__Bright Red__
By Dutchbuffy
Wesley was carrying a stack of guest sheets and towels toward the couch when he caught a
glimpse of his unexpected guest through the open door of the bathroom.
Spike was studying himself in the mirror, nose pressed almost to the glass. He stuck out his
tongue, drew back his lips to check his teeth and looked at himself from all
possible angles. Then he opened the bathroom cabinet and proceeded to sniff all
Wesley's personal care stuff, now wrinkling his nose, then applying it to the
appropriate locations. To Wesley the most amazing thing was that this former
vampire had no idea that he was being watched. If he no longer possessed the
keen sense of the supernatural predator, he must feel deaf and blind.
Spike's face became intent; he seemed to have found something of greater interest. He held up
a spare shaving blade. Wesley held his breath but didn’t interfere when Spike
pressed it to the skin of his lower arm. He made a quick, neat cut without
flinching and looked on steadily at the bright red blood spattering slowly in
the shiny white porcelain of the washbowl. Wesley saw that the cut hadn't hit a
major artery and managed to restrain himself from
leaping in with bandages and disinfectant.
Almost reluctantly, Spike brought this arm to his face and licked at the blood. He
paused, took another lick, and then went back to staring at the slowly dripping
liquid. Wesley was so intent on the bright red stream himself, that he almost
missed the other motion going on. Spike had become hard and was slowly stroking
his cock, all the while continuing to gaze at his own blood. Part of Wesley
found this completely logical. A vampire was after all bound
to be excited by the sight of blood. Another part of him
was repulse by this link between pain and sex, and the last
part of Wesley was getting rock hard in his pants.
He wanted to remove himself away from the bathroom, didn’t want to be caught staring, but as
he took the first step his cock was constricted so delightfully by the cloth of
his underpants that a small gasp escaped him. Wesley froze in panic, and Spike
turned slowly to stare at him with faraway eyes, cock still in hand.
"Sorry, just bringing you some towels," Wesley covered quickly.
Spike's eyebrows rose and he smiled faintly. He walked slowly towards Wesley, took the stack of
sheets from his hands and threw them on the floor. Then he put his hand on
Wesley's groin and squeezed almost painfully.
"I hoped you were bringing me this," he said.
Wesley went to the place in his mind where he knew exactly what to do with someone who wanted sex
and pain and possibly degradation. He grabbed Spike's shoulder hard, noting with
a faint prick of guilt that he held him where black bruises bloomed angrily,
right where Angel had shaken Spike.
"Get on your knees and suck me,'' he growled.
He saw bliss on Spike's face while he quickly sat down on his knees and went to open Wesley's
pants. His aching cock sprang out, and Spike's hot mouth was on him before he
could snap out another command. Oh God. It had been months, months of longing
and pain, seeing Lilah skulk in the archives, look ing sadder and sadder, and
he'd found nothing yet to help her. He scrunched his fingers in Spike's curls
and gave himself over to sensation.
Wesley was looking down from a few feet above his head, and saw his own face lost in ecstasy and
Spike's eager sucking movement, gripping Wesley's ass hard. Suddenly that wasn't
enough. He rushed back down in his body and spoke.
"Let's get to the bed," he said.
They stumbled to his bedroom. Wesley threw the covers open and made Spike lie down on his belly.
He found the little bottle of lube, which still seemed okay though it was over
the sell-by date, and greased Spike up, thrusting a finger in roughly, then two.
Spike was tight, and Wesley could see by the shudders that went though him that it must hurt.
"Make me feel it, Watcher," Spike said between clenched teeth. "Make it hurt."
Wesley thrust in, slowly at first, then harder. "No I won't. You're alive. Don't ever doubt that
you’re alive. No need to hurt you to make you feel it."
"I need…"Spike gasped. "I need…"
His words ended in a guttural moan and Wesley saw through a haze of sweat and eyelashes that Spike
was biting the pillows and clawing his hands in the sheets. Spike was feeling
something alright, and Wesley stopped caring what that feeling was exactly. He
moved faster, only just hanging on to something resembling a rhythm.
The world narrowed to a dim tunnel where all Wesley could see were those hands, the tendons
standing out like thick cords, the nails bitten to the quick. His body kept
moving like an automaton and after what seemed hours of harsh thrusting, orgasm
came over him suddenly. His thighs quivered as if he'd run a fast mile and he
sank down on Spike's sweat-beaded back. He licked a few droplets off Spikes neck
and the salt revived him enough that most of his wits returned. He rolled off
with a groan and when Spike didn’t react, but stayed put with his face still in
the pillows, he pushed over the hot, limp body and checked out if he'd even
come, or passed out, or died.
Wesley felt like the biggest prat on earth. He'd been pistoning away, thinking of nothing but his
own pleasure, unable to think of anything but the feeling in his dick, while he
should have been taking care of the recent returnee. He brushed a sodden
platinum curl away form Spike's pale forehead and was
rewarded with the lazy opening of his eyes. The first moment they opened,
they were an improbable cornflower blue, and then slowly the pupils enlarged and
darkened the eyes. Spike smiled, lifting up an arm to draw Wes's head near and
kissed him deeply.
"You're just what a bloke needs," he said languidly and fell asleep, leaving Wesley bemused and
irritated.
He'd have liked to talk, ask a thousand questions, but the damn ex-vampire seemed to be doing
nothing but eat and sleep. He sighed and settled against the headboard, too
wired to follow Spike into sleep yet.
He noticed a dark, wet spot on his dark-blue bedding. Spike's blood, form the cut on his arm.
Wesley decided to buy white sheets, the better to see the bright red stain.
Spike's pale body, spread out on white sheets, in a bedroom with white walls and
open windows on all sides, where the sunlight could stream in and the wind move
the blowing white cotton curtains and the sound of the sea would drown his
screams. The red bloodstain would slowly become bigger and bigger and the blood
would drip onto the wooden floor. Wesley woke with a shock in his own bedroom;
he couldn't have been asleep more than a few minutes. Spike was lying beside
him, fast asleep, snoring peacefully. Wesley pressed his lips to Spike's warm
smooth shoulder. Just a dream. Of course he wouldn't
kill Spike, and his bedroom walls were burgundy.
* * *