The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy
The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild
TITLE: Cometh The Son
AUTHOR: Maayan
EMAIL: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION: Heaven In Hell, Angel Torture Anonymous, list archives.
RATING: NC17
PAIRING: A/S, Aus/W, A/D
SPOILERS: BtVS up to FH&T.
KEYWORDS: Smut, some Hell-induced Angst, more Smut.
SUMMARY: An answer - I am told - to one of Saber's old challenges. What if
Spike had been the one who found Angel after the souled vampire came back from Hell in FH&T?
NOTES: As much as I respect Joss... fuck the cannon. Angel sired Spike. End of story. I haven't seen Fool For Love or Darla anyway.
BETA: Kita, Kita, Kita....
DEDICATION: A made-to-order fic for Kita, my personal enforcer. Something a (little) lighter, while I recover from Nemesis.
"What do you think of Prague?"
"Bored with little ole' England, are ye, Darla?"
"Maybe," the blond vampiress purred, rubbing taut nipples against her
lover's smooth chest. "After a while, they all taste the same."
"I am quite sure I can find ye somethin' a little more exotic."
"Would you now?"
Darla withered down the length of Angelus' body, like silk worshipping the
hard planes of him. The fire crackling in the hearth warmed her porcelain
skin, blue veins coursing along her arms like faithful reptiles. The bed
was huge, but she plastered herself to Angelus as if she needed the
contact more than she needed blood. As if the proximity of her would keep
him forever tethered, the bond each night renewed. Fidelity sworn again
and again in a nest of satin.
The tip of her tongue parted the sheen of sweat on his pectoral, swirling
around a nipple, exploring ever lower.
Angelus smirked, grabbed his lover's hair, pulling her away from him.
Darla snarled, outraged.
Angelus paid her no mind. He had learned long ago how to toe the
Sire-Childe line. They weren't bound by respect, or love, or even
affection, but by desire, lust and blood.
Darla knew how to satisfy his most primitive appetites.
But there were... others...
His grip on Darla's blond mane tightened. He ignored her growls, pushed
her further down his body. Stared at the rich, dark wood of the canopy.
He was hard. Painfully so.
He forced Darla's face against his straining cock, arched his hips.
"I could be easily persuaded," he rasped.
Her groans turned to little pants and strangled whimpers. Her small pink
tongue darted out longingly to taste him. He pulled her hair and she only
moaned deeper.
He let go, and as her experienced mouth closed around him, he lay back
down with a sigh, then a growl.
"Come on now, lass. No teeth."
What's that stupid human saying?
You can never go home again?
Well, they got that one right.
Home's a few thousand miles and a couple hundred years away. Bizarre, that
he's still so attached to such a mortal concept. Home.
Home's in his goddamn blood.
Home is Family.
Angelus once shared the words Darla imparted her Childe upon his
Raising. 'What we were in life informs all that we have become.'
She didn't even know the half of it.
They are all so human still, vampires. Even more so in some ways. For
humans, family - kinship - also originates in the blood. But they are free
to leave and create new ties, mate with others of a different blood.
Vampires don't have this luxury. There are no relationships, no bonds
outside of the Clan, away from the Order. Obedience is due to the Elders,
beds are shared with the Sire, and if allowed - with other Childer. There
is no escaping the blood. There is no relief, no completion, no acceptance
away from Family.
The knowledge is painful, but what is he to do? Chose himself a companion,
share the blood again? And he wonders... does the blood get corrupted down
the line? Somehow, he doesn't see himself as a Sire. He won't have the
patience, or the inclination. How is he supposed to find a human he will
care enough about to want to share eternity with? A mortal who could
replace his Princess?
The thought alone makes him want to heave - maybe rip out a throat or two.
And the question, again... asked through the centuries but never answered.
Why him? Why did Angelus turn him? What did the vampire seek in the first
place? Two hundred years ago, a decision was made, blood was shared. And
for what? A companion? A challenge?
And he muses - yes, I've certainly been that.
Remembers with a smirk the look on Darla's pretty face when Angelus
brought him home.
So here he is now. He hesitates to think... godforsaken town... but if it
doesn't apply to a Hellmouth, what ever will?
He stands in front of this huge mansion which holds nothing for him but
bitter memories, because Family is blood and enough of it has been spilled
in this place. Because his Princess is gone, his Sire too, because he
can't be bothered to seek out his other brother - bad blood between him
and Penn - and he has yet to meet a human he can see as anything but
lunch.
Because he doesn't have anywhere else to go.
He wants to stay here, lie down in his Princess' garden amidst Dandelions
and nightblooming Jasmine - and remember a simpler life.
The smell of poverty and the stench of human waste escorted Angelus down
the streets of Whitechapel. Not even the full moon hung high in the sky
could thaw the harsh darkness of deadly alleys or soften the imposing
silhouette of the vampire stalking the disaffected district.
No swoosh of satin dresses and silk petticoats here. No luxurious
carriages riding down the cobbled streets. Angelus didn't mind. He was
always one to hunt down his pleasure away from the beaten path. He
inherited that trait from his human days. In fact, it was that very
propensity which had placed him in Darla's path and led him here today.
He had escaped his Sire's bed under the pretense of honoring his promise -
find some exotic treat to liven up her diet. He might still fulfill his
engagement, but most of all he wanted to roam. To stalk. Escape Darla's
watchful, possessive eyes.
Angelus had an ambiguous relationship with the concept of ownership. He
thrived on being the owner, not the slave. And at the same time, he
understood that vampiric clans flourished and owed their power to
tradition. He respected the power enough to bend to the rules and swear
allegiance to his Sire.
Didn't mean that the iron collar never chaffed.
And he had to escape...
Here. Whitechapel, where humans lived on the street, ripe for the picking,
and watched after their own backs. He was only one predator among many. He
just wished the competition was more up to par.
He craved a challenge.
And he craved... other things.
The mist followed him deeper into the darkness, through small streets
black as coal. He walked further away from echoes of horses and pubs
emptying for the night. Away from echoes of life.
The sounds were small and deceptive here. Scuttle of rats or a cut-throat
waiting for him around the corner?
If given a choice, Angelus hoped for the latter.
He was hungry.
Dawn drives him inside the mansion's walls. The place hasn't changed at
all. There's just a lot more dust covering every surface, and on the
couch, the scent of the Slayer.
The little bint's been here, probably mourning the passing of the great
Poof.
Oh, Spike is bright enough to put two and two together. World hasn't been
sucked into Hell, word is that Sunnydale is up for the taking - there's no
master around, not even a souled one. News travel fast.
No sign of his Sire, the smell of the Slayer's tears everywhere in the
room. Nothing in the bedroom, which Spike visits like others go on a
pilgrimage.
Maybe he's mourning too.
Maybe he wishes that he could have said goodbye to his Sire, seen him one
last time before the Soul drove the Demon insane.
There was a time when Spike - William - nightly forsaked Dru for Angelus
without a second thought. There was a time Angelus discarded tradition,
giving William access to his bed over Darla's frenzied disapproval.
The Bitch would make them both pay dearly for the trespass. Many a night
she tortured and fucked Angelus within an inch of his unlife, while
William was stretched on a rack, condemned to watch - or worse, given to
Penn to use as he pleased.
But Angelus would not be deterred. Didn't care about the wounds which took
days to heal - William had dressed enough of them to know - about the
burns and the public humiliations. Didn't care about his Sire's scorn or
her fury.
He would always take William back. In dark alleys over smoking corpses. In
the back of a theater, groping like teenagers through any century.
That had hurt Spike the most. To see Angelus obsessed with the Slayer like
he had once been obsessed with him. Spike was the one who could understand
Angelus' destructive affections. Would welcome them. The one who had lived
through decadent nights of pain and pleasure for a century and begged for
more.
The one who could both defy and revere, and worship all at once.
After Angelus' disappearance, William had turned to the only one who would
not reject him, the one who missed their Sire as much as he did.
Dru was family.
Call of the blood.
Nothing is calling to him now, in this house, except the fading scent that
he craves. Fading...
Fading?
No, it's...
Not... not fading... here...
Is the floor shaking?
He frowns. Thinks, that's it, he's finally out of his bloody tree. Was
bound to happen. He allied with the Slayer against his Sire, after all -
how much more fucked up can he get?
He has to check, though... has to...
Follow the scent out of the bedroom, down the stairs to the living
room. The ground is still again.
Spike freezes.
Dumbstruck.
It. Can't. Fucking. Be.
Spike's had this dream many, many times.
Angelus, appearing out of nowhere, naked on the floor of his living room.
Except that in his dream, Angelus isn't shaking like a newborn or covered
in welts and bruises. And when he lifts his tear-streak face, Spike can't
see a soul reflected in his eyes.
The blond surveys the room in a daze. He can't see anything out of place -
save for the burnt outline of a body on the floor - and, of course, one
very naked vampire.
"Angelus?"
Spike can't tell if the dark-haired vampire reacts to the voice or the
name, but he whips his head up, the rest of him balled in a tight little
knot of fear. The smell of pure, unadulterated terror is overpowering.
And the fragrance of blood.
Angelus - damn it, *Angel* - is drenched in it.
Spike takes a few steps forward. A low growl rises from the trembling
form, both a plea and a warning.
The blond isn't deterred. "Angel?"
The older vampire is on all four, balancing on his knuckles, fangs bared
before Spike can reach him. He snarls, backing away slowly. Spike keeps
going. He isn't stopping to process what is happening.
Angelus is here, or Angel, but who cares, the blood is all the same. All
Spike sees are broad shoulders covered in sweat, powerful, trembling legs,
and the absence of a sneer.
No disdain in the dark, moist eyes, no insanity - no recognition either,
but they'll work on that.
Do vampires get an early Christmas?
Spike stalks forward; now Angel is backed into a corner and it feels
good. To be the one looking down on him.
The blond's keen eyes catch the shift of muscles, the whiff of blind
panic, the animal whimpers of a cornered animal. Angel is wounded, in
pain, confused and trapped.
When the dark-haired vampire jumps on him, lithe but weak, Spike is ready.
He grabs Angel around the waist and wrestles him to the floor. His Sire
snarls and bites, twists and slashes at him, catching his cheekbone,
breaking the skin. Spike growls over the other man's gnarls of fright and
fury, angered.
He clutches Angel's matted hair, digs a knee in the small of his back,
evading powerful, flailing arms, and slams his head face first into the
cold stone floor.
Angel cries out and goes limp.
The silence is like a cold shower on a hot summer night.
Spike slowly lets go of Angel's hair.
Stares at the unmoving body sprawled underneath him.
And licks his Sire's blood off his hands.
Ironically enough, Angelus found what he had been looking for in the
immediate vicinity of the cathedral. He spared a glance at the gargoyles
bowing to acknowledge his passage. The tip of his fingers grazed the thick
walls of the old religious edifice. Seemed like an eternity since he had
last defied God.
He could hear no chants, no litanies coming from inside.
This night might be the one.
The vampire turned lithely around the back of the cathedral. He liked the
silence here, far from Darla's chatter and the society events she
favored. He didn't mind snacking on the bourgeoisie, but he preferred by
far going after the common people.
Their blood had so many more stories to tell.
And sometimes, they even welcomed him with open arms.
Midnight fell from the bell tower.
Only a trained eye - or a man who knew where to look - could have seen
them amidst the stones of the crumbling cemetery. A dozen at the most,
each huddled against the walls of some mausoleum, blowing air in their
hands to fight off the cold.
A December night in London. A couple might not make it to morning, even
without his intervention.
Some were in their mid-twenties. The youngest must have been twelve,
thirteen at the most. Boys dressed in rags - dark-ringed eyes and sooty
skin.
Angelus remained in the shadows of a wide tombstone for a while, studying.
He watched a blond boy - a child - who might have been pretty under the
layers of dirt marring his face. A twig snapped not far away and the
darkness regurgitated an older gentleman in pressed coat and silk
tights. He stopped by the boy and exchanged a few words with him,
furtively throwing a glance over his shoulder.
After a minute, the boy led the older man inside the mausoleum.
There was silence.
"Ye lookin' for somethin', mister?"
Angelus couldn't remember the last time anything, or anyone, had taken him
by surprise, but he managed to maintain control over his features, and
didn't vamp.
He turned around, eyebrows raised.
The boy was about twenty-four, dressed in a noticeably untorn coat, his
hair a light chestnut, his eyes of the most striking blue. He was looking
at Angelus, unruffled, meeting his gaze head on, sometimes sparing a
glance at the vampire's expensive attire - the silk tie, the gold rings,
the shining shoes.
Angelus was still wondering how the kid had managed to sneak up on him.
There was something there. In that angular, sharp face and those
knowledgeable, old eyes.
Angelus bowed lightly, observing the boy's surprised step back at the mark
of respect.
Yes, there was definitely something...
Exotism, maybe, the kind Darla was after.
But Angelus had no intention to share.
"What is ye name, lad?" he inquired softly.
The boy frowned and stuttered, flabbergasted. He had never been asked
before. Angelus knew that.
"Will... William."
"Pleased to make ye acquaintance, Will."
The vampire smiled.
"Aya. I am lookin fer somethin'." He met the boy's weary gaze. "And I
think ye can help me."
****
When he awakens, Spike is startled mostly because he can't remember
falling asleep. And also because something is lightly rubbing against his
stomach. He sits up brusquely, only to be confronted with a rapidly
retreating, still very naked Angel. The dark-haired vampire huddles
against the wall. His eyes darts frantically around the room, going back
regularly to Spike as if to make sure that the blond hasn't made a move
towards him.
Spike remembers.
The mansion, Angel, the struggle. After knocking out the vampire, he
chained him up to the wall by his wrists and ankles, thought vaguely about
dressing his wounds - for old times sake - then remembered the wheelchair
and gave up on that idea.
Considered finding him something to wear but abandoned that one too.
Too busy enjoying the view.
He spared some time to try and figure out what was going on. Taking into
account the last time he had laid eyes on Angelus, the fact that a portal
to Hell had been activated in the immediate vicinity, considering the
wounds on Angel's body, the fact that he was naked and incoherent... Spike
came to the conclusion that he had just witnessed his (mysteriously
soulful) Sire's return from Hell. And it hadn't been a happy ride.
Then Spike, exhausted by all this thinking, promptly fell asleep.
He's very much awake now.
Angel is crouched a couple of feet away, battling the chains like a kitten
teasing a woolen ball.
An overgrown kitten.
He gives up, tests the limits of his restraints, pacing the length of the
wall, still perched on his hands and the balls of his feet.
Spike is so hard, it's not even funny.
Angel's sleek form roaming the room like a panther on the prowl gives a
whole new meaning to the word untamed. This is how he remembers sex with
his Sire - savage, feral, hot, lush.
Angel pauses, his head swivels, his eyes, tinged with gold, land on the
blond. He moves a little. Sniffs intently.
He's straining. But not against the chains.
His left arm is curled around his waist. He's protecting his
stomach. Spike wonders suddenly if there are any internals injuries. Maybe
he should have tried to feed Angel while he was unconscious. Maybe he
should try feeding him now.
The older vampire is closer now. He's shivering badly, he can barely hold
himself up. His eyes go from the floor to Spike, then back to the stone
tiles. There's blood flowing down the side of his face where he impacted
with the ground.
He's struggling. He's staring at Spike as if he wants to come closer, but
would rather go back to cowering against the wall at the same time. He
cocks his head to the side. His lips part, move, try to form words
maybe. Nothing comes out but a whimper and he looks down. Tears of
frustration brim in his eyes. He sighs. Strong shoulders shake.
Angel kneels. He's hard. Tall and proud. Lifts his hand towards Spike,
eyes wide and wet.
And Spike wonders... have I known true beauty until now?
Can he remember that far back?
Angel's fingers are inches away from Spike's face, and the blond is
paralyzed. If his Sire decides to go for his throat, so be it. All he can
think is... touch me... touch me... Sire, please touch me...
There's nothing else.
Angel finds his wounded cheekbone, almost healed. Nails scrap at the dried
blood, and Spike tries not to flinch. Angel brings his hand back to his
mouth.
And licks his fingers.
At first, there is nothing. Then a low, deep keening sound rises from
Angel's chest, a rumble, almost a purr, but more desperate, and the
dark-haired vampire reaches for Spike.
The chains stop him, and he snarls.
The blond doesn't think about it twice. He unlocks the manacles.
Will didn't take much convincing. Didn't lift an eyebrow when Angelus
broke the handle of the presbytery's door with one hand and ushered him
inside.
The vampire paid him in advance. He wanted to observe the boy's reaction.
He had yet to be disappointed.
Once inside, Will took the lead and stirred him through the immense
transept to a small chapel in the Occidental aisle of the cathedral.
Angelus didn't ask him to take the crosses down. He didn't really mind the
pain, like he never minded in life a little flogging to enhance his sexual
pleasure. A true sensualist, Liam reveled in heightened sensations.
As a vampire, Angelus could have assigned whole new depths to the meaning
of the word, but sometimes, it still wasn't enough.
And so he did not mind the cross searing its shape on the small of his
back when Will pushed him against the chapel's wall, before falling to his
knees in front of him.
The boy was forceful, and there was no submission in the set of the still
shoulders. As he went down on Angelus, the spine was still ramrod
straight.
The vampire sighed, buried his fingers in the surprisingly soft chestnut
mane. He tried to force the boy to take more of him, but Will resisted,
pushing back against his thighs, yet not trying to escape - just setting
his own rhythm.
Angelus let go, losing himself in the feel of the warm tongue against his
cock, the agile fingers squeezing his balls with a little more force than
was necessary.
How long since someone had tried to set the pace, to defy him... refused
him anything? Resisted his pull? Of course he would have killed anyone
fool enough to try, except for Darla, but still... it would have been nice
to meet the challenge for as long as it lasted.
When he came, Will swallowed and bathed him gently with his tongue. When
he was done, he remained on the ground, hands on knees, face raised, eyes
clear and wide, blue like the sky must have been - if Angelus had bothered
to remember.
He pushed away from the wall and offered his hand to the boy. Will took
it, pressed himself against the vampire when Angelus drew him to his
feet. The fingers of one hand fought stubbornly to undo the older man's
tie and shirt, while the other rested on Angelus' ass. At last he exposed
the vampire's chest and fastened his talented mouth to a perk brown
nipple.
Angelus groaned. His cock swelled.
"Yer cold," Will murmured softly against his skin.
"Does it bother yer, lad?" Angelus asked.
Will shrugged, his tongue darting out to taste the hollow of the vampire's
throat.
"I'm warm enough."
Angelus needed to know just how warm the boy was.
He flipped them around faster than the human brain could register, so that
it was Will crushed face first against the wall and its religious icons,
and Angelus pressed against his backside. Will did not even cry out in
surprise.
The vampire raised his eyes to the Christian Savior staring at him
compassionately from the Cross.
He sneered, but his voice remained even and soft.
"Bend."
The muscles under his hands froze, but the boy did as he bade.
Angelus grabbed Will's waist, forced his legs apart with one knee, and
found his entrance. He did not wait, did not warn, just plunged in.
Will muffled his scream against the sleeve of his own coat. The scent of
blood permeated the small chapel. Angelus pulled out almost to the head,
before thrusting back in with a snarl.
Will shook fiercely, but did not cry out again.
He did not see Angelus' features shift - just clamped harder on the older
man's shaft, rubbing his own neglected cock against the rough wall.
Angelus' fangs pierced the transparent skin of a white shoulder.
Will's eyes widened, but he arched into the bite, drawing Angelus' face
ever closer, moaning loudly. The vampire's eyes shut tight in bliss.
Young blood.
"You're... you're very cold..." Will stuttered, his voice fading away, his
ass still sheathing Angelus' cock with fervent determination. His hand
closed around the slit wrist Angelus was lifting towards his mouth,
holding on for dear life.
"Yes...." the vampire hissed against his ear. "But you're warm enough..."