Chapter 19 – H—! AH DMPD HR

Note: Yes – this chapter name is correct. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews.

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The Watcher’s Journal of Sir Arthur Gosnard-Tisklin.

London, Crepuscule Place, February 1, 1901 - While visiting the Council yesterday, I secretly received a package of investigative materials from Lady Blodeuwedd Ronwen Giles that I requested concerning the current Lord Teansdale. As I feared, the information is not pleasant.

The Council’s anonymous source reports that Lord Teansdale is something of a bounder. He frequents the Caledonian Club (in honor no doubt to his maternal Scottish grandmother, Tearlag McIntosh, herself a lady of questionable reputation) and is a member in good standing with the Snooker Society. He has lost considerable sums at cards, horseracing and snooker. He is known to imbibe alcoholic beverages to excess and, I am sorry to say, to associate with soiled doves in the Southwark District, a place long known for the infamous behavior of its inhabitants. He formed a shameful connection with an actress at The Gaiety Theater in Aldwich and falsely encouraged the false expectation of an engagement with Miss R. of Holycrook (I obscure her name in deference to the sensitivities of her family).

It was my sad duty to convey this information, suitably expurgated, to Lady Vicky and her mother to discourage this troublesome entanglement with Lord Teansdale.

My efforts were not greatly appreciated.

***

The drugs in Sunnydale General Hospital were really top notch.

He hadn’t had anything this good since Daddy Dearest hustled him off to the Sunnydale Substance Abuse Rehab Center for Wayward Young Men of the Rich Father Persuasion. He looked back fondly on his time in the Rehab Center. It was there that he’d perfected his sincere, wounded Parker Act. The Act turned out to be useful for bullshitting the counselors at Rehab and, with suitable embellishments, for picking up babes, like Buffy.

He hadn’t totally given up on drugs after his tour of duty in rehab, but he found that banging young babes as often as possible, then treating them like shit, the way his old man did with his trophy wives, was as good as drugs and a lot cheaper. For the price of a cup of latte with chocolate sprinkles, he could get laid. No snort of coke could compare on the price/pleasure ratio.

The wave of druggy goodness receded and Parker felt the pain in his jaw sharpen. He touched his face. No scars to mar his manly beauty, but when he flexed his mouth a fierce jab of pain reminded him that his jaw was wired shut. That prick husband of Buffy’s broke his damn jaw. Leave it to that clingy, pint-sized slut to have a psychopath for a husband.

He patted around his bed for the call button to summon the nurse for another opiate infusion, but stopped when someone opened the door to his private room. Not just someone, the two scorching blonde hotties who had been at the Bronze earlier dancing with Buffy’s Psycho Hubbie. These two put a whole new meaning on visiting the sick.

Rosamund and Sunday slithered into the room and hopped into Parker’s bed, one on each side of him.

Sunday jerked the call button out of the wall. “We don’t need this old thing. Rosie and I have everything you need to kill the pain.”

Rosamund slid her hand down Parker’s chest and belly and grabbed his crotch. She squeezed two or three minutes until Parker got an erection. “Look what I found. It’s such a cute little thing.”

“H—!,” Parker said, or tried to. Talking with your jaw wired shut sucked. Who were they calling little?

Sunday licked a spot on Parker’s neck. Parker looked pretty tender, but there was nothing like vampire spit to soften up the flesh before you took a bite. “Say, Rosie, is it true what they say about boys getting a better package after they’ve been turned?”

Rosamund tilted her head and put her index finger in the corner of her mouth. “Gosh, I sure hope so. Cause I sure wouldn’t want …” she lifted his wrist and read his name off the plastic band, “Parker to be immortal with a puny little dick. No wonder the Buffy-bitch dumped him for Spike.”

Parker made a muffled protest, since he couldn’t speak with his jaw wired shut. “H—! AH DMPD HR!”

“Whatever you said, baby,” Rosamund said. She pinned his shoulder to the bed. “Now, this is going to sting a little.”

Sunday flashed out her vamp face. “No it isn’t, you Douche Bag. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

The girls laughed.

They attacked his neck, biting deep, while he struggled and tried to scream. When his blood was nearly drained, Rosamund lifted her head and wiped the stream of blood off her chin. She shoved Sunday off his neck.

“What now, you bitch? I wasn’t finished,” Sunday said.

“Let’s not kill him. Let’s turn him. I want to see if it’s true, you know, about whether Mr. Tiny Dick is going to get an equipment upgrade.”

Sunday smirked. “Okay. I’ll turn him. Then, I get to be his Sire.”

“You will not. It was my idea. I get to be his Sire.”

Sunday shoved Rosamond off the bed. The two rolled around on the floor, kicking and pulling hair until they heard his heart beat struggle and slow to its final beat.

“Shit!” they said.

They slashed cuts in their wrists with their fangs and dribbled blood into Parker’s mouth. His licks smacked feebly and their two streams of blood trickled past his clenched teeth and down his throat.

Parker had a hell of a time later when he woke up in the morgue with his jaw still wired shut and his fangs bursting out of his gums.

***

Buffy and Spike continued their discussion while lying in each other’s arms behind the Restfield Cemetery wall.

“I’m not going home with you.” Buffy jerked Spike’s shirt out of his pants so she could stroke his chest, which was very nice, but not providing the kind of friction she needed. She kissed him hard and straddled him. Much better.

“Why the hell not? You told your git friends that you were going to look after me. Which is only right, you being my mate and all.” He pulled on her lacy thong, trying to push it out of the way.

“You should have thought of that before you humped those two skanks on the dance floor. And, to be precise, I told them I was staying with you to make sure you didn’t bite anyone, which I can do at my dorm room with Willow as chaperone. You can sleep on the floor.” What was he waiting for? Couldn’t he get that zipper down by himself? Did she have to do everything? She gripped his arms, kissed him hard.

Chaperone? That certainly wasn’t mentioned in the Mating Instruction Manual. He He flipped Buffy onto her back and pushed up her knees so he could bang her with maximum penetration. Why had he wasted time with the two skanks when he could have been putting a leg over with his mate? Oh yeah, to make her jealous. “I wasn’t humping them.”

“Oh, my mistake. They were humping you. Hope you won’t miss them much when I stake them. That is if I can catch them before they run off.” She bit his ear and tugged on his belt.

Spike finally got his zipper down and himself inside his girl. He sucked in an unnecessary breath and followed the rhythm of her pelvis. “You can’t kill them. I have to kill them. Bob the Warlock’s going to pay me some merry cash when I take those two doxies out for killing his brother-in-law.”

Buffy panted and made some embarrassing little mewling sounds like a kitten. What an idiot she was for thinking she could do without this for a day. “Who are you talking about Captain Crackpot?”

Spike crushed his mouth into hers to shut her up. He couldn’t keep up a conversation while he was banging her. He had to concentrate. He thrust into her hard. She needed to be punished for making him wait all day. After a very short time, she arched her hips up and their bodies crashed to completion together.

After a few minutes of afterglow, Buffy realized a stick was poking her in the back. She pushed Spike off and tugged her skirt down. She tossed the ruined remains of her thong behind a bush. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. You were going to explain to me why I can’t dust those two ho-bag friends of yours.”

Spike tucked himself in and zipped up. He grabbed his mate around the waist and pulled her close where she belonged as they walked out of the cemetery and down the street to the mansion.

“Bob the Warlock’s brother-in-law, Jack, was the guy who owned the pub. Bob cooked up that Jurassic Juice you like so much. Rosamund or Sunday, one of them killed Jack. I couldn’t tell which. They smell alike, so I’m going to kill both of them.”

Buffy sighed with relief. Spike hadn’t killed Jack the Pub Guy. On the other hand, the whole smelling thing. “Ewww. Have I mentioned that this Vampire Smelling Thing makes me want to heave? And, I did not like it, the Jurassic Juice, I mean.”

Spike snorted. “You still can’t dust those two. Bob’s going to pay me.”

When they reached Center Street, Buffy stopped at a newsstand box which sold copies of the Sunnydale Sunset evening edition. She put a quarter in the box and took out a paper. She scanned the paper’s obituary column, looking for suspicious deaths. “Don’t think Bob’s going to pay you. He’s dead.”

Spike snatched away the paper and, after reading the item regarding Bob’s untimely death by neck rupture, jumped on top of the box and stamped it three or four times, ripped the newspaper into shreds and kicked over the box, then having second thoughts, picked up the box and tossed it through the nearest store window. “Son of a Bitch! Nothing ever goes right in this town.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re always doing something wicked. If you did nice stuff once in a while it might work out better.”

“Are you nagging me?”

“Just saying.”

“I’m the Big Bad. I don’t do nice stuff. Ever.” Spike continued his rampage by flipping over a Mini Hooper. “I’m Evil. You do not appreciate who you’re dealing with here.”

“Course not.”

“Long as we have that straight.”

“Sure.”

“Bugger! All right, you can kill them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But, this is a one time only offer. From now on, no more horning in on my kills.”

“Thanks, Spike.” Buffy slipped her hand in his and they walked a little further. In the distance, she heard the roar of a motorcycle.

“Slay - , er, Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“You suppose you could call me William? I mean, not that it matters or anything, but since you’re my mate and all.”

What was this all about? She thought he preferred being called Spike to show off how manly and evil he was. “I’m sort of used to calling you Spike, but William is a nice name.”

“Thanks, luv. Now, about going to your dorm room tonight. That’s out of the question…”

Buffy stopped walking and listened, placing her fingers over Spike’s lips to stop his never ending blabbing, which blabbing didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to.

The back of her neck tingled – vampires.

Cleotus stepped out of the velvet shadows of an alley, slapping a wooden baseball bat in his beefy hand. “Yes, Slayer. Do call your mate by his proper name. William the Pansy.”