On Me - Chapter 3
I’m gonna stop thinking that life can’t get any
worse cus, every time I think that, it just does.
Does Angel really think I want the Prom Queen and the stick-in-his-ass Watcher to see me like this? The Big Bad comes to LA to kill a demon.The Big Bad with Angel’s old sweatpants falling down, his shirt hanging off, hung over and smelling of vomit, looking like some cheap rent boy in a bad porn movie. Oh yeah, that would be just peachy. I’ve had some spectacular ass kicking in my time, but that would take the fucking biscuit.
I gaze at Angel when he’s driving, when he doesn’t know I’m looking at him, trying to read his face. There’s nothing there for me, no companionship, no understanding. He doesn’t care how I feel. He’s worse than the humans I left behind in Sunnyhell. He should know; he should care. Christ, he is my Sire. He created me in his image. How much closer can you come than that?
I turn my head and stare out into the night. Welcome to LA, Spike. Sitting like a fucking kid in your own vomit with the man who was once your God, who knew every thought you had, who shared every feeling for over one hundred years. Who now thinks you want to be seen by his pet humans like this.
I can’t help it; I start to take deep breaths. I squeeze my throat shut, but still they come. Bitter hot tears cascade down my cheeks, drying quickly in the warm wind whipping past my face. When the sun rises, I think I will walk out to meet it. This night has just been too long, too much emotion. I’m just too spent to care anymore. I want to rest forever. I don’t know where we go when we turn to dust, but I don’t believe it’ll be worse than this. God, I’m so unhappy.
How could a demon who is supposed to have no soul be so emotional? He has always burned bright with his thoughts and feelings, always so close to the surface.
The crying tears at my heart, and I yearn to reach over to comfort him, but I can’t stand the thought he will reject me again. But, for once, I give in to my impulses. I reach across and cup the back of his neck in my hand and rub it lightly.
“What’s wrong, Spike?”
I gently ease my thumb up and down the short hairs on the nape of his neck. Just the feel of his neck makes me shudder with pleasure, and I so desperately want to stop the car and take him in my arms to hold him, but I don’t, and there’s no response from my touch on his neck. But he hasn’t pulled away yet either.
Oh shit, he’s stroking my neck, and I’m suddenly falling very fast into an emotion I don’t want, can’t handle right now. I need to stay strong, to hold on, but, oh God, his thumb is now stroking up and down my hairline. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve felt since… shit, I guess since the last time Angelus touched me, before that ‘I’m Angelus from your worst nightmare time.’
He’s asked me what’s wrong. What can I tell him – other than the fact I’m now incredibly horny and there’s nowhere to hide a stonkin’ erection in sweat pants. What else is wrong? Oh yeah, life sucks.
“I wanna stop, Angel.”
He draws back sharply, no fucking comfort now, mate, is there? Just those eyes glaring at me, mouth open to shout at me. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I want to stop the night somewhere before LA. I don’t want to arrive like this. Please.”
God, it must have taken such courage to say that. And what an idiot I am. My brave, strong, beautiful, evil childe being seen like this by Cordy and Wes - on top of them knowing about the chip, knowing he is neutered.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “OK, when I see somewhere, I’ll stop.”
“Thanks,” I mumble and reach for a fag. Shit, they’re in the boot, probably a bit soggy now, too. But it’s OK. We’re stopping. Angel’s not mad with me. LA is still a day away. It can wait.
I finish paying for the room and make arrangements for the car to be valeted and hand in the clothes to be cleaned tomorrow. I return to the car with the key and lead the way to the motel room. “They only had one vacancy, we were lucky to get this room.”
“Looks like you’ll be on the floor then, mate.”
And with that, Spike throws himself face down on the bed, spreads a limb to each corner and sinks into a long-needed sleep. But no way am I going to share a room with a vampire who stinks of up-chuck all night.
“Spike! Get up and take a shower. You stink.”
“Spike! Get up and clean off. You are not sleeping like that all day.”
No good, I take his arms and drag him up, pressing his back against my chest and pinning him tightly with my arms.
“You fuckin’ poofter, wanking, sodding git! LET ME GO!”
No way is he gonna get me in that shower. I struggle feebly. But Angel is stronger and bigger than me. Even when I’m in fighting mode on a full tank of juice, I can’t take him, and tonight I’m wrung out, hung over, and still too pissed to care. So, knowing when to submit, I stop struggling, and allow him to maneuver me into the bathroom.
I let go with one arm and, keeping hold of his other, I turn on the shower.
“Strip,” I order him
“D’ya know, poof, ya should really get yerself seen to there, mate. You’ve spent the entire night trying to coax me outta my pants. Gotta problem that ole Spiky can take care of for ya?” I leer in, what I hope is, a suggestive manner. I know I’m onto a safe bet here: safe ground. I’m under no illusion just how repulsive my sire finds me these days. Guess vomiting on him didn’t help my cause.
Oh yes, Spike, I do, and you could. But now I know for sure - if I didn’t before - how much Spike hates me. Just the thought of me thinking about him clearly revolts him.
“Just stop being a pillock, Spike,” I say, a little too sharply. “Get your kit off, take a shower, and go to bed. I’m going to bed now, and I don’t want to hear from you again.For anything. Do you understand me?”
“Jees? What crawled up your arse, Daddy? Sod off then, and let me take this soddin’ shower.”
He leaves, and I start to peel off his stuff. Dropping the clothes, I step gratefully under the steaming water. God, but that feels good. The pounding of the water almost matches the pounding in my head and the churning in my stomach. When did I last feed anyway? Not tonight at the Watcher’s. Don’t remember. God, I’m beginning to feel really weird here, very….
I hear a moan and, in a second, I’m at Spike’s side, and I catch him just before he hits the floor. I grab a towel and drag him back to the bed and lay him face down on the sheet. “Whatahappened?”
“Just lie still, Spike, you passed out.”
“Toldya I didn’t want t’ shower, ya tosser.”
I ignore the taunts, as usual, and start to rub him with the towel. I start with his hair, and I almost feel him push his head back into my hands a bit. But I know it’s only my imagination and, as I start moving the towel over his shoulders and back, a profound sense of sadness and loss sweeps over me. I close my eyes and, in my mind, start to create another scenario, one I know will never be in reality… Spike starts to purr quietly under my touch and arches his hips up off the bed, pushing his perfect buttocks up towards me. I abandon the towel and use my hands, and then my tongue to dry him off. As I lick each smooth, white cheek, I move closer to his entrance. Prizing open his cheeks, I dip my tongue towards his hole, swirling around and around it like a ball in a game of roulette. He is moaning now and calling my name….
Suddenly, I thrust my tongue right into him, making him arch off the bed and open himself fully to me.…
“Hey, Angel! Poof! Nancy hair-gel boy!” What IS he doing back there? He’s sitting there, staring at my naked butt, and I’m lying here very, very hard, my erection pressing painfully into the mattress, and he’s just doing nothing. Here I am, naked Spike, and he’s obviously lost in some soulboy brood, probably about the time he and the Slayer got wet, dried off, shagged, yeah, yeah, heard the story… don’t want to see the movie. How disgusted this new souled Angel must be, to be here with me like this.
“Sod off, wanker, and let me get to sleep.” With that, I pull away from him, worm my way over to the other side of the bed, pull up the covers as far as they will go, and pretend to be falling asleep. Angel gives a deep sigh and moves towards the bathroom.
I turn my head surreptitiously and watch him as he strips off his clothes. God, what a magnificent man he is; the skin on his back glows like honey: his muscles clearly defined and perfectly outlined against his huge frame. I remember every inch of that body. Well, I would, I was made for the one purpose of loving and worshipping that body. For eternity. I was trained by the man himself to pleasure him. For eternity. And, oh Christ, as he turns under the water, I can see his arousal jutting painfully from his body. Obviously the result of his earlier brooding about Slutty.
He steps out of the shower, and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep, listening to the water, and it’s the most safe and warm and content I’ve been for a long time. Angel has that effect on me: just knowing he’s there can make me feel less alone, safer. Shit, weird day… feel tired… hungry… wonder if there’s any candy left....
Spike is asleep when I come back into the room. I stand looking at him for a few moments, debating between the chair and the equally uncomfortable looking floor. Damn it, I slide quietly in next to Spike, hoping he doesn’t wake, half wishing he would, knowing he won’t.
I felt his eyes on me when I was taking my shower. Was incredibly aroused to think of him looking at me. Did I half hope he would see my swollen cock and come in to join me?
What does he think of me, now he knows he can arouse me like this?
And why didn’t he want to come to me?
There was a time when we didn’t leave each other’s side for days on end, not even bothering to hunt, sometimes, so caught up in each other’s bodies and each other’s pleasure. Darla and Dru would get so impatient with us, they would often go off for days at end and leave us alone, and then our bed and our bodies were our whole world. I could never get enough of exploring the body, which is now lying next to me, cocooned in the sheet. I knew every pleasure spot, as he did mine. I shared every thought with him, every expression of lust or love I had: no barriers, no awareness of ourselves as men or as vampires or as human, nothing but bodies and passion, desire and need and fulfillment.
As I’m lying in my bed
Thoughts running through my head
And I feel that love is dead.
This is about as bad as my life can get now. I’ve let him see my desire, and he’s rejected me. I came before him naked and in heat, with all my defences down, just as it used to be for us. And still he rejected me.
We need to get to LA, kill the demon, and I need to let him go back out of my life again. Better to have never loved than loved and lost.