DISCLAIMER: I am still not Joss.
RATING: NC-17
DISTRIBUTION: My site, and anyone I've given the slash-y go-ahead to, if they want it (and that sounded so wrong, but... you know what I mean...).
FEEDBACK: please... still feeling my way through the whole M/M thing... (and yet again-- that sounded WRONG!!!*teehee*)
DEDICATIONS: to Titti and Jenny, for their wonderful fics!!! Also, to Jeannette, for all her work on my site!!! (Love you, girlie!!!*VBG*)
NOTES: Um, okay... sometime after Spike tells Buffy he loves her, but before the end of that same season. Spike takes of for LA, and goes to stay with his Sire. (Vague enough for you???) And * *= emphasis.
POV: Angel's, then Spike's, back and forth. Perspectives are separated by *s.
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I want to fuck him. I want to fuck him so much, I might as well be just an enormous throbbing penis with feet. There's no other option. And the fact that he fancies himself in love with my own ex-girlfriend makes all of this even more insane.
It was bad enough when he showed up in my town saying I was his 'Yoda'. It got worse when he decided that my soul made him less of a childe to me, and granted, that could have been because of the way I acted, but so what?
That was never my intention, but it's what he got from it, none the less. I can understand that. What I *can't* understand, though, is how he decided that coming *here* was the thing to do. Did he know how it was going to drive me crazy?
I think he did. I think he deliberately chose to make my life even more miserable than it already was. It's the only possible explanation for the way he's acting.
Oh, it wasn't too bad at first, what with the way he moped around all the time. Had me worried that he was trying to take my 'King of Brood' crown away, but it wasn't bad. Of course, then he had to go getting all perky, and less unhappy, and...
Jesus, he keeps walking around barefoot, in nothing but those raggedy, threadbare jeans of his, and doesn't he know what that's doing to me? Fuck, he *has* to know, doesn't he? I mean, God! All that pale, smooth skin, parading around at all hours of the day and night? It's just a damned good thing Cordy and Wes are on vacation, because I shudder to think of what *they'd* have to say about how transparent I've become.
And he doesn't say a word. Not one single comment about how much I want him. I can't help hoping that maybe he hasn't noticed, but somehow, I doubt it. That doesn't explain his silence, though. Time was, he'd be rubbing it in-- and that wasn't really a place I needed to have my mind go.
See, he apparently thinks I've forgotten about all the nights and days we spent together when I wasn't all 'soul-having'. As if *that* could ever happen. I remember every single moment I spent with him, and with more clarity than I like. I remember his hands, and his lips, and his teeth-- God, his *teeth*! I remember the first time his eyes turned golden for me, and the way he fought me that first night, until he realized that everything I was doing to him-- while it might hurt-- was designed to give him pleasure, and me even more. I remember the pale glow of his tight, virginal ass in the candlelight, and the strong arch of his spine. I remember the sound of his voice, and the way he grunted and moaned when I filled him. And I remember the way he felt around me, his sharp, anxious rocking. I remember every single thing I ever did to and with him, and...
I'm in Hell. It's the only explanation. I somehow managed to get myself killed without noticing, and... I'm in Hell.
Shit, it's worse than the *last* time.
* * *
Poncy bugger wants to act like he's immune to my charms. I'd almost think he was, except for the fact that I can see him hard in his pants every time I saunter on by. And I do that a lot. Saunter, I mean.
I stroll, and stalk, and even prance a bit, and all in a bloody attempt to regain what I lost to those bloody fucking gypsies. And I know he notices. I know he wants me. And why wouldn't he, after all? I'm one prime, hot-as-sin piece of ass, if I do say so myself. Hell, *I'd* shag me in a heart beat.
Bloody pouf seems to feel differently, though. I mean, he *wants* me, but he doesn't seem to be interested in *having* me. Not that what he wants is any real concern of mine, but... Damn it, it's hard to shag someone who won't even *touch* you, in't it?
I thought wandering about in just my jeans might do the trick, but obviously it hasn't. Not even when I started leaving the button open, and the zipper partly down. 'Course, that shouldn't surprise me. Souled git always *did* have a fascination for punishing himself, and self-denial is the most punishing thing I can think of, which is exactly why I don't go in for that myself.
So the jeans didn't work. Not the end of the fucking world, right? Guess I'll have to up the ante.
* * *
Definitely Hell. There's no other possibility. Watching him in denim was... horrible, but still a damned nice sight to behold, and now...? Well, now...
He's apparently managed to ruin his jeans somehow, because they're completely gone. And he also seems to have discovered a sudden love of bathing, because when he's not running around with just a towel around his waist, he's in the fucking shower!
He leaves the door open. Steam billows out into the hall. He *sings*. And all of that is just driving me *nuts*. It's all I can do to keep myself from just... stripping off and diving in after him. And how can he be so fucking happy, anyway? He's *supposed* to be all sad and heartbroken that Buffy wouldn't give him the time of day!
All I can think is that he knows he's making me insane, and that's what's got him so pleased. The fact that I'm getting more unhappy with every moment must be giving him a big jolt of jolly, rollicking fun-time feelings.
And he won't leave me alone, either, or not for more than a few minutes. Definitely not long enough for me to take care of the erection that's been throbbing away in my pants for the last couple weeks. Hell, I can't even sleep without dreaming about him. The way his eyes widen when he cums, the tight, vise-like clenching of his asshole when he does. I'm quickly reaching the point where I'll wish I *didn't* remember.
The fact that I can hear him jerking off in the shower just adds insult to injury, because it's like he's got some sort of radar. The minute I go for my own cock, he stops and pops out of the bathroom, the towel sticking out rampantly as he strolls through whichever room I'm in. He hasn't just done it once, either; he does it *all* *the* *time*! I don't even know what to say to him anymore, because God knows what'll come out of my mouth if I try.
All I do know is... if he doesn't stop this soon, I'm going to say to Hell with it, and throw him down just the way I used to. I can only take so much, after all, and... God, I don't want him to end up paying for my own lack of control. I doubt he knows just how close a thing it is; if he did, he wouldn't be fucking around like this... would he?
I don't want to do it. Well, yes, I do, but... He's been hurt enough already, what with that chip in his head, right? The *last* thing he needs is his soul-ridden, guilt-loving Sire pounding deep into that tight little ass of his... right? Right?
* * *
Fucking ponce! Thinks he's all strong and capable, don't he? Well, maybe he is, but I've had just about bloody enough! He's *supposed* to be concerned about me. Supposed to want to 'comfort' me, after the way his ex-Slayer 'tore my heart out'! Hell, that's the only reason I pretended to care for the daft cow in the first place! Figured 'loving' the same girl might be some sort of a 'bonding' experience.
Well, obviously, I thought fucking *wrong*, because the bastard won't even *speak* to me, much less *touch* me. If it weren't for the constant bulge in those bloody linen slacks, I'd think he didn't even know I was here.
Hell, he should have had his firm peasant-y ass in the shower with me *days* ago, but fuck me if he's bothered. Hasn't even poked his head through the carefully open door. Sodding git.
The worst part about it is I know he wants me. He thinks I don't hear him moaning my name in his sleep, but I do. Every night. But does it get me an invite into that big, soft bed of his? Of course not! It just isn't bloody *fair*!
So, scrap the 'enticing' plan. It's obviously too subtle for the great swishy prat. I'm gonna have to be a bit more overt, I guess.
Yeah... I can do overt. Should be fun.
* * *
'Come away from the fire, lad,' I say, even though he looks incredibly
sensual with his skin glowing in the orange and yellow flames. He's poised
there on his hands and knees, staring at me over his shoulder while he
waggles his ass in the warm, humid air of our sitting room. I almost laugh
when he turns and starts crawling towards me, but I know that look in his
eye. It's a look I've become very familiar with in the six months since
I turned him. 'Stop it, boy,' I tell him, flashing fang in a short smile,
'I'm not in the mood.' He just grins that wicked little grin he's copied
from me, and keeps on coming. His fingers pluck at the fastenings of my
trousers, even as he smirks. 'Bet I can *get* you in the mood, Sire,' he
purrs, and when he wraps his lips tightly around the already seeping head
of my cock, he knows he's right.
Damn, I'm starting to *hate* the dreams. The memories. They lurk in the back of my head for the most part, only coming out during the few hours I spend trying to sleep. It's bad enough that I can't rid myself of images of Spike during the day, but even my sleeping mind is full of him. It's not right, it's not fair, and it's not... "Oh..." It's not exactly a dream this time, is it?
Apparently not, because... there really are a set of lips wrapped around my cock, and I'd know that little tongue-flick anywhere, even if it *has* been over a century since I felt it last. "Spike..."
I should stop him. I *know* I should stop him, but... how can I? How can I even consider it with any seriousness? I made him. I trained him. Turned him into the perfect sexual partner for me, and... God, I want this so fucking much!
My fingers slip under the sheet and wrap roughly in his short blond hair, and...
* * *
Yeah, this was a brilliant fucking idea. Got my mouth full of Sire-cock, his flavour flowing through me, and fuck me if I'm gonna let him stop this. It's been too fucking long. Not that he's *trying* to make me stop, but... even if he were, I wouldn't let him. He's the only one who could possibly accept me now, what with the things Slutty's little soldier-boy 'friends' did to me, and... He's my Sire, right? He *has* to have me. There's no other choice.
And if making that clear to him means having his long, thick cock in every orifice we can find...? Then bloody good for me! He's the only one I've ever wanted this way; it's only fitting that I have him after the way he treated me before. Bloody bastard owes me, after all.
I can feel him straining to hold himself back. I guess he's afraid of 'hurting' me. Don't care, though, so I slam my lips down to the base of him, and I know he loves it when my throat convulses around his throbbing shaft. It's the old gag-reflex that gets him every time, the pathetic wanker.
He's almost yanking the hair out of my head, he's so into this, but since I have no plans for having a bald spot any time soon, I pull away, and just... lick roughly at his hooded tip. Oh, yeah, he *likes* that! Not as much as I remember him liking my ass, though, so I toss the sheet back, and grin up at him, still swiping at the head of his cock with my tongue. "So, Peaches," I say between licks, "Anything else I can do for you? Other than polishing the old knob..."
The oddly subdued growl he lets out shows me he's not quite ready to have his wicked way with me, though, so I take him deep into my throat again, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.
* * *
Jesus *fucking* Christ! It almost sounds like he wants me to... Does he? Is that what all this has been about? Not some need to drive me crazy, but... desire? Did he want me this whole time, and if he did, why didn't he just *say* so, for fuck's sake?
I should probably just ask him, but that would mean taking my cock out of his mouth to get an answer, and I'm not quite ready to do that yet. My boy always had the sweetest mouth, and... he still does.
My fingers tighten in his hair again, even as I arch hard against the bed, but I don't want to cum in his mouth. Not yet, anyway. Later. Definitely.
The air feels incredibly cold against my throbbing flesh when I pull his wet, talented lips from me, and he looks kind of surprised when I drag him up my body, but... "You did *ask*," I remind him, and I don't care anymore that this is probably going to hurt him, because he's brought it on himself. My hands move down his back, sliding between the tense cheeks of his ass, and when I find that small rosebud there, I can't help but force two fingers deep inside him.
He groans, of course, but the sound only makes me press deeper. I don't know exactly what he thought was going to happen here, but *I'm* calling the shots. I'm his Sire, after all, even if I *haven't* acted like it lately. That changes now, though, because...
I've spent so long denying myself any kind of pleasure; spent so long denying what I am in my pursuit of 'redemption'. The fact is, I'm a demon. A vampire. All the boo-hoo-y sighing in the world isn't going to change that, and that being the case? How can I help embracing what I am; what I *made*? I'm almost two hundred and fifty years old. It took someone half my age to show me that I'm not a man. I'll never be a man again. And that's fine.
Plus, this is my boy I'm getting ready to fuck. I own him. He's mine to do with as I will, and it's been far too long since I've taken advantage of that fact, so I pull my fingers from his tight, dry hole. "Hands and knees, boy," I order him.
He looks shocked for a minute, but then such an expression of... sheer desire and acceptance spreads over his face, I can hardly believe it. I really wish I'd known this was going to happen, though. I'd have bought some lubricant.
* * *
Sodding Angel is acting like Angelus! That's the only way to bloody well say it. The poncy, soul-having git is acting like my Sire, and it's almost more than I can stand. I'm harder than a fucking rock, just from having his fingers in me, not that I wasn't from sucking him, anyway, but... Fuck me!
I can feel him shifting behind me, feel the mattress dipping as he moves, and I can't help letting out a moan of anticipation, because... too long. Much too long. I know this is gonna hurt some, right at first, but what the fuck. I'm a vampire, right? Pain is like mother's milk to me. It's still surprising when he rams those fingers deep into my ass again. I'd've thought Broody would be a lube kind of guy.
Those fingers feel pretty fucking good, though, and when he forces a third in, I understand. This stretching me-- prepping me-- is his soul's way of trying to make things easier. I can't help pressing back into his hand, shivers racing through me when those digits find that special spot inside me. "Angel!" I nearly growl, and I swear you could knock me over with a feather when yet another thick, calloused finger joins the others. Does he really think he's gonna...? "*Fuck*!"
* * *
That's right, Spikey, my boy. Take it. Keep thrusting back begging for more, and you're for damned sure going to get it.
That's what I'm thinking, but I don't say it. I just watch my fingers slamming in and out of his asshole. My nostrils flare when slight tears appear in the ring of abused muscle I'm piercing, but the blood makes my hand slide easier, and when my thumb joins my fingers inside him, I know he wasn't expecting it.
Neither was I, for that matter, but... it's something I've read about, and I can't deny that I've wondered if it was even possible, what with as big as my hands are. But apparently it is, and while I'm sure it hurts like a bitch, it can't be *all* pain, because damned if my boy isn't still pressing back, trying to take more. I'm almost worried that maybe my cock won't be enough for him after this, but... so what if it isn't? I'll still enjoy slamming between those pale globes of flesh, and that's what really matters, right?
That's not the point right now, though, because there's something indefinably right about seeing my childe's anus stretched past the breaking point to accommodate my wrist, and I love the way his blood smells. I lean in, still moving my fist hard and fast inside him, and lick the trickles from the back of his thigh.
I can hear him whimpering, even as I move deeper into him, and I slow my thrusts, looking at the tense line of his back consideringly. "Do you want me to stop?" I ask him, "Stop this and just... fuck you?"
* * *
Fuck yes, I want you to stop! Your bloody fist must be eight fucking inches around, you sodding prick! Still, "No..." I hear myself moaning, and when he starts moving that great clump of flesh and bone hard and fast again, I can't catch enough breath to take the word back.
I never imagined anyone doing something like this to me, much less my brooding mess of a Sire. Just goes to show that... maybe this wasn't such a grand plan, after all. I was fully prepared for that huge sodding cock of his, but this...? The only good part is that he can't be deriving too much pleasure from it himself, what with the lack of nerve-endings in his "Oh, bloody fucking hell!" And just like that I get it, because his whole sodding fist just slammed into that gland, and fuck me if it's not the most amazing fucking thing I've ever felt! And I guess he knows what he just did, because now he seems to have a spot to aim for, and "Angel!" I howl, as he goes on battering away at me.
* * *
I always loved listening to my boy cum. There's this deep, thick sound he makes; it's like a cross between a growl, a purr, and a deep, gut-wrenching sob. I still love that sound, although I've never heard it anywhere else. I'm hearing it now, though, and... I'm glad.
I'm glad Spike enjoyed my little experiment with his ass. I'm glad he didn't want me to stop. And I'm glad that he's not passed out or anything, because he was never as much fun to fuck when he was unconscious.
It's harder to get my hand out of his ass than it was getting it in, but I manage it somehow. He's bleeding a lot, though, and his dripping hole is stretched wide, so I push him down onto his stomach and lower my lips to that gaping, bloody mess. He still tastes amazing, but then again, he always did.
I lap almost gently at him, waiting with as much patience as possible, and when the blood stops, and his anus has returned to its usual size, I crawl up his back, letting the seeping head of my cock rest against the cleft of his ass. "My turn to cum," I tell him, and so what if my voice sounds a little bit wicked? I'm feeling kind of evil at the moment, so... My fingers close on his hips, pulling him back and up a bit, and when I've got him just the way I want him, I press my hooded tip to that tiny opening.
"Ready, boy?" I say, and when he starts to answer, I shut him up by pushing hard at him. I barely hear his gasp under my own as just the head of me slides past that tight ring. "Spike," I growl, when he tries to pull away.
* * *
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, *shit*! Bastard-y shit-fucking wanker can't even give me a minute to recover from having his sodding huge *fist* in my ass, can he? Not that it wasn't a fucking intense sensation, and not that I didn't cum harder than I ever have in over a century on this spinning ball of mud, but still! No, the fucking prick just has to put that big fucking cock in my ass right now, doesn't he?
Well, yeah. And it's almost a relief. No, sod 'almost'. It *is* a relief. He still wants me. My Sire still wants to fuck me, and I guess having the proof of that sliding deeper and deeper into me is worth it. Won't be letting him fist me again any time soon, though; that much I know. Or not unless he lets me do him, too, which isn't too bloody likely. Ponce is too much of a control-freak for that. Hell, he's never even let me in him with just my cock.
But *his* cock. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Pain's gone for the most part now, and fuck me if I'm not getting hard again. He's laying completely on me, nothing moving except his thrusting hips, and I still love the way he growls in my ear every time he's balls-deep inside me. I want the chance to move, though, so I start raising my ass just a little to meet him, and... Thank fucking God!
He's pulled me up to my hands and knees, and his fingers are tight on my waist, pulling me back into him as he slams deeper and harder and faster into me, and... "Yes, Sire! Right there!" It's almost embarrassing that he can make me squeal like a girl, but what can I say? He's my Sire, after all; he could probably make me bay at the moon if he had a mind to.
* * *
Even with all the dreams, and all the memories, I'd somehow forgotten just how tight my boy was. It's all come back to me, though, and I don't know why I ever gave him up. Even with a soul, I'm still his maker. I still own him. I should have kept him with me, and I didn't. That's not a mistake I'll be making again.
I love the way he shudders and moans for me. I love the way he tries so hard to resist me. Hell, I even love the way he tries to order me about. It's just his way, though; I know that.
He's so tight, and so very irresistible, too. I really wish I could drag this out, but he just feels too damned good, and when he slams back onto my hungry cock, I can't help but explode. I don't even try to stop myself, I just press as deep into him as I can get, and as I shudder and groan, my fingers digging deep into his pale skin, I fall forward, driving my sharp teeth roughly into the top of his shoulder, and... the taste of him sends me even further.
I own him, but... I owe him for this, damn it, and... How can I ever repay him for this feeling?
* * *
There's something just fucking perfect about this. Laying here, ass filled with Sire-cock-and-cum, his teeth in my skin. I barely even care that I'm hard and throbbing against the sheets. I do care, though, mostly 'cause his big, lumbering shape is too heavy to allow me to move against those same sheets.
Still, he won't be on top of me forever. Eventually, the big sodding git'll have to pull his softening shaft from my ass and get the fuck off me, right? And when he does, I'll go off and have a bit of a wank, myself. Maybe in the shower. But that would wash the stink of him from me, and I don't think I want to do that quite yet. Not 'til I'm sure the swishy bitch isn't gonna go off somewhere and brood himself into deciding this is 'wrong'.
So I just lay here, feeling him lapping away at the blood seeping from the bite he gave me, and when he actually *does* pull that fucking huge cock from my ass? I'm almost disappointed. Still, I'm pulsing away, so I'll figure out what that means later. "Back in a minute," I tell him, but his hand on my arm stops me from leaving the bed.
"Where are you going?" he says, and all I can do is roll my eyes before gesturing to my throbbing cock. "Where do you think, Peaches?"
I'm not sure I like the look in his eyes. It's almost frightening, because... it looks like he's steeling himself to something. I almost want to just shrug his hand off, but... Jesus-*fuck*!
I can't keep my hands from flying to his head, and much as I want to watch him, my eyes slam closed. Never had my Sire suck me off before, but it's fucking *amazing*! Doesn't take much effort on his part, sadly, before I'm arching hard into his throat, and cumming for what feels like hours. Who knew the prancey git had it in him?
And he's definitely got it in him now, because he bloody well *liked* *it*! Hell, he's trying to suck me into hardness again, I think. Not that I mind, because... Maybe I've spent enough time being my Sire's fucking slave. Maybe it's time I showed him that while he may have made me, I'm a Master Vamp in my own right. And maybe it's time I got better acquainted with that firm peasant-y ass of his.
Yeah. I'm tired of being the submissive one, even after just one night. It's not the way I am, and if my Sire thinks I'm gonna go on playing cum-bucket for him, he's got another think coming. Not that I don't enjoy it, but... Damn it, it's a two-way fucking street, in't it?
Yeah. Look out, Angel. Your boy's got a lesson or two to teach you... Should be *fun*.
End.