Snowbound

Chapter Three

“Alone...” echoed Angel. His gaze slid from Wesley’s smiling face to the tub of water. “I claim first bath, of course.”

Spike hissed with outrage. “On what grounds? Are we not all equally chilled and reeking of horse?”

“I outrank you both, I have the advantage of you in years...and ‘tis not I who kneels and begs to please so prettily,” Angel said, brutally frank. “You say you would do anything when passion mounts within you; this is your chance to prove it.”

Disapproval clouded Spike’s blue eyes, but before he could answer, Wesley came forward, his mouth set and grim.

“We both allow you control in certain matters, Angel,” he reminded him. “Yet do not abuse that which is freely given. ‘Tis unworthy of you.”

A flush rose to Angel’s cheeks and his eyes, darkly compelling as they were, dropped. “I – you are right, my Wes. I did not –” He glanced up and looked at them both as they stood before him. “Forgive me?”

“After you apologise,” Spike said inflexibly. “I would hear the words from your lips.”

Angel swallowed. “I am...sorry.”

Wesley sighed. Spike rebelled so frequently that it was no more than a gambit in the game all three played but Angel was too fond of quelling him to see when the rebellion was real. He himself was content to allow Angel his mastery of them; someone had to lead and Angel fitted that role naturally for the very reasons he had given and because of his character...yet the three of them were all too strong withal for it to be simple. Wesley, with a maturity that belied his years, found himself often acting the peacemaker, as he did now.

“We will cut for it,” he said, going to the saddlebags in the corner and taking out a deck of cards. “Ace high; highest card gets first bath. ‘Tis agreed?” His tone indicated that he would brook no answer other than ‘yes’ and he got two meek nods in return that made him smile, so rare was such ready compliance.

He shuffled the cards with a practiced ease and set the deck down on the table, lifting a portion of it and exposing his card. “Nine of hearts. A fair card.”

Spike swaggered over. “Easily bested.” His face fell ludicrously as he turned up a two of diamonds and he shook his head in disgust. ‘’Twill be like bathing in snowmelt!” he muttered.

Angel stood and stretched, good humour restored and his eyes alight with confidence. Reaching out his hand, he slid the uppermost card off the deck and flipped it over. The Ace of Spades winked up at him and he smiled faintly as his hand went up to tug at his cravat.

Resigned and silent, they went to him, Spike helping him shrug out of his tightly fitting coat, Wesley falling to his knees as Angel sat and extended first one foot and then the other so that Wesley might carefully pull off his riding boots. Angel normally had his valet perform that task gloved but the boots were so bespattered with snow that it scarcely mattered. He removed his own breeches and hose as Spike and Wes took care of each other, and stepped, with a satisfied sigh, into the deep, hot bath, his eyes closing in bliss.

Spike stared at him and shook his head but before he could utter the words that sprang to his lips, Wesley, in no mood for further disagreements, stopped his mouth with a kiss. They stood there, bare of chest and foot, hands roving slowly over each other, until Angel called out, “Will no one wash my back? The swifter I finish the sooner the water is yours. Is that sufficient incentive?”

“Indeed,” said Wesley, his voice husky as he released Spike. “As I am next to bathe, I will offer you assistance.”

Angel turned his head and looked at him. “Both of you,” he said quietly. His eyes flickered. “And were you to seek my advice, it would be that you finish disrobing first.” His smile flashed out at them, predatory and hungry. “The floor is somewhat damp,” he explained.

They obeyed him and walked over to where he lay, their manhoods already thickened with arousal. Angel nodded a command and they stood on either side of him, waiting. He glanced up, his smile widening. “Such an interesting view from this vantage point,” he purred. He reached up both hands and gripped their cocks, sliding soapy, warm fingers along the hard shafts. Spike sighed with pleasure, his head going back as his hips thrust forward. Wesley, always more reserved, so that Angel delighted in the challenge of breaking down that reserve, of coaxing intemperate demands and pleas from that cool mouth, bit his lower lip and stood still, hands clenching by his side.

Angel let his hands slip back under the soap cld wad water to touch himself briefly, cupping his tight balls and groaning softly. “Will no one wash my back?” he demanded mischievously.

Wesley knelt beside him and helped him sit up, taking the cloth and rubbing it over the broad expanse of Angel’s muscled back. Spike sank down too, leaning forward and capturing Angel’s mouth with his own, his tongue darting between open lips to tease at Angel’s. Strong arms encircled him and it seemed likely that Spike would end up enjoying a bath somewhat in advance of his rightful position were it not for Wesley coughing significantly as his hands moved around Angel’s waist and down.

“I believe it is my turn?” he said pointedly, caressing Angel’s thick shaft with slow strokes of his slick hands. “Spike; help Angel out of the bath and fetch a towel from beside the fireplace.”

Spike stood regretfully and did as he was bidden and Angel leaned back, chuckling softly, against Wesley’s shoulder. “You had best stop that,” he said, “or I will be loath to surrender my place.”

Wesley bent his head to press his lips against Angel’s back. “Then halt, I shall,” he said, pleased to hear Angel sigh as he withdrew his hands.

Wesley took Angel’s place in the bath, watching indulgently as Spike dried Angel, who stood, arms outstretched, like a statue of the finest marble. Spike moved around him using the pretext of removing the droplets that coursed over Angel’s body to touch and tease him, his tongue darting out to lap at Angel’s cock, even as he knelt to dry Angel’s legs.

By the time they were done, with Angel near ready to spill his seed had Spike not grinned and stood up, stepping back with an ironic bow, Wesley had left the tub and was making his way to the fireplace, shivering slightly. “I would hurry,” he told Spike. “The water is losing its warmth.”

“I thought as much,” Spike grumbled, no more than half serious. He stepped into the water, grimaced as it was no better than lukewarm, and began to wash himself. Angel smiled at Wesley and returned the favour Spike had shown him, wrapping Wesley in a large towel and holding him within his embrace, rubbing softly through the soft cloth and restoring the warmth to his chilled body.

By the time Spike emerged, the towel was lying on the floor and the men were kissing each other fiercely, the firelight flickering over their bodies until they seemed like two flames themselves, twisting in an endless embrace. His head cocked to one side, he watched them for a moment, his face filled with a passion he no longer strove to deny or hide. Drying himself quickly on the last towel, he joined them and they turned to him, eyes heavy with need, opening their arms so that he could slip inside and be held in his turn.

After a moment, Angel said, “I find the bed calling me. Think you it is indeed magical, Wesley?” He smiled at his own jest but Wesley frowned, freeing himself from their arms and going over to the bed.

“I wanted to study these carvings,” he mused, reaching out a finger and tracing one that wound around the heavy post closest to him.

Spike groaned theatrically. “Wesley, I will not have you sinking deep into study at this moment when you should be sinking into –”

“Yes, yes,” Wesley murmured, “To be sure I will, but see here, this pattern is so familiar...”

Angel lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head in perplexity. He knew that once his attention was caught by a problem Wesley would effectively be deaf and blind to his companions, but both of them had learned that he reacted badly to being interrupted once he was on the track of a solution. In short, Wesley would fall into a fit of the sullens, refusing all their efforts to cajole him into a better temper and leaving Spike swearing in frustration and Angel clinging to his own temper with difficulty. Tonight was the not the night for any of that and he was trying to think of a way out of the difficulty when Wesley exclaimed and whirled around, a triumphant smile on his face.

“The books! The ones Giles lent me so many years ago! ‘Tis the pattern they bore. How exceedingly odd...I recall now that there was a most peculiar sensation when I touched them. I wonder ...”

Spike moved to his side. “There are other things to touch than hard wood,” he said.

Angel burst out laughing and Spike grinned ruefully. “You take my true meaning,” he protested. “Wesley, cannot this wait? I long for you both, devil take it! I will not see you turn a cold shoulder on those who love you in this fashion.”

Wesley gave them both a look of mingled apology and entreaty. “Give me but a moment?” he begged.

Angel rolled his eyes and then nodded. “Make haste, Wesley. I will not be denied your body tonight and I will not possess it with your mind elsewhere.” He came to join Spike beside Wesley, running a hand down Wesley’s arm. “Do you understand? You will be ours completely, with no reservations?”

Wesley ran his tongue over dry lips as Angel’s hot gaze scorched him. He said, forming the words with difficulty, “I will...I always am. You know that. Yours.” He turned to Spike, “Yours,” he said simply.

“Then hurry,” Spike said, a growl adding force to his words.

Wesley blinked and turned back. “If I place my hands thus,” he said, “yes, I can feel it again – a tingle that invades me.” He pulled his hands back. “Do you but try it,” he invited, stepping aside.

Spike and Angel both tried but reported no such feeling. Wesley frowned. “I have a feeling that all three of us are linked in this quest as in all else. It seems wrong that you should not feel it too.”

“Why?” Angel asked bluntly. “You were ever the one to whom Giles gave most attention, the one who matched his curiosity with your own. ‘Tis no surprise if you are drawn to this and we are not.”

Wesley shook his head impatiently. “No. Consider; this storm rose up from nowhere and drove us here, scant miles from our destination. Giles is seeking a spell his ancestor worked, the same man who made this bed and imbued it with magic. I fancy that there is more at work here than we realise.” He hesitated and then said slowly. “Let me try something. Stand beside me again and when I touch the carvings, lay each of you one hand over mine.”

“If it will be your last request that does not concern my hands on you in passion and my mouth ‘gainst yours, I will,” Spike said lightly.

Angel was less quick to agree, frowning slightly as he stared at the bed, but in the end he shrugged and went to Wesley’s right hand.

“Now,” Wesley said through gritted teeth, his hands resting against the carvings. He felt the comforting weight of their hands on his and then the room rippled around them, the air glowing brightly as though the sun had risen.

Wesley heard a cry of surprise from one of them and forced himself to remain calm, observant. He squinted and saw that the light came from the bed itself as every mark etched into the ancient, blackened wood was silver now, a liquid, swirling pattern of living light. Wesley strained to make sense of the patterns before they faded but gave up in despair. “I cannot – do you see? Can you comprehend?” he asked his friends urgently.

He dared not turn to look at them but he heard them answer him in the negative and sighed. Already the light was fading and when it had all been extinguished, they let their hands drop to their sides.

“It seems you had the right of it, Wesley,” Spike said, his sober tones at variance with his earlier manner. “For all the good it did us.”

“I felt as though I were on the verge of understanding, but –” Wesley shook his head sadly.

Angel walked to the able and poured them all wine, handing them the glasses in silence. Wesley accepted his but continued to stare at the bed.

“Enough, Wesley,” Angel said roughly. “Drink it; it will do you no good in the glass. You are paler than I like to see you.”

Wesley took a sip of wine and then said eagerly, “Perhaps we could try to trace the design? Call for paper and ink, Angel!”

“Enough!” Angel said, his voice rising. “Enough,” he repeated in more moderate tones as he met Wesley’s shocked eyes.

“You promised us,” Spike reminded Wesley.

Wesley flushed. “But this is important!” he pleaded.

“And we are not?” Spike asked quietly, not troubling to conceal his hurt. “’Tis not that we seek to bind you to us unwillingly, to divert your attention to us to the exclusion of all else. I have my poetry, Angel his sport; but we do not retreat into them as you do your books, Wesley.” He smiled, “Besides; you know what the legend says about the bed; I wager this is the first time it has born the weight of three and it may be that our efforts may awaken more magic, long lain dormant.”

“Or bed bugs,” Angel said seriously, keeping his mouth from twitching into a smile with difficulty as Wesley’s jaw dropped.

Spike chuckled. “If the landlord heard you, he would call you out for that slur!”

Wesley’s shoulders, tensed and taut, relaxed. “So,” he said, “you truly believe that it would be in the nature of research were we to pursue our usual practices upon this bed?” They nodded solemnly and he grinned, dark blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “Gentlemen, I am persuaded. To bed.”