(Angel's POV)

Okay, I just paid him a compliment (how poof-y is that?) and the earth didn't open and swallow me. Well, it wasn't really a compliment, more like the truth. He IS irresistible and I do want him. But it's foolish to think anything could happen after everything I said to him. Actually, I'm amazed he hasn't donned his old attitude-telling me to fuck off and then driving off to Sunnydale, already. He needed to unburden, so now that it's happened he should be on his way. Instead he's still here.

"So, you think I'm rude?" he asks.

"Yup."

"Annoying?"

"Yup."

"But irresistible?"

"Yup."

"I can live with that," he says.

I stare at him and all I can think of is that I want him. I can smell him. Leather and tobacco, plus the scent of his blood. He still hasn't put his clothes back on. I want to touch him... want him to touch me.

"Spike, those things I said... those other things, you know, when..."

"You think too much, Angel," he interrupts me. The ghost of a smile appears. "And you've got way too many clothes on."

I agree.

I take off my coat, shirt and undershirt, fold them neatly and pile them up next to me. Shoes and socks are next. I take my time, giving him every conceivable opportunity to change his mind.

Having done that I place my hand at the back of his neck and run my thumb over his uninjured cheek. His eyes close, like those of a cat when it's stroked.

"Are you sure? I mean, you're injured..."

"Yeah. So?" He opens his eyes and looks at me.

I run my fingers across his chest to his shoulders, caressing him. His gaze never wavers. His pupils dilate. I wonder what he's thinking behind those blue eyes. What is this to him?

"You're doin' it again, mate," he startles me out of my musings. He unbuckles his belt. When did he take off his docs?

"What?"

"Thinking. You're thinking again," Spike says, as he pulls down the zip of his pants, revealing his hard shaft, "when you should just gear up for a nice fuck."

Crude...but accurate.

I bury my hand in his hair. I lean towards him and kiss him, slowly. My tongue plunges into his mouth, savouring him. He responds willingly. My hands roam over his back, his hands roam over mine. I push forward and he lets himself fall backward. I follow him down, our lips never losing contact. I slip one of my knees between his legs and grind my erection against his hip. My left arm has to carry my weight but my right hand is free to roam his body. I use it to slide inside his open pants to cup his buttock.

Such a nice ass! I give it a squeeze. Then I proceed to pull his pants off. He cooperates by lifting his hips. At last he lies before me, totally naked. He's totally desirable - and he knows it.

I take the time to admire his lean limbs, the mixture of lithe grace and strength. Even bruised and battered he still exudes a brazen sexuality. He's like a rapier, sharp, built for speed, lethal but smooth. Flexible, too. He bends and bends until you think he snapped, but when you release him he springs back unharmed and is as deadly and beautiful as ever.

Me, I'm more of a broadsword, big, heavy, with a nasty cutting edge. Next to him I feel slow, clumsy and rigid, in more ways than one. It took me a hundred years and a prodding by Whistler to set me on my path. Took him a chip and two years. But this is not some kind of contest or race. At least not to me. And this is not the right moment to dwell on such things.

He basks in my admiration. His cock is already hard and erect, but now that he feels my eyes on him he undulates his hip slightly, making it bob up and down. He smirks, folding his arms above his head and sprawling around like a large tom-cat. A horny and rather shameless tom-cat. I stare at the way he displays himself.

I grab my duffle bag and start rummaging around in it. He rolls over and reaches for his duster and searches the pockets. We succeed at the same time, triumphantly holding a little tube in the air.

"Boy scout," he calls me with a grin.

"Optimist," is my fond reply.

We smile at each other in a rare moment of rapport. He seems to come to a decision. He tosses his tube aside. "Your turn, Angel," he says, unceremoniously. "Do me."

Two words that aren't as callous as they sound. My throat constricts. He. Trusts. Me.

I swallow. I take off my pants and my boxers and toss them aside. He grins. Somehow that gets rid of some of my nervousness. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

I think he expects me to take him on his back, but as nice as being able to look at him is, I want both of us to be more comfortable and relaxed. I coax him until he's lying on his side and then I position myself behind him, spooning him.

We're both facing the Pacific. I gently kiss his shoulders and his neck. I make sure I have no sand on my hands before I unscrew the little tube and squeeze some lube onto my fingers. I push my left arm underneath his waist so I can hold him tight or reach his cock if I want to. Then I move the lubricated digits of my right to the crease between his cheeks. I find his opening and probe it gently. He inhales sharply.

I nibble on his shoulders as I slowly push a slick finger into his tight hole. Okay, according to how this felt when we were doing it the other way round and according to everything I've read on the subject since then, the magical spot should be about ... here. He bucks against my hand.

"God, yes..." he whispers.

I take my time. I can be very patient. Also, a few hours ago I pleasured myself under the shower, so the need isn't quite as... pressing.

I listen to the sounds of his breathing as I work him with my finger.

"Yes...," he says hoarsely. And after a pause: "More."

I kiss the nape of his back. I withdraw and apply some more lube, then I push two fingers in. He tenses briefly at the intrusion. I pause, giving him time to get used to it.

How can I assure him that he's not disgusting?

"I'd like to draw you sometime," I murmur. "Will you pose for me? In the nude?"

I don't give him an opportunity to answer me. Instead I wriggle my fingers and make him gasp. I trace the contours of his shoulder blade with my tongue and breathe on the moistened skin. He moans. I can feel him relaxing again.

As I continue to prepare him I talk to him, I tell him that I've been thinking about him these past six weeks. That I've been dreaming of this, of burying myself in him. The fact that he's looking the other way makes it easier to say these things.

My cock twitches, as if to underline my words. My hips undulate against him with growing urgency. The friction of my leaking cock rubbing against his back sends shivers through my whole body. I leave a moist trail on his skin.

"Angel," he chokes out, his voice thick with desire, "Stop prattling and fuck me already!"

I smile, glad that he's his crude self again.

"Tsk, tsk, more respect for your elders," I chuckle, but I fumble for the little tube and carefully lubricate my length. I align myself properly and coax him slightly forward. He hitches up his right knee and leans on it. I place the swollen head at his opening and prod him with minute little thrusts.

He bucks backwards, trying to impale himself. I clasp his hips and stop him.

"William the bloody impatient," I chuckle. "Relax. Trust me. Let me take care of you."

He takes a deep breath and some of the tension dissipates as he places himself under my control.

I reach for his shaft with my left and slowly start to pump him. He pants. I position my cock with my right hand and start pushing again, teasingly, each thrust a little bit more insistent, until the anticipation becomes unbearable for us both. There. With a suppressed groan I push inside. I pause halfway to give both of us a chance to adjust. Also, I don't want to come just yet.

I'd forgotten how tight he is. How good it feels to be inside him. I always shied away from the recollection because of everything else that memory entailed. But tonight we're making a new set of memories.

I sling my right arm around his waist. And then I push until I am fully buried in him. I can feel him tremble at the sensation. Not in pain, though, but in a good way. He clasps my arm.

I continue to stroke his hard length. As I start a slow rocking he throws his head back, and moans. "Yes, oh Angel... oh my god..."

I kiss his shoulder again.

Then I begin to thrust, following the soothing rhythm of the waves.

Would you believe that tenderness is something I learned from Buffy?

***

(Spike's POV)

Oh God.

There's nothing wrong with a good hard fuck. And pain, well, it can become an acquired taste and we're vampires, for god's sake. I can take pain. Doesn't mean I'm in love with it.

But he treats me as if I'm dainty or fragile or something.

Part of me goes wild with impatience, and wants to dispense with the niceties, but the other half of me is almost sobbing with gratitude. How pathetic is that?

Angel's slow, languid thrusts send waves of pleasure without pain through my body, making me shiver. Making me gasp. Meanwhile he's also jerking me off. If he goes on like that I'm gonna... yes...oh yes... oh bloody hell! He pauses. I can feel him shudder with the effort to control himself. Good. I try not to move, not wanting to push either of us over the edge. Cause I don't want this to end. Ever.

Cause it will. And tomorrow we'll be what? Back to normal?

I stare at the waves in front of me, just a few yards away. Listen to their sound and to our breathing.

God I never thought this could be THAT good. I'd forgotten what it's like to be filled like that. For a whole minute he just holds me tight, burying his face in my shoulder, then he's moving again. Again those long deep thrusts, almost torturously slow. He's groaning, as his movements become more erratic, but then, as we're nearing release he finally picks up speed.

"Yes... oh... yes... Angel, fuck... yeah..." I know I'm babbling but I don't care.

He pounds into me, Angel, not Angelus, and it's what I need, everything else is far away, there's just him and me and the waves, and only the stars are watching as I thrash around under his thrusts, coming forcefully all over his fist. My spasms are enough to send him over the edge, too. Two or three more thrusts and he spills his seed into me, calling my name.

I've done lots of things in my time. Me and Dru, we tried out everything; not to mention the stuff that went on when Angelus was around; shagged Harmony with her unicorn obsession and her Barbie doll brain; even did a robot. And passionately and wildly made love to Buffy.

But the one person to actually make love to ME is Angel, who I hated for most of my undead existence.

Ironic, innit?

*****
Part 5:

(Angel's POV)

We're lying in the sand, spent, relaxed. We're both sticky and sand is clinging to us in several places. I'm still spooning Spike. I guess one could call it cuddling. Not that I have any experience in that area. Spike hasn't moved in over five minutes. Not even to grab his cigarettes. He hasn't said anything either. It's not like him to be so still. He's not asleep, is he? If he doesn't say anything soon, I will.

I wish I could see his face. I wonder what's going on inside him. Having second thoughts, maybe?

I can't help thinking that sleeping with William the Bloody � again � was not the smartest of moves. No matter how good and right it felt, we're rivals - with plenty of history. Plus we're playing on different teams. What happened tonight and at Christmas was just a time-out that's all. The way I see it he's currently on his team's substitutes' bench, but sooner or later that chip will come out. I used to think he'd go right back to being a killer, now I think he might not want to. Maybe not at first. But I have no reason to expect that he'd get a chance to change. This is not a nice world we walk in.

Although� There's Connor. He's like my light at the end of the tunnel. If there's hope for me, maybe there's hope for Spike as well?

I wish he'd say something.

I try to think of something to say - anything. Nothing `poofy' though. And nothing to do with chips and souls. Or the past, or�

"So," I finally blurt out. "How did Buffy and the others like their Christmas presents?" I'm such a dork. We just had great sex and I'm making stupid conversation. I think I just killed the moment. But I can't think of anything more appropriate to say, so I plod on relentlessly. "Did you give them the stuff you bought?"

"No." He sounds like he doesn't want to talk about it.

Apparently I hit a sore spot. Which means I'm not going to leave it at that, not tonight. "Why not?"

"Just changed my mind, is all."

"How are you getting along with Willow and the others?"

"If it wasn't for that friggin' chip I'd rip their heads off and eat them for supper," he answers sounding bitter. I can feel his body tense with anger. "Except for Harris. Stupid sod's gotten so fat lately, he'd probably give me indigestion."

"That's not funny, William" I say indignantly. He IS joking, right?

"Damn right, it isn't. Seriously? So so. We don't rub shoulders much. Not since Buffy came back. She doesn't want me around her friends. Or Dawn."

I touch Spike's shoulder, but he shrugs me off. I can feel us drifting apart. I'd like to tighten my grip round his waist, but I don't. He'd laugh at me, or get up and leave.

My life has changed over the past few years. I'm not the same person who helped Buffy from out of the shadows. I have ties now. A home and more importantly, a son. But most of all I have friends. Friends who put their lives on the line to help both my cause and me, who know me and still chose to fight at my side. Where would I be without Cordy's honesty, Wesley's loyalty and Gunn's enthusiasm? And now that I think of it, I realize how much I've come to depend on Fred's trust and Lorne's tolerance, too. That is more luck than I deserve.

"It takes time," is the incredibly clich�d response I come up with. "Making friends. When I got my soul back, I spent almost a hundred years alone. I just drifted around. No aim, no purpose. Indifferent to anything and anyone. Wrapped up in my own misery," I say, not quite sure if I should continue.

"So, is this the part where Angel imparts his soulful wisdom?" he mocks.

I hate it when he makes fun of my soul. Also what he says is not true, because my soul has given me all kind of things, suffering, misery, guilt, self-loathing, and a nightmarish fear of failure, but never wisdom.

"Something like that." It's not like I really want to talk about this. Maybe I shouldn't.

Spike pulls away, out of my arms. He gets up and walks over to where his clothes and mine form an untidy pile. I hide my disappointment and sit up. Maybe he's right, and it's time to get dressed.

But he just picks up his duster and goes through the pockets until he comes up with his cigarettes. He drops the coat again and sits down cross-legged. "Right," he says, affecting an exaggerated sigh as he lights up. "Let's hear it then."

"Right," I echo, thoughtfully rubbing my hands that are still sticky with come, lube and sand, lots of sand. "I didn't find Buffy by chance. Someone pointed me her way."

"Oh?" He tries to sound bored. Having a whole 360 degrees of beach to chose from the smoke from his cigarette naturally drifts in my direction.

"A demon named Whistler told me to do something useful. Help the Slayer. That's how I ended up in Sunnydale. I just followed her there from L.A. And then I started helping."

"Yeah, we all know how that ended� Are you quite done with the Grimm's tales?"

Yes, he's definitely the most annoying person I've ever met. No mean feat, considering my age.

"Cause if you're finished," he continues with a leer, "maybe we can do something more useful with our time. I'd say we have another two hours before we have to head back. We could� um�" He nods at his growing erection.

"Shut up, Spike," I interrupt him, managing to sound authoritative and perfectly in control. "This is important."

The trouble is, when you're naked it's real hard to hide certain bodily reactions. And it's not like I haven't thought about `�um�' myself�

"Yeah? What can be more important than shagging?"

The fact that he's checking out at my private parts isn't helping.

I don't answer him. Instead I turn away to look at the waves, the stars, the sand, my hands, the waves again � anywhere but that pale hard body next to me. The silence soon turns into a contest. If Spike thinks he can out-brood me he has another thing coming. Patience? Oh, I can wait. I'm good at waiting.

He tosses his cigarette butt away and makes a great fuss lighting himself a new one. "Alright," he finally concedes. "Go on then. Tell your little story. What happened when you came to Sunnydale?"

"I screwed up. The way I did things? It was all wrong, I'd turn up at the Bronze or the library, give Buffy and her Watcher some info and then disappear again."

"Sounds pretty cloak-and-dagger-y."

"It was. They didn't even know I was a vampire�"

"You mean, you didn't tell her?"

"What did it matter? I didn't plan on mingling with Buffy and her friends," I say defensively. "I used to watch them. At the Bronze, on patrol - they all appeared so young and superficial. School. Shopping. Dating. How was I to know I'd fall in love with her? Or she with me?"

He chuckles. I knew he'd see the irony.

"We were in love but most of the time we weren't happy. There were always secrets," I explain, knowing that he of all people will understand. "Things we didn't tell her friends, her Mom or Giles, even each other. Also, I never had a connection with her friends. But then I never fully realized how much they are part of her."

"And the moral of the story is what?"

"The moral is: If you really want to walk in Buffy's world, connect with her friends."

I can't believe I am giving Spike advice concerning his love life..

***

(Spike's POV)

I can't believe Angel's giving me advice concerning my love life. Isn't the world full of surprises! What a laugh!

"Let me get this straight: You're telling me I'm supposed to befriend her chums?" I ask. "And you're telling me this because�?"

"Because someone once told me that I should let people into my heart. Reach out to people, he said. Don't get cut off from the people you're trying to help. Get involved�"

I open my mouth to object but he silences my protest and continues. "I know. Helping people - not your agenda."

"Damn right it isn't." Who does he think I am? Does he think that sentimental bullshit is going to have any effect on me?

"But it could be. Think about it."

"Not bloody likely!"

"Your choice."

"Who told you?" I ask after a moment.

"You met him." Angel's face is impassive but there's something in his voice�

"The Mick?"

"His name was Doyle."

"`Was?' So the little weasel's snuffed it? I'd wondered where he'd gotten to." Shit, I said that out loud, didn't I? Shit! Now Angel's getting up. He turns his back on me and starts getting dressed. His movements are stiff from barely concealed anger. Shit. When will I ever learn.

I scramble to my feet as well. "How did it happen? Did he go down fighting?" I hasten to ask, because I'm suddenly desperate for him to stay. And also, because I really want to know. God knows why.

Angel pulls up his zipper and turns around. "Yes," He finally says. "Yes he did. He saved many lives, including mine."

"Sounds like a good way to go."

He studies my face. I hold his gaze. Something gives. And there it is again, that rapport. Thank God. "Yes," is all he says. Like me, he's thinking about how we're gonna go once our number's up. I pick up my duster, dig out the flask and offer it to him. He lifts it in a silent salute and drinks. When he hands it back. I follow suit.

"You know, I got an invite to Harris's wedding," I tell him, trying to change the subject. "Wasn't going to go, but maybe I should." I sit down again, hoping he'll join me.

"How are things between you two?" After a moment's hesitation he sits down beside me.

"Can't stand the sanctimonious twit. T'is mutual, too. We got on well enough last summer, but not since Buffy came back. You know what the tosser said to me? Only a complete nutcase like Dru or a total loser like Harm would ever consider `hooking up' with me. Nutcase or loser - what are you Angel?"

"Not interested in Xander Harris's opinion, that's what."

Oh look who doesn't like monkey boy, either! I grin. And you know what, Angel does, too.

*****