(no subject)
Title: Sadistic Trio
Chapter: 10
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: BtVS/Angel/X-Men
Pairing: Spike/Angel/Jonothon Starsmore
Warnings: Non-con, bloodplay, BDSM. Alternate universe.
“Angel...” Breathy purr from the blonde woman sitting in front of him, and Angel smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair as they watched each other. He was surprised whenever she visited. He really thought she would have cut her losses and called it quits, when he and Spike had been arrested then incarcerated. Maybe she liked flaunting her freedom in their faces. He wouldn’t put it past her, she’d always like showing off people’s helplessness to them. For her, it was almost better then sex. “How have you been, darling boy?”
“Oh, it’s been fun, Darla...what do you think?” Brief snarl of bared teeth, before he smiled urbanely once again. Dancing, all they ever did was dance around each other. And as much as he was enjoying breaking down the Brat and his partnership of convenience with Spike, Darla was where his heart, such as it was, lay. She had shown him so much. Opened his eyes. And the sex was incredible. “Glance to your left.”
She did so, blue eyes sliding vaguely in the direction that he’d indicated.
“Brown hair. Young.”
“Yes, I saw him. What about him?” She sounded bored, but he knew she’d seen the way Jono screamed prey in every line of his body. Weakness called to her like a drug. Strength did as well, but weakness she could exploit and have fun with, much more so then she could with people who were strong. Himself, he was an exception. Even Spike had his weak points. Angel just didn’t really have any, and that fascinated Darla almost completely. The fact that he was well hung and really knew how to use it just added to the almost obsessive dependency she had on him. Still, he hadn’t expected to see her again once the cops had dragged him away. Not at all.
“He’s mine.”
Spark of interest at that, jealousy bleeding into her eyes. As much as she might want to, Darla could never hide her true feelings from him. “Oh, really now?”
“Sure, and he is. More Spike’s.” And with that neat deflection, Darla’s poise reasserted itself. After all, he could never really be interested in anyone else as long as she was around. And damn her, but it was true. Spike might be his partner in a lot of things, his pupil in a way, but Darla was one of the things he reckoned his universe by. “That’s his mother he’s talking with.”
“Yes?” Darla’s tone added on without saying anything, and I should care why? Oh, it was a fun game to sit here with her and match wits. Tease and torment her and lead her away down garden paths. What he really wanted to do was crush her mouth under his, draw her in close against him and feel her nails rake down his back, raising bloody wounds while she bit his lips to shreds. But they were forced to sit across from each other, feeling heavy blazing heat lie between them and wait for a consummation that would never come. Not as long as he was imprisoned.
“I told him that if he didn’t tell his mother that Spike and I were fucking him on a daily basis, I was going to make sure he wouldn’t sit down for a week without wincing.” Angel lifted a shoulder in a shrug as Darla smiled brilliantly at him. “It’s not as if I can do everything I wish while I’m in here. It takes a lot of the fun out of it.”
“But you find your little ways around everything,” Darla said in a pleased voice, almost doting. It made her happy to see that Angel was doing so well in prison, even if she’d much prefer him by her side. Splendid and terrorsome, her Angel. Hers. He was hers, even when he was here. Which was why she came, to remind him that he was hers. That her hold on him was deep, claws sunk into every part of him.
“I do.” Angel laughed, a low rolling chuckle that made more then a few people turn their heads to look at him and her. Darla almost sparkled against the dull backdrop of the prison, blonde hair gleaming and well manicured presentation classes above the usual prison visitors. Even the lawyers couldn’t match up to her beauty. God, she was really just lovely. A bitch down to the core, and she looked like such a lady. Even though he knew she’d been a whore. Very well paid, very upper class, but still. A whore. “Doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t rather be elsewhere.”
“Well, you just let Mama work on that, while you play your little games, hmm?”
“Darla...”
“I told you not to worry, Angel. There are ways, and there are ways.”
“You’re being devious again. I love that.”
“Oh, I know.”
Jonothon drew his feet back under his chair miserably, feeling the new tattoo spread across his shoulder blades tingle and sting under the cloth and the antiseptic cream. According to Kyle, it was a set of wings, made out of knives and shards. Angel wings made out of spikes. Very clever, in its own way. Scarred and set on his skin in a brand of ownership he’d never get rid of. It hurt, burning into his soul even more into his skin and he could feel the precipice crumbling away underneath his feet. Despair almost choking him as he tried to talk to the middle aged woman sitting across from him, worried eyes focused on his face and hands wringing nervously.
“Jon...”
“Mum, I can’t...”
Fuckfuckfuck. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, feeling the knot in his throat rise up and ache, eyes swimming for a moment. How could he tell her what Angel had told him to tell her? He couldn’t, the answer was that simple. She was crumpling under the guilt as it was, because she and he both knew that he’d killed the monster for her. A worn and faded damsel of distress. But he’d done it for her, in the end. To save her. And she’d repaid it by closing her mouth about the things that could have saved him.
And bloody hell, but he felt so angry at her about that. Angry, and guilty about being angry. She couldn’t help it. Not really. She was just...weak. Any strength she’d had in the beginning had been beaten out and worn down by marriage to the Bastard, as he so fondly thought of the man who’d been his sperm donator. Not his father. Fathers actually cared about their children. The Bastard had been a sperm donor, and not much more.
“What have you been doing, anyway?” he said quietly when he felt he could trust his voice not to break. She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue from her purse, and didn’t look at him. Ashamed of him? Of him being here? Maybe he wouldn’t be here, if she’d just told the truth! The black rage swam across his mind, leviathan rolling with a flash of bitter teeth. He choked it back down, throttled it and pushed it away. He couldn’t be angry at her. Not really. Not ever. No matter how betrayed he felt.
“Oh, ah, not much.” Whispery voice, even now, like she was afraid the monster was going to rise up again and grab her if she spoke too loudly.
“You should get out more, Mum.” Jonothon scratched the underside of his chin, shoulder lifting to hide what he knew was a purpling bitemark against the side of his throat. Didn’t want her to know. She couldn’t know. It’d tear her apart. And after all he’d done to save her, he didn’t want to see her fall again. “Join a book club or something. Ya know?”
Flush across her tired cheeks as she looked down. Away from his eyes. “I don’t think...”
“Mum, he’s dead.” Harsh and hard, anger riding along underneath his voice like an undercurrent that could drown someone. One of them or maybe both of them. Hidden, deadly, and vicious. She flinched, and he softened again. “You should do something now. He’s not there anymore to stop you.”
“Yes, I know.”
And he knew she wouldn’t and the thought beat against the inside of his head like a caged bird. Why had he done any of it, if she wasn’t going to finish saving herself? Why? What had been the point? Bloody fucking Christ, he hated this. Hated seeing her wither, hated seeing just how much the Bastard still controlled her life, even though he was dead. Why had he even fucking bothered? Because, he knew, he couldn’t have stood to leave, and leave her all alone with him.
They talked about nothing much for the rest of the time she was allowed to visit, and he could feel the gap between them widening. Further and further. She was ashamed and he was bitter, and there didn’t seem to be anything they could do to stop it. And he didn’t mention what Angel had told him to tell her. After all, he still loved her.
Despite everything.
She was his mother. How could he do anything else?
The time allocated came to an end, and he got off his chair before she did, turning to leave as quickly as he could. “Bye, Mum. I’ll see you next month.”
“Jon...Jon, I’m...”
“I know.”
And it was bitter, bitter to taste. To know that she was sorry about what had happened, that he was in gaol, but not sorry enough to speak out and maybe see him freed. He smoothed his hair back from his face with one hand, moving with a swagger as he headed back into the prison. Angel was there as well. And he didn’t want to show that he was afraid. Not in public, anyway. Not when he wasn’t actually being touched.
“Someone didn’t tell...” Spike hissed into his ear as he came out into the common room, coming up behind him on silent feet. Scared him, how quiet they could both be. Like cats. And he was their prey. “Did they?”
“Go fuck yourself, Spike. ‘Course I didn’t,” Jonothon said without turning his head, glad that he could keep his voice steady. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out that Spike could hear the terrified rhythm of his heart, speeding up with adrenaline inside his chest. Flight or fight. He couldn’t do either. At least the adrenaline made it hurt less, until it was over. “She’s my mum. How the hell could I tell her something like that?”
“Still holding onto the apron strings, even in here?” Mocking nasty edge to his voice, as Spike continued walking close behind him. “We’re going to hurt you a lot, little boy.”
“I know.”
“Logan?”
No last name, seemed like he could be a bloody cowboy or something. It didn’t sound like a cop’s name. Wisdom wasn’t sure what he’d thought he’d be meeting off the plane, but it hadn’t been this short stocky man chewing a toothpick and looking about as friendly as a pissed off grizzly bear. He carried a duffle bag slung over one shoulder with two fingers hooked into a loop at the end, and he walked like he was military. Black ops version. Wisdom knew the walk; he walked it himself. As soon as he moved, he’d bet that this guy would see it.
At least it seemed like they were sending out someone capable of coping with Creed and taking it seriously. Canada could have him; he held a Canadian citizenship for some reason and he’d apparently done some truly heinous things back there. Here all the blond giant had done was contract killing, quick and clean. Or rather, that was all they’d found that they could trace back to his door. There could be more murders, more rapes, waiting to be turned up. Maybe they had already turned up and nobody knew that they were his. Creed was a monster. It made him wish the man was being extradited to somewhere with a death penalty.
“That’d be me.” Logan gave his supposed new partner from this side of the pond a hard look, before continuing on for the exit. If he didn’t have a smoke soon, he wasn’t going to be held answerable for his actions. Heads would be rolling, and they wouldn’t be his. “You’re Wisdom then?”
“Yeah.” The tall British man fell into step alongside the other law enforcement agent. He was surprised to find he actually had to work to keep up. “I’ve got some dossiers in the car that’s waiting about the prison and where he’s being held. You can look them over once we get to the hotel.”
“Sure thing, Ace.”
Chapter: 10
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: BtVS/Angel/X-Men
Pairing: Spike/Angel/Jonothon Starsmore
Warnings: Non-con, bloodplay, BDSM. Alternate universe.
“Angel...” Breathy purr from the blonde woman sitting in front of him, and Angel smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair as they watched each other. He was surprised whenever she visited. He really thought she would have cut her losses and called it quits, when he and Spike had been arrested then incarcerated. Maybe she liked flaunting her freedom in their faces. He wouldn’t put it past her, she’d always like showing off people’s helplessness to them. For her, it was almost better then sex. “How have you been, darling boy?”
“Oh, it’s been fun, Darla...what do you think?” Brief snarl of bared teeth, before he smiled urbanely once again. Dancing, all they ever did was dance around each other. And as much as he was enjoying breaking down the Brat and his partnership of convenience with Spike, Darla was where his heart, such as it was, lay. She had shown him so much. Opened his eyes. And the sex was incredible. “Glance to your left.”
She did so, blue eyes sliding vaguely in the direction that he’d indicated.
“Brown hair. Young.”
“Yes, I saw him. What about him?” She sounded bored, but he knew she’d seen the way Jono screamed prey in every line of his body. Weakness called to her like a drug. Strength did as well, but weakness she could exploit and have fun with, much more so then she could with people who were strong. Himself, he was an exception. Even Spike had his weak points. Angel just didn’t really have any, and that fascinated Darla almost completely. The fact that he was well hung and really knew how to use it just added to the almost obsessive dependency she had on him. Still, he hadn’t expected to see her again once the cops had dragged him away. Not at all.
“He’s mine.”
Spark of interest at that, jealousy bleeding into her eyes. As much as she might want to, Darla could never hide her true feelings from him. “Oh, really now?”
“Sure, and he is. More Spike’s.” And with that neat deflection, Darla’s poise reasserted itself. After all, he could never really be interested in anyone else as long as she was around. And damn her, but it was true. Spike might be his partner in a lot of things, his pupil in a way, but Darla was one of the things he reckoned his universe by. “That’s his mother he’s talking with.”
“Yes?” Darla’s tone added on without saying anything, and I should care why? Oh, it was a fun game to sit here with her and match wits. Tease and torment her and lead her away down garden paths. What he really wanted to do was crush her mouth under his, draw her in close against him and feel her nails rake down his back, raising bloody wounds while she bit his lips to shreds. But they were forced to sit across from each other, feeling heavy blazing heat lie between them and wait for a consummation that would never come. Not as long as he was imprisoned.
“I told him that if he didn’t tell his mother that Spike and I were fucking him on a daily basis, I was going to make sure he wouldn’t sit down for a week without wincing.” Angel lifted a shoulder in a shrug as Darla smiled brilliantly at him. “It’s not as if I can do everything I wish while I’m in here. It takes a lot of the fun out of it.”
“But you find your little ways around everything,” Darla said in a pleased voice, almost doting. It made her happy to see that Angel was doing so well in prison, even if she’d much prefer him by her side. Splendid and terrorsome, her Angel. Hers. He was hers, even when he was here. Which was why she came, to remind him that he was hers. That her hold on him was deep, claws sunk into every part of him.
“I do.” Angel laughed, a low rolling chuckle that made more then a few people turn their heads to look at him and her. Darla almost sparkled against the dull backdrop of the prison, blonde hair gleaming and well manicured presentation classes above the usual prison visitors. Even the lawyers couldn’t match up to her beauty. God, she was really just lovely. A bitch down to the core, and she looked like such a lady. Even though he knew she’d been a whore. Very well paid, very upper class, but still. A whore. “Doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t rather be elsewhere.”
“Well, you just let Mama work on that, while you play your little games, hmm?”
“Darla...”
“I told you not to worry, Angel. There are ways, and there are ways.”
“You’re being devious again. I love that.”
“Oh, I know.”
Jonothon drew his feet back under his chair miserably, feeling the new tattoo spread across his shoulder blades tingle and sting under the cloth and the antiseptic cream. According to Kyle, it was a set of wings, made out of knives and shards. Angel wings made out of spikes. Very clever, in its own way. Scarred and set on his skin in a brand of ownership he’d never get rid of. It hurt, burning into his soul even more into his skin and he could feel the precipice crumbling away underneath his feet. Despair almost choking him as he tried to talk to the middle aged woman sitting across from him, worried eyes focused on his face and hands wringing nervously.
“Jon...”
“Mum, I can’t...”
Fuckfuckfuck. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, feeling the knot in his throat rise up and ache, eyes swimming for a moment. How could he tell her what Angel had told him to tell her? He couldn’t, the answer was that simple. She was crumpling under the guilt as it was, because she and he both knew that he’d killed the monster for her. A worn and faded damsel of distress. But he’d done it for her, in the end. To save her. And she’d repaid it by closing her mouth about the things that could have saved him.
And bloody hell, but he felt so angry at her about that. Angry, and guilty about being angry. She couldn’t help it. Not really. She was just...weak. Any strength she’d had in the beginning had been beaten out and worn down by marriage to the Bastard, as he so fondly thought of the man who’d been his sperm donator. Not his father. Fathers actually cared about their children. The Bastard had been a sperm donor, and not much more.
“What have you been doing, anyway?” he said quietly when he felt he could trust his voice not to break. She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue from her purse, and didn’t look at him. Ashamed of him? Of him being here? Maybe he wouldn’t be here, if she’d just told the truth! The black rage swam across his mind, leviathan rolling with a flash of bitter teeth. He choked it back down, throttled it and pushed it away. He couldn’t be angry at her. Not really. Not ever. No matter how betrayed he felt.
“Oh, ah, not much.” Whispery voice, even now, like she was afraid the monster was going to rise up again and grab her if she spoke too loudly.
“You should get out more, Mum.” Jonothon scratched the underside of his chin, shoulder lifting to hide what he knew was a purpling bitemark against the side of his throat. Didn’t want her to know. She couldn’t know. It’d tear her apart. And after all he’d done to save her, he didn’t want to see her fall again. “Join a book club or something. Ya know?”
Flush across her tired cheeks as she looked down. Away from his eyes. “I don’t think...”
“Mum, he’s dead.” Harsh and hard, anger riding along underneath his voice like an undercurrent that could drown someone. One of them or maybe both of them. Hidden, deadly, and vicious. She flinched, and he softened again. “You should do something now. He’s not there anymore to stop you.”
“Yes, I know.”
And he knew she wouldn’t and the thought beat against the inside of his head like a caged bird. Why had he done any of it, if she wasn’t going to finish saving herself? Why? What had been the point? Bloody fucking Christ, he hated this. Hated seeing her wither, hated seeing just how much the Bastard still controlled her life, even though he was dead. Why had he even fucking bothered? Because, he knew, he couldn’t have stood to leave, and leave her all alone with him.
They talked about nothing much for the rest of the time she was allowed to visit, and he could feel the gap between them widening. Further and further. She was ashamed and he was bitter, and there didn’t seem to be anything they could do to stop it. And he didn’t mention what Angel had told him to tell her. After all, he still loved her.
Despite everything.
She was his mother. How could he do anything else?
The time allocated came to an end, and he got off his chair before she did, turning to leave as quickly as he could. “Bye, Mum. I’ll see you next month.”
“Jon...Jon, I’m...”
“I know.”
And it was bitter, bitter to taste. To know that she was sorry about what had happened, that he was in gaol, but not sorry enough to speak out and maybe see him freed. He smoothed his hair back from his face with one hand, moving with a swagger as he headed back into the prison. Angel was there as well. And he didn’t want to show that he was afraid. Not in public, anyway. Not when he wasn’t actually being touched.
“Someone didn’t tell...” Spike hissed into his ear as he came out into the common room, coming up behind him on silent feet. Scared him, how quiet they could both be. Like cats. And he was their prey. “Did they?”
“Go fuck yourself, Spike. ‘Course I didn’t,” Jonothon said without turning his head, glad that he could keep his voice steady. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out that Spike could hear the terrified rhythm of his heart, speeding up with adrenaline inside his chest. Flight or fight. He couldn’t do either. At least the adrenaline made it hurt less, until it was over. “She’s my mum. How the hell could I tell her something like that?”
“Still holding onto the apron strings, even in here?” Mocking nasty edge to his voice, as Spike continued walking close behind him. “We’re going to hurt you a lot, little boy.”
“I know.”
“Logan?”
No last name, seemed like he could be a bloody cowboy or something. It didn’t sound like a cop’s name. Wisdom wasn’t sure what he’d thought he’d be meeting off the plane, but it hadn’t been this short stocky man chewing a toothpick and looking about as friendly as a pissed off grizzly bear. He carried a duffle bag slung over one shoulder with two fingers hooked into a loop at the end, and he walked like he was military. Black ops version. Wisdom knew the walk; he walked it himself. As soon as he moved, he’d bet that this guy would see it.
At least it seemed like they were sending out someone capable of coping with Creed and taking it seriously. Canada could have him; he held a Canadian citizenship for some reason and he’d apparently done some truly heinous things back there. Here all the blond giant had done was contract killing, quick and clean. Or rather, that was all they’d found that they could trace back to his door. There could be more murders, more rapes, waiting to be turned up. Maybe they had already turned up and nobody knew that they were his. Creed was a monster. It made him wish the man was being extradited to somewhere with a death penalty.
“That’d be me.” Logan gave his supposed new partner from this side of the pond a hard look, before continuing on for the exit. If he didn’t have a smoke soon, he wasn’t going to be held answerable for his actions. Heads would be rolling, and they wouldn’t be his. “You’re Wisdom then?”
“Yeah.” The tall British man fell into step alongside the other law enforcement agent. He was surprised to find he actually had to work to keep up. “I’ve got some dossiers in the car that’s waiting about the prison and where he’s being held. You can look them over once we get to the hotel.”
“Sure thing, Ace.”