****************************
``It`s over!!`` I shout, joy filling my undead heart the likes of which I don`t beleive I`ve felt since....I don`t beleive I`ve ever felt.
Angelus` smirk sends me crashing back to the fiery pits of despair my unlife has suddenly become. ``It`s just intermission, Spike. You have a fifteen minute repreive.``
Fifteen minutes...hmm...in fifteen minutes I can eat the better half of this audience, and still make it backstage to slaughter the dancers before they can resume their rightful places in my fiery pit.
Hairboy reads my mind. ``If you want a smoke, I`ll go with you. Otherwise, we`ll just stay here.``
I lean in close to him, so close that the scent of his foofy cologne is going to smother me. If I get lucky. ``Have I mentioned lately that not only do I effin` despise you, but you`re not even close to being a good enough lay to make this remotely worth it?``
He just smiles. ``Foot off the chair, Will.``
*******************************************************
I spend the second half of the show
with my hand on Spike`s lightly muscled thigh. He probably thinks it`s
because I`m afraid he`s going to run away before the entire troupe takes
the stage for the Grande Finale. Gods, he is gonna hate that part.
But I do it because he is here, with me, because he feels good, because he looks so damnably gorgeous in that tux, because he put up with me, and this night... and because I can feel him staring at my crotch.
In fact, he hasn`t taken his eyes off my lap since the lights went down again. His stare is palpable, and my pants are getting tighter. I sneak a glance over at him. He is just eyeing me appreciatively, no ulterior motive, no game playing apparant in his seductive gaze. Just watching my growing arousal with interest.
I rub his leg in small circular motions, and the quietest purr echoes from my chest...
*******************************************************
Well, the grand poof`s entire previous bloodthirsty exsistence may have been completely erased by his stinkin` soul, but one thing has not changed. He still gets a hard on when I stare at his lap. Nice to know there are constants in this sorry universe.
And seein` as his dick is pretty well the only entertaining part of him nowadays...well...there`s the hands..mouth..and occasionally his.... anyway, I feel it is my privelege to stare whenever I bloody well please. Besides, it sure as hell beats watching the insanity taking place in this theatre.
As I sit, listening to his purr, no less than fifty mortal idiots are on stage, parading about under a paper moon to some chit`s fiddle, the lot of `em stomping and prancing like a bunch of horses in heat. It must be the finale, because all the mortal idiots in the audience seem pretty wound up about it. Looks exactly like the rest of the bleedin` show did to me,just with more legs. And christ, what the fuck *are* they doing with their legs?
The shout of `Bloody fucking Amen` heralding the ending is torn from my throat before I can stop it.
*******************************************************
``So, did you have a good time?``
I ask him, aiming for innocent face, but by the look on his, obviously
failing miserably. I narrowly miss getting my fingers slammed in the door
of the limo.
``Oh, sorry, Peaches, didn`t see ya there,`` he quips, with a grimace and a wink.
``Spike, there must have been something you enjoyed about the evening.`` I press, surprising myself with the dissapointment in my tone. He doesn`t seem to notice it. Or if he does, he allows no response to it.
``Hmm...the car is nice. The booze was good. Yer lap looked attractive. Thats about it.`` He leans back onto his folded hands and closes his eyes.
I tap on the window separating us from the driver. ``Take the long way back.`` I instruct him. He nods and closes the glass once more.
One of Spike`s eyes snap open. ``What are ya doin, pet? I didn`t say I liked the car enough to want to spend the entire ----mmmffffffffff``
His protests are cut off by my insistent mouth on his infuriating one, and my fingers guiding his hand to my lap.
Attractive?! Hmph.
*******************************************************
Bloody Hell. I had no idea the old
man had this in him. I have a whole new respect for the pouff now. He`s
about rapin` me in the back of this limo, `cept of course, ya can`t rape
the willing.
I musta *really* pissed him off when he asked if I had a good time.
S`all right. Nothing in this world or the next compares to a grudge shag with my Sire.
I can`t count how many lovers I`ve had. All of `em women before he turned me, most still even after. There`s something completely different about being with another bloke though. In my experience, it`s always been harsher, harder, more ....adamant.
With Angelus, it`s a whole new level of furious. Even when he`s *not* mad.
There is no other creature on this planet I would give it up for this way. Not even Dru, and gods knows I would have, and still would, die for her. But noone, not even she, could wring this out of me. And I`d never let anyone else even try.
It doesn`t matter that technically he`s *Angel* now; to me, there is little differentiation. Other than the fact that this version isn`t as interested in hot pokers as foreplay... But once you`re past that, it`s the same unabashed, brutal desire, the same fierce declaration of lust and affection.
He can`t kiss without devouring, he can`t caress without claiming, and good bloody gods he can`t fuck without owning, and I would never consider, never conceive of letting anyone lay claim to me this way or any other. But when he holds the back of my neck in that unyeilding grip, and runs his tongue over my mouth with hungry growls, and works his way down my chest with wet, open-mouthed kisses, and stinging bites, and tears the tux he bought me right off of me, and wraps that persuasive mouth of his around my cock, and swallows in the rythym of his sucking, dear sweet jesus, he can plant the flag of Ireland on my ass and claim it for his fucking god and country.
Not that I`d tell him any of this mind you. He`s got a big enough ego, and I have an image to maintain.
But here, in the anonymity of this limo, behind the tinted glass, speeding down the filthy streets of LA, surrender doesn`t seem so much like defeat. Instead, it feels a bit like killing, or dying; having his hulking form pressing me into the seat, feeling his surprisingly warm breath as he whispers ridiculous promises in my ear, moaning while he slides his fist around my aching cock, and thrusting back onto him. Deeper..deeper...now...*Christ*
I ain`t a poet, but I know about lust. And a bit about love. And when he is fucking me, and when he comes, I know that for him, it is about both. And that is enough for me to call his name out in the back of this car, and spill my seed into his hand, and purr contentedly when he nuzzles the back of my neck.
His kisses are calmer now, in the aftermath of spent passion, and I rub his chest idly, listening to his breathing slow and stop. I lick the sweat off his face, and he smiles, and bugger all, I can`t help but smile back, an idiotic, goofy grin that completely belies my status. And we`re snuggling like a pair of stupid teenage mortals, and I am satisfied to the depths of my....whatever.
And all bloody right, he *is* a good enough lay to make a thousand Riverdances worth it.
And yea, I love the pouff.
So? Sue me.
Of course, none of this is sufficient to make me postpone my plans for *massive* retaliation.