All About Spike

Give My Regards
By hold_that_thought

Sequel to Brand New Start

Summary : Spike and Wesley keep the world safe for bad musical adaptations and Lilah tries to get Wesley a birthday present he'll really enjoy.
Pairing : Spike/Wesley/Lilah
Rating : NC-17
Spoilers : Through "Unleashed"
Feedback : Greatly appreciated (
Archive : More than likely okay, but please ask first
Disclaimer : The characters used within are the property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, and of course Joss Whedon. It's their sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Notes: Sequel to Brand New Start. And first of all, let me say how grateful and overwhelmed I am for all the amazing things people said about that story. Y'all rock, and I hope this follow-up doesn't disappoint too much. Second, thanks as always to Soda for the encouragement/harrassment/beta. Third, no foodstuffs were harmed in the making of this fic, and the character of Walden is absolutely in no way whatsoever meant to resemble any person(s) I may know. Nope. Come on, would I lie to you? (Completed 01/03/04)

"I think we should hire a secretary."

Wesley looked up from the file splayed open on his desk. "A secretary? Lilah, the office is hardly big enough for you, me, and Spike. Why do you think we need a secretary?"

"Well, for starters, we have too many open cases. If we don't have someone organize them soon, we'll have another incident like last Tuesday."

Wesley grimaced at the memory. He and Spike were supposed to exterminate two large Khee Shak demons in Hell's Kitchen. But on the way out, they'd grabbed the wrong address and instead ended up barging through the door of a sweet elderly couple in Astoria who'd made an appointment for a residential exorcism the following week. Spike had tried convincing them it was the newest technique in exorcism -- scaring the spooks out of the apartment and all.

The wife had responded by flinging a babka at his head.

"Second of all," Lilah continued, "I'm sick of always being the one to get the doughnuts."

"But you do such a splendid job," Spike said, throwing the door to his office open with a bang and walking over to Lilah's desk. He flipped the Krispy Kreme box lid back, plucked out a raspberry jelly doughnut, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. Several large blobs of jelly escaped through his lips and dribbled down his chin.

Though Spike was capable of having good eating manner if he wanted, he'd taken up the hobby of disgusting Lilah at every opportunity, just for fun. Lilah, in return, redirected all her psychological emasculation energy -- once reserved for Wolfram and Hart coworkers such as Gavin Park and Lindsey McDonald -- towards Spike, spitting out cunning insults as quickly as Spike could spit out lukewarm pig's blood.

Handing him a napkin, Lilah smiled sweetly and said, "Isn't that charming. You almost look like a real vampire who drinks real blood and everything."

Spike swallowed the pastry and wiped his chin off with a smirk. "We all know you're the only real bloodsucker in this office, Lilah."

Wesley shook his head. It was like working with the world's oldest teenagers.

He wouldn't have had it any other way.

Grabbing two more doughnuts, Spike headed over to his desk. "What's on the agenda?"

"Slow week," Wesley replied, watching in amusement as Spike quickly consumed both the pastries. "Nothing tonight. Tomorrow, we may have a nest to clear, if my contact ever gets back to me."

"Good," Spike said. "Because there's a new ep of The O.C. on tonight."

"Can't put off seeing what wacky hijinks Seth gets himself into, to save a few innocents, huh?" Lilah said.

"Well, yeah. Don't tell me you don't watch."

"She does," Wesley said. "But she likes Summer."

"Of course she does."

"Girl says what she thinks. I respect that," Lilah replied.

Spike grabbed another doughnut. "Girl's a cold bitch."

"That, too. And, hey, don't you worry even a little about gaining weight?" Lilah asked, gesturing to the nearly-empty box on her desk.

"Vampires can't gain weight," he smiled.

She arched an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again and caught Wesley's eye. He knew what she was going to say, but it fell under the big list of things none of them ever, ever spoke of aloud. Angel. Slayers. What exactly Wesley had done and sacrificed to get Lilah back from hell. The night the three of them had slept together.

They all had their own reasons for carefully avoiding those subjects, and their working relationships were definitely the better for it.


It was nearly seven p.m. when Lilah walked into the office the next day, the heat from her Starbucks mocha latté slowly seeping through the thin cardboard sleeve and burning her hand. New York agreed with her. Sure, some Angelinos had proper respect for someone who wore the right labels. But it was nothing compared to New York, where she could walk down the street and have other women subtly acknowledge that, with her Prada handbag and Gucci sunglasses, she was one of their own, if not wholly superior to them.

It was almost like the old days of Wolfram and Hart, really.

Wesley and Spike were both sitting behind Wesley's desk, eyes glued to the portable television that was currently tuned to a rerun of Dawson's Creek.

"Good news," Lilah said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. "One of my clients has a job for you two."

"Oh?" Wesley turned down the volume on the TV. Spike reached over and turned it back up. Wesley glared at him, then turned it down once more.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. "What's the job, then? Another one of your guys unleash some unholy hell while trying to manipulate the stock market again?"

"No, much better. Have either of you heard of Robert Walden?"

"The movie producer?" Wesley asked.

"That's him. He's producing the musical version of American Beauty that's currently in previews. It's supposed to open next week, but they're having technical problems."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "How is that a job for us?"

Lilah leaned against her desk and took a sip of her coffee. "Too many technical problems. Too many to be just a coincidence, that is. During rehearsal this afternoon, two of the follow spots caught on fire. Last night, right in the middle of the second act, a crate of rose petals fell off the catwalk and almost flattened a chorus girl. Almost every day, some costumes are found in tatters, props missing. And all of the older actors swear the theatre is haunted."

"All theatres are haunted," Spike said.

"Well, not all theatres have actors so scared they're trotting out every superstition known to man. Robert said the stage is covered with salt, and someone's been plastering the entire backstage area with signs telling other actors to not whistle, say Macbeth aloud, et cetera, et cetera. The point is, all this is costing him a lot of money, and the entire production was overbudget to begin with. And if Walden doesn't make enough money to pay off the various demons he's made pacts with, I'm going to lose one of my best clients."

Wesley picked up a pen and started making notes. "So, standard exorcism?"

Lilah shrugged and smiled. "That's your area of expertise, not mine."

"Very well." Wesley stood up and stretched. "I have to pick up some supplies downtown, herbs and such. Tell Mr. Walden we'll stop by the theatre tomorrow?"

"Will do." She kissed him on the cheek and said, "I'll pick up Chinese and meet you at home in an hour."

After Wesley left, Spike turned the television back on. "You made me miss the end."

"It's a repeat. You've probably seen it twice already."

"Three times, but who's counting."

"Tell you what," she said, taking two glasses and a bottle of brandy from the shelf behind her. She poured two glasses and handed one to Spike, smiling. "I'll let you borrow my season one DVDs next week."

Spike's face lit up. "I knew you were a teen soap junkie!"

"Our little secret," Lilah replied, lifting her glass.

He knocked his against hers and was poised to drink when he suddenly frowned and lowered the glass. "Now, wait a minute. You're usually only this nice when you want something."

"That's not true," Lilah smiled, knowing full well it was perfectly true. He sat there for several moments, giving her his cut-the-bull stare. Finally, she shrugged and tipped the brandy into her mouth, letting it wash down her throat. Then she looked at Spike. "It's not about what I want. It's about what he wants."


"Who else?" The desk was cold against the back of her legs, but she still hiked her skirt up a few extra inches before perching herself on the edge. "It's his birthday on Saturday."

"That right? And what are you getting the birthday boy?"

Her lips curved into a smile. "Well, I was"

Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head. "Me."

"You know, something he's guaranteed to enjoy."

"Right. So you want me to wait for him in his bed, naked with a big red bow and all? Lilah, have you completely lost your mind?"

"Aw, come on, you can't tell me you didn't have fun last time."

His eyes followed the tips of her fingers as she traced her thigh, slowly pushing the hem of her skirt higher and higher. When she discreetly let her knees part a fraction, he squirmed in his seat and shook his head. "I'm honestly not sure whether to feel insulted or flattered."

"It would definitely be a mutually beneficial present." She leaned forward and smiled.

"You are a devil woman," Spike muttered, standing up and knocking back his drink. "And I have things to do."

"Just think about it."

Spike waved his hands dismissively, grabbed his coat, and left.

Lilah poured herself another glass of brandy and smiled. Worst case scenario, she could always rent that Scarlett O'Hara costume Wesley loved so much.


The look on Wesley's face when Spike met him outside the Neil Simon theatre stage door reminded Spike why he didn't often choose to have male friends. Life was so much easier when he could in good conscience kill any blighter who looked at him that way.

Wesley was nearly doubled over, and though he wasn't laughing aloud, his sides were billowing in and out. Spike patiently waited for him to tire himself out. After two minutes, his patience ran out and he tapped Wesley on top of the head.

"Are you quite finished?"

"Almost," Wesley grinned, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"It's your fault I have to dress like this in the first place. Unless you want me to burst into flames."

"Sorry, but this was the only time the theatre was empty. You didn't receive too many odd looks on the way over?"

In addition to his usual duster, jeans, and boots, Spike was wearing bulky black gloves, a scarf, a black ski mask, and army-issue goggles. In September. He shook his head and said, "You'd be surprised. On the way over, I passed a jockey carrying twenty rolls of toilet paper."

Before Wesley could respond, the door opened, revealing a tall, well-dressed man with a shock of black hair and a couple gaudy necklaces right out of the Liza Minelli collection.

"Mr. Walden, hello," Wesley said, extending a hand.

"You must be Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and...associate," he said, looking Spike over.

"Sun allergy," Spike said.

Walden looked at Wesley. "Vampire?"


"Mm." He stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. "I don't generally work with vampires if I can avoid it, but I trust Lilah's judgement," he said, leading them past the ropes and pulley and onto the stage.

Spike took the opportunity to shuck off most of the sun-blocking garments, tossing them onto the fake gym bleachers.

"She fill you boys in?"

"Mostly," Wesley said.

"Management thinks, at most, it's a ghost. But I'll tell you, we put the ghost light up every night, no fail. I've yet to find a house where that failed to keep the spirits at bay." He paused for a moment. "Maybe the Belasco. My point is, I'm thinking we've got a demon. I need it gone. The first critics will be in-house tonight. The performance has to go off without a hitch or we're screwed. I'm talkin' throw up your hands, hang them from the rafters screwed."

"Don't worry, Mr. Walden." Wesley set his bag down and started pulling out various weaponry.

"Good, good. I'll leave you boys to it, then." He glanced at his watch. "Ooh, I have a reservation at Joe Allen's in ten minutes. Jingle my cell if you need anything. Ta."

He swept out, necklaces clinking.

Spike shook his head. "Knew there was a reason I stopped eating show people over a century ago. They're all completely bonkers."

"I had hoped to leave all of them behind in Los Angeles."

"No such luck," Spike smirked. "So, what are we looking for?"

"We'll know when we find it," Wesley said, dropping a bundle of burning herbs onto a plate and setting it down on the stage.

There was a box of guns on one of the prop tables in the wings. Spike picked one up. It was light, and loaded with blanks. He aimed the gun up and pulled the trigger.

The bang echoed through the theatre, but Wesley didn't jump. He barely even flinched, just slowly turned around to stare at Spike.

It was actually kinda sexy.

The Wesley he'd met all those years back in Sunnydale would have screamed. Maybe wet himself a little. Spike was continually amazed by how much Wesley had changed in some ways. Not in all ways, mind, judging by the glint in his eye as he watched Spike cradle the pistol, the way he licked his lips just before turning back to his herbs.

"You know, I think I saw a show in this theatre, back in the 70s. Me an' Dru found a pair of tickets on a couple we'd just drained. Sat in the front row, smack center."

"What show was it?"

Spike grimaced. "Annie." Wesley chuckled. "Yeah, you laugh. I thought it was some sort of cosmic revenge for killing those people. Coulda been worse, though. Dracula was playing a few theatres away."

Wesley laughed again, then started chanting in some language over herbs. Spike tugged on the curtain, running the plush velvet under his fingers. Then he wandered over to the doorman's booth, sat on the stool and flipped through an old issue of Field and Stream.

Finally, he stood up and wandered back towards the stage. "Now is the winter of our discontent," Spike said, grandly sweeping his arms in front of him and picturing the house filled with eager faces pointing at him.

Wesley wrinkled his nose. "Richard III? Really?"

"Not a fan?"

"Not particularly." He crouched down and poked at the herbs. "Now Iago, there's a villain."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, if you go for the cliché, mustache-twirling type. Richard, you gotta respect him. He knew women are all bug-shagging crazy."

"Is this a general statement, or aimed at any women in particular?"

"Well, your bird, for starters. Was acting downright insane last night."

"Lilah?" Wesley looked up at him. "Insane how?"

"Had this big idea for me. Nothing worth talking about." He put the gun back in the box. "How do her ideas pan out, usually?"

"Depends on the nature. I don't suppose you care to elaborate?"

"Not as such, no."

"Hm. Well, I'd say, so long as it doesn't involve letting her put you in a dress, go for it."

Spike shook his head. "Please don't share the backstory to that statement."

"Wouldn't dream of it. At any rate," he sprinkled a gritty powder over the plate, "there's really only a fifty percent chance her plan will backfire and result in your violent death."

"Not sure I like those odds, mate."

Pop. Pop. Pop. The plate of herbs started fizzing and sending little miniature flares into the air.

"Here we go," Wesley said. "That should shake up any malevolent supernatural entities currently inside the confines of the building."

"You mean like that?" Spike said, pointing towards the back of the house.

An enormous blue blob of a creature was standing in the aisle behind the seats, staring right at them.

Wesley closed his eyes and sighed. "Bugger."

Spike nodded. "Glurgg."

"You're cleaning up the pus," Wesley said, grabbing an axe and sprinting to the side of the stage.

While he clambered down the stairs and into the house, Spike grabbed a sword and backed up a few steps, then ran towards the front of the stage, leaping over the orchestra pit and landing in the center aisle.

The glurgg darted to the left and disappeared down a set of stairs. Automatically, Spike ran up towards the right while Wesley took to the left. The steps were narrow and uneven, and Spike almost tripped a few times going down. Finally, he skidded to a halt at the bottom a second before Wesley did the same on the other side of the room. No demon in sight.

Soundlessly, they crept towards each other, meeting in the middle. The downstairs lobby had four doors against the far wall, all closed. First, Wesley jerked his chin to the far right, indicating he'd take that side. Then he caught his eye, the tips of his fingertips brushing against Spike's wrist as he waited for confirmation.

Spike nodded. "One, two...."

Simultaneously, they ran across the room and threw open their doors. Bathrooms.

Spike walked into his, moving past the urinals and down the line of stalls, pushing the doors open. Nothing. Besides, the whole place was tiled, and the dripping pustules of the glurgg would definitely be echoing through the small, dank room. He made his way back to the lobby and looked at Wesley, who shook his head. Nothing in the women's room either.

They moved to the middle doors, weapons raised. While Wesley opened his, Spike skipped the formalities and kicked his off its hinges. He was rewarded with the sight of an empty stockroom.

Wesley turned to Spike. "Where the hell is this--"

A small yellow object whizzed past Spike's head to smack Wesley in the face. It tumbled to the floor, and they looked at it. Peanut M&Ms.

They slowly turned to face the bar. The glurgg was standing behind, grinning at them.

Whap, whap, whap. It winged three more packages of candy at them before launching into the hard stuff -- namely, bottles of cheap liquor.

"Right. Killing now would -- ow -- be a good -- fuck! -- idea," Spike grunted.


Wesley and Spike hefted their weapons backwards, then let them launch. Spike's sword pierced the glurgg's shoulder, but Wesley had better aim as his axe cleaved itself to the middle of the demon's head. It slumped onto the bar, dripping pus and blood and still clutching a bottle of vodka in its claw.

Spike shuddered and headed for the stairs, Wesley following.

"Bo-oys!" Walden was standing in the middle of the stage, waving a pom-pom at them. "How goes the you-know-what?"

They walked up the side aisle and joined him on the stage.

"The demon's taken care of, though I'm afraid the lobby is a bit of a mess," Wesley said.

"That's a bit of an understatement," Spike muttered, only loud enough for Wesley to hear. Spike was rewarded with a half smile before Wesley turned back to the bizarre producer.

"But I'm afraid there is another problem."


"Glurggs have to be specifically summoned."

"You're saying someone summoned this?"

"Erm, yes."

"Piffle." Walden crossed his arms. "Piffle badness phooey. This does not amuse us."

"Uh, nor us," Wesley said, blinking a couple times. "Perhaps you could show us to the backstage area?"

"What for?"

"Could be an inside job," Spike said.

"Nonsense! I'll tell you who this is." He picked up his pom-pom again and shook it in Spike's face. "This is the work of those wretched hacks, the Goldmans! Stinking rats are still upset I won the rights to a musical version of Harry Potter!"

"Nevertheless...." Wesley said.

"Fine, fine, this way." Walden sighed dramatically and led them across the stage.

As soon as they reached the bank of dressing rooms, Spike wrinkled his nose pointed to the nearest room. "In here."

They opened the door. Seated in front of the mirror was a slender young man with sandy-blonde hair. He had a lit black candle, a book of spells propped against the table, and a shocked expression on his face.

"Um, h-hi, Mr. Walden," he stammered.


"So one tiny little chorus boy summoned the demon that did all that damage?" Lilah said.

Wesley was thumbing through the Ghiradrelli codex, looking for the entry on Xanos demons. "He was apparently hoping to eliminate the leading actor and take his place."

"Now that I can respect," Lilah smiled.

Spike chuckled. "Figures."

"Well, I'm glad you can respect it, Lilah, because Todd starts as our secretary on Monday."

"You hired that little git?" Spike said. "Are you insane?"

"Probably. But he'll work cheap, and knows his demonology." A shrill beeping sounded through the office, and Wesley picked up his pager. "That's my contact at the morgue." He stood up and pulled on his coat, heading for the door. "I'll be home late. Spike, I'll see you on Monday."

Spike saluted him and nodded.

Once he was gone, Lilah pulled a large box out from under her desk. From inside, she withdrew a large sword. "For his birthday tomorrow. Seventeenth century, silver-plated."

"Very nice."

"I know." She laid the sword down and looked at Spike. "Think any more about whether you'll...come tomorrow?"

Spike walked over and sat down on her desk, smirking down at her. "Gotta say, you're refreshing. Not often I get to be the seducée."

Lilah rolled her shoulder back and tipped her head up, giving him an eyeful as her blouse slipped down a fraction. "Is that a yes?"

"You don't think it will make things at the office weird?"

"I have no problem separating love from no-strings sex from work."

"I suppose I fall in the middle there."

She rested a hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. "Middle's not a bad place to be."

"Could think of worse," Spike said. He bent over, the scent of her peach shampoo flooding his senses as he kissed her.

"Mmm," she smiled, pulling back. "Save it for tomorrow, tiger."

"Have I mentioned you're a devil woman?"

"Once or twice."


Lilah had only been out of Hell for two months, give or take. There was still a lot to adjust or re-adjust to. Feeling. Breezes, flames, skin. The hardest adjustment was figuring out how to talk to Wesley. Sure, they'd talked before. But everything had been a test, a setup, or was carefully worded in case there was a setup.

And then there was the little fact that all her communications in her old life had been part of a stratagem. Clients, co-workers, bosses. Everything said was weighed carefully to insure maximum impact. Nothing was done without an ulterior motive. After years of living the game, normalcy still felt weird in her mouth and in her actions.

Which was probably why Wesley looked slightly alarmed when she brought out a birthday cake and proceeded to sing to him.

Not wanting to rush headlong into domesticity, Lilah quickly brought them back to familiar terrain by unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the floor.

Wesley started to unbutton his own shirt, but Lilah shook her head and said, "Nuh uh, birthday boy. Let me."

She grabbed the birthday cake and Wesley's hand, leading him into the bedroom. The window shade was all the way up, and across the way she could make out the glint of binoculars aimed in their general direction.

"Gotta love this city," she said.

He smiled and grabbed her by the wrist before she could pull the shade down. "May as well give them a show."

Lilah raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. Instead, she unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and pushed him backwards onto the bed, where he landed with a grunt. Plunging her hand into the center of the gooey chocolate cake and pulling off a piece, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. The icing was sticky between her fingers as she spread it across Wesley's chest.

"You're too good to use a plate now?" he teased.

"Too imaginative," Lilah replied, pressing her fingers against his lips and letting Wesley lick them clean.

Then she bent down, her tongue traveling across the slope of his chest, tasting the chocolate and salt of his skin. Wesley hummed in pleasure, closing his eyes and leaning back.

Lilah was just about to get more cake when she felt something cold pressed to the small of her back. Startled, she leapt up and back, only to be caught around the middle just before tumbling off the bed.

Spike chuckled and pushed her upright again.

"We really should put a big bell around your neck," she grumbled, pushing some hair out of her eyes.

"And miss seeing you and the birthday boy scream in unison? Perish the thought."

"Spike? Is everything all right?" Wesley asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and looking concerned. He glanced down and seemed relieved to note he had pants on, but a second later remembered Lilah's nudity and tossed her a pillow.

Lilah rolled her eyes and batted it away before smiling at Spike.

"Just wanted to drop off your present."

"Oh, ah, thank you?" Wesley continued to stare at Spike, who stared right back. "Is"

"It's more a show and tell kind of gift, y'see."

He smiled and extended a hand to Lilah. She took it and was promptly pulled to her feet, then pushed into sitting on the edge of the bed a second later. On the very edge of her eyesight, she could make out Wesley sitting up and staring at the two of them.

"Now, this is a little trick I picked up from Harmony. 'Bout the only good thing, in fact."

From a tall paper bag, Spike pulled out a bottle of Absolut Citron. It was chilled, which at least told Lilah what, exactly, he'd pressed to her back earlier. A bottle of vodka was definitely the least repulsive of her original theories. From the pocket of his jacket, he produced a halved lemon and several packets of sugar.

"We're making lemonade?" Lilah said, smirking.

"Not quite," Spike grinned. He cupped her chin and tilted her head back.

Then his mouth was on her breast, warm and wet, tongue moving in circles across her skin. A second later, he was straightening up again. Keeping her head in place, Lilah cast her eyes downwards in time to watch him sprinkle a line of sugar onto her breast, lick it off, take a swig of vodka from the bottle, and squeeze the lemon into his mouth.

Spike handed the bottle to Wesley and said, "Think you got that?"

"I'll muddle through," he said with a wink.

Wesley grabbed Lilah by the shoulders and pulled her onto her back. There was the barest hint of teeth as he ran his mouth along her nipple, and Lilah shivered. Instead of taking a hit from the bottle, he poured the chilled alcohol between her breasts, lapping at the tiny rivulets that twisted down her body.

By that time, Spike had efficiently stripped down to his boxers. Which almost made Lilah choke because, personally, she'd always pegged him as a commando man.

"Enough with the 9 ½ Weeks," Lilah laughed, pushing Wesley off.

"Well, what do you propose we do for the birthday boy, then?"

"Any requests?" she asked.

"Hm...." Wesley cocked his head. "I don't suppose you still have that hoop skirt?"

"Nope, sorry."


Spike was standing next to the bed, subtly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked at Lilah, waiting for...something. An invitation, a cue. Something to make him anything but a third wheel. She had one idea that was guaranteed to drive Wesley insane. But whether it was a good insane or a homicidal insane remained to be seen.

She grabbed Spike by the shoulder, brought his ear to her lips and whispered instructions, then pushed him away and crawled up towards Wesley. Lilah had undone his pants and boxers and taken them off by the time Spike came back.

"For your last birthday present, lover, I suggest a little floor show."

Lilah grabbed one of Wesley's wrists, Spike the other, and before he had the chance to react, his arms were handcuffed to the wrought-iron headboard.

"Lilah, what are you doing?" he asked, but his tone implied he knew exactly what she was doing and simply wanted to hear her spin on it.

Before Lilah could answer, Spike grabbed her around the waist and dragged her to the bottom of the bed, throwing her onto her back. In a surprisingly tender gesture, he brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled. Lilah was almost -- almost -- thrown by the action, but it made sense a second later, when he pushed into her so rough and so quickly she almost cried out. Almost.

She dug her nails into his hips, feeling his muscles throb underneath the skin as he pushed in and out. Surprisingly bony hips ground into hers, matching the rhythm Wesley was beating out on the headboard.

"Fuck," Spike grunted, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Over the mussed strands of white-blonde hair and smooth neck, Lilah hazarded a glance at Wesley. In the start of their relationship, he'd always considered himself an equal player in their game. Able to trick and deceive with the best of them. Lilah'd never had the heart to tell him every emotion he'd ever felt was always laid bare in his eyes. Now, they were stormy, confused with a hint of jealousy. From the way he bit his lip and kept flitting his eyes from her to Spike, Lilah guessed he wasn't sure which of them he envied more.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked him. Her breath hitched when Spike pushed into her again.

"Oh yeah, I'll say he is," Spike grinned, reaching up to run his hand across Wesley's erection.

Wesley's expression grew darker, and he kept his eyes fixed on Lilah's when Spike threaded his fingers through her hair and wrenched her head back, dragging his tongue across her bared throat.

Lilah's breath was coming in gasps now, warmth trickling through her body as she ran her fingers across Spike's back. Spike reached up to tease Wesley again.

"Harder," Wesley said through gritted teeth, squirming to get closer to both of them.

"Happy to oblige," Spike said. He pulled back, then pushed into Lilah so hard they both went sliding across the bed.

This time, she did scream, head thrown back and eyes closed while every nerve in her body twisted and quivered as she came.

When she opened her eyes again, Spike was crawling towards Wesley with a predatory smile. He hovered over him, his soft penis brushing against Wesley's hard one.

"Mm, the birthday boy's all excited," Spike crooned. "Anything I could do to help?"

Wesley gave him a lazy smile. "Well, you could always put that smart mouth of your to work."

"That would be a change, wouldn't it?"

While Lilah slid up the bed towards Wesley, Spike grabbed the long-forgotten bottle of vodka. Wrapping his fingers around Wesley's penis, Spike poured the chilled alcohol right on the head, immediately swooping his head down to catch the drops that had settled on top.

Wesley's hips jerked back and forth under Spike's skilled tongue and fingers. Not to be outdone, Lilah teased his jaw with her mouth, licking and nipping at the clenching muscles.

She reached down and ran her fingers across Spike's hair, smoothing it under her fingertips.

"Not a cat, don't pet me," Spike mumbled around Wesley, never breaking his rhythm.

That cracked Lilah up, and she was so busy trying to catch her breath from laughing she almost missed Wesley's orgasm. Just in time, she pressed her mouth to his, and he greedily sucked on her lower lip and moaned as he came.

Lilah grabbed the handcuff keys and handed them to Spike, who freed Wesley's wrists and brought them to his lips, brushing his lips against each of them.

"Have a good birthday?" she asked Wesley.

He smiled and ran a hand down Spike's chest. "Yes, Lilah. I'm always appreciative of plans of yours that don't end in immediate death or Spike in a dress."

Lilah didn't understand what was so funny about that to make them laugh for a good minute straight. She finally shrugged, grabbed the vodka bottle, and took a swig.

"Mind if I use your shower?" Spike asked, standing up.

"Help yourself," Wesley said.

Lilah nodded and yawned. "Maybe I'll call for a pizza when you get out."


By the time Spike had gotten out of the shower, both of them were fast asleep.

"Humans," he muttered, gathering his clothes and heading outside.

The night air was chilly, causing wisps of steam to rise from his shower-warm skin as he headed downtown. The neon lights cast a bright glare onto the street, making the pavement glitter.

Spike wasn't sure if this was going to become a regular thing, the three of them. If it wasn't, he'd understand. They had their own thing going, and he had a city full of opportunities. And if it did, well, it would keep life interesting, that was certain.

Either way, it wasn't quite the life he'd expected to end up living. But that wasn't turning out to be a bad thing.

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