Spike Sings His Sins
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Spike woke with a
start, his arms tightening around the redhead soundly sleeping on his chest.
"Bloody hell," he swore, bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes,
trying to erase the pictures that were still playing in his mind. Groaning, he
shifted and gently shook Willow. "Willow, love, wake up..."
She mumbled something and snuggled closer to his chest, absently dropping a
kiss on his cool skin. Spike grimaced and muttered curses to no one in
particular and closed his eyes, opened his mouth and let out the most
blood-curdling scream he could manage. Willow shot up off his chest, clutching
the sheet to her body and staring wildly about the bedroom.
"What? What?" she asked, still half asleep and confused. Spike
stroked her hair and looked unconcerned.
"What, Red, did something wake you up?" his face was the picture of
innocence and Willow rubbed at the sleep in her eyes, nodding. Spike shrugged
and pulled her back down against his chest, his fingers catching her chin,
making her look up at him. "I just had the weirdest dream..."
"What about?" asked Willow, her fingers drawing circles on his chest
and she yawned, hoping that she hadn’t been drooling.
"The most hideous, despicable thing imaginable," Spike shuddered
against her warmth and pulled her in closer. Willow frowned in concern, her
hand stilling its movements. "I confessed my sins..."
***
Spike walked along the darkened cobblestone streets, bottle clasped in his
hand, following some sort of light. It wasn't a light, it was an easy feed of
two girls, one blonde, one brunette, giggling and walking arm in arm. They were dressed for clubbing in short
skimpy shirts and even skimpier skirts and, as Spike followed them through the
old alleyway, if he had anything to do with it they had an even shorter life
expectancy. Grinning in anticipation, he turned and tossed the bottle aside. As it fell to the side, the glass shattered
in an explosion of sound and light.
"Fuck," screamed Spike, falling to his knees as he held up his arms
to protect his eyes from the blindingly bright light. The cobblestones changed, becoming downy soft and he carefully
lowered his arms the light faded away, back into semi darkness. But the alleyway was gone. "What the
fuck?"
Standing up, he slowly turned around.
There were long, wooden pews, religious motifs and paintings, and the
huge, heavy wooden doors that were the only way of escape were thoroughly
bolted. Turning away from the doors, he faced the long aisle, carpeted in red
velvet and soft pale roses, and watched the two girls that he’d been
following. At least he assumed they
were the same girls, their short dresses had lengthened into the black habits
of nuns and their heads were bowed as they walked. Frowning, he started to
follow them, walking down the aisle that led towards a raised altar and huge
wooden throne.
Gold glittered
everywhere, from the gilt edged windows to the goblet that held the Holy Wine.
Christ, bleeding and battered, hung from every available surface. Spike swung
around again, looking at the various crucified statues, their mouths were
moving. He could hear soft whispers, faint and indistinguishable words repeated
again and again. The whispers became louder, clearer, one word repeated time
and time again. Confess, confess, confess.
"NO," Spike screamed, covering his ears and dropping to his knees.
"Shush now child, confess to me," a voice spoke calmly and quietly,
causing Spike to look up and stare wide eyed in wonder. It was the Pope, or
rather it was Pope Angel the First, brown eyes full of pity. "Confess your
sins and save your soul."
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. "I haven't got a soul you bloody wanker."
Angel shrugged. "Alright, confess and let me live vicariously through your
sins."
Spike thought about it for a moment and shrugged. Clearing his voice with a
soft cough, he was surprised to hear the church organ start up. Angel leant
back in the throne and grinned, wriggling around in anticipation. Spike shook
his head and steepled his hands together, in imitation of prayer, his face was
the picture of pure innocence and then he started to sing.
Bless me Father, bless me Father for I have sinned.
It's been 126 years now in this skin I'm living in.
Forgive me, forgive me and I'll not let you down.
Like Prometheus in the morning I'm bound to come around.
Spike smirked and Angel leant forward, anxiously waiting to hear his sins.
I stole and I lied, I was cruel and mean and vicious,
Petty and pedantic, vulgar, uncouth and ruthless.
I hurt my little brother, I deceived my aged mother,
And I was called a lying bastard by my ever-loving father.
I've lied and I've cheated, been in brawls I never started,
Been known to fall in love easier than I've farted.
Spike paused for a moment and frowned. "You know farting isn't easy for a
vampire. Blood really doesn't create a lot of gas..."
"Spike," Angel called, drawing the blond's attention. "I don't
give a shit, get on with it."
Spike shrugged and continued to sing.
And I've cursed my friends for my own ends,
But now it's time to make amends, so,
Bless me Father, bless me Father for I have sinned,
It's been 126 years and I remember every sin.
Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, my life's an open book,
And if you show me yours then I'll give you a quick look.
Spike stood up and moved to sit on Angel's lap, his arm slinging about his neck
as he continued to confess. He gestured wildly, agitating and taunting Angel
who seemed to be getting more excited with every sin he confessed and he hadn’t
even gotten to the sexual atrocities he’d engaged in.
There was Jenny in Kilkenny and Barbara in Barbados,
Helen in the back seat, Jill and Jean and both their neighbours.
Henrietta, so did I, Selina and Patrice,
A family of Quakers and their 15 year old niece.
A thousand other sordid other nights that I cannot recall,
But I never paid for sex once, well once, and that is all.
Spike jumped off his lap and knelt before him again. Grinning lasciviously, he
hiked the religious robes up over his knees to his waist and grasped his sire's
knees, pulling them wide apart.
With this girl with thighs as white as milk that tasted just like honey,
And to own her for half an hour you'd only have to give her money.
Slowly, Spike crawled up between his sire’s legs, rubbing his chest across
Angel's rather bulky groin and he continued singing, dragging himself up so
that his lips were barely millimetres from Angel's.
Now you've lived your life of chastity and you must find it funny,
That I can call you Father - you can never call me sonny, so
Bless me Father, bless me Father for I have sinned,
It's been 126 years and I remember every sin.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry,
I'm bad, I'm bad, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry.
Angel's tongue flicked out and Spike laughed, pulling back and getting up so he
could walk over to the altar. Two brothers were setting it up while the nuns he
had been following were kneeling in front of it. Still Spike sung, helping the
two nuns stand and then assisting them up onto the altar.
In Amsterdam I shot a man - in Paris I got drunk.
In Brussels I went to Antwerp - in Paris I got drunk.
In Zimbabwe I kissed a dog - in Paris I got drunk.
In Paris I said WOAH!!
He suddenly recognised the nuns as they sat on the altar, their mouths firmly
fixed to each others, hands pulling off the habits.
"Dru and..." he looked at the other nun in horror as Drusilla pushed
her down onto the altar, fingers ripping at the habit and delving between the
her stocking clad legs. "BUFFY?"
He turned away in disgust from the frantically dry humping couple, fixing his
eyes on the brothers. It was Xander and Giles, who were staring slack jawed and
in sheer horniness at the two now naked woman going for it on the altar. Their
moans and groans accompanied Spike's singing as he walked back to his sire.
Jumping up on the arms of the throne, he stared down at his drooling sire and
he started to mime the various acts of his sins, merely inches from Angel's
face as he kept on singing.
Well, I caught a card shark cheating caved his head in with a spade.
He thought I was the king of fools, but I was just a knave.
I seduced his wife at his funeral, I had her on his grave,
So when he died I got a million bucks so I'm well laid.
I got Pluto pregnant, I felched Minnie Mouse,
Go fetch Mephistopheles, I'm more susceptible that Faust.
I've stuffed myself on life, satisfied each and every urge,
I don't regret a moment, I'll be damned more before I'm purged.
"So, my son, what have you learnt from your various sins?" asked Pope
Angel, swallowing, his mouth merely inches from Spike's gyrating groin, his
fingers digging into the wood of his throne. Spike pouted for a moment and turned
to look at the writhing and groaning Dru and Buffy. Smirking, he turned back to
Angel and finished the song.
"Live for the moment, take your pleasures where you can, we're all dust
and we'll be dust again," he jumped off the throne and walked over to the
altar, slinging his arms around the still gawking Giles and Xander's necks.
"So let's live, let's live, let's live, live, live, live, live until we
die."
He snapped Giles neck, dropped him and turned to Xander, quickly draining the
boy and pulling a face. The next one to go was Buffy, he grabbed her by the
hair and pulled her head away from between Dru's legs, draining her before she
could even protest. As he let the Slayer’s lifeless body drop from his cold
embrace, he staked Dru with a crucifix.
There was one thing
left to do, the only thing that he really wanted to do more than anything else
in the world. Smirking manically, he
strode over to Angel and drove a stake deep into his chest. Just as he began to
disappear in a cloud of dust Spike noticed something and stepped back,
screaming in fear.
"Die, die,
die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
***
"I have to agree with you Spike, that dream was bizarre. Freud would have
a field day," mumbled Willow, her eyelashes tickling his chest as she
slowly fell asleep. Beneath her, Spike moved restlessly, still highly agitated
and disturbed by the dream. "Angel was the Pope?"
"It gets worse..." Spike muttered, running his fingers through his
hair. Holding Willow close, he let out an unnecessary breath and swallowed hard.
"He was wearing fishnet stockings with...with...Union Jack Doc
Martins..."
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