A story in the Fanged Four verse

Demanded by Inspired by the incredible and prolific  [info]sevendeadlyfun,who knows just how to mix bribes, threats and cajoling with terrific plot bunnies!



Angelus tipped his head to rest on the back of the couch and stared pointedly up at the ceiling, sighing heavily. When this had no effect, he returned to flipping the pages of his Fortune magazine loudly until Darla was sufficiently annoyed to jab him with her embroidery needle.

“Christ! Darla, what d’you think yer doing!” Angelus yelped, glaring at his Sire as he sucked his wounded hand.

“Oi! Trying to watch the programme,” Spike spoke up from his place, sprawled on the Axminster and bathed in the glow of the telly with his head in Dru’s lap.

“Mind your manners or it’s going right off,” Angelus snapped, inspecting the fleshy pad between thumb and forefinger where he’d been jabbed. “How can you watch this… this… tripe, anyway? It makes you look like an ass. A bleach-blonde idiot, mooning about like a lovesick schoolboy over a Slayer, for God’s sake… Not that she's much of a Slayer, mind you- who ever heard of a Slayer falling in love with a vampire! Hells bells, as if their life expectancy isn't short enough as it is-”

Angelus sneered at the very idea. How could the boy not understand? How could he not see what an insult the whole thing was- a slap in the face. If he ever found out who was responsible, Angelus thought, they’d beg for the sweet release of death.

Spike huffed at the interruption, but sat up and stretched, catlike, eased up to slip a crumpled red and white pack from his pocket.

As he slipped a fag between his lips, Angelus warned, “Ah! How many times have you been told, Darla doesn’t like-”

“Smoking in the lounge, yeh. Not lit, is it? And don’t shout at me about my fags just cos you’ve got your knickers in a twist. Look, Angelus, it’s all good fun. Entertainment, like.”

“Entertainment! So you think that putting up this grotesque mockery on the television for all and sundry to see is entertaining? Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head, William. D’you know, people are talking about this. We’ve a reputation to think of- I’d think that at least would get through that thick head of yours- Mister 'Big Bad', 'Slayer of Slayers', and all those other ridiculous names you give yourself- oh yes, boyo, don't think I didn't notice that graffiti down the alley, are you trying to alert every Watcher in the city of our presence?”

Spike just watched him with an infuriating little half-smile on his face, looking for all the world like an indulgent parent placating an excitable child. Angelus had felt the very same expression on his own face when Dru was prattling on about her latest fancy and his cheeks grew hot to see it there on his childe ‘s handsome face. His palm itched.

"Maybe if you ever listened to music made in the last seven decades you'd know that 'Slayer' is a band, you thick headed git-"

An advertisement for breakfast cereal played on the flickering television screen, high pitched voices of excited children conversing with an animated squirrel. Dru slipped up behind Spike and wrapped her long, limp arms over his shoulders, smirking and murmuring softly in his ear, then licking his neck as the boy spoke.

Angelus shot out a long arm and gripped the boy by the throat, choking off whatever insult Spike had been planning to finish the sentence with. Angelus felt a little surge of satisfaction as the boy's blue eyes widened and the toecaps of his boots scraped helplessly against the carpet.

"Oh, were you saying something, William? What was that? Thick headed git, I think you were calling me... right, well, do go on, we're all so very interested in what you've got to say."

The boy struggled and squirmed, and Drusilla pulled at Angelus' arm, begging, "Daddy, let him go, please, Daddy, it's our programme and you promised. I've been everso good and I want to see it. Miss Edith won't eat or sleep if she can't watch it and I can't keep the meter of the tune if you won't play along. Please, Daddy, Spike promises to be a good boy and let you shag him silly as soon as it's over, and you can use the handcuffs and the big paddle that you like so well..."

Spike made a muffled squawk of protest at being volunteered to be the recipient of Angelus' more energetic bedplay. Angelus tightened his grasp on the boy's throat, appearing to think over Dru's offer. Perhaps their addiction to this obnoxious show could be turned to his advantage after all.

"Well, William? Is Drusilla right? If you're allowed to watch this drivel, will you be a good boy? Praps if you were to distract me I mightn't find it grating on my nerves so. Praps if you were to sit very sweetly at my feet, with your head in my lap and that pretty mouth put to good use..."

Spike struggled and choked out some garbled noises. Dru nodded emphatically, and Angelus smirked, adding, "You can sit in Daddy's lap while you watch that silly programme... and of course you won't be needing those trousers, so that when you're through getting my cock well slicked with that pretty mouth of yours, you can sit down right on it, and ride it like a horsey. You do like your horsey rides, don't you, laddo?"

Spike sputtered and gritted his teeth, raising his fingers in the 'Vee' sign.

"Right, that's it, the programme is going right off-" Angelus snapped sternly, releasing the boy's throat and striding toward the telly.

Dru flung herself at him, clinging to his arm and protesting. Between her and Spike they raised such a commotion that Darla's annoyed voice raised over the din.

"Angelus, stop teasing the children. Sit down over here and be quiet, or else leave. I'll not have Drusilla up all night carrying on about this. William, don't bait your Sire, or you'll find yourself all by your lonesome upstairs in your room, with no television or Drusilla, and I daresay you won't be sitting very comfortably, either."

Angelus paused by the television, glowering at Darla. She sat straight shouldered, head held high and glared right back at him with her jaw set. She clicked her fingers sharply and pointed to the couch beside her.

Spike had settled back on the floor, soothing Dru by stroking her hair and murmuring to her. Angelus glared at Darla a moment longer, making his point, before stalking back to the settee and throwing himself down upon it, crossing his arms and muttering to himself.

They watched in silence for some time, punctuated occasionally by a snort of incredulous disgust by Angelus. Eventually, Spike cleared his throat and spoke.

“Why’m I not bothered about it? Cos it’s not really me, is it? It’s some actor, tryin desperately to portray the dead sexiness I exude so effortlessly… And besides, you’ve got to admit, that bint they’ve got playing the Slayer is well fit.”

Spike smirked and turned, licking the tip of Dru’s nose, as Angelus choked in outrage.

The big vampire was off the couch and had the boy by the scruff of the neck in two strides. This was the final straw- bad enough all the minions sniggered about it behind their hands, bad enough that this twisted mockery of their unlives was played out in public, seemingly on every channel at every hour, this was the ultimate indignity. No childe of his….

Spike yelped when he was hauled to his feet, and the cigarette unceremoniously plucked from his lips.

“Oi, let go of me you pillock! I don’t butt in when you’re listening to your poncy operas!”

Angelus’ hand fumbled with the buckle of the slender Gucci belt and he had it snaked through the loops of his trousers and doubled over in an instant. Spike thrashed and swore as the slender, supple leather strap landed a half dozen times across the tight seat of his jeans and a couple of strokes fell across his upper thighs for good measure.

“Ah! Angelus! Bloody hell! Fuck!”

“Naughty Willam, wanking to pictures of the Slayer under the covers!”

“He’s been what! Boy, is that true? That’s the most perverse--”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from the man with the nun fetish. Ah! Fuck, Angelus, that hurt!”

“Not half as much as it’s going to- hold still, you little….”

Angelus fumbled with Spike’s belt, holding the boy in place before him by the front of his jeans. The smaller vampire spat and punched, trying to escape his Sire’s firm grasp, but Angelus was fueled with righteous indignation and wasn’t about to let an outlet for his frustration escape so easily. He yanked the boy’s jeans down to his knees and propped his foot on the coffee table before hoisting Spike roughly over his thigh by the scruff of the neck. The boy kicked, spat and swore, twisting from side to side, but Angelus held him firmly and began to stripe his pale backside with stinging, expertly placed blows of the belt.


“Maybe this will teach you some manners, eh! I’ll not have- any childe of mine- doing such things- under my roof! And where Drusilla can see you, William! Have y’ no shame!”

“Ow! Ngh! I lost that in about the four-hundredth alley you buggered me in, you hypocrite- ah! Oww!”

“Don’t you kick me, you little-!”

“Angelus, that’s enough,” Darla said calmly, without looking up from her embroidery hoop.

He’d just tossed aside the belt and sat heavily down with the boy’s legs pinned under his own and was about to settle in to a long and satisfying session of hand-spanking Spike until his bottom glowed crimson and was hot to the touch, when Darla spoke up. Angelus and Spike both looked up at her with surprised expressions.

“Oh, so now your Grace decides to put her own two pence in as well?” Angelus growled. “Why don’t you just stab me with another of yer knitting needles if you want my attention?”

Darla didn’t bat an eye, just stabbed the gleaming little silver needle through the taut cloth as she spoke. Her voice was cool, light and girlish as always.

“It’s an embroidery needle, Angelus. And you’ve made your feelings about the children’s programme quite clear. So, if you don’t want to watch it, then kindly take yourself elsewhere and spare us your tantrums. They’re really getting rather tiresome.”

“Bloody rude if you ask me,” Spike added bitterly from his face-down position over Angelus’ lap.

“Nobody asked to hear from you!” Angelus snapped, slapping the boy’s firm bottom smartly with the flat of his big hand. Spike yelped and squirmed gratifyingly, and Angelus turned to his Sire and retorted with all the Masterly dignity he could muster, “The Scourge of Europe does not have-”

“You’re as bad as William.”



“Well what do you call it then? William, be quiet when grown-ups are talking. You’re storming around like a wounded tiger, pacing, fidgetting around and wearing out my sofa springs, you nearly stepped on that Limoges when you decided to use the table to prop up your great heavy foot….”

Darla continued her lecture, her blushing cheeks showing her displeasure as she ticked off each of Angelus’ transgressions. She jabbed the embroidery cloth with the needle savagely as she recited her litany.

“The boy was being deliberately-”

“The children were sitting quietly, minding their own business and watching their rather silly programme until you started in on them. Angelus, you do this every time they want to watch it. Why do you let it bother you so?”

Angelus tightened his grip on the scruff of his boy’s neck, making Spike give a little squeak of protest. He shouted over Darla, “They made me stake you!”

Darla sighed and rolled her eyes. Putting down her embroidery hoop, she said in an infuriatingly reasonable voice, “No… they made him stake her. Let’s try and maintain the distinction between reality and fantasy, darling.”

Angelus paused at this, boggling at her. His mouth was actually open a fraction of an inch for several moments before he remembered himself and closed it. Bad enough the whole of humanity thought him an ensouled ass without going around looking gormless.

“Darla, it’s a disgrace to-”

“It’s nothing of the sort. If anything, it’s to our advantage for the humans to think we’re fictitious,” Darla said imperturbably.

“An advantage! It’s a fecking outrage!”

“Oi, Darla doesn’t like people using the ‘eff’ word in the lounge,” Spike piped up, and then swore himself when Angelus turned his attention back to the boy, punctuating each word with a heavy slap to the firm bottom upturned over his knees.

“Shut up, William! Darla, it’s as bad as that damned Stoker and that book of his- this television programme, can none of you see that!”

“Bloody Dracula! Ow! Poncy bugger… eleven pounds….” Spike yelped at the hard slaps to his arse and trailed off into sullen muttering.

Darla sighed prettily laid a slender hand on Angelus’ wrist, gripping it with a strength belied by her dainty appearance. She rolled her eyes as she said, “Angelus. It’s nothing like that tiresome book of Mr. Stoker’s. That book laid out facts, few and far between, of course, and mixed up with a lot of drivel and rather clumsy erotic subtext, but nevertheless, facts that those perceptive enough could use to harm us. What does this programme present to the world? The dreadful knowledge that you’ve a fondness for Armani trousers? There’s not a shred of truth to it, other than a few trivial details. It can’t possibly hurt us.”

“You’re not the one being made to look like an ass,” Angelus retorted bitterly, pulling his hand from her grasp. He found his palm circling the boy’s hot bottom idly, making Spike squirm and wriggle in his lap, clenching his firm cheeks and purring faintly.

“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean I haven’t bristled. Really, some of the hats they have her wearing. But, Angelus, the point is, it’s a children’s television show. Nobody takes it seriously. Besides, nobody we know would ever watch such a thing.”

Angelus grimaced. On the one hand, Darla did have a point. Still, it rankled… everything about the bloody programme irritated him. And it was clearly having a bad influence on the children. The thought of his boy wanking under the bedclothes to pictures of a Slayer- fictitious or not- sent another hot stab of righteous indignation through him and he tightened his grip on the boy and landed another stinging wallop to William’s rosy little arse.

“Ow! Hey, what the hell was that for!”

“Angelus, really, if you’re going to beat the boy for no reason-”

“Oh, this is for a reason!”

“Ow! Ah! Gerroff you big-”

“Well, you’re shaking the whole couch and the noise is giving me a headache. I suppose you intend to bugger him right over the ottoman next?”

“If I’ve a mind to!”

“Mick bastard! Ow!”

“Shush, all of you, or you’ll all be sent to bed without supper! Ooh, Grandmummy, look, you’re getting a baby bump!”

Three voices were raised in response to Dru’s delighted exclamation- one gleeful, two in shocked outrage:


Simultaneously, all three occupants of the couch turned to stare at the television. It was true, however unlikely. Spike took advantage of the distraction to squirm out of Angelus’ grasp and hastily move out of range, pulling his worn denims up over his rosy bottom with a grimace. He practically skipped over to resume his place on the carpet beside Dru, plopping himself down on the floor and jumping back up with a hiss and a softly muttered swearword, before sinking back down beside her more gingerly.

Drusilla pointed at the television, big luminous eyes aglow with excited glee.

“You tried to make Daddy happy, so he’d be lovely and growly again but it didn’t work, cos he only gets happy for cookie dough, and now you’re going to have a baby!”

Dru giggled madly and rocked, hugging her eyes as the incredible atrocity played out before them. Spike looked shocked and slightly horrified, but gleeful, drinking it all in.

Darla put down her embroidery hoop, her cheeks flushed and her mouth set in a firm, displeased line.

“Right, now that is going too far.”

Angelus sprawled on the couch, smirking. Tit for tat, he thought. He examined his perfectly manicured fingernails and drawled laconically, “Don’t go getting excited, love, it’s only a television programme, after all.”

Darla’s look at him shot daggers in his direction. She straightened her shoulders and watched a little longer, her mouth set grimly. Angelus kept an impassive look on his face but inwardly his heart leapt with gleeful triumph. Now perhaps she’d see and would agree that something must be done about all this. He wondered how one went about dealing with an insult of this magnitude. Obviously taking the matter to the civil courts was out of the question. No, his justice would have to be exacted at his own hands. A slow smile spread across his face at the thought.

Continued in



It seemed that every time he thought the programme couldn’t outrage him more, it topped itself. They’d watched in shocked disbelief as the titular character; based on himself (with a soul, he thought, shuddering in disgust at the very idea), had sex with the reincarnated, dying, human version of his Sire.

And failed to achieve the ‘moment of perfect happiness’ that would break the ludicrous plot device ‘curse’ and make him a proper vampire again.

That in itself was bad enough, when they’d made it plain that he had lost the soul after having sex with a Slayer- although he’d apparently had it shoved back into himself again- unlike the children, he wasn’t glued to the television for every episode, so he was a bit uncertain as to how it had happened. Apparently the writers of the programme seemed to think souls were like a sort of jack-in-the-box, popping out and being stuffed back in at the drop of a hat.

However, the ultimate outrage came next. Somehow- against all laws of physics and decency- after their unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the soul, they’d succeeded in getting the character’s de-vamped Sire pregnant. With a human baby.

This was too much even for Darla. After watching the outrage unfold, grimly, with her fine jaw set and her mouth thinned into a determined line, at the next commercial break she stood up and clicked her fingers imperiously.

“Angelus, upstairs. I want to discuss this situation with you privately.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Darla, don’t tell me you’re going to get all wound up over this too-” Spike protested.

“William, be quiet. Angelus, upstairs.”

He forced himself to rise with what he felt was appropriately Masterly dignity, although he felt like leaping up with a shout of glee. At last, she’d come around to his side of things. Now at last something would be done about this.

With a song in his heart, he paused in passing the children and jabbed his index finger under William’s nose.

“You keep Drusilla quiet and out of trouble, lad. And don’t leave the house, or get into any mischief. Just sit there and watch that bloody programme of yours- and enjoy it while you can, because things are going to change around here, mark my words.”

The boy huffed, and called after his Sire’s broad, retreating back, “It’s just a bloody television programme! It’s not anything to get yourself in a lather over! Dru, promise me if I ever get old and barmy…”

“Don’t worry, dearie, Mummy won’t let the mice nibble your ears off,” Drusilla said soothingly, patting his hand.


Upstairs, in the Master suite, Darla was having a snit.

After being her companion and partner-in-crime for over two-hundred years, Angelus was used to snits. Darla hadn’t had a full-fledged one in over thirty years, since an ill-fated holiday to South America. Angelus still felt a twinge in his arse when he saw a packet of Kool-Aid.

Now, as she paced up and down the length of the bedroom, Angelus half-listened, half mused on his own thoughts. America. Travel was much simpler now, with night-time flights. They’d leave from Heathrow and fly into Los Angeles, maybe stay at the Four Seasons.

He half-registered Darla’s rant as he mused, making the appropriate ‘Mm’s’ and ‘Hmmm’s’ when it seemed necessary.

“….You know Angelus I consider myself a patient woman. I really, really do. I’ve put up with you for how many centuries now? They dress her like a whore and do I say anything? No I don’t, because I’m an understanding woman. I am! But this is utterly ridiculous. How can they expect anyone will believe that? A vampire. Getting pregnant. I mean there’s fiction, and then there’s the National Enquirer. Of all the absurd, outrageous, presumptuous stories to write. About me! Me!”

“Absolutely right, darling.”

He’d have to pack the throwing knives, of course. And the dog whip. And the knout. With bits of metal studding the leather thongs, men had been whipped to death with them in the time of the Tsars. Angelus felt like humming, remembering the bare-backed soldier, stripped to the waist in the snowy courtyard, his back slick with blood and the crimson pools steaming on the snow.

“Did I complain when they called YOU the Scourge of Europe? No! If anyone was the Scourge of Europe it was ME. I Scourged long before I ever MET you.”

Perhaps that wire vest from China… This was what made proper torture so compelling. It comprised elements of history, of the fine artistry of humankind’s infinitely creative cruelty, with the little details that varied from one culture to another.

“This man- HUMAN- says he’s a feminist. But does that look like a feminist plotline to you? It’s all about you! And Spike.” Darla huffed. She paused in her pacing, twin spots of outrage blushing on her porcelain cheeks, a lock of her coiffure having fallen over her forehead. Her bright eyes blazed with feminine indignation.

“My God, I’m a SIDE character! And I died! Twice, now!”

From the doorframe, Spike’s whiskey-and-honey voice interjected, “Three times.”

Angelus looked up from the bedside table, the manacles hanging from one hand. Frowning, he said, “I thought I told you to stay downstairs and keep Drusilla occupied.”

Spike took a drag on his cigarette, not so much as batting an eyelash at Angelus’ look of disapproval. He straightened up, taking a step toward the boy, but Darla put a hand on his forearm, forcing an indulgent smile and said, “The first time doesn’t count, darling.”

Spike exhaled a stream of smoke up toward the ceiling and said nonchalantly, “No, I mean you just dusted yourself.”

“Watch your mouth you-”

“Angelus. Please. I’m sorry, William, sweetheart- Mummy didn’t hear that correctly. What did you just say?” Darla tightened her grasp on Angelus’ forearm, her little fingers surprisingly strong as they dug into his skin through the fabric of his jacket.

Shuffling the toecap of his boot against the carpet a little sheepishly, Spike shrugged and said, “You dusted yourself. So’s to get the nipper out.”

Angelus felt the colour drain from his face. Never, ever had his family been so insulted. He wracked his brain, trying to recall any incident that came even close. Darla gave a little snigger, then a slightly hysterical laugh. Brushing the stray lock of hair from her face she said, her eyes rather wild, “William, Mummy’s not in the mood for jokes, darling- her old heart can’t take it.”

Spike swallowed nervously and backed up a step. He flicked an anxious glance at Angelus, who stood like an impassive hulk of obsidian, mentally calculating how much pain it was going to require inflicting on the ones responsible for this before he could even begin to feel good about it. Angelus slowly turned his gaze on Spike, whose eyes widened., apparently remembering that it never paid to be the messenger of bad news.

Holding his hands up defensively, and stepping neatly so as to put the clothes valet between Angelus and himself, Spike insisted, “Not joking! You can watch the Tivo if you like- y’ know, I just watched the bloody thing, I didn’t write it-”

Darla’s voice raised to a rather shrill pitch as she interrupted, talking over the boy, “Are you telling me, that they seriously expect people to believe that I not only would get myself pregnant, but that I would kill myself over an unborn human infant?”

Darla strode across the room and grasped Spike by the shirtfront, clenching the worn material of his t-shirt in her dainty little fists. He stammered and tried to pull away, managing to grit out, “It would appear so- look, I really should get back to Dru-”

But there was no stopping Darla now. She was well and truly scorned and now the writers of a certain television programme were going to discover the reality of the old phrase about Hell having no fury. Pushing Spike aside, she turned to Angelus with her green eyes flashing and said in an imperious tone, “That’s it. Angelus, we are going to L.A. Clearly someone needs to talk to these people. First the costuming and now this.”

She was at the closet now, pulling down dresses and blouses and tossing them onto the vanity bench as she continued in her diatribe. Angelus rushed to take down the luggage, feeling a thrill of elation at the promise of the revenge that at last would be his. They’d rue the day they trifled with the Scourge of Europe and his family. As he pulled the Vuitton bags from the overhead shelf, he half-listened to Darla, continuing her rant.

“-they insinuate I was a whore!” she said, in tones of outrage, packing cosmetics and emollients into her little travel case.

“Bit surprised you’re getting your knickers in a twist over that one, luv,” Spike sniggered, then yelped indignantly when Angelus gave him a good clip on the ear in passing.

“Mind your manners, William. And you’d better get Dru and fetch your things,” Angelus warned.

Fuming, Darla continued, “I was a highly paid professional companion.”

“Spent your time keeping company with your ankles up round your ears, the way I hear tell,” Spike continued, neatly dodging another thump from Angelus.

“William!” Angelus thundered, taken aback by the boy’s insolence. He clicked his fingers and pointed imperiously in front of him. “Get over my knee!”

Spike boggled at him as though he’d grown an extra head. Darla swiftly picked up the hairbrush and clicked her own fingers. The boy paled a little, but reluctantly approached her, then looked relieved when she handed him the brush and sat at the vanity bench. He began to carefully brush through her silky blonde hair, as she took out the cosmetics and dabbed base coat onto a little sponge, turning her head this way and that as she applied the pale ivory foundation, looking into the nonreflecting mirror by habit.

“Yes,” she said testily, “my companionship came with a price.”

“You had sex for money,” Spike said, through a mouthful of hairpins.

“If you want to get technical about it.”

Darla’s tone was getting more brittle by the moment and Angelus flexed the switch in his hands, anticipating having more than cause to use it very soon.

“With a bloke…” Spike deftly pinned Darla’s French braided hair in place, “who gave you the pox.”

Darla slapped her little hand on the vanity and said sternly, “Do you want to spend the rest of the evening in chains, William!”

Spike shrugged and said, “I’m only stating the obvious. S’not like it’s not on national telly and all…”

That was the final straw. Angelus swiftly got up from the bed and strode over, collaring the boy and nearly yanking him right off his feet. He had Spike’s belt and jeans unfastened in an instant, and almost before the boy had time to shout he was over Angelus’ knee, jeans tangled around his ankles and the pale (but not for long) expanse of silky flesh bared.

Angelus stroked his flat palm over Spike’s bottom, his cock swelling in his trousers at the feel of the firm, cool flesh under his hand. Over one and a quarter centuries since he’d first laid hands on it, and he still never tired of the feel of the pliant flesh under his palm. He stroked the boy’s backside, tickling the little hollow where Spike’s lean thighs came together under his buttocks, and then tightened his grasp around the boy’s middle as he began to warm up that delightful curved expanse of flesh.

Angelus’ palm slapped against his boy’s firm, rounded little arse again and again. Slowly, at first, he built up momentum as he lectured, so that by the time he reached the peak of his argument for why William should amend his behaviour, he was slapping the boy’s arse hard and fast and the brat was yelping and kicking against him, squirming and twisting at each smack.

“You’ve been told time and time again William that you are to speak to Madame - with respect. Now, you will keep a civil tongue in your head, boy- or you’ll be right over my knee. How many times do we- have to go through this- William? You’d think- you enjoyed having your- little arse- bared and over my lap as often as- you find yourself in this position…”

“Ow! Cut it out! It was a bloody joke you big, humourless git! Ow! Stop! Darla doesn’t need you to- ah! Defend her honour you pillick!”

“Trust me, my lad, you don’t want Madame to take you in hand herself- hm, maybe that’s what you do need- maybe you need her to show you the sharp side of her tongue, and that dog whip she likes so much? She’ll make the spankings you get from me seem like patty-cakes- hold still you brat!”

Darla got up primly from the vanity bench and strode over to the bed.

“Angelus! Don’t strike the boy like that!”

He looked up in surprise at her sharp tone, but then grinned when she handed him the hairbrush.

“You’ll find this is more effective.”

Spike’s blue eyes widened and he began to kick and buck in earnest. Angelus held him tighter and brought the wicked, deceptively petite little brush (so much like Darla in both respects) down on the boy’s rounded right buttock. The wood slapped against Spike’s blushing bottom with a flat little smack and the boy gritted his teeth and hissed.

“Ah, that’s got your attention, I see. Happy, now that Madame’s intervened? Hm? Oh, it seems you’re out of cheeky remarks for the moment. Right as usual you are, Darla- this little thing works wonders. Funny how such an innocent looking little object can make our bad boy compliant.”

Darla stood, watching them struggle, Spike tossing his head and squirming, clenching Angelus’ trouser legs as the big vampire brought the hairbrush down on his reddening bottom with alacrity. She ran her tongue over her perfectly made-up lips, and stroked her hands over her thighs reflectively.

“Now, William, you are going to go and fetch your bags and Drusilla’s- ah! Don’t try to block, you know better- and you’re going to pack clothing appropriate for the Four Seasons for both of you. And mind you don’t forget Dru’s dollies, and the manacles she likes so much- and I think you’d better put in your ‘special’ play-soother and the hairbrush from Mason-Pierson- I’ll be packing this one so it’ll do you no good to ‘forget’ like you did last time. And bring along any of your knives and the thumbscrews if you like- we’re going to be very busy dealing with those naughty, naughty television executives once we get to their offices. If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you scalp one or two, would you like that, sweet boy?”

Spike grunted and tossed his head, squirming this way and that as Angelus emphatically beat a tattoo on his backside with the stinging little brush. Darla stepped forward, catching Angelus’ strong arm with her own little hand and said, “Wait.”

The big vampire looked up, a little surprised. He grinned wolfishly, setting the brush aside and kneading and rubbing Spike’s bottom. It was now bright red and warm to the touch, and the boy squirmed over his lap, clenching and unclenching and making the most delightful little noises in his throat.

Spike whipped his head up, big blue eyes bright with lust, and a little bit relieved to have a respite from the enthusiastic spanking even as he arched his back up, pushing his bottom up against Angelus’ hand to meet his caresses.

“Something on your mind, love?” Angelus purred, kneading and tweaking Spike’s bottom, patting it and caressing it, pressing his slender, strong fingers between the firm cheeks to tease the sensitive flesh there.

Darla ran her hand up Angelus’ arm, twining the fingers of her other hand in his thick hair. She gave him her sweetest smile, the one that made him feel instantly wary. Spike noticed as well and Angelus felt the boy stiffen reflexively.

“Angelus…. Darling. Perhaps I was a bit too hasty.”

Darla nuzzled his cheek, licking it and nibbling his eyebrow. Swallowing hard and trying to keep a clear head, Angelus said cautiously, “Too hasty about…?”

“If you’re rethinking the hairbrush now, it’s a bit sodding late,” Spike said petulantly, and hissed when Angelus gave his backside a pinch.

“Shh, William. Mummy and Daddy are talking,” Darla said sweetly, stroking Angelus’ cheek. She continued, “Darling… it’s just that if we kill the entire writing and production staff, it would only draw more attention to the wretched programme.”

Angelus whipped his gaze up to his Sire. She smiled a sweet, sad smile down at him, appealing to his sense of reason. He growled. Reason bedamned, where was the woman’s sense of justice?

“Darla-” he began, but she touched a slim finger to his lips.

“Angelus, my darling boy. Think about it. We go and exact our- enjoyable and deserved, yes- revenge. It will be in all the papers. On television. You know how the news programmes love reporting on the antics of the wretched entertainment industry. It’s not exactly in keeping with maintaining a low profile, is it?”

Angelus shook his head, angrily. He fought the urge to snap at her finger.

“Damn it, Darla- don’t back down on me now! Remember what William said- they made you dust yourself! For a human baby!”

The thought of it made him want to vomit. Spike pushed himself up off Angelus’ lap, rubbing his backside and looking sulky, his cock standing up stiffly away from his lean belly.

Darla quickly took advantage of the boy’s getting up to sit in Angelus’ lap, resting her head on his muscular shoulder and running her hand up over his chest. He growled, forcing himself not to flip her over his lap and beat her pert little backside for her. She would only enjoy it.

She continued, infuriatingly, “Not to mention with the resulting publicity and scandal, the ratings of the programme would soar. And that would hardly fulfill our intent, would it, sweet boy?”

“Don’t patronise me, Darla, I’m not a child,” Angelus gritted out.

Spike muttered something that was no doubt disparaging under his breath. Angelus looked around for the switch. He would have some satisfaction from this, damn it.

“Besides, it’s beneath our notice. It’s a silly children’s programme. It’s not as though anybody we know who matters watches it,” Darla purred, slipping her slender hand inside Angelus’ shirt.

“Bloody hell, she’s got you whipped,” Spike said, buttoning his jeans and shaking his head in disgust.

“That’s it,” Angelus snapped, moving to stand up and reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“Don’t go taking it out on me, mate!” Spike protested, backing up.

Darla tightened her grasp on Angelus hair and swiftly slipped her hand down his trousers. He widened his eyes and growled, “Darla, now is not the time-”

She spoke over him, saying sweetly but urgently to the boy, “William, darling, go and keep Drusilla occupied and you’ll have to tuck her into your own bed and stay there tonight. Mummy and Daddy are going to need some private time together.”

Spike was all too eager to comply, vanishing from the room in an instant, the sound of his heavy boots clattering on the stairs before the last words had fully left Darla’s lips.

“Damn it, Darla, if you think you can distract me and twist me round your little finger with a flash of tit and arse, and the promise of a slap and tickle you’re very- much- mistak- oh fuck.”

Darla dipped her head to Angelus’ lap and pushed his trousers open, her nimble little hands freeing his hard cock, and grasping the shaft firmly while she applied her soft, cool mouth to its slick head.

He leaned back on his elbows, running one hand over her slender arse as he held the other at the back of her head, groaning as she bobbed it, engulfing his cock, taking the full, thick length of it into her mouth and throat.

Damn her, he thought, manipulative little... fuck, but she had a talented mouth. He struggled to maintain a clear head but it was impossible in his position. He leaned back on his elbows, growling with pleasure, and as she flicked her tongue over and around the sensitive head of his cock, making him shudder, it occurred to him just who must have taught William this particular method of distraction.

He landed a hard slap on her arse then, and felt a sense of grim satisfaction at her surprised yelp and the shocked, indignant look on her face when she whipped her head up from from his lap.

Of course he knew he’d pay for it but for now, consequences be damned- he tightened his grasp on his Sire’s slender form and pushed her skirt up out of the way, and her knickers down to her ankles.

“Angelus, what are you- ow!”

He slapped his heavy hand against her firm, smooth little arse again. And again. Darla squirmed and twisted. She liked a little pain with her pleasure, but she insisted on being the one to control the wheres and hows of it. Because that was how she was- controlling, manipulative, little-

He brought his hard hard down again and again on her backside, as she yelped and twisted, growling.

“Angelus! Stop that! Oh, so this is your way of telling me you don’t like my decision? Ah! Stop that at once, boy! Ouch! I’m warning you-”

Angelus looked around and seized the hairbrush. With a grim smirk, he brought it down on Darla’s pert backside, feeling a little surge of satisfaction at the flat slap it made and the small oval imprint of rose colour that blossomed on her buttock, as well as her shriek of indignation.

Oh, he’d pay for this for years, to be sure, but for now, it felt good, damn good. Besides, if the world wouldn’t know the price of humiliating The Scourge of Europe, somebody damn well was going to.

The End

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