| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |
Home | Gallery | Spike/Angel | Spike/Giles/Angel | Spike/Giles | Spike/Wesley/Angel | Buttons | Poems

Remember Me - Chapter 15

I actually hit the floor with a slight grunt of surprise, the bright dust settling around me, marking me.

His words repeat in my head, ‘Angel, I love you more than...’ more than, what, Spike? Please come back and tell me. Because, of course, you must know I never really intended to kill you. You must know that. It was my game again, pretending something bad about you, so I could enjoy the reality even more. Enjoy it when you told me the truth, enjoy forgiving you. But it went too far. I pretended to believe that photograph; I didn’t really intend to kill you. I wanted to frighten you, punish you for not coming around, for not being there for me.

To punish you because I gave up my chance to be human for you.

But I knew you would talk me out of it. I knew we would end up in the bed, making love.

No, not that.

I never made love to you, did I, Spike? I only fucked you, as you so elegantly put it, and you knew it, didn’t you? I never had the chance to explain why. Never had the chance to tell you how afraid of losing you I was. As if I hadn’t thought about ‘us’ when I become human. It’s all I thought about when I was with you. I knew exactly what it would mean too. I knew just how long you would stay with me when I became soft and warm and…fragile. I could picture your face the first time you saw gray in my hair, or the first time my knees creaked when I climbed the stairs. I could imagine your disdain and pity as I became bent and old. Did you think I wanted that either? So I tried so hard not to love you too much, to keep it to need and want and desire: not love, not passion. I'd had that and it hurt so much to give it up.

I couldn’t let myself admit just how much I did love you in case I had to give you up.

And now it’s too late.

I’ll never be able to tell you that now I am free to love you.

I get up from the dust in which I am lying. His dust. He is all over me and that seems fitting.

I sit on his couch. In the same place where I took him for my own amusement when he didn’t want it. Spike, I did love you. I did. I just couldn’t risk telling anyone again. I didn’t want to lose you like I lost her. I couldn’t take that again. So I never told you. But I do. I love you. I love you. Oh Christ.

It’s three hours till dawn. I'll be waiting for it, outside. I can smell my release from this pain, so near now. But what am I supposed to do for three hours? I can’t bear this. I don’t want to have to think. I must not think about anything: him. Don’t think. But it’s all I can think of; my mind returns to the feel of my body hitting the ground. To the look in his eyes as he knew the truth, that I was actually going to kill him.

Oh God. I’ve killed him.



My beloved Childe.


Everything that he was, is now gone without record. His sense of humour, his fun, his love of the unlife. His warped logic, his passion. His passion for me. The only person who has ever truly loved and accepted the demon and the soul in me. He’s gone.

Yes, stop all those fucking clocks. Stop all life moving on: because he is gone.

He was a demon. I should think of his essential evilness. But I can’t. Something unique and beautiful has gone.

I destroyed it. Him.

Three hours then.

Three hours to wait here sitting on the couch. I lie my head down in the exact spot where I lay with his naked body only inches from my face. When I turn my head I can see the books lying in the light coating of...Spike. His precious collection. All the places where we went together, Sire and Childe. A visual statement of his commitment to me all these years.

Spike loved me and I never told him that I loved him too.

Two hours forty-five minutes. I can’t keep looking at that place, at his bright dust over his beloved books. I can’t see anymore anyway, it’s too blurry.

I can almost hear his voice screaming at me in outrage because I’m crying on his precious new couch. My tears staining the fabric. I wrap my bloody hands over my head and sink into a deep, black place that is only anguish, only pain, only loss.

I wake to the sound of voices.

I am still lying on the couch but my hand is tucked under the cushions tightly grasping the hilt of the sword.

No bookcase overturned.

No books on the floor.

No dust.

Spike and Wesley walk into the apartment.

‘Hi ya, Luv! Bloody well about time you made an appearance...whoa there, Mate. What’s wrong, Angel? Let me go...company here, Luv...err, Wesley watching...embarrassed human looking on...err...Wes...you’d better go...see ya later...thanks...Angel...fuck, let me go!’

‘No, not fuck. Love. I love you, Spike.’

He thinks I’ve gone mad and I think I have too. Tears cascade down my face still. But he is here. He is in my arms, under my hands, his body strong and substantial, pressed against the bookcase that I overturned before killing him, but I didn’t. Was that a dream? How could it have been?

‘Spike, what’s this all about?’ I find the photo in my pocket and show it to him.

He looks a nervously at me: abashed.

‘Bugger...where did you get that from? I wanted to tell you meself, Angel, cus it’s been such a buzz. We’ve been undercover, Luv. You’d never believe what we’ve been doing.’

Oh, but I would because I already know, don’t I? I grab a book off the shelf. It’s the one of Normandy, with the well on the cover. No way could I have dreamt all this knowledge.

So, it wasn’t a dream. A vision then?

A vision sent by the Powers that Be to prevent me killing Spike when I saw him.

That's what she meant. This is my reward.

Do they sanction this relationship then?

She said she would give me something but that I had to use it well.

I’ve been given Spike.

I feel forgiven.

I feel blessed.

I have Spike back.

He’s not gone. Oh...I will use this gift well.

‘Spike. I love you...’ but I can’t speak for crying...I feel myself falling again into darkness. Only this time I feel a strong pair of arms holding me up. This time I feel a strong body being pressed against mine as I am helped to the bed. This time, soft lips on my wet face. This time, quiet words of love in my ear.

This time, I am surrounded by Spike and his powerful love for me.

Fucking hell has it been hard work these last few weeks. He's been hard work! I thought working with Angel was a pain, he's a fucking Saint compared to the uptight, anally retentive git that Wesley Wyndham Price is. Jesus, he is such a bad advert for being English.

I mean he didn’t even want to do it at first! Said it was too dangerous! Said it was stupid! Said it was unnecessary!

Dangerous? Stupid? I do not know what he means. Seemed simple enough to me. Unnecessary? Well he wasn't there. He didn’t see their faces.

Cus it's been…haunting me. If you can haunt something that's already dead and therefore is technically haunting himself and now I'm shutting up cus I'm starting to sound like fucking Harris and that is NOT good. But it has, it's been haunting me, the thought of those poor pathetic demons in the initiative, chipped and sold for bloody torture-for-sexual-kicks of sick humans. I couldn’t seem to enjoy being with Angel so much, knowing how lucky I'd been compared to them. Mind you, it took me a while to get past the you-are-a-nancy-bleached-poof-for-even-caring sort of mind-set. But Angel has a way of making me think better – making me be better – than I actually want to be. I really want to go and have a go at fucking and torturing them meself. Honest. I do. But then I think of Angel and think of swirling black coats and heroic rescues. And shit, I could do with a bit of swirly-coat, feel-good-about-meself-super-hero sort of thing.

And yes, all right, I know…I want Angel to think swirly-black-coat, super hero when he looks at me. I know he loves me, I know he wants me; I know he desires me beyond his power to express it. But I'm not sure he admires me or respects me. So that's why I thought me plan was great. Only Wes didn’t see it that way at all.

It was brilliant timing. He'd come over looking for the poof…the one I had handcuffed on me bed waiting for a good fucking. Not that I'd told the poof that. Gave him the impression I was pissed off with him. Left him listening to Sound of Music all day. Jesus, I'm good at torture.

Oh, by the way, don't even think about asking why the Big Bad has a copy of the Sound of Music in his collection. Do not even go there.

So, as I was saying, I decide to put me idea to the Big Wet One. We go into the clubs, undercover…using the bint's pathetic story…I'm the 'bought' Vampire, Wet One is my 'master', we want some 'fun', we find captured demons and free 'em. Easy. Seemed real clear to me.

Wet One took days to convince.

He finally came round.

I told him to tell Angel a real good cover story for us both being gone.

He said something about it coming better from me. Or I think he did. But I may have forgotten in all me excitement.

And that was it. We hit the clubs.

I've seen a lot of nasty shit in my time. Most of it where I've just been, come to think of it. But I've never gone into the gratuitous sort of stuff meself. Had enough of that, living with that total fruitcake of a Grandsire. Now there was one sick bitch. No wonder Angelus was a bit fucking ‘out there’ himself sometimes.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw in those awful, filthy clubs. Poor Wesley was totally undone. Don’t know he's ever going to be able to forget some of the things he saw. He did his bit to help though. More than his bit really. He really came through when I needed it. Especially the kissing bit. Now that was fun, poor old uptight English git. But I told him…we got to be credible. He was supposed to be my master. I was supposed to be his fuck slave, so I thought being caught on camera snogging would be perfect cover. Besides, he was so much fun to play with. He so didn’t like it. He so stayed rigid. Even when I slipped me tongue in, even when I pressed up against his limp warmth…rigid, stiff with fear!

Oh. And don’t ever let me be tempted by a human, will you. Yuck. All that warm spit. All that teeth taste, food bits and...ughhh, makes me shiver...that stubble. Angel is like kissing a…what…hum…a…oh yeah, Angel is like kissing an Angel, cool, clean, smooth, still, potent, eternal. Angel is like kissing pure light.

But you have to try stuff. And it was funny. Bet Wes ain't ever had something as cold as me in his mouth! Not outside his dreams anyway.

So, cover established, in we went.

Some of the ones we found were too…damaged to set free. I killed those. Wesley said I did a good thing for them, mercy killings. I don’t know. I've never felt mercy. Have I? Am I really becoming such a fucking wuss that I actually felt sorry for young Vampires that had had their arms torn off to see how fast they would grow back…repeatedly. For Vampires that had been cut into pieces to see if the pieces would find themselves and rejoin. For Vampires that had been forced to perform acts upon each other of such depravity that even their demon souls revolted. Can I have become that sad that I didn’t admire these things? Has living with Angel, loving Angel had such a profound effect on me that I'm even using fucking words like profound. Fuck I'm becoming sad. Know what? After this, I'm gonna have meself a little rampage. I'm going to wreak havoc for at least five minutes. This is getting worrying.

But I swear, setting free the ones that could run was very swirly-coat like. That was the good bit. We both enjoyed that bit. Even though they were demons. How were we to know some of 'em would come back and torch the place? So definitely not our fault.

But it seemed like a good idea, so we did it ourselves the next time. And the next.

Well, okay, I did it.

But I'm sure I told Wes. Yeah, distinctly remember telling 'im.

So, it's been a really good few weeks. Wes is exhausted. So I've asked him back to my place for a bit of a post-heroic piss-up.

I was more than delighted to see Angel sitting so sexy and still on the couch. Oh yeah. Huge fucking coming up tonight, I’m thinking. Two weeks without a fuck. Two weeks without kissing Angel. It's not possible.

So yeah, really pleased to see Angel. Really pleased just how pleased he seemed to be to see me. Not so sure though about the hand immediately down my pants on my cock, given that Wes was standing right there. No at all sure about the passionate kissing and tonguing as I was forced back into the bookcase. Not with Wes fainting against the doorjamb. Started to like it when he left though. Oh yeah, like being told he loved me.

But really didn’t like seeing his tears. That just made me mad. Who the fuck has upset my Sire? Don’t think I’ve ever seen Angel cry. It wasn’t good.

And really not so sure about that photo. How the hell did he get that?

For the briefest of seconds I thought that Angel had actually thought the photo was a photo of me, kissing Wesley. Well okay, it was. But I mean, how could he think that was real? If I'd seen a photo of Angel kissing Wesley, would I have leapt to the wrong conclusion? No. I'd have found out all the facts, quietly, rationally, in my usual way. Then I would have gently confronted him and all would have been peaceably resolved.

I was amazed though at how quickly he accepted my explanation. He’s weird sometimes. I felt sure he’d have tried to stake me or something if he’d found out I was cheating on him. Kill me first: ask questions later.

So it was a slightly unusual, unexpected homecoming. I enjoyed it all till Angel started to collapse. It’s not funny when your Sire collapses in tears. All too weird and tree huggy for a Big Bad like me. So if he tells you I held him tightly to me, it’s all a lie: I pushed him off me towards the bed. If he tells you I lay him down and kissed his tears, that is definitely a sodding lie: I told him to get over it. If he tells you I held him through a long night of delirium and pain, it’s his over-active imagination: I read a book and wished he’d shut up.

But I admit I was awake and watching him, when he woke up. Just coincidence. No way had I been up all night keeping watch over him.

I've never seen him looking so drawn and tired. Signs of stress and exhaustion; imperceptible to humans; clear to Vampires; unmistakable to a Childe obsessed with his Sire. I start to take him in my arms, but he moves gently away and reverses the action, taking me into a possessive, tight embrace. He hugs me painfully to his chest. I wish his heart would beat. I'd like to hear that. He runs his hands up into my hair, pressing his lips down to kiss my forehead.

'Love you, Spike.' He kisses each closed eye in turn, 'Love you, love you.' My mouth is captured in a deep, passionate exploration. Like a man dying of thirst he seems to be seeking the springs of life from deep in its recesses. He pulls away, holding me at arms length, 'Love you.' Crushing me to him again he nuzzles into my ear, licking around the indentations and biting on the lobe, 'Love you, love you, love you.' He reaches my neck and stretches my head back so the skin on my throat is exposed and taut. He breathes quietly onto my throat and his words have their echo in the vibrations he makes there, 'Love you, Spike, I love you, I love you.'

We fall back onto the bed, he rears over me, his arms pressing on my shoulders. I think he's going to enter me, I feel he wants to fuck me as his erection is urgent between us, but he continues the slow loving of my body.

For hours he kisses me, exploring every inch of me, telling me he loves me a thousand times. When I ask him why, he says it is to make up for lost time and to make good use of the gift he's been given. That he should have been telling me every day: over a hundred years of not telling me. A lot to make up for. So I let him tell me. I just lie and let him worship my body.

I think Angel is coming towards me on that plain where I have been waiting for him all this time. He is so close now. Almost there. Entirely of his own accord, my Sire is coming to me.

But there is still a way to go. I still have to be sure that this is for real. He is exhausted, emotional and in pain. It's easy to think you love someone when you aren't thinking straight. I've been there. Done that. I haven't forgotten begging someone to let me blow him. I haven't forgotten telling him I loved him when he let me feed. Pain and need can make you desperate. I need to prove Angel's love is real. I have a plan too…oh, and don’t get all high and mighty…my plans are bloody brilliant. It's just the pillocks I have to work with that fuck them up. So, me plan is to get Angel away from this place for a while, away from Los Angeles, away from the agency and the work and the killing and the pain, to somewhere where there is just us. Somewhere we can sort all this shit out without distraction. Somewhere where I want to show him something that might make him see me differently, understand where I am coming from with all this shit. But I know he's not going to like it. I have to be subtle…to be honest I don’t think he's thinking too clearly now anyway, his explorations have just reached somewhere interesting.

He gently moves my cock to one side and kisses deep into my groin, biting softly at the stretched skin. Good timing.


'Hum…love you.'

'Good, look, Pet…would you do something for me?'

He licks slowly around the base of my shaft; my whole body comes alive under his touch. I have to extract this promise soon or I'm going to be too distracted meself.


'Anything, told you…love you…stay there.'

'Hey, where you going?' He slips off the bed and disappears into the kitchen. He's hungry? He's licking my cock and suddenly decides he's hungry? Ahh, no, now this is interesting. This is a new and improved Angel, cus he's just returned with the butter I use on me popcorn.

'Sorry, this is all I could find…what were you saying…?'

I've almost forgotten meself, cus Angel is unwrapping the butter and starting to swirl it around my balls and over my ass. He's parted my cheeks and is pressing the soft, oily block into the crack.

Angel has never, ever bothered with lubrication of any sort before. No real need to I guess; I'm always ready for him, always willing, even when I tear and bleed. Pain is part of the fun. It's why we do it. But I have to admit…this is kind of…nice too. I feel…loved, prepared. But I have to concentrate here. Test him out, see how much he's listening: see how much I can slip past him. He's engrossed with pushing the butter, bit by tiny bit into my hole, his slippery fingers working it in, his tongue lapping gently across the puckered surface.

'Angel…just how much do you love me?'

'Love you…'

'Yeah, I know that, Luv, you've told me, about a zillion times…but how much? There's love and then there's…love.'

'Wh…d…you…me…n?' Guess it's hard to speak with your tongue three inches up someone's ass.

'Okay, hypothetically, do you love me enough to…stop wearing hair gel?



'Enough to…oh, I don't know…wear pink sometimes?'


I want to hear his answer to the next question clearly, so I wait till he replaces tongue with cock, when he is so totally besotted with filling my slick hole he'll be game for anything.

I watch his face; he's in a world of his own, head thrown back, hands on my hips, his thick shaft riding into my hole like a well-oiled piston. Perfect timing.


'Uhh, uhh, uhh…'

'Angel…do you love me enough to take a holiday with me somewhere…my choosing.' Don't think Angel. Just keep thrusting into my buttery hole and think with your dick like you've been doing. Just promise me this, please Angel. I love you and I want you and I need you to prove to me that it's the same for you. Away from here, where everything is so desperate all the time.

'Angel…a holiday…with me?'

'OhyebabeanythinkI'mcuming…Oh, Spike, yes, yes, I'm coming…'

His cold cum explodes into me from a powerful orgasm. He writhes against me, milking himself to the last drops, his face a picture of ecstasy.

Slowly, slowly he collapses onto my chest.

So, I got him to promise. I asked him if he would come on holiday with me and I clearly heard him say, 'yes, yes, I'm coming.' I refuse to believe it was anything to do with his cum, pumping violently into my tight hole. Clearly, when he said he was coming, he was referring to the holiday. It is completely obvious.

That's what I maintained anyway for the rest of the night. He pathetically tried to deny he meant any such thing and that he was merely referring to his complete lack of control where I am concerned. To be honest I'm on to a bit of a winner either way.

But he promised.

We're going on holiday.

He's a total wanker and a welcher. He's welched on the deal. He refuses to go, says he can't leave LA now: says he's needed. Damn right he's needed. By me. He's got to agree. I want it. I get what I want. That's just the way it goes.

And I'm proved right. Fate or some such shit intervenes in my favour for once. Wesley has to go to be questioned by the coppers about the fires, comes back to tell Angel they're looking for me. Angel admits he knows they are. Wesley says I'm not safe, cus I've got no proof of who I am…oh, and of course I'm guilty too. Minor point.

Angel suddenly realizes he's about to lose his most precious and decides I need to be out of LA. I casually resurrect my holiday plans and before you know it, we're packing and I've got my way again. Told ya. It's just the way it is.

Packing took a bit longer than it needed to really. I wouldn’t tell him where we were going…just in case he backed out again. I just told him to bring something warm. He said he didn’t have anything warm, so shopping had to take place first, then packing. He had hundreds of fucking cases in the end. I refuse to travel with anything more than one Vampire can carry in one hand so a huge amount of compromise took place. In the end he took two bags. I stuffed a couple of bits in one of them and we were ready.

Angel is not the best flyer in the world.

In fact, Angel turns out to be a total wuss flying. Guess he's never had to travel with an insane, blood-thirsty Vampire in his care. I got used to frequent stops and lots of compromise, traveling with Dru.

Course, I didn't know this till we took off. Never flown with him before. He was nervous about the fake passports. He was paranoid about the sun. He was worried where we're going to get blood from when we got to where we were going.

Cus of course, he was pissing himself about where we were going.


I'm taking him home…my home, for a holiday. I've got something to show him.

I've taken care of everything. We're First Class thanks to the grossly inflated LA rental sector. There's a brilliant film on, unlimited alcohol and I'm going on holiday with my Sire. With Angel.

Oh yeah. Things working out very nicely I think.

Haven't told 'im exactly where we're going though yet.

I wonder if he'll recognize it.

Wonder if he'll remember.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |
Home | Gallery | Spike/Angel | Spike/Giles/Angel | Spike/Giles | Spike/Wesley/Angel | Buttons | Poems