reptilian eyes loom from gaunt features as the demon surges and tries to break through alabaster skin…

Connor really thinks about emptying his mind, aware he must be coming off as drunk or stoned each time he takes a deep breath, yet nothing seems to drive last night’s smothering fantasy away for long. Closing his eyes doesn’t help, nor does working tanned fingers into raw eye sockets, pulling the fast healing but still smarting skin roughly.

The bar’s half-empty.  It’s still early, and thankfully there aren’t many people to see the flush blossom around his neck when he’s asked for ID. He’s far enough from the university – no one he knows here to see what a jerk he is and no one else can possibly see the erotic images haunting him, sending flames of desire barreling through him. As long as he sits in this position, he’ll be able to maintain some dignity.

“Cheers, mate.”

Is that a lurch of joy or fear that makes him sit upright? Connor blinks, tries to look unobtrusive and something like normal, squirming internally as icy eyes bore into him. He refuses to acknowledge the vamp – at least until his forming erection goes away. And shit – feels like it might be a long wait. In his peripheral vision, Spike collects change, slips it into his front pocket and lifts himself easily onto the stool. Does every movement this bastard makes originate in that undead groin? His face burns as he remembers again.

Connor’s groin humps the air as he surrenders again, but this time through choice. Stronger than him, stronger…his fist pumps angrily, searching for answers, bruised knuckles tight around virgin steel, abrasive rather than soothing…

“What are you doing here? Everywhere I go, somehow we hook up. ” Connor’s lips clag together. Vampires can’t read minds, can they?

“It’s a small town.” Spike looks directly at Connor causing a jolt of electricity to rekindle the almost dwindling erection. Connor scowls back “- maybe not,” Spike continued, – “Truth is I just happened to be in the neighborhood. It’s always nice to see a friendly face.” He beckons towards the barman, “What you having? The way you dress, looks like you’re not exactly rollin’ in it these days…”

Maybe another drink will help. “Sure, just beer, sure…” Connor rolls the near empty bottle between his palms - the glass is cold, hard…fuck.

Transfixed, he watches Spike scan the room, sees him smile to himself at something he’s noticed, someone he’d like to eat maybe.

“You’re a great conversationalist, I’ll give you that.” Spike observes.

The vamp’s mouth hovers at the neck of the bottle, and then he throws his head back to drain its contents as Connor’s eyes fix on the vampire’s Adam’s apple. He didn’t know vamps drank, other than blood that is.  He’d seen the hot chocolate the vampire seemed so fond of despite the Southern California heat, but hadn’t given it much thought before, hadn’t been interested. Now everything Spike did hypnotized him, fascinated him.

More beautiful in profile than face on –Connor’s furtive eyes hurriedly gulp the curve of shadow cast by Spike’s dark eyebrow, then sweep the trough beneath the cheekbone ending in a petulant jaw like a question mark drawn in ash and tears.

“And when the hell you gonna shut up?”

Jesus, he was wrong - surely the vampire is more beautiful from this perspective with deadly, pale eyes luring you, winning you over. It takes a supreme effort to look directly into them, to see past eyelids that serve to seduce and reveal feeling. When Spike lowers those thick lashes, Connor fancies it’s like a woman exposing her thigh for a hitchhiker. Stood to reason vamps needed to attract their kill, but this guy, he didn’t really look hungry.

“We need to talk.” Spike said, “You know, ‘big picture’ and all that?”

“Can’t see what we got to talk about.” Connor leans forward all faux petulant when all he wants is to kiss that deadly mouth. “I don’t have anything to say to a vamp.”

“Even if I’m not like the other girls?”

Another giggle which Connor can’t help thinking doesn’t fit Spike’s cool image. The vampire seems oblivious to his disapproving glare and pulls a cigarette from a crushed packet.

“You aren’t supposed to smoke in here.”

“You want to talk about my health then, ‘bout the lack of personal freedom in this state? Reminds me of sodding prohibition, it does. Well, you know what…?”

Somehow, Connor knows he is going to hear this anyway,

“What?”

Fuck. Spike leans a little towards him and his scent saturates him, stirring the human’s cock. He shifts, wondering if the vampire can sense his arousal. If he does, he’s choosing to ignore it  or maybe he’s confused, can smell the pheromones but can’t pinpoint the origin -  there are a lot of couples around them, a lot of flirting – early Friday night – everyone’s got the horn. And he’s missed what Spike was saying, something about rules. Some vampire hunter he is, one moment’s lapse like this out there, and that’d be it.

“You want to show a bit of respect for your elders, mate. Weren’t listening to a bloody word I was saying, were you.”

“Elders?”

***

Missed that long coat – would have proved handy at this moment. Even thinking about Gandsod hadn’t got rid of the hard-on the night before. Thinking about Angelus couldn’t distract him now either. Family – the pull, the hatred, the desire…how Spike envied humans their calming breaths, their chemistry. Still, if he could breathe, he’d have a heart beat too, and it would be pounding so fucking hard he wouldn’t be able to hear himself think.

Junior’s a real hunter, brave, looking right at him. Yeah, he had blue eyes like his bitch of a mother, but that mouth, sneering at him…it showed he thought a lot of himself just like…a flood of resentment fills Spike at the thought of the two of them, how Darla and Angelus looked down on him. They thought he’d never cut it – sitting on the edge of the bed, another cigarette in his mouth, Spike strokes an aching hard on while his other hand lingers by his knee. He imagines Connor’s hair swaying as he sucks…Umm, this helps. He’s the master vampire these days. Nice fantasy this one – Angelus’ son on his knees before him.

Greedy eyes hone in on Connor’s hands. Spike registers a torn cuticle and a few smudges of paint; if Spike could have been bothered to concentrate he could have named the pigment but the kid keeps interrupting his train of thought.

“You aren’t much older than me.” Connor sips the beer, full lips pulling at the neck for a moment making Spike wince.

“Oh, I’m a lot older. I put it down to careful living and a good diet.”

“You start grocery shopping in here, I’ll kill you. Just so we’re clear.”

“And I’m supposed to be, what? Scared?” Spike beckons for more drinks. “Better steel myself, bit of Dutch courage.” His hand waves across the bar, “JD, mate, two glasses and leave the bottle.” He waits for the kid to produce some money but Connor doesn’t move – hmm, the similarities keep on coming. “So how come you haven’t dusted me yet?”

Connor shifts awkwardly, “Beats me…”

Spike places the unlit cigarette behind his ear. “I miss Mexico – you don’t smoke there - it’s a crime.”

“How long you been a vamp? From the way you dress, the eighties, seventies? Jeez, man, before I was born!”

Small talk – the kid was being friendly – yeah awkward friendly, attitude.

“That’s not so old for a vamp.” Spike doesn’t quite succeed in quelling his smirk. Yeah, sharp as a knife this one.

“Guess I’ve never had cause to talk to a vamp before. Hard to tell how old they are. What with them being so fuck ugly.”

Spike’s lips pull wide in amusement – wasn’t finding yours truly ugly, was he?

“Kid, the clothes don’t say anything. You get a really old vamp, he moves with the times.”

“But not you.”

 “No. Not me.”

“You don’t think this is all kinda strange? Sitting here, talking to me - a human? Cos I gotta tell ya, I’m not comfortable with it. “

Hmm, that explained the wriggling.

“So go. Finish your drink and go.”

***

“I’m not moving. I’m waiting for someone.”

Connor is finding the strain in his pants too much. The more uncomfortable he feels, the more he wants to hit this vamp, and the more he wants to hit him, the more turned on he is. He leans to pick up his backpack, pulls it to his lap and pretends to search for something – needs to cover up. How can he leave? How could he walk even?

“I know your dirty little secret, mate. Know what you’re hiding.”

What?

Connor’s hand slides guilty against the magazine he bought that morning. His voice hitches as he pulls out his cell phone.

“Vamp psychic – great.”

Damn – he’s forgotten to switch it on again –– what if his contact had tried to call? The guy wasn’t exactly emotionally intelligent and had made it clear he didn’t like making deals with “ass-wipe college kids”.

The backpack keels over as Connor is momentarily distracted; it’s caught by the vampire who doesn’t appear to have moved from his seat. Their hands bump together for a heavy moment as Connor tries to snatch it from him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got in here…a-ha...”

Fuck.

Connor hisses in relief when Spike doesn’t pull the tiny package out. It must have slipped to the bottom of the bag.

“Spot of reading matter, eh?” They both hold fast. Spike searches with his free hand, “Hmm, Twinkies, poncey Russian book and…”

Connor examines Spike’s translucent knuckles gripping the bag, so dry, still against his own clammy, shaking fingers. He softens a moment as he remembers he’s in the presence of a demon and lifts his face; a little awed, he catches Spike’s eyes.  Another shudder runs down his thighs at the flash of tongue as if the vampire is tasting the pheromones between them, openly reveling in the human’s discomfort. Connor’s eyebrows knit as he tugs to release Spike’s hold. The vampire has seen him – exposed, aroused.

Spike lets go and raises his hands in mock surrender.

***

Stupid twat – what’s he getting into this crap for? Junior thinks he’s seen the mag and not the package. That explains the hard-on - like he cares what floats the kid’s boat. The drugs, well he’d have to deal with that another time.

Connor’s eyes are blazing – good look – Spike likes it, likes this attitude, and his mind wanders again when he recalls a different expression he’d invented for Connor in his mind’s eye the night before.

the vampire turns his attention to the space on the rug where Angelus’ son ‘kneels’. As he rubs his cock furiously Spike imagines Connor craning to check with worried eyes, the human  needs to be reassured that  he’s pleasing Spike yes…and the vampire would make the kid work hard, that was it,  wait till he was really close before he gave Connor  anything – make him appreciate who the fuck he’s dealing with.

“Listen to me, you filthy demon. You come off like you’re my long lost uncle or something – I don’t want to talk to you, only thing I want is to...”

Hmm, seems we have what the Californians call ‘issues’ – Spike decides this isn’t the time to talk. Truth is he’d promised Angel there wouldn’t be any talking at all, but the drugs—that was something that would need settling, and Grandpa wouldn’t want precious hanging out with lowlifes. Spike also hadn’t expected the boy would know about vampires – humans were so blind, only saw what they wanted. He scanned the bar again, raised his eyebrows at a group at a table nearby. He was used to the looks, came with the hair, sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t cos he was such a babe – he smirks at the Americanism, maybe they can sense he’s different – dangerous different. Bugger, the kid won’t stop talking will he? “It’s taken me a few months to get this but I know who I am. I kill your kind. I oughta waste you – think you’re clever trying to tell me what to do”.

Ah, the kid’s pissed off now with nice rush of adrenaline that acts on Spike like an aphrodisiac. To his horror the buried memory of Xander Harris surfaces, how that particular human had gone through this same routine: insult, blows, bravado, more insult – till he gave it up – shit they both did. Get a fucking grip – this was business…Spike notices Connor looking over his shoulder. Someone he’s expecting by the look on his face, better retreat, keep an eye on Junior from a distance. Spike stands, leans close so he can make out the slight discoloration on Connor’s face where he received a blow the night before.

“I’ve been thinking – not so much your uncle – way I worked it out, and believe me it’s complicated, more your ‘cousin’.”

The bag slips to the floor.

Reflections 6