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Title: Library Fees
Author: WesleysGirl
Pairing: Ethan/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A story with a book and smut.

It's a very old library. The building, itself, is ancient, and some of the books older than that. That's why Ethan's there, of course -- he's looking for a book so old that he doesn't expect to find it at all, so, when he does find it on the shelf, albeit tucked between two larger books that render it nearly invisible, he's actually rather astonished.

The book is in very good condition considering its age, and he notes that his hands are trembling as he opens it, eyes scanning the pages as he verifies that it's what he's been looking for.

He murmurs a quick spell to help cloak it from anyone else's reality as he slips it into the inside pocket of his jacket, glancing around to be sure no one's seen him. There's no reason not to think he's alone until he moves the end of the row and comes within half an inch of bumping into a slender man in a black leather duster.

"Watch it," the man says, glaring at him in a way which, strangely, seems rather bored. His accent is as British as Ethan's own.

That one, odd observation intrigues Ethan in a way that the man's short, slicked back blond hair doesn't. "You're the one skulking around," he says.

"It's a library," the man says irritably. He brings a thumb up and swipes it across the corner of his mouth. "Not supposed to be making lots of noise." He glances behind him.

"Don't let me keep you," Ethan says.

"I won't." The blond man begins to glance over his shoulder again, checks himself, and pushes past Ethan without actually touching him.

Ethan watches as the man pushes open the door to the staircase instead of taking the elevator, then, curious, goes deeper into the stacks.

He discovers the reason behind the other man's behavior a heartbeat before he realizes that the man wasn't a man at all, his gaze locked on the crumpled body of the brown haired woman slumped on the floor.

Unable to explain his reaction, Ethan moves purposefully toward the stairwell, not going faster than a walk until the door has shut behind him.

He needn't have hurried, he learns when he reaches the first floor, because the vampire is loitering just inside the fire door, smoking a cigarette beneath a sign which explicitly states this isn't permitted.

The vampire looks at him, but doesn't say anything for a few moments. "Want something?" he asks finally.

"That's rather a loaded question, isn't it?" Ethan says, smiling.

"Not really." The vampire blows smoke in Ethan's direction and drops the cigarette to the floor, crushing it out with his heel.

"I'd think that wouldn't be a good idea," Ethan says, and, when the vampire looks at him quizzically, explains, "Smoking."

"Not likely to get lung cancer," the vampire says, smirking and starting to turn away.

"No, you'd have to be alive for that," Ethan agrees.

The vampire pauses with his hand halfway to the door, and when he turns around again, his eyes are edged with gold. He steps toward Ethan slowly, until he's so close that Ethan knows he's expected to back up, until they're touching all down the line of their bodies. But Ethan doesn't move.

"I'm not the sort of man who's easily intimidated," he says.

"Or at least you're good at not showing it," the vampire says, with some admiration and rather more insight than Ethan would have given him credit for.

He leans forward a bit. "Is it my turn to ask if there's something you wanted?"

"There's always something I want," the vampire says, leaning in and licking the side of Ethan's throat. One finger traces down the front of Ethan's chest before slipping inside his jacket in a brief caress. "And I always get it."

He's gone before Ethan can say anything else, the fire door slowly closing and leaving Ethan alone in the stairwell.

It's not until five minutes later, out on the street, that Ethan realizes the book he spent so much time tracking down is gone.

* * *

After that, it's personal. Ethan doesn't waste any time chiding himself for being so easy to fool, although he does spare a few moments marveling at the vampire's ability to fool him. He hunts for the vampire with the same determination he'd exhibited while searching for the book -- because he wants to. Nothing more, nothing less. It has nothing to do with a sense of revenge.

Three days into it, he's no longer certain that he wants the book back as much as he wants to see the vampire again. He'd found out the day before that the vampire's name is Spike, and just that morning that Spike is a frequent gambler at some of the local demon haunts. He waits until night falls, then begins his rounds.

Spike is gambling at the third bar Ethan tries. Ethan waits outside for two hours -- considerably less than he'd thought he might -- before Spike comes out, slipping a small flask of liquor into his back pocket. He looks up and sees Ethan standing there, leaning against the building. "Bloody hell," he says, tilting his head from one side to the other in a gesture that very plainly says he hadn't expected to see Ethan again and isn't particularly pleased to have found himself wrong.

"Hello again," Ethan says pleasantly, straightening up. "Spike, isn't it? I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"If you're talking about that book, it belongs to the library," Spike says, standing there as if he's in no particular hurry to be anywhere. "Well, it did. And now it's mine."

"You haven't any need for it," Ethan says. He sees in Spike's eyes that he's given himself away.

Spike grins a bit. "And you do?"

Ethan tries to make his tone indifferent. "Not specifically, no. But at least I'd know what to do with it."

The vampire looks affronted. "M'not illiterate."

"I didn't think you were." Ethan puts his hands into his pockets. "I want my book back."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to be able to walk around at high noon," Spike says, turning to go. "World's full of disappointments."

Ethan lets him walk away, then begins to follow, keeping a certain amount of distance between them. He's sure that Spike knows he's there, but the vampire ignores him.

They go twelve blocks before Spike turns and opens a door that's right on the street, disappearing into a building that isn't any more appealing than the place Ethan's staying. Again, Ethan follows, pausing just inside the doorway and listening to the sound of Spike descending the narrow staircase to the basement.

"Come on, then," he hears Spike say. "Came all this way, didn't you?"

Knowing that he's asking for trouble -- and when isn't he? -- Ethan goes down the stairs. Spike is waiting one step below the landing, watching for him.

"I'm not just going to give you that book," Spike says. "But maybe we can make a deal." He turns and goes down the rest of the stairs, taking a key from his back pocket and unlocking the door that's there.

Ethan follows him inside.

The flat is makeshift, the sort of place that only someone rather desperate would find acceptable, but Ethan knows about desperation, and he suspects the vampire just doesn't care.

"And you think I have something you want?" Ethan asks, leaving the door open.

"Couple of things, probably," Spike says, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it over the back of a chair. "You know what I am."

"You may be overestimating how much I want that book," Ethan says.

Spike looks at him. "Or maybe I just figure I know what you're like."

"Why would you think that?"

A little half-hearted smirk. "One of my talents." The vampire gestures at the door. "You thinking about shutting that any time soon?"

As a question, it's clearly asking more than it seems to be at face value, but it doesn't take long for Ethan to make up his mind. He reaches back and closes the door, not breaking eye contact with Spike as he does so. "There's no point in beating around the bush," he says. "Do you want to feed from me, or fuck me?" Neither thought is one that bothers Ethan to any real degree.

Spike comes closer. "Was thinking about doing both," he purrs.

"You could either way," Ethan points out, his own voice soft and breathy. "You don't need to promise me anything in return, do you?"

"Is there some reason you think I'd honor that promise?" Spike asks, the fingers of his left hand toying with the buttons of Ethan's shirt. "Do I seem like a trustworthy sort of bloke?"

"No," Ethan says.

"You like me better because I'm not," Spike says, in another example of that uncanny insight he seems to possess. "You wouldn't find me nearly so intriguing if I were an upstanding citizen, would you."

"That wasn't a question," Ethan points out.

"No," Spike agrees. "It wasn't." He pulls Ethan in closer, so close that their mouths are nearly touching, but he doesn't kiss Ethan, just slides his other hand around to Ethan's arse and presses his hips forward, letting Ethan feel that he's hard. "Didn't need to be a question. Already know the answer."

There's a bed on the other side of the room, but apparently Spike doesn't feel any need to use it. He unzips his jeans and pushes on Ethan's shoulder, forcing Ethan to his knees, bringing him face to face with the first vampire's cock he's ever seen.

It's pale, pink-tipped, the foreskin already drawing back. In short, it looks basically just like every other partially-erect cock Ethan's ever seen, and, as he knows the risk is that the vampire will kill him quickly and not that he'll contract some slow, painful disease, he's willing -- almost eager -- to do what he knows Spike wants. He leans forward and nuzzles at the cool skin, gives a tentative lick, then closes his mouth around the tip and sucks, just once.

Spike's hand on his shoulder gives a little squeeze that says Yes, like that, not that Ethan needs further encouragement. He knows where his skills lie. He wants to take Spike in deep, swallow around that hard shaft, taste the bittersalt of his release.

Over the next five minutes, Ethan does all these and more, but when he starts to pull back, licking his lips, Spike's hand gives another squeeze. "Keep going," the vampire says.

So Ethan does this, as well, smiling inwardly as he realizes that Spike's cock is hard again already, slick and wet with his saliva.

"Good," Spike says, pulling away a minute later. "Take down your trousers."

"You incurable romantic, you," Ethan says dryly, but he undoes the button and the zipper, pushes his trousers down.

Spike is behind him, shoving Ethan forward onto his hands, fingers probing behind Ethan's balls. Spike mutters something, the fingers disappear for a brief moment and then return, coated and slippery. Ethan gasps as one slides into him, pushing back to meet it, eager for the main event now that they're so close.

He doesn't have to wait long -- feels a hand on his hip and the head of Spike's erection pressed against him.

"Relax," Spike says, then several things happen at once -- Spike's cock shoves forward into Ethan, Ethan cries out at the unexpected flare of pain that results from Spike's impatience, and Spike gives an answering shout of pain and falls to the floor beside Ethan, clutching his head and writhing.

Curiously, Ethan sits back on his heels and watches, wondering if vampires have migraines. Or aneurysms. He doesn't feel much of anything in particular other than a detached sort of interest. After a few moments, Spike groans and sits up, still with one hand pressed to his head.

"That was... interesting," Ethan says.

"Bugger off," Spike tells him, groaning again.

Ethan shrugs. "I certainly hope you don't expect me to tell you that this happens to everyone on occasion."

"No, just me." Spike rubs at his head again. "My own bloody fault. Should have been more careful."

Ethan would ask what had happened, but, as it turns out, he doesn't really care. "I hear they can do wonders for migraines these days."

"I'm a vampire," Spike says. "I don't get migraines. It's a bloody chip."

"Really?" Now, that is interesting.

"In my head," Spike explains. "Government blokes put it there. If I hurt anyone, it goes off. Like an electrical storm in my brain." He looks at Ethan.

"Well, that's unfortunate. For you." Ethan sighs. "Are we still going to fuck?" He doesn't point out that he could just take the book and leave, since apparently Spike can't stop him. He doubts that Spike would tell him where the book is, for one, and for another, he doesn't feel like looking around for it.

Spike blinks at him, so Ethan reaches out and grips the vampire's slick cock.

"It still seems perfectly serviceable to me," Ethan says, stroking experimentally. "Although I'd suggest you follow your own advice and be a bit more careful this time. I don't fancy a repeat of your little fit."

"You aren't the only one," Spike mutters, sliding closer and turning Ethan around.

This time, Spike spends much longer than Ethan would ideally like preparing him, stretching him with lube-slick fingers and then teasing Ethan with his tongue until Ethan's cock is painfully hard and wet at the tip.

"For Gods' sake, just..." Ethan says in a strained voice.

"Just what?" Spike asks.

"Fuck me," Ethan breathes.

Spike does, a long, slow push inside that doesn't hurt at all, and then they both begin to move, Ethan rocking back to meet each forward shove. They grunt and moan, two men rutting for their own pleasure, neither of them particularly concerned about the other, which is why, Ethan reflects, it's over so quickly.

After, Ethan looks down at himself ruefully, reluctant to get dressed again.

Spike gets up, still naked and utterly unselfconscious, and goes to the refrigerator. The sight of him, compact and muscled, makes Ethan's cock stir again. He takes out a beer, screws off the top, and drinks half the bottle in long swallows.

"I take it you aren't going to offer me one," Ethan says. He stands up and crosses the room to the refrigerator, which isn't even making an attempt to be part of a kitchen area, and takes out a beer of his own, ignoring the polystyrene containers on the shelf next to the six pack.

"Help yourself," Spike says, with what might be admiration at Ethan's cheek.

"Thanks ever so." Ethan twists off the cap and drinks some of the beer, which is truly awful. "Or should I say, thanks for nothing?" He makes a face.

"Don't have a lot of dosh these days," Spike says, shrugging. "No one's holding a gun to your head."

"A fact for which I'm eminently grateful." Ethan puts the bottle back into the refrigerator. "Yes, well. This was very nice. I'll just take that book now, and I'll be off."

Spike gives him a long look, then nods and goes over to a large chair -- missing one leg -- that's propped up against the wall. He tosses some random things onto the floor. "It's here somewhere..."

The last thing Ethan wants to do is stand around waiting, so he goes over and begins to dress while Spike searches the room some more, finally discovering the book under a pile of things best not spoken of or imagined.

"Here," Spike says, offering it to Ethan.

Ethan reaches out his hand and takes it, slowly, relieved to note that it seems undamaged. He flips through the pages all the same, just to make sure. "All right," he says, aware that he's fully dressed again and that Spike is... not.

But Ethan won't suggest another round. He's not that desperate.

Still, he thinks as he opens the door and starts up the stairs, it's the most interesting evening he's had in some time.

It isn't until he's on the street that it occurs to Ethan to wonder how Spike fed from the woman at the library. He tucks the book inside his pocket and thinks about going back to ask, but, in the end, he decides he's not curious enough to bother.

Now that he has his book back, he has other things to think about.