At last, I see it.
I breathe a sigh of relief, sucking the manufactured, multi-filtered air into my dead lungs with a huge gasp. Before me stands the only portion of this twisted, mad jungle that whispers of paradise. The last bastion of civilization in this grotesque wildnerness.
The Men`s Clothing store.
No horrid din disguised as music pounds through these walls. No teenagers of indeterminate gender with more peircings than flesh lurk in these aisles. No mass produced pieces of neon colored plastic line these shelves. Instead, there is just row after row of immaculate black tuxedos and fine, well tailored suits; and suddenly, it all becomes clear. In an instant, I wholly understand the lure that is The Mall. I stand by the entrance, thinking seriously of kissing the carefully laid checkerboard floor tiles under the neatly printed sign `The Fashionable Male`.
Also, not entirely lost on me is the fact that the entire ambiance of this shop is going to make Spike completely and utterly insane.
He is hovering by the entrance to the store, waiting for an invitation he is undoubtably cursing the fact he does not need. He looks fairly calm standing there, but I notice it. His eye is twitching.
Oh yes. Completely insane. ((Teach you to shred my clothing.. arrogant little cretin...))
I grin at him. ``You don`t own any dress clothes. I`m feeling generous. Let`s go.`` I give him a gentle shove and he growls a bit, under his breath. I can hear his wheels spinning.
``Dress clothes! Innit that a bit redundant? A red shirt and a black shirt, and I`m dressed!`` ((and if you drag me in there I vow to humiliate you beyond your wildest imaginings...))
Good thing I planned for all this......
Immediately after Spike used the `Mall` word in conjunction with `We are going`, I made a phone call....``Yes, I will be in shortly to purchase half a dozen dress suits, three tuxedos and at least a dozen shirts, plus some accessories ....but unfortunately I have one small problem...`` Once the sales clerk mentally tallied the grand total worth of this little outing, he had quickly and graciously made all the concessions necessary for my `friend` with the `special needs`....
``MIRRORS!`` He shouts at me triumphantly, causing the few shoppers standing around to eye him curiously. ``You think noone`s gonna notice our significant lack of reflection in a store with what, a hundred mirrors?``
He is gloating, hands shoved in the duster`s pockets, boot clad feet planted firmly on the threshhold. Another grin. ``I took care of it. Get in, or I will drag you by your hair.``
He is eyeing me now, sizing me up, deciding whether or not I would follow through on that. I`m thinking of the goddamn CDs he just made me buy him, (what was it ..Putrid? Wretched?) Whatever, I am going to have to listen to them for all eternity, blaring from the goddamn monoliths masquesrading as speakers in what used to be my peaceful and well appointed living room..... damnit!
The hell with his hair. I`ll drag him in here by his --
``You wouldn- ARGHH! All right, fine I`m going!!``
**************************************
So the pouff drags me into this
store, `The Insufferable Pillock`, I believe it`s called, and now I`m standing
here on this idiot pedastal thing, with this short, balding, sweaty little
man fondling my leg. And Peaches is watching. Peaches is probably getting
off on this....dirty old fucking wanker..
Every once in a while he gets this look on his face....noone else would catch it, of course. Angel has maybe three actual facial expressions. This one is #1, and subtle as it may be to the mortal world, it is *quite* familiar to me, seeing as he wears it so often in my prescence. It`s a cross between lust and annoyance. Every time I drop my pants to try on a new pair, the look gets turned up a notch, and he fidgets in his seat. I`m guessing it`s my lack of skivvies. C`mon, it`s not like he didn`t know I don`t own any. It`s not like he minds.
Usually...
Just because he`s Mr. silk boxers and matching robe ((pansy)) doesn`t mean the rest of the undead world is so damned foofy and modest about our finest assets.
Course maybe he`s just jealous of the midget getting too close to my handsome naked demon ass. Wonder if I could work that to get me out of this twinkle toe Purgatory. Poor bugger would do anything for me.
``Hey! He`s touching me!`` I yell. ``Why the bloody hell does he have to touch me?``
The great ponce doesn`t even glance up from the magazine he`s reading. Maybe I went too far demolishing his stereo.
``HEY! The hands!! He`s a friggin queer, Angel! Look where he`s got his bleedin hands!``
No need to playact anymore, now I`m truly disgusted. Even I got standards, mate. A game is a game, but who the hell does this guy think he is? Teach him to touch my goddamn... ...I`m William the Bloody damnit...
I leap off the small stool, and lunge at the man.
``SPIKE! WILLIAM! For chrissake, don`t strangle the tailor!`` The little man scrambles for the door... Wonder if it was my gameface?
``He was touching my leg!``
``He had to touch your leg to fit the pants, Spike.`` he replies patiently, as if I`m a soddin child. He gives me that obnoxious half-smile then adds, ``Nice fangs.``
I ignore the last. I can bloody well flash some when I want to. ``I`m telling you, he`s a freakin nonce!``
``Uhm..Spike..so are --``
``Nu-uh! Don`t you even say it mate. I`ll kick your sorry ass back to Hell so fast your goddamn dead squirrel hair-do will stay here..``
``What would you prefer to call it then, Will?`` He still has that smirk going. The one that always makes me want to smirk back. Damn it.
I sneer instead. He called me `Will`. Arsehole. Only calls me `Will` when he wants to prove a point. Right now his point is to convince me not only that I`m an effin Nancyboy like him and the midget, but that I have to stay here and get the goddamn clothes. Have I mentioned my Sire`s an arse?
``I DO NOT shag men!`` I insist loudly. ``I only shag you!``
``Should I be flattered now or insulted? It`s not entirely clear.`` He goes back to reading his magazine, feigning indifference. But I can see it. His eye is twitching.
`` I`m gonna eat this guy, Angel. He pissed me off! You`re pissing me off! It`s making me bloody hungry! You said they`d have a food court!``
*Angelus* would have let me eat the human. Course then he would have sucked the whole mall into the seventh layer of Hell ...All right, I have to admit to a certain level of ambiguity about the soulless version of hairboy...
``They do have a food court. It`s food FOR humans. You`re not eating the tailor. He`s a nice little old guy. He gave us this room....``
``He fucking touched my leg! The least you could do is let me eat him!``
The ponce just sniffs at me, and
turns back to his magazine. ``Why, you feel used now ?``
**************************************
We are cloistered in a secluded,
mirror-free sitting area, with five tuxes in his size draped over the chairs.
I have sent the overly attentive albeit now slightly nervous tailor out
for matching pocket kerchiefs. Maybe some cuff links.
It is utterly amazing to me what mortals will do in the name of large sums of cash. Even put up with my Childe...
Who, having been fully apprised of the current situation, now looks as if he`s either about to bellow at me, or burst into flames.
``You told him I was off my medication!?!? And out on a day pass?! What the bloody hell are you trying to do to me?``
Or both...
``Well, I needed a convenient excuse for the seclusion, lack of mirrors, and to be quite frank, your behavior.``
``My behavior?! What the fuck is wrong with my behavior!?``
``You went into game face and tried to eat the man when he was fitting you.``
``Fitting me!? Is that what they call it?? Cause from where I`m bloody well standing he was feeling me up, Peaches! I don`t see you standin` here gettin` fondled in the name of tux shopping!``
I don`t bother to remind him that I already have plenty of dress clothes, which he somehow did not manage to destroy in the name of his demon spring cleaning. I don`t answer at all, actually. I just stare at him with one eyebrow up, until he looks away, cursing and muttering something about my parentage. I know him well enough to realize he`s attempting to play me. I also know full well that I`m going to put up with it.. and him..... And I`m not even being paid large sums of cash...Usually, however, moments like these will require some furious channeling of memories including mind blowing sex.
Or the way he looked in the tux....more
accurately how he looked getting into or out of it...engaging enough that
I had to pretend to read a magazine and try to ignore a raging hard on...He`s
all luminous skin and sharp, bony angles, subtle flex of light muscles
and long, lean arms and legs.....Complete lack of modesty as he dropped
his pants time and time again...His platinum hair in uncharacteristic dissaray
from the tugging on and off of shirts.... The sheer look of fury in those
ice blue eyes at being
made to suffer through this. A look
that spoke volumes about revenge and retaliation.
The thought of tossing him over one of these boxes and tearing the tux to shreds around him. The way he will growl at me when I do it....that is until I press up against his hardened form, and he moans...
I close my eyes for a moment. Yep. That works.....
And a bit later there is a pile of clothing taller than Spike on the counter, and my credit card is crying. If we can make it out of here without bloodshed, however, it will all indeed be worth it. He looked damn well edible in those tuxes. And, later they`ll look really nice crumpled at the foot of my bed.
I notice a large display of socks just behind the cash register, which I somehow managed to miss before. I nod in their general direction.
``Go pick some.`` I tell him with a smirk.
He looks positively lethal. ``I don`t want a new pair of socks! These are me lucky socks! I bagged two Slayers in these socks!``
I am constantly impressed at my own ability to refrain from throttling him. ``That was 1845, Spike. I`m fairly sure there is a rule about changing one`s socks at least once a MILLENIUM.``
``Fuck you, Anglelus.``
He`s so lyrical when he`s pissed off. I smile at him, pull out my trump card. ``You still owe me for the CD`s.``
He is still cursing my name and my
mother as he throws three pair of socks onto the counter with the tuxes.
***************************************************************
While it was fun spending the nonce`s
money, his taste really sucks. Forget flamin` nonce, I swear he`s become
a *woman*. Cuff links?? Even Angelus didn`t wear cuff links for fucksakes.
And crap! He`s still looking like a man on a mission...damnit..what the hell could be left?
I catch his line of vision and immediately I can feel the howl rise in my chest. ``NO! NOT MY SHOES! YOU CANNOT HAVE MY DOCS!`` I know I`m geting really loud. I can see the mortals staring. Good! Give me wide berth. Fear me! I am the Big Bad! I will not be forced into getting...
``Spike,`` he says in that infinitely patient tone, ``you cannot wear Doc Martens with a tuxedo.``
``Yeah well, I don`t plan on wearing the fucking tuxedo if I have anything to say about it, mate.``
``Yeah, well, fortunately, you *don`t* get a say in this, *mate.* `` He mocks, and closes one hand around my arm.
``Fuck off.`` I jerk out of his grasp.
``Spike, how long have you *had* those things?`` he says tiredly, eyeing my shoes with thinly veiled disgust.
``Since 1963,`` I reply defensively. ``These shoes have served me well.``
He rolls his eyes and puts one strong arm around my shoulders, dragging me behind him. ``Into. The. Shoe store. Now.``
He drops me unceremoniously into a chair. Big fuckin bully. He didn`t buy me enough CD`s to make up for this..There aren`t enough CD`s on this poxy planet to make up for this! If we weren`t in public, I`d....wait..I don`t give a rats ass that we`re in public...
``THESE ARE MY FAVORITE SHOES AND
I`M NOT GIVING THEM UP!`` I shout in the face of some rapidly paling saleswoman,
who had the freakin *nerve* to stand in front of me and stare at my shoes!
He glances at her apologetically,
and makes with the puppy eyes. Of
course, she flippin melts. Stupid bint...
Now they`re discussing my shoe size like I`m not even sitting here and she`s dissapeared into the back room....I`m going to put my Doc-clad foot up his ass, I am...
I turn to him and snarl, snapping my teeth in the face of his smug, bemused grin. ((Arrogant sonofabitch...who does he think he is? I`m not getting.....))
``It`s either new shoes or a haircut. Pick.``
``Don`t start that damn Sire-tone shit with me, Peaches. I know where you sleep.`` ((overbearing, self serving prick!))
And then ChristonaHarley. He`s turned that damn smirk on me...all with the big doe eyes peering out from underneath insanely long lashes..He looks alot like that when we`re....GODDAMNIT! I fucking *hate* this man. ``Cmon. Get the shoes. For me?`` The voice a strange mix of honey.... and blood...
Of course we walk out of the shoe store with two pair of hideous looking `dress` shoes. I want so bloody bad to bite him. Sink my teeth into his neck and suck until he whimpers and arches his...ah, shit.
He`s smiling at me, juggling all the bags in one arm, and gently holding my elbow with the other. Like he`s afraid I`m gonna run off. Pfft. I know when I`ve lost a battle. But the war is yet to be fought.....
I grab him by one broad shoulder, and snarl into his ear, ``You OWE me, Angelus.``
And the intolerable prick just smiles at me, and says, ``Oh? Wait til you see what`s on the menu for tomorrow night.``
*FUCK!*