TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #20 "Firstborn"
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART:20/?
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback:
Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
"Angel!"
The front doors slammed shut with a loud bang. Angel looked up from his morning ritual- coffee cup, newspaper. All very human, but for the contents of said cup.
He recognized the angry voice coming from the lobby.
The ugly scene with Spike.
The loss of his furniture.
It really just wasn't his day.
"Where are you, you cowardly undead piece of shit?"
Angel folded up his newspaper, and laid it on the table. He got up, carried his half-empty cup across the room, and placed it inside the microwave. Then he calmly went out to beat sense into Lindsay McDonough.
"Good morning, Lindsay!"
His jovial tone belied the fire burning behind his eyes. This man had wronged him repeatedly. He'd tormented him. He'd ran him over with a car. He'd been responsible for the last sixth months of earthbound Hell Angel had just endured.
He'd given him back Darla, and taken her away again.
'Maybe this time I'll just kill him.' Angel mused on the possibility with no small amount of satisfaction.
Lindsay weaved a bit on his feet, trying to remember what he was doing here. The stake in his hand reminded him, and he smiled to himself.
"Come on out here, now."
His hand squeezed on the wood in his palm. It felt good, the smoothness of the grain against his skin. Its cool weight was a balm to his injured pride. Just a little longer, Lindsay. Just a little longer and it'll all be over.
He could hear the vampire towards the back of the building, his hearty "good morning" and the slap of his feet against the tile rang in the human's ears, and reverberated behind his eyes.
Not only was he a bloodsucking menace, but he had no respect for a good strong hangover.
Angel strode out to meet him, and Lindsay looked him over in scorn.
The wavy black hair, the dark smoldering eyes. That broad, rippling chest he didn't even bother to pull a shirt over.
Lindsay thought again about that bitch Darla and wished Vampires didn't dust at death. He'd love to send her Angel's torso, intact and complete, after he'd killed him. Or maybe even a few other choice parts.
She'd certainly preferred them.
He snarled at his rival and came for him.
Angel sidestepped the mortal's pathetic lunge. Lindsay was drunk, judging by the way he walked. Also, he was still garbed in yesterday's clothes, as evidenced by their wrinkles and their smell.
He brought a hand up and slapped the boy across the side of the face, enjoying the sound it made, and the way it rouged his cheek.
Then he reached with the other hand and snapped the stake in two, and flung him back into the wall.
"Well, I'm here, now, Lindsay. What was it you wanted again?"
The boy pulled himself up to his knees, and lunged at him again. This time the momentum was sufficient to knock the vampire down. Luck and the laws of gravity on his side, he took the opportunity to land a punch to Angel's groin. It felt good, racking him up. Lindsay decided that before he staked him, he would cut the fucker's balls off for a trophy.
Angel hissed at the pain, but it didn't slow him down any. He grabbed the boy around the head and tried to twist his neck. But he was damp with perspiration, and maybe booze- Angel's hands slipped and the boy got free. He landed another punch, this one to Angel's eye. He followed it with another.
They weren't terribly hard blows, and the vampire didn't really feel them. But he got a good look at Lindsay's eyes then, while he was waling on him. They burned with ferocity, with pain and anger. Angel felt his undead heart moved by the sight. Lindsay had a certain beauty to his rage. Angelus would have adored him.
This time he seized the hand that hit him, and crushed the wrist.
"You want to lose this hand too, boy?
Lindsay didn't react to the pain, or the threat. He was too far gone. His head came down hard as he bashed Angel's with it. Beneath him, the vampire laughed loudly. It fueled his mortal rage.
Angel brought a knee up into Lindsay's lap, and knocked the air out of him. Gasping, the mortal rolled off to the side. Instead of standing, Angel just rolled after him.
He
crouched above him and hit him in the face again. Three more punches, one for
each one Lindsay had successfully landed. They had more impact on the human.
The blood poured from his nose, and his mouth.
His fists kept up a rhythm on the mortal, as Angel gave himself
over to the beating. He would teach this whelp a lesson, teach him once and for
all the futility of his arrogance. He'd come here to take down a vampire with a
splinter. He'd soon learn his proper place in the world. Angel would send him
crawling back to Wolfram and Hart with more pieces missing.
He pulled back a moment, to admire his work. The beautiful face before him had been reduced to a pulsing mass of blood and bruised flesh. He'd almost crushed the windpipe, so Lindsay's breath whistled.
"You go back to your masters- You tell them any one they send against me, I will send back in boxes."
He climbed off of him, trying to ignore how much he had enjoyed that. His demon was still Angelus, and Angelus got off on pain, and its infliction. The demon raged within him, telling him to go back and finish what he'd started. Kill the boy, fuck him, cut him up-
The images teased his thoughts and he warred with his instincts.
His back turned, lost in bloody fantasies, he missed seeing Lindsay pull the gun out of his waistband. But it fired, and Angel felt the bullet go through his shoulder. He rounded, and took in the sight.
Lindsay was still where he'd left him. But he was sitting up slightly, the derringer in his hand pointed Angel's way.
Through thick lips, Lindsay laughed at him.
"Nobody's leaving this room alive."
Angel regarded his opponent with bemusement.
"Is that so? I guess I'll have to kill you then."
Lindsay nodded.
"Yeah. You will. But I'll live long enough to take you with me."
Angel tilted his head slightly, and listened to Lindsay breathe.
" I don't know, pal. You're struggling to breathe already. It's possible you'll die right there, if I leave you alone."
He walked over to the shaking hands and batted the gun out of them, knocking it across the room.
He seized Lindsay by his neck, pulling him to his feet. He dragged the limp form up against himself, pressing him firmly against him. The warmth of a human was seductive, alluring.
"What's the matter, Lindsay? Not feeling your best right now, eh? You want me to call an ambulance for you? Or how bout I call your bosses at Wolfram and Hart..."
Lindsay smiled at him through the blood.
"They fired me."
"Well then, I guess your ass is mine."
The blood smell was maddening. And he was a little impressed. As suicide attempts went, this one had been a beaut. Even now, dying in his hands, the boy struggled. His kicks were puny, pathetic- but he kept trying. And the hate in his eyes was delicious.
He'd already made the decision to let him die. Why not enjoy the death? And the hatred, that would only make it sweeter.
Angel brought the bleeding lips to his own and licked them.
"Your blood is sweet, boy."
He let the demon free, and buried his head in Lindsay's neck, his teeth in his vein.
The blood was fine, the blood was pure. He tasted of hate and obsession, of love and rejection. He had such pride, such shameless arrogance. He was so like William that Angel ached from it.
He could feel it between them now, the inevitable arousal that accompanied the blood. It always happened. No matter how much Lindsay hated him, right now, with his mouth against his neck, the boy was his. His hardness against his own, their hips ground together as the heart pumped life into Angel's mouth. And within him, Angelus was sated. The blood was good, the death erotic and exquisite. It poured into the back of his throat and warmed him, the boy in his arms not an enemy now, but a lover. .
As he fed, he felt it then, inside himself, the longing. It always happened. The demon wanted the boy, wanted to consume him, but even so, it adored him.
It was a shock when he felt his own blood leaving his body. The circuit closed, and the electric sensation of the blood entering and leaving was the finest feeling in the world. He'd not known it since the creation of Drusilla, but he remembered it. It was excruciating and yet orgasmic. The blood flowing, the bodies merged like one, the pleasure so intense it was painful.
Lindsay's mouth upon the exit wound in his shoulder, his human teeth grinding against his immortal flesh, as the heart slowed, as it stopped.
The boy slumped against him, finished. And Angel pulled himself free, his victim hanging in his arms like a child.
His child.
If he didn't prevent it, Lindsay would wake tonight as one of his line, one of his blood.
Angel's firstborn.
Angelus, for all his evil, had made his children in love. Love of the innocence he sought to eradicate, love of the goodness he hoped to corrupt.
It was somehow fitting that Lindsay was made in hate, in rape and murder.
There was blood on his lips. Angel traced his finger over them; full, soft, mortal lips.
He really had been beautiful. Even Darla had admired his looks, and she was noted for her fine taste in men.
Angel lifted the body in his arms, studying him. He knew the right thing to do was to stake him. Right now, before he could rise. He'd have done it for Darla, and he loved her. He owed it to the mortal that Lindsay had been, no matter how wretched and wrong that person was.
But his thoughts took a different path already, as he carried the body up the steps deeper into the hotel. He needed someplace to stash him, before the humans came in today. He'd need somewhere he could hide him, where he could be kept restrained when he woke. He'd wake hungry, and Angel would not place his friends in that kind of danger.
He hid his guilty secret in his bedroom. He undressed the body, washed the blood and stickiness from it. Then he put it in the bed, and chained it in place.
Taking note of the sizes, he formed his list. He'd need new clothes. And blood, fresh blood, preferably human.