Hey look...it's Wednesday and my next installment of my story!  I'm excited to be posting my favorite chapter so far, especially on my b-day!!!  Okay, before you go off and read, big thanks to my amazing betas Sanityfair and Diebirchen.  Oh, and thank you, the reader, for taking time to read, hopefully enjoy, and review (begging eyes) my story!
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Damn it to hell!  I’m so bleeding bored!

With each stride across the ten-by-ten meter cave, Spike’s boredom had gone from slightly irritating to pretty much unbearable in a matter of an hour.

This wasn’t a type of boredom cured by a few pints of O negative and a couple bottles of Jack.  Oh, no.  This was more of the mind-numbing tedium only quelled after spilling rivers of blood with fists and fangs.

While Spike made another stalking trek, his thoughts returned to when he awoke.  He was in a brilliant mood, wearing nothing but the biggest Peaches-got-smacked-down shit-eating grin and sporting a massive hard-on.  It was then he decided on this self-imposed lockdown, especially after his almost run-in with the Slayer the night before.

With that decided and knowing how easily boredom crept in, he started thinking of a distraction to pass the time.  He had to look no further than his lap and the prominently tented sheet wrapped around his waist.  With a wolfish grin, he gave one nipple a harsh tweak, slid his hand down his torso, and wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a none-too-gentle tug.

With every stroke, he brought himself closer to that much sought-after bliss.  Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that each stroke felt just a little off.  They were either too fast or too slow or not hard enough.  It was like some twisted version of Goldilocks, porn-style.

Of course, he knew was doing it right, after a century-plus of practice, but it just felt like he needed something more.  Without giving another thought to what more exactly was, he let his mind wander.  Almost instantly his mind conjured up the Slayer.

Now, if he weren’t so focused on the job at hand, he would’ve been right brassed-off that his thoughts went there.  But since his top priority was getting off and the Slayer’s bloody death would easily get the job done, he went with it.

Yet to his surprise, it wasn’t him sinking his teeth into her nearly pristine throat or them trading brutal blows, but her tight hot little body wrapped in barely-there, strategically-placed scraps of leather that came to mind.  She was writhing before him and running her hands enticingly over her luscious body while his name passed her shiny crimson-stained lips in a litany of enticements.

The more she teased and allured, the closer he came to completion.  Then with two more brisk tugs, he felt his sac tightening.  His neck bowed back and his muscles went taut, while his loud growls heralded each volley of spendings spurting over his hand and lower stomach.  

Panting unnecessarily, Spike leisurely stroked his cock as he slowly brought himself down from the heights of euphoric release.  With a final tug and a heavy sigh of contentment, he released himself.  Then needing to clean the mess, he leaned over the side of the bed, grabbed a stray t-shirt from the floor and cleaned off his hand and stomach before wadding up the soiled fabric and tossing it across the room.

Now feeling completely relaxed and spent, Spike lazily stretched like a big cat in the mid-day sun.  He then slid back to prop his upper body against the battered headboard while he reached for his fags and lit one up.

With a deep inhalation, he savored the mind-numbing nicotine washing over him.  After exhaling a steady stream of smoke dragon-style, he felt all his cares receding and taking with them the biggest one: why it was that little bitch who had him spurting like a geyser.

With another long drag, he further relaxed.  Well, most of his body that is.  His cock, on the other hand, seemed to have almost a mind of its own.  In spite of his willy being spanked hard and put to bed, it still stood defiantly under the sheet lying atop it.

Spike glanced at his predicament and with a casual shrug and muttering, “Why not?  Nothin’ better to do.”  Spike snubbed out the remainder of his cigarette on the stone wall and took hold of his erection.

That was a dozen of naughty Slayer-visuals, three cleanups, and an hour of wanking later, and his cock wasn’t getting any softer.  In fact, it seemed he was getting harder by the minute.

With contempt, he eyed his rubbed-raw, wayward appendage and finally decided he needed another way to keep busy—a way that wasn’t resorting to nearly yanking the thing off completely in self-flagellation.

Spike released the punishing grip he had on himself, threw off the covers, and quickly dressed.
 
Then he started pacing; that was an hour ago.  An hour of ping-ponging back and forth while his mind ran over and over his decision to stay put was getting him more and more brassed off.

When he came up with this seemingly brilliant plan, he was still all hyped-up on Angel’s misery.  Now, in the harsh light of day or more so, in the dim light of four stone walls, he realized it was total shite.

Needing to release some of his pent-up frustration, Spike lashed out at the closest thing available, the cave wall.  In spite of his undeniable supernatural strength when fist met rock, the sandstone clearly won.  Now, all he had to show for this brief one-sided tussle was the torn up skin on his knuckles and a sprinkling of dust.

Bugger this!

With a growl of annoyance, Spike stalked over to his leather and snatched it off the bed.  While muttering a string of colorful curses, he stuffed his arms into the butter-soft sleeves, jammed his smokes into his pocket, and headed out into the night.

The night was clear and quiet; some might say, if they were terribly clichéd,
‘Too quiet.”  Besides the occasional scurrying of nauseating woodland creatures and the crackling and snapping of dead leaves and fallen branches under his boots, he heard nothing but his own unneeded breath.

After going a short way, he cleared the woods and stepped out onto the road leading into town.  The heavenly scent of pulsers tickled his nose and made his mouth instantly water.  With a lick of his lips, he headed off in the direction where the scent was the strongest.

Only a few minutes into his dinner plans, he became distracted by another distinctive aroma, the heady scent of the Slayer.  Almost instantly, his cock became like a dowsing rod and pressed almost painfully against its confines, urging him to change directions.  He had no choice but to obey.

With each step closer, these feelings grew until he was—just like last night— drowning in her.  So much so, it nearly spun his head clean off.
 
Spike kept to the shadows while following alongside the road.  After several feet, the feeling of déjà vu became far too strong to ignore.  He’d been this way before, many times, in fact.  Yet at the time, he wasn’t standing, but sitting in that blasted wheelchair.

Now, all the pieces are starting to fit.

The overpowering smell of the bane of his existence, the Slayer, was leading him like an animal to slaughter to the place where all his misery began, the mansion.

Clearly, the Slayer and Peaches damn well knew he was in Sunnyhell, and he was being played.  Or so they thought.

Well I know the game now and things are goin’ to change !

With his demon in the forefront, Spike’s heavy strides ate away at the pavement.  It was all too much.  Everywhere he went in this blasted town, he was constantly being reminded of his shortcomings.  Well, not anymore.

Then something unexpected happened.  The stronger the Slayer’s scent and her heartbeat became, the less he focused on her demise.  This urge was replaced by—if he didn’t know any better—lust and jealous rage.

It enraged him that the woman he wanted was at the mansion with Peaches, and he wagered with all that womanly musk perfuming the air, that his letch of a grandsire probably had his bloody hands all over her.

Then the location of the pull shifted, and it was now beside him.  He looked past the shadows, and there standing in the middle of the street, was the Slayer; her features appeared awash with blatant desire.

He quickly scanned the area, and not seeing Angel anywhere in sight, his jealously abated, leaving only the burning craving behind—the craving to fully possess her. 

Spike stifled the low growl rumbling deep within his throat and stepped toward her.  Just before he revealed himself, she ran away as if the devil himself was on her heels.  If Spike hadn’t restrained himself as he did, that would’ve been the case.

What the bloody hell is going on!

When he finally snapped out of this lusty stupor and regained his focus, he stopped to think.  Sure, he still wanted to go after her.  Hell, in the natural order of things, any predator would give chase to prey when they scampered off like that.  But this was far more than that.

This was a gut-wrenching, all-consuming want, the likes of which he’d never experienced before.  Even the time when he was a newly-risen, ravenous fledgling craving the ruby-red, paled in comparison.

There was some reason why his body was reacting to her this way, and he was going to find out what it was. With a parting glance in the direction she fled and then down to his straining denim-covered erection, Spike shook of his head in surrender and headed back to his hideout for more rounds of “wanking my willy.”       
 

 

 
Author’s Notes:

For all those like me who don’t use the metric system, 10.668 meters= 35feet

Dowsing rod: Dowsing is a type of divination employed in attempts to locate ground water, buried metals or ores, gemstones, oil, gravesites,[1] and many other objects and materials, as well as so-called currents of earth radiation (Ley lines), without the use of scientific apparatus. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dowsing#Dowsing_rods