SERIES: Choices (#17)
AUTHOR: Tisienne Blue
E-MAIL: tisatko@msn.com
POV: the redhead.
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Okay, so Spike was right; I really *hadn't* thought about how I was gonna get Angel and Tara to go out on an actual date. I knew I had to find a way, though, if only to still the small surges of guilt that raced through me whenever I looked at my ex-girlfriend.
I mean, yes, she was kind of... mean to me, when she found out that I'd left her for Spike, but I guess that's understandable, *especially* considering the conversation we'd had not so much earlier, where I told her I wasn't going to be going back to men anytime soon. I didn't lie, exactly, because... well, Spike's not exactly a man any more. I don't suppose that's any consolation, though.
Well, obviously, I owe Anya a big bunch of thanks, because she managed to convince Tara that I wasn't trying to hurt her; that where demons were involved, sometimes humans just couldn't resist their own urges, and especially on the Hellmouth. Tara's more or less okay with the whole situation now. Of course, that *might* have something to do with the fact that she's got a big old yen for Angel.
Don't think that didn't surprise me, because it definitely did, but... A part of me will always love my ex, and if she can look past the whole 'male and a vampire' thing, and find happiness with the souled demon she's so obviously interested in? Well, I'm happy for her.
It's not gonna be that easy, though. She's been entirely sure of her sexual orientation for a while now, so I know this whole thing has to be throwing her for a major loop. Still, she *does* want him. I can see it. It's right there in her eyes, and in the lines of her body, whenever he's in a room with her. It's like she can't decide whether to run to him, or away from him, and the funny thing is... He acts exactly the same way. He's completely confused, and more flustered than I've ever seen him, and honestly, it's one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I spend more time trying not to laugh at them than anything else.
Still, I don't think either of them would appreciate it if I did, so... So, how can I get them to go to dinner, or a movie, even? I suppose I could just... tell them to, but I doubt either of them would listen. No, they're too caught up in pretending there's nothing going on, so... the only other option is... trickery. I have to set them up, and I have to do it in a way that neither of them will be able to see through. Until it's too late. Unfortunately, I've never been much of a tricksy wight, but... that's something my lying, thieving, wickedly mischievous Mate is *very* good at.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Pleeeease, Angel," I wheedle, staring up into his dark brown eyes, "You *have* to come! You made him, after all..." I can see that he's starting to cave, and that can only be a good thing, so I lay it on even thicker. "It won't be the same without you." I'm pouting a little, even as I beg him to come to the fictitious party that's allegedly meant to commemorate Spike's turning. I was concerned, at first, that Angel would know it wasn't the right date, but apparently Spike was right about Angelus not being the sort to keep track of that kind of thing, because the big, brooding one finally nods.
He doesn't seem to want to celebrate the fact that he made my love a demon, but, "All right, Willow," he says after a moment, and his brow is slightly furrowed, but that's okay. Maybe he'll be relieved when he gets there and finds that that's not the nature of the evening, after all. "Where and when?"
I'm laughing on the inside as I give him the particulars of the private dining room I've arranged at a very exclusive restaurant nearby, and when he writes the information down and says-- with a sigh-- that he'll be there, I smile brightly. "Thanks, Angel!" I tell him happily, "You won't regret it!"
He just rolls his eyes at me and says he hopes I'm right. So do I, for that matter.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Judging by the look on my Mate's face, he was equally successful with Tara. Of course, I figured he would be, what with the story of planning a surprise dinner for me to commemorate the day I first floated a pencil. I knew it would work; Tara's very into the whole witchy thing. Of course, so am I, but it just shows how flustered she is about what's happening inside her that she thinks I'd care about such a tiny little event in my life. I mean, Hell! By the time I started floating things, I'd already restored Angel's soul!
That might, actually, have been a better line, but I didn't want to get her thinking and worrying about the permanence of that spell. Not yet, anyway. No, I want her to spend some time with Angel; see if whatever they're both feeling is serious enough that they actually want to be together. If not, then no big, but if so?
Well, if their little attraction is something that's going to turn into love, and need, and constant desire, then I have a certain ritual to tell her about! I'm still not entirely sure it'll do the trick, but... close. Ninety-five percent, now.
Still, the important thing is to find out if they're right together, and if they don't spend any time finding out, they might *both* miss out on the very thing that could make them happy and whole.
Spike thinks I'm nuts. He thinks I just want to see them happily together because I'm so happy with *him*, and maybe he's right. But maybe... maybe this is part of everything else-- the reason I was drawn to Spike in the first place, and why we've ended up in LA, and why we're bound so very tightly ourselves. Maybe the Powers want Angel and Tara together just as badly as the seem to have wanted me with my Mate. That's what I think, anyway.
He doesn't agree, of course, even though he can see exactly why I feel this way. He doesn't want to admit that there's a good chance that he's destined to *stay* chipped, and fight on the side of good. Hell, he doesn't even want to give up on the idea of turning me someday, regardless of the fact that I may well be immortal already.
And there's a thought. If I *am* immortal, by virtue of the ritual I did with him, then would turning me even work? Would I die, and awake with a demon of my very own, or would my body just replace the blood and go on ticking? It's a good question, but I think I'll wait until I'm sure about the whole immortality thing before I test it. If I'm wrong, well... I'm not ready to be a blood-sucking demon yet, even if I *would* still have a soul. Because he's promised me that, and I believe him. He loves me the way I am; he doesn't particularly want me to be all evil and bad.
But I don't really want to think about that anymore, because he's watching me now, and he's wearing that sly smirk that I love so much. His t-shirt has ridden up on his ribs, exposing a nice, wide swath of pale, smooth skin over hard, rippling muscle, and his fingers are resting lightly just beside his navel, and the sight of him, just laying there, leaning against the headboard of our bed is... And that smirk is suddenly deeper; more knowing.
"What are you thinking, pet," he says silkily, even though he knows *exactly* what's racing through my mind. Still, he pretends to ignorance as I stalk towards him.
"I'm *thinking*," I murmur wickedly, even as I stop beside the bed and rake my eyes over his body, "That you just lied to my ex." I raise one knee, resting it on the mattress, and start crawling towards him. "I'm thinking that lying is *bad*, Spike," I continue, and "I think you should be *punished* for being such a wicked, evil creature."
There's a dark, willful look in his eyes when I lower my lips to his belly, and that look only gets darker when I bite his skin. His hand leaves its spot by his navel, and tangles almost roughly in my hair. "Do you, pet," he rumbles, and the sound alone sends shivers down my spine, "And are you the one to do that, then?"
He's been so very good about being sweet and tender with me, and he so rarely gets to give in to his darker needs. They're a part of him, though, and oddly enough, I actually *enjoy* it when he does, so I smirk, and sink my teeth into him a little bit harder. "You know I am," I say as I pull back. I mutter a small incantation I've been working on, and he growls when his hands are suddenly drawn to the bars of the headboard by invisible bands of force.
He struggles just a bit, until he's sure he can break free if he really wants to, and he growls again, in anticipation, this time. "I don't think so, little girl," he sneers, but there's such love and need in his eyes that I just have to rise to the challenge.
"Oh, but I *am*, Spike," I hiss, digging my nails harshly into his rippling abs, "And believe me when I say... Before this is over, I'll have you *begging*." I can see that he's about to say something else, but I'm in charge here, even if it *is* only because he's letting me be, so I clap one hand over his mouth while the other slips under my skirt.
It takes a good thirty seconds of wriggling and twisting, but I finally manage to drag my panties down my legs, and I wad them into a ball before taking my hand from his mouth. He starts to speak, but that's a mistake on his part, because I use the opportunity to shove that small clump of fabric between his lips. "Hush, puppy," I say smoothly, my fingers pushing his shirt up farther.
His eyes are wide, because I've never really gone this far with the whole 'Willow, Mistress of Torment' thing before, but... he's liking it. A lot, if that straining bulge in his jeans is any indication. He's not trying to fight me, in any case. He's not trying to push that fabric from his mouth, either.
I'm really glad that I bought him a whole drawer full of these black t-shirts, because the one he's wearing is about to meet Mister Knife, and it separates like soft cheese when the sharp edge slides down it. I push the cut cotton to either side, and just stare at that smooth, defined chest for a minute, because my Mate is the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and it still amazes me that he's mine. Still, he's starting to growl, and I can feel the bare edge of impatience in him, so I smirk again and lean over the edge of the bed.
I found this tiny cat 'o' nine tails down in the training room. I have no idea of why Angel would have such a thing, but he *is* remarkably into self-flagellation, so maybe that explains it. Still, he hasn't said anything about it being missing, so...
My love's eyes are wide when I show him what I've pulled from hiding, but not in a bad way. No, there's a very intense look of anticipated pleasure on his face, and that's exactly what I wanted to see. So I pull my arm back, then snap it forward, my eyes widening at the sound of leather slapping flesh, and there's a power in this that I've never known before. This isn't something I ever really thought about much, but... I kind of thought he'd like it. I didn't know *I* would, and maybe it's just because we're so connected, but... this is *fun*!
I can feel his mind going blank, under a haze of complete arousal, and I strike again, gasping as the small red welts appear on his skin. He's so pale, they look like streaks of soft red paint, and I almost can't believe I'm doing this.
He can, though. His eyes are locked on mine, and his nostrils are flaring, and I know he can smell how much I'm loving this, but that's all right. He's my Mate, and... Gods!
His hips are arching from the bed, and there's a slightly pained look on his face, and I know it's from the way his cock is trapped in those tight jeans he's wearing, so I put down the little whip and move my hands to the zipper of his pants. It almost doesn't want to slide down, he's pressed so hard against it, but I finally make it, and the small groan of relief he lets out makes me smile. The button is easier to manage, and it's only moments before the denim is down around his knees.
My Mate has the most beautiful cock in the world. I know I don't have much to compare it to, but it's entirely inconceivable to me that there could be another as lovely. It long, and proud; vaguely pinkish, and I think if he had blood of his own-- and a heartbeat-- it would probably be purple, but it's just perfect as it is. The thick, tough skin hooding its tip is a slightly darker shade, and I absolutely love every blessed inch of it. Of course, that's a good thing, since I happen to spend so much time with it filling the various orifices of my body. But he's growling impatiently again, so I force myself to meet his now golden eyes, and I pick that small whip up again.
The welts on his belly and chest make the most wonderful criss-crossing pattern, and I can't help adding more, learning the craft of the strike as I go along. I must be doing all right, though, because fast, shallow breaths are coming from his nose, but I've had almost as much as I can stand. My thighs are slick, and wetter than I'd have thought, just from watching him revel in the sensations, and...
I fling one leg over his thighs, pressing my sopping cleft against that throbbing shaft I love so much, and I strike one more time before dropping the cat 'o' nine and grabbing his shoulders hard. My eyes lock even more firmly on his as I grind myself along his length, and when I feel the thick, hard tip of him in just the right spot, I slide back, taking him deeply... fully... inside me, in one swift stroke.
I guess that's what he was waiting for, because he tears through those invisible restraints in less than a heartbeat, and my wadded undies are spat across the room, and... Oh, this is gonna be quick! His fingers close hard on my hips, and he lifts me swiftly before slamming me back down on him, and my head is already swimming with the sense of him.
I guess he's decided to pay me back for his shirt, because he tears mine down the back, then rips it from my shoulders, and he's going for the interest payment, because my skirt gets the same treatment. He's growling again, but this time it's because he can't seem to form words, and I'll be damned if I mind, so I pull his mouth hard against my breast, and sob loudly when his fangs drive in. His tongue tweaks my nipple, even as he sucks at the seeping wound, and before I even know I'm doing it, my own teeth are deep in his shoulder, and...
Gods, I didn't even feel him rolling us, but he must have, because I'm suddenly staring up into his hot yellow eyes, and he's slamming so hard into me, I don't think I'll be able to walk for days. But it feels so good, while at the same time feeling so... bad. It's obvious, now, that he's been holding back the whole time we've been together. Oh, he's been happy, but how could he have been truly satisfied without this kind of freedom? He's kept himself reined in out of concern for me, and that's just not right! This is what he needs, and I haven't been giving it to him, and I have no idea of how he's managed to keep that little tidbit of information from me, but it stops *now*! I love him, and I want him to always be himself with me, and... I really *am* gonna have to punish him.
But not right now, because my entire body is screaming in harsh delight, and the way he's moving on me-- *in* me-- is satisfying something I didn't even know was there until just now! So I slide one hand down from his back, and grab onto his ass tightly, my nails sinking into his skin, and even as he growls loudly, his lips drawn back from his blood-stained teeth, I coat my index finger in the blood seeping from the punctures I've made, and drive it hard between his cheeks and into his tight little hole.
His back arches harder, the movement grinding his thick, coarse curls against my clit again, and my voice joins his in a scream of release. I can feel him throbbing hard in me, even through my own shuddering completion; feel him spewing a seemingly endless stream of cool, viscous seed deep into my battered womb, and when he quakes repeatedly upon me, I move that finger inside him, drawing an almost impossible second burst from him.
His fangs slide deep into the scar on my neck, and my lips find my own mark on him, and that's how we stay.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My entire body is still singing, even after half an hour. He's still on me, his spent cock still buried deep inside my aching core, and... I wouldn't change things even if I could. I was surprised to find what he'd been keeping from me, but... I think I understand. He didn't want to hurt me; didn't want to show me that part of him and find that I couldn't handle it. I can, though. I can handle anything he gives me, and I think he knows that now.
Apparently our link isn't as all-encompassing as we thought, but that's okay. It just means we need to be honest with each other, instead of relying on our bond to do it for us. "You know you're gonna have to pay for keeping secrets, right?" I say softly, my fingers trailing up and down his spine in wonder.
He nods silently against me, but I can tell he's trying to apologize. He's nuzzling at the barely seeping blood from my neck, but he's wearing his human face. Like that makes a difference.
"And you can't hold back on me anymore, Spike," I continue, "Not if we're gonna make this work, anyway."
I think it's the thought that this might *not* work that starts him talking, but whatever it is, I'm glad. I was right. He *was* afraid. But not just that I'd be disgusted or scared. No, he was also afraid that that damned chip wouldn't let him be like that with me; afraid that giving me a bit of pain along with the pleasure would set the thing off, and make me see him as less of a man-- demon, whatever.
The smile that lights up his face when I tell him that could never happen is truly staggering, and I laugh shakily. But that's when the thought comes to me. If Spike is like this, with his demon only in residence for a hundred and some-odd years, then... what must Angel be like? Not that I'm curious for my own sake, because my Mate is more than enough demon for *me*, but... If things go the way I think they will with Angel and Tara tonight, well... what exactly is she getting herself into?
Spike looks thoughtful for a moment when I ask him, but then he shakes his head, that smile still huge and glowing. "He's got a soul, love," he tells me, pressing one soft, simple kiss to my lips, "It tempers the demon. The Pouf could no more be like I just was than... than *you* could be like..."
"Cordelia?" I offer, when his voice fades out.
"Okay," he says, and I know he was thinking of someone else's name to say, but we don't talk about her. Ever. Still, "No," he goes on, "Peaches couldn't do that. Not to anyone."
I nod slowly, almost feeling sorry for my ex, because regardless of what may happen with her and Angel, she'll ever know the sheer sated bliss I'm feeling right now. Still, maybe that's a good thing. She's a very sweet girl; I don't think she could handle it.
Thinking about her makes me remember the plan for that night, and I glance at the clock, sighing softly. "We have to get ready, Spike," I tell him, "It's almost sunset."
He grimaces slightly, but he pulls himself from me, anyway. All we have to do is get dressed and tell Angel and Tara-- separately, of course-- that we're going out. They each think the other isn't invited, so they'll leave the hotel without taking to each other, and by the time they reach the restaurant and get the message that we're not coming? It'll be too late to leave without being rude. Then the food I've arranged will start arriving, and...
Yes, it's a good plan; one that I think will work. They'll have a chance to be alone together, and eventually, one of them will have to say something. Hopefully, the other will answer, and before they know it, they'll be having a conversation, and... Anything beyond that is up to them.
I wish them luck; it would be nice if they could be as happy together as I am with Spike.
End.