The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy
The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild
Title: Paragon of Animals
Author: Avarice
Rating: R
Summary: Spike finally gets what he deserves. **added warning** this *is* a darkfic. Make sure you read the rating fully. If you're not prepared for that kind of imagery, don't read it. Cuz you'll just flame me, and then I'll laugh at you.
Improv: sepia, memory, wish, revenge.
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Buffy Summers was dead.
The Slayer lay face down in a growing pool of her own blood. Her right arm was twisted in an unnatural fashion behind her back, the broken radius poking through skin. Her left was on the other side of the crypt, resting on top of the television set that silently played a fuzzy version of some Jimmy Stewart movie.
The severed arm thumped the tv.
"Damn bloody piece of cheap Chinese garbage... you know, reception here has always *sucked*." The blond vampire muttered, annoyed. He continued to pound the top of the set using the detached limb until the picture cleared up.
"There we are!" he smiled, considerably more pleased.
Spike glanced back to the body. "Aww... what's the matter, Slayer? Can't see the telly?" He trotted over to her prone body. Grabbing a fistful of sepia-colored hair due to her spilled essence, he yanked her head up. The dead girl's face was caked with drying blood, and clouded hazel eyes stared blankly. Her eyelids were missing, making it impossible for the lifeless orbs to ever be closed in some form of respect.
"You know, Buffy," Spike dropped his voice and ran a finger down her face tenderly. "In all my memory, *never* have you looked so lovely..." he lifted his blood-coated finger to his mouth and sucked greedily. Yanking her the rest of the way up, the blond vampire flung her body backwards, listening in rapture as it thudded against the sarcophagus.
Strolling over to her slumped form, he sat her up as if she were a doll being placed on a shelf. Booted feet squelched on the stone floor, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"Well really, Slayer," Spike tsked, getting his hands covered in gore. "If you *will* just let your internal organs fall about like this... there's nothing much I can do for you, is there?" He pulled at her intestinal tract delicately, so as not to sever the tissue. Spike looped it around the gaping hole in her neck and tied it like a cravat.
He shifted her head so that she faced the television. Stepping back, Spike brushed his hands together and surveyed his handiwork. And he saw that it was good. He crouched down next to her nude, battered body. "My my, you *do* look every inch the big girl on campus with that daring new fashion statement... what would your mother say?" Spike paused, tapping a bloody finger to his lips. "Oh, that's right... Joyce is dead! Poor woman, too... you should've really learnt to revoke invitations by now... Latin phrases, crosses, godawful gypsy stink herbs... you know, the regular stuff."
The blond got up and walked over to a corner where his duster was draped over a stool. He turned back to the corpse as he picked up the leather coat and began to put it on.
"But I guess that was lost on you. I really thought -- and stop me if you've heard this before -- that you'd gotten smarter with age. Well, shame on me, I kind of *assumed* you would." Spike patted the leather affectionately and moved the stool to a place beside her where he sat on it, facing the television.
"But, unlive and learn, as I always say. You didn't get smarter. You actually forgot some of the things you used to know... the principle one being 'never turn your back on an enemy.' " The vampire cocked an eyebrow. "S'not really my problem, I guess. After all," he waggled his eyebrows, "your lapse in judgment suited me just *fine*..." Receiving no response, he shrugged and turned back to the television.
There was a soft footfall outside. Spike's head whipped around and he watched his sire enter his home. His eyes twinkled merrily as mahogany eyes surveyed the grotesque state of the crypt. "D'you like what I've done with the place since you were last here?" Spike looked around critically. "I thought of adding a few throw pillows, then decided it would be *way* too seventies, and left it with the simplicity of the mutilated Slayer." The blond looked up hopefully. "What d'you think?"
The dark-haired vampire's face held an incredulous expression.
"Just... *what* are you watching?" he asked distastefully.
"'It's A Wonderful Life'", Spike answered, reaching over to turn the volume up. "A bit sappy, but you know me.. always the sentimentalist."
"Always..." he replied. The older man gestured to Buffy's corpse. "Have fun playing with my gift?"
"Of course! You know, I always knew that I didn't bloody well care who killed 'er," Spike got up and kicked the corpse in the ribs, grinning when he heard one snap. "Just as long as I was there to watch... I just wish I could see her face again when you tore her throat out.. I've never laughed so hard." He sighed contentedly. "Revenge is tasty, innit?"
Something sparkled dangerously in Angelus' eyes. "Indeed it is..." Grabbing the back of Spike's head viciously, the older vampire crushed his lips to the blond's. His demon emerged, and fangs sliced wantonly into the soft flesh of Spike's lips. Angelus pulled away and licked at the stream of blood trickling down his childe's chin, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Oh, how I will miss you..."
Spike's blue eyes widened as a cold realization dawned. Angelus smiled as the blond caught on. With a firm twist of his hands, he broke the younger vampire's neck. "... but, call *me* sentimental, but I just can't forget that whole crowbar incident. Hope you understand."
Dusting ash off his pants, he surveyed the corpse one last time. The dark haired vampire retrieved a stake out of his pocket, dropping it in the middle of the dust that had once been Spike. Angelus took one final look at his handiwork before smirking.
"Merry Christmas, Darla."
~fin