Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas

Katrina Jones stared in wonder at the sleeping child in her arms. Her women colleagues and associates had spoken about miracles and of the joy, but she'd never joined in their conversation. She had never wanted children, always had a clear objective in her life: career, marriage, career. It was what she wanted, what she had and what she believed was her life. Her husband (carefully chosen, of course) didn't mind, although she had occasionally heard him sigh as another of his friends extolled the virtues of Fatherhood.

Then, four months ago everything changed. She had visited her doctor complaining of feeling bloated and listless, of not being able to shift the extra 15lbs she'd put on recently. She thought she was dreaming when told she was five months pregnant! She couldn't be! She'd have known, for god's sake and Jesus, she was forty-seven years old!

However, after two days of tears and tantrums, a strange transformation took place. It was as if the child in her womb willed her to accept the changes that would shake her well ordered life and she threw herself into the prospect of Motherhood as intensely as she had pursued her career.

Jane Torrence was bursting with pride. Her perfect son lay sleeping at her breast, having fed greedily. She removed her nipple from his tiny mouth and smiled. He woke up, frowned at the world, and seemed to recognize her, giggles, then frantically searches for her breast. He'd guzzle noisily and then, as if a switch had been pulled, drop off to sleep.

She stroked his shock of blond hair ('almost white' one of the nurses had remarked 'and so much of it!') and thanked whatever powers there were in the world for giving her this precious and longed for child.

As far back as she could remember, Jane had wanted lots of children, coming from a large family herself, but the heartbreaking miscarriages and two stillbirths had resigned her to a childless life. They had tried everything, spent a fortune, but nothing had worked.

Then one morning, as she lay in bed on a lazy Sunday with the sunlight coming through the window, she suddenly knew she was pregnant. She woke her sleeping husband, made the announcement and wept.

She glanced over at the other woman who lay in the bed next to her and smiled. Kissing her son, she whispered, "I love you, my darling boy" before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

Katrina Jones awoke to the sound of a female voice, singing softy. She vaguely recalled the tune - an old English tragi-ballad about the misfortune of a young maiden thwarted in love. She turned her head and saw a flaxen haired woman nursing her child in the bed next to hers that had been empty when she had fallen asleep.

And he was, looking confused and a little afraid; Katrina's son peered up at her. She stroked his cheek and calmed him before baring her breast. Tentatively, the infant took the offered nipple and began to feed.

"I never wanted children," Katrina found herself saying, "they weren't on my agenda, not part of my life plan." She didn't know why she felt the need to open up to this woman, to explain what had not been asked in the first place, but carried on. "When I found out I was pregnant, I wanted a termination, but I was too far gone." She turned to the other woman and saw no judgment in her eyes, "I thank god for that now, because I can't imagine not having this gorgeous, helpless creature."

Her noisy son was indeed slurping greedily and holding tightly to her pinkie as if to prevent her from leaving. Slowly, she sat up and moved her legs over the side of the bed.

"Well, when I saw his cherubic face, the only thought that came to me was 'here you are, my sweet cherub, my own little Angel,' and I knew I wanted to call him Angel. Oh, I've had it all from my husband, from his Mother and his hag of a sister, but I've told them, that's his name and wanted to say 'and he's beautiful, unlike your ugly children!' but I kept well buttoned."

"William." Jane answered and paused. Katrina thought she saw tears in the sky blue eyes. "It was my Father's name - he died two months ago and I so wanted him to see his only grandson. My brothers and sisters have all got girls. He would have been so proud of you my beautiful William…Will. My Mother used to call Dad 'Will' and you know, in fifty-seven years of marriage, they were never apart except for when Mum went into hospital to have us, and even then, Dad would sleep on the sofa because he couldn't bear to sleep in the bed without her. Silly, isn't it?"

"This morning, at five past twelve. He was early, about two weeks. My waters broke four hours before I got here and within ten minutes of getting into a bed, he was out - screaming his arrival. He carried on something chronic until they put him in my arms and I swear he looked at me, smiled and grabbed my finger. He hasn't let go yet, have you spiky one?"

"That's what the Cuban nurses call him. When they took him away to clean him up, he kicked and bawled until he was back in my arms again. If he knows there are strangers near him, he lets out an almighty scream and when the nurses have tried to hold him, he kicks and flaps about. 'That's one spiky baby you got there' one of them said and the name's stuck. Whenever the nurses come to check on us, they always say 'How's Spiky?' I think the name sums him up. I quite like it."

Katrina laughed at the story. "He's two weeks late. If he hadn't arrived this morning, they were going to induce me or consider a caesarean, but eventually he decided to come into the world. Unlike yours, he didn't make a sound, just looked scared and confused - even in my arms. Oh, I've just realized - Angel was born at exactly the same time as your Will!"

The Mothers held their precious sons and faced them towards each other. Each regarded the other, the one with suspicion, the other with a frown and then both reached out with tiny hands. Jane and Katrina were surprised and pleased, as their babies clasped chubby fingers tightly and gurgled their delight at seeing the other. They lay their infants down side-by-side and watched as they clumsily explored each other with their hands, eyes never leaving the eyes of the other.

"I told you they were blood brothers, there must be something special that they were born at the exact time - my Will two weeks early and your Angel two weeks late."

The two women gazed lovingly at their sons, tears in their eyes at the gift given this late in their lives. Unashamedly, each sought the hand of the other and held tight.

The 'elderly' status of both women necessitated their being kept in for observation for a further seven days. In that time a real bond developed, not only theirs, but between their babies. Angel's fearful eyes would light up whenever William was placed near him and William would stop yelling and frowning. The pair would hold tiny fingers, gaze at the other and gurgle happily until they fell asleep. Friends and relatives would say this was fanciful thinking as babies that young don't recognize anything or anyone, but both women knew their sons.

When the time came to leave, both women promised to keep in touch, but busy lives kept them apart; weekly telephone calls became the odd e-mail, meetings hastily arranged and rushed or cancelled. Neither saw the effect separation had on their infants. Angel became more subdued, fretted over nothing, hardly responded to anyone - withdrew further into himself. William vented his frustration and anger at anyone he didn't know or care for, yelled for all he was worth and kicked out with abandon.

After fourteen months, Jane and her family returned to England and contact dwindled to a birthday card with Christmas greetings and news of each child. They remembered fondly the time together in hospital, but life for each woman moved on.

Angel Jones was seriously pissed off! Not because he was working on Christmas Day, he had done for the last three years, but because no one had remembered his birthday. So what if he'd never told anyone Christmas and his birthday fell on the same date, but for fuck's sake someone from HR ought to have slipped the word. Slumping his large frame into the chair in front of his workstation, he began pounding the keyboard as he wrote up yesterday's report.

He was just about to tell her to fuck off when he noticed the teasing look and smiled in spite of the crap mood he was in. He'd gone out with Gina a year ago, right after she was transferred from New Jersey. The guys envied him, as she was what they called 'a looker'. And yes, it was cool to be thought of as the guy who nailed the hot blonde, and acknowledged the winks and nudges and cries of 'go-guy' in the locker room.

However, after three weeks he'd known what he'd known at college - women didn't do it for him. He remembered the night after a concert in Boston, in the car with Gina…she was ready, he thought he was ready - they'd kissed and worked up to it, but then he'd stopped. She'd asked him what was wrong and didn't he want to go any further and he'd sat back and said, 'Y'know, Gina, I don't believe I do.'

He told her how he felt and she'd been upset and cried, but true to form, made a joke of the situation. "Shoulda known," she'd said, "any guy with a diva collection consisting of Lena Horne, Shirley Bassey and Liza Minnelli couldn't be straight. And the hair's a dead giveaway."

They'd both laughed and Gina became the only person Angel called a friend on the police force. In fact, she was his only friend as he didn't make friends easily, distrusted most people and was what some considered 'socially inept at parties'.

But he was damn good at his job. All he ever wanted was to be a cop. To help the hopeless-slash-helpless or something like that. The 6th Precinct, with its large gay population, suited him perfectly and seemed to fit his idea of helping the 'hopeless-slash-helpless' although he never moved about in that community, or indeed any community.

The big, brooding guy was looked on as 'too dedicated for women' before Gina arrived and then he'd surprised them all by coming out, hoping the new relaxed atmosphere would ease his transition. Some were fine, some absolute assholes, so he just got on with the job, picking up a few commendations along the way.

'Being a policeman is a way of life for Angel and he seems satisfied other aspects of his life have not developed fully as a result of his exhaustive application to police work. Whilst this does not affect his ability to carry out his duties, there are concerns regarding the 'missing' aspects of his personality which we are unable to analyze.' was how one assessment described him.

There was something missing. The loner who colleagues said was 'self contained and self centered' longed for someone - some man - to share his life. A niggling thought at the back of his subconscious told him he'd had it, but somehow lost it. This didn't make sense to a pragmatist like him, but the thought never left.

Angel was tall, dark and handsome, a cliché, but true. However, he was still technically a virgin, with men anyway. He'd never got involved with the gay community he served, never been inside a gay club (first through fear of losing his job, despite legislation and then because he didn't know anyone socially who was gay.) Hell, he hardly knew anyone outside the force! His sex life consisted of jerk off magazines and his right hand.

"Head up, Jones, your new boy's in Blake's office! Looks like trouble if what I've heard is right. Got your work cut out for you if you're gonna make something outta this one. Report card's got plenty of black marks against it."

Great, another sorry assed transfer on his last legs! The bad boys always came to him to see if he could bring them up to scratch as he had a good success rate with new recruits in general. Fuck it, that's all he needed, and on his birthday too!

He glanced over at Blake's office and through the glass could see the slim shape of the newbie from behind. He was standing looking out the window, hips slung casually to one side in a manner that annoyed or…he wasn't sure…and the hair seemed unnaturally yellow in the afternoon sun. The uniform hugged a little too snugly - broad shoulders down to narrow hips and the buns…come on, come on, snap out of it man! Better get this over with, he thought, as he headed towards the office.

William Torrence was excited. New York City, huh? Not the fact he was in a big city - he’d just been transferred from L.A. after two years and lived most of his life in London, but he was actually born here. He liked Mae West's throwaway line when she first arrived in Hollywood and applied it to his situation; 'I ain't a little boy from a little town trying to make it big; I'm a big boy from a big town and I'm already big!'

His Mum and Dad were living here when he was born and they'd stayed for about eighteen months. He'd never been back and hadn't really thought about it until now. Maybe he'd look up that lady his Mum had said was 'a perfect poppet when I was in hospital with you. Did you know her son was born at the exact same time as you? Oh, you and her baby were like brothers.'

'Well, she's me Mum. The only one I've got' he'd always shoot back, whilst mentally decapitating the whore. But it was true. She was always there for him, loved him in spite of the trouble and heartbreak he'd given her over the years, like when he was little and the police had brought him home having caught him breaking into his junior school and smashing the place up. After enduring whatever punishment his Dad had thought relevant, he'd asked her, 'Do you still love me, Mum?' and she'd replied without pause 'Always, my sweet William, always'.

However, he'd continued to be a worry to her. He'd been sent down at Oxford for foul mouthing the Dons, fighting and for just being a bloody nuisance. 'He's got such a keen, intelligent mind' they'd say, 'why does he insist on using it in the most destructive manner?' they wailed.

He'd worked in the city, earned loads of money, had a flat in Docklands, shagged plenty of gorgeous women and gorgeous men who wanted a rough rogering, but there was always something missing.

'Some ONE' his Mum would always correct. 'You need some ONE, Will. We all do. I’ve been lucky. I’ve never wanted anyone else other than your Father - except you, of course. Everything becomes clearer, life becomes easier if you can just find the some ONE who completes you, shares your soul.'

'Yeah, yeah, Mum' he'd always say. 'When I was young, I though that person was you' he dared himself to think. God, some serious Oedipus issues in that statement, only he didn't hate his Dad, loved him even, but he did want someone like his Mum. Not someone who looked like her, but someone with her strength of mind, her dry humour and someone who could love even his bad boy ways.

The good-looking blond had got plenty of sex on his travels, but no love. Maybe it wasn't for him. He eventually found himself in L.A., did some bar work, a bit of dubious modeling to bring money in - thought about acting, even got some walk on parts, one with two sentences of dialogue (a pilot movie for a re-make of some vampire series made in the nineties), and developed a 'mockney' accent along the way. Eventually he'd seen an L.A.P.D. advertisement, seeking gay police personnel to work with L.A.'s large gay population, covering Chinatown, Little Tokyo and parts of central city, and he'd thought why not, poncing about in a uniform and beating up bad guys.

He passed the interview and assessment, always knowing how to fool the psyche test and flew through the physical, just refraining from stating 'best cock and arse this side of the Atlantic' when filling in the form asking what he considered were his best features.

It was just the actual procedures he couldn't get a grip on. He was there to beat up the scum, wasn't he? If there was a cancer, he was paid to cut it out, wasn’t' he? If he caught a pimp slapping his tart, he'd slap him around, wouldn't he? If there was a pusher, he'd kick his arse, shouldn't he? If there was a murderer, he'd rip out his throat, couldn't he? (He liked the ripping out the throat bit.)

Not in this city, mate! So he was in constant trouble, forever on probation, eternally on a warning - even suspended for three months. They'd say he was a good cop, got the commendations to prove it, closed plenty of cases, done good work in the gay community - why did he feel the need to ruin his career by using foul language and his fists at every opportunity? Why hadn't he bonded with any colleagues? Some of his partners had said they respected him, but didn't like him. Couldn't he try being a little nicer? (Ha ha ha!)

So, here he was. N.Y.P.D., West Greenwich Village. Apparently, there's this lard arse smart cunt that takes on hopeless cases like him and makes them into something. He'd accepted because the alternative was a release from the force, pay off and any pension entitlements to be negotiated.

At the sound of the door opening, the blond spun around to see a giant of a man enter the office. 'Fuck me, (literally) he's big!' William thought. Brown haired, a little too carefully styled, nice eyes, nice nose, sort of a Neanderthal brow, kissable lips - shaggable, completely shaggable, although probably an uptight, straight areshole who's role in life is to save lost souls, even bad queer boys like him.

"William Torrence?" Angel asked, even though he knew it would be and was surprised at his reaction when the blond guy turned around. Christ, the man's beautiful, a sculptured face housing perfect features, cheekbones to die for, amazing blue eyes and that mouth! The lips seemed to sneer and need slapping…or kissing…and he'd be just the man to do both. Stop it! Stop it! Get a grip of yourself, Jones, the guy's probably an uptight, straight asshole, just waiting to put a complaint in on the queer who touched him up. But the beauty of the man was breathtaking and he was aware he was staring and was he actually drooling? No, of course not, but he wiped his mouth just in case and of the need to be doing something as his voice and reasoning had long gone.

"Going to tell me you're Angel Jones?" William answered for the tongue-tied cop. "Unless, of course, you're going to tell me you're Joan Crawford in a halter neck and sling backs."

"Angel Jones." The real Angel Jones (and not Joan Crawford in a halter neck - and what the hell were slingbacks?) managed to say and the pair shook hands. The grip of both men was a little too firm as they staged a show of police manliness and power base setting.

Angel sighed, this wasn't going to be easy and this William Torrence was looking at him with one raised, scarred eyebrow in a way that unnerved him, could see through him, could feel his attraction.

"Look, mate, let's start again. I'm here because I've been a bad boy. They all say I'm a good cop, just that I can be a wanker sometimes and you've got the ability to turn wankers into winners."

"Don't need one, mate. I was born here. Right here, as a matter of fact, in New York, the city that never sleeps, the place that's so good they had to name it twice. New York, New York."

"Mum and Dad were living here when I was born and we stayed for nearly two years before returning to England. The firm Dad worked for offered him a partnership and they went through all the procedures of citizenship or whatever bollocks, to stay here indefinitely, but then Mum got homesick and wanted to go back, plus my Nan was getting on a bit."

William sat down without being asked and spread his legs wide - cocky bad boy queer he called it - and waited for the big ponce's reaction. He was surprised and pleased when there was none, instead, the big bloke pulled up a chair opposite him and sat down, gracefully, William thought, for such a hulking great bruiser.

'Don't you play your psyche games on me, William, gorgeous blond, Torrence', Angel thought. These bad boys always came on strong, launched into an immediate power struggle, wanted an 'I told you you'd be no different' label to attach. Well, it wasn't going to work.

The blond cocked his head to one side and said, "Now, I don't know where the comma was in that sentence, but if it was after 'work' then you just asked me a question and called me 'gorgeous'."

Aware he had just acted like a ten-year-old asshole, Angel decided to quickly move on. However this, this…annoyingly beautifully man was completely flummoxing him, running rings around him. He needed to get a grip, control the situation except, what had his Mom always told him? 'Angel, darling, don't be such a control freak. Let the mood and the situation flow. It took me a long time to realize this, but when I did, it all made sense,' she had said on more than one occasion, adding 'You've only ever connected with one other person in your entire life (she never knew about Gina) and that was when you were a baby. You and this sweet William really bonded. Maybe we should try and find him - I might still have his dear Mother's address. He could be the one to sort you out. And, Angel dear, you do need sorting out.'

Come on, come on, just let it flow, keep it together, don't box it up. But this guy was getting under his skin - the way he was sitting, that accent, the way he looks…

The blond newbie was enjoying himself. The big ape was thrown. Look at him, all uncertain and confused. However, the moment didn't spark him like other times when he'd been brought before the Chief and another psyche. Somehow seeing the handsome face in front of him frown and the shoulders hunch didn't give him the perverse satisfaction of knowing he was circling his prey like a shark. He felt bad. This bloke was trying to be pleasantly efficient, friendly even, and here he was pulling out all the mind fucks he knew.

The big ponce looked slightly pathetic and needy, odd in so big a man and he wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right. Yeah, then fuck him up the walls, over the desk, the chair…and then get him to do the same back. He liked him, this Angel Jones. Liked the poncy name on the big bastard. Angel. Angel…where had he heard that before? He couldn't remember and couldn't be bothered to remember, not when this Angel was here and now needing to be roughed up, patched up and fucked right up!

"Uh, sorry mate, didn't mean to make you jump." William said softy. "Look, I'm all wound up and probably acting like a cunt. I know you've got a job to do and I ain't making it easy, but for what it's worth, I'm a bit nervous. I know this is my last chance and I wanna do good, because I do wanna be a cop, so I'll behave. Maybe I just need a firm hand."

'I'll give you a firm hand,' Angel thought, 'right across those cheeky buns of yours' making a mental note to keep what he was thinking and what he was saying very separate.

"Ok, uh…yeah, let's keep on track." Angel managed to say, although all he could think about was the touch of the blonde's hand on his, like a zap of electricity. And when he looked up into those cool blue eyes, he was lost. This was the one he was looking for, the one his Mom had said would ‘sort him out!’ He didn't know how he knew or even why, but something was telling him this is the one and he had no idea what to do about it. He was no good at picking guys up, had never done it and didn't know where to start. Fuck, he didn't even know if this William Torrence felt remotely the same.

"…and after I nutted the cunt for calling me that, I was partnered with this real hard case. Hated queers and was on a warning too. They thought putting a gay cop with him would cure his homophobia, but the fucking git just got worse and I ended up kicking him in the nads and smashing his head against the wall a hundred times."

"Bum boy number one, mate, queer as tits on a nun. Y'know the force yaks on about needing more representation from other groups, but it don't mean much. I've had more aggro from colleagues than loonies out on the street. Only I ain't no tame queer, I fight back. Does it say that in your report there?"

William looked slightly sheepish, "Sorry, mate, Mum always called me that, usually when a teacher had rung to tell her I'd been up to no good or just to let me know she loved me. Her nickname for me is 'Spike' because when I was a baby the nurses said I was a spiky baby, always kicking and screaming whenever I saw strange people or just for the hell of it."

"Spike." Angel whispered. 'Spike…' it was as if he'd heard the name before, but couldn't remember where or when or how, but it fit William so well. "Spike…I like that. Do you mind if I call you that? I mean, only in private, like now and when we're alone."

The two men found themselves smiling and relaxing in each other's company. Angel felt young and carefree and William felt unthreatened and easy. Together they filled in all the obligatory forms, mapped out a retraining schedule, told each other what they both expected and where they wanted to be in three months, six months, a year from now.

"Well, William…Spike, that’s everything. You'll start tomorrow at 08:30 sharp. I'll take you 'round, introduce you to everyone, assign you a workstation next to mine and that's basically it. I want this to work. I know you can be a good cop, everything tells me you already are, you just need to keep your trap shut sometimes and your fists to yourself."

"Then they'll have this queer knocking the shit outta them!" Angel said protectively and meant it. He did feel protective, although the cocky little brat didn't need protecting, but he was going to bat for this guy, do anything to see him through and keep him safe. He needed the blond to need him, wanted Spike to recognize that he, yeah the big ape, needed him too - probably more so.

The blond cop threw his head back and laughed, loud and long, causing personnel in the outer office to raise their heads and stare at the two handsome men sharing a joke.

Angel just shrugged. "I can see you're the kind of guy who's had everything easy, never been unsure, always got what they wanted, never had to try too hard, always had their own way."

William had to look up and found he liked it…liked this gorilla taking him on. He'd like to punch the cunt in the gut, apologize, and shag the living daylights outta him. Then he realized…this is the some ONE his Mum had been going on about. This is the some ONE who'd make everything all right and complete him. He smiled and had to keep from standing on tiptoe and kissing those kissable lips.

Angel looked down at the too beautiful face and saw again the flash of vulnerability and knew he liked it. And he knew what he'd realized before. He wanted to grab the Englishman, pick him up, spin him around and scream for anyone to hear 'You're the one, Spike. You're just the one I've been waiting for!' He wanted to smash his mouth against those luscious lips and, romance be damned, fuck him hard! He smiled and had to keep from leaning down and kissing those kissable lips.

Angel caught up with William and gestured toward the locker room. He really thought Spike was going to expose himself there and then and, whilst he wouldn't mind seeing what was underneath the noticeable bulge, he wasn't quite ready for whatever might happen afterwards, especially as they were still in the building. However, the thought stirred his own cock in his pants.

"I ain't forgotten and I don't plan on waiting 'till we get to the bedroom, either. You wangled the day off, me dar, but I had to complete those reports on the buggery Tandridge case and the bollocky harassment complaint. Took me all pissing morning and all I could think about was you at home cunting around doing nothing."

"And you're gonna get it worse before the night's through, mate. Told ya - been sporting a rock hard stiffy all day at the thought of you here waiting for me, all homey and wifey, polished and perfumed, greased and spread-eagled over the ironing board."

Spike forced his tongue into the receptive mouth which sucked the fleshy organ hungrily and began unbuttoning Angel's silk shirt. Each man groaned, reminding them of the growl or purr of a big cat - both men had laughed the first time they heard the other make the sound. Planting kisses as he moved downward, the blond licked the nipples into hard peaks, biting each in turn. He got down on his knees and pressed his face into the bulging crotch, nudging the throbbing organ hidden beneath the cloth then unbuckled the leather belt and pulled the zipper down.

The hard cock sprung up in front of Spike's face and he leant forward to kiss the uncircumcised head, sucking the silky foreskin into his mouth and forcing his tongue into the loose folds. Hearing the appreciative moans from the big man above, the blond slowly withdrew the skin back over the swollen head and took it into his moist mouth, tonguing the tiny piss slit. He began a steady motion, one hand moving the foreskin back and forth and the other playing with the furry balls, two fingers massaging, then entering the tight anus.

Angel began moving his hips, watching his big cock slide in and out of his lover's mouth. He loved watching Spike down on his knees sucking him, he made a real sexy picture and wanted to enjoy the sight for longer, but felt the build up of his orgasm nearing. With several more strokes, the turgid organ filled the willing mouth with hot spunk. Spike swallowed the acrid juice, some dribbling from the corner of his mouth then stood up and kissed his lover. Angel tasted his own cum in the kiss.

The big man almost carried his smaller lover onto the sofa, quickly removing shirt, pants and jockeys whilst his were removed in return. He smashed his mouth against willing lips and massaged the thick cock throbbing in his hands. He kissed down the sinewy, taut body, licking salty flesh and took the hard dick into his mouth. He loved Spike's cock, not as long as his, but much thicker, and his foreskin was like silk. He bit and chewed on the loose skin, knowing his lover liked a lot of foreskin work, then bunched the flesh between his finger and thumb to probe with his tongue.

Spike thrust his hips upward and forced the brown haired head downward, then sat up and shoved Angel backward, falling heavily on top of the supine body and smothering him with urgent kisses.

The big man on his back watched his lover raise himself to his knees, take his cock in his hand, spit on it and rub the saliva around the fat head, mixing it with pre-cum. His legs were grabbed and placed around slim hips and he felt the hard organ poke around the entrance to his asshole. Spike wasn't in the mood for gentleness and guiding his cock with one hand, began forcing it up Angel's ass until he was in up to his pubes.

Angel let out a heavy gasp of air and moved his buttocks to accommodate the large organ inside him until he was comfortable. He looked at the sexy guy fucking him and saw the blond was watching himself fuck. He knew Spike got off on seeing himself fuck or himself getting fucked. The dirty bad boy had even come home one day with a mirror from a sex shop especially designed for perverts who liked to watch home screws. Dirty bad boy! His blond, dirty bad boy! Angel himself liked to watch his lover pound his ass, liked the play of muscles on the lean body, loved the look of total concentration on the handsome face as he fucked. He took his own cock in his hand and began masturbating in time to the thrusts, his other hand running over the now sweaty torso fucking him.

Spike was hot. He enjoyed seeing his big gorilla of a boyfriend on his back, looking slightly vulnerable, legs in the air, cock up his arse. He also knew the fucking great poof liked a rough buggering. He marveled at the sight of his fat prick moving in and out of the tiny hole, glistening with their juices. He watched as he'd withdraw his prick almost out, leaving just the tip inside and then shove it all the way back in. He loved the way Angel's arse walls gripped his dick, forcing his skin back and forward over his knob head and he loved a bloody good shag. And this was a bloody fucking good shag! He speeded up the thrusts and raised his head to kiss the waiting mouth.

Soon, Spike could hold off no longer - grunting and throwing his head back, he thrust one last time deep within his lover’s guts, spewing his hot spunk. Angel quickened his own strokes and seconds after, let loose three, four, five spurts of white sperm over his chest, neck and face, some drops hitting his mouth which he licked up and swallowed.

"I still can't believe you're that 'little Angel' me Mum's always harped on about, but I'm glad she made me look your Mum up. Who'd a guessed her son would turn out to be you, ya big poof!"

"Do you think there's anything in what my Mum says? You know, all this 'born at the same minute, same hour, same day', 'it's meant to be' buggery bollocks. That whatever we were in a previous life, we're getting what we deserve now."