We pull into the underground car park. With a bound, I'm over the side of the car and striding up to the apartment.

It's just the same as when I was last here.I'm not though. I feel as though I've lived a lifetime since then, seen things, done things that have changed me. Can't go back now.

Angel moves over to the coffee machine. He stands with his back to me, shoulders hunched. I move over behind him and slide my hands under his shirt around to his stomach and just stand there for a while, pressing my body against his. He must feel my arousal pressing against him too. I circle my hands on his stomach and kiss lightly down his back; I squeeze him till I feel him take an unnecessary breath, a slight gasp of pain or pleasure. He is so.solid and strong. He turns in my embrace and pulls me to him. He holds my face again, studying it, reassuring himself I think that I'm still.me.

He can't see inside me though. Wonder if he'd be as reassured if he could see inside me. I still feel a bit.fucked up inside.

I go to lean against his strong, beautiful body.this should be like coming home.

But fuck? What is that? Oh fuck, I can feel his cock pressing into me. This isn't right.I don't want this.do I? Does he? Well, I'm not going down without a fight this time. I've submitted too many times recently. This time I'm gonna set the pace for this. I pull him into a deep kiss, but as he relaxes into it, I bite down on his lip bringing instant blood to the surface. He pulls away in surprise so I take the opportunity to thrust him round again so he is bending over the counter. I rip at his clothes, pulling them away, discarding them to the floor. I'm so hard I desperately need release. I need strong hands on me. I need hands playing with me, bringing me off. Then I'll be satisfied.

Then I'll be fed.

When he's naked, I finally release my cock. This is so easy.

I'm just gonna fucking.ram it home. He rears his head back, arching against me, he cries out in pain and shock. Don't bother to cry, scum, no one will hear you, and if they do? They'd just enjoy it.

So don't cry like that, Angel. It'll be over soon cus I'm thrusting hard and your blood saturates my cock, it runs freely down your legs. I can smell the blood; there is always blood, thrust, blood, thrust, blood. Synonymous acts of pain.

I want him to reach behind and dig his fingers painfully into me. I want him to hurt me as I do this but he's just holding onto the edge of the counter, his face a study of pain, but I don't care, cus I'm cuming now and when I cum it'll all be over. I feel my cock swell in his slick, blood-coated passage. I close my eyes and try to finish this and at last I have the sweet release I need.

I pull out of him and turn away. I don't want to speak to him. I'm not sure what's happened here. I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. He seems to take a while collecting himself. Finally, he stands upright, gathers up his clothes and goes into the bedroom.

Shit, shit, shit.

I sit and watch mindlessly for a while. I keep thinking he will come out. But he doesn't. I'm not sure what to do now. I don't belong here. I should go. This was not right. This is all wrong. It's all gone wrong. I'm so fucked up.

I thought I'd found myself. I thought I'd been strong. I thought I'd survived. But I'm not so sure now. I'm no sure what's going to happen.

I am still quite lost.

After two hours I've decided to leave: for good. This has been a disaster. Perhaps we're just not meant to be together.

It's possible.

I take a deep, unnecessary breath, close my eyes for a moment, decide to leave and.stand up to go.

Oh. He's standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching me. Naked. I have a feeling he's been there a while.

He doesn't speak, but holds out his hand to me. There seems to be an insurmountable gap between where I am to where I want to be. Too far to cross.

He crosses it for me. He comes towards me, takes my arm and leads me firmly, insistently, into the bedroom.

I stand mute and helpless as he undresses me. When I am naked he pulls me onto the bed and tucks himself around me, my back totally enclosed by his body. He wraps his arms tightly over my chest and rests his face against my hair.

We don't speak.

I'm so cold. So tense. I can feel my dead muscles starting to cramp.

Unwanted feelings start to ooze their way to the surface of my mind. I don't want to think these things. I don't want to remember. I don't. I don't. I wanted this to be perfect and I've ruined it. I've ruined us. Shit, what a fucking wuss I am. I feel myself starting to cry. I've been run over, shot, buggered and now I'm crying. Seems a bit late. Shit.

I hate my life.

It's so quiet in the car. I'm making small talk. Small talk with my own Childe! But that old worry has come back so strongly. Who is going to initiate this? How are we supposed to get from where we are, to where I want us to be?

He seems so tense. He hardly speaks; he fidgets with his duster, picks at his nails, and bites the edges of his fingers. I notice he is not wearing my ring. Guess he meant it when he said it was too poofy. I don't understand the rules of this at all. I won't ask him about it. When we get home he strides off before I can speak to him. I guess coffee is a good start.we'll have coffee. But, oh! His strong arms fold around me.

Stop everything now.

Just stop.

Let us stay like this for a while, because suddenly, I don't feel alone anymore. Just as when I laid my hand on his chest and all things seemed possible, I now feel those possibilities again. He's so quiet though. This does not seem like the vocal, rude, funny childe, I remember. He's stroking his hand on my chest; I want him so desperately I'm afraid to speak. Why did I worry about this act? Why did I worry who would initiative what? Because, in all that worrying I had forgotten.Spike. I had forgotten that there would also be.Spike. My Childe. Of course he would take the initiative. He's the one who's done this before.

I turn to embrace him. I want to lead him to bedroom, I want to undress him and examine every inch of his body. Taste, touch, smell, and see. I want it all. Every sense engaged with Spike. He pulls me into a kiss.

I am kissing Spike. Spike is kissing me. This is incredible this is.ow! This is painful. He's bitten me! That isn't how it's supposed to be. Is it? He's so much more experienced than I am. What do I know? I've been hiding my feelings from everyone for a lifetime. Perhaps this is what it is like. What it has to be like. Perhaps after all, this is all there is. Violent, physical, shared.masturbation. But he knows best.

I'm naked.he's behind me, he's looking at me.at my.oh no.that hurts. Oh.God.I don't like this. Is this it? Is this what I've wanted? This is awful. I feel as though I'm being torn apart.

No speaking, no sharing.

I don't want this. But he knows best.

What am I supposed to do? What part am I supposed to play in this? I'm so.innocent of all this. Am I supposed to be getting pleasure from this? Because I'm not. But he knows best.

I think he's come. It's hard to tell. I had no part in this. I was just here. Oh he's pulled out. Guess he did.

So. That was it.

Not much to recommend it.

But he knows best.

I haven't got the heart to go to him. I want to be by myself. Like I always am. My expectations and my world have come crashing down around me.

Where is he? Why doesn't he come to me? Was I so bad? Did I not.satisfy him? Oh God. Did I disgust him? Did I fail his expectations in some way?

I can't leave it like this. I won't. I swore to myself.if I got him back, I would not fail him again.

I go to the living room and stand watching him for a while. I've never seen such a dejected figure. He's.slumped.hunched on the couch.

This is like it was before. In those bad few days.

He gets up. I half expect to see him go out and come back full of cum and piss and blood.

This is awful.

I am not going to let this happen again.

I take his arm and take him to bed.

I undress him like a child. Unresisting, uninterested. What has happened here tonight? This is so wrong. He lies quietly in my arms. But in a few minutes I feel him taking deep, unnecessary breaths, trying to control his breathing, I feel tension throughout his body and, no.I smell the salt of desperate tears as they run down his face.

Yet again, I seem to have completely misread what has been happening between us here tonight.

'Spike, what's wrong?'

Silence. I tighten my hold. He's not getting away this time.

'Let go.'

'No.'

'Angel. Fucking let go.'

'Spike, who is stronger: you or me?'

'Fuck off.'

'Okay, so we both agree it's me. So what's going to happen if you try to struggle free?'

'I said, fuck off.'

'Yes, that's right, nothing will happen, because I am far stronger than you. I won't let you go. Not this time. I will hold you here till you tell me what's wrong and what has happened here tonight.'

'As I'm not going to talk about it, you'll get bleeding hungry then, Mate. Cus you'll be holding me for quite a while.'

'Fine.'

'Okay then.'

'Angel.'

'Hum.'

'It's been five hours. I want you to let me go now.'

'No.'

'I don't know what happened. Okay? Satisfied? I can't explain it. I just.I lost it. Seemed the only way to do it. What I know.'

'What you know?'

'Yeah, you know, what's been happening to me. Why I was like I was when I came here before. Why I was doing what I was. I found out why, when I was back there.in that place, before Wesley found me, I found out why I'd been doing it. They were.those fucking soldiers.oh God, Angel, I don't want to talk about this, please.'

'I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't know. But you had.you've done all this before? Before the chip, before the Initiative.you've had...'

'Err.no.'

'Oh.'

'Bummer hey?'

'Angel.'

'Umm.'

'Will you let me go now?'

'No.'

'Oh. Why not?'

'Because I want to do.this.' I am like a shadow, moving over this body. Pin down and release. Hold and free. I press him down on his back my hands on his shoulders.

Every inch. I want every single inch of his body cleansed of the past.

I don't know how to do this, but I look into his fathomless eyes and rely on instinct.

I start on his forehead. I press a light kiss of benediction there, my blessing and forgiveness. His cheekbones next, almost slicking my tongue with their sharpness. I lick further down over his lips. Parting them to take inches to be mine from the inside too. He's starting to respond. His mouth opens to mine. Wild, hungry desire meets mine but I move on to his neck. So long and delicate, so vulnerable.seek permission, have it granted. Take the very fluid from his body to be mine. I move both hands down over his chest, let my palms lie over his hard nipples. He smiles down at me, at that. I seize another kiss; we are both remembering that night.

Remember me? It is neither a question nor an imperative; it is merely a statement of fact. I know you do my Childe, you remember me.

I pull away from his ardent kisses and capture one hand. I take one finger at a time into my mouth. Sucking, nipping, licking.a foretaste of what is to come.

He's lifting his hips up off the bed in time to my sucking. His eyes open wide, pupils dilated. The smell of arousal fills the air. I rub myself on him naked cock to naked cock. I can feel precum leaking, wet between us. Mine? His? Who knows, or cares? Ours.

'Angel, please.' his deep, husky plea delights me. I think this is the first time he has ever.asked for it. And he's asking me.

I kneel up between his legs and lift them slowly one at a time pushing them back towards his head. His cock is so beautiful. And it's mine. I give it one long lick on the underside and it bobs up firmly against his taut belly. He moans and thrashes his head against the pillow.

'Open your eyes and look at me, Spike.'

His eyes fly open in shock.I don't think he's ever been asked to participate before. I take my cock in my hand and, making sure he is watching me, run the slick, leaking mushroom head along from the base of his spine, over his enticing, pink entrance and along his perineum and back. Slow, soft sweeps making a glistening trail of precum on his smooth, white flesh. He's becoming desperate now.

I keep my eyes fixed on his and lower his legs and pull him up till he is almost sitting. Then, gradually, carefully, I press the head of my cock through his tight inner muscle and my tongue, into his soft, wet, welcoming mouth. Double penetration. Love flows from mouth to cock and back. He holds himself up by grabbing the back of my head: deepening the kiss. I push my aching cock further in. No resistance. I start to gently ease in and out.

I know now what I was waiting for all these years. He feels like silken velvet, like pushing into wet rose petals. The tight stimulation to my cock is something I have never felt before. I can feel my foreskin closing back over as I pull out, then being stretched back as I push gently in. It's intense pleasure. He falls back on the bed and lifts his legs again for me. He seems to be enjoying the rhythm. I adjust slightly and put my hands on his inner thighs and thrust in once more.

His eyes fly open. 'Ohhh.fuck.Angel! Do that again!' He's gasping! I've made my Childe gasp!

What have I done?

I don't know.

But I do it again.

He cries out in ecstasy. His hands fly to his cock and he starts pumping that long, thick shaft, bringing the foreskin over the tip, pushing it back. I watch, fascinated and thrust again. He moans and closes his eyes, lost in his own fantasy. I speed up, hitting that same spot over and over. Hitting it again: harder.

I'm so near coming, I feel my balls contracting. 'Cum with me, Childe. I'm coming. Oh.oh.Spike!' deep, deep spasms send my seed erupting into his body. I can't stop. I thrash against him like a hanged man: jerking, thrusting, every ounce of pleasure wrung out. When I open my eyes it's to see a matching release from Spike shooting across his chest: covering his hand. I start to move but he pulls me down to him.

'Don't pull out, Luv, please. Just stay there, in me.'

I'd have been here for a hundred years if I had been given the chance. I'll stay here now willingly.

I lie with my head on his chest and play absently with one nipple. I wonder how sensitive it is. Maybe he doesn't even know himself. It's not something you do to yourself when you are.on your own. And women never seem interested in them. As though, so insignificant to theirs, they can't be worth pleasuring. I wonder.

I lick the one I'm playing with. I see his spent cock twitch back to life. Hum.

I bite it this time. Now he's hard again and leaking.

Even more interesting.

I wrap my fist around that beautiful length and start insistent pulling, moving my hand down to fondle his balls, then back up to his cock. And when I scratch my nail over the tip, I bite his nipple again.

'Fuck! Angel! I'm going to.oh!' Another load of cum shoots up onto his chest. I catch some on my tongue and use it to swirl around his nipple. I'm so hard again I start to push myself into his hipbone, enjoying the pressure on my balls.

He puts his hands around me and pulls me until I'm sitting on his chest and just.looks at me. I look down at him. I feel this is a pivotal moment between us. He has to summon the courage to overcome the past. I lean down and press my face into his hair and whisper, 'whatever you want, little one.this is just us now.'

I look into his face; I can't decide whether it is fear or desire I see there. I wonder what he is thinking.

One hundred and twenty something years I've wanted to do this. Forty six thousand, three hundred and fifty five dreams of doing this, if I only dreamt of this once a night. Sometimes I had the same dream over and over. How many thousands of dreams are being fulfilled by this long, thick cock throbbing in front of me?

This is the moment when it all begins. He knows it. I know it. There will be no turning back from this moment. This will define us for eternity. Do I stay forever in the past, remembering pain, humiliation and rejection, or do I move forward, now, with him?

I take his long, sweet-tasting cock in my mouth.

All those dreams of this, but did I dream how the tiny slit bisected it right here? Did I dream how the foreskin pulls away to reveal this perfect, mushroom head, bright, blood red and smooth to the tongue? How could I have dreamt the taste of these drops of precum, leaking from the tip, glistening in their descent of the round, bulbous head? Have I tasted them before? They taste familiar: like.love. Did I dream, in those potent dreams how perfectly the head would slip between my lips, how my teeth feel, just lightly grazing the long, veined shaft? Did I take his backside in my hands to force him closer to me? I know I could never have imagined or dreamt the intense smell of Sire's arousal, Sire's skin, Sire's musk. This is all sensation: no dream captured this. No dream could have given me the feeling of his tight, wiry hair scratching lightly at my face. I could never have heard that moaning, that gasping, that crying of my name. Never have felt the power of his hands on my hair, crushing me to him in his need. And never.never.never in any dream did I taste the true taste of his cold, gushing seed as it courses down my throat.

Never: I would have died of grief on waking, if my dreams had been this perfect.

When he is totally spent and I have sucked every tiny drop of cum from his twitching, hot shaft I let him slip from my mouth. He sinks onto my chest and catches my mouth again with his. And I have saved something for him.

We both felt that this moment could define our eternity and I want him to be under no illusion what I want from him. I want his all. I want his total commitment to me and to what I need. I want him to unbind himself and to be free: with me. I open my mouth to him and give him back what I have been so recently taking from him. His eyes open wide in surprise and shock. For the first time in his life, or unlife, I suspect, he tastes cum. His own cum. I let it pour back into his mouth from mine, where I kept it. And he doesn't pull away. He takes it in and our tongues swim and join in it.

After a while he pulls away with a slight smile, he takes my face in both his hands; he kisses each cheek, as though worshipping them. He kisses my nose, my eyes and finally, finally his lips reach my lips. Chaste, closed, cool lips lightly brush mine. Our eyes are open, fixed on each other. So I open my mouth and take him in. I probe and explore his mouth with my tongue, his meets mine and clashes for dominance in the exploration. I bite lightly into that soft, slightly warm muscle and draw potent Sire's blood. Sucking hard at the wound, flicking my tongue over the tip of his as I suck. He.sinks under the pleasure of the sensation. I run my lips up and down his tongue in a remembrance of what we have just done, I increase the sensation of sucking till he pushes me away, gasping for breath. His eyes are wide, dilated: arousal clear in the very depth of their stare.

'Take me again, Spike.I want you again, now!' I don't need a second invitation. He starts to move off me, to get in position, but I hold his arms tightly. A quizzical look turns swiftly into one of pleasure as I lift him slightly and maneuver him over my rock-hard cock. It's so easy. He just.sinks down. He wants to arch back, he wants to start moving to find that spot, but I want to try and make up for what I did before; I want this to be different. I pull him down to my lips and place a hungry kiss on his soft, responsive mouth. He gives me a swift, light peck but quickly lifts himself back up and starts pumping himself up and down. He splays his fingers open on my chest, closes his eyes and makes his own music.

I could lie here and watch my Sire riding my cock till the sun came up and took us both. I'd go happy. He's magnificent. Every muscle ripples under his perfect, cool skin. But I want him to have more still. I can't hit that spot for him from this position, so grabbing his arms, I rise up and push him backwards so he's lying on his back and I'm kneeling between his legs. Not bad, I didn't even slip out.

He's so lost in his pleasure; I don't think he even suspects what's coming. I open his legs wide and holding tight to his legs.just go there.

The shock registers instantly on his face. He had no idea it could be like this. He takes a huge gulp of unnecessary air and tries to arch back but as he's at the edge of the bed, his head and upper body slip off backwards. He's lying on his shoulders on the floor, his ass still up on the bed. Fucking perfect. He's mine now. I ram home as hard as I can. Just as well he don't need to breathe, cus he's bend double and crushed by about one hundred and twenty pounds of desperate demon slamming into him. I know I'm still hitting that spot for him when he starts screaming. Screaming my name. And that's the best thing I've ever heard. His cock is rod-hard and hanging down over his upside down stomach. As I thrust into his sweet ass, it feels as though I'm thrusting directly into his cock. That mine, is his. His balls swing heavy and stretched as I thrust him into the floor. I know he's coming, I can see veins on the underside of his cock swelling. One more thrust, once more on that spot, one more thrust, again, again.scream my name, Luv.once more, harder, harder, again, he's coming, he's coming.Angel, Angel.shit, I'm coming too.oh fucking hell, that's good, so deep, so good.no more, I'm spent, completely spent.

Ahh.not a good idea, Angel, to cum when you're upside down. Puts a whole new spin on face painting. Funny though!

I pull out and slither down his body till we are just a strange tangle of Vampires, half on the bed, half off, but it lets me reach my goal! I lie on him, licking his face clean.

This is the most uncomfortable position I've ever been in for a post-shag kiss. I wriggle away and pull him back up onto the bed with me. He seems to be in a state of total shock.

'You with me here, Pet?'

'One hundred years, Spike. One hundred years approximately, if we'd done this, oh let's say, four times a day, that's one hundred and forty six thousand times you could have done that to me. One hundred and forty six thousand times lost now. Am I stupid?'

'Yep.'

I wrap myself around him, over him, in him. I think, I actually think, this is going to work.

'Spike.'

'Umm.'

'I could taste her in you. When I bit you.'

'Ahh. I thought you might.'

'Want to tell me about it?'

'It's a long story, Mate. It's why I'm better though. She's.amazing.'

'Of course she is. I choose well.'

'Flattery will get you.this.'

'Umm, nice, but Buffy, I want to hear about Buffy.'

So I tell him. Finally. I tell him about the Initiative, about Farm Boy and about.Buffy. About the Slayer who shed her blood for a damaged Vampire, that he might be healed. To try to make amends for something she had no need to feel guilty for. As I relate the story, lying in Angel's safe, loving arms I finally feel the pain slipping away. I tell it without bitterness, I tell it without that urge to rip, main and torture that sustained me throughout the ordeal. After tonight, it all seems so.irrelevant somehow. Sad fucks with no one to love. He hears me out: the entire story. I leave nothing out - well all right, I leave out the bit where I got a little over-excited with the Slayer's feeding methods, no need to risk a Sire stake this early in a promising relationship - but other than that, I leave nothing out. And it's weird, but telling the whole story makes me work it all through in my mind somehow. I had thought that they had all changed; the Watcher; the Slayer; Harris; Red. I had thought that they had become different towards me because of what I had tried to do for them. But now, lying in Angel's arms, with Angel's fingers running lightly through my hair, with Angel's cock pressing insistently into the small of my back and with Angel's tongue making small erotic circles on my shoulder, now I think it's only me that has changed. That essentially, the humans are still what they always were. It must be me, evolving. Maybe I should think about changing my name again. William, Spike.

By the time I have chosen and rejected a whole series of interesting names, it's morning and we can both smell the sun rising over LA. Another day. I don't think either of us intend getting up today. Well, not in the vertical sense of 'up' anyway. Just as I feel myself falling over the edge into deep, daytime sleep, I hear a low whisper in my ear.

'Thank you.'

'What for? Other than the best fuck of your life, Pet, thanks for what?'

'For letting there be no secrets. There's nothing hidden between us now, is there? No secrets.'

Ahh. I thought we might get to this. I was planning on telling him.only after I'd had the opportunity to fuck him into compliance a bit more. Guess this is as good a time as any though.

Don't think he's going to like it much.

'Err.Angel.'

*****
Part 11:

In some ways, this is just as Spike feared it would be. Him downstairs, me working, then coming down to.love him. Not that he would use quite that terminology, of course. But in other ways it is exactly the opposite of that. He actually doesn't wait downstairs much, he comes around when he feels like it and it is always a surprise. He keeps me in a state of permanent arousal, not knowing, when I come downstairs from a long day in the office, whether he will be there or not.

Because during all his long, painful recitation that night, he left out one key factor that has changed our relationship dramatically. He left out the minor, but critical, fact that during his spending-spree in the city of Angels, he bought himself another place. A bolt-hole just for him.

So he doesn't sit downstairs at all. He suits himself when he comes and when he goes.

I never know when he will be downstairs waiting for me, or when I will find my apartment empty and myself alone. He reckons it is good for me, character building or something. He has a lot of theories, these days, on what is good for me. Mostly he is right, because mostly it is.him. He's decided, he, is good for me, and I have to agree with him on that.

He is.

When he does come around, which thankfully is almost every day, he does.absolutely nothing. He sits around complaining about my TV, my lack of entertainment and drinking my stocks of blood. But the fear that he is turning into some sort of, 'fuck toy,' to use his own, so eloquent, words never occurs to either of us. It is very difficult to see him in that light when he earns considerably more than I do. And, earns it by sitting on his backside and doing precisely nothing all day.

It would all be slightly galling, except for the fact that he spends most of it on me anyway. I have never felt so loved before. He showers me with gifts. All carefully thought out, even more carefully wrapped - he never tires of that little joke. And all of them.every single gift, just what he would have bought for himself, if only he had been that selfish.

He hasn't invited me to his place yet. He says he's still getting it ready, still getting it.just right. I think he's enjoying actually buying stuff instead of stealing it or scrounging it from a dump. Although, as I point out to him at frequent intervals, you could argue that given the source of his newfound income, he is still stealing stuff. He only cocks his scarred eyebrow at such blasphemy and buys himself something else.

Poor Cordelia was beside herself with envy. Envy not helped by his occasional visits upstairs where he lounged around in her office, deliberately browsing catalogues. Two days ago, however, a major change occurred. She overcame her intense jealousy enough to look over his shoulder; made a useful suggestion and they have not been seen since. They are on a spending-fest as Spike now calls them. I'm glad. Something I want to be part of my eternity has to be part of my today.

Sometimes in the night when I am lying without Spike, when, on those rare nights he has not come over, I think about the contrast between my life now and my life then. I think about life before and life after, Spike. It's much more enjoyable than brooding. It's like a game. With no effort at all I can put myself back two months to.before Spike. I imagine myself before Spike again. All the loneliness, all the boredom and all the fear come rushing back. I once told Buffy that not being able to have her tore me up inside, but that the only person I had to share that with, was me. But it's fun making myself miserable remembering the past because now.it's not true. He is here, he is mine and we have a real possibility of having a future together.

I am trying to get him interested in my work. He could be such a help to me. He is a superb fighter, he has street instincts and he loves killing things. But he's taking a selective interest only. Funnily enough he's only interested in cases that involve children; lost children. In those cases, he's relentless. Funny that. He won't stand teasing about it though. He just stomps off mumbling about easy money. I may not have known my Childe very well two months ago, but I'm getting to know him very well now. He's my study, my interest, and my obsession.

And now the big day has arrived. I've been invited to.his place. It was such a casual invitation I almost missed it.

'What do you want to do tonight, Mate.and don't suggest anything that involves slime, muck or scales.'

'How about a movie?'

'Yeah. Maybe a vid?'

'Err.I don't have a player.'

'I do.'

So we went to his place and watched a video. Eventually. By the time we got around to the movie I was a little.spent. I think I fell asleep on Julia Roberts. Which, nice thought though that is, has led to a continual barrage of harassment from the small evil one that I'm getting past it. There was only one way to shut him up. It was effective and.fun.

And this place has been quite a surprise.

This is Spike's personality manifested in material things. It is him.laid out for inspection. No wonder he was so cagey about bringing me here. I don't think he has ever let himself be so laid bare before. I feel the privilege he has bestowed on me acutely. He has never let anyone see him this intimately before.

He's made an ideal choice for the place he actually intends to live in. It's a large, converted basement. A bit like mine. But there the resemblance ends. I think my place exudes a sense of order and quality, a sense of historical perspective. The first impression you get of his, is that Bill Gates has had a Birthday. There is high-tech equipment in every room, state-of-the-art televisions with plasma screens: so Spike informed me gleefully. He has a computer and a lap-top, although he refused to be drawn on why he needed a lap-top computer in his current, and probably future state of unemployment. His music system takes up the whole of one wall, along with something called a DVD player. What looks to me like thousands of discs line wall-to-wall shelves. When I look closer, I'm amazed to find an eclectic and provoking selection of music and movies from different countries and eras. My Childe never ceases to amaze me.

The most surprising feature in this room, to my eye though, was a large, floor-to-ceiling set of books. Spike's never read anything except porn magazines to my knowledge, but these books display a wide-range of subject matter: many of them photographic collections of landscapes.

His kitchen was a mystery to me, I'd never seen a popcorn maker, a waffle machine or a doughnut cooker before, or many of the other gadgets he'd bought himself to make endless, sugar filled snacks. Apparently he'd had help with his kitchen purchases from one Xander Harris. I couldn't find a bedroom till he pointed out a large, reclining leather chair placed strategically in front of one the giant plasma screens. The bathroom was easier to find, he'd had a shower fitted that looked exactly the same as mine. We have similar tastes in some things then. No towel rail though, no towels, no linen closet. There was one very large, walk-in closet which surprised me, given he seems to have no clothes. When I looked inside, one side had a pair of jeans, one pair of leather pants, a find which I noted and filed away for future fun, two shirts and a tee-shirt, all in black, the other half completely empty. He told me it was for me. So, he sees me coming over here often, often enough to leave clothes then. I wonder where he thinks we will.sleep. Another surprising thing about the whole place is the colour scheme. There is light everywhere, brilliant spotlights, ceiling lights, wall lights; the place is flooded with light. The walls are painted in a strange kind of slate blue/gray and he has hung large, strategically placed prints on the main walls. Each print a series of mutely coloured shapes in mossy greens and yellows: although he laughed when I described them as this. The floor is wooden, like mine, but where mine is done in a quiet oak stain, his is in an odd watery paint-effect purple which he sharply informed me was called Wild Heather. Hum. Most of the fitments are pewter gray, so the combined effect of the walls, prints, floor and fitments is utterly striking and unique. It reminds me strangely of someplace I have been before, but can't quite name.

He's following me around, anxiously watching my face. I know he wants me to like it. I know he needs me to approve, as if by approving this, I am approving him and our relationship.

'Well?'

I look at him with what I hope is a thoughtful, Sire-like expression. What I'm actually thinking is that I desperately want to try out his new shower and discover how he intends to get me dry without any towels, but I don't tell him that: yet.

'So I'm supposed to come over here then?'

'Oh. You don't like it.'

'Bed.'

'What?'

'Spike, whenever I see you I want to fuck you into a mattress of some sort, so I think we should compromise and get a bed.'

'Angel, you just said the f-word! That's a first, hey, I'm having an effect on someone after all.'

'Oh, don't worry, I think the f-word quite a lot when I am around you. So, a bed?'

'Yeah, okay, but I'm choosing it.'

'And paying for it as well, easy-come-easy-go, after all.'

'Angel we've had this discussion before and as I told you, it was not easy.' but what he was about to say on the subject of how hard it had been for him to become so wealthy for three hours of sitting on a couch doing very little, I never found out. I decided I needed a shower.

He decided I did too.

We both decided he was completely filthy, so we had a lot of cleansing to do.

He undressed me this time. It was a little disconcerting being undressed under over a thousand watts of spotlight. I filed away another compromise to make.less light. But he seemed to enjoy the view. He started with my shirt. He took his time over every button, just watching my face with a cocky, sensual smirk on his face. He knew exactly the reaction he was having with every, slow unbuttoning. When the material fell loose and open at the front, he ran his hands over my nipples, teasing them, pulling them, testing them like I had his. He wouldn't let me hold onto him, as I desperately needed to do to support my trembling legs. He made me stand there while he peeled the shirt off my shoulders. Then he walked slowly around to the back and took me tightly around the waist. I asked him what he was going to do from there, given I still had my pants on and the obvious was not yet possible. He had his own agenda carefully worked out apparently and told me to mind my own business. And it seems he did. He started tracing the pattern of my tattoo with his tongue, running it lightly over every line, his fingers making a matching, teasing pattern on my belly. I was desperate for him to lower his hand to my cock. I wanted him to feel it straining against the material, to feel how he affected me, to feel his power over me. But he already knew. He pressed his own erection against me and chuckled, nipping lightly over my shoulder blades with his blunt, human teeth. I leaned back into this embrace, tipping my neck back. The invitation was unmistakable and he did not miss it. As he pressed his hard cock against my backside with a delicious promise of pleasure to come, I felt razor sharp fangs descend into the soft side of my neck. At the erotic sensation of blood draining from my body, my legs buckled under me, he fell too but continued to feed as we lay on the stark, white, bathroom tiles. A trickle of my blood made a crimson river flowing towards the drain. He moved his hand to it and started making blood-red palm prints on his floor. He didn't feed for long, claiming I'd need my strength for other things. We stayed on the floor though and he slowly took off the remains of our clothes.

I watched him play his palm print game for a while, me face down on the cold tiles, him lying on me, his face lightly resting above my tattoo, occasionally lifting it up to lick at the now, healing wound in my neck. I thought he'd tired of his game, when he moved his hand back out of my sight, but he'd obviously thought of a new, and much more interesting game. He slithered off behind me and pulling me up by the waist, positioned himself behind my aching, ready entrance. I arched down to the floor to give him better access, and was rewarded by the feeling of his blood-coated finger being eased in past the tight ring of muscle. He worked me for a while with just that finger; he seemed to like it when I groaned and pushed back against him, trying to get him deeper. He obliged by adding another finger, then a third. By this time I was more than ready for something bigger and longer, but my pleading only brought a low chuckle from my torturer. He did put his other hand on my throbbing cock though to pinch and play with my foreskin, milking drops of precum, which he swirled around the swollen, sensitive tip. I was starting to become desperate when he added his final fingers, stretching me intensely. I was about to protest when he gave an evil giggle and a stab of pain shot through me and made me cry out. He had added his thumb and was busy making his hand into a fist, twisting it from left to right. Spike's fist must be at least eight inches in circumference: I was in agony. I reached behind and tried to grab his forearm, but he batted me away with a huff of annoyance. He leaned over my back and whispered seductively in my ear.

'Trust me, Luv.' In my fear, I didn't catch whether that was a question or a command, I'm not sure which one would have been more reassuring, but I tried to relax, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He started to push his fist further up, and for each inch of progress he made, he pulled back to the beginning and started each push anew. After a few thrusts, he pulled out further and bent down; I thought he was going to bite me. I was wrong: he bit himself. He used one razor-sharp fang to open up his own wrist. The blood surged, pulsing out. He surfed his fist back into my waiting passage. We both knew to the second when my moans of pain turned to moans of ecstasy. When he heard the change, he took his cue and started thrusting hard and fast, his arm almost buried to the elbow, or so it seemed to me. I guess this the most that anyone can be inside someone else's body. I felt I was swallowing him from behind. He started panting with the effort of his exertions, quick, light, unnecessary gasps. His hand returned to my cock and made a counter-point rhythm to that he was making with his fist. I felt my entire body being.used: it felt sensational. I smelt his blood, rich and enticing. I reared my head back and let my demon free. I think that at the sight of his beloved Sire returning to him, Spike lost control of his own human mask. Two Vampires howled their passion to the echoing room. I felt it coming, that tightening, quickening rush in the bowels. My cock thickened in his hand, the veins swelling and hardening the throbbing length. I screamed out to him that I was near and he increased his thrusting till I exploded onto the floor beneath me, an endless stream of thick, cold cum. It seemed to spurt for forever; he kept it coming with soft, even pulling on the shaft. When he felt it cease, he gently eased his arm from my hole. It felt like a large organ was being taken from my own body. I felt quite empty when it was gone. I thought he was done: apparently not. He pushed me flat to the cold floor; spread my unresisting legs wide and proceeded to lick at my sore and stretched hole. His cold tongue thrust in and it felt like balm. I felt the burning stretch subside to leave a delicious, low throbbing. He eased his licking and slid up a bit until I felt his cock, now engorged and desperate for relief, resting against me. He didn't thrust in, he just played with it over my hole, rubbing the soft, cold tip over the puckered surface, releasing drops of icy precum onto the friction-hot edges. It was bliss and he knew it. He started to murmur soft meaningless words to me describing how I looked in this intense, bright light. I never realized what store my Childe placed on the visual. I turned over, swinging one leg over him, till I was on my back, watching him. He liked that. He grinned up at me with a self-satisfied look and sat back on his heels, working himself lightly with one hand. He was putting on a show for me. I sat up and grasped his face in my hands, he slipped back into human form: I mirrored him and thrust my tongue into his sweet, waiting mouth. I kissed him with a desire I thought I would never be able to satisfy: mouth open, to open mouth, tongues clashing for dominance, teeth nipping and teasing. He took my hand and placed it over his cock and together, lost in the kiss, we brought him to his own crashing orgasm. As he came he pulled his mouth from mine and screamed out, his neck arching back, stretched, the blue veins starkly visible against his pure, white skin. I sank my fangs into him and his stretched skin parted as if under a surgeon's knife. I felt his cold seed erupting against my belly as his blood spurted down my throat. He thrashed against me as if I had cut his throat and he was in his death throes. I drank long after his cock subsided in my hand. I drank till he collapsed against me. I drank until I could hear his thoughts gossamer light in my mind. I drank until I heard those thoughts endlessly repeating my name.

I half carried him to the shower and turned the scalding hot water on over us. We stood there, my arms wrapped tightly around him, his head on my shoulder until the steam enveloped us both in a translucent world of our own. When I felt he was ready, I took the soap and began systematically washing his hair, his neck, the wound I had made, and on, down his body. I knelt in front of him and gently lifted his cock, soaping all around his balls, rubbing them lightly on my palm. I slipped one soapy finger into his tight hole, and his hands pulled at my hair in response. But I wanted to finish my task, so I moved on ignoring his groan of frustration. I worshipped at his long, thin legs. I bowed to his feet, lifting one, then the other into my hands. When I felt he was totally done, I pulled him down to kneel with me. The water was cascading over his face, into his eyes, but he blinked it away, not wanting to lose eye contact with me. We kissed again, slow, gentle kisses, which set my belly on fire again. Could I ever have enough of Spike to satisfy me? It seemed not.

Eventually he led me from the shower and we stood dripping and cold in the kitchen. He put on a few of his 'snack' machines and warmed some blood for us both. As I stood mindlessly watching the mugs revolve in the microwave, I felt his arms wrap around my waist and he demonstrated how he intended to manage without towels. He started on my shoulders and by the time he had finished licking my entire body, the blood had to be warmed again.

With mugs of blood for us both, and a bowl of popcorn for him, he dragged me over to the reclining chair. I made myself comfortable as well as I could whilst still slightly damp, naked and sticking to the leather. He put on one of his DVDs and the huge screen came to life.

Odd choice of movie for an evil, dead Vampire, I'd have thought, but he obviously knew it by heart and, curled up on my lap. With a soft throw covering us both, he proceeded to persuade me of the merits of light, romantic comedy.

So here we are an hour later. He's been quiet for ages, engrossed in the idea of an actress trying to escape her fame and a quiet bookish Englishman who loves her. I have my chin resting lightly on his still damp hair. I'm not even listening to the movie any more; I'm listening to his quiet, unnecessary breathing. He doesn't even seem to know he's doing it, reverting to the familiar when so relaxed. I lean down and brush my lips softly against his ear.

'I love it.'

'Yeah I know, good film. I told ya.'

I give a low chuckle, 'No idiot: this place. I love this place. Except for the bed and the lighting.' He gives a low chuckle.

'Thought you might not like that, being a shadowy and taciturn sort of Vampire.'

'I wasn't aware there was any other sort.'

'There's the, me, sort. Now shut up, this is the best bit, the dinner party.'

I keep quiet for a while and let him watch the film. I play with his hair, with his fingers, so long, so elegant, so able to give pain and pleasure in equal measure.

`Spike?'

`I am never gonna watch another film with you Mate, you're hopeless.'

`Where's my ring?'

`Err, in my pocket Luv, in me duster. It's too big, I'm gonna get it altered, now SHUT UP and let me enjoy this.'

I let him watch his film without more interruption. Well, none except for the light rubbing of my hands across his belly with the occasional, accidental dip towards his soft, spent cock. I don't think I have ever felt so warm, so comfortable and so content since I began on my journey to redemption.

So it wasn't really my fault I fell asleep for a while. I woke to find the movie nearly over, flash-bulbs going off at a movie premier, people in a park, nothing making any sense. I think Spike sometimes forgets that I play these lengthy and exhausting games after a full day at work, killing and maiming demons: and putting up with Cordelia. He spends most of the days in bed, as he puts it: recovering. I'll put up with his teasing for a few days, but if he doesn't stop I think I'll retaliate. I think I'll remind him that the Big Bad, the slayer of Slayers, was crying at the end of a silly film called Notting Hill. But I'll let him have his fun for a while more.

*****