On Me - Chapter 4
I must have been more tired
than I realised, because the sun is already setting when I wake up. It takes
me a minute to get my bearings. I remember: vision, going to Sunnydale, seeing
Buffy and... and, oh God, Spike… alcohol… candy… vomit… shower, Spike in my
clothes, Spike not in my clothes and… oh Spike in the bed with me now, pressed
entirely along me, one arm over my chest, one leg bent up over me, thigh on
my… oh no, incredibly hard erection. And oh, this feels good, incredibly right.
I think it’s the hardest thing in the world to live without physical intimacy.
I never touch and never get touched by the humans I live amongst. Sometimes,
I feel myself crawling out of my skin, so desperate am I for someone just to
hug me and for me to hug them back. And here I am, sprawled on by this beautiful
creature who irritates me, provokes me, tortures me, vomits on me – let’s just
add that to the list of Spike’s least endearing habits, right up there with
hot pokers and needle nosed pliers – yet, here he is, every part of his body
against my body, all his skin touching my skin. I smell deeply into his freshly
I feel slight movements as he starts to wake up. Oh God, Spike, don’t wake up. Let me have this little bit of paradise before all the shit starts again. Let me pretend that you are Will, and I am Angelus, and we have an eternity of loving ahead of us.
Why am I so comfortable, and why is everything so soft? Doesn’t feel like the crypt; doesn’t smell like the crypt. Smells like… Angelus in the mornings: smells like arousal, smells like passion, smells like love.
And, oh, pissing, sodding hell. I am lying entangled with the poof, and the events of last night come flooding back in stark relief. God, if Angel didn’t want to stake me before, I’m betting he does now. I’ve blown any chance I had for his help, or whatever. I open my eyes, cautiously, to see if he’s awake and realised I’m sprawled across him and... jees, what IS that pressed into my thigh? Guess he was having another good little Slutty dream. Nice little wet dream to prevent him having to think about sharing his bed with his disgusting childe. I don’t give any indication to him that I desperately want that cock in my mouth, that I desperately want it in me, and not just because I’m as horny as a teenager at a skin flick, but because it’s Angel, and because he’s beautiful, and because I lo….
Shit, I’m a fucked up mess.
As I open my eyes, I’m staring into deep pools of brown about two inches from my face, and he’s clearly been awake for a while now and obviously been looking at me.
I roll off him, trying to aim for nonchalant, cool dude, but probably achieving embarrassed fuck-up.
Bloody Hell, I need a fag.
He’s trying to pretend he wasn’t cuddled up to me, and I’ve got to try and hide this erection, or I’ll disgust him even more. The thought of returning to that sort of relationship with me, Angel, must disgust him. Last time he saw this body naked, it had him bent over the table in the factory with a poker up his arse, and my cock jammed in his face.
We both lie on our backs on different sides of the bed, the inches between us seeming like centuries. Centuries of pain and hate. My brief idyll over, I sit up and swing my legs to the floor, my back to Spike. I pull on some boxers and pants and stand up.
“Help yourself from the blood in my bag there. I’ll get your stuff from the manager, then we can get moving.”
Ah yes, time to put the Big Bad’s plan into action: my big revenge on the ole sire.
“Na, mate, not hungry, just the clothes.”
Now, that’s odd. One thing I do remember about Spike was his incredible hunger after his regular drinking bouts. This is not right. Is he ill? God, I can’t believe the sense of panic I feel that maybe this strange behaviour is something more than trying to piss me off. That it might be something that would actually harm my boy.
“You have to eat, Spike; you’ve been ill; you need to feed.”
“Yeah. Maybe later, mate.” I turn away to hide my smirk. Oh, you holier-than-thou tosser.Think you can come to my town and humiliate me, drag me off to LA, force me to eat all that candy, pretend to be the caring Angel, help me out, don’t even mind the puking on your precious car, have wet dreams about fucking Slutty when you’re sharing a bed with me, and make me kill a big evil demon for you. Well, it doesn’t work out like that, Angel baby, this is pay back time, and you, my little peachy-arsed sire, are gonna get fucked over big time.
He’s up to something, but I can’t figure out what yet. I can feel his hunger from here, so he probably has some sort of bad-ass plan going. But I’m not going to worry unduly about that; I’ll just wait for him to get bored of it, and then I’ll sort it out. I always do.
Half an hour later, and we are in the car. The clean and almost sweet-smelling car, and Spike is sitting here as good as gold in his almost sweet-smelling clothes. He’s sitting quietly: no cigarettes, no music, no drink. This is too good to last.
“I wanna stop.”
“Me fags are all ruined, Angel. I can’t go all the way to LA without a smoke, mate. Take pity.”
I put on my very best winning look: the one with the slight pout, the eyes wide. I know he won’t be able to resist.
It’s no good. I just can’t resist Spike when he looks like that. I almost think I could give up my soul if he asked me to, looking like that. I sigh and pull over, yet again, and hand him some money, yet again. But just as he goes to hop out of the car, I grab his arm.
“No alcohol, no candy, nothing remotely likely to end up on my seats in its previously loved state. Got it?”
“Jees! OK. Will ya let go of me, or what? Anyone would think you were a bit of a dominance freak, yer poof.”
And, with that, he saunters off in the direction of the store. I put my head slowly and carefully onto the steering wheel and take three very deep, unnecessary breaths. What is it about Spike that stops me staking him? Every word he says to me is an insult; if I’m not wanker, then I’m the poof, if not the poof, then git. He’s insolent, rude, hyperactive, loud, and yet for all that, he is utterly irresistible. If I close my eyes, I can see him one hundred years ago looking at me just before he climbs onto the bed to seduce me. That lazy smirk crosses his face; his eyebrows raise up with an expression that clearly says ‘I’m gonna fuck you 'til you can’t fuck anymore’ and it’s that expression I imagine when he is insulting me; it’s that expression I imagine when he is putting his feet up on my dash. It’s what keeps me here; it’s what makes me persevere in the hope that I will see that expression again for real.
The rest of the trip is uneventful and, eventually, we pull into the underground car park. But as soon as I turn off the engine, I know this was a bad move. The memories are thick here; I can feel again that piece of 2 x 4 smacking into my face. I can feel the waves of hatred and panic reeling off Spike as he desperately fought for his ring. What if I had it now? Would I give it to him? He can’t bite or hurt humans, so he could at least have some life with the ring. But it would only have made him a target for other monsters like Marcus. Bet he wouldn’t see it like that though! Another layer of guilt about Spike fastens onto my soul.
Shit, bad memories here. Last time I was here, I was beating Angel into a bloody pulp. Yeah, OK! I was actually having the crap kicked out of me – but it was bad and led to worse. He coulda died in the hands of that monster I left him with; woulda done, if I hadn’t have intervened when I did. Little thanks I got though – I definitely don’t remember a ‘thank-you-Spike-for-catching-that-stake-and-not-letting-Marcus-get-too-pissed-with-me’. It’s the little details that make the difference, ya know: the please and the thank yous of life. Huh.
We both stay strangely quiet and make our way up to the apartment. I make my way over to the fridge immediately. I’m starving, and I’m sure Spike is, too.
I’m starving, and Angel is warming up mugs of pig’s blood, and this is bloody perfect for my plan.
“Na, not for me, mate, not hungry.”
“Spike, what’s wrong? You haven’t fed for two nights, that I’m aware of; you are too thin already, and you need all your strength to face this demon.”
But before Spike can answer, I hear Cordy and Wes coming down in the elevator.
The whirring of the lift takes Angel’s mind off me for a minute, and I turn to face the pet humans. Not looking forward to this. Feeling kinda like a pit bull who's had its teeth and balls removed for being a bad doggy. And I just know that Cordelia is going to be just as sensitive as she can be about the whole situation.
“Hi, Angel, good trip? What took you so long? Well hello, Spike, long time no see; how’s Drusilla; how’s Harmony; how’s the chip? Ooh, I’m thinking... not scared right now. I’m thinking... factory and very large stake though my abdomen – have you any idea how many abs I had to do to get this stomach back? And why aren’t you grovelling at Angel’s feet? Do you feel at all bad for that Gem crap last year? And while you’re about it….
“Nice hair, Cordelia.”
“Love the hair, pet; really sets off your cheek bones; must be hell to keep in that condition though - with all this city shit in the air. And Jesus, does LA agree with you or what? You can’t believe how pissed off that wanker Xander is about your acting success out here.”
“Oh, well, yeah, I’m just waiting for my really big break, of course, but… oh, this does SO not get you off the hook, mister. You are still in SO much trouble.”
But, of course, that’s exactly what it does do, gets him right off the hook, and with a fairly large toe in the door of Cordelia’s good will. But that’s Spike; that’s what he does. He is the most irritating, enraging, bad-ass vampire you are ever likely to meet, and yet even slayers end up being charmed by him.
Well, until he killed them, of course.
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. My name is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. I’m a colleague of Angel’s. I believe you have some insight into this Taran Demon, and how to kill it?”
Oh, this one is just priceless. He’s gonna be a lotta fun. Got boring, winding the old Watcher up, but I just love new meat.
“Hey, didn’t realise you were a colleague of Angel’s, too, pet. He said you were… well, ya know, in a serious place, kinda ‘are we just friends, or could we be more’ sorta place. But, whatever, this is LA, and as long as Angel’s happy, then that’s what we all want for the poof, innit?”
I grab Spike by the arm and drag him forcibly into the bedroom. “Excuse us one minute Cordelia, Wesley”.
“You,” I grind out from between clenched teeth and shaking him just to emphasise the point. “You, will not exercise your wit on my employees and friends. You will obey my house rules while you stay in my house. You will be quiet most of the time, except when I want you to talk and, most of all, YOU WILL STOP CALLING ME A POOF, do you understand?”
Now, I’ve got two options here, and one of them involves Angel getting seriously fucked over by a large, horny demon if I can only keep my mouth shut now. So, I try; I really try. I go for the safe reply and just nod my head. Don’t wanna screw this plan up for anything.
Shit, now I’m really worried.
Some time later and apologies to Wesley made and accepted and still not a word from Spike, we sit down at the table to decide on a plan to kill this demon.
“Actually, I have been able to find a few references to the Taran demons in my books. Err... Giles must be getting a bit behind the times back there in Sunnydale. It’s fascinating really; in every reference, it mentions this demon’s fascination - fixation really - with vampires. It seems to cross the threshold of its dimension with the express purpose of tracking a vampire down. Unfortunately, there’s no reference to why, or how, the vampires manage to kill it. Most frustrating.”
“Angel, this Taran thingy is nasty; I am saying big zit sort of nasty. I saw it in my vision, and I can assure you, it was not a pretty sight. You’d better be sure what you are up against, Mister, before you put one foot outside this building.”
“Well, that’s what Spike is here for, isn’t it Spike? If you would like to contribute to this discussion now, you can.” I can’t resist a slight smirk at the unusually quiet Spike.
Oh, boy, are you gonna pay for this, Angel mate. And here’s pay back time, flying straight off the fan and into your face.
“Fixated ain’t the half of it,” I say to the Watcher. “More like obsessed – ya see, this demon needs a vampire body to... well, breed in.”
There’s a stunned silence around the table .I love being the harbinger of bad news. Fucking A.
“Yeah, mate, make little demons, ya know, the thing where you have bits and pieces that fit together.”
“I know what breeding is, Spike, but why didn’t you mention this in Sunndydale? I don’t recall a Spike-shares-critical-information-on-breeding-Taran moment with anyone then.”
“No? I’m sure I did mention it. Oh, well, if you say so, peaches, but, gee, did I really miss that out?”
“I think we should hear everything you know, Spike. It's critical Angel is fully informed about this situation,” says Wesley, entirely missing my ‘that was irony’ moment.
“Fully informed... OK then. The demon comes over to this dimension, chooses a vampire body, fucks it, leaves its demon spawn in the body, and pushes off back home.”
“Eww, revolting or what? I SO didn’t need that much detail.”
“Quite, Cordelia. But how did you manage to kill this thing then, Spike?”
“When the demon is… ya know, making happy with the host vampire… it can’t sense any other vampires in the area: they become sorta invisible to its senses. Piss-easy to kill it then. Dru just stepped in and swoosh - off with its head!”
“So, what you are saying is that you need to distract this... thing... by pretending to let it (God) impregnate you, so I can kill it without it even knowing I’m there?”
“Noooooo, not exactly, mate.” Tee hee. Angel’s face is a study in slowly dawning comprehension. “Ya see, mate, funny thing this Taran Demon. It can only fixate on a potential vampire mate if said vamp is full of fresh… blood. I mean, if by any strange coincidence a vampire hadn’t been feeding, it just wouldn’t be able to use it. So, no fixation, no second vamp being able to kill it. Funny that.”
“You sodding little fuck, Spike.”
I don’t care that Cordelia and Wesley are backing off from this very pissed off vampire; I don’t care that I NEVER swear in front of them; I don’t care that Angelus is so very close to the surface, I can hear the bonds straining. All I care about is that smirking little git sitting in front of me. I don’t believe he’s got one over on me. But NO WAY am I gonna become demon spawn bait. If I have to wait for a week not eating blood again, I will wait Spike out. He’ll fold first.
“She’s having another vision, Angel!”
I catch Cordy as she starts to fall, and Wesley and I ease her down to the couch.
“Ouch, that was SO not pleasant. Angel, it’s closer now, and the Taran is killing again. Angel it was horrible, the poor man.”
Cordelia starts to sob quietly, and I feel like joining her. Because that’s me fucked really - literally. Can’t wait out now; we have to kill this thing – Spike has to kill this thing tonight.
I look him in the eye. He’s utterly gleeful. Oh, you are gonna be SO sorry for this later, ‘mate’.
Ooooh... I am gonna be so sorry for this later, but now? Oh no, now, I’m fucking flying.
“Come on then, demon spunk-magnet. Let’s get going, shall we?”