'F**k You, And Your Cat!'

BY : Rune
Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 3464
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

‘Fuck you and your cat!’ 

Pairing: Spike/Lorne (The Host)
Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters

The title was stolen from a song by Goldfinger. 
Author’s notes: No felines were kicked in the ass during the writing of this fic. 


Okay, so I knew he didn’t *like* cats. 

Sweet cheeks, I ask you, who the heck doesn’t like cats? 

All right, there’s dogs... Vartog demons... mice... rats (yuck)... and Spike. 

I knew he didn’t like cats. 

I didn’t know he was allergic to them. 

It was such a cute little thing. I was closing up the bar after a particularly long and torturous evening listening to Angel sing his little soul out on stage. He said he had a difficult case to solve and needed a reading, but I knew better. He’s a closet Judy Garland you know. Only difference is, Jude could sing. What that vamp can do to ‘La Vida Loca’ doesn’t bear thinking about. The phrases ‘bleeding eardrums’ and ‘please somebody kill me now’ spring to mind. Worse that that? He did ALL the actions, baby. The man has *no rhythm*! He jerked around up on that stage like a scalded cat. Sounded like just like one, too. And speaking of cats... 

I’d just ushered the last of the (and I use the term loosely) *people* from the bar and had locked up, when I heard this strange noise coming from under one of the tables. Being the brave fella that I am I sent Garcia to check it out. Hey, I’m the boss. It wouldn’t do if I was eaten or mauled... although that very much depends on who is doing the eating, honey! 

Anyhoo, he came back with the *cutest* little bundle of flea-bitten fur I’ve seen since I said farewell to mum and the siblings back in Pylea. Only the kitten didn’t smell as foul, nor did it do the Dance of Shame. On the upside it didn’t curse me and run me out of town either, so that kinda endeared me to the little beast straight away. Gently, I lifted him from Garcia’s arms, trying to dodge razor sharp little teeth and claws. But hey, I’m used to that. Sometimes Spike gets a little frisky and boy, when he does it pays to keep your ‘essentials’ right out of fangs way! I’ve been bitten on the dick often enough to know to when to shimmy my caboose to the other end of the bed. 

So. I’m standing in the bar at 2am with an overexcited pussy. What’s a guy to do? I did the only thing you *can* do when you’re stood there cupping an overexcited pussy in your hot little hands, I took it home with me, and after it devoured the contents of the refrigerator I took it to bed. Well, would *you* have left a restless pussy to nose through your personals while you slept? I think not! 

Actually, the little fella was pretty damn snugly, all furry and warm. Reminded me of Cordy’s Groo in a way; all hair and cuteness with the strangest blue eyes... I never realised cats could have blue eyes. Spike was out on one of his nocturnal rambles, which meant he would probably stagger in just before daybreak with a bellyful of beer and a hard-on. Isn’t it funny how vampires are always horny? Man, that bloodsucker could shag for Britain... and don‘t even get me *started* on the sucking angle. 

I’m snoozing and drifting happily in the Land of Nod, canoodling with Agent Mulder in a big vat of Jell-O when the slamming of the apartment door ripped me from his strong and muscular arms and dropped me unceremoniously back in the small studio Spike and I share above the bar. *Sigh* Damn, it was strawberry Jell-O too... 

I could hear his bleached-ness rummaging around in the refrigerator for the chocolate ice cream he *thought* he had hidden behind the frozen blood bags. I say *thought*, ‘cause I’d been there, slurped it all and hidden the evidence already *underneath* the blood bags. We both love it you see. It’s like a running battle to see who can finish it first, and because SOME of us actually WORK for a living, it’s usually Spike who gleefully leaves me naught but the empty box. 

I can always tell when he‘s done it - the little sucker watches me walking to the ‘fridge with his smug little smirk, knowing he’s scoffed the lot and I’m too tired to go to the store to buy more... which he would eat most of anyhow. But not tonight, sugar. Sometimes he resorts to a dirty tricks campaign that would win him a nomination for the Whitehouse - his second favourite is to ‘accidentally’ drizzle blood on it. His first favourite? Let’s just use the word ‘drizzle’ and leave it at that. Believe me baby, even I shudder to think what he gets up to when he’s alone and horny! 

There’s the sound of the refrigerator door being slammed and the drunken mutterings of a pissed off and ice cream deprived vampire, before I hear the twin thumps of Dr Marten’s hitting the floor. Who the heck IS Dr Marten, and why does he feel the need to make boots? (Clears throat and affects a deep, manly voice) ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor... of boots’, yeah, like THAT’S gonna get him on ER. 

Anyhoo, a few rustles, thumps and muffled curses later and a cool, beer-smelling body slips into bed beside me. I gotta tell ya people, there is NOTHING like having your own vampire slip into bed beside you when the humidity is taking the paint of the walls. I often tell him he’s like a big ice Popsicle. Of course you can guess what his response is to that. Let’s just say that after three months of rampant bonking with Spike, I could suck the spots of a leopard. He’s kinda orally fixated, and not only in a bloodsucking way. It’s part of his charm. Hey, it’s ALL of his charm. 

He snuggles up close, hands caressing the entire length of my torso before settling just below the navel, where he gently tugs the little hairs that lead the way to Lorne Heaven. He growls softly in my ear knowing how much it turns me on. 

‘Grrrrrrrrr... Wanna play baby?’ 

Holy cow, is the Pope a Catholic? Does a bear crap in the woods? Could my dick BE any harder? I flutter my eyelashes coquettishly, trying for the Britney Spears pouty look. I probably come across more as a coy Kermit the frog, although unfortunately I haven’t got the tongue to go along with it. ‘Now Spikey-kins...’ I purr ‘Do you really need to ask? You know I can’t get enough of that naughty vamp lovin’. Come on over and give me some sugar, baby.’ 

He growls louder and rolls on top of me pinning me to the bed, which is no mean feat I can tell you. I’m a good three inches taller and about one and half times his body weight. But no one can say my Spikey-poos isn’t a game little fella. Hell, he’ll shag anything, regardless of size, sex or religious affiliation. And I don’t know if it’s just a vampire trait, (although having sneaked a few glances at Angel’s trouser department I’m thinking it is), but they have larger than usual... equipment. Spike isn’t called Spike just because of his love of sharp, pointy objects, and he‘s not behind the door at sticking his ‘equipment’ in most any willing orifice. And speaking of which... 

Gods, this man’s tongue could win a major award. I can see it all in my mind's eye... 

‘And this year’s Demon Nobel Prize for Fellatio goes to.... (Dramatic pause) William the Bloody! Come on up to the podium Will. Speech! Speech!’ 

(Riotous applause) 

Will climbs nonchalantly onto the podium, wearing nothing but leather chaps and a smile. ‘Thank you, thank you all dear friends. This award is a real bloody honour, and it’s partially due to the enthusiastic participation of Lorne here, without whose cock, I wouldn’t have put in all the practise I needed to win this prestigious award for sucking...’ 

‘Lorne? Lorne?’ Sigh ‘C'mon, snap out of it Lorne. I’m trying to have sex here and you‘re off in Cloud Cuckoo Land!’ 

What? Ahhhhh. A slightly miffed, pale vampire face stares down at me. Oh gods, I’d zoned out again, hadn’t I? Damn these fantasies. *Snerk* ‘Sorry sugar...’ I pout ‘I was just thinking about...’ 

Spike smiled indulgently at me. ‘It was the Fellatio Award and the leather chaps again, wasn’t it?’ 

Ahhhh my little vamp knows me SO well! He slid back down my body, his tongue dragging a cool, wet trail of pleasure around a hard, sensitive nipple and further down to slither into my belly button. He glances back up at me, those incredible blue eyes sparkling with all kinds of naughtiness. 

‘Well...’ he muses ‘If I’m gonna win this award, then I guess I’d better get some practice in.’ 

When his cool, wet mouth descends on my cock and he nearly swallows me whole, all rational thought ends.

Part Two

I was in Spike Heaven. 

We’d just got to the part were he’d slid inside me with the aid of some of my favourite strawberry flavoured lube (commonly known in merry old England as strawberry jam). Wow, such a versatile foodstuff! You can spread it on your toast *and* shag with it... Delightful! Just so long as you remember to buy the SEEDLESS variety. (Shudder) Yeah, we’ve had our fair share of scary ’hunt the seed’ moments with *that*, I can tell you. 

Anyhoo... His bleached-ness was working those sweet buns of his like only he can. Its no wonder Spike’s ass is so tight and cute; God knows it gets enough exercise. His eyes were closed and I could see his game face shimmering on the surface, ready to break through when he came, which judging by his snarls wasn’t gonna be long. 

Making love with Spike was an adventure. Actually, it was more like “a box a chocolates“, to quote Forrest’s dear mama, ‘cause with Spike you “never knew whit you were ginna get“. He could be quite fierce, my fangy little bloodsucker, all growls and biting. It’s a huge piece of luck we don’t have neighbours. Sometimes it’s like the Discovery Channel in our bedroom, filled with the grunts and squeals of one demon or another being eaten and damn near humped to death. And of course there’s the Dawn Chorus of agonised squeals as the warm water of the shower beats down on my latest collection of bite marks and scratches. 

Other times he can be so gentle. There’s a little spot way deep down inside my blonde beauty that’s as soft as a marshmallow. He tries to hide it, but I know it’s there. I’ve managed to prod it’s squishy surface now and again, and when I do and we make love, sweet Jesus, it’s achingly tender and sweet. It’s not unlike a religious experience, minus the Holy Water and the boring litanies. That vamp can take me to the pinnacle of ecstasy and beyond, and it’s not the first time he’s damn near moved me to tears. Spike needs to be needed, needs so desperately to be loved. And I do love him. Hopelessly. It frightens me just how much. I think he loves me, but to be honest? I’d settle for whatever I can get from him. 

His game face is fully to the fore now. Gods, it’s so feral, so animalistic, so... toothy. I gotta say he’s got a great set of fangs. And here I am, legs spread like the shameless bitch that I am and an orgasm like a tidal wave ready to engulf me - holy shit, ecstasy ‘at the hands of big pointed teeth!’ You gotta love Monty Python, right? 

And in true Monty Python form, that’s when it happened. 

I’d forgotten ALL about the cat. 

The little fella must’ve been pinned in between us or something and managed to struggle his way out. You can imagine *just* how pissed off he is by now, trapped between two sweaty, humping demons. There was a brief flurry of ginger fur, an ear-splitting yowl of rage and before I knew it, I was face to face with another face full of fangs as the demon kitty from Hell yowled and spat at me from Spike’s shoulder. 

Everything went to Hell in a hand basket after that. 

At first, my blondie bear didn’t know what had happened. Maybe he thought I’d gone all Pussy Galore on him, who knows. But his eyes snapped open, golden and extremely pissed off, and he swung his head around to see what was making a meal of his shoulder. Tiny rivulets of blood dripped onto me from were kitties claws were deeply embedded, and the little fur ball himself was yowling in Spikey-poos ear loud enough to waken (and scare the shit out of) the dead. 

The look on Spike’s face was priceless. If I hadn’t have been absolutely terrified of what he was gonna do to me for bringing the cat into our bed, I could have easily have soiled myself laughing. But I think it was when he squealed like a girl and leapt of the bed, dick still hard and swinging wildly from side to side, that I lost all self-control. If you’ve never seen a vampire in full game face with a hard-on the size of Texas slapping off his leg as he tries desperately to dislodge an outraged pussy from his shoulder, then pumpkin you’ve never lived. 

I just KNOW I missed some of the funnier moments on account of being curled in a ball on top of the bed, crying with laughter and gasping for breath as Spike cavorted wildly around the room, squealing like a stuck pig for me to come and get this ‘little fucker’ off his shoulder. Part of me, a teensy-weensy part of me, felt SO sorry for him but honey, I was HELPLESS. I could barely breath never mind get of the bed. 

Isn’t it funny how at times like this, when you’ve been frightened and/or embarrassed, that the fates step in and rather than helping they make a bad situation a hundred times worse? Now you would think that Spikes situation couldn’t have gotten any worse. Naked and scared to death with a demented cat embedded on his shoulder and yowling like a banshee. It just couldn’t get any worse. 


I was vaguely aware of a banging sound that got louder and louder. At first I thought it was my heart, because I’d already decided that if I couldn’t stop laughing soon, I was gonna die. Unfortunately for Spike, it was much worse than that. 

The door of the apartment was suddenly kicked right off it’s hinges and Angel stormed in, brandishing a HUGE axe and looking like someone had just told him that his hair really DID grow straight up. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was closely followed by Wesley, Gunn and ohhhh horror of horrors... Cordelia. 

There was one of those ‘stunned silence’ moments. Well, all except for Spike who was still raging around the apartment a la kitty shoulder accessory, and UNBELIEVABLY still with a hard-on, bellowing at me. 

‘Lorne! Lorne, you complete BASTARD! Get off your ass and get this FUCKING CAT OFFA ME!'

Then he saw Angel. And the gang. 

What a fucking Kodak moment THAT was. 

Now I’ve seen the big fella look perplexed before, but this expression was beyond perplexed, beyond embarrassed, beyond comprehension even. His mouth opened and closed like a Guppy fish as he and Spike eyeballed each other. 

For his part, my blondie bear gathered his last remaining shreds of dignity, squared shoulders which had suddenly became pussy-free as the irate little guy leapt off and vanished into the night, and sniffed in what I know he hoped was a nonchalant manner. One of his hands crept over his bulging erection and the other groped on the bedside table for his cigarettes. He glared at Angel. 

‘Bloody hell, doesn’t anyone round here know how to knock?’ 

Angels lip quivered. ‘Vision.’ 

At this point the rest of us are playing musical statues, no one has moved a muscle or spoken. Let’s face it, if YOU were confronted with a naked, sexually aroused vampire with an angry pussy trying to eat him, you’d be pretty damned shocked yourself. 

The blonde ones dark eyebrow rose sharply. ‘Vision?’ 

Angel nodded slowly. ‘Yeah.... Urmmmm... Cordelia had a vision that you were being... *snerk* eaten by a huge, furry demon.’ 

Now if you looked really closely you could see the realisation of what had actually been going on suddenly dawn in Angel’s eyes. He stifled another giggle and cleared his throat. 

‘Seems we got here just in time to save you, boy.’ 

And with that, the dark haired vampire leant over; his face contorted by laughter, and grabbed Spikes beloved duster. ‘For God’s sake cover yourself up Will. You’ll frighten the cat.’ 

Wesley snorted. ‘Bugger the cat, he’s frightening ME.’ 

Needless to say, hysterics ensued. 

Spike glowered. He threw a steely glance around the room at the others before his baleful gaze fell on me. I could see his lower lip trembling. Yikes. Always a BAD sign. He pulled on his duster and he and his hard-on headed for the door. He turned; cigarette firmly jammed between those luscious lips and shot me one last, murderous look. 

‘Fuck you. AND your cat!’ he bellowed, before heading off into the night, naked except for his duster.

Part Three

Suddenly, none of it seemed so funny anymore. I could feel the grin slide off my face, and when I looked around I could see that the others has stopped laughing and were nervously wiping their noses and eyes. 

Angel cleared his throat. 

‘It’s okay Lorne. He’ll be back when he’s calmed down a bit. You know what he’s like.’ 

I nodded gloomily, my heart suddenly heavy with pain at the thought of him NOT coming back. 

Angel smiled gently and handed me a bathrobe that had been hanging over the back of a chair. 

‘Anyhow’ he continued ‘He’s gonna be feeling pretty sorry for himself soon. You see, he’s allergic to cats.’ 

Oh damn. Another strike for the braindead green demon. Yeah, let’s bring home a cat. He can eat your boyfriend and give him some horrible disease. 

‘Oh it’s nothing serious’ Angel smiled ‘He just gets some itchy spots... some itchy BLUE spots. You’ll need yoghurt. Lots and lots of yoghurt. Put it on the spots and it’ll help the itch. In a few days he’ll be back to normal. Although he’ll probably be mega pissed with *you* for the next millennium or so.’ 

Oh wonderful. I found myself wondering, and not for the last time, why of all the gin joints and all the bars in the world, that damn cat just HAD to come into mine. 

Angel instructed the others to go home and he patched up the door as best as he could, promising to send someone to fix it the next morning. 

After he’d gone I sat on the bed and stared at our apartment. It was so QUIET. Just like it had been before Spike had moved in. On a scale of 1 - 10 in suckiness, this was a definite 12. I didn’t want quiet - I didn’t NEED quiet. I just needed Spike. Tears welled, I’m not ashamed to say, and when they stopped flowing I fell asleep. 

I had a dream. 

I was swimming frantically around a huge tub of yoghurt, being chased by Spike who was the most god-awful colour of blue and who had inexplicably grown ears and whiskers like a cat. He caught up with me and was shaking me violently, calling my name over and over... 

‘Lorne. Lorne wake up, damn you. LORNE!’ 

Jerked from sleep, I sat bolt upright in the bed squealing ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! PLEASE don’t be a cat, PLEASE don’t be a cat!’ 

When I got my bearings I realised it was him. My Spike had come home. But ohhhhh gods... 


I’m afraid I couldn’t stop the girly scream that his appearance ripped from me. Gods, I’ve seen many, many strange things in my time, but nothing as strange as this peroxided vampire with the large blue spots. 

He glowered again. ‘Oh bloody hell’ he humphed and started to get up from the bed. 

I grabbed his arm and it felt lumpy underneath his duster. Apparently the blue bumpiness was all over him. He looked like mutated oatmeal. Or a blue toad. A bleached blonde and furious blue toad. But his face. Oh his poor, blue, lumpy face with its little boy lost, petulant look. And, oh gods, he was pouting. I’m helpless in the face of Spike pouts. Jell-O on his plate, putty in his hands... I *would* say weak in the presence of beauty, but not on this occasion, bless his little cotton soul. 

‘Oh pumpkin...’ I whispered ‘My poor, poor pumpkin. Come to daddy, sweet cheeks. Lorne will take care of you, baby.’ 

He looked at me from beneath those sooty black eyelashes and I’ll SWEAR the little minx fluttered them before deepening his pout. 

‘I’m all bumpy’ he grumbled ‘And itchy. I need someone to look after me... a big, green daft headed someone.’ He smiled weakly, still managing to hold his pout. 

I pulled him close to me, wanting to hold him, kiss him, make it all better. Something hard and cold poked me in the ribs from underneath his duster. Oh gods, surely not. *Surely* he hadn’t still got a stiffy? 

With one of those ‘I can read your mind’ looks that he can do SO well, he reached beneath his duster and produced a family sized tube of yoghurt. Then he smirked his evil little smirk. ‘You horny old git, Lorne.’ 

I chuckled and stroked his poor, lumpy face gently. ‘Oh Spikey-poos...’ I whispered ‘My sweet little Spikey-poos.’ 

When we kissed it was bliss. Lumpy, but bliss. 

And don’t think I didn’t notice the yoghurt was strawberry flavoured. 


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