Spike's shoulders locked as he hovered over Angel.
Blue irises met dark ones.
Angel sighed. "Buf..."
Spike rushed to kiss his Sire, quietly frantic, swallowing the Slayer's name before it reached Lisandra's sensitive ears.
This was supposed to be Angel's punishment. If the vampiress realized what Morghane had just done - and Spike didn't doubt for a second that the Guardian was behind this latest twist - she wouldn't think twice about throwing Angel to her 'boys'.
Spike plunged his tongue deeply inside Angel's mouth, eyes wide open, trying to convey a warning to his Sire.
Angel moaned softly, and blinked.
His eyes glowed brightly for a fraction of a second - his bond with Morghane, dormant since the Guardian had lost consciousness, flaring to life once more.
He nodded - his gaze both thankful and apologetic.
Spike shook his head imperceptibly.
He didn't mind. Morghane might have made him a conduit between Angel and Buffy, but it was still his teeth gnawing at Angel's Adam's apple, and his hands massaging the narrow, lean hips - eliciting strangled huffs of stolen pleasure from the dark-haired vampire.
Spike felt the Slayer lingering at the edge of his consciousness, her memories merging with his, her drive, her passion, her love for the vampire panting underneath him fueling his desire, spurring him on. There was no bitterness. Not from him, and not from her. Just the brutal, all-encompassing, common need to satiate Angel until the vampire passed out from pleasure and left the pain behind.
Spike didn't turn to look at the Slayer. He could hear her heartbeat picking up and smell the heady scent of her growing arousal. Lisandra laughed mockingly in the background, taunting Buffy with her obvious reaction to the scene unfolding before her. But none of them cared.
Pushing all thoughts of the vampiress, the Guardian and the Slayer away from his mind as best he could, Spike returned his full attention to his Sire. Determinedly, he unbuttoned his light red shirt, stripping down to his customary black cotton t-shirt, then made short work of that too. Never one to be hampered by vain modesty, the blonde vampire finished undressing.
He was already hard.
Naked, he straddled Angel's powerful thighs, careful not to put any of his weight on the vampire's abused body.
Spike had never been on top before, and he couldn't help but compare Angel and Angelus. Where Angelus had been secure in his own seduction, his lethal beauty and his ability to get anyone - regardless of sexual preferences - in his bed in ten seconds flat, Angel bore his stunning good looks with unassuming, slightly bemused naivete. While Angel shared Angelus' memories and knew that his body had always been his most effective bait, his skewed, insecure perception of himself colored even his appraisal of his own attractiveness. Angel believed that the ugliness in his soul reflected on his face.
He could not have been further from the truth though, and Spike found his Sire's artless demeanor strangely endearing.
Similarly, where Angelus had been vocal and expressive - his face and body language mirroring each emotion plainly - Angel had mastered the characteristic detachment of his winged, heavenly namesakes.
The divine, beatific sobriety which could make one mistakenly believe that Angel felt nothing at all.
Spike knew better and he could hardly wait to experience the pleasure of provoking something - anything - any kind of reaction on that angelic face.
A whip cracked loudly and the blonde vampire rushed to cover his Sire's body with his own before he even felt the sting of leather slicing the skin of his back.
"Enough foreplay, Spike. I'm bored again."
Lisandra slashed the whip down a few more times for good measure and Spike did nothing, crouching over his Sire, stoically withstanding the pain. He felt a twinge of remorse as he realized that the Slayer suffered along with him. But she was strong. A few strokes wouldn't bother her for long.
And indeed, Buffy didn't even twitch.
Spike was startled by Angel's hoarse words.
He smiled kindly at his Sire.
"Angelus' foreplay techniques were much worse."
Angel flinched with guilt, evading his Childe's gaze, and Spike wanted to slap himself.
Lisandra retreated, and Spike bit back the words of reassurance that wanted to spill forth. He bent over Angel's rigid form instead, and slowly lowered his zipper. Slipping one hand under his Sire's back, he lifted the dark-haired vampire's hips slightly off the ground and tugged his pants and boxers down, freeing Angel's cock.
He knew what his Sire needed.
"Close your eyes."
Angel stiffened under his hands and Spike frowned.
Until he felt Buffy freeze too.
A blinding, sharp image of Angel, a sword protruding from his belly, hand outstretched, his expression pleading and betrayed, flashed in front of Spike's eyes. And the younger vampire understood.
He slid by his Sire's side and kissed Angel's spasming stomach.
"I won't hurt you," he murmured against a patch of smooth, unblemished skin. "I would never hurt you, Sire." He amended. "Never again. I promise."
Spike raised his hand, slow and deliberate, as if Angel was some untamed, frightened wild animal ready to bolt. He lowered his palm over his Sire's grief-stricken eyes.
Hiding himself from Angel's unfathomable sorrow.
Hiding Angel from Lisandra's sickening, profane stare.
But most of all hiding Angel from Spike himself.
Knowing that when he would close his mouth around Angel's cock, his Sire would picture the Slayer in his mind's eye, and feel her lips over his flesh.
Spike's gift to Angel.
Sensing Lisandra's swelling impatience, knowing that she was getting ready to lash out against Angel, Spike wrapped his mouth around the sensitive head of his Sire's cock.
Angel whimpered and Spike felt like catching a breath. He hadn't elicited that sound from his Sire in so long. Two weeks ago, there had been insults and death threats. Not now, though. Nothing but moans of unadulterated relief.
The Slayer groaned softly in response.
Spike lifted his hand away from Angel's eyes, knowing that the older vampire would keep his eyes closed until otherwise ordered. His fingers found his Sire's heavy sack, while his other hand closed around the base of Angel's shaft, squeezing. The dark-haired vampire hardened immediately. Spike flicked his tongue along the underside of Angel's cock, pumping gently with his hand, until his teeth replaced his tongue against the silky smooth, hard flesh, nipping, gnawing - generally driving Angel closer to the brink.
His Sire's hips convulsed yearningly, pleading, and Spike stole a glance at his face. Angel's head was thrown back in trust, and his teeth dug into his lower lip as he tried to keep from shouting the Slayer's name out loud.
Without further warning, Spike took Angel's cock in his mouth until the taut flesh hit the back of his throat.
The perks of not needing to breathe.
Spike purred and Angel moaned, lifting himself off the ground with his urgent need to dive deeper into that moist, velvety coolness. Spike's assiduous purring did the most amazing things to the sluggish blood in his veins, even now heading south.
He breathed raggedly and this time, he didn't mind.
Spike tasted the pre-come weeping out of Angel's shaft and growled with unrestrained pleasure as his Sire swelled further between his lips. His hand returned to its upwards and downwards strokes, in counter-rhythm to his mouth. His Sire jerked and surged forward with a tiny, anxious cry, diving into Spike's mouth, but the vampire was ready for him and relaxed his muscles. He clutched one of Angel's straining thighs with one hand to keep his balance and tightened his grip around his Sire's shaft.
Angel shivered and crooned softly, arching up.
A cold, slippery jet hit the roof of Spike's mouth and the younger vampire swallowed eagerly, still stroking and milking the softening cock, his tongue dancing in big, sweeping swirls around the cold flesh. Before Angel lay completely spent, Spike gathered the last of the spurting semen between his fingers. Hardly proper lubrication, but it was better than forcing his Sire open dry.
Spike lifted his gaze away from Angel long enough to catch the Slayer's eyes.
Buffy was clutching Morghane to her chest, shaking and flushed, tears steadily coursing down her face.
She inclined her head a bit.
The shimmering hazel windows to her soul conveyed her gratitude, as well as renewed her blessing. It was Spike's turn to make love to Angel now.
Spike's gaze returned to his Sire.
Eyes still closed, Angel lay stretched out and quiescent on the black leather duster, like some indolent, giant cat allowing himself to be petted. There was a small, barely discernible smile lingering on his lips, and it almost brought a matching one to Spike's face.
Angel had enjoyed his little dreamlike encounter with the Slayer. Good. That was the point, after all. Angel had suffered enough, had been humbled enough. He deserved every ounce of pleasure he could get, even if the whole experience had left Spike feeling like nothing but a convenient substitute.