Title: Even The Scream
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Pairing: Wesley/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Summary: Just after “In the Dark”, and before “Parting Gifts”, one man
and one vampire meet in a patch of light.
Dedicated to Marguerite.
“You’re what?”
“A Rogue Demon Hunter.”
“Sod off,” Spike said. They were in a supermarket, the brightly lit aisles drawing Wesley because it was better to be alone inside than out, and Spike because he needed more peroxide and chocolate to keep Harmony around.
“I’m terribly sorry—Spike—but I’m going to have to stake you.”
“Look—what’s your name?”
“Wesley, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.”
“Look, Wesley, I’ve just lost the Gem of Amarra to my ponce of a sire, my only chance for someone to sleep with tonight is a blonde airhead, and I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This.” Spike started to shove past Wesley, only to find the tip of a stake resting on his chest.
“That won’t…” Wesley began, but Spike reached the end of his patience. His face flickered into the bestial ridges of his vampiric form.
Wesley took a step back, fast. Spike decided to take advantage of his surprise, and moved towards the frightened ex-Watcher. “Afraid of me, Wesley? I like that.”
“I… I…” Wesley stuttered, backing up further, until he reached the shelves and realised he couldn’t escape. “I… excuse me!” Wesley ducked under Spike’s arm—or tried to. Spike caught his shoulder, held him firmly, and bent down to his neck.
“Guh,” Wesley said, and then managed, “Spike! There’s someone…”
Spike followed Wesley’s gaze—a flash of red hair. He returned to human face, pulled Wesley’s head round, and kissed him, hard. Hopefully, whoever it was would just assume that they were a normal gay couple. If he didn’t let Wesley scream, it was likely.
Of course, making Wesley scream, but in quite a different way, had an appeal.
He wouldn’t need Harmony to satisfy his needs, for example.
After a few seconds, as he felt Wesley’s knees begin to buckle, he lifted his head and looked around—nobody.
“Like that, love?” he smirked.
Wesley didn’t try to make a verbal answer, just nodded.
“My place or yours?”
Again, no answer, just Wesley’s eyes meeting his, blue and dark and filled with hatred and lust.
“The car it is. Come on.”
Spike had been drinking and Wesley’s knees hadn’t recovered from their sudden transmutation into jelly, so they leant on each other quite heavily as they made their way out.
The car keys had been lost in LA, so it didn’t take Spike long to open the back door, and shove Wesley in.
The stagger through the cool night air of the nearly empty parking lot had revived Wesley—he no longer felt drunk on kissing or filled with the thrill of intimate touches. “What am I doing?” he asked, while Spike opened the car door. “What are you doing?” he enquired as he found himself bundled into the back seat. “What’s this?” he wanted to know, when he found he was sitting on an arm bone.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Spike told him, and started rectifying the situation.
“You’re…”
“Yes, Wesley. I’m fed up with Harmony.”
“Not Cordelia’s friend Harmony?”
“You know the bitch? Yeah, Cordelia’s friend,” Spike answered, without pausing in his assault on Wesley’s shirt buttons.
“I had the, er, pleasure of Cordelia’s acquaintance,” Wesley replied. “She is quite something, isn’t she?”
Spike’s mouth was occupied with the pulse point in Wesley’s neck—not biting, not at the moment (he’d eaten earlier), but licking and sucking. He sucked a little harder, and Wesley moaned, trying to pull Spike closer to him.
Lifting his head, Spike said in Wesley’s ear, “If you’re going to use your hands, mate, take some of my clothes off.”
“Oh. Of course,” Wesley said, and complied. Unlike Spike, he didn’t bother with the shirt and jacket, but went straight for the important parts, so that Spike soon found himself naked from the waist down, though still wearing his leather duster.
He tried to shake it off his shoulders, but Wesley mumbled, “No. I like it.”
“Turned on by it, are you?” Spike asked. Wesley pressed his hips into Spike, making the answer obvious. “Like being with something evil?”
To add emphasis to the last word, Spike let his eyes gleam gold and his brow wrinkle. When Wesley responded with another thrust, he completed the change, and then ran his elongated teeth down the nearest part of Wesley—his throat, through the soft gap in his collar bone, and on over the chest that heaved as Wesley panted with desire.
The movement drew a tiny line of blood. Wesley moaned and arched his back.
“Is this what you want, Wesley? To be fucked into the back seat of a car, by a demon who could kill you at any second—and I will, when I’m done. Or maybe before, if you don’t make me feel good while you’re alive.”
Wesley’s eyes were wide with terror, and his cock was harder than ever.
A little discreet groping under the driver’s seat produced some lube. Spike, overtaken by some uncharacteristic kindness, rested Wesley’s ass on his lap, giving him complete access, and started to prepare him.
As he slid his fingers into the heat of Wesley’s body, he kept talking, mostly to amuse himself.
“I like to mix big and small deaths, Wesley. Being killed is the most erotic thing in life, and I’m very good at killing. I’ve had more than a hundred years of practice: killing hippies, doctors, ladies, prostitutes, watchers, policemen, slayers. Name any group, and I’ve killed them. When I kill, Wesley, I like to have sex, too. I’ve fucked people from all over the globe.”
He twisted, positioning himself to push his cock into Wesley. “They all start to look alike from this angle.” Spike rocked forward, and Wesley groaned. “They all sound the same, too. Come up with something new, why don’t you.”
Wesley did his best, but even the scream didn’t please
Spike. Ten minutes later, he was alone, naked, lying on concrete, and thanking
God that Spike had been too taken with the red-headed girl who passed to
actually kill him.