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Succour	By : bogwitch Category: Angel the Series > Het - Male/Female > Illyria/Spike(William) > Illyria/Spike(William) Views: 2503 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Succour
- 1
Succour

Author: Bogwitch

Email:
bogwitch@yahoo.co.uk
Website:
www.bogwitch.tk
Pairing:
Spike/Illyria
Rating:
NC-17 (for tentacle sex)
Notes:
Post-Not Fade Away. It's Valentine's Day, Spike makes a challenge with
consequences he couldn't have bargained for.
Disclaimer: No characters were harmed in the making of this fic. They do not belong to me, but are the property of Fox Entertainment and Mutant Enemy.

Valentine's
Day. What a joke. And as usual, it was on him.

Here
he was, another year and 6000 miles from the Slayer he loved, and the only woman
he had to entertain was a primordial demon King in the body of his dead friend.
He'd always had a strange kind of luck.

Illyria
sat primly beside him, perched up high on the bar stool in a commanding position
she appeared to like. She was pointedly ignoring his decent into drunken
oblivion by closely inspecting the bar's Valentine decorations as she did
everything, as if they were some great treasure full of significance.

"This room is decorated with shapes that represent hearts," Illyria
observed after she'd finished her analysis. "Does this day commemorate foes
vanquished in some great battle?"

Spike snorted in reply, trust Illyria to draw attention to something he was
trying to ignore. He took a deep swig of his drink. "More like the victors.
Winners of the greatest battle of them all."

Illyria digested that, before forming a new question. "Is this the
Agincourt of which you spoke?"

Spike smiled, Illyria just couldn't make the right connections. "No, pet.
It's Love and all that."

"Such weakness is celebrated in your culture?" she asked. "Why is
this so? The emotion serves no function."

Spike
looked deep into his glass. "Good attitude to have. Keep it up."

"I
wish to hear more. You shall tell me. What are the rituals of this day?"

Spike
sighed. "Today's supposed to be about lovers, all romance and flowers�"

"How
does this work?" Illyria asked.

Spike
shrugged. "Dinner and a movie? Then a bit a of a shag?"

"This
is what you did with your Slayer."

"Hell
no, She wouldn't have� We skipped straight to the shagging part. Now Dru and I�"
He paused again and thought for a moment. The things he'd done with Drusilla in
the name of passion made his soul a little queasy. "Let's just say we'd
have our dinner at the movies."

"Why,
in your reckoning of time, is this celebrated on this day?"

"It's the day that the birds are supposed to choose their mates,"
Spike told her. "And so mushy couples go out and drool over each other in
public. Just makes everyone else feel like shit."

Illyria
nodded stiffly, thinking she understood. "This is why you imbibe alcohol,
to make yourself forget the meaning of this day."

Spike
took yet another swig and the room started to blur nicely. "That's it,
right on the money."

"I
wish to understand why humans waste energy on such a repugnant emotion,"
Illyria said after a while.

"Repugnant?
Doesn't feel like that when you're in it," Spike said glumly, before
smiling nostalgically. "Feels like the best thing that ever happened. Feels
like there's something special between you and her, especially when you're
making love�"

"'Making
love'?" Illyria said, doubtfully.

"Sex,
bluebell. It's just better with a bit of love."

"In
my day only the greatest warriors, their prowess counted in the blood of their
slain, would be selected to maintain their bloodlines. Humans waste their brief
existence on trivialities. Such a thing as love serves no purpose for such a
fleeting moment."

"Hey!
Who you calling 'fleeting'?" Pride affronted, he got to his feet. Slightly
wobbly, he managed to knock over his stool. "Bet I could show you a thing
or two."

Illyria
looked at him sharply. Her wintry stare bored into him. "Your kind could
not endure the full ritual of mating."

"Oh
yeah?"

Illyria looked away, trying to look unconcerned by his posturing. "You are
but a half breed, vermin that should have been crushed before you rose from the
filth. You are not worthy of such an honour."

"Spare me the muck speech, pet. I've heard it," Spike threw his arms
out wide. "Take a look around, your omnipotence. The world's changed,"
he jabbed a finger in her direction. "You've changed. No one knows who you
are. Glory days are over."

She rose slowly to her feet and turned to regard him. "You would challenge
me? You would presume to fornicate with your superior?"

Spike swallowed, that hadn't been quite what he'd meant. "Never stopped me
before."

Illyria looked at him. This was not her usual unfocused glower or expressionless
stare. "You have been of use to me. I shall offer you such succour to get
you through this day. I will accept your offer."

Spike was speechless, in way over his head now. This wasn't what he'd wanted at
all. Okay, he was really drunk and really horny, so he didn't need any other
excuse; Illyria was woman-shaped and offering. Maybe if he closed his
eyes and ignored her resemblance to Fred, he might be able to go through with
it.

***

There
were times when Spike would wonder what his unlife might have been like if only
he could've kept his mouth shut.

Back
in the motel room, Illyria had wasted no time. Within seconds of their arrival,
she'd thrown him onto the shabby bed and was astride him, pinning him down with
a glare that was somewhat less than erotic.

"You
have challenged me," she said.

Spike
grinned. "Yeah, and I bet you like that."

"I
have no need of base acts such those you wish for. I have further use for you,
but I am fallen to live with the filth. I have nothing left to offer but
copulation."

"Bet
you're curious too, pet."

Illyria's
head twitched as she scrutinised his words. "I have use for understanding
this wretched world."

"Thought
so," Spike couldn't resist the tease. "Secrets out, Smurfette. You
just can't resist a bit of Spike."

Illyria
ignored him. "You will continue," she commanded, as her battlesuit
melted away.

Spike
had little choice but to look her over, as she filled the full range of his
view. The body revealed was scrawny and, no longer flushed with the glow of
living flesh, as white as virgin snow. Here and there, the sharp points of her
contours were highlighted with dustings of lapis like pictish woad. His eyes
lingered on small, but perky breasts tipped with hard points like blue Iced
Gems, before following the flat valley of her belly, a smooth plane of muscle
with no soft, sweet curves, to below. Blue was her natural colour, it seemed.

Without
emotion, she reached out and ran a graceful hand over his T-Shirt, following the
engraved muscles of his chest under the fabric, stopping only as he flinched.
Even with the unearthly eyes and the pallor of her blue-flecked skin, there was
too much of Fred in the mix for his comfort.

"My
appearance is disturbing to you. You no longer wish this?" Illyria said,
staring down at him.

"Too
many memories, pet. Science girl was good to me, you know."

Illyria
tilted her head, pondering her next move, unaffected by his reticence. "I
can assume any shape I choose."

He
thought about that. Was this a good idea? His drink-addled brain couldn't tell.
He just knew what he didn't want. Fred made him sad rather than horny.
And if he could choose anyone else, perhaps someone more familiar might make
this a little more pleasant. But who was there? Buffy was tempting, given that
he'd like more than anything to be back in her arms, but the pain of missing the
real Buffy was too raw for that. After his experiences with the Buffybot, only
the really real Buffy would ever do. The other choices were equally
inappropriate; Harmony was a scary prospect after their last encounter and Dru
brought back too many memories that the soul would rather not contemplate.

He
was about to plump for Angelina Jolie when he had a better idea, but not one
he'd fully thought through. "Just be yourself."

"That
would be acceptable." Illyria agreed.

The
alcohol in system had begun to recede a little and he began to wonder what the
hell he'd got himself into as Illyria shifted into a different form, a change as
quick as any other he'd seen her do. Pale skin darkened to cobalt, skinny limbs
grew longer and multiplied into numerous arms; thick, writhing tentacles of
which any great sea monster would have been rightly proud. Her eyes, dead and
cold in the body of her host, pooled into limitless wells of indigo, that shone
in the light from the bare bulb above them. She grew taller, broader, her
shoulders arching and thickening as she grew in stature, towering above him. This
was no ordinary demon, one fated to be slain by a Slayer in some alleyway or
cemetery, but something primitive and pure. This was truly an Old One. Kali
unbound, serpent naga, a not so little Shiva. And tonight she was his very own.

"Right,"
Spike said, slightly panicked. "Wasn't expecting Squiggly Diddly."

She said nothing, and he wasn't really sure that she was capable.

Revolted,
yet fascinated, he offered her his hand, holding it out to meet her as she
gingerly extended a tentacle towards him. It was as thick as his arm at its
widest near the base and it slowly tapered to a narrow tip. It was covered in a
skin slickly smooth and velvety soft, shining with a glorious sheen. As it
gently encircled his arm in a twisted caress, he felt tiny little suckers, each
one less than half the size of a penny, kiss him lightly as they travelled. He
tingled where they touched and the sensation felt surprisingly wonderful.

She
tightened her hold, and then with a slight tug, pulled him up to her, lifting
him clear from the bed. The many arms reached out to receive him, each one
dedicated to his pleasure. They slid around him like constrictors, forming a
tangle of limbs and tentacles until he was hopelessly knotted into her embrace.
They held him firmly not tightly, some caressing, some supporting, others
starting to explore. Drunk as he was, he went with it. No need this time to
pretend that this was anything other than what it was, and no chance of
recalling bad memories or lost opportunities. And all the attention for a change
did feel rather nice�
A
few arms were diverted from other tasks to pull off his shirt, while others
dealt with his boots and jeans, pulling and tugging until they were off.

"Hey! That was new!" He protested, as his T-Shirt was torn into
pieces, but his words were half-hearted as her touches became bolder.

Constantly
moving, writhing like a pit of adders, each arm felt like another hand searching
for the nirvana of his sweetest spots; hands massaging limbs and torso, hands
along his back and chest, hands gripping his ass; all sliding with their own
natural oils. Hands everywhere, fondling, groping, some coiled around his arms
and legs, holding him helpless.

He
closed his eyes, letting go and losing himself in the forest of limbs and
sensations. A soft ripple against his navel felt like the flutter of a kiss. A
smooth tendril traced a slick path along his shoulder to caress the sensitive
zones along his neck, before slinking through his hair and pulling it back to
allow a dozen snakes to slide up his throat. Caresses so light they went
straight to his groin and his erection bobbed once against his stomach, before
it was whipped up by a tentacle that looped sinuously around it. The slide of
the muscle along its entire length, spiralling, twisting, like no tongue ever
could, felt as good as the best blow job he'd ever had.

Other
touches could have been the trail of Dru's nail down his chest, making him
shudder, or Buffy's tiny hands gripping his shoulders with her uncanny strength
as she strained with effort. So many touches, like a thousand and one kisses all
at once and he didn't feel vulnerable or intimidated, just intense; a sensory
overload for his tactile senses, no one pleasure dominating the others as she
expertly played his body like an instrument of lust.

With
so many sensations, Illyria's arms found new places to investigate. He barely
noticed an tentacle flow down his spine with a sweeping stroke, the tip snaking
behind him to tease the tender skin of his anus, not least until it had slipped
inside and found a more exquisite place to tickle. But before he could register
his surprise, he felt his cock sucked into a soft, warm place, a toothless maw
that sucked him in like Jenna Jamieson would in some of his favourite fantasies.

From
that point, the tension began to build inside him, telling him something big was
about to happen like a three-minute warning of an incoming nuclear strike. It
gathered energy, building and building until his senses could only focus on the
slide of his cock.
Then
it hit; a Hiroshima of an orgasm, blasting through him with wave after wave as
she wrung the pleasure out of him, drawing it out until he was gasping for air
he didn't need. He cried out and shook as he came, straining rigidly against the
bonds of her grip.
The
intensity receded and he hung limply in her embrace. Carefully, she laid his
body down onto the bed and his head sank into the pillow with relief. If he
could form words, he couldn't speak them coherently. He was spent, liquid; his
body felt not just alive for the first time in 120 years, but in a state beyond
that. His body, he noticed, was mottled with the evidence; circles that spotted
his flesh, little round love bites that marked where the suckers had been. He
reached up and ran a hand nervously through his ruffled hair, now all teased out
into unkempt curls. What could he say? The experience had been amazing, but he
was at a loss to know how to return such ecstasy to her.

He
need not have worried. Illyria had moulded herself back into the body of her
host, and the battlesuit had demurely reappeared, as had the contemptuous stare
that seemed to deny that anything had happened. So much for the afterglow, he
thought.

"So�?" He started, rolling slowly over and starting to hunt for his
cigarettes in the pocket of his discarded jeans. He could barely move and his
body felt the jelly, and still his nerves rippled ecstatically.

Illyria
turned to him. "You are satisfied."

Spike
found his cigarettes and sprawled onto the bed again. Tucking an arm back behind
his head, only his cigarette interrupted his smug grin. "Somewhat, yeah.
You get what you wanted?"

"The
experience taught me much. The pleasure centres of your kind are many."

"Found
some optional ones too," Spike coughed and shifted uncomfortably. "So,
that's what you really look like, eh?"

"It
is but a representation. My true form would darken the sun," she said. Then
she added sadly, "you would tremble in my presence."

Spike
nodded, he knew intimately what it was like to be a shadow of what you once
were. Brain still zinging with climax, he was sure of only one thing. His mouth
might get him regularly into trouble, but his unlife was far less dull because
of it. "Well, it looks good on you."
The
End
- 1
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