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Title: Snow
 Somehow it seemed that whenever things went to hell - figuratively, not literally (these things had to be stated clearly in Sunnydale and in LA where literal hell was a regular occurrence) - Wesley lost hold of the light in himself and was left floundering in the dark. Becoming a rogue demon hunter after everything that had changed in Sunnydale. With Lilah, after the strange time of darkness and loss. He had lost Fred... the one he thought he would grow old with... lost her so abruptly just after they had finally found each other. Seeing that body he knew so well, but unable to see her, that would be enough to drive anyone to drink. And drink he did. He drank and he continued to lose, but in the dark it mattered not at all. And now... well, now he had lost something more precious than anything taken from him before. Whether it was the drink or the dark Wesley did not know, nor did he care. The reason was not important. The result was. And the result was warm, hard arms wrapped around his chest, legs entwined with his own, soft breath tickling the hair behind his left ear, a heartbeat thudding against his back. But in himself none of these things. Cold where once he had warm. Breathless - his body completely still unless he remembered to imitate breathing. But he could not fake a beating heart. Everything was reversed; nothing was as it should be. He blinked at the clock, blurry without his glasses even now. They'd fought about that once, until he was convinced that his body was still his, simply no longer living. His eyes had not spontaneously regenerated, unfortunately. He squinted and the numbers slid into focus. Not yet three am - dark hours before dawn. He reached for the glass he'd left on the bedside table and took a long drink. Fortunately he could still get drunk, even if it might take a little longer. Wesley made a face. Disgusting - the whiskey had gone warm and watery. It still burned a trail down his throat and into his stomach, spreading through him and blurring the edges of the world. Like taking off glasses in his mind. Suddenly there was movement at his back. Warm lips brushed his nape leaving tiny kisses. Little nips. "Shouldn't be awake, luv." Spike's voice was rough and still muzzy with sleep. William's voice, Wesley corrected himself again; needed to call him William now. "How could I sleep with your infernal snoring," he responded, more sharply than he had intended. He didn't apologize. "Can't help it. It's this bloody cold." Instead of sounding apologetic, Spike's tone was an odd mix of teasing and irritation. He sniffed once, twice, then rubbed his nose against Wes' shoulder. "'S your fault, you know." "Excuse me," Wes asked without facing him. "Mine how, exactly?" "Was your idea to go traipsing through the forest in the middle of a blizzard. As if one of those tree-demons would hurt anyone when it's the middle of winter. The thing probably hibernates." "Blizzard, indeed. There was barely enough snow to cover the ground. And tree-demons are easier to kill when they are immobilized. Even so - colds are caused by a virus, not weather." Even as he argued, Wesley's focus was on the smallest sounds Spike made - the brush of flesh against sheets. The slight liquidness of his sniffles. A sharp inhale. Wesley rolled over to face Spike, watching hungrily. Spike's eyes were nearly closed and one hand hovered over his nose and mouth, caught in the moment just before a sneeze struck. There was something about it - something like Spike's expression just before he came - and it made Wesley hot. "All right, William," he asked lightly. Nothing better than to watch him struggle to answer. "One... minute..." he managed, then slowly the tension in his face eased. "You git, now you made me lose it." He scowled, scrubbing his nose with his fist. "I quite enjoyed the snow," Wes said. "Things are more beautiful frozen." Spike made a face. "A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water." Suddenly he turned away from Wesley. "HuhRrrushha! Heh...isshh!" He took a breath, another and then the usual third shook him. "Eh-ishha! Sodding hell." He reached for a tissue and blew his nose. "Wish this shanshu business'd come with a vampire immune system," he said stuffily. Wesley's hand slid up Spike's thigh, fingers brushed lightly against his hardening cock. "I can make you forget all about your chill," he whispered. Spike arched a brow. "Can you now." Wesley did not respond. Not with words. He slipped beneath the covers and wrapped his lips around Spike's cock. There were times it helped, not to breathe. He sucked greedily, hungrily, listening to Spike moan above him. Fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. Hips arched. Spike groaned and panted and Wes ran his tongue along the underside of his shaft. He could feel heat pooling in his own core as he smelled Spike's pleasure rising. He grazed the skin with his teeth, lightly lightly and Spike gasped, arched and spilled. "Mine," Wesley growled, as he knelt above the body spread beneath him. Spike's blue eyes were wide, bright with fever and pleasure. "Yours," William said. Wesley plunged inside him at the same moment as his teeth pierced the skin of his neck and pleasure flooded him as blood poured over his tongue. He swallowed, once, twice, feeling their heartbeats join, mingle as his body echoed Spike's. And then he heard Spike inhale, slowly... so slowly... and his desire began to crest. "Hehissh! Eshh! Huh... Ashoo!" Spike's body shuddered beneath him and the wave crashed over him and Wesley felt himself fall. | |||||
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Created & Organized by Symphonyflute and tarotgal |
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