I don't want to open my eyes. If I open them, I'll have to face the reality of what happened to me. I'll
have to face the humiliation, the anger, the unfairness and the remaining pain. I'll have to face the fact
that I, William the Bloody, nicknamed Spike for my talent with railroad spikes, killer of two Slayers, a
favored Childe of the Scourge of Europe, was beaten and raped by a bunch of drunk humans.
Well, mate, you can either stay here feigning sleep for eternity or you can get the hell up, find some Jack
and drink yourself into oblivion.
I think I'll take what's behind door number two, thank you very much.
First things first, though. I have to open my eyes...
Or not. I can keep them closed while I assess how hurt I still am. It would save the time and effort of
closing them again in pain. I swear, if you look up 'pathetic loser' in the dictionary, you'll find a picture
I start wiggling my jaw first to see if the bone has reset already. Or at least I try to. In my attempt to
stave off reality I'd forgotten I'm wrapped up in bandages like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Maybe my
wanker of a Sire hoped that when I emerged, I'd be transformed into a butterfly -- all beautiful and
perfect and can I be any more of a nancyboy?
I roll towards my left to tell the poof to cut me loose when I'm hit with the fact that the big
motherfucker isn't laying beside me in the bed. Not that I wanted him to be there. I hate him. But
where the bloody hell is he then? Oh fuck, what if he left me here all tied up like this?
That soddin' jerk! I bet he did leave me. He probably got a whiff of Slayer cunt and went dancing off
after her like the pussy-whipped pillock he is. It's a damn good thing I don't need the tosser. Don't
know why I even bothered to call him to begin with. Stupid prick.
But where the fuck is he? It's not like the fairy to just up and leave someone who's hurt. And I don't
mean he's a fairy because he likes cock. Cor, if that were the case, I'd be the fairy queen. All
Peaches had to do back at Christmas time was to look at me and I was beggin' like a bitch in heat.
No, he's a frickin' fairy because he's a soulful wuss, all caring and kind...
"I swear I am going to throw Cordelia across the desk one day and screw her so hard she won't be
able to walk in her new shoes for months. And Wesley, too, just to give him a real reason to call me
My eyes are definitely open now. I'm on my back and I can see my Sire as he enters the apartment, a
white plastic bag in one hand, a cellphone in his other. He's glaring at the phone as he uses his thumb
to dial. If it wasn't for the fact that vampiric hearing is the bloody bollocks, I wouldn't have been privy
to the decidedly un-poof-like words that came out of his mouth.
"I wonder how far I can shove this thing up... Cordelia, we got cut off again," he says quietly into the
phone as I watch him cross the apartment to the kitchen area, not even sparing a glance in my direction.
"No, it's not me, it's this piece of junk... Cordelia... Cordelia... Cordelia, I'll buy you a new blouse..."
I chuckle. I can't help it. He sounds like a henpecked husband.
"The copier is not evil... Cordelia... Cordelia, I have to go... Yes, I know... You and Wesley can hold
down the fort just fine without me... It's not that old... Cordelia... Cordelia! Just call me if you have a
vision, okay?... I'm not being snippy... Cordelia... I'll check in later."
I see him hit the disconnect button and I can tell that he's tempted to throw the cellphone in the rubbish
disposal and grind it up into little parts. A grin of amusement pulls at my mouth, then I hiss as a thin
spire of pain shoots through my jaw, reminding me that I'm not lying here in Angel's bed because he's
going to shag me six ways from Sunday.
A vivid image of the enormous human cock that had been slammed down my throat flashes across my
mind. It was followed quickly by a picture of the dual-ended, fake prick that had been used to turn my
mouth into a fucktoy. Humiliation and anger slam into me, as well as an acute sadness as the truth of
my situation seeps into my brain, causing me to close my eyes again.
When I was a thirteen-year-old mortal and about the size of a toothpick, I stopped this huge, hairy
bloke from raping me in a corner of the sweatshop I worked in using nothing more than my feet and
fists. I had clawed into that git, hitting and kicking and biting him anywhere on his body I could. He left
work that day with only one working eye and a large chunk of flesh missing from his arm, and he never
bothered me again.
I am now a 126-year-old master vampire with supernatural strength and speed; I had been beaten and
raped by the same type of human who had tried to accost me when I was a boy; and there had been
nothing I could do to defend myself.
As soon as Angel unwraps me, I'm going to go greet the next sunrise.
"Hey." I feel a soft brush of a finger against my lower lip.
Oh god, not now. Don't you dare start with the loving, caring routine, Sire. I hate you, you hate me
and that's the way it's supposed to be.
Great, I've turned into a bloody poet. Now I know I have to kill myself.
The bed shifts as Angel sits down beside me. "How do you feel?" he asks.
"Like King Tut, go away," I reply without as little movement of my jaw as possible.
"Here, let's sit you up and I'll take the bandages off," he says.
I feel his hands on my shoulders and he gently pulls me up into a sitting position like he's afraid I'm
going to break. I keep my eyes shut as he begins to unwrap me, leaving my only covering the deep red
sheet over my waist. As the support the bandages provided disappears, my aches and pains that
haven't healed yet announce their presence with trumpets and heralds, reminding me once again of what
"What time is it?"
"Eightish," Angel replies.
Good, only nine hours 'til sunrise.
When I'm fully unbandaged, the wanker lightly pokes and prods my bare skin with his fingers. My
eyes snap open and I turn my head to glare at him. "Stop poking me, you pillock."
He ignores me. I growl. He arches a brow and gives me his 'I'm not impressed' look.
"I hate you," I say.
Angel smirks as he cups my jaw, lightly running his thumb over one side of it. It hurts and I growl at
him again. His smirk grows and his hand moves up to gently touch my nose. That hurts too.
"Will you stop already?" I snap at him. It feels as though my jaw is fracturing, but I bury the pain under
my anger at him for the way he's treating me.
"You need another bath," he says, dropping his hand.
"I'll take one later," I lie. The sun doesn't care if I'm clean or not.
"You don't have a tub," he points out.
"I'll bloody take one at Giles's," I growl. Then, I frown. "Wait, how do you know I don't have one?"
"You live in a crypt, Spike," Angel says, another smirk crossing his lips. "Corpses don't need
"What do you do, keep tabs on me?"
I blink in shock. I hadn't expected such a blunt response to my angrily asked rhetorical question. I
hadn't expected an answer period, least of all one that blatantly tells me he's been keeping his eye on
I get a very odd pang in my chest.
I look away from him. I can't believe that he actually keeps tabs on me. Does he call Willy or Giles
and ask for the Spike Report once a week? And why does he bother? It's not like I can hurt the
Slayer or her groupies anymore.
"Why?" I finally ask him with a biting tone to my voice. "Do you get off on hearing about your
neutered Childe's miserable unlife?"
"No," Angel replies.
When he doesn't continue with an explanation, I turn my head and fall right into the twin pools of his
dark eyes. I'm suddenly drowning in feelings I don't want to be having for the man I hate more than
the Initiative. I try to look away again, but I'm trapped by his piercing gaze. Why the fuck is he doing
this to me?
He reaches up and covers my right hand, which was clutching the medallion on the chain around my
neck. I hadn't realized that I'd latched onto the dumb Christmas trinket. I hadn't even known he'd left
it on me when he'd bathed and bandaged my broken body either.
Then, he says something that rips a hole in what's left of my dignity.
"I worry about you, little one."
The tears come, hot and furious and without permission from me. They burn a trail down my cheeks
then along my jawline, making my skin itch. My body starts to tremble uncontrollably, sending shooting
pains through me from my still healing injuries.
Little one. He hasn't called me that in over a bloody century. Those two small words put together I
both loved and hated with intensity. My Sire only called me that when he was being an overprotective
poof or the extremely few times I knew that he was scared shitless over something that had happened
to any one of us.
Angelus had created five true Childer, and each of us had one of those pet names. Penn was his childe,
Lucinda was his sweeting, Maureen was his rose petal, Drusilla was his wicked girl and I was his little
one because I was the youngest and because of my size compared to him. It used to annoy me to no
end when he called me that. Is it my fault that the toff is such a huge fucker?
Maureen met her final death a long time ago and I heard through the grapevine that Penn was dusted
recently. I remember it tore Angelus apart when Maureen was killed only a year after I was turned.
My Sire was very possessive of his Childer. Even though Penn and Lucinda hadn't been around much
-- both of them having left the proverbial nest already -- I remember that any time one of them came to
wherever we were living, he'd stayed glued to their side, warning off any other masters in the area for
just looking at them.
Of course, when big brother or big sister came to visit, Dru and I were pretty much ignored. I bloody
hated it and would always go off and do something that would get me into trouble, just so I could have
the sod's attention focused back on me. Maybe it would have been more appropriate if he called me
his little brat.
But Angel is not Angelus. He's not the same vampire who sired me and taught me and took me to his
bed. He's not the same Sire who'd held me huddled in a cellar corner, alternating between calling me
little one and William -- even though I'd been nicknamed Spike for a decade by then -- as a building
burned down around us. He's not the same man who'd promised he'd never leave me and then
disappeared the very next night.
"Why are you fucking doing this to me!?" I yell at him suddenly, shoving his hand away. "You're not
Angelus! You have your bloody soul! You should be trying to stake me, not pretending to care about
"Don't you fucking 'William' me, you goddamn pillock!" My voice cracks as I continue to rant at him,
tears streaming down my face. "I'm Spike! I'm the vampire who tried to kill your bitch of a woman
and her friends... and you... over and over again! I'm not your friend, Angel. I'm not your lover or
your little one or your anything. So why don't you just leave me the bloody hell alone!"
I glare angrily at him through my tears, my body hurting like a bugger. Angel looks at me for a moment
with his dark, unfathomable eyes, sitting as still as a statue on the edge of the bed. Then, he gets up and
I stare at the door to the apartment in shock.
I can't believe it. He left. He bloody up and left. He left me. He left me here, alone, in the place
where he'd shagged me at Christmas time. He left me here, alone and shaking in his bed as my
emotions skyrocket in every different direction. He left me here, alone, showing me that he really
wasn't my Sire anymore.
I curl up on the bed, pulling my knees as close to my chest as I can, and let go. In nine hours, it won't
matter if I'm sobbing my eyes out like a ninny. No one I care about is going to see me anyway. Hell,
there's no one who cares about me anymore either.
The feel of a calloused hand running down my bare side startles me. I suck in a gasping breath of
unneeded air as the firm but gentle touch caresses me in a way that I remember all to clearly. As two
slick fingers enter me, I'm taken back a hundred years to a time when he could calm me with his own
brand of loving dominance that ruled our relationship.
The stroking fingers leave my healed channel and the bed shifts. Large, strong hands slide under my
arms and I'm lifted and moved with an ease that comes with having performed the action many times.
In moments, I'm embraced by my Sire, my bare back to his bare chest, my lower body fitted perfectly
to his, his hard length deep inside of me, my thighs over his, my feet flat on the mattress on either side of
his slightly bent legs.
I don't struggle against him. In fact, I sink back into him just like I used to, drawing on his strength and
power for comfort. Just this one time, I won't fight him. Just this one time, I'll allow myself to need
him. Just this one time...
"I know I'm not how I once was, little one," Angel says softly, his mouth near my ear. He's holding a
thin, cracked leather wallet in his hand in front of us, the dark brown hide faded almost white with age.
"But now you're not the same, either."
He squeezes the leather carefully and uses his fingers of his other hand to pull out an old, yellowed
photograph. I swallow heavily when I see it and I reach out with a trembling hand to take it from him.
Six devilishly smiling faces look back at me as I examine the picture.
Our family. My family.
Angelus is standing tall and handsome in his dress finery in the back center of the photo. Penn was to
my Sire's right and a little in front of him, wearing an expression of self-assurance and pride. Lucinda
was to Angelus's left and also a little in front of him, her regal stature making her look like a Queen.
Maureen was seated serenely in front of Lucinda, looking like an angel sent down from the heavens.
Drusilla sat across from her and in front of Penn, her wide eyes dancing with hunger and wickedness.
Then, there was me, sitting on the floor front and center, my forearm resting on my bent knee, my other
leg tucked partially under me. Dark, slightly curled hair hung near my face, it having escaped the tie
holding it back. The ribbon bow tie that was around my collar was half-undone, and there were dark
smudges on my knees. Dark smudges that I had gotten kneeling on a dirty tarp thrown over a bunch of
crates in the back room of the photographers while Angelus had pounded into me...
The memory of that night washed over me, making my cock swell to marble fullness. I was so bloody
young then, barely eight months turned. My Sire had rarely left me alone in those early days. If he
wasn't teaching me, he was fucking me. Even with Penn and Lucinda visiting at the time the
photograph was taken, I was never far from his reach. Many an hour was spent tossing off as I
watched him in bed with Penn or Lucinda, not invited to join, but not allowed to leave.
"This is all I thought I had left of any of you," Angel tells me, a sad note in his quiet voice. "Getting my
soul back ripped all of you away from me more brutally than Maureen's death did. You were my
family, but I couldn't go to you for comfort because of the indescribable guilt and pain I felt at having
ended each of your mortal lives."
He lightly ran his forefinger down the center of the photo in my hand. "I used to carry this picture with
me in my boot before my soul was returned. After I was cursed, I kept the photo as a talisman of the
lives I ruined. But now...now it's nothing more than a memory of my Childer who I loved and loved me
Angel sighs and brushes a kiss on the side of my neck. "I had to kill Penn recently."
I stiffen in his embrace, shock and anger coiling in me. He was the one who dusted Penn?
"I didn't stake him myself, but I was there and it was my intent," he says, his voice growing thicker with
emotion. "It was the most horrible thing I've ever done, more than staking Darla in the back. It tore
me apart, even worse than Maureen's death did over a century ago."
Angel's arms moved down around my waist, holding me tighter against him. "I vowed that night that
I'd never kill you or Drusilla or Lucinda. I'd stop you three from hurting others, I'd hurt you three
myself, but I'd never kill you."
A strange sense of relief washes over me and I slowly relax again in his arms. His fingers on my
stomach begin to trace both calming and arousing patterns, and I can tell it's as much for his comfort as
"I was here last Thanksgiving," he confesses quietly after a few moments of silence. "I saw you go to
Buffy for help and I learned what happened to you. Before I left, I arranged for someone to keep an
eye on you for me. As the weeks went by and you didn't adjust, I became worried about you, little
"Is that why you came here for Christmas?"
"Partly," Angel replies. "That and the fact that you're now more like me, and I know how hard and
lonely it is to be not accepted by either humans or other demons." His fingers close around my cock
and I jump slightly. He chuckles softly in my ear. "Plus, I was really horny."
"Fuck, Angel," I gasp as he starts to stroke me. With his other hand, he takes the photograph back
from me and sets it on the night-stand beside the bed. I moan as he kisses the side of my neck again,
then sucks gently on my skin.
"Relax, William," he whispers. "Let me make everything all right."
His hand sets a slow, steady pace, and my brain proceeds to shut down. I can only focus on the feel of
his fingers gripping me as they slide back and forth over my cock. When his other hand drops between
my spread legs to squeeze and tug on my knackers, my eyes roll up and I whimper helplessly at the
scorching heat building deep in my belly.
My hips begin to move on their own, causing me to jostle the cock filling up my hole. The head of my
Sire's prick hits my prostate with my movements, adding sharp bolts of pleasure to what he's already
doing to me. He doesn't start thrusting though, he just lets me fuck myself on his huge, stiff rod.
It feels so bloody good.
My toes curl into the fitted sheet covering the mattress and my heels dig down as I raise and lower
myself more and more on his cock. My arse rubs against his coarse pubes, and the skin on his lower
abdomen and his chest becomes slick with sweat. There's a small twinge of pain in my left wrist when I
grab hold of his hips behind me, but the pleasure is too great for me to care.
I'm groaning and growling uncontrollably, and I feel my face shift. Angel's hands are pulling and rolling
and stroking and tugging and driving me insane. Any moment now I'm going to burst. Any moment
"I want to see you come, William," Angel purrs sultrily in my ear, his tongue flicking my earlobe. "I
want you to come all over my hands so I can taste you when I lick them clean."
My bollocks tighten and the burning in my belly becomes white-hot. I ride my Sire wilder and faster,
impaling myself harder on his cock. My eyes are squeezed shut against the intense sensations coursing
I'm so close. So bloody close...
"Come for me now, William," Angel orders, his voice like silk laced with steel. "Come for me right
I howl as I orgasm at his words, my sticky semen exploding from my cock like a cannon. It covers my
chest and my stomach and my Sire's hands as he continues to rapidly stroke me. White sparks flash
behind my tightly closed eyelids as my climax goes on and on and on.
And then I'm screaming out again as a second climax overlaps the first when my Sire sinks his fangs
into my neck. No more semen spurts from me, but I orgasm just the same. I feel Angel's cock pulse
inside of me, shooting his load in my hole as he comes, his snarling blending with my own cries of
I slump in his arms abruptly, like a marionette who's strings have been cut. I'm panting like a soddin'
marathoner, and my body is coated in sweat and cock-snot. I open my eyes partway just in time to see
Angel raise his right hand above my shoulder. I moan throatily when I hear him lick his fingers near my
"Delicious," he murmurs. "Perfect."
"Sire," I hiss at him with embarrassment heavy in my voice. He laughs lightly, the deep sound rolling
through my body all the way to my toes, making me feel good inside.
Oh bugger, he did it.
He really did it.
He said he was going to make everything all right and he did.
"I hate you," I mutter, wiggling against him. I frown at the cooling stickiness on my body.
"Uh-huh," Angel says, his left hand tracing paths in the semen coating my stomach.
"Cut it out, you nonce," I grumble at him. "I want to go take a shower."
"Sounds like fun," he murmurs as he nips at my shoulder. "I think I'll join you."
"Cor, will you stop talking to me like I'm your lover?"
Angel snorts softly.
"You know what the bloody fuck I mean." I turn my head to glare up at the wanker.
He reaches up and runs his finger over my ridges and down my nose. I morph back into my human
mask and scowl at him. He laughs again and taps the end of my nose. "You are still an adorable little
fuck," he says.
I growl at him and quickly extract myself from his embrace, but before I can take a get anywhere, I'm
on my back with my Sire looming over me, a possessively dark look in his eyes.
"Listen to me very carefully, William," Angel says with a deep rumble of power in his voice. "Fate has
dealt you a new card that allows me back into your life again without guilt. I promise I will protect you
and be here for you any time you need me."
I stare up at him, not knowing what to say. I don't want him in my unlife. I don't need his friggin'
protection. I don't need him.
"Yes, you do, little one," he tells me as if he read my mind. "I may not have been with you for a very
long time, but absence diminishes little. I still know you as much as I know myself."
"Do not," I say, wincing at the childishness in my voice.
He smirks, then bends down and snatches a kiss. "Do too," he whispers against my lips.
I growl again. He chuckles. "I hate you," I say.
"I know you do," he agrees.
"Are you ever going to leave me the bloody hell alone?" I sigh.
"Not a chance."
He gets up and heads around the corner to the bathroom, leaving me laying here on the bed. After a
moment, I hear the shower turn on. Now would be a great time for me to make an escape before the
soddin' poof decides to ship me down to LA with him.
I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and the small photograph on the night-stand catches
my eye. I pick it up and look at the six of us again. Two dead, two estranged and two completely
I finger the medallion around my neck as I study my completely carefree and devilishly happy
expression in the picture.
Absence diminishes little, eh?
"Hey, you sod!" I call as I set the photo back down. I stand and head towards the bathroom. "You
better have saved some hot water for me!"