Lingerie

Angel's POV

He hated Lathrose demons. He hated their protruding watery eyes. He hated their garish purple skin. And he hated their sticky yellow viscera! It was…everywhere! Disgusted, he began ripping his clothes off the minute he stepped through the door.

Damn! His shirt was ruined, his shoes were ruined, his…What? What the...?? Oh. God. There were sticky, slimy Lathrose guts in his hair!! Stifling a growl, he spun on his heel and swept towards the bathroom. Hovering in the bedroom entryway, he froze; shirtless, pants half un-buttoned, missing one shoe, one end of his belt in his hand, the other trailing the floor. The room glowed from a myriad of white pillar candles, clustered on end tables and in corners. The crimson rose petals crushed beneath his feet delineated a path to the bed - covered in black satin sheets - and in the middle, was his Childe.

Spike was reclined lazily in a nest of black downy pillows, his knees flirtatiously cocked to one side, arms stretched above his head. Dressed completely in virginal white; a strapless satin corset drawing that too-narrow waist impossibly smaller. How is he possibly breathing? Oh. Right. His bulging erection was barely contained in a low-cut, lacy thong and satin stockings caressed long, languid legs. The rose petal trail continued onto the bed and right onto Spike. Spike… who. was. cuffed. to. the. bed.

His hair was tousled in a just-been-fucked-brainless half-spikey, half-curly mess. Almost-midnight eyes rimmed with black were large and round and glassy, and those pale pink glossy lips shimmered in the candle-glow. The barest tip of a tongue slipped out to moisten them, while sultry eyes blinked slowly and locked with Angel’s. One word slipped from pouty pink lips and shot, an arrow of lovelust, right to his heart: “Angel…” Then directly to his groin.

Why wasn’t he moving, dammit!

Snapping out of his stupor, he was by the bed in an instant. The tousled, pouting blonde smirked, parted glossy lips to suggest something assuredly wicked, then recoiled.

“Bloody hell, Angel, you stink!”

“I…” Angel began, but was promptly interrupted.

“Bleeding fuck! Go take a shower, mate!”

Stunned, Angel glanced downwards at his state of disarray. Noticing the belt still clutched in his right hand, his features shifted into a devious smirk.

Wide-eyed, Spike attempted to scramble away, but was held in place by the magically-enhanced, vamp-proof restraints he’d placed on himself.

Beginning to panic, he backpedaled; “Angel, luv…why don’t you go clean up?”

What had been a smirk blossomed into a full-fledged, evil grin. He lunged, grappling with satiny-slick flailing legs. Grasping two narrow ankles with his left hand, he quickly looped them together and bound them tightly to the foot of the bed.

“Don’t move.”

A simple command, but a subtle shift in tone assured that the younger vamp froze, wide eyed and panting. Satisfied, Angel turned and went to draw himself a bath.

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Spike POV

Well, he’d bolloxed that up. He’d only wanted to surprise the gelled wanker, and now he was strapped to the bed while the poof was lounging in the bath, whistling an ode to Calgon. Whistling. There was only one thing to do. He began; panting and issuing groans pulled from his toes. “Angel…uh…..Annngel…Oh! God!..Angel…” A splash and a thud later and he was looking up at a very wet, very slippery, very aroused Angel – who was covered in bubbles.

Stifling a smirk, he glanced shyly upward and asked, “What took you so long?” Angel said nothing. So he said nothing, but wondered what the hell was rolling around in that big melon perched on Angel’s shoulders.

He watched, transfixed, as one glistening, soapy, meaty finger stalked him and gasped as it made contact with the hollow of his throat, luminous blue eyes locking with needle-black ones. It began to move, tracing delicate collarbones and bare, smooth shoulders, gliding down to a satin-covered chest. When the digit traced one satiny nipple, then the other, he arched off the bed, undulating into the touch. It moved lower, teasing the lone strip of flesh not covered with satin or lace. The finger moved south, pausing momentarily to whisper a caress over a lacey bulge. The digit then thoroughly explored satin stockings, making extensive stopovers at inner thighs and ticklish arches.

What was the poof trying to do, kill him?? “Dammit, Angel! Get on with it, will ya?” Dark eyes cut to his; reprimand unspoken, but clear. Masculine hands seized his hips and then he was facedown in black satin. One finger was joined by nine, which flitted over a straining silken back, then violently gripped bare cheeks. An involuntary shudder wracked his body as Angel began kneading and pawing said uncovered ass. Without warning, the thong was ripped from his body, cheeks spread and a cool, wet tongue was pressed against his hole. Feathery, teasing licks became more demanding until the thick slippery muscle eased into dark recesses. Angel moaned into his bowels, the first sound the poof had made since falling out of the bathtub.

Spike was begin devoured from the inside, the brunette’s insistent tongue caressingstrokingmassagingloving his passage. With a glancing brush of his prostate, He lost it. A series of growls, chirps and purrs resonated from his chest; Angel’s baritone moans and grunts soon joined in. The tongue withdrew and when a soft, moist kiss lingered on the nape of his neck, Spike whimpered.

His cheeks were seized again and he was entered in one hard thrust. He cried out, head thrashing back and forth in the sheets. He was shushed - light, chaste kisses sprinkled over neck and shoulders. And then Angel moved.

For Spike it was too much, yet facedown, ankles still tied together, it wasn’t deep enough. Bugger, he was going to have to…well, in for a penny and that rot. After moistening his lips, he turned his head and caught the brunette’s eye. “Sire, Please..” Kicking ineffectually with bound legs in demonstration, he arched his neck, subtly submissive. He whimpered at the withdrawal, then felt hands fumbling with his ankles. Hook. Line. And. Sinker.

In an instant, he was on his knees and Angel’s cock was slamming back inside. His legs free, he began thrusting backward, angling his hips so that…Bloody hell! That was the spot! They writhed together, his Sire filling him and he was taken back over a century. But then there was more, and this wasn’t Angelus, but Angel who began fisting his weeping cock…and he just couldn’t, and…Bloody hell…he came, howling Angel’s name as he was filled in turn.

He collapsed, a hulking mass of vampire crushing him into the bed. “Ugh…get off,” he panted out as best he could with his face mashed into the bedclothes. Angel rolled off, with a muffled “sorry.”

Rolling over, he smirked. Well, that worked out just…peachy. Stretching, he was jarred out of his thoughts by the clink of the cuffs against the bed frame. “Uh, Angel? Bit of help here?” A brunette head raised up and stared. “Angel?” Oh, hell, that smirk was back. “Angel, I’m not kidding. Let me out of these!” He yelped, jangling the cuffs. Balls, that look wasn’t good.

“Sure thing,” Angel said as he moved off the bed and began rummaging in a drawer. “As soon as I find my camera…”

Well…fuck.