The Emperor's New Clothes - Angel's Monday
   By Hush

   Spike slipped up during our car hunt and started calling me "luv" and "Red"
   again. I let it go for the time being. Besides, car hunting more or less
   involved us being in the public eye, so I suppose he was technically in the
   clear.

   Car hunting was fun. Hanging out with an old buddy was fun; cock-teasing
   the living shit out of my old "buddy" was even more fun. I flirted like a
   floozy. Wesley would have called me a doxy. It was my finest hour as a
   thespian.

   I bent over engine blocks, purposefully displaying excessive amounts of
   cleavage. I leaned into windows, wiggling my ass in the air. I rubbed up
   against him like a cat in heat and talked to him with a little girl pout.

   Spike gritted his teeth and took it in the ass. He tolerated, put up with,
   and endured. It was really very admirable of him, the way he bore up.
   Spike is a real stand up guy.

   Ironically, I turned myself on too. It did not take a lot... I think I
   have already mentioned how happy sex makes me...and how thrilling it was to
   be test driving my very own Willow body, specially equipped with great tits,
   killer legs, and a tight little ass. I want to be fucked so bad my pussy
   aches.

   I was really hamming it up by the time we reached the used Ford dealer. I
   deserved a sound spanking but every time I started to feel bad for Spike I
   thought of Marcus...and steel rods being driven through my body.

   OK, so there I was leading Spike around by the balls, visions of Willow and
   polyvinyl, butt plugs and cock rings dancing in his head. The more worked
   up he got, the more outrageous my behavior became.

   Finally, Spike began to lose his temper. I was getting to him. He got
   *that* look on his face, the one he used to get when Dru became particularly
   whiney. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "I don't know why I'm
   putting up with this crap."

   "Because you want to fuck me," I answered over my shoulder.

   Spike muttered something profane. He had not meant for me to hear him. I
   looked over my shoulder and smiled sweetly. He reached out and grabbed my
   hair, pulling it tight. It did not hurt or--obviously--he would have
   doubled over with mind-numbing pain. It was enough to immobilize me though.

   "I'm still evil," he hissed in my ear.

   I grinned and rammed my ass back into his crotch, raising and lowering it
   like we were fucking. "Oh, I remember," I told him. "You're the BIG BAD.
   You can insult nice girls like me and make me want to cry. Boo-hoo.
   Boo-hoo. I'm so *fucking* impressed."

   Spike grunted and tightened the contact. Oh man, he was desperate for any
   kind of pussy action. Before I knew it, we were dry humping behind an old
   green Ford Explorer. We were rutting like beasts. Spike rode my ass like a
   big horny goat while I mentally reviewed all of my reasons for not hiking my
   skirt, lowering my panties, presenting him with my backside.

   For one, I swore no partners. Two, like Spike said, he is still evil.
   Three, he is an ass. Willow told me about the mean things Spike said to her
   while he was trying to get himself staked. His comments about her ability
   to satisfy Oz had cut particularly deep.

   "Don't know why you want to fuck me so bad," I moaned. I glanced over my
   shoulder at his strained face. My nose and lips were almost in his mouth.
   "After all, I couldn't even satisfy dog boy."

   "Shut-up!" Spike grunted.

   "Bugger off!" I pushed him off me. Spike had hurt Willow deeply with his
   mean words. She had tried not to let on but I had been able to tell. In my
   mind, it was one more thing to get even for. Willow is one of the sweetest
   young women I know and I count her among my few friends. Only a moron picks
   on a lamb like Willow.

   "Why are you acting like this?" Spike demanded, clenching his fists. He
   wanted to hit someone, break something, throw a raging fit, and fuck me so
   hard it hurt. Both of us.

   "Because I can," I hissed at him. I got in his face. "Because you hurt me
   and I never got a chance to retaliate!" Without intending to, I drew back
   my fist and socked him, hard, right on the jaw. More blows followed. All
   Spike could do to defend himself was raise his arms over his head for
   protection.

   I am not sure what happened, one second I was in control and the next tears
   were streaming down my face. I yelled at him. I raged. I said really
   nasty things about his looks and his lineage. I just totally lost it.

   The next thing I knew the salesman was yelling at us to leave or he would
   call the police. His intervention knocked some of the sense back into me.
   I stopped beating on Spike and turned, running off the lot in tears.

   Spike followed, glutton for punishment that he is. He ran me down, caught
   me around the waist, and turned me in his arms. "You have no idea how much
   it hurt," I whimpered. "How much YOU hurt me."

   "I know," he said, holding my head to his shoulder. "Believe me, luv, I'm
   bloody sorry. And if I could take it back, I would."

   I believed him because he meant it. For Willow, he would have taken back
   the cruel words to spare her tears. He loves her that much. God help me
   but I closed my eyes and pretended that he meant the words for me. For
   Angel.

   I pressed my face against his shoulder and cried. I let my oldest enemy and
   my oldest friend offer me succor. I had not broken the day they tortured me
   in the warehouse but I was broken today. And it was Spike's kind words and
   Spike's kisses that put it better.

   He cheered me up, put me back on my feet, fixed my makeup. He apologized
   over and over for hurting me, and I continued to pretend that he meant it
   for Angel. I am too scared and confused to closely examine my reasons. For
   the time being, it was a Band Aid I needed.

   It was at Spike's insistence that we continued our car hunt. We crossed on
   foot to the other side of the auto mall and the next lot. Another fruitless
   hour of searching passed and I began to feel better, but also frustrated and
   tired. *That* is when I found HER.

   "She's gorgeous," I said, circling my find.

   "It's a bloody piece of crap. Looks like it fell out of the bloody
   Hellmouth," Spike contradicted, following me. "In fact, that's being too
   kind. It looks like the Hellmouth PUKED it up."

   "This is a nice fixer-upper!" Our salesman hurried to interrupt Spike's
   scathing monologue. "A real nice first car for a young lady." He patted
   the rusted passenger side door, which came unhinged and fell off. He
   hastily righted it.

   I ignored them both. I was in love and love is blind...and deaf...and dumb.
   Which is basically what you had to be to consider buying a junk heap like
   this one. "Spike, come' ere," I cooed, peering past the salesman to the
   ripped up interior.

   He came, grudgingly Spike came. "Look," I spread my hands and presented the
   interior to him with a lavish gesture. Spike leaned a hand on the roof,
   another on the door and leaned his platinum head into the car.

   I'm lookin' luv, but I'm not see' in."

   I put a hand on his shoulder. It was corded muscle and cool flesh under my
   palm. I was aware of his body with hypersensitivity. I had been all
   evening. I was primed to play, a huge repressed bundle of super sexuality.
   My roller-coaster ride with hysteria had only made the matter worse once I
   calmed down.

   "Climb in," I urged. Spike looked at my hand and then at me. With a sigh,
   he climbed into the car, scooting over until he sat behind the wheel. I
   flashed the salesman a look. "Give us a sec." He nodded and retreated
   across the lot.

   I climbed in beside Spike, who refused to look comfortable. "Spike! It's a
   1955 Ford Thunderbird! Convertible!" I grabbed that sexy arm again, unable
   to keep my hands off him any longer. More than anything I wanted to rip
   open his fly, mount his cock, and ride the hell out of him in the front seat
   of this beat up old car.

   He must have been able to smell me because there was a burr in his voice.
   "Pet...Willow..." He sighed. "This...car...is falling apart." He
   gestured. "It's not fit for parking, let alone driving."

   "Close your eyes," I ordered. He rolled his eyes in a display of
   irritability but complied. At this point, I suspect he would have done
   anything I asked. As a demon, I never felt guilty but Spike seems to be
   capable of sincere remorse as well as caring. Not to mention sincere
   horniness.

   "Now put your hands on the wheel and lean back." He did so and I snuggled
   closer, sliding a hand onto his thigh. The leather was smooth beneath my
   palm.

   "I don't see what good this is going to do," he complained.

   "Spread your arms," I said and he did so, settling one over my shoulders and
   the other on the door. He was in a cruising posture now. "Now envision her
   as she could be, fully restored..."

   "292 cubic inch engine..." I purred in his ear.

   "198 horsepower..." I blew softly.

   "Steel crank..." The tip of my tongue touched his earlobe.

   "Heavy duty double timing chain..." I licked him, tracing the shell of his
   ear with my tongue.

   "Rebuilt automatic transmission..." I slid my hand up his thigh to his
   crotch. There was a rock hard bulge in his pants. Big surprise.

   "Black and white leather interior..." I gave that bulge a nice, hard,
   friendly rub. He moaned appreciatively.

   "Stainless steel exhaust system..." I inserted two fingers through that
   convenient little hole in his crotch. His cock was cold and swollen with
   blood. Which might explain a lot. Spike had been walking around all
   evening with most of his blood in his dick, which would normally be in his
   head.

   "Coker radials..." I bit him, hard, on the neck. Amongst vampires it was
   only a little love bite but it was also a sign that I was ready to be taken.

   "ALL RIGHT! ENOUGH ALREADY!" Spike's eyes popped open and he threw up his
   hands. He leaned out the window and yelled at the car salesman. "We'll
   take it!"

   "Great! I'll just go draw up the paperwork!" He ran off.

   "Hope you know what you're doing," Spike panted. "This beast is going to
   take a hell of a lot of..." He stopped and stared at me. I simpered at him
   from under lowered lashes and pouted. "Now, luv, I'm not a grease
   monkey..."

   I smiled and kept smiling. Spike tried to deny me for a while but in the
   end, he gave in. Simply put, he was too desperate to get me alone to argue.
   So I acquired my very own 1955 Ford Thunderbird Convertible, soon to be
   restored by my very own boy toy.

   God but I am starting to love being a girl.

   next