Parallax (6/8)
Title: Parallax
Author: whichclothes
Chapter: 6/8
Fandom: BtVS/AtS
Characters: Spike, Angel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm not Joss
Warnings: Dub-con, angst
Summary: After the battle with Wolfram & Hart, Spike and Angel return to the Hyperion. But Spike is feeling unwanted and unappreciated until he meets a new friend...and then that friendship takes an unexpected turn.
A/N: Thank you to silk_labyrinth for the excellent beta job and for suggesting such a great title. And thank you to sentine for another awesome banner! This fic is complete and I'll post 2 chapters daily.
Previous chapters here.
Six
“Huh. Were we supposed to get together tonight? ‘Cause I don’t remember that.” Trevor stood in the doorway of his house, looking Spike up and down.
Spike shifted from foot to foot uneasily. He didn’t like the way the leather trousers clung to him as if they were still something living. He didn’t like any of this. Not able to meet Trevor’s eyes, he looked down at the ground. “No,” he admitted quietly.
Trevor lifted a single eyebrow. “Then…?”
Spike’s throat felt thick, like he was choking on something. He swallowed. “Please,” he said.
The other man seemed to consider for a very long time. Finally, he said, “Well, I kind of had other plans. But…okay.” And he stepped aside and motioned Spike in. But when Spike had taken only a step or two, Trevor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You know, I like the look of you in those clothes. But I like the look of you out of them even more. Inside my house, I want you in your birthday suit. Or, uh, deathday, I guess.” He chuckled at his own joke and then waited.
Had Spike been able, he would have flushed with humiliation. But all he did was slowly remove his clothing, leaving it in a sad pile near the door. Then Trevor grinned and ruffled his hair. “Come on, Spike. Let’s go play.”
Trevor used him for hours, until Spike was as bruised and sore and completely exhausted as if he’d been fighting. When Trevor was finished-and even through his haze of self-hatred and confusion, Spike had to admire the bloke’s endurance-he had Spike kneel at his feet while Trevor did something on his laptop and played with Spike’s hair.
Finally, Trevor shut the computer with a small snap and set it beside him. He stood and stretched and yawned. “Time to hit the hay. Go home, Spike.”
Spike looked up at him, the suppressed tears prickling his eyes. “Please,” he said, his voice as broken as he was. “What are you bloody doing to me?”
“Told ya. Playing.” And Trevor pulled him to his feet and pushed him gently toward the front door. He waited while Spike slowly put his clothing back on.
Spike made it to his car and out the gate and halfway down the road through the canyon before he had to stop the car. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. In a hundred and fifty years, he’d never felt so lost.
***
Spike decided to stop kidding himself. As soon as the sun set the next night, he was back in his car, heading back into the sodding canyon. Angel had been in the Hyperion lobby and had watched him leave. Spike had wanted to stop, to tell him he wouldn’t be returning, but he knew his grandsire would only express pleasure over it and so, in the end, they didn’t exchange a word.
Trevor didn’t say anything when he opened his door, either. He simply waited, blank-faced, while Spike shucked his clothing and then sank to his knees. The floor was marble, cold and hard. Trevor’s voice was cold and hard as well. “What do you want, Spike?”
“I want…God…I don’t want this!”
“But here you are. Again. Uninvited.”
Spike shook his head and closed his eyes. “I need this. I need…need you.”
“Need me to what?”
“Own me. Use me. Keep me.”
Unexpectedly, Trevor crowed with laughter, the peals of it ringing off the walls and high ceiling and echoing back. He bent down and grabbed Spike’s bicep and yanked him to his feet. “Come on, Spikey. I want to tell you a story.”
Spike padded pliantly after him, through the living room and up the stairs, then through a door Spike had paid little attention to previously. He’d reckoned it was a cupboard. But it wasn’t. It was actually a small, claustrophobic room, the walls lined with a dark, reddish wood, the floor covered in a very thick brown carpet. The room contained a small shelf with a few books on it, a black leather armchair, a tiny table with a lamp. And a wooden pedestal, perhaps four feet high. It was ornately carved with trees and leaves and the faces of monsters and gods. On top of the pedestal lay a cube of what might have been polished obsidian.
When Spike had first met Trevor, that night a few months back in Vesuvius, Spike had noticed an odd scent to the man, very faint. He’d almost recognized it then, but he’d been distracted and had soon forgotten about it completely. But the odor was much stronger in this room-it filled the small space like smoke-and now Spike had no trouble at all realizing what it was.
Magic.
Trevor sank down into the chair and tugged sharply on Spike’s wrist. Automatically, Spike folded onto the floor, sitting so that he was leaning against Trevor’s legs like a good little slave. And as if reading his thoughts, Trevor said, “You know what? I think we’ve now reached a point where you can call me Master. Right?”
“Yes, Master,” Spike whispered.
“Good boy. Now, I was gonna tell you a tale. I told you I’m from Chicagoland, right? The ‘burbs. Romeoville. About as white-bread as you can possibly imagine. Dad was a high school math teacher and Mom was a housewife. Totally boring and normal. I did Boy Scouts and Little League and Dad drove a Pontiac and Mom went to PTA meetings. I went to Joliet Junior College, majored in business. Mom and Dad wanted me to go on and get a bachelor's degree, but I wasn’t into it. Instead I moved to California, where this guy I knew was starting a company on this newfangled Internet thing.”
Trevor stopped and tilted his head. “Know what? I’m thirsty. Run downstairs and fetch me a Pale Ale.”
Spike obeyed at once, rising back to his feet and trotting down the hall and then down the stairs and into the kitchen. He considered getting a bottle for himself as well, but Master hadn’t told him he could, so he just grabbed the one and he ran back up.
But Trevor frowned when Spike handed him the bottle. “Didn’t take the top off, Spikey. No opener up here. Why don’t you put that vampire strength to good use?” He gave the bottle back, and Spike removed the lid. He almost enjoyed the way the metal dug into his fingers, because he needed to be punished for not thinking more carefully about Master’s needs.
Trevor took a long pull of beer and waved Spike back onto the rug.
“So there I was in Silicon Valley, and we were making some money. Everyone was making money then. You could’ve proposed the startup to sell shit on the Web---www.buyshit.com-and the investors would’ve shoved each other out of the way to be the first to hand you buckets of green. But what’s the point of being moderately well off if everyone else is moderately well off, too? It was like San Jose was just a more upscale version of Romeoville. I wanted to be different. Unique! To have something nobody else did.
“Like I said before, one of the companies I was involved with sold herbal crap. That’s how I learned about vampires and everything else that goes bump in the night. And I was intrigued, I gotta say. This was different. This was nothing I’d seen back in Will County.”
Spike had no idea of the point of this monologue. Of course, it wasn’t his place to question Master, so he only leaned against Master’s warm legs and listened.
“Now, at first I just did a little random exploration of the supernatural. Just trying to see what was out there. Hell, for all I knew the Easter Bunny and Santa were real, right? And as I’m poking around, I meet this guy. A magician. A warlock or wizard, I guess. And we got to talking, and he told me about some of the stuff he could do, and I asked him a bunch of questions, and it was really cool.”
He paused to chug a few more swallows.
“And finally he offered me a deal. He had this…thing. A talisman. Really powerful. If used properly, it allows its owner to, well, exert his will over things. Nothing too flashy, you understand, and it takes concentration. But with the talisman a guy could, for example, make sure that a club has his favorite beer, or that a bouncer lets him in, or that his finances don’t take a nosedive when the dot-com bubble bursts. Given enough time and work, a guy could get a lot of things he wanted.” He reached over and carded his fingers in Spike’s hair, tugging gently.
“Now this wizard guy, he couldn’t use the talisman himself because he made it. Some kind of stupid magical law, I guess. But he could sell it. He didn’t want money, either. He wanted something else, something he needed for some other spell he was doing. He wanted a human soul.”
Spike snapped his head up to look at Master, who grinned easily and shrugged. “Hey, I wasn’t really using it, so why not?”
“You sold your soul?” Spike remembered all he had gone through to win his back, and he shuddered.
“It was worth it.” Trevor finished off his ale. “My money bought me the house and car and stuff, but mansions and Beemers are a dime a dozen in LA. I still wanted something nobody else has. Something special.”
Spike nearly collapsed with despair, having a pretty good idea what Master was going to say next.
“A vampire with a soul,” Master said. “I liked the irony of it-the monster has what the human lacks. The beauty that conceals the killer. The predator as prey. And, I learned, only two of them in the whole world and they’re right in my back yard.
“But now, here’s where I faced a problem. I told you: I wanted something nobody else has, or could have. And there are two of you.”
If Spike could have sunk any deeper into the pit, he would have. But he only closed his eyes and sighed.
Master jiggled his legs a bit. “My first plan was to just get rid of the extra. And you were easier to catch, so I figured I’d get you and eliminate Angel. Subtly, because outright killing is kind of hard with the talisman, and I can’t change myself, make myself magically strong enough to defeat a vamp or anything.”
“So you set demons after him.”
“Yep,” Master said proudly. “Lots of ‘em. I just kinda…wanted them to attack him, or do things to lure him into fights. Worked like a charm.” He laughed. “But the stubborn bastard isn’t dust yet, is he?”
“No,” Spike whispered.
“No. And anyway, I’ve recently had a change of heart. I’ve been thinking, having just the one of you, it’s kind of like having a single diamond cufflink. Nice enough, but not nearly as useful, as valuable, as having a pair.”
“He won’t come to you, not like I did.” Spike managed to get a bit of hostility in his voice as he said it, but he knew it was true. Angel would never have fallen for this bloke’s ruse.
“I know,” Master said. “Besides, playing the same game twice, that’s boring. I have something else entirely in mind for Angel. And you know what? You’re gonna help.”
***
He tried not to think very much. It almost worked. He could sort of shut off his brain, the world whirling about him like so much static. Master seemed to fancy giving him loads of small tasks to do-sorting laundry, cleaning toilets, fetching drinks, that sort of thing-because apparently the concept of a souled vampire houseboy appealed to him as much as a souled vampire sex slave. Spike didn’t mind these chores really, because they’d occupy the bit of his mind where the static couldn’t quite reach, the bit that was still lucid.
But often Master wouldn’t give him anything to do at all, aside from groveling at Master’s feet; and most days Master would fuck him at least once, and during those times Spike’s awareness was distressingly clear.
Master had a primarily nocturnal lifestyle. Spike didn’t know if that had anything to do with the vampire now in the house, or if Master was simply a night person. During the day, Master slept in his own huge bed, which had an enormous pile of pillows and poncy bedding Angel would have envied. Spike slept in another room, in the walk-in closet. Master had given him an air mattress but no blankets, and the air conditioning chilled Spike’s bare skin.
Master didn’t restrain Spike. Not when Master slept, not even when he went somewhere, leaving Spike alone in the house. No restraints were necessary and Master knew it. Spike was incapable of leaving, would have thrown himself to the ground and begged to be let back in if Master had made him go.
Spike had tried to destroy the talisman once. He’d got as far as touching the obsidian cube. But as soon as his fingers made contact with the smooth black side, a bolt of agonizing pain shot through his body and he dropped to the floor. For hours he lay there, completely paralyzed, his legs twisted uncomfortably beneath him. Master came home eventually and discovered him, and clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah, Spikey. Of course it’s warded. Anybody but me touches it and, well…this is what happens. Frozen until I release. And I might as well tell you now, if you try to harm me-and I doubt you can bring yourself to do it-you’re back in the same frozen boat.” He looked down at Spike, tilting his head as if he were considering the proper placement of a piece of furniture. “Know what? I think I’ll leave you like that a while, let you have some time to mull it over.” And Master did. For two days Spike was there, unable to do more than blink, until at last Master did something-Spike had no idea what-and Spike was able to move again. His muscles were so cramped that he screamed with pain when he first tried to move them.
So Spike didn’t try again.
Nearly a month passed. At least Spike reckoned it was a month-he’d mostly lost track of time. During those weeks, Master didn’t once mention Angel or whatever plans he had for adding Angel to his collection. Spike knew Master hadn’t forgotten about Angel, but Spike hoped that as the days passed, some brilliant solution would come to him, some way out of this terrible trap. None did.
And then one evening, after Master had showered and dressed and had made Spike kneel and tie his trainers, Master smiled down at him. “Know what? I hear through the demon grapevine that Angel’s been asking around after you a little.”
For the first time in ages, Spike felt the stirrings of something positive within himself. Not hope. He didn’t expect the Fanged Crusader to rescue him. But…comfort, perhaps. Some small amount of relief that his grandsire had noticed his disappearance, and hadn’t simply celebrated being rid of him. It was nice to know there was somebody in the world who would search for him a bit.
But Spike was shaken from these relatively pleasant thoughts when Master kicked lightly at him. “Come on, Spikey. Time to be bait.”
It felt odd to be wearing clothing again. Master had found him black jeans and a plain black tee, and he’d had Spike’s duster and Docs tucked away somewhere. Back in his normal uniform Spike should have felt like himself again; but he didn’t, and he wished Master had given him something else entirely.
Master gave Spike instructions. Spike listened, and felt his stomach clench and his throat tighten, not just because of what Master told him to do, but because Spike knew he’d do it.
Spike’s car was waiting for him in the drive, but he almost didn’t recognize it. All the holes and rust spots on the body were gone, and the exterior gleamed with pristine black paint. The interior had been redone as well: upholstery replaced, cracked and faded plastic dashboard restored like new. Spike wasn’t surprised when he turned the ignition and instead of its usual asthmatic cough, the engine emitted a deep, rumbling roar.
Master bent down to look through the open driver’s side window. “Can’t have my toys driving pieces of shit, now, can I? Told you-Diego and ‘Jandro, they’re the best. And they work cheap, too.” He grinned, then stood up straight. He slapped the car’s bonnet. “Hit the road, Spikey. I’ll see you soon.” And he went back inside the house.
***
Driving to the Hyperion was the hardest thing he’d ever done. The bits of him that were controlled by the bloody mojo didn’t want to leave Master, and the increasingly smaller bits that were still himself wanted no part in luring Angel. But he had no choice, so he drove. He actually went past the hotel at first, and he thought he’d keep on going until the sun came up and then this entire nightmare would be ended. But only a few blocks away the compulsion attacked him like a grip on his soul, and he screeched into a U-turn. The car shuddered to a halt right in front of the main entrance.
He’d walked to his death before. This was infinitely worse. But he made his way to the front doors and through them into a lobby that was mercifully empty. He could go up to his old room, right? Hide there.
But of course someone heard him-Derek, it was-and poked a head out of the lounge and goggled at him. Spike groaned to himself and stood still, waiting. Derek disappeared after a moment; there was a rustle of movement inside the lounge, and then a clot of people came rushing out, Angel at their lead. Angel came to a skidding halt a few feet away, and the others nearly tumbled over each other trying to stop as well.
“Spike!” Angel yelled. “What the fuck?! Where the hell have you been?”
Spike took a deep breath. Master had schooled him in this, of course. “I’ve been nearby.”
“Where? Why did you just disappear like that? Didn’t it occur to you that I might-” Angel snapped his own mouth shut so fast it made a loud popping noise. “We might have needed your help.”
For once, Spike didn’t want to goad Angel. But he had orders. “Thought I was useless, Peaches. You’ve said so yourself, repeatedly.”
“I didn’t….” Angel closed his eyes as if he were in pain, then opened them. “Forget it. Just, never mind. So are you sticking around now, or what?”
God, Spike had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted his sad, empty little room on the fourth floor, with his own bed and his own telly and his own Jack and fags. He wanted to get into stupid bloody arguments with Angel and stand at his side to fight the bad guys. He wanted- Oh, what did it matter what he wanted?
Instead of answering Angel’s question, Spike gave one of his own. “How’s the demon plot going, then? The one where they’re all after you.”
Angel shook his head. “They’ve stopped. Right about when you left, actually. Everything’s back to normal. Quieter, even.”
“And did you find out who was behind it?”
“No.” Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Spike shrugged. “Because I might have an idea, that’s all.”
Distrust flooded Angel’s features. As well it might, Spike thought. “What do you know, William?” his grandsire asked in a low, quite Angelus-like voice.
“Not in front of this lot.” Spike jerked his head to the side. “There. In your office.”
After a brief pause, Angel nodded. The humans looked ready to argue-Lilia especially-but Angel rolled his eyes. “Go meet me in there, Spike. I’ll be there in a minute.”
So Spike did, and he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and waited, no doubt for Angel to placate his girl and the rest. It took longer than expected, and Spike decided he needed a drink. Master’s compulsion didn’t seem to be stopping that, so Spike stood and walked around the desk and went rooting inside for Angel’s good whiskey. What he found instead, though, was a small book bound in brown leather. An address book. He leafed through the pages, wondering who, exactly, his grandsire felt the need to keep in touch with.
The pages under “B” and “S” were blank. But then he saw a name that took his breath away. No address, just a phone number. An British phone number. Might be old, might not be valid any longer. But if it was still good…Christ.
Spike heard footsteps approaching and quickly jammed the book into his duster.
“What are you doing?” Angel demanded, slamming the door behind him.
“’M thirsty.”
“Look. I’m sick and goddamn tired of your stupid games. Tell me what you want and what you know, before I rip your head off that scrawny neck.”
“Right, then. Those demons were sent against you by a bloke who wanted you dust.”
“A human?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d he stop?”
Spike shrugged. “Doesn’t want you dust anymore.”
“Who the hell is he and where can I find him?”
“Can’t tell you who he is.” That was true-Master had forbidden it. “But I can tell you where.”
“Dandy. Tell.”
“Can’t. I’ll have to show you.”
“Fine. I’ll get everyone ready, and we’ll-”
“Not the rest. Just you. I’ll drive you there.”
Again, Angel narrowed his eyes skeptically. “I swear, if this is some kind of stupid joke….”
“’S no joke, mate.” And that was the truth as well.
In the end, Angel went into the lounge and exchanged more words with his minions-there was shouting but Spike didn’t attempt to make out the words-and then came storming into the lobby. “Let’s go,” he said, sweeping past.
As soon as he got in the car, Angel turned on Spike again. “Where’d you get the money to pour into this car?”
“Not really your business, is it? But I’ll tell you anyway. Didn’t pay for it. A…friend…had it done for me.” He started the engine and pulled away from the curb.
“A ‘friend'? The one I smelled on you? I smell him now.”
Spike didn’t bother to answer.
“I thought you didn’t go for men, Spike. What’s the deal? You turned to whoring now?”
No, Spike could have said. Whores were generally voluntary and they got paid. But he didn’t say that. Instead he pasted on his best smirk. “I’ll wager I could make a good living at it, if I tried. This face, this body? Could make a bloody fortune.”
Angel snorted, but didn’t say anything more as Spike made his way toward the hills. In fact, neither of them said a word until Spike turned into Master’s driveway. Master had left the gate open, surely deliberately. Spike parked in his usual spot and got out of the car. So did Angel, looking along warily. “Where is this guy?” Angel asked.
“Inside, I expect. It’s his house.”
Just then, the door opened. Master was there in a pair of worn jeans and a Dodgers t-shirt, looking as run-of-the-mill as it was possible to look. He smiled at them both. “Angel?” he said.
Then several things happened very quickly. Angel vamped out and lunged for Master. At the same time, Master pulled a small gun from his pocket, pointed it at Angel, and pulled the trigger. He couldn’t have missed at that range. Angel didn’t even slow down. But before Angel could grab Master, Spike leapt, and he tackled Angel to the ground.
Angel struggled, and they rolled about a bit. The entire time Angel glared at Spike, his yellow eyes filled with fury and betrayal and perhaps a bit of hurt as well. They continued to fight.
Angel should have won. He was heavier and stronger, and he had won all of their fights for 130 years, with the exception of the one over that sodding cup. And in this case, Spike wanted him to win. In fact, Angel was winning. At first. But after only a few moments, Spike could feel the other vampire’s strength ebbing, the struggles diminishing. Soon they stopped altogether and Angel lay limply underneath him. Angel tried to say something but his words were too slurred to make out, and then his brown eyes dimmed and the lids fell shut.
Spike waited a second more, then stood and took a few steps away.
“Is he out?” Master asked.
Spike nodded.
“Well, then get him inside. Quick! That was enough etorphine to stop a whole herd of elephants, but I have the feeling it won’t last very long.”
Gingerly, Spike lifted Angel into his arms. He was heavy, and as limp as the newly dead. Master didn’t even look back to make sure Spike was following him-because of course Spike was-and he led the way to another room upstairs, this one next to Master’s own bedroom. The first time Spike had come to this house, when Master gave him the tour, it had been an ordinary bedroom. It still was, mostly. But now in addition to the usual bed and chest of drawers and so forth, it also contained a cage. The cage was made of thick metal bars and was perhaps six feet in each dimension. One side of it was hinged and standing open.
“Put him on the floor there,” Master ordered, pointing. Spike did, as gently as possible. “Take off his clothes,” Master said.
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Spike peeled off Angel’s clothing until his grandsire wore nothing at all. Then at Master’s command, he moved Angel into the cage. He had to curl the big vampire’s body a bit to get him to fit. Master ordered Spike out of the cage, slammed it shut, and turned a key in the heavy lock. As Spike watched carefully, Master tossed the key onto the chest of drawers. “You’re not allowed to touch that key. Got it?”
“Yes, Master.”
Master gave a deeply satisfied smile. “You strip, too.”
Spike did so, unhappily but without hesitation. He had to bite his tongue when Master scooped up Angel’s clothing and his-including the duster that held the phone book-but was relieved when he saw Master simply dump the pile into the cupboard.
Master took Spike downstairs and had him kneel at his feet while Master worked on his computer. After a time, Spike heard yelling and roaring from upstairs. Master heard it as well, because he shut down the laptop and grinned at Spike. “Looks like it’s time to welcome the rest of the collection.”
They trooped back upstairs, Master with a bounce in his step, Spike with dread in his belly.
Angel was standing inside the cage, stooped a bit due to his height. He was wearing his demon face and was trying without any success to break the lock. He stopped as soon as he saw them. “Spike! What the fuck is this?!”
Master stood-well out of reach of Angel’s arms, Spike noted-and clucked his tongue. “Language, Angel.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Well, Spikey calls me Master. Soon you will too.” Master frowned at Spike and gestured at the floor. Spike folded his legs and then hung his head so he wouldn’t have to see the look of disgust on Angel’s face.
“Spike? What are you doing, you treacherous little shit? Let me out of here!”
“Nobody’s letting you out of there for a while, sweetheart. Not until you want me as much as your progeny here does.”
But Spike didn’t want him at all. Needed him, yes, the way he needed blood, the way a human needs oxygen. But he definitely didn’t want him. Spike didn’t say so, of course. He kept his head bowed, concentrating on the fibers in the carpet.
“I’ll rip you both to pieces,” Angel said, his voice low and menacing. “I’ll feed you your own intestines.”
“No, you won’t. Although that’s very inventive of you. But you’ll stay in your nice, cozy little cage for a while, until you’re ready to bend over and beg me to fuck you, just like Spikey does. I’ll bet we can find you some other chores to do, too. Vacuuming, maybe. Washing dishes.”
Angel stopped raging and became very quiet. He was always at his angriest and most dangerous like that, Spike knew. But Master hummed some stupid tune and left the room, snapping his fingers at Spike to follow. As Spike scrambled to his feet, he dared to look at Angel, hoping some understanding of their situation would pass between them. But Angel only glared back with pure, murderous rage.