Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd be naked more often.

What Remains
by Criss Moody (wyoluvr at yahoo.com)

Rated: NC-17

Summary: Spike wants Wesley...for Angel.

Notes: Originally inspired by Jessica Walker's "Happy Birthday, Wesley." Kudos and all the love I can give to Random and Joey for being my three-ring circus . Also, nods and kisses to Te for inspiring and challenging me constantly, however unintentionally. Originally, this was meant to be for BuffyAngelImprov #8...but I was too slow.

He watches them, painful to look for long at what he'll never have. On the surface, changeable as humans, fads and fashions and this summer's new attitude, masking the immutable, the demon.

(("Peaches, you keep stealin' my clothes, I'll never manage to get dressed." "Don't tempt me.))

Spike and Angel don't change.

In the diaries, they are Sire and Childe, bound by that law, tied to what they taught each other. Hurt Spike and he craves more; need Angel and it fills him. Before Spike came home to Angel, wounded by the Initiative and defeated by his love for Buffy, Angel was like a massive, still lake, brimming to the top with chaotic emotion, but perfectly, utterly in control.

Only Spike can make him lose his disturbing control so totally that Angelus floats to the surface.

((Spike nearly flew across the room from the force of Angel's blow. "I give the orders here. Me!" The blonde, fading to brown now, vampire laughed through the bubbles of blood issuing from his mouth. "Arrogant prick. I'll do what I wanna, but go ahead, try to stop me. Hate to ruin the entertainment."))

And before Spike came, Wesley hoped.

For touch, never spoken of; for taste, delicious cold and dead.

If it disturbs Wesley that Spike has filled Angel in ways he himself longed to, the former Watcher has kept his silence.

Too silent.

Before Spike, Wesley spent more than a few nights in the Hyperion after a long night of talking, chess-playing, and keeping Angel company. Friends, if you will, who understood the unquiet things waiting in the darkness. Old lovers and things that hurt too much to name, let alone think about. Better to be with someone, anyone, than be alone. Unwilling to face the darkness of private hells, they kept company together.

(("Did you ever think this is how you would end? Working for a vampire?" "No, I rather thought I'd be vampire snack food, 'mmm, mmm, time for a leg o'Wesley or perhaps a piece of the heart'."))

Now, Angel sees Wesley only in the company of Spike, Cordelia, and/or Gunn. And he wonders why. Oblivious, it hurts him in ways he doesn't understand that Wesley can so easily forgo friendship.

(("Wes, are you staying for dinner?" The Englishman stood at the door, looking ill at ease, Spike and Angel sitting at the wooden kitchen table, the picture of domestic tranquility...if a person ignored the identical mugs of warmed blood.))

Spike knows. Understands. Who else could? He scented panicked lust on Wesley, laced with regret and pain, longing for things not even Wesley knew the names to, love and patience, tender roughness accompanied by a gentle hand. Oh bloody hell yes, he understood. Rain soaked flashes of begging Angelus, crashing to his knees, scraped raw by the stones, touch me, anywhere, once, God please just once. Mortal and stupid, begging a dead man to hold him. Nothing mattered but Angelus. As long as Angelus touched him, the vampire could do whatever he wished to the mortal boy he had found. Alpha and omega of William's world from the first moment they met.

(("Ah, lad, but you're a sweet one. Perhaps I'll keep you after all."))

Angelus knew this.

((Eyes golden, demon swimming at the surface, Angelus rammed into his newly made Childe's fuck-hole. He chanted as he broke the boy, bit by bit, bone by bone if he had too. This was his, only and totally his.))

Angel knows that though he has betrayed his boy more than once, Spike is his. Irrevocably, eternally.

((His arm broken by the Fiarski demon, Spike crawled to his Sire, mewling and whimpering until he reached the dark man. Weeping at the sight of his boy, broken and torn because he'd thrown himself between Angel and a raging demon, Angel cradled the other vampire's limp form in his arms. Soon, loud purring echoed in the sewer.))

Blind to Wesley, ignorant of how he's marked the man, laid his scent down everywhere from Wesley's soul to his pores, to warn off the creature stupid enough to attempt harm. Angelus would have fucked Wesley into the ground and turned him.

Angel keeps his poncy head in the ground and muddles on through, saving lives, ignoring the one walking right beside him that is fading fast.

Spike hates being self-sacrificing. It's right up there with helping the good guys. But his Sire and lover is one of the good guys, and fuck it all, if self-sacrifice helps Peaches, he's all for it.

Besides, Wesley's a decent looking bloke. Can't wait to see what he looks like without clothes.

After a fight, Cordelia and Gunn out to do what people denying an attraction do, Spike is left to implement his plan. He can't do it without his Sire's permission. Besides vampire rules, the prick has to agree to it.

It. Sex. A threesome. Three men, happily fucking themselves into a blissful coma. Next best thing to killing things, shagging is.

He sidles next to his Sire in the kitchen while Wesley showers free of demon goo.


Angel almost ignores him, he wants to get this omelet done before Wesley gets out of the shower, wants Wesley to feel obligated to sit and eat, to stay.


"Can I fuck the Watcher?" The blunt question takes a moment to sink into Angel, but when it does, he reacts badly. Spike against the counter, so hard he can hear something crack, and he laughs, face crinkling. His blue eyes reflect mischief and the barest hint of lust. Angel wonders if that's his boy's lust or just what his boy sees in Angel's brown irises.

"That's not funny."

"Didn't mean to be funny. I wanna fuck him. He's kinda cute, and he's a bit into you, ya know, and I think he could be into me, and I don't see why not, I mean, you want him, he wants you, I want you, I'd like to give him a go at least, so what's the problem?" Spike's speech at the best of times was baffling, but this could have won an award.

Angel's face shifts from shock, to fury, to lust, and back to shock. He rocks under an enticing image of Wesley's lean frame attended to by Spike's tongue. Angel fights his way out of fascinated lust into full-fledged, bright lime green jealousy. Divided between making the image happen and throwing Wesley into the bedroom alone. Or ripping Wesley's dick off so that it could never plunder the gripping cool depths of his boy's ass.

"You want...to fuck Wesley." Angel draws out the words, testing each syllable on his tongue before speaking it.

Spike rolls his eyes: handsome his Sire, but smart musta been knocked outta him as a human. Dense as a pile of stone and twice as hard to convince of anything.

"Yeah, Peaches, I'd really like to shag the human. I promise not to kill him."

(("You swear, I get this chip out for you, no bloody rampages?" "Swear...unless you ask me to." The sandy haired vampire threw a leering grin at his weary Sire, who waved a hand at the surgeon to begin. An hour later, one chip-less, but Souled Sire encumbered Spike munched on his first human in years...Lilah, the Wolfram and Hart bitch.))

The elder vampire's eyes cross and his balls twitch. No, Wesley doesn't want him. The man can't even spend an hour in the same room with him without an anxious tremble in the hands, followed by an immediate need to use the restroom. If Angel comes into a room, Wesley leaves shortly thereafter. If Angel asks Wesley a question, Wesley answers without meeting his boss' face.

Spike wants to fuck Wesley. What the hell is Angel supposed to do, watch? Oh, now that makes him feel dizzy. He sits down, abandoning his omelet. Spike flicks the off switch for the burner and straddles a chair opposite Angel's.

"Wussley's usual after-killing tonic will booze him up nicely." (("Honestly, Angel, it's just a bit of whiskey to sooth the nerves. Nothing more.")) "He'll be properly sleepy and groggy and I'll seduce him up proper."

Angel blinks. This has to be wrong in somebody's definition of the word but damn him to hell twice on a Sunday if he could figure out whose.

Mute, he takes Spike's hand and follows him to the bedroom. Lucky for Spike, Wes has finished his shower, and knocked back his 'bit' of whiskey, more like several shots, and sits on the bed, woozy from the steamy warm shower and potent liquid.

The Watcher's eyes focus blearily on Spike, kneeling beside his shower wet body. Soft hand, push the unsteady torso down, press it into the bed. Comfortable bed, for a creature used to his comforts. Smooth, warm skin, good for lots of things. Angel stands at the foot of the bed, legs shaking with the need to lay down on that bed and take them both into him, on him, mark them until they bleed his name.

Wesley's eyes glide shut. He's dreaming. That he knows, like he knows that Angel makes fantastic omelets and that Spike belongs to Angel and visa versa. Two for the price of one, or maybe it's the other way around, Wesley can't figure it out. Things are fuzzy, the edges of his body burn, skin tingling, he's too warm, and so he sighs helplessly at the cool hand caressing his chest. It feels so soothing that his eyes open, and Spike smirks at him.

Spike. Wrong. He rears up, disrupting Spike, who almost tumbles off the bed. Spike belongs to Angel. Wesley can't have any of it, no part, no place, he figures into no equation. This is real, somehow, and that means he must flee. He won't be hurt by the whims of a childish vampire. Or by his own mind-wracking desire to wrap both vampires around his needy flesh like a big undead safety blanket. One-hundred percent guaranteed to protect from nightmares, loneliness, and pain.

((The fair-haired boy sneered. "Go on, suck it, yeah, that's right, there..." Smelly pungency of a locker room. Too warm, ashamed and turned on, Wesley awkwardly wrapped his lips around the thick penis.))

(("Don't scream my boy. You wouldn't want to wake Mother."))

Back against the bed, downed by Angel's hand, the vampire straddles Wesley's body. Dizzily, Wesley notes that Angel is naked from the waist up. His mind conjures the wonder for the feel of the pale pink nipples on the broad chest above him and his hands move to satisfy the wonder. Angel covers Wesley's hands with his.

"Spike wants..."

The vampire in question cuts into the statement. "Wanna shag? I'm a bloody good fuck, and the Poof isn't too bad." Wesley holds himself still, don't move, the animal wants you. Frustrated with the Watcher's fearful look, Spike takes matters into his own hands. Dipping down, he grasps his target's cock with a firm grip, and begins to jack Angel off. Angel groans, gasps, and almost chuckles. Wesley valiantly attempts to ignore the dripping semen splattering onto his chest. Body disagrees with valiancy and his hand betrays him by scooping up the goopy stuff and sucking the laden finger into his mouth.

Spike jealously watches the digit disappear into the pursed opening. Always loved Sire jiz, cold musk, salty, acrid dark. He hastens the movements of his hand, guiding the tip towards Wesley's open mouth, gaping at the taste of Angel. A few hard, short strokes and Angel spurts, ropy white come jerking out of the meaty cock, filled with borrowed blood and semen that shouldn't have existed but did thanks to some trick of magick. His Sire pants needlessly, collapses beside Wesley and cuddles the insensate Watcher. A lusty grin crosses Spike's face as he spies the glistening, uncut cock, how unusual, gracing Wesley's groin. Sandy brown hair brushes up Angel's sensitized skin, Spike making his way to follow tradition. Bows head, then tilts it and waits. Howls and huffs through his nose when Angel bites, drinks enough to make Spike light-headed, and then does as Spike did.


Sires only allow their Childer to feed when making them, healing them, reassuring them, or adding a mate. Vampires don't have sex with humans. Vampires don't exchange blood with another vampire while in the course of fucking humans. It's not done. There's sex and then there's sex, and Angel is initiating a clear mating ritual to a creature already his mate through blood and sex and death, meaning only one thing.

A human mate.

(("Order of Aurelius, Angelus, Childe of Darla, Childe of Nest, now maker of William, Order of Aurelius, mate to Angelus." Blood flowed freely from a gash on William's neck, gushing into Angelus' eager mouth. "Feed, feed, lad, come into me, let me into you." The boy struggled, his mortal flesh failing, dying. As the death throes came, Angelus ripped the boy's mouth from his throat, and rammed his cock into the virgin hole, screaming his primal satisfaction at being the first, the only. He let the boy fasten onto his arm as the change came, and Angelus gloried at the cooling flesh.))

Humans can't be real mates. And Spike knew, like he knew his Sire's cock, that Angel would never turn another human. Stupid waste of love on an effing human, but spare thoughts of a blonde Slayer now dead and buried, who had loved both he and his Sire, gave Spike pause. Alright. A Mate. A protected, loved, welcomed, fucked, shagged, buggered into a right fun coma, Mate. He vamps, sinks into the neck offered, and drinks until Angel tears him free.

Wesley chances to open his eyes again, and sees a matching pair of golden eyes set in demonic faces peering out at him. Unnerving. Screaming open lust riding the demon faces. Proud, uncut cocks, touching, greeting old friends. He feels paralyzed with an embarrassing melange of lust, fear, and shame. Bodies curl around him, cold to the touch but boiling to the mind, skin smooth like a dolphin's, resilient and able to heal unimaginable wounds. Angel rubs his face against Wesley's, purrs into the man's ear, triggering a sensitive spot inside Wesley. He gasps, a small 'ah', and Spike's tongue makes bold its presence in Wesley's other ear, tracing the ridges and dips. The tongue wafts over his cheek and plunges into his mouth, licking along his teeth, sucking at his tongue, and Wesley knows. Why. The completeness of the act. No kiss. Spike wants Angel's taste, his come, jiz, jism, the pearly white stuff of mock-life. Gods, to be this man. To be the creature that wakes up with Angel's cock in his ass, teeth in his throat, and soul in his hands.

The blood in Spike's mouth blooms on Wesley's tongue and a rush of electricity ripples down his spine. Young and arrogant, too drunk to care about shame, fucking his way through his home city, meeting the one creature that could give him what he wanted. Out. Dead and born into unlife, smelling and fucking and dying and knowing things no mortal knew. Shadows of these rush over Wesley, his sight dims. Sucking on his earlobe brings him back, soft and questing. Flickering golden question, Angel purrs as he licks along the man's jawbone. Tastes humanity, slow rot of humanity, but clean, crisp from a recent shave, smelling of soap. Wesley drowns in the simplicity, Angel breaths deep, taking Wesley into him as only a vampire can.

Purring and licking, and gods, just there, almost, tender press of fangs into body, Wesley drifts on a sweeping wave of contentment. Never has he felt more alive. Or more wanted. The bobbing, unashamed erections butting into his body tell him that much. He should wonder what they mean by this. He should ask what their intentions are. Ah, but then he knows that this could end, the cool weight of Spike's thigh between his, the taste of Angel and Spike and history swimming in his mouth. The kisses, caresses have stopped, been paused for some time now, when Wesley realizes that they're staring at him. He feels small, like a puny weakling laying at the feet of gods, invincible, lords of blood and feces, beginning and end.

Angel speaks. His voice is rough.

"Order of Aurelius, Angelus, Childe of Darla, Childe of Nest, mate to William, cleaves to Wesley, human mate." Spidery shock shoots over Wesley's skin. Mate. Bound to a vampire. For eternity, or what passes as such for mortals. Gasp as Angel, Angelus, carves a symbol into Wesley's chest. It hurts, spreads fiery burn down his left side. Split in two, Wesley can't think, can't move. He can't feel the right half of his body, as if Angel has carved him in half, like everything he wanted out of Wesley could be had from the left side.

Only the quick slicing of his chest on the right breast, two quick slashes above the nipple, brings his body back into alignment. Dueling tongues meet over his chest, diverge to lap at the blood, licking into the skin. As Angel's bite bows his body, Wesley strains to hear Spike, kneeling, speaking.

"Order of Aurelius, Spike, Childe to Angelus, Childe to Darla, mate to Angelus, accepts Wesley as human mate." A lascivious grin so characteristic of the Spike Wesley has known and the cocky vampire joins his Sire and Mate. Pin prick points, icy blue flames dancing at his eyes, in his chest, billowing, pounding. Tear him apart and pick him back up, no good anymore, no good. Glide and grunt, and oh so good. Loving, fucking the reality away from them until nothing mattered but the sweet hard cock in the ass. Loss breaks, smacks the reality back in, out into the world, but back to the same love for what they can't have. Never have. Sunlight destroys shadows, oh little boy, you'll kill the pretty sunshine with your devil's ways. Back to the fucking, the truth, cock in ass and fangs in neck and they are filled.

Tears well up and rain down Wesley's face. His lovers, his Mates, draw back from him, raise up with questioning faces, in wonder. They've taken him in, they fill each other now, no empty places left, but still he cries?

He's ashamed. Afraid even now that the gift he has surrounding him will vanish. Wants the tears to stop, but they continue unchecked. Angel curves against Wesley, lays his head on his mark, and rests. Spike must make his own connection, must give Wesley a reason to love him.

Leans up, takes the mortal's head between his. Feels a pang for lost mortality, his and a feisty blonde none of his kind should have loved. Washes the face clean with his tongue, settles on the mouth and lightly kisses it. Never good with words, but Spike knows Wesley enough to know that the man deals best in words.

"You're ours. To fuck and love and protect. Got it?" Spike cocks his head to one side, and his demon face pushes out, tongue darts out to remove flecks of drying blood. Down, to the curving thing, guides it out from Wesley's stomach, and sucks it into his mouth. Spike rolls the head along his tongue, and flicks hard against the underside. Wesley pants, and winces as Angel bites hard into his chest. Conduits of life, feeding his lovers, and the loss of fluids makes him faint. The crash of orgasm brings purple circles around his vision, but it eases quickly enough. Finger, coated with something slick and cool, pokes at him, slips inside, and Wesley grunts. Angel now behind Wesley, laying the mortal down between his legs, playing with hard nubbins of flesh on the warm chest. Spike straddles Wesley, arranges the legs just so, and in, head of his cock, pushing, straining in, and it's tight. Fights between ramming into him and making love to him, and settles on a hard rhythm. Later, bruises will color his mate's ass, and Spike likes that. Myriad of possibilities with a human mate, ways to mark Wesley that will never fade, never return to normal. Spike shudders, and comes as images of carving runes and using white hot needles to sear flesh dance on his eyelids.

Flip. Wesley finds himself sprawled on a growling, purring cat, no, Spike. Another cockhead probes at his ass, begs and is granted entrance. Angel is less gentle than Spike. Rides on come and lubricant, tears at the flesh from the force and depth of his thrusts. Mates are of blood and sex and he must bind Wesley to them. He must make Wesley crave the pain and the bruising. And the love. The cuddles. The endless concern. Part and parcel of belonging to Angel, Angelus. As Angel comes, he bites, but does not draw blood. Wesley collapses into an insensate heap of bones. Angel eases out of his human mate and falls to the side, nuzzling damp skin. Wesley's weak now, kittenish and mewling at his cock's effort to join in again.

His honey blonde lover speaks again. "Plenty of time for fun later, Watcher. Can't shag you into the grave just yet."

((Laughs, tries to move. A rough hand shoves him back to the bed. "Will, you'll not be movin' for some time. And when you do," his Sire's voice purred against his neck, "it'll be because I told you to."))

Tries to laugh, but can't find the energy. This must be happiness, the absence of fear and loneliness.

Something wet and warm touches Wesley's lips, and he sucks on the digit greedily, his eyes closed. Senses roam, it's wet, salty, rich, textured. Layers upon layers and his eye flicker open to see blood outlining the skin on Angel's hand as it runs from the wound on his finger. The finger Wesley sucks on. A few minutes ago, Wesley may have questioned. This is insane, madness, let me go, but it satisfies his thirst and it smells like Angel.

And Spike. First and last, burning blood searing down his throat, arrogance and calm, fury and temperance. Beautiful. Love. Never alone. Their essence floods his soul, wakes his body, tingles with the immortal. With the immutable.

With what remains.

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