*****

He sits in that dank, dark crypt, counting notes onto a coffin-cum-table and dropping the big bad look for the remains of the night. He looks like a fucking banker, sitting there, one hand at his mouth as he chews a hangnail and a crease in his brow as he concentrates all his meagre brainpower on adding 2 and 2.

He never was all that smart, that boy of mine. Beautiful as all fuck, but he's got all the intelligence of a muffin, with less chance of growth.

I stroll closer to the crypt, all the while watching as he loses count and begins again. He hasn't noticed me yet, although he should have. He never was very perceptive. Only ever seeing what was right in front of him, and not caring what was going on 2 feet away. This was fine by me. He was my plaything. I didn't want him to see anything else, nothing but me.

His tunnel vision allowed me to bask in his attention. He saw nothing else but me, wanted nothing else but me. He played the role of Echo perfectly to my Narcissus. And in a way it was he who cursed me. He thought I didn't see him, thought I was too busy basking in my own beauty that I didn't notice him.

I noticed him.

I went out that night because he was in a jealous rage. I left to avoid being in his line of fire. I ate that gypsy girl�because I was hungry.

I won't blame that on him. I may be an arrogant self-involved asshole, but to blame the past hundred years of pain on that beauty would be insanity.

I step into the doorway of the crypt and look down at him. He fails to notice me, still involved in his counting. I watch the way his hand moves in the light. The paleness of his hand contrasts greatly with the dark shadows. The hollow between his thumb and index finger is black as pitch with a soft yellow glow around it from the subtle lighting of the electric lamp. It looks like a bruise in the mid-stages of healing; tender to the touch but so fascinating that you can't help but touch it.

Oh gods, how I want to touch him.

I clear my throat and he looks up. For the longest of moments we stare at each other. His crystalline blue eyes boring into my own. He inhales sharply and drops the wad of notes to the top of the stone coffin. He swears and breaks eye contact.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He asks as he gathers the notes up in his long fingered hands. I sniff and walk further into the crypt, kicking up dust as I scuff my shoes.

"Thought I'd drop by and see how *my* boy was doing." I say. He looks up when he realises the meaning by the strained inflection on 'my'.

"Angelus?" He questions almost childlike. Is that fear I see?

"Quite possibly." I say mysteriously. I know I'm good at being mysterious, I've had to do it for so long it's become second nature to me. Spike shakes his head and looks back at the money.

"Look, y'either are, or y'aren't. Make up your mind, you ponce." He says, avoiding my eyes like the plague.

I stroll around the mausoleum at a leisurely pace until I'm standing behind him. He refuses to look behind him as I stand there. He refuses to let control slip away from him. I know that while I am behind him I can watch him as I please. I relax somewhat and just stare at the contours of his back, imagining him naked with firelight dancing over the tight muscles.

"Maybe I'm both." I say. I can't see his face, but I know that a furrow has appeared on his brow as he tries to decipher the meaning behind my words.

Spike grunts and goes back to counting his money, trying to keep as nonchalant as possible. I continue to wander around the crypt, keeping out of his line of sight.

"I feel new, enriched. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes." I say, keeping my eyes trained to the back of his neck. He turns and looks at me patronisingly.

"But a phoenix may fly, only when its feathers are grown. Listen Tathagota Buddha go preach to the Jade Emperor and your Star Princess Vega, 'cos I won't have a bar of it." He says. The first thoughts that cross my mind are 'huh?' and 'what the fuck?' and it obviously shows on my face. He sighs resignedly.

"Oh don't tell me you haven't heard of 'Monkey'." He says. I can't help but shake my head. I've got no fucking clue what he's on......but I think I might want some in the near future. He stares at me, open mouthed like a cod.

"'Monkey' is the pinnacle of badly dubbed Japanese entertainment! You haven't lived unless you've seen Monkey!" The peroxide blond in front of me exclaims, jumping up from his perch on the stone box. All I can do is stare at him dumbly.

"Are you so out of touch with everything? How can you not know about Monkey, Sandy, Pigsy and Tripitaka?? I might have still had a bit of respect for you before this..but now? Oh you've fallen, Angel. You have *so* fallen." He says shaking his head. I open my mouth to say something, and then think better of it.

He raises his head and looks at me.

"Nope, there's no way I can even look at you now. Leave." He raises an eyebrow and indicates with his head towards the door.

I make as if to leave. He lowers his eyebrow and goes back to looking at the money in his hand.

Stupid move.

I charge at him and push him over the crypt. He lets out a strangled yelp and the money flies from his hand over the coffin.

"What the fuck are you doing, Angel?!?!" He yells as I grind myself against his ever so tight ass.

I don't answer. Instead, I draw my tongue up his neck to his ear. I take his earlobe in my mouth and bite down with blunt teeth. The pure eroticism of the act effects him straight away, and he begins to pant.

My hand snakes around his body and grabs onto his belt buckle. I pull him back from the crypt and spread his legs slightly, my other hand slithering between his legs to fondle the fast growing bulge in his pants.

My hand quickly undoes his belt buckle, the zip coming down sends shivers down my spine. Anticipation builds within both of us. His erection springs from its confines. I run my finger down the sensitive underside of his cock, eliciting a stifled moan from my white haired boy. I leave it alone as I tug his black jeans down his legs.

He whimpers quietly.

I smirk.

The pale orbs of his buttocks sit mere inches from my face. He remains bent over and staring at the wall as I spread his cheeks to reveal the hidden rosette. I rest my head on his cheek and blow gently on the tight hole. Spike starts at the gentle breeze. I chuckle lowly and he shivers, the tiny muscles in his back quivering.

I lean in close and drag my tongue down the cleft. I swirl it around the ring and continue downwards to the sensitive flesh of his perineum. He gasps at the wetness. I kiss my way back up to my boys secret opening. He writhes against my tongue; small whimpers escape from his throat. He's wanting. He wants me to take him, *needs* me to take him. He's in my power now.

I grasp onto his knees and drive my tongue into the hole, swirling it about in preparation. Stretching the cavity to take the hardened mass in my pants. He gasps and I can tell he's grasping onto the stone, knuckles turning whiter than his already white hands.

A low rumble comes from him.

"Oh gods." He moans. I raise myself, removing his t-shirt as I place kisses on his lower back. I undo my pants and pull them off. Spike remains in his position over the stone monument as I strip. I kneel behind him again and undo his boots, pulling them and his pants off.

"Turn around and lie down." I say roughly. He obeys. That's my boy, always obeying. Rarely questioning, at least not questioning when he's about to get fucked. He stares at me, eyes barely containing the lust within. I tell him to lie back. He does. Never asking, never questioning.

Raising one of his legs I climb on top of him and hook it over my shoulder, resting my weight on one arm. I look into his eyes from my position above him. Lust and just a hint of anger shine in them. He hates it when I take him 'like a woman'. And I know it.

I push into him slowly, revelling in the feel of being sheathed inside his dark passage. I continue to stare down at him as I thrust ever so slowly. He can't tear his eyes away from mine no matter how he tries. I command submission with a look. He tries to fight it, but I shall be the victor.

A whimper is torn from his throat. He looks away.

I always win.

I quicken my pace. His cock rubs against the coarse hairs below my navel. I force him to look back at me.

"Mine."

The word is simple. Not hard to understand. It commands him to comply.

"Yours."

He says. Again, simple. Yet saying so much.

I capture his lips in an impassioned kiss, creating an everlasting circle. Ourobouros. The snake that eats itself. We are one, but at the same time, we are separate. We have created a never-ending chain. Infinite in its existence. Infinite in its pain. Infinite in its pleasure.

We own each other.

And nothing can change that.

My thrusts become faster still. Almost frantic as I yearn for the blinding heat of orgasm to over take me. My large hand wraps around his cock, jerking it in time to my thrusts. He tears his mouth away from my own and gasps. Eyes squeezed shut as the viscous fluid streams out from his cock and over my hands and his chest.

We slide against each other as I strive to reach the plateau. I continue to thrust as my lips slide over his neck and collarbones. I thrust once. Twice.

And over I fall into the endless pit. White light blinds me, I am everything and yet nothing. I am truly at one with Spike, and he is at one with me. We are one, but we are many. We are together.

And it fades. We are still together in the physical sense, but our minds have ceased to run on the same wavelength.

My head rests on his chest as I come down again. I raise myself and look down at his face. He is my Adonis. I press my lips to his in a brief kiss before removing myself and redressing.

He remains on the stone crypt, staring at the ceiling. The light gleams off his body, casting shadows into the ravines around his muscled chest.

He is beauty incarnate.

I walk to the door. As I stand there I hear him move. I turn and look at him. He looks back, unquestioning in his gaze.

I turn and leave the crypt, not saying anything.

For there is nothing to say.

~Fin~