*****

Can you ever brush your teeth hard enough or long enough to get the after-taste of someone's cum out of your mouth?

Spike tried. He bought his first toothbrush and first toothpaste and brushed hard - human teeth, fangs - alternating them until his gums were bleeding and he was sore as a human, frustrated as a vampire. but still he could taste him, and had the very distinct impression that Angel would, too.

It had taken him days to decide how to capture Wesley. He'd stalked him obsessively, watching and studying his prey. After his initial capitulation, Angel had washed his hands of the affair and refused to discuss it with Spike. As sharing it with Angel had been the only point of the exercise this pissed Spike off, but as he assumed Angel was only interested in the part where they would split Wesley between them, rolling his warm body between their cool ones so the human would not be able to tell where one vampire began and the other ended, Spike gave Angel the benefit of the doubt and continued with his game.

Most of his early ploys had little success: Wesley seemed immune to flattery and outwardly disinterested in Spike's presence. Spike could sense the man's nervousness around him, however, his uncertainty about the incident in bed, his confusion about the vampires and their relationship, and Spike knew that all these were a barrier between them.

His first breakthrough occurred one day when they had no clients and everyone was hanging around being bored. Cordelia was on the telephone to friends, painting her nails. Fred and Gunn were reading a comic together and giggling in an irritating manner. Angel seemed in a bad mood and had gone up to his room to "read and don't come up and try to get me to shag you." That left Spike having the most boring day he'd had in a long time, so he thought it only reasonable he make a renewed attack on Wesley.

He wandered into the office and propped himself on the edge of the desk. 'What ya doin'?'

'Get off. Go away.'

'What ya doin'?'

'What does it look like I am doing? I am doing the crossword.'

'Oh, give us a clue then.'

'You jest.'

'No, I speak the bloody Queen's English, don't I?'

'Not unless the Queen has a secret indulgence for guttersnipe impressions and watching EastEnders, no.'

'Come on, Wes, I'm bored. Give us a clue.'

'Alright. Anything to get rid of you. Four down: passionate longing - eleven letters, has a 'p' in it.'

'The easy crossword? You're doing the bleedin' easy one? I'd have thought you'd have been into the ole cryptic ones. You sadly disappoint me, Watcher.'

'For the millionth time, Spike, don't call me that. And you do not disappoint me at all - having no expectations of you except the lowest, you constantly fulfil them. I gather you have no idea.'

'You gather wrong then - nympholepsy. With that little 'p' an' all.'

'That is not a word.' Wesley picked up his dictionary with a worried look, skimmed through it and looked up, triumphantly. 'Hah! Not in here.'

'Maybe, don't mean it ain't right. Cunnilingus ain't in there either, bet ya. That's a pocket dictionary, pet; bloody useless really.'

Wesley gave him a satisfied look and fished around on his shelf, producing one volume of a vast Oxford English Dictionary. Spike sat contentedly while Wesley found the offending word and looked up astonished.

'Alright, I admit it, I'm surprised, Spike. How did you know that?'

'Well, I used to do crosswords.'

Wesley was puzzled. 'Used to? Why did you stop?'

'Angelus murdered me.'

There was a satisfactory pause in the watcher's concentration on the puzzle. Spike saw a crack in the human's armour - visibly saw it widen under his studied nonchalance - and knew he was in when Wesley said quietly, 'I've always wondered about Angelus and those times. It's a part of vampire lore and not really very well known. I had thought, before I got sacked of course, to do a paper on Angelus. So, Spike, tell me.'

. Spike did. over tea. then over a drink in the office later that night. Spike told him about London and about being alive and being weak and being empty and being filled and being strong. He tried to file away which version he was telling this human, for it never did to get your various siring stories confused. Most of what he told Wes was true, and he saw his words widening the cracks in the human's resistance, exposing a soft, fleshy core.

By the next day, things had subtly changed between them. When Angel came downstairs, he found Spike and Wesley contentedly cleaning weapons together and chatting, albeit in a reserved English way, about England. Spike glanced up at him over Wesley's shoulder. He made no obvious comment, but said slyly, 'Hello, Angel,' and licked his lower lip slowly and with a provocative smirk. Angel gave him a challenging, intense stare and turned abruptly away to the kitchen. Spike frowned at his retreating back and was about to get up and follow him but, at that very moment, Wes put a hand on his to demonstrate a particular technique for cleaning hinges. The feel of warm fingers on him distracted Spike. He decided to save telling Angel he was a pillock for later that night and watched the contrast of skin tones instead, noticing each flaw and every perfection in Wes' hands. There seemed more of the second than the first, and Spike did not even register Angel's retreat back up the stairs, or the unreadable look given to his study of the human.

Wesley went home early that night, and Spike prowled the hotel restlessly for an hour or two, killing imaginary demons. He was tempted to get Angel to do some training with him, as he desperately needed to work off some excess energy, but Angel had been no fun for days. Instead, Spike grinned, collected some beers, and made his way to Wesley's. Wesley took a long time to answer the door and, when he finally did, he'd clearly been in the shower. He was wet, naked - except for a substantial towel tied tightly around his waist - and he opened the door as cautiously as if the Mongol hoards were likely to be outside. His expression indicated that he'd have preferred that alternative to a vampire bearing alcoholic gifts. He hesitated, peering suspiciously through the gap left by the chain. 'What do you want, Spike? Does Angel need me?'

'Possibly, Wes, I'm working on it.'

Although not understanding Spike's cryptic comment, Wesley still didn't open up.

Spike sighed. 'Oh, come on, Wes. look, beer and reruns of Blackadder on the telly tonight. who the fuck am I gonna enjoy that with, if not you? These bleedin' yanks. no bloody sense of humour. well, unless you think six numpties in a flat is funny. So! Come on, open up!'

Wesley began to shut the door. `Look, ya git, you've already invited me in, so it ain't a biggie now. I'm not gonna be able to hurt you, and you can make me go when you want, but I'm really feeing stupid now, standing here with you peering at me like that.' Too late, Spike realised that he'd said exactly the wrong thing. that he had reminded Wesley of the time he had come into his apartment drunk. and what had followed.

Wesley now looked furious. `What game are you playing, Spike? I am happy to speak to you as a colleague at work, but you cannot come to my home like this. You barge into everyone's life... well, alright, you were brought against your will - and can I just say how much I protested the decision to bring you here at all - you come here, wreak havoc in Angel's life, totally destroy my relationship with him by telling me the edited highlights of his sex life, and then you... you... I'm not even going to mention what I suspect you did to me in the bed, and you want to come in and watch my telly? Spike, do you think I am firstly stupid enough to fall for this little "let's torment Wesley, shall we?" game, or brave enough to touch anything of Angel's? Give me some credit.'

Spike gritted his teeth, unable to deny this fairly accurate summary. `I don't want you to touch me, Watcher. I want you to talk to me and be a bit of a mate, cus living with Angel all day an' night ain't all it's cracked up to be. but never no mind; guess it weren't one of me best ideas.' Spike turned away -he knew he could lie just as effectively from the back as from the front - and made his slow and slightly depressed way to the stairs.

`Wait a minute, Spike.'

Spike grinned, but by the time he had turned, there was only resigned acceptance of his fate visible on his features. `Look, maybe we did get off on the wrong foot, so to speak.' Wesley unchained the door and stepped a little way through. `You are in LA now, and as much as I may find that a reprehensible move on Angel's part, I suppose I can understand his reasons. He was lonely, and I have to admit you've made a major improvement in his demeanour since your arrival. Well, until this past week that is. he's seemed very low again, maybe...'

`You should be a vampire, pet.'

Wesley recoiled in alarm. `Err... what?'

`You could talk all day without having to take a breath. Mind you, you wouldn't have much to talk about then, "Blood... give me. Sex... now," `s `bout it, really.'

Wesley smiled for the first time since Spike's arrival at his apartment. `You and Angel seem to do a little better than that.'

Spike grinned and cocked his eyebrow. `Only when we're playing at being human, luv. You should hear us when we're on our own, "Blood - now! Sex - now!" yep, pretty much sums it up.'

`I really don't want to...'

`Oh, shut up, Wes, and ask me in, hey? Beers' gettin' warm.'

`Are they American?'

`Well, yeah, I nicked them off Gunn's shelf in the fridge.'

`Well, come on then, I have some decent stuff - some Boddingtons I've been saving - I think reruns of Blackadder would count as a suitable occasion.'

Charmed when he wanted to be predatory, Spike accepted the offered tin and shook off his coat, making himself comfortable on the couch while Wesley went to dress. He noticed, with some amusement, that Wesley closed the bedroom door firmly. The thought of Wesley's bedroom brought back the feel of a warm, erect human penis. It also brought back memories of a fuckingly awful hangover, not helped by his chip firing off.

Wesley came out dressed in very casual, very old, denim, his hair still wet but combed back. He looked about ten years younger, and Spike eyed him suspiciously from head to toe. Wes felt the examination a little too keenly. 'What?'

''S not your usual look, Watcher, that's all.'

Well. duh, Spike. I'm not at work.'

Wes sat on a chair to one side of the couch and turned the television on. They both put their feet up on the coffee table, and a companionable silence ensued as they watched the shows. Wesley was amazed to hear Spike laughing, clearly enjoying himself, and Spike caught the look. He echoed Wesley's earlier question. 'What?'

'A vampire with a sense of humour?'

Spike laughed as if to prove the point. 'You've been living with Angel too long, pet.'

'You've managed to survive his broodiness, and you've known him longer than all of us.'

'Yeah, well, he weren't so broody back then. fact, Angelus was the life and soul of every party. if you can be that being dead and soulless like.'

Wesley chuckled at the way Spike confusedly tailed off. 'Life and soul except when he was murdering you, I should think.'

Spike grinned. 'Oh, I don't know, even that had its moments. It's a long drawn out process an' ya gotta laugh. passes the time.'

Wesley got up to fetch more beer and came back with some crisps. As there was only one bowl, he sat down next to Spike on the couch. The watching resumed.

Eventually Wes broke the silence between them with an unexpected question. 'What happened in the bed, Spike? The last time you were here. It's been on my mind, disturbing me, and I want to know the truth.'

'What do you want that truth to be?'

Wesley frowned, a crisp held half way to his mouth. 'There is only one truth, Spike.'

Spike put a mock-horrified look on his face. 'Jees, don't tell that to those fucking religious ragheads, mate.'

'One truth about physical reality then.'

'Huh, I never put you down for narrow minded, Watcher.' Spike cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of beer.

'Spike, stop prevaricating. what did you do?'

Spike swirled the liquid around in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed. 'I'd have thought the why was more important than the what.'

Wesley put his beer down on the coffee table, clearly annoyed. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Well, I might have done something. but it could have been as meaningless as scratching me own balls, or I could have not done something. but been lying there wanting to. take you.'

'Bloody hell, Spike.' Wesley got up, agitated.

'So, which would you prefer? See? Comes back to me original. what do you want the truth to be?'

'Spike, the very thought of another man - albeit only a rather glossy impression of a man - touching me, makes me want to.' Wesley trailed off, his face saying one thing, his distracted pacing another. Spike read the indecision quite easily.

'Uh huh. So you're really into all those little squidgy bits, hairy folds and whatnots, are you?' He looked around, amused, as if looking for hoards of non-existent girlfriends.

'What I do. my sex life. my romantic life, is none of your business. And you have artfully avoided answering my question, Spike. I want to know the truth. I want to know what you did and why.'

Spike laughed, chugged down the rest of his beer in one go, crushed the tin effortlessly with one hand, and tossed it accurately the twenty feet or so into the bin.

Wesley watched the tin fly through the air in wonder (and not a little annoyance) and huffed when it went in. 'You and bloody Angel. I'll never get used to it.'

'What, pet?'

'Your superior abilities - or whatever they are. It seems a little unfair that every other version of the undead - zombies to name just one variety - actually look and act half dead, whilst you vampires.'

'There ya go. 's why people write books and shit about us. Don't get "Interview With a Zombie", do you?'

Wesley sat down again, and Spike smiled inwardly as the disingenuousness of his conversation once again lulled Wesley into a false sense of security. Wesley had the intrigued-watcher look on his face once more. 'Spike, you don't suppose. no, it's ridiculous.'

'What?'

'That Lestat and co. were real. that she based them on real vampires she knew?'

Spike spluttered his new beer. 'I sincerely hope not. gives vampires a bad name.' He suddenly heard what he'd said and laughed. 'Nah. take my word for it. not real.'

'I think she caught the gist of the creatures quite well though.' Wesley looked at Spike over the rim of his drink, his eyes lifted. Spike felt a shiver run down his spine and realised he was admiring the human's intense, soulful eyes. He shook himself and got up to pace.

'What d'ya mean, Watcher? 'Course, never read 'em meself.'

'Well, of course, neither have I. but, I mean, all that suppressed homoeroticism. that seems quite accurate.'

Spike suddenly felt far too sober for this turn in the conversation and drank the new beer in one go. He resumed pacing with an angry stomp. `You'd better be careful what you say, mate. I've never put this chip to the test if I really wanted to hurt someone.'

'Spike. you can't deny it.' Wesley's voice was full of barely concealed amusement. 'You've as good as told me what you and Angel get up to. So I suppose the only thing she got wrong was the suppressed bit.'

'Fuck off, Watcher. Ain't no friggin' homos here. I'm. we're demons!'

'Oh, I fully accept that. if you limited your interests only to fellow demons. but you don't seem to, do you, Spike? You see, I was only asking about the other night to see if you had balls enough - and what an apt expression, if I do say so myself - to admit what you did. I am fully aware of what happened. I'm sadly disappointed that you cannot admit it. Now, if you'll excuse me, Spike.' Wesley got up and opened the door. 'I'm quite tired, and we have a busy day tomorrow. Say "hi" to Angel for me when you. see him.'

Spike found himself back in the hall, confused and not a little pissed off. He felt the tables had been effectively turned on him, and that was not only extremely unusual, it was utterly intolerable. He debated knocking again, but didn't feel quite confident enough to confront Wesley, so didn't. He went back to the hotel, walking slowly through the LA night, pondering the strange evening.

Angel was in bed reading when Spike got back, and for some reason this only increased Spike's irritation. He didn't know what he expected Angel to be doing, but waiting up for him and reading... soddin' philosophy... wasn't what he wanted right now. Angel didn't comment as Spike came in flinging his coat and boots into opposite corners. He stayed silent as Spike ripped off his tee shirt. He only spoke as Spike peeled off his jeans, revealing his clearly unsatisfied state. 'Well?'

Spike didn't know how to answer this. He he didn't know how it had gone or what he felt, but he wasn't about to admit to Angel that an uptight po-faced human had bettered a master strategist such as himself. ... and had he just been called a closet gay. and what the hell was suppressed homoeroticism for fuck's sake? And what did that pillock think he did with Angel anyway? Jesus. So, Spike didn't reply. He cast Angel a mutinous, silent look and stomped off to the shower.

Angel closed his eyes briefly then laid his book very carefully and precisely on the nightstand. When Spike came out of the bathroom, Angel was curled on his side, the room was dark, and shagging - and that's all it fucking was: just a shag! - seemed off the agenda. Spike wasn't that bothered. He wanted to think about Wesley's eyes some more. For some reason, all his anger in the shower had focused on that part of Wesley's anatomy. They responded satisfactorily to a skewer but, to his enormous disgust, even more satisfactorily to kissing. He could feel the slight, delicate flutter under his lips and tongue as he... He twisted around trying to get comfortable for a while. Typical bloody Angel. able to sleep through anything. After a few hours, Spike got up, pulled on some jeans and went up to the training room. He took a sword from the cabinet and worked hard for some hours until he was sweating. It was no good. He couldn't get used to these human sleep patterns. He'd sleep tomorrow. If that meant he missed seeing the humans - well, it did. unfortunate. but necessary. He worked hard at staying awake the rest of the night so he could escape into sleep the following day, and crawled into bed just as Angel was getting up to take his shower.

'Where have you been?' Angel's voice was flat, toneless and difficult to read; Spike was too tired to try.

'Busy.' He wrapped himself around in the rumpled sheets and stretched out into the warm spot Angel had just vacated.

'Ah.' Naked, Angel looked down at Spike. 'Anything I'd be interested in?'

'Doubt it. Have a good day.' Spike turned his back and feigned sleep.

Angel sat back down on the edge of the bed. 'Why aren't you coming down?'

Spike's voice was a mumble from the small den he'd created for himself in the bedding. 'Vampire. daylight. allergic?'

'Spike.' Angel trailed off as if he wanted to speak of something he didn't have words for. Unexpectedly, he gave Spike's shoulder a small squeeze and went for a shower.

Spike turned on his back and listened to Angel making no noise. He bet the watcher made lots of noise in the shower - singing? -- probably light classical Gilbert and Sullivan or some shit. He probably had a pleasant tenor voice... and why was he thinking about that bloody human again? He pulled the sheets securely over his head, and that was how Angel found him when he returned from the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, rubbing his hair with a towel. He gave the charcoal-grey lump a thoughtful look, dressed quietly, and went downstairs. Spike wasn't sure how long he slept - it didn't feel all that long - before he was woken abruptly by a warm hand on his naked back. He opened his eyes, slightly disoriented at an event in his dream becoming real, to find Wesley sitting on the edge of the bed with a hesitant, nervous expression.

'Angel said you were ill. I brought these.' He placed a couple of newspapers, folded to the crosswords, on the bed. 'Actually, I felt a little upset by my behaviour last night. I think I'd had too much to drink, and you unnerved me somewhat. It was unpardonable. provoking you and throwing you out like that. Sorry.'

Spike sat up, remembered he was naked and pulled the sheet tightly around him. He glanced at Angel's clock. nine o'clock. Bloody fuck! ''S a bit early, innit? And I'm not ill - I'm a bleedin' vampire - I'm supposed to sleep during the fucking day.'

'Oh good. that you're not ill that is. Angel was positive I shouldn't come up.'

'Ah.' Spike thought he ought to follow that sagacious comment with an equally wise thought, but was too tired to bother thinking about Angel's odd behaviour. 'Where is the poof?'

'He said it was too quiet and went out. To kill something, I suppose.'

'And you didn't go with him?'

'No, I was thinking of you. I mean, I wanted to see you.' Wesley's attempts to explain himself were not helped by the increasingly panicked expression on Spike's face. He coughed and started again. 'I wanted to ask you something.' He held up a video. Confused and still half asleep; naked and very defensive; still in the throes of an odd, disturbing dream; feeling he was losing the initiative in his own game; Spike glanced in horror at the box.

''S that porn?'

Wesley pulled back as if the offering had burnt Spike. 'God! No! It's football. I just got it today - England versus Argentina - first round of the World Cup! For goodness sake Spike, why would I ask you to come over and watch porn with me?'

Spike tried to recover and sat up a little, clutching his sheet tighter. 'Footie? You're gonna invite me over to watch the footie with you?' Wesley smiled.

'Well, yes. I can't enjoy watching the Argies getting a thorough thrashing without some moral - or in your case immoral - support.'

'Bloody hell, Wes, you've told me the result now!'

It was Wes' turn to look horrified and he said very slowly and deliberately, 'It is the World Cup, Spike. Surely you knew the bloody result?'

Spike shrugged. 'Case you hadn't noticed, mate. been a bit busy here, an' Angel ain't into TV much. or football. or anything really.' Wesley glanced at the rumpled sheets, unable to help himself. Spike realised firstly what he'd said about Angel and secondly that it was actually true. not part of his cunning plan to trap Wesley. He didn't like the human staring at the bed like that and couldn't decide whether this was because nothing had actually happened in these sheets for some nights or because he felt like a grade-A ponce sitting there. He scrambled off the bed still holding the sheet modestly to him. This infuriated him beyond belief. He'd never been modest before. He loved shocking people with his naked body. if he could manage a stonker too, well, all the better. So, why was he clutching the sheet to his privates like a prom queen caught in the shower by the football team? It was embarrassing; it was wussy; it was pathetic - he clutched it tighter and edged towards the bathroom.

Wesley suddenly looked up from the bed as if he'd only just realised Spike wasn't there. 'Err. so, are you coming tonight?'

'What!?' Spike backed into the wall, missing the door to the shower.

'For the football, Spike?'

'Yeah. yeah, okay, see ya then.' He went into the bathroom and leant his forehead on the door when he closed it. What the hell had just happened there? He'd lost it. He hadn't acted that pathetic since. a hideous, recurring nightmare of a chained Slayer flashed across his mind. He stood up and shook himself slightly. Big and still bad, and they'd better believe it. A slightly forced predatory grin crossed his face. Tonight. He'd have the watcher tonight.

*****
Part 2:

Spike took a long shower, turning under the scalding water, debated going down to see if there was any action, but retreated to the calm of his own bed. too bloody calm recently. He slept the day away, unaware that Angel came up at lunchtime and stood in the doorway, a mug of blood cooling in his hand, just watching him. Although there was no one to see him, Angel kept his face carefully neutral as he watched Spike sleep. He turned away after ten minutes without letting one emotion escape, his whole stance closed-off.

Spike woke as the sun set, and his first thought was of Wesley. His second, embarrassingly, was to wonder what he was going to wear. Suddenly his habitual black jeans and tee shirt did not seem... appropriate? adequate? shag-me-now enough? He scrambled out of bed and ripped open the cupboard. He seemed to remember Angel buying him some clothes when he'd bought the telly and other 'I'm so guilty about all this' shit. He inspected them for the first time. He had to smile; Angel had taste, and Angel knew him. He was just pulling out a chocolate-brown silk shirt and a pair of faded jeans when he sensed Angel watching him. He paused.

'You taking that to Wesley's tonight?'

Confused at first by Angel's meaning, Spike turned to him with a puzzled expression. He saw the direction of Angel's look, and his already swollen erection rose some more in response. He chucked the clothes onto the chair and grinned.

'Not all of it maybe. could leave some of it here with you. if you want.' He stalked slowly towards Angel, watching his neutral expression carefully. It felt odd, they hadn't taken each other for days, and at this moment Spike could not really say why this was, other than he had been busy stalking Wesley. Spike almost felt shy. He reached Angel and allowed his penis to rub slightly on Angel's shirt. Angel tipped back his head and closed his eyes. He seemed to be trying to decide something, and put his hands on Spike's shoulders for a moment as if to hold him away, but at the tension he felt radiating from his childe, he suddenly looked down and smiled.

'I want it all, Spike. You know I do.' Spike melted to Angel's look and put his hands on the soft brown hair, pulling Angel's face to him for a long, intense kiss. Angel ran his hands up Spike's back, groaning at the feel of the sinewy body under his hands. They moved together to the bed and Spike pushed Angel onto his back, straddling his chest.

'So, where do you want it?' Spike wriggled his eyebrow, suggestively. Angel laughed and sound hit Spike in the solar plexus like a blow. He hadn't heard Angel laugh for days but hadn't noticed the absence until now.

Angel put his hands to the thin waist, massaging his thumbs into the sides of Spike's groin, watching delightedly as the erection swelled and pulsed to the touch. He licked his lips and, about to make his selection, hissed in annoyance when his beeper went off. Spike cursed and scrambled for Angel's pocket, snatching the small machine out and stabbing at it to try and turn it off.

'Spike. don't. Let me see.' Spike batted Angel's hand away and hurled the offending beeper into the corner of the room. Angel gave him a furious look, pushed him off, and retrieved it. 'It's Gunn. I've got to go.'

'Don't.'

They stood and looked at each other, and Spike felt there was something he ought to see in this confrontation other than the surface tension over an unsatisfied erection.

'I have to.' Angel's voice was quiet but closed off.

'Fine. Go. I've got other places to be.' Spike deliberately made a show of sauntering over to the clothes and putting on the shirt that Angel had chosen for him. It had been a good choice: the silk enhanced his slimness, the colour making him almost edible. Even this, however, did not break Angel's control. Just as deliberately as Spike, he turned off the beeper, adjusted his clothing slightly, and made his way to the door. Only when he was in the hall did he ask, very quietly, but very distinctly. 'Will I see you later?'

Pausing in the act of trying to zip jeans over his erection, Spike was in no mood to pander to Angel. 'Dunno. Depends on the effect of this rig, don't it? You make a great pimp, mate, ta.' He regretted his words as he said them, but not enough to let Angel know. He cast a quick glance at his sire's back. ("Turn around Angel, and I'll tell you I love you; keep walking and I won't.") Angel walked quietly away, and Spike cursed the missed opportunity, but he had other things on his mind. Angel would be there when he got back; Angel was always there, an immutable fact in his unlife. He desperately wished he could see himself in a mirror - he felt good but wanted to test this out before he saw Wesley. He wet his hair and ruffled it up, leaving it to dry in the air and put on all his favourite jewellery. He felt ready. He sat on the bed and wondered why he was procrastinating. Angel had ruined his mood. He reminded himself he was only doing this for the uptight pillock, and that made him relax a little. Shaking each shoulder and circling them around like a boxer about to go in the ring, he put on his duster, grabbed a couple of bottles of JD from his fridge, and made his way down the stairs.

Cordelia was finishing up at her desk as he came down. She looked up casually and whistled. 'Who's the lucky dead girl?'

'What?' Spike was caught between being pleased by this reaction and infuriated by what it implied.

'Duh. Have you got a date?' Cordelia did her "I'm speaking to the hearing-impaired" impression, annunciating each word with distinction.

It didn't help Spike's mood. 'No! I can put a bloody clean shirt on, can't I?'

Angel came out of the kitchen and made his way past Spike without even glancing at him. Never one to notice the subtle tensions between people, Cordelia caught at his arm as he passed. 'Hey, Angel, aren't you going to ask Spike who he's seeing tonight? He's all g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s.'

Angel didn't even spare her a look. 'No.'

Spike watched his retreating back, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. 'Don't wait for me to lock up, Angel. I've just changed me mind. I won't be back till tomorrow. 'k?'

Even Cordelia sensed she was missing some undercurrent between them. 'You don't like Spike's girlfriend? Is that it, Angel? Eew, it's not Drusilla again, is it?'

'Shut up, Bint.' Spike kept his eyes drilling into Angel's back, well aware that Angel felt every inch of the pressure. ("Turn around Angel, and I'll tell you I love you. Please.")

'Hey! Angel! He's just told me...'

'Shut up, Cordelia.' Angel spoke neutrally, but decidedly, and finally turned - but Spike was not there. The door to the hotel slammed deafeningly shut. Some objects fell off shelves. Cordelia flinched. Angel only turned and went into his office, but he mirrored the hyperbole of Spike's exit. Cordelia flinched again and looked around her in astonishment. She was the one both vampires had just insulted, but she was the one being calm and mature. She huffed and followed Spike out, making a big show to the empty hotel of shutting the door carefully.

Angel sat with his feet up on the desk, his hands tented against his lips. The room gradually darkened around him, but he did not move. Occasionally he blinked, but this was the only movement he made until the sun rose, its first destructive rays tickling against the shades of the room. He seemed to reanimate at the approaching light, stood gracefully and went towards the kitchen to begin his ritual of preparing a breakfast he didn't eat. Every movement, every step, betrayed nothing but ironclad self-control. No emotion escaped him. Even when Wesley arrived very late for work, looking sour, hung-over, unshaven and anxious, nothing betrayed Angel's mood. He hardly glanced at the man before taking some weapons out of the cabinet and saying calmly. 'I'm going out.'

Spike arrived at Wesley's apartment in a foul mood. He kicked at the wall for a while to try and calm down. He had half decided to forgo the evening and return to make things up with Angel when Wesley came out of the door. 'Oh, hello, I'm just popping down to the shop for some more liquid refreshment. Make yourself at home.' He saw the two bottles clutched in Spike's hands. 'Ah. well, maybe we have enough then.' Wesley turned, and the expectation that Spike would follow drew the reluctant vampire with no conscious volition.

The video was already playing, the pre-match work-up running through. Spike watched the familiar flags painted on people's eager, expectant faces and smiled slightly despite his mood. 'You ain't wearing a flag, mate. I call that unpatriotic.'

Wesley grinned and hitched his jeans down slightly on one side. 'Ah, but I am, Spike.'

Spike raised his eyes in amused wonder that the staid watcher was wearing St George's Cross underpants and felt his bad mood slip from him as easily as his duster. He cast both into a corner and hopped over the back of the couch. 'Glasses?'

Wesley grinned, too, and started to move various essential items onto the coffee table: beer, snacks, glasses... more snacks. Spike nested on the couch and grabbed the remote controls. Wesley smiled and let him. Surprisingly, he settled alongside the vampire and passed him an empty glass, holding his out to be filled.

'Thanks for coming. I take it Angel wasn't too pleased.'

Spike turned and looked at him. 'Why'd you say that?'

'You were pretty upset when I found you in the hall. You were going to go back, weren't you?'

Spike eyed him levelly. 'I am a demon, Watcher. Let's get that straight now. I do not - cannot - feel upset about things.'

'Fine. It was just an observation.'

'And what Angel thinks or feels is completely irrelevant to me, is that clear? He's my sire, that's all.'

'All?'

'In the widest possible interpretation of that, yeah. My sire. He don't own me.'

'Well, no, obviously not. That's not what I meant at all. He cares about you, that's all. it's fairly apparent.'

'Huh.' Infuriatingly, Spike felt tears prick behind his eyes, and he had the almost irresistible urge to say petulantly, "No he doesn't," but regained some self-control by downing his large whisky in one swallow. He turned back to the screen and tried to ignore the odd feeling that he shouldn't be talking about Angel to the prey and, if he did, he oughtn't say things that he thought might actually be true.

Wesley covered the embarrassing moment by pouring them both some more whisky, and by that time the actual match had started. Spike sat sunk in gloom for a while, but Wesley's unexpected and infectious enthusiasm for the game won him over gradually. When Beckham finally scored from the penalty kick, Wes leapt up in the air for all the world as if it were a live match and the result unknown. Spike laughed and relaxed back onto the couch. He turned to watch the watcher. The normally reserved human was more animated than Spike had ever seen him. He wondered idly if Angel had ever known his pet human like this, but berated himself for thinking about Angel when doing that just depressed him once more. A brief image of Angel's rigid back flashed into his mind, so he flushed it out with a drink. Wesley lent forward with excitement and sometimes flung himself back against the couch, but the most surprising thing of all to Spike was that the watcher was clearly aroused by the match. Pheromones poured off him, the room was awash with the power of his arousal. Spike felt light headed with its affect on him. Wesley seemed unconscious of his state except, once or twice, when he leant forward, Spike could have sworn he saw a flicker of discomfort at the tightness of his jeans cross Wesley's face. This tightness fascinated Spike. He watched Wesley's penis through the thin fabric where it was clearly outlined, lying to the right.

Spike knew he was drunk when he started to picture the tip of Wesley's uncut cock just peeking from the opening. Why was it peeking? ...oh yeah, he'd begged the watcher to take it out - he'd skipped that bit - it was too embarrassing. So, the cock appeared. As Spike watched Wesley's enjoyment of the football, he pictured giving him something much more enjoyable. He could crouch between those open thighs and pinch the foreskin lightly. Wesley would have better cause than a good move from Michael Owen to hiss with pleasure. He could let the tiny slit have just a moment of freedom and exposure before he drew it into his dark, cool mouth. Maybe Wesley's hands would come to rest on his head as he sucked on the warm penis, as he rubbed it on the back of his throat, and as he made the human gasp with delight. When he shouted, Wesley would be shouting for him; when he groaned, it would be a deeper, more erotic groan than he made now. When Wesley asked if he were alright, it would be with warm hands massaging his hair.

'Spike!'

Spike jerked back to full consciousness. 'What? Bloody hell! What happened?'

Wesley laughed. 'It's half time. You were asleep.'

'Wasn't.'

'Ah. You groan when you're awake do you?'

'I'm err. can I use your bathroom, mate?'

Totally wrong-footed by this odd request, Wesley could only wave Spike in its direction. Did vampires need to pee? It was most odd.

'Fuck.' Spike leant on the inside of the door and eased himself out of his jeans. He thought this might have been one of those times when he regretted not wearing shreds of any sort. He closed his eyes, praying he hadn't left a damp patch and opened them with a relieved sigh. His erection was nearly exploding but apparently not yet visibly so. He staggered over to the toilet bowl and just made it there before an arc of cum shot out and plopped into the water. He came over and over again; ragged jerking of his cock all that was necessary to empty his sac. It was unbelievable. He'd only been fantasising about sucking the watcher off, yet here he was wanking into the loo like a horny teenager on a first date. Date? Cordelia's words came back at just the wrong time to mock him.

He finished and flushed, well aware that this behaviour was odd and briefly wondered how to cover with the human. He needn't have worried too much. Wesley wasn't there when he came out, and he heard slight movements from the direction of the bedroom. He took the opportunity to drink another few whiskies and fill Wesley's glass for him. He chortled to himself when the watcher finally emerged and nonchalantly passed him the drink. 'Second half's started, mate. You're missing it.'

'Oh, right.' The smell of human cum almost overpowered Spike. He tipped his head back, savouring the smell and the knowledge that Wesley had been similarly engaged to him. He smiled, but then frowned slightly. He was the one supposed to be excited. Wesley wasn't allowed to get off thinking about him. that was too suppressed whatsit for Spike's liking. He shifted imperceptibly away from Wesley on the couch, well aware that for a sexually predatory vampire he was behaving illogically. Shouldn't he be capitalising on his obvious conquest? Spike sipped his drink thoughtfully. The awful suspicion had crossed his mind that it had been the football, rather than his obvious charms, that had excited the watcher. What if he made some sort of move and was rejected? He wouldn't have minded that when he started this game. that was all par for the course when you were hunting: you ignored protest and just changed tactics slightly. So why would that bother him now? Why would Wesley's rejection of him. fuck, Wesley's laugher at the suggestion. bloody hell! Wesley preferring David Seaman to his semen. affect him now?

Spike sunk lower in the couch, hoping the richer oxygen down there that he didn't need to breathe would help him with this puzzle. He'd just got off thinking about Wesley. Wesley had just got off probably thinking about the footie, and he was pissed off about that? Yes, he was, and he was buggered if he was going to risk rejection... and fuck he was drunk now. He cast a baleful glance at Wesley and saw a distinct lack of concentration on the match in him too.

'I'm pissed.'

'I think I am too. And I don't have a vampire's constitution.'

'I'd better go.'

'Stay. The couch is yours, if you want it. But, Spike, I will be metaphorically locking my door very sturdily tonight.'

Spike looked impressed. 'How'd ya do that then? 's a good trick that.'

'I mean, I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk. Not as drunk as last time I was drunk with you. Do you understand?'

'Why we always getting drunk together, Wes? Am I nervous of you? I mean. are you nervous of me?'

'I am, I think. I'm nervous of Angel; I know that.'

'Fucking hell.' Spike flung himself up, misjudged the force his own propulsion and ended up on the floor. 'Woops. And, yeah... fucking hell, don't talk 'bout 'im. I don't want to talk about 'im tonight.'

'He did upset you.' Wesley looked down in an unfocused way at his glass and murmured in a rather maudlin tone, `He bloody upsets me all the time too.'

Spike rolled onto his back and peered up at Wesley. 'Uh huh. I thought he was mister soul boy and all saintly like.'

'Well, yes, he is. But living with a saint when you want a. anyway. I think I'd better be off to bed. Sleep tight.'

Spike watched Wesley trying unsuccessfully to stand and tried to remember what he was here for. 'Do you like me shirt?' It wasn't his most subtle approach or his most original, but he felt the moment was getting away from him.

'What?'

'Me shirt.' Spike held the front of the fabric out for his inspection. 'Do you like it? Cus I can't see it like. on me.'

'Oh, yes. I suppose so. I'm not very good with clothes. Ask Cordelia, she knows all about that sort of thing. I'm better with books really.'

Wesley was supposed to have said, "Take it off, Spike, you could see it then." Why wasn't this human being good prey? Spike was too drunk to change the tactics of an unlifetime and replied weakly, 'Oh. Pity. I'm not so good with those. Now I'm dead an' all.'

Finally, Wesley managed to stand and stepped over Spike. 'Are you going to use the couch or stay on the floor?'

'Floor.'

'Alright. I'll see you in the morning then. It's quite shady in this room, don't worry.' He was wasting his breath, for the arch, predatory fiend was already asleep. He chucked a throw in his unexpected houseguest's direction and made his way unsteadily to his own bed.

He had an awful night, was hours late for work and in no mood to obsessively watch Angel as usual. He barely registered Angel's comment about going out, only gratefully resting his head on the desk when he'd left. The whole night, it seemed to him, he'd lain awake with his blood pounding and surging through his heart, his stomach sick and heaving, his head threatening to open up between his temples, so thirsty he thought he would die but too dizzy to attempt getting up for a drink. When the alarm had gone off at six, he had fallen into a deep, much needed sleep, and had not woken until ten. When he realised the time he didn't even stop for a shower or a shave, but pulled on some clean clothes and made his way through the darkened apartment. On his way out, he cast a sour look at the still sleeping vampire, wondering - not for the first time - whether the dead (like the unemployed) didn't have life better sorted. Spike was almost twisted around the legs of the coffee table, the remote control clutched to his chest. Other than that, he did not look the worse for wear. Wesley drove slowly to the office, well aware he was still over the limit, and sat at his desk wondering why he'd bothered to come in at all. No one would have missed him. He could have woken later in the day with Spike... well, not with Spike. Spike was not in his bed this time... and had he regretted that on waking? Had he left the metaphorical locks off his door deliberately? Is that why he'd lain awake all night? Had he been waiting for a silent approach that never came? Was that why he was in a foul mood now?

Wesley knew he was not very good at introspection. He feared to look too closely into his subconscious for fear he might find unpalatable truths there mocking him and threatening his English reserve. He stopped all such self-examination now and made a pot of strong tea. Tea was preferable to thinking anyway... but the tea made him need to pee. Peeing made him think of Spike's sudden, mystifying disappearance last night, and that made him think of his own reaction. Memories of that unexpected but intensely pleasurable hand job let normally repressed erotic thoughts tumble into his head. These made his body do what it had wanted to do since he'd gotten up that morning. He heaved noisily and painfully into the toilet, ridding his body of some of last night's whiskey and all of today's tea. When he'd finished he stood up and washed his face, not daring to look at his reflection. The feel of his stubble alone made him wince. He decided to take the sickie he should have earlier and left the office in Cordelia's capable hands, making his way back to the apartment.

Spike was not under the coffee table anymore. On a brief search, Wesley discovered him face down and asleep on his bed, wearing only the silk shirt he had seemed so worried about the previous night. It had ridden up over his backside, and Wesley couldn't help but smile at the rather child-like appearance this gave the ancient demon.

Wesley was rather at a loss now. He'd planned on retreating to the bed himself, but decided to freshen up instead and ran a deep hot bath, pouring in anything sweet-smelling and eau-de-vomit masking he could find. He soaked for a long time, shaved and then dressed in something comfortable. Feeling almost fully recovered, he decided a large cooked breakfast would soak up any remaining alcohol and give him the required strength to fight off any lingering hangover. He put some bacon on to fry and was amused when a bleary-eyed vampire emerged almost immediately from the bedroom. Spike was still dressed only in his shirt although, now standing, this covered what it needed to. `'S that for me?'

`You want to eat?'

`English bacon I do, yeah.'

`Oh.' Wesley threw some more in the pan and offered Spike some tea. `Eggs and fried bread, too, I seem to remember?'

Spike grinned through his pain. `Yeah... this is getting repetitive, Watcher.'

`Least I wasn't sick over you this time, Spike.'

`You upchucked?'

`Yes, at work, I regret to say.'

`Work! You've been to work? Fuck! What time is it?'

`Lunchtime now.'

`Oh God... he'll be... Err... did you see Angel?'

`Briefly. He seemed in his perpetual foul mood and went out.'

`Uh huh. Did you say anything about last night?'

`No, should I have?'

`Oh bleedin' fuck yes! You could have said I was drunk and passed out on the floor!'

`And he'd have wanted to hear that, would he?'

`I think so, yeah.' ("But I'm not so sure of that now to tell him myself.")

Spike sat despondently eating his breakfast. Where was all this going wrong? Why was all this going wrong? He was supposed to have shagged the watcher last night, not slept on his floor like a reluctant virgin. He was supposed to be doing this for Angel, not worried about Angel's reaction to something that hadn't happened anyway. It was too much to puzzle out on a good day; with a raging headache, he had no chance.

Wesley's hesitant words pulled him out of his revere. `What do you intend to do now, Spike? Are you going home?' It was on the tip of Spike's tongue to reply, "Don't have one of those," but kept his misery to himself.

`Dunno. Might stay `til it's dark, if that's okay. What do you usually do then?'

`Well, there's only the weekends, obviously, but I read at bit, watch TV... although I try not to watch daytime American shows - that's always seemed to me to be a line I ought not to cross somehow. I do housework, unfortunately. Not very exciting I'm afraid, is it?'

`Well, it beats rummaging in the dump for stuff and being beaten up by teenage girls, and mate, once you've crossed that daytime telly line, life's so easy... you don't even notice the descent after that.'

Wesley smiled shyly. `So, that's the choice then, Spike, until nightfall... reading, telly or housework. Take your pick.'

Spike tipped his head back and actually heard a seductive reply in his head. It would run along the lines of, "I can think of something more fun than any of those, Watcher," and he would deliberately accidentally let his shirt ride up as he sat on the stool, exposing the meaning of his words. Instead, he snatched his shirt possessively by the tails and tried unsuccessfully to heave it as far as his knees. `Can I take a bath, mate?'

`Oh yes, of course. Help yourself, sorry; I should have offered. And if you want clean clothes, borrow some of mine... and God, you are right; this is becoming rather a feature of our relationship, isn't it? Do you think we are doomed to be forever in this apartment, hung over, me cooking you breakfast and you wearing my clothes?' Wesley's attempt at humour backfired badly. They both looked at each other aghast, Spike - still trying to pull his shirt down decently - headed swiftly for the bathroom; Wesley began to clear up the breakfast dishes. Why had he just said that? It was too ridiculous for words, too... domesticated? Had he actually pictured living with Spike in this apartment for a moment, and had that picture actually been attractive? Was that the line he shouldn't have crossed? It suddenly made Maury look perfectly harmless entertainment.

He listened to the sound of the bath running, imagined he heard silk being pulled over a toned, slim body... did hear gentle sounds of a body being lowered into water, heard a groan, then a sigh, decided he shouldn't be listening at the door, and made himself busy changing his sheets and pottering with the abhorrent housework. Suddenly he remembered he was on a sickie, not a weekend, and was just about to pander to himself with another cup of tea when the telephone rang. Almost grateful for the distraction, he picked it up to find Cordelia, breathless and urgent, summoning him. Not thinking, Wesley knocked on the door then stuck his head around slightly, trying not to look at the reclining vampire. `We're needed. Big demon. Angel and Gunn have already left; they've taken weapons for us; we have to meet them there.'

Spike, not realising that Wesley had the door open, hopped out of the tub and paced over to the towel rail. Wesley hissed slightly when he saw Spike's naked body for the first time. Spike heard him and turned before he had a chance to grab a towel. He stood, completely naked, dripping water onto the tiles, looking horrified at Wesley. `Jesus! Get out, will you?' He only just fought off the urge to cover himself with his hands but would rather have been naked in front of nuns than resort to that coy device.

`Yes, sorry, of course.' Wesley backed away and shut the door, but his legs wobbled slightly, and he perched feebly on the arm of a chair. It was perfect. Spike was perfect. That body was perfect. He had thought he had found what he was looking for in an enigmatic body - dark haired and graceful - but now he was confused, drawn inexorably to that muscular, defined, toned, beautiful and ... he had to stop thinking like this. Slim. Pale. Stop! That pale, thick penis... that dark patch of curls that would smell so... primordial, like the essence of sex itself. Now... stop! That body was Angel's for one thing. Wesley had not been joking when he had declared his fear of Angel. It was the flip side of his other feelings for the dark-haired, graceful, enigmatic vampire. Wesley was many things, but he was not stupid. He would not risk taking - or even borrowing - anything that was Angel's. He couldn't even begin to imagine the consequences of something that fundamentally stupid... but oh, how he wanted to go back into the bathroom and... and... and what? What did he want to happen? He had never touched another man sexually, except for that unasked for and only half-remembered fumble on the bed with Spike. So now he saw another man's naked body and wanted to come in it ... wanted that body to come in him ... and did he have to decide which now? Was this a 'one or the other' sort of thing? He had no idea. Girlfriends - alright, the one girlfriend - had been so easy. There had been little decision to make: she had suddenly lain on her back one evening and said, `I'm taking the pill now. We can do it.' She had not moved from that position, and so his role in the whole process had been made clear to him... but with Spike? Who would...? Oh, bloody hell, who could...? He put his head into his hands and only roused when he felt a light hand on his shoulder.

`Come on, Watcher, we've work to do.' Wesley looked up into eyes that unbelievably looked as puzzled and hesitant as he felt his own must be.

`Right. Yes, come on. I'll come with you in the tunnels. No! I mean...'

`I know what you mean, Wes. I know exactly what you mean... let's go.'

*****