Learning To Share - Chapter 4
I haven't left his side for over
twelve hours now. Except to feed. I've kept a constant vigil alongside his deeply
unconscious, inert form. As if I could somehow assuage the guilt of my betrayal
by this close attention to his lifeless body.
You see a lot of powerful magic in my line of business. Get offered it too. Like drugs, it's best to say no. Only I didn't. That one time. I spared a life that didn't deserve sparing. I got offered powerful magic in return. For when I wanted it. When I needed it. I never planned to call that promise in. But I did. Last night.
He came here six months ago. He turned up one day with Buffy. She came to see her father; he came along for the ride. So he said. He came six months ago and stayed. At first he found a basement to live in and only came over infrequently to drink my blood supplies or earn money from the odd demon kill. Gradually he stayed longer each visit and each visit become more frequent. He rarely spoke to me and I avoided him. Out of habit. Out of dislike. Out of fear. I feared he would destroy the links of the tenuous chain I had forged over Angelus.
Things could have gone on like that forever if it hadn't have been for Cordelia. For Cordelia's party. We were invited. She only asked me on sufferance, I know. She despaired of me the last time. She only asked Spike because she feared he would crash it anyway. So we went. He was spectacular. I gave proof to the rumour that I'm dead.
I found a couch to stay out of the way. He found me and plonked himself down next to me with a large supply of alcohol.
'Great party, huh?'
'Yes. It's great. I am really enjoying myself.'
'Uh huh. So why yer hiding over here on yer own then?'
'I'm not hiding, I'm observing.' It took him a while to stop laughing, but he eventually subsided into quiet hiccups and chuckles. And it's about then that I remember it happening. He stretched his legs out in front of him and laid his head back on the couch to enjoy yet another beer. His hand fell unconsciously between us and lay just touching mine. I did nothing at first. I wanted to move my hand away, but I didn't want him to realise that I had even noticed it there. That I was bothered. I felt stupid even having the debate in my head. By the time I'd ruled out the option of pretending to move, to pick up a drink, or run my fingers through my hair, it was too late. I sensed that he, too, had become aware our hands were touching. And suddenly the moment seemed critical. Two hundred and fifty years of passion, denial, lust and loving coalesced into this touching of hands on a couch, at Cordelia's party.
And then my world turned over. He moved his little finger imperceptibly to stroke mine. And of all the options open to me, I took the one that surprised me the most. I leaned back next to him and responded. In this crowed room there was little we could do, but no actual sexual act of penetration could have been more erotic than our hands twisting, entwining and squeezing together in the dark. I turned my head to look at him to find him already studying me. His dark eyebrows were raised in questioning wonderment. I nodded slightly towards the door, he stretched a seductive grin over his face and stood up, pulling me to my feet. We didn’t even say goodbye to Cordelia. We made it to the car before we fell on each other. We couldn't spend long enough on any one act to get satisfaction. We kissed but hardly tasted before tearing away to rip clothes. Nothing came off completely before we were back to plundering each other's mouths. He had his hands on my pants, trying to release me before the very public nature of our position struck me.
'Wait Spike…come home with me. God. Spike stop.'
I don't know how I managed to drive the short distance to my apartment. He wouldn't leave me alone. He pulled my ripped shirt open and ran his cold hands over my chest. He played with the hairs along the back of my neck. His impatience was tangible. One hand kneaded my thigh in desperation.
'Can't you drive any faster, Angel?'
I glanced over at him and laughed.
'What! What's so bloody funny?'
'It's taken us nearly one hundred years to get back here. It's approximately ten minutes from Cordelia's apartment to mine. I think we can control ourselves for another ten minutes. Don't you?'
'Fuck control,' and with that he moved his hand down onto my cock and started releasing it from my pants. I hissed as I felt the restrictions gone and his cold mouth and tongue on me.
So much for control. I came in less time that it took me to negotiate one block and a set of lights. I had no control. I was like a teenager on a first date. One suck from that talented mouth and I was gone. He sat back up and had the audacity to lick his lips and smirk at me.
'Yep, good control there, pet.'
'Yeah, well, all those beautiful girls at Cordy's. Dancing. Told you I was observing.' He slapped me hard on the back on the head and laughed. He wasn't even slightly offended. He knew exactly why I'd lost control so easily.
By the time we got downstairs, we were so frenzied that we had both gone into game face without even knowing it. Kisses turned into ripping and tearing of flesh. The scent of blood permeated every sense, dulling me to all else but the feel of his body, the taste of his blood. If looking back now, from hindsight, I say I remember a slight flicker of doubt even then, at his so ready acceptance of his subservient role, it was nothing more that that. A flicker of uncertainly washed easily away by another bite, another lick, another plunging into his willing, sensational body. But by the third penetration that night the flicker had grown into a steadily burning flame of resentment. It was all me giving, him taking. Oh he'd suck me off, bring me to incredible orgasms with his hand. But he wouldn't take me. He wouldn't enter me. I started to try and explain why I wanted him to enter me. That I wanted him to get as much pleasure as I did from being in him. But before I even spoke, I knew it was a lie. It was me. I wanted the pleasure I saw in his face when I was in him. I wanted to know what it felt to be filled and used. By him. And that was something I could hardly yet admit to myself, let alone to him.
And if that was the night that the rot set in, again, I put that knowledge down to hindsight. Because at the time neither of us saw it, or had the ability to change how things worked out. We were too caught up in each other, too obsessed with our new obsessions. Each other. But the rot was there, working it's way into my attitude to him, his responses to me. It's what brought me to this act of desperation. It's what's made me stay here devotedly with the body of the one I betrayed, to gain my selfish point.