RockStarPeach

Mod challenge over at

nekid_spike for deadlynight27 , who asked for “I would love a Spike/Angel fic with Dom!Spike. Feel free to use any kinks you'd like. I love 'em all! Total smut would be great, too! =)”

Hope it's what you wanted, honey!

Title: Mutually Beneficial

Pairing: Spike/Angel

Rating: Adult

Summary: Angel is stressed out from work, and Spike just wants to help. Porn porn and porn. Oh, and a touch of sweetness, cause there seems to be something going around...

Warnings: Slash, D/s, bondage, toys… nothing big, just fun stuff.

***

Spike looks around the lobby, Harmony’s desk, the wide expanse of the open floor, Wesley’s door, Gunn’s. Angel’s office door is the last place his eyes settle, and he can feel the tension radiating from the room even from five feet away.

Angel is overworked, stressed out and miserable, and Spike knows, even before he gets to the door, before he opens it and looks at the vampire trying to be a man inside, what he’s going to do tonight. It’s not a burden, not by a long shot, and it’s not like he hasn’t done it before. Not like they both don’t love it, don’t need it. Angel might need it a bit more than he does, most times, but Spike won’t ever tell him that. Doesn’t need to.

The fact they both know goes unsaid, and Spike goes on pretending it’s just because he gets off on it, and Angel goes on letting him. It’s not like that’s not true, either. Of course he gets off on it. But really, that’s not what it’s about.

He knows when things get to be too much for Angel, for both of them, when the older vampire needs to let go, give up his control and let someone else call the shots, and Angel knows when Spike is going crazy from feeling so directionless, so useless, so alone. When he’s sick and bloody tired of being kicked around by the universe, and he’s had enough of being its bitch.

So yeah, it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. And it’s also hotter than hell. Spike puts one hand on the door, palm flat against the wood, the other drifting absently to his own crotch. He isn’t surprised to find that he’s hard, even though he wasn’t even aware of it happening, and he squeezes himself once, hard, eyelids fluttering briefly, and he shakes his shoulders, duster swinging loosely against his body, and pushes the door open.

Angel hears someone come in, knows exactly who it is, but he doesn’t react. Just keeps on reading, eyes down at the stack of papers on his desk.

“You’re done working,” Spike tells him, not bothering to close the door behind him, and takes a few steps into the room. His tone isn’t warm, and the words clearly aren’t a suggestion, but Angel barely looks up.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re done working,” Spike says again, more pointed this time, slower and more intense, filled with promise, and a shudder goes through Angel. Spike knows that, because he can actually see it, and that’s an indication of how badly Angel needs this.

Angel still fights him though, the pillock. Spike guesses he needs to.

“Spike,” he sighs, and it’s irritated and tired, and Spike kind of wants to kiss him and punch him all at once. He’s in way over his head, he knows that. They all are, and they all know it, and sometimes Spike feels like he’s the only one around here who’s actually thinking straight. Which is… kind of worrying, really. “I still have at least a dozen department reports to go over. By tomorrow. So…” he gestures vaguely with his hand toward the door.

Spike thinks about arguing, asking what, exactly, is going to happen if he doesn’t go over those reports within the next six hours, but he doesn’t. There’s really no room for argument here, and it would just be a waste of time. Not that they haven’t got time, but still. Angel’s going to do whatever he says tonight, going to let Spike have the control he’s so unwilling to give up in every other aspect of his life, and by acting like there’s even a discussion to be had, Spike would be setting the wrong tone.

“You’re done working,” he says again, low and almost growling, the words coming out as a rumble over his pink lips, and it’s the last time he’s going to say it. And judging by way Angel pushes back just a bit in his hair, sucks in a slight, sharp breath, and his eyes get dark and his lids close halfway, Angel knows it too. Knows what Spike is going to do, what Angel’s going to let him do, if Angel tells him ‘no’ one more time.

That might be fun too, has for both of them, in the past, but Spike’s not in the mood for that tonight, doesn’t want to hurt Angel, doesn’t want to have to be cruel, or violent. Forceful, okay. Controlling, absolutely. Able to make Angel forget absolutely anything and everything but his cock and the words ‘please Spike’, hell the fuck yes. But he doesn’t want to make him bleed. Not this time.

Turns out, Angel doesn’t want that either. Which is good, because if he did, Spike knows he’d give it to him, regardless of what a pain in the arse it’d be for him.

Angel breathes out, drawn out and exaggerated, drums his fingers on the edge of his desk, pretending that he’s actually thinking about it, like they both don’t know he’s going to do exactly as he’s told. “Give me twenty minutes,’ he says, and his voice sounds like he’s doing Spike a favour, even though his eyes are still heavy with desire, and his shoulders are tight with wanting to get out of his office as fast as he can.

Spike just looks at him, doesn’t bother to raise the eyebrow he normally would, but he does let his tongue glide lightly over his top lip. “You’ve got ten,” he tells him, and turns around, slipping through the doorway and leaving the door purposefully open behind him.

He doesn’t tell Angel that he’ll be waiting up in his penthouse suite. Angel knows that already. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve done this since Angel has taken over as CEO, and Spike has come back from being a ghost.

Angel knows where Spike will be, and what will be expected of him, and he won’t make Spike wait long. Spike is sure of it.

***

Spike isn’t at all surprised, when nine and a half minutes later the elevator doors open, and Angel steps out, shoulders slightly slumped with the weight of all his problems, and eyes looking a bizarre combination of tired and turned on. It’s a look Spike is used to.

Spike has no doubt that he was ready to go about five seconds after Spike left his office, but he probably loitered in his lobby for a few minutes, barking orders at people that didn’t need barking at and trying to look busy, so he had an excuse to make Spike wait. He pushed the time Spike had given him to just about the maximum, but he was very careful not to be late. Spike appreciates that.

“Good boy,” he praises, eyes twinkling and the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Angel’s eyes snap to his, flashing yellow, and he lets out the start of a growl before he forces himself to relax, and looks down again. It’s always hard for Angel, at first, letting go like of his almost obsessive need for control, and it’s worse when Spike teases him, pushes his buttons and treats him like a fucking puppy. Not entirely unlike the way Angel used to treat him, back when they were evil.

It’s not entirely the same either, because Spike never hurts Angel, not unless Angel wants him to.

“Take your clothes off,” Spike says, standing up off the couch finally, and he turns toward Angel’s well-stocked bar, and starts to pour himself a drink. Angel has never liked Jack Daniels, but Spike has noticed that, lately, there always seems to be a bottle of it hidden behind the amaretto.

When he turns around, raising the glass to his lips, it’s to find Angel already half naked, shoes and socks scattered in a random pile at his feet, dress shirt and undershirt dropped half on top of them. Spike knows it drives him crazy to just let his clothes pool there, messy and wrinkling and disrupting the Chi of the room or some shite like that, but he does it, because the one time he’d tried to fold them neatly and put them away first, Spike had locked his dick in a harness so that he couldn’t even get hard, let alone get off, and fucked him all night long without offering him any release.

Spike lets his eyes rake over Angel’s form with significant appreciation as his fingers work open his pants, and they fall to the ground around his feet. Angel steps out of them and then makes quick work of his boxers, and Spike swallows, audibly, and licks his lips.

Angel knows the effect he has on Spike, knows just how badly Spike wants him, how completely unbelievable the sex is, so it’s really to his credit that he doesn’t comment on Spike’s reaction, or the palpable lust now filling the room. No, he just kicks his clothing out of the way and drops to his knees.

He doesn’t get on all fours, or look down at the carpet, or put his hands behind his back, or anything stupid like that. This isn’t like that. He looks up at Spike, meets his eyes, and nods. Spike nods back and walks to him, takes his chin in his hand. He strokes over Angel’s cheekbone softly for a moment, and Angel’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch, before Spike lifts his chin and places the rim of his glass to Angel’s lips.

Angel starts at first, not having expected that, but opens his mouth obediently, and accepts a large swallow of the amber liquid. He doesn’t make a face, like Spike knows he wants to, but he does cough a little when Spike takes the cup away, hisses to show his distaste.

Spike laughs. “Good boy,” he says, for the second time in two minutes, but this time Angel doesn’t react at all, except for the way his cock jerks, and hardens even more, bobbing unrestrained against his belly. “Do well for me tonight, Angel, and I might even think about letting you have one of those girly drinks you like so much.”

Angel does a really bad job at hiding a snicker. They both know that Spike will always give Angel anything he wants, whether he’s a ‘good boy’ or not. They also both know that it’s not like Spike could possibly stop him, if he decided he wanted something. All this? It only happens because Angel lets it happen. Because he needs it to.

Spike takes his hand back from Angel’s face and slips his thumb under the waistband of his own pants, lets the pad glide across the tip of his erection, slick with pre-cum. He doesn’t bother to hide his groan as he pops the button on his black denim, and then moves his hand, tilts his hips forward suggestively.

“Blow me,” he says, and that’s all it takes to set Angel into action.

His pants are opened slowly, Angel’s fingers carefully lowering his zipper, and pulling the material open and down just enough to set his cock free. Then Angel’s hands are on him, skimming over the skin of his hips, slipping up under his shirt as he leans forward and takes him into his mouth.

He sets a languid pace, tongue dancing over the head, lips closing, pressing and sucking, an agonisingly slow pull, before he opens further and takes Spike in all the way, right down to the root.

The head of his cock is lodged against the back of Angel’s throat, and Angel swallows, forcing a cry and a buck out of Spike, and then he’s pulling back again, to repeat the whole thing. It’s great. It’s fucking amazing, but it’s not what Spike wants. Not right now. He doesn’t want a torturously slow build, he just needs to come, to take the edge off so he can concentrate on Angel without the distraction of such intense need.

“Faster,” he says, and grips the back of Angel’s head with his free hand, pulling forward hard and forcing himself inside as far as he can possibly go. Angel would probably be choking right now if he weren’t used to this, but instead he just swallows around Spike, fast as he can, and then his mouth goes lax. He just kneels there, eyes heavy and cock throbbing, and lets Spike fuck his face, frantic and desperate.

It doesn’t last long, and Spike can’t find it in him to be embarrassed about how quickly he finishes, because that was the point, after all. A few quick thrusts, hard enough to bruise Angel’s lips and the back of his throat, and he’s coming, cock stuffed so far into Angel’s mouth that he has no choice but to swallow. Not that he wouldn’t, if he did have a choice. He knows better than that.

When he pulls back, sagging slightly and feeling spent and sated, Angel smiles up at him and licks his lips. Spike snorts and shakes his head, ruffles Angel’s hair. “Yeah, yeah. Get on the bed, pet,” he orders, and Angel is up off the floor and into his bedroom so fast that Spike nearly falls over, legs wobbly and his Angel-shaped leaning aid suddenly gone.

Spike throws back the rest of his drink in one swallow, and places the empty glass on the bar, before following after Angel.

Angel isn’t doing anything particularly sexy when Spike steps into the bedroom, but the sight of a naked and needy Angel, lying sprawled across the bed, arms and legs flat at his sides and just waiting for him, shoots straight to Spike’s cock, and he starts to harden again as a shiver goes through him.

“Shift a little,” Spike says, and walks to the closet, opening it and pulling out a belt, holding it up for Angel to see. It’s Angel’s favourite, Spike knows that, but if he’s worried that it will get ruined, playing around with it like this, he doesn’t say. He just pushes up a little on the bed, so that his head is resting against the headboard, and lifts his arms up. He crosses one wrist over the other and rests them on the slated wood over his head, bends his knees a little to brace himself, and waits.

Spike breathes in deep, tries his very best not to just jump on top of Angel and fuck him into next week right this second, and walks to the bed, hard cock sticking out ridiculously from between his pants and shirt. He ties Angel’s wrists easily and quickly, then roots around in the drawer of the table next to his bed. Spike already knows what’s in there. He’s seen it all before. Hell, he even put most of the stuff there, and he finds what he wants this time easily.

Angel doesn’t look over to see what it is he’s pulled out, and Spike rewards him with a soft kiss on the side of his mouth as he leans down and places a thick, black blindfold over his eyes. He could just tell him to keep his eyes shut, and Angel would do his very best to obey, but this is easier. Spike doesn’t want this to be too hard on Angel. He wants to give him what he needs, but not push him too far, so the blindfold and the belt? They’re a good middle.

“So soddin’ beautiful, Angel,” Spike says reverently, shifting back a little to look at Angel, spread out and at his mercy. His dick twitches and a glob if glistening wetness appears over the slit. “God, I…”

He bites his tongue, literally bites his tongue, to keep from finishing that sentence. He actually doesn’t even know what the ending was going to be, but it was probably going to be embarrassingly poufy, and while yeah, he knows and Angel knows that this thing between them isn’t just about sex, just about control, whether gaining or letting go, they don’t talk about it.

“Hold still,” he says, voice raw and gruff, and gets on the bed between Angel’s slightly splayed legs. He takes a deep breath, the scent of Angel’s arousal and his own filling his nostrils, and his jaw quivers as he leans forward, face a hair’s breadth from Angel’s red and leaking cock. “Hold still,” he says again, when Angel’s hips shift just slightly on the bed. “Be quiet. And don’t come.”

That’s all the warning he gives his lover, before he wraps his mouth around his dick, closes his lips and sucks, hard. Spike raises his eyes to see Angel’s head tilt back, his mouth open on a wordless cry, as his tenses. But he does as he’d told. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

Spike rewards him with a broad swipe of his tongue along the underside of Angel’s cock, pressing hard on the vein and cupping his full balls in the palm of one hand. Angel hitches in a breath, but he stays quiet and still.

Hmm, Spike things. Maybe this is a little too easy.

He ups his game, swallows Angel down and rolls his balls around in his hand, while he awkwardly moves the other into position, and pressed two fingers inside Angel’s unprepared hole, sharp and quick.

Angel makes the tiniest of groans at that, and Spike smiles around his dick, but doesn’t chastise him. After all, it was Spike’s fault. He’d wanted to hear something from Angel, wanted to force a sound of pleasure from his lips.

He crooks his fingers, the tips unerringly brushing over Angel’s prostate, and he bobs up and down on his cock as fast as he can, using his lips and tongue and teeth, the fingers in his ass and around his sac, to bring to the edge as quickly as he knows how.

In less than a minute he can feel the added tension in Angel, can feel the barely perceptible shifts of his hips, can smell the blood that’s dripping down his chin from where he’s bit into his lip to stop himself from screaming, from pounding up into Spike’s mouth, from giving into the pleasure and spilling over Spike’s swollen lips.

So of course, Spike keeps going. Another five minutes, and Angel is making piteous squeaking noises, his fists clenching and unclenching as he forces his body to stay put, battles that need he has to take control, and do this the way he wants.

Another minute, and he’s clearly so close to coming that Spike takes pity on him.

“Too much?” he asks, after he lifts his head, Angel coming free from his mouth with a pop. “You need a break?”

Angel shakes his, no, and his face is so tight that Spike just knows his eyes are screwed shut even behind the blindfold. “No,” he says, and he sounds breathless. Fuck. “No, please. Touch me.”

If Angel has ever been anything, it’s a sucker for self-torture.

Spike closes his eyes, and sighs, and when he leans forward so that his forehead presses against Angel’s hip, he is absolutely not thinking about how much he’d love to snuggle in beside him, kiss him slow and lazy on the mouth, and fuck him sweet and long while they both admit just how much they care about each other.

Spike sits up and his chest rumbles, and he grabs Angel by the hips, flips his unresisting form over like he weighs nothing, so that he’s resting uncomfortably on his knees, weight far enough forward that the belt around his wrists is providing most of the support.

“Grab the headboard,” Spike rasps, when Angel makes no move to do anything other than follow specific directions. And God, fuck, but that just makes Spike so much harder. And Angel, the fucker, knows it.

Spike’s lips are over Angel’s arsehole in a flash, sucking the tight pucker once before pushing his tongue inside. One swirl around, two, and then he lets his saliva pool on in the middle of his tongue before pushing that inside as well.

It’s quick, perfunctory almost, but that’s all Angel is getting, and before Angel even has time to relax his overly excited muscles from the brief rimming, Spike’s hand is closed over the large glass dildo he’d pulled out of the drawer, and the thing is forced deep inside.

Angel does make a noise then, cries out, a guttural scream, and he moves. Presses his hips back onto the clear glass, and Spike pulls it out of him completely, smacks Angel on one of his cheeks, and the stinging slap leaves behind a red mark, that will likely bruise, once it gets the chance.

Spike doesn’t remind him that he’s been told to hold still and stay quiet, but he does leave.

He gets up off the bed, almost biting clean through his own lip because God, the only place he wants to be right now is on that bed, next to Angel, but Angel didn’t do what he was told, and that means punishment.

And he also knows that he can beat Angel black and blue if he wants to, but the only thing that will really get through, is if Angel is left alone for a while.

So, he goes and gets another drink, and tries not to hump the underside of the bar. A few minutes later, he goes back to the bedroom, hand absently stripping his cock as he walks. He can’t help it. He’s driving himself crazier than he’s driving Angel.

Angel must hear him approach, but he doesn’t move at all, not even when Spike’s hand comes to rest over his ass, thumb rubbing up and down a few times before slipping inside.

“Mmmm,” Spike moans in approval, curls himself forward so that Angel is underneath him, and he licks a stripe across his neck. Angel shivers, goose bumps rising on his flesh, but it’s an involuntary reaction, and Spike can’t fault him for it. “So hot, love,” Spike mumbles, blunt teeth closing over Angel’s shoulder, and then he licks and kisses the new red mark better.

“What do you want?” he asks, even though he already knows. Knows that Angel doesn’t want anything except what Spike wants to give him, that he’s going to be happy just because he made Spike happy, and that’s heady.

“You,” Angel says, and it’s the answer Spike expected.

He picks up the discarded dildo again, and shoves it back inside Angel, quick and efficient and without ceremony, and gets up again.

“Later,” he says, and backs out of the room to get another drink.

It’s more like three or four drinks later, and he makes a note to remind Angel to get more Jack, even though Angel will notice, and add it to the list without being asked, and Spike just can’t take any more. He doesn’t bother to get undressed, because honestly, being fully clothed, and fucking a naked, bound Angel is hot enough to melt the skin off his bones, and right now, his need to buried inside that tight hole is more important than anything else.

He does this every time. Pushes Angel to his limits, but they’re Spike’s limits as well, and by the time they finally come together, they’re both rutting and needy, lost.

He’s back on the bed and deep inside Angel before he knows what hit him, pounding away and chasing after his much needed orgasm, and Angel is being so fucking good, just kneeling there awkwardly and letting Spike use him, not moving, not talking, barely even breathing the breaths he doesn’t need.

Spike manages to make it almost a full five minutes, and he’s pretty proud of himself for that, and then he loses all control, his balls draw up and his fangs slide down, and he shoots, deep inside Angel’s hole, soft walls slip-sliding around his cock, and he bites down on Angel’s neck.

He doesn’t drink a lot, not really, just wants the taste on his tongue, and he pulls his teeth out fast, laps at the messy red, and then lets his tongue trail up to Angel’s ear while he goes soft inside him. His dick makes a half-arsed attempt to harden again, because really, this, what’s coming now, is the best part. Even better than Spike’s orgasm. But he’s done. Wrung out for the night, and he’s vaguely disappointed about that, but doesn’t mind too much.

He gently flips Angel over again, buries his head in Angel’s crotch and nuzzles him, nose and lips drifting over his skin and taking in his scent. There’s honestly never been anything quite like it.

He sits up to get a better look, able to take in Angel’s whole body with his eyes, and he lets his hand stroke over Angel’s dick a few times, watches the muscles tense and loosen over his face, and he knows he’s close. Knows he’s doing all he can to hold back, because Spike told him he had to.

He drops his hand to his thigh, fingers digging in tightly, and says, “Come,” so soft that if Angel was a human he wouldn’t have heard. But he obviously does hear, because he does come. No hand helping him over the edge, no touch, nothing. Unmoving and unspeaking, his cock just pulses, shifts all on it’s own, and then a white, sticky mess is spurting from it, dripping down around the shaft and landing in a pool in the course hair.

Fuck. Yeah, that is the best part.

He doesn’t wait for Angel to even finish before he bends over him, unfastens his hands and rips off the blindfold, falls down heavy and hard on top of him and presses his mouth to Angel’s, kissing him.

“Fuck,” Angel breaths, when they separate, and his arms go around Spike, holding him tight. This little game is obviously over for the night, and Spike shifts uncomfortably, not quite sure what to do with himself. The same thing he always does, he supposes, so he grins, kisses Angel, and starts to get up.

He’s got his own apartment to get back to, now that they’re done, and Spike really hates to outstay his welcome. At least, he does when it matters to him.

But then Angel’s hand is tight around Spike’s wrist, pulling him back down, and Spike looks at him, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“You promised me a girly drink,” Angel says, flashing something that’s as close to a smile as he can probably get these days. “And you should know better than to make someone drink alone.”

Spike can’t quite hide his own smile at that, even though he’s not entirely sure this is the best idea Angel’s ever had. No, scratch that. He’s sure it isn’t. He still can’t quite help himself from standing up and slipping out of his pants, then shirt, and ducking out into the living room to get them each another drink.

When he gets back, he hands Angel his glass and plops down next to him on the bed, bare toes prodding at Angel’s playfully.

“I don’t get up before noon,” he says, mock-warning, and he scowls.

Angel really does smile then, now that he knows that Spike is going to stay. “We start work at eight around here.”

“We?” Yeah, Spike has kind of signed on, is sort of working for Team Angel these days, but he’s never exactly been the kind of guy who was a stickler for punctuality. He kind of comes and goes as he pleases, and he likes it that way. Unless, of course, Angel needs something more from him.

Spike swallows down his drink in one go, and Angel does the same, before taking Spike’s empty glass and placing it, along with his own, on the table next to him. Angel bends over to kiss him, once and quickly, on his lips, and then turns over, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Don’t be late,” he says, and Spike can hear the smile in his voice.

Spike blows out a breath and rolls his eyes, even though Angel can’t see him, but he wriggles into the bed and makes himself comfortable. He can get used to this.

END.