Remember Me - Chapter 13

I start with a shower. I actually need one, so this is not particularly part of my 'seduce-Spike' plan. But it'll undoubtedly help. I take my time. No reason not to let him hear the water running for ages. No reason not to give him the opportunity to imagine it running over my body. I know he finds my body irresistible, he's proved that enough times to me. He may be grumpy and fed up, but he's not a saint. He'll be hearing the water: he'll be imagining me. I guarantee it.

When I'm finished, I wrap one of the new, soft, white towels around my waist. It's just the right size…covers almost nothing. I give my hair a vigorous rub with another towel to muss it up completely. I know he finds this highly amusing and totally erotic. He loves my hair. More importantly, he can't resist my hair when it's wet and clean. I almost feel guilty now; this is almost too much. It almost seems unfair. Almost.

I wander into the living room. He hasn't moved. He doesn’t turn to look at me either. Hum. He's got more resistance than I gave him credit for. Well, I hate to have to say it Spike, but in this case, resistance is futile. Wanting to give him a better view, I move over to his music collection and start browsing. I'm almost directly in his line of sight now; he can either watch the screen or me. I don't turn around to find out which.

'Don't even think of putting one of those on.' Television gets louder. Ahh, good, he's watching me. I wander over to one of the pictures, oh…I think it's the one I took him against last night. Complete coincidence, didn’t mean to wander to this one! I can hardly suppress a grin at my own deviousness. The strange coloured thing is slightly askew, so I make quite a show of straightening it up. I know with one hundred percent certainty he is watching me and is thinking about how it got moved. I am. I'm remembering how it felt to be ramming into him against this picture. How my legs ached, how my arms strained, how my cock exploded into his tight, hot hole. How his mouth felt against my neck, how his fangs felt ripping me open, taking my blood. I guarantee he his tasting that blood again now. It's beyond describing…Sire's blood. Its potency stays with you long after its taste is but a fleeting memory. Oh, yes. He'll be hard by now.

I move back over to the couch and sit down, primly at the end. Not looking at him. But I place a hand back on his leg.

This time, it doesn’t move away.

I kneel up again and prize open his legs.

This time, there's silence.

So it's taken me about an hour to be back here again, an hour to win him around. Not bad for an old Sire with a tendency to doze off. But to give him his due, he's not going to make it easy for me. I couldn’t exactly say he is participating in this, merely allowing it. He seems to have decided on one channel now and is engrossed in small, yellow, cartoon people. His head is still turned from me, his hand idly swinging to and fro with the remote. He's a study of nonchalance.

I open his jeans.

No response.

I lift his hips and pull them off.

No response.

I lie down on my stomach, swinging my legs up and crossing them at the ankles, pretty irresistible if I do say so myself.

No response.

I push his legs away from me, revealing his tight, resisting entrance.

No response.

I was going to lick gently over that small, puckered hole, but he's been unresponsive for long enough. I need something more noticeable: something more unexpected.

So I don’t do anything. I just lie there…looking.

One minute.

Two minutes.

He flicks to another channel…I think I've lost the game, but no: he shifts imperceptibly towards my waiting mouth.

You'll have to do better than that Spike.

Another minute.

He drops the remote, leans up between his legs, grabs the back of my neck and practically plunges my face into his waiting entrance.

'Stop being such a poof, Angel. You can fuck me if you want to, just don’t make too much noise, I'm trying to concentrate here.' Having said his piece, he lies back down, retrieves his remote and goes back to the show.

The little git. I almost pull away. I almost turn this into a real issue. But I happen to glance up. I happen to see his expression. He's got the most irresistible grin on his face, a grin that speaks directly to me. I not sure anyone would else would see the subtlety there. I suddenly see just who has been playing with whom tonight. I thought I was in control of this little seduction scene: how wrong I was. It was him all along. This is merely an extension of the little game he's been playing all day, the 'annoy the hell out of Angel' game. Maybe he was pissed off I went back to the office. Maybe he was just bored. But he's been playing me like a love-sick puppy and I've fallen straight into his trap. He's been lying here while I've worked hard for an hour to seduce him and all the time, he was seducing me. So here he is, ready for me to make love to him and all he's had to do is ignore me. I'm pathetic. I'm sad.

I'm so horny I don't care.

So I let him win. Why not? But I'm still not going to let this little game go totally his way; I have a little plan all of my own. Time to see just how nonchalant Spike can remain. Time to make Spike participate in his own game.

I start my game by licking slowly down one thigh. He almost snickers; so confident is he that he has totally won this battle. Just as my tongue reaches the place it most wants to be, I veer off and head down the other leg. There is the tiniest, most imperceptible huff of annoyance from the other end of this annoying creature. I lick back up this leg, jumping again over the waiting entrance. I swear there is a bit of tension in the muscles of his perfect, pale backside. His cock, which was lying semi-hard on his stomach twitches to life. It's still sheathed in its deep layer of foreskin. And that is exactly my target, that's the point of my game tonight. I'm going to force Spike to admit his desperation for me by making that cock pop out of its own accord. It's going to get no contact from me at all. I'm not even going to breath on it.

I place my mouth over his hole and blow lightly with my specially summoned, cold breath. Definite cock twitching. No emergence yet though. I lick across the puckered entrance and blow again onto the newly moistened surface. More butt clenching, no tip yet though. I place my tongue right over the entrance and push slowly but irresistibly into its silky, welcoming depths. There's a slight ridge of muscle right at the edge, I flick this for a while. Ha ha, toes just curled in. I plunge in, hard and fast, probing up towards his navel, then sharply down towards his spine. Sharp intakes of breath, remote control's been crushed. Nearly there. Cock rigid and swollen, but not out yet. I see his hands moving up to release that very tension, so I clamp them in my own, forcing them back to the couch. I use my tongue like a battering ram, my mouth sucking, opening him wider, giving me access to that spot. When my cold tongue reaches that, it's like reaching a switch that turns Spike on. He sits up with a harsh cry, I have to grip his wrists in a grip so tight I can feel his bones starting to crush. No way am I going to let him reach his own cock. I hit the spot again, slightly from below, then from above, then directly on it, again and again, forcing my rigid tongue against it like boxer's blow to the stomach, relentless, telling, and utterly satisfying. I keep my eyes on his cock, any minute, any minute, I wait like an expectant at the scene of a miracle and it happens…totally of its own accord, the purple, mushroom head of his cock, like a fist, bursts free of the surrounding skin and glistens in the harsh light of the room. I can see the desperation in his face. No grinning now I see, 'Love'. Now his concentration is totally on me, on my tongue, on the sensations it is spiraling though his balls and cock. It won't be long now. I keep up the pressure on that spot and am totally rewarded by the backsplash on my face as his cum hits his belly with such force it actually bounces off.

I bring him down gently, just licking and sucking his hole softly into my mouth, blowing again, letting him recover from that explosive orgasm. I really don't want a pissed off Spike for real now, now his little pretend angst is over. I have plans for Spike now, plans that involve my very hard, very needy cock. So I let his wrists go. They are black and blue with bruising from my powerful, crushing grip. I glance anxiously at his face. He's very volatile; I don’t want this to have ruined any chance I might have later with him. Doesn't seem to have. He's lying back with a beatific look on his face. I think he enjoyed the no-hands experience.

He suddenly swings off the couch, pulls me to my feet and drags me off towards the shower. I'm about to protest that I've just had one, when I hear the stupidity of that in my head. I'm about to have Spike in a shower and I'm about to complain? I don't think so.

He's obviously keeping up his 'I'm not talking to you' mood, because he just gets in, turns the water on and presses me fiercely up against the wall. His lips fasten on mine with hungry need. His hands move to my cock and when he feels its hardness I sense him grinning against my mouth. I'm not sure where he's going to go with this when suddenly one foot hooks around the back of my ankles and he sweeps me to the floor where I land, hard, on my backside. Before I can object, he lands on me…literally. I didn’t think it was physically possible. But apparently it is. I suppose, open, wet, ready from my tongue, he just landed exactly right and was impaled. I was impressed. Not able to speak, but definitely impressed. I reminded myself to mention it later. Much later.

And oh, that, evil, self-satisfied, seductive grin just gets wider. Oh yes, he's even impressed himself. So this mutual 'impressed by Spike' team gets into action. He grabs me round the waist in as hard a grip as I gave him earlier, then starts working himself violently on my rigid cock.

'Christ, Spike, slow down. I'm going to come too soon.'

'Me programme's on in two minutes, Poof. That's all I got.'

I look at him. Is he serious? Does he really think I'm going to let him get away with that again? I press down hard on his thighs, effectively preventing any more movement. We are nose to nose, fighting now for complete dominance of this night's activities. So far I reckon we're fifteen all. Wonder if we'll get to love.

I push him backwards onto the floor, pinning him flat with my hands, hard on his shoulders. He tries to wriggle away, but I'm too strong for him. I start a steady, hard thrusting, oblivious to the rising volume of obscene complaint from my unwilling partner. He's furious, spitting mad that I'm in control again and with no intention of stopping conveniently in two minutes time for him to watch some programme.

But I swear what happened next was a complete coincidence.

Spike of course will no doubt tell you different.

But then he came off slightly worse than me.

I was okay: I was on top.

Because somewhere in our various positioning of ourselves in the shower that night, somehow, sliding around on the floor, one or other of us managed to get a backside, or knee or ankle over the central drain. The water couldn’t get away. So we started to…fill up.

I had other things on my mind. I had Spike's tight entrance on my mind, I had my impending orgasm on my mind, I had his too vocal complaints on my mind. Until they stopped that is. That's the first time I noticed something was wrong and took any notice of some of what he had been screaming at me. When it finally went quiet I realized he had been trying to tell me, quite rationally and calmly, that he was in fact drowning because the water had filled the stall enough to actually cover his face and being pinned down by the shoulders…he was kind of stuck. Of course, Vampires can't really drown. We don't need to breath, but some of us just like to. And Spike just likes to. Especially when he is being rammed in the rear by a two hundred pound, Master Vampire. So he was slightly miffed when his face disappeared under the water. It implied a high level of trust, I thought, that he continued with the buggering. Well, that and the fact he had no option to. But it got blissfully quiet. Except for the occasional splutter and rather annoying retching I heard nothing more until, enjoying the warm water swirling around my cock as I thrust in and out, I came in a rush of cold seed, deep into his body.

I was in a bit of a dilemma then. I had the distinct feeling, that if I just…got off him, he might not be too persuaded of the value of peaceful, quiet sex. He might be slightly more, how shall I say, slightly more annoyed than when we started this little game tonight. Because I reckon it's Advantage Me now. I've won the game, the set and the match and if I let Spike up there's going to be hell to pay. Plus he's missed his programme. And he can't breath. He's kind of funny under the water, just looking at me. I'd better not laugh though. That is definitely not Spike's happy face. So we're a bit stuck. I guess there's only one thing to do. I put my face under the water, surreptitiously moving my knee that is blocking the drain, and bite him questioningly on his lower lip. It's a peace offering of sorts. A sort of 'forgive me' half demand, half question. I feel some of the tension going out of his body. I lick my tongue over the area I've just bitten and he opens imperceptibly to me. I don’t thrust in, I feel like being magnanimous and loving. I won after all. He lets me love him with my tongue, soft stroking of the walls of his mouth, licking his tongue; I feel the water draining rapidly away until he is lying on the slick, wet surface of the stall and I am lying on his hard, slim body.

I thought I had his full attention. I thought he had forgiven me: apparently not. I don't quite remember the next five minutes. I remember his knee coming up and connecting like a jackhammer with my so recently throbbing balls. I remember screaming. I remember retching. I guess I passed out because the next thing I know, I'm on the new bed. Not bad in itself, it's where I was planning to end up that night; only I hadn't planned to be handcuffed to the six-inch, solid steel rail. Handcuffed, spread-eagled, ankles bound and Spike, nowhere in sight.

But I can hear the TV on and some, light, low humming coming from the direction of the living room. Deep, satisfied humming.

Bugger.

This is not good.

I am his Sire.

I have never, ever been tied up by him before.

I don't like it. But no way, no way in this world or the next, am I going to beg my Childe to release me. I'd rather stay here till I became a walking skeleton.

It is a long night.

I do sleep some, but mostly I'm too furious to relax. He makes me listen to him humming, singing, chatting on the phone and banging around in the kitchen. He knows I must be listening, so he gives me a barrage of irritating domesticity to listen too. Just to make the contrast I suppose with the fact I'm a Master Vampire, chained naked to a bed. It's a ludicrous situation. For two hours I had to listen to a porn movie. Or more precisely, listen to him watching a porn movie because all I could think of was his body, still naked from the shower, enjoying the movie. But to enjoy porn you really have to be there, hearing it second hand is enough to make you try to stake yourself…that hideous musak…that grunting…those unrealistic sound effects. Two hours of it. Two hours. It was agony. And yes, I got hard, and yes, I couldn't reach my cock, or turn over. He'd carefully seen to that. So two hours listening to it, two hours picturing Spike listening to it, about five hours more before my painful erection subsided. I'm not sure I've ever had to let an erection subside before. It was a novel experience and one I don't wish to repeat.

So the night was long and extremely frustrating. I only survived it because I knew he would have to release me, without my asking, in the morning.

So you can imagine, I was slightly upset to hear him going out. And slamming the door. Oh, but he isn't a monster, he's left me some music on. Just to keep my company. He's left the soundtrack to the Sound of Music on for me, on repeat. Very loud.

When he came back that night I admit, I had been crying.

Angelus had even come to help for a while and had tried to bite through one wrist for me to get free. The coward packed up and ran off with his tail between his legs on the eighth, Do-Ray-Me.

So crying seemed easier in the end. It was 'Climb Every Mountain' I think, that finally did it for me. Or the sixteenth rendition of 'Climb Every Mountain'. That's when I just gave way to tears. Even hell hadn't been able to make me cry.

He turned the music off the minute he got in and padded over to the fridge. I followed his every move with my, by now, very demonic hearing. I heard the door being opened. I heard the opening of a container of blood. I heard him drinking it, every long slurp, every slick ounce rolling down his throat.

But I won't beg him to release me.

I am his Sire.

I have never, ever begged him.

Well, not for release of this sort anyway.

Two hours later and he's settled at the computer. I can hear his fucking painted nails clicking on the keys, I can picture myself breaking each one of those fingers off and sticking them where the sun doesn't shine, even for a Vampire who never sees the fucking sun shining and I seriously think I am starting to go a bit mad with fury at my situation and fury at him who's been able to keep this up so easily whilst I've been lying here helpless and starving and driven insane with that fucking music and I don’t even like swearing but it makes me feel so much better given I have to stay silent and not let him know I am at breaking point.

Then someone knocks at the door.

If I listen any more intently, my ears will have a stroke.

I hear a muffled conversation; it comes closer, gets clearer. Oh my God. It's Wesley. He's come looking for me. I've been missing all day. Obviously.

I'm about to shout out with relief, to tell him I'm here, to get him to rescue me when the words dry in my mouth. I suddenly see myself as he would see me. Naked, spread-eagled, handcuffed by my ankles and wrists to Spike's bed. Oh God. He's won: again.

'Are you sure you haven't seen him, Spike? The last time I saw him, before he left two nights ago, he said he was coming here to help you move a bed.'

'A bed? Oh, he must have meant me new bed, Mate. Yeah, got a lovely new bed. Want to see it?'

'Err…no that's all right, Spike. I'm sure it's lovely. But I am rather worried about Angel.'

'Well, I'm sure if he could be in touch, he would be. No reason for him to stay quiet is there.'

'Um, no, I suppose not. I do hope it's not bad news.'

'Well, why don't you stay here for a while…while you wait for him to get in touch. Wanna watch a movie?'

'Oh…that's very nice of you, Spike. What have you got?'

'How about something English, since there's just the two of us?'

'Good idea. Something rousing maybe.'

'Jubilee Lines, I was thinking, Mate.'

'Oh, isn't that that rather risqué film with the…err…you know…’famous’ scenes.'

'Oh yeah. You up for it?'

'Well, all right then, but it's just as well Angel isn't here. I am certain he would not approve of us watching this together. If I may say so, Spike, he always seems a little…odd around you. I can't quite put my finger on it, but definitely odd.'

'Yeah…I find it kinda hard to put my finger on sometimes as well.'

The git is laughing so much he can hardly reply. So now I have to listen to Spike and Wesley watching that film. Sitting on the couch together, watching that film. Then he stays for some beer. Then Spike puts some music on. Then it goes quiet. For a very long time. Then a muffled conversation. Why is it fucking muffled? What's muffling them? Then he leaves. Thank God.

But I'm still here.

In my heart of hearts I didn’t really think anything was going on between Spike and Wesley. I knew my errant Childe too well, I thought, to really be worried by that. I was just enjoying the worry, knowing there was no real need to be. Just my little game again.

Shows how much I know.

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