After Midnight 8/? Absolution in Blood
Well. After two weeks of utter business, I bring you the first of two chapters for this weekend. Be looking for the next chapter tomorrow:)
Title: Absolution in Blood: After Midnight 8/?
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Torture. And this one gets pretty explicit.
Disclaimer: I don't own, not makin any money, don't sue. I'm poor.
Pairing: Spike/Angel this chapter, but Angelus/Xander overall.
Feedback: As always of course. I always say this, and I'm one of the few who means it: CON-CRIT WELCOME!!!
AN: This is still unbeta-d(hence the concrit welcome). It is still an experiment in my own personal darkness and decision making. Problems with plot, continuity, characterization, typos, and anything else you might spy are entirely my fault. So, PLEASE direct my attention to them. Thanks.
Previous chapters are in my memories.
Story banner by lit_gal
Absolution in Blood
Spike’s tired eyes tracked Angelus’ slow and steady movements from the silent bedroom to the great room where he hung chained to the wall. He’d suffered the silence and being ignored as well as he could, but toward the end, when he’s caught the faint scent of arousal, he knew exactly how the rest of the night would play out. Angelus was indeed excellent at the torture. He’d always known that and resented it. And for a moment, he’d forgotten.
He’d forgotten how psychologically devious Angelus could be, how the huge beast of a vampire could render his victims crazy in a matter of hours. Spike himself was no exception. Angelus had broken him in the best and worst of ways when he was newly turned, and somehow Spike had forgotten. Forgotten what it felt like to have those deep, still eyes watching, those lips sealed shut not giving anything away. Forgotten what it was like to crave his touch, have it within scenting distance, only to have it snatched away.
He’d been expecting physicality from his surrogate sire when he returned, but he’d forgotten. Physical torture alone is for amateurs and newbies. Spike was neither of those things, and the torture had started the moment Angelus left him alone.
“I trust you heard all that went on in there, Spike. My boy, he is quite the responsive little thing. So beautiful in agony, you should have seen him.” Angelus circled Spike’s chained body, reaching a hand to ghost his fingers down the snaked line spine. “He was so warm, Spike. So resistant. Hated everything I did, but loved it too. Breaking him apart is going to be one of the best things I ever did.”
Spike felt his master’s hand inch forward to lay solidly against his stomach. Then he felt the sharp prick of gelled hair against his cheek, and felt the forced and whispered breath of words against his ear, “Even better than you, William. And you were the best. I remember how soft you used to be. How much you craved my attention, my affection, my mark.” Spike felt narrow sharp fangs at his throat and a tongue lapping at his salty skin. “Do you still crave me, Spike? Am I still so important to you that you would crawl back to me when your brain addled sire left you?”
“Don’t......don’t talk about her like that.” Spike started only to be jerked around to face Angelus.
“I made her, Spikey. I’ll goddam well talk about her any way I choose. She’s as much mine as you are, as that boy lying in his own blood and spit - and possibly holy water - is.”
“Do you plan to punish me? Or are you gonna chatter me to a second death?”
Angelus looked up at him. “Are you hungry Spike? Did you feed?”
“Xander and I shared a waitress earlier. I’m good for now.”
“That’s good. Though that means you’ll taste like my boy, and I don’t think I like that. I’ll have to drain you.”
“What?”
“Can’t have you tasting like the childe if you’re the master now, can I? You don’t deserve to taste like him. Not nearly as sweet or innocent, now are you?”
“No, sire.”
“You know,” the casual tone out of Angelus did more to worry Spike than any threat, “You really did a very bad thing, teaming up with Buffy to take me down. A Very. Bad. Thing. I’ve thought long and hard about how best to get my recompense. I think I have it figured out now.”
He leaned forward and kissed Spike on the mouth, a gentle, almost compassionate kiss. A conversation between lips and tongue that made promises of peace and home and love. Then he bit Spike’s bottom lip, making those promises lies.
“I’ve missed you, you know. Missed having my beautiful Spike at my side. And I will have you there again, but you’re right. You need to be punished.”
Spike knew better than to agree or disagree, knew better than to open his mouth in any kind of response. Sometimes, Angelus just liked to hear himself talk, but even in those times, words were reinforced with deeds. When Angelus moved behind him, Spike knew the time of words was over.
He heard an indistinct sound of metal on stone, of things being picked up and looked over and set back down again. He heard the slither of leather in the air, and felt menace fill the air. Angelus was very good at torture, at breaking things. He enjoyed it. Very rarely was anything he did done out of anger, but Spike could feel the anger reach through the air and touch him all over, coat his skin in a fine mist of red haze. He knew then that Angelus was not simply punishing him to teach a lesson, but he was exacting a justifiable revenge. Malice, intention, pure rage and a little hurt would color this experience. He tensed, expecting at any moment to feel the beginnings of his punishment.
The first stripe of the whip across his back was no surprise but hurt no less for being expected. He felt his flesh split open and newfound blood seeped down his back. It itched, triggering nerves to fire and raise his awareness one hundred fold. The second stripe split his skin not an inch from the first one. Angelus was deadly accurate with a whip, after a century and a half of using one before he got his soul back.
Spike didn’t scream. He couldn’t. The shock of the whip froze his vocal cords and expelled any bit of breath that he’d taken in for speech. It hollowed him out physically. He was left just a feeling, bleeding mass of nerves and flesh. His back burned with the fires of running blood. In the midst of the burning, he felt a coolness, a solid touch, fingers running along the gaping and bleeding cuts from the whip. He whimpered gratefully, relishing the cool, almost healing touch. Then the tender fingers dug in, slowly pulling flesh from bone, claws digging into muscles and pulling it free of the body. He couldn’t hold in the screaming any more as Angelus ripped his back to shreds.
“Spike, Spike, Spike. You should know a little flogging isn’t going to be enough, but don’t worry precious. I don’t like ugly things, so your face will be alright.” That slightly psychotic, definitely sadistic voice whispered convivially in his ear. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Spike. Perhaps you need to eat something,” and the incredibly bastard slid a chunk Spike’s flesh - wet with blood - into his own mouth. “I always loved the taste of you, Spike. Tell me what you think.”
Spike could only moan in agony and disgust. He could feel his stomach hurling inside his body, but he knew vomiting would only make it worse, so he swallowed the lumpy bit of flesh and nodded. His own blood running down his face, he answered, “I think you were right.”
“Good. Now, you’re awfully dirty back there, all dripping and oozing. I think you need to be cleaned up.” Angelus walked with a determined, almost springy step behind Spike again. “Oh, and this might sting a little, but needs must, you know.”
And the first sloshing of holy water hit him, splashing his back clean of seeping blood and raising blisters along every inch of uncut flesh. Spike screamed again, openly sobbing now, as the blessed water ran in rivulets into the cuts, burning out muscle and tissue from the gouges left by the whip and Angelus’ hands. He heard Angelus chuckle behind him. “My boy, always were such a good screamer.” He felt another splash of something on his back and prepared to scream, but it cooled the burning, and his knees buckled under the relief from the holy water.
He’d expected pain, expected taunting, knew his punishment would be horrific, but he never expected to be relieved of the pain in the next moment. He was confused. He heard and felt Angelus come to stand before him, and looked up at him with grateful, teary blue eyes. “Sire.” His throat whispered without his express permission, and he frowned in confusion.
“I know, Spike. You’re wondering why I washed that burning mess off you, aren’t you? Don’t worry, childe. You’ll know soon enough. Now, stand back up, can’t have you ripping your arms out of their sockets, now can we?”
“No, Sire.” Spike struggled to get back solidly to his feet. He watched Angelus with a healthy fearful eye.
“Good boy, Spike. Now, try not to scream too loudly, you’ll hurt my ears.”
Before Spike could register that statement, Angelus had a scythe buried hilt deep into his side, then jerked it out again, slicing through his body in the process. Spike snatched in a breath, only to hear it whisper right out of his body through the hole left by the blade. “Did that hurt a little much, Spike?”
He mewled in pain, the air needed for real screaming or speaking leaking out of his body.
“It’s ok, Spike. You can moan, if you need too.” Angelus frowned for a second, “But I guess a hole in your lung is going to keep seeping the air you need to speak. That’s ok. If you can’t speak, you can’t conspire behind my back, now can you? Not that there is anyone left to conspire with.” Spike felt the scythe cut a path down his legs, just a surface cut, splitting the skin and letting tiny drops of blood ooze out. “Of course, I think I need to do something about your wandering feet too, don’t you?”
Spike’s leg was lifted carelessly, his bare feet exposed to Angelus, sole out. He watched in morbid, almost disconnected curiosity as Angelus pulled another blade from somewhere beyond Spike’s vision, and set about slicing the bottom of his foot. “Can’t walk on a skinned foot, can you?” And the delicate skin of his foot was ripped off by nimble fingers. He couldn’t scream, but his mouth snapped open in a rictus of pain. He began to leak tears again when Angelus set the bloodied foot down and picked up the other one. If Spike were to remain standing - which Angelus demanded - then he’d have to balance his weight on the injured foot. He did so, pain wracking his torn body so much that he barely felt the second foot being skinned.
Angelus lowered the second foot. “No more wandering off, now, huh, Spike?”
He shook his head, and felt Angelus’ palm curve around his jaw. “You know I’m doing this for you own good. You can’t be disloyal, Spike. It ruins the Order’s reputation.” Angelus leaned in and kissed him again. “You’ve been so good through your punishment, Spike. Screamed quite nicely, and these?” He traced the path of tears, and lifted a bit of the salty liquid to his lips. “Tears are beautiful from you, Spike. Those spring blue eyes just turn to little oceans, don’t they?” He leaned forward and kissed Spike’s liquid eyes, licking the tears from the lashes. “Everything about you is beautiful, you know.”
Spike shuddered at the longed for compliment, then almost smiled when his master’s hand slid down around his neck and pulled him forward for a deep kiss. Angelus’ lips whispered over his own, “So damned pretty, you are,” he heard just before their mouths met.
Angelus pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nibbling on the pale pink flesh. Spike responded by sucking his top lip into his own mouth, licking it. Then they were opening their mouths and thrusting their tongues against each other, the slip and slide of cool, rough textured flesh arousing them both. Angelus pulled away first, biting a path to Spike’s throat, where he plunged long narrow fangs into the sensitive skin there. Spike moaned in near ecstacy feeling his master drawing his blood out. He tried to step closer to Angelus and press his body against the much larger one, but the step brought the agony back to his feet. His vision blurred, and his head felt back as he lost the strength to hold it up. Just when he thought Angelus was going to drain him to dust, the monster lifted his fangs, kissed the wound closed and offered his own throat to his Childe. “Spike? Wakey wakey, now. You need to feed, boy. Got to have you all better, now. Come on.”
Spike garnered his remaining strength to lift his head and fall on his Sire’s neck. With his blunt human teeth, he ripped open that skin and drank. The cool, sweet flavor of Angelus’ blood exploded on his tongue and burned a healing path down through his body. He felt muscles begin to knit back to wholeness and his skin stretched and started to heal over. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of Angelus’ powerful blood and closed his eyes in exhaustion until the action of drinking became autonomic.
***
Spike woke finally, wrapped in satin sheets, with a hefty body lying beside him. He rolled his head to see who it was, remembering the pain and ecstacy of his punishment by Angelus.
His limpid blue eyes met dark velvet ones, and he smiled. The dark eyes smiled back at him.
“You feeling alright now?”
“Yeah. Not too bad, I mean, I’ve had worse.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“What about you? That couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It was...not what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. I thought, well, I thought he’d want to hear me scream, but when I tried, or was about to, he just looked at me and shook his head.”
Spike nodded. “Yeah. That was about me, pet. A bit of isolation. If I had heard the screaming, then I’d have been included. He wanted me totally alone, ignored, forgotten. Something he knows brings me close to breaking all by itself.”
“Oh. I’d have risked worse, you know, to ease that for you. Lonely sucks.”
“Nah. We’re good. And you wouldn’t have wanted worse.”
“No, probably not, but I’d have risked it.”
“Thanks.”
“Well. Glad to see my boys are getting along.” Angelus stood beside the bed, fresh from a shower and they both looked up at him. Xander with a sick longing, one side of him absolutely angry and hating the magnificent creature before him, the other almost simpering in its need to be near its sire.
Spike just shifted his eyes toward Angelus, knowing that he was welcomed back into the family. His Sire’s blood was still filtering a slow trek through his veins and he could still feel his ragged body healing under its power. He smiled. “I think we’ll be alright together.” He glanced down at an obviously divided Xander. “Xander?”
“Huh?” Xander snatched his eyes back to Spike. “Oh. Yeah. Me and Spike will be alright.”
“That’s good to know.” Angelus stalked to the foot of the bed, and climbed in, slinking slowly up between them, laying kisses on feet and legs and hips, ribs and chests, until he was settled between them. Then he pulled Xander over to him and kissed him, noting with a raised eyebrow the reluctant acceptance of the affection. “You’re still fighting.”
“Always will. I don’t like you. Everything that I was hates you.”
“But something in you needs him. I know.” Spike stated then accepted his Sire’s kiss with enthusiasm.
“You always were a smart boy, my William.” Angelus smiled at him. “Let’s sleep. Night waits for no one.”
He pulled a limp and apathetic Xander to his front, and curled a hand behind Spike’s hips and tugged him forward to nestle at his back. He smiled when he felt the cool lips nuzzling at his neck, and buried his face in Xander’s hair.
They slept wrapped in each other.
TBC
Hope y'all enjoyed that.
Title: Absolution in Blood: After Midnight 8/?
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Torture. And this one gets pretty explicit.
Disclaimer: I don't own, not makin any money, don't sue. I'm poor.
Pairing: Spike/Angel this chapter, but Angelus/Xander overall.
Feedback: As always of course. I always say this, and I'm one of the few who means it: CON-CRIT WELCOME!!!
AN: This is still unbeta-d(hence the concrit welcome). It is still an experiment in my own personal darkness and decision making. Problems with plot, continuity, characterization, typos, and anything else you might spy are entirely my fault. So, PLEASE direct my attention to them. Thanks.
Previous chapters are in my memories.
Story banner by lit_gal
Absolution in Blood
Spike’s tired eyes tracked Angelus’ slow and steady movements from the silent bedroom to the great room where he hung chained to the wall. He’d suffered the silence and being ignored as well as he could, but toward the end, when he’s caught the faint scent of arousal, he knew exactly how the rest of the night would play out. Angelus was indeed excellent at the torture. He’d always known that and resented it. And for a moment, he’d forgotten.
He’d forgotten how psychologically devious Angelus could be, how the huge beast of a vampire could render his victims crazy in a matter of hours. Spike himself was no exception. Angelus had broken him in the best and worst of ways when he was newly turned, and somehow Spike had forgotten. Forgotten what it felt like to have those deep, still eyes watching, those lips sealed shut not giving anything away. Forgotten what it was like to crave his touch, have it within scenting distance, only to have it snatched away.
He’d been expecting physicality from his surrogate sire when he returned, but he’d forgotten. Physical torture alone is for amateurs and newbies. Spike was neither of those things, and the torture had started the moment Angelus left him alone.
“I trust you heard all that went on in there, Spike. My boy, he is quite the responsive little thing. So beautiful in agony, you should have seen him.” Angelus circled Spike’s chained body, reaching a hand to ghost his fingers down the snaked line spine. “He was so warm, Spike. So resistant. Hated everything I did, but loved it too. Breaking him apart is going to be one of the best things I ever did.”
Spike felt his master’s hand inch forward to lay solidly against his stomach. Then he felt the sharp prick of gelled hair against his cheek, and felt the forced and whispered breath of words against his ear, “Even better than you, William. And you were the best. I remember how soft you used to be. How much you craved my attention, my affection, my mark.” Spike felt narrow sharp fangs at his throat and a tongue lapping at his salty skin. “Do you still crave me, Spike? Am I still so important to you that you would crawl back to me when your brain addled sire left you?”
“Don’t......don’t talk about her like that.” Spike started only to be jerked around to face Angelus.
“I made her, Spikey. I’ll goddam well talk about her any way I choose. She’s as much mine as you are, as that boy lying in his own blood and spit - and possibly holy water - is.”
“Do you plan to punish me? Or are you gonna chatter me to a second death?”
Angelus looked up at him. “Are you hungry Spike? Did you feed?”
“Xander and I shared a waitress earlier. I’m good for now.”
“That’s good. Though that means you’ll taste like my boy, and I don’t think I like that. I’ll have to drain you.”
“What?”
“Can’t have you tasting like the childe if you’re the master now, can I? You don’t deserve to taste like him. Not nearly as sweet or innocent, now are you?”
“No, sire.”
“You know,” the casual tone out of Angelus did more to worry Spike than any threat, “You really did a very bad thing, teaming up with Buffy to take me down. A Very. Bad. Thing. I’ve thought long and hard about how best to get my recompense. I think I have it figured out now.”
He leaned forward and kissed Spike on the mouth, a gentle, almost compassionate kiss. A conversation between lips and tongue that made promises of peace and home and love. Then he bit Spike’s bottom lip, making those promises lies.
“I’ve missed you, you know. Missed having my beautiful Spike at my side. And I will have you there again, but you’re right. You need to be punished.”
Spike knew better than to agree or disagree, knew better than to open his mouth in any kind of response. Sometimes, Angelus just liked to hear himself talk, but even in those times, words were reinforced with deeds. When Angelus moved behind him, Spike knew the time of words was over.
He heard an indistinct sound of metal on stone, of things being picked up and looked over and set back down again. He heard the slither of leather in the air, and felt menace fill the air. Angelus was very good at torture, at breaking things. He enjoyed it. Very rarely was anything he did done out of anger, but Spike could feel the anger reach through the air and touch him all over, coat his skin in a fine mist of red haze. He knew then that Angelus was not simply punishing him to teach a lesson, but he was exacting a justifiable revenge. Malice, intention, pure rage and a little hurt would color this experience. He tensed, expecting at any moment to feel the beginnings of his punishment.
The first stripe of the whip across his back was no surprise but hurt no less for being expected. He felt his flesh split open and newfound blood seeped down his back. It itched, triggering nerves to fire and raise his awareness one hundred fold. The second stripe split his skin not an inch from the first one. Angelus was deadly accurate with a whip, after a century and a half of using one before he got his soul back.
Spike didn’t scream. He couldn’t. The shock of the whip froze his vocal cords and expelled any bit of breath that he’d taken in for speech. It hollowed him out physically. He was left just a feeling, bleeding mass of nerves and flesh. His back burned with the fires of running blood. In the midst of the burning, he felt a coolness, a solid touch, fingers running along the gaping and bleeding cuts from the whip. He whimpered gratefully, relishing the cool, almost healing touch. Then the tender fingers dug in, slowly pulling flesh from bone, claws digging into muscles and pulling it free of the body. He couldn’t hold in the screaming any more as Angelus ripped his back to shreds.
“Spike, Spike, Spike. You should know a little flogging isn’t going to be enough, but don’t worry precious. I don’t like ugly things, so your face will be alright.” That slightly psychotic, definitely sadistic voice whispered convivially in his ear. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Spike. Perhaps you need to eat something,” and the incredibly bastard slid a chunk Spike’s flesh - wet with blood - into his own mouth. “I always loved the taste of you, Spike. Tell me what you think.”
Spike could only moan in agony and disgust. He could feel his stomach hurling inside his body, but he knew vomiting would only make it worse, so he swallowed the lumpy bit of flesh and nodded. His own blood running down his face, he answered, “I think you were right.”
“Good. Now, you’re awfully dirty back there, all dripping and oozing. I think you need to be cleaned up.” Angelus walked with a determined, almost springy step behind Spike again. “Oh, and this might sting a little, but needs must, you know.”
And the first sloshing of holy water hit him, splashing his back clean of seeping blood and raising blisters along every inch of uncut flesh. Spike screamed again, openly sobbing now, as the blessed water ran in rivulets into the cuts, burning out muscle and tissue from the gouges left by the whip and Angelus’ hands. He heard Angelus chuckle behind him. “My boy, always were such a good screamer.” He felt another splash of something on his back and prepared to scream, but it cooled the burning, and his knees buckled under the relief from the holy water.
He’d expected pain, expected taunting, knew his punishment would be horrific, but he never expected to be relieved of the pain in the next moment. He was confused. He heard and felt Angelus come to stand before him, and looked up at him with grateful, teary blue eyes. “Sire.” His throat whispered without his express permission, and he frowned in confusion.
“I know, Spike. You’re wondering why I washed that burning mess off you, aren’t you? Don’t worry, childe. You’ll know soon enough. Now, stand back up, can’t have you ripping your arms out of their sockets, now can we?”
“No, Sire.” Spike struggled to get back solidly to his feet. He watched Angelus with a healthy fearful eye.
“Good boy, Spike. Now, try not to scream too loudly, you’ll hurt my ears.”
Before Spike could register that statement, Angelus had a scythe buried hilt deep into his side, then jerked it out again, slicing through his body in the process. Spike snatched in a breath, only to hear it whisper right out of his body through the hole left by the blade. “Did that hurt a little much, Spike?”
He mewled in pain, the air needed for real screaming or speaking leaking out of his body.
“It’s ok, Spike. You can moan, if you need too.” Angelus frowned for a second, “But I guess a hole in your lung is going to keep seeping the air you need to speak. That’s ok. If you can’t speak, you can’t conspire behind my back, now can you? Not that there is anyone left to conspire with.” Spike felt the scythe cut a path down his legs, just a surface cut, splitting the skin and letting tiny drops of blood ooze out. “Of course, I think I need to do something about your wandering feet too, don’t you?”
Spike’s leg was lifted carelessly, his bare feet exposed to Angelus, sole out. He watched in morbid, almost disconnected curiosity as Angelus pulled another blade from somewhere beyond Spike’s vision, and set about slicing the bottom of his foot. “Can’t walk on a skinned foot, can you?” And the delicate skin of his foot was ripped off by nimble fingers. He couldn’t scream, but his mouth snapped open in a rictus of pain. He began to leak tears again when Angelus set the bloodied foot down and picked up the other one. If Spike were to remain standing - which Angelus demanded - then he’d have to balance his weight on the injured foot. He did so, pain wracking his torn body so much that he barely felt the second foot being skinned.
Angelus lowered the second foot. “No more wandering off, now, huh, Spike?”
He shook his head, and felt Angelus’ palm curve around his jaw. “You know I’m doing this for you own good. You can’t be disloyal, Spike. It ruins the Order’s reputation.” Angelus leaned in and kissed him again. “You’ve been so good through your punishment, Spike. Screamed quite nicely, and these?” He traced the path of tears, and lifted a bit of the salty liquid to his lips. “Tears are beautiful from you, Spike. Those spring blue eyes just turn to little oceans, don’t they?” He leaned forward and kissed Spike’s liquid eyes, licking the tears from the lashes. “Everything about you is beautiful, you know.”
Spike shuddered at the longed for compliment, then almost smiled when his master’s hand slid down around his neck and pulled him forward for a deep kiss. Angelus’ lips whispered over his own, “So damned pretty, you are,” he heard just before their mouths met.
Angelus pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nibbling on the pale pink flesh. Spike responded by sucking his top lip into his own mouth, licking it. Then they were opening their mouths and thrusting their tongues against each other, the slip and slide of cool, rough textured flesh arousing them both. Angelus pulled away first, biting a path to Spike’s throat, where he plunged long narrow fangs into the sensitive skin there. Spike moaned in near ecstacy feeling his master drawing his blood out. He tried to step closer to Angelus and press his body against the much larger one, but the step brought the agony back to his feet. His vision blurred, and his head felt back as he lost the strength to hold it up. Just when he thought Angelus was going to drain him to dust, the monster lifted his fangs, kissed the wound closed and offered his own throat to his Childe. “Spike? Wakey wakey, now. You need to feed, boy. Got to have you all better, now. Come on.”
Spike garnered his remaining strength to lift his head and fall on his Sire’s neck. With his blunt human teeth, he ripped open that skin and drank. The cool, sweet flavor of Angelus’ blood exploded on his tongue and burned a healing path down through his body. He felt muscles begin to knit back to wholeness and his skin stretched and started to heal over. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of Angelus’ powerful blood and closed his eyes in exhaustion until the action of drinking became autonomic.
***
Spike woke finally, wrapped in satin sheets, with a hefty body lying beside him. He rolled his head to see who it was, remembering the pain and ecstacy of his punishment by Angelus.
His limpid blue eyes met dark velvet ones, and he smiled. The dark eyes smiled back at him.
“You feeling alright now?”
“Yeah. Not too bad, I mean, I’ve had worse.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“What about you? That couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It was...not what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. I thought, well, I thought he’d want to hear me scream, but when I tried, or was about to, he just looked at me and shook his head.”
Spike nodded. “Yeah. That was about me, pet. A bit of isolation. If I had heard the screaming, then I’d have been included. He wanted me totally alone, ignored, forgotten. Something he knows brings me close to breaking all by itself.”
“Oh. I’d have risked worse, you know, to ease that for you. Lonely sucks.”
“Nah. We’re good. And you wouldn’t have wanted worse.”
“No, probably not, but I’d have risked it.”
“Thanks.”
“Well. Glad to see my boys are getting along.” Angelus stood beside the bed, fresh from a shower and they both looked up at him. Xander with a sick longing, one side of him absolutely angry and hating the magnificent creature before him, the other almost simpering in its need to be near its sire.
Spike just shifted his eyes toward Angelus, knowing that he was welcomed back into the family. His Sire’s blood was still filtering a slow trek through his veins and he could still feel his ragged body healing under its power. He smiled. “I think we’ll be alright together.” He glanced down at an obviously divided Xander. “Xander?”
“Huh?” Xander snatched his eyes back to Spike. “Oh. Yeah. Me and Spike will be alright.”
“That’s good to know.” Angelus stalked to the foot of the bed, and climbed in, slinking slowly up between them, laying kisses on feet and legs and hips, ribs and chests, until he was settled between them. Then he pulled Xander over to him and kissed him, noting with a raised eyebrow the reluctant acceptance of the affection. “You’re still fighting.”
“Always will. I don’t like you. Everything that I was hates you.”
“But something in you needs him. I know.” Spike stated then accepted his Sire’s kiss with enthusiasm.
“You always were a smart boy, my William.” Angelus smiled at him. “Let’s sleep. Night waits for no one.”
He pulled a limp and apathetic Xander to his front, and curled a hand behind Spike’s hips and tugged him forward to nestle at his back. He smiled when he felt the cool lips nuzzling at his neck, and buried his face in Xander’s hair.
They slept wrapped in each other.
TBC
Hope y'all enjoyed that.