All About Spike - Plain Version
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Chapter: 1 2 3
Three Vampires, Two Slayers, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair
By Tara R.
Summary:Glimpses of a
Spike/ various others, including M/M implied situations... gee that boy gets around.
disclaimer stuff: Wish it belonged to me, but it don't, except most of the words
in that particular order, and even then I've used loads of poetry. Nope, the
rest belongs to that creative Wunderkind Joss Whedon and co... Also, owe
half the title to Pablo Neruda. Oh, and if you wanna know who the poetry is by,
look at the section heading!
thanks to Codename Joaquinista, beta-reader extraordinaire, and Spicywings,
for her great advice!
Part Two: Fighting
York, 1977 (The Ramones)
likes punk because he likes its ravenous ecstasy. It eats away at you from the
outside, in a way that no other music ever has. Jazz was too mellow, like
slipping between satin sheets, or maybe long deep kisses, with just a hint of
teeth. Rock: too grating – Rock is fighting, not fucking – yes there’s a
difference, though it’s slight. Debussy was softness and sunlight – no
vampire should savour that (even the Claire de Lune). Folk was flowers
and drugs and that sideways dimension between stoned and awake and dead. Nah,
Punk is where it’s at. Punk is fucking and making love and eating and feeding
and sucking and licking and kicking someone’s head in. Yeah, Punk’s where
is a punk
is a runt
both went down to Berlin,
the Ice Capades
oh, I don't know why
I don't know why
is how he remembers fruit. Slippery slices of mango, watermelon, strawberry,
peach, nectarine, small crunchy cherries and seedless grapes. Sliding down
fingers, teeth biting into the soft flesh, soft and bleeding.
heat had been making him hungry all day; tasty New Yorkers sweating deliciously,
their scent hanging heavy on the air. After hours in that stuffy hotel room, it
was heaven to get out onto the stinking, grimy New York streets, walking through
back alleyways lined with mountains of trash, air conditioners dripping on
either side of him as people at home battled with the weather.
was only the second time he’d managed to get out and explore New York on his
own, and they’d been here for how many months? Four at least. Dru was
wandering Central Park on her own tonight; she had said she wanted to talk to
the Faeries and that they wouldn’t come out if Spike was there. So he’d
shrugged and wandered off to find a little mayhem and cause a little carnage.
Just a regular Friday night.
caught the subway at Lexington Avenue, wandering through the deserted carriages,
hoping for a stray, vulnerable morsel to wander right into his path. He sang to
“Well do you wanna dance under the moonlight?
me baby all through the night
baby, do you wanna dance?”
he could find something a little freaky to take home to Dru, something that
would amuse her. Freaky was always easy to find in big cities. Last week it was
a deformed pigeon with one leg that he’d seen hopping around Times Square
eating dust and dirt and metal. Thinking about that night, though, he
reconsidered. Dru had loved the bird, but Spike had not loved picking up the
pigeon entrails and feathers for two days afterwards. Her version of interior
design, he supposed.
ran his hands through his hair, turning toward the windows of the carriage to
get a better look. Oh. He could never get used to that. God this was boring, he
thought, kicking an empty soda can out of his path. I’m tired of looking at
fucking posters saying “Help Clean Up Central Park”. Maybe I should ride the
train just as far as Bleeker and get off there, go to CBGB, see who was playing.
And more importantly, see if anyone there was worth eating.
behind him he heard the door between cars swing open. He smiled, taking a deep
breath in. Finally, a little action.
something smells… delicious, he decided. But before he could turn around, he
felt a sharp crack as something hit his back, throwing him the length of the
hell!” He shouted, sliding along the dusty floor, hitting the far end of the
carriage. Looking back he saw a young woman in a black leather duster looking at
him in contempt. He’d seen that look before. He grinned, pulling himself to
well,” he said slowly. “Looks like Dru was right. There is something tasty
on this train after all. Delicious in fact...” he cocked an eyebrow. “
C’mon then, girlie, you just gonna stand there?”
“Do you do you do you do you wanna dance
you do you do you do you wanna dance
you do you do you do you wanna dance?”
near Rome, 1892 (Moving fast)
the darkened room all that could be heard was gasping. The train ploughed
through the late March night, on its way to Rome for the religious festivities
was almost no detectable movement from the bunk as the three figures pressed
together, their bodies able to move only slightly.
between Angelus and Spike, the girl half-struggled and half-writhed. Spike had
both her wrists gripped in one of his hands, holding them tightly behind her
back. The other hand he slipped inside her torn bodice. She gasped at the feel
of his cold hands brushing over her nipple, pinching and twisting cruelly.
kicked out with her foot, catching his shin, and he hissed in pain, tightening
his fist around her wrists cruelly. His lips suckled at her neck in the same
place that Angelus had already marked her with a small love bite.
was kissing her, biting at her lips, which were bleeding a little, sipping at
her blood. She was biting back, resisting and succumbing, making Angelus grin
against her lips as he sucked her tongue into his mouth. One hand was wrapped
around her neck, a threat, the other hooked under her skirts resting between her
thighs. It worked slightly, pressing inwards at the same time as his hips
pressed her backwards into Spike’s body.
she kicked out again, Angelus lifted his leg, hooking it over her, pressing her
further into the mattress, trapped. He rubbed his shin against Spike’s. His
hand moved rubbed harder between her legs and she gasped against Angelus’
lips, working her hips a little in time with his fingers.
felt her hands flex and twist against his stomach as she came, moaning and
gasping quietly, the noises masked by the scream of the train’s whistle as it
plunged into a tunnel.
sighed and relaxed against them both, sinking deeper into the bed. Spike
cautiously let go of her wrists, watching Angelus over her shoulder. He was
licking slowly, almost gently at the girls lips, catching the blood seeping from
the tiny cuts he had made. She lay passive, eyes closed.
pulled away slightly, his own lips now covered in the girls blood, and gripped
Spike’s neck, pulling him down for a long kiss. Their lips clashed and opened,
tongues twining in a kiss so deep and slow that they were hardly moving.
Spike’s hand continued to massage the girl’s breast almost convulsively as
his Sire kissed him. Blood, saliva, sweat, tears.
reached down, pulling the girls skirts fully up around her waist, lifting her
leg and pulling it over his hip. With one hand he flicked open the front of his
crumpled trousers, the other reaching round and holding her buttocks open for
resting his throbbing erection against the girls round, exposed cheeks. Angelus
dipped a hand in between her legs and coated his fingers in her wetness before
reaching around and grasping Spike’s cock. He covered it in the girls wetness,
pumping slightly, teasing Spike as his breath became shorter and his eyes
drifted partially closed.
and Childe plunged into the girls body at the same time. The darkness of the
cabin rocked in time with the rough thrusting of the two men, covers rustling,
bed frame squeaking rhythmically, short panting breaths echoing around the room.
was sweating again, Spike’s hand pressed into the small of her back, wet and
hot as he steadied himself, plunging into the tight orifice, throwing his head
back in pleasure as she squeezed him tight.
reached out, raking his blunt fingernails down Spike’s side as he thrust
rapidly into the girl. Spike reached for his Sire’s hand, twining their
hand contracted, and Spike looked up, into the eyes of his Sire. As he watched,
Angelus vamped, bending his head to her breast and biting down with slow
sensuality. The girl cried out, clutching Angelus’ head, but not pulling him
away. Her hips bucked, and Spike gasped as she instinctively constricted her
muscles around his cock. He licked her neck lightly, revelling in the tang of
her sweat, before plunging his fangs deep into her.
at first but then with that slight popping give. And then slippery and
soft, melting on the tongue, rich and juicy, trickling into the back of his
throat along with the smell of leather and polished wood and linen sheets and
moaned headily. Her juicy flesh pulsed around his mouth, her blood, rich and
intoxicating, gushing into him, and he drank ravenously. Angelus’ hands moved
over her back frantically, nails raking her, cutting her, his body bucking as he
came deep inside her, drinking from her breast.
Spike felt her heartbeat start to slow, he thrust one last time, coming deeply,
ecstatically inside her as he felt her blood spill out of his mouth and over his
York, 1977 (The Ramones)
saw her walking down the street
jumped down, he knocked her off her feet
block, block, stomach punch,
then I knew it was the end of her.
Knee in the groin, again, again,
Mashed against glass
gonna kill that girl
Kick him in the nuts
Punch, punch, harder, harder
gonna kill that girl tonight.
of Part Two
Continued in Part Three: Fucking
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