A Night to Remember: Part 4
“Two nil.”
“How the fuck could you tell!” Angel snapped as he slopped along the path. The overalls, once oily and manly, were now soaking wet and clung to his legs. Not to mention his dick. And if his balls got any colder they’d have climbed up inside him permanently.
“Well,” Spike began and Angel switched him off. Was there anything more irritating that Spike when he was winning?
“Two nil, two nil, two nil, two nil.”
Oh, yeah. Spike singing football chants when he was winning.
“Did you remember your duster?” Angel asked, feeling a malicious twist of glee when Spike’s voice petered out. A few steps further on, Angel realised he was alone and turned back to find Spike standing several yards down the path with his arms wrapped around him.
Within a (non-existent) heartbeat, Angel’s arms were round him as well, and Spike’s face was being peppered with apologetic kisses. “I’m sorry, baby,” Angel was muttering. “I wasn’t thinking. Let’s go back and find it shall we?”
“But-but…” Spike stuttered, knowing a good thing when he was on to it. “It’s at the bottom of the river, sire, and you know I can’t swim.”
“I remember,” Angel said dryly, amazing himself by managing anything dryly. “It was something about the way you insisted on sitting on my head while I walked out of the river.”
“But-but…” Spike stuttered again. There was a danger of Angel loosing sight of the point here which was him being mean to Spike and Spike’s duster being at the bottom of the river. Not to mention the bet, which Spike was winning hands down.
“You’re sounding like a motorboat, Spike.”
“But-but… Duuusssster!” he wailed. Angel’s wince suggested he’d got the tone bang on right.
“OK, OK, we’ll go and fetch your duster,” Angel said. And the two dripping vampires set off back in the direction they came from.
****
“It’s a boat. We’ve not fucked in a boat.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Angel, it’ll be fun.”
“No!”
“Spoilsport.”
“I am not a spoilsport.”
“Yeah you are. A boring old spoilsport who never does anything fun. In fact, you’re so old, I think your nose is starting to look like the master’s.”
“I. Am. Not. Old.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Well, see that boat?”
***
“Don’t move!”
“Fuck, Angel, I’ve gotta.” Spike whined, as he clung to the sides of the boat, head in the gunnels and ass in the air.
“You’re rocking the boat!” Angel yelled, fighting to keep his balance and fuck Spike at the same time.
“No, you’re rocking the boat,” Spike said calmly. “Cos you’re the one doing the ahhh! Yeah, that.”
“Again?” Angel did the hip shimmy and Spike groaned, his front end collapsing like an axle-less car.
Oh that hip shimmy was good. Good enough to get Spike so excited that he accidentally punched a small hole through the bottom of the boat.
“Oh yeah, splice me main brace, Cap’n,” he yelled, to distract Angel from the slight seepage of river water. Determined not to let this minor setback ruin the end result of the game, Spike kept his hand in place to try and stem the flow of water, and, feeling somewhat like a Dutch boy fisting a dyke, he tried to get back into the fuck. But it was no good; all those thoughts of sinking ships and forced swimming lessons and lost dusters had made his dick droop sadly.
“Can you give us a hand, Sire?” he mumbled.
Angel was really getting into it. The rolling motion of the little boat was just adding to the incredible sensation and he was too busy jabbing away at Spike’s sweet spot and spanking that perfect white arse to be bothered to reach around.
“Do it yourself,” he gasped, as his balls slapped deliciously against Spike’s skin.
Oh fuck, Spike really wanted to win this bet. Two nil was indeed an accurate representation of the score line, but it wasn’t actually in Spike’s favour. He was having a bit of trouble arriving at the finish line. No way was he getting off this thing until he’d got off.
Letting go of the side of the boat, he wobbled and landed face down in a puddle of river water. Still, he had his hand round his cock now and the angle was good so if Angel could just keep hammering away at him everything would be fine.
Angel growled. Spike was bobbing about so precariously that even with a firm grip on both hips the older vampire couldn’t get enough oomph into his strokes. Stupid, idiot, moron vampire. “Hang on to the rowlocks,” he yelled.
‘Must be a new fetish’ thought Spike. ‘Oh well, anything to get the old sire cumming.’ He reached between his legs, made a grab for Angel’s bollocks and pulled. He’d never heard Angel scream like that, even with a hot poker where the sun don’t shine. It was really impressive.
“Rowlocks, you moron, where you put the oars,” cried the furious vampire.
“Oooops, sorry.” Spike pulled a face and let go of Angel’s balls which bounced back with an elastic sounding twang.
The rubber testicle incident seemed to have a positive effect on both vampires and soon they were both panting and groaning and rutting like ducks on a river.
“Oh yeah, shove yer mast in me hold, give me a good swabbing, fo’c’sle me poop deck, come about me stern, stroke me yardarm, jolly me boat, swing on me lead.” Spike was like a reference book of cliché and double entendre.
Angel was concerned. He was sure Talk Like a Pirate Day was last week! Still, his libido seemed to be enjoying the dirty seamen talk even if he wasn’t so he continued to pummel away. The only sad thing about it was that it was too dark to watch the passage of his cock as it pistoned in and out of that sweet, tight, little hole he loved so much. Oh good, it was getting lighter; he could see his beautiful erection now, all long and thick, sparkling in the twinkle lights.
Feeling slightly confused, he looked starboard. The coast was clear but port was a different matter entirely. They seemed to be drifting downstream toward an attractive terraced building set in landscaped parkland.
Rutting was imperative now. He needed to come quickly then he could figure out a way for them to escape without being spotted. Raising himself up, he pulled Spike back against his chest. He was slightly worried by a strange splintering noise but shook off his concerns when it became apparent that Spike wasn’t bothered in the least.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, EUREKA,” yelped the younger vampire.
Encouraged by this vocal applause, Angel came to a thundering climax in Spike’s arse.
“I found my duster,” squealed Spike in delight.
Angel pulled out as soon as he realised that he was soaked and it wasn’t a puddle of Spike’s cum he was kneeling in. He stood precariously, his overalls still hanging sexily off his shoulders and watched in disgust as the idiot vampire pulled a heap of sodden black leather through a fairly large hole in the bottom.
Just as the boat began to sink properly, it wedged itself conveniently against a small wooden landing stage and Angel, with all the aplomb of Captain Jack Sparrow, stepped out and watched gleefully as Spike disappeared into the water.
‘Welcome to Sunnydale Country Club’ said the sign.