Title: Tales of the past: Decadence
Author: Alecca
e-mail: kitana_m@yahoo.com
Summary: Story from the past (duh!) A night in Dublin with Angelus.
Rating: R?
Pairings: Angelus/Darla, Angelus/other.
Spoilers: None here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Angelus or Darla, they belong to Joss & co.
Feedback: Begging helps. So please, pretty please?
1755
Dublin, Ireland
He walked silently through the streets, making no noise,
lurking in the shadows. Moving like a panther stalking his prey, but
not tonight, he found no interest in the humans flowing between the
tight spaces of the houses of the rich. It bored him. Everything did.
The rich, stuck up women of the high class didn't even tent him like
the whores and maids of the taverns. He was a vampire for more then two
years and nothing compared to their blood.
The weak light of a few torches burning besides the walls
made him feel uneasy, he could be spotted by humans, the women smiling
mysteriously in the dark at the sight of him, while young girls
giggled and blushed. He moved slowly trying to ignore the sounds and
the pulse of the city, but found it impossible, the smell of blood
followed him everywhere, tenting his every desire, taunting him with
its sweetness. He released a deep growl from his throat. A man near him
moved, startled by the sound, letting out a curse for the damn dogs. He
hated and loved at the same time his constant need for blood. He
remembered astonished how in his years as a human he use to see the
fluid on which his life depended on now, as a normal liquid that
sometimes caused him pain, especially after a good fight.
Even if he hid it from Darla, he still craved her blood,
like an infant that still wanted to drink from his mother's breast.
When they were in bed she let him bite her a bit, when they went over
the edge. It was like reconstructing the night he became a vampire.
Their sweaty, naked bodies covering each other, completing one another
in an euphoric entanglement of lust and blood. His head pressed against
her breast, gently draining her blood, his deep growls invading the
emptiness of the house, while her moans were a soft, low melody under
his chest. She always bit into his neck after him, their growls
intensifying, melting into a shuttering sound that scared away the
horrified servants. She stayed there covered in a sheen of
perspiration, not moving, the proof of their mating deep inside her
core. Her thighs spread so he could see her, her eyes drawing a lazy
path across his body. He trembled at the memory of her naked flesh
sitting across the ravaged sheets, a half sleepy gaze resting in her
deep yellow eyes. He gathered the coat closer to his skin as if a chill
had overcome his body. He began moving faster to get away from the
tormenting images.
The torches began to give out, only a dim light crossing the
faces of the people on the streets. The crowd began disappearing, only
few people remaining. The creatures of the night, the pick pockets and
thieves, roaming the streets in search of victims. Stray cats crossing,
distracting the eyes of the people. He couldn't understand Darla's need
for the blood of the rich, it was so sour it made him sick sometimes.
For him the sweetest would remain the taste of decadence and misery.
A young pair was strolling alone a few feet away from him. He
smiled when he realized what bothered him about them. The boy was
human, but his companion was a vampire, she stank of immortality and
lust. Blood lust, it was something that grew in the air, thick like a
fog, covering body and mind. He followed quietly behind. The blond girl
smiled while she lead her victim in an alley.
"Where's the tavern?" the man asked in a semi-drunk voice
holding on to her waist, staring at the wall at the end of the alley.
"'Tis a secret, my lord," she whispered bringing him closer to
the wall behind the alley. He looked intrigued at the dead end.
"Where, girl?" he asked puzzled. Her face turned to her
demonic state and she plunged her fangs into his neck pushing his body
into the wall. His eyes went wide looking blankly at the bricks as his
body was constantly smashed into them. Blood stained the wall. As
Angelus watched the young vampire kill its prey his hunger grew inside
him at the sight and scent of it. A rush of lust for the young immortal
crossed him and he growled. The vampire heard him and turned abruptly,
leaving to fall to her feet, the body of the man- his eyes wide, a tear
sliding down his cheek as the last shred of life drained from him, his
hand staining the dress of the vampire as he clutched on to it as a
last effort to hold on to humanity. She looked down at him with no
emotion, just a slight sense of disgust in her eyes. She moved, his
hand leaving a bloody print on the velvet dress. She grabbed him by the
hair, her features turning human and pushed him backwards, his head now
resting in his own blood. She turned to face Angelus, but turning she
saw only an empty space. Her blood covered mouth turned into a grimace
as she moved away.
Angelus stayed there for a few moments, watching her puzzled
features. She could feel him, but not see him. With a sound of
disappointment she moved quickly up the wall. From the roof of the
house he watched and followed her, trying to make no noise. He found
himself in the bad side of the city. He closed his eyes at the familiar
smell of rot, sex and ail, his human years of youth. He lost interest
in the vampire and entered a tavern. He knew Darla would taunt him with
this for months, but didn't care, she had her high society parties and
noble victims, he could have what he craved and missed.
The bitter taste of smelling bodies, filled his senses as
he entered the tavern. All heads turned towards him. He was dressed
like one of the rich. He ignored the stares and sat down at a table and
a young girl put a glass of ale in front of him. He looked at the half
dirty glass and knew it wouldn't taste the same. Unless..., he sighed
and emptied it. It had no taste for him, he couldn't feel anything, not
even pleasure, a golden water that didn't satisfy his needs. He looked
at one table were the maids watched him seductively. He watched them
one by one and found interest only in a young, brunette girl, of a
vulgar beauty, that seemed to have the makings of a high society whore.
An hour later he was leading her up the stairs in a small
room, made especially for the needs of the clients. His face grimaced
at the appearance of the room, a small bed covered in dirty sheets and a smell that would drive him crazy, the smell of burned out candles,
sweat and sexual acts consumed in hurry. He pulled away the sheets and
put down his coat instead and sat her down. He pulled away her dress.
She was lost in a weary gaze, her soul stripped away along with her
clothes, in a contemplation he didn't understand. He looked down at her
young body. He stopped for a moment his eyes staring blankly at her
neck.
"What's wrong?" she asked light headed.
he thought, then realized that he
didn't need this anymore, as Darla had told him, once you get use to one kind of living you can't return to the last. He had laughed at this remark, but now he understood how right she was. If he were to leave his luxuriant life next to his sire for a miserable one spent in places as retched as this one, he would be more then just a little unhappy.
He leaned down and kissed her, her legs trembling underneath him. He traced a path down her neck, slipping his demonic face on, he sank his fangs deep inside her neck. A silent horrifying scream escaped her lips, but made no attempt to struggle. She surrounded his waist with her legs, pulling him closer, pushing him deep inside her. She pulled at his shirt, ripping it open with her fingers, her now broken nails bleeding on his white shirt. She started hitting him with his hands. But he couldn't feel it, all he could hear or feel was the blood racing in her veins, and her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment he thought about ripping her chest open and watch her heart die as the blood poured out of her. He declined that thought as being too messy, but promised himself he would try it one day. With one last effort, she bit down on his shoulder as hard as she could, drawing a little blood. Angelus opened his eyes to see her heavy gaze. She breathed hard, her chest moving frantically up and down as he mounted down from the bed. About one thing he was right, the blood filled with misery would always taste better. The blood of the poor. He watched her convulsing naked body until it stopped, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her long hair spilled on the sweat stained mattress. Her neck wound gave her pale body color, her lips of a dark red. A single drop dripped from her mouth and he ran his thumb across the long trail it left on her face. He took the finger to his lips and tasted his own blood. He left the room immediately, leaving his coat behind.
Something made him terribly angry. He couldn't understand what. The tavern girl or just the fact that he could never go back to the life he had before and that Darla was right. He hated it when she was right. He moved quickly from the area. He stopped when he reached an empty alley. He realized this was where the vampire he saw earlier killed her victim. The body still stood there leaning on his back, eyes wide from the horror. He turned to leave and saw that the vampire was there, watching him. She clapped her hands and smiled.
"Well, well, the vampires of the rich are visiting those of the poor. How quaint," she said smiling. She neared him, circling him, he growled at her. "I'm sorry. Can I ask you something? Why didn't you just kill her?" she was talking about the girl in the tavern. He growled again and shoved her into the wall next to the body, the back of her dress barely staining from the almost dried blood. She continued smiling. "What are you planing on doing, kill me?" he loosened his grip on her neck, pining her body to the wall with his own. He kissed her brutally, her hands trying to push him off. No such luck. She sighed and returned the kiss, his hands rising her dress from her thighs, pressing himself into her. She gave a moan as he entered her, his mouth wondering down to her neck. He bit her neck slightly. She made no attempt to stop him until she felt the bite was draining the life from her veins. He growled in pleasure as he went over the edge exploding inside of her, while he was draining the last drop of blood from her veins. He moved away, her body slipping to the floor. He tasted, her flesh and blood, of rotting and old, the familiar taste of ail, poverty and misery. A poor man's vampire. That's what she had been. A lousy kill though, he thought before moving a bit away.
He looked at the image that lay before him. The body of the young man was resting, his head on the cold wall, his hands stretched out like a beggar for his life and soul, his legs spread across the humid ground, his eyes still wide with anticipation of death, a blank space where the horror laid hours ago, his hair stuck to his head from blood and sweat, his clothes ravished and dirty, his wound turned to a dark red, and now in his lap lie the head of his killer, the perfect golden curls dirty with the misery of the recent struggle, her face losing the glow of immortality, her eyes shut hiding her horror and the lust for the one who had killed her, her velvet green dress still holding the print of her victim and in their background the blood stained wall. For a moment, a dead moment, the drained vampire seemed to move her hand reaching out for something, but it had all been in his mind, the hollow body turning to ash in front of him. He smiled and walked away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What are you drawing?" Darla asked moving her naked body towards him. He watched her every move. She looked over his shoulder observing the picture. "What does it all mean?" she gestured to the two dead people in an alley.
"Poverty," he traced the jawbone of the dead vampire with his pencil, making her wound more visible. Darla smiled kissing his shoulder. He was beginning to learn.
End
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author: Alecca
e-mail: kitana_m@yahoo.com
Summary: Story from the past (duh!) A night in Dublin with Angelus.
Rating: R?
Pairings: Angelus/Darla, Angelus/other.
Spoilers: None here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Angelus or Darla, they belong to Joss & co.
Feedback: Begging helps. So please, pretty please?
1755
Dublin, Ireland
He walked silently through the streets, making no noise,
lurking in the shadows. Moving like a panther stalking his prey, but
not tonight, he found no interest in the humans flowing between the
tight spaces of the houses of the rich. It bored him. Everything did.
The rich, stuck up women of the high class didn't even tent him like
the whores and maids of the taverns. He was a vampire for more then two
years and nothing compared to their blood.
The weak light of a few torches burning besides the walls
made him feel uneasy, he could be spotted by humans, the women smiling
mysteriously in the dark at the sight of him, while young girls
giggled and blushed. He moved slowly trying to ignore the sounds and
the pulse of the city, but found it impossible, the smell of blood
followed him everywhere, tenting his every desire, taunting him with
its sweetness. He released a deep growl from his throat. A man near him
moved, startled by the sound, letting out a curse for the damn dogs. He
hated and loved at the same time his constant need for blood. He
remembered astonished how in his years as a human he use to see the
fluid on which his life depended on now, as a normal liquid that
sometimes caused him pain, especially after a good fight.
Even if he hid it from Darla, he still craved her blood,
like an infant that still wanted to drink from his mother's breast.
When they were in bed she let him bite her a bit, when they went over
the edge. It was like reconstructing the night he became a vampire.
Their sweaty, naked bodies covering each other, completing one another
in an euphoric entanglement of lust and blood. His head pressed against
her breast, gently draining her blood, his deep growls invading the
emptiness of the house, while her moans were a soft, low melody under
his chest. She always bit into his neck after him, their growls
intensifying, melting into a shuttering sound that scared away the
horrified servants. She stayed there covered in a sheen of
perspiration, not moving, the proof of their mating deep inside her
core. Her thighs spread so he could see her, her eyes drawing a lazy
path across his body. He trembled at the memory of her naked flesh
sitting across the ravaged sheets, a half sleepy gaze resting in her
deep yellow eyes. He gathered the coat closer to his skin as if a chill
had overcome his body. He began moving faster to get away from the
tormenting images.
The torches began to give out, only a dim light crossing the
faces of the people on the streets. The crowd began disappearing, only
few people remaining. The creatures of the night, the pick pockets and
thieves, roaming the streets in search of victims. Stray cats crossing,
distracting the eyes of the people. He couldn't understand Darla's need
for the blood of the rich, it was so sour it made him sick sometimes.
For him the sweetest would remain the taste of decadence and misery.
A young pair was strolling alone a few feet away from him. He
smiled when he realized what bothered him about them. The boy was
human, but his companion was a vampire, she stank of immortality and
lust. Blood lust, it was something that grew in the air, thick like a
fog, covering body and mind. He followed quietly behind. The blond girl
smiled while she lead her victim in an alley.
"Where's the tavern?" the man asked in a semi-drunk voice
holding on to her waist, staring at the wall at the end of the alley.
"'Tis a secret, my lord," she whispered bringing him closer to
the wall behind the alley. He looked intrigued at the dead end.
"Where, girl?" he asked puzzled. Her face turned to her
demonic state and she plunged her fangs into his neck pushing his body
into the wall. His eyes went wide looking blankly at the bricks as his
body was constantly smashed into them. Blood stained the wall. As
Angelus watched the young vampire kill its prey his hunger grew inside
him at the sight and scent of it. A rush of lust for the young immortal
crossed him and he growled. The vampire heard him and turned abruptly,
leaving to fall to her feet, the body of the man- his eyes wide, a tear
sliding down his cheek as the last shred of life drained from him, his
hand staining the dress of the vampire as he clutched on to it as a
last effort to hold on to humanity. She looked down at him with no
emotion, just a slight sense of disgust in her eyes. She moved, his
hand leaving a bloody print on the velvet dress. She grabbed him by the
hair, her features turning human and pushed him backwards, his head now
resting in his own blood. She turned to face Angelus, but turning she
saw only an empty space. Her blood covered mouth turned into a grimace
as she moved away.
Angelus stayed there for a few moments, watching her puzzled
features. She could feel him, but not see him. With a sound of
disappointment she moved quickly up the wall. From the roof of the
house he watched and followed her, trying to make no noise. He found
himself in the bad side of the city. He closed his eyes at the familiar
smell of rot, sex and ail, his human years of youth. He lost interest
in the vampire and entered a tavern. He knew Darla would taunt him with
this for months, but didn't care, she had her high society parties and
noble victims, he could have what he craved and missed.
The bitter taste of smelling bodies, filled his senses as
he entered the tavern. All heads turned towards him. He was dressed
like one of the rich. He ignored the stares and sat down at a table and
a young girl put a glass of ale in front of him. He looked at the half
dirty glass and knew it wouldn't taste the same. Unless..., he sighed
and emptied it. It had no taste for him, he couldn't feel anything, not
even pleasure, a golden water that didn't satisfy his needs. He looked
at one table were the maids watched him seductively. He watched them
one by one and found interest only in a young, brunette girl, of a
vulgar beauty, that seemed to have the makings of a high society whore.
An hour later he was leading her up the stairs in a small
room, made especially for the needs of the clients. His face grimaced
at the appearance of the room, a small bed covered in dirty sheets and a smell that would drive him crazy, the smell of burned out candles,
sweat and sexual acts consumed in hurry. He pulled away the sheets and
put down his coat instead and sat her down. He pulled away her dress.
She was lost in a weary gaze, her soul stripped away along with her
clothes, in a contemplation he didn't understand. He looked down at her
young body. He stopped for a moment his eyes staring blankly at her
neck.
"What's wrong?" she asked light headed.
he thought, then realized that he
didn't need this anymore, as Darla had told him, once you get use to one kind of living you can't return to the last. He had laughed at this remark, but now he understood how right she was. If he were to leave his luxuriant life next to his sire for a miserable one spent in places as retched as this one, he would be more then just a little unhappy.
He leaned down and kissed her, her legs trembling underneath him. He traced a path down her neck, slipping his demonic face on, he sank his fangs deep inside her neck. A silent horrifying scream escaped her lips, but made no attempt to struggle. She surrounded his waist with her legs, pulling him closer, pushing him deep inside her. She pulled at his shirt, ripping it open with her fingers, her now broken nails bleeding on his white shirt. She started hitting him with his hands. But he couldn't feel it, all he could hear or feel was the blood racing in her veins, and her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment he thought about ripping her chest open and watch her heart die as the blood poured out of her. He declined that thought as being too messy, but promised himself he would try it one day. With one last effort, she bit down on his shoulder as hard as she could, drawing a little blood. Angelus opened his eyes to see her heavy gaze. She breathed hard, her chest moving frantically up and down as he mounted down from the bed. About one thing he was right, the blood filled with misery would always taste better. The blood of the poor. He watched her convulsing naked body until it stopped, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her long hair spilled on the sweat stained mattress. Her neck wound gave her pale body color, her lips of a dark red. A single drop dripped from her mouth and he ran his thumb across the long trail it left on her face. He took the finger to his lips and tasted his own blood. He left the room immediately, leaving his coat behind.
Something made him terribly angry. He couldn't understand what. The tavern girl or just the fact that he could never go back to the life he had before and that Darla was right. He hated it when she was right. He moved quickly from the area. He stopped when he reached an empty alley. He realized this was where the vampire he saw earlier killed her victim. The body still stood there leaning on his back, eyes wide from the horror. He turned to leave and saw that the vampire was there, watching him. She clapped her hands and smiled.
"Well, well, the vampires of the rich are visiting those of the poor. How quaint," she said smiling. She neared him, circling him, he growled at her. "I'm sorry. Can I ask you something? Why didn't you just kill her?" she was talking about the girl in the tavern. He growled again and shoved her into the wall next to the body, the back of her dress barely staining from the almost dried blood. She continued smiling. "What are you planing on doing, kill me?" he loosened his grip on her neck, pining her body to the wall with his own. He kissed her brutally, her hands trying to push him off. No such luck. She sighed and returned the kiss, his hands rising her dress from her thighs, pressing himself into her. She gave a moan as he entered her, his mouth wondering down to her neck. He bit her neck slightly. She made no attempt to stop him until she felt the bite was draining the life from her veins. He growled in pleasure as he went over the edge exploding inside of her, while he was draining the last drop of blood from her veins. He moved away, her body slipping to the floor. He tasted, her flesh and blood, of rotting and old, the familiar taste of ail, poverty and misery. A poor man's vampire. That's what she had been. A lousy kill though, he thought before moving a bit away.
He looked at the image that lay before him. The body of the young man was resting, his head on the cold wall, his hands stretched out like a beggar for his life and soul, his legs spread across the humid ground, his eyes still wide with anticipation of death, a blank space where the horror laid hours ago, his hair stuck to his head from blood and sweat, his clothes ravished and dirty, his wound turned to a dark red, and now in his lap lie the head of his killer, the perfect golden curls dirty with the misery of the recent struggle, her face losing the glow of immortality, her eyes shut hiding her horror and the lust for the one who had killed her, her velvet green dress still holding the print of her victim and in their background the blood stained wall. For a moment, a dead moment, the drained vampire seemed to move her hand reaching out for something, but it had all been in his mind, the hollow body turning to ash in front of him. He smiled and walked away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What are you drawing?" Darla asked moving her naked body towards him. He watched her every move. She looked over his shoulder observing the picture. "What does it all mean?" she gestured to the two dead people in an alley.
"Poverty," he traced the jawbone of the dead vampire with his pencil, making her wound more visible. Darla smiled kissing his shoulder. He was beginning to learn.
End
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
