The Big Bad
   Part Six
   By Hush

   A white haired, ice eyed demon moved with wraith-like stealth, slipping
   through the darkest of LA's shadows. He moved without sound and or the
   slightest misspent motion that might betray his presence.

   Spike eyed his quarry with deliberation, watching as Angel wove a path
   through the mortal crowd. During his last trip to LA pursuing the Ring of
   Amara, things between Spike and Angel had been left unfinished. This time,
   Spike had returned for one reason and one reason alone: to settle accounts
   once and for all. It was a time of reckoning.

   Spike followed Angel into the Korean quarter, puzzling over the way the
   older vampire moved. Something about it didn't sit well with the blonde.
   Something was very, very wrong. Angel's bearing and stride lacked his
   customary grace and control. He reminded Spike more of a big lolling pup
   than the vampire who had terrified the whole of Europe.

   The swarmy mass of humanity -- pushers, pimps, peddlers, and prostitutes --
   pulsed about the immortals, leaving them untouched. Angel chose a place to
   lurk near a busy street corner and Spike did the same, puzzling the whole
   time over a great many things.

   What was Angel doing here? Hunting demons? Continuing his personal quest
   to save humanity? And why hadn't Angel sensed his childe's presence?
   Angelus should have known Spike was near. Or at the very least that he was
   being watched. It was another incongruity, which Spike logged away for
   future consideration.

   "Soddin' pouf," Spike muttered, annoyed at having to stand still, unable to
   twitch, pace, or smoke. The blonde hated waiting the way Angelus loved
   lurking. Never had two beings been so dissimilar.

   Fortunately for the blonde, the wait wasn't too long. Angel located what
   he was looking for and moved out of the shadows toward an Asian whore in her
   late teens. Spike's eyes narrowed and he moved forward, suspicion and
   confusion at war on his face.

   Suddenly, inexplicably, Angel leapt toward the whore with a jocular little
   cry, puffing out his chest and positioning his hands on his hips like a big
   floppy fag. Spike's jaw hit the ground. What the fuck?!

   The girl eyed Angelus, trying to decide whether the vampire was a harmless
   loon or a dangerous wacko. As with many others before her, she fell for
   Angel's deceptively pretty face and allowed herself to be drawn in closer.

   Spike snorted, nearly shifting to game face. "Stupid cow. They never
   learn." He shifted, high on anticipation, nearly drooling for a vicarious
   kill he could no longer make himself because of the chip. Unable to stop,
   Spike lit up a cigarette. He had to have something to do with his hands.

   "Hello," Angel boomed.

   "How can I help you, John?" the tart asked in broken English. Angel
   visibly winced and his chest deflated. Spike scrutinized his sire's body
   language, trying to figure out what was up. Was Angelus going to kill the
   bint or what? The conflicting signals the blonde was receiving were
   confusing the hell out of him.

   Spike's eyes damn near buggered out of his skull as Angelus stammered and
   Angelus sputtered. Angelus, Scourge of Europe, stuck out his butt like a
   rent boy asking for the old heave-ho up the ass, pointing and gesticulating
   toward his tight rear as he asked, "Err, how much for spanking?"

   Spike's involuntary hoot was lost in the whore's reply, "We fuck - hundred
   dollars. Blow Joe - fifty." She sauntered up to Angel and gave him the
   once over. "For you, ninety," she said, running her hand over Angel's
   chest.

   Angel yanked away as if the whore had cooties. "No-no-no," he insisted,
   frantically waving his hands about. "Um...spanking...beat butt?" He
   pointed at his ass again.

   In spite of his resolve to remain hidden, Spike exploded. "You soddin'
   POUF!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his tongue any longer.

   Angel and the whore froze. Spike doubled over in a fit of hysterical,
   overwhelming laughter. He had never seen anything funnier in all his years.
   "Well color me pink," he gasped, "An' paint me a' monkey's arse."

   Angel spun, eyes turning to pancakes as he spotted the source of the
   laughter. "Spike!" he squeaked.

   William the Bloody wheezed and held his sides, laughing so hard it hurt.
   "Surprised to see me, ducks?" he asked, barely keeping hold of his cigarette
   butt with his supple lips. Inconspicuously, Spike raised one finger to
   under his eye and dragged away tears.

   "Yeah!" Angel exclaimed. "You're supposed to be in Sunnydale!" Meanwhile,
   the prostitute continued to look from Spike to Angel, clearly baffled.

   "Well, I'm not," Spike retorted, starting to get a handle on his mirth.
   Things weren't going down like he'd envisioned at all. He hadn't planned on
   revealing his presence to Angelus until he whacked the big ox with a tire
   iron or baseball bat, preferably over the back of the head.

   "Who's he?" the whore demanded.

   "Spike," Angel squeaked again, as if it were obvious and self-explanatory.
   Spike's sire wore a fearful, humiliated expression that the blonde had never
   witnessed the like of before on Angel's face. It was beautiful.

   "The one and only," he confirmed. Spike grabbed control and his laughter
   stopped. He stepped out of the shadows, away from the building, and flung
   away his cigarette, looking Angel over. "Well, well, if me old sire isn't a
   flogged fag! Sod a dog!" Spike exhaled a stream of smoke directly into
   Angel's face. "An' here I thought Willow was just ripping the piss outta
   me."

   Angel's jaw dropped. Thrilled, so full of energy that his cock was
   buzzin', Spike grinned and chuckled, unable to believe his good luck.
   Catching Angel in a compromising situation was better than anything he could
   have hoped for. The Slayer would shit bricks when she heard.

   "What are you doing here?" Angel asked weakly. Then the dark haired
   vampire performed a double take. "W-w-willow what?!" he squawked.
   "Willow?! What did heeee-shhheee say?!"

   Spike performed a little victory dance right there on the sidewalk, wishing
   that he had brought his music to thrash too. Too good! It was the best
   victory the blonde had gotten since he killed Slayer #2 and he intended to
   savor every nuance of the triumph.

   Spike walked right up to Angel and got in his face, poking the bigger man
   in the chest with his finger. "Willow told me all about you and your
   spanking fetish, you soddin' trotter. Gotta admit, didn't believe her at
   first." He waggled his eyebrows. "Thought the little minx was yankin' my
   chain!"

   "What?" Angel mouthed like an imbecile. He was stunned. Spike snorted,
   sputtered, and sniggered. He *so* had the upper hand!

   "Willow 'fessed up to your little secret, my paddled petunia," he explained
   with exaggerated ridicule. "About you...an' her...an' how she beats your
   lily white arse. Gotta say, it doesn't surprise me at all, at least, not
   about you, you giant POUF. Now Willow..."

   Spike trailed off, momentarily taken aback as he looked at things from a
   new angle. He performed a mental double take. Oi! What the fuck?! Willow
   hadn't been giving him a hard time! She and Angel really were... Spike's
   girl and Spike's sire were...

   The blonde saw red just as Angelus burst out, "What about Willow?!"
   Angel's outrage deepened his voice from an indeterminate squeak to a boom.

   Spike had to swallow his wounded pride for the sake of saving face. He'd
   deal with Willow later. "That's one filly wearin' the show halter an'
   kickin' up her heels outta the ring," he informed his sire casually. "Let's
   just say that until a few days ago, that the little vestal vixen sure had me
   fooled."

   Spike emphasized the taunt with the most lewd expression he could muster,
   implying that anything and everything went once Willow lifted her skirt.
   Inside he fumed, furious and humiliated that the little redhead had put one
   over on him. She had tricked him into believing she was kidding! The
   bitch!

   "You and Willow!" Angel sputtered, buying into Spike's deception
   completely. There wasn't the slightest hint of skepticism in his eyes, and
   it should have been another hint to the blonde that something was well and
   truly WRONG. Should have, but wasn't. More fool him.

   Spike kept going full steam ahead, perpetuating his ruse. "You could say
   that little vixen rides me hard and puts me away wet. Quite the sex kitten
   she is... But wait!" He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.
   "You wouldn't know that or your marbles would be runnin' all over the bloody
   sidewalk!" He smirked and strutted, thrusting his hips, and crowing with
   delight.

   Aghast, Angel just stood there. Then it happened.

   Angel changed. He transformed before Spike's very eyes from soulful pouf
   to remorseless demon. It was like watching a scorpion crawl out of a
   butterfly cocoon. Spike shivered. Oh. Fuck.

   Angelus snickered. From the first laugh, Spike fell silent, shocked. He
   recognized the laugh. His sire: Angelus. The brazen bastard was free.

   "You're really a piece of work, Spike." Angel raised his hands, flapping
   his arms with the enthusiasm of a child pretending to fly. "Flappin' an' a
   flouncin' like a big ol' peacock... You think I give a fuck if you're
   shaggin' that witch?"

   Spike froze. Fuck. Angelus. Angel had lost his soul. Again. Suddenly,
   everything and nothing made sense. "Shut your gob!" the blonde snapped
   automatically. He had nothing coherent to say. Oh. Fuck.

   "Why, because it kills you that I'm not jealous?" Angelus taunted. "Here
   you are burning to rub my face in it that you've got a leg up on that dozy
   mare. Tell me, Spike, who am I supposed to be jealous of... Willow or YOU?"

   Spike had no ready answer. He stood there, stunned, and stared. Fuck.
   Angelus.

   The mouthy bastard kept right on going, "I hear that you've been fixed."
   Angelus stepped right up to Spike, getting into his face and nailed Spike's
   temple with a hard jab. "Little chip in your head - modifying your
   behavior."

   Spike hissed, flinching away from that insulting finger. "Sod off," he
   growled. "I can still kick your arse." And he could, he could, he could.
   He could fight demons.

   Fuck. Angelus.

   Angelus sniggered. "My arse, my arse, my arse, it's always about my
   magnificent arse, isn't it, Spike?" Angelus wiggled the arse in question,
   doing a little dance. He moved expressively, shuffling his long limbs about
   with flowing freedom.

   And Spike damned his lack of self-control, quick wit, easy answers, and
   preparation. He wasn't ready and he was caught off-guard. He. Stood.
   There. And. Watched.

   Watched the dancing demon perform a magnificent version of the butt-wiggle
   mamba with an equally magnificent behind. Angelus was free and freedom,
   without pretences, inhibitions, or sanity. He was darkness and beauty and
   terrifying to behold. He was Spike's sire and the blonde despised and
   adored Angelus with every fiber of his being.

   Spike didn't know what to do.

   "Know what?" Angelus crowed, loud enough to be heard up and down the
   street. "I think you're here makin' a bunch of noise about my 'lily white
   arse' because I'm number one on your Shag List and it just fuckin' drives
   you nuts that you're not getting my cock up your ass. I am at the top of
   your Shag List, aren't I, Spike?"

   Angelus smirked.

   Spike exploded.

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