Randy Sex Kitten

He could remember being human. Drinking in the thick smog that was the air in Nineteenth Century Britain. He remembered the smell of unwashed bodies, drenched in sweet perfume.

His mother always smelled good, though. She would bathe everyday, and insisted that he bathe as well. He hated it. Wet hair was not conducive to good health in those days, but he appreciated that he was always clean and free of parasites.

His mother smelled of the roses that she pressed herself, and her kisses to his forehead were the delight of any day.

He remembered her cooking. She was fond of savory items, but every once in a long while, she would produce something sweet and much too appealing to a young man who rarely had such treats.

He enjoyed his life. He enjoyed writing and he enjoyed his friendships with the other quiet boys in the school. But then school ended and he was thrust out into the real world, where people didn’t appreciate poetry and where women sought the best possible partnership for marriage.

He had thought that he loved Cecily. He really had. He remembers the journals filled with poetry that adorned the bookshelves in his bedroom, poems all about her. She didn’t appreciate them and ridiculed him.

That day had been difficult. He hadn’t wanted to go to the party. He had worked all day and had simply wanted to sit at his desk and write until such time as he fell asleep. His mother had insisted, though, so he dressed rapidly and slid out the door. He had hoped to find a quiet place to write.

Instead, he was called out and humiliated in front of his ladylove. He had raced away from her hurtful words, wishing that he had followed his own mind, rather than his mother’s.

In an alley, he met death. It had hurt when Drusilla had bit him. He had cried out, wondering why such a lovely creature would hurt him so. Her face had shocked him slightly, but he could see the beauty in the ridges and elongated teeth. He had been struck, as she was draining the life out of him, that poetry didn’t necessarily require words.

When he awoke again, it was dark and dusty. There was dirt falling on him from above and it burned his lungs when he breathed it in. He knew that there was something different about him. He could feel something churning inside him, pushing him to escape and seek out those who had hurt him.

He had dug his way out of the grave that Drusilla had provided him, finding that his heart was slowly hardening against pain. A soft voice announced his arrival and he was pulled into cool arms and taught the beauty of the flesh.

Then he met Angelus. And Angelus had kept interfering with his life. Drusilla would seek out her Daddy, leaving him alone in their bed, wondering why he wasn’t enough.

This was the time that he turned his mother. Thinking that he was saving her from a life filled with pain and illness, he lovingly sank his fangs into her warm skin, only to discover that she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t the same after the demon entered her body.

As he staked the body that had once housed his mother’s soul, he wondered if there was something wrong with him, if Drusilla had done something wrong.

Angelus instructed him in the ways of the vampire. He took and was taken hundreds of times before he finally was able to lock his conscious away.

They moved around, leaving dreary old England behind and seeing parts of the world that he had never dreamed of. Along the way Darla left, then Angelus, but they would always return. The love he felt for Drusilla and Angelus was a closely guarded secret that he never shared.

He killed the Chinese Slayer to get Angelus’ attention. He had already changed his name to Spike, and his dark princess would shout it from the rooftops when she wanted him, but Angelus would never speak it.

He had known that the Slayer was tired. He could see it in her soul and taste it in the air. But the fight… The fight was a dance that he wished had never ended. She was beautiful in her anger and he could feel his heart swell with affection for the tiny warrior. He added these feelings to the growing list of those that would never be spoken and had celebrated the taking of her life with Drusilla.

Angelus was impressed, but only for a moment. Then he was gone and Darla was gone and it was just he and Drusilla. Alone in the big world, two young vampires with no guidance.

Over the years, he learned to care for Drusilla. How she liked her hair done and which stars were talking to her on what day. He enjoyed his existence with her. There were no demands made on him other than his attention, which he was more than happy to give.

They lived on the road, rarely staying in one place long. Drusilla was never careful when she fed, and many a time he’d had to rescue her from swarms of people intent on eviscerating her. He was more careful, though. Without Angelus there to demand that he hunt and kill, he found that he preferred to take his victims with care.

Lust tasted better than fear, and went down much more smoothly.

Oh, make no mistake, he did kill, and he was violent. The demon demanded that it be sated, and he took delight in making his demon happy.

At some point, he bleached his hair, the stars having told Drusilla that he was a beacon. They made their way to New York, hunting Drusilla’s Daddy who had been rumored to be there.

New York had been an adventure. He hadn’t known that the Slayer was there, but was happy to find her. The few that he had fought over the years had brought him great joy. He had failed to kill them. However, neither had they killed him.

This Slayer was different. She had the same tired look as all the others, but there was something in her that sparked. They danced for hours, hunting and tracking each other before finally meeting for the fight.

Out of respect, he didn’t taste her blood, as appealing as it was pulsing beneath the surface of her chocolate skin. She was his equal in every way and he bewailed her passing. He took her coat, not as a trophy, but as a reminder of the beautiful life that he had taken.

He and his demon had mourned her that night.

Then Drusilla, disgusted that her Daddy hadn’t appeared at her side, insisted that they return to Europe. Things changed at that point. Drusilla was weakened and became demanding and clingy. Her attentions wandered and he once again was left to wonder why he wasn’t enough.

He heard about a hellmouth in California. The Mage that he had consulted about Drusilla’s condition insisted that the power of a hellmouth was the only thing that would repair his princess’s broken and battered body.

So they returned to the States.

When they arrived, he put forth his best Big Bad act and hoped that it would be enough. Once again, he found himself in the presence of a Slayer. This one had something that none of the other’s had. She had a family.

He’d had several shocks. Angelus had returned, but wasn’t the same. The Slayer’s mother bashed his head in with an axe, and there was a dark headed angel that caught his eye.

He had healed Drusilla, sacrificing himself for her. But she had tossed him aside for her Daddy. He felt as though he was newly arisen once again. A bargain with the Slayer, and he and Drusilla were gone.

Down into Brazil where Drusilla said that the blood tasted of ancient power and magic. It tasted like blood to him. Drusilla never forgave him for what she saw as his betrayal, and he knew that he would never again be with his ripe wicked plum.

Drunken romps across the ways, a single day in the sun and what seemed like a lifetime of torture followed. Feeding became an unrequited obsession. The days bled by and he loved the Slayer and the dark haired angel hated him.

Then his demon had demanded that he claim his love. Make her love him back. This path drove him into Africa and into the arms of his own soul. He realized then that his soul had never actually left. It had been hidden behind the demon and he was once again reminded that he had always believed something had gone wrong when he was turned.

He returned to his love, knowing that she would never forgive him, and not caring. He could feed again, but couldn’t be bothered. His demon no longer roared for pain and blood, it simply wished for the innocent violence that it had once enjoyed.

A sacrifice was offered and accepted and he felt true peace and happiness for the first time since his original death. Amazingly enough, he didn’t find himself in the bowels of hell. Instead, he was in a state of mild pleasure, where no one hurt him.

Then he was back and with Angel, whom he had learned to hate over the years. Angel was nothing like his beloved Angelus and he hated his body’s response to the other souled vampire.

Quickly, so quickly, did he find himself embedded in the lives of the precious humans that Angel had gathered. The softness of Fred amazed him, as did the hardness of Illyria.

He realized that he had given up his love for the Slayer and didn’t care, knowing that it no longer mattered to him. It was fun to annoy Angel though.

Then the battle where the humans were lost. Tears still prickled at the thought of losing Wes and Gunn, the two that had trusted him the least. Illyria had gone next, stating that she couldn’t bear the pain. Angel had died at the claws of the dragon as it’s own life poured out and then there had been silence.

Silence, except for the loud thumping of his heart.

Shanshu had not been everything that he had thought. In fact, he had been surprised at how hard it had been to adjust. But just as he had been about to give up, love entered his life once more.

And now he stood, tugging at his bowtie and wondering how in the hell he had been talked into this, before remembering that it had been his idea.

Running his fingers through sandy curls, he thinks back to the night that his love had appeared at his door and smiles at the memory.

A soft voice breaks into his reverie. “Spike?” Warm eyes caress his and he grins at his Bit.

“Yeah, love?”

“You ready?” She is so beautiful. She has grown into her body and her skin is caressed by the finest white satin. He loves this woman, almost as much as he loved the child she once was.


They walk outside, the feeling of sun against his skin bringing familiar ripples of pleasure. He sees Red standing at the end of the sun-dappled aisle. His love watches him as they both approach the Wiccan.

Willow smiles benevolently down at them and he can feel warm fingers caressing his.

A deep breath and then the witch is speaking, binding their souls together for all eternity. “We are gathered here to bind these two together. They have expressed their love and want for only each other and will wear these rings as symbols to indicate their commitment, not only to each other, but also to their marriage. They have chosen to write their own vows. Spike?”

He looks into the eye of his lover and smiles. “I have loved you longer than you know. My heart beats only for you and I promise to bind my life to yours. Your will to mine. I will treat you with the respect that is due to my mate and I will love you forever.”

Xander smiles back. “I love you. I had no idea that you would be the one that I would want to spend my life with. I have no regrets; we have grown by knowing each other. I promise to love you and support you in everything that you do. I feel as though I am finally free. I promise to bind myself to you forever.”

Willow smiles down on the two men and begins to chant. He can feel his heart race and reaches out to touch Xander’s chest. When Willow finishes, their hearts are beating in perfect synchronicity.

“You are bound, life mates. You may kiss.”

He pulls Xander, his mate, down and captures warm lips with his own. The small gathering cheers and the two men smile a secret smile at each other and turn to face their family.

After the reception, they are going to travel. Angel, for some reason, had a legal will and left everything that he had to his grandchilde. The two men will be comfortable forever. The first place Xander wants to go is England. He wants Spike to taste the air that William once enjoyed. No longer thick, but warm and sweet.

From there? Who knows? There are no limits for two that have nothing but love and all the time that life allows.

The End