A/N: A short chapter. Wrote it while I was inebriated, depressed, and rather horny. Wasn't going to post it, but then I decided I liked it. It's good filler. Also, kinky…so that's a plus, isn't it? ponders changing rating
Stay
I bit my tongue to keep from making noise. I wasn't sure if he still got that same old satisfaction when I screamed like he used to pre-soul, but if he did, I sure as Hell wasn't gonna give it to him. I didn't give it to him. Not ever. Not now.
Silence. Silence was still, unmoving, placid. Silence was something I partook in when I was forced into a stationary existence. Like now. Can't move. Can't ever move.
He wiped my back with the abhorred Free Puppies rubbish shirt, smearing the red around on my skin to make me look dirtier. Angelus had always hated dirt. Hated messes. He kept a clean house with clean childer and clean servants. Angel was equally as anal retentive. Sometimes, however, he liked to clean. Kinda like those vacuum commercials, I suppose. You know the ones. Those craptastic ones with the old chap who looks like a butler and pours dirt all over a pretty white carpet, just to hoover it up again. Makes the vacuum look extremely effective.
My sire liked to spread my blood around on my back so his tongue could be sort of like that vacuum. He liked to clean me up real nice and real effective like. That and he liked more of an area to lick.
"You were a very bad boy," he scolded after trailing his tongue up the back of my neck. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
Silence. Still. Unruffled.
I refuse to flinch, to flutter an eye, to give him any indication that I heard him. He knows I did, though. My sire loves my insolence.
"William…"
Soundless. Stable. Stagnant.
I was a poet once. Once upon a time. I know words. Lots of them, in fact. I used them in love poems for pretty ladies I fancied.
"William, answer me."
I was the laughing stock of my peers, really. Couldn't write a thing. Not a damn thing. Nothing flowed quite right. Nothing meant anything. Meaningless drivel on wasted paper – daydreams of an eternal schoolboy.
I heard my sire growl, clearly irritated by my lack of acknowledgment.
Hushed. Inert. Motionless.
He smacked my arse.
"Oi!"
Well, that I wasn't expecting. I craned my neck around to shoot him a disdainful look; reached behind me and rubbed my assaulted bum.
"Are you going to answer me?" my sire asked, his dark brows raised and his dark eyes demanding.
Peace. Lull. –
"Aye!"
Another one. My sire, ever the tosser. Bloody Hell.
I squirmed in an attempt to move away, but he immediately stilled me, placing one of his large, cold hands on the small of my abused back.
"William."
"Right…what was the question again?"
The bugger spanked me again.
"But I tried that time!" Hard to keep the whine out of my voice when I know it's what he wants to hear the most.
He sighed. "What have you got to say for yourself?" I opened my mouth to reply, but he interrupted. "Think carefully."
Wanker. Ass. Berk.
I try to be mature. I try to take his dealings, his punishments, his rules, and his demands in stride. I can't. I have an inability. I'm bloody unable to just sit around and do as Daddy says. I'm HANDICAPPED. That's what it is…I'm HANDICAPPED. Like that time I was in the wheelchair and couldn't use my legs. Yeah, it's just like that.
I open my mouth to tell him this but he interrupts again, "Think VERY carefully." And I snap my jaw shut and reconsider my thoughts.
Bollocks. Bugger. Sod.
"Okay, I've thought it over…" I said slowly and trailed off uncertainly. He nodded for me to continue, so I just let it loose. "My bleedin' back hurts like you just sheered all of me soddin' skin off because you practically did and I only disobeyed you so I could go out and help you, you stupid ponce. I don't see why such a triumph for me ended in you giving me 40 goddamn lashes with your belt on my bare bloody back and furthermore, I don't see why the minute I try to zone out the pain, you go all school marm on my soddin' bum."
I watch him gather his thoughts. I watch the rainbow of expressions flitter across his handsome face. Then I realize that I want to take it all back.
He spanked me again. Harder.
Oh God, do I want to take it all back.
I gripped the bed linens in my fists as the blows rained down and I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Silence, Spike ol' boy. Silence.
Stagnant. Still. Unmoving.
Shit, I did those already. I definitely did those already. Steady there, old chap. You've had worse. The lashes were worse…far worse. You managed through those. You can do this. Silence. Silence. Silence.
"Sorry!" I blurted through the pain. "'M sorry!" He eased up slightly.
"Why are you sorry?"
"'Cause…" I whimpered pathetically. Burying my face in the mattress, I mumbled, "'Cause you're my sire."
Harder. They came harder.
"What was that, my boy?"
My eyes rained.
"Cause you're my sire!" I cried and he stopped, hand in the air. He then brought it down to tenderly rub my back, trailing his thumb up my spine. I blubbered on and on.
Cause you're my sire. Cause you're my sire. Cause you're my sire.
Just want you to be proud of me.
Broken. I was broken. I was a crack in the vinyl, a motion in blank solitude.
And for all the words I know, my poetry will never improve.
Sometimes I don't know where I end and Angelus begins. We share the same memories, the same body…some of the same desires. We share William. Our little boy. Sweet, hurting William.
He curled into my side, resting his blonde head on my broad chest and I ran my hand through that coarse hair and wished it soft.
He hurt. A lot. I liked doing it to him.
I am Angelus. Just with a conscious, an ability to feel something other than that ravenous urge pleading with me to suck them all dry. All of them dry. Suck. Dry. All of them. Sometimes I still want to do it.
When I was a lad, I liked the drink. I couldn't get enough. I was like a fish out of water, missing the taste of life. You never really escape your childhood.
It's funny really. All of it. Life. Death. Living inside a corpse. Really funny.
"Sire?"
And his voice is so soft, so devoid of its usual callousness, that I want him to cry just so I can kiss his tears away. My sweet, little Will.
"Hmm?"
"'M sorry," he murmured, shifting closer. "'M sorry."
He said it so much that it started to slur, and I tried to quiet him, saying, "Hush, William", but it was to no avail. He started sobbing, and his long lashes fluttered and blinked the tears into his beautiful eyes and he couldn't see.
I was harsh. A harsh sire. A bad sire. Too harsh.
I was cold and unfeeling and insensitive. I had been.
"My boy. My sweet, little boy," I tried to pacify him. "I was too hard on you. It's okay. Come now, no more tears. Look at me."
He looked up at me with cloudy eyes and I felt my heart break.
"You were very good and very brave and very strong tonight," I told him. "You were my sweet, strong, brave boy." He sniffled and pulled himself upwards so his nose could nuzzle my neck and his little, delicate hand pawed at my stomach.
"Sire?" he addressed me once again in that same soft, sweet tone.
"Yes, precious?"
He lifted his head a little more, nudged my ear with his nose. Nipped the lobe with his teeth. Then he whispered, "You're a heinous bastard."
In my proceeding moments of shock, my sweet, smug little Will fell into a fitful slumber.
By the time I shook it away, I realized he was right.
TBC…