TITLE: Sketches of Want

AUTHORS: Salustra and Foxhunt2blue

E-MAILS: Salustra: goddess_salustra@juno.com ; Foxhunt2blue: foxhunter2blue@yahoo.com .

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING: Spike/Wes

SUMMARY: Wes encounters Spike when a student at Oxford, and then over and over again over time.

DISTRIBUTION: Various lists and Wierd Romance RP- BtVS/Ats RP http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WierdRomance . Anyplace else is fine, just let us know where it is going.

SPOILERS: Through Season 5 Ats: Harm's Way.

DISCLAIMER: We don't own any of these characters; they belong to Joss and ME. We really wish we could borrow Spike and Wes for a little while though.

FEEDBACK: Yes please.



Sketches of Want
By Salustra and Foxhunt2blue

It all began with a sketch.

It was autumn 1986 and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was an over-eager student at Oxford. Tall and skinny dressed in proper tweed with his prim glasses---the perfect picture of a British nerd. At least that's what all the other students thought. Of course Wesley was clueless and naive about who he was or rather what he was. He spent his days studying and dreaming of Amelia Waterford.

Amelia was the one girl that every young man at Oxford wanted. She was tall, curvaceous, elegant, wealthy, and not to mention perfect. At least in Wesley's eyes she was. He could sit and muse on her hair alone for an hour. A thick shiny mass of dark curls that she wore hanging down her back like a cape of silk.

So his days were spent in silent contemplation of her perfect beauty. Eventually he learned that she often spent her evenings at the 'Green Man Pub' and he found his way there one chilly October evening. Sitting in a corner alone with a pint of bitters, he watched her with huge blue eyes, his fingers curling around his proper number two pencil. That's when it started. Wesley wasn't much of an artist, but he found himself doodling. Just a simple sketch of the girl he pined for in silence.

"What's this then?" said Brendon Moore, snatching away the picture. Brendon was one of the popular boys, wealthy, handsome, athletic. He knew and tolerated Wesley only because Wesley helped tutor him in some difficult subjects. "This looks like Amelia Waterford." He showed the sketch around to the crowd of lads with him, who quickly agreed. "So is it?" He asked Wesley.

Horrified, Wes cleared his throat, looking into Brendon Moore's eyes. "And what if it is? What business is it of yours?" Wesley stood, yanking the notebook from his hand.

"Well, it's just a hell of a coincidence. I overheard her talking to her friends the other day, and she quite fancies you." Brendon said.

Blinking behind his owlish glasses, Wes frowned. "That is not funny in the least, Brendon Moore. I am quite sure your parents raised you with better manners than this." He closed the notebook and tucked it back into his briefcase. "It is not well mannered to take amusement at another's expense."

"Now would I do that? Didn't you help me through Renaissance Literature? I wouldn't make light of something this important." Brendon looked very serious indeed.

"Well...that is true. If it were not for me you would have failed that particular class." Wesley contemplated Brendon's words as well as the sincere look in his eyes. "Does she really...fancy me?"

"She does. You should go ask her out. You know how popular she is. If you don't, then someone else will and you'll lose your chance." Brendon said earnestly.

Suddenly it seemed possible. After all, he came from an upper class family as did she, so they would have a great deal in common. But a gentleman would bring a proper gift to the lady he wished to court. At that moment he noticed the flower girl winding her way through the crowded pub.

"I shall ask her then." He stood straightening his tweed jacket and his tie. "But first a rose for a rose." He slipped from the booth and stopped the buxom young flower girl. "Miss a flower if you please. Your most beautiful rose...the yellow one I think."

" 'Ere sir. It's a pound, if you please." The girl gets the rose out and reaches out for the money.

The money is exchanged and soon Wesley had the perfect golden rose. He smiled happily as he made his way through the crowd thinking how lovely the gold would look tucked behind her ear in the soft, dark waves of her hair.

Finally he made it to the table. Amelia sat surrounded by her entourage of friends and admirers. Her laughter was heavenly to his ears as he approached quietly. "Excuse me...Amelia." He shifted from foot to foot nervously as he held out the rose. "I was wondering if perhaps...well if perhaps we might have dinner one night."

Amelia turned around. "Do I know you?" She looked at the rose then back at Wesley. "Oh, of course, you're that dreadful little hanger-on of Brendon's. *You're* asking *me* out? That has to be the funniest thing I ever heard." And she broke out in peals of disdainful laughter, and her hangers-on joined in. Across the bar, Brendon and his crowd likewise broke out in uproarious laughter.

For a moment he stood frozen to the spot, then his lower lips started to quiver. "But Brendon said that you...that you fancied me." His eyes began to glitter.

"Oh, *please*. As if I'd ever fancy a little tweedy anorak like you. Brendon was having a little joke at your expense. Now please go." Amelia turned around and started talking to her friends.

Stumbling back, Wesley suddenly felt so stupid. How could he have thought for one moment that such a perfect creature could care for him. "...sorry...so sorry...," he choked out and turned, running from the pub. As he pushed through the door into the cold night he dropped the rose on the stoop.

When he finally stopped running, he heard a voice out of the shadows. "She's blind, mate. Utterly sodding blind." A figure stepped forward-- a blond, slim man, dressed in punk clothes and a weathered black leather duster. He held out the rose. "A perfect rose for a perfect creature."

Wesley sniffled, scrubbing his sleeve across his face as he stared at the man. "Did Brendon not get his belly quite full?" He hiccuped and turned away. "Just go back to the bloody bastard and tell him to leave me be." Wesley turned away, trotting up the road into the mist.

Wesley can hear footsteps behind him, and then suddenly the man is blocking his path. "Brendon is a right bastard. I'll kill him for you if you like. But I'd much rather spend some time with you."

"And why should you want to spend time with a...I believe it was...little tweedy anorak? Do I look the fool to you?" He stepped around the persistent stranger. "I have things I must take care of...," he swallowed back the next wave of tears. *This is too much,* he thought, *bad enough I am made the fool damned if I will stay the fool.*

The stranger turned him around with surprising strength and pulled him into a fierce kiss. He pulled his lips back but didn't let go. "Tweed comes off. And you have the most devastating blue eyes I've ever bloody seen."

Gasping, Wes stared into the stranger's eyes. He should have been insulted, but for some reason he's not. He saw something in those baby blue eyes that told him this man understood far more than he could imagine. There was an old look in those eyes---a knowing look. "Please don't...leave me alone." Wesley struggled against his firm grip. "I shall scream for help if you do not release me this instant, sir."

"Then I guess I'll have to stop you from screaming then, won't I?" the stranger said, and kissed him again hungrily, one hand holding Wes' head and the other stroking down his back and resting just above his ass. He was pulled firmly against the stranger and could feel the man's cloth covered erection rubbing against his own crotch.

He really should want to scream, but he could't bring himself to do so. The stranger tasted of smoke, whiskey, and something darker and far richer than anything he's ever tasted. Wesley moaned, his lips parting of their own accord and he could feel his own cock growing hard against the stranger's.

The stranger plundered into Wesley's mouth, mapping it, his tongue duelling with Wesley's. His hand stroked down a little farther, cupping a buttock. At last he broke the kiss. He looked intently into Wesley's eyes. "Still want to scream, my pretty lad?"

Wes' eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he caught his breath. "No...," he whispered sadly as he opened his eyes again. A sheen of tears blurred his vision as he fought the desire building in his belly. "How much is Brendon paying you to do this? Is it worth it?" He choked back a sob and turned away as the tears began to trail down his face.

The stranger turned his face back and started wiping away tears. "I am doing this for me, and for you. I noticed you there in the corner...noticed those dreamy blue eyes. I heard what that pillock did to you. Been there. Happened to me too. I was a properly dressed bloke once upon a time. Wrote dreadful poetry to a woman who threw it in my face and told me I was beneath her. So I know." The stranger's voice had shifted from Cockney to an upper-middle class accent not unlike Wesley's own. "I know. She was wrong about me, and this heartless bint is wrong about you. You are radiant and beautiful and I want to wrap you in my arms and take you off somewhere and make sweet passionate love to you for hours and hours."

"Ra...radiant...," Wes stuttered, "....you think I'm radiant?" He swallowed hard and he began crumbling. No one had ever thought him beautiful. "I...I've...never been with a man before." He whispered softly. "My father would kill me if he found out. He thinks it un...unnatural."

"Well your father's not invited," the stranger replied, his accent back to Cockney.

Wesley began to tremble in need. He so wanted this stranger. "Please." It's the only word he could think of as his want outweighed his fear finally.

The stranger put an arm around Wesley's waist. "This way." He took Wesley to a nearby hotel and up to his room. Once inside, he pulled him in close and started kissing on Wesley again, shrugging off his duster as he did so, then moving to take off Wesley's tweed jacket.

His heart thundered in his chest as his cheeks began to burn a rosy pink. Lowering his eyes, he allowed the man to strip off his jacket. "What is it like?" Wesley looked up as the stranger tugged his tie out of its perfect Windsor knot. "Will it hurt?" His voice cracked as he lowered his eyes again.

"Some. At first. Won't lie. But it'll feel a damn sight better than good by the end. And I'll be as gentle as I can. Want it to be good for you." The stranger stroked his face and lifted his chin. "Definitely the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen." He slid the tie off and started unbuttoning Wesley's shirt, kissing down his chest as his flesh was slowly revealed.

Shivering, Wesley whimpered as the man opened his shirt, kissing each inch of bare flesh. His whimpers became soft moans as his shirt was pulled from the waist of his trousers. Then nimble fingers began working at his belt and he panicked. "Please...no I...I can't ...," he whimpered, trying to pull away. "You...you'll see it...,"

The stranger stopped and pulled Wesley close again. "Shhh, pretty lad. Calm down. I won't if you don't want to. What are you afraid of?" He stroked his hands soothingly, one on the nape of Wesley's neck and the other down his bare back.

"You...you'll see the ugly stuff...," Wes whimpered as the man stroked his back. "Father said I should be proud of them, but I'm not. They're horrid... I'm not beautiful...I'm not...," He collapsed into the man's arms, sobbing softly. "I want...want you, but you won't want me when you see them."

"I doubt that very much, pretty lad. I doubt that very much indeed. But if you don't take your pants off I won't be able to do much anyway, now will I?" His voice was soft and soothing. "You want to see the rest of me first, decide if it is worth the risk of letting me see?"

Wes nodded as he wiped his tears away with a trembling hand. "You're beautiful I would bet...even beneath your clothes." Sighing Wes dropped to the bed and looked up with wide eyes. "Maybe you're too beautiful...," he whispered.

The stranger nodded. "Been told that before. But if you want me...you'll have to let me see." He unbuttoned his denim vest and slid it off, revealing a sculpted alabaster chest and abs. Then he took off his belt. Finally he unsnapped and slid off his jeans. His rampant erection was now exposed to Wes' gaze. "This is for you. All for you, pretty lad."

Wesley didn't know what to say. This stranger was so beautiful---so perfect--it made his eyes sting. "You look like David...," he sighed softly, "...so perfect and...," his eyes focused on the soft curve of the erect cock and hearing the stranger's words, he prayed with all his soul that he could do this.
He stood up, releasing his button, then his zipper. "Please don't hate me...," he begged softly as he slid his trousers down. His legs were long and lean---the legs of a runner---a soft golden brown with the exception of the scars. From knee to hip there were a multitude of scars. Some were old, some fresher. Thin lines of pink crisscrossing the otherwise perfect body.

The stranger fell to his knees. "Someone was very, very bad indeed to you. Doing such a horrible thing to you. Let me kiss it and make it better." And the stranger started to kiss the lines. He worked his way from knee to knee, from leg to leg, working back and forth, kissing and licking the scars.

Sobbing, Wes stood there, trembling at the touch of the stranger's lips on each scar. "Don't...don't you think their hideous?" He choked out. "I'm ugly...why can't you see...," Wes babbled as his cock began to twitch, "...I don't understand."

The stranger stops long enough to look up into Wesley's eyes. "You are beautiful. These scars do not make you ugly. They are battle scars. They show you survived." He went back to kissing them. "You are even more beautiful to me."

The sobs grew louder in Wesley's throat at those words. Words he had never thought he would hear in his life. His body began to tremble and his legs turned to jelly beneath him. The stranger stood, scooping him up in his arms, and carried him back to the bed. He laid him down and straddled him, kissing him with soft nibbling kisses as his hands stroked all over him. "No crying, pretty lad. No crying anymore. I have you."

He felt foolish like this-- curled close to this complete stranger enjoying his caresses and his kisses as he cooed softly. "Love me...please?" He begged softly, not sure if he's talking to the beautiful stranger or his father who left him marked for life.

"Plannin' to, pretty lad," the stranger replied. He reached over to the bedside table and came back with a tube of something. He put a glob on his index finger. "Now this will be a little cold. I need you to relax for me, luv. It'll feel so much better if you relax." He moved his finger down to Wes' ass and slowly worked the lube around his nether entrance.

Whimpering at the beautiful man's touch, Wesley's hips jerked spasmodically. His lips parted in a gasp as that long finger circled his opening and then he moaned. "...please...please.…" He dug his fingers into the blankets, unsure of what he was pleading for or why.

"Oh, such a lovely needy lad," the stranger said. "Here we go then." And he slowly pushed the tip of the long finger into Wesley's pucker, pushing in at first just an inch or so, then slowly, gently, pushing all the way in.

His back bowed as that single finger pushed into his body. So slow and gentle, yet it stung, drawing a soft keening whisper from his throat. Wesley had never had anyone touch him so gently before-- it was amazing to him that anyone would want too. "Want...want...more...," he moaned, his ass pushing down instinctually on the slim finger.

"More, already? So needy. I like that." More lube, and then another finger joined the one already inside Wesley. The two fingers twisted slowly and carefully, and then stroked across Wes' prostate for the first time.

Wes screamed as the blonde beauty hit something deep in his body-- something that sent jolts of heat through his trembling limbs and straight to his aching cock. "What?! What was that?" He gasped as the stranger continued twisting his fingers.

"Liked that, did you? It was your prostate. It'll feel even better when I'm inside you and it gets touched proper." The stranger started applying lube to his own cock and withdrew the fingers. "This will hurt. But the more you relax, the less it will hurt, and the sooner the pleasure will start." He began pressing his cock against the tight ring of muscle.

"Mmmmm...it won't fit...it hurts...," Wes cried softly as the stranger's cock pushed against his opening. "Please...please...," he whimpered as his thighs quiver and his own erection withered just a bit at the burning sensation.

"It will...you'd be surprised, lovely boy," the stranger said. And indeed, the ring of muscle at last let go and the head of the cock penetrated Wesley. Then inch by inch he sunk deeper into Wesley. He moved his hand to stroke Wesley's cock as he pushed in deeper and deeper.

Once the stranger had pushed past the tight ring of muscle the burn begins to ease and Wesley began panting. It does feel good, especially the hand stroking his cock gently and firmly. Now his pained moans turned to soft purrs as his ass was filled deeper and deeper. "So...so good...feels good...," he mewed softly as the stranger shifted his hips sinking just a bit deeper.

Now the stranger started to move in and out, stroking deep and firm, hitting his prostate each time, as his long slim fingers kept stroking Wesley's cock. "Good. Just give in to it, my lovely lad. My pretty lad."

His voice rose in a wild tangle of moans, whimpers, and sobs as the beauty's cock began stroking in and out. "...god...please...please...feels...good.…" A string of half-incoherent words escape his throat as he began to move with the stranger. His legs wrapped around those marble hips so perfectly sculpted, trying to pull the man above him closer. "Be yours...always yours...," he sobbed softly.

"Sweet lad...move with me...yessss...always mine. I'll always be your first. You'll dream of me." The stranger said, moving somewhat faster and harder, pressing deeper. His hands continued to roam all over Wesley's flesh, touching his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

He'd never thought it could be this good, this perfect. Perhaps it wasn't love, but it was a moment Wes had never thought would come. "Yes...my first...don't want it to stop," he sobbed deep in his throat---rolling his hips---as his cock swelled to the point of pain. But it was an exquisite pain, passionate and filled with a want that nothing else could surpass. "I...I'm coming...," he whined loud as he felt his balls draw up tight.

The stranger's hands moved immediately to Wesley's cock and stroked firm and hard. "Cum now my lovely lad. Let me feel it."

Wes shuddered at those cool elegant fingers curling around his aching flesh. He let out a deep sound somewhere between a groan and a sob--- his body stiffening. His hips jerked as his cock exploded, pearls of cum splashing over the stranger's fist and across his heaving belly and chest. Behind his eyelids stars sparked and flashed and for a moment---just a moment---he felt divinely beautiful.

The stranger climaxed not long behind, taken there by the beautiful sight displayed before him, the bliss on Wesley's face, and the sweet muscles tightening on his cock. Cool seed bathed Wesley's inside as the stranger cried out.

As he came down from that perfect peak he felt the beautiful stranger's seed fill him and he sobbed---tears streaking his face. This man, so perfect and mysterious, had brought pleasure to him---to a sad, lonely young man and he in some way he had yet to understand brought pleasure to his beautiful blonde. "Love you...," he whispered not truly understanding what he's saying. "...love you.…" He broke down into choking muffled cries as the man above him now collapsed on him. A living, breathing human blanket with a brilliant smile.

The stranger lay there for a long while, just stroking Wesley's hair and making an odd rumbling sound deep in his chest that sounded for all the world like purring. "Ah, lad, such sweet words. So sweet. But you can't mean them."

Wes blinked back tears and shifted so he could look into his beautiful blonde's eyes. "Why? Why can't I mean them?" His lower lip trembled as the tears began to fall down his flushed face.

The stranger kissed Wesley's trembling lip and wiped away his tears. "Shhh. Shhhh. I just meant I'm not worthy of them. Not from a beautiful young man like you, so full of life and promise. Don't cry, pretty. I can't bear it if you cry."

Wes whimpered in his throat at the touch of the stranger's sweet lips and his hands wiping away his tears. "But...but you are." He cried softly. "I know you are...I do...please don't leave me. I want you to stay...," his voice trembled as he spoke, knowing somehow that his exquisite god was not going to stay.

"I can't keep you," the stranger said. "Because if I do, then I'll bloody well keep you forever. The life you planned, the dreams you have, will all go away and there will only be me. And sooner or later that won't be enough. I'd rather have you love me and be free-- have you remember me kindly-- than you resent me for taking your life away."

All he could do is stare at his lover---for that is what this man was to him now---his eyes wide and wet. How could he explain? He swallowed hard trying to control the tears. "This isn't my life...," Wes whispered, his head dropping, "...it never was. It is what my father wants...what is expected of me."

"Oh, dear lad! You'd rather live with a street punk than stay in your safe and comfortable world, your future all planned and neat? To never know for certain where your next meal will come from, where you will next lay your head?"

Wes sighed softly. "I would...for you my love. It could be our adventure...," The tears began to fall as he curled close to the stranger. "Ours and no one else's."

The stranger's eyes teared up as well, and the tears slowly crawled down his perfect pale face. "You are breaking my heart, pretty, and I didn't know I had one left to break. Let's rest now, pretty, and we can talk in the morning. Right now I just want to feel you beside me, to hold you, to look into your beautiful blue eyes."

Smiling through his tears, Wesley curled into those strong arms that had brought him so much joy. His heart gladdened. "Morning...," he sighed. In the morning he would head out on his adventure with his beautiful stranger. In the morning his life would begin anew. Closing his eyes against the night, he drifted into a peaceful sleep, his want for love finally realized at last.

The stranger stayed awake a long time, listening to the breathing and watching the face of the lovely young man. He sighed, finally, deciding to leave him before he awakened. But first there was something to do. He made a tiny tight little braid of a bit of hair near the back of his head, tied it off with a bit of string, and cut it off with a knife. It's terribly Victorian, he knows, such a keepsake, but he wanted to leave a bit behind. He took the golden
rose and the tiny braid and left them on the pillow where his head had rested, and slipped quietly out the door.




(October 20, 1991.)

That was the day it all began anew for Wesley. The memories he had locked away for five long years. And it was because of a simple sketch. He was an eager new Watcher ready to be the pride of the Watcher's Academy. He had been sent to do research in the stacks and he was sitting there---now---staring down at a thick, dusty volume on the Aurelius bloodline. His eyes began to tear up unaware of everything, but that damn sketch. "It's not possible...," he whispered.

A hand landed heavily on Wesley's shoulder. It was his father. "Wesley, I see you're looking at William the Bloody's history. Well worth studying. Quite a terror even to this day."

"William...," he whispered softly. His fingers traced the lines of the familiar face. Yes the hair was different---soft, loose, curls that fell around broad shoulders---but the face was the same, so perfect and exquisite. Wes shifted his glasses and looked up into his father's stern face. "Why do they call him William the Bloody?" His thoughts were drifting even as he asks the question.

"Apparently it was an appropriation of an insult given him in his mortal life. He apparently was called William the Bloody Awful Poet. Of course, those who called him that ended up dead soon after he was turned." His father replied. "He actually posed for the sketch. Captured a watcher and made him draw him before he let him go."

Wes shook his head, a tiny flicker of amusement playing in his eyes. *You are a fool Wesley,* he thinks, *this cannot be the beautiful stranger that came to me that night so long ago.* "Did he have children...I mean before he was turned?" Perhaps, he thought, his stranger was a descendent of this William the Bloody.

"No. He was never married, and it was Victorian England. He was a very proper gentleman who lived with his mother. It's highly unlikely he fathered any children."

He took a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes. No children. That could only mean one thing. He looked from the beautiful sketch back to his father's face, seeing the odd expression in those cold, proper eyes. Suddenly he felt sick. "Father, I am not feeling well. May I be excused...as you know there is a strain of the flu about? I believe I might have been infected."

"Very well. No sense in getting the other students ill. Go and rest." His father's voice was disapproving.

Wes calmly replaced the book and headed out of the stacks. As soon as he was out of his father's line of sight, he ran as fast as he could, heading back to the dorms. Reaching his room---which he shared with a fellow student---he headed for the steamer trunk at the end of his narrow cot. He fumbled beneath his shirt for the thin chain he wore against his heart. The key to his memories. The trunk doesn't hold much and most of it's contents he could care less about, but there was the one thing he had kept hidden—a small wooden music box for holding jewelry. As he lifted it from the trunk he stood and moved to the window. As he lifted the lid, the soft strains of 'Laura's Theme' began to waft through the silent room. In the small compartment lay two objects-- a tiny braid of pale blonde hair and a piece of folded paper. Nestled in the paper was a faded yellow rose--- pressed and preserved. Wes' lips moved almost imperceptibly as he began to sing with the music. "Somewhere my love...roses are blooming...,"

There was a click as the door opened and Wes' roommate Charles came in. "Hey, Wesley, your father said you're sick. Anything...hey, what's all this then?"

Jerking at the sound of Charles' voice, Wes slamed the lid shut, the music cutting off mid note. "Nothing Charles...nothing at all." He moved away from the window and knelt by his trunk, tucking the music box beneath the blankets and clothes. "I was feeling a bit ill thought perhaps I should take a nap." He stood and moved to his coat, removing his shoes and trying to ignore the fact Charles was not accepting what he says.

"Some keepsake from a lady?" Charles asked. "Never thought you had it in you, Wesley, quite honestly. I never see you with any women."

"Well, I've found my work more satisfying." Wes mumbled, avoiding the question. *No lady,* he thought, *but a beautifully sculpted man whose skin was marble perfection and eyes the color of a spring morning.* "I do feel ill, Charles. If you would excuse me." he removed his tie folding it neatly on the bedside table. "I am quite tired." He curled up on his side---back to Charles---thinking that there was no one he could confide in.

"As you wish. I'll go find someplace else to sleep. I'm just here to get some clothes." A few minutes later and Charles was gone, and Wesley was left alone.

He sighed softly, then stood. Going to the door, he cried out to Charles' retreating back. "Please Charles you don't have to leave...I just...it is difficult to think of those memories." His head fell as the tears welled in his eyes. "Please don't go."

Charles stopped and turned around, seeing the look on Wesley's face, and he came back. "All right, Wesley," he said, closing the door. "I'm back. I take it this illness is more about whoever that box is for?"

Wes nodded as he sat on the bed, staring at his bare feet. "Father doesn't know about...well about that incident. He doesn't have a clue and he doesn't wish to have one. I saw something today," he looked up at Charles with sad eyes, "...something that brought up these memories. I do need to talk, but father doesn't believe in being soft...in being weak." He swallowed hard.

Charles nodded. "Wesley, your father doesn't have to know everything. I've been your roommate and I've seen those scars of yours that you try so hard to hide. So I have some idea of what you endured. Anything you say will never leave this room, I give you my word of honor."

Wes shivered at the mention of the scars and remembered the way his blonde beauty kissed the pale pink ridges. "It makes me stronger." He parroted his father's words as he pulled the blanket tight around him. Shaking his head, he looked up at his roommate and sighed. "I met him one night when I was a freshman at Oxford. He made me believe that I was...that I was beautiful." Tears trailed down his face. "Father would be so angry," he whimpered, "...angry if he knew."

Charles nodded his head. "I can imagine. He must have been very special indeed to make you risk that much. But you know, you really are beautiful. I noticed it right away."

Wes' eyes widened at Charles' gentle words. "I...I...wanted him to stay. I wanted him to take me away from this life." He swallowed hard, seeing something in Charles' eyes he had never seen before. "We...we fell asleep together. When...when I woke he was gone." Standing he went back to the trunk and removed the music box, then handed it to Charles. "I found the contents of this box on his pillow." He turned away, walking to the window staring out at the gloomy grey sky.

Wesley heard the tinkling of the music box as it was opened for a few minutes, then closed again. "A lock of hair? Pretty intimate. By Victorian standards, practically engaged. And the rose. I can see why you kept them. Thank you for sharing them with me." Wes heard footsteps on the floor, and then felt a body slide up behind his. "Wesley. I'm going to say something now which I may regret when you turn me down, but... I'd like to take you to bed tonight."

He shivered at the closeness of the young man he had shared his deepest, darkest secret with. "I...he was my first and my last, Charles. I haven't been with anyone since." He turned and looked in Charles' eyes. "I don't know if I can." He smiled weakly.

"I can understand if you don't want to," Charles said. "I know I'm rather plain, nowhere near as beautiful as you. It's why I never said anything before. I'm sorry...you don't have to lie to be kind."

"I'm not...I would never...lie. Out of all the stiff upper lips in this dreary place you have been the closest to a friend I've ever known." His lower lip quivered as his eyes glistened in the dim light. "I had never been with anyone...not a woman or a man...when I met him. I never could bring myself to believe what he told me. I'm not beautiful Charles...I'm not...," the last two words stuck like a too dry biscuit in his throat.

Charles put his hand under Wesley's chin and lifted it. "You are." He removed Wesley's glasses. "There are these blue eyes, for a start." He traced his thumbs down Wesley's face. "And these cheekbones. And this jaw. And that's just your face." Charles bent in and placed his lips softly on Wesley's.

Sighing, Wes melted against Charles' gentle mouth and for the first time since that cold night five years ago he knew. He knew the truth as clearly as if the blinders had been lifted. His beautiful stranger was right---somehow he had known. Wes was never confused, he was just forced into a mold. "Charles," he whispered against his mate's lips. One word and yet so much emotion in that whisper. He couldn't allow himself to admit what his head knew to his heart. His blonde beauty was not of this earth---*William,* he thought, *why did you leave me?*

Charles wrapped his arms around Wesley and kissed him again, more firmly, more hungrily. Wesley felt Charles grow hard against him through his woolen slacks. As the kiss deepened, he whimpered deep in his throat. Gasping, he pulled away, his hand trembling as it moved, to cup Charles through his slacks. "I do this to you?" His words were a sad whisper. "I never thought...I've been so lost." He stroked his palm across the warm hardness beneath the wool.

"Yes, you do." Charles whispered back. "Ever since the first time I saw you." Charles slid his hand down to rub against Wesley's crotch.

Wes groaned as his cock began to swell beneath Charles' hand. "I do...I want you to." he whimpered his hips humping against Charles' hand.

Charles kept rubbing Wesley's cloth-covered cock. "You want to...or do you want to...to me?" Charles asked.

His eyes fluttered open and he shivered. "Want you in me," Wes whimpered, "...want to feel loved...again."

Charles nodded and started unbuttoning Wesley's shirt, taking it off, and then his own shirt. He pulled him over towards his narrow bed. He pulled out a tube of lube and put it under the pillow. He undid and slid off his own pants and boxers. He then reached over and unzipped Wesley's slacks, and was amazed to see no underwear beneath. He looked at Wesley with a raised eyebrow as he dropped his slacks to the floor, and they were both naked, cocks erect.

A soft blush rose in Wes' cheeks. "More comfortable," he smiled nervously. His eyes dropped to the floor as the blush grew brighter. "How do you want me? I know...there's two ways," he whispers softly, his face bright red now.

Charles kissed his face. "I'd like to see your eyes if I can. Would you mind...face to face?"

He shook his head, still scared to look up. "I...I can do it...I can be face to face." He glanced at the door nervously. "What if he finds out? What if he finds us...?"

Charles walked over and locked the door. He pushed his desk over in front of it. "Not going to." He started kissing Wesley again and lowered him down onto the bed.

Wes let his worries go for a moment, relishing the feel of Charles' warm mouth on his. He reached out, pulling Charles closer and whimpering as their cocks brush. "Want...you...want you...please." He lifted his legs, wrapping them around Charles' waist.

Charles reached over and grabbed the lube, warming it in his hand and applying a glob to the end of his cock. He pushed forward, slowly, working his way into Wesley. "Ohhh....so tight... so damn goood...." Wes' whimpers became cries of pain. "Hurts... Char... charles... please," he began to squirm in fear. Tears rolled down his face as he squirmed. "Scared... I'm scared," he moaned as the tip of Charles' cock finally popped through the tight ring of muscle. Wes sobbed and whimpered. This wasn't how it was before---not with William.

Charles stopped. He kissed on Wesley again. "Sorry. Sorry. You were so eager. I should've gone slower." He stroked Wes' face and he pushed in slowly. As Charles showered his face with kisses, Wes' desperate pleas ceased and his eyes drifted shut. He tried to remember what it felt like all those years ago with William, the gentle caresses, and as he got lost in those bittersweet memories he moaned softly. "Sorry... sorry... didn't mean to... please." Wes' voice was soft and small as he babbled incoherently. Charles was big and it hurt, but as he focused on his memories he heard William's soft voice.

Charles moved slowly into Wesley and started stroking in and out. He was fairly inexperienced himself, and by no means the lover that William was, but he tried to be gentle knowing how scared Wesley was. Wes began mewling and he opened eyes dilated with need and want. "Better... feels good," he whined as Charles hit his prostate on a down stroke and his cock jumped. "More please," he whimpered softly, his head thrashing against the pillow.

Charles, encouraged, pushed harder and deeper, "Whatever you desire," he whispered. Wes reared back into the pillows, biting down on the soft material, and screamed. He screamed long and loud as Charles picked up his pace. His body convulsed as his prostate was pounded and abused by Charles' thick cock. Charles reached between them and wrapped his thick fingers around Wesley's cock and began stroking. Sobbing into the pillow, Wes tried to hide his tears as Charles stroked his cock roughly. He knew that Charles wasn't trying to hurt him, but it did hurt. It hurt that this wasn't William, it hurt that he allowed himself to be seduced by a killer---a vampire, and most of all it hurt because at this moment he was betraying Charles. He was betraying Charles with each sobbing breath. He didn't want Charles--- he wanted William. His back bowed as he came hard, his cum spurting over Charles' fist and onto his belly.

Charles came too, a few strokes after, as Wesley tightened down on him. He lay there, panting, for a few minutes, then got up. "We need to clean up and so forth before someone comes," he whispered, bravado all gone.

Wes lay there trembling and gasping against the pillow---his face turned from Charles' sad eyes. "You...you go first. I'll be okay...," he managed to get out through his tight throat as he held back his tears.

Charles went off to the bathroom and soon Wes could hear water running. As the sound of that water filled his ears, Wes began to weep, scrubbing his face against the pillow. *How could he do this to his friend?* he wonders. Sitting up, he hissed at the raw ache in his ass, scrubbing away the last of his tears. He couldn't give Charles what he wanted or what he needed because he was dying inside. Dying of the want of something he shall never have again-- want for a beautiful creature he had sworn was his enemy. "I am a Watcher," he whispered to the room, "and you my sweet William are a monster."



(Los Angeles, 2000)

"Hey, Wes, Angel told me when you came up for air that he needs some research done on Narchessa demons. He ran into some on patrol. Don't ask me why he needs research if he knows what they're called...probably wants mating habits or something else obscure." Cordelia said as she was sorting through paperwork.

Wes let out a put-upon sigh and pushed his glasses up from where they dangled precariously on the tip of his nose. "I do wish Angel would learn to do a bit more research himself. I am but one lone man." He pushed back the chair and grumbled softly about ungrateful vampires and their much-vaunted souls as he headed downstairs to Angel's apartment. He was quite sure that he had seen the exact volume he needed in Angel's collection.

Angel groaned slightly as Wesley walked through the door. "Trying to rest here, Wes." Angel said.

Rolling his eyes, Wes began rummaging through one of Angel's bookshelves. "Perhaps you would prefer I not do your research for you? I believe Cordelia said it was a Narchessa demon you needed to know about?" He turned, raising an annoyed brow.

"Oh, yeah, forgot. Go right ahead. Don't mind me." Angel lay back and covered his eyes with his forearm.

Within moments, Wes smiled as he located the volume he was searching for to his delight. As he pulled the volume from the shelf with a yank, he heard a soft thump. Turning his gaze to the floor, he saw one of Angel's many leather-bound folders of sketches. With a soft sigh, he knelt, shaking his head as he wondered why Angel kept them. Most of them, he knew, were done by Angelus anyway. Picking the folder up, he shivered as he stood to replace it-- when he noticed that one sketch was falling out. His curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced over his shoulder to where Angel was resting, then tugged the sketch from the binder. As soon as he saw it, he was hit by a flood of memories, and he gasped. His legs quivered as he managed to barely make it to a chair and slump in it. "William...," he whispered.

Angel jerked upright in bed. "What about him?" Then he saw Wes and looked over. "My sketches. Yeah, there are pictures in there of William. What of it?"

Wes didn't hear Angel---he was not there. Well, his body was, but his mind wasn't. He traced the faded lines of the sketch, tears welling in his eyes. This was the way he remembered his beautiful blonde. Sweet perfection. William was stretched out on his back in this sketch---arms supporting his head on a mountain of pillows---his face just turned away enough that he wasn't looking directly at the artist. His slender body relaxed and Wes imagined that William had just had sex, his hair tousled, lips swollen from passionate kisses, but not Wes'. "I do miss you," he whispered softly as the tears trailed down his face.

Angel looked over at Wes. "Wes! What are you going on about? You've never even met him."

"What?" Wes looked up into Angel's dark eyes with tear-glazed eyes. His heart was pounding as he though he must have spoken the words out loud. He knew William was Angel's grandchilde---sired by Drusilla--- but he had never really thought about what that meant. Had Angel and William been lovers? He swiped at his face and cleared his throat. "Nothing...nothing at all." He stood, laying the sketch aside, and walked past Angel to the stairs, his shoulders slumped.

"Wes," Angel moved in front of Wesley, arms crossed. "You were crying. It's not nothing. Something go on between you and my wayward pain-in-the-ass grandchilde?"

"I have work to do, Angel." Wes tried to step around Angel, but it appeared that Angel was having none of that. He drew in a deep breath. "What does it matter, Angel?"

Angel sighed. "Well, you're a friend of mine, Wes, and that boy... he's trouble."

Wes shook his head. "Do not speak of him like that! He isn't...he was kind," he turned away from Angel. "He was the only thing that kept me going."

Angel growled. "William? Spike? One fourth of the Scourge of Europe? Bad-ass boy in leather? He was kind to you?"

Walking to the sofa, Wes dropped down, scrubbing his face. "You do not know what it's like Angel, to be cast aside, the butt of a multitude of jokes. I was just a boy. It was so long ago, but my sweet William-- he saved me." His eyes were unfocused as he hears the rude laughter of his peers, then the stranger stepping from the shadows saving him. "If it had not been for him I would have ended my life that night."

Angel sat down next to Wes, steepling his hands together, and nodded. "That might have done it. The night Drusilla took William, he was near to ending his own life. You're lucky he didn't turn you, though, Wes. You're sure it was him?"

Wes laughed---a brittle sound like dead leaves rustling in the cold wind. "I had no idea who he was that night...had no name until years later, when I discovered who he was. I wish he had turned me...I begged him to take me with him, but he turned away." Wes swallowed back the bitter taste that filled his throat. "I've spent my life searching for him...hoping beyond hope that he would come for me."

Angel sat for a moment in silence. "I wish I knew where he was, Wes, or I'd tell you. Honestly. Maybe he let you go because of Dru. She would have been jealous. I know she caused enough problems with Will and I back..." Angel swallowed hard. "Back when we were lovers."

Wes let out a choked sob. "Then you were...you and he...then you know how beautiful he was." He leaned back letting the tears flow. "I have been searching so long...no one cared for me like he did."

"Yeah." sighs Angel. "But...Wes. He is evil still. He's a vampire. No soul. He might have been kind in a special moment...but he's a killer. You can't trust him." Angel laid a hand on Wes' shoulder. "And for what it's worth...we care about you."

"I am sorry," Wes scrubbed at his face. "I thought these feelings were buried deep enough. My mind knows what he is, but my heart...I didn't mean to imply you didn't care. I care for you and for Cordelia. I do." He stood and grabbed the book he came for, then turned back to Angel. "Could you please not let Cordelia know about this. I don't think I could bear losing her as a friend." He turned and headed up the stairs, trying to stuff William back into the dark corner from where he had appeared.




(Los Angeles, October 2003):

Spike had been wandering around, poking his head into apartment after apartment, til he finally found the one that he wants. He walked in and looked down at the slim, nicely-muscled figure in the bed, and stared down at him. "Hello, pretty," he said finally.

Wes shifted in his sleep, turning over and looking up with blurry eyes. "What do you want Spike?" He sat up, reaching for his glasses so he could focus on the blurry form standing above him. "It is the middle of the night. Haven't you caused enough ruckus for one day?" He didn't want Spike to know he remembered or that he had dreamt of him every night for almost twenty years.

"In the mood to play, are we, pretty? Gonna play 'don't remember'? When I can tell you exactly what your John Thomas looks like and how sweet it felt in my hand? I never forget eyes, pretty. Never."

He slipped from the bed, padding across the room, and stared out the window across the shadowy city. "I am no longer that boy." He whispered. "I haven't been in more years than I can count." Wes shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. He could feel his eyes traveling down his body. Suddenly he was very aware of his state of undress. Just a worn pair of cotton sweats hanging low on his narrow hips. "You can't save me this time...William."

"I wanted to take you with me that night. You don't know how much. It was everything I could do not to bite into your neck and take you and make you mine forever." Spike glided up next to Wesley. "Did you keep the hair? Or throw it away?"

Turning from the window, Wes moved to the dresser and squatted down. With trembling hands, he pulled open the drawer and fumbled until he found what he was seeking. He stood and moved to the bed, setting the wooden music box worn with age on the tousled covers. Finally he looked up into Spike's curious gaze. "October...seventeen years ago this month." His eyes began to glitter with unshed tears. "The Green Man Pub...they laughed at me...tore my heart to shreds. Funny thing human memory can be. I remember every detail of that night with you...yet I don't even remember that bitch's name who was the catalyst." He lifted the lid of the music box and the soft tinkle of music filled the dark room. "I could never forget my first," Wes whispered, "My beautiful blonde." He opened his hand, holding out the tiny braid of hair with a sad smile.

"All this bloody time. Well, I was right, it seems." Spike said, swallowing hard. "I came back a few times...watched you from the shadows. Dru wouldn't have stood for it, though. She would have made your unlife and mine a misery. So I let you be. I never knew your name. Never knew you were so bloody close. But when I saw your eyes again...and heard your voice, when you heard I had a soul...I knew it was you."

"Is it because of her that you left?" Wes pulled his legs up, resting his chin on his folded arms. "And all these years I thought...I thought it was me. That I was too needy-- that perhaps I did something wrong." He sighed sadly. "I wanted you to come back. I wanted you to take me away from the life my father forced me into. I loved you so much, William."

"Loved? So you don't anymore?" Spike asked. "Just as well. No sense in loving a ghost. I've never in all my years been tempted to make a childe other than you...never before you, never after."

Wes turned his head, looking at Spike as his tears fell silently. "I still do. Why do you think I suggested to Angel we find a way to allow you to pass on? God help me...even now...knowing who and what you are I do love you. I can't bear this."

Spike lifted a spectral hand and caressed down the side of Wes' face, wishing that he could touch him, even just a little. "Don't cry, pretty. I can't bear it if you cry."

Laughing softly, Wes shuddered at the ghostly feel of Spike's caress. "You said those same words to me all those years ago. I wish I could stop. I've been crying so long for you, William." His eyes fluttered shut as he moaned in need. "I wish you could touch me...I want to feel you so badly."

"I want to touch you." Spike stood, thinking for a minute. "I have an idea. Lie down on the bed and close your eyes."

Wes set the music box on the nightstand, then crawled into the bed. He stretched out on the bed, letting his eyes drift shut. "I trust you," he whispered softly.

Spike crouched beside the bed, his mouth right near Wes' ear. "It is night. I come into your room and find you lying like this, half-naked, offered up for my gaze. I stroke my hands along your chest, my fingers slowly making ever-tightening circles down towards your nipples. I touch them, rolling my fingers across them, feeling them harden."

Moaning, Wes' back bowed as his fingers tangled in the sheets. "William," he whimpered as he felt his nipples begin to harden. It was as if Spike's fingers were caressing him and he wanted more---he wanted it so badly he focused completely on the image Spike painted with his soft, seductive voice. "Please," he sighed, a shiver traveling down his spine.

"My mouth comes down on your neck, licking and sucking, as my hands work their way slowly and delicately stroking down your stomach, the tips of my fingers running along and just under the waistband of your sweats."

Hips lifting, Wes whimpered as he imagined those pale, elegant fingers sliding across his skin. "Oh, God...please...touch me." He swallowed hard, his head pushing back into the pillows, his throat forming a graceful arc. "Love you, William...love you so."

"I slide your sweats down, and your lovely cock is revealed. My fingers glide up and down your velvety-soft skin, feeling you swell under my touch. I wrap my fingers, my long cool fingers, around that proud bit of flesh and begin to slowly pump."

Wes gasped and his hips surged up from the mattress, his heels digging into it, his cock swelling beneath his sweats. "Jesus...sweet God in heaven." He wanted Spike's touch so much and he felt it. His blood began to boil as he sobbed, his head thrashing on the pillows. "William...ahhh...Willl!" he cried out, tears rolling down his face.

Spike kepttalking. "I have you, pretty. I have you in the palm of my hand. I keep stroking and my other hand moves down, touching your hip, caressing along the sweet curve, cupping underneath and stroking you, finding each little tender spot that makes you writhe and cry out. I'm not going to stop until you cum for me, pretty, never going to stop. I'm with you all night, touching you, teasing you, holding you."

"Want to...just for you...want to cum," Wes sobbed, his body quivering, his cock straining against his sweats. "Please do it...oh, God...William please make me cum." He mewled deep in this throat, body thrashing wildly now, his fingers clawing madly at the sheets. Suddenly Wesley felt just a faint brush of a touch across his cock and Spike's voice, just above him, saying, "Cum for me, pretty, please cum for me."

"Uh...uhhhh!" Wes' hips bucked and he came hard. His voice rose in a keening wail as he was overwhelmed by his orgasm. "Will...Willl!!!"

"So good, pretty, so sweet. I kiss your soft lips as you calm down." Spike said.

Wes could feel the soft whisper of cool lips on his own and he opened up to the kiss. It seemed so real---God help him it did. "Love you...I really do...my beautiful blonde." He sighed as his body went limp.

"And I love you, my pretty lad. Sleep now. We'll talk later." Spike said, and he walked out through the wall. As he walked away, there were tears on his ghostly face.



(January 2004):

It is late at night, and there is a knock on Wesley's apartment door.

Wes jerks awake, knocking over his now cold cup of tea, and barely rescues a rare volume of demon sonnets. "Damn it all!" Standing up, he stomps to the door swiping absent-mindedly at his damp trousers. Grabbing the doorknob, he yanks the door open without looking up. "What in God's name is it now?"

"Hey, pretty. You miss me?" Spike says.

Wes' gaze moves up the long lean body and settles on Spike's infectious smirk. "William?" His eyes grow wide. "You left. You were headed for Europe. What happened?" His voice trembles as he steps back, allowing Spike to pass.

"Yeah." Spike walks in. "I was. Had a boat ticket and everything. Tried to convince myself you'd be better off with Fred and not with me. But...I want you, Wesley. So I'm back here making a fool of myself hoping I'm sodding well wrong. Hoping that you didn't want Fred more than you wanted me."

Wes closes the door and leans his forehead against the cool smooth wood. "What of Buffy? I thought you wanted to be with her."

"No. Buffy doesn't love me. Well, she's not *in* love with me. And I don't really think I was ever in love with her, not really. I was obsessed."

A soft giggle slips past Wes' lips as he turns around, still leaning against the door. "I can relate to that. I've spent the last three years obsessing over Winifred. I was only trying to forget." He smiles shyly. A smile very much like that of an eighteen-year-old boy years ago at Oxford.

Spike smirks and swaggers over to Wes, leaning forward, palms on the door, his face almost touching Wes'. "A certain blond stranger, perhaps?"

Wes raises a brow in amusement. "Absolutely not." His expression becomes extremely serious.

Spike keeps moving forward. His lips brush Wes' as he whispers. "Who then, pretty? Who were you trying to forget?"

"A sexy vampire...one dressed in black." Wes squirms back as he whispers against Spike's soft, cool lips

"Well, *I'm* a sexy vampire. And *I'm* dressed in black. Will I do?" Spike whispers back.

Reaching up, Wes cups Spike's jaw and hums softly as if considering his choices. "I suppose, but I really do prefer a bit more broodiness."

Spike moves closer still, molding his body to Wes'. "Can't help you with that, pretty. Never been one for broodiness. I can offer horniness instead."

Wes rolls his eyes and sighs. "Well since you put it that way..." His other hand lifts so he's cupping Spike's face. Smiling wide, he leans in, kissing Spike deep and hard.

Spike purrs as he gently duels, mouth-to-mouth, with Wesley as his hands move down to Wesley's hips, pulling them tightly together. Their erections rub gently across each other as they continue to kiss.

Pulling back Wes gasps. "Human...need air..." He groans as Spike continues rubbing against him. "Will...shit...make love to me...please?"

Spike's eyes sparkle with amusement. "Thought you'd never bloody well ask." Spike shrugs off his duster and starts pulling Wesley towards the bed. He peels off his T-shirt and then starts unbuttoning Wesley's shirt. "To hell with it. Bill me for the shirt," he says, and rips it open, buttons scattering everywhere. He slides the shirt off Wesley's arms and then his hands move down to unsnap and unzip Wesley's pants.

As Spike begins stripping him Wes fumbles with Spike's fly. "God...bloody Christ!" Wes curses as the back of his knees hit the bed and he tumbles back taking Spike with him. "I must speak with to someone about a de-clothing spell. I do hate button fly jeans." He gasps as Spike's hand slides into his pants---fingers curling around his semi-erect cock.

Spike works Wes' pants down and peels them off, then moves his hand back to Wes' cock. "Definitely... a... good... idea..." he says between kisses and licks on Wes' throat. Then he mewls as he feels Wes' touch on his own cock as Wes finally works the buttons.

Wes pushes Spike's jeans over his hips clumsily with one hand while his other strokes the smooth column of rock hard flesh. "Jesus...mother of mercy," he whimpers as Spike strokes his cock roughly. He arches his head back, baring his throat more to Spike's clever tongue. "God, I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming...so long...I've waited so long," he sobs.

Spike starts kissing and licking and sucking his way down the center of Wes' body, as he moves his own body so that Wes can keep his grip on Spike's own cock. He lowers his mouth to lick the head of Wes' cock and to engulf it in his mouth.

As Spike's mouth engulfs him, Wes makes a keening noise deep in his throat. Wiggling, he manages to get between Spike's thighs and begins licking and teasing the head of his cock. He had never dreamed as a young man how many ways a man could please another, but he was no longer a boy. Over the years, he had learned so much and now he wanted to put it to good use. Sucking the tip of Spike's cock between his lips, he teased the slit with his tongue while he slid a finger along the delicate skin of his perineum.

Spike moans deeply, the vibrations transferring to Wes' cock. He is balanced on one hand while his other moves to start stroking on Wes' balls and inner thighs. He begins suction and then pushes down as only a vampire, needing no breath, can easily do, swallowing and deep throating Wesley's cock.

Hips jerking, Wes takes Spike deeper, trying to relax his throat, but Spike's attentions are driving him crazy. Those cool silken fingers stroking his balls, that incredible vibration running down his entire length. Finally he can't focus anymore, he lets Spike's cock slip from his mouth and he begins screaming. "OhgodOhgodOhgod!!!"

Spike purrs louder now, a real chest-shaking thrum, and swallows and sucks again, trying to take Wesley over the edge.

"CHRIST!!! Wiiiiiiiiiiiill!!!" Wes stiffens as he screams and then explodes in Spike's mouth.

Spike sucks every last hot droplet down and licks Wesley clean before he finally lifts his mouth. "I take it you enjoyed that, then, pretty?" He smirks.

Panting, Wes whines, unable to speak at the moment. His eyes flutter as his body continues trembling. After a few seconds he finally catches his breath and manages a few words. "God...yes. Want you...inside," he whimpers as he weakly spreads his legs, "fuck...please."

Spike smiles and he sits up, reaching into the bedside table, hand coming back with a tube of lube. He puts some on two fingers and begins carefully working them inside, gently stretching him and pushing in to slightly brush his prostate. "Patience, pretty. Don't want to hurt you after waiting this long."

Wes whines as Spike stretches him gently, stroking his prostate, sending jolts of heat straight to his spent cock. *Spent, but not dead,* he thinks as he twitches. "Will...my Will...please...oh, god," he mumbles and whines softly as Spike works his fingers deeper. "Wanted you...scared I lost you."

"Never again, pretty," Spike leans over and kisses Wesley's lips softly. "Never again. I'll never leave you again." He moves his fingers as he spreads lube on his cock with his other hand, and then withdraws his fingers. He starts slowly and carefully pushing into Wes, easing in as tenderly as he can manage, cooing and purring to him as he strokes him on his chest and stomach with his hands.

Back bowing, Wes pushes back against Spike's cock, his legs wrapping around his waist. He tries to urge Spike to go faster by tightening his legs, but his strength is no match for Spike's. "Promise," he whimpers, "Promise me...couldn't take it if...if I lost you...again."

"I promise," Spike says. "You won't lose me again." Spike, seeing Wesley's eagerness, moves a little faster but refuses to rush it, wanting to savor every second of this. Wesley's passage encloses him like a second home, hot flesh against his coolness, and he hisses in pleasure as he moves further and further in, finally resting fully in before he start to pump his hips back and forth.

Wes too feels he's finally found home at last. After years of searching and too many lonely nights to count, Wes has finally found his beautiful stranger. As Spike begins rocking his hips Wes cries out in need. The memory of that sketch of William flits through his mind as he's filled and emptied over and over. He wishes with all his heart he could capture William's image forever as he sees it, but he hasn't the talent. He lets out a yelp of pleasure as Spike's cock brushes his prostate and he is drawn back to the present. "Feels so good," he gasps as his cock begins to swell again.

Spike smiles and changes the angle of his hips, pushing deeper and hitting the prostate now on each stroke. "I should 'ope so, pretty, or I'm doing it wrong."

Wes laughs, then moans as Spike speeds up. "Never. Always perfect. No... oh, god... no one else like you. My beautiful... jesus... stranger." Wes finally gives in to Spike's ministrations. His hips are rocking in tandem with Spike's, his fingers clawing at the mattress, and he bears down on that exquisite thickness that fills him. His head falls back, his throat arching beautifully as he begins howling in pleasure.

Spike shifts into gameface, then forces it back down again, and he leans forward over Wes. "Can I bite you, pretty? I see your lovely throat and I want to so much," he whispers.

Shivering, Wes looks into Spike's glittering blue eyes. "Yes," he whispers.

Spike kisses and licks on Wes' throat and then shifts into gameface, burying his fangs into Wes' throat, drinking a few sips of his hot, sex-soaked blood.

Moaning, Wes' eyes roll back in his head as Spike sinks his teeth into his flesh. It's the most erotic experience he's ever had. Being penetrated by Spike's cock and by his incisors at the same time sends him spiraling. He lets out a scream and he cums for the second time--- a field of shattered stars exploding behind his closed eyes.

Spike licks the wounds closed as he cums himself, climaxing to the lovely scream of pleasure he has elicited from Wes, intoxicated on the sweet nectar he has drawn from his veins, encased and milked by Wes' muscles clamping down on him. He shoots a cool stream bathing Wes' hot insides and then collapses over Wes, being careful not to crush him. "So good, my pretty lad, so sweet." He gasps.

Wes whimpers softly, shifting so his arms curl around Spike, holding him tight to his own sweat-slicked skin. He can feel Spike, still imbedded in him, begin to soften. "William," he sighs, "...belong to you...always have." He turns his head and kisses Spike softly. "Until the end. I always will." His eyes drift shut slowly as he snuggles into Spike's throat.

Spike draws him close, purring, as he falls asleep. No leaving this time, not ever again. He wishes he had a picture of this, to keep forever. Maybe he could get Angel to do a sketch.


END