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!
_________________________________
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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