn’t get enough. Spike growled and thrust against the sheet, feeling it cling to him as precome spilled out at the thought of the Slayer writhing under him like a madwoman, hungry for more of his cock, more fucking. It wasn’t long before the sheet was wet enough that he could almost pretend it really was her hot little pussy he was driving into, her panting mingling with his own as he got closer and closer to-
“Ohhh, fuck, Slayer!” The words burst out of their own accord just before he ground his cock down against the stone slab, coming in hard streams that soaked the sheet under him. He threw his head back, riding it out until he felt his dick give one last little twitch, and then he collapsed off to the side. Yeah, that was the way to deal with the Slayer- fuck her right and she’d follow him around like a little puppy, he thought fuzzily, just before he fell asleep once more.
It was mid-afternoon when he woke up again, and for a second he thought he might have missed Passions. But he’d woken up before it came on, so he grabbed a pair of discarded jeans and pulled them on, then settled down with a bag of BBQ crisps to watch some quality TV. He wouldn’t mind shagging his way around Salem, he decided, starting with Ethan Winthrop, before moving on to Kay Bennett, then finish off with a threesome with Katherine and Fox Crane.
By the time Passions was finished, he was hard again, his dick pushing up against his fly. He unfastened his jeans and pulled it out, then started slowly stroking himself before he remembered why he shouldn't be doing that. It was nearly time for school to let out, and the little girl stopped by after school fairly often these days. Wouldn't do to have her find him like this, would it?
But he didn't stop, even when he thought about her shoving the door open and discovering him, cock in hand and all. What would she do? Would she be the good girl her mum and sister taught her to be and run away, or would she do something else entirely? Maybe shoot him that teasing, mischievous little smile of hers just before she closed the door and came on in? His dick jerked in his hand as he thought about her walking towards him, eyes fastened intently on him- or on his cock, anyway. He doubted she'd be able to look away from it- she’d probably never seen one in person, and she was getting to that age when curiosity and hormones were running high.
Picturing her avid gaze trained on him, he released his dick and raised his hand to his mouth, licking his palm to get it good and wet. He imagined the scent of her arousal beginning to fill the room, and thought that it really was a pity she didn't dress more like her sister had at her age, all tiny skirts and tops with scooped necks that were just made for easy access. Be easier then, if all he had to do was slip a hand up her skirt, but then, maybe he was overdue for a challenge.
Wrapping his hand around himself again, he started working it along his cock- long, slow pulls, his fist tight around his shaft, thumb running over the head as it started to leak. He wouldn't touch her that first time, he decided, maybe just let her watch and soak her panties over it, then say something to send her running off afterwards. Girls were so sweet at her age, so easy to tease, and he wondered if he could make her come just from watching him get off. He was pretty sure he could, especially if he talked to her while he did it, told her about what he wanted from her. After he'd come, he might reach up to rub her through her jeans, work the seam against her clit through her panties and watch her cream at his command.
It would be easy after that to draw her deeper into his web, and he started to pant as he thought about it. Soon enough, he could have her coming over to his crypt every day, hungry for more of the pleasure he'd give her. He'd get her a little schoolgirl outfit to change into, then have her come over and sit on his cock, but he wouldn't fuck her right away. No, he'd slide her down on top of him, then play with her pretty little titties, pinch the nipples and fondle her under her little shirt until she was squirming and sobbing and begging to ride him. Only then would he slide his hand beneath the skirt to tease her little clit until she came and soaked him with her juice. He loved feeling a woman come around him, and since she'd be a virgin when he took her, she'd be so tight and hot that it would be like heaven to feel her squeeze him in her orgasm.
How many times could he do that, make her come sitting in his lap, with his cock deep inside before he had to move as well? The chair creaked as he shifted his hips, then started fucking up into his fist, picturing her writhing on top of him, moaning and begging for more. He'd turn her into his perfect little slut, hot and wet and ready for him whenever he wanted her- pretty little pussy on tap, whether he wanted to shove her skirt up and fuck her behind the Bronze or sneak into her room at night and lick her until she passed out. But he'd start here, in his recliner, with her sitting on his cock like a good little girl, begging Daddy for more.
“Ohhhh fuck, yeah,” he groaned, the thought of her lips pursed in a pretty pout and her voice calling out for Daddy shoving him over the edge. Pulses of sleek, silky come spurted out onto his chest and flowed over his fingers, but he didn't stop right away, just lazily stroked his cock, drawing out a few extra spurts in the aftershock. One day, he promised himself. One day he'd take what was rightfully his, Slayer or no.
Since Dawn hadn't shown up, Spike didn't feel any real need to clean up right away. He spent the rest of the afternoon drowsing in his chair, the scent of sex and come providing him with some pretty nice dreams before he woke up again just before sunset. He pushed out of his chair and went to feed, then slipped downstairs for a quick wash and change so he'd be presentable for the Scooby meeting.
The meeting, which he always pretended was a great deal more of an imposition than it actually was, started out pretty good, then went very bad after Harris and his demon showed up. Apparently the boy had either gotten reamed out at work or spent some 'quality time' with his parents that day- Spike could tell because he always got mean afterwards. Usually there was an almost teasing undercurrent to the insults they exchanged, but today Harris was out for blood, and Spike, as the Scoobies' designated whipping-boy, felt the full force of his bitter disappointment in life.
Jibes about the chip and his supposed impotence flew fast and thick until finally the vampire couldn't take it anymore. “Sod off, Harris. Might wanna use your mouth for more important things than shovin' food in an' spewin' trash out- sure demon girl would show you how to get her off right if you'd ask her nice.” He shoved his chair back, taking a vicious pleasure in the way the Scoobies winced at the high-pitched shriek. “Goin' out for a smoke,” he growled, and stalked out into the alley. He could hear Willow say something just before the door banged shut behind him, but he really didn't care what it was. Not when he knew he'd end up losing it if he stayed in that room another second.
Yanking his jeans open, he grabbed hold of his cock, imagining Harris on his knees in front of him. He knew exactly how to shut the boy up, knew what he needed even if he didn't, and after his belittling comments at the meeting, he was just about ready to give it to him. Not that he needed all that much provocation- hell, just the thought of wide, dark eyes and wet, cherry-red lips was enticement enough, but the added benefit of stopping up that mouth that never seemed to know when to stop... Oh yeah, that would be sweet.
He didn't bother with any niceties, but stripped himself hard and fast as he thought about it, pictured him kneeling in the alley, hands behind his back, dick throbbing and hard inside his own pants as Spike gave his mouth something better to do than run off. No leisurely blow job, though- that was for back in his crypt, and he'd make sure the boy did that later as well- not after a comment like the one he'd made in there. This would be about reestablishing his dominance, so he'd make him just kneel there and take it, keep his mouth open while Spike fucked his face, used him like a toy to get off, and left him wanting afterwards.
Maybe he'd talk to him while he did it- let him see that Spike knew how to use words, too. Call him baby and slut and whore and cocksucker and sweetheart, mix the endearments and insults until his head was turned inside out and either one made him hard... but that was the work of more than one quick fuck in the alley. That would be a long-term project, and one he was almost ready to start, at that. For now, though, he concentrated on the thought of silence and the wet sounds of sucking, interspersed with the occasional moan. Couldn't get too loud, though- wouldn't want to draw the rest of the group's attention. Not that he minded people watching, but they weren't likely to just stand by. No, they'd want to interfere, and he couldn't have that, not when he was getting close.
His cock throbbed in his hand, and he thought about the wet heat of the boy's mouth, imagined shooting off all over his face until his come dripped from him, shining white against the dark hair, sliding down over his cheek in thick gobs-
Oh yeah, that was it. His dick jerked as he sprayed the brick wall in front of him with come, harsh grunts tearing free with every shot. When he was finished, he dug into his duster pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his fingers off, then tucked his dick back into his pants. He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and fished a cigarette out, jamming it between his lips before he lit up and took a deep breath.
When he was finished with his smoke, Spike tossed the butt down, fastened his jeans and went back inside to gather some stakes for patrol, promising himself that he was going to do just that one day- shove the boy down and show him exactly how toothless he was.
As it turned out, there was no shortage of action that night. Besides the usual baby vamps, they ran into a pair of Delgorian that he and the Slayer split up to take down. The Delgorian proved to be a nasty bugger that gave him a right good chase before he ran it to ground, and it turned to fight. They tussled for a good ten minutes until he took it down with a hard blow from his axe, but he wasn’t about to risk that it would get up, so Spike kept hacking away until the thing’s blue fur was matted and dark with blood, and his dick was pressing demandingly against the fly of his jeans.
Violence always made him hard. Shame the Slayer was such a fucking prude- she got off on it almost as hard as he did, and he'd bet that she'd be ripe for a good fuck after a kill, if someone could just pull the stick out of her ass. Oh, he couldn't take her over the corpse the way he used to do with Dru, but there were trees and crypts around, and it wouldn't be that hard to coax her over to one. And even if she didn't want to fuck out in the open at first, he could deal with that. There were other ways to get off, things that would be just as much fun without the risk of getting caught, although there was something to be said for that as well.
He thought about shoving her up against the nearby crypt, pressing her against the stone wall and sliding a hand down inside her pants. Patrol turned them both on more often than not, and the scent of her arousal had sent him home hard enough to cut glass for almost two years now. He gripped his cock, squeezing through the denim as he thought about taking hold of her hand and shoving it down to wrap around his erection while he fingered her. She'd be dripping, her underwear soaked from the kill, and he doubted it would take much to make her come.
And once she'd come, he felt sure she wouldn't stop him when he pulled his hand back and wrapped her legs around his waist. He wondered if she and Angel had ever dry-humped after a kill like that, if they'd ever been hot enough that they risked the curse just to get off, but he doubted it. Probably be shocked that he could make her come without taking her clothes off or even touching her little cunny. Flattening his hand over the bulge in his jeans, Spike rubbed, thrusting into his palm as he thought about driving his cock against the Slayer, feeling her cream until both their pants were damp with it.
It would be fast and hard, and he didn't think it would take either of them long to come. Hell, he was hard enough after the fight and now the fantasy that he was riding the edge after just a few minutes, so the reality would probably have had him spraying his jeans by now. Humping his hand even faster, he thought about it, pictured her watching, wide-eyed, as he came in his pants like a horny kid. Would it turn her on, knowing how much he wanted her, or would she shove him off and run away?
Since it was his fantasy, he opted for the former, imagining the rich scent of her arousal increasing as she watched him grunt and jerk against her while he came hard. He worked the denim against his spurting dick, rubbing it in even as the wet fabric began to chafe, the echo of pain making the pleasure richer. Coming in his pants had never bothered him, and while it was interesting to watch people's reaction to a visible stain, he had to admit that the black denim he favored now gave him a bit of an advantage that he wasn't above exploiting. He chalked it up to his family- Angelus had had a bit of a kink for it, and used to like to slide a hand down under the dinner table and make him come, partly because he liked watching Spike struggle to keep control, but mostly just to indulge his private little perversion. And who knew? Maybe the Slayer shared Angelus' kink- and if she didn't, maybe he could teach her to. He wouldn't mind doing a little extra laundry if it meant he could have that kind of dirty hotness back in his life.
He’d have to give that some serious thought. But for now, he needed to check in with the Watcher and make sure the Slayer had taken care of her Delgorian. Wrapping his coat around himself, Spike headed out of the cemetery, leaving the fallen demon’s corpse for whatever scavenger might want it. She had, of course, and after trading a few barbs with her, he watched her and her friends scamper off to the Bronze. Any other night, he’d have followed them, maybe hustled a little pool, bummed a few beers off Harris, and watched the Scoobies dance, but tonight he turned back towards his crypt instead.
His jeans were dry by the time he got back to the crypt, the insides crusted with come, and he stripped out of them as soon as he was downstairs. With the Scoobies all at the Bronze, he didn’t have to worry about anyone bursting in on him, so he treated himself to a nice, long shower in the stall he’d jury-rigged from a pipe that passed over one of the rough-hewn crevices. It wasn’t as good as a proper hot shower, but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers, although he promised himself he’d pick someone up tomorrow night. One night stands weren’t exactly his favorites, but they could usually be counted on for at least one halfway decent orgasm and a hot shower.
For now, though, he made do with the cold waterfall that streamed down over him and the soap that gradually washed the scent of sex and stale come from his skin, replacing it with a fresh, clean scent. When he was finished, he rinsed off, washed his hair, and stepped out, reaching blindly for one of the towels he’d stolen from the local no-tell motel. He didn’t waste a lot of time drying off, just whisked the visible droplets away, then dropped the towel on the floor and slid naked into bed.
He’d often gone to bed like this, still slightly damp from his bath, back before he’d learned what it meant to sleep alone for more than a night or two, when bedtime was at dawn and there were better things to do with his afternoons than watch soap operas. As always, the first thought of those times brought a flood of memories along with it, but instead of pushing them away like he usually did, Spike closed his eyes and let them come. He thought about Darla, brushing her hair at her vanity until it crackled and snapped with vitality, and Dru, curling up against him to sleep after he hummed a lullaby for her, but it was Angelus his thoughts kept returning to- sprawled in the bed like a lion, sleepy and sated after a hunt, lounging in one of the huge chairs he liked in the library, a glass shining in his hand, or leaning against the doorway, watching whatever depravity his children might have conjured for his amusement with a half-smile… always beautiful, always graceful, always the master of all he surveyed.
Thoughts of his sire soon had the usual effect, but he didn’t reach down right away to take himself in hand. Instead, he let other memories wash over him, memories of hotel rooms with big beds that smelled like sex, the sound of unsuspecting party guests chatting as they fucked up against a wall in a coatroom because the hotel was too far away, and the crisp feeling of air against his bare skin when they couldn’t even wait long enough to get indoors. He felt his cock swell to an almost unbearable ache as he remembered going down on Angelus when he’d been dragged to the ballet or opera, or thought about Angelus’ hand working him slowly under the dinner table at one of the British Embassy’s interminable stuffy dinners. Twenty years together- it was all they’d had, but those years had been spent in such a haze of blood and sensuality that Spike doubted he’d ever really get over them.
Like an old man looking through a photo album, he sifted through his memories, trying to find the right one to bring him off, but none seemed to fit the bill, so he let his imagination drift instead, thinking idly about hands stroking over his body and a mouth working its way down his chest. Angelus had only done that a few times, usually as a reward for something special, and to say he’d been disappointed not to get one of his sire’s world class blowjobs after he’d killed that Slayer in China was putting it mildly. Sometimes he wondered if Angelus had been reluctant to offer it because he liked it so much, or if it had just been about being the alpha male, the one in charge who couldn’t stoop to taking his childe’s cock in his mouth, no matter how much they both might want it. If that was the case, Spike resolved all over again never to sire anyone- he enjoyed going down on a bloke too much to give it up. Of course, Angelus had seemed pretty enamored of it himself, especially that time in St Petersburg when he’d spent the whole night making him come over and over again…
Wrapping his hand around his dick, Spike squeezed himself lightly, remembering how Angelus had tied him to the bed and sucked him straight down his throat. He’d come almost immediately, too worked up from blood and the foreplay he’d been treated to on the way back to the hotel. Afterwards, he’d been sure that he was going to get fucked, but Angelus had just cleaned him off, and then kept licking. Up to his chest, then back down to thighs, hands and tongue finding all of his most sensitive spots until he was hard again and begging for relief, and that’s when he’d really discovered what his sire could do with his tongue. He’d come at the hard suction of sucking, again at the feather light strokes of a tongue over the tip of his cock and soft caresses of fingertips on his balls, and yet again after a rimming that had made him see stars. Each time, Angelus had been there to catch him as he fell, swallowing it all down as though it were
Groaning at the memory, he stroked himself, remembering again the way it felt to have Angelus’ throat moving around him as he swallowed, or the way his finger had teased him, rubbing over his hole without slipping inside where he wanted it. He’d always been able to do that to him, make him feel as needy as a bitch in heat so that he’d beg for cock. But that night he hadn’t gotten it, hadn’t even gotten that thick finger shoving into him until he was just about to come the second time. Angelus had raised his head to watch just as he shoved it inside, then ducked down to wrap his mouth around him and swallow when he came almost immediately.
Spike forced himself to stop, grabbing the sheet to keep from wrapping his hand around his dick until he was more in control. He wanted this to last, wanted to ride the edge until he couldn’t control it anymore. It was one of Angelus’ favorite lessons, the way delayed pleasure was so much better, although he’d often thought it was the sight of Spike, desperately writhing and pleading to come, that really got his sire going. Not that he’d really minded, of course, not when he’d gotten the kind of orgasms that most people only dreamed about out of the deal.
When he felt like he wouldn’t lose it with the first stroke, he slowly reached for his aching cock again. This time he teased himself, circling a finger around the tip the way Angelus’ tongue had moved over him, and he hissed as his body reacted just like it had then, his hips arching up for more contact while precome began to seep out over his finger. Angelus had like that, he remembered- he’d immediately closed his lips around the tip, suckling like a babe at his mother’s teat, and just like a babe, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Spike still remembered the way he’d whimpered, moaned, and screamed as he shot off in that immensely talented mouth over and over again, coming until he didn’t have anything left to give.
Not that Angelus had missed out on all the fun that night. He’d come, too, grinding his hips against the bed and groaning around Spike’s cock when he couldn’t hold off any longer. It was one of the few times he’d ever seen his cool, constantly in control sire lose it enough to come in his pants, and just the memory of it was almost enough to finish him off. He managed to clamp his fingers around the base of his cock just in time, whimpering as he squeezed his climax off, and even then it was touch and go for a few seconds, but he managed.
He didn’t want to come yet, didn’t want to give up the pleasure or the memory of Angelus’ tongue sweeping over him like that. For one precious night, he’d been the focus of his sire’s world- or at least his cock had. And that was it, really, wasn’t it? Angelus had the kind of single-mindedness that could have toppled empires, and for that night, Spike had had it trained entirely on him and his pleasure. It was the closest Angelus had ever come to a gesture of love, he supposed, and the thought was enough to set him back in motion, groaning as he thrust up into his fist. In no time at all, he was close again, too close to hold back, especially when he thought about the way Angelus had moaned around his cock, and as he crested on a wave of hot pleasure, he gasped, “Angelus! Ohhh, God, yes!” His cock pulsed in his grip as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure out of himself, covering his fingers with sticky, silky strands of pearly come. When it was all over, he was left covered in come, just like he had been that night after Angelus finally released him and stroked himself to completion, shooting all over him, indelibly marking him as his in every way that mattered.
Once he was completely soft, he released his dick and raised his come-covered hand, licking his fingers clean, the memory of dark eyes burning down onto him as he did just that making him shiver. He savored the salty, musky taste, then murmured, “Night, pet,” and turned over, imagining a powerful arm sliding around him to pull him back against a hard body just before he drifted off into the very sweetest of dreams.
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