Wesley wasn’t sure why he had driven to Sunnydale. Well, ostensibly it had been to do some research in Rupert’s books. Really, he could have just asked a few questions over the phone and Rupert would have been glad for the excuse to play with his books.
So why had he really come? A break from the others, he supposed. He’d been feeling restless. A deep restlessness, like a bad itch that needed to be scratched. So he was driving in the less savory parts of Sunnydale, towards a club he’d found when he’d been in residence before. His clothes didn’t fit there, but for what he wanted, not fitting in would work. He cruised the streets around there slowly. They’d be looking for a car like his. Rent boys. Young pretty men who’d come with him and do whatever he wanted for the right price. He could have done this in Los Angeles, he supposed, but Angel would have smelled it on him the next day. Here he had the luxury of overnight in a hotel and as many showers as it took to make him clean again.
He saw him as he turned the corner. Like a predator among all this young prey. Defiant, and more beautiful than any of them. Blonde hair, obviously bleached from the appearance of black roots. Cheekbones high and sharp. A leather coat that swept down past his knees. A tight black T-shirt and blue jeans worn and faded that clung to every curve. As Wesley slowed still more, the man smirked and looked directly at Wesley, as if he could see him clearly in the dim light.
Wesley pulled up to the curb, and the young blonde stepped over, leaning in the open window. His accent was North London, coarse and lower class. “Fancy some company?” He smelled strongly of cheap cigarettes and whiskey.
“Yes,” Wesley said, his voice more certain than it usually was. “Get in.”
The blonde opened the door and slid into the seat, pulling the door shut. His movements were smooth and graceful. Now closer, Wesley was struck by a few things. First, the young man had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. And second, he was much thinner up close. The coat hid the hungry thinness of him from a distance.
“You pitch or catch, luv?” The blonde asked.
Wesley laughed. “Haven’t heard those terms in a while.” It broke the tension. “I do both. But I’m wanting someone to bottom. And I like a little bondage. I can be rough. You do that?” This was the ticklish part of the negotiation, always was. Some boys wouldn’t do certain things, no matter how much you paid. Wesley had found it better to be up front with it.
The blonde quirked his lips. “Yeah, I do that. Long as the money is right.” There was a curious mix of confidence, weariness, and wariness in his tone.
The hard part was over. They discussed prices and limits on the way back to his hotel. It surprised Wesley, later that night, to figure out that his rentboy was a vampire. Not that it stopped him from enjoying himself. In fact, it helped. He knew the damage he did wouldn’t take his bedpartner more that a day to heal. And he was certainly worth the money, every penny.
Afterwards, in the gray hours before dawn, Wesley was driving him back to where he’d found him. He handed him the money, and the blonde got out. He leaned over, smiling at Wesley. “Tell Angel hello for me,” he said. “By the way, my name is Spike. You never asked.” He turned and walked away down an alley.
Wesley sat in the car for a long time before driving back to the hotel. He decided two things. One, that he had no intention of passing along the message. And two, that he intended to make it to Sunnydale a lot more often.