Bangkok Butterfly Chapter 7
The end is nearing. I never meant for this to be so long. I was only going to do a few parts because I didn't feel confident enough to try a full-fledged multi-chapter story after my posting crash. Having three WIPs now is freaking me out. So BB will be closing up shop soon.
Here is the next chapter. It gave me quite a struggle, and I'm not sure if I'm happy with it or not, though some parts I do like. :D Anyway, on with chapter 7.
Gorgeous manip by the wonderful artist blondebitz
Part 7
They’d worked up a real sweat, the humidity pressing down on them, the lush smell of their coupling filling the small space wall to wall. Angel turned his head slowly at the sound of the Russian voice, feeling the seconds tick by in a sort of hypnotic trance. His eyes found Spike’s shocked blue gaze, noting the thick bristle of his eyelashes, the shadows they made on his cheek, as if there were all the time in the world to stare at him, and the unique beauty of his face. He put a finger to his lips, aware of the silence enfolding them, the heady smell of fresh cum on his skin.
From his position, Angel could see two pairs of boots visible at the cave’s entrance. If they were lucky, the others had gone on, and only Two Pairs had come back to make sure the quarry hadn’t taken an unexpected side trip and escaped the hunters. Angel liked the odds better that way, two against one. But it was a dangerous assumption. One he’d have to bet their lives on. His heart beat slowly, steadily, without panic.
He was going to take them out quickly, before they could fire a shot. Nothing could stop him. Already his body was preparing itself, the muscles in his calves and shoulders bunching tightly, a tensions stringing itself through the coils of his bloodstream. He’d break their necks. His hands knew how to do it, knew the sharp twist and crunch that was necessary. He’d trained for this moment. Done it more than once before. Dealt the satisfying finality of death.
“Throw out your weapon.”
The voice broke into Angel’s instant-long reverie. It was heavily accented, but he had no trouble understanding the order. The idea of having a weapon pleased him. Watching the feet shift impatiently, he looked around, began to wiggle backwards on his belly, groping for something useful.
The floor of the cave consisted mostly of a loamy muck, mud and vegetable matter mixed together by time and high tides to form an earthy floor that gave forth the stench of elemental life. Overhead, the ceiling, a dome eaten into the stony hillside, hung low, barely allowing room to stand. A scree of stones lay tumbled at the cave’s end. Angel rooted diligently among them until he found a selection of fist-size rocks that met his purpose.
The sharp eyes watching him widened in dismay when Angel pressed one into Spike’s hand. The smaller man blanched, looking from the rock to Angel in disbelief. His lips moved.
“Stones against guns? Have you gone round the bleeding bend? They’ll murder us both.”
“Stay back. They think I’m alone. I’ll draw them off, and you make a run for it.”
“That’s your bleedin’ brilliant plan?”
Angel grabbed at him. The sudden anger at his own stupidity, at being trapped like a rat, made him rougher than he meant to be. His fingers sank with brutal force into the silky smoothness of Spike’s shoulders.
“Do what I say, Spike!”
“Huh?” Spike appeared so incensed his lips turned white, his face working with disdain. “Since when, mate? Since when do I do what you say? Think you’ve lost your bloody brain up you backside. I’m the boss of...”
A furious nose-to-nose squabble was averted before it could get underway by the harsh clatter of a rifle butt banged against the cave’s rocky entrance. A small landslide rattled down from above.
“You take too long, filth,” the demanding voice shouted, silencing the whispered quarrel. “Now you will come outside!”
There was no choice. Angel had to act if he wanted Spike’s presence kept a secret. Before Spike could prevent it, he flung himself forward, scrabbling over the rough ground out into the sunlight, rising to his feet in a rush, at once enveloped in the river’s humid scent, and the too intimate distraction of his own sex-washed skin. The enemy stumbled back in shocked surprise to be attacked by a naked wild man.
Swinging the rock in his hand with a fury born of desperation, Angel bashed it into a gaping, unshaven jaw. The man, dumbfounded, shouted in protest, falling to his knees, hands going up to protect his head from Angel’s onslaught. His rifle, an SKS carbine, fell from his shocked fingers as Angel pounced on him, bringing his caveman weapon down with all his strength. Any second, he expected the harsh punch of a bullet in the middle of his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, even as he continued to battle the prone figure under him.
He had been right in his guess. There were only two of men, and the second had fallen back a few steps, stunned by Angel’s unlooked for attack. That wouldn’t last long. Angel’s skin twitched in anticipation of the killing shot as he grappled with his adversary, the rank stench of the fallen man’s sweat and Angel’s own over-heated body enveloping him.
They rolled together, thrashing for leverage. Angel took a hard blow to the chin that snapped his head back, another to the cheek, making him bite his tongue. The iron filing taste swamped his throat and spilled from his mouth, making him cough and jerk his head back to breathe.
Getting a grip on the Russian’s wrist, he twisted with all his might, bashing his fist furiously into the grimacing face beneath him. Gore seeped between his lips from his mangled tongue to drip a pattern of red splashes on the enemy’s skin.
A knee thrust at his groin, but he managed to squirm aside, taking the brunt of its force on his thigh. They rolled and beat on each other wildly. The entire fight took place in a matter of seconds, an eerie quiet, only broken by the grunts of the combatants’ breath, marked their desperation.
“Mischa, shoot!” The man bucked futilely under Angel’s assault in a last ditch effort to scramble free. “Shoot, damn you!”
A hoarse battle cry suddenly erupted around them, sending a multitude of startled birds thundering and wheeling into the fading blue sky overhead. The sound of their wings filled the air with frantic whooshes as they fled.
It took less than a heartbeat for Spike to process what was happening. As the standing man leveled his weapon at the flailing tangle of limbs, he burst from the safety of the cave, a roar on his lips. He flung himself onto the enemy’s back with a savage joy he’d rarely experienced, managing a choke hold while he swung the rock Angel had given him into the vulnerable curve of skull and temple. The man, stunned by the unlooked for assault, spun crazily in a circle, trying to dislodge the wild animal clinging to his spine. He didn’t stand a chance.
Spike clutched at the Russian’s hips with his knees, staying with him as the wanker fell forward, trying to dislodge the small tiger ripping at him with tooth and claw. He tightened his elbow around the thickly corded neck, ignoring the fingers tearing at the vise of his forearm. Satisfaction bubbled in his gut as he worked to squeeze the fucker’s air off, bracing his wrists together to strengthen his grip. Only a dim awareness of pain reached him as the skin on his arm was shredded by the frantic talons trying to pry loose his hold.
There had been times on the streets of Bangkok when Spike had to fight for his life. He had a strong sense of self-preservation, and he wasn’t above taking any dirty advantage he could find. It was a part of him that Angel had never seen. Spike was good at it, a fierce opponent, and he was fighting for Angel’s life now as well as his own. His teeth worried an ear, sinking into the gristled flesh. The coppery rankness of blood drenched his tongue. Turning his face aside, he spat the foulness out, along with a chunk of ear. The scream that followed was shrill with terror.
Spike bludgeoned the vulnerable concavity of an already bleeding temple. Again and again, until a hiss of air whooshed out from deflating lungs, and his opponent’s face took on the dusty purple hue of a ripe plum. Spike’s enemy fell to his knees, gave one last violent shudder, and pitched forward on his face to lay still.
Panting in exhilaration, Spike looked up in time to see Angel snap the neck of his adversary with one sharp, barbarous crack, his crimson, war-painted face raising to meet Spike’s manic eyes.
“Cavemen win,” Angel crowed, a big grin stretching his red-streaked cheeks. The blood was pumping wildly in his chest, making him feel dizzy with victory.
“S’ what I always said. Cavemen every time!” Spike’s smug, exhilarated reply held a teasing lilt to it, daring Angel to deny his assertion. A primitive swirl of emotions filled Spike up from toes to crown. He cocked his head, grinning, wanting to do a triumphant war dance. “M’right again.”
“The hell! You said...” Angel words stumbled around his swollen tongue. “Guns. You said guns.”
He couldn’t go on, relief and laughter bubbling up from deep inside at the sight of naked warrior Spike straddling his fallen foe. He looked exultant, edible. Angel wanted him again with a sudden, profound longing that shook him to his depths. The thought he might have lost him due to his own carelessness, churned in bitter dregs beneath the desire, tilting the ground under his feet.
“Get your pants on, idiot. We’ve got to get out of here pronto. The whole countryside must have heard you shouting. The others will be back as soon as they....”
“And that’s my thanks for savin’ your lame arse?”
“Yeah. Until I can do better. Pants now. And stop waving that damn thing of yours in my face.”
Angel gave his own naked privates a suggestive squeeze, lifting an eyebrow to get the right idea across, forcing the mucky sense of dread to the back of his mind. They were still in trouble. He couldn’t forget that. But, there was no time for dwelling on scary possibilities. They had to move fast.
Spike tossed him a delighted smirk over his shoulder as he skittered to obey. He liked Angel in this kind of mood. Wanted to fuck him again.
“Right. Pants. No dick wavin’. Then what, Mighty Tosser?”
“Then we swim the river.”
“You’re jokin’, right?”
“Do I look like a comedian? Oh, shut up!”
A little less sprightly, the aches beginning to set in as the adrenalin receded, Angel pushed up from the muddy ground to follow Spike’s pert little ass into the cave and get his own pants. He scooped the trousers up, then paused, looking at them. There wasn’t time to make a raft. The swim would be hellacious, Angel still recovering, Spike, well, being Spike.
“Maybe we should tie these around our necks instead of wearing ‘em. It’s harder to paddle with your clothes on and this isn’t gonna be a picnic.” He studied Spike’s slimmer form, trying to judge what the current could do to his slight body. “How good are you at swimming?”
“If you think I’m going into the water with my dick waggin’ about for the fishes to nibble on, you’re off your trolley. M’wearing my pants. I’ll keep up. Don’t worry that thick skull of yours. Just lead the way.”
Spike was still on a high from their victory, ready to take on anything. He stared back defiantly at Angel’s massive frown. But, when the prat tossed him one of the confiscated rifles, he found his confidence slipping a little.
“What’s this for?”
“Duh! We’re taking them with us.”
“Bloody hell.”
Spike wanted to protested. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a rational demurral. It was obvious, they needed the guns. There were two thugs still after them, and the leader of the gang somewhere on the other side of the river. Staring at the far shore, and the density of the Laotian jungle, a wall of darkening green in the growing shadows, he finally shrugged in defeat.
“We’re both gonna drown, you know that, yeah?”
“It’s a possibility.” They exchanged reluctant grins. “Hurry up. I don’t wanna swim the Mekong in the dark. The Naga will get us for sure.”
Angel strode outside, heading for the river’s edge, shifting the rifle up over his shoulder and around his neck by the attached strap, leaving behind a speechless Spike, who followed with his face set in a furious scowl.
“Did you have to bloody say that, you stupid git?”
Spike shivered despite the heat, remembering, his eyes darting to the liquid glint of water that lapped among the reeds only feet away.
They’d spent so many night in Spike’s bed at Ju-An’s, the aroma of the rain-drenched streets drifting in through the propped open windows. In the back alley, garbage floated along the rushing, oily streams, beneath the place where they lay in sensual abandon. It’s redolent stench mixed with the heated pungency of their own sweat-soaked bodies, and they breathed it in and out, with deep gasps of pleasure. Wrapped in a naked coil of limbs, they’d fucked in languid slow motion, indolent whispers passing between them, while cocks and balls throbbed to the rain’s beat on the sidewalk outside.
Angel had taken him with avid lips and fevered bites. With the sloppy press of his tongue rimming him, while Spike’s thighs, spread and clenched tightly, shook on the edge of collapse. Hot flesh laved his insides with juicy thrusts, turning his bones to mush, and that thick prick of Angel’s filled him so full his rectum ached from the unbearable pressure.
It was always almost too much, and Spike had to bite his own lips, moaning, thrashing against the hands that held his hips flat, and peeled him into shivering increments. A touch feathered over his slit, his foreskin slicked back and held, though it needed no restraint, drooling heavily, more naked than he’d ever been before. Night after night while the juke box’s tinny music played in the dance hall below, and the air steamed.
The stories had been jokes between them, those tales of serpents and fireballs, Angel beguiling his spent lover in the humid reaches of the night with kisses and fables. Spike didn’t find them quite so fantastic now, staring at the powerful rush of the current as the river undulated before his wide eyes, memories whirling in his head.
“That was shite about the Naga. You were pullin’ my leg, right? There’s no such thing as forty foot snakes livin’ in that.”
Angel looked about to agree, then shrugged instead. “I saw the fireballs. I wasn’t lying about those, baby. The Naga? Hell. Anything’s possible.”
“S’bollocks. Superstition. There’s no monsters in there. Come on. I’ll beat you to the other side.”
Spike padded to the water’s edge, dabbled his toes in the pleasant wet, the river’s rush tingling up through the soles of his feet. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going to die here, in this place of jungle reek and fecund lushness.
There were small birds darting among the rushes that grew along the shore. Must have been disturbed by the fracas, and couldn’t settle down now, the way he couldn’t settle down. His belly twisted in an acid knot at the thought of diving, one-handed into the sleek, green undulation before him, and what might live beneath its surface.
The reeds, the birds, everything hushed, holding its breath, even Angel, kneeling beside him, preparing to take the plunge. In that vibrant swirl of life, death seemed very close suddenly. Was this his place of ending, Spike wondered? He turned his face up to meet the tendrils of the evening breeze, sucking the fresh air in through parted lips. It felt good to be alive, to have his lover close beside him. There could be worse ways to finish.
Here is the next chapter. It gave me quite a struggle, and I'm not sure if I'm happy with it or not, though some parts I do like. :D Anyway, on with chapter 7.
Gorgeous manip by the wonderful artist blondebitz
Part 7
They’d worked up a real sweat, the humidity pressing down on them, the lush smell of their coupling filling the small space wall to wall. Angel turned his head slowly at the sound of the Russian voice, feeling the seconds tick by in a sort of hypnotic trance. His eyes found Spike’s shocked blue gaze, noting the thick bristle of his eyelashes, the shadows they made on his cheek, as if there were all the time in the world to stare at him, and the unique beauty of his face. He put a finger to his lips, aware of the silence enfolding them, the heady smell of fresh cum on his skin.
From his position, Angel could see two pairs of boots visible at the cave’s entrance. If they were lucky, the others had gone on, and only Two Pairs had come back to make sure the quarry hadn’t taken an unexpected side trip and escaped the hunters. Angel liked the odds better that way, two against one. But it was a dangerous assumption. One he’d have to bet their lives on. His heart beat slowly, steadily, without panic.
He was going to take them out quickly, before they could fire a shot. Nothing could stop him. Already his body was preparing itself, the muscles in his calves and shoulders bunching tightly, a tensions stringing itself through the coils of his bloodstream. He’d break their necks. His hands knew how to do it, knew the sharp twist and crunch that was necessary. He’d trained for this moment. Done it more than once before. Dealt the satisfying finality of death.
“Throw out your weapon.”
The voice broke into Angel’s instant-long reverie. It was heavily accented, but he had no trouble understanding the order. The idea of having a weapon pleased him. Watching the feet shift impatiently, he looked around, began to wiggle backwards on his belly, groping for something useful.
The floor of the cave consisted mostly of a loamy muck, mud and vegetable matter mixed together by time and high tides to form an earthy floor that gave forth the stench of elemental life. Overhead, the ceiling, a dome eaten into the stony hillside, hung low, barely allowing room to stand. A scree of stones lay tumbled at the cave’s end. Angel rooted diligently among them until he found a selection of fist-size rocks that met his purpose.
The sharp eyes watching him widened in dismay when Angel pressed one into Spike’s hand. The smaller man blanched, looking from the rock to Angel in disbelief. His lips moved.
“Stones against guns? Have you gone round the bleeding bend? They’ll murder us both.”
“Stay back. They think I’m alone. I’ll draw them off, and you make a run for it.”
“That’s your bleedin’ brilliant plan?”
Angel grabbed at him. The sudden anger at his own stupidity, at being trapped like a rat, made him rougher than he meant to be. His fingers sank with brutal force into the silky smoothness of Spike’s shoulders.
“Do what I say, Spike!”
“Huh?” Spike appeared so incensed his lips turned white, his face working with disdain. “Since when, mate? Since when do I do what you say? Think you’ve lost your bloody brain up you backside. I’m the boss of...”
A furious nose-to-nose squabble was averted before it could get underway by the harsh clatter of a rifle butt banged against the cave’s rocky entrance. A small landslide rattled down from above.
“You take too long, filth,” the demanding voice shouted, silencing the whispered quarrel. “Now you will come outside!”
There was no choice. Angel had to act if he wanted Spike’s presence kept a secret. Before Spike could prevent it, he flung himself forward, scrabbling over the rough ground out into the sunlight, rising to his feet in a rush, at once enveloped in the river’s humid scent, and the too intimate distraction of his own sex-washed skin. The enemy stumbled back in shocked surprise to be attacked by a naked wild man.
Swinging the rock in his hand with a fury born of desperation, Angel bashed it into a gaping, unshaven jaw. The man, dumbfounded, shouted in protest, falling to his knees, hands going up to protect his head from Angel’s onslaught. His rifle, an SKS carbine, fell from his shocked fingers as Angel pounced on him, bringing his caveman weapon down with all his strength. Any second, he expected the harsh punch of a bullet in the middle of his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, even as he continued to battle the prone figure under him.
He had been right in his guess. There were only two of men, and the second had fallen back a few steps, stunned by Angel’s unlooked for attack. That wouldn’t last long. Angel’s skin twitched in anticipation of the killing shot as he grappled with his adversary, the rank stench of the fallen man’s sweat and Angel’s own over-heated body enveloping him.
They rolled together, thrashing for leverage. Angel took a hard blow to the chin that snapped his head back, another to the cheek, making him bite his tongue. The iron filing taste swamped his throat and spilled from his mouth, making him cough and jerk his head back to breathe.
Getting a grip on the Russian’s wrist, he twisted with all his might, bashing his fist furiously into the grimacing face beneath him. Gore seeped between his lips from his mangled tongue to drip a pattern of red splashes on the enemy’s skin.
A knee thrust at his groin, but he managed to squirm aside, taking the brunt of its force on his thigh. They rolled and beat on each other wildly. The entire fight took place in a matter of seconds, an eerie quiet, only broken by the grunts of the combatants’ breath, marked their desperation.
“Mischa, shoot!” The man bucked futilely under Angel’s assault in a last ditch effort to scramble free. “Shoot, damn you!”
A hoarse battle cry suddenly erupted around them, sending a multitude of startled birds thundering and wheeling into the fading blue sky overhead. The sound of their wings filled the air with frantic whooshes as they fled.
It took less than a heartbeat for Spike to process what was happening. As the standing man leveled his weapon at the flailing tangle of limbs, he burst from the safety of the cave, a roar on his lips. He flung himself onto the enemy’s back with a savage joy he’d rarely experienced, managing a choke hold while he swung the rock Angel had given him into the vulnerable curve of skull and temple. The man, stunned by the unlooked for assault, spun crazily in a circle, trying to dislodge the wild animal clinging to his spine. He didn’t stand a chance.
Spike clutched at the Russian’s hips with his knees, staying with him as the wanker fell forward, trying to dislodge the small tiger ripping at him with tooth and claw. He tightened his elbow around the thickly corded neck, ignoring the fingers tearing at the vise of his forearm. Satisfaction bubbled in his gut as he worked to squeeze the fucker’s air off, bracing his wrists together to strengthen his grip. Only a dim awareness of pain reached him as the skin on his arm was shredded by the frantic talons trying to pry loose his hold.
There had been times on the streets of Bangkok when Spike had to fight for his life. He had a strong sense of self-preservation, and he wasn’t above taking any dirty advantage he could find. It was a part of him that Angel had never seen. Spike was good at it, a fierce opponent, and he was fighting for Angel’s life now as well as his own. His teeth worried an ear, sinking into the gristled flesh. The coppery rankness of blood drenched his tongue. Turning his face aside, he spat the foulness out, along with a chunk of ear. The scream that followed was shrill with terror.
Spike bludgeoned the vulnerable concavity of an already bleeding temple. Again and again, until a hiss of air whooshed out from deflating lungs, and his opponent’s face took on the dusty purple hue of a ripe plum. Spike’s enemy fell to his knees, gave one last violent shudder, and pitched forward on his face to lay still.
Panting in exhilaration, Spike looked up in time to see Angel snap the neck of his adversary with one sharp, barbarous crack, his crimson, war-painted face raising to meet Spike’s manic eyes.
“Cavemen win,” Angel crowed, a big grin stretching his red-streaked cheeks. The blood was pumping wildly in his chest, making him feel dizzy with victory.
“S’ what I always said. Cavemen every time!” Spike’s smug, exhilarated reply held a teasing lilt to it, daring Angel to deny his assertion. A primitive swirl of emotions filled Spike up from toes to crown. He cocked his head, grinning, wanting to do a triumphant war dance. “M’right again.”
“The hell! You said...” Angel words stumbled around his swollen tongue. “Guns. You said guns.”
He couldn’t go on, relief and laughter bubbling up from deep inside at the sight of naked warrior Spike straddling his fallen foe. He looked exultant, edible. Angel wanted him again with a sudden, profound longing that shook him to his depths. The thought he might have lost him due to his own carelessness, churned in bitter dregs beneath the desire, tilting the ground under his feet.
“Get your pants on, idiot. We’ve got to get out of here pronto. The whole countryside must have heard you shouting. The others will be back as soon as they....”
“And that’s my thanks for savin’ your lame arse?”
“Yeah. Until I can do better. Pants now. And stop waving that damn thing of yours in my face.”
Angel gave his own naked privates a suggestive squeeze, lifting an eyebrow to get the right idea across, forcing the mucky sense of dread to the back of his mind. They were still in trouble. He couldn’t forget that. But, there was no time for dwelling on scary possibilities. They had to move fast.
Spike tossed him a delighted smirk over his shoulder as he skittered to obey. He liked Angel in this kind of mood. Wanted to fuck him again.
“Right. Pants. No dick wavin’. Then what, Mighty Tosser?”
“Then we swim the river.”
“You’re jokin’, right?”
“Do I look like a comedian? Oh, shut up!”
A little less sprightly, the aches beginning to set in as the adrenalin receded, Angel pushed up from the muddy ground to follow Spike’s pert little ass into the cave and get his own pants. He scooped the trousers up, then paused, looking at them. There wasn’t time to make a raft. The swim would be hellacious, Angel still recovering, Spike, well, being Spike.
“Maybe we should tie these around our necks instead of wearing ‘em. It’s harder to paddle with your clothes on and this isn’t gonna be a picnic.” He studied Spike’s slimmer form, trying to judge what the current could do to his slight body. “How good are you at swimming?”
“If you think I’m going into the water with my dick waggin’ about for the fishes to nibble on, you’re off your trolley. M’wearing my pants. I’ll keep up. Don’t worry that thick skull of yours. Just lead the way.”
Spike was still on a high from their victory, ready to take on anything. He stared back defiantly at Angel’s massive frown. But, when the prat tossed him one of the confiscated rifles, he found his confidence slipping a little.
“What’s this for?”
“Duh! We’re taking them with us.”
“Bloody hell.”
Spike wanted to protested. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a rational demurral. It was obvious, they needed the guns. There were two thugs still after them, and the leader of the gang somewhere on the other side of the river. Staring at the far shore, and the density of the Laotian jungle, a wall of darkening green in the growing shadows, he finally shrugged in defeat.
“We’re both gonna drown, you know that, yeah?”
“It’s a possibility.” They exchanged reluctant grins. “Hurry up. I don’t wanna swim the Mekong in the dark. The Naga will get us for sure.”
Angel strode outside, heading for the river’s edge, shifting the rifle up over his shoulder and around his neck by the attached strap, leaving behind a speechless Spike, who followed with his face set in a furious scowl.
“Did you have to bloody say that, you stupid git?”
Spike shivered despite the heat, remembering, his eyes darting to the liquid glint of water that lapped among the reeds only feet away.
They’d spent so many night in Spike’s bed at Ju-An’s, the aroma of the rain-drenched streets drifting in through the propped open windows. In the back alley, garbage floated along the rushing, oily streams, beneath the place where they lay in sensual abandon. It’s redolent stench mixed with the heated pungency of their own sweat-soaked bodies, and they breathed it in and out, with deep gasps of pleasure. Wrapped in a naked coil of limbs, they’d fucked in languid slow motion, indolent whispers passing between them, while cocks and balls throbbed to the rain’s beat on the sidewalk outside.
Angel had taken him with avid lips and fevered bites. With the sloppy press of his tongue rimming him, while Spike’s thighs, spread and clenched tightly, shook on the edge of collapse. Hot flesh laved his insides with juicy thrusts, turning his bones to mush, and that thick prick of Angel’s filled him so full his rectum ached from the unbearable pressure.
It was always almost too much, and Spike had to bite his own lips, moaning, thrashing against the hands that held his hips flat, and peeled him into shivering increments. A touch feathered over his slit, his foreskin slicked back and held, though it needed no restraint, drooling heavily, more naked than he’d ever been before. Night after night while the juke box’s tinny music played in the dance hall below, and the air steamed.
The stories had been jokes between them, those tales of serpents and fireballs, Angel beguiling his spent lover in the humid reaches of the night with kisses and fables. Spike didn’t find them quite so fantastic now, staring at the powerful rush of the current as the river undulated before his wide eyes, memories whirling in his head.
“That was shite about the Naga. You were pullin’ my leg, right? There’s no such thing as forty foot snakes livin’ in that.”
Angel looked about to agree, then shrugged instead. “I saw the fireballs. I wasn’t lying about those, baby. The Naga? Hell. Anything’s possible.”
“S’bollocks. Superstition. There’s no monsters in there. Come on. I’ll beat you to the other side.”
Spike padded to the water’s edge, dabbled his toes in the pleasant wet, the river’s rush tingling up through the soles of his feet. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going to die here, in this place of jungle reek and fecund lushness.
There were small birds darting among the rushes that grew along the shore. Must have been disturbed by the fracas, and couldn’t settle down now, the way he couldn’t settle down. His belly twisted in an acid knot at the thought of diving, one-handed into the sleek, green undulation before him, and what might live beneath its surface.
The reeds, the birds, everything hushed, holding its breath, even Angel, kneeling beside him, preparing to take the plunge. In that vibrant swirl of life, death seemed very close suddenly. Was this his place of ending, Spike wondered? He turned his face up to meet the tendrils of the evening breeze, sucking the fresh air in through parted lips. It felt good to be alive, to have his lover close beside him. There could be worse ways to finish.