The Sick Rose
by Pandarus


5. Dinner and entertainment

She wasn't there.

Spike had unlocked the door to let the lads in and then quietly locked it behind him, slipping the key into the duster's pocket and following Bob and Gianni into the bedroom. He cocked his head slightly to one side as he looked from one firm arse to the other and wondered which boy Dru would nibble first. He expected to find her slithering out from between the cotton sheets at the first sound of their entrance - but there was no sign of her, no scent of her, no sound of her. His drowsy darling had changed her mind and taken to the streets without him.

Spike knew he shouldn't be piqued, but his lips still formed an involuntary pout. He put the bag of marionettes down on an over-padded chair, feeling oddly cheated. Here was the hunter, home from the hill with puppets to play with and humans to kill - and Sleeping Beauty had put on her glad rags and wandered off to paint the town red. Without him.

Well bugger that for a lark. The pretty little Englishmen were embracing under his nose, wrapped in a positively pornographic pose that was plainly aimed to titillate. It was working. If she didn't want to stay and play then she could damn well come home to find the toys had been broken in without her.

Patience had never been one of Spike's virtues.

He stalked forward and pulled the lads apart, hooking a hand into each belt and tugging them both towards him with a degree of force that took them by surprise. Bob moved into the first kiss, which was just what Spike would have expected. He was game for anything, this Roberto; flightier and ballsier and dumber than Gianni. His tongue in Spike's mouth was carelessly slutty and thoroughly at ease, moving with the practised, teasing skill of a scene queen in the full bloom of youth and beauty. Gianni was only a heartbeat behind, kissing his way along Spike's cool throat as his hands worked on the vampire's belt and slipped down the back of his black jeans.

Spike moved his hands to the neck of Bob's T-shirt and ripped it in half. Bob, jolting out of the snog, looked frankly astonished and more than a little pissed off, but Spike didn't give him time to start some poofy rant about the cost of designer gear. He picked the lad up, enjoying the warmth of the skin under his hands, and threw him onto the king sized bed. Took in the gob-smacked mixture of emotions on the lad's face as he ripped open the combats and yanked them down and off. Calvins. But of course. And there was Bob's todger straining to make its presence known inside them - more a satyr than a fawn, and that was just as Spike had hoped. Gianni was a lucky lad. He felt Gianni's hand on his shoulder and, turning, saw that Roberto's lover had already divested himself of his clothes and was already roused and ruddy and raring to go.

Mouths and hands everywhere. Pale arms interlaced with dark ones in an angular chiaroscuro tangle of flesh. A cold tongue licking down the brown curvature of a spine to slide between the cheeks of a youthful arse and slither into the eager little pucker of clenched muscle. Fingers exploring the silken skin of a penis and cupping a softly swinging scrotum. A sharp anklebone grazing the soft flesh of a calf. Messy and awkward and delicious. Gianni was ticklish and tender and prone to laughter at unlikely moments, whilst Roberto thought himself terribly worldly and brazen and seemed acutely conscious of always looking his best, as if he were starring in his own personal porn film.

It was all so bloody easy. Almost dull. He wondered what Drusilla was up to.

* * *


Afterwards he left them handcuffed together on the bed, wrist to ankle. Roberto's sobs were barely audible through the gag; you'd have thought the little idiot would be grateful to have been the one left alive. Spike thought the whimpering was unlikely to be overheard, but he hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign over the handle, just to be on the safe side.

He had taken them both, of course. Roberto missed the moment when Spike separated Gianni from his proud member and gulped down the pulsing arterial blood; Spike had Roberto on his knees at the time, with his face shoved into a pillow and Spike's cock ploughing into his arse at full steam. It was a little tricky keeping Gianni from collapsing as the strength went out of his legs, but Spike gripped onto the dying man's right hip and left buttock with a force that left little bloody half-moon nail prints embedded in the cooling skin as he fed. The quality of Gianni's screams eventually registered with Roberto and had him thrashing under the vampire, but not until it was far too late; and not until Spike's cold seed had been spent inside him.