Somewhere in the back of Spike's mind floated a comment about how speaking so many demon languages obviously gave Wesley's tongue extra flexibility, but he was too focused on enjoying its movements to give it voice. The sensations of Wesley's warm hands, mouth, and breath around him rushed through him like a flood. He could feel his body tensing and focusing, readying itself for the sort of joyous release he had never experienced in this new combination of demon and soul. He craved it, could nearly taste it in the back of his throat and feel it in the base of his spine, but he wanted Wesley even more.

Moving faster than Wesley could probably see, Spike hauled him upward, pushed him onto his back, slid over him, and claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss. When he moved away to let Wesley breathe, Spike pulled back far enough to wrap his hand around Wesley's erection. "Want me, Wes?" he asked, stroking him firmly and dipping his head to lick over a pebbled nipple.