Work Text:
Once upon a time, this would have been impossible. Oh, not the sex; that's always been hovering in the periphery of their relationship, waiting for the right moment. It was a matter of living long enough to get to this point, of forgetting all the bitterness that has stopped them from taking the last step, and of letting the passion between them change from a history of irritation laced with sexual frustration into the actual frisson of excitement which leads to sex. It's the games they play sometimes that would have been outside the realm of possibility. They've always trusted each other in a fight, but never at any other time. The kind of intimacy this requires would have taken too much on faith, before. Nowadays, after Spike's soul and all the new history it's let them build, they'll let themselves trust.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, come on.”
Angel checks in, knowing Spike, the stubborn idiot, won't use his safe word until he's already been pushed too far and then it'll be at least a couple months of cooling time before they do this again. Angel hasn't apologized since the first time it happened. After a few weeks of Spike sulking and Angel constantly apologizing, the younger vampire had finally come out and told him he didn't really want an apology or even the reassurance it wouldn't happen again, because he knew it was his own fault for not communicating. The fool had actually been embarrassed. Now, Angel checks in fairly often and never apologizes. It helps they're more familiar with the other's limits than when they first started.
He's already whipped his back as he lay on his stomach, but now he's flipped him over, Spike's anticipating something more. Angel ignores Spike's urgency and slowly raises the blond's legs until his knees are at either side of his head. He moves the ropes from around his ankles to behind his knees, retying them to the headboard. He sits back on his own knees, admiring the view of Spike's naked body bent in the middle, bottom exposed from balls to hole, cock pointed upward, the muscles of his legs and ass straining against the bonds. His arms are under his back, tied together at the wrists. It can't be comfortable, but it's how Spike likes to be tied, whether he's on his back or his front. Angel's happy to accommodate.
“Done lookin' yet?”
“No. You're pretty like this. It's worth taking the time to appreciate.”
The younger vampire lets out a frustrated breath, rolling his eyes, his thin patience already waning. Spike's a pushy sub. It's okay. So is Angel when they switch roles. The older man grins at him and leans forward, running his hands from Spike's ass to the middle of his thighs and back down again, gripping each cheek tightly and spreading them a little, his own breath hitching at the way Spike's cock and hole both twitch.
“Angel. Come on.”
“Shush. Not even a whimper. That's a command. I won't tell you a second time.”
Spike's jaw snaps tight as he swallows convulsively. His lips are set in a straight line, but his eyes are sparkling, the thrill of giving Angel control warring with the instinct to tell him to piss off. It's the thin line they skirt between the old them and the new. It's in these moments when the change is crystal clear. Angel leans back on his legs again, once more staring at Spike, but at his face this time, at those eyes of blue fire. Spike stares back for as long as he can. Angel sees the struggle within the other man to say something, so he gives him a small smile, a touch of reassurance. Spike lets out a long breath, then closes his eyes and lets his head relax back onto the pillow. At this point, he'd normally be begging Angel just start spanking him, but Angel has other things in mind today.
“That's good. Keep your eyes closed for me. And not a sound, or we stop.”
Spike tenses up again, muscles and senses preparing for whatever pain Angel might be doling out this time. Instead, he gasps in shock as Angel leans over his form, kissing him soundly, without hurry. Angel trails kisses torturously slowly along Spike's sharp chin, down to his neck. Spike gulps, clearly fighting the need to at least moan, if not speak. This isn't part of any scenario they've yet tried, let alone when it's just straight out sex. It's fast and hard and it might go on for hours, but it's never particularly gentle.
Angel's kisses track along his collarbone to his knee and then back to the other side. He stretches out fully over the prone form so Spike can feel Angel's still clothed erection press against his own. His hands have wrapped around the back of Spike's head, his fingers kneading where skull meets neck, refusing to allow Spike to stay tense there. He continues his journey up to Spike's calves, planting more kisses from knees to ankles to knees and then down his thighs to the curve of his ass. His hands follow in his lips' wake, massaging gently in small circles, barely brushing the skin on some strokes, enjoying the feel of Spike's thinner hairs standing on edge.
Spike's visibly straining to keep his eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face, swallowing repetitively to silence himself. Angel moves away from him and stands to remove his own clothes. Usually, he'll leave them on to maintain the power dynamic, just as Spike does when he's in Angel's role. Today, though, the power dynamic isn't important. Today, it's getting Spike to acknowledge the one thing he skirts away from, every time, gun shy in the face of his history in relationships, especially when it comes to Angel. Angel crawls back on the bed, sitting on his knees facing Spike from between the blond's legs.
“Open your eyes, now. You can make noise, but no words.”
Spike opens his eyes and stares, open mouthed at Angel, taking in his bare body. Angel strokes his hands up and down Spike's thighs again and the blond makes a soft keening, then squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head to the side, unable to maintain the intensity of the shared gaze.
“Look at me, William. Please.”
Please isn't a word Angel should use right now. When he's dom, it's not about requests, it's about demands, about control: Spike's ability to control Angel as much as Angel's ability to control Spike. Spike's reaction is instantaneous. His eyes fly open and he stares at Angel incredulously, not able to believe the word, let alone grasp the intent. Angel's giving him an out that has nothing to do with boundaries. It's a warning that what's to follow isn't anything like what they usually get up to, is something Angel's wholly unsure Spike's going to accept. Spike raises his eyebrows and grunts. A plea.
“Go on; you can talk, just for now.”
“What...,” Spike's breaths are heavy, as if he's already in the throes of physical exertion, instead of just mental and emotional confusion. “What..are you..up to? Tell....tell me.”
“No. I don't think I will. You'll fight it. I don't want you to.”
Spike throws his head back on the pillow, his eyes rolling upward as he issues a loud groan of frustration. Angel can tell it's time for another check in. He's pushing in a way Spike's not used to; this is about Spike's fragile ego and his heart's vulnerability. This is about the final little bit of trust he's yet to give Angel.
“Use your safe word if you want to stop right now. Otherwise, we keep going and you don't get to talk again until I say so.”
They both know it's Angel asking permission again: breaking the rules of command, again. It's as much a demand as it is a lie because they both know full well Spike can use that word even if Angel's commanded him not to talk. That's how this works. Otherwise, the fragile balance between them would disintegrate. Spike lifts his head to look at Angel again. Angel meets his eyes with a steady, reassuring gaze. The ball is in Spike's court and they both know it. Spike's intense curiosity is showing, but so is the last little bit of resistance to this new, emotionally precarious game. Angel leans forward and kisses him deeply, putting every ounce of his own emotions into it. Spike moans into the kiss, a desperate sound he's never made with Angel. Angel grasps Spike's head with both hands as he pulls back.
“Now or never.”
Spike doesn't speak. He just nods his head between Angel's hands, once, twice, letting out a huge breath, then closes his eyes again, a look of peace coming over his features. He's made the leap. Angel keeps himself from letting out the breath he's been holding, but it's a near thing. He starts over again, kisses trailing against almost all of Spike's exposed skin, hands tracing the tracks his mouth has made, until he reaches the brown curlies, where he buries his nose, breaths deeply from his mouth, letting the musk hit the roof, taking in every last milliliter of the copious pheromones the younger vampire is leaking. Angel could almost come from the scent alone. There's only the last traces of fear and trepidation, the rest is all arousal and need.
He proceeds around the base of Spike's cock, letting his lips linger as he moves up the shaft, over the foreskin and finally placing a sweet, simple kiss to the tip peaking out. Spike's sharp breaths have long since given over to quiet moans, soft keening noises he'd be embarrassed to admit to making. Angel keeps this treatment up for a bit before moving on to the other man's balls, kissing and licking without hurry, savoring the taste in a way Spike's never allowed him before. As he moves lower, licking the perineum, Spike's whining begins to hit a higher pitch, hunger tempered by something delicate and needy, something he's never allowed himself to show the older vampire. It's his longing for affirmation, for comfort, for love and acceptance, and it's all there in his wordless voice. Angel has to move back slightly to let the change in tone sink in, to steady himself at the realization that Spike's finally cottoned on to what he's trying to show him.
He goes lower, licking soft circles around his hole, kissing the puckering in turn, lightly pushing Spike's round globes apart to open him further. He stops for only a split second to reach over Spike into the nightstand drawer and pull out the lubricant. It's the final concession for both of them; Spike rarely gives him the time for prep, and definitely wants it rough and painful when he's playing a submissive bottom. Spike's eyes follow Angel's hands, eyes widening at the bottle, then head thrown back again as Angel inserts one slicked finger, pouring a little more on the exploring digit as it moves in and out, circling to stretch. A second is added as unhurried and tenderly as the first, the scissoring done slowly to draw out the moment, draw out the sensation for both of them.
Finally, Angel positions his cock at Spike's entrance and pushes in, not forcefully, but steadily and slowly, without stopping when he meets the resistant ring of muscle, letting his tender slide do the work. Spike is practically sobbing, his voice cracking and fragile. They never do this. Ever. Angel reaches up, pushing further into Spike as he unties the ropes from the headboard. Spike's legs don't fall to the sides as Angel expects and he doesn't push up against the bigger man to insist on more motion. Instead, he wraps his legs around him and looks at him helplessly. He's at a loss, his feelings too big to control; Angel can see it in those watery, searching eyes.
In answer, Angel reaches under Spike's body and unties his wrists, as well. Spike starts shaking and the tears are flowing, now, as he reaches up to wind his arms around Angel's shoulders, holding on for dear life. Angel lowers his head to kiss him, still without speed, still gentle and thorough. He starts to move inside Spike, his hips going smooth and steady and as he does so he kisses Spike's cheeks, his temples, wiping away the tears with his mouth. Spike's mouth is moving, silent words Angel needs, now.
“Let me hear you.”
Spike lets out a ragged plaint, his breath hitching with every one of Angel's gentle thrusts.
“You...damn you...you...how did you...”
“You let me. Keep letting me. Keep letting me love you.”
“God...fuck...love you...damn you...”
Angel's pace picks up, but he's still not flowing with any force, still just letting their bodies glide together peacefully. Spike's gasping with each in, grunting with each out, a constant litany of wordless speech. His arms and legs have tightened further around Angel and he's moving now, enough to slide his dick against Angel's belly, getting much needed friction. It's still so counter-intuitive, not hard, just simple and soft and perfect. When Angel feels Spike start to clench around him, he quickly moves a hand between them, squeezes Spike's weeping phallus, forcing out a steady stream of precome without allowing him to orgasm. Spike lets out a long, low growl, but it's not angry at all, just full of want, full of the request for release. Angel acquiesces and moves his hand along the shaft, letting Spike's precome ease the way. His hips match the rhythm of his hand, and he begins to stutter his movements just as Spike stutters his. There's not even a second of delay between their climaxes, their bodies in perfect concert.
Angel lowers himself carefully, keeping his cock inside, laying his head beside Spike's so brunet and blond hair mix, letting his weight pin the smaller man to the mattress. Spike keeps his limbs wrapped around Angel, either unwilling or unable to loosen his grasp. He turns his head and kisses Angel's ear, whispering into it, voice raw and totally open.
“I'm bloody well yours completely now. Possessive old sod.”
“I'm yours, too, you know. I love you, crazy making as you are. You wouldn't let me. I had to make you. You get that, right?”
“Love you, too. Didn't want to. Couldn't trust myself, not with you. You had to make me. I get it.”
“Good. Because, I trust that stubborn heart of yours more than my own; I just needed you to do the same.”