Xangelus fic part 3 of ?
Ok, I'm posting this next bit. The first two pieces are here in my memories.
I'm doing this purely as an experiment, testing my limits as it were. These pieces, but for the first story, are completely unbeta'd. If you see stuff that needs to be addressed, feel free to do it in comments. I've been assured that it isn't of the suckage, but you never know as these things wear on. Anyway, without further ado:
Title: The Strong Stay Silent
Rating: FRM mature but not NC 17
Summary: Things are a little different than Angelus anticipated
Disclaimer: I don’t own em. Never did. Joss is the master.
Feedback/Concrit: Oh hell yeah. This is totally unbeta’d
Setting: An AU season 4 that follows from my fic After Midnight
Previously:
“That’s my boy.” Then he felt the deep muscle pain of fangs tearing at his throat, and the slightly sexual pull of blood from his veins. He felt it all fading away, everything he knew, everything he felt, everything he hoped to be. It all came sliding out of his skin into a cool mouth, onto a soft sliding tongue, down the throat of the demon that claimed him three years ago with a kiss of despair. The light from the setting sun finally faded and Xander closed his eyes in death.
The Strong Stay Silent
Xander woke up three days later, chained to a wall, arms raised above his head, feet shackled to the floor. He was naked. There were points of pain all over his body. He lowered his head and looked down to see bite marks scattered across his torso and inner thighs. The pain felt.....he closed his eyes for a moment.....the pain felt good.
He opened his eyes again, noticing that he could see into the farthest corners of what ever room he was in. The shadows but gray color on the walls, not hindering his ability to see the individual bricks that made up the walls. If he squinted, he could count the number of pock marks on each individual stone. Beautiful.
The other thing he noticed was the hunger. Not that mild morning hunger of humanity, but the bone crunching hunger for blood. He felt as though his stomach was turned in knots, eating itself through to create a flow of blood for him to digest. He needed to feed. And the only way to get fed was through...
“Sire.” He heard himself whisper.
“I’m right here, boy.”
“Hungry.” Again, the tortured whisper of vampire starvation.
“You want me to feed you, Childe?”
Xander closed his eyes in anguish. “Hungry. Sire. Blood.”
“Good.” Angelus unleashed Xander’s hands from their chains, and they fell limply to his side. He had no strength even to cover himself, nor to reach for his sire.
“If you’re hungry Childe, you have to come and take your feast from me.” Angelus stepped closer to Xander, then held his arm up in front of the new vampire’s face. “Show me your face.”
Xander’s demon jumped to the fore, crunching his bones and emerging starving, gnashing its teeth and growling low in its throat. Angelus cuffed him hard along side the head. “Don’t growl at the hand that feeds you, boy. It’s not polite.”
Xander lifted cat green eyes to his sire. His sleep-numbed arms slowly lifted to grab Angelus’ arm, and with a quick, almost invisible sneer, he buried his fangs in his master’s flesh, drawing hard on the elixir of Sire’s blood. He felt the gnawing hunger fade as he ingested pure power.
“Enough, kitten, enough.” Angelus’ whispered words barely registered, but eventually, the vampire Xander lifted his head from his Sire’s arm and look sideways at him.
“You made me.” He blinked. Squinted. “Is this what you’ve been after for three years, Angelus? To turn me?”
Again, Angelus’ fist cuffed the young vampire. “You don’t speak, Childe, unless spoken to, and you never question me.”
“Fuck you.” That earned him a punch in the mouth.
“Watch your tongue boy.”
“Why? You’re not going to kill me. Oh wait. You already have.”
Angelus was confused. This was not how newly turned Childer were supposed to act. They were supposed to be circumspect, lost, needy, dependent on their Sires. He frowned, knowing now that he would have to beat this one into submission. He didn’t want to have to do that, but insolence could not be tolerated.
“Shut up, boy. Before I rip out your tongue.”
“What ever. Not like it won’t grow back. You’re such an asshole.” Xander reached down and jerked the chains at his feet, surprised when they came loose so easily. “Oh, this was a mistake.” He cut his eyes up to Angelus, who stood watching, and sneered, “Sire.”
Angelus punched him, hearing the satisfying sound of a jawbone breaking. Then he punched him again, crushing Xander’s nose and cheekbone. “I told you boy,” he said to the figure lying prone on the ground staring up at him with baleful green demon eyes, “watch your tongue.”
Xander slowly moved to stand, only to be kicked in the ribs, feeling one or two bones puncture useless lungs. He shook his head, and moved to stand again, saying, “This the best you can do? I’ve been beaten by a better class of loser than you, Angelus. It’ll take more than a few broken bones to keep me down, more than rape, more than torture.” He stood quickly, wincing as the broken rib screamed in protest. “I lived through that, you think being dead is going to make it any worse? You pansy ass vampire. Maybe you should know more about who you’re killing when you turn someone one.” He breathed out a wry laugh. “I do owe you a favor though. Now I can kill that son of a bitch.”
Xander turned to walk out of the room, holding his broken ribs, and trying to straighten his shattered nose. Talking with the broken jaw was painful, but nothing he hadn’t experienced in his living years. He made it three steps before the sharp tug on his hair pulled him backwards onto his ass.
“Let’s get a few things, straight, boy. You’re mine, as in you belong to me. You will not leave. You’ll learn to accept it, or spend a long time with all your bones broken. You do not speak to me unless I give you permission. You will not leave. You will not look at me. You will submit. And most important: You. Will. Not. Leave.” He punctuated the last sentence with a fist to Xander’s face with every word.
Stunned, Xander felt himself dragged back to the chains, pulled upright and locked down again. “Perhaps I’ll let you go without for a while, hmm. I’ve been known to have a very short attention span, so it could be weeks before I get back in here to you, by that time, you might be too thin to live, but I doubt it. Now, is there anything you want to say to me, to maybe lessen your punishment?”
Xander thought for a minute. “Hmmm. Fuck. You.”
Angelus sighed, “So be it.” Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a seething Xander hanging.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Insolent little fuck! Angelus paced back and forth outside the door. He didn’t understand the childe chained in the other room at all. He’d known Xander both as Angel and as Angelus, and nothing, nothing in the boy’s demeanor had hinted that he would be so defiant as a vampire. As a human he’d been so pathetic. The butt of the joke, the go-for, the bungler. He’d been beautiful in his defeat; his dark hair shaggy and uncut, sometimes uncombed. Those eyes, nearly black with grief and despair, glittering with barely controlled tears. Xander had been on the bring of losing it all. But then that night, that kiss, and he’d surrendered so easily. So where did this attitude come from.
Darla had said “who we are in life informs the demon we become,” so where did Xander’s demon get his information? Secrets. Obviously the little prick had secrets that no one knew about. Secrets that created a very solid, strong underlying character. Secrets that allowed him to play the fool and let no one know what was really underneath the smiles and jokes and nervous fidgeting.
The main secret? There was no weakness in Xander. There may be fear, anger, grief, but no weakness. When he’d surrendered three years ago and again three days ago, it was not weakness that made him do it. It had been a conscious decision on the boy’s part. Angelus remembered how he hadn’t forced Xander’s surrender, that the boy had thought, weighed the options and came to the conclusion that fighting wouldn’t work any more. Giving up had been his own idea, not something he’d been tortured or forced into.
What was the key? What helped the boy make the decision? Was it his friends? Had losing them been what made him rethink his life? Were they that important to him? Angelus thought back over the last three years, remembering that night in the mansion when he’d found Xander alone, sitting next to the broken fountain. There had still been some fight in the boy, but then Xander had returned the kiss; Angelus felt the moment the boy had surrendered. Would that have happened had the Slayer not been dead? Interesting.
And that strength of character was influencing the demon now. Everything that was at Xander’s core was infiltrating the demon. And Xander had hated Angelus. Not even being his childe was going to overcome Xander’s own hatred. And green eyes? Where the hell did they come from? Angelus knew he’d have to enforce his new Childe’s submission and when he did, he was going to ask where the green eyes came from. But for now, let the little fucker hang there and learn who was Master here.
He stalked away, leaving the oddly silent room behind him, and entered the great room of the mansion. The cavernous room was cold, the fire long died out, only embers remaining, and with no one to stoke the fire, the heat had seeped out of the room into the cold cinder block walls.
Angelus was alone, again. He’d had the better part of a year with his two childer, but then his stupid - and he could call it that now - scheme to bring forth Acathla had left Spike with no choice but to betray him with Buffy and take off with Dru for parts unknown. Angelus had never been alone. Not when he was in control. He’d had Darla, Dru and Spike, even minions when the others were gone. For three years, though, he’d had no one. Buffy had dusted all his minions in her failed quest to kill him. And he decided, after kissing Xander that sharp night three years ago, that if he couldn’t have that boy, then he didn’t want anyone. He was a patient sort, and could wait. And Xander made him wait a pretty minute. But then, three nights ago, in the pink and orange glow of the setting sun, he’d finally caught his precious boy. And now, he wasn’t alone any more.
How long would his companionship last, if he couldn’t get that recalcitrant demon under control? That was a question he refused to entertain or lend legitimacy. That petulant, defiant demon would come around, if it was the last thing Angelus did. He went off in search of supplies he hadn’t needed in over one hundred years. Not since he’d destroyed William’s humanity. Holy water, brushes, whips, candles, rope, and several short sharp daggers, long matches, and a poker or two.
Cataloging the implements, Angelus smiled. He’d leave the newly made vampire hanging and stewing in his anger for a few days, then, when the little one was almost desparate with the hunger and longing for his sire, Angelus would be in to teach him a lesson his little demon would not soon forget.
Angelus, feeling peckish thinking about starving his new childe, headed out. The night air refreshing and crisp in his nose. The full bodied scent of the Hellmouth and all the plump suburbanites filtered through the air, whetting Angelus’ bloodlust. He paused in his stride, scenting the sweet air, and set off down town.
And there you have it. Part three. Let me know what you think!
I'm doing this purely as an experiment, testing my limits as it were. These pieces, but for the first story, are completely unbeta'd. If you see stuff that needs to be addressed, feel free to do it in comments. I've been assured that it isn't of the suckage, but you never know as these things wear on. Anyway, without further ado:
Title: The Strong Stay Silent
Rating: FRM mature but not NC 17
Summary: Things are a little different than Angelus anticipated
Disclaimer: I don’t own em. Never did. Joss is the master.
Feedback/Concrit: Oh hell yeah. This is totally unbeta’d
Setting: An AU season 4 that follows from my fic After Midnight
Previously:
“That’s my boy.” Then he felt the deep muscle pain of fangs tearing at his throat, and the slightly sexual pull of blood from his veins. He felt it all fading away, everything he knew, everything he felt, everything he hoped to be. It all came sliding out of his skin into a cool mouth, onto a soft sliding tongue, down the throat of the demon that claimed him three years ago with a kiss of despair. The light from the setting sun finally faded and Xander closed his eyes in death.
The Strong Stay Silent
Xander woke up three days later, chained to a wall, arms raised above his head, feet shackled to the floor. He was naked. There were points of pain all over his body. He lowered his head and looked down to see bite marks scattered across his torso and inner thighs. The pain felt.....he closed his eyes for a moment.....the pain felt good.
He opened his eyes again, noticing that he could see into the farthest corners of what ever room he was in. The shadows but gray color on the walls, not hindering his ability to see the individual bricks that made up the walls. If he squinted, he could count the number of pock marks on each individual stone. Beautiful.
The other thing he noticed was the hunger. Not that mild morning hunger of humanity, but the bone crunching hunger for blood. He felt as though his stomach was turned in knots, eating itself through to create a flow of blood for him to digest. He needed to feed. And the only way to get fed was through...
“Sire.” He heard himself whisper.
“I’m right here, boy.”
“Hungry.” Again, the tortured whisper of vampire starvation.
“You want me to feed you, Childe?”
Xander closed his eyes in anguish. “Hungry. Sire. Blood.”
“Good.” Angelus unleashed Xander’s hands from their chains, and they fell limply to his side. He had no strength even to cover himself, nor to reach for his sire.
“If you’re hungry Childe, you have to come and take your feast from me.” Angelus stepped closer to Xander, then held his arm up in front of the new vampire’s face. “Show me your face.”
Xander’s demon jumped to the fore, crunching his bones and emerging starving, gnashing its teeth and growling low in its throat. Angelus cuffed him hard along side the head. “Don’t growl at the hand that feeds you, boy. It’s not polite.”
Xander lifted cat green eyes to his sire. His sleep-numbed arms slowly lifted to grab Angelus’ arm, and with a quick, almost invisible sneer, he buried his fangs in his master’s flesh, drawing hard on the elixir of Sire’s blood. He felt the gnawing hunger fade as he ingested pure power.
“Enough, kitten, enough.” Angelus’ whispered words barely registered, but eventually, the vampire Xander lifted his head from his Sire’s arm and look sideways at him.
“You made me.” He blinked. Squinted. “Is this what you’ve been after for three years, Angelus? To turn me?”
Again, Angelus’ fist cuffed the young vampire. “You don’t speak, Childe, unless spoken to, and you never question me.”
“Fuck you.” That earned him a punch in the mouth.
“Watch your tongue boy.”
“Why? You’re not going to kill me. Oh wait. You already have.”
Angelus was confused. This was not how newly turned Childer were supposed to act. They were supposed to be circumspect, lost, needy, dependent on their Sires. He frowned, knowing now that he would have to beat this one into submission. He didn’t want to have to do that, but insolence could not be tolerated.
“Shut up, boy. Before I rip out your tongue.”
“What ever. Not like it won’t grow back. You’re such an asshole.” Xander reached down and jerked the chains at his feet, surprised when they came loose so easily. “Oh, this was a mistake.” He cut his eyes up to Angelus, who stood watching, and sneered, “Sire.”
Angelus punched him, hearing the satisfying sound of a jawbone breaking. Then he punched him again, crushing Xander’s nose and cheekbone. “I told you boy,” he said to the figure lying prone on the ground staring up at him with baleful green demon eyes, “watch your tongue.”
Xander slowly moved to stand, only to be kicked in the ribs, feeling one or two bones puncture useless lungs. He shook his head, and moved to stand again, saying, “This the best you can do? I’ve been beaten by a better class of loser than you, Angelus. It’ll take more than a few broken bones to keep me down, more than rape, more than torture.” He stood quickly, wincing as the broken rib screamed in protest. “I lived through that, you think being dead is going to make it any worse? You pansy ass vampire. Maybe you should know more about who you’re killing when you turn someone one.” He breathed out a wry laugh. “I do owe you a favor though. Now I can kill that son of a bitch.”
Xander turned to walk out of the room, holding his broken ribs, and trying to straighten his shattered nose. Talking with the broken jaw was painful, but nothing he hadn’t experienced in his living years. He made it three steps before the sharp tug on his hair pulled him backwards onto his ass.
“Let’s get a few things, straight, boy. You’re mine, as in you belong to me. You will not leave. You’ll learn to accept it, or spend a long time with all your bones broken. You do not speak to me unless I give you permission. You will not leave. You will not look at me. You will submit. And most important: You. Will. Not. Leave.” He punctuated the last sentence with a fist to Xander’s face with every word.
Stunned, Xander felt himself dragged back to the chains, pulled upright and locked down again. “Perhaps I’ll let you go without for a while, hmm. I’ve been known to have a very short attention span, so it could be weeks before I get back in here to you, by that time, you might be too thin to live, but I doubt it. Now, is there anything you want to say to me, to maybe lessen your punishment?”
Xander thought for a minute. “Hmmm. Fuck. You.”
Angelus sighed, “So be it.” Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a seething Xander hanging.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Insolent little fuck! Angelus paced back and forth outside the door. He didn’t understand the childe chained in the other room at all. He’d known Xander both as Angel and as Angelus, and nothing, nothing in the boy’s demeanor had hinted that he would be so defiant as a vampire. As a human he’d been so pathetic. The butt of the joke, the go-for, the bungler. He’d been beautiful in his defeat; his dark hair shaggy and uncut, sometimes uncombed. Those eyes, nearly black with grief and despair, glittering with barely controlled tears. Xander had been on the bring of losing it all. But then that night, that kiss, and he’d surrendered so easily. So where did this attitude come from.
Darla had said “who we are in life informs the demon we become,” so where did Xander’s demon get his information? Secrets. Obviously the little prick had secrets that no one knew about. Secrets that created a very solid, strong underlying character. Secrets that allowed him to play the fool and let no one know what was really underneath the smiles and jokes and nervous fidgeting.
The main secret? There was no weakness in Xander. There may be fear, anger, grief, but no weakness. When he’d surrendered three years ago and again three days ago, it was not weakness that made him do it. It had been a conscious decision on the boy’s part. Angelus remembered how he hadn’t forced Xander’s surrender, that the boy had thought, weighed the options and came to the conclusion that fighting wouldn’t work any more. Giving up had been his own idea, not something he’d been tortured or forced into.
What was the key? What helped the boy make the decision? Was it his friends? Had losing them been what made him rethink his life? Were they that important to him? Angelus thought back over the last three years, remembering that night in the mansion when he’d found Xander alone, sitting next to the broken fountain. There had still been some fight in the boy, but then Xander had returned the kiss; Angelus felt the moment the boy had surrendered. Would that have happened had the Slayer not been dead? Interesting.
And that strength of character was influencing the demon now. Everything that was at Xander’s core was infiltrating the demon. And Xander had hated Angelus. Not even being his childe was going to overcome Xander’s own hatred. And green eyes? Where the hell did they come from? Angelus knew he’d have to enforce his new Childe’s submission and when he did, he was going to ask where the green eyes came from. But for now, let the little fucker hang there and learn who was Master here.
He stalked away, leaving the oddly silent room behind him, and entered the great room of the mansion. The cavernous room was cold, the fire long died out, only embers remaining, and with no one to stoke the fire, the heat had seeped out of the room into the cold cinder block walls.
Angelus was alone, again. He’d had the better part of a year with his two childer, but then his stupid - and he could call it that now - scheme to bring forth Acathla had left Spike with no choice but to betray him with Buffy and take off with Dru for parts unknown. Angelus had never been alone. Not when he was in control. He’d had Darla, Dru and Spike, even minions when the others were gone. For three years, though, he’d had no one. Buffy had dusted all his minions in her failed quest to kill him. And he decided, after kissing Xander that sharp night three years ago, that if he couldn’t have that boy, then he didn’t want anyone. He was a patient sort, and could wait. And Xander made him wait a pretty minute. But then, three nights ago, in the pink and orange glow of the setting sun, he’d finally caught his precious boy. And now, he wasn’t alone any more.
How long would his companionship last, if he couldn’t get that recalcitrant demon under control? That was a question he refused to entertain or lend legitimacy. That petulant, defiant demon would come around, if it was the last thing Angelus did. He went off in search of supplies he hadn’t needed in over one hundred years. Not since he’d destroyed William’s humanity. Holy water, brushes, whips, candles, rope, and several short sharp daggers, long matches, and a poker or two.
Cataloging the implements, Angelus smiled. He’d leave the newly made vampire hanging and stewing in his anger for a few days, then, when the little one was almost desparate with the hunger and longing for his sire, Angelus would be in to teach him a lesson his little demon would not soon forget.
Angelus, feeling peckish thinking about starving his new childe, headed out. The night air refreshing and crisp in his nose. The full bodied scent of the Hellmouth and all the plump suburbanites filtered through the air, whetting Angelus’ bloodlust. He paused in his stride, scenting the sweet air, and set off down town.
And there you have it. Part three. Let me know what you think!