Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own neither of these characters or anything around them. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy does.
Summary: AtS, just after 5.5. Wes works late in his office, and Spike walks through a wall
Author’s Notes: My first story put out there in public. Inspired by a fanart image by Wajoma. Spike's last line is hers.
Feedback: It's always encouraging to get some.

Incorporeal is as Incorporeal Does


Wesley woke up at his desk, cheek pressed against dry parchment and reading glasses pressing uncomfortably into his temple. He felt terrible--stiff muscled, dry mouthed and needing to pee. A book on medieval daemonology was lying open on the desk in front of him, a thin line of saliva beginning to smudge the ink on the yellowed page where his head had rested.

These long nights of research were beginning to do him in. At least when there was only the five of them at Angel Investigations, his work load was manageable. Yes, he’d pulled the occasional all nighter when some particularly difficult case needed the kind of information only he could provide, but now with a large department under his supervision, he was buried in book work. He had more staff now, but the client list was enormous.

And Angel--broody, moody, obsessive, a-universe-of-atonement-will-never be-enough Angel--had taken to his CEO status like a Master vampire in wingtips, all gravitas and bring me my mugofblood NOW. Not that Wesley was subject to the varieties of snarling lesser beings received at Wolfram & Hart, but just the same, his productivity was clearly under view.

Wesley rose from his chair and stretched his back with a groan, rubbing the cramped muscles at his waist with long fingers. He felt groggy, and slightly out of synch with his surroundings. No use trying to carry on. Pee first and then shower. Maybe that would make him feel better.

As he entered the ensuite washroom, he flicked on the lights and pressed the CD remote sunk into a console by the door. Classical music flooded the room, and soft lights gleamed on black marble counters, flecks of mica sparkling in the glow. Wesley had lived in apartments that were smaller than this bathroom, and he still felt a touch of disapproval at the flagrant though admittedly tasteful luxury.

Bladder empty, Wesley leaned over the counter and stared at his face in the mirror. Blue gray eyes looked back with that slightly uncomfortable expression worn by those brought up to be embarrassed by direct eye contact. Privacy is to be respected, even between oneself and.....oneself. A wry smile tugged at Wesley’s lips as he acknowledged his deeply ingrained Britishness.

Wesley turned the shower tap on full, and began to undress, folding each item of clothing before stacking them on the counter. He was tall and lean, more muscled than he appeared in his usual open necked shirt and slacks. He had the beauty of elegant ratio, the curve of his forearm tapering to slim wrists and finely wrought hands. His thighs were long and well muscled, and his waist slim before the flare of ribcage to the flat planes of his chest and indented mounds of his shoulders.

Stepping under the fall of warm water, Wesley turned his face upward, combing fingers through his hair. He felt the tension in his muscles begin to dissolve in the moist steam as he stroked shower gel over his chest and down into the dark curls of his groin. He smoothed a slippery hand over and around his soft cock to work up a lather, before cupping his balls in his palm, teasing them apart with his fingers and rolling them round, comforted in the warm velvety smoothness of his soapy skin. His cock began to rise under his ministrations, pale against the darkness of pubic curls. A low tingling spread deep in Wesley’s groin as he pulled on his erection, making it harder, bigger, longer. Finally, the purple tip swelled out of the foreskin, and need for release became urgent.

Wesley braced his feet on the floor of the shower, looking down at his hand moving rapidly on his swollen cock, up and down, up and down, speed increasing as he felt the sexual tingling beginning to gather force.

A strangled groan echoed suddenly against the tiled walls. Wesley’s eyes widened in shock. He was not alone in the room. Someone else was there, watching him. He dropped his cock immediately, and turned to fling the glass door open.

Spike was standing absolutely still, eyes fixed on his, openly aching with need.

“What are you doing here?” Wes shouted furiously. “Have you no respect? How could you invade my....” And Wes sputtered to a halt, embarrassed beyond measure to have been caught jerking off in his bathroom. Outrage battled with mortification as he reached for a towel to cover his nakedness.

“Get out. Get out of my bathroom,” he shouted again.

Spike’s shoulders dropped and his eyes flinched at the sight of Wesley’s rage.

“Look, I’m sorry, mate,” he said meekly. “I came through the wall and found myself here. Didn’t know what was on the other side.”

Wesley glared at him. “Well, you should have just turned right around and gone back to your own business instead of interfering in mine.”

“Well, that’s just it, you see. I don’t have any business. Stuck here. Nothing to do. Can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t feel anything enough to even pass the time diddling my willy.”

Wesley grimaced at the childish term.

“All I can do is watch other people live their lives. And what you had to show me was highly entertaining, I must say.” Spike’s good humor was back and he gave Wesley an appreciative nod in the direction of his now detumescent cock, only a faint bulge under the bath towel.

Wesley felt himself flush under the appraising blue eyes. He was a decent man, and he could see how terrible Spike’s situation was. He couldn’t think of anything more unnerving than to be trapped in non-corporeal form, and yet unable to stop watching others experiencing the full pleasures of life. There was something Greek about the particular torment Spike was forced to endure. Tantalized within an inch of his unlife.

He’d been thinking about Spike ever since Angel let it drop, as if mere details, that Spike had a soul, and had sacrificed himself to save the world. He wasn’t too impressed with Angel since he’d heard that. Petty jealousy wasn’t enough to justify overlooking the facts of the situation. Spike had a soul. For whatever reason, he had been returned to life, but not quite. TPTB had never in the past shown the slightest sense of humor, no laughter of the gods from that crew, but Spike’s fate seemed cruelly sardonic. And, Wesley had to admit, he had a sneaking regard for the way he was coping. It had taken iron control from Wes not to snort with amusement at some of the lines Spike got off at Angel. The younger vampire might be annoying sometimes...well, often...but he did show fortitude, and killer good looks. Not that Wes had noticed.

Spike had been picking moodily through the skin and hair products lining the counters, spraying mists into the air, and drawing obscene images on the marble with styling foam.

Wes stared as the information registered. “I thought you couldn’t touch anything,” he said, brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Oh. Yes. Well. Been practicing. Found a couple of days ago that if I want to do something badly enough, and concentrate really hard, I can move objects, feel things. A bit.” Spike turned toward Wesley. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help celebrate my progress with a little treat. Go back to what you were doing?” Spike tilted his head and turned on the full bore, blue eyed, melting expression he reserved for only the most desirable objects in the world.

Wesley stared at him. “You want me to masturbate in front of you?” Even just saying the word, especially with the raw sexuality of expression on Spike’s face, made him twitch. But it was the look in the eyes that undid him. It was so tremulous, and hopeful, and just downright sad, expecting rejection. What was worse, Spike was clearly trying not to let his feelings show. Keeping up face. Turning on the charm.

“I don’t know if I can,” Wesley said, aware that his cock in its current state was as far from doing justice to Spike’s desire as it was possible to be.

“S’all right, Wes. I’ll talk you through it. It'll be like phone sex. Why don’t I just tell you what I’d like to do to that delectable cock I saw a few minutes ago. You were just about ready to shoot your load, weren’t you?”

Wes met Spike’s eyes again. They were fully under control now, and held the usual sardonic, intelligent glint that made him seem sexy even when he wasn’t thinking about sex. Which was practically never.

“Listen to me Wes, and do what I say,” Spike said, moving closer. “Drop the towel.”

Wesley hesitated, still uncertain that he wanted to continue with this absurd scene.

“Drop it,” Spike commanded in a tone that sent an involuntary thrill through Wesley. Putting his fingers inside the tuck of fabric at his waist, he pulled and the towel slid to his feet.

“That’s right. Now we’re ready. Are you listening carefully, Wes?” Wesley nodded, feeling slightly ridiculous. And yet, he could feel blood beginning to fill his cock, which rose as it hardened.

“Very pretty, Wesley. You’re a beautiful man. Has anyone told you that?” Spike surveyed Wes’ body from head to foot, pausing to gaze appreciatively at the swollen cock now jutting out from dark curls.

Wesley, in fact, had never been told such a thing, had never even considered it to be a term anyone would apply to him. And yet he was finding Spike’s lustful gaze stimulating in a way he’d never experienced before. The man, apparently, could make love with his eyes and voice alone. He didn’t even need to touch. In the midst of his growing arousal, Wesley was impressed.

“Lean against the counter, and take your cock in hand,” Spike said, in a low, sultry voice. “That’s it. Make it hard for me. I’m going to suck it until you’re screaming to come.”

Wes stroked his cock to the voice of the man standing close enough to kiss. The tip was glistening with pre-come that he began to use to slick his hand as he fisted himself.

“Can you feel my tongue on you, Wes?” Spike asked. “I’m running my teeth lightly down your shaft, and now I’m closing my lips around you, and sucking. My tongue is under your cock, pressing against the underside, and I’m beginning to move my mouth up and down on your cock, and you’re fucking my mouth until you can feel the back of my throat. You’re moving faster and faster, fucking my mouth. You feel so good, Wes. Fuck my mouth with that beautiful cock. Have you ever been deep throated. I can do that. Can you feel your cock thrusting down my throat now? Can you feel me swallow, my throat pressing tight around your cock.”

Wesley by this time had closed his eyes, listening to the low, dark, enthralling voice. His universe had contracted to that sound and the hot, intensely erotic sensation of his own hand on his cock. It wasn’t him any more. It was Spike’s mouth that now stimulated him into a frenzy of thrusting, and aching to come. He could feel the tingling rising from deep in his groin, the rush of sensation as the orgasm built toward explosion. He could feel Spike’s lips on the head of his cock, the tongue flicking and sucking. With a ragged shout, Wesley thrust deep and came into Spike’s mouth, pulsing fluid down his throat in streams until finally the jerking stopped.

He opened his eyes, still feeling the touch of lips on his skin. Spike was on his knees in front of him, leather duster spread around him like a cloak, and Wesley’s cock in his mouth. As Wes looked with amazement, Spike pulled back, releasing the softening member with a slight pop, and licking come off his lips. Smiling, slightly awed blue eyes gazed up into his, and then Spike rose to his feet, looking at Wesley with an expression of barely suppressed joy. He seemed to be trembling, as if overcome with emotion.

“What happened?” Wesley asked, unable to sort out fantasy from reality. “When did it stop being your words in my mind, and start being you really touching me? How could that happen?”

Spike was beginning to pace with excitement. “I told you. If I want something badly, and concentrated hard enough, I can touch things in the world.” He stopped, and turned toward Wesley. “This is absolutely fucking brilliant. I can suck cock. Coffee cup to cock. No fucking comparison.” Spike was pacing again, waving his arms as he talked. “I’m back. I’m fucking back. Big Bad’s back in town, and I’ve got the mouth to prove it.”

Wes couldn’t help laughing, caught up in the sheer exhuberance of Spike’s glee.

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” he said in his most self-deprecating voice. But his eyes sparkled with humor. “Um, yes, it was very nice for me to be part of your big break through, but don’t you....?” Wesley broke off, gesturing toward Spike’s groin.

“What?” Spike looked puzzled.

“Don’t you need’t you like to...?”

“Oh.” Spike stopped. “Yeah, well, all taken care of, mate. I blew when you shot your load into my mouth. Been a while you know. Didn’t take much.”

Wesley looked slightly hurt for a moment.

“Oh, no. Didn’t mean you’re not much. No. No way. You’re just what I said. You’re a beautiful, sexy man. And I’d do you in a heartbeat, if I could. Have a heart beat. Do you.” Spike trailed off weakly.

“I’m not sure yet how much I’m back in the world, Wesley, how corporeal I am exactly. But what a start!” Spike grinned broadly, excitement rising again.

“I’ve got to be moving along now,” Spike said as he opened the bathroom door. "People to see. Ponces to poke. See if the W&H kitchens do anything in the way of bloomin’ onions.” Giving a cheery wave, Spike walked through the doorway, exiting in a swirl of black leather, Docs thudding on the hardwood with renewed authority. Hell could go fuck itself. Spike was back.

The End

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