*Laughing*. The motherfucker is laughing, though if you weren't familiar with his limited repertoire of facial expressions, you wouldn't know.
Careful, Angel. Wouldn`t want your face to crack or anything.
He just stands there, his lips twitching uncontrollably, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his duster while he watches me drip.
``Piss off!`` I shout, and give him that weird American one-finger salute.
It doesn't faze him, naturally. Nothing fazes Angel.
Well...that ain`t exactly true, is it? I know fucking well there are a few things that break that stony facade.
Like when I run a finger along the underside of his cock, tracing the heavy vein.
Like when I hum with him deep in my throat.
Like when I just stare at him after his thirty-third shower of the day, when he walks around the place in all his naked, arrogant magnificence, and I see him get hard even when I think he isn't paying any attention to me at all.
There are *some* things that faze Angel.
I stand there in the freezing fountain, my pockets heavy with other people's friggin` stupidass wishes, and ponder the situation.
Angel stands across the courtyard and ponders me right back, the long-suffering expression on his face telling me exactly what he thinks of me. See, Angel doesn`t really live with me so much as he puts up with me, and I truly think of it as my duty on this earth to remind him why he does.
It's because I can fuck him to within an inch of his life. I can actually make him cry my name. I can make him grip my head with the strength of ten men when my mouth is around his cock.
And I can make him like it.
Poor bugger.
Let's see how fast I can get his perfectly shaped pansy-ass over here to do just that.
*****
``My Zippo!`` he suddenly howls, startling a passing couple. They look at him askance, possibly wondering if this short, wet, blond, shouting Englishman poses any sort of danger to them.
If they only knew.
Spike begins splashing frantically in the fountain, presumably looking for his favorite lighter. I don't know what makes this lighter any different from the seventeen others that litter the apartment. I find them everywhere, clear blue plastic things. He seems to favor blue. Perhaps this one that he's lost is a unique shade of blue.
Heaving a tremendous sigh, I venture closer. He continues to wallow about in the water, mumbling to himself. If we get banned from too many more public places we`re going to have to move to another town. I wonder if South Dakota has any job openings for frustrated vampires.
Or, I could have him committed, couldn`t I? Couldn`t I commit him against his will if I convince the nice white coated men that he's certifiable?
Worth a thought. Although then I`d *never* get laid...
I stand now at the edge of the fountain, very careful not to let water drip onto my suede shoes. Maybe I can talk him down.``Spike, I'll buy you a new lighter on the way home.``
``Want that one,`` he mutters, and actually kneels down in the fountain. Well, it's not like he can get any more wet.
I peer into the water, though the moonlight makes it virtually impossible to see anything shiny on the bottom. ``Spike, this is crazy,`` I tell him, then wince. Never tell a crazy person that they're acting crazy.
``Fine, don't help,`` he barks.
Oh, for God's sake. He might pout. If he blinks those eyes at me, I'm done. ``Angel,`` he wheedles, sloshing over to the edge of the fountain, ``wouldya help me look?``
Blink. Blink.
``You just said `fine, don't help`, `` I remind him. Now I'm playing his stupid games. Whyyyyyyy, Lord?
Can't we just go home so I can fucking get off? My dick is like iron.
I crane my neck again to look into the water. ``Spike, I really can't see -- gahhhhh!!``
*****
``Splish splash, I was takin' a bath,`` I shout gleefully. Then I stop and peruse the man kneeling in the fountain next to me. ``Angel,`` I say, ``your hair is wet.``
Uhhhh oh. Now *there`s* an expression I ain't seen in a hundred years or so. What should we call that one? How about ``Watch Out, Angel Is Amazingly Pissed Off``?
His nostrils are flaring.
``Uhh...found it,`` I grin, holding up my trusty Zippo, which was of course in my pocket the whole time.
``Get. Out. Of. The. Water. Spike.`` he says, very slowly, beginning to climb out himself.
I can`t let him. Christ on the cross, he never wants to do *anything* out of the ordinary! I want to fuck by the lion's cage, he wants to fuck in the goddamned Boring and Noble. And he couldn`t even carry that one off! The truly successful plans are *always* mine.
And I say we`re gonna fuck in this fountain. And I say we`re gonna do it Now.
One good tug should do it...
*****
*Damn* it! He`s latched on to the back of my jacket and is pulling for all he's worth. For what ungodly reason could he not want me climbing out of this pile of rocks and strange blue-green water?
If I look at my shoes I think I might weep. One-hundred and ninety-five dollars worth of soggy suede.
I jerk out of his hold and whirl around. ``Whatinthenameofhelldoyouthinkyouredoing?`` I keep my voice low yet still manage to convey a good sense of ferocity.
He doesn`t hear the ferocity, I guess, because he smiles that smile of his, the one that says ``oh, you are *so* out of luck because I want sex and I want it now``.
*Damn!*
Next time, I`ll think with my brain and not with my dick. Next time, I won`t let him blink those eyes and flash that dimple. Next time, I *will* be in control. Next time, we`re going to have sex in a bed. With sheets. Godamnit.
But this time...this time, I`ll let him do...ooooooooohhhhhhhhh, *shit*! Good God. He`s so hard and lean and
(soaking wet)
anxious and serious all at once, it never fails to touch a part of me that I always swear is long dead.
To Spike, fucking is not serious. Fucking is fun. Mere sex is not serious. Mere sex is sport. But Spike can make love with the most serious of intentions, with the most passion and ardor and genuine feeling that I've ever experienced, and fuck all if I don`t consider myself lucky to be on the receiving end of it.
Even if he decides he wants to make love in a stone fountain in the middle of a shopping center.
He`s pinned me to the stone column in the middle of the small pool and water is cascading over us both, turning my world to small, sparkling droplets that shimmer and twist and land on our suddenly bare arms.
How does he *do* that? I didn`t even notice my jacket and shirt being stripped from my body.
Spike commands attention when he kisses me, that`s the only explanation I can come up with for not noticing my entire top half being naked. He doesn`t accept half- hearted attention, and I would never dare insult him by giving it. So I let him overwhelm me sometimes.
OK, often.
And now he`s grinding me up against the column, nipping too hard but somehow just right at my bottom lip, and if we go through this coitus interruptus business *one more time* I might fall on my own stake. Don`t get me wrong, though. It`s been said I have the stamina of a stallion. No, really, some tender young
(juicy)
thing told me that once, when I was still hard and thrusting up inside of her after nearly two hours.
But all this stopping and starting...and ooooooh, Christ, now he's got his tongue whispering along my nape...it doesn`t really bode well for my self-control.
Spike knows, he knows what to do and when to do it and just which part of my body to do it to. And, godamn, how did I end up this way *again*, with his muscular leanness pinning me to an immovable structure?
*****
Poor, poor Peaches. He thinks he can last forever even now. Some bint told him once he was hung like a horse and he`s never forgotten it.
I splash back down in the water, kneeling before him, quirking up a corner of my mouth at the sight he makes.
Angel is wet and panting and half-naked in a public place, and shows no sign of wanting me to stop doing what I'm doing.
The trick is to keep it that way.
Unbuckle, unsnap, unzip, and voila...his pants are around his hips and his cock juts straight out towards me. Oooooh...so that`s what the expression `blue balls` really means.
``Now, Angel,`` I coo, letting the tip of his dick brush my cheek, ``why didn't you just say you were in so much pain? I woulda let you stop to jerk off.``
Ah, now *there`s* the growl I love. And full gameface, too. Bonus.
His thighs tighten as he thrusts his hard shaft toward my face. I relent.
Swallowing him whole, making him throw his head back against the stone and murmur wordlessly, making him reach up over his head to grip the edge of the small cement waterfall, making him tighten his ass and lock his knees.
Yep, this makes the hamster in his head stop spinnin` its little wheel. Despite all of his serious broody bullshit, Angel knows how to take a good blow.
The bugger fuckin` loves it. I mean, truly enjoys being given head. Just look at `im, all moany and shit.
He mumbles something incoherent.
``Whassat, luv?`` I purr around his dick, making sure to put pressure on the sensitive glans with my tongue.
``Can't...can`toooooooh...``
Man of few words, my sire is. I think what he's trying to grunt at me is that he can`t wait any longer. Which, if the state of his dick is any indication, I already knew.
Let`s just see if I can't help things along.
It`s a bit intoxicating to think that he stands here before me unrestrained. Nothing keeps him from kicking me out of the way, yanking his shirt back on, and gettin` the fuck out of this bloody fountain.
Nothin` except maybe my mouth on his cock, that is. And maybe my hand cupping his balls.
I had no clue he`s been in a state of constant arousal since the lion`s cage fiasco. He`s so effin` stoic, Angel prolly woulda rather had a holy water rubdown than admit to the fact that he needed to get off.
``Pet,`` I murmur around his thick length, ``How`s this feel?``
He mumbles something at me that sounds like ``Shuddup and finish.``
Torture was always my thing. Learned at the feet of the master...literally on occasion..
I sit back on my heels with a splash, letting his cock spring free of my mouth.
His eyes fly open. ``Hey!``
``Yes?``
``What are you...why did you...`` Angel gestures impatiently in the direction of his jewels.
``Welllll,`` I drawl, ``I`m thinkin` you need to ask nice.``
``Spike!`` he bursts out.
``Spike....what?`` This is so damn *fun*! Teach him to ducttape me to anything. Git.
``PleaseSpikecouldyoujustfinishbeforemydickgoddamnfallsoff?``
Huh. Looky there. Angelus said ``please``.
*****
Short of beheading or staking, you cannot kill the already dead.
But I can hurt him, I can deliver pain like he's never imagined, and mark my words -- or groans, at the moment -- when I get his insolent ass home, Spike will pay.
Ooooooooh, Jeeeeeeeesus Mary and Joseph! Did *I* teach him these things?
Then he whispers something to me in that perfectly smooth voice, the voice he laces with butter rum and toffee, the voice he uses to bring me over the brink every time. It is almost lost among the rushing water, and I don`t know how I hear it over the thundering blood in my ears, but I do.
``Come for me, Angel...``
And oooooh, then his mouth on me again, and Christ, that does it. My climax rushes up and over and hits me with gale force, and it's all I can do to hang on and ride it out.
That pretty much summarizes life with Spike. Just hang on and ride out the storm.
*****
Swallowing Angel`s come is almost as good as his blood. Both are thick and coppery sweet; dark chocolate and salt.
I catch it all, as I've done a million
times before, just managing to bathe him clean before his knees give way
and he slides down into the water next to
me.
``Better, Ducks?``
He heaves a huge sigh. ``Much,`` he grins.
Then he remembers where we are, and frowns. He can`t resist a concerned look around as he quickly gets dressed. Like he`s waiting for a big neon sign over the fountain to light up...` ATTENTION! NOW PLAYING! TWO QUEER VAMPIRES FUCK IN CHLORINATED WATER!`
``Noone is here, ya ponce. Noone saw --``
Which is precisely when a small figure emerges from the shadows.
*****
She looks about ..oh I don`t know, I have no luck when it comes to judging the age of mortal children. But she`s wearing a school uniform and sucking on a lollypop, and she`s *staring* at me in a manner which makes me decidedly uncomfortable.
It`s vageuly reminiscent of the lion`s cage incident, actually. I feel like a live visual aid. I`m going to kill him. I`m going to kill him. I`m going to kill ...
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a shiny silver coin, holding it in her palm for a long moment, and obviously considering the possibilities.
Even Spike is silent as the moment stretches on.
Finally, she looks up at us, pulls the sucker from her mouth with a loud pop, and tosses the coin into the fountain at our feet, decision made.
``Can you do it again?``