Points of Departure

Spoilers: everything up to Redefinition. Set roughly during the episode (I say roughly, because I haven't seen it yet). Am working on scripts, and Jess spoiling the hell outta me.

Dedication: Donna for the one word beta -- "yes". Jess for the help I always need when finding a title. They'd all be nameless if it weren't for you two.

His pale body lies before me, skin glowing as the moon does on a lilypond. Perspiration covers every available surface, looking for all the world like a gentle rain swept into my room and bathed both him and myself with precipitation. Unnaturally white hair, usually stiff with gel or mousse, sticks attractively every which way, making my usual description of him as being a flawed diamond somewhat more accurate.

His head is turned to the side, lashes making dark crescent moons on his cheeks. They do not flutter as I shift my weight on the bed, stretching languidly. In my slightly different position, I observe the sanguine trickle from wounds in his neck, and smile.

It had been just under an hour ago that my erstwhile errant grandchilde had arrived in the lobby. Like so many ghosts of the past, he just thrusted himself into my unlife again without so much as a warning.

There were the old barbs and the veiled threats as always. Gags about crowbars and hot pokers. Sneering and insults and promises of violence and...

He knew the second I knew. And with some personal difficulty, dropped all pretence of coming by just to taunt his old hunting partner. It took less than ten minutes for us to graduate from the lobby, to my room a few floors up.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, he waited, eyes downcast, for... what? A beating, perhaps? Even now, I'm still not sure what he hoped to accomplish by coming here, but it no longer matters. I don't know what he expected, but I know why he came.

Maybe it was just as simple as he craved someone to empathize with. Even if it was me, and even if he didn't want to. I'm the only other one that knows what it is like to feel things for someone you don't want to feel. Especially for a Slayer.

The pull of blood is strong. He's bound to me more tightly than anyone right now, and it's a connection he can not hope to escape from. And as his cool tongue slipped past my lips, I know he didn't wish to escape from it... at least not right now. It's times like those I wish I'd sired him.

His hands constantly moved. They were in my hair and on my biceps and under my shirt at the small of my back. Everywhere and nowhere all at once. Featherlight and indelicate. Needy and scornful. Master and Mastered.

A whisper of a name passed through his lips as his shirt fluttered to the floor. I'm not sure when his jacket came off. His jeans came off, and I saw him fully for the first time in a long while. He was truly dazzling in the low lamplight... all fine bones and sharp angles. A few moments later, my shirt joined the garments on the floor.

When he ran his hands over my torso and dropped to his knees, it was with a deference that I'd rarely ever received from him. Submission... but never with the gentle reverence he displayed then. Nimble fingers worked at the fastenings of my trousers, before they touched me with a subtlety I only ever remember being reserved for his sire.

I ran my fingers through his hair when he engulfed me, tangling them through the blond strands. He took delight in pleasure-giving, forgoing delay, and it was not long before I peaked with a hiss.

He looked up at me with those icy eyes, and I felt like I saw my own reflection; driven by desire and obsession, hollow, desperate, and almost -- but not quite -- broken.

He began to sit up from the bed after I pushed him onto it, but my weight pinned him quite effectively. I rolled him onto his stomach and ran my hands down his back. Shoulder muscles twitched and flexed under my fingers, and a shudder ran through his body when I reached the base of his spine. For some reason, it had always been a sensitive spot. My thighs straddled his own, and I touched him intimately, preparing him.

I placed the tip of my penis at his entrance and reached under him to lightly take hold of his own hardened length. I pushed forward with my hips at the same time tugging on his cock. The pain helped to keep this in perspective, and the meaning was not lost on him. His hoarse gasp caused by this rough intrusion soon gave way to a choking moan as the initial discomfort passed. He tore, making it easier.

The smell of his blood filled my nostrils. Ambrosia. The elixir of life. Whatever you want to call it, it permeated the air, suffocating it and me. My head was thick with want, and clouded by the carnality of it all.

White hot fire built in my belly and traveled lower. It became unbearable. I gripped his cock fiercely and sank my teeth into his neck. His tepid blood flowed down my throat, and it was water to a dying man. It caused my own orgasm, and his. His mouth flew open, but not a sound escaped his lips.

He was exactly what I needed. Sometimes I forget how to deal with things. I forget that I'm not human yet. I'm still a vampire, and occasionally, the vampire way of handling situations is the best.

Take Spike. He came to L.A. thinking I would be able to solve his problems. Maybe fuck him to release tension, maybe beat the shit out of him, so he had a reason to try and procure sympathy.

I'm sick of being used as one. The people in Sunnydale, here, and my family... they think they can push me around. That I will bend to their every whim, just because it isn't 'human' to say no.

And oddly enough, the thought of re-educating them the hard way doesn't perturb me in the least.

I could feel him becoming weaker as I drained him. He noticed after coming down from his orgasm to find my teeth still embedded in his throat. Oh, he struggled. Tried to buck me off. Howled. Screamed. Snarled. But still inside him, I clamped my hand over his head, wrenching it sideways to make him more accessible.

Soon he just went... limp. But I kept drinking. Just that little bit more, until I just knew that he was almost dry. *Then* I stopped.

He's in what you might call a vampire coma. Maybe he'll come out of it, maybe he won't. If he does, I'll have something to deal with when I get back.

I look at him now, and my eyes travel once again to his throat. Running my finger along his neck, I collect small droplets of ichor and suck it off my finger. It is good.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed. A new shirt and pants later, I pick up his duster. The outline of a pack of Camel Reds is visible in the pocket. I take them out and put them in my own jacket. I look back at my bed, for all the world appearing like a sacrificial altar complete with victim.

No one -- *especially* my family is ever going to think they can take me on and win. Soul or no.


	The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild Home Updates Stories Resources Extras News Music Forum Contact Guestbook Links Full Version Fiction by: Title Author Pairing Rating Title: Points of Departure Author: Avarice Rating: NC-17 Pairing Spoilers: everything up to Redefinition. Set roughly during the episode (I say roughly, because I haven't seen it yet). Am working on scripts, and Jess spoiling the hell outta me. Dedication: Donna for the one word beta -- "yes". Jess for the help I always need when finding a title. They'd all be nameless if it weren't for you two. Summary: Angel gets psyched into doing what he has to do. Improv #8: rain, glow, bound, crave. "Why is my heart so silent with dark places? And why do I no longer care?" -Anon His pale body lies before me, skin glowing as the moon does on a lilypond. Perspiration covers every available surface, looking for all the world like a gentle rain swept into my room and bathed both him and myself with precipitation. Unnaturally white hair, usually stiff with gel or mousse, sticks attractively every which way, making my usual description of him as being a flawed diamond somewhat more accurate. His head is turned to the side, lashes making dark crescent moons on his cheeks. They do not flutter as I shift my weight on the bed, stretching languidly. In my slightly different position, I observe the sanguine trickle from wounds in his neck, and smile. It had been just under an hour ago that my erstwhile errant grandchilde had arrived in the lobby. Like so many ghosts of the past, he just thrusted himself into my unlife again without so much as a warning. There were the old barbs and the veiled threats as always. Gags about crowbars and hot pokers. Sneering and insults and promises of violence and... Confusion. I could smell it, even as I smelt Her all over him. He knew the second I knew. And with some personal difficulty, dropped all pretence of coming by just to taunt his old hunting partner. It took less than ten minutes for us to graduate from the lobby, to my room a few floors up. Sitting on the edge of my bed, he waited, eyes downcast, for... what? A beating, perhaps? Even now, I'm still not sure what he hoped to accomplish by coming here, but it no longer matters. I don't know what he expected, but I know why he came. Maybe it was just as simple as he craved someone to empathize with. Even if it was me, and even if he didn't want to. I'm the only other one that knows what it is like to feel things for someone you don't want to feel. Especially for a Slayer. The pull of blood is strong. He's bound to me more tightly than anyone right now, and it's a connection he can not hope to escape from. And as his cool tongue slipped past my lips, I know he didn't wish to escape from it... at least not right now. It's times like those I wish I'd sired him. His hands constantly moved. They were in my hair and on my biceps and under my shirt at the small of my back. Everywhere and nowhere all at once. Featherlight and indelicate. Needy and scornful. Master and Mastered. A whisper of a name passed through his lips as his shirt fluttered to the floor. I'm not sure when his jacket came off. His jeans came off, and I saw him fully for the first time in a long while. He was truly dazzling in the low lamplight... all fine bones and sharp angles. A few moments later, my shirt joined the garments on the floor. When he ran his hands over my torso and dropped to his knees, it was with a deference that I'd rarely ever received from him. Submission... but never with the gentle reverence he displayed then. Nimble fingers worked at the fastenings of my trousers, before they touched me with a subtlety I only ever remember being reserved for his sire. I ran my fingers through his hair when he engulfed me, tangling them through the blond strands. He took delight in pleasure-giving, forgoing delay, and it was not long before I peaked with a hiss. He looked up at me with those icy eyes, and I felt like I saw my own reflection; driven by desire and obsession, hollow, desperate, and almost -- but not quite -- broken. He began to sit up from the bed after I pushed him onto it, but my weight pinned him quite effectively. I rolled him onto his stomach and ran my hands down his back. Shoulder muscles twitched and flexed under my fingers, and a shudder ran through his body when I reached the base of his spine. For some reason, it had always been a sensitive spot. My thighs straddled his own, and I touched him intimately, preparing him. I placed the tip of my penis at his entrance and reached under him to lightly take hold of his own hardened length. I pushed forward with my hips at the same time tugging on his cock. The pain helped to keep this in perspective, and the meaning was not lost on him. His hoarse gasp caused by this rough intrusion soon gave way to a choking moan as the initial discomfort passed. He tore, making it easier. The smell of his blood filled my nostrils. Ambrosia. The elixir of life. Whatever you want to call it, it permeated the air, suffocating it and me. My head was thick with want, and clouded by the carnality of it all. White hot fire built in my belly and traveled lower. It became unbearable. I gripped his cock fiercely and sank my teeth into his neck. His tepid blood flowed down my throat, and it was water to a dying man. It caused my own orgasm, and his. His mouth flew open, but not a sound escaped his lips. He was exactly what I needed. Sometimes I forget how to deal with things. I forget that I'm not human yet. I'm still a vampire, and occasionally, the vampire way of handling situations is the best. Take Spike. He came to L.A. thinking I would be able to solve his problems. Maybe fuck him to release tension, maybe beat the shit out of him, so he had a reason to try and procure sympathy. I have a soul, but I am not a fucking doormat. I'm sick of being used as one. The people in Sunnydale, here, and my family... they think they can push me around. That I will bend to their every whim, just because it isn't 'human' to say no. I'm not human yet. And oddly enough, the thought of re-educating them the hard way doesn't perturb me in the least. That's why I didn't stop drinking. I could feel him becoming weaker as I drained him. He noticed after coming down from his orgasm to find my teeth still embedded in his throat. Oh, he struggled. Tried to buck me off. Howled. Screamed. Snarled. But still inside him, I clamped my hand over his head, wrenching it sideways to make him more accessible. Soon he just went... limp. But I kept drinking. Just that little bit more, until I just knew that he was almost dry. Then I stopped. He's in what you might call a vampire coma. Maybe he'll come out of it, maybe he won't. If he does, I'll have something to deal with when I get back. I look at him now, and my eyes travel once again to his throat. Running my finger along his neck, I collect small droplets of ichor and suck it off my finger. It is good. I sit up and swing my legs off the bed. A new shirt and pants later, I pick up his duster. The outline of a pack of Camel Reds is visible in the pocket. I take them out and put them in my own jacket. I look back at my bed, for all the world appearing like a sacrificial altar complete with victim. No one -- especially my family is ever going to think they can take me on and win. Soul or no. The door shuts behind me with a quiet 'click'. Now I'm ready for Dru and Darla. ~fin