by Jenny

"I'm not going Cordelia".

"That is so typical of you Angel.  You are such a party pooper.  This
invitation is to Angel Investigations.  All of us.  Wes and I can't
go alone.  As much as I hate to admit it, you ARE Angel
Investigations.  Well, the Angel bit of it anyway.  We're the
investigations bit, we do all the research and the filing and the
paying bills.  So YES YOU ARE Mister.  You are coming".

"I'm not going.  I don't do parties very well, you know that".

Poor old Sire, he's not gonna win this argument.  He will be going. 
Cheer Leader'll see to that.  She loves arriving at parties on his
arm.  Anyone can see that.  Gives her that, `Ooooh, who is she, and
how did she catch THAT man?', glowy feeling.  So he will be going. 
Just as well he doesn't know about the rest of the invitation.  See
she hasn't told him about that yet.  Nice touch.  What a Bitch. 
Reminds me of me.

"They don't really want me there.  I'm not a people person, I'll just
make everyone feel uncomfortable",

"Angel, Mrs Westgate is throwing this party FOR US.  You did grrrr on
her demon remember?  Remember Mrs Westgate?  Big house.  No, huge
house, swimming pool and I'm forgetting something, now what is it? 
Oh yes!  Mrs Westgate who is married to a Hollywood producer and Mrs
Westgate who is inviting her husband's friends to party to MEET US. 

Told ya.  He'll be going.

"Well, why doesn't HE have to go?"

"By HE I suppose you mean Spike.  I suppose you mean the Spike who
called Mrs Westgate a `toffee-nosed English Bitch'.  That Spike was
not invited.  Expressly."

Shame that.

"Well, I'm not staying long, and I don't want to be left alone while
you go off making, `connections'."

What did I say.  He'll go.  Wait till she gets on to the rest of the
invite though!

"Now, Angel, costumes, I think …."


Tee hee

"I am not going to a fancy-dress party.  I DO NOT DO COSTUMES".

"Angel, you've been alive for over 250 years, I'd have thought you'd
have worn LOTS of costumes in that time".

"Err, they were called clothes then Pet".

"Shut up Spike.  You're not invited.  Angel, it says come as `Your
Hero'.  You have to just decide on something and get it.  I am not
going with you unless you are properly dressed."

"But I didn't want to go in the first place …."

Time for Spikey to have some fun.  "So Mate.  Do ya wanna borrow me
Duster.  Only, it's me pride an' joy, so look after it".

"What are you talking about Spike?"

"For your hero look.  Me!  Ow.  Tosser.  Seriously though Mate,
you're gonna have to decide on sometime, only got 3 days.  Common,
you must have some heros.  Spill".

"Well, I admire Sartre immensely".

"Yeah, but I prefer the Pistols' `My Way'."

"Err, what?"

"Sinatra, `My Way' bit flat, you know.  Pistols did it better".

"Bloody Hell Spike!  Stop singing!  And Sartre, Jean Paul; wrote
Meaning and Nothingness?"



"Spike!  Say something!"

"Can't Mate, I'm effectively silenced".

Best way to get my Sire's attention, concentration and best effort on
a problem, is timing.  Pick yer moment.

"Spike!  Fuck, oh yeah, just there.  Keep sucking …"



"Can't pet, I'm thinkin'.  Thinking for YOU yer pillock, cus you
won't think for yourself.  Batman.  Perfect".

"WHAT Spike!  What are you talking about?  I am in the middle of
getting a blow job and you're thinking about Batman.  Are you insane?"

"For your Hero!  You dosey git!  Batman?  Dark avenger?  That's you. 
It's perfect".

I mean can you seriously see Angel dressed in underpants and a cape? 
But it's my job to make the old man's life hell and I do need to

Spike's backside is just so perfect.  I pull his cheeks apart and
push one slick finger into his tight entrance.  The other hand is
pushing him into the mattress and I hear him hiss in anticipation. 
So I put the tip of my cock against his hole and,


"What the Fucking Hell Spike, I was just about to .."

"I know, that's what made me think of it.  Zorro.  Perfect.  You
could have a sword an' sorta swirl it around all night.  And a cape
of course, don't forget the cape again.                

He's the most infuriating, evil childe any Master vampire EVER had
the misfortune to Sire.  But lying here, entangled in his cool body,
my cheek lying against his soft, sweet-smelling hair, I think I could
forgive him anything .. 

"The Lone Ranger!  You could have a horse an' everything.  Ouch, ow,
stop it you pillock.  I want those.  They're me pride an' joy!"

It's the best time of the day with Spike.  Before he wakes up.  I can
lie here, quietly broo …thinking, wrapped in his arms.  Before he
wakes up.  Before it all begins.  The insults, the noise, the
breaking of things, the whining.   I turn to watch him when he is
asleep.  His beautiful face is totally relaxed …

"Rambo!  First Blood cus that's the bloody bollocks".

"Spike, shut up, shut up, shut up!  I am not going as some awful
super-hero in a cape …"

"Hey, watch it Pet, Sly NEVER wore a cape".

"I don't care.  Hell, I don't even understand half of what you are
talking about.  I'll decide.  I'll think of a costume.  I do not need
your help.  I don't want your help.  I WILL not have any more of your
help.  Got it?"

" `kay Mate.  But the headband, you really should go with the headba
….Angel, fuck.  STOP IT!"

So, tosser's only got 2 days to think of something now and I've
effectively managed to waste one whole night of brooding on it for
him.  Prom Queen's getting really angsty with him.  But silently,
like women do.  I mean poor Angel, has he got a clue?

"What's wrong Cordy?"


"Oh.  Good!"

See?  Now she didn't have any difficulty knowing what to come as. 
Think Prom Queen.  Think actressy thing.  Whose she gonna come as? 
Yeah, bloody Elizabeth Taylor.  Liz Taylor as fucking Cleopatra no
less.  And does she rock?   You'd better believe it.  Not that I'm
gonna tell her.  Got me reputation to think of.



"What, I'm busy here love.  Go bother the poof or Wes".

"Spike.  Ewww, you are painting your nails, I can't begin to tell you
how disturbing that is.  And hey mister!  That's not being busy.  So
get your backside over here".

"NO!  I am NOT GOING".

"You've been invited too Spike, it was an oversight.  Of course you
have to come.  Angel tell him he has to … Angel!  Stop laughing and
tell Spike he … Angel!  Stop it.  Tell him.

If I could only stop laughing I could …."Sid Vicious" 

"Fuck off wanker!"

Tomorrow.  This awful event is tomorrow.  And I have absolutely no
idea what to wear.  Thanks to Spike, my mind is full of capes and
masks and …oh how I HATE him.  Still, he's still seething about the
Sid Vicious jibe.  And you can't really hate someone who has taken
the opportunity of a commercial break to ahhh.  Oh, do that again
Spike, and again, and some more.  His beautiful mouth is moving
languidly up and down on my cock, I have my hands resting lightly on
his hair and I am running it through my fingers  He's swirling his
tongue ….

"James Bond".  I do love the wanker really.  And I can' t bear to see
him suffer like this.  I'd put him down if he wasn't dead already. 
So I offer him the perfect costume.  Stupid fuck couldn't have
thought of that one for himself?

"What!  Who?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of …"

"No, no, of course I have, I'm just thinking about it."

"Don't think Mate, your brain's in your dick and as I've just sucked
the life outa it, I've got the brains now for the both of us.  James
Bond: tux; tall; dark; handsome?  Remind you of someone?  Shit,
Angel, you don't even have to go in `costume' just put yer tux on. 
Ewww stop kissin' me yer bloody poof".

It's perfect.  The perfect solution.  I can go in costume, and not
have to wear a costume.  I love him.  But why isn't he getting
something to wear?  The party's tomorrow and so far Spike has not
left the apartment.  I know he doesn't really want to go at all.  But
I kinda thought he might make an effort.  For me.  Guess he doesn't
really care that much.  Kinda puts a damper on the whole thing for me

Stupid pillock's been brooding all evening.  He didn't even want to
shag tonight.  Had to be persuaded.  Well, OK, turned over.  But
that's quite a lot of persuasion for Angel who's usually in me,
before I'm even horizontal!  But I know why's he's brooding.  I know
why he's upset.  He's like a kid.  What you see is what you get.  He
thinks I don't love him cus I'm not bothering about a brilliant
costume for this soddin' party.  Well I'm still pissed about that Sid

This could have been fun really, getting ready for this party.  Even
I have to admit that.  Cordy's been beside herself; this is so her. 
She looks incredible in the Cleopatra costume.  Even Wes has got into
the spirit of the night.  Quite clever really.  English, detective -
he's going as Sherlock Holmes!  He looks and sounds the part.  So
everyone's been making the effort.  Everyone but Spike that is.  He's
just sat around all day complaining about having to go.  I'm
beginning to wonder if THIS isn't all too much for him.  This trying
to be human.  Time was, our idea of a party was to invite lots of
people: then eat them.  Now he's expected to dress up and socialize. 
If I find it hard, what is he thinking?  I just don't think he loves
me enough to do this.  This is just not what he wants anymore.  I'm
obviously not what he wants anymore.

Time to go and he's sprawled on the couch, wearing nothing but an old
towel, watching reruns of the Simpsons.  I'll never forgive him for
this.  Not for me of course.   He clearly doesn't care about me
anymore: doesn't want me.  Worse even; I think he finds me boring. 
It's Cordy and Wes who are the most upset.  They knew how much I was
looking forward to Spike being at the party with me.  He's ruined
this for all of us, and I'll never forgive him.

"We're going Spike, the car's here".

"See ya".

"So you're not coming?"

"Not at this very moment Mate, but if you want to come over here and

We are all subdued in the car.  Even though Cordy and Wes have no
idea what Spike really means to me.  They have no idea that he is my
life, my reason for existence, my future.  But even if he stays
around, our relationship will never be the same again after this. 
How can you live with someone who finds you boring?

The party is incredible.  When we arrive most of the guests are
already assembled in the Westgate's huge, sunken living room.  I
think Cordy floated down the sweeping stairs that led from the
hall.  "Angel!  SMILE, remember, clients, future clients, paychecks,
happy me?  Please at least look as if you were enjoying this."  How
she manages to hiss vitriol at me, whilst retaining her incredibly
expensive smile, is a mystery to me! 

But I try.  I do.  I circulate.  I talk.  But it's all even more of
an act than usual.  My heart is just not in this.  I drift
imperceptibly to the shadows in the corner.  The alcohol is flowing
freely; I can see Wesley talking intently to a group of the
Westgate's English friends.  And then the music abruptly changes to
something with a heavy, insistent beat.   And it's loud.  Incredibly
loud.  Ear-splittingly loud.  And I'm sure I recognize it.  The
lights, which are dim, come on over the top of the stairs and as one,
the heads of the party guests turn to look at the figure standing
there.  And I don't know if it's the music, or the lights, or the
freely-flowing alcohol, but I know I am the only person at this
Hollywood party who does not think, just for a moment, that Billy
Idol has walked into this room.  Cus I know who the figure standing
in the spotlight is.  He's not even changed.  Didn't really have to. 
Same Docs, same black jeans, same black T-shirt, same duster.  But
his usual slicked-back platinum hair is punked upright in spikes,
he's got a black leather collar round his neck and, oh my God, he's
got five studs clearly outlining the scar on his eyebrow.  Oh yes,
and the finishing touch?  His beautiful blue eyes are darkly outlined
in black khol. 

He is the embodiment of punk. 

When he is sure everyone is looking at him, he saunters slowly down
the stairs to the sounds of White Wedding being played at full
volume.  The assembled guests start to cheer and clap at the
performance, some still wondering if it's really the guy himself;
some just appreciating the act.  He is swept up on a sea of
adulation, moving around the room feted by these rich and powerful
people.  And he's loving it.  I can see it in his eyes, in his
stance.  He came, he saw, he conquered. 

But he's ignoring me.  He must have had this planned all along, and I
doubted him.  As usual.  I never trust him.  I never give him the
benefit of any doubt.  So effectively I've destroyed us tonight, not

Pillock.  Did he really think I'd let him have all the glory in
his, `I'm Bond: James Bond', fantasy?  Had him going there for a
minute though.  OK, so I didn't exactly have to do a lot to look this
good.  But I did have to wear his nancy-boy hair gel!  Git'll
probably weigh the tube to check how much I used.  But Oh!  His face
when I came down the stairs!  Don't know what got him going the more,
the neck collar or the face studs.  But course, I didn't let him know
I was watching him.  He's gotta learn the hard way.  Tough love. 
It'll be character building.

The party's almost over.  I've kept to the shadows and corners of the
room all night.  Away from the light that is Spike.  He's shone all
evening and people have been drawn to him like moths to a candle. 
And it's true.  You don't appreciate what you have until you lose
it.  Only now can I see what I've had since Spike came back into my
life.  Only now do I appreciate the unpredictability, the energy, the
fun.  Yes, even the insults, fights and tantrums.  But most of all,
of course, the love. 

At last the DJ announces the last dance, the last song, and my
attention is caught by what he is saying:

"We have a dedication folks, it's to Liam and it says, `this song's
for you cus you're a …', oh dear, I don't think I can say that in
public!  Anyway, this is for Liam".

It must have been cold there in my shadow
To never have sun light on your face
You were content to let me shine
You always walked a step behind
So I was there with all the glory
While you were the one with all the pain
A beautiful face without a name
Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Everything I would like to be ...

I feel two slim, strong arms slip around me from behind, and Spike
pulls me back against his chest and rests his cheek on my shoulder. 
And I am lost in the power of the love from his tight hold.  He
whispers in my ear,

"You are you know".

"I'm what?" I say with foreboding, "Your poof, your pillock, your
git?  What's the choice tonight Spike?"  God, don't let it be your ex.

"My hero.  You're my hero". 

He laughs lightly against my shoulder.  "I'm drunk, but you are. 

In the privacy of the dark, I turn and embrace him.  I take his face
in my hands.  Only Spike could achieve erotic punk.  But he has.  I
move my lips down to that willing, welcoming mouth.  I lick lightly
along his lower lip and staring deeply into his starkly outlined
eyes, ask the age-old permission,

"Let me in Spike".

And he does.  His lips part allowing our tongues to meet and
explore.  I move my hands down under his duster to hold his behind
and force him up against my incredibly hard cock.  Our kisses become
frenzied, his hands are in my hair, desperately trying to grind us
even closer.  And I am lost in the sensation of kissing this exotic
creature.  I push him backwards till he is against the wall, and
bracing myself with one hand on his shoulder, I grab one of his
thighs, lift his leg up around my waist and press the base of my hand
against his straining cock.  His low groan makes me frantic and I
roughly flip him round and start grinding my engorged and painful
erection against him.  And I repeat my demand,

"Let me in Spike".

There's no hesitation, he undoes his jeans and pushes them off his
hips just enough for me to get the access I need.  I put my fingers
to his lips and he sucks them sensually, swirling his tongue around
and around until they are wet and ready.  I fall to my knees and push
his legs as far apart as his half-mast jeans allow.  The sight of his
tight, puckered entrance almost makes me lose control and he seems to
sense this,

"Don't waste time Angel, now, pleaseeee!"

I need no further encouragement.  Foregoing the preparation I had
been planning, I stand up and release my cock, which is wet and
weeping in my hand.  With a low groan I thrust into him, hard.  He
arches back and gasps and I wrap my arms around his chest.

"Hold yourself Spike.  Cum with me".  And the dark, we renew our
bonds of trust and love.  I don't last long, and with a violent rush
I feel myself cuming and I see Spike's cold, dead seed running down
the wall.  I collapse onto him and hear a low chuckle,


"Nothin' Mate, only I thought the party was come as yer hero, not in
yer hero!  And, err I know this is Hollywood an' all, but init a bit
public for shaggin'?"

He's right, but I don't care.  I start to fall to my knees, I
desperately want that cock in my mouth, but he stops me. 

"Comon pet, save it for later".  Yeah, cus the Big Bad's got a little
pressy for ya!  And I don't want to ruin the surprise!

I start to protest, but he silences me with his mouth.  He tastes of
expensive alcohol.  I move up to lick round his studded ear-lobes and
smell deeply into his hair ....Hey!

"That's my $50 hair-gell!"

"Looks better on me.  Anyway Mate, if you're good I'll let you help
me pull me studs out later on".

I swirl my tongue again over his earlobe.  I run it lightly over his
scarred eyebrow, lightly flicking the silver studs he's pushed in

"Can't be too hard to get out Spike", I say with a puzzled expression.

"It's not those studs I'm talking `bout Mate".