Spike had never enjoyed Angelus' company. Just being near his grand-sire made him feel hopelessly inadequate.
Useless.
Small.
Foolish.
Feelings that he had spent the better part of a century trying to shove in a box sealed beneath layers of packing tape. He was no stranger to humiliation. When he was human, he had been the brunt of every joke. The hopeless, hapless poet who never knew when to shut up. Drunk on the sureness of his own artistic abilities and his morality, the latter he no longer gave a damn about. Even then, even as a pathetic excuse for a poet, he knew that he was capable of greatness. Or at least a good show, something exciting, with just enough bite to give the kiddos something to talk about. But watching Angelus touch Drusilla, his Dru, sapped away at his strength and confidence. It drove him crazy with jealousy, but there was nothing he could do.
He sat in his chair, seething, as he watched cold, white hands grope his dark princess. They gripped the inky, crushed velvet, taking quick comfort in the soft material before ripping it open at the seams, exposing far too much creamy flesh. His flesh.
He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming out in blind rage. The metallic taste of blood doing nothing to distract him from the horrific scene unfolding in front of him, only intensifying his hunger. He gripped the armrests of his chair, wincing at the creak of metal hinges as they strained against the pressure.
He felt as though he was back in 1878, trying to keep up with high society and, as a result, securing his place as the town idiot. In Sunnyhell, he had seen and read so many things that romanticized Victorian England and high society but, while his eyes and ears could register the words, his brain couldn't wrap itself around the concept of any kind of pleasure in such a place. In fact, until recently, he couldn't imagine a worse place to be. He couldn't dream up any more vicious or vindictive people or any experience that could be more degrading than being mocked by society as a whole. At least that was until he had to watch another man become intimately acquainted with his love, hear her delighted sounds, smell her ecstatic and enthusiastic response to his advances. And know that he was the farthest thing from her mind, nothing but a bloody fly on the bloody wall.
But he was stubborn as hell and he wouldn't forget this torture or his tormentor. He wouldn't forget a sodding thing. He would get his revenge. He was just going to have to learn to be patient, a virtue he had never possessed before. He knew that, with time, he could right things. He could sweep Angelus into a rubbish bin and indulge his love in the best aphrodisiac fangs could procure: slayer's blood. He just needed patience. Patience and a plan.
And some bloody earplugs.
A/N:
Howdy Y'all,
I haven't written for a while, but I have missed it so much. I wanted to write a Spike story that takes place circa 1997/1998 but also plays with William's past. I wanted to write a story that didn't exaggerate his poetic abilities or his charm because, let's face it, Spike was a total loser back then. Of course he was lovable, but only because we were all already madly in love with him. Anyways, please let me know what you think. Reviews speed along the process
Lots of Love
SSSTD