Part 20 - Untitled

Thy limpid eyes like some woodland pool
Stirred by the Zephyr sweet with scent
Thus like Hippolyte you captured this fool
And...

Bugger it. Spike crumpled up his latest poem and threw it across the room to join his previous effort.

He’s bloody sad.

It’s been two days since he’s seen her. Two days trying to talk himself round. Two days, and she’s all he thinks about. Joyce. Her soft eyes, the way she laughs, that little quirk in her eyebrow when she fancies she’d said something risqué. The way her leg felt against his, the steady thrum of her pulse, the scent of her curling around them in the crowded booth. The taste of her mouth, so sweet and warm….

Bugger and Fuck.

He’s well past sad and well on the way to pathetic. He ought to ask that bitch of a Slayer to plant a stake in his heart, put him out of his misery.

She’s not even that good looking. (She’s lovely) Nor young (just right).

She’d turned him down. Twice. (Take her.) No, she’d hate him. (Keep her till she understands.)

She liked a drink, did Joyce. Maybe if he took her out for a nice dinner, and got a few bottles of wine down her she’d forget her objections, let him show her how good he’d be for her.

He snorted. Not bloody likely. She’d never accept him for what he is, she’d want him tamed, wouldn’t want him killing. Can’t blame her for that, she’s human. She’s the woolly little lamb and he’s the big bad wolf and that story always ends the same. (Could fix that)

No! He banged his head against the wall, again.

“Hey, sorry, looks like you’re busy…”

His demon was in full flower as he whirled round to face Angelus. The tosser had waltzed in again like he owned the place and was standing there smirking at him.

“What the fuck do you want!” he snapped.

“Had some news I thought you might be interested in.”

“Yeah? What.”

Angelus licked his lips. “Found out where the Master’s hiding out.”

Spikes anger evaporated. “You don’t say.”

“A little – rat, ratted him out.”

“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving bloke. So what’s the plan?”

“We’re working on that. Come by the library tomorrow night if you want in.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Spike studied his grandsire narrowly; there was something a little bit off about him. Like the way he kept licking his lips like a cream-fed tomcat. He moved closer, and took a deep breath.

“Bloody Hell, you’re fucking the cheerleader!” he blurted.

A second later he was dangling in Angelus’ grip. “Want to rephrase that?”

Spike wanted to kick Grandpa in the knackers, but as he was still feeling the damage from the other night had to go for the better part of valor and all that. “Sorry mate, no offense. Made a mistake.” The grip on his throat started to ease. “You’d like to be fucking her, but you haven’t got that far have you?”

There was more than a little of the old bastard flickering in the other vampire’s eyes as his grip closed down Spike’s throat and threatened to do real damage, he was wondering if he hadn’t gone a little too far when Angelus let him go.

“Yeah, well you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Angelus said with an evil smirk. “Write her any poetry yet?”

Spike glared at him, rubbing his throat and refused to answer.

Angelus turned and headed for the door. “See you around 8,” he said and was gone.

Bastard.

The warmth of his news lingered though. The prospect of finally taking down that bat-faced bastard, of paying him back for Drusilla, of watching his withered arse scattered in a black cloud of dust…it was nearly enough to take his mind off Joyce.

Nearly.

~*~

“Miss Calendar? Might I have a word?”

She was less than ten feet from the exit, just a few quick steps from freedom. The dark-haired computer teacher seriously considered making a run for it when she heard the librarian’s voice behind her. She’d been avoiding him successfully for the past week and a half but her luck had finally run out. Hiding her dismay she turned to face him. “Mr. Giles?”

He smiled. “Could you come in here please? I have something to discuss with you.”

“I was just on my way home, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It won’t take long.”

Jenny reluctantly followed him into the library. She’d avoided the place even before the Watcher had moved in and she liked it even less now. The musty odor of books filled with unwholesome knowledge along with the throbbing of the Hellmouth underfoot put her nerves on edge. No wonder the library was so unpopular with the students; it amazed her that anyone could work there.

“I wanted to talk to you about Angelus.”

“Who?”

Steel glinted in Mr. Giles deceptively mild eyes. “Angelus. Please spare me the pretense. You know exactly who I am just as I know exactly who you are, daughter of the Kalderash.”

“Fine then Watcher,” she bit out. “Why do you care about Angelus? He’s no threat to your precious Slayer.”

Rupert Giles nodded. “Indeed, since your tribe cursed him with a soul he’s been no threat to anyone. However, I have it on good authority that that could change. Are you aware that he’ll lose his soul if he ever experiences a moment of perfect happiness.”

Jenny fought to hide her shock. How could he know about that? It was one of the most closely held secrets of her tribe. What traitor could have told him? Jenny forced a contemptuous smile onto her face. “The soul was meant to make him suffer, not to let him live as a man. If he ever forgets what a monster he is, then the tribe’s revenge has failed and the curse broken.”

She’d never noticed how very cold his eyes could be. “That is simply – despicable. To be so completely careless of all the people who would suffer and die if Angelus got free! Didn’t they care? Don’t you care?”

“It’s not my place to judge the elders.”

“No?”

“Can I go now?”

“Not just yet. We’re not finished here.”

“I think we are.” She turned her back on him and headed for the door and screamed when Angelus slid out of the shadows to block her way. Silently he backed her into the room until she was trapped against the table. He stopped an arms-length from her and looked down at her, no expression on his pale face.

“You…you escaped from the Master! How?”

A flicker of anger crossed the vampire’s face. “You knew where I was all the time…of course you did. Bet you hated that he didn’t dust me and free you from your duty.”

“I won’t feel sorry for you!”

He shrugged. “Fine. But you will help.”

“Help with what?”

“The curse,” Mr. Giles said.

“Cause lately? I’ve been feeling pretty cheerful,” Angel said, deadpan.

“You’re wondering how I knew about the loophole, since I’m sure you’re aware that the Council never knew what had happened to change Angelus’ behavior. My information comes from a seer; she had a vision of Angelus freed. Among other things she saw your death and that of your Uncle – Yanosh is his name I believe.”

Jenny trembled. She wished she could believe he was lying. “If it’s foretold then there’s nothing that can be done about it.”

“Miss Calendar!” Giles reproved her. “You know as well as I do the difference between Prophecy and Visions. Prophecies are obscure, unclear, and nearly impossible to evade though they’re frequently misinterpreted and play out in unexpected ways. Visions are clear and contingent; they’re sent by the powers precisely so that we can try to change the future.”

“Even if we could change the future – by helping him I would be betraying my people, my heritage.”

“Miss Calendar, I don’t know you well, but I believe you are a good person. Can you really turn your back on all of those innocent lives for the sake of vengeance?”

Two pairs of eyes stared at her, waiting for her answer.

~*~

Angel rubbed his arm and watched warily as Buffy circled him. That last kick had made his whole body ache. Training with the Slayer had sounded like a good idea when she suggested it. It would give them both a chance to get ready for the final assault and he’d been looking forward to the chance to match himself against a worthy opponent. He wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic if he’d known just how worthy.

It had started out well, just sparring and throws in the converted garage of Giles’ house. Angel had seen her fight, but hadn’t really appreciated just how strong Buffy was, or how fast, not to mention sneaky. According to Giles as Slayers went, she was in the top 10% as far as survival went. If she lasted another year, she’d be in the top 1%. Still, he’d been pretty sure that if he weren’t still weak from the years of torture he’d have been able to take her.

Then Giles left to make a phone call and the mask came off. After the third kick that jarred his teeth and numbed his bones he’d stopped worrying about hurting her and started worrying about himself.

He grunted as he hit the mat. He was on his back with Buffy straddling him, her shiny teeth gleaming as she pressed the plastic stake into his chest, not quite hard enough to break the skin.

Maybe he could take her. At full strength. On a very good day.

“Uncle,” he said. She dropped the stake and he moved to get up, but she didn’t get off him. Instead she tightened the grip of her legs around his and began to slowly rub herself against him. His brain froze in shock while his stupid fucking cock responded happily, ready to get him killed again.

“Hey, the cheerleader said you were a eunuch, doesn’t feel like it to me,” she teased.

“Get. Off. Me. Now!”

Buffy just grinned, shook her head, and ground down a little harder. She looked genuinely surprised when he lurched up and slammed his forehead into her face. That put her off balance long enough for him to dump her onto the floor. He jumped to his feet and faced her.

“Motherfucker,” she hissed, wiping away the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.

“We’re done here.” Angel said trying to ignore the demon howling and rattling its chains inside his head; it was more than willing to give the Slayer what she was begging for.

“The hell we are!” she hissed. She scrambled up and his whole body tensed.

They both whirled round as the door smashed open. Three demons ran into the room. They were big bastards, the smallest made two of him, he didn’t recognize the species. They wore chainmail over their scaly hides and had claws and teeth to supplement the personal armory each carried. Angel figured they weren’t here to discuss membership options. The smallest one took up a position in front of the door as the other two rushed to the attack.

Buffy and Angel’s eyes met. “I’ll take the big one,” the Slayer said and did.

Angel’s eyes went yellow and the world snapped into sharper focus. His aches and pains faded as the demon surged. He was aware of the Slayer back-flipping to the other side of the room where they’d left the training weapons. His attacker chopped at him with an elaborate halberd and looked surprised when Angel easily evaded it.

“Nice weapon, but kinda awkward in a space like this,” he Angel pointed out helpfully.

The demon bared yellowed fangs and tried again. Angel ducked again, the demon was big but clumsy; he could do this all night. He noticed a medallion on its chest that looked familiar. But this was no time to play memory games he realized, as the demon changed strategies and tried a low sweep that nearly cut him off at the knees. He jumped over the blade, and got behind the demon, leapt up onto its back and wrapped his arms around the thick neck and bit down hard. The demon roared, and clawed at his arms trying to rip him loose, but Angel held on grimly, using his jagged teeth to gnaw through the thick skin until he reached the vein and tore it open. Angel let go and threw himself clear as the demon dropped and rolled on the floor, smearing purplish blood over the mats.

Angel spat out the mouthful of foul tasting blood and watched in disgust as the demon got to its feet and drew a short sword. Cursing him in some demon tongue it lunged at Angel, apparently oblivious to the steady pulse of gore spurting from the ragged hole Angel had made in its neck. Stubborn bastard.

Angel felt his heel nudge something. He glanced down and grabbed up Buffy’s quarterstaff, bringing it up just in time to block the down sweep of the sword. The blade lodged in the wood and Angel yanked it away and threw it across the room. He landed two solid hits on its chin that set the demon back on its heels and backed away before the demon could retaliate. The wound he’d inflicted was still bleeding, but he thought the pulse was beginning to slow as the demon roared and pulled out a morningstar. Angel watched warily as it swung the spiked ball round so fast he could only see a blur.

He was distracted for a moment by an enormous crash behind him, where Buffy was dealing with her opponent.

“Fuck!” Angel swore as spikes tore into his side and cracked a couple of ribs. He tried to tell himself that the demon was tiring. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but for all he knew that meant the thing was healing. This was getting tedious he thought as he danced backwards to avoid a swipe that nearly took his head off. He dipped under its guard and managed to land a hard blow to its middle, bruising his knuckles on the mail. Pissed off the demon lashed out with a huge fist, missed, and buried its arm elbow deep in the wall. Stuck. Angel took his chance, grabbed the demon’s head in both hands and twisted with all the strength he had left until he heard a dull crack.

The demon collapsed. Its eyes were still bright and hateful, but it was helpless to stop him from selecting an ax from its belt. “It’s been fun, but I’ve gotta go now,” Angel said, and brought the ax down.

Angel dropped the ax next to the headless demon and turned around to see how Buffy was doing.

She was doing just fine. Her first demon was down and she had moved on to fencing with the door guard. She didn’t look worried and watching her in action when he wasn’t the victim of her blows was a pleasure, but Angel figured it was time to finish this. He bent down and removed a throwing star from the dead demon’s belt, aimed carefully, and let fly.

Buffy had to jump out of the way as her opponent collapsed without warning. She redirected her scowl to Angel when she saw the metal buried at the base of its skull.

“Giles,” he explained. Something like guilt appeared in her eyes for a moment and she turned and ran up the stairs, Angel was right behind her.

"The order of Taranta," Giles said after examining the medallion that had caught Angel's interest. "They are a society of demon assassins dating back to King Solomon. It appears you have some powerful enemies."

Buffy snorted.

"The Master?" Angel asked.

Giles shook his head and winced; he'd taken a pretty good blow to the head but refused to go to the hospital. "It could be, though I wouldn't think he'd be likely to contract out his revenge in this way."

Angel nodded. "Not really his style, no. He'd want to get his claws dirty."

"So who then?"

"I'm sure we'll find out in due time," Giles said resignedly.

Buffy looked disgusted. "Great. Just great."

~*~

Joyce sighed as she looked around the bar. She’d come in here because she'd needed at least one drink after meeting with her lawyer. The meeting had resembled a series of good news/bad news jokes. Good News: someone owed her a lot of money. Bad News: it was going to be months before she could get her hands on any of it. Good News: re-establishing her identity shouldn’t be difficult. Bad News: the LAPD had questions about the dead woman buried under her name and where she’d been all this time.

The new pub/bar ‘Loess’ that had opened in what used to be the old hardware store looked like just the ticket. When she’d walked in the place had obviously just opened for business, she was almost the only customer which had suited her mood. Now she was ready to go home. Somehow several hours had slipped away while she smoothed her sorrows with more than one drink. She was feeling distinctly out of place now that the bar had filled up with people younger, prettier and richer (or at least faking it) than herself and every last one on the prowl.

Not that she’d mind some company herself, but she didn’t think much of her chances here.

Joyce got up. She took a moment to get her bearings and make sure she had everything—purse: check; sweater: check; legs: mostly here—and then proceeded in a dignified fashion toward the Ladies.

He hadn’t been looking for her. He’d been out for a walk, hoping to clear his head maybe find something to kill, when he’d spotted the new place. ‘Loess’ was obviously designed to be a step up from the Bronze: no kids here, just ‘professionals’ dressed in expensively casual wear; Spike knew he stood out like a crow in a dovecot in his jeans, Doc’s and leather but no one tried to stop him from coming in. No mirrors or crosses at the entrance. They’d learn or die, made no difference to him.

He felt all eyes on him as he parted the sea of oblivious sprats and made his way to the bar. The bartender gave him a bit of the fish-eye but served him without an argument.

Spike took a long swallow of his drink as he turned around to scan the crowd appreciatively. One thing he did like about California was the care people took of themselves. Pub like this in London, the cattle would be mostly pasty and pot-bellied, whereas here nearly everyone qualified as a tasty treat. Good hunting…if he weren’t on a diet until after the Master was dust.

So, no killing, but a bit of slap and tickle wouldn’t come amiss. He smiled as he made eye contact with a pretty blonde bit. Her eyes widened with definite interest and she licked her lips in a way that boded well for his evening.

If he hadn’t turned his head that moment to order another drink, he’d have missed her.

He noticed she was a bit unsteady on her pins as she excused her way through the crowd, headed for the back where the loo was. He told himself he was over her, that she’d made it clear enough that she didn’t want to see him. Told himself he’d decided to let her go.

He was off the stool and after her before he’d finished lying to himself.

Joyce emerged from the toilets with her cell phone in hand and the expression on her face of the slightly drunk as she concentrated on making a call. It took a moment for her to register that someone was standing nearby.

“Spike?” Her voice was slightly slurred and he could smell the alcohol on her breath. She wasn’t that drunk, but her reactions were slowed and her defenses down. Easy pickings.

He moved fast, mouth covering hers before she could finish opening her mouth to protest. Not making the same mistake as before, this time he took his time, ignoring her undefended tongue in favor of the long slow lick and suck of her lips coaxing her into compliance until she groaned and leaned into him, warm and soft, she was only an inch or two shorter than him, a perfect fit. He slipped one hand between them to cup her full breast, catching her hard nipple between his fingers. Her soft belly pressed into his lean, felt better than fresh blood. He felt the pulse of her wrist vibrating against the side of his neck as her fingers combed restlessly through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

He pushed his leg between hers and lifted her up a little, feeling the heat of her cleft as she rubbed herself slowly on him. His cock was so hard he was surprised it didn’t burst through the denim. She kept kissing him open-mouthed and eager, her hands roaming his shoulders, his back, wherever she could reach him and the scent of her excitement made him feel lightheaded and made him want to bury himself inside her, right here, right now, and fuck the consequences. But that wouldn’t be right, not for his Joyce.

He managed somehow to pull away from her addictive mouth. “Luv, we need to get out of here,” he hissed. She stayed half-slumped against the wall for the longest moment in his life, then blinked and straightened up.

“You’d better drive,” she said with a sly grin.

He grabbed her hand and took her out of there before she could change her mind; good little Sunnydalers all, no-one gave so much as a second look as he dragged her out of the club.

Outside it was cold for California. She shivered and he yanked off the duster and hung it round her shoulders. It was a good fit. It was all he could do not to simply lift her up and carry her as she tottered slowly along in her silly shoes. When they finally reached his car he snatched open the door and bundled her in. He jumped in the other side and roared out of the parking lot.

Joyce opened the window so she could feel the cool air on her face. Spike had the steering wheel in a death grip, totally focused on the road as he tried to push the old car past the sound barrier. They must be going to his place since she didn’t recognize any of the scenery flashing past.

She’s just tipsy, not really drunk; she knows what she’s doing when she reaches across and settles her hand in his crotch, just fuzzy enough to shamelessly enjoy his gasp and the way his cock twitched and hardened under her hand. She squeezed and Spike swore and swerved off the road, the car skidding to a halt just short of the barrier.

He was gone from his seat and yanking open her door before she knew what was happening. He kissed her breathless before pulling her around until she was balanced on the edge of the seat, legs out in the cool air. He spread her knees and knelt between them and looked up at her as his hands slid up the outside of her thighs. He hooked his fingers in the top of her panties and stopped. His uncompromisingly blue eyes stared into hers until she squirmed on the old cloth seat.

“Please?” she breathed. And that, thank god, is the right answer because suddenly her panties were gone. She felt cold air cooling her dampness for an instant, then his mouth flickering like cold flame over the inside of her thighs; melting her like candlewax.

He slid one long finger into her, working it down to the knuckle and twisting till he hit something inside that made her see stars through the car roof. Relentless, he added more fingers, stretching her to the point of pain while his mouth pulled her higher and higher, he started fucking her fast and hard and pain and pleasure merged, sweeping away the last of her detachment and she was pinned there by his hands and mouth, feeling everything until it crashed down into white light.

As the colors seeped back into her vision she felt herself being lifted up and out into the cool night. She giggled when he seated her on the hood because this was getting to be a habit with her and at least this time she’s got the leather insulating her bare ass from the smooth metal. She heard the sound of a zipper and then those sure hands were on her hips, pulling her forward. She looked up at Spike’s desperate face, and reached down to help him and then he was in her and it’s not as cold as his hands but it felt strange and sweet Christ he was big, and it’s been too long, she can’t take it. She tried to push him out, get away but he wouldn’t let go.

“Sssh, sssh, it’s gonna be O.K.” He’s shaking. Very slowly he shifted her, lifting her into a different position and suddenly it didn’t hurt at all. They stared at each other, startled as he slid all the way home.

He started off slow, gently rocking her, like she was made of glass. Testing her limits, slow steady thrusts becoming harder, deeper when she didn’t break. Slowly the push and pull brought her nerve endings back to life. Throbbing warmth spread up her spine, making her nipples hard, cycling back to her center and his stony grip relaxed when she began to push back, and match his rhythm. He started talking, murmuring praises intermittently lost in the noise of passing cars. Beautiful. Love. So warm. So tight. Lovely girl, my girl, yes love like that. Wonderful, Joyce, oh Joyce… Fuck, fuck, fuck! Love you. The car was rocking and creaking under them, anyone passing would know what was happening there, and she should care about that but she didn’t because Spike’s clever fingers had slipped in to spark a conflagration that roared through her whole body and sent her flying up into the black sky again. From a long way away she heard him swear her name as he pounded into her so hard she knew there’d be bruises. He snarled as he convulsed inside her and collapsed to cover her; he’s heavy and only a little warmer than the night.

He recovered quicker than she did. Apologized as he stood and helped her sit up pulling down her skirt and wrapping the coat around her. Her legs buckled when she tried to stand and he lifted her up and carried her back to the car and placed her tenderly into her seat.

The rest of the journey was a blur. She was pleasantly limp and she dozed.

“Wake up love, we’re here.”

She blinked up at Spike who was smiling down at her ready to help her out of the car. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kept her pressed close to his hard cool body as he escorted her into the old brick apartment building.

Posted 20 June 2004