All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4

Bit Parts
By Mint Witch

PAIRING: S/Ho Biscuit

RATING: NC-17, for smut, bad language and adult situations

SPOILERS: Through Hell’s Bells

DISCLAIMER: Only in my dreams.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hell’s Bells made me wonder “who is this chick?” and how did Spike con her into going to a wedding.

DISTRIBUTION: Wow, really? Just let me know where so I can tell all my friends!

FEEDBACK: Yes *please*!



Part 2: These Things Never End Well

You wanna know a big word? Not a stupid big word, like antidisestablishmentarianism, but a meaningful big word, a word so packed chock full of stuff, that it has to be big enough to contain it all? Ignominious. You can try to define it, but ultimately you fail because the sound of the word itself contains meaning. So, let’s try to use it in a sentence, shall we? How about: My ignominious fucking exit from a perfect fucking stranger’s wedding fucking pissed me the fuck off. How about that, boys and girls?

“Let me go, you shit!” I wrench my arm out of Spike’s grasp, pulling away from him. I’ll fucking walk home, thank you very much. No, I’ll stomp home. I take a perverse satisfaction in the solid thump my boots make every step of the way. Stomping as hard as I can, I march down the tiled hallway, just to hear that sound echo.

“Stupid fucking fuck. Fuck.” Every stomp now gets a fuck. Fuck thump fuck thump. “Stupid fucking hottie. Stupid stupid stupid fuck fuck fuck.”

“Nice vocabulary, pet.”

“And YOU! You can just fuck off! Okay? Okay! I’m not stupid. I know what this was about, but Jesus Fucking Christ, could you be just a little less—“

“Evil?” I stomp and thump back to where he’s slumped against the wall and get right up into his evil undead face.

“Obvious.” The word is a snarl, and I know my expression is ugly--but I don’t care anymore. “I know the deal, you asshole. But the tonsil-hockey-- excuse me while I VOMIT, by the way--was a little much. And this!” I wave my already bruising wrist in his face, “I’m not a fucking handbag! You don’t just grab me on your way out!” I’m shrieking, I’m so pissed off. I just want to snatch his cig and put it out in his eye.

“Dunno about that, pet. I did last time.” Oh. Oh. Time goes all cliched and stands still just for me. I’m not breathing, I’m not thinking, my heart’s not beating, he did not just say that. Oh no. But my leg is moving quite fast, yes really very fast. Right up until the split second that my knee slams into his crotch. Oh goody, now he’s moving and it’s the evil undead’s turn to shriek like a little girlie girl.

I retrieve his smoke from the floor and indulge in a little Marlboro Moment, inclusive of the sight of Spike writhing in pain. Then I kick him again. Same place, different blunt object. Steel toes rock.

Time to pull a Last Action Hero and fade away. Not so good at the fading, but I can stomp with the best of them. Watch me stomp, big boy.

All the way around the corner, where I hide. Scrunched against the wall, I light up another off Spike’s cherry, grinding the cashed smoke into the linoleum with my boot. My hands are shaking. Shit. I will not cry. I am not going to cry. Dammit!

I’m not stupid; I’m a fucking idiot. It took me, like, two seconds to figure out why I was here. I should have bailed right then. But then there was the groping and the face sucking, and the complete lack of anything resembling a brain. Shit. This entire wedding date thing has been one giant cluster-fuck. Dawn didn’t even fucking recognize me, and my competition is a freaking radioactive leprechaun. Christ, why do guys always go for those little miniature girls? She’s like three feet tall, for Christ’s sake. What’s that about?

How do I let things get so fucked up? I could be rebound girl. I could even enjoy it. Hell, I would have been happy as one-night-stand girl. But this. I am not this. I am not a handbag.

“I’m sorry.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeyaaaargh!” Ow ow ow! Why do I always do that? And, shit, why does he always sneak up on me? He should wear a little bell or something, I swear.

Besides, what was that? I’m sorry, ooooh. Real sincere, watch the ho- biscuit just melt into the baby blues, not. Not this time. What, am I supposed to respond to the lame apology or something? Uh uh. Ignore him, don’t answer, don’t look. Pout. Try not to fucking cry. But do not answer.

“I am sorry, you know.” He slouches against the wall beside me. “It’s just… hard.”

Ignoring the vampire, la la la, not listening, I’m not listening. Of course I’m listening. Chick here, tale of romantic woe, et cetera. Poor, wounded hottie. No, don’t feel sorry for the heartbroken fiend who fucked you blind then dragged you to a wedding to make his ex jealous. Shit. At least I can try to look like I’m ignoring him.

“Did it work?” I can’t help it. It’s like a car accident--you have to look. In my case, speak. Give me details, buddy, details. I want to know how much glass is on the road and that you are bleeding heavily. You had better be bleeding.

“No.”

“Good.” Serves you right, you bastard.

“Wanna get a drink?” It’s like, noon. Who drinks at noon, on a Saturday, no less? Vampires, I guess. Show’s what I know, but I think we’ve covered that.

“Yeah, okay.”

***

“Schoo, then, I tell her, I tell her ‘that was the plan,’ y’know I’m e- evil, but I won’t … I don’t know why, it’s wrong or some sodding crap like that.” Spike is smashed. I can tell because his head is on the bar. I’m perceptive that way. Poor, evil Spike. I’ve never seen the inside of a crypt before. Now I never will. Poor, poor me.

“That’s sooooo ssssad.” I hope I don’t fall off my stool. That might hurt. Whee! Everything is all whirly. Spin, spin, like a record baby right ‘round… ugh.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna puke now.” Wow, vampires move fast. And hey! Look at that, there’s three of him. Why didn’t he tell me he could do that? Can I have the one that’s not in love with a leprechaun? Poor, poor me.

“You shoulda warned me you were a weepy drunk, pet.”

Sniff. Fuck off, you evil man thing, evil you person like.

“Bleeeeeeargh-ooof.” I like tile, so cool, soothing. It feels good, soft and pretty, only not. He’s patting my head. That’s nice. “I wanna go home.” Home home home, home is where the heart is… I have never been so completely shit-faced in my entire life. I knew there was a reason people don’t start drinking at noon. But hey-ho, unnatural creatures of the night can really put it away. One more thing not covered in college Bio. Put that in my file of very interesting but completely useless trivia. Bet I could kick his ass at Scrabble, though.

I feel better. Maybe I could market this: Order now and not only will we send you the complete guide to puking up your intestines through your nose, but you also get this commemorative shot glass completely free! That’s right, FREE!

My house, we’re home, that was fast. This car thing could really catch on. Spike as trendsetter: pretty soon everyone will want one. One, two, three steps to my front door. Knocking on Heaven’s door but I don’t have to because I live here. Who stole my keys? Wow, the Hottie stole my keys, how did he do that?

Hello, bedroom, I brought the Hottie back, see? Don’t get excited, I don’t think he’s staying, our first real date didn’t go so well. I kicked him in the balls and I think I got vomit on his shoes.

Hello bed. Hello pillow. Hello soft blankies. Hello-

“President Roosevelt.”

“What?” I’m trying to reach over the side of the bed but it keeps moving away. Stop that!

“He fell off the bed.” What’s his malfunction? President Roosevelt fell off the bed, and he can’t get back up on his own. Well duh! I can’t just leave him there, he’ll be lonely.

“Is this what your after, then?” he’s staring at the Prez like, like, like something stary and rude. Don’t be rude to the Commander-in-Chief.

“Gimme!” All is well with world again. Back in bed with my best boyfriend. I never even notice Spike leave. At least, I hope he leaves, because I snore really bad when I’m drunk.

***

NO! Let me go, please, I can’t move. Please, please let me go, oh god. Darkness, noise, voices screaming, screaming, screaming. Get out, get away, run, please god help me, help me…

“AAAAAAAAAAHHH!” My own strangled scream wakes me, and the arm around my waist tightens as I struggle against it. Oh god, where am I, what-

“Shhhhh, shhh, it’s okay, pet, it’s just me, it’s alright, okay, shh.” Spike’s words puff against the back of my neck in cool little gusts. “I gotcha, it’s okay.”

Shudders wrack my body, and I gasp for air, replaying that night in my head. The chaos: screaming, blood, an endless strobe of destruction. I’m okay, I’m at home, in bed, I’m not there, it’s over.

“You alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Oh god, he must think I’m a complete freak. Honestly, though, I’m still too scared to really care. I’m just grateful to have someone here to pull me out of it. I snuggle back against his body, hugging his arm tighter around me. Glad he stayed.

“You wanna talk about it? I know a thing or two about nightmares.” His voice is soft and concerned, blurry with sleep.

“No, I just… something bad happened a couple of years ago, and I still have dreams about it, I guess. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” I can’t believe I’m apologizing to a vampire about my nightmares. How surreal is this?

“Sure?”

“Yeah, it’s just-” how can I possibly explain this one? “This company I used to work for, they, uh, it was like a lab, they did animal experimentation and stuff…” Demons crashing out of lock-down, ripping and tearing through the Game Theory Lab, Johanna’s body eviscerated, organs strewn across the terminals. “And some of the, uh, larger subjects got out once. It was really scary.” Running, running, hiding under the stairs, staring at an arm just laying there, attached to nothing, the wedding ring gleaming faintly in the dark. Last mad dash, strangers lifting us out the through the elevator shaft, just a few of us left, and all I could think was ‘you bitch, I told you, you stupid, stupid bitch, why didn’t you ever listen to us,’ not even remembering that she was long dead, just the mad stream of rage and fear and adrenaline.

The shakes ease, his cool hand soothing butterfly touches up over my stomach to my breast and back, gentle sweet strokes. I press my back even harder against his torso, yes, like that, make it go away. He seems to understand, pressing soft kisses against my neck and shoulders, his fingers plucking my nipple. Warmth steals through my stomach, and I nestle my head firmly into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Better?”

“Yes, much, oh, please.” The hand on my breast brushes down over my abdomen, barely stirring the fine hairs, circling my navel. “Good, that’s good.”

“You want this?”

“Yes, oh, yes, make it go away, make it better, like that,” his fingers push into my vulva, seeking and finding my clit, stroking, pinching, sending heat tingling through my nerves. His leg presses between mine from behind, nudging my thighs apart. I can feel his erection against my ass and I cream, ready, oh so ready, for another ride. “Now, do it, fuck me, Spike, I need you.”

“I gotcha baby,” and in one smooth thrust his cock is pushing into me, driving away the lingering fear. Oh, god, yes, so good, so very, very good. His hand is still working at my clit, and my skin tightens, stretching over my muscles, my body moving with his in the rhythm of sex, bringing me back to life. I’m alive, oh, god, yes, I’m alive!

“God yes, Spike, I’m cumming, oh yes, please!”

“That’s it, lover, come for me, I’ve got you.” His panting groan pushes me further, harder, and I’m screaming my orgasm to the entire neighborhood, thrashing in ecstasy, my flesh a single throbbing nerve.

“MMmmmmmm…” so good.

He nudges me, using his leverage to roll me over onto my stomach. His arms brush up under mine, forcing them up above my head as his legs press my thighs wider, and my hips tilt up, his cock still firm in my vagina. Ooooh, yeah. I turn my head a little to the side, trying to see him still fucking me. Oh god, he is so hot. He looks back at me from under heavy eyelids, his lips smiling softly. I clench tight around his penis, aroused by the sight of him pale and gleaming in the dawn light that filters through the heavy drapes.

His muscles shift like water under all that pretty white skin, each movement bringing an answering wave of pleasure in my own body. He pushes and pulls, fucking me harder, and I can’t look at him anymore. I have to bury my head in the pillow just to hold on. The smug bastard knows he’s beautiful and chuckles, the liquid sound igniting another fire in me.

“Tell me, pet, tell me, talk to me. Do you like this, does this feel good?”

“Oh god, yes, it feels so good.” How the fuck am I supposed to talk? I can’t even think!

“What do you want?” He’s leaning over me, pressing me into the bed so he can whisper in my ear. He goes still.

“I want you to fuck me, Spike, just like this, fuck me, please!” Bucking up onto my hands and knees, I force myself back onto his cock as hard as I can, my ass tipped up.

His answer is a thrust so hard, I lose my balance and have to grab the headboard to keep from cracking my head on it. The dance begins for real this time, a play of muscles in opposition, bodies crashing into each other. I let go with one hand to pull and pinch at my nipple and he mimics the motion, hand on my clit, relentless.

“Oh god oh god oh god yes yes please now, let me please, oh Spike yes, I want, I need, pleeeeeeeease!” I’m soaring, flying, dying, oh god, “Don’t ever stop, please, don’t ever stop! Aaaaaaaaeeeee!!!”

“Gah!” With a rush, he comes in me, his hips losing the rhythm, his arm crushing my limp body against him. When his own tremors ease, he lowers us back down into the mattress, spooned together again.

“Don’t worry pet, I’m not going anywhere. At least, not until sundown.”

***

“the sound of you struttin’ in those tight pants in those tight pants strut strut struttin’ Iggy baaaaaybaaaay…”

What the fuck?! Ow ow owie, oh my poor brain, I’m so very sorry. I’ll never do it again, I promise. Make the horrible noise stop! Hide from the hideous pounding…

“boom swagger swagger boom boom boom!!!”

Oh god, I’m being burgled by surfer punks. Just take the stereo and go. Go quietly, please. I don’t need material possessions, I need quiet, soothing quiet. And darkness. Soothing quiet darkness. And Percocet. Soothing quiet dark prescription medication. The surf criminals can have anything they want as long as I don’t have to get out of bed.

“…e…” Or open my eyes. Note to self, do not open your eyes. And double bonus Yahtzee, if I don’t open my eyes then I can’t identify the culprits so maybe they won’t kill me. I’m a glass-half-full kinda gal, yep.

“I could talk like that I hear her going rrrooww rrrooww I see her sittin’ see her…”

If only they would quit singing. Please god, make it stop. Thank you. Blessed quiet. I’ll buy a new stereo. No harm, no foul.

“Drink this.” Wow, they’re British Surf Burglars. Why does that ring a bell? If only the booming echoes in my head would go away so I could think, but no, it just keeps getting louder and louder and…

“eep.” Maybe I’m hallucinating. That’s it, I have severe alcohol poisoning, and I’m in the hospital having my stomach pumped. The Alice in Wonderland surf burglars are delusions conjured by my sick, sex obsessed brain.

Ooh, sitting up now, kinda. I did not do that. The Red Queen did that. No, I don’t wanna play croquet. But she can have my head, please somebody cut off my head.

Cool glass against my lips, liquid, swallow-

“BLECH!” Fuck, what was that? White King, argh! No, Spike, blond person sitting on my bed trying to poison me, fucking-A. No surf burglars, Spike, still here, despite the slightly blurry freak action. Oh my god. Did we? Yup. We did. Oh god.

“Hair o’ the dog that bit ya, pet.”

“Christ, just bite me already. You don’t need to poison me too.” That would have been a lot more convincing if 1. I didn’t sound like a gelded mouse, 2. wasn’t buck-ass naked, and 3. clutching President Roosevelt to my chest. Nothing denotes authority like a big fuzzy teddy bear. I’m such the geek.

I check Hello Kitty for the time: after four. Judging by the light, it’s PM, but Sunday or Monday? How long have I been dead? Who cares. I feel like shit, and I have the Hottie on my bed staring at me like an evil candy striper. Wasn’t that a movie?

“Ergh.” Dropping my defensive teddy shield, I attempt a covert Army crawl off the other side of the bed. It would be sneakier if I could use my arms, but my face will have to do. Whoa, I could sell this one to the National Enquirer: Woman escapes helpful vampire by dragging herself away with her lips. Fame and fortune would soon follow, I’m sure.

I don’t care how stupid I look, I have to get to the bathroom. I have an important meeting scheduled with my toothbrush. Not too mention that I probably stink to high Heaven. Shit. I don’t understand anything that has happened in the past however many hours, but my current state of completely gross hung-over freakishness pretty much guarantees another two-year hiatus in my sex life. God, my life sucks. Fuck.

“You need some help?” Smug, evil, non-hung-over, gorgeous fucking smug vampire.

“No!” Gargh! Oh my head! Note to self: quit talking. Oh god oh god. “Just let me die.” Whimper.

“Right then, I’m off.” Oh god, the bed’s moving, don’t throw up, hang on sister, just hang the fuck on.

***

I should have food. I remember having food when I had a roommate. Most people own food, right? And not just 20 cans of Cheez Whiz and some Ho-Hos. Don’t ask.

Time for a full inventory of the Goth kitchen. I’m clean, semi-clothed, and hungry. Really, really hungry. Starving. Feed me, Seymour!

“Drink this.” Déjà vu! Where’s the rabbit hole, Alice? Murderous hell- fiends leave notes, who knew? Okay, it’s instructions to drink red, viscous, and vile looking blender drinks, but still, a note is a note. It’s not Cheez Whiz, so I guess red&vile just became dinner. I bet it’ll taste better with a yummy Ho-Ho side dish. And some vodka. Yup, then I can have a big ol’ heapin’ helpin’ of self pity for dessert. Oops, maybe not vodka. Vodka is apparently included in the red&vile package. I’m thinking this is the hair of the dog from before. Before Spike left. Oh god, I’m so lame. How did I get into this?

I should never have spoken, never responded to the pretty man. Never again. From this day forward I am deaf, dumb, and blind. I’ll wallow for a few days, reliving every second of the world’s shortest affair, and re-emerge a stronger, less pathetic, deaf mute. A whole new me. An entirely celibate deaf mute me. I could even join a convent, an order of silent celibates. Who probably don’t smoke or drink either. Not a convent, then. I could commit murder and go to the Big House, that’s an idea. But I’d have to kill someone and hello! gross. I’m so pathetic. And a little tipsy from the dog hair. Tipsy and pathetic. I should turn on a light, but light is not conducive to effective wallowing.

“You should turn on a light, pet. You’ll burn out your eyes.” Spike! It’s Spike! Beautiful, sexy, here, Hottie Spike! And he brought groceries!

“Spike!” I can fly! And climb the vamp like a jungle gym. Yum.

“Mmph.” Shut up, I’m using your mouth for more important things. Hey, it’s fair: my house, my rules.

“Mmmm, Spike…” He feels so good, I’m clean and brushed, and I want this, I need this. Please god let me have this. “You came back!”

“Fuck, woman, you have no food, I couldn’t let you starve to death. You need to eat.” Hee! He cares whether or not I die of starvation. That’s so cute! I lo… oh god no. I am not falling for him. I can’t! Not like this, not with the whole torch thing going on. It’s a fling, a fling, damn it! I’m a slut and this is a fling. Oh god no, what do I do?

My voice comes out as a whisper, “I’ll eat you.”

“Bloody hell…” His groan vibrates along my bones. I suck his lower lip into my mouth and bite down. The grocery bag is on the floor, leaking something onto my rug, but nothing matters, nothing but this, my need, his desire. I will give him back when I have to, but I’m going to keep him for as long as I can. Oh god I am so fucked. There is no way this will end well.



Continued in Part 3: The Id Goes Marching On

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