Yes, yes it is.

Oh, Plei.....

Your third Cohen challenge. Vague hints of spoilers for the upcoming Angel season.

"May everyone live, And may everyone die. Hello, my love, And my love, Goodbye."

May Everyone Live

Fredlet, my pet,

I wasn’t looking for this. You know that, right, love?

I wasn’t after a quick boink under the reception desk of that thumping great awful hotel that Wes and Angel are so proud of. Fuck me if I see why they love it; it’s like a bad film set. Bloody lobby, all dim lights and so seductive, so noir, they wouldn’t have it at Elstree or Borehamwood, not as a gift, they wouldn’t.

But I came in through that conservatory, full of night-blooming flowers, and there you were, slender as a lily stem, little tiny bit of dress cut halfway down to your belly button, and don’t think I don’t appreciate your belly button, pet, believe me, I do. I’ll get back to that, or actually, I won't. I surprised you. You weren’t expecting me, at least not while you were all alone. At least, I thought I’d surprised you; now, I’m not so sure of that.

We went straight back in time, didn’t we? Raymond Chandler setting, right back to drawing rooms and soirees, when all the ladies wore bustles and satin shoes? I remember.

So you started and gasped and one hand flew to cover your cleavage. Right. I don’t think so. Queen Victoria by way of Austin, Texas. Not too convincing, you standing there, all wide eyes and trembles. Bloody silly, really. It’s not like I wasn’t expected; you knew I was on my way. You had to know who I was; you had to know I can’t bite anyone.

But it charmed me fucking silly, it did. My last love, the one that mattered most? She could be fragile, she could break, she could die and fuck all, she could even come back from the dead, but in the end she was sturdy and right royally strong. The Slayer legacy, you know. Comes with the job, the job, the bloody job.

You didn’t look that way to me. Not a bit of it. You do the whole fragile-Vic thing a bit too well, lovey.

And the whole “I’m alone” thing, yeah, alone with the Big Bad. Batting the eyes at me. That whole “casting them down and taking timid little looks through long fluttery lashes” bit, haven’t caught that bit of music hall comedy in a good long time. Forgot how effective it is, though. Reminds me of what Dru would have said. Bad Spike! No biscuit!

But I got a bit of biccie, didn’t I, Fredlet? Just a little bit of hot biccie, under the desk.

I’m wondering, was it deliberate, pet? Was there a reason you didn’t want me around, or was it something more than that? The thirty seconds it took to get me to wrench your knickers down around your dimpled little knees and leave you screaming for me, did you invest the time from wanting me gone? And were you planning for me to go half out of my mind wanting more of you? Oi, love, talk to me, there’s a dear.

I was kind of hoping I’d be home here. It was where I wanted to fetch up, come to know myself for real, not Mother’s William, not Dru’s Spike, not the half-crazed demon lover hero that Buffy remembers if she thinks about me at all. I’m a vampire with a soul, you know? We aren’t precisely thick on the ground. Only two of us. I’d like to have stayed.

But instead, a week, just a week, and realising how hard I’d fallen for you, seeing Wes and Angel and that nosy green bloke slowly understanding what was happening – I can’t stay, now. Wes, especially. It’s that Watcher thing. Little stray movements, half a bloody room away, and they know when something’s off. Tensions are starting up between me and Angel, old tensions, the ones that always seemed to pop up when the pair of us had a woman nearby.

If I hang about, someone’s going to die. So I can’t stay. I’m dispossessed, again.

Right now, writing this, I do believe I hate you, Fredlet.

Except I don’t. Truth be told? I do believe I love you.

So off I go, and here’s hoping I’ve got right the fuck out of it before anyone bleeds for the fact that I want to roger you day and night, and sod the consequences. I don’t care.

Kidding. Joking. I have to care, don’t I? I have a soul.

Right, I’ve said my piece. I’ll be off now. May everyone live and be well.

Cheers,

Spike.

Oh, rock the fuck on!

Deb, it'll be safe on LJ as long as you prepend it with "includes S5 AtS casting spoiler" and stick it behind t lj-cut

(And might I have it for Buttery? Oh padder of my archives.)

It's totally for Buttery. Juts a bit of fun, this one. I didn't want to go funny, so I went poignant. Must go see if I know how to do tags on LJ...

Nice bit there, Deb. I love the Spred hotness, of course, but what's more interesting is how you managed to cast light on SO many characters in such a short space. Very nicely done. And plus:

Was there a reason you didn’t want me around, or was it something more than that? The thirty seconds it took to get me to wrench your knickers down around your dimpled little knees and leave you screaming for me, did you invest the time from wanting me gone?

Gah.

Deb, just cut and paste the t lj-cut and you're gold.

Heh. I wanted a hark-back to Spike's "What exactly does it take to pry apart the Slayer's dimpled knees?" from the gem of Amara crossover...

So, I should just and then close it with ?

edit: bugger.

Whoo-hoo! It worked!

Posted in LJ. Plei, I seem to have wound up with a thread running through all three of them: the reflex of the Watcher. Weird. It wasn't deliberate.

And yet, it works.

All about making Plei a happy woman.

Keeling over, moments from now. Tomorrow night I have to read my section of Matty to writers' group.