Suki Blue Fiction

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Chapter 27

The lair was exactly the same as Spike remembered: cold, damp and dark, with the same fledgling cretins lurking in the tunnels, snapping at each other like baby crocodiles and growling just to hear the sound of their own voices. Spike growled his own warning when one got too close, baring his teeth at the others, who stopped and stared.

The only real difference to the Master’s den was the possible increase in numbers. It certainly seemed like there were more of the same.

Spike took the next left and then a right. He remembered the route, but even if he’d forgotten he could have followed the stench of the Master across the globe. It was true that evil sometimes had a certain smell, especially when it was old. Three month old warm cheese and the Master: Spike could find both while blindfolded and hopping on one leg.

The tunnels were grimy, sticky with an unidentifiable black fluid that oozed from the rusted pipes on the ceiling, and filthy from decades of death. Spike’s nose twitched and he pretended that he couldn’t smell old vomit and the fresh contents of someone’s bowel. He’d never lived this way. Life with Dru had been rich, opulent hotel rooms and lodgings at manor houses and, once, a whole cruise ship full of tasty young money. They could have had anything and they did.

And as time moved on and unlife grew boring, they changed their hairstyles and moved from country to country, tasting the difference between English Rose and Texan Cowboy. It was all good and even when things went to shit and Drusilla left, Spike still would never have lived like this. A battered motel room with a dirt rim around the bath and a bed with more springs than Zebedee’s illegitimate brood was still paradise compared to this hellhole.

Really, it was no wonder the Master wanted out.

Two more lefts and a right and the tunnel Spike was using opened out into part of Sunnydale’s underground cave system. He suspected the caves went on for miles and, when it was safer, he’d one day take Xander down one of shallower systems, teach him how to climb. Climbing was a valuable skill and Spike was damn good at it.

There was the sound of trickling water to Spike’s right and so he took the opposite tunnel. Even though he could sense the Master like a fishmonger could sense a salmon on the turn, it was pretty fucking logical that the old git would be in the opposite direction to the bathing facilities. Dirty old bastard.

The tunnels were made of rock now, as opposed to concrete and lead pipes, and even though multiple stenches assaulted Spike’s nostrils it didn’t seem so bad. As Spike neared the central part of the lair there was one smell that loomed over the rest, hung in the air like some sort of toxic red cloud: blood. But it wasn’t the blood from the thigh of a delicious, fearful young girl or from the throat of a struggling boy with dark eyes and skin so soft. It was old blood, tainted and decayed. Spike had seen Interview with the Vampire and he agreed it was a golden rule that you didn’t soil your own bed. Yuck.

“Spike, it’s a…pleasure to see you again.” The Master bowed his head and gestured regally from his chair. It was a humble motion and Spike had no doubt that it was deceptive as well. He’d lived with Darla long enough to spot a gracious threat when he saw one.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Spike raised an eyebrow and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. He’d always been arrogant and cocksure and he wasn’t about to stop now. Anything less would be wholly suspicious. “Thanks for all the help you didn’t give, by the way, mate.”

The Master seemed confused for moment, then the penny dropped and an expression of smug humour crawled over his features. “Ah. Drusilla. Sorry, Spike, I’m afraid I’ve had my hands somewhat full.”

Spike nodded, lit his cigarette and looked meaningfully around the cavern. This was definitely the nicest part of the lair. There were actually chairs here and, oh look! cushions. “Yeah well, I always thought running a cave would be a time consuming hobby. You wanna take up something smaller, mate, like running a small well or a pot hole. Oh no, hang on, you can’t leave, can you? Shame that.”

The smugness slowly left the Master’s face and was replaced by contempt. “What is it you want, Spike? Still pining after Drusilla? I take it you didn’t find her.”

Spike pursed his lips and debated swinging for the Master just for mentioning Drusilla’s name. “Dru’s gone.” The moment it was out of his mouth, he regretted it.

The self-satisfied expression was back and was quickly followed by a sympathetic smile that was so fake he wouldn’t have been able to shift it on an East End market stall. “Oh dear. Pastures new?” the Master asked. “Your grass obviously wasn’t green enough. Never mind, dear boy, you’re better off without her, you know. From what I hear she always preferred her Sire.” The Master drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and said, “Speaking of whom, how is our darling Angel?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Spike turned his back and scoped out the rest of the main lair. There were minions in the far corner, possibly lined up in order of importance. The biggest of them were nearest the Master.

“Come come, of course you do. You’re living with him, aren’t you?”

Spike froze. Of course he’d been followed, of course! Fuck, he was an idiot. And if the Master knew he was staying with Angel then he knew about Xander. As normally as he could manage it, Spike turned around. “I wouldn’t know,” he repeated. “You deaf as well as daft? The wanker does his thing and he lets me alone to do mine.”

The Master nodded and rubbed his chin in thought, his pus-yellow eyes narrowing. “Huh. And there was I thinking you and he were…how can I put this delicately? Fucking?”

Spike narrowed his eyes back. He wanted to deny it, vehemently, but if that was what the Master wanted to believe then so be it. It would explain a lot. “Not your business.”

The Master held up his hands. “I’m not one to judge, Spike. But there is something else I’d like to clear up before you leave.” He turned his head. “Darla,” he called into one of the tunnels. “Could you come here for a moment?” When he turned back to Spike he was grinning, all teeth and scrunched-up hamster face.

Spike waited and tried not to show the tension he was feeling. He was pretty sure he was successful. If there was one thing William the Bloody could pull off, it was an air of casual indifference.

“Sire?”

There were times, Spike thought, that Darla could exude all the grace and beauty of a Persian princess. But today was not one of those days. Dressed like a schoolgirl in an appallingly short, pleated, navy skirt, little clumpy, black shoes and a short sleeved white and way-too-tight blouse, she exuded the grace and beauty of a slapper.

Darla walked over to the Master’s chair, stopping next to his legs and flicking her hair from her face with her hand. Her fingernails were short and unpainted and although she was over two centuries old, she easily passed for sixteen.

“Tell Spike what you told me, dear,” the Master said.

“I saw…” Darla looked down at the Master. She placed her hand softly on his and stroked it once. Then she looked back up at Spike. “You.”

Spike shrugged and pretended not to notice Darla’s hand tracing the low collar of her shirt.

“I saw you and a boy. The Slayer’s boy.”

Spike quickly tried to think of what she’d seen, of what any of the Master’s minions could have seen. He decided to play it safe and assume they’d seen everything. “Yeah, and? What of it?”

Darla smiled. It was that evil smile that she’d once tried to teach Drusilla. It was the smile that always made Spike want to slap it off her face.

“I thought you liked girls, Spike?” Her fingers splayed and her hand traced the outline of her breast through her shirt. “You always liked me, didn’t you? Always wanted me?”

Her blouse was too tight, and yes, he’d already noticed that, but now he was noticing the pale pinkness of her nipples showing through the fabric and the way he could tell they were hardening under her own touch. Fine, it wouldn’t hurt too look. He didn’t want to appear any more suspicious than he already did.

“Oh wait,” she continued. “I remember when Angelus fucked you. You liked that, didn’t you, Spike?”

Spike swallowed and helplessly watched the Master’s gnarled fingers creep up the inside of Darla’s thigh. He felt like a badger waiting for the trap to slam shut but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even think.

Darla’s skirt lifted and Spike watched the Master’s hand twist. He caught a flash of her white cotton panties and then all sense left him when Darla’s eyes closed and she moaned, her hand still touching her breast through her shirt.

“So, Spike,” the Master said. His hand was moving beneath Darla’s skirt, his wrist twisting further. “What are you doing with the Slayer’s young friend, hmm? If you’re not fucking Angelus…well, I refuse to believe you’re not fucking anyone.”

Darla popped the top button on her shirt and slipped her hand inside. She wet her lips and smiled. “Tell us about him, Spike. Tell us what you do to him.”

Spike felt a little lost. He’d heard Darla going at it with Angelus many a time but he’d hardly ever seen it.

He was hard and if she offered, yeah, he’d fuck her, good and hard. He’d fuck her and then he’d slit her fucking throat while he was still inside her. He’d teach her for even looking at Xander.

“Come on,” the Master encouraged. “We know you’ve been a bad boy, so you might as well tell us.”

“Fine,” Spike said quickly. If he was going to say this he needed to say it quickly and get out. “I’m fucking him. I’m fucking the Slayer’s little white knight. And when I’m through with him I’m going to shred him and leave him on the Slayer’s porch. A little gift.”

“Oh god.” Darla’s other hand covered the Master’s and urged him on; her hips pivoted, trying to get him deeper, harder and faster. “Will he be naked when you leave him?” Her eyes had closed at some point but now they were wide open again and staring at him, yellow and intense; her mouth was hanging open, her fangs exposed and her breath coming in short, heavy pants.

“Oh, yeah,” Spike said. “Naked, fucked and bloody.” He felt his forehead crease and his fangs drop. He was so hard it hurt and it took all the strength he had not to unzip himself. He couldn’t. He wanted to, fuck yes, and he hated himself a little for that. He hated himself for talking about Xander like that and still feeling so hot and so needy.

“Well,” the Master said. “If you’re going to do that, you’d better be quick. I’ve got plans of my own.”

“What’s that, then?” Spike’s fingers twitched and when the Master turned Darla around and tore her shirt, burying his face in her breasts and sucking on one nipple, he allowed himself to touch. He pressed hard against the fabric of his jeans but knew it wasn’t going to be enough.

“The prophecy, of course.” The Master turned his head and watched Spike palming himself. “Please, there’s no need for manners. Go ahead. Or better still, perhaps you should run to your new boy and lure him out. Strike now before the Slayer is dead.”

Darla gripped the Master’s shoulders and then cupped the back of his neck, throwing her head back when his lips touched her other breast. “Yeah, go on, Spike. Fuck him and gut him.” She laughed. “And then fuck him again. Oh god, I wish I could be there!”

“Sweet girl,” the Master growled. “My sweet girl.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The Master worked her faster, and for a moment he seemed lost in her, like she was his whole world and the universe depended on her coming for him right there and right then. He hurried to unzip himself and when he did Spike looked away.

The Master clicked his fingers towards the corner and a young male fledgling hurried towards them. “A gift, Spike. I should have offered before.” He lifted Darla and Spike glanced up only once as she sank down on his lap.

Spike unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out. He told himself he had to do this, that it would be suspicious if he didn’t. “Suck it.” But as the fledgling went to his knees and took Spike enthusiastically into his mouth, Spike didn’t really care. He allowed one last glace at Darla, rising and falling and coming, then he gripped the fledgling’s hair and fucked his mouth. He fucked his mouth and loved it. He fucked his mouth and vowed that the next time he saw the Master, he would kill him.

**

When Spike left the lair he did it quickly. His thoughts were raging and his fury was barely contained. Whether he was angrier at himself or the Master he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter anyway. It was the Master who would feel the brunt of it.

Spike rubbed at the front of his jeans as he walked quickly into the man-made tunnels. Fucking fledge was useless; the bastard had dribbled come all down him. Swallowing was pretty easy, Spike thought. It certainly wasn’t rocket science. He stopped at a corner and snatched up a purple blanket from the floor. It wasn’t very absorbent and Spike grimaced at the mess he’d made.

And what was it all for? A quickie orgasm with some disgusting little fledge. Bollocks. He never should have come down here. He knew the layout; he’d memorised it the first time he’d come down here. So why bother coming down again? To make sure he remembered it right? To check on numbers? To give fate another chance to fuck his life up, because that was what it was all really about?

He was going soft and gooey over a human, and fate, in her infinite and bloody-minded wisdom, had decided she was having none of that. Spike wasn’t allowed to be happy. He wasn’t allowed to feel something other than the urge to rip and tear and murder. And fate decided to show him that in the cruellest of ways: by making him do it to himself, by making him mock his own feelings, by…

“What the fuck?” Spike stopped in his tracks and considering slapping himself. Clearly, he was going quite mad. He hadn’t even been completely faithful to Drusilla - although that had been more a mutual agreement – and here he was making a song and dance about a poxy blowjob from some poxy fledge who was going to end up as dust if Spike ever saw him again. The world was going crazy.

Or maybe it was just his world that was going crazy.

Maybe he was better off on his own. Maybe… No! No, no, no, no. That was very wrong and it made Spike feel a little sick.

Fuck it. It wasn’t like he’d just done the worst thing in the world and it wasn’t like he and Xander had agreed they were exclusive or anything like that. And it wasn’t as though he’d gone behind Xander’s back and slit somebody’s throat or mugged an old lady – not that he would ever do that, anyway; old ladies were vicious.

Breaking News: Spike was evil. He was supposed to do evil, dirty things.

So why did he feel like a complete tosser?

And why was he still rubbing himself down? Clearly because he was a loser.

Spike threw the blanket on the floor and carried on down the tunnel. For about five steps. He turned around, went back and picked up the purple blanket and spread it out.

It wasn’t a blanket. It was a robe.

Spike caught the arm of a passing vamp. Scrawny and dirty and stinking of, weirdly, meat and gravy, Spike swung him around and slammed him into the wall, pressing his arm across the vamp’s throat to pin him in place. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the robe with his free hand.

“Are you damaged, man?”

“No, but I’m going to severely damage your face if you don’t fess up.”

“What?!”

Impatient, and really not in the mood for fucking about, Spike pressed his forearm harder across the vamp’s throat. “Tell me about this fucking robe! Who are these gits?”

The vampire squirmed ineffectually in Spike’s grip. “It’s the Master’s plan to distract the Slayer! Keeps her off our backs until the prophecy, man, until she dies.”

“What is this prophecy?”

“I don’t know.”

Spike dropped the robe and aimed a quick punch to the vampire’s ribs.

“Argh, shit, I swear, I only know what the Master tells us.”

“Which is?”

“Which is what I said. The robes make her think we’re some new cult. It keeps her from nosing about the lair. The Master don’t want her any-fucking-where near him until the night of the prophecy, which is when she’s supposed to face him and she’s supposed to die.”

“When is that?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Spike reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a handy stake. “When?” he asked, pressing the tip of the stake into the vamp’s breast pocket.

“The Master didn’t say.”

Spike leaned on the stake. “How does he know?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t know! For Christ’s sake, I swear! It’s some ancienty foretold crap. You know these older vamps, man. They believe any-”

Spike dusted himself down and picked up the robe. It was a crazy weird plan to keep the Slayer away, but actually quite a clever one. But if the prophecy was real then surely the Master had nothing to fear because the night he would finally face her would be the night she perished. Spike allowed himself a brief chortle at that. Stupid old goat.

Spike walked away, glancing at the robe in his hand every fourth or fifth step. If the Slayer’s death was imminent then that should be a good thing. But was it really? Uh, actually, not quite.

It was remarkably handy knowing where the world’s only Slayer was located. It saved the chance of one appearing over your shoulder when you least expected it. And maybe…

Spike would never tell Xander what he’d done tonight. There was no point and he didn’t need to know. Maybe Xander wouldn’t even care, but Spike had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

They were good friends, Xander and the Slayer. Spike was pretty good when it came to the romantic crap. He often stole a bar of chocolate for Xander and not just because he wanted him in his bed, but because Xander liked it.

If anything happened to the Slayer, Xander would be crushed. Spike couldn’t allow that, not when he could stop it, not when Spike was intending to kill the Master anyway.

Bugger it all to hell. Only William the ‘I’m such a prat’ Bloody could end up in a situation where he needed to save the Slayer’s backside. Fate was a bitch.

TBC…