Breathing By Rote, Chapter 9.
Author's Note: Okay, I'm not terribly happy with this chapter, but you can only tweak things so hard before they just pop right off. For made small modifications to sexual content.
oOo
1997.
The lights stringing the Brooklyn Bridge strobed into the car with brief regularity, reminding Elaine of lightning bugs. Odd, she knew, but the image came as disjointed as everything else this night had, bizarre and surreal. 80s music was blasting out of the old car's radio and though she didn't know the band she could detect the British lilt to their words, the only seeming requirement her sire had to his musical tastes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his fingers tapping wildly on the steering wheel, not in time with anything but his raging emotions.
She had met Spike at a party she'd really been too young to attend and had felt a connection to him from the first moment, as cheesy as it sounded. Meeting those pale blue eyes had made something inside of her thrum, like plucking the string of an instrument. Spike said it was like recognizing like. Elaine just knew that he was familiar and hers, somehow, like an abandoned treasure later found. It had been scary learning about vampires and demons, she remembered that fear, of the world suddenly becoming a much bigger place, but she had never feared Spike. He had explained that her family, her brothers and sisters, they had a destiny and that hers was him. His little princess. A sire was nothing like her father, the man who had been gone more than home but had made sure they all knew he loved them. A sire could love like a father and Spike didn't mind when she teasingly called him 'Daddy', but a demon loved its childer in different ways. She had not understood when Spike had tried to explain, but then she had been reborn.
Shifting in her seat she squirmed a little at the wet soreness in her crotch. It would have been nice if Spike had told her they were going to be sitting in a car for a long damn road trip, after a redeye flight. One day her sire's chosen mate was going to grow up and she didn't entirely know how that was going to change their relationship, but she understood that what went on between mates was separate than what went on between sires and childer. The only sex she knew was with Spike. He had taken her virginity as a mortal and then later that same night, as a vampire. Her sire loved her and she knew that with the confidence of a childe truly spoilt by hers, but she hoped to one day have a mate of her own, someone all hers.
Unconsciously she rubbed the dark mark on the inside of her left wrist. After her turning she had spent two weeks alone with Spike, learning the ways of her House, of all vampires and Spike's desires in particular. Then they had gone to Des Moines to meet Spike's sire. Dr. Carey, but not, and she had learned that those chosen by the House of Aurelius were carefully watched over, protected and nurtured until their time came. Angelus was a big man, coldly beautiful in an almost alien sense. If she'd had to face him alone she'd have broken just meeting those golden yellow eyes, gotten to her knees, her belly, and begged for the smallest touch. She loved her sire, but this vampire was a Master, deserving of her worship.
Angelus had not made her beg. In his dark voice he explained her place in the world. Favored childe. Loved. Eldest of Angelus' heir and anointed protector of the line. Taken on the dark vampire's thick pillar of flesh she had screamed her pleasure, her demon's joy when her sire knelt behind her and reamed open her ass. Filled front and back she had orgasmed again and again until at last Angelus had lifted her wrist to his mouth to leave his claim permanently. Spike's fangs had sunk into her throat just as loads of semen filled her insides and the cascade of sensations had sent her into mind liquefying ecstasy .
That night had stayed with her, that blissful feeling of being stretched to her absolute limits, and her sire indulged her. No vampire except for one of their line was allowed to touch her, but there were delicious toys that suited her needs. Such a toy had been vibrating inside while Spike bounced her on his lap when he had abruptly ended their play with a shout of his sister's name. A sense of urgency had suddenly taken hold of him and he'd smacked her bottom to "Get dressed" and rooted out his cell phone. No one had answered at the other end in New York where Spike's older sister, his Dark Princess lived.
Which left Elaine with sticky panties and worried what they were going to find. New York City did not have a single Master but a ruling council, simply because it was too strategic a city for any one demon to control. Angelus and his allies were systematically taking over the west coast and the mid-west but they did not intend to operate their cities as New York's council did. Anyone could come and go out of the Big Apple so long as they didn't interrupt commerce or greatly upset the status quo. The council, Spike had explained, had very few rules and very low tolerance. They were about money, they had always been about money since the days they were walking around in wooden shoes, and they did not tolerate any threats to that money. It was a good city for Drusilla to live in because it thrived without all of the inter-clan warfare that constantly threatened other towns and territories. She should have been safe there with the army of minions that Spike had left to guard her.
Someone should have answered the phone.
There were demons waiting for them outside of Dru's warehouse, sent by Angelus over Spike's snarls. Accepting the crossbow handed to her Elaine tried to act like she knew how to handle it as she followed her sire through a broken inward door. For the first time since ninth grade when she'd outstripped even the boys in height she wished she was shorter, a smaller target. Wished she'd thought to put a hat over her bright hair. Not knowing how to do anything but stick to her sire's side the twenty year old did just that, silently promising herself that she would learn this, this violence. Punishing Xander's father had been an easy exercise of righteous anger and though she felt little fear now she envied the demons who moved around her, gracefully handling their weapons and the eerie silence. Shouldn't this be in her blood? Elaine frowned down at her own crossbow, feeling comfortable blaming it for her uneasiness with it.
She didn't have to worry about mastering the crossbow before being eaten by some huge slobbering demon. The warehouse was empty of any kind of life. Though rather rundown looking on the outside the inside had been redesigned into one large lavish apartment for Drusilla and her guards. Peering over Spike's shoulder Elaine could see the once quality in the smashed furnishings, the shredded silk draperies and . . .that was a whole lot of thick, clotted blood covering practically every surface.
No, not clotted. Thickened with dust, the dust that covered everything, even the ceiling high overhead. A lot of vampires had died here, servants of her House. "Who did this?" she whispered, not noticing Spike was no longer at her side as she stared up at the blood splatters streaking the ceiling two stories above.
One of the demons answered her, blue nose wrinkling. "The smells of death and blood mask any scents left behind."
Elaine twisted her head around to locate her sire and found him standing over a chair sitting out of place in the middle of the chaos, alone in a clean patch of marble floor. The heavy wooden chair was soaked in blood, chains and dust pooled about it, one of its arms ripped off. "Sire?" Elaine softly called, stepping closer. Someone had been bound to that chair, tortured in it, and she shivered from the chill that chased up her spine. What could anyone here have known that was so important?
Not answering her Spike crouched to reach beneath the chair, carefully picking up a dark haired porcelain doll that's head had cracked open, face stained with blood.
"She's gone, princess."
oOo
Interlude.
Curled on his side the lean teenager sighed, shifting restlessly beneath the old softened sheet that countless washings ago might have been blue. Ghostly hands guided his in shoving the sheet off onto the floor and Riley moaned quietly in his sleep to the familiar sensation of slightly chilled hands caressing up his body. In his sleep he opened his eyes to see Conal leaning over him, his wicked grin reaching all the way to his golden brown eyes. Dark red silk bunched beneath his hands as Riley sat up to meet the older man's kiss. For well over a year he'd had these dreams, dreams where his one night stand taught him things he'd never possess the courage to try with someone else in the waking world. What Conal did to him practically every night . . .it was no wonder he didn't have the energy to pursue any of his classmates. When his wet dreams had started becoming so much more real, when it was clearly Conal's face and not the indistinct one of before, he'd been worried at being caught out. In Conal's great bed he screamed and begged at the top of his lungs when his mouth wasn't filled with salty bitter cool flesh. How he kept quiet night after night Riley could only marvel at in the mornings because his mother said he slept like the dead. He rarely even stained his sheets, which surprised him more than his ability to keep quiet while he was repeatedly and thoroughly taken in his dreams.
Large hands palmed his hips, holding him down for Conal to nibble and lick his way across the taut flesh of his belly, following his faint pleasure trail to his already leaking penis. "Please," Riley whined when Conal teased him mercilessly.
"You know how to ask," Conal murmured just loud enough to be heard.
The dark haired man didn't want to hear his name, Liam's as Riley sometimes called him, or any endearments. The teenager didn't understand the whys or the thrill that arched his spine but he knew what Conal wanted. What he always wanted to hear.
"Please, Sire, oh fuck, please touch me," Riley babbled, a persisting blush blooming across his cheekbones and miles away, sitting in the dark of his opulent bedroom with his eyes closed, Angelus smiled.
oOo
1998.
There were streets in Sunnydale that did not cater to the usual traffic of domestic goddesses, lunch crowds and weekend bombers. They were easily seen on any map and if you walked past one you would see cars parked at meters and people on the sidewalks. Just as was expected. Yet few of the citizens of Sunnydale ventured down these streets. They were not any more frightening than any other street. Perfectly normal storefronts, from a deli to a pet shop, to a thrift store and a Chinese restaurant. A demon hunter would label such streets as avenues of hell, sanctuaries to the evil denizens of the Hellmouth. A demon would respond that everyone likes a little General Tso now and then.
On such a street Xander Harris would find his home away from home for the next three years, a little tucked away coffee shop called The Tea Speakeasy. They served more than tea thankfully, including coffee, soda floats and the best brownies ever. Ever since he'd lost Jesse and Buffy had come to town he'd felt his life spiraling out his control. Was elementary school going to be the highlight of his life? Eight months of battling demons on the mouth of Hell and what did he have to show for it? The love of his life was hopelessly hung up on someone not him, that brooding asshole of walking d.e.a.d., Mr. Martyr, the great and mighty of the perfectly coiffed hair Angel. Willow was better friends with her computer than she was with him and he was just so tired of being ignored. Ignored at school, ignored at home . . .though being ignored at home was actually of the good. Pops had really started to creep him out with his creepy staring. No, that ignoring was of the good. But becoming Donut Boy to Willow and Buffy? How manly was that? Not manly at all, especially with Mr. Muscles always hanging about. It was hard to compete with two hundred plus years of manliness.
"Hi, Lanie," Xander mumbled as he dragged his feet into The Tea Speakeasy. Lanie didn't care about manliness. She even let him try out his jokes on her. Said he reminded her of her youngest brother. Which was pretty much how she treated him, letting him do his homework in one of the back booths and on occasion even letting him sleep in the storage room where she had a cot set up. Xander never asked.
The Speakeasy opened at five in the afternoon and stayed open all night. After patrolling the teenager often aimed his steps to Lanie's tea shop rather than home, knowing he could get more work done in two hours of slurping on one of Lanie's floats than days spent in Giles' library or at home. There was just something . . .safe and welcoming about the dim interior of the little shop with it's blacked out windows and recessed nooks. Lanie didn't care if he knew the square root of anything and was actually pretty helpful with his writing assignments. He became such a fixture in the tea shop that Lanie made him a key so if he needed a bolt hole he could let himself into the shop. Today was such a day, the teenager fleeing school well before the final bell. It added a heavy plod to his steps to think that none of his friends were likely to notice he wasn't in the library until their sugar cravings kicked in.
He didn't even realize there wasn't a tall redhead behind the counter until she exploded out of the swinging door that led to the small kitchen, covered in an interesting concoction of flour and brown sugar. "Xander, thank goodness you're here! I need your help, come on!"
"My help?" Xander dumbly repeated. No one needed his help. Not Buffy or Willow; hell, his Mom didn't even need help trashing the house.
Lanie held up her left hand, wrapped in a dirtied bandage. "I cut my hand last night on some broken glass so your butt, in this kitchen, now, mister. I'm not going to have my desserts ready unless you help." She smiled, beckoning him around the counter. "Whatever you want for the rest of the week."
It wasn't saving the world or making a manly showing in front of Buffy by slaying some badass demon. It was warm brownies right out of the oven and Lanie's proud encouragement and brief, one armed hugs as she bustled him about the tiny kitchen. It was yummy delicious labor and he fumblingly asked if he could help the next day, after school. When summer came he was a permanent fixture at the tea shop, giddily holding down his first job that would carry through the following school years. It was cool being Reliable Guy with a paycheck and if he didn't get to go on as many patrols as Willow it was still worth major slayage points to calmly point out to Gilles the Ceylon tea he was enjoying could be blamed on a fungus that had taken out the country's coffee trees in the late 1800s. Was it his fault Lanie subscribed to tea connoisseur magazines and that a guy could only read so many comics between customers? Giles' flabbergasted slack jawed expression had been classic.
While at first Xander had been oblivious to the actual nature of The Speakeasy's regulars, by the time he started his first summer he had caught on to the fact that 'Double Mocha Latte Bob' was not remotely human, no matter what he physically looked like. It had been one of those moments when lightening flattens you, when you realize your world view is slightly off from the reality. The Tea Speakeasy was a demon tea shop. He, Xander Harris, dutiful sworn Scooby, had been struggling through his Geometry homework completely surrounded by evil nasty demons . . .who hadn't done a thing to him. Giles was always telling them . . .
Though not the smartest, Xander wasn't a complete idiot. Sitting himself down in his favorite playground the teenager spent a long day thinking and coming to some revolutionary conclusions. Giles didn't tell THEM anything; his dire descriptions and warnings were for his Slayer, who needed to stay focused. They were just there to hear them. Buffy couldn't be wondering if the bad guy she was going to kill had kids or liked cinnamon sprinkles in his tea. Those kinds of thoughts would see her dead. For her to do her job the world needed to be painted black and white. Humans good, demons bad.
But Xander knew better. Just thinking of his parents he knew not all humans were good, so why did all demons have to be bad? While the girls dedicated themselves to researching the latest threat Xander began to read between the lines and to actually look at the books they were given. They were all literally stamped with the Watcher's seal and those that didn't Giles diligently kept from their impressionable eyes. In history class they were learning about World War II and the covert campaign the Nazis had waged against the Germans. Propaganda. Controlling the manifestation and spread of information. Not that Giles was a Nazi. But one study period, while the librarian was in a staff meeting and Buffy and Willow were gah-gahing over some girly mag Xander slipped into Giles office and leafed through one of the tomes that didn't have the Watcher's seal.
Not all demons came from Hell. Some came from other dimensions, fleeing persecution or just searching for a better standard of living. Others had evolved on this earth side by side with humans. Some were evil. Some were perfectly harmless in a take over the world sense, but considered human bile a delicacy. Xander gagged at that one. Some wanted absolutely nothing to do with humans and avoided them at all costs. All good information for a Watcher to have but dangerous in the discipline of a Slayer.
It was exhilarating, knowing more about the demon world than the Slayer did. Going to the tea shop and covertly watching its customers from his tucked away booth Xander started to see what was really there. It was like the illusions stopped working once he stopped believing in them. He identified 'Double Mocha Latte Bob' from one of the forbidden books as a Khlan-osk, a subterranean demon that fed primarily on rock salt. Really, about as interesting as Mormons. Though apparently some of them had the jones for caffeine. The Khlan-osk. Xander didn't know what was up with those crazy Mormons. Double Mocha Latte Bob was less likely to attack Xander than some street thug after his wallet and when Lanie smiled over at him Xander returned her grin with knowing, unafraid happiness. He wasn't going to stop carrying a stake or taking the safest route home, but he somehow felt absurdly more confident of himself knowing there were demons who liked something as ordinary and everyday as double mocha latte.
And for eight-fifty an hour, Xander served it to them. Jesse getting turned and then Buffy coming to town, his world had been knocked off balance and for a kid who only knew anger and violence, those were the only ways he could react. Giles certainly didn't teach them any differently. At The Tea Speakeasy though, he regained the balance in his life. Lanie was like the big sister he'd always wanted, affectionate, strict and slightly condescending just the way he'd imagined an older sibling would act. It was bizarre that the most normal and comforting moments in his life daily occurred in a demon tea shop, but that was Sunnydale for you.
The arrival of Spike blew all his Zen right of the water.
oOo
TBC. Oh no! Did I kill Dru? BWAHAHAHAHAHA
