Taking the Dead


by Saber ShadowKitten and Tinkerbell





Part Four



I know before I open my eyes that the wanker didn't keep his promise. There were no growls or cries from the other cells. There were no brooding sighs from my sire. All I could hear was the hum of electricity.

Shit.

I open my eyes and sit up slowly. I wipe the drool from my chin as I look around. I'm alone in a cell, complete with three white walls and one glass wall. There is a metal chair and a television set sitting in the center of the cell. Outside the glass wall, two labcoats are sitting at a table, watching me.

The television goes on and an image appears on the screen. I recognize Angel's bent head instantly. He's sitting on the floor of a cell, exactly as I remember him before I conked out.

A secondary drug, aside from the sleep agent, must have been put into the blood, because I'm feeling quite muddled. I can't seem to work up the energy to be angry with the soulful sod for breaking is promise.

My limbs feel heavy as I climb to my feet. I send a half-hearted glare at the tossers beyond the glass. I manage to make it to the chair, and collapse down onto it.

"Hostile 17," a male, somewhat static-y voice says. One of the labcoats, I presume. "How do you feel?"

"Like killing everyone." My speech sounds strange to my ears, like my mouth is filled with marbles.

"How do you *physically* feel?" the labcoat clarifies.

"Slow. Weak," I answer, unable to stop myself. In a second, I realize the fucks have given me some sort of tongue-loosener. I panic, but it's like a blanket has been thrown over the feeling.

I'm so buggered.

"What's your name?"

"Ssspike," I slur. Oh hell, I feel strange.

"Is that your real name?"

"Huh-uh," I shake my head slowly from side to side, "'S'Will."

"Are you a vampire?"

"Yep," I pop the 'p' when I reply. This is bloody whacked.

"How old are you?"

"Hunded an' twenty-thex." My head lolls forward and I jerk it back up again.

"One twenty-six?" the labcoat repeats.

"Yep." There goes that popping 'p' again.

"And do you know who the vampire on the screen is?"

I blink several times because my eyes don't want to focus, and I look at the television. "'S'Angel."

"Angel?"

"Yep."

"How old is he?"

"Two hunded somethin'."

"And how do you know him?"

"'S'me sire."

My head falls back and I look blankly up at the white ceiling. The world begins to spin. Ugh. I'm going to heave.

"Angel is your sire?" Labcoat asks.

"'S'what I said."

"What is a 'sire'?"

I roll my head to the side and stare out the glass at the two sitting at the table. "Everything."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the television. I lift my head, and see Angel jump to his feet on the screen. His untucked shirt rises up briefly, exposing his slightly rounded stomach.

Ah, that little Buddha belly. Cor, how I loved that soft bit of flesh. I used to spend hours nibbling and kissing him there, listening to him sigh and murmur in pleasure. Once, in Florence, on one of the most special nights of my unlife, he'd allowed me to bite him there, right on that gentle swell. When my fangs had broken his pale skin, he'd groaned loudly and said--

"Hostile 17, define how a sire is 'everything,'" the labcoat's interrupted, brining my memories to a screeching halt.

My eyes focused once again on the television, watching as Angel conversed angrily with someone I couldn't see. "It means he's my all," I reply, the words falling from my lips without pause because of the drug. "Father, teacher, brother, friend, protector, love, lover, enemy, creator, blood... fuck, sometimes I miss him so bloody much."

I lurch to my feet and stumble forward. I latch onto either side of the television and stare at the distorted picture Angel makes when I get close to the screen. Anger bubbles up in me, but not for my captors.

"Why did you have to go away, you soddin' prick?!" I suddenly yell the projection of Angel. "I woulda loved you even with your effin' soul, but you didn't gimme a chance! You juss poofed, you poof!"

The world spins rapidly and I lose my balance. I fall hard on my bum, almost causing the television to crash down over me. It wobbles precariously for a moment before it settles back on its stand.

"Stupid bloody prick," I mutter. "'S'too late now. I hate your fucking guts. You leff me, and you took my Dru, and then you went and shagged to bloody Slayer of all cunts."

I lay down on my side and curl my knees to my chest. "Soddin' nonce," I grumble as my vision goes blurry. "I shoulda staked you when I had the chance. Yeah. Staked you with my cock til you begged my forgiveness for leaving."

The world stops spinning and starts to go dark. I can tell that any second now I'm going to be unconscious. Swell.

I hope I don't drool on myself again.



*****

Ouch.

I have a mother of a headache.

I concentrate on the lovely pain, I try to become one with the insistent 
throbbing on the side of my head, because then maybe I can just pass out 
again and forget all about the fact that they took Spike right out from under 
my nose.

I can't do that, though. I can't pass out, much as I'd like to just sink back 
down onto the floor and lie with my cheek against the cool tile. Already I 
feel the pain subside, and I know that in another couple of minutes it will 
be completely gone and I'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed once more.

Bushy-tailed?

What the hell kind of saying is that? I always think of squirrels.

Shaking my head carefully, I keep my back to the wall and try to use it for 
leverage to get up. It doesn't help. My body decides it isn't ready to leave 
the nice comfortable floor.

That is, until I see a glimpse of a white lab coat and hear the tinny sound 
of the intercom. I manage to get up from the ground without teetering like a 
baby who's learning to walk.

Go me. The big scary vamp can stand on his own.

"Hostile 36," comes that same female voice, with that same damn faint sound 
of amusement.

Better not say anything.

Don't say anything, Angel, don't talk to them..."Where's Spike?" I snap, then 
curse myself. Like they'd tell me.

"Spike?" the female questions. "Would that be the name of Hostile 17?"

Damn.

"No," I say sullenly, knowing that they've already learned his name and are 
just playing with me.

"Do you have a relationship with Hostile 17?"

For a second I wonder how the hell they could have known that. Pieces of 
memory flash through my mind; long, dark nights of pleasure and pain and 
pleasure again, nights when William belonged to me and we had all of Europe 
in the palms of our bloodstained hands.

How do they *know* that?

Then I realize that of course they don't mean that, they just mean in what 
context do I know Spike. And I'm also smart enough to realize that they 
aren't going to ask me any questions that they don't already have the answers 
to.

Which means, of course, that Spike is at this moment being subjected to 
I-don't-know-what, while I sit here on my ass, helpless.

I am so angry at myself.

Why, *why* did I let him drink that blood? What the hell made me think that I 
could protect him in here?

Because you've always protected him, my demon chuckles. You've always gotten 
Will out of nasty predicaments. And now look at you...being kept in a cage 
like a little pet.

"What do you want?" I say tiredly. "What do you want for Spike?"

"You mean, what do we want in order to return Hostile 17 to your care?"

My *care*? Were we that obvious?

No. This is all information that they must have already pried from Spike.

"Yes, yes!" I'm annoyed now, and gesture at the air with one arm. "I'll do 
whatever you want."

I'll *what*? Where did that come from? I won't do shit for Spike. I'll sit 
here and rot and be pissed off the entire time.

"Whatever you want," I repeat slowly, looking at the reflection of the white 
coat in the glass.

Damn it.

~*~*~*~*~*

"Dr. Walsh, this is Dr. Skansen."

"Go ahead."

"I believe we have the information we need."

"You've discovered the link between the two?"

"Yes."

"And of what nature is this link?"

"Well... it's made up of a number of different ingredients, Doctor."

"Tell me."

"It seems that 17 has been... created... by 36."

"Created."

"Yes. Blood of blood."

"Continue."

"The nature of their relationship seems to be more complicated than we first 
estimated."

"How so?"

"Well... it seems that 17 is bonded to 36 by several different things. They 
share the same blood in their veins, but that doesn't even scratch the 
surface of their tie to one another. Their relationship is also of a sexual 
nature, which seems odd, considering that they are much like father and son. 
Rather incestuous."

"These are vampires, Doctor Skansen. Demons. Everything about them is odd. 
What else?"

"That's what we've garnered so far. And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"It seems both parties are willing to do whatever they have to for the other."

"Is that so."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Thank you."

~*~*~*~*~*

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because suddenly I'm jerked 
awake by the glass panel of my cell sliding open.

In steps a blonde woman with a shrewd gaze. She rakes me with it and I feel 
utterly exposed. "Hostile 36," she barks. "You're to come with me."

"No thanks," I say, yawning and showing my teeth just a little.

She isn't impressed. "You're to come with me if you wish to see your demon 
friend. If not, we'll just knock you out again and take you anyway."

Well, that's no lie. They've already conked me on the head twice, I have no 
doubt they're being easy on me.

And she did say I could see Spike, who I'm sure by now is either seething mad 
at me or dead.

I hope he's dead.

Seething mad I don't think I can take. Then I would feel more disgusting and 
low than I already do. I deserve it, this I'm sure of, for making him drink 
that blood and telling him I'd look out for him --

"Hostile 36!" the female yaps at me again, and I blink. She looks annoyed at 
my lack of interest in her. "You are to come with me either by choice or by 
force. Decide now."

I put on my best silky voice and sidle up to her, smirking inside when she 
flinches slightly. "Anything I do is always by choice," I murmur. "Remember 
that." And then I saunter slowly out the open panel, knowing that I'm being 
heavily guarded on all sides.

After a moment, the woman follows and brushes past me, clutching her 
clipboard like a lifeline. "Take him to the observation room," she snaps at 
one of the soldier boys in the hallway, and he salutes her. 

I roll my eyes.

The observation room turns out to be simply another white-walled cell, only 
larger. There is also an upper deck, far above my head, where people can sit 
and watch whatever procedure is being carried out in the room. The deck is 
empty. For now.

I turn and look at my captor, who has arrived ahead of us in the room and 
seems to be furiously scribbling some notes on her trusty clipboard.

I don't know when I came to think of this one woman as my captor, but she 
just kind of radiates the power and authority that the others don't have.

"Spike," I say shortly. "Where is he?"

"He'll be along," she says vaguely, raising her eyes to the observation deck.

Bitch.

When she reaches up to snap on a small monitor, Spike's image flickers grayly 
onto the screen. I tense.

He's in a wheelchair. I think. I can't tell for sure, the little screen is so 
grainy. But what I can see is the intravenous line running from his right arm 
to the heavy bag of blood at his side.

Draining, or filling?

I dart a glance at the woman, who of course seems very pleased with herself. 
"The blood is entering his body as we speak," she announces.

God, I want to kill her. I want to just rip open that white throat and --

"It's drugged, naturally," she says. "Very heavily. If the entire bag enters 
his system, he will die. There's enough holy water in that blood to slowly 
burn him from the inside out. It's going in methodically enough that he 
doesn't feel it, but when the level of holy water begins to outweigh the 
level of blood in his body --"

"All right!" I shout, infuriated. "I got it! You want something from us! Just 
tell me what it is and leave him be!"

She narrows her eyes as if gauging my response to her, and I realize that's 
exactly what she's doing. She wanted a certain reaction from me, and I think 
I just gave it to her.

Fuck.

"Hostile 17 is your... childe?"

"*Spike* is my childe, yes."

"Your relationship is of a sexual nature?"

What the hell is she getting at? "Yes, among other things."

She smiles. "We'll talk about those *other* things later. Right now I'm only 
interested in the physical aspect."

What is she, sick? "Why?"

"This is a learning facility, Hostile 36. We capture demons in order to gain 
information about them. You and your childe are the first demons to ever 
acknowledge a relationship with the other that revolves around something more 
than mutual killing. We are interested in that relationship and wish to study 
it."

"How do you think you're going to study our... relationship?" I ask her, 
feeling more uneasy by the second.

"Very easily," she shrugged. "We will observe the two of you coupling."

I stare at her. "You're disgusting."

She stares back, and her blue gaze is cold and unreadable. "*You're* the 
demon."

"I won't. I won't have sex with him so you can take notes on us." I shake my 
head from side to side, adamant. That's just going too far.

"Won't you, Hostile 36?" She seems unconcerned, and takes a small black box 
from her pocket. Pressing a button on the side, she holds it up to her mouth. 
"Increase the drip," she says to an unseen listener, and then puts the thing 
away again.

Incredibly, she turns and smiles at me. "Why don't you think on it for a 
bit?" she asks pleasantly.

I stare at the monitor. Spike's chin is resting on his chest and I can't see 
his face, but when a lab coat enters the room he's in and adjusts something 
on the bag of blood, I can see Spike's arm begin to twitch. Then his leg does 
the same thing, and I watch in horror as his fingers begin to curl in on 
themselves and his head slumps to the side.

"No...," I breathe. "You're killing him."

"Yes," the woman agrees. "We are. Would you like to rethink your decision?"

"All right," I say instantly, turning away from the painful sight of Spike. I 
lift my gaze to the woman's face, gratified when she looks away. "I'll do it."

The black box appears again. "Stop the drip. Bring Hostile 17 to the 
observation room. Oh... have a regulation cot brought in as well."

Moving as far away from her as I can, I retreat to the opposite end of the 
room and face the wall. I have to swallow back the bile that burns my throat. 
I feel ill.

What did I just agree to?





Part Five



The thick, cloying stench of blood and death fills the small steamroom. Corpses are shoved up against the walls, some with their throats torn out, others with their heads twisted at funny angles, but all with gaping holes in their bodies.

In the center of the floor is a pile of intestines and organs, still warm. Flies buzz hungrily around the room. Blood coats the walls and the floors, staining the wood and my clothing.

My sire's going to kill me.

I wipe my bloody hands on my ruined dress clothes. Dress clothes that my sire had specifically picked out to come to this soddin' gentleman's club. Dress clothes that he'd told me not to get a speck of dirt on, lest he tan the skin right off my bum.

Oops.

Oh well, it's his bloody fault. He's the one who sat me in a corner and expected me to behave while he toddled off to drink scotch, smoke cigars and play poker. Sheah, right, like I was going to sit there like an effin' six-year-old on a trip with his daddy.

All right, I admit that I sat there for over an hour, waiting for the stupid toff to invite me to play. I'd gotten pretty good at cards, mainly because my sire and I would play strip poker. Do you know how frickin' satisfying it is to be sitting there fully clothed while the man who is superior to you in every way is stark naked?

I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

I brush my dirty hair away from my face and eye the pile of guts in the center of the room. After this little stunt, I'm going to be lucky if I can walk after a month. Maybe two.

But, come on, I'm bored, and there's a spongy mountain of innards calling to me. I've wanted to try this ever since my sire took me and Dru out to the country last autumn. The tots had looked like they were having a ball.

I dart forward, leap high into the air, and land in the bloody, sopping organ pile. Squish! Splurt! I skid on my knees on the blood-slicked wood floor until I'm stopped by a corpse. I think it's Mr. Pliske, but half of his face is missing so it's hard to tell.

Laughing, I fall back onto Mr. Pliske's lap. There's a nice tear where his stomach had been, and I shove my fist into the hole. I pull it out and start to lick off my blood-covered hand. I close my eyes. Still warm. Yum.

"Spike."

Oh shit, here he comes.

"Spike."

Well, best make the most of my upcoming whipping. I keep my eyes closed and play dead. Of course, I'm already dead, but you get the idea.

"Spike, come on already."

I wait until I can feel his face close to mine. Even behind my closed eyelids, I can tell exactly where his head is as well as the peeved expression on his face. Sealing my fate, I reach up, snag the back of his hair, and pull his mouth down to mine.

Rule number... whatever, the ponce has so many rules its hard to keep count. But I know one of them is: never kiss your sire without permission.

I sink into the kiss, holding his head firmly with my blood-drenched hand. I'm undoubtably getting his hair filthy, and for that alone I'm know I'm going to get a hundred lashes. But, fuck me, being the one in control of the kiss is worth a million lashes.

My tongue traces his lower lip, then plunges inside his surprised mouth. I don't know how long this is going to last before he grabs me by the knackers, and I want to make the most of it. I rub the tip of my tongue against the roof of his mouth and I hear him inhale quickly.

Ha, ha, made him breathe.

I reach out with my other hand, grab his lapel, and pull him partially on top of me. His familiar bulk weighs down on my chest, and I sigh happily into the kiss. I absolutely love it when he covers me with his big-arsed body, like a cool blanket. If I'm lucky, he'll want to fuck right here before dragging me home for my punishment.

His lips are cool and firm against mine. I stroke my tongue against his, not forcefully but gently. Tenderness is the key to knocking my sire off-kilter. It's almost impossible for him to be gentle when it comes to shagging because of his dominant nature as well as his size. When I try my best to seduce him with tenderness, he's always thrown for a loop and I get to be the dominant... for a few minutes, at least.

I purr a soft entreaty in the back of my throat, then I slowly release him. It's up to him to decide whether to accept my quiet offer for a fuck. I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid. There's no way in hell I'd force myself on my sire, no matter how much I wanted him.

I open my eyes and find myself looking at the stunned features of my sire. His eyes are huge and round and reflect undisguised shock. His mouth is slightly parted, and his lips are wet and swollen, making me ache to kiss him again.

The whir of a fan startles me, and I jerk my head to the right as my instincts to check for possible danger kick in.

Abruptly, it feels like the floor has dropped out from under me.

There is no steamroom.

There is no blood.

There are no corpses pushed up against the walls.

There's only white.

Holy mother of Satan!

I shove Angel off of me and I jump to my feet. I stumble a bit as the world tilts wackily, then rights itself. I look around wildly, and both anger and dread fill me.

We aren't in the gentleman's club. We aren't in London. We aren't even in the nineteenth century.

Fuck, I kissed Angel!!

I whirl to face my ensouled sire, who's sitting on a cot that is sitting in the center of the cell we're in. "You bastard," I hiss.

Angel raises his head, and he gives me a befuddled look. "What?"

"What?!" I throw my arms in the air. "You kissed me!"

He gives me a bemused smile. "Actually, I think it was the other way around."

"Sod off," I growl at him. I wipe at my lips furiously. Aargh, I had Angel-tongue in my mouth.

"Spike."

"Get ripped."

Angel chuckles. "Who would have thought one little kiss..."

My short temper snaps in an instant. I throw myself at him and tackle him back onto the cot. Straddling his waist and with a snarl, I slam my fist into his smirking gob.

Angel grabs my left wrist, and his other hand flies up and snags the back of my hair. He yanks me backwards as he sits up. It's a move he's never used before, and it catches me off-guard.

"Spike, stop," Angel whispers harshly.

"Fuck you." I try to squirm out of his grip, but he pulls my left arm up behind my back and tightens his grip on my hair. "Let go!"

"Will you hold still!" Angel holds my body tighter against his.

I try and dig my nails into his left side, but his leather coat protects him. I attempt to shove myself away from him using my legs, but only end up rubbing against him. Damn, when the fuck did he get so strong?

"Spike, if you don't stop wiggling against me, I'm going to come in my pants."

I stop moving abruptly and stare at him in shock. "What?"

Angel gives me a self-depreciating smile. "I said: if you don't stop wiggling against me, I'm going to come in my pants."

He lets go of me, but I don't move off of him. "You've got to be yanking my chain," I say.

"Spike, I haven't had sex in a couple hundred years," Angel tells me. "And tussling with the man I once screwed on a regular basis isn't helping."

"Right."

"You don't believe me."

"Kinda hard, considering it was only a century ago you were buggerin' me blind," I say.

"I'm surprised you of all people forgot about my little vacation in hell," Angel says.

Hell. Shit, I had forgotten about that. So much has happened since I had the arsebandit tortured. "Oh," I say.

Angel lightly twists the hair at the nape of my neck. "So, how would you like to be the one to fix my celibacy problem?"



*****

She left. The tight-assed high and mighty cold queen bitch of this operation left me alone with a half-conscious Spike, who at this minute is mumbling something to himself about innards and blood and a beating. She left me here, but she isn't gone. I refuse to look above our heads at the towering observation deck. I don't have to look anyway. I can smell them. I can smell their eagerness and their sweat and their blood pumping quickly in anticipation. Voyeurs, all of them. I've sat here for the better part of an hour, trying to decide what to do, and it all comes back to the same thing. I don't have a choice. If I'm going to make good on my promise to Spike, my promise to get him out of here, there's no way around the inevitable. We have to...I don't even know what to call it. We have to couple? We have to copulate? We have to fuck? We have to make love? I snort. That last one makes me want to retch. If there's anything we *don't* do, it's make love. In any case, we have to put on some sort of show if we expect to get out of here. But Spike's so out of it, I'm not sure I can even get him to open his eyes. I've called his name twice already, but he's ignor -- Mmmph! What the fuck is he doing? He's *kissing* me?! What the hell for? I keep my eyes open and stare at him while he does it, even though he's sneaking that cool, talented tongue into my mouth and doing things with it that make me want to punch him and purr at the same time. He's got to be completely whacked. I swear upon Buffy's golden head that Spike would *never* make an advance on me while sober. In this century, at least. And yet...and yet, he's doing it, he's touching his tongue to my mouth while keeping a firm grip on the back of my head, and I can hear him making little satisfied rumblings in the back of his throat. Then he pulls away and stares at me with fathomless eyes. I can only stare back, speechless. They must have put something in that fucked-up blood. A happy pill, or something. He's looking at me all expectantly, and it triggers an old memory. A memory of dark days and even darker nights together, nights where we wore not a stitch of clothing and never bothered even getting out of bed at all... The click and hum of a generator fan nearby suddenly startles him and he snaps his head around. When he looks back at me, his eyes are clear and lucid, and I understand all at once that he, too, had been lost in a memory. A memory that he wanted to make real, for a minute at least. He pushes against my chest and leaps off of the cot into the center of the room as if he's been burned. Whirling to face me, he has such a look of pure rage on his face that I'm momentarily taken aback. "You bastard," he hisses. Me? "What?" "You kissed me," he growls, and I shouldn't smile, but it creeps out anyway. He gets even more pissed off. "Actually, I think it was the other way around." "Sod off," he snarls, wiping my taste away with his hand. When I start to laugh at him, it's the last straw, and he unexpectedly launches all one hundred and forty pounds of himself at me. He lands on top of me and gets in one good punch before I can effectively trap his hands. This just won't do either of us any good at all, and it's giving the onlookers one hell of a show. "Spike, stop." "Fuck you." Soon enough, I think, and tighten my grip. "Will you hold still!" He's *got* to hold still, because I'm ashamed to admit even to myself that he's made me hard as steel with all his wiggling around up there. I'm surprised he hasn't felt it already. Oh, wait, scratch that. His scarred eyebrow suddenly arches, and he glances down between us. When he looks back up, he's very suspicious. "If you don't stop wiggling against me, I'm going to come in my pants." Jesus, did I really say that to him? Well, at least he stops fidgeting. And it was true. He was rubbing against the seam of my pants in exactly the right way. "You're yanking my chain." Ahh, that's my boy, always has to argue. I remind him lightly that it's been a very long time since I've had sex, and one time with Buffy two years ago did nothing for relieving any kind of tension. There was that little foray into Hell in between, anyway. That added a few hundred years to the calendar. Born-again virgin, that's me. He still looks dubious. But thoughtful. I hope it isn't hurting his brain, all this thinking. This is a lame idea, but the best I can come up with. It seems I can't come up with any decent ideas in here. Knowing that Spike would never agree to having sex while the lab coats were about, I've got to keep his attention away from them. We have to do this, or we die. Keeping my fingers entwined in the short hair at the back of his skull, I tug him a little closer. "How'd you like to be the one to fix my celibacy problem?" God. I sound so stilted. He'll never go for it, not in a million -- "Sure thing, Peaches." Startled, I look at him. Hearing the old insult-slash-endearment cross his lips is kind of a jolt. "Unless," he drawls, "you were kidding." Ah, now I understand. I didn't think he would have been so receptive, except for the fact that he thinks I'm bluffing. Is that a challenge? Is he *challenging* me? "I'm not kidding," I say. His blue gaze travels around the room we're in, and I hold my proverbial breath that he doesn't look up. When his eyes come back to rest on me, it's a relief. "What's got into you?" he questions. "Hopefully, you." He grins then, a whole lighting up of his handsome face. His cheekbones are stark and angular against his smile. It serves to remind me of what I knew a hundred years ago and what I've forgotten in between then and now, but know with certainty I won't forget again. He's my favorite childe. Drusilla and Penn were pathetic attempts at creating the perfect childe. I knew it then and I know it now, and neither lived up to my expectations of them. That's because I expected them both turn out to be like Spike, and when they failed me, it was a bitter pill to swallow. But then came William. Who at this point is starting to narrow his eyes and look sullen again because he's asked me a question and I haven't answered. I ask him to repeat it. He flares his nostrils and is annoyed. "I said, what makes you think I'll shag you? This ain't exactly a bed of roses here." I bounce up and down on the regulation cot. "As I recall," I say slowly, "you used to not give a damn where I took you, boy. On the floor, against the wall, in the public baths...you didn't care, Will. Just as long as I took you." His eyes are riveted to mine and he darts his tongue out to wet his full bottom lip. I can see his even white teeth nibbling on it. His expression is full of memories. I've almost got him convinced, I can tell. What I say next goes against the better nature of my damned soul, but I've got to persuade him, and this is all I can think of under pressure. "Remember the blood, Will? Remember all the lovely warm blood that just poured out of the bodies? There was the night we emptied it into the bathtub and bathed in it for hours." Keep it up, Angel, you've almost got him... "And then I let you fuck me right in the middle of all that blood, didn't I, William? Right in the middle of all that steamy, hot, human blood. And then..." I lower my voice and he leans forward, mesmerized. "And then, you bit me when you came and I let you drink." Success. With an expelled breath that I'm sure he didn't even know he was holding, Spike throws his weight against me again and brings us both down to the cot. He's straddling me with that lean, hard body that I haven't felt on top of me in a hundred years, and may lightning strike me dead --again-- if it doesn't feel fucking good. He leans in to kiss me, and it's a hard and hungry kiss that's laced with desperation. What he's desperate for I'm not sure, but my protective instincts are kicking in once again and all I want to do is cover him up and shield him from the prying eyes above. I can't do that without raising his suspicion, so I settle for kissing him back, offering him a tiny bit of fang in the kiss as he grips the cot on either side of my head. He cuts his tongue on my teeth and lets the blood mingle between us, his own fangs lengthening as he grinds his mouth down on mine. His legs widen slightly, bringing his pelvis into closer contact with mine, and he starts to rock against me. God, was his cock always this hard? Has it been so long that I didn't remember how big he was, how thick he feels even through his jeans? No wonder I turned him. Impatient as always, I can feel him fiddling with my belt. He manages to get it unbuckled without unlocking his lips from mine, and I lift my hips to help him because already he's got the fly unzipped and is tugging them down around my thighs. I hear a growl of appreciation and I assume it's due to the fact that I'm not wearing shorts. I wonder if he even remembers he instilled that habit in me, so long ago... And then, ooooooooh, I can hear myself grunt as suddenly my dick is in his hand and he's started a wicked rhythm of stroking and squeezing. When did this veer into the court of *his* control, and not mine? Why am I all of a sudden lying here on this regulation cot without even a blanket or a pillow and with at least five observers above us, sprawled out with my shirt still buttoned but no pants, letting my childe stroke me and groaning like a bitch in heat? Wait, cancel that. My shirt is now unbuttoned. Torn, to be correct. Spike just flings it off the bed. And what alarms me even further is the fact that he looks so intense as his blue eyes burn into mine. God, please tell me he isn't having *feelings*. I close my eyes so I don't have to see him, so I don't have to cringe from the hopeful look he has but tries to hide. This can not be about us. This has to be about doing whatever necessary to survive, even if he's unaware. I refuse to renew a relationship with my childe under these circumstances. So I let him kiss me while I strip him of his jeans. He starts to shrug off his duster but some small decent part of me wants him to keep it on, giving us a flimsy shield from the eager eyes above. He doesn't argue. For once. If he's thinking this is going to be some long, drawn-out happy sexual reunion, he's badly mistaken. For one thing, there's no fucking way I'm going through the whole foreplay ordeal just so the lab coats will be happy. Screw them. And for another... Well, for another thing, I haven't had sex in a few millennia and I think I'm about to explode. Especially when Spike stretches out all cool and hard and naked above me, the lean muscles in his legs resting atop mine, and his cock pressing into the springy hair of my crotch. Then he's sliding down just a little, just enough so his dick falls between my open legs and the soft head pokes at my entrance. I can't help it, I open my eyes and look at him. I should not be letting him fuck me. It should be the other way around, except I know that if I get anywhere near his tight hole, it's all over. I'd come in five seconds. I'm still too vain for the assholes above us to think I'm as randy as a kid. Which I am. But Jesus, Spike's learned a thing or two about screwing in the past hundred years and since his hand has once again closed around my cock, I just arch my back and strain forward into his touch. And then he's gone again, and his blond head appears between my legs and I can't help but grin because I think he's going to blow me. Good. It shows he remembers his place as the subservient one -- ooooooooohhh, that's *not* where I expect him to put his mouth... He licks my opening with that amazingly talented tongue and I understand that he's using his saliva for lube, since we seem to be lacking some at the moment.

*****

We're going to die.

I knew it the moment Angel started trying to convince me to have sex with him. I mean, come on, we *hate* each other. There's no way in hell he'd shag me just for kicks.

And there's no way in hell I'm going to pass up the chance to fuck my sire before I die. But it's going to be *me* fucking *him.* I think I deserve it after all the shit he's put me through.

I kiss him hard. Our teeth grind together, and blood mingles between our mouths from when I cut my tongue on the edge of his fang. Fuck, but if this doesn't feel good. It's been so effin' long.

I get most of his clothes off with ease. His cold, hard body is lying under mine, and I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes unnecessary, ragged breaths. His cock feels familiar in my grip, and it sends me spiraling briefly back to a time when I would spend days worshiping his naked form. I knew exactly where to touch him and how much pressure it would take to make him groan.

Then, it hits me.

This is possibly the last time I'll touch him.

Ever.

I look at Angel intently, wondering if he realizes this little fact, too. I know that we hate each other, but once, a long time ago, that hate didn't exist. In fact, neither of us believed we'd ever be anything but sire and childe, friends and lovers, companions for eternity.

Ha.

He closes his eyes, and for a second I feel as though I've been punched in the gut. I shake the odd feeling off. I don't want this to be a pity shag, or even a chance to relive the past. I'm going to fuck my sire until he understands that *I* am the one in control... and he submits to me.

If I'm going to die, I'm going to literally go out on top.

I surge up and over him, and his eyes widen in shock. I'm sure my eyes are fucking saucers, because he's soooo bloody tight. We stare at each other, unmoving, his left knee hooked in my elbow and my duster acting like a blanket.

Sweet fucking heaven. Angel moves first, and I swear I'm already going to pop. And all he did was bring his other leg up under my coat and over my hip.

Holy hell, I'm fucked. This is going to be the quickest shag in recorded history.

"Spike." Angel's voice is low and rough.

My cock throbs in response. I groan.

He repeats my groan, then snags the back of my hair and pulls my mouth down to meet his. We kiss passionately and hungrily and whatever else -ily until I can't even remember my name.

Then, I move.

They won't have to kill us. I think I'm going to die on my own, right now.



*****



Ohhhhhh, my fucking God, this little interlude is about to be embarrassingly over because I'm going to blow. Spike is *so* hard, it feels like he's got a damn iron rod shoved up me, and when I shift slightly and clench around him, he rolls his head back on his shoulders and hisses through his teeth. Then he thrusts, once, and that's why I think I'm done for, because I can feel the buildup in my balls and my face shifts without my permission, and yessssss, this is so good... "Ouch!" My eyes pop open and I yelp. Glancing down, I can see that Spike's got the tip of my dick between his fingers and is pinching it. He still has that same serious look on his face and that worries me, but what concerns me even more is the fact that he's putting enough pressure on my erection to successfully deflate it. I let out a warning growl and try to wrench away, and he lets go. "Don't come yet," comes the seductive purr from my boy, his blue eyes glinting. Full mast again, instantly. Good to know my cock's got his own mind. "I wasn't," I lie, and he chuckles. "You forget, *Angel*," he says in that same low voice, putting emphasis on my name, "how thoroughly I know you. I know when you're about to come." He punctuates his statement with a thorough thrust into me, and I groan unwillingly. "Oh, really? And how do you know?" My cock is slipping through his nimble fingers again as he begins to tell me, and the combination of his words and his actions are heady. "You start to clutch things. The bedsheets, clothes...me." It's true. I'm doing it right now, gripping the mattress with one hand while clenching and unclenching my fist in his hair. "What else?" I manage to grate out, feeling my hips rise off the bed to meet his next downward motion. Jesus Christ, if he doesn't get his fucking hand off my nuts I'm going to spill. Spike leans in close, the yellow showing through his blue eyes and turning them an odd shade of green. "You pant." "I do not do that." "Sure ya do, mate. Like now." True again, fuck it all. I haven't breathed air in over two hundred years and I'm gasping like a fish out of water. When in the last fucking two centuries did he get to know me so well? It's...disturbing. And I'd ponder it further, and probably brood over it a little, if I didn't know for sure that I'm really about to come this time and there's no stopping it. If he pinches my dick again I'll drain him dry. Seems he's not in the playful mood anymore, though, because he hunkers down and gets to business, praise Jesus. With a strong push, he buries himself to the hilt in me and begins quick, fast thrusts that start him to grunting and me to just lie there like a whore with my legs open. That cool hand of his is still pumping me, sliding all the way down to the base and then back up to circle the head in the exact way he knows I like, using his thumb to brush the mushroom tip and wipe away the crystal fluid that pools there. I feel myself climbing, climbing, the peak of my climax just out of reach, and I wrap one arm around his neck and bring his face down into the hollow of my shoulder while I scrape his tight ass with my fingernails. After a second he strains to look at me so I release my hold. Yellow eyes glowing, he rasps, "*Now* you can come." And that does it, damn him, my semen practically gushes from me in a stream and I jerk helplessly against his hand, groaning against his neck and wanting to bite him so badly that it's painful. A small warning voice in my head reminds me why we're here, why we're doing what we're doing, and biting him would be the ultimate embarrassment for us both. It would show the Initiative exactly what our relationship consists of, sire and childe, and there's no way that they're ever going to know the extent of it. So I don't bite him, though by the tensing of his shoulders and his neck as he comes, I can tell he's expecting it. Wanting it. Offering it. Not this time, childe o' mine. I'm just limp under him. Spent, though this was definitely not one of our more vigorous go-rounds. The pressure's gotten to me, finally. He's heavy weight on top of me for a little while, then he heaves himself off to lay beside me. I can tell he wants to say something, and I close my eyes. Please, God, don't let him be all emotional. When he finally speaks, it's not what I expect. "What the fuck is *that*?!" My eyes fly open and I jerk my head to the side to see him lying on his back, staring at the five people in white labcoats high above us. Damn it all to hell.

*****

He. Is. So. Fucking. Tight.

I clench my teeth and force back the orgasm that's already upon me. If I come, it's over. I won't get a second chance to dominate my sire. Not if we're dead.

I won't get a chance to dominate the tosser if *he* comes now, either. And I can tell by the way he's clenching my hair and panting like a bitch in heat that he's about to burst.

Huh-uh, Angel. Not yet. *I'm* in control here.

I shift, reach between us, and pinch the head of his cock, hard. Pained shock flashes across his ridged features. "Ouch!" he yelps.

The look he gives me could melt glass, but I stare him down. I continue to pinch him until he growls and starts to struggle against me, then I let go. I can tell he's about to scold me like I'm some naughty little fledgling.

Well, guess what, sire? I'm not a fledge anymore.

I'm not a naive childe.

I'm a *Master* *Fucking* *Vampire.*

And *I'M* *IN* *CONTROL!*

"Don't come yet," I tell him in the same voice I use to seduce my prey.

He's rock hard again in an instant. "I wasn't."

I chuckle. Who does he think he's lying to?

"You forget, *Angel,*" I say, emphasizing his chosen name in reflection of his currently submissive status, "how thoroughly I know you. I know when you're about to come."

I move my hips until I nearly pull out of him, then I thrust forward hard. He groans. Sweet.

"Oh, really?" he questions through his fangs. "And how do you know?"

How the hell does he think I know? I spent a quarter of my unlife in bed with him. I grip his thick cock in a soft fist and begin to pump. His fingers clench and unclench my hair, just like I knew they would. "You start to clutch things," I answer. "The bedsheets, clothes... me."

I pull my hips back and drive into him again. He raises up to meet my thrust and his inner muscles clench me, too. See, you clutch things, I think smugly.

"What else?" Angel's voice is scratchy and he's staring at me with a challenging glint in his gold eyes.

He dares to challenge me? I lean close -- my own face still smooth, showing my control -- and tell him with an almost flippant tone, "You pant."

"I do not do that," he says defensively.

Right. Uh-huh. Yeah. Pull the other one.

I continue to meet his defiant 'I am *not* panting' stare until his gaze slides away from me. For a moment, I think: ha! Got you, shirtlifter!

Then I realize he's just submitted to me.

Angel has submitted *to me.*

He turned his eyes away first. He surrendered his challenge. He submitted to me!

Smack! I slam my pelvis up against his ass and feel his channel spasm around my prick. With quick, short stabs, I start to fuck him how *I* want to fuck him, because *he* submitted to *me.*

A mantra runs round and round my brain, punctuating each of my thrusts. I'm in control... I'm in control... I'm in control... I'm in control...

My hand works his cock in a steady rhythm and I can hear the pleasured growls he's making in the back of his throat. He pulls me close to him and his body writhes against mine, seeking more. The burning starts in my lower belly, telling me I'm going to explode very soon.

I strain against Angel's hold on my neck and he lets go. I raise my head to look at him and, with a showing of dominance that he cannot misunderstand, I give him permission to come.

He instantly climaxes, his hips jerking against me as gobs and gobs of semen spurts from his dick. His inner muscles squeeze my cock so tightly my eyes cross. Harder and harder, I ram myself up his hole as he presses his ridged face into my neck and groans.

I feel the light scrape of his fangs against my skin and the small sting shoots right to my groin. Oh fuck, sire, bite me, I beg in my mind. My mantra changes as the fire spreads throughout my body. Bite me... bite me... bite me... bite me...

He doesn't, but I still come.

I shudder hard as I blow my wad deep inside my sire's ass. The world fades away in a hazy greyness for a moment or three. I'm the one panting now, trying to catch the breath my body forgets I don't need.

I eventually lift my head from where it'd fallen on his shoulder, and meet his dark gaze. Why didn't you bite me?, I wonder. You always bit me when we shagged. In fact, you could never stop yourself from biting me when we shagged, even if it was just a toothy little nip. You told me once that biting me when we were being intimate reaffirmed our bond as sire and childe.

I guess our relationship truly is over.

Good, I hate you anyway.

I heave myself off of Angel, flop onto my back beside him on the cot, and immediately close my eyes. I'm suddenly tired in a way that I haven't felt since the day I realized Angelus had left and was never coming back. If the wankers holding us captive would kill me now, I think I'd be grateful.

My face smooths back into its human countenance and I open my eyes. Now that I think of it, I'd rather not die naked. I'm about to sit up when I see five white labcoats looking down at us from a platform, clipboards in hand.

Startled, I exclaim, "What the fuck is *that*?!"

Angel jerks beside me, and I instantly realize he's known they were there all along. My features twist again as I'm suddenly filled with a vampire's strongest emotion.

Pure, unfettered rage.


Continued