Pet, Part Twenty-Two

[thebratqueen]

PART TWENTY-TWO

"You could come if you want," Spike said.

"I don't dance," Angel reminded him. He sat down on the couch, frowning over the remote controls.

Spike gave him a look. "I didn't say *dance*, Da. We all know you can't dance."

"I said I *don't* dance."

"The sight of you dancing is an embarrassment to all of vampirekind," Spike said. "And considering that vampirekind includes spotty little wankers with bad French accents telling the world that they're any one of the blokes in a bad Anne Rice novel - "

"There's another kind of Anne Rice novel?"

" - I think it says a *lot* that the sight of *you* trying to figure out how to move to a beat is about the most humiliating thing we can all lay claim to."

"Vampirekind includes you too," Angel said. He picked a remote and turned the TV on. "Just as long as we're making lists of embarrassments."

Spike sat down, propping his boots up on the coffee table. "You know, I'm trying to be nice here."

"I noticed," Angel said. He swatted Spike's feet back to the floor. "Why is that, exactly?"

"No clue," Spike admitted. "I blame the soul. You could've warned me that getting one of those leads to all sorts of maudlin crap."

"First off, you were full of maudlin crap when I met you," Angel said. He changed the channels until he found a hockey game. "Second, not like you asked. Third, you don't listen to me anyway."

"That's because you never say anything interesting," Spike said.

"Bite me."

Spike affected a wounded look. "Keep hurting my feelings like this and I'll take back the invitation."

Angel waved it off. "Go. Have fun. It's about time you two had a night to yourselves. It'll be good for the both of you. Strengthen the relationship. Build trust and confidence and all that good stuff."

Spike studied him carefully. "You want the place to yourself and you hate loud music."

"I won't deny that that's a factor," Angel agreed.

"Still the same boring old fart after all these years," Spike said.

"Still the same pain in my ass after all these years," Angel said back.

"At least I'm cooler than you."

"In what decade were you *ever* cooler than me?"

"All of them, ponce, since you were never cool in the first place."

"Says the man who followed me around like a puppy within seconds of Dru turning him."

"Dream *on*," Spike said. "As I remember it the only bloke begging for companionship was *you*. Oh how I long to share the slaughter of innocents with another man, you said. So nice having another cock in the hen house, you said."

Angel gave him a look. "I never said 'oh how I long'."

"How would you know?" Spike asked.

"Because I would *never* say 'oh how I long'," Angel replied. "As for the rest - "

"What?"

Angel batted his eyes at him. "I think it's sweet that you memorize everything I say, Willy."

"Oh fuck *you*, mate," Spike told him.

"You have a crush, it's understandable," Angel said. "After all, I do exude a sort of animal magnetism."

"You exude *something* all right," Spike muttered.

"It was perfectly natural that you'd be unable to resist my charm," Angel said.

"You *have* charm?" Spike retorted.

Angel grinned. "So tell me - "

"Oh go to *Hell*."

" - did you write a poem about it?"

Spike refused to look at him. "Why the bloody Hell would I do that?"

"Which isn't a 'no'."

*Now* Spike looked at him again. "Yes, Liam, I wrote sonnets about you. Lucky for me so many words rhyme with wanker."

Angel thought about it. "Banker. Anchor. Thank her. Hey - spanker."

"Yeah, actually that one came up a lot," Spike admitted.

"So you *did* write poems about me," Angel said.

"Mostly dirty limericks," Spike told him. "I wouldn't let it go to your head."

"Don't need to," Angel said. "I've got you to go to my head for me."

"How you do turn me around with your romantic phrases," Spike drawled. "My heart, it does flutter."

"Well considering that there's usually little to no activity in your *brain* I figured I'd give some other part of you a kick-start."

"Those whose skulls are filled with wood should not throw stones," Spike replied.

"At least my skull's filled with *something*."

"Fat lot of good it does, for all you never seem to use it."

"And you would know what a brain in use looks like how again?"

"You know," Wesley said, as he walked into the room, "it amazes me that I can rejoin the both of you at any time of the day and you are always having the exact same conversation. Do you plan this in advance or is it merely the practice of ages?"

Angel looked at Spike, then shrugged. "Practice of ages."

"Been doing it for years, pet," Spike agreed.

"Since Dru turned him," Angel added.

"Not since then," Spike protested. "Had a little bit of time before you started in on it."

"Right," Angel said, nodding as he remembered. "It was when you showed up and called yourself Spoike."

"*Spike*."

"No," Angel said, "you were doing the stupid accent too."

Spike appealed to Wesley. "Don't know what he's talking about, pet. The accent - "

"Spike," Wesley said patently, not even looking up as he finished buttoning his shirtsleeves, "I'm *from* England *and* I am a language expert. If you ever believed for one moment I didn't realize your accent wasn't wholly authentic I think we can all agree that you are truly the product of a Cambridge education."

Angel looked surprised. "You admitted that to Wes?"

"He tricked me," Spike muttered.

"Yes," Wesley said, dropping his voice into an exaggerated coo, "it was very mean of me to trick you by directly asking the question. What diabolical scheme shall I cook up next?"

"Somebody's forgotten his place in the pecking order around here," Spike said.

Wes gave him an arch look. "Somebody might be bucking for you to remind him of it."

"So it's gonna be a late night, me and him," Spike immediately told Angel.

"I figured," Angel said. He reached out, drawing Wes close. "Nice shirt."

Wesley smoothed his free hand down the blue pinstriped garment. "Do you like it?"

"I do," Angel said. "I especially liked it when I bought it."

"Do you mind me borrowing it?" Wesley asked.

"Do you mind me ripping it off you later?" Angel replied.

Wes smiled. "No, Angel."

"Then I don't mind you borrowing it," Angel said. He turned to Spike. "Stay out long as you like, make sure he has a good time."

"Fully intend to, Da," Spike said. He got up and shrugged into his coat.

Angel turned back to Wes. "Spike knows the rules. You just enjoy yourself."

"Would you like us to stay out especially late so you can truly enjoy all the peace and quiet?" Wesley asked.

"I would like you to stay out as late as you like, then come home so I can fuck you senseless," Angel replied. "Speaking of which - Spike?"

"Yeah, Da?" Spike asked, double checking that he had the keys to the Viper.

Angel gave him a grin. "Save me some."

Spike grinned back. "You got it, Da. C'mon, pet. Let's leave the old man to his telly."

Angel pulled Wes in for a quick kiss, then let him go. "Have fun. Don't take candy from strangers."

"Ring if you need us?" Wesley asked.

"Have *fun*," Angel told him.

Wes smiled. "Yes, Angel."

Angel turned back to his hockey game. "Good lad."

***

Wesley and Spike rode the elevator in silence.

After a couple of floors, Wesley said, "As busy as we've been, you and I haven't had a chance to be alone since - "

Spike grabbed Wesley by the front of his shirt, slammed him up against the wall, and kissed him good and hard. Only when Wesley was panting, and clinging to him, did he say, "So I was thinking about shagging you, pet. Getting it out of the way."

Wesley licked his lips, then nodded. "Yes, all right."

Spike grinned and pushed the button to make the elevator stop. "Here good for you?"

"Spike," Wesley said, "you're not *touching* me and I can't help but point out that if you'd care to *fuck* me then *touching* me in some manner would play a key role in -"

"Shut it, you," Spike said. He pressed in tighter and stole another kiss. Then kept going because Wes certainly had a mouth you could get lost in.

He *knew* this mouth. And as he kissed him Spike couldn't help but remember the sight of Wesley on his knees, blindfolded and helpless, yet completely happy as his lips were wrapped around him.

*Look at him,* Angel had whispered, too soft for mortal ears to hear. *Look how much he wants you. Look how much he _likes_ you.*

*Like* was something Spike wasn't sure he believed in. The light in Wes's eyes seemed to be reserved for Angel and Angel alone. But Wes didn't *hate*, which was a damn sight better than most people felt about Spike these days.

"Want you, pet," Spike told him, grinding their hips together in a way he knew Wesley fancied.

"Please," Wesley whispered, his lips placing soft kisses along the edge of Spike's jaw. "God, Spike, *please*."

On some night he might ponce it up and do this proper. Maybe not as poncy as Angel would with music and candles and the like, but a bed at least. Maybe a little foreplay. All right, possibly music too. Not that Spike would ever admit that to anyone.

But not now. Not when Wes was giving him that utterly wanton look and Spike was the only other man in the room. "Turn around, pet," Spike said. "Let me have you."

Wes moved, arching his back as Spike danced fingers down his front. He took a little time, now. Forced to, since Angel had already laid claim to the right to rip the clothes off of Wesley's body. That meant Spike had to fumble with buckles and buttons while Wesley moved against him, bared his throat, and made it damn nigh impossible for Spike to think.

"Here," Wesley said, taking pity at last. He pulled down the trousers, then pressed something into Spike's hand. "And here."

Spike blinked at the packet of lube. "You carry this *with* you, pet?"

Wes gave him a look over his shoulder. "I've been Angel's for how long now and you think I *haven't* learned to carry that with me?"

"When you've got a point you've got a point," Spike acknowledged.

"There's tissues in the other pocket."

"I'll bear it in mind for later," Spike promised. He tore the packet open with his teeth, noting how Wesley's eyes darkened at the sight of that. The boy was keen on vampires, no doubt about it. Spike couldn't drink, but he could tease Wes as much as he liked. He leaned in, nibbling on that lovely neck as his fingers went low and began to prep the way.

"There's - " Wesley was gasping now, his hands curling into fists against the wall " - cameras. Private. They go upstairs. Angel could - "

"If Da can see," Spike said, wondering if Angel had had the foresight to think to pull himself away from his hockey game for two seconds, "then we'd best give him a good view, eh pet?"

"I'd want you anyway," Wesley told him. He tried to turn around for a kiss. "Even without him. I'd want you to fuck me right now."

"Lucky thing," Spike said. He guided Wes back into place, pulling his hand out so he could use the slick fingers to stroke Wes's cock. "'cause fucking you right now was my plan too."

Wesley moved, his body seeking out the touch. "Please?"

"Yeah," Spike said. He undid his own trousers - *this* he knew how to do one-handed - freed his cock, then slid himself in. He sighed, feeling Wesley around him. "Yeah…."

It was nice. Tight, though not as tight as Angel kept bragging it was. Of course Angel was a bloody tree trunk when you got right down to it so no surprise there.

It was good though. Warm. Perfect. And as Spike moved all the way in and then back out again he couldn't help but notice how Wesley trembled, and moaned, and shook, and it would be like so many other times he'd had sex like this over the years, all rough and tumble and careless and quick, except Wesley kept trying to lean against him, and he whispered Spike's name. And, finally, when the thrusting of Spike's hips and the movement of his fingertips made it impossible for Wesley to keep enough of his body still, Wes reached out, grabbed Spike's other hand, and held it tight inside of his own as he braced himself against the wall.

Spike found himself groaning then, thrusting in harder since they were *shagging*, damn it, and he didn't care for serious thoughts when his pants were around his knees. It was fine enough. Wesley was about as keyed up as he was, and it wasn't long before gasping breaths became hiccups of air and Wesley's muscles got weak in all the right places as he whispered "Please, Spike, please - " and then Angel, if he was watching, got a view of Wesley making a bit of a mess against the wall of his fancy private elevator.

A few moments later he got a view of Spike coming inside of Wes, growling a little as the stray thought of Angel jerking off to this personalized porn show racked his own arousal that much higher.

This was about Wes, though. So Spike kissed his neck and rubbed his cock and even helped out by using those handy tissues for cleanup. Clothes were reassembled, trousers were fastened up, and the lift itself was put back into motion.

Wes reached out, brushing the back of his hand against Spike's. "We should do that again sometime."

"All right, pet," Spike said, striding out once the doors opened on the garage floor. "But maybe next time in some place that doesn't have Muzak."

***

Per Angel's instructions Spike had hit up Gunn for the intelligence on the club situation. It was short notice, so the easiest thing to do had been to pick a location out of the various bits of real estate the law firm already owned. Spike then narrowed it down to places that played music that didn't make him want to kill himself, and there they were.

They stood up on a balcony, watching the play of humanity - and, if Spike guessed right, not a few of the ex-humanity either - down below. Deep bass rhythms thrummed through the floor and walls, and multicolored lights and lasers flashed all around them.

"It seems quite nice," Wesley offered. He leaned against the railing, observing it all.

"It'll do," Spike agreed. He kept his eye on the crowd, looking for a good spot to stake as their own. "Least the DJ's halfway respectable."

"Do you like it?" Wesley asked.

"Like it enough," Spike said. "'course it's not a trendy location like the *Bronze* or anything."

Wesley laughed. "You know I never went there very often."

"Didn't miss anything," Spike assured him. He put his hand on Wesley's back, seeing how he would react to it.

Wesley simply moved closer. "I like this one better."

"Anyone with brains would like a *dumpster* better," Spike replied. "So, care to cut a rug with me, pet?"

"I would," Wesley said. "Though you'll have to show me how."

Spike frowned at him. "You don't know how to dance?"

"I don't know how to dance like *this*," Wesley said. He gestured at the people below them. "At least, not very well."

"You don't go clubbing, pet?" Spike asked.

"When would I?" Wesley replied. "You know what my schedule is like. When do I have time to squeeze this sort of thing in?"

"Haven't been at the firm that long," Spike reminded him.

"I've been doing the job of the greater good my entire life," Wesley told him. "Watcher training to Watcher to Demon Hunting to Angel Investigations to my own firm to this. The names may change but the requirements are remarkably similar."

"Never took any time off?" Spike asked.

"Sometimes," Wesley shrugged. "Brief holiday. Dating, certainly. But not clubbing, no. Not as a rule."

"Why'd you say yes to me then?" Spike asked.

Wesley smiled at him. "Because you invited me."

"Pet, I could've invited you to something you'd find *fun*," Spike said.

Wes caught his hand, squeezing it. "Spike, spending time with you is fun. Spending time with you and doing things that you find enjoyable is also fun. Now do *you* enjoy this sort of thing?"

"Yeah," Spike said, "but - "

"Then show me how to dance like this," Wesley said. "And then I can enjoy it with you."

"We can go someplace else," Spike said.

"We certainly could," Wesley agreed. "But we won't. Now do you wish to dance with me or don't you?"

Spike faltered, thinking once again of how much he hated the kinds of doubts the soul gave him. "There's always home. You, me, Angel - "

"Spike, either you teach me how to do this," Wesley said, "or I'm going to return the attentions of that gentleman standing about twenty feet past your shoulder and let *him* do it for you."

Spike spun around. "Where? I'll tear his bloody throat out."

Wesley tugged on his hand. "Come along. Let's go make him jealous, shall we?"

"Damned right we will," Spike muttered, and he took Wesley downstairs.

***

He wasn't as bad as all that, for all his protests. Spike had to guide him a bit, show him how to find the right beat, gently correct a few of the more outlandish movements ("Arms down, pet. You're not as queer as all that, I promise."), get him to relax his bloody posture. But once he had that the rest fell into place. It was like shagging, really. Hard to do when you were super-conscious of it, easy as Hell once you forgot the world and thought only about the person you were doing it with.

Spike kept his distance at first, letting Wes set the tone. But Wes surprised him, hooking arms around his neck and moving against him with rolls of his hips that would have done a salsa dancer proud. Spike damned it all then, getting his hands on Wes as much as he pleased and giving back as good as he got.

They drew a crowd, which was to be expected. Angel's jokes aside, Spike knew he personally had charisma people would literally die for, and the sight of Wes lost in the moment was a treat and make no mistake. Spike kept his eye on them all, making it clear that Wes was *his* and anyone dared try something would soon learn to regret it.

If Wesley was aware of it all he gave no sign. His eyes stayed on Spike, which Spike was more than happy with.

"Like it?" Spike asked, taking advantage of a moment when the music was slow enough for them to move without Wes working up too much of a sweat.

"It's not bad," Wesley replied. He tightened his hands on Spike's shoulders. "The company's rather nice."

"Starting to think you'd say that about anything, pet," Spike told him.

Wesley smiled at him - and it was one of *those* smiles. The one that Spike hated to admit made his stomach go all turny. "That's because I always find your company to be nice."

No, no. Too strange, this. Whatever way the conversation was going Spike knew he was vastly underqualified to handle it. Instead he leapt upon the idea for a subject change. "Feeling thirsty? There's a bar over there if you like."

"I would," Wesley admitted, and not for the first time Spike noticed how tired the boy was around the eyes. He made a mental note to remind Angel that much as Wesley might *like* the work, it was still possible for him to spend too many hours down in the office. Firmer hand needed there, apparently. Something to encourage him to stay upstairs or even take the occasional holiday. "Think they've got anything strong?"

"If they don't we'll go somewhere that does," Spike promised him. "We'll get you a cure for what ails you, pet. And don't you fear."

"Thank you," Wesley said. "Though don't think I didn't notice you avoiding the previous topic of conversation."

"Oh yeah," Spike said, keeping hold of Wes's hand as he guided him through the crowd. "Alcohol. Lots of it."

Wesley simply chuckled.

***