Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own neither of these characters or anything around them. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy does. But I sure appreciate them.
Summary: Slightly AU. Wesley/Spike. In the summer after Chosen and vaguely later--maybe a year--in LA.

Terrible Beauty


He'd been quietly enjoying the sports section of the Guardian, single malt laying a smoky veil through his bloodstream when his peace was interrupted by a thunderous pounding at the door.

"What the hell?" Wesley rose from his chesterfield, heart beginning to race.

He paused for a moment, listening for a clue as to the person on the other side. Gunn? Angel? No. They'd call his name. Demon? Not likely. What demon needed to knock on a door, even if the knocking was beginning to make the wood creak. Wesley moved cautiously toward the peephole and peered through.

On the other side, an agitated Spike was raising his fist to strike again. Wesley wrenched the door open in surge of irritation.

"Stop it, you fool," he shouted. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spike paused, his fist still lifted, and then relaxed. His expression shifted smoothly into a look of seductive entreaty.

"Invite us in, luv," he said in a low, honeyed tone. "I need sanctuary."

Wesley stared at Spike with disbelief. "Why the hell would I invite you in? Why would you think I cared whether you need sanctuary or not?"

"Oh, come on. Man in distress here. Rules of the sea or something like that. Help the needy. Help the helpless. That's me. Need your help, pet." Spike's eyes widened and his pupils dilated as he tilted his head appealingly.

Wes felt himself inexorably drawn into those eyes. Funny, he'd never noticed before how very blue they were, how absorbing the expression. They appeared open and vulnerable, but somewhere below was a spark of amusement. Spike didn't care that he could see it. He was enjoying this game.

Wesley pulled back, trying to shake the feeling that he was drifting somewhere. "What exactly do you want, Spike?" exasperation sharpening his voice.

"Just invite me in, Watcher... pet. I'll make it worth your while. Honest." Spike's lips curved in a slow smile as his eyes drifted languorously down Wesley's body, and then back up again to meet him full in the eye.

"I'll bet it's been a while, Watcher. Has anyone given you what you need lately? Licked you? Pulled that neglected cock out and made it so hard you want to beg for it?"

"I'm not a Watcher, the Council...oh, never mind.” Wesley pulled himself back on track with an effort. “And my sex life is none of your business," he said as dryly as he could manage, beginning to close the door.

Wesley tried to retain his irritation, appalled to feel himself twitch at the sound of that dark, rich voice, It had been a while. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to rouse to this infuriating vampire standing on his doorstep.


He had been in Sunnydale for a few weeks the summer after Buffy died, called by Giles to help the Scoobies patrol. Each night, as Willow, Xander, Giles and Wesley quartered the graveyard, he’d sensed the lurking figure in the deep shadows. Occasionally, when the moon was bright, a shadow would take human form, and a gleam of silvery hair would flicker in his vision.

Wesley finally saw Spike one rain drenched night in a clearing under the trees. He was standing absolutely still, surrounded by three fledglings, each one shifting nervously, looking for the right moment to make a move.

Suddenly, the fledge at Spike’s back made a blundering lunge, and the scene erupted into violence, the sound of bones splintering filling the air. Spike was magnificent, swirling in a blur of roundhouse kicks and hammer blows to the three vampires, each one in rapid succession exploding into dust.

Wesley was mesmerized. He stood, rigid with fascination, watching Spike obliterate his attackers with savage delight. Wes had never before entertained the possibility that destruction could be beautiful, the fusion of absolute grace with absolute fury. The sheer clarity of it all.

When Spike came to a rest, his leather duster swirling around his slim, muscular figure, Wesley exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. And discovered his cock was rock hard, hot and straining against his jeans. He blinked once, the image of the blonde vampire burned into his retina, and then saw that the clearing was empty.

Wesley’s hand moved down the front of his jeans, aching to pull his cock out and spend himself on the ground in a frenzy of jerking, but instead shifted himself uncomfortably, wishing the erection would subside.

His heart almost stopped when he heard the snick of a lighter right next to his shoulder, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils.

“I can help you with that,” a sarcastic voice drawled in his ear, as a cool hand stroked the back of his neck. Wesley started forward violently, arm flailing behind him to dislodge the unexpected touch. He turned awkwardly, off balance, and stumbled heavily against a gravestone.

“I don’t need any help from you, vampire,” Wes spat out coldly, trying to get a grip on his terror. “If I were you, I’d clear out fast before you get staked.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he felt a flush rising from his chest and suffusing his face.

Spike’s eyebrow hitched in a look of pure amusement. “Well, ain’t you the big, scary Watcher then. Ooh ooh, look at me quail,” he piped in a girly register, arm raised in mock defensiveness against his face. Then the arm dropped, and Spike moved in so close that Wesley could smell a tantalizing mix of leather, smoke and soap.

He felt lips ghosting a kiss by the side of his mouth, and then his balls were cupped in a firm grip, a strong thumb running up the length of his painfully hard erection. “Is this for me then, pet?” the deep voice rumbled scornfully in his ear.

Wesley closed his eyes to block out Spike’s face. “Get away from me,” he gritted out, his voice harsh with humiliation.

Turning sharply from the grinning vampire, Wesley strode across the tufted grass toward the streetlights, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the excruciating embarrassment of the encounter.


"Look, just leave me alone," Wesley snapped, closing the door in Spike's face. He stood for a moment in the hallway, riding out the adrenaline surge lingering in his veins.

He was different now from the man who had been rendered speechless and aching by the dark beauty of Spike's savagery. Since then, he'd seen more evil than he'd ever imagined possible, learned its seductive power, and walked close to a line himself that risked no return.

Bam. Bam. Bam. The door creaked against its hinges.

Wesley paused for a moment, thinking. Bam. Bam. And before one more hammering blow could descend, Wesley hurled the door open, beside himself with anger.

"You hit this door one more time, I'm going to....."

"What, Wesley-ex-Watcher," Spike replied silkily. "What are you going to do to me?"

His scarred eyebrow arched ironically, mouth curving in a sultry smile. A pink tongue flicked over the full lower lip, making it glisten as Spike held Wesley’s eyes with a knowing look.

Wesley stared back, hands drawn into fists trying to size up his options. He could ignore the pounding on his door. Hope Spike would get bored and go away. Hard to tell. From everything he'd heard about Spike, he was single minded in pursuit of what he wanted. He also had vamp super strength. If he wanted to crash down the door, it would only be a moment's work for him. But he still couldn't get in unless invited...

Wesley’s mind busied itself with the familiar operations of decision making, earnestly ignoring the stirring in the region further south.

"Bleedin' hell," Spike muttered as the seconds ticked by. "All right. Here's the deal," he said, his voice settling into a 'just us blokes here, we can sort this out' kind of tone. "You let me in and I'll tell you why I'm really here."

"Why don't you just tell me now, and then I'll decide whether I'm interested."

Spike's eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility, and then he straightened his shoulders with an indifferent shrug. " All right. I'm tired of bolloxing around. You really are a tight arse, aren't you," he added, lips tightening. "It's Angel. He's in trouble."

Wesley's eyes narrowed when he heard those words. "What are you talking about? I saw him just yesterday. Seemed fine enough....for Angel."

Spike's eyes glinted with a kind of frosty humour at this. "Yeah, it's hard to tell with the broody ponce, but I'm telling you, he's in trouble."

"Oh for God's sake. Come in. Close the door behind you."

Spike drew in his cheeks in an arrogant smirk, and strolled past Wes, shouldering him aside though there was plenty of room in the hallway.

“Nice place you’ve got here...” he began and then trailed off as he looked around at the rather shabby apartment lined with cheap, do-it-yourself bookshelves, and second hand furniture.

“Ah yes, the je ne sais quoi school of interior decoration,” he finished with a snort of amusement. “Know it well.”

“What’s happened to Angel?” Wes said, irritation grating in his voice. “Get on with it. Is he in danger right now?”

Spike looked back at Wes, one eyebrow raised and his lips pursing as though considering whether to respond to the brusque command.

“Well, not exactly at just this precise moment, no.”

By this time, Spike had made a circle around the small living room, reading book titles, and lifting various artifacts lying on shelves and tables. He stopped by the chesterfield, and then collapsed onto the cushion, making himself comfortable before he lifted the remote.

“Anything interesting on tonight?” he said, flicking through channels rapidly.

Wes strode across the room, and snatched the remote from Spike’s fingers.

“Oi, Friends is on. Give it here,” Spike complained reaching upward, but he was stopped cold by the look on Wesley’s face.

“What. Has. Happened. To. Angel.” Wesley’s eyes were steely, and something inside flickered dangerously.

Spike raised both eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, isn’t that an unexpected treat. Mr. Wesley Windbag-Pryce has got some knackers since I last saw him. Say, old son, how’re they working out for you?” Spike asked as though it were a matter of greatest interest to him.

He would have maintained his expression of polite inquiry a little longer, if he hadn’t found himself hauled up by the lapels, and face to face with the taller man.

“You’ve got less than a minute to live if I don’t hear what has happened to Angel,” Wesley stated with menacing calm. Spike felt a pressure at his chest, and looked down to see a stake pressed to his heart.

Just as Spike was drawing a careful breath to answer, a thunderous noise and a sudden change in air pressure assailed both men.

The air in the room shimmered like a summer mirage distorting the edges of everything. There was a long, wet sucking noise, a slight pop, and a moist bag of lumpy skin dropped onto the hallway floor.

Wesley and Spike froze in a tableau of suprise, Spike still suspended in Wesley's fist. Two heads swiveled toward the object which was now solidifying into a nasty looking demon, liberally decorated with glistening thorns.

Spike wriggled in Wesley’s grip. “Let me down, you poncy bastard,” he growled, forcing his arms upwards to break the hold.

He eyed the demon warily, watching as the creature shook his head, flinging viscous threads of saliva from his dewlaps. Beady eyes focused on the two men. Rising from his crouch on the floor, the demon fixed Spike with a murderous glare.

“I’m going to rip your skin off and use it for wrapping to eat your crushed bones, vampire,” he said as he moved forward.

Spike held a hand up quickly and backed into Wes. “Now now there, Grundred. No need for hasty action, mate. We can work things out without the messy violence. Flaying is never the answer.” Spike gave a mock shudder and pulled his face into a virtuous deadpan.

Wesley, following the interchange with a confused frown on his face, shoved Spike away from him.

“What is going on here? Do you know this demon?

Spike looked back over his shoulder at the irate man. “Well, it depends on what you mean by ‘know’. We’ve had a couple of dealings you might say.”

“You brought this demon to my apartment?” Wes said, his eyes sparking dangerously again.

“Didn’t bring. Followed me, didn’t he,” replied Spike defensively.

“Thought I lost him outside the den, but he can track scent though hyperspace. Bit unpleasant for him, the transport sucking him to a different place ‘n all, but he’s used to it.”

“And all that nonsense about Angel was just a ruse to get through my door?” asked Wesley, still piecing together the events that had interrupted his quiet evening at home.

“Do you have any conscience?” Wes groaned as he heard himself. “No, of course not. I forget who I’m talking to.”

The thorn demon had been watching the interchange closely, swinging his head back and forth in Wimbledon cadence, saliva chains swinging below his jaw. He pulled himself up to stand taller and folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere until I get my capsule back.” He began to advance again, clawed hand extended toward Spike’s throat.

Once again Spike backed up, this time treading heavily on Wesley's foot. Rearing back in pain, Wesley shoved forward with his arms. Spike stumbled and quickly ducked as the demon’s claws whistled through the air where his head had been. Regaining his balance, he began to circle the demon, carefully staying just outside the reach of elongated arms.

“Ain’t got your capsule, mate. Already on its way to the wizards’ market.”

The demon roared in frustration as he tried to keep the vampire in sight, lunging at him whenever Spike’s weaving to avoid furniture brought him a little closer.

Wesley had retreated to a chair to watch, his foot pulled up to rub away the throbbing pain from Spike’s Doc. He was beginning to enjoy the spectacle, irritating vampire ducking and circling, thorny demon slavering for his blood. The Guardian sports section was good, but this topped it for sheer immediacy of entertainment. Plus, the prospect of Spike getting a well deserved comeuppance. Wes leaned back in his chair with a small smile, crossed his arms and waited to see what was going to happen.

Spike was stepping carefully behind the demon, trying to get an angle to make his move, and eyeing the thorns dubiously.

“You busy, Spike,” Wesley called out cheerfully, “or can you talk?”

The demon whirled round, guided by the direction of Wes’ comment. Spike threw a venomous look toward the man, and leaped back just in time as a heavy fist missed his jaw by millimeters.

“Give us a hand here,” Spike grumbled, retreating behind a desk to put some distance between him and the furious creature. “I’ll bleed all over your carpet if he connects, and I know antique Aubusson when I see one.”

“Why should I?” returned Wesley. “I didn’t ask you here. You tricked your way into my apartment. Deal with it. And for God’s sake, hurry up. Friends is starting. Just give him the capsule and be done with it.”

Spike was too busy to answer at that point. The demon had pushed the desk back against the wall, trapping Spike in a corner. He was chopping at his head ineffectually with a letter opener, seeming to irritate the demon more than discourage it.

“Now would be good, Wes. Could do with some help NOW,” Spike grunted as he tried to stab the moving head in the eye. Twelve inch claws had hooked into his duster, just prevented from raking his skin by the thickness of the leather.

Giving a powerful twist of his body, Spike shed his coat, and with vampire grace, leapt over the demon’s back to land in the middle of the floor.

He scanned the room quickly, looking for a weapon to bring the fight to a close.

Wesley had reached behind him to detach a Grimaldian war axe from the wall, and now was sitting relaxed, balancing the end of the handle on his forefinger.

“What’s in the capsule by the way?” he asked. “Why is your friend here so motivated to turn you into a sausage casing?”

“Come on Wes. Give us a break. Toss me the axe, mate.” Spike was looking increasingly pressed as the demon stalked him round the room, forcing him back, narrowing the space between them.

“I might,” replied Wesley in a considering tone, hefting the axe as though sizing up its suitability for the job, “but you have to tell me what’s in the capsule.”

The demon lunged at Spike again and caught his shoulder with clawed fist, tearing into the muscle in his shoulder. The vampire fell back, hand covering the wound as blood seeped between his clenched fingers. Stepping sideways, Spike tucked into a forward roll, carrying him into the clear again. He sprang to his feet and turned toward Wesley.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s an egg capsule. His bleedin’ offspring in a handy shockproof covering. Gets a pretty dollar in the wizard’s market as a magic ingredient. Now will you throw me that axe or do I have to come over there and rip it out of your dying hands?”

Wes grinned. “Well, you could try, but I think your friend over there might be just about to keep you a little preoccupied.”

Spike turned to see the demon mid flight, two handfuls of claws aimed straight at his head. He dropped to his knees, and flung himself flat on the ground. The demon landed on top of the vampire, grabbing his shoulder with one hand. Blood spurted from the wound.

With the demon’s weight pinning him down, and one arm weakened, Spike was beginning to feel that any humour had seriously vanished from the situation.

His feeling was confirmed when he felt himself lifted high over the demon’s head and hurled through the air. His spreadeagled body flailed as he dropped toward Wesley whose expression of amused spectatorship had turned to alarm.

Spike landed on Wesley with a crash of splintering chair and grunts of pain. The two men lay stunned for a moment, and then pulled themselves up to see the demon heading toward them at a flat run.

Spike leapt to his feet, but Wesley was slower, impeded by the remains of the chair. The demon went for the more vulnerable target, barreling into Wesley with the full momentum of his charge. Thorns ripped at exposed skin, and Wesley felt warm blood welling over his arms and face. He tried to twist his body free, but couldn’t move under the weight pressing him to the floor. The fetid odour from the creature’s mouth made him gag as it lowered its mouth toward his exposed throat.

Wesley tensed his entire body ready to put one last surge into saving himself, when the weight suddenly lifted.

Spike had his arm around the demon’s throat and was hauling him backward, struggling to wrench its neck in a killing twist. The demon’s legs thrashed, and then he broke free, scrambling to his feet, and turning toward the vampire.

Spike looked up a second too late. Lifted bodily, he was flung through the air and landed heavily, skidding across the floor until he thudded against the wall.

The demon roared in triumph and threw himself forward to make his kill.

“Spike.” Wesley shouted his name, and hurled the battle axe. It twisted in the air, describing slow circles with its curved edge and embedded itself in the door by Spike’s head.

A panther snarl reverberated through the room as Spike’s face transformed, eyes golden and flaring with feral light. He surged upward in a fluid movement, his body lithe and taut, muscles sliding silky under the skin as he wrenched the axe from the wood.

The image went through Wesley like a flash of summer lightning, and he was hard in an instant. This was the vampire he’d seen in the graveyard, all beauty and lethal power. Once again, he was immobilized, fascinated, unable to do anything but watch and desire.

Spike tilted his body to deflect the force of the demon’s charge, and then turned to meet him face on.

The next few minutes were heart stoppingly beautiful, a sublime dance of death. The demon twisted, and lunged, and roared, but Spike played him like an ancient master.

He had moved onto a different plane of violence: this was rage as a form of intelligence, destruction as art. Wesley too entered a new state. Lust was transformed and refined. All of Wesley’s training and knowledge, his culture and aesthetic sensibilities fused into a desire that filled his whole being. And his cock throbbed to beat of his heart, needing to join with source of the terrible beauty.

Spike paced slowly round the demon, the axe flashing from side to side in a complex series of circles and loops. The muscles in his arms flexed with the shifting weight, and the fabric of his black t-shirt stretched over a hard abdomen as he prowled with feline grace in the final movements of the dance.

The demon followed with wary eyes, and even as he watched, the axe crashed upward in a deadly blow. The demon’s head snapped back, the lower half of his face reduced to mangled blood and bone, and his body dropped to the ground.

Wesley sagged where he stood, leaning back against the wall for support as the tension evaporated in his body, leaving only the hot pulse in his cock.

Spike stood, eerily still, axe hanging from one hand, looking down at the demon sprawled in front of him.

In the quiet that had settled over the room there was a new sound, a sucking of air, a sudden boom, and the demon vanished, leaving only bloodstains on the floor where it had lain.

Spike’s head came up, human face smoothing out the vampire ridges, and he locked eyes with Wesley. The cold animal stare faded as awareness of the other man returned; Spike's nostrils flared, scenting arousal in the air. Wesley couldn’t stop his eyes moving down to look at the bulge pushing against the front of Spike’s jeans.

Wesley felt his own cock harden even more. Hardly able to walk with the force of his erection, he crossed the room until he stood in front of Spike. He looked into the vampire’s eyes and saw the deep blue almost absorbed in the black of kill-dilated irises. Spike gazed back without expression for a long beating moment and then leaned forward.

Wesley closed his eyes, breathless, waiting to feel Spike's mouth over his, but instead a cool, moist tongue swept slowly up his face, licking the blood from his torn skin. The sensation flashed through his body, every nerve rousing in vivid response. With a stifled moan, Wesley put his hand around Spike’s neck and pulled him close. He pressed his hips into Spike's groin seeking full contact, rubbing his cock against the muscular thigh that was being nudged between his legs.

All of the time since his first aching vision of Spike in the graveyard vanished, and he was exactly where he’d always wanted to be. Wesley reached for Spike’s mouth, and claimed it in a kiss of searing intensity. He felt Spike’s lips opening under the thrust of his tongue, and then he was inside, filling his mouth, sucking, rubbing, nuzzling against the swollen lips, unable to get enough of him.

Spike kissed back, little moans escaping as his hands swept over Wesley's back, and dropped to cup his ass. He thrust his hips upward, rubbing their cocks together, twisting his hips closer to increase the sensation.

“I want to feel your skin,” Wesley whispered urgently against Spike’s lips, his hands sweeping up under his t-shirt. “Want to lick your skin.”

Spike’s eyes flared as the thought registered, and he stepped back, pulling his t-shirt over his head and flinging it aside. He moved close again, arm circling the other man’s waist. Wesley put his hands on Spike’s shoulders to hold him where he could see the expanse of pale skin and finely sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, tapering down to the narrow waist. The injured shoulder was torn, but already the livid colour had faded as healing began to smooth the raked claw marks.

Wesley lowered his head to take one flat nipple into his mouth, and sucked until it rose into a jutting bud of flesh. Arching under the rough tongue, Spike held the back of Wesley's neck, rubbing his fingers through soft dark curls.

"Aren't you lovely then, " Spike said. "Never guessed you had such a mouth on you."

Wesley couldn't get enough of the feel and smell of the vampire, the sight of his naked flesh overwhelmingly erotic. Dropping to his knees, he clutched Spike’s ass with both hands, and pressed his face against the hard stomach muscles, rubbing his cheek against the pale skin.

The musky scent of aroused male coming from Spike's groin filled his senses, and all he wanted was to lick and taste.

He raised his head to look up at Spike who was gazing down at him, his eyes dark with lust, and lips swollen from the kissing. His bright hair gleamed in the soft lamplight, and small curls curved against his forehead, released from the gel in the exertions of battle.

Holding the look, Wes unbuttoned Spike's waistband, and lowered the zipper until the long, thick cock sprang free against his mouth, nudging it slightly open. Spike’s eyes flared with new desire, and his hands slid down to cup Wesley's head firmly. Slowly, sexily, intently, Wes licked his lips and encircled the head of Spike’s cock in warm moistness.

“Oh shit, Wes,” Spike groaned. “That feels so good.”

Wes sucked gently at the swollen flesh, savoring the taste of the fluid leaking from its tip.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Spike jerked forward slightly, trying to hold back the impulse to begin thrusting savagely into Wes’ mouth.

Wes rolled his tongue around the head of the cock, and then took its length into his mouth until the tip pressed against the back of his throat, beginning to move up and down with increasing speed.

Spike’s hands tightened in his hair, trying to hold on, trying not to come yet.

“That’s it, pet. Just keep doing that.” Spike’s voice was rough and deep.

The pressure in Wes’ own cock was becoming unbearable. Still sucking on the cock in his mouth, Wesley fumbled at the front of his jeans until he managed to pull his weeping erection out and began pulling in rapid strokes with one hand, the other holding on to Spike’s hip. He was consumed in heat and sensation, the hard flesh between his lips thrusting deep into his mouth, and the burning in his groin.

He felt Spike’s body begin to shudder. One last deep thrust filled Wes’ mouth, and then come flooded down his throat, Spike's cock jerking with each throb of ejaculation.

The sensation tipped Wes over the edge. His body arched, and he felt the hot fluid of his own orgasm spurting over his fingers, splattering on the floor, pulse after pulse until he was emptied.

Sinking down on his heels, muscles too weak to hold him up any more, Wesley released Spike’s softening cock from his mouth. He licked his lips, and savoured the taste of the man he’d desired unwillingly since the summer in Sunnydale.

Wesley rested for a moment, letting the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm fade in his body, and feeling his mind clear. Then he stood up to face Spike, not sure what he would see in the eyes of the man who had mocked him so unforgettably before.

Spike was leaning against the door, head tilted back, eyes closed, very still. He looked done in.

His eyes opened slowly. He seemed disoriented for a moment as he took in the somber face of the man before him. Then his eyes cleared and a delighted smile spread across his face. Tilting his head slightly, he traced a finger down Wesley’s cheek, and leaned forward to press soft lips against his mouth. He pulled away again after a short interval of gentle sucking and nibbling.

“Why so serious, pet? Didn’t you like it?” he said in a low, deep tone that sent a buzz of fine energy down Wesley’s spine.

Wes didn’t know what to say. He had just had one of the most intense sexual experiences of his life, starting with the enthralling sight of Spike in full battle ecstasy, and ending with the feeling of cool semen pulsing down his throat. He couldn’t begin to say how humiliated he’d felt before, and how exhilarated he felt now. He couldn’t tell this extraordinary man, this vampire how beautiful he was in all his savagery and bloodlust. Wesley didn’t even have the words for what he’d discovered about himself and the breathtaking eroticism of terrible things.

In the absence of language, Wes lowered his head to kiss the man and the vampire. He poured all of what he could not say into his lips and tongue, biting and soothing, sucking and stroking, entering and filling. Spike understood and replied in his own communication of replete desire. Finally, the two men stood apart, looking at each other.

“Have to say, I’m surprised, Wes. Hidden depths. I like it. Wouldn’t say no to more.” Spike tilted his head, eyes smiling, and waited to see what might happen.

Wesley hesitated, and then straightened slightly as he made up his mind.

“You tricked your way into my home, Spike, and for that you don’t deserve to stay.”

Spike looked into Wesley's face for a long moment, measuring the man anew. His mouth tightened minutely and then he shrugged. With a wry smile, he reached down, and began to tuck himself away.

“But if you come here again, I won’t deny you entrance,” Wesley finished.

Spike's head came up at the shift in tone, and his gaze locked with Wesley's. The face in front of him was perfectly still, the broad, intelligent brow smooth. But there was a deepening in the blue gray eyes, a kind of invitation.

Spike gave Wes a smiling tilt of his head, and then began looking for his clothing. T-shirt located, he pulled it over his head, and walked over to retrieve his leather duster from behind the desk. He shrugged it on as he returned to the door, and hesitated with his hand on the knob as though unwilling to leave.

Turning slightly, he hooked an arm around Wesley’s neck and pulled him in for a long meditative kiss. Then he opened the door and walked through, striding down the corridor in a swirl of black leather.

Wes stood watching the retreating figure of the vampire, shoulders swinging in his habitual cocky swagger. Smiling to himself, beginning to think about a different tomorrow, Wesley closed the door, the lock softly clicking in the silence of the room.

The End

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