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Author's Chapter Notes:
Written for Molli (Orchid Slayer) who won me at Sweet Charity.
“Life has taught us that love does not
consist in gazing at each other, but in
looking outward together in the same
direction.”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery


They're due at a party in thirty minutes. It's for one of Spike's clients, who thinks he's dreamy and wants to give him babies. Thing is, they'd make beautiful children. She's model-tall with perfect hair and perfect teeth. Athletic. Half a brain. Annoying laugh, though.

Sometimes, William gets really insecure about how the people around him feel. OK, that's a lie; he gets insecure about Spike. Because Spike is popular, and hot, and out going. He can walk into a room, smile, and be best friends with everyone in it. Will is none of these things.

Will has always worn labels like 'mousey' and 'geek.' Even after his high school makeover, when Spike dyed their hair and inked kohl on his eyes, it was still Spike they saw. Spike's magnetic energy and his easy smile. People are drawn to him, and sometimes Will can't help but be jealous and prepare for the worst. Spike's going to get tired of this thing they have, realize they're brothers and nothing good can come of that, and move on. Meet someone special.

Like this one time, when Spike met this really hot girl and flirted with her (what else is new?) Will had planned out their entire life, from the wedding he was forced to be best man at, to their beautiful bouncing 5 kids. He hated her. Even after Spike took one look at him, rolled his eyes, dragged him into the bathroom for a blow job and promised he wasn't remotely interested in her without Will. That usually works. (And Will's the most conscientious bastard Spike knows, so he usually gets a reciprocal blow job out of it at the very least.)

But sometimes, Will needs something more. He needs to know Spike's his. His for the night, if not forever. And he's got something big to prove tonight.

Spike's on his back, laying across their bed, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Every breath sends a frisson of sharp pleasure through Spike's body. Will's stroked and petted and touched him for the past hour, so much that even the sheets beneath him and the air flowing around him raises goosebumps on Spike's flesh, makes him shudder with need.

Will's lips map every millimeter of Spike's skin, from the scar on his knee (tricycle accident, age 5), to the constellation of moles along his right side, to the tiny white knot of tissue on his collarbone (Trish Eggleston stabbed him with a pencil). Will has a memory for every mark. He knows Spike's story as etched into his skin by nails and concrete and too much exuberance for life. Remembers every tear, every drop of blood, every bravely set face and choked back sob.

The point is, Will knows things that no one else does. Things about Spike that you had to be there to see: like the expression on his face when he first stood up on a pair of water skis, or how his lips pressed together when he scraped his thigh against a protruding nail and had to get stitches, but never once let the pain show. He's been there for all those things, and no one else will ever have that. Not the chick who invited them to this party or the dozens of models who populate this city.

“Will,” Spike whispers, trembling with the effort to keep still. God, the way his brother says his name, in a reverent whisper because to speak it loud would be blasphemy. It's fragile and rare to hear Spike like this, stripped of his weapons and walls. Vulnerable. Will bends down to kiss him and pulls out his toy. He rolls it down Spike's cock, slick from his pre-come, with practiced ease and jacks Spike a couple of times as a twisted kind of thank you. Will rips his lips away and pushes him off, glaring down at his cock.

“WILL!” The dark black ring wrapped snugly around the base of Spike's penis makes Will's heart race and his mouth dry.

Spike grits his teeth and shifts his glare to Will because he's been hard for hours now, laying still under Will's slow torture. Yeah, he gets his brother needs this sometimes, gains some sort of reassurance from Spike's acquiescence. And there's nothing he needs that Spike won't give to him. But this? Is pushing it a little far.

“We have to go to a party,” Will tells him casually, shrugging back into his shirt. Spike goggles at him, because what? “Meila's party. You were specially invited, remember?”

Spike narrows his eyes. So this is one of those times, where Will's feeling jealous and possessive and he reminds them both where they stand. With each other and everyone else. He resigns himself to wearing the cock ring for the whole party, though 'resigns' may be a stretch; Will always makes it worth his while.

“I don't like her,” Spike vows through gritted teeth. Will shrugs, but Spike's not fooled but that. “Seriously, she's completely off her rocker. Thinks bloomin' onions are the devil.”

Will pauses. His head comes up, and it slowly turns towards Spike, who's reviewing the last thing he said to try and figure out what's made Will turn deadly on him.

“When did you discuss your gustatory habits?” Will asks, voice smooth and controlled. Spike gulps. Fuck.

“I, uh. Had lunch? With...her? A business lunch. On Da.” The look Will's giving him is dangerous, and does not bode well for his night.

----

“Oh, James! I'm so glad you could make it!” Spike grins nervously, kissing Meila on both cheeks. He can feel Will hovering at his back, and he's careful to keep his ring-bound erection as far away from Meila as humanly possible. When he pulls back, she's grinning at him, speculation and desire swimming in her eyes. Will makes a low sound in the back of his throat that has Spike thinking of growling dogs and murderous wolves.

“It's, uh, thank you? For, for inviting us.” He hears Will (the bastard) choke back a laugh behind him. Meila's smile dims just a little, but before he feels like a complete prat, Will sweeps in with an expensive bottle of wine and a possessive hand hidden at his lower back. Meila lets them in, and Spike stumbles when Will grabs his ass right before walking over the threshold. Meila catches him, and gives him a concerned look.

“He started early,” Will says with an angelic smile, and Spike's going to kill him. Meila simpers and offers Spike his choice of juices. No. Death is too good for William Giles.

The party is a nightmare. Meila makes play after play for Spike's attention. Will makes sure Spike's attention is emphatically not on Meila by starting a slowly escalating assault. It starts with little touches. Will brushes against Spike, or skim his hand along the curve of Spike's ass. Spike can't imagine this getting any more torturous, but Will's a devious fucker and proves him wrong wrong wrong, so very wrong that Spike's dick is gonna break if he doesn't come soon. Because the touches grow bolder.

Will wraps his hand around the back of Spike's neck in good humor, thumb rubbing knowingly against the knobs of his spine. Will corners him in the kitchen and presses him against the counter tops, rubbing lewdly against the erection Spike can't ignore or get rid of. Spike gasps and his eyes flutter close, and then Will's gone, on the other side of the room talking happily to someone else.

Then, Spike bends over to grab some hour d'oeuvres and Will spanks him in front of everyone. And fuck if that didn't send a bolt of lust to his already-hard cock and make it strain. Spike's had it, at that point. While everyone's laughing at their antics, talking about how awesome it must be to have a twin, Spike and Will have a silent conversation in which Spike threatens to cut Will off for the rest of his fucking life if he's not in the bathroom in 30 seconds. Will nods his understanding, biting back a smirk, and Spike turns on his heel...

...only to find his way block by Meila.

“Are you alright, Jamey? You look a little flushed.” Spike bristles. If there's one thing he hates more than his name, it's variations on his name. If Will had any lingering doubts, they're gone now, because that's a deal breaker.

“Jamey isn't feeling very well,” Will steps in smoothly, his hand on Spike's back. “Where's your restroom?”

“Oh you poor thing. It's right this way.” Spike can barely walk he's so aroused (Meila not withstanding), so he takes the opportunity to lean heavily on Will.

“You better get down on your knees and pray I don't murder you,” Spike hisses in Will's ear. Will shudders and his grip on Spike's waist tightens.

“Do you need anything?” Meila asks, dripping with concern. “Ice cubes, a cold tolwlette—”

“We're good!” Will says perfunctorily, and shuts the door in her face. Spike's already struggling with his pants when Will falls to his knees.

“Fuck, yes, you gotta, I need...I need...”

“I know,” Will whispers, pulling Spike's cock free. It's red and angry, weeping at the tip. Will bets there's a wet spot in Spike's boxers and his own dick jerks. He presses the heel of his hand against his crotch to ease the pressure.

He slowly rubs his thumb against the crown of Spike's cock, gathering the fluid there and spreading it around. Will groans and sags, knees struggling to hold him up. If it weren't for the cock ring, this would have all been over already. Will pushes up, and together they manage to get him seated on the edge, cock waving in the breeze.

Will decides he's been evil enough and swallows Spike down to the root, a trick he perfected years ago. Something garbled and indecipherable slips from Spike's lips, and Will swallows. Spike's entire body tenses, knuckles white where he's gripping the side of the sink, and his mouth is open wide, but there's no sound coming out.

It's ridiculously hot.

Will fondles Spike's balls, rolls them between his fingers the way he knows will drive Spike wild. He sucks, hollowing his cheeks, enjoying every truncated gasp and stifled moan. It's heady, watching Spike try and keep the noise down while Will's sucking his brains out by way of his dick. Which makes Will suck harder.

Spike thrusts up shallowly, hips totally out of his control. Will moans, knowing he's driven Spike so far out of his mind he can't stop himself, and the vibrations snake up Spike's nerve endings and send shocks of pleasure through him. Spike has to bite down on his knuckles to keep from yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Will,” Spike gasps, arching into Will's evil, wonderful mouth. “Fughhh WILL!” There's desperation and panic in Spike's voice, because if he doesn't come in three seconds heads are going to roll and--

Will pulls back enough to slide the cock ring off, and Spike sees stars. The world's mottled and gray and Spike's in heaven. His body twitches and jerks happily, muscles going lax and boneless. He slides down off the sink, guided by steady hands.

When his eyes start to cooperate, Will's cleaning himself up. There's a small smear of come at the corner of his mouth. Spike has to close his eyes and remember how to breathe when Will's tongue darts out and licks it away. He can't get hard again. Not this fast.

“You alright?” Will's voice is low and gravelly, strained around the edges. It's unbelievably hot.

“Iahmarugh.” Spike pauses, blinks, and tries to figure out what just came out of his mouth. Will stares at him for a second, then starts laughing—side splitting gales that make his eyes water. Soon, Spike's joining him, his grin made goofier by the leftover endorphins and general goodwill. He bets Meira won't even annoy him right now.

“Guys? Are you alright? How's Spike feeling?” He was wrong.

“Spike's...better. Had to get somethin' out of his system,” Will says, voice laden with innuendo. Spike smirks and rubs his thigh against Will's still very noticeable erection.

“How about we get something out of your system at home?”





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