Part Six
A white haired, ice eyed demon moved with wraith-like stealth, slipping
through the darkest of LA's shadows. He moved without sound and or the slightest
misspent motion that might betray his presence.
Spike eyed his quarry with deliberation, watching as Angel wove a path
through the mortal crowd. During his last trip to LA pursuing the Ring of Amara,
things between Spike and Angel had been left unfinished. This time, Spike had
returned for one reason and one reason alone: to settle accounts once and for
all. It was a time of reckoning.
Spike followed Angel into the Korean quarter, puzzling over the way the older vampire moved. Something about it didn't sit well with the blonde. Something was very, very wrong. Angel's bearing and stride lacked his customary grace and control. He reminded Spike more of a big lolling pup than the vampire who had terrified the whole of Europe.
The swarmy mass of humanity -- pushers, pimps, peddlers, and prostitutes --
pulsed about the immortals, leaving them untouched. Angel chose a place to lurk
near a busy street corner and Spike did the same, puzzling the whole time over a
great many things.
What was Angel doing here? Hunting demons? Continuing his personal quest to save humanity? And why hadn't Angel sensed his childe's presence? Angelus should have known Spike was near. Or at the very least that he was being watched. It was another incongruity, which Spike logged away for future consideration.
"Soddin' pouf," Spike muttered, annoyed at having to stand still, unable to
twitch, pace, or smoke. The blonde hated waiting the way Angelus loved lurking.
Never had two beings been so dissimilar.
Fortunately for the blonde, the wait wasn't too long. Angel located what he
was looking for and moved out of the shadows toward an Asian whore in her late
teens. Spike's eyes narrowed and he moved forward, suspicion and confusion at
war on his face.
Suddenly, inexplicably, Angel leapt toward the whore with a jocular little
cry, puffing out his chest and positioning his hands on his hips like a big
floppy fag. Spike's jaw hit the ground. What the fuck?!
The girl eyed Angelus, trying to decide whether the vampire was a harmless
loon or a dangerous wacko. As with many others before her, she fell for Angel's
deceptively pretty face and allowed herself to be drawn in closer.
Spike snorted, nearly shifting to game face. "Stupid cow. They never learn."
He shifted, high on anticipation, nearly drooling for a vicarious kill he could
no longer make himself because of the chip. Unable to stop, Spike lit up a
cigarette. He had to have something to do with his hands.
"Hello," Angel boomed.
"How can I help you, John?" the tart asked in broken English. Angel visibly winced and his chest deflated. Spike scrutinized his sire's body language, trying to figure out what was up. Was Angelus going to kill the bint or what? The conflicting signals the blonde was receiving were confusing the hell out of him.
Spike's eyes damn near buggered out of his skull as Angelus stammered and
Angelus sputtered. Angelus, Scourge of Europe, stuck out his butt like a rent
boy asking for the old heave-ho up the ass, pointing and gesticulating toward
his tight rear as he asked, "Err, how much for spanking?"
Spike's involuntary hoot was lost in the whore's reply, "We fuck - hundred
dollars. Blow Joe - fifty." She sauntered up to Angel annd gave him the once
over. "For you, ninety," she said, running her hand over Angel's chest.
Angel yanked away as if the whore had cooties. "No-no-no," he insisted,
frantically waving his hands about. "Um...spanking...beat butt?" He pointed at
his ass again.
In spite of his resolve to remain hidden, Spike exploded. "You soddin' POUF!"
he exclaimed, unable to contain his tongue any longer.
Angel and the whore froze. Spike doubled over in a fit of hysterical,
overwhelming laughter. He had never seen anything funnier in all his years.
"Well color me pink," he gasped, "An' paint me a' monkey's arse."
Angel spun, eyes turning to pancakes as he spotted the source of the
laughter. "Spike!" he squeaked.
William the Bloody wheezed and held his sides, laughing so hard it hurt.
"Surprised to see me, ducks?" he asked, barely keeping hold of his cigarette
butt with his supple lips. Inconspicuously, Spike raised one finger to under his
eye and dragged away tears.
"Yeah!" Angel exclaimed. "You're supposed to be in Sunnydale!" Meanwhile, the
prostitute continued to look from Spike to Angel, clearly baffled.
"Well, I'm not," Spike retorted, starting to get a handle on his mirth.
Things weren't going down like he'd envisioned at all. He hadn't planned on
revealing his presence to Angelus until he whacked the big ox with a tire iron
or baseball bat, preferably over the back of the head.
"Who's he?" the whore demanded.
"Spike," Angel squeaked again, as if it were obvious and self-explanatory.
Spike's sire wore a fearful, humiliated expression that the blonde had never
witnessed the like of before on Angel's face. It was beautiful.
"The one and only," he confirmed. Spike grabbed control and his laughter
stopped. He stepped out of the shadows, away from the building, and flung away
his cigarette, looking Angel over. "Well, well, if me old sire isn't a flogged
fag! Sod a dog!" Spike exhaled a stream of smoke directly into Angel's face.
"An' here I thought Willow was just ripping the piss outta me."
Angel's jaw dropped. Thrilled, so full of energy that his cock was buzzin',
Spike grinned and chuckled, unable to believe his good luck. Catching Angel in a
compromising situation was better than anything he could have hoped for. The
Slayer would shit bricks when she heard.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked weakly. Then the dark haired vampire
performed a double take. "W-w-willow what?!" he squawked. "Willow?! What did
heeee-shhheee say?!"
Spike performed a little victory dance right there on the sidewalk, wishing
that he had brought his music to thrash too. Too good! It was the best victory
the blonde had gotten since he killed Slayer #2 and he intended to savor every
nuance of the triumph.
Spike walked right up to Angel and got in his face, poking the bigger man in
the chest with his finger. "Willow told me all about you and your spanking
fetish, you soddin' trotter. Gotta admit, didn't believe her at first." He
waggled his eyebrows. "Thought the little minx was yankin' my chain!"
"What?" Angel mouthed like an imbecile. He was stunned. Spike snorted,
sputtered, and sniggered. He *so* had the upper hand!
"Willow 'fessed up to your little secret, my paddled petunia," he explained
with exaggerated ridicule. "About you...an' her...an' how she beats your lily
white arse. Gotta say, it doesn't surprise me at all, at least, not about you,
you giant POUF. Now Willow..."
Spike trailed off, momentarily taken aback as he looked at things from a new
angle. He performed a mental double take. Oi! What the fuck?! Willow hadn't been
giving him a hard time! She and Angel really were... Spike's girl and Spike's
sire were...
The blonde saw red just as Angelus burst out, "What about Willow?!" Angel's
outrage deepened his voice from an indeterminate squeak to a boom.
Spike had to swallow his wounded pride for the sake of saving face. He'd deal
with Willow later. "That's one filly wearin' the show halter an' kickin' up her
heels outta the ring," he informed his sire casually. "Let's just say that until
a few days ago, that the little vestal vixen sure had me fooled."
Spike emphasized the taunt with the most lewd expression he could muster,
implying that anything and everything went once Willow lifted her skirt. Inside
he fumed, furious and humiliated that the little redhead had put one over on
him. She had tricked him into believing she was kidding! The bitch!
"You and Willow!" Angel sputtered, buying into Spike's deception completely.
There wasn't the slightest hint of skepticism in his eyes, and it should have
been another hint to the blonde that something was well and truly WRONG. Should
have, but wasn't. More fool him.
Spike kept going full steam ahead, perpetuating his ruse. "You could say that
little vixen rides me hard and puts me away wet. Quite the sex kitten she is...
But wait!" He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "You wouldn't know
that or your marbles would be runnin' all over the bloody sidewalk!" He smirked
and strutted, thrusting his hips, and crowing with delight.
Aghast, Angel just stood there. Then it happened.
Angel changed. He transformed before Spike's very eyes from soulful pouf to
remorseless demon. It was like watching a scorpion crawl out of a butterfly
cocoon. Spike shivered. Oh. Fuck.
Angelus snickered. From the first laugh, Spike fell silent, shocked. He
recognized the laugh. His sire: Angelus. The brazen bastard was free.
"You're really a piece of work, Spike." Angel raised his hands, flapping his
arms with the enthusiasm of a child pretending to fly. "Flappin' an' a flouncin'
like a big ol' peacock... You think I give a fuck if you're shaggin' that
witch?"
Spike froze. Fuck. Angelus. Angel had lost his soul. Again. Suddenly,
everything and nothing made sense. "Shut your gob!" the blonde snapped
automatically. He had nothing coherent to say. Oh. Fuck.
"Why, because it kills you that I'm not jealous?" Angelus taunted. "Here you
are burning to rub my face in it that you've got a leg up on that dozy mare.
Tell me, Spike, who am I supposed to be jealous of... Willow or YOU?"
Spike had no ready answer. He stood there, stunned, and stared. Fuck.
Angelus.
The mouthy bastard kept right on going, "I hear that you've been fixed."
Angelus stepped right up to Spike, getting into his face and nailed Spike's
temple with a hard jab. "Little chip in your head - modifying your behavior."
Spike hissed, flinching away from that insulting finger. "Sod off," he
growled. "I can still kick your arse." And he could, he could, he could. He
could fight demons.
Fuck. Angelus.
Angelus sniggered. "My arse, my arse, my arse, it's always about my
magnificent arse, isn't it, Spike?" Angelus wiggled the arse in question, doing
a little dance. He moved expressively, shuffling his long limbs about with
flowing freedom.
And Spike damned his lack of self-control, quick wit, easy answers, and preparation. He wasn't ready and he was caught off-guard. He. Stood. There. And. Watched.
Watched the dancing demon perform a magnificent version of the butt-wiggle
mamba with an equally magnificent behind. Angelus was free and freedom, without
pretences, inhibitions, or sanity. He was darkness and beauty and terrifying to
behold. He was Spike's sire and the blonde despised and adored Angelus with
every fiber of his being.
Spike didn't know what to do.
"Know what?" Angelus crowed, loud enough to be heard up and down the street.
"I think you're here makin' a bunch of noise about my 'lily white arse' because
I'm number one on your Shag List and it just fuckin' drives you nuts that you're
not getting my cock up your ass. I am at the top of your Shag List, aren't I,
Spike?"
Angelus smirked.
Spike exploded.
Part 7
"SOD OFF!" Spike flew at Angelus. His limbs were a blur as he rained down a
hail of punches and kicks on his sire. Both vampires were airborne, moving in
the same direction, Angelus laughing and Spike seething with humiliation and
rage over the older vampire's verbal victory.
The whore ran. Spike barely noticed her departure as he charged Angelus,
tackling him around the waist. They flew straight back into the alley,
disrupting a row of trashcans and social debris. Bums reeking of booze scattered
like leaves.
Angelus had pushed him so far that Spike had lost his focus. Most of his
blows were blocked with ease and Angelus only took one real hit to the ribcage
before he hurdled Spike back several yards. "Know what, Spike?" Angelus sneered.
"You're so insecure in your own masculinity that you have to be vocally
homophobic!"
"Shut your gob!" Spike shouted, throwing himself at his sire again. It was
bad form. Spike knew he was making a disastrous tactical error but he couldn't
restrain himself. He punched, kicked, spun, hit... But nothing got through. He
was being played like a pawn.
"You can't bring yourself to admit that you're still lusting after your old
sire..." Angelus' husky voice continued. Spike felt the dark timbre reaching
straight into his gut like a claw. He lost some of what Angelus was saying,
focusing on quality over content.
Two words cause his attention. "...Abandoned you..."
Anger made his vision swim. It pissed Spike off royally that the arrogant prick *dared* assume anything like that. Angelus' insufferable arrogance set the blonde's teeth on edge. Spike HATED the great sod for stealing Drusilla. There was no sire lustage involved!
Spike roared his rage and swung straight at his sire's face. Angelus
sidestepped and grabbed Spike's arm, using the force of his own blow to propel
him into a wall. Angelus pinned his childe there, one arm behind his back. Spike
struggled fiercely to escape but the other man had the physical advantage in
size and strength.
"I hate you, you effin' poof," Spike hissed. He wasn't homophobic or gay! He
mouthed off just to give the old trotter a hard time! It was easier to insult
Angel than to speak civilly to him and risk...
Risk what?
"I hate you," Spike repeated adamantly.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angelus chanted, "Heard it all before." Grunting, Angelus
pinned Spike against the cement wall, pressing his lap right up against the
blonde's ass. The bulge in his sire's pants was almost obscene in its
proportions and a strangled gurgle escaped Spike.
Oh Fuck. Not this. Not after so long. Not again. Crystalline blue eyes closed
and Spike's mind filled with sanguine tiers of pure lust as he sank deeper
through layer after layer, losing himself. It was wrong and he knew it and it
had to stop.
But there they were humping like harp seals in a filthy, stinking alley.
Angelus had that sculpted wall of muscle he called a chest right against his
back and their thighs were form fitting. Clothes were the only barrier between
their bodies, and keeping Angelus from thrusting his big cock up Spike's ass.
The protrusion was right up against Spike's rear, pressing lengthwise between
his ass cheeks. The blonde's own cock had long since swelled to an aching,
uncomfortable bugle in his jeans. Spike longed to whip out his instrument and
blow it hard, Contrary to his expectations, Angelus responded with tenderness. "Remember
this, Spike?" his sire murmured, nuzzling the crook of Spike's face with his
mouth. Spike averted his face, inadvertently exposing his throat. Revulsion vied
with lust as he felt his sire's lips and tongue on the shell of his ear and
along the smooth flesh of his throat. Oh fuck, that tongue. It was cool and raspy...erotic. Spike wanted to feel
that tongue in his mouth and swirling about the head of his cock. He wanted, and
needed, and shuddered. Repulsed. Revolted. Repelled. And Oh Fuck. Suckling and
kissing...more than just licking... Spike hated himself, hated Angelus, and
hated being so helpless that he couldn't resist the seduction taking place. He was weak. Must_get_free... Spike bucked once, pouring all of his strength into a single
attempt at escape. He propelled Angelus into the air but the bigger man managed
to keep his hold on Spike's waist. Instead of breaking away, all Spike managed
to do was give Angelus a right nice taste of the old heave ho. (Crotch + Cock) ---> Ass == Frustrated Vampire "GRRRRR ARGH!" A snarl of annoyance escaped Spike as Angelus broke into a
heavy purr, rubbing harder against his childe's ass. A high-pitched whine of
frustration and annoyance escaped the blonde as his sire's hands took ample
liberties with his body. Fuck Fuck Fuck! He had turned the hairy assed bastard on more! And the Little
Big Bad didn't fit in Spike's pants anymore! Another mistake or miscalculation
and he'd wind up on his knees, face in the pavement, ass in the air, and Angel's
cock buried up his arse! The wrestling vampires swayed to and fro, about to go over at any moment but
their entangled limbs managed to find a precarious balance. Still fighting,
Spike twisted to face Angelus. He opened his mouth intending to bite only to
have his sire's mouth smother his own. "Mmmph!" Spike protested as the Angelus'
huge, beefy hands cupped his ass cheeks. "Don't fight me, Spike," Angelus whispered. He nipped Spike's upper lip and
then let the bit of flesh go. Spike felt his world slipping away as Angelus
alternated nipping between his upper and lower lips. The bites were painful...
Painfully arousing. Slowly, it was creeping into his bleached blonde head that Angelus wasn't
hurting him. His sire had mocked him and roughed him up... All of tender first
steps of seduction and none of the brutal abuse Spike had come to associate with
the Later Day Post-Soul Bastard. Hope surged in his heart and Spike tightened his hold on the lapels of
Angelus' jacket. He had his sire back! The sire of old: affectionate, mocking,
and powerfully seductive. But sane. And so fucking beautiful that Spike wanted
to sink to his knees before his Dark God. Eagerly, he opened his lips, allowing Angelus to plunder his mouth. Their
tongues met and mated, reacquainting themselves like lost lovers. In a few
minutes, Spike knew that he'd be bent over a car hood or some other convenient
surface, opening more than his lips to his sire. A distant part of his sanity yelled, "Stop! You stupid pillock!" But Spike
wasn't listening. Angelus teased, establishing a tempo. He lapped, flirted, and retreated
again, playing until Spike was weak and trembling. The blonde growled low in his
throat, issuing a warning and Angelus only laughed. "Or do fight," the older
vampire purred. "I don't care. Either way is good." Angelus tightened his grip on Spike's ass, digging his fingertips painfully
into the black jeans. He had one cheek in either palm and seemed content to
knead like a lazy cat. Spike opened blue eyes to glare fiercely at his
tormentor. Was this a new game? Why wasn't Angelus moving things along to their
natural conclusion?
Staring straight into those chocolate brown eyes, Spike could find no hint of
humanity. No soul. None at all. "You've lost your fuckin' marbles again," Spike
said. Trying to take back even a shred of control, the blonde glared and
diverted the subject. "All right. Who the hell did you fuck this time?" Angelus chuckled. His grin was vicious and wicked. "You," he hissed. "I
fucked you in my mind and the fantasy was better than Bunny was in the flesh."
Flustered, Spike started, and then flushed. The mocking words cut more than
they should have and this time Spike could detect the rampant insanity. "I hate
you," he sputtered. It came off as petulant and whiney. Spike was a child
mouthing off to his parent and both vampires knew it. It was obvious in the
thoughtful regard Angelus gave him while deciding upon an appropriate
punishment. Spike waited on needles, praying that it involved something having to do with
him on his knees... Angelus drew it out. The wait, the anticipation... Pure torture. "You know,
Spike," he finally drawled in a provocative whisper. It was pure honey and Spike
found himself trapped as surely as any fly. His cock twitched with spastic
expectation. "What?" the blonde managed. He swallowed, mouth dry, hands clenching in
anticipation. His gaze was glued to his sire's mouth as if he'd be able to read
the words before he heard them. "I can tolerate a lot of things from my children," Angelus continued. "But
betrayal isn't one of them. And I owe you big time for that crowbar." Spike heard the words through cotton. He felt his eyes widen and saw his sire
take the swing but he didn't manage do escape the haze fast enough. Bugger!
Stupid motherfucker--!! Spike's face snapped to the side. Another followed, and then another, until
he lost count. He wasn't given enough time between hard, head-cracking blows to
recover his wits. At some point, Angelus relented just enough to send Spike
crashing to the floor. Spike refused to go out without a fight. Choking on blood, the blonde
immediately staggered to his feet. For whatever reason, Angelus allowed him the
moment of recovery. Maybe he wanted to play with his prey... "You bleeding pillock," Spike hissed, recovering with a roundhouse kick that
hit Angelus' knee. It buckled, sending the larger vampire down. "I came here to
tell you to keep your bloody paws off of my woman." "And as for your 'lily white'," Spike roared. "You've let yourself go, lard
arse." All of the blonde's mental facilities and common sense had returned and
not a moment too late. Angelus dropped to the ground and Spike fisted his face,
following through with through with a round kick to the side of his head. Angelus shot up with a groin shot that Spike only partially blocked.
"Rrrfff..." With a drawn hiss of pain, the blonde kneeled over, clutching his
jewels. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck that hurt! Grabbing hold, Angelus slammed his knee repeatedly into Spike's gut. Ribs
snapped and he felt one puncture a lung. The blonde's brief rally was over and
he never even saw the double fisted blow coming before it hit him in the back.
With a sickening crunch, Spike felt and heard his spine crack, and he knew he
had lost. At least two vertebrae broke under the blow and the blonde crumpled
like a rag doll. Tears and fear shone in his eyes and he squeezed them shut. Oh
God, please, not this. Not the bleeding chair again... Angelus grabbed hold of Spike's shirt and hauled his childe off the ground.
The dark haired vampire assailed him with a few more lazy clobbers before he
tossed Spike casually onto the ground. Trash. He had been discarded. Spike landed on his back, causing the broken bones to shift around his tender
spinal cord. Pure pain shot through his back as he tried to roll away. Tears
welled in his eyes. Unable to stand, all he could do was stare up at Angelus
with blue eyes full of defiance. "Sod off," he managed, coughing up blood. Those final words of rebellion sparked fury in Angelus' eyes. The older
vampire wanted a complete and total victory. He wanted Spike broken and
bleeding, in spirit and body. Spike's ever-defiant spirit refused to submit. He
never had given in and he never would, even in death. He had been bred to
rebellion. With a sort of mixed misery and resignation, Spike watched while Angelus
broke a wooden crate into pieces and selected a stake. The whole train of
bizarre events hurt and confused the blonde but a part of him was positive that
this was entirely for show. Angelus wouldn't stake him... Would he? Not like
this...
Spike felt detached. It was a sad show on the telly, and he and Angelus were
only actors. With a mixture of hurt, disbelief, and betrayal clouding his eyes,
Spike stared up as Angelus approached, holding the jagged piece of wood. His
sire knelt and straddled his chest, moving with deliberation and glee. Angelus loomed over Spike, blocking out his view of the world and filling his
field of vision. Angel's face would be the last thing Spike ever saw and the
blonde understood with a fresh burst of pain that this too was deliberate. He
was being made to watch his own death. A whimper escaped Spike as the weapon point touched the taut skin of his pale
chest just over his heart. His eyes continued to scream defiance but his heart
shouted denial. It was real! Angelus intended to commit the one act betrayal
that even the souled poufter had never attempted. It was the ultimate betrayal. Part 8 To Spike's annoyance, Angelus went on like a yappy talk show host instead of
just getting the dirty deed done. "You're soft, Spike. You've lost your edge and
everyone sees it except you. Dru knew. Why else do you think she dropped you for
me faster than a piece of rottin' trash?"
Ouch. That hurt but not nearly as much as the self-recrimination Spike was
subjecting himself to. He'd been a damn idiot, falling for Angelus' act,
allowing misplaced hopes, and a few quick gropes to seduce him. Spike understood
now why Willow had regarded Angelus with such terror...and that she'd been
trying to protect him. There had been no betrayal but the one Spike imagined.
To top it off, Angelus just wouldn't shut his trap. "You make me sick," the
other vampire continued. "You're an embarrassment to my line. The William I
sired would have taken his own life before he let himself become the whimpering,
sniveling ass wipe that you've turned into. But you haven't done it so I'm going
to do it for you." He hefted the stake. Spike's expression never changed. His emotions were caught in a freeze frame
and nothing was breaking them free. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. His gut
twisted on a spaghetti fork at the hateful denunciation. He'd striven for
years...decades...to win the slightest display of pride or approval from
Angelus. The closest he'd ever come had been the night he'd killed his first
Slayer. And that had been Angel NOT Angelus, offering up a slight smile and
sincere congratulations. Angelus had given him decades of crap, always withholding affection and
approval. His sire had give Spike NOTHING and now...THIS. Spike refused to
believe that it could end like this. They'd been through too much together,
passion and obsession, love and hatred, for Angelus to kill him in cold blood.
An abrupt question ripped Spike from his reverie, catching his attention.
"You came here expecting to go another round with Angel, didn't you?" Angelus
demanded. "What?" Spike gasped, swallowing more blood in order to croak the word out.
Angel == Angelus. What the hell was the difference beyond an iota of sanity and
a pair of leather pants?! It was only just starting to dawn on him that
differences existed and were significant. "My prissy soul," Angelus continued. It was weird to listen to the wanker
talk about himself in the third person. "You and he trade a few punches and
insults, sneak a few gropes between blows, and it ends with both of you bruised
but not much worse for wear. Neither of you dies, cause that ends the affair."
Spike blinked, shocked out of his freeze frame completely. "What the hell are
you talkin' about, you bloody pillock?" the blonde demanded. What affair?!
Angelus had lost his ever-freakin' marbles! "I'm talkin' about you and your damnable infatuation with my prissy soul!"
Even more of Angelus' thinly spread sanity slipped away as he raged. "Pisses me
off to no end. I've spent the last two years forced to watch the two of you
flirt and frolic like bosom bottom buddies." The words struck a deeper chord in Spike, one of truth. He performed a mental
double take. Well, yeah. In a way, he had come here expecting to just go another
few rounds with Angel, another battle in their unending war. And if Angelus
wanted to nitpick, then Spike had come to LA looking for Soulboy and not
Psychoboy. "What? You thought it was me, Will, your beloved sire? Hate to break this to
you, but you would have been a pile of dust on the ground ages ago if it weren't
for Angel." Fuck, didn't the motherfucker's batteries ever rundown? "You're crazy," Spike
muttered, glancing once again at the stake poised over his heart. Understanding
dawned. This was it. The end. It would end here in a dark alley just like it had
started. Full circle. "Maybe a tad," Angelus conceded. He flipped the stake with a causal toss and
caught it, taunting. "You came here today expecting to play with Angel. But you
didn't count on me." Dread and searing pain flooded Spike, well beyond anything physical. A few
short hours before Spike had held a stake to his own heart and contemplated
suicide but... Not like this. Tears glittered in his eyes. 'Please sire...' If
he begged, would it make a difference?
But no, Spike could see that Angelus was set on this course. The stake rose
for the final blow. "Oh, and one last thing..." Angelus added and Spike
shuddered. Shut the fuck up and get it over with already! "I know with certainty that Willow-witch-bitch didn't shag you," Angelus
finished. The sound of Willow's name on Angelus' lips tore out his whimpering
heart. Why? Why couldn't just one lover belong only to Spike? Why did he have to
share every last one with his sire? "Been shaggin' her box and arse," Spike lisped weakly. In his dreams... Blood
fluid trickled from the corner of his mouth. He eyes flinched and it hurt. What
did Angelus know that Spike didn't? How long had Spike agonized over his sire's
mysterious hold over Willow? Was this to be the final degradation? Being told
but unable to do anything about it? Frustration and helplessness left him
feeling impotent.
Angelus cleared his throat and spat full in his face. The gob hit him in the
eye and slid down his cheek, leaving a wet, slimy trail. Humiliated, Spike
gagged and turned his face aside. Angelus wasn't content with his death. He
wanted Spike broken down to his spirit, completely emasculated... And the real
kicker was that he was succeeding... "Willow didn't fuck you because she wouldn't... couldn't... without my
permission. I have too much on her," Angelus sneered. With a final twist of the
knife, he hissed, "She may have been passing time with you but she'd never have
shagged you. Not *ever* without my permission. I give all your women a good
seein' to cause I have the knackers." Fury seized Spike but it was empty. The last remnants of his heart were
shattered. "I hate you," he hissed but the blonde didn't even have that in him
anymore. He was hollow. Willow had never been Spike's... Not in any way that was
real. Angelus smirked, evil, nasty, a face full of teeth. "You know, I still owe
you one for that stunt with the crowbar. So I guess your lily white arse is
about to meet the great wooden shaft. See you in hell, boy-o." He swung the stake, plunging it toward Spike's heart. The blonde squeezed his
eyes shut so he wouldn't have to know the precise moment it was over. A tear
trickled from under his closed eyelids. The blow never came. Well, fuck. Gurgling sounds and the clatter of wood to the ground brought Spike's
startled eyes open. Angelus had doubled over on top on him, clutching his chest.
"I have a soul," he gasped, "I will not take an innocent life." The voice had a
decidedly feminine pitch. Spike felt his undead heart jumpstart. The Poufter! "Spike is about as
innocent as the devil himself," Angelus croaked, in a full, throaty male voice.
Mentally, Spike dubbed him "Demon Guy". "Let me kill him," Demon Guy pleaded
with The Poufer. "He's a pain in the ass for everyone." "I like him," The Poufer's girly voice exclaimed. "He's cute, almost
adorable, in a Spike'o'licious kind of way." Spike felt his eyes bulge.
Oh????????????? "Spike'o'licious" now, was it? In spite of everything, a tiny
grin touched his lips. "Spike'o'licious?" Angelus grumbled, "Fuck. Chew him up and blow him, why
don't you?" "That's your job!" the soul replied with sassy impertinence. "I'm not the
Great POOF!" A bark of laughter escaped Spike, causing his broken ribs to expand
and contract like a xylophone. "Bloody hell!" Spike hissed, clutching his side, fighting gales of laughter.
"Ow ow ow!" He had never heard anything as funny as Angelus arguing with
himself. He hoped--no *needed*---the dynamic duo shut up. Soon. The dual
demon/soul comedy team was just killing him!
Growling, Angelus changed to game face and doubled over to the pavement, no
longer crouching over Spike. The blonde watched with mixed bafflement and barely
contained hilarity as his sire's demon battled with his sire's soul for
dominance. Game face on, game face off. On and off, on and off... The facial
morphing served as a physical manifestation of the internal struggle occurring.
It would have been fucking hilarious if Spike had been able to move. As it
was, he choked back laughter and wondered why it was that every single member of
his close family seemed to have gone nuts. "Yer a bloody loon!" Spike exclaimed,
in case Angelus had any doubts. Apparently, he didn't. "No shit!" the dark haired vampire bellowed. "Tell me
something I don't know!" Abruptly, Angelus' entire body convulsed. His eyes turned gold. Not tawny game-faced demonic gold but soul gold. They
were the color of polished coins. Beautiful. Spike felt his lips part but the
moment passed so fast he would later question what he'd seen. Angelus' eyes
returned to their deep chocolate color and he fell silent and still. Spike
watched warily, waiting. "Spike, are you OK?" Angel...us? asked. "Fine and dandy," Spike snapped. For a bloke who'd just gotten the crap beat
out of him! The blonde jerked and scooted away as one of his sire's hands
extended toward him. "Don't touch me!" he snarled, dragging himself along the
sidewalk with his arms rather than endure Angel's touch.
"I'm sorry," Angel apologized. (Yes, definitely Soulboy this time.) He
followed Spike wearing an expression of sincere contrition that turned Spike's
gut. "He just slipped out!" Angel babbled. "It was an accident! You caught me
off-guard and I've been having trouble keeping him under control!" He reached
for Spike again. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Spike roared, torn between terror and revulsion. He didn't
care that he was bleeding all over the pavement and that his lower legs were
almost useless. He could not stand to have Angel touch him. Stricken, Angel froze, a long, guilty expression marring his homely
countenance. "I really am sorry," Angel finished weakly. "I can see that," Spike replied dourly. "Bloody sorry and sad. You're so
wretchedly pathetic that I'd ask the Slayer to off you if I thought she'd
comply." Miserable excuse for a vampire that he was... The sick bastard had
developed a worst case of schizophrenia than Drusilla. Even at her worst, Dru
had never held complete conversations with herself! Spike dragged himself to the wall, still using his arms. He kept going on
sheer willpower. The blonde knew his spine was damaged and only the searing pain
burning like wildfire through his entire back and legs gave him any hope of
avoiding going back into a wheelchair. "Are you going to be OK?" Angel asked. "Oh, fine!!!!" Spike's reply was rife with sarcasm. "I can't just leave you here," Angel explained. The Great Pouf waved his
hands about uselessly. "Especially, considering...morning, sunlight, POOF!" He
mocked an explosion. Spike gritted his teeth. "I'll be fine. Go away." "But the sun will come up and..." "Angel, if you come near me right now, I'll retch on both of us." It was the
complete and total truth. Panting, Spike settled against the cinder block wall
to rest. Oi, but unlife sucked right then. "Oh." Angel stood, shoved his hands into the pockets of his billowy black
coat, and gazed down at Spike with pathetic puppy dog eyes. Spike's desire to
barf increased. "Spike, why did you come to LA?" Angel finally asked. "Was it
about Willow..." Long pause. "Or me?" Spike glared up at his sire with iced blue eyes. This time, he wasn't going
to lose track of what was important. "Willow is mine," he snarled. "My property.
Hands off. Maybe you and her were spankin' friends before but those days are
done. Read my lips, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF'A HER OR I'LL RIP YOUR BLOODY HEART
OUT." "Don't threaten me, you candy-ass," Angel sassed. "You're the one lying on
the ground." He stuck his hands on his hips and jutted out his chest like a big
sissy girl. Motherfuckingbastard!!! "Bite me!" Spike shouted. "Gladly! Pull down your pants!" Comically, Angel changed to game face. Spike
once again found himself at a loss. Too much crazy shit had happened in too
short a time. He didn't know what to say--or better--what he should avoid saying
to avoid another bout with Angelus. Spike wasn't a coward but he wasn't stupid either. It was the soul glaring at
him now out of those deep brown eyes but it could as easily be the demon again.
He'd had more than enough for one night. The blonde looked away first, fussing
with his clothes in a weak attempt to save face. Fuck oh Fuck, his back HURT!
"You tell *Willow* that I'm going to turn her over my knee and beat her bare
ass raw the next time she decides to share about my purported spanking
fetishes," Angel informed him. He clenched his fists. "In fact, I'm going to do
it anyway for this time." Spike shot to his feet. To his amazement, his back and legs held. ""You stay
away from her or I'll kill you," he snarled. "She's mine an' you'll keep clear
if you know what's good for you!" He was a kitten hissing in the face of a
Doberman, but Willow was all he had left worth fighting for. Dignity and pride
were shattered. In disgust, Angel threw up his hands. "I'm not talking to you anymore," the
gesture clearly said. The dark haired vampire swiveled on his heel and turned to
march off, disappearing into the shadows of the City of Angels. "Crazy bastard!" Spike shouted after his departing sire. Then he set about
the long, slow, and painful task of dragging his wretched hide back to the
Thunderbird.