Of the Childe

TITLE: Of The Childe
AUTHOR: Fyre
SPOILERS: Only Series one of Angel really. And any Buffy epyy with Angel/Buffy smoochies cos if you didn't know about them, where the heck have you been?
SUMMARY: Angel has been Shanshued for five years now, but things didn't work out like he planned.
RATING: NC17 (I think)
PAIRING: Angel/Spike, mention of Angel/Buffy
DISTRIBUTION: Feel free to use it just lemme know where its gone!
FEEDBACK: Pwetty please? If you don't, I'll...I'll...be extremely mean and won't talk to you never ever again! ha! *pouts* - In opther words, I would like it :)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. No smut in Joss-world. *le sigh*
NOTES: Based on challenge 181 on YGTS? with the added improv of - flame, boot, tender ache (which I hope I got all in), I decided to ake it intewwesting in the sense that Angelus was Spike's Sire - I still like that better :) Smuttiness is gooooooooooood!
DEDICATION: All for THE Collie! Hope ya like it! As an apology for the Buffy/Angel smoochies I put you through. I humbly offer this a penance, but, if I was to do it all over again *g*...I do it exactly the same way, but I'd have Giles knobbing B too!
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Motionless, silent, impassive.

The condensation trickled down the cool glass, between his fingers, pooled on the smooth surface of the bar, unnoticed. Life went on around him, leaving him in that lost place he now called home, staring distantly into nothingness.

Loose strands of dark hair framed his tired face, the rest scraped back in a haphazard ponytail at the nape of his neck, hanging between his leather-clad shoulders. Empty eyes spoke measures off guilt and pain.

"Hey, baby." His head turned at the voice, the familiar accent, lips rising in a mockery of a smile. "Ready for our night in?"

Emotionless, expressionless, wordless, he rose, draped an arm around her shoulder, one hand briefly running over her tangle of falsely blonde hair.

Then they exited the quiet bar, into the streets of a quiet town in an equally quiet part of the country.

And there was silence.

Picking up the glass that the dark man had left, half-drained, the young barman frowned and tutted, his face one of disapproval. To their backs, he could say what he liked. It was of no import to the dark man.

Every night was the same.

He would come, he would sit, he would drink a little, stare into the eternal depths of the glass in his hand, then she would come – petite, blonde and deceptively fragile-looking – and they would leave.

No one knew who he was. Tall, dark and possibly handsome under the mask of despair he wore as a true face, he had named himself but once – Liam O'Conner. The descendant of a family who had lived in a nearby village that had been decimated two and a half centuries earlier.

And no one had the heart to tell him that this was so, preferring to cross the street than face the dangerous figure of the dark man. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothing, but deathly pale skin.

He had no job. No true home, living in an abandoned and tumbledown farmhouse on the outskirts of the town. Little money, looking at the state of him and clothes that would have been more fitting fifty years earlier.

Though, he could still afford the girl. Always a blonde and always one who could feign an American accent and always, always petite and delicate.

Sighing, Nicky turned to put the glasses in the washer, the soft buzz of conversation in the pub practically non-existent, the time that was fitting of hearing the proverbial pin drop.

Swinging back round to return to his duties, he slammed back against the shelves, gasped, clutched his heart, eyes wide with shock.

In the place that the dark man always could be found, another man sat, gazing at him pensively.

He trailed a blue-nailed finger in the moisture left by the dark man's glass, raised it to his lips and sucked on his fingertip with a wickedly sexy gleam in his devilishly blue eyes.

"Don't ye know it's rude to sneak up on someone like that? You coulda given me a feckin' heart attack!"

Sensual lips arched up in a smirk, highlighting the sharpest cheekbones that Nicky could recall ever seeing.

"Sorry, mate." The man's voice was more of a husky purr, a combination of his tone and his little grin suggesting there was more chance of his hair being naturally blue than of him being sincere in his apology. "Be a pet and get us a pint."

Warily nodding, turning to the rack of glasses, the brunette bar tender was suddenly incredibly relieved that the pub was deserted when Blue started speaking again, loudly, eloquently, annoyingly.

"So, mate, you seen a wankin' great big poof in here lately?" Nicky felt the tips of his ears flushing, focused on the beer running into the glass. "Need a description, then? Tall, dark and broody with the biggest knackers you ever did see. Seen him lurking hereabouts?"

Turning, pushing the glass across the bar, clearing his throat, the barman spoke. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Now, why don't I believe that?" Flashing his pearly whites at the barkeep, the blue-haired man chuckled. "I know the poofball was here." He flicked at the puddle of water on the bar. "He was drinking here. A scotch on the rocks I'd guess. Didn't finish it. And he left about five minutes ago…" He glanced out of the doorway of the bar. "Headed that way with a scrawny little blonde bitch."

Nicky froze. "You mean Liam O'Conner?"

"So that what he's callin' himself these days." With his back to the bar, the young man withdrew a cigarette from the inner-pocket of the well-worn leather jacket he was garbed in, lighting it, inhaling. "Tell me, pet, where does the great Poofini live?"

Nicky shrugged, feeling the unseen scrutiny of the young man. The blue gaze was shot back over the black leather shoulder, accompanied by a wicked grin. "I'm sorry, man, I couldn't say."

The beer glass clunked down on the bar with enough force the splinter the wood and cobweb the bottom of the glass. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe…he might live on the outskirts of town…" Twisting his dishcloth in his hands, Nicky took an instinctive step back, grit his teeth to stop them chattering.

"Now you're getting the idea, mate." Blue turned, smirked a little wider. "Now, `maybe' you `might' remember his specific address or where I can find him when he's not shagging Goldilocks." He propped one elbow on the bar, cupped his chin in his hand and batted his eyes. "I would be very…grateful."

"You want him," Nicky groped behind him for something in case the blue-haired freak got violent. "You feckin' well go and find him yourself."

Blue grinned. "I was hoping you would say that." In a blink, Nicky had been whipped round and was bent over the bar, backwards. Blue was leering down at him, his eyes a flaming gold.

"What the feck are you?" A low grunt of pain escaped the barman, narrow ebony eyes askew in agony.

"Just a friend." A fang-filled grin glinted at him, the hideous apparition leering at him, blue-nailed finger drawing down his neck. "Y'know, I think, we're all gonna be very best friends, mate. You just wait and see."

***


It was wrong.

It was all wrong.

This wasn't how he had imagined his triumphant return to be. Dropping to his knees beside her, the bouncing brilliant golden light dancing on his features, he gathered the fallen form of the Slayer, ignoring the blood, ignoring the mud, ignoring everything but her.

"A…Angel?" He had expected that, her surprise, her always-adorable astonishment, her lips forming a pouting `O'. "But you…the sun…"

Brushing a strand of her hair back from her face, his thumb grazed over her bruised cheek, tears falling incessantly, unnoticed.

"I'm alive, Buffy." He whispered, drawing her that little bit closer. "We can be together now. No curse. No vampire. Just you and me and no more brooding in the basement."

"Forever?"

He nodded, pressed a kiss to her brow. "Forever." He promised.

The smile she gave him was the most beautiful he could remember. In spite of the blood. In spite of the bruises. In spite of the dark red that told him her life was dripping away through his fingers.

"Angel?" Her voice was a fraction softer, her eyes half-closed, one of her hands moving over his arm. "Why is it so dark? Have we been here long?"

"It's not da…" Pausing, Angel blinked back another barrage of tears that were burning at his eyes. "We haven't been here long, Buffy." He murmured, grasping her hand in one of his, thumb brushing over her unfeeling, tattered knuckles. "We've been here forever."

She smiled again, shivered a little. "Still cryptic?"

"As always."

The summer wind sang softly through the park, ruffling the reddened strands of the Slayer's loose hair. She sighed, laid her head against his chest. "It's so dark." She repeated softly. Raising her eyes to his, her fingers ran down his cheek, smearing her own blood there.

She turned her hand over, looked at her bloodied fingers with growing awareness, sighed again and closed her eyes for a long moment.

"I have to go to sleep soon, don't I?" The former vampire tried to look away, tried to stem his tears, tried not to think about hunting down the PTB and ripping their hearts out through their nostrils. "Don't I?"

Forcing himself to look at her bullet-riddled body, he grit his teeth, nodded. He brushed a kiss over her lips, fingers still wrapped around her nerveless hand. "I think so." It was all he could say.

She nodded slightly. "I'm cold, Angel." He drew her closer, feeling the warmth of her blood gushing over his hands and chest. "You won't leave me alone? I don't like the dark."

"I'll stay until you're asleep." His tears burned their way down her pale cheeks, tainted a delicate pink by her life that was slowly ebbing away. "I'll take care of you, Buffy. I promise."

"Forever." Her voice sounded like that of a lost child, a helpless, vulnerable little girl trapped in the body of a twenty-four year old. The dying body of a superhero. The body of the one thing he cared for.

"That's right." Brushing his forehead lightly against hers, he held her close, feeling each slowing beat of her weakening heart. "I love you, Buffy."

"Love you too." She whispered, eyes closed, lips pale. "See you in the morning."

Her final breath was no louder than the one before, the only thing he had ever fought for sinking in his arms, gone. Dead.

Jerking up in his bed, Angel gasped. His heart was pounding an erratic drumbeat against his ribs, his sweat-soaked sheets wadded around his legs, his unbound hair in damp disarray.

Five years.

Five fucking years since the PTB had decided to play the mother of all fucked-up jokes on their former warrior. Killing the one he loved, not with a demon or unnatural force, but with sheer, human malignity.

He exhaled slowly. Leaving Sunnydale had been his plan for forgetting. Taking all he valued and fleeing all the places and faces that would remind him of what he had been. What he had lost. He would forget everything, he had vowed.

If only it had worked.

Glancing over to the other side of the bed, he sighed. At least she was gone. The little blonde had learned from the first time he had had her that waking up with him wasn't a pleasant experience.

Stumbling to his feet, heart still smashing against his ribs, he practically fell down the broken stairs, staggering through into the kitchen, making a beeline for a the drawer beside the sink.

Hurriedly tipping the contents out onto the work surface, he raked through the pile for everything he needed, lit the stub of a candle and grabbed the syringe and needle in shaking hands.

Laying it on the table, he pulled the string tourniquet up over his arm, passed his elbow, jerking it tight, familiar tears streaking his taut face.

Searching the tracklines of his bruised veins, the end of the tourniquet gripped between his teeth, he blinked, tears blurring his vision. Slapping at the blackened flesh, he whimpered, searched for a single blue line to pump with the substance that would hide him from his memories.

Pressing two fingers to the vein, he turned, raising his eyes to the table, only to find it bare, but for the flickering candle. "Shit…"

"Looking for something?"

All attention fleeing from his arm, he swung, stared around the dark room. "Who the hell are you?" Searching the shadows, he could feel his anger mounting. "Give me my stuff and get the fuck out of my home."

"Now, now, Peaches." A figure swaggered into the light, coalescing out of the shadows, a familiar leather duster swirling around his legs. "I decide to pay you a visit out of the badness of my heart, even abandon Dru…okay that was two years ago, but I digress. I leave the bloody colonies and come all this way to find you and I don't even get a hug?"

Ignoring the pout his former childe had thrown his way, Angel grabbed him by the lapels, steered him backwards til he slammed into the refrigerator. "Give me my stuff and get the hell out."

There was the sound of glass and metal splintering and dropping to the tiled floor, a small smirk tilting the now-blue-haired vampire's lips upwards. "Oops."

Stepping back a pace, the former vampire stared down in dismay, the remains of the syringe practically ground to powder in the vampire's careless hand.

Dropping to his knees, shoulders shaking with angry sobs, he shakily tried to collect it all, bits of glass and metal tearing into his hands, blood trickling from his callused fingertips, dripping onto the floor.

"Angelus." After several moments of ragged, frantic scrabbling, the other's familiar voice soothingly spoke, cool hands laid on broad, heaving shoulders. "Why are you doing this? What happened, pet?"

Brown, glassy eyes rose. The voice was worn with grief and despair, breaking. "I hurt, William."

It was all that needed to be said, the former vampire finding solace in the arms of his long lost childe. Drawing the sobbing man's dark head to his breast, the vampire purred softly, reassuringly, stroking thick tangled hair.

For what seemed like hours, the younger of the two, the soulless of the two, the demon of the two embraced the other tenderly, soothing with whispered words and gentle touches.

Finally all cried out, Angel let the punk-childe of his vampiric self gently lift him to his feet. Steered patiently up the stairs, he distantly became aware that he was in the candle-illuminated bathroom, sitting on the floor, Spike's babble reaching him over the sound of running water.

"And then I got to wonder, how old would you be now? Human age or human age add vampire age…" Blue eyes gleamed over at him. "I *could* call you Old Man, but it sort of has a different ring, now, 'eh?"

Angel didn't reply, turned his attention to the bathtub, the steam rising from the water that was filling it.

"Come on, mate." Stripping off his jacket and shirt, the younger of the two hoisted the dark-haired human to his feet and gave him a none- to-gentle shove in the direction of the bathtub. "I'm not undressing you, so don't bloody think I will!"

Reluctantly drawing himself out of his stupor, Angel pulled his shirt and pajama bottoms of mechanically, dropping them on the floor and stepping into the tub, the water rippling over his aching body.

"Fucking hell…what have you been doing to yourself, pet?" The blue- nailed hands grasped the limp arms, turned them over, fingers tracing tracks of bruises, tears misting reluctant blue eyes.

Reaching down for the scrap of a sponge, blinking back tears of outrage for the man who had been his Sire, the vampire carefully started sponging the black crusts of blood, moving up the familiar arms that were a little thinner than he remembered.

It wasn't until he pushed aside Angel's hair that he spoke again, his mouth drawing into a tight, thin line, eyes flickering gold. "Someone realised how nummy a nummy treat you were, eh?" He ran his finger gently over the two sets of healing bite marks, clenched his jaw. "You booted their sorry arses, right?"

"The Slayer stopped them."

"The Slayer?" Spike's brow rose a millimeter. "Where is dear little Fluffy anyway? I thought you and her would be shagging like bunnies by now, with you being all human and soul-having and…I get the feeling I just said the wrong thing…"

"Buffy died."

"What?" The sponge slipped from his hand a sickening feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach. In a strange way, he had still loved the bitch. "When? How? Why the hell didn't anyone tell me?"

Angel wiggled his fingers, the clear water rippling around him. "The day I became human." He replied, focussing on his toes that were poking just above the waterline, getting wrinklier by the minute. "I arrived in Sunnydale and then she died. They shot her. Shot her in the back." He laughed, a rough sound. "She told me she'd see me in the morning, then she went to sleep."

"Fuck."

"I just want to forget about it all, Will." Brown eyes brimming with tears found blue, one large hand reaching up to touch the first familiar face he had seen in years. "I want it all to go away."

"It'll get better, luv." Leaning over the edge of the bath, he pressed his forehead to his former Sire's, as Angel himself had always done to reassure people. "I promise you it will."

One dripping hand running down Spike's cheek, he reached with his other, drew his hair back, away from his face, away from his neck and slowly tilted his head, baring his throat to the vampire. "There's only one way I can forget, Will." His voice was hoarse, strained. "Turn me back. Please?"

"I can't, luv." Nuzzling against Angel's neck, one arm sliding around the naked human, he pressed his eyes shut, fighting the memories, all the memories he had of his Sire. "You're upset. I can't turn you when you're like this. It wouldn't be fair. I'm sorry, Sire."

He felt Angel's hand twist into his hair, slowly pull him back. "I know." The tragic-eyed man acknowledged, pressed his lips in a chaste kiss to his childe's, mingled tears salty and hot. "I know how Darla felt now."

"Shh." Pressing his fingertips to the older man's lips, Spike shook his head. "Don't lets talk about the past, pet. Not now." He returned the gentle brush of the lips, forced a smile. "Come on, old man. Let's get you cleaned up."

***


Sitting cross-legged in front of the blazing fire, candles twinkling around the room, Spike cast a glance up at the man who had once been everything to him, his whole world from the moment he was reborn.

Despite the unwritten – or was it written? He would have to ask Giles to ask the Watcher's Council some time – rule that demons couldn't love, couldn't care about anything or anyone, he knew he had always loved his Sire.

And not just for the Sire-childe reason. Or for the fucking amazing shagging. It was deeper than that. Even in spite of the soul. He hated the soul for a long time, because it had taken the one thing he loved away from him.

But, after spending the day just talking with this man, this human, who had been vampire for so long, who had killed, then been cursed, then had lost everything, he felt the familiar stirring of that same love again, that longing to be there for this person who had meant so much.

The person who was tossing and turning in his sleep, on the low couch, hair matted to his face, body contorting, twisting, writhing. "No…no…" First quiet, then with growing anger, the sleeping man's voice rose. "Don't…please…" His nails raked across his chest, goring the flesh, rivulets of blood running from them.

"Pet?" Crawling over, rising to balance on his toes, the vampire ran a hand down Angel's face. Immediately, the frenetic tossing stopped, the former vampire giving a sigh. Spike rocked back on his heels, echoed the sigh with one of his own. "Don't you scare me like that again, pet."

He remained there through the long hours, soothing the sleeping figure with the occasional touch, a softly spoken word, wondering why he was still staying, his heart aching with every passing moment, wondering how long he could bear to see his former Sire reduced to a weeping, shivering wreck.

Eventually, tired, he snagged a pillow and sprawled out on the fire- side rug on his stomach, yawned, wrapping his arms around the pillow and half-watching Angel out of the corner of a slightly-open eye.

Maybe he dozed a little.

He couldn't say, but he became aware of the fact he was purring several moments before he realised Angel was sitting on the floor beside him, running his hand down the blue-haired vampire's smooth back.

"Stoppit." He mumbled, trying to stop his body from instinctively arching into the gentle touch. "Sleepy."

"I know." The hand moved, the vampire groaned, the human chuckled.

Rolling onto his side, the fire to his back, strange colours dancing in the blue spikes of his wild hair, the vampire looked up at his bare-chested Sire, raised one hand to trace the more defined pectorals. "You've been working out, Peaches."

"Working out. Starving. No difference really."

Slowly sitting up, cupping Angel's chin in his hands, he shook his head, tutted. "You are a complete dipstick, Angelus. Humans do have to eat, y'know."

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" He shrugged. "C'mon, poofwad, why the hell can't you eat?"

"No money."

The scarred brow rose. "But you were alive for two bloody centuries. How can you not have any money?"

"Don't know." A small shrug. "Don't care."

On impulse, the vampire pulled his Sire's lips closer to his, until he could feel the hot breath of the human. "Do you remember when we first met up again in Sunnyhell, pet?" A nod, barely noticeable. "Do you remember what I said?"

"I was your Sire." The other replied without hesitation.

"And do you know what you're going to say to me after tonight, Angelus?" With every word his lips brushed lightly against the human's warm ones. He felt Angel's heartbeat increase, his breathing changing rhythm.

He felt rather than saw the smile that crept onto Angel's lips, the sparkle of glee in the eyes shocking, yet unmistakeable. "You bloody noncy poof of a wanker?" He hazarded a guess an instant before Spike's mouth descended on his.

"Well," Drawing back, letting the soon-to-be non-human regain his breath, the blue-haired vampire smirked. "It's a helluva lot better than `daddy', mate." He let the smirk melt into a genuine smile. "It's going to be good to have you back, Old Man. I missed the team work." He paused, touched Angel's lips gently. "And I missed you."

In the flickering glow of the fire, the vampire leaned in and stole a kiss from the dark Angel, ran tender fingers through carefully brushed hair, traced cool patterns on a warm canvas.

"Did I ever tell you that I loved you, Angelus?"

Angel shook his head, startled by the revelation. The name Angelus too. He had always assumed that his arrogant, cocky childe had hated him, hated his control, hated having to do whatever Angelus asked.

Even if his treatment of Spike had been the best he had given to any of his childer.

In mute response, he circled his arms around the vampire, pulling him into a mortal embrace, a lingering kiss brushing first his lips, his neck, his chest, his stomach. "I think I may have loved you too, Will." He spoke quietly. Uncertain. "The soul…"

"The soul is going, pet. Forever this time." Stifling a groan as Angel's hand loosened his belt, cupping the prominent bulge at the front of his trouser, he pulled the dark head up for another deep kiss. "No gypsies for you. You'll stay with me permanently, understand?"

"Yes, Sire." The smile that accompanied the words suggested that he was teasing, but the look in the dark brown eyes made Spike's stomach flip. Angelus was going to be his forever!

Warm met cool, lips and tongues battling, needy hands fumbling, questing and searching. Flesh on flesh, heart to heart, blue-gold met brown once more. Kneeling in front of one another, barely touching, they paused.

The fire crackled softly, the light playing on the features of both vampire and human, shadows and light combining, dancing.

"Love me, Will." Angel's voice carried a note of pleading and quiet desperation. "I want it to be perfect for you…"

Spike nodded, hands roaming down Angel's smooth back and over the familiar curve of his buttocks, down along his thigh. "You'll be my first." He murmured, presssing a kiss to Angel's throat.

"What do you mean?"

The vampire smiled slightly. "I didn't want to turn any old fuckin' sap." He bent from the waist, brushed a feather-light kiss over Angel's swelling erection. "I had to save it for the best I could find." He repeated the motion of his lips with his tongue, smiled as Angel moaned. "They didn't show up, so I had to resort to your maginifcent poofy hide."

"Will?"

"Mmm-hmm?" Nuzzling his way up Angel's chest, to nip under his jaw, blue-gold eyes glinting with devilry, he raised his scarred brow once more.

"Shut up and fuck me."

"Happy to oblige." The vampire got out, before smashing his mouth against the former-and-soon-to-be-again-vampire's hot and eager mouth.

***


"You know, I think I like waking up this way." His head pillowed in the naked Spike's lap, Angelus grinned contentedly, on arm stretched along the other vampire's leg, toying with his toes.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, pet." Inhaling a drag from his cigarette, his hand rubbing over his childe's chest, he bent forward, kissed the dark vampire softly on the lips. "But only if you get away from my foot."

Grin widening, he wiggled his Sire's toe again, receiving an annoyed swat from the blue-haired demon. "Come on." He half-pouted, rolling to his knees and leaning forward, pinning Spike between himself and the headboard of the bed. "I wanna play, Sire o' mine."

"What's gotten you all horny, pet?" Tilting his head, ignoring the younger vampire's amorous advances as best he could until he finished his cigarette, his free hand curled around Angelus' neck and ran through the long, dark waves.

His eyes sank closed as he felt the familiar, delicious pain followed by the equally delicious, sucking pressure of his childe drinking from him, a small smile appearing around the cigarette.

"Just you." Mouth bloodied, demon to the fore, Angelus nuzzled his way up to Spike's face, plucked the glowing cigarette from Spike's mouth and placed it between blue-nailed fingers, before pressing a bruising kiss on his Sire's waiting lips.

Crushing the stub of the cigarette in his fist, Spike flashed a wide grin. "And you know," he remarked, flipping Angelus over, fingers dancing ticklishly on the younger vampire's ribs, drawing a yowl of dismay from him. "That's just the way I like it."


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