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There's breath, and heartbeat, and the feeling that he just might jump out of his skin if things don't change right. now. But they keep changing, and somehow it's not enough. Close but no cigar. Wesley shifts and murmurs beneath him, wordless encouragement with hands and lips that make him feel invincible, even though he knows he's not. That's not something that he'd admit to though. Not before, and not now. Ironic that you can be killed when you're already dead, but it's not the end of the world. They'll probably have one of those next month. Wes grabs onto Spike's ass, hard, urging him to move faster. Breathing turning into panting, quicker heartbeat. It's one of the things that keeps Spike coming back, and another thing that he wouldn't admit to, though it's a bit of generousness in this case. He wouldn't want to hurt Wes' feelings -- wouldn't want to give him the idea that it's just about fucking a warm human body, because it's not. That's part of it though. Wesley reaches up to latch onto Spike's lower lip with teeth that are sharper than they look. Skin breaks and blood spills, just enough to taste, and it shoves Spike past the point of almost-sanity and into definitely-not-sane, as game face and orgasm slam over him at the same time. He's only dimly aware of Wes coming too, even though usually the human's pleasure is as important as his own. He thrusts a few more times, roughly, and then collapses, his weight bearing Wes down into the mattress. They don't speak afterwards. Before, sure -- all kinds of conversation, like words are gonna make this legitimate somehow. Like they both want it to be legitimate, when Spike's not even sure that's true.
Complicated, that's what it is.
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