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He growls louder and rolls on top of me, pinning me to the bed, which is no mean feat, I can tell you. I'm a good three inches taller and about one and a half times his body weight. But no one can say my Spikey-poos isn't a game little fella. Hell, he'll shag anything, regardless of size, sex, or religious affiliation. And I don't know if it's just a vampire trait (although having sneaked a few glances at Angel's trouser department, I'm thinking it is), but they have larger-than-usual equipment. Spike isn't called Spike just because of his love of sharp, pointy objects, and he's not behind the door at sticking his 'equipment' in most any willing orifice. |
And speaking of which... Gods, this man's tongue could win a major award. I can see it all in my mind's eye... "And this year's Demon Nobel Prize for Fellatio goes to... (dramatic pause) William the Bloody! Come on up to the podium, Will... Speech! Speech!" (Riotous applause) |
Will climbs nonchalantly onto the podium, wearing nothing but leather chaps and a smile. "Thank you, thank you, all dear friends... This award is a real bloody honor, and it's partially due to the enthusiastic participation of Lorne here, without whose cock I wouldn't have put in all the practice I needed to win this prestigious award for sucking..." |
"Lorne? Lorne?" Sigh. "C'mon, snap out of it, Lorne... I'm trying to have sex here, and you're off in Cloud Cuckoo Land!" What? Ahhhhh... A slightly miffed, pale vampire face stares down at me. Oh gods, I'd zoned out again, hadn't I? Damn these fantasies. *Snerk* "Sorry, sugar..." I pout. "I was just thinking about..." |
Spike smiled indulgently at me. "It was the Fellatio Award and the leather chaps again, wasn't it?" Ahhhh, my little vamp knows me so well! He slid back down my body, his tongue dragging a cool, wet trail of pleasure around a hard, sensitive nipple and further down to slither into my belly button. He glances back up at me, those incredible blue eyes sparkling with all kinds of naughtiness. "Well..." he muses, "if I'm gonna win this award, then I guess I'd better get some practice in." |
When his cool, wet mouth descends on my cock, and he nearly swallows me whole, all rational thought ends. |
Part Two |
I was in Spike Heaven. We'd just got to the part where he'd slid inside me with the aid of some of my favorite strawberry-flavored lube (commonly known in merry old England as strawberry jam). Wow, such a versatile foodstuff! You can spread it on your toast and shag with it... Delightful! Just so long as you remember to buy the seedless variety. (Shudder) Yeah, we've had our fair share of scary "hunt the seed" moments with that, I can tell you. |
Anyhoo... His bleached-ness was working those sweet buns of his like only he can. It's no wonder Spike's ass is so tight and cute; God knows it gets enough exercise. His eyes were closed, and I could see his game face shimmering on the surface, ready to break through when he came, which judging by his snarls, wasn't gonna be long. Making love with Spike was an adventure. Actually, it was more like "a box of chocolates", to quote Forrest's dear mama, 'cause with Spike, you "never knew what you were gonna get". |
He could be quite fierce, my fangy little bloodsucker, all growls and biting. It's a huge piece of luck we don't have neighbors. Sometimes it's like the Discovery Channel in our bedroom, filled with the grunts and squeals of one demon or another being eaten and damn near humped to death. And of course, there's the Dawn Chorus of agonized squeals as the warm water of the shower beats down on my latest collection of bite marks and scratches. |
Other times, he can be so gentle. There's a little spot way deep down inside my blonde beauty that's as soft as a marshmallow. He tries to hide it, but I know it's there. I've managed to prod its squishy surface now and again, and when I do, and we make love, sweet Jesus, it's achingly tender and sweet. It's not unlike a religious experience, minus the Holy Water and the boring litanies. |
That vamp can take me to the pinnacle of ecstasy and beyond, and it's not the first time he's damn near moved me to tears. Spike needs to be needed, needs so desperately to be loved. And I do love him. Hopelessly. It frightens me just how much. I think he loves me, but to be honest? I'd settle for whatever I can get from him. |
His game face is fully to the fore now. Gods, it's so feral, so animalistic, so... toothy. I gotta say, he's got a great set of fangs. And here I am, legs spread like the shameless bitch that I am, and an orgasm like a tidal wave ready to engulf me - holy shit, ecstasy "at the hands of big pointed teeth!" You gotta love Monty Python, right? |
And in true Monty Python form, that's when it happened. I'd forgotten all about the cat. The little fella must've been pinned in between us or something and managed to struggle his way out. You can imagine just how pissed off he is by now, trapped between two sweaty, humping demons. |
There was a brief flurry of ginger fur, an ear-splitting yowl of rage, and before I knew it, I was face to face with another face full of fangs as the demon kitty from Hell yowled and spat at me from Spike's shoulder. Everything went to hell in a handbasket after that. |
At first, my blondie bear didn't know what had happened. Maybe he thought I'd gone all Pussy Galore on him, who knows. But his eyes snapped open, golden and extremely pissed off, and he swung his head around to see what was making a meal of his shoulder. Tiny rivulets of blood dripped onto me from where kitty's claws were deeply embedded, and the little fur ball himself was yowling in Spikey-poos' ear loud enough to waken (and scare the shit out of) the dead. |
The look on Spike's face was priceless. If I hadn't been absolutely terrified of what he was gonna do to me for bringing the cat into our bed, I could have easily soiled myself laughing. But I think it was when he squealed like a girl and leapt off the bed, dick still hard and swinging wildly from side to side, that I lost all self-control. |
If you've never seen a vampire in full game face with a hard-on the size of Texas slapping off his leg as he tries desperately to dislodge an outraged pussy from his shoulder, then, pumpkin, you've never lived. I just know I missed some of the funnier moments on account of being curled in a ball on top of the bed, crying with laughter and gasping for breath as Spike cavorted wildly around the room, squealing like a stuck pig for me to come and get this "little fucker" off his shoulder. |
Part of me, a teensy-weensy part of me, felt so sorry for him, but honey, I was helpless. I could barely breathe, never mind get off the bed. Isn't it funny how, at times like this, when you've been frightened and/or embarrassed, that the fates step in and rather than helping, they make a bad situation a hundred times worse? |
Now, you would think that Spike's situation couldn't have gotten any worse. Naked and scared to death with a demented cat embedded on his shoulder and yowling like a banshee. It just couldn't get any worse. Wrong. |
I was vaguely aware of a banging sound that got louder and louder. At first, I thought it was my heart, because I'd already decided that if I couldn't stop laughing soon, I was gonna die. Unfortunately for Spike, it was much worse than that. The door of the apartment was suddenly kicked right off its hinges, and Angel stormed in, brandishing a huge axe and looking like someone had just told him that his hair really did grow straight up. If that wasn't bad enough, he was closely followed by Wesley, Gunn, and ohhhh horror of horrors... Cordelia. |
There was one of those "stunned silence" moments. Well, all except for Spike, who was still raging around the apartment, à la kitty shoulder accessory, and unbelievably still with a hard-on, bellowing at me. "Lorne! Lorne, you complete BASTARD! Get off your ass and get this FUCKING CAT OFFA ME!" |
Then he saw Angel... and the gang. What a fucking Kodak moment that was. Now, I've seen the big fella look perplexed before, but this expression was beyond perplexed, beyond embarrassed, beyond comprehension even. His mouth opened and closed like a Guppy fish as he and Spike eyeballed each other. |
For his part, my blondie bear gathered his last remaining shreds of dignity, squared shoulders, which had suddenly become pussy-free as the irate little guy leapt off and vanished into the night, and sniffed in what I know he hoped was a nonchalant manner. One of his hands crept over his bulging erection, and the other groped on the bedside table for his cigarettes. |
He glared at Angel. "Bloody hell, doesn't anyone round here know how to knock?" Angel's lip quivered. "Vision..." At this point, the rest of us were playing musical statues, no one had moved a muscle or spoken. Let's face it, if you were confronted with a naked, sexually aroused vampire with an angry cat trying to eat him, you'd be pretty damned shocked yourself. |
The blonde one's dark eyebrow rose sharply. "Vision?" Angel nodded slowly. "Yeah... Urmmmm... Cordelia had a vision that you were being... eaten by a huge, furry demon." Now, if you looked really closely, you could see the realization of what had actually been going on suddenly dawn in Angel's eyes. He stifled another giggle and cleared his throat. "Seems we got here just in time to save you, boy." |
And with that, the dark-haired vampire leant over, his face contorted by laughter, and grabbed Spike's beloved duster. "For God's sake, cover yourself up, Will. You'll frighten the cat." Wesley snorted. "Bugger the cat, he's frightening me." Needless to say, hysterics ensued. Spike glowered. He threw a steely glance around the room at the others before his baleful gaze fell on me. I could see his lower lip trembling. Yikes. Always a bad sign. |
He pulled on his duster, and he and his hard-on headed for the door. He turned, cigarette firmly jammed between those luscious lips, and shot me one last, murderous look. "Fuck you, and your cat!" he bellowed, before heading off into the night, naked except for his duster. |
Part Three |
Suddenly, none of it seemed so funny anymore. I could feel the grin slide off my face, and when I looked around, I could see that the others had stopped laughing and were nervously wiping their noses and eyes. Angel cleared his throat. "It's okay, Lorne. He'll be back when he's calmed down a bit. You know what he's like." I nodded gloomily, my heart suddenly heavy with pain at the thought of him not coming back. |
Angel smiled gently and handed me a bathrobe that had been hanging over the back of a chair. "Anyway," he continued, "he's going to be feeling pretty sorry for himself soon. You see, he's allergic to cats." Oh damn. Another strike for the brain-dead green demon. Yeah, let's bring home a cat. He can eat your boyfriend and give him some horrible disease. |
"Oh, it's nothing serious," Angel smiled. "He just gets some itchy spots... some itchy blue spots. You'll need yoghurt. Lots and lots of yoghurt. Put it on the spots, and it'll help the itch. In a few days, he'll be back to normal. Although he'll probably be mega-pissed with you for the next millennium or so." Oh wonderful. I found myself wondering, and not for the last time, why of all the gin joints and all the bars in the world, that damn cat just had to come into mine. |
Angel instructed the others to go home, and he patched up the door as best as he could, promising to send someone to fix it the next morning. After he'd gone, I sat on the bed and stared at our apartment. It was so quiet. Just like it had been before Spike had moved in. On a scale of 1 to 10 in suckiness, this was a definite 12. I didn't want quiet - I didn't need quiet. I just needed Spike. Tears welled, I'm not ashamed to say, and when they stopped flowing, I fell asleep. |
I had a dream. I was swimming frantically around a huge tub of yoghurt, being chased by Spike, who was the most god-awful color of blue and who had inexplicably grown ears and whiskers like a cat. He caught up with me and was shaking me violently, calling my name over and over: "Lorne... Lorne, wake up, damn you... LORNE!" |
Jerked from sleep, I sat bolt upright in the bed, squealing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't be a cat, please don't be a cat!" When I got my bearings, I realized it was him. My Spike had come home. But ohhhhh gods... "ARGGGGH!" I'm afraid I couldn't stop the girly scream that his appearance ripped from me. Gods, I've seen many, many strange things in my time, but nothing as strange as this peroxided vampire with the large blue spots. |
He glowered again. "Oh bloody hell," he humphed, and started to get up from the bed. I grabbed his arm, and it felt lumpy underneath his duster. Apparently, the blue bumpiness was all over him. He looked like mutated oatmeal. Or a blue toad. A bleached blonde and furious blue toad. But his face... oh, his poor, blue, lumpy face with its little boy lost, petulant look. And, oh gods, he was pouting. I'm helpless in the face of Spike pouts. Jell-O on his plate, putty in his hands... I would say weak in the presence of beauty, but not on this occasion, bless his little cotton soul. |
"Oh, pumpkin..." I whispered, "my poor, poor pumpkin. Come to daddy, sweet cheeks. Lorne will take care of you, baby." He looked at me from beneath those sooty black eyelashes, and I'll swear the little minx fluttered them before deepening his pout. "I'm all bumpy," he grumbled, "and itchy. I need someone to look after me... a big, green, daft-headed someone." He smiled weakly, still managing to hold his pout. |
I pulled him close to me, wanting to hold him, kiss him, make it all better. Something hard and cold poked me in the ribs from underneath his duster. Oh gods, surely not. *Surely* he hadn't still got a stiffy? With one of those "I can read your mind" looks that he can do so well, he reached beneath his duster and produced a family-sized tube of yoghurt. Then he smirked his evil little smirk. "You horny old git, Lorne." |
I chuckled and stroked his poor, lumpy face gently. "Oh, Spikey-poos..." I whispered, "my sweet little Spikey-poos." When we kissed, it was bliss. Lumpy, but bliss. And don't think I didn't notice the yoghurt was strawberry-flavored. |
Genre: television |
Chapter 1 |
Dedicated to Vidalhbea. A pointless one-shot, just for fun. Oh, and I apologize for the mondegreen title; I just couldn’t resist. |
In peace, OpenPage x |
Nothing could have prepared Tom for the deafening silence that greeted him when he walked into the main hub of the Jump Street Chapel. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed him as he walked the excruciatingly long walk to his desk. Before he could sit down and bury his flaming face behind some paperwork, Doug grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to one side. |
"So, you're really gay?" Doug asked. |
Considering Penhall had caught him wearing a cock ring while Booker was intimate with him, Tom figured they had already established that fact, and he was a little surprised by the question. However, he successfully hid his discomfort behind a guise of nonchalance. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels and stared rigidly at his friend. "Yup." |
"But when did this happen?" Penhall demanded, his voice rising to an annoying whine. "I mean, you weren't gay six months ago." |
Unable to hide his annoyance any longer, Tom shot his friend a withering look. "Well, gee, Penhall, I never knew you could see inside my mind. How the hell do you know whether I was or not?" |
"But... but... you slept with women!" Doug spluttered. Although he had had twelve hours to adjust to the knowledge that his best friend was intimate with men, he was still struggling with the concept. Not because he was homophobic – he wasn't; in fact, he didn't have a bigoted bone in his body. What was screwing with his mind was that Tom had kept such a huge secret from him. They were best friends, and best friends shared everything, or so he had thought. |
"Okay, so I guess I'm bi," Tom clarified sharply. "But I don't understand why it's such a big deal. Last night you said you were happy for me. What's changed?" |
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