Victimized | Chapter Six
A BtVS/ AtS Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William
Warning: Slash. Blood play. (And sex!! A NC-17 chapter, finally!!)
Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates.
A/N: Linkin Park's "In the End" is SO A/S that I wrote this chapter just listening to it on loop.
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Angel opened his eyes to find himself in the night of a typical English countryside. The smell of crisp grass assaulted as he crushed them under his feet. Frowning slightly in confusion, he took a good look around. This place seemed somewhat familiar to him, but tried as he may, he could not place it anywhere in his more than two centuries of memories.
"Sir…" he turned around, surprised to see a young blond boy, barely eight, standing behind him with fearful tears in his eyes. The boy gripped tightly on the bunch of yellow daffodils in his hands. "I'm lost… can you… do you know the way back home?"
"No, he doesn't." A voice spoke up from the side of the road. Sitting on a huge rock there was Spike, drawing another mouthful of nicotine, looking as out of place in his leather duster and red shirt as Angel was. The boy did not seem to have heard him though, only continued to walk forward towards Angel, and passed through him like a spirit.
"What's the meaning of this, Spike?" The younger vampire smirked, hopping to his feet and crushing his half-smoked cigarette under his boots.
"Don't you recognize him anymore, Sire?" Spike asked casually, gesturing in the direction where the boy had gone. It was then, that Angel noticed whom the boy had been originally speaking to. It was not Angel the boy was asking help from, but Angelus.
Angel wanted to go forward and stop the boy, yet he was held back by the other vampire.
"It's no use." The younger vampire explained. "This is a memory. You can't do anything."
"A memory? Whose?" Spike closed his eyes and smiled, placing a hand over the left side of his chest.
"His," he answered simply. Under the dim moonlight, Angel could only watch in horror as his doppelganger picked the boy up easily and sank his fangs into the lithe neck. To his surprise, Angelus did not drain the boy completely. He removed his fangs after a quick sip and gently let the boy fall to the ground, small head resting on his lap.
Then he remembered. This was his first meeting with William. Not in the streets of late Victorian London when the young man bumped into him, not in the grand ballroom of that mansion where he had hunted in, but before that, when William was just a boy.
"You are still young," Angelus said. "But I'll be back for you one day. I'll be back for you." The demon traced his finger lightly over the two puncture holes on William's neck. "Remember, you are mine."
"Don't really feel like it," Spike said suddenly with a rueful smile on his face.
"What's the meaning of this, Spike?" Angel asked again. Around them, the scene seemed to freeze. The grass stopped moving in mid-breeze, the crickets stopped their song. Behind Spike, another young man stepped out into the light.
"Will…" Angel gasped. The sable haired young man ran his fingers through his unruly hair.
"I always thought Dru was my sire."
It was strange to see two identical faces staring back at him. Will grinned, allowing his demon to put one arm possessively across his shoulders.
"Spike's here to show me the truth."
Around them, the scene began to shift, to the hall of that long forgotten mansion in both their memories where William became "Dru's shining knight."
"NO!" Angel yelled, standing between William and the scene he knew was sure to be taking place behind him.
"Forget it all." They both heard Drusilla's mesmerizing whisper this time. Angrily, William pushed Angel away, and watched in horror at how Angelus simply stood at the corner of the room, watching silently without protest as Drusilla raped the mind of his youngest childe, erasing all traces of the bond between sire and childe, between lover and lover… between them.
Angel gripped tightly onto William's shoulders, blocking his view once more. This time, William did not push him away, but only stared into his eyes with hurt and pain. This betrayal, this treason against their shared blood…
"…Hate you…" Slowly, but steadily, this beautiful visage crumbled under his hands. Angel felt, rather than saw, his Will turned into dust, leaving behind only a faint tinkle of shimmer in the air. "I hate you…"
***
I'm sorry, William…I never mean to…
London, 1880
With much difficulty, William weakly made his way to the mansion he knew Angelus was staying at. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He was dying, the doctors said as much. But he did not want to die.
"I don't want to die…"
The mansion stood with an imposing air in the London night. William never really noticed it until now, how the thick curtains were drawn neatly during the day, blocking out as much sunlight as they could. The front porch itself was designed in such a way that there was sufficient shade for one to step out of the door without meeting the sun. Tiredly but without hesitation, William let himself in. The door was not locked. It never was.
He would have tumbled headfirst onto the cold floor if not for the pair of strong arms that caught him. The Englishman looked up, holding out a hand to trace lightly over Angelus' lips. This was the devil, he was convinced of that, but he did not care.
Mentally, he apologized to his mother, to his grandmother, to all the other people in his short life who had tried teaching him to be a God-fearing Christian. Between Heaven and this dark angel who now held him in his arms, he chose…
"I choose you…"
Angelus smiled, and carried William up to his bedroom with much ease. The young man barely weighed anything, after almost a week of being tortured by his fever. Then, almost reverently, Angelus laid him tenderly onto the soft cool covers. William reached out for him almost desperately, moaning slightly at the feel of the cool skin against his overheated one.
"I choose you." He repeated, with more conviction this time. He caught the hand stroking his hair and brought it to rest on his cheeks. In this near moment of death, William now saw more clearly than he had in his entire life. He had always known what his friend was, even when he was busy denying it. He kissed the hand fervently. "How many died tonight under your hands? And how many more will die?"
"Just you," Angelus answered, sliding his hand to the back of the young man's head and brought their lips to meet. Urgently, they deprived each other of clothing, wanting nothing to stand between skin and skin. William groaned and whimpered at the sheer ecstasy of this man's touch.
This was wrong.
I know that.
But… I… I never wanted to be right.
He felt foreign hands wander where he himself had never touched before. He felt lips raining kisses over his face, his torso, and his legs. Such terrible pleasure! William quivered as long fingers tickled the back of his knees, before Angelus placed another kiss on the sensitized skin. Letting out another moan of pleasure, he asked for more.
"More?" Angelus teased, hands trailing over the small of his back, ghosting lower, and tracing the cleft of his bottoms.
"More," William replied.
Fingers, slick with the oil William never saw Angelus retrieve, pushed into him. Such violation! William screamed, the young male in him mixing pain with pleasure into a potent combination of wanton sensation. Not knowing what he was doing, William spread his legs wider, lifting them to place them on Angelus' wide shoulders.
"More!" He cried once more, until Angelus silenced him with one quick thrust.
William thought he never felt more used than he was then, as if he was merely a vessel waiting to be filled. White lights exploded behind his eyes, its brilliance rendering his vocabulary to merely grunts and random phrases of "please," "more," and "harder."
"Beautiful… so beautiful," Angelus muttered between kisses, cool breath against his lips. William writhed with uncontrolled passion under Angelus' skillful touch. They embraced, like long lost lovers, caught up in a rhythm of lust.
Then, William came. So consumed he was in his pleasure that he did not notice a sudden shift in Angelus' features, nor the sharp prick of pain when Angelus drank from him, draining him almost to the point of death.
"I love you… sire…"
Mine…always…
***
"Angel! Angel, wake up!" The dark vampire groaned at the pain in his head, and waved off the hand slapping lightly at his face. "Thank God…"
"Wesley?" Pain forgotten, Angel sat up on what he recognized as his bed. He was back in his bed in his penthouse. What did this mean? His heart almost beat for a second, when he thought about the possibility of the past few hours being simply a dream.
"Spike!" He cried. Had William really found out the truth about his siring? Or was it just a very bad nightmare? "Where's Spike?" Where's William…
…hate you…
No, tell me you don't!
…hate you…love you…sire…
Wesley shifted his gaze nervously. Angel took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his best friend's arm.
"What happened?" Angel asked, afraid to know what the answer might be.
The rattle of chains was loud in the empty room of nothing but white. The black leather-clad vampire stood out like a sore thumb. Spike growled, pulling at the chains and glaring at the two men standing at the door, a safe distance away from him.
"I'm sorry, Angel. He had been like this since we found him. We had to tranquilize him and bring him back." Wesley explained. There was no need to explain why he did not just stake the other vampire when he was down. Angel would not want that.
Angel held out his hand to his childe. It hurt, to see his boy restrained like a wild animal. Seeing Spike now reminded him of the way he was like when he just returned from hell, disorientated, confused, and afraid.
Seeing the hand reaching out for him, Spike growled again, and then only slumped down, all the fight drained from him.
"He's gone." Spike looked up, the demon calling out to his sire for help in the midst of this whirlpool. Angel ignored Wesley's cry of warning and embraced his childe, closing his eyes when he felt the tears soaking his clothed shoulder.
"He's gone," the younger vampire repeated. "William. He's gone."
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End of Chapter Six
Continue to Chapter Seven