Chapter 8. Part 1.
It had only taken two hours, 67 pages, one migraine, and five pills of something that smelled like a combination of morphine and caffeine (hadn't looked at the label on account of his eyes hurting like hell) to discourage him and force him to abandon the assignment. Never was one for menial tasks. There was nothing important in the sodding book. Just an arrogant minion blathering on about his great almighty god.
His head was pounding, and he found himself succumbing to the infuriating habit of pinching the bridge of your nose, the way all watchers do. That had been enough to drive him mad, intensifying the need to beat something up.
He relied on the foggy remembrance of his nights as a ghost, wandering the building aimlessly, to find the training room.
The last two hours were spent lifting weights and pummeling the shit out of the punching bag. Mostly the latter.
And waiting for his anal-retentive sire to punish him for not working on his project. Not everyone can be as OCD as him. Time he realizes that.
A whiff of hair gel and corporate cologne (cologne?) wafted through the large fishbowl shaped room. Spike's back tensed and his hands fell to his sides. He faced Angel, a smug smirk on his face, like an inside joke.
The dark haired vampire slid out of his jacket, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of the red silk shirt, rolling up the sleeves. Probably Prada. Pillock.
"Here to beat me for not doing my homework? Teach me a lesson?"
"Something like that."
He laughed, swaggering over towards him. "Think you could take me Angelus?"
They stood face-to-face, staring each other down. Spike grinned, already vamped out, fangs exposed. His muscles tensed, demon wrenching relentlessly at the chain.
"A little toss and tumble?"
He shoved the dark haired vampire backwards into the wall.
"A tad slow don't ya' think, old man?" He taunted Angel, bouncing from foot to foot. 'Bout time the nancy boy put up. Always boastin' on how he was the strongest, the toughest, fastest...
The older vampire jumped up, sweeping Spike's legs from underneath him. He straddled the blond, berating him with consecutive blows to his face and chest.
He managed to catch his sire's large fist with his left hand and swung with his right, connecting with the larger man's nose. The scent of blood was enticing, drawing the demons out to play, releasing the chain.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, he bucked Angel off and scrambled to his feet. Before he had his balance, the dark haired vampire shot forward with a left jab, but he blocked it, driving his knee into his sire's gut and followed with a swift chop to his back.
The older vampire recovered quickly and landed a roundhouse kick to the blonde's sternum. He stumbled backwards, gripping the wall for support.
Spike leapt at his sire, snarling, but Angel dodged to the left, sending him head first into the floor. He easily caught himself and rolled to his feet, in a swirl of black leather.
They traded blows in perfect sync. Each working to complete a full pattern already mapped out in their minds, effortlessly matching the other's moves.
Spike got a good hit on his sire's jaw, splitting his lip. He tried for another but Angel feigned left and punched his side, still slightly bruised. The pain was diluted with the rush of adrenaline flowing through his system. Fighting with his sire, experiencing how absolute it felt, always did that to him. Sent a tingling energy buzzed through him. Like a lighter setting his nerves on fire. He assumed Angel felt the same.
A sharp pain zipped through his forehead. The world dimmed and suddenly he found himself on the flat of his back, staring up at his sire towering above.
Both were panting, chests heaving from the exertion. He tried to say something but it became lost in the silence, drifting away when the syllables met his lips.
They stared at each other. Warm brown eyes melting into him, Spike had trouble finding his bearings. He noticed Angel was unguarded, not paying attention to his opponent, with a dazed expression in his eyes. Not at all like him.
Spike kicked his sire's shin, sending the older vampire to one leg. He pushed off the mat and thrusted his knee into Angel's temple, stunning him at least for a few seconds.
When the dark haired vampire didn't move he became a little concerned. Normally he would have a few of his broken bones by now for disrespecting his sire and challenging him to a fight. Would normally be drained dry by now. For showing insolence. Audacity. Control.
((Dominance))
He lowered his fists, wiping the blood from his nose on his sleeve. He glanced around him, confirming no one else was around. He willed his body to move closer, against all instincts to flee.
Angel was still on one knee. Head cradled in his hands, his sire didn't moving.
He reached a hand out warily towards his sire's shoulder and cleared his throat.
"Angelus? You okay?"
Fingertips hovered dangerously close to him, trembling slightly above his smooth silk shirt. As much as he loathed admitting it, wisps of fear gripped him, visibly shaking him.
Just as he was about to touch the vampire, he was thrown into the wall, his sire's weight pressed against him.
Cool lips met his and hands roamed across his body, gliding over smooth skin. He purred and slid his hands under the other man's shirt, desperate for contact. The hard muscles under his fingers rippled and contracted, trying to pull his duster off.
Not breaking the kiss, the leather fell to the floor. Angel pinned his shoulders to the wall, nipping at the soft sensitive skin over his jugular.
A surge of panic pumped through him, gripping his heart.
"No, no," he cried out, weakly at first but gaining strength. The blond pushed Angel away and stalked across the room, scrubbing his hands through his disheveled hair and muttering under his breath.
"Spike? What's wrong?"
He felt the older vampire's presence approach behind him menacingly. Flashes of death and blood and destruction blinked before his eyes. Like changing the channels on the TV too fast.
Angelus appeared. The same hostile leer plastered on his face. He stood in the corner of a dark room, the moonlight making the smoke from his cigar incandescent. Yellow eyes gleamed through the blue-gray plume. Full of anger. Disdain. Hunger.
Another image appeared, disappearing just as quickly. A glimpse of dirt soaked dark with blood. If he concentrated enough, Spike could make out the smell of burnt rubber. Like a fucking scratch and sniff.
"What? Spike...isn't this what you wanted?"
The older vampire moved closer but he stumbled back, wrapping his arms around himself, making him look as small as possible.
He shook his head.
The hurt in Angel's eyes showed clearly. "Spike, I thought...I mean..."
The blond shook his head again, not moving his clouded eyes from the fixed spot on the floor.
"Will?"
The name elicited a response, a twinge of familiarity, of the instilled dominance he detested so much. The younger vampire's sapphire eyes flickered to Angel's.
"Will. What's wrong?"
He said nothing, just stared into his sire's warm eyes.
Swallowing hard, Angel crept towards him. The panicked vibe given off by his childe flared as he got closer. The best approach would be slow and calm. No swift movements and harsh noises.
"William. You can tell me. I won't hurt you, I promise."
His sire always made promises he didn't intend to keep. So why should this one be any different? The sincerity in his voice was meant to be misleading.
The confusion showed clearly on the other man's face. Did he think he could pull that again? Pretend to be the hurt lost puppy? Or did he truly not know how to handle the situation?
"I can't do this, Angelus. Not again. Not that way."
"What way?"
"The old way. No' enough...enough control...gonna loose control and, and that wouldn't be proper. Wouldn't be good."
"Why wouldn't it be good?"
"Oh, Get off it you stupid sod! You know how it was. When we were together. Death and destruction. Got a new shiny soul now. Not that easy any more. Can't risk it." He squeezed himself tighter. Feeling small and insecure in the towering shadow of his sire that was inching towards him slowly, as if he wouldn't notice.
"I won't hurt you. I won't take any power, all right? Trust me Will."
Trust him? Did he hear what he just said? There was no way he would ever trust his sire. Not after what they had been through. Together.
He trusted him at one time of course. Even chained to the wall, flogged and bloodied, he trusted the vampire.
Chapter 8. Part 2.
Angel inched forward, trying to hold eye contact with the blond. He reeked of fear and uncertainty. It rolled off him, the air thick with it.
He wasn't trying to hurt him. Never would. At least, not until recently. He thought the trust between them had grown. Thought that the night they spent together represented that. Apparently not.
The younger vampire shied away from his every move, no trace of the arrogant cocky swearing master vampire.
He was staring at the floor, whimpered occasionally, eyes flickering gold.
Spike didn't act like that. Spike was balls to the walls, always ready for action. But then again, Spike isn't real. Never really was. Even without the soul. It was always a defense mechanism, created to deflect pain and appear strong. To not be vulnerable. To have power.
What changed? Why didn't he have power?
The Pères de Tomes. They hurt him. Hurt Spike. Took it all away. And left only William. Skewered to the floor not able to move or defend himself, he was powerless.
Angel reeled at what he concluded, mentally berating himself for not thinking of it earlier. Spike doesn't submit. William might, but not Spike. He should have known that. Hardly enough trust linking them to allow for such measures built solely around dependence. And the events of the previous day didn't help either. Thought sex would help, make the trust stronger. Fucking wrong he was. To coin a popular Sunnydale phrase, Duh.
"William?" he asked, rethinking how to approach the situation.
Spike glanced up through a curtain of dark brown eyelashes.
Making sure the younger vampire was watching him; Angel laid down on the floor, hands clasped above his head.
"Come here." He said, trying to control his demon, which refused to submit to anyone, much less his own childe.
A hesitant look passed over Spike's face. He didn't move, but raised his head, meeting Angel's gaze full on.
"Please."
Without protest, the blond ambled towards his sire. He growled slightly, which Angel took as good sign, a sign of the old Spike.
He felt him crawl over top him, his breath against his cheek. Bright crystal blue eyes searched his. Hoping for honesty and genuineness.
Angel relaxed, deciding he had done the right thing. His lips were captured in a soft, tender kiss, lasting far too long for any human to endure. He kept his hands stretched above his head, allowing Spike to take control. For the first time.
He moaned as soft lips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck. Spike trailed his tongue along the older vampire's jugular, inhaling the aroma of stolen blood just out of reach.
Angel felt his childe's nimble fingers glide across his shoulders, traveling down his chest. The blonde's leg slid between his, glancing against his hardness.
He moved his attack lower, sucking and nipping at smooth skin. The older vampire's throbbing cock made itself known.
Angel growled softly and unconsciously shifted into game face. Spike's tongue drew circles around his shaft, making the air feel colder, and if it was possible, his cock grow harder. The older vampire moaned, urging the younger to continue, begging.
Spike sucked gently against the velvety skin, kissing the head, and running the pads of his fingers along the line of his sire's pelvic bone. He knew Angel was about to come, but suddenly stopped, pulling away and crawling on top of his sire again.
Their faces were centimeters apart, both panting. Angel purred, nuzzling his childe's neck. He nudged his nose under Spike's chin and ran his tongue along his jaw.
The blond gripped his sire's shoulders and using his weight as momentum, flipped them over.
Angel's weight felt good over him, familiar.
Their eyes met. "Sire." A simple word.
Spike stretched his arms above his head, his left hand encircling his right wrist. A slow smile spread across both their faces, mutual understanding connecting them. Trust linking them.
Chapter 9. Part 1.
He turned the water on as hot as the dial would allow and stripped out of the blood soaked costume. Steam began to billow and gently roll out of the blistering shower, creating a foggy haze that filled the bathroom within minutes. Spike let the searing hot water cascade over his tired body.
Fighting a prehistoric demon the drive of a dog in heat took more effort than he was prepared to give. He hadn't had much help either. Angel had given him two humans—Wussley and the pansy lawyer—as back up. Right, that would help. Needless to say they were out before the fight even began.
The demon (name sounded like something read straight from the Torah, did that make it Jewish?) had tried to escape on the rooftops. By the time it jumped two buildings, Wes and Gunn had barely made it up the ladder. That left him as the only thing able to stop it (apparently the Jewish demons didn't have a gender) and prevent it from killing even more civilians.
He didn't give a hot fuck whether the demon got away or not. The white hats had all decided that he would be the champion and save the day, without consulting him. Then they woke him up. A vampire needs his sleep. A cranky bloodsucker is something no one wants to deal with. They forget that in order to save the day, he actually has to be awake, which means the only time to sleep is in the night.
Obviously, whoever coined the term to 'save the day' wasn't a creature of the night. The day is not for vampires. The day could go to hell for all he cared. With the blistering sun that'll deep-fry you in milliseconds and the annoying little kids with their puppy dogs and lollipops; he couldn't understand why anyone would want to save that. The night was much better.
So he was out to save the night. Not the people, or the day. Nor to please his sire and his groupies. For the night.
He leapt the gaps easier and quicker than the bottom heavy demon and caught it within about a dozen buildings. The ensuing fight was what he existed for. Brutal and violent and sadistic. Just the way he liked them. Course, he could do without the cinderblocks. Having four consecutively lobbed at you, pummeling you into the equally solid cement was not his idea of fun.
But he got the wanker back. Stabbed his fucking guts out. Also discovered the anatomy of the Jewish demon includes big fucking arteries that can spurt blood at a distance of nearly twenty feet. Then just for good measure—he decapitated the bugger. Was the most fun he'd had in a while.
He watched the pink tinged water run down the drain, most of the blood not belonging to him. Though he did take a few good shots, they were superficial and healed even before he got back to the evil law firm.
Spike leaned his forearms against the blue tiled wall and relaxed under the revitalizing stream of water. He stood there until the heater gave out and shot cold water from the showerhead.
He reluctantly climbed out of the shower and toweled himself off. With closer inspection, the creamy white towels had a gold fancy script "A" embroidered onto either side. He couldn't help but chuckle. Narcissistic much?
Muffled voices came from the hall, growing louder and becoming clearer. The loudest was obviously his sire, sounded mighty pissed too. Two more joined him: a softer female and a calm male's with a British accent. Fred and Wes.
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered under his breath. With only a towel around his waist, he went to inspect. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by Angel's fist.
Spike staggered but kept on his feet. "What the fuck was that for?"
Angel barged into the room. His eyes were yellow and dangerously close to switching to game face. The vein on his forehead was twitching, meaning he was about to bash heads in. He dragged a sword by his side, shouting curses and pacing the floor.
"I'll tell you what that was for, Spike!" He spat the name with venom. "That was for ruining my—my—sword." He shoved the hunk of metal in Spike's face. It had intricate designs depicting dragons and knights carved in the wooden handle and indecipherable scribblings embossed in the blade. Course, they were no longer visible, as it was now coated in dried rusty colored demon blood.
"Calm down, mate. It's only a bloody sword. I'll get you a new one."
Angel stared blankly at the peroxide blonde for a few seconds before lunging and pinning him against the open door.
"It wasn't just a bloody sword, mate. It was my sword, my sword that I've had for well over two centuries." Angel snarled, face centimeters from his. His sire's hand clamped tightly around his throat. Even without the need to breathe, it wasn't terribly comfortable. "You know how long two centuries are, Spike? That sword's been around since before you were even born, and somehow, in less than two hours, you manage to destroy it!"
He had slipped into demonic visage somewhere in the middle of his speech and growled loudly, squeezing even tighter.
It probably wouldn't have helped to laugh, but Spike couldn't control it. This was perfect poncey behavior. A low rumbling began somewhere deep in his chest and worked its way out until he was outright laughing. As predicted, it only worked to incense Angel's anger further.
"What's so funny, childe?"
"You. Only a nancy boy would get this upset over a ancient sodding sword." He flashed him his patent shit eating smirk.
His eyes flashed rage, but before he could act out some of his—more vivid—fantasies, Wes and Fred stepped in.
"Angel, you know, it was only a sword. We can get it fixed."
"Yes, you are the head of Wolfram and Hart. I'm sure you can conjure something up."
He fell out of game face, which Spike took as a good sign. Bruises had already begun to form where the tips of his sire's fingers dug into the delicate flesh of his neck, and he was getting the impression Angel wanted to squeeze his head off his body.
Fred placed a dainty hand on Angel's shoulder. "Angel, stop this, let him go."
"Watch your step, boy." He creased his Neanderthal eyebrows and gave a final growl before huffing out of the room. Leave it to him to take orders from a frail little girl.
Spike ran his hand over his neck, finding five particularly sore areas. "Bloody wanker," he muttered. "What crawled up his ass anyway?"
"There were plenty of other weapons you could've used."
"But I wanted that one. Not scared of the pansy. Can threaten me all he wants, nothin' the big bad can't handle."
"Right. Me and Fred will just be going then." They moved to shut the door, but before pulling it closed Wes said, "And Spike, watch the towel."
He heard Fred giggle and he glanced down, to find the towel had slipped dangerously low during their toss and tumble. Bloody Hell.
Chapter 9. Part 2.
Aries sat in his thrown and picked impatiently at his fingernails. Going to have to get some clippers or something. He liked to keep up with the latest trends, and according to the glossy magazines, metro was in. Had to look pretty to lure in the ripe young women—and men.
Would need to get this place updated too. He glanced around the warehouse disparagingly. Large rafters draped in cobwebs ran horizontally across the length of the building. Bare light bulbs hung from the deteriorating ceiling (must've been acid rain, really people should take better care of the planet) casting dim circles of light on the hard cement floor. The walls were his favorite part. Sheet metal covered in rust. They had a certain industrial-minimalist quality to them.
"Master." A scrawny fledge approached his thrown and bowed before his feet. It was great being ruler. Would be even better once those pesky humans are out of the way.
"You may speak."
"We have accomplished the task you asked of us, master."
"And which one was that?"
"Disposing of the bodies," He paused for a second before adding hastily "master."
"Excellent." The smell of rotting flesh and decay still lingered, despite the 'clean up', which was basically dumping all of the bodies into the bay. Blood still stained the floor. Two minions were working on that as they spoke.
"What do you wish of us next, master?"
"The warlocks have already completed their task. You are free to do as you please for the rest of the day." Aries took a drink of the chalice of blood sitting on the wooden box next to him. Would have to get rid of that too. Maybe one of those fancy end tables made of glass. With a Victorian-gothic silver base and maybe even one of those—
"If you don't mind me asking, master, when exactly are we going to bring Diathaus into the world. It has been several months and the ranks are getting anxious...master."
"All in good time. Once we get Spike, everything will be in order."
"Spike? But why him? There are plenty of other vampires, surely we could—"
"No. We need Spike. Or need I remind you that he was responsible for the massacre in 1897?" Insolent fledge. No one killed his clan and got away with it. He was going to make Spike pay for what he did. And in the process send the world into complete chaos not unlike hell, or one of its sub-dimensions. Kill two birds with one stone. Very efficient.
"No, you don't, master."
"Plus, he's the only master vampire in this area. Besides me of course. Our numbers have become increasingly low over the past few years. It would be hard to find a replacement in such a short amount of time."
At one time, the Pères de Tomes ruled the world—or the less stable regions of Europe, same difference. He had only been a faceless minion then, answering to nearly everyone else. But now, now he was at the top of the pile. Over the decades the leaders and elders were wiped out. He worked himself up the chain of command quickly and is the youngest elder ever to be the head of the clan. An accomplishment he's rather proud of.
"What of his sire, master?"
"What of him? He let his humanity consume him. Take over the demon. Course, that will all be changed in time. No, he's not what I want."
"Changed, master?"
"The warlocks. I came up with a magnificent little ditty that can give the demon control. Makes your work a lot easier."
"Take away his soul?"
"No, no. Angelus cares just as much for Spike as Angel does. He would get in our way. No, this spell diminishes his humanity, leaving only the demon. Rather flawless if you ask me."
"Yes, flawless, master."
Aries smiled smugly and took another gulp of the blood. "Now go on. But, keep a low profile will you? Don't want our plan ruined by any unnecessary complications. Or it will be your head, understand?"
The minion nodded frantically. He gave another bow before scurrying away.
Now about the nail clippers, he heard there were some cheap ones at Target, but that seemed too tacky. Maybe Wal-Mart would...