“Scents and Sensation”

Spike was never sure just exactly when the smells of bookbinding, tea and gunpowder became an aphrodisiac. It could have been the afternoon that he came upon Wes... only half dressed after his shower, paused at his desk. Something had captured his attention, as it often did, as he crossed the apartment to get a shirt from the laundry room. There he was.. frozen in the moment…no shirt… jeans half undone…his still damp hair ruffled from running his fingers through it…and the ever present ink pen and yellow legal pad. He was silhouetted against the window as the last of the day’s light filtered in, his shadowed face bent over the page as he stood.

It was a common site, but yet uncommon in the feeling that it would always be new… would always grab Spike somewhere, deep inside… somehow making him feel as if everything went topsy-turvy for just a moment… and then set itself to rights.

Wes, lean and wiry, the muscles playing just under his skin, as if barely held in check by that thin membrane. Muscles that could, in turn, break down and clean a pistol, plant a row of delicate seedlings, sever the neck of a demon, or drive Spike to a point beyond reason, beyond coherence, into a place where all that existed was touch and desire and longing for release of the most blessed kind.

Spike watched as Wes paused in his work, still unaware of Spike’s presence, and turned his book more toward the fading sunlight. He raised his hand, tapping the knuckle of his thumb against his lips, as he considered whatever he was reading…. And then froze.

“I can feel you watching me, you know…” the voice was amused.

“Wasn’t exactly hiding, was I?” Spike answered him back. ““What’s got you so involved?”

“This passage, it tells about the Oni and their job in the underworld, “ Wes clicked on the desk lamp, the momentary flare highlighting the few drops of water that still lingered on his chest and back. Spike watched them as Wes spoke, the gentle vibrations of his voice causing them to gather, shift and roll down his body. They would be sweet, he knew, gathering the essence that was Wes as they journeyed down to the waistband of his jeans - some pooling, some melting into the fabric and leaving a slightly darkened place where it fit against lightly tanned skin. Spike suddenly envied those tiny droplets, tasting his lover as they passed.

“…and then the Oni cut open the Teddy Bears and suck all their stuffing out…” Wes’ voice faded back into Spike’s consciousness. “Really, Spike, if you’re not interested, why do you bother to ask?” The sound of his voice wavered between fond amusement and annoyance.

“Like ta hear you talk. Doesn’t really matter what it’s about,” Spike admitted. He always listened when it was important…when Wes needed him to.

“Well, shall I continue then…just for your aural amusement?” Wes was smirking now, watching Spike with sparkling eyes.

“No. Got better things for your mouth ta do…” Spike rumbled, one finger reaching out to capture one of those few remaining drops of water that had not yet followed their brethren on their southerly march.

Spike lifted the droplet to his lips, slowly and deliberately licking it from his finger.

Wes watched in fascination, wondering suddenly, if this is what the fakir saw when he charmed the cobra.

“Well, then…” Wes cleared his throat, “I suppose my book is about to become quite redundant?”

“Quite.” Spike agreed, stepping closer to Wes.

Yes, bookbinding and tea, gunpowder and ink… who would have known that there would come a day that William the Bloody would give anything he had, just to drown in those scents… but only as, when, if, because, they were attached to Wes.