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Wanker

Wanker.

That's all he is.  A bloody wanker.

He broods too much, walks around with the weight of the world and all the guilt of his misdeeds on his shoulders.  Not sure why he feels guilty about them.  They were *glorious*.

One of my most used fantasies of Angelus - yes, I actually lay back and toss off to fantasies of my Sire, but if you tell a soul, I swear to bloody god, I'll rip your throat out, chip or no chip - mmm. . .where was I before my spot o' violence?  Oh, right.  Fantasies about my Sire.

One of my most used fantasies of Angelus is the memory of watching him as we tore through a village in Italy somewhere.  I think it was Italy.  It could have been Spain.  I didn't pay much attention to the geography of the land back in those days.  I was too busy with the geography of my Sire's body. Anyway, we were tearing up this village, just the two of us.  Dru was off with Darla- the two chits liked to go *shopping*, which in our terms meant killing and stripping the bodies down.

I was leaning against one of the houses, watching him.  His hair had fallen out of the dark red velvet bow, long and brown, hanging at the side of his face.  He had just broken the neck of a man who *dared* fight him.  He dropped the body, then looked up at me, licking his lips, watching me through hooded yellow eyes.  The moonlight was shining on him, making him look like an angel.

He was.  He always was my Dark Angel.

That's why I was surprised when I heard that the soul had shortened the name Angelus to Angel.  I called him that ever so often, in our most intimate moments.  My Dark Angel.

He ravaged me that night, in the blood of our victims.  It was one of our favorite pastimes, shagging in blood.

But it was the look on his face.  It was lust, and possessiveness, and I knew at that moment that was his.

The wanker promised me forever that night.

Of course, I didn't get it.

So now, we play these games.  I torture him, he makes my life hell. . .he never knows that being around him makes my demon want to roar, want to take him down.

I know that with the soul he doesn't want me anymore.  I'm another embarrassment, something that he regrets.  I don't know how he could, after everything that I was to him. . .after everything he was to me.

I can hear his sigh as he watches me.  It's amazing how many little human qualities he's picked up over the years.  He sighs, he fidgets when he's alone and thinks no one is watching. . .for a vampire, he's such a human.

I'm in his favorite chair, and I have my Docs on the coffee table.  He hates that even more.  I love to get under his skin, irritate the hell out of him.

That's the only way I affect him anymore.

I can hear the growl starting deep in his throat.  He's about to throttle me, thrash me, give me a good beating.  Wish it could be followed by a great shag.

The part of me that resides deep within wants to placate it.  I don't know why I still want to impress him, after all these years.  He's not even my Sire anymore, just a shell of the man he was.

Wanker.

I turn to him, looking up at him.  I flutter my eyelashes in the coy way that used to make him melt.  "Hey, Broody, get me some blood."

I don't ask, but I don't demand.  It's more like a statement of indifference.  Either you do it or I will.  I know that he will, because, as he claims, disaster follows me everywhere.  God bloody forbid if I mess up that perfect kitchen.

Like he needs it for anything.  Bloody wanker.

He's staring at me.

Angelus is staring at me with the oddest look on his face.  Sorta stupefied, dumbfounded, like he just found out I was a vampire or something.  Duh, mate.  You were there.  You made it happen.

I see a glint. . .a glint of something in his eyes.  Something I haven't seen in longer than I can remember.  He must be reliving a memory.  He's been doing that a lot since I've moved here.  I didn't want to come here, didn't want to impede on the wanker's life, but Slutty insisted.  She wanted me out of Sunnydale, out of her hair.

Never stayed in her hair.

She would have *known* if I were in her hair.

Of course, Slutty spoke and the wanker came running.  "Oh, Buffy, I'll do anything you want, Buffy!  I know you are in love with the big Commando lug, but I still love you!  I know that if I shag you I'll lose my soul, but it's ok.  I deserve the agony of being away from you anyway!  I did so much damage in my life."

Of course, I bitched the whole way to LA.  I didn't want to be here anymore than he wanted me here.  I didn't want to be constantly reminded that he regretted everything we were, that he wished more than anything that I wasn't in his life.  That he would do anything in the world to drop me off on theside of the road.

I shake my head slightly.  "Hey, Poof."  My stomach is starting to grumble, the demon is clambering around.  I haven't eaten in a while.

"Yea, Spike?" he asks calmly, coolly.

"Hey, so you gonna get me the blood, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like the Ponce you are?"  Never said I wasn't a blunt vampire.

I glance away, hiding the pain that I know he would be able to see in my eyes.  He turns on his heal without a word, walking to the kitchen.

I get up and follow him.  Something is wrong.  I can feel it in the just about non-existent bond we share.  He's upset about something - more so than usual.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers to the microwave, his back to me, head hung low. "God, William, I am so fucking sorry."  His voice is filled with pain, and I can smell the salty blood-tinged drops of wetness seeping from his eyes.

My Sire is crying.  He *never* cries.

He's crying over me.

My heart lurches in my chest, and I am scared it's going to start pounding again.  I can almost hear it in my ears, drowning out everything else, except those three words I never thought I would hear leave my Sire's mouth: "I'm so sorry."

"So," I asked quietly.  "where do we go now?"  I can't help it.  I could have turned and walked away, but I can't.  I want him, I want him too much. I'm a different vampire now.  I'd take the wanker, soul and all.  He is my Sire.  I love him.

He turns, brushing his tears away, trying to pretend that he wasn't crying. But he knew, he knew that I was aware that the tears fell.  "I'm. . .sorry?" he asks.  He winces slightly, waiting for me to rip into him like I'm so bloody good at doing.

This was the moment of truth.  I suppose I owe him that much.  "Peaches. . .I. . ."  I  pause, looking down at my boots.  I toe at the leg of the chair.  I look back up, my eyes filled with the pain I have been trying so hard to hide since I've been with him.  "Angelus," I whisper.  "I love you. I always have, I always will.  I don't know if you feel anything for me. . .if you want to be with me.  But. . ."  Sod it!  My voice catches from the near tears!  I didn't want to cry in front of him.

He doesn't speak.  Just stares at me with that odd look on his face.  And then a slow grin spreads over his face before he slams me into the wall, his lips attacking mine brutally.  It was like the first time we kissed, and at that moment, I knew it wouldn't be the last time.

I return the kiss with equal intensity.  I learned from the best. . .I can give it as good as I can take it.

We finally pull away, and I waggle my scarred eyebrow at him.  I'm happier than I have been in a long time. . .I can see in his eyes - he wants this! He wants me!  "So ya still do want your sweet childe, eh, mate?" I tease.

He growls playfully and steps away, throwing me over his shoulder.  He carries me off to the bedroom, giving me a great view of his ass.  I lick my lips, looking forward to the time we will spend together.

But he's still a wanker.