|The Chinese Buffet - Part One
||[Nov. 27th, 2004|03:20 pm]
Big Easy After Hours
|||||The Velvet Underground - Heroin||]|
So, okay, there's lots of shagging. So much that we had to split this post up into two parts. But it's hot. Oh yeah, and I get my arse smacked. Did I mention the shagging?
Tagging along after Angel, humming happily, Spike asks, "So how 'bout that Chinese, Daddy? I hear they've got great frogs' legs."
"There's one on the way home. I need to get out of this store, William." Angel says as he turns the corner and opens a door to the carpark his Viper is parked in.
Spike digs his heels into the asphalt and pulls on Angel's arm, trying to get the much larger vampire to stop. "But I've never been in this one!" he pouts, his voice creeping over the edge of Petulanceville and into the Land of Whiny. "I heard they've got a covered bridge in there, and a sushi bar shaped like a fish, and fountains that run down the walls like waterfalls!"
Angel stops; he knows he needs out of this mall. He knows it so deeply. He can feel his soul strings tugging - it almost hurts, they are tugging so hard. He never has this issue with it anymore unless it's something that he holds dear; Spike is one of the dearest things he has and he knows if he doesn't get out of this mall he will go back into that sporting goods store and live out some - if not all - of his evil fantasies. So, dragging Spike around a corner, he pushes him up against a pillar and drops to his knees. Hidden by a Jeep and the pillar, he pulls his best puppy eyes and his fingers start to ghost up Spike's jean-covered thighs. "Please, baby? Please!! I will bring you back here some other time, I promise. Just please let me take you to the other one... just this once, please let me have my way."
"But... but..." Spike whimpers, looking down into Angel's open, pleading face. "The fishie bar....." His lower lip curls outward, just a teeny bit.
Angel rubs his face into Spike's crotch softly, brings his fingers up to ghost over the boy's erection, and whispers, softer, more kittenish: "Please, baby?"
"Oh... ohhhhh..." Spike runs his fingers through Angel's hair, his hips gently rocking forward against Angel's fingers. "But... but..." he gasps, his head tipping back against the concrete column, "I wanted... the waterfalls... frogs' legs... bridge.... bridge.... uh..." His voice trails off and his hands stroke Angel's head eagerly.
Angel mouths the hard cock through the jeans and keeps the watery puppy eyes on as he gazes up at Spike; his fingers stroke and knead.
"Uh... ohhhhh....ohhhhhhhh..." Spike's knees are threatening to buckle; Angel's mouth on his cock - even through a layer of denim - is fantastic enough. Angel's mouth on his cock in the middle of a public parking garage right after they've been ticketed for public indecency? Fucking HEAVEN.
Angel lowers the zipper slowly, licking and kissing flesh as it is exposed; when the hard cock bounces out, Angel kneels up just a bit and licks around the head, then whispers: "Please."
Spike has to let go of Angel's head to wrap his arms around the pillar behind him and hold himself upright. "I... I... uhhhh...." Fucking hell, he thinks, I am not gonna lose this! I might have a soul like Angelpants here, but I am still The Big Bad! He opens his mouth to tell Angel nope, no way, he's not giving in, and then maybe laugh in that pitiful face, and "OhfuckingJesusChristAngelthatfeelssogood" comes out. Shit. DAMN those sappy brown puppy-eyes, anyway!
Angel smiles softly, engulfs the head, and starts to suckle and lick. He purrs softly at first, but the more he lowers onto Spike's cock, the louder he purrs.
"Ah! Ahhhhh fucking hell!" Spike's knees give out and he slides down the column, ending up flat on his back, half of the back of his head in an oil puddle, arching his hips up to meet Angel's mouth, wailing with delight. "Oh, oh god, yeah, just like that, like that, Daddy, ohhhh god..."
Angel sucks faster and harder, knowing the signs, his mouth lowering and raising with gaining speed; he sucks his cheeks in, hollowing them as he swallows on every third or fourth suck.
Spike's cries of pleasure become endless moans, rising and falling like the lap of waves. His fingers knot in Angel's hair again - not too hard, he doesn't want to give his Sire any reason to stop - and he bucks upward, thrusting gently against the back of Angel's throat. He can't form words to say how good it feels; all he can do is gasp and moan and cry, tears starting to run down his face.
Angel keeps bobbing and sucking until he scrapes his teeth slowly up Spike's cock, then hovers at the tip, his mouth barely on it. He waits for Spike's face to look near-lethal if he doesn't continue, then he surges downward fast and swallows hard around Spike's cock.
Spike's body lurches up off the pavement, his hands gripping Angel's hair viciously, and he screams. Literally. The sound echoes and reverberates off the concrete walls, rattles the steel support girders, and even sets off a few car alarms. The only word Spike can manage to get out as he comes so hard it almost hurts is "ANGEL!!"
Angel swallows, enjoying the taste - he always does, he finds, surprisingly - as he waits for Spike to come down, then he takes his mouth off Spike's cock, putting him away and fixing him up. He stands and holds out a hand. "Come on, baby - have to get to the Chinese place before it closes."
Spike takes the profferred hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. "Yes, Daddy," he says, like a good obedient childe. "Anything you want." He snuggles against Angel's chest, a wide, satisfied smile on his face, purring loudly despite the disconcerting honking and shrilling of the car alarms.
"That's my boy," Angel says affectionately, and walks them to the Viper, getting Spike in then pulling the car out, heading to the Chinese place, a big satisfied grin on his face. Spike wasn't the only Aurelian who knew how to get his way.
Spike sighs, leaning across the seat, his chest resting on the console so that every time Angel reaches for the gearshift, he brushes Spike's t-shirt-clad nipple. "I want frogs' legs," he says dreamily, one hand coming up to unzip Angel's slacks. "And moo goo gai pan, and eggdrop soup, and maybe some duck with apricot sauce....." His long fingers coax Angel's cock out of the open fly and his lips flicker lightly over the head as he continues, "...and some vegetables, the kind with the bamboo shoots and the little peas still in the pod, and some sugar rolls, and steamed rice, and some shrimp..." he presses his chest against Angel's hand, almost knocking the car into neutral gear with the edge of his ribcage. "...and fortune cookies. I like fortune cookies..."
Angel's eyes drift shut and he forces them back open, murmuring, "Anything you want, Will, anything - just let me get us there."
"I love fortune cookies," Spike continues, as if Angel hasn't said anything. "They've got that nice little surprise in the middle..." His tongue dips into the tip of Angel's foreskin, teasing the tiny slit in the head of his cock. "Bloody well love nice surprises...."
Angel slams his fist into the steering wheel to keep his composure and turns the corner. Only five more minutes - he can make it five minutes. In hell, they tore off his skin bit by bit once, and he made it three days before he passed out. He can do this.
Spike squirms on the seat, his t-shirt riding up to expose about six inches of smooth, flat belly; Spike's insistent pushing just begs for Angel to reach under that shirt and fondle those hard nipples. "You're such a good daddy," Spike coos, licking. "You take such good care of me... d'you wanna take care of your baby boy, Daddy?"
Angel doesn't even bother responding - he just veers the car off the road, hitting a few bumps as the Viper rolls down a hill to stop right off an embankment. There's nothing but a little swamp lake ahead and Angel's 1) glad for it and 2) gladder he didn't drive into it. He slams his seat back and then pulls Spike over into his lap, pushing him back to bite into one of Spike's nipples harshly, lapping at the blood that pools to the surface.
Spike gasps, tugging at Angel's already-torn clothes, trying to get them off. "Thought... we were gonna get... Chinese food..." he pants, grabbing Angel's neck and dragging him close to lick his ear.
"Pretend.. I'm... Chinese," Angel pants out as he throws his now-tattered shirt and jacket into the back and starts on Spike's somehow still-intact clothes. With a grin he figures We'll fix that and starts to pull and rip, not caring.
"Last time... I had walking Chinese food..." Spike gasps, fisting Angel's cock in short, frantic strokes, "she was a Slayer and I drank her dry... you gonna give me a drink, too?"
Angel tilts his head in reply as he pulls Spike's pants down far enough to grip his cock and start to stroke. "Sire on tap - let's see if it's better."
Spike doesn't need further encouragement. He shifts into gameface and plunges his razor-sharp fangs into Angel's throat, his hand tightening around Angel's cock; his deep, blissful moan is proof it's better - he didn't make a single sound when he killed that Slayer - that had been fun, but his Sire's blood, straight from the source, is liquid euphoria.
"Oh god," Angel whispers, his hand moving faster and harder on Spike's cock. "That's it, baby - drink me dry."
"Fuck me," Spike gasps around Angel's neck, and a thin line of blood streaks down over Angel's chest. "Fuck me hard, Sire, please... want you to fill me up, blood, come, cock, fangs... want all of you..." He kicks his jeans down to his ankles, toes off one boot, frees a leg, and straddles Angel's lap properly; eagerly, he guides Angel's cock to his still-slicked hole, wriggling to get into the right position. The Viper isn't a very big car, but these two flexible and horny vampires could have sex in a desk drawer if they really tried.
Angel relaxes as much as he can, then pushes up and sheathes himself inside the cool slickness, groaning as once again he is gripped by his version of heaven. He slips into gameface as he starts to pump his hips up and scrapes his fangs down the side of Spike's neck.
Spike whimpers around a mouthful of blood and drops his shoulder, tilting his head further to the side, giving Angel complete access. With a little growl, he digs his fangs deeper, making it hurt, and gives a huge pull on the gushing wounds; the blood pours into his mouth twice as fast, filling his mouth and throat, and Spike moans, vibrating Angel's skin, his nails scratching over his Sire's tattooed back.
Angel growls and bucks, his own fingernails digging into skin, leaving half-moon marks as he sinks his fangs deep and hard into Spike's shoulder, swallowing mouthful after mouthful. His feet hit the gas pedal and the car revvs, making a sound not too far from their own growling and snarling.
Spike rocks up and down on Angel's cock rather violently, riding him hard; the blood in his mouth, Angel's hardness deep inside him, the fangs in his shoulder, god, it's so good, and hey, are those trees getting further away? "Angel?" he asks, mouth full. "Did you put the car in park when we stopped?"
Suddenly Angel cries out and pulls his fangs from Spike to slam his foot on the brake, panting harshly as the Viper teeters just on the edge of falling into the swamp. He speaks softly, as if he is afraid he will spook the car: "Ok, ok don't panic. No panicking. I just have to do this." He lays his hand gently on the gear shift and slowly puts it into each gear until it gets to reverse. "Then this." He lays his foot on the gas pedal and pushes ever-so-softly, backing the car up. "And as long as I don't over do it...." He stops the car once it's safe again and breathes a sigh of relief - then slams the car into park. "I won't wreck my freaking car into a swamp hole."
Spike snickers and shifts on Angel's lap. "Forgot about the whole 'moving-vehicle' thing, did you?" he asks, reverting to human-face and licking the bleeding wounds on Angel's neck.
"Yes," Angel whispers, then coughs, repeating normally: "Yes." He tilts his head so Spike can have better access, his eyes fluttering as the boy licks his neck. "That feels good."
"You like that, Daddy?" Spike whispers, his cool breath ruffling the wisps of hair near Angel's ear. "You taste good..." He wraps his arms around Angel's neck, carding his fingers through the dark, carefully combed hair at the back of Angel's head, and continues licking, purring softly, squeezing his muscles tighter around the cock still buried inside him."Sooooo goooood..."
"Ohhhh god..." Angel moans he rubs his face along Spike's, scraping his teeth along skin as it comes in contact with his mouth. His hips push up as his hands pull Spike's hips down slowly. "God, yeah."
Spike makes a small whimpering sound and locks his mouth over the bleeding wounds, his blunt human teeth digging into the skin, moaning. His tongue traces the puncture marks with practiced ease, the tip dipping in and out of the jagged holes, his body gliding up and down on Angel's with the grace of a dancer. This is their dance, the one they've shared so often in the last century or so; sometimes Angel leads, sometimes Spike does - but the dance is always as all-consuming as it was the first time, a violent, intricate waltz that leaves Spike gasping for air he doesn't need, and laughing into his Sire's neck as he chides himself for his poetic thoughts.
"What's so funny? Waxing poetic in your head again?" Angel says with a smile on his face. "Too much thinking must mean we need more feeling." He drops one hand to the lever that lets the seat go back as far as it can, then pushes Spike back, his hips pushing forward. Then he starts to jack his hips up. "Thinking now?"
"AH!" Spike leans back, his hands grasping desperately at the upholstery on the ceiling. "No! Not! Thinking! Now! Just! Don't! Fucking! Stop! AHH! Doing! FUCK! THAT! Ahh! Shit!" His hand grabs the dome light as he leans back, the steering wheel digging into his spine. "Just! Like! That! Shit! ANGEL!"
"Don't worry - don't plan to stop - I'm not stupid," Angel replies, moving faster, his eyes starting to roll back in his head as Spike's muscles grip him tighter and tighter. "I'm definitely not stupid enough to stop. God baby, oh yeah, oh yeah... Spike."
Spike tries to arch backward further and ends up leaning on the horn, which blares, startling him. His left hand, still gripping the interior dome light, jerks - and pulls its anchor from the ceiling. Spike glances quickly at Angel, who still has his eyes shut in ecstasy, and stuffs the ruined light - battered, dangling wires and all - into his duster pocket along with the rest of the endless piles of crap stashed therein. He clenches tighter and rocks faster, hoping Angel didn't notice anything, doubling his efforts to please.
Angel opens his eyes, and they've turned yellow. "Come here, I need you here now." He reaches up and grabs the lapels on Spike's duster, pulling him down on his chest. His hands fly to Spike's ass and he starts to curve his hips at an angle so he smoothly slides in and out as deep and hard as he can.
Spike growls and crashes his mouth to Angel's, devouring the taste of him; he can never seem to get enough of his Sire's flavor - his blood, his mouth, his skin, his seed, it doesn't matter, as long as it's Angel, it's good.
Angel laughs, bites Spike's lower lip, and sucks it into his mouth, laughing again; he's finding car sex really fun. He moans into his childe's mouth, coming closer with each stroke in and out of his boy. "Love you baby, my sweet baby boy, ohhh fuck..so close, Spike... so close, baby."
"Daddy," Spike whimpers softly. "Yeah, Daddy, come inside me, fill me with you, give me everything you've got." He presses closer, rubbing his aching cock against Angel's hard belly. "AngelAngelAngelAngel..."
"Ohhh love that, love that..." Angel keens as he reaches between them to grip Spike's cock, and starts to stroke fast and hard. "Soon, soon, soon, sooooon......now, now, cum now SPIIIKE!!"
Spike's entire body stiffens and he clamps his mouth down over Angel's again, growling, and comes, spilling all over Angel's hand and chest, a smothered howl pouring from him to vibrate Angel's lips.
Angel pants and breathes harshly until he's calm enough to stop. His hand loosens, releasing Spike's cock, then raises up to his mouth; he licks the come off with a pleasured purr as he gazes into Spike's beautiful blue eyes.
Spike bends down to help, his tongue tangling with Angel's around the thick fingers, his body abuzz, his eyes glazed and blissful. "Fuck," he breathes, sucking on the tip of Angel's ring finger, "I love car shaggin'."
"I'm finding I'm a fan too." Angel murmurs as he bats his tongue off Spike's, then into the creases of his fingers for more of Spike's seed.
Sliding down, Spike licks the come off Angel's chest, pausing to lap at an enticing nipple. "Mmmm... Sire for an appetizer, Chinese food for the main course, and maybe an encore presentation of Shag-The-Sire-In-The-Car for dessert...?"
"As long as I have a better view, then yes. I don't want swamp lands as my backdrop for the encore dessert." Angel says as he lays his head back to relax in his seat.
Spike settles down on Angel's body, purring contentedly, still sucking lightly on the hard nipple in his mouth. "There's always the restaurant parkin' lot," he mumbles, licking.
"Little kids, elderly, married couples, teenagers who may be scarred for life..forget it, Spike." Angel replies as his fingers thread in Spike's hair, ruffling then slicking back the strands. He looks back at his shirt and sighs. "Five-hundred-dollar shirt. Last time, it was a three-hundred-dollar shirt, and before that it was a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar shirt. Spike, why can't you undress me and then ravish me?"
Spike snorts, then gives Angel's nipple a playful bite. "Why can't you buy your soddin' clothes at Wal-Mart?"
Angel gives Spike a horrified look.
"Oh, c'mon," Spike laughs, "it's not so bad. Get a right nice shirt that looks just like that for twenty bucks. You could buy one for each day o' the week, and I could rip 'em all off you and shag you rotten, and you'd only be out a Benjamin or two."
Angel shifts in his seat, completely, utterly uncomfortable now. Gore he can do; plagues, diseases - those too. But talk of retail stores makes him ill. "Forget I bitched... really... I've got another shirt in the trunk. So hey, bye bye shirt, and I'm good here."
Spike chuckles. "Oh, sorry, your Sireyness - forgive me for tryin' to save you a buck. I keep forgettin' you'd just die without your poncy overpriced clothes designed by poofters with Italian names." He smacks the side of Angel's head lightly, then kisses his lips with surprising tenderness.
"Oww," Angel says, annoyed, but then he presses his lips back with equally as much tenderness. They kiss like this for what seems like forever. When Angel pulls back, he rests his forehead against Spike's and whispers: "But you still love my poncy-overpriced-clothes-designed-by-poofters-with-Italian-names ass don't you?"
Spike smiles fondly, his eyes warm. "More'n anything." He drops another light, sweet kiss on Angel's mouth and mutters, "Git."
"Brat," mutters Angel, then he gives Spike a quick kiss and taps Spike's lap. "I love you too - now get off, I need to get that shirt and take you to eat."
Spike clambers off Angel and over the console to sprawl in the passenger seat once more, his jeans hanging off one leg, his spent and slippery cock peeking out obscenely from beneath the hem of his t-shirt. "Ahhh," he sighs, and fishes his crumpled cigarettes from his duster pocket. "That was fuckin' GREAT." He lights one, not bothering to lower the window - or to pull his jeans up.
Angel sighs and shakes his head but says nothing more as he opens the door, getting out to bend over and pull up his pants. He zips, then buttons them, and leans down into the car, popping the trunk button. When he gets back outside, he looks out towards the swamp, where the moon is reflecting off the water. He walks out and just looks over the water, watching the reflections from the moon and the bugs as they skip the surface. He murmurs to himself, "Maybe swamp lands aren't so bad after all..." Then he tuns back around, smiling at Spike, walking to the trunk to get his shirt.
Spike grins, leaning back in the seat, smoking, sighing. When Angel returns, he's managed to get his jeans back up, but hasn't bothered to fasten them. "Nice walk, then?" he smirks.
Angel shuts the door and buttons the last button on his shirt, leaving the normal two undone. "Yeah, pretty. Nice lazy sprawl?"
Spike snickers. "So, 'm comfy." He pulls the lever to his seat back, and lies flat, puffing smoke rings at the velour upholstery.
Angel turns on the car and rolls down the windows. "If this car smells like smoke, I will personally make you clean it and freshen it." He goes to turn on the interior light to look for the perfume spray he brought for the car, but nothing happens. He looks up, tuts his tongue off the roof of his mouth, and says carefully, "Where is it?"
"Where's what?" Spike asks innocently, dragging on the Marlboro, eyes wide and guileless.
Angel rubs his face to prevent himself from screaming and asks again patiently: "Where is the light, Spike?"
Another leisurely puff. "What light?" Blink. Blink.
"Just give it to me and I promise I won't yell. I swear, baby - just give it to Daddy."
An evil little smile curves Spike's finely shaped mouth. "Maybe baby wants Daddy to give it to him." He opens the car door enough to flick his smoke out and then shuts it again, pretending to look in the floorboards and under the seat. "Did you try lookin'? Bound to be 'round here somewhere." He bends over the seat, peering into the back.
Angel tightens his fingers around the wheel and once again prays to the gods that he won't just kill this boy. "Spike," he says tightly, "I know it was you; I also know it was probably an accident. I promised, for fuck sakes, so just give me the damn light so we can go."
Spike shrugs out of his duster, dumping it in the floor, and starts rummaging around in the floor of the back seat, his ass in the air, the upper curves of his buttocks exposed thanks to his still-open jeans. "Hey! There's the whiskey bottle I left in here last week!" There's a clatter and Spike comes up with a very familiar - and very open container of Irish whiskey. "Been lookin' for this!" Still bent over the seat, he uncaps the bottle and takes a swig.
Angel's hand comes down, landing firmly and hard on Spike's ass; calmly, he says, "Give me the light, Spike."
Spike jerks in surprise and spits a mouthful of whiskey all over the leather backseat. "Luh-light?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.
Smack."Yes..light." Another smack. "Give me the light, Spike."
Spike squirms, scrabbling to get back down in his seat. "Hey! Oi! Knock it off, you sod!"
Angel grips the back of Spike's neck to keep him in place, and raises his hand and his eyebrow; dangerously quiet, he says one last time: "Light, Spike... I want you to get me the light - are we understanding?"
Spike wriggles and makes what he hopes is an appealing little whimper. "Not on me person, honest!" Which is true - it's in his duster, which he's not wearing. And hey, getting his ass smacked by his Sire? Bonus.
"So. Where. Is. It?" Angel says.
"Uh..... you sure it's missin'? Could be, uh, anywhere, you know." Another wriggle, trying to work his way back down into the seat.
Angel's hand tightens more and he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking. "Spike, I swear to you on everything you hold dear: if you don't give me that light - or tell me where it is - the way your ass burnt when I did it before the soul will not compare... comprendez?"
Okay, um... this could be bad.