DISCLAIMER: Joss would NEVER do these things with his characters, so I am NOT he!!!
RATING: NC-17 (duh!!!)
PAIRING: S/A
DISTRIBUTION: if I've told you yes, then have at it. Otherwise, find it at my site (http://tisfic.tripod.com/ )
FEEDBACK: makes for a happy Tis, most of the time!!!*g*
DEDIS: to Jeannette, of course, seeing as she IS the Goddess who takes care of my site!!! Also, to those who like my little foray into the slashy side of fantasy-life!!! Thanks!!!
NOTES: This started sometime after Spike told Buffy he loved her, but before the whole Pylea part of Angel. In MY world, Angel(us) is Spike's Sire. So other than those little deviations, this series follows canon, for the most part, and * *= emphasis.
POV: Angel, Spike, Angel, Spike... and so on, and so on, and so on...*giggle*
*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*
And okay, this is the part where my bad-ass, evil childe makes me crazy some more. Apparently. Obviously. Undeniably. Still, that's just his way, I think.
So we went through our little 'make-up session', and yeah, he really *did* make me pay for what I did to him, so... why do I feel like there's more coming? Is it just me, or am I picking up on something through the bond I created when I pulled his lax form away from Drusilla and made him, myself?
I don't know, honestly, but... every time I sink deep into him, or feel him buried balls-deep inside me, I get this sensation that... it's not over. We're not quite back to where we were, and... all's *not* forgiven. It's a troubling feeling.
I'd really like to think that the way I let him treat me-- the things I let him *do*-- have made it up to him, but somehow, I just don't.
Not that he ever says anything-- or *does* anything-- that might make me think he's still harbouring hateful feelings towards me, but... it's just a feeling I have, and I can't seem to let that idea go. I'd really love to, but I just... *can't*.
And really, why should I think that a few hours of torment would be even *close* to enough to make up for the things I've done to him? I mean, *I* *made* *him*. I pulled him away from my insane childe and gave him a demon of his very own, and then I... Well, I made him into what I *wanted* him to be. What I wanted... a soft and hard mouth, and a wildly tight ass, and wickedly talented fingers, trained to pleasure only me. I beat him, and bled him, and made him *like* those things. I made him crave the sort of punishment that only *I* could give, and then... I left him. I ran off with my own Sire, and never came back. I got a soul, and deliberately chose to break his unbeating heart by never even bothering to send him a *note*. Hell, it's amazing that he's not even more of a psychopath, you know?
Still, soul aside, everything he is, or was, or ever will be, is... my fault. I created the agelessness of his beauty. I nurtured the implacable wickedness of him. I encouraged the devious, evil impulses he still bears within him, and... a chip in his head is *not* the same thing as a soul. That doesn't stop me from loving him, though. It doesn't make him any less *mine*, either, and...
What does it say about me that I'm glad for all those things? What does it imply about the state of my soul that I look at him with his pale, soft skin, and bright blue eyes, and find myself thrilled that I did everything I did-- that I brought this wicked, devious, manipulating bastard into eternity? That I pulled a shy, retiring, poetic sort from my crazed girl's grasp, and made him into what he is today?
What does it say about my quest for redemption that I don't care; that my fondest dream these days is to return my most troubled and troublesome childe to his former glory-- that I want to find a way to destroy that artificial restraint on him, and see him... whole? Because I do.
I want to know that he's the demon he misses being. I want to know that he's not in pain from wanting to hunt and knowing that he can't. I want to see him stalking the night, finding his prey, and satisfying the urges I gave him. So what does that say about me, huh? What does it all mean, when I *know* he's evil, and I don't care? What does it mean that I know what he is-- what I made him-- and *I* *don't* *care*?
Spike would probably say that it's just me being his Sire, but I know that's not all. There's more to it; I'm *sure* of it. There's something about my most wicked creation that's making me... Well, I almost wish I were soul-less again. I almost wish I could reach into his skull and pull that fucking bit of... silicone, or plastic, or metal... out of there. I wish I could find someone who knew what, exactly, has been done to him, and have that same ellusive 'someone' know how to fix it. It's one thing to be souled, but an entirely different thing to be prevented from doing what you *naturally* do, and by artificial means.
I hate this. I hate touching him, and wondering if he'd even be here if he didn't have that chip. I hate not knowing whether he's with me for *me* or for the blood I provide. I hate knowing that he makes me feel complete while I'm wondering whether I'll wake up tomorrow and find him gone. And sure, he's told me 'yours', but... never without me instigating it by saying that he's mine.
So what does that say for the future? Is he with me because he *wants* to be? Or because... I'm his Sire, and it's my *job* to look after him? Is he taking advantage of the fact that I feel responsible for him, or... when he spreads himself wide for me, and lets my cock fill him almost to breaking, is it because... he wants this? Wants me?
Fuck. I don't know. But I really need to find out, because... I'm already in so deep, I don't know how I'll manage if he ever leaves. He's a part of me now, and...
No. He made me promise never to leave him, even after what I did to him. *Just* after what I did, actually. I need to know the why, but... My boy's never been terribly good at hiding the truth. Not when I *ask* him, anyway.
Yeah. I guess I need to ask. Of course, first I need to get him into a position where he won't have any choice other than being honest, but... I can *do* that. Hell, it might even be *fun*.
Actually, I'm sure it *will*.
* * * *
Great sodding prancing fairy of a git! That's my Sire, all right. 'Course, I don't figure I mind much, what with the way he's entirely obsessed with me now. Amazing what a bit of torture and a rough shag'll do, in't?
He's so completely wrapped up in me these days, it's almost a shame to have to change things. Still, they for damned sure need some fucking changing, because...
I actually thought we were all right. Punished the ponce, fucked for a while, and... things should've gone back to normal, right? Wrong. Bloody Angel's even more broody now than he was before.
Oh, he tries to hide it, he does, but I can tell. I'm smarter than he thinks, after all. 'Course, I'd have to be, what with the way he's so sure I never think with anything above my belt. And yeah, sometimes he's right about that, but not always, damn it. Sometimes I think with my belly, too.
So he caters to nearly every whim I have, especially when it involves something we could do in that big bed of ours, but... He must think I'm an idiot, like the moron-boy back in Sunnyhell. I'm not. Something's preying on that incredibly over-developed conscience of his, and I'm for damned-fucking-sure gonna find out what it is. I'm getting tired of his heavy sighs and swiftly relaxed brow every time I walk into a room; I'm sick of feeling like he's hiding something from me, and... Damn it, I'm *his*! Bloody pillock shouldn't be *allowed* to keep secrets from me, right? Right!
Only question is... how do I make him tell me what's going on behind that overhanging forehead of his? I suppose I could shag it out of him, and.. That sounds like a *plan*!
Yeah, gonna shag my Sire into submission, I am. Should be interesting.
* * * *
And I have no idea of how this happened. I had a plan, after all. I was going to romance my boy, make him feel safe, and entirely secure, and then... When that didn't work, I was going to get him drunk. I was still planning on romancing him first, but maybe that's just me being selfish for once.
So how did it all go so wrong? Oh, yeah. Spike. And Darla.
Okay, now I know she's my Sire. Was, I mean. Now she's... my childe's childe? And that sounds wrong somehow, but I think it's because when I think of 'my childe', it's my boy who comes to mind. Still, Darla.
There I was, plan carefully thought out, and... She comes walking into the hotel. If that's not bad enough-- seeing as I never got around to telling Spike she was back from the dusted-- she's *pregnant*! I mean, how is that even possible? It shouldn't be.
It shouldn't be, but it is, and I know it because I can smell me all over her, even after eight months. Whatever it is growing in her belly, it's got Angelus stamped all over it by blood, and aura, and even stench. And it is a stench. And... Spike could smell it, too.
Maybe that's how I ended up in this position, though. Maybe it's because he's jealous, not that I blame him. After all, I went and had sex with the one woman he hates even more than my ex. I slept with her, and I enjoyed it-- as Darla made sure to tell him-- and now there's some sort of creature growing within her that's going to prove it.
No, I guess I can't blame him for tying me up again. At least this time, it's to the bed, and so what if it's face down? He needs to know that he's my priority. Not Darla, not whatever it is she's making-- but *him* Spike. My childe. My childe, my boy, my... love.
I can feel him there, off in the corner. I feel his eyes on me, feel the anxious itch within him. I've never been able to sense anyone else this way; hell, not even him, back in the early days. But I can now, and... "Spike," I say, trying to see him over my shoulder, "Come here, boy..."
* * * *
Come there? Sodding git wants me to come there? What the fuck!
I'm such a fucking moron. There I was, thinking I mattered to him, thinking he *loved* me, even, and all the while... All the while, I was just the latest in the line of vampires-- and Slayers-- he's shagged senseless? Makes me feel cheap, and used, and... Sodding prick doesn't fucking *love* me; I'd be amazed if he even knows what love *is*! Thought I was special; thought he actually gave a rat's ass. I'm such an idiot.
Doesn't change the fact that I've got him all tied up on our... *his* bed. Doesn't change anything much, actually. Just 'cause I didn't know I was a sodding fuck-toy doesn't mean it hasn't been so all along, right? So... nothing's changed-- other than the fact that I *know* now.
He still looks bloody amazing, though, and I still want him more than I can say-- even to myself. Gonna have him, too, and with any luck? He won't enjoy it a bit.
Come there? Yeah, I'm bloody well gonna come there. I'm gonna cum *right* there, you fucking shit!
My eyes lock on that wide, firm ass of his, and I'm even harder than I was a minute ago. Guess the idea of making him suffer for the pain he's dealt my heart makes me hot. I almost tear my jeans in my effort to get them gone quickly, but somehow I don't. Guess they're gonna have that hole by the zipper where my finger went through for the rest of eternity, though. Don't care too much about taking the shirt off, so I leave it. Why get naked for a punishment-fuck, after all?
He deserves to be punished; more than he did for what happened in that other dimension. Then it was just my body he raped; this time... it's my heart, because I thought he cared. I really did. But the great prissy bitch never gave a fuck about me. Guess I was convenient, in the end.
Yeah. In the *end*. Prancing fairy's about to *learn* about 'in the end'.
I'm throbbing so hard I can barely see straight, but I manage to find my way to our... *his*, damn it-- not ours, but *his*-- bed. My seeking hands find one bound ankle, and I follow it up until I reach the juncture of his thighs. Sodding fucker pisses me off, acting like he wants me; fuck, he's even making the sounds one might expect of someone in the throes of desire. He's not, though, and I know it. How could he really want me? After he just went and fucked that bitch Darla-- and knocked her up-- how could he really want *me*? That cunt's gonna give him a fucking child, so... why would he want me when I'm not even equipped to do that for him? What am I good for?
Oh, I don't mean my tight, toned body, because I completely get that; after all, who wouldn't? But how can he want *me*-- the demon inside?
He can't. It's that simple. He wants the freedom of sex without responsibility, and the way he reacted to the whore's little 'announcement' made that more than clear. He wants to sink deep into me, and feel me buried to the hilt inside that tight, hard ass of his, but that's it. I see it now. If he wanted something more, he'd have come up with something better than just a growled 'Mine' from time to time.
It's finally understanding that fully that has me growling, myself, and I don't even care when I clench my fingers hard at his hips and he moans. Fuck him. Moan away, bitch. I growl even more when I pry those tense cheeks apart and slam myself dry into that tiny tight hole.
* * * *
"Spike!" I can hear myself screaming his name, but somehow I know he doesn't care that it's a cry of pain without pleasure. He's rammed his entire thick, long cock into me. I can feel his balls slapping against mine. I can feel myself tearing, too, because this is the first time he's taken me without even touching me beforehand.
The pain is stunning. It's shattering, and mind-blowing, and depressing all at once. Of course it's also exciting, because I know why he's doing this.
He feels betrayed, and I really can't blame him for that. I mean, I *did* have sex with Darla, and she *is* carrying my... whatever, and I *didn't* tell him she was even 'alive' again. Still, if this was just a little bit more degrading, I'd break free of these ropes and teach my boy a thing or two. But it's not, so I don't.
I want him.
I don't think he understands how much he means to me, and how little Darla does. I don't know that he gets just how much I wish I'd never touched her once she was brought back, and God knows he doesn't understand that... if there's going to be a child of mine in the world other than him, I want it to be one we raise together. I guess I really *am* the ponce he names me.
All of that is irrelevant at the moment, though, because he's still slamming himself harshly into my aching ass, and I could swear he's deliberately avoiding that one spot that would make me happy to have him this way. I can barely focus through my demon's fierce pride and my own throbbing pain; still, "Spike," I groan, hoping to get through to him. He doesn't hear me, though.
If I were only free, I'd press him deep into our bed and... but I'm not. "Mine," I say, hoping it will help, but he only moves faster and harder. God, I don't want to do this now. Not like this. I don't think I have a lot of choice, though.
I steel myself to his rough, angry thrusts, and finally I'm able to time it well enough that I can shout between slams into my bleeding anus.
"Love you!" I cry, my heart right there in the words.
* * * *
And oh, fuck. It sounds like he actually means it. I can't help but slow my willful invasion of him, and I know my eyes are wide, but... "What?" I demand roughly.
"Love you, Spike," he says, and I don't know what to do.
He loves me? How can he? I barely even love myself. "What are you saying?" I hiss, my cock stilling balls-deep in his torn anus. "What are you *saying*?"
I know I sound angry, but I am, because... if he means it, he should have said it sooner, and if he doesn't...? Then he shouldn't be acting like such a vindictive prat by saying it now. If this is just... "Spike," he says again, "Love you. Always have."
"If you're only saying that to make me stop, I'll fucking stake you myself," I tell him, and oddly enough, I actually mean it. I will. I won't let him make me into a pale copy of the fledge I once was. I'll die first... or more to the point, *he'll* die first. I'll see to it.
I'm shocked to fucking hell when his shoulders suddenly flex and he tears through the ropes I've tied him with, and when his hands stretch back and cup my ass cheeks, I finally believe him.
He could have gotten free at any point. He *let* me keep him bound. And he said he loves me. There's no other possibility. He actually does.
I pull myself slowly from his tight, bloody hole, and when he rolls on our bed-- *our* *bed*-- and looks up at me, I'm seriously close to being ashamed. "Mine," he says softly, and it's only now that I understand.
Every time he's said that to me, he was telling me that I was his world, just as every time I told him 'yours' I was saying the same. "Angel..." I sob, and I know I'm acting like a sodding human, but I can't help it, "Angel... love you, too, pet..."
Forgotten are my fears of the psychotic version of Angelus coming back;
forgiven is the fact that he's given Darla something I can never have due
to my lack of a uterus. I'm deliberately ignoring the idea that when she
actually pops, he might change his mind. "Love you, too," I sigh again,
my tears fading as his lips and tongue trace those small tracks. My mouth
fastens to his, and all I want is to feel him. Whether that means him in
me or me in him doesn't matter. "Want you, love," I whimper against him,
and he smiles softly on my mouth, his hands moving from my sides to my
spine. Those poufy manicured nails of his dig into my skin just a bit,
and I can't help gasping. I gasp even more when his fingers slide down
my back and gently pry my ass wide open.
* * * *
And this is the boy I love. He knows it now, too. That he loves me in return is so much more than I deserve, but if there's one thing my time with him has taught me, it's that I should accept whatever joy and happiness might come my way, and he brings me those things.
I hated having him inside me when he was so angry and hurt, but a part of me-- the demonic part-- loved it, too. That same demon-y part is trying to make me treat him the same way, but that's not gonna happen. I love him. I've even said it out loud. My hands hold him spread wide for me, and I want nothing more than to just drive myself into him, but... I've hurt him enough. "Love you, Spike... William... Will." I say, even as one hand releases a tense, toned cheek and delves beneath his pillow.
My eyes are locked on his weepily happy blue ones as I pull our latest tube of lubricant out, and I'm actually surprised when he helps with it. He twists off the top, still staring deep into my soul, and squeezes a generous amount onto my fingers. His hand directs mine to my cock, and I groan as I realize... he feels guilty for the way he took me. He wants me to pay him back.
I'm very careful about making sure that every single part of my cock is coated before I let him guide me to that tiny pink hole of his. Even so, I make sure that I enter him slowly. I can't hurt him any more; I just *can't*. If I do, I'll have to stake myself.
Oh... God... that ring of muscle and cartilage is blissful. I don't get the head of myself but half the way in before his inherent tightness forces me out again. I wrap my fingers roughly in his hair and stare deep into his eyes as I try again. This time, I make it a bit further and the amusement I can see in him makes me laugh. "Let me in, childe," I cajole, and when I press hard against him again, he does.
My thrust drives me balls-deep into that perfect opening of his, and I groan wickedly as I realize for certain... "I'm home..."
* * * *
"Home," I echo, even though it's a poufy sodding sentiment. But no one's here to hear me say it other than Poncy the Wonder Git, after all. That being the case, there's also nobody to notice when I say what I've been wanting to ever since I said it the last time.
"Love you," I groan, even as my hips arch off our bed, and I drive myself as far up onto his thick ready cock as I can. I can feel him swelling inside me already, but that's fine. The great sodding pouf is my Sire, ain't he... But he's also my heart, and when he cums and fills me with that thick, tasty seed of his, I'll make a point of having him again, myself. And I'm gonna make up for taking him badly.
I'm gonna stroke him, both inside and out, and take my time. I'm gonna work him into a frenzy by hitting that gland just hard enough to thrill him, but not hard enough to *thrill* him. I'm gonna make love to the pissy bitch, and after...?
Well, afterwards, if that stinking cunt of a former Sire of his comes sniffing around trying to get him back? Baby or no baby, I'll stake the bitch myself.
"Love you, Angel," I growl as he cums hard within my throbbing ass.
End.