by Vampire Fever
Sight was one of his few pleasures, so he made the most of it.
Observing Angel, although as interesting as watching paint dry, had its moments. Hmmm...no, it really didn't.
Spike preferred watching Wesley. The man fascinated him. He was the complete antithesis of Angel. Wesley barely gave any thought to his own well-being. He washed and dressed in a perfunctory manner. If he didn't feel like shaving, he didn't. His fridge seemed permanently empty; food an afterthought when hunger became a burning pain.
However, Wesley was a study in contrasts. Spike loved observing how precise Wesley could be with the things he cared about. Books were handled with infinite tenderness. Fine bottles of matured single malts were slowly poured into expensive crystal tumblers; each sip of the golden liquid savoured, as it passed over his tongue. He loved watching how quickly Wesley could lose himself in his research. How the world would fall away around him, leaving Wesley immersed in an old translation of an obscure text, no one on earth, or any other dimension, could possibly find as interesting.
But what Spike loved most about watching Wesley, was that Wesley was the only one who watched him back.
They sometimes talk for hours. The snark is always the first thing to go, which surprised him at first. But as they've become more comfortable with each other, he's seeing a side of Spike he suspects few others ever get to see.
The cockney accent never quite disappears but it does soften and allows Wesley glimpses of the man Spike must have been. Their conversations are easy; they talk about everything and nothing. He finds Spike fascinating, a cultured soul sharing a ghostly body with a vicious demon.
There's something about their discussions that excite Wesley. He's not sure if it's the knack Spike has of getting him to open up; making it easy for Wesley to tell him things he's never mentioned to another soul. He doesn't know how it happened, but he trusts Spike. He instinctively knows Spike would never betray him, not even for the greater good.
He tells himself this connection is just two lonely Englishmen looking for company. He tells himself that it's just friendship. And if his heart aches when he hears Spike's voice fade, as he disappears into the ether, well that's just something he's got to deal with alone, in the silence.
When he appeared, Wesley was reading a book and taking the occasional sip of whisky from one of his crystal tumblers. As soon as he noticed Spike sitting opposite him, he closed the book and relaxed deeper into his chair, a small smile gracing his face.
Spike tilted his head and contemplated him; loving the warm look of welcome and happiness his presence seemed to generate. He allowed himself the joy of getting lost in the blue gaze that so mirrored his own. They both sat quietly until Spike broke the companionable silence.
"One thing about this ghost business that really pisses me off is that it has robbed me of one of my greatest pleasures. I really miss being able to scent the world around me."
Wesley nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I can understand that. I know for a vampire, the sense of smell is a highly developed tool."
Indeed it is, pet. Right now I'm wondering what delicious aromas I would pick up coming from you."
Wesley chuckled. "Nothing too enticing I dare say. A bit of stale sweat, the smell of whisky on my breath, maybe the lingering traces of my deodorant. Not much to excite your senses."
Spike studied Wesley for a moment. "Shall I tell you what I think I'd smell?"
He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. "I can smell the whisky on your breath. It's mellow and rich and soothing. But it's a distraction. It surrounds you but doesn't mask your true essence. That scent is much more tantalising; wood and rain and a deep spicy musk that warms and beckons to me. The combination is your unique signature."
Wesley's expressive mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "You're going to be highly disappointed, when we get you back, to discover that my unique signature is almost certainly an amalgam of cracked leather, parchment and dust, from a lifetime spent amongst piles of old books."
"I doubt anything about you would disappoint me Wesley."
Spike watched entranced as his words caused a slight flush to whisper over Wes' cheeks. His imaginary heart tightened in his imaginary body. He wished he could reach out and...
Drenched in thoughts of Wesley, he breathed in again and wallowed in the imagined scent of Wesley's arousal as he faded away to his cotton-wool world, where wishes were horses and vampire ghosts could ride.
Spike was slouched in the corner of the brown leather sofa, head tilted, watching him with an intensity that he was almost afraid to admit he'd grown to love. As he joined him on the sofa Spike asked.
"Tell me Wesley, which do you think, of all the flavours I've not been able to experience since becoming the ghost of Christmas past, I've missed tasting the most?"
Wesley answered with a smile. "Isn't that obvious? Blood – probably of the human variety."
A small shake of his head was the only response he got.
"Not blood! Well I've noticed your covetous looks when I have a whisky. Would scotch or another alcoholic drink be the top of your list?"
Another small shake of the head was accompanied by an enigmatic smile.
"Do you eat human food? I know Angel doesn't."
"Yes I do. Angel's so repressed the idea of indulging his senses, even with just a bit of chocolate, is on par for him with snacking on a whole convent of nuns. Always was an all or nothing kind of vamp." Spike replied before continuing his contemplation of Wesley.
He didn't know what Spike saw when he looked at him so intensely, although he suspected it was a lot more than other people would see. Aware that he was basking in the glow of Spike's gaze, Wesley had to force himself back to the question.
"You mentioned chocolate. Is that it?"
"Chocolate's sweet, but not as sweet as the thing I've been fantasizing about the most."
Wesley let those words sink in. "I've never considered taste being a sense I would miss all that much. I've taken for granted the small pleasures it gives me; the tang of earl grey tea, the burst of sugar on your tongue with that first bite of a frosted donut, the comforting familiarity of a single malt – all makes life more bearable. Oh Spike I wish..."
Spike interrupted with a tut, "None of that now, pet. It's hardly your fault and not the issue. Concentrate Wes, you still haven't guessed yet."
Trying to shake off the melancholy of Spike's predicament, Wesley focused on the face that was becoming so dear to him.
"I'd say so."
"Honey, syrup, cherry ice-cream, bananas?"
"Strawberry, apple, rice pudding with cinnamon and nutmeg?"
Spike laughed. "Nope."
He straightened up and edged towards Wes. "Give up? Want to know what it is?"
Wes nodded, mesmerized and held captive by the blue light from Spike's eyes as they got closer and closer. Then cool, soft lips touched his in the gentlest of kisses. Mouths parted, tongues flicked, savoured and explored. Seconds became minutes became hours. He forgot to wonder, forgot to think, forgot to breathe - lost in the feel and taste and miracle of Spike.
"Oh, definitely sweet." Sighed Spike as he slowly pulled away.
Too scared to hope, Wesley softly asked, "You're back?"
"Yes Wes, I'm back." Spike whispered before claiming his lips for another sip of nectar.
He thought that once he became corporeal again, nothing would be sweeter, or make him feel like he was really back, than touching and learning Wesley's body. And in a way he was right. Wesley was everything he thought he'd be: luscious, fragrant, utterly delicious and totally responsive.
He couldn't get enough of him; every touch was a mind-blowing sensation. Stroking his hand along Wesley's thigh, feeling the gentle abrasion from the fine hairs of Wesley's skin against his fingertips, sent shivers tingling down his spine. Hearing Wes' gasps, as his tongue mapped out the contours of every dip and curve of his body, was a symphony to his ears. The explosion of flavour, as Wes' essence burst upon his tongue, was sweeter than anything had a right to be.
Then the joy that suffused him as he sank deep into Wes' body, feeling the heat surrounding him, cradling him, warming him up so that the cold would never be able to touch him again. He thought nothing would ever feel as amazing as that. He was wrong.
He'd thought he was the only one who'd been affected by his ghostly state. He hadn't realised that Wesley had also suffered; also been starved of physical contact.
As they lay entwined in each other's arms, it was Wesley's desperate need to touch and explore that sent him soaring to the clouds on a wave of ecstasy. It was Wesley's longing to imprint every millimetre, every nuance of Spike's body upon his mind that lifted Spike's soul to heaven. It was Wesley's mouth and teeth and hands and cock that sent Spike spiralling out of control. It was Wesley's tenderness that touched his heart. It was Wesley's love that set him free and it was Wesley's touch that brought him back home.