Play AlongBy Em North
Angel: “I told you. I couldn’t make the first move. I had to see if he was buying it or not.”
Xander: “A-and if he bit me, what then?”
Angel: “We would’ve known he bought it.”
—From “School Hard”
Willow winced as another splinter dug into her palm, and glared at the half-carved stake in her hand. She knew it was important to have lots of stakes ready for Buffy so that she could fight off all the vampires at the Feast of St. Vigeous, but the whole carving thing was . . . really not working for her. Splinters were not her friends.“Um . . . Giles? Do you think I could switch back to sword cleaning?” she asked, hopefully.
“Hmm . . . what?” Giles replied, never taking his eyes off of the heavy book in front of him. “Did you need something, Willow? I . . . hmm, that’s interesting . . .”
“Go ahead and switch to the swords,” Miss Calendar whispered conspiratorially, looking up from her computer to smile at Willow. “I don’t think he’ll know the difference. Besides, I thought Xander was in charge of the stakes?”
“Oh, he is,” Willow replied, smiling back at Miss Calendar while crossing the room to get the polishing kit. “But he’s on Mrs. Summers duty right now.”
“Mrs. Summers duty?”
“Yeah,” Willow nodded. “He’s giving her a tour of the building so he can keep her away from all of Buffy’s teachers.”
“I would have thought that a parent meeting the teachers was kind of the point of Parent-Teacher night,” Miss Calendar asked, clearly amused.
“The point of this Parent-Teacher night is to keep Buffy from being grounded,” Willow explained. “Or expelled. I helped with the expelled part, getting everything in the lounge set up to make Principal Snyder happy. Now Xander’s working on keeping Buffy from getting grounded. As long as Mrs. Summers doesn’t get a chance to actually meet any of Buffy’s teachers, then everything should be all right. Xander was definitely the right guy for the job. He’s great at avoiding teachers; he does it all year round.”
Miss Calendar laughed. “It sounds like, between the three of you, you have everything very carefully under contr—
“Oh, there you are!” Giles exclaimed, staring down at the book in front of him, completely oblivious to the conversation he’d just interrupted.
“There who is?” Miss Calendar asked.
“Our new friend Spike. He’s known as ‘William the Bloody’. Earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes. Very pleasant.” Willow and Miss Calendar winced simultaneously.
“Well, here’s some good news,” Giles continued, “he’s barely two hundred. He’s not even as old as Angel is.” Giles kept reading, scanning down the rest of the page, and Willow watched with growing anxiety as Giles started to frown. If stoic-British-Watcher man was showing that much expression, then that meant that they were in for something terrifying.
“That’s a bad look, right?” she said, already knowing the answer.
“I think Xander’s suggestion of running away this Saturday might’ve been a good one,” Giles said a moment later. Willow held her breath, trying to brace herself for whatever bad news was inevitably going to come next.
“Spike has fought two Slayers in the last century, and . . . he’s killed them both.”
Willow exhaled in a big rush, putting the sword she’d been cleaning very carefully to the side. Her hands were starting to do the whole shaking-wildly-in-panic thing, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to hold anything sharp and pointy until she calmed down.
“So . . . running away is doable, right?” she asked nervously. “I hear Oregon’s really nice this time of year. O-or maybe someplace further? Like . . . um . . . Cleveland, or New York, or . . . Fiji?”
“I’m afraid that may not be a possibility,” Giles said, sighing tiredly as he pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “You heard what Angel told us about Spike before: once he starts something he is rarely inclined to stop. If he has chosen the slayer as his current target, then running might simply inspire him to . . . chase.”
“So we can’t run.” Willow chewed on her lip, trying to think of other alternatives. “Can we hide?”
“I don’t know if—what was that?”
It sounded like someone was screaming. But who? Why? What on earth could possibly be so scary about a Parent-Teacher night?
Rising to their feet, the three of them rushed into the hallway to see what was going on, and were just in time to see Buffy—with a group of terrified looking parents, teachers, and students following after her—running toward them.
“Spike and an army!” Buffy yelled. “Look out!”
The warning came not a moment too soon. A vampire was barreling full speed down the hall toward the library. Willow heard Miss Calendar scream, but felt too numb with shock to do the same. She was barely even aware of the hand that clamped firmly on her arm until she felt Giles yank her backward, back into the library. With only seconds to spare, Giles got all three of them clear of the doorway and slammed the door shut, just before the vampire crashed into it.
“Get something to barricade the door!” Giles yelled, pressing all of his weight against it. Willow’s shock faded in a hurry as she bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed, forcing her mind to clear so she could concentrate on the task at hand. This was not the time to panic. Not when they were still in so much danger. She’d save her nervous breakdown for later.
Instead, she worked with Miss Calendar as the two of them started pushing, pulling, and dragging everything that wasn’t nailed down toward the door, making the barricade as strong as they could. They could hear the vampire outside the door still trying to get in, but the barricade seemed to be doing its job in holding him back. Willow started breathing again, feeling her pulse slow slightly as the pure panic started to fade . . . until a moment later, when the lights went out.
“That can’t be good,” Giles said, crossing over to the telephone. Willow easily followed his train of thought. If they’d found the fuse box to cut the lights, then how much difficulty would they have cutting the phone lines?
Not much, apparently.
“They’ve cut the phones,” Giles stated, unnecessarily. He looked so discouraged that Willow didn’t have the heart to ask him what difference it made. After all, who would he have called? The police? The fire department? What would they do, attack the vamps with big rubber hoses?
For that matter, what would Buffy do? And Xander? And Mrs. Summers, and all the other parents and students and . . . and yes, even Principal Snyder! Sure, she didn’t like the man, but getting eaten by a vampire in his own school was a pretty harsh fate, even for him, and what could he—or any of the rest of them—do to stop it from happening? Even Buffy, with her knowledge of vampires and her strength to fight them had her hands tied. They’d worked so hard to make the Parent-Teacher night look nice and normal, with Buffy as the nice and normal hostess, that the slayer had gone stake-free for the evening. Buffy didn’t have anything more dangerous than a number two pencil with her while Spike had—in Buffy’s own words—an army of vampires with him.
In fact, the only people in the whole school—except for the vampires, of course, who weren’t really people anyway, so naturally, they didn’t count—who were well-armed were . . . the three of them. The library had a veritable arsenal even on slow days, and with all the work they’d been doing to prep the weapons for the Feast of St. Vigeous, they were up to their ears in weapons.
“Giles, we’ve got to get some weapons to everyone else,” Willow said. “M-maybe I could go through the vents. I’m small; I think I’d fit. If I could get some of these stakes to Buffy, and . . . maybe some crosses to give to everyone else, then—”
“Willow, you need to leave,” Giles cut her off. “Right now. There’s an old boarded up-cellar behind the stacks; you can get out that way.”
“Leave? No! I can’t! Xander’s still here! And Buffy! And you! And Mrs. Summers! And I can’t just—”
“I need you to find Angel. He knows about Spike. We need him.”
“But I . . .”
“We need him, Willow. Now, go.”
Willow bit her lip, not caring that she’d reopened the cut, making it bleed again. “Be careful,” she whispered, throwing her arms around Giles first, then Miss Calendar, in hard, fast hugs.
“You, too,” they whispered, before letting her go.
Grabbing hold of one of the finished stakes, Willow resolutely refused to look back as she headed to the back of the stacks and squeezed her way past the board into the cellar and outside.
For once, she got a lucky break: the vampires obviously didn’t know about this exit. No one was guarding it. Hoping her luck would hold for just a little while longer, Willow started flat-out running to the other side of town, where Angel lived. Everything would be all right once she found Angel. He’d make everything all right. He had to, he just had to. There was no one else who could.
~*~*~*~The apartment looked dark when Willow arrived, and her heart jumped to her throat in panic. If Angel wasn’t at home, then she had no idea where to go to look for him. Knocking hard on the door, she held her breath and prayed, hoping against hope that he really was home, after all.
He was. She’d only been knocking for half a minute or so when the door opened, showing a bleary-eyed Angel, shirtless and fastening his pants with one hand while he held the door with the other.
Under any other circumstances, Willow would have been horrifically embarrassed to have woken him—and still more embarrassed at the evidence that he slept in the nude—but these weren’t other circumstances, and the first words out of Angel’s mouth showed that he knew it, as well.
“Buffy?” he asked, his voice catching slightly on the word.
“At the school. Spike and a gang of vampires attacked at the end of Parent-Teacher night. Giles sent me to come get you.”
Angel scowled. “Spike. I should have known he wouldn’t be able to wait. Fine, then.” Turning on his heel, he walked back into the apartment. “Come in,” he called out behind him. “I just need a minute to get dressed, and then we can go.”
Obediently, Willow stepped into the apartment, quietly closing the door behind her, and studiously not looking in the direction of the vampire whose back muscles were rippling as he pulled a t-shirt over his head.
“Do you know how many vamps he has with him?” Angel asked as he stepped into his shoes and started sliding stakes into various pockets.
“I only saw a few,” Willow answered carefully, “but he could have had them scattered all over the school. Buffy said he had an army with him, a-and she . . .”
“She what?”
“She sounded scared,” Willow admitted in a small, shaky voice. “Buffy sounded scared and she’s . . . she’s Buffy. If she’s scared, then what does that say about the odds for the rest of us?”
Angel’s already tense expression went increasingly grim. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, heading toward the door. Willow followed behind him as they headed outside, toward the school.
“R-right. You’ll . . . you’ll take care of it,” she repeated, hoping that by saying it again, she could convince herself that it was true.
Angel frowned as he tilted his head to the side to look at her. “You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I want to believe you,” Willow replied, “but . . .”
“But?”
The situation was too serious for Willow to try to think of a tactful way to phrase this.
“Right now?” she answered. “I don’t really see how you can pull this off. I mean, I trust you to do your best to save Buffy, and I know you’re all big and scary—b-but in a good way, of course—and if it was just Spike, then I’m sure you could take care of it, but we’re talking about a whole army here, and . . . yeah. I just don’t think you can take them all on by yourself. Um . . . no offense intended.”
“No offense taken,” Angel replied, his frown deepening. “And you’re right; I won’t be able to take them on all at once in a direct confrontation. But if we play this right, I might be able to trick Spike into going off with us alone. If I can get him with his guard down, then I should be able to take him out, and without him to lead them, I should be able to get the rest of the vamps to back down. But Willow,” Angel stopped walking and took hold of her hand, “I’m not going to be able to do it alone. I’ll need your help.”
“Of course!” she replied eagerly. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Do you mean that?” Angel pressed. “Do you really mean it? Because I’m going to need you to trust me completely in order to make this work. We’re going to have to put on a very convincing act in order to trick Spike, and I have to know that you won’t drop the act, not even for a minute. If Spike gets suspicious, then it will take everything I’ve got just to get the two of us out of there alive, much less help everyone else. Do you understand?”
Willow nodded. “I understand,” she promised solemnly. “I won’t break the act.”
“Good.” Angel let go of her hand and started walking again. Willow followed quietly beside him.
“So, um . . .” she began a minute or so later, “what is the plan?”
“Have you read anything about vampires within a family . . . greet each other after a long time apart?” Angel asked.
Willow was tempted to lie, but she could tell this was important. “Yes. I . . . Giles always forgets to lock the cabinets with the Watcher’s diaries and . . . well, I’d finished my required summer reading by mid-June, so I . . . yes. When two vampires of the same family reunite, the one visiting the other usually brings a person along for them to drink from together. Kind of like bringing a bottle of wine to a dinner party. The vampires drink, and then they get . . .” Willow blushed violently, and decided that now would be an excellent time for euphemisms. Angel didn’t need her to describe what vampires did next; he just needed to know that she understood. “—reacquainted in other ways,” she concluded. “So am I going to be your . . . snack?”
“It’ll just be an act,” Angel promised. “I won’t let him really hurt you. But it’s very important that you play along. If you’re convincing, then Spike will let his guard down when he starts to feed, and that will be my chance to take him out. It’s okay if you act scared—he’ll expect that; in fact, he’d probably be suspicious if you didn’t—but you can’t look to me like you expect me to rescue you. He’s got to believe I’m evil through and through, just like I was when he knew me before. So no matter what I do or what I say, you can’t let on that you know me, or that I’ve helped you or Buffy. Can you do that?”
Willow took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she thought of Buffy. Xander. Giles. Miss Calendar.
“Yes,” she said, surprised at how confident her voice sounded. “I can do that. I won’t drop the act, no matter what happens. I trust you, Angel. I know that you’ll only do what you have to do to make sure that we can help everyone else.”
“Good,” Angel replied, tilting his head to look down at her with one of his rare smiles. “Now brace yourself, because the act starts now.”
Looking up at the front entrance of the school looming in front of her, Willow jumped when she felt Angel’s cool hand wrap—surprisingly gently—around her throat.
“Showtime,” he whispered, leading her to, and then through, the front door.
~*~*~*~
The emergency lights were on, but it was still eerily dark inside, and deathly quiet. Angel must have been able to hear something that she couldn’t, though, because his stride was fast and confident as he led her down the hall.
She heard the sound, first. A odd . . . puncturing sort of sound that she couldn’t quite identify, until they got around the bend of the hallway and in view of a bleached-blond vampire holding a metal pole, poking holes through the ceiling. Willow froze in place. Had Miss Calendar gone into the ventilation shafts, like Willow had suggested? Had Buffy? Who was trapped up there, and what would happen to them once they were caught?
Angel hadn’t stopped moving when she did, and his grip tightened around her throat as he pulled her along, tugging her off balance and making her stumble as she followed him down the hall. The noise must have caught the blond’s attention.
“Angelus!” he called out, walking toward them, pole still in hand.
“Spike!” Angel called out in reply.
“I’ll be damned!” Spike tossed the pole aside, to Willow’s relief, and reached out to give Angel a hug.
“I taught you to always guard your perimeter,” Angel said, in a mock-scolding voice. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You should have someone out there.”
“I did.” Spike rolled his eyes. “I’m surrounded by idiots. What’s new with you?”
There conversation was really kind of eerily normal. Willow was surprised to find herself torn between spine tingling fear and anxiety for herself and her friends and . . . well . . . more than a bit of boredom from just standing there with nothing to do or say as the two vampires played catch up. It kind of reminded her of when she’d go to the grocery store with her mother. Inevitably, her mom would run into someone she knew, and Willow would be stuck standing next to them for upward of a quarter of an hour while they chatted about this and that. Willow’s presence was mostly ignored then, too.
She halfway expected Angel to answer with complaints about his mortgage, and conversation on the rising price of cheese. His answer, fortunately, was far more succinct.
“Everything,” he said, with a grin unlike any she’d ever seen from him before. He was really getting into the role.
“Yeah.” Spike grinned back. “Come up against this Slayer yet?”
Angel shrugged. “She’s cute. Not too bright, though. Gave her the puppy dog ‘I’m all tortured’ act. Keeps her off my back when I feed!”
He laughed, and Willow shivered. He sounded convincing. Really, really convincing. Was it possible that everything he’d done so far had been . . . no! She couldn’t let herself think like that. She knew Angel. All right, maybe she didn’t know him terribly well, but she knew she could trust him. She had promised that she’d trust him: that she wouldn’t drop the act. She couldn’t start doubting him now.
Spike, meanwhile, was laughing as well. “People still fall for that Anne Rice routine? What a world!”
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Angel replied. “Speaking of which . . .” He pulled Willow closer so that her back rested against his chest while his arms caged her in from the front: one wrapped around her waist and the pressed flat against her chest, between her breasts, with his hand still clasped around her neck. “You still like them young, right?”
“And you still like them innocent, it would seem,” Spike chuckled. “Sweet little morsel, isn’t she?” He stepped closer, sliding his fingers across her cheek and through her long hair, grinning when she shivered at his cool touch. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a redhead; all these California blondes get bland after a while.”
Angel slid his hand down slowly to her collarbones, and then down between her breasts, holding her tightly, erotically displayed against him, with her bare throat exposed and vulnerable.
“What do you say we leave the slayer to sweat it out for a while longer and have a nice bite before we kill her, hmm? Give us a chance to get . . . reacquainted.”
“Sounds . . . delicious,” Spike drawled. “After all, family comes first, and we have a lot of catching up to do.” His hands darted out quickly, burying themselves in Angel’s hair, and the next thing she knew, Willow was sandwiched between the two of them as they kissed, hotly and intently, utterly ignoring her. She’d managed to turn her head to the side so she could breathe, but the air smelled overpoweringly of cigarettes and leather, and she was starting to get dizzy from it by the time Spike finally pulled away.
“Carter,” Spike barked out, his eyes never leaving Angel’s, even as Spike’s second in command came to stand beside him, “hold down the fort. My sire and I are off to have a bite to eat. Make sure the slayer doesn’t leave the party before we return.” Carter nodded, but Spike still didn’t spare him a glance before turning on his heel and heading down the hall. Angel and Willow followed after, and in less than a minute, they had reached their destination. Whether by luck, design, or pure chance, Spike had brought them to the principal’s office, easily breaking through the flimsy lock Snyder had on the door, and ushering them both inside. The door closed silently behind them.
~*~*~*~
In less than a heartbeat, Spike was on Angel again, pinning his back against the door and plundering his mouth with fierce passion. Angel, it would seem, gave back just as good as he got. The angle was all wrong for Willow to see what was happening but she could hear the slick sounds of mouths working each other over, and from her strategic position in between them, she could tell just how much both of them were enjoying it.
Considering that the whole of her knowledge of male genitalia came from science books and the encyclopedia, it was more than a little disconcerting to find herself with a hard-on pressed against her belly, and another rubbing against the small of her back. Embarrassed, scared, and more than a little light-headed—Spike was pressing into her so tightly that it was hard to breathe, and what little air she did manage to pull into her lungs still reeked of cigarettes and leather—she bit her lip hard, hoping the pain would keep her from descending into hysterics or tears.
It worked. Sort of. Tears didn’t come, and neither did hysterics, but biting her lip brought up something far more dangerous to expose when pinned between two vampires: fresh, warm blood.
Spike threw his head back as he moaned, rocking his hips deliberately against Willow’s. “A virgin,” he purred. “Angelus, you shouldn’t have.”
“Nothing but the best for my boy,” Angel replied in a low, deep voice that was almost a growl. Willow could feel it vibrate from his chest through her back and shivered slightly, causing both vampires to tighten their grips on her.
“Go on, Will,” Angel added softly, pushing Willow forward a bit into the blond’s arms, “have a taste.”
“Yeah,” Spike whispered, his eyes greedily focused on her torn and bleeding lip as he lowered his head toward hers. “Yeah,” he whispered again softly just before their lips touched.
It was her first kiss, and for all her childish daydreams of happily ever after with Xander, she had never imagined it could be like this. His lips on hers were cool and experienced, and worked her over in a way that felt almost shockingly good, especially when he pulled her lip between his, and began licking it clean. It was sensual and erotic and terrifying, and Willow wanted desperately to pull away, run away, and hide from what he was making her feel. But Angel’s hands were resting on her hips, firm and unyielding, and his body was pushing her forward, pressing her closer to Spike.
This was it. This was what they had agreed to. This was what Angel needed to get Spike distracted enough to drop his guard so that Angel could attack. She couldn’t pull back now. She had to keep playing along.
And she did, even when she felt his features shift against her skin, and knew that his fangs had come out. Even when she felt those fangs scrape against her lip, deepening the bleeding cut. Even when his tongue, lapping away at her lip, teased her mouth open and slid inside completely, tasting her in a way no one had before; a way that she’d hoped to save for Xander. Even then, she didn’t back down. Her heart beat wildly with fear, pleasure, adrenaline, and anticipation, but she forced herself to stay relaxed and locked into the kiss. She had to play along.
She could feel Angel subtly moving behind her, getting a grip on one of the stakes he had brought, and dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand to keep herself from tensing in anticipation. Angel’s weight shifted and she knew he was getting ready to strike, and then—
Spike pulled away.
The stake seemed to vanish from Angel’s hand back up his jacket sleeve as his hands locked back onto her hips, as if they had never moved at all.
“Damn fine vintage,” Spike remarked, grinning through his fangs at Angel as he licked his lips. “All hot and spicy, especially when that little heart of hers starts pounding away. You know what that does to me.”
Apparently, Angel knew exactly what it did to Spike, because his hand slid immediately between Willow’s body and Spike’s to palm Spike’s erection.
“Let’s have our drink,” Angel said, “and then I’ll take care of this.”
“I have a better idea,” Spike replied. Willow felt Angel tense slightly behind her. “Let’s have our ‘drink’ take care of both of us first. It’s been a long time since we . . . played with our food together. Remember that ballet dancer in Paris?” Angel’s growl seemed to imply that yes, he did remember that, and very well, at that. To Willow’s relief, neither of them went into detail on what exactly they’d done to the girl. Willow was quite sure she did not want to know.
Spike leaned in over Willow to nuzzle at Angel’s neck. “I’ve missed sharing with my sire,” he murmured, and Angel groaned softly. Willow felt her heart sink as she realized what that meant. He was going to give in.
Logically, she knew he was making the right decision. It would look strange if Angel refused and besides, sex stood an even better chance of getting Spike distracted. But Angel had told her that he wouldn’t let Spike hurt her, and Willow couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to be able to keep his word now.
Spike nipped at Angel’s neck and then stepped back, pulling her with him and turning her around so that she was facing Angel and was pinned with her back against Spike’s chest. “I’m guessing you still like them on their knees?” Spike asked, and Angel merely smirked in reply.
Spike’s hand locked onto Willow’s shoulders and pressed down, hard. Her knees buckled quickly and slammed down on the floor’s thin carpet. She started to fall forward and put her hands out to catch herself, but Angel got there first, stopping her momentum with a firm hand wrapped under her jaw. “Don’t look at the ground; look at me,” he ordered imperiously. “Only at me.”
Willow could hear Spike laughing behind her, saying something about Angelus not having changed a bit, but her whole focus was on Angel. The expression on his face was everything Spike would expect it to be—hard, cold, and hungry—but only Willow could see his eyes, which looked even more tormented than usual. His index finger, hidden from sight under her jaw, stroked the skin there softly. She understood it for what it was: the only way he could apologize. ‘It’s okay,’ she mouthed silently, ‘I’ll keep playing along.’ Angel relaxed fractionally.
“She really is innocent, isn’t she?” Spike said, kneeling down directly behind her. “Come on, pet; you look like a clever girl. Surely you know what happens now.” He reached around her to take hold of her hands and lifted them to the crotch of Angel’s jeans. “Open up those flies, pet, and take him out,” Spike ordered, and Willow, in spite of her shaking hands, obeyed.
She’d known Angel wasn’t wearing anything underneath his jeans—when she’d gotten him from his apartment earlier, she’d seen enough while he’d fastened them up to be sure of that—but it was still something of a shock to unbutton them, pull down the zipper, and find all that cool flesh bare underneath her hand, filling her hand, as she guided out his erection.
“Go ahead and stroke him,” Spike whispered in her ear. “Reach out and wrap your fingers around him,” she did, and at the same time, she felt him hike up the back of her dress, “and slide that warm little hand up and down.” She stroked Angel hesitantly, heartsick and ashamed of herself for doing this to her best friend’s boyfriend, but knowing she didn’t have a choice and . . . wanting (just a little) to please him, all the same. Meanwhile, Spike’s hand rubbed up and down her back, from the clasp of her bra to just below the waistline of her panties, coordinating the speed and rhythm of his movements to match hers, and she felt heartsick and ashamed of that, too . . . because she had to admit, it felt good.
“Now lean forward,” Spike continued, “and just breathe on it for a second.” Spike’s hand slid down below the waistband of her panties and his fingers rested, motionless, just outside of her body. “Let him feel the warmth of your breath for a moment . . . and then suck the tip into your mouth.”
Angel slid his hands into her hair and guided her mouth onto his cock, and the second it slipped past her lips, Spike’s fingers began to probe inside her. She gasped (accidentally taking more of Angel’s cock into her mouth than she had intended), Spike grinned, and Angel slid into vamp face, his hands tightening in her hair as he visibly fought the urge to thrust deeply into her mouth.
“You can take a bit more than that, can’t you, pet?” Spike pressed against her back, forcing her forward to take more of Angel’s erection into her mouth while Spike’s finger, which had been circling around inside her, just past her entrance, started sliding deeper, rubbing its way inside her, bit by bit. She could feel herself getting wetter, feel her body accepting, anticipating, enjoying the movement of his finger inside her.
“Angelus,” Spike scolded, “it’s not like you to be so passive. Go on and help the girl out. Show her the pace you like.”
“I was . . . amused by watching you play teacher,” Angel replied. “I remember teaching you this lesson.”
Spike’s face was pressed against Willow’s neck, fangs scraping gently against her skin, so she felt it when he smiled. “S’not the only thing you taught me. But there’ll be time for those games later. We need to finish this game first.” Spike lifted his head just enough to nip at one of Angel’s fingers, still wrapped in Willow’s hair. “Go on, then. Take what you want.”
He did.
Oh, Willow could tell that Angel was still trying to be gentle with her, but he wasn’t having much success. She didn’t know if it was too difficult to make it look rough to Spike without actually being rough, or if it had just been so long since he’d been with someone that he couldn’t quite manage to hold back, but soon, he was fucking her face roughly, using a hard, deep rhythm that barely gave her a chance to breathe.
She wouldn’t have had much luck breathing anyway, with the way two, and then three of Spike’s fingers were exploring inside her, stroking, teasing almost playfully but getting a bit rougher with every second that passed. Her jaw ached, her eyes were swimming with tears, and a horrible, wonderful pressure was building up under Spike’s fingers, leaving her tense, and shivery, and utterly unable to stop herself from rocking her hips into his hand. She looked up at Angel, hoping to take some comfort from his support, but his eyes were closed and the familiar look of his face was lost behind the fangs.
Spike was whispering in her ear, an endless stream of dirty words about her mouth, and her cunt, and her ass, and the many ways he and Angelus would use each of them for their pleasure (and her pleasure: the darker side of her soul reminded her that he’d promised her pleasure as well) before the night was through. His thumb was on her clit and a fourth finger was sneaking its way inside her, straining her to the breaking point. She was scared, and sick, and tense as piano wire when his fingers slammed into her dripping cunt hard, breaking her hymen at the same moment that his fangs sank into her neck.
She screamed . . . and came.
Her scream triggered Angel as well, and she was in very serious danger of suffocating for a moment as her mouth was quickly flooded with his come. Fortunately, Spike managed to detach Angel’s hands from her hair, allowing her head to fall back on Spike’s shoulder while the last spurts of come landed on her face and in her hair. She was dazed and pained and about three-quarters unconscious, but she was still breathing. Angel seemed frozen in place as he stared down at her. She didn’t have the energy to look back at him, or she might have wondered at the look on his face, which seemed particularly . . . lost, as if his mind, for the first time since she’d known him, was an utter blank, ready to be led in any direction solely based on what happened next.
Spike lowered her backwards to lie on the floor, and rose to his feet. “Have a taste,” he said to Angel, holding out the hand that was coating with Willow’s come and hymenal blood. Without thinking, Angel opened his mouth and sucked in Spike’s sticky fingers, licking them clean while his eyes stayed fixed on Willow, sprawled on the floor with her skirt up around her waist, her panties down around her knees, her legs spread, and her face and hair coated with his come. His licked his lips, taking in the last bit of her taste, and then gasped from a sudden shock of pain, staggering as he fought to maintain his balance. Spike’s arm went around him immediately, supporting him.
“Angelus? Are you all right?”
It took a moment, but Angel finally answered. “I’m all right,” he said as he steadied himself on his feet. “The pain is gone.”
“You sure?” Spike asked.
“Yeah.” Angel grinned. “I feel just fine. Good, even.” Moving quickly, he grabbed hold of Spike and pressed him up against the wall. “Don’t I feel good?” he purred before latching on to Spike’s mouth, kissing him hard and deep—fangs on both sides cutting their lips to bloody hell—while his hand tore through the fastenings of Spike’s jeans and pulled out his diamond-hard erection.
“So good,” Spike murmured whenever their lips separated long enough to let him get a word in. “Feels so good, sire.”
“It’ll feel even better soon,” Angel promised, pulling back from Spike and gesturing to Willow. “Go ahead and get started on this end,” he squeezed Spike’s cock, “while I get to work on this end.” He slid his hand into the back waistband of Spike’s jeans, pushing down the material and filling his hands with Spike’s tight ass. Spike showed no signs of protesting as the jeans slid down his thighs. Dropping to his knees, he crawled over to where Willow lay, still unmoving, and positioned himself between her spread thighs.
Willow’s body was still trying to adjust to the rollercoaster ride it had undergone. The amount of blood she’d lost from Spike’s bite would have been enough to make her woozy under the best of circumstances, and the combination of the blood loss with the blowjob oxygen deprivation, the trauma of her ruptured hymen, and the coasting endorphin buzz of her orgasm left her feeling like her bones had been replaced with wet noodles, and her brain with damp cotton. She’d been vaguely aware of Spike and Angel’s voices floating somewhere above her head, but had no idea what had been said, and had missed every bit of byplay between them. The first thing she was truly aware of was the burn of Spike’s cock as it thrust inside her.
It hurt, but at first it only hurt in a rather distant way, as if her brain was still not quite connected with the pain centers in her body. By the time the fuzziness faded to the point where she became aware of what she was feeling again, the steady thrusting had started to feel . . . surprisingly good. It still hurt, but there was no denying Spike knew his way around the female body, and he clearly liked to watch her reactions when he made her enjoy the mix of pleasure and pain.
He seemed to rather enjoy the mix himself, judging from the look on his face every time Angel shoved his cock up Spike’s ass. And Angel definitely seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes were fully open now, but she didn’t see any sign of the broody turmoil that usually filled them.
Some oddly persistent part of Willow’s brain kept trying to insist that this wasn’t right, that Angel wasn’t supposed to be doing this; he was supposed to be . . . doing something else, something important but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember what it was. The only truly clear memory she had was Angel telling her that she mustn’t, under any circumstances, drop the act. He would do whatever it was he needed to do, but her role, her only role was to play along.
Angel knew what he was doing. She trusted Angel. If he was fucking Spike, he must have a good reason for it. And if, after finishing inside Spike, and waiting for Spike to finish inside her, he gathered her up in his arms and convinced Spike to head back to the lair so that they could ‘play’ with her for the rest of the night and all the next day without the sun interfering, then that was, undoubtedly, all part of Angel’s plan to take care of things, just like he had said he would.
She didn’t really want to go with them to the lair—mostly, she just wanted to go home—but she stifled the urge to protest. Whatever Angel’s plan was, it wasn’t going to fail just because she couldn’t keep her word to stick to the act. She’d keep playing her part, and everything would work out in the end. She was with Angel, and no matter how things might appear at the moment, he would take care of her. She could count on that, trust in that, no matter how things seemed, right?
Right?
~Fin