(Angel's POV)

The subject of Xander Harris is soon exhausted: According to Spike he's a self-righteous sanctimonious nerd of the first water with an inferiority complex the size of California, who's not even funny anymore. That pretty much sums up my own impressions. Except, for one thing: Whoever said Xander Harris was funny?

"An' I do wish him and Anya would stop yapping about that damn wedding," Spike adds as an afterthought, dismissively tossing a handful of sand into the dark. "They should do the deed in Vegas and blow the whole dough at the poker table instead of that stupid reception thing. Or go on a cruise or something. Have fun."

Does he even know what he just said? William the Bloody, who once told me that killing and eating people is our raison d'�tre, talks like he's actually given thought to the question of how a bunch of humans should go about their wedding. There's a twist.

We sit, side by side, gazing at the waves, the moon's thin sickle and a pitch-black, star-dotted sky that is unblemished by city lights. Occasionally, I steal a glance in his direction, acutely aware of the fact that he's still very naked. I feel like a right poof. We share the last drops of his bourbon. Somehow, neither of us is making a move to leave. Maybe we're both trying to hold on to this strange, fragile feeling of kinship that has sprung up between us since Christmas.

"Do your pet humans ever forget you're a vampire?" Spike suddenly asks.

"They're not pets," I say automatically. And then, "Damn!"

"What?"

"I better call them." Connor! The first night I'm away from him and I forget to check on him! Okay, I didn't plan for this `excursion' to take so long. But that's no excuse. Cordy and the others are probably extremely worried right now. I pull my coat towards me and go through the pockets. Just like I thought. I forgot to turn my mobile phone on. I do so now. Six messages! I hope to God that Connor's okay. Raw panic surges through me. While I listen to my messages, Spike turns away, but I know he's eavesdropping.

"Angel, it's me. You forgot to turn your cell phone on. Again. And guess where we found your beeper. When will you ever learn? Gimme a call." Cordelia.

"Angel? Cordy. Where are you? What are you doing? Is the bleached menace behaving himself? Call me."

"Angel, are you still un-chained and un-skewered? Spike knows you smashed the Ring of Amara, right? Call me, so I know you're okay." Again Cordelia. Sounding slightly more agitated.

I ignore Spike's outcry ("You smashed it? You smashed my ring? You stupid twit!") and move on to the next message:

"Angel? This is Wesley. In the interest of everybody's sanity here, please confirm that William the Bloody is not currently using his railroad spikes on you."

"Angel? It's me, Fred. If you listen to this, can you please call us back? Don't worry, Connor is safe and so is everybody else, it's just. Cordelia. She is kinda nervous and she told me all about how you and Spike hate each other and how Spike tortured you, and it's really none of my business, but I can't help being worried. I mean, I know of course that you can take care of yourself, and Lorne said he doesn't think Spike was out to kill you or anything, but I'd feel a lot better if you'd just call and let us know that you're alive and well, you know, figuratively speaking."

He's okay! Connor is okay. I'd have never forgiven myself if anything had happened to him. While my panic slowly subsides into the normal worry that's always present in the back of my head, I listen to the last message, another one from Cordelia.

"Angel! If I don't hear from you within the next few minutes I'm going to assume that Spike lured you into some kind of trap to torture you again. And I will alert the cavalry, the National Guard, the Powers That Be, you name it."

"My, you're on a short leash, aren't ya?" Spike mocks. He appears fidgety and restless.

I don't answer him. Instead, I press speed dial. "Cordy? Hold the horses, keep the helicopters grounded and don't bother the powers."

"Angel!" She sounds relieved. "We were worried about you."

"How's Connor?"

"He's fine. Lorne just gave him a bottle. Now he's sleeping again."

"Okay, if he wakes again, tell him his daddy loves him bunches."

"Sure will. How about you? You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"He's not forcing you to say that? I mean he's not sticking things into you like hot pokers or something?"

Spike listens intently, a sullen look on his face. I'm beginning to find his mood swings quite tasking.

"No sticking." I assure her.

Spike raises one eyebrow insolently and silently voices `Yet.' He places his hand on my knee, proving just how irritating he can be. Cause this is obviously not a good time! Nevertheless, I feel a tingle race through my body. Why can't he just wait? I'm on the phone! Talking to Cordelia. This is important. Consequently, I ignore him and his touch.

"Don't worry. Spike's behaving himself," I say. Naturally, that's Spike's cue to misbehave. His hand glides to the inside of my thigh. Okay. No more ignoring. I frown and shake my head at Spike. I really don't need him to distract me right now.

Spike gives me an evil stare that clearly says `If you want me to stop - make me!' Then his hand wanders upwards. To where my body betrays me. He smirks. I should have known. If there's one thing William always hated with a passion it's being ignored or passed over. Some things never change. His fingers close around my erection, stroking and squeezing it through the fabric of my slacks. For a fraction of a second my mind goes blank. Cordelia is lecturing me on our always-keep-your-mobile-on policy, but it's almost impossible to concentrate on what she's saying, with Spike touching me like that. Which is why this has to stop!

My hand shoots out and I catch his wrist. With more force than strictly necessary I pull his hand away from me. What's gotten into him?

We stare at each other. Something flickers across his face.

***

(Spike's POV)

A seething, sickening feeling chokes me, churns in my stomach like a clenched fist.

Six messages in just a few hours!

I could disappear for weeks and not one of the soddin' Scoobies would notice, let alone give a rat's arse. Not unless it's the end of the world. That's the only time I'm good enough for `em, when the shit hits the fan. Then it's all `Spike, we need you,' or `Spike, guard my back' or `Spike, look after Dawn for me.'

But, if I caught fire not one of `em would even piss on me to put it out. Cause I'm an evil disgusting thing. Why I keep tryin' to be something else, something I'm not, is beyond me. The soul's the thing. Makes all the difference. It's the big Get-out-of-jail card.

All these things rush through my mind as we stare at each other. Suddenly the sobering realization hits: I'm brooding and what's more, part of me wishes I was in the poof's place.

Brilliant, Spike. You've reached an all-time low!

***

(Angel's POV)

Suddenly, he's laughing. What's so funny? I let go of his hand. He just shakes his head. I realize there's no real mirth in the sound.

"Angel? Are you still there? Is everything okay?" Cordelia's raised voice can be heard. "Angel!"

"Sorry," I hasten to say. "Everything's fine."

Spike snatches the phone out of my grasp. "Yeah, everything's just peachy," he tells her with fake cheer. He ducks my attempt to retrieve the phone. "Look here, cutie, we're kind of in the middle of somethin', family business and whatnot. So, be a good girl, an' leave us to it, right?"

I make another lunge for the cell phone. This time he allows me to wrench it out of his hand. I catch the last words of Cordelia's threat: ".you'll wish you'd never been turned!"

"Cordy? Angel. Spike's right, we're kinda tied up right now, so don't wait up. I'll leave the phone on, so if there's any problem, give me a call." It takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep talking like everything's normal. Cause suddenly Spike is all over me, hugging me from behind and groping possessively. He's licking my right shoulder blade, tracing the tattoo with the tip of his tongue. My fake indifference only spurs him on. He sneaks his hand round my waist, tugs down my zipper and reaches inside my pants. This time I don't stop him. His fingers close firmly around my engorged shaft. I suppress a shudder when he pulls me out.

"Listen, Cordelia, can't talk now. I'll be back by sunrise." I refrain from cutting her off in mid-sentence and pretend I'm listening to what she's saying. At last she says her bye byes. I slowly put the phone down, making sure it doesn't get to lie in the sand but on the nearest piece of clothing, which happens to be Spike's coat.

"You done talking?" Spike asks. There's a wicked edge to his voice. He's slowly jerking me off. "Cause if you are," he murmurs while nuzzling my neck, seductive powers on full wattage, "Maybe we can get to the fun part where I lick and bite you till you beg me to fuck your brains out."

*****
Part 7:

(Angel's POV)

His words bypass my brain, tingle down my spine and shoot straight to my groin, causing my shaft to swell even more at the threat. Promise. Whatever. He presses his mouth on mine and forces his tongue between my lips. He's possessive, rough, almost feral, the way the thrusts his tongue into my mouth. The cut in his half-healed lip opens again and I can taste his blood. Much more potent than pig's blood it sends a wave of ferocious, undiluted arousal through my entire body. My fangs itch to come out and rip into his neck, but my barriers are holding. My senses are heightened and I am momentarily lost in a barrage of sensations: the incessant murmur of the waves; the tingle of sea shells unsettled by the tide; the fresh salty smell of the Pacific; the feel of Will's skin on mine; his hands touching me; his scent of bourbon, tobacco and leather, spiked with a heavy dose of arousal. I can also smell my come on him.

It's intoxicating.

Through the intoxication though, his words finally register in my foggy brain. Beg? Who, me? He must be joking! Over my dead body! `Shagging' is one thing, but begging? This is so like him. Always pushing the envelope. Angelus would have flayed him for even suggesting such a thing. "No!" I pull back with a start and disentangle myself with as much dignity as possible.

He's reluctant to let me go, but opens his arms wide. "What?"

"Forget it."

"Forget what? The licking, the biting or the fucking?"

He knows exactly what I mean. I just give him one of my `don't-be-stupid' stares.

"Why not?" Spike finally asks, somewhere between amiable and petulant. "It's easy enough. Two small words, Angel. Three, if you count my name. Go on - try it on for size. Want me to spell it for you? F-U-C-K. Fuck. Say it a few times an' it'll feel real comfy. Come now, if you can do it, you should be able to say it. `Sides, it's not like I want you to say something you don't mean."

"Fuck off, Spike." Okay. That sounded controlled and reasonable. Now, try again without the hard-on.

"Two out of three. Not bad, Angel." He grins, apparently not offended. "Relax. Trust me. Let your old pal Spike take care of you," he says, echoing what I said to him earlier tonight, adding, "It'll be fun."

Fun?

He puts his hand on my chest and gives me a nudge that's supposed to coax me on my back. Except, I don't budge. I let him `shag' me before. `Reminisced' a few times, too. But that was different. I was in control then. Desperate maybe, but always in command of my actions. I have no desire to let go. Or shag for fun. Only for love. Or comfort. Relief, even. But not for kicks. Fun's overrated, anyway.

"Angel?"

And Spike's idea of fun? Scary. The memory of hot pokers searing my flesh comes to mind.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Spike asks, trying very hard to make it sound casual and almost succeeding.

No. I don't. Cordelia. Wes. Gunn. Lorne. Fred. And of course, Buffy. These are the people I trust - as far as I am prepared to trust anyone. They're. well they're trustworthy.

He nods slowly. Like he's read my thoughts. A look of hurt crosses his bruised and battered face before he tries to hide it under his trademark smirk. That's when I decide to lie.

"Yeah. I trust you, Will." I say slowly. "Don't ask me why. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't. But I do."

He smiles and opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind. Instead, he kisses me, hard and hungry. I run a hand through his coarse hair, secretly wishing he hadn't murdered it by bleaching it to death. I always liked William's natural color.

Moments later, I'm lying flat on my back. Straddling me he reaches for my hands and very firmly pins them over my head, wrists crossed. There's nothing to tie me down. No chains, no cuffs, nothing to coerce me into acquiescence or submission. I'm not sure why I'm agreeing to this. Certainly not because I think being tied up is fun. But I comply, nervous, curious and surprised at the intensity of my arousal.

Seconds later he's pulled my pants down. After that he starts torturing me.

Beginning with my fingers he licks, nips and bites his way slowly from my wrists to the ticklish insides of my elbows to my shoulders and neck. He rubs his cock against my thigh, while my own straining erection has nothing to rub against. He strokes my chest and starts tracing my muscles with his tongue. A moan escapes me. It requires considerable effort to leave my hands where he put them.

Beep. Beep.

It takes my brain a moment to shake off the pleasurable daze and identify the sound. The phone! I sit up.

"Oh for cryin' out loud!" Spike growls, his eyes flashing golden. He picks up the phone and looks at it with loathing.

"It could be important." I say, holding out my hand, trying to sound both firm and reasonable.

Beep. Beep.

He keeps it out of my reach. "Let me put it to you like this: how far do you think I can throw this thing?"

"Spike."

Beep. Beep.

"Yeah, alright. Answer it," he says with an exaggerated sigh and hands it over.

"Angel?" It's Lorne. There are sounds of breakage coming from the other end.

"Lorne? What's going on? Connor? Is he---?"

"He's fine. Listen, we've got kind of a situation here," a loud crash can be heard, "You wouldn't be able to identify a few demons for us, would you? They're scaly, look like giant roaches, except with more arms, dark green and pretty tough." Another crash punctuates Lorne's words. "Plus they're trashing the lobby. Sword's aren't helping much, so we were wondering."

"Giant roaches? I don't---"

"Fire!" Spike interrupts loudly. "Tell 'em to torch the blighters."

"Was that Spike?" Lorne asks, then adds: "Never mind. Gotcha. Gunn! Wes!."

I listen nervously, as he hurriedly passes on the information. There are more sounds of fighting, voices shouting at each other. Even Spike seems to listen intently. I search frantically for my pants. Spike shakes his head. "You won't get there in time, anyway. Wait for it. Your mates will fry the critters extra crispy."

He's right. There's nothing I can do. Except work out from the sounds what's happening. A few agonizing minutes later, I can hear several people coughing and the phone is picked up again.

"Lorne?" I shout.

"Yeah, it's me, cupcake."

"What happened? Is everybody okay?"

"Tell Spike it worked a treat. We touched them with a torch and they went `foomp,' burnt up in seconds. But boy, they stink! We're airing the lobby now. Don't worry, everybody's fine."

Once I've talked to Cordy and heard that Connor slept through the whole ruckus I kill the connection and put the phone down. "Thanks," I say sincerely. Spike just waves his hand dismissively. "There's nothin' like a good bonfire. Shame we missed out on it. Now, where were we?" he asks with a leer.

"Right here." I slump back into the sand and lift my arms over my head.

"Right," he drawls, smiling roguishly. He trails a teasing, feather light fingertip from my chin, along my throat, over my sternum and abs, past the bellybutton, lower, down to my groin, and along the length of my straining cock all the way to its tip. That's all it takes and I'm hard again.

He doesn't continue where we left off. Instead, he starts all over again: arms, neck and shoulders. Then he reaches my chest, licking and blowing streams of cool air over moistened skin. He takes his time, sucking on one nipple while pinching the other. When they're both swollen and sensitive he scrapes over them with blunt teeth, stimulating them almost painfully. By the time he moves on to my belly and then southwards I'm moaning and arching into his touch.

I'm getting more and more desperate to touch myself - or him. I'm not accustomed to being at the receiving end of torture, however pleasant. Not used to being at someone else's mercy. Spike studies me. My reactions. I'm not sure I like that kind of attention. I feel exposed, more naked than ever. I know there are no chains. I can stop this any time I want to. I can - and I want to. Except, what I really want is - more! I'm vaguely aware that my hips are moving as my cock becomes more and more desperate for any kind of friction. All I can think is that I want him to touch me, there.

Except he doesn't. He touches me everywhere, just not where I want it - need it - most. I'm caught between ecstasy and despair.

He moves down, giving my knees a friendly nudge. I comply and spread my legs for him. He kneels between my thighs and pays attention to my belly, the crease between my hips and my thighs, before brushing away some sand that's clinging to my skin and starting to work on the insides of my thighs. Where he scrapes the sensitive skin with his nails, my body feels like it's on fire. I hope I'm not whimpering.

"Cupcake, huh?" he snickers, his voice deep and silky. However, his rapid breathing gives away his own arousal. I feel his fingertips brushing against my cock. I gasp, straining into his touch, but he just uh-uhs and lightly touches the leaking tip, spreading pre-cum over the swollen head. He keeps his stokes light and teasing.

I buck and moan. All conscious thoughts and concerns, even those regarding Connor, are rapidly spiraling out of my consciousness as his hands and lips set me on fire. My arousal borders on painful. Part of me craves relief, part of me just craves more. It's a hunger so acute and savage, it frightens me to give in to it.

Suddenly that wonderful torturous hand is gone. "Having fun, pet?" Spike asks me amiably.

Fun? What's fun got to do with this? I'm nodding and shaking my head at the same time. I don't really trust myself to speak.

Spike looks at me in deep concentration. His eyes are dark with desire and the tip of his tongue flits out to moisten his lips. He's slowly pumping his erection with his left hand. His other hand is lightly resting on my hip. "Is there something you want? You can talk, you know."

I just glare at him.

"No talking then? Well, now... want me to stop?"

I reluctantly shake my head.

"I can't hear you."

"Don't stop," I choke out, trying to make it sound like a command rather than a plea.

He searches my face, then nods once. He drops to all fours, covering me and prowls upwards, like a cat. Then he lowers himself fully on me, trapping our erections between our bodies. Our bodies grind against each other, as his hands brush over my arms and crossed wrists. He presses his lips on mine for a long hard kiss then slithers backwards until he's kneeling between my thighs again. He gives me another long stare then stands up. Hey!

He comes back with my coat. Hey?

"We better get this underneath you," he explains. "Unless you have a blanket in your bag?"

Blanket? Nope. Head shake. But. "My coat. My $600 coat!" I protest.

"Is that a no? You might wanna reconsider. Soddin' sand gets everywhere."

Oh? Oh. I sigh and allow him to put the coat into place.

Spike smirks. He's enjoying himself. What's he waiting for? I'd have thought he'd run out of patience long before this. There. He's reaching for the lubricant.

I close my eyes in relief when a slick finger teases my entrance and then forges inside. More! Spike adds a second digit. I can hear him panting. I open my eyes to find myself under close scrutiny. He's watching me with dark, hungry eyes, chewing on his lower lip. Spike is clearly getting off on this, aroused by his power over my body. He begins to work me hard with two, then three fingers, while roughly jerking me off. That tiny twinge of almost pain just heightens the pleasure. My body presses against his thrusts automatically. I want more, want him to fill me completely, want him to push-thrust-pound into me. I'm beginning to unravel. Suddenly, his fingers are gone.

I hope that means he's going to take me now, cause if he doesn't get on with it soon, I think I'll strangle the cocky little bastard!

*****
Part 8:

(Spike's POV)

Stubborn Irish prick! He's not going to say it. At least not in so many words.

But the way that magnificent powerful body is sprawled in front of me, trembling and writhing; arms still stretched out above his head while his legs are spread wide; and that gorgeous cock all hard and urgent - that speaks volumes, that's what counts. And god, there goes my patience. Poof! Gone.

"Right," I mutter, taking a deep breath. "Was plannin' on givin' you the blowjob of your unlife. Reckon I changed my mind. Wanna fuck you now, this very minute. Guess that means you win." I pick up the tube once more. "You know, Angel, it wouldn't hurt for you to let go every once in a while. You worried about that pesky curse of yours? Well, we both know that there's no way I can give you the big happy, don't we. So, why don't you just drop that oh-woe-is-me act. Have fun while you can. If you're lookin' for some kind of punishment, well, forget it. You're not getting' it from me."

Angel just watches me, his face inscrutable, while I squirt some lube on my hand and swiftly coat my dick with it. I lift his ankles and place them on my shoulder. Then I align myself properly, positioning the head of my cock at his slick hole. Anticipation makes me shiver.

"Spike?"

I pause. There's a strange look on his face. Not the boring frown of martyrdom but a strangely unguarded expression. Almost laid back. Like he's decided to let me in. Into his head, I mean.

"Shut up!" He says quite deliberately. And then: "Fuck me, Spike. Fuck me already!"

"God yes. Angel.." I groan, unable to come up with anything suitably smug, and sink into him in one long deep thrust.

***

(Angel's POV)

After all this waiting it's almost too much. One second I'm aching for him, the next moment there's this stretching, almost burning, sensation and I'm impaled on long cool flesh.

We're frozen for a moment. Both overwhelmed. There's a dumb-struck look on his face.

He pulls out a bit, then slides back in, his movements fluid. When he starts an easy rhythm, I shake my head. "Harder," I tell him. "Fuck me hard, Spike." He draws in a shuddering breath and ploughs into me with more force, sinking in as far as possible. Hard and fast.

I cant my hips up. "That's it, Angel, yeah," Spike moans through clenched teeth. "Let go, you know you want to." He spreads my legs wider and rams his cock into me, changing the angle until he's hitting my prostate. At each thrust a rush of pure undiluted pleasure courses through me.

Is there such a thing as too much pleasure?

Something inside of me shatters. I'm not even sure what face I'm wearing.

I think I call his name but I'm not sure which one. Maybe both. I think I'm talking but I'm not sure what I'm saying. Maybe I'm begging. It doesn't matter.

Spike continues to slam into me, but now my hands are on him, my make-believe fetters broken. I need. I grab a shock full of hair and yank him towards me. He has to let go of my legs to support himself. I need his lips on mine. It's a fierce kiss, savage even. Need to devour him. I bite his tongue, and oh, the sweet taste of his blood... I suck greedily. He grunts in surprise, but doesn't pull back. Need to be devoured. I bite my own tongue, mixing my blood with his. A tremor runs through his body when he tastes me. Echoing my own urgency he speeds up his thrusts, while fucking my mouth with his tongue. He shifts his weight slightly, freeing one hand. He grasps my cock and resumes his earlier rhythm.

That's all it takes. I feel my balls tightening. I come in a drawn-out climax, spurting my come in about a dozen bursts all over his fist and both our bellies.

Spike pulls back, wide-eyed, panting, drinking in the sight of my orgasm, but then he can't hold out much longer. A dozen or so more thrusts and with a muted scream he convulses and shoots his own load into me.

*****
Part 9:

(Angel's POV)

Fun. Spike has given the word a whole new meaning. I'd be embarrassed about what happened, about how I totally lost it, except Spike won't let me. He calls it therapeutic. Maybe he's right. I feel good. Apparently, so does he.

He lights two `post-shag' cigarettes, and forces one on me, claiming it's part of the `fun' and should endanger neither my health nor my redemption. Okay, why not. So, we sit and smoke, and stare at the sea.

"Dru always liked the ocean," Spike says. He sounds cheerful, seeming to draw strength from the memory rather than sadness.

"I know."

"One time she wanted to see the sun set in the sea," he continues. "So we drove here durin' the day. We watched from behind the blackened windscreen as it set like a great ball of fire. Wasn't the real thing, not the way we had to hide from the light. Even so, it was sort of grand."

I nod. Yeah, I get that. I watched the sun set before I destroyed the Gem of Amara. I still dream of the radiant colors and the blinding brightness.

"I think the fact that it had the power to turn both of us into walking torches," Spike muses, "Just made it better."

I smile. Some things never change. I'm beginning to think that part of him has always been ready to fall in love with a Slayer.

I turn around to scan the eastern sky. Still dark. Even so, I should be getting back to the Hyperion. I try to brush some sand off my thighs. That stuff is everywhere. Messy.

"What is it?"

"No shower."

"So what. There's plenty of water right there," Spike nods at the waves. He's joking. "Come on, mate, let's go for a swim." Or maybe not. He jumps to his feet and tosses his cigarette butt away. Oh no. No way. He grabs my hand and tries to pull me to my feet. Spike is crazy! If I didn't know it before, now I do.

"No, Spike, let go. No!"

"Come on, Angel, when was the last time you did something on the spur of the moment?"

"Tonight."

"Yeah, you got me there," he concedes. "So let me rephrase that. When was the last time - other than tonight - that you did something purely for the fun of it. Sod the karmic payback?"

Oh no. I won't be drawn into that discussion.

"Come on, don't be a spoilsport," he exclaims. "A spot of skinny-dipping's not gonna be the death of you."

I shake my head. Nothing on earth will make me take a swim in cold saltwater. I want a steaming hot shower, not this.

"Come on, Angel," Spike gives me another tug. "You don't expect me to go down on you when you've got spunk and lube sticking to your dick, do you? Not to mention all that sand."

Um. Did I really say nothing on earth?

***

(Spike's POV)

Sometimes he's such a ninny!

Looks like I found the right bait though, cause he's tentatively wading into the water, lifting his feet high in a stork-y gait that looks utterly silly for a man of his powerful frame.

I wait till the water comes up to his thighs. He bends down to scoop up some water in his hands and splash it on his sticky privates. Hee hee. When I barrel into him there's a hoot of surprise, then he splashes into the waves. What can I say, I'm evil. I jump after him and push his head under. Bye bye, nancy boy hair gel.

He splutters and wildly flails his arms, hitting me squarely against my injured ribs. Ouch! Now that hurts! I gasp and almost swallow a pint of seawater. This calls for revenge. I dive at him and bite his bottom, causing him to gasp in surprise. I press my advantage and capture him in a tight embrace. We sink to the bottom in a tangle of limbs, groping and holding. It's pitch-black and I can't see a damn thing but I find his lips anyway. No thinking, no talking, just kissing and feeling - and being tossed around by the tide. So what. Don't need to breathe, now, do we?

Even so he struggles, like he's about to drown. I let go and he shoots back to the surface. "Spike, you idiot," Angel pants as he frantically scrambles through shallow waters back towards the beach. But I sense mirth under the indignation.

I just laugh at him and cause him to trip and fall. I quickly pin him underneath me. We end up somewhere in the no-man's-land between land and sea. The Pacific is pushing and pulling. Angel's on his back, and I'm lying on top of him.

"Admit it Angel," I yell as a wave washes over us with enough force to lift us off the sand for a second. "This is fun!"

"This isn't fun. This is madness!"

"Same thing, Angel, same thing!"

I crouch next to him and make good of my promise. I bend down and take his cock into my mouth. It's soft and limp. I lick and suck, tasting the salt of the sea on my tongue, causing it to swell and harden. Every cold wave throws countless grains of sand at us that swirl and tickle against our skin and get caught in our hair. Feels great. And that feeling when the waters retreat with a rush, when they drag the sand from beneath you - really neat!

I'd laugh out loud, but I've got Angel's cock between my lips. I start pumping him with one hand while fondling his balls with the other. Soon I have him thrashing like a stranded fish. I haven't felt so good in a long time.

***

(Angel's POV)

When I look at Spike I wonder: How can a vampire have such a zest for life?

***

(Spike's POV)

"Now that was fun," I say as we wade out of the water.

"Now we're wet," Angel states the obvious.

"Want me to lick you dry?"

"Not today."

"Your loss." I shrug. "How `bout this then: let's ride our bikes at full speed an' let the wind dry us."

Angel doesn't even reply, just gives me a pitying glance. I take it that's a no. I walk to our pile of clothing and pick up my shirt. "Dry yourself with this," I suggest and toss it his way. "Prissy." I light myself a fag, then grab my trousers and put them on. Who cares if I'm still wet?

He takes a lot longer to get ready and dressed. Then he kneels in the sand to pack his stuff into his bag, even the empty jar that held the pig's blood he gave me. Can't litter, can we?

We walk in silence to our bikes.

"Angel?"

He looks up.

I hunt for the right words to say. God, can't go all sentimental now, can I. But there's no need. Angel just smiles. "Any time, Will."

And with that he turns the ignition key and his engine roars to life. I do the same. We race back to the highway where we stop. He nods. I nod back. Very manly and all. And then we speed our separate ways. But tonight, neither of us was alone. Nothing else matters.

THE END ...finally!