Remember Me - Chapter 12

I actually think the pillock thought I was engrossed in the film. Okay, I admit, I was watching it. Can't ever get enough of Julia Robert's mouth opening in those explosive, belly warming smiles, but I've seen it eight times before, so I wasn't that engrossed. Not in the film anyway.

I was engrossed by the feel of Angel's hard thighs under my ass. I have never, ever, sat in anyone's lap before. Something weird is happening here.

I was engrossed by the smell of his clean, smooth skin. I have never hardened to the smell of someone's skin before. Weird.

I was engrossed by the thought of us, kneeling together in the shower, kissing. I have never kissed anyone like that before, not even Dru and I loved her so much I actually let her go.

But Angel kissed me with a passion I've never experienced before, as if he were…worshipping me. I've never felt like a God before. God like, it's…good.

Mostly I was engrossed by remembering his expression as he examined my place. There's no doubt in my mind he got hard just looking at all me best techno stuff. How could he not? I only have to think plasma screen and I'm starting to leak.

Yeah, okay, he kept his excitement hidden, but I know he felt it.

He's right about the bed though. Poof, he didn't even realize I wanted to wait till he was with me, wanted to buy one with him. And just who does that make a poof then…hum. Have to kill a demon particularly slowly tomorrow to get over that worrying little thought.

But course we need a bed. A big, soft, bed-to-fuck-in, bed. Yeah, gonna enjoy that little shopping trip tomorrow.

Not convinced about his view of the lighting though. I like it. I'm sick of the dark, sick of being dead. No advantage now I can't feed. 'Cept for the staying beautiful bit. Oh, and the sexual stamina. Oh, and the supernatural strength. Oh, and the night vision stuff and the incredible hearing of course.

Bloody brilliant being a Vampire really!

Thought I’d lost it for a minute there, when he asked me about the ring. Don’t like lying to Angel now, but if I’d told him he’d probably have thought I didn’t love him enough to look after it or something. He wasn’t there; he doesn’t know what it’s like to be hit by a 4-tonner going at fifty. So I lied. He’ll never know. And I had other, better things I wanted him thinking about.

I really got engrossed of course when his hand started rubbing across my stomach. I'd have made use of my amazing sexual stamina if only the old ponce hadn't have…dozed off. Not very Master Vampire, Dark Avenger-like, Angel!

But that only engrossed me even more. I lay in his lap watching his face in sleep. He trusted me enough, felt relaxed enough, just to fall asleep with me. All his defences down, all his angst gone, his beautiful face smooth, angelic. He looked like a young man in an innocent, dreamless sleep. The face of an Angel.

Looking at his sleeping figure, I couldn’t help a deep melancholy creep over me. What if soldier boy had found out who Buffy's Vampire lover had really been? What if he finds out now?

Giles told me he shipped out to some jungle, after our last encounter in the car park, with my face blasted away into the tarmac. Yeah, even the Initiative can't shoot at civilians like Harris, and get away with it.

But what if he comes back?

Strangely, I'm not afraid for myself. I'm past that fear now. It's Angel I'm afraid for. Afraid if they come for him, even more afraid if they come for me …afraid of the effect that would have on Angel.

I think he is beginning to like having me around. I think he'd miss me. His cock would, I know.

It's unbearable, the thought of Angel without me. All right…fuck you, the thought of me without Angel. I admit it, I'm shitting scared they'll come for me again. Like dreams I couldn’t afford to be too real for the grief of waking, the grief of being torn from Angel again would kill me.

So if the poof tries to tell you I was crying at the end of some girlie film, I can categorically state now that that is not the case. If I was crying…and I'm not saying I was mind you…but if I was, then it was entirely due to the rock-hard, manly, deep coughs and call each other George, reason that I was thinking about losing Angel.

Bugger.

Killing that demon tomorrow.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But hey! No need to waste a nice bit of Angel comforts Spike. Pity to waste Angel's arms slipping quickly around crying Spike. Be mad to waste Angel kissing Spike's face and licking the tears away.

So I didn’t. Waste any of it that is. Told ya, never waste a drop.

I swivel around in the recliner so I straddle his lap facing him. My legs hang over the arms, it is a bit of a stretch but I have plans for that stretch. Given that we're both naked, topped up with blood and hard as battering rams, I think it is fairly obvious, even to my sleepy old Sire, what I have in mind. But I give him my best pouty, seductive grin, just in case. I put my hands down on his stomach and lean forward, lifting my arse slightly from his lap. He looks quizzically at me.

'Err, Luv, you gonna help me out here a bit…position is all, as they say.'

He grins back, moving his cock against my raised hole. 'I thought that was for property…hah! Appropriate after all then, well done, Spike.'

'Fuck you, Mate.'

'Um, please,' and he lowers me sharply onto his stiff, waiting cock. I am so stretched and ready that it goes deeply enough to feel as if it’s pushing into my throat.

Our eyes widen in unison. He…gulps. 'Err…we'll have to do this again. Like the chair idea, Spike.'

'Oh yeah!' And that's all he's going to get out of me 'cept for a copious load of cum in about…oh, half an hour's time.

Oh yeah, I can make this last half an hour easily, raise and lower…squirm from side to side…raise and lower, put his hands on my cock, let him play with its soft, round end. He's licking his thumb, swirling it around and over my slit, exploring under my foreskin. I lower myself down hard this time; grip his waist with my steel-like fingers and work myself greedily on him. I feel that spot coming alive, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body, bringing life to my balls. It’s fun doing this in a chair, and he’s only just starting to realize the possibilities. He reaches up to my nipples and starts flicking them with his thumb and middle finger, sharp, painful little flicks. It makes my cock nearly explode on him, ‘fuck Angel, don’t. I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that!’

He gives an evil grin worthy of a Master Vampire who’s only just started to enjoy the possibilities of fucking his Childe again, and twists them painfully instead.

Well, I did warn him.

The erotic pain from my nipples shoots straight into my balls and cock, I feel a huge contraction of pleasure and shoot endless streams of ropey, cold cum over his chest. I start to collapse with the relief of cuming, but he pushes me back up, raises one eyebrow in a move I swear he’s copied from me, and announces he hasn’t cum yet. So what do I think I'm doing havin' a little…rest. Next thing I know I’m being propelled backwards out of the chair - still impaled on his hard cock - and he’s taking me up against the wall. Against one of me Mark Rothco's. One day, if he doesn’t get it himself, I'll explain what all the art I've chosen means. Think he's appreciating this one in his own way though.

How he manages to keep me attached to his cock and pound into me when I'm only held up on the wall by his straining arms is a mystery to me. I'm not thinking too clearly about it anyway. I can't take my eyes off Angel. He's…possessed. As if the only important thing to him now is cuming…in me. And that's fine by me. I want it. I want him. His strength is phenomenal. His strong thighs strain against supporting the weight of the two of us, all the corded muscles in his arms stand out in stark relief as they try desperately not to let me slip off his cock. His neck stretched and corded too, and…oh…so close, and so bitable. And he really does need to get off soon or I'm gonna be a new blob on the wall like me modern art. 'Green, White, Yellow and blob of Spike'. Somehow don't think Mark would have liked that. Or maybe he would. So I help to bring him to the place he needs to be: I bite deep, hard and savagely into his unprepared neck. He howls in pain and surprise, I feel his cock swell rapidly in my ass, his thrusting becomes even more anguished and as I draw one delicious fluid down my throat, another erupts deep into my bowels. It takes us a few minutes to disentangle ourselves. Poor old Vampire can hardly stand anymore, so I don’t bother to make him, I let us both collapse in a heap on the floor. His soft, spent cock slips out and I can feel his cum starting to leak: feel its cold texture seeping out from my tight entrance. The pointless thought crosses my mind that, after all, I am wasting Sire cum, when Angel surprises me again. He opens my legs and licks hard and fast over my hole.

'Oh…shit…Angel. Do it again. Please…'

He does it again. This time taking in my perineum and the underside of my balls too. My brain is screaming, 'enough, I've had enough tonight,' but my cock disagrees. He notices it too and gives a low, evil chuckle and continues his tongue bath. We're both engrossed for a while till I hear his low voice.

'Spike.'

'Ummm.' I'm not at my most coherent when my Sire's tongue is swirling around my hole like a roulette ball about to drop.

'Got any…other movies?'

I almost miss it. Me! I almost miss the seductive emphasis on the word, 'other'. Oh, happy day, my Sire wants to watch a porn movie with me. I'm beside myself. Well, no actually I'm beside him again in less than the seventeen seconds it takes to exchange Julia for Juan, and we're away. We can see okay from the floor. Don't ever forget I have a plasma screen – I don’t. So, he now has something to watch and think about while he licks me, bites me and eats me. I have him to watch, so I'm okay anyway. And he really is turning into a deliciously evil git, cus he's clamped his hand so tightly around my throbbing cock it feels like it's gonna pop right out of the foreskin, like a fucking banana in a kid's cartoon. He's gonna make me last the whole of this film. Cus this Vampire with a soul, this Vampire who looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, has a plan. And that plan don’t involve me cuming sometime soon.

But it's worth it when he finally does let me cum. Oh yeah, just loved his little plan…eventually. He works me up to it by thrusting his tongue into my hole then pulling out and thrusting it into my mouth. He's using me and he knows it: getting off on it. As he ravishes my mouth, he pushes the fingers of his other hand one at a time into me. I pull away and look him in the face. He knows I'm looking at him, but he's pretending to watch the humping on the screen and won't catch my eye. He's wriggling those fingers something wicked though.

'Err…Angel.'

'Um?'

'Are you thinking of doin' what I think you're thinking of doin' ?'

'Probably.'

'Okay. You do realise that I have the hands of a poet, whilst you've got the hands of a bloody Irish peasant, don’t you.' Please say 'yes,' Angel cus I am actually nervous. I remember large farm hands before, and I have to admit, I’m...scared. The Big Bad is fucking scared! 'You have taken that little matter of our respective hand sizes into consideration haven't you, Pet?'

He looks at me and there's far more yellow in those eyes than soft brown. Oh shit. He grins and the tips of his fangs glint in the light from my spotlights.

'Nah. Don't care,' and with that he adds his thumb.

I don’t remember much else for a while. But one's things for sure, I ain't ever watching that fucking movie again. Cus every time I do, I'll be back on that floor, back with Angel's huge fist inside me, back with his tongue in my mouth as he stifled my screams of agony till they turned into screams of desire, back with his teeth on my nipples as he bit hard to the sound of those desperately needed screams.

I don't want to remember the first part of that experience and I get too hard remembering the last. Nothing could have been more different than that windowless room where I was made to feel bad about myself, from inside out. Cus at the end, with Angel, it was like being…transported. Yeah, I was transported through the pain and through the deep tearing in my bowels to a place where all pleasure was centered in his fist, all desire in his thrusting, all need in his twisting, wrenching action. When I finally came, it was in a flood of cum that drenched us both, ran in rivers off my stomach, pooled on the floor between us. We watched it together, watched, as it turned red from the mingling with my blood now pouring out of my empty hole. Watched as he stirred it into patterns with his blood-flecked hand. Then neither of us watched anything for quite a long time. We curled up on the floor together. I pulled the throw from the chair over us. And we slept.

If I dreamt of Angel, then I'll claim I dreamt of his fucking me again, hard, fast painful fucking. Yeah, that's what I'll claim. I'll never admit that I dreamt of kissing him in the sunlight, that I walked with him under ancient trees with soft autumn light streaking through and mingling in his hair. I'll never admit that in my dreams I held his hand and he squeezed my fingers tightly, as if he loved me. Cus if I admit that, then I'm lost, aren't I? If I admit that, then where is there to go? There would then be only love: love so deep I might get lost in it again. And that scares me. So I'm not gonna let him know what I dream just yet.

I don’t want to lead him there; I want him to meet me there.

Both of us standing on that plain where there is only love.

Oh that fucking demon's gonna get his ass kicked tomorrow or I'll be wearing denim shorts next.



I should have known. One hundred years and counting and I should have known. I know him. I know what he's like. So why did I do it? Why did I agree to come shopping with him for…oh god…for 'fuck-furniture', as he has insisted on calling it all day.

We both woke up so stiff and sore we could hardly get to the shower. Well, okay, we both felt tiny twinges in one or two muscles, but for Vampires, that's quite surprising and easily enough to make us winge and complain for an hour or two. But we both agreed: floor bad, bed good. He even gave his beloved reclining chair a rueful look and suggested a couch too. I gave it a more lascivious look, but agreed. So here we are, shopping for…fuck-furniture.

We have similar tastes. We both want something horizontal for the bed and long for the couch. And that's where our tastes depart. I want a bed that exudes quality and age. He wants anything so long as he can tie me to it and it won't break. Oh, and that he can lie completely spread-eagled in the middle, and leave room for me at one edge. So it's been a long trip. And do you think he has had rational conversations with the salesclerks, carefully measuring and calculating sizes? Err…no! He's flung himself on every bed he's liked the look of and proceeded to bounce as if being fucked by a Master Vampire.

I am a quiet, reticent person. I like to blend in: be inconspicuous.

I am about to stake him.

I brought it on myself, I suppose, by letting him get to me and letting him see that he was getting to me. Because at first, I genuinely think he was just being, Spike. Loud, rude, aggressive and demanding…conventional Spike. But oh, when he saw me wince once or twice, when he saw me making apologetic eyes at the salesclerks, he went from conventional to...nuclear. I was Ground Zero and the fall-out deadly. He picked his moments with choice deliberation, just as the maximum audience he could find was looking on, he slipped his arm around my waist and asked me if I thought we should get a fitted waterproof sheet, just in case of...spillages. In another shop he asked the salesgirl if she had any handcuffs he could test the rail strength with. He was having a ball.

But the really frightening thing is: I enjoyed it. When he was busy with his new game: embarrass the hell out of his Sire, when he was busy, I had the chance to just watch him, and to watch others watching him. He draws admiring glances like a magnet. And this is West Hollywood, where looking good has become the new religion. In a crowd where everyone spends two hours everyday in a gym, where they eat no fat, where they drink only pure mineral water, where every muscle group is mapped and cared for on a punishing schedule, Spike, who slept in a heap on the floor, who had three doughnuts and two pints of blood for breakfast and who wears the same clothes he wore twenty years ago; Spike is admired and...fawned on. And he doesn’t even seem to realize the effect he is having on them. So I enjoyed it, because for all that admiration, for all that fawning, for all his beauty…he is mine. That’s what I can’t get over: he is mine.

Only a few hours ago I had my fist deep inside his body, I’ve kissed every inch of him, I give him pain and pleasure. Others watch him, but he’s mine. If I wanted to, I could take him out of this shop, into a quiet place and he would lower his pants at one look from me. I could hold his cock if I wanted to, I could suck it. His foreskin is mine to play with, his entrance: my playground. His eyes fasten on me if he needs approval, his hair is mine to rumple and arrange. Every inch of that annoying creature stomping around this store bouncing on the beds is mine. And he loves it. It’s like history repeating itself...he’s basking in my approval, glowing from my love. I didn’t see it before, before I thought he was...taking the proverbial...as Spike would no doubt put it in that bizarre, English way of his. Now though? Now I can see it for what it truly is... the sincerest form of flattery. He feels secure enough of my love for him to let his demon free.

I just wish it wasn’t quite so public.

And I wonder if this endless fascination I have for him is mutual. I catch him looking at me when he thinks I’m not looking. It sends a shiver down my spine, right into my balls and cock. Those mocking blue eyes, that seductive pout. He mocks me and it makes me hard. He challenges me and it makes me hard. He embarrasses me and even that makes me hard.

In the end, he has exactly the bed and the couch he wants. And I have to admit, he does have good taste. The bed is low, stylish and…vast. Neither of us can wait to try it out. But we have to give the five-seater, deep, feather-stuffed couch a run for its money too. What to start on first? It's a very hard decision.

But I have to check in with Cordelia and Wesley, I've been away from the office too long. So I have to reluctantly delay my anticipated pleasure, let Spike sort delivery and buy some towels and go home alone. I hate this bit. As much as I didn't think us actually living together would work, I don't want him away from me. Ever. Somehow saving lives has lost some of its appeal. I'm scratchy, frustrated, restless the whole time I'm away from him. I don’t look in the in-tray, I don't answer the telephone. I sit at my desk, brooding. Cordelia and Wesley look despairingly at me, with that…if you are going to be here, you may as well do some work…sort of look, which makes me feel even less like working. All I can think about is…him. All I want is…him. With my eyes closed I can work my imagination down his body. I always start with his hair. I rumple it up a bit, make it look sexy as hell, like he has just been taken, roughly…by me. Then comes his face, his beautiful, miraculously healed face. I imagine my thumbs running along his cheekbones. I can almost hear his derisive snort of frustration at my delaying tactics. He always wants to get to the best part. But I've only done two inches so far, I've the whole rest of his body to…

'Angel!'

'Angel…ANGEL!'

Oh God. 'What? Sorry, what is it Wesley?'

'I only wanted to know if you need us anymore this evening. It's been incredibly slow all day. Cordelia has a party to go to, I have..errr, well I don't have anything to do at all really. I thought I might take in a show. So if you don't need us, we'll be going. Are you going to finish early too?'

'Yes. Good idea, Wes, very good idea, come on then.' I think I almost knocked Wes over in my haste to get out of the office and back to Spike's. I finish my mental exploration of Spike's body during the drive to his place. I had hoped to get as far as his cock. It was certainly waiting for me, bobbing purple and engorged towards my ready mouth, but I didn't have time. I got rather involved with his taut, enticing nipples. They were erect and flushed by borrowed blood, hard against the palm of my hand. The feel of them took me back over one hundred years to that first touch. I tried once again to re-read that moment. Had he really wanted me as he now says he did? Did he really try to let me know this? I think perhaps he did. And I think I knew. I think I avoided that knowledge to try and save myself from falling into something the demon in me was entirely unable to control.

Deep in these thoughts, mesmerized by the feel of Spike's hard nipples, I arrived at his place before I had reached my goal. But I consoled myself with the thought that the reality would be there, waiting for me.

I have to say, even in the haze of lust, desire, passion I find myself in for Spike, he did not quite come up to my expectation of him when I arrived. I had sort of pictured him leaning up against the fireplace; drink in hand, waiting for me. Alternately I sort of hoped he would already be in the new bed, getting it warmed up for us. I actually found him sprawled on the couch on his back, one leg bent up and crossed idly on the other, one arm curled under his head as a pillow, the other dangling down holding the remote control which he was using to flick rapidly though ghastly channels of rubbish on his huge, loud television. This wouldn’t have been so bad I suppose. He was horizontal, which was good. He was gorgeous, which was even better. But he was tired, grumpy and…snappy, and that was not good. That was very bad. When I sat down by his feet and put a hand on his leg he moved it away. So I knelt up facing him and started to open his legs wider.

'Fuck off Angel. I'm watching me programme now. I'm not in the mood.'

So this was not the reception I was expecting. I tried a new approach; I climbed off the couch and wandered towards the kitchen. 'Blood?' No reply. 'Spike, do you want something to eat?'

'Nah.'

'Well, I think you should…'

'Shut the fuck up will you, I can't hear.'

Okay. I am going to keep my temper here. I've dealt with worse than this. I've dealt with Cordelia, so this is child's play. But I am rather at a loss as to how Spike's moods can swing so rapidly from, 'can't wait to fuck me on the bed', to 'can't wait for me to shut up and go'.

But I know exactly how to bring him back to me. I know exactly how to have him screaming my name. I've taken lessons from a master. I've taken lessons from Spike. Time for a little role reversal. I'm about to go nuclear, and Spike is ground zero.

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