Tarnished Gold
His flesh seems made of powerful golden silk, dark symbols dance on his bare body as he moves underneath Spike. The blond vampire closes his eyes and lets his senses take over. The boy smells of sage, whisky and just a hint of soap buried on the sweaty, glistening body. Spike can't help leaning forward, letting his tongue taste the salt of Doyle's back as he fucks the boy with a passion born of need. It's been so long since he's had this, the thrill or a mystery lover, both possible salvation and unknown danger. It just makes the sex sweeter. Of course, the gold is just an illusion. Sure he has a slight tan, but it's the vampire eyes that makes him seen that beautiful gold color. Effulgent even.
As a rule, Spike likes his men darker and dominant. But rules are made to broken. specially for someone like Doyle.
Just as he suspects that "Doyle" might not be the boy's real name, he also sees the "Just a nice guy with a big assigment by the Powers" act to be just that. But Spike likes to play along, see how far this act will go, and who knows? Maybe Doyle is telling the truth and Spike is the new Champion, the one who will take the Shanshu and all. Plus, the possible chance to rub his possible position as THE vampire with soul on Angel's face? Priceless.
It helps the cause that this is one good looking guy the Powers may had sent to Spike. so when the boy appears with a six pack and that big smile of his, Spike welcomes him with almost a smile.
At first, it's all about the booze and talking about Spike's latest crusades. Doyle finds amusing how Spike will tell the innocents just how stupid they are by walking alone in an alley in the middle of the night. Hard to picture Angel, in all his Do-Goodness hero complex, saying something more than "Go home. You'll be okay."
Soon the six beers are gone, and Spike has pulled a couple of bottles out of the fridge. Doyle is leaning comfortably against the brown leather couch, eyes half closed and lips curled in a feline grin. He's drunk enough.
"So..." Spike asks casually and he reaches for his pack of cigarettes. "What do you do when you're not getting the head-splitting visions?"
Doyle glances at him. "Took you long enough to ask," he replies, then rejects the offer of a cigarette.
Spike shrugs and lits one for him, not bothering to ask for permission. "Are you gonna answer?"
"Does it matter?"
Leave it to Butch to come up with a question to answer the bloody question.
"Don't get me wrong," Spike says. "It's not that I don't tru... Actually, I don't trust you. A butch guy who comes out of nowhere, saying he was sent by the powers and sends me on missions to save the innocent, not to mention he gives me a place to live?"
"And beer," Doyle points at the empty cans all over the coffee table. "Don't forget the beer."
There's a nod from Spike, then silence. Doyle starts to move slowly, skin and tattoos flowing in front of Spike's eyes as the younger man leans forward, his voice velvety gravel when he speaks next. "All you have to know for now it's that you are the new champion, and I'm here to guide you with my... visions."
"How considerate of you." Spike decides to try a different approach. "What does whoever waits for you at home think of your chosen profession?"
The Boy seems lost for a second there. Perfect.
"Come on! Look at you! I mean, good looking men like us tend to get laid a lot. So is there a girlfriend?" Eyebrows raise in a conspiracional look. "Boyfriend?"
Doyle laughs, a deep, yet soft chuckle. "It's not the first time I get that line, you know?"
This time Spike says nothing, hoping that silence might bring him some answers.
Answers come in the shape of Doyle's hands against his shoulders, then that gravel voice speaking in poisoned honey tones.
"There's no one."
There's a hint of scotch in his breath. So he's been drinking before coming here. Spike can't smell anybody's escent. Look at that, Doyle is actually telling the truth. Spike feels bolder.
"Is that why you're hitting on me?"
Doyle blinks, looks genuinely confused, even replies with an "Huh?"
You're not getting out of this, Butch.
"Don't play games with me. The comment about the bed, the beers, the visits... It's not all about the Powers asking you to keep an eye on me." The last part comes a bit slurred. He's rewarded with another bit of Doyle's laugh. And warm human lips hovering near cool vampire skin.
"Why don't you tell me what you have in mind?" Doyle finally says.
Now this is a game Spike loves to play.
"It involves you on your knees. Now."
Spike fangs are out now, so close to aroused human flesh almost the color of autumn leaves. He's taken his sweet time, admiring the way Lindsey bit his lip lower and thrusts his ass against Spike. Vampire hands gripping strong human hips, hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. And that's exactly how it should be. Spike wants Doyle to have a reminder of this moment. Something that can be admired in front of a mirror and covered with washed out denim before going out to whatever life Doyle leads outside Spike.
"Come on," Spike teases with a husky whisper. He lowers his teeth on Doyle's shoulder, grazing the skin, not biting, just a tiny string of blood flowing, ruby red against sun kissed shoulders.
(What was it like to feel the sun in your human body? Spike cannot remember anymore. Maybe this is his way to taste the sunshine, taking the boy who speaks of Higher Powers and Champions, of redemption and shanshu.)
The small cut is enough to send Doyle over the edge with a growl, jets of semen soaking the cheap carpet. Spike keeps thrusting, licking the blood and digging his nails on Doyle's bruised body. Then he's coming, and he he lets out a sound no human could ever form as empties himself inside the boy. Their bodies fall, still joined and completely sated. No hurries, because when they move it will be just to dress and say good bye, and neither one of them wants it to happen just now. It has nothing to do with blossoming feelings or something beyond the sex. They wanted this and it happened. That's it.
Finally, Spike moves away, stretching lazily and reaching for his jeans. He turns his back to Doyle as he does this, after a few seconds he hears the other body moving around, the rustle of clothes against the body. Spike gets up and goes to get another beer. He offers nothing to Doyle, knowing that if he wants one, he'll ask. Doyle doesn't ask.
Instead, Spike sees from the corner of his eye the door open as sunshine and gold walk away.