The Key to Connor II
The Angelus Chronicles
Chapters 17-20Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Angelus/Buffy. Cordy/Gru. Angelus/William. Willow/Tara. Xander/Anya.
Distribution: Sure, just let me know.
Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 to XXX for violence, rape, character death, blood play, slash, sex and bad, bad words.
Author's Note: The song Lorne sings to Connor is "Strings in the Earth and Air," a poem by James Joyce. Ok, just to orient you a bit in my AU. This story happens after Connor has been stolen, but before Cordy becomes an all-powerful, blonde demi-goddess (and may I just say, blech) and ditches Gru; before Xander and Anya's wedding, but after Willow and Tara get back together. Yes, I realize that that makes for impossibilities in the actual, canonical timeline, but hey, I said it was AU, didn't I? Consider it shifted. The Trio still awaits poor Buffy when she gets back to Sunnydale (if she gets back to Sunnydale, cue evil laughter, bwah-ha-ha-ha). Wesley has exited the hospital and returned home to...nothing, since I already killed Lilah in this fic. I know, I know, my world is topsy-turvy, but really, isn't it more fun than the "real" one? -Rhi
*
Willow and Tara piled into Xander's car after stuffing the trunk with every magical ingredient and pertinent book they could get their hands on. Anya rolled her eyes at the two wiccans, still irate about being "forced" to donate items from the Magic Box. Willow had left Dawn safely ensconced for a long weekend with her friend Kit and sighed as they drove past the Welcome to Sunnydale sign.
"I still don't know what Cordy expects us to do," she said, wearily. "Tara isn't even sure she can work the spell, though we did find an Orb of Thesula at the store."
"That's not just a paperweight, you know," Anya chimed in. "Those are hard to come by and they cost a great deal of..."
"So," interrupted Xander, trying to head off yet another rant about the intrinsic betrayal of capitalist principles that his emotionally based friendships required of his fiancˇe. "Where exactly are we going, anyway, Wills? Not that a road trip is a bad thing, as long as it doesn't involve ancient Winnebagos, knights on horseback, angry goddesses and stuff like that. Or me working for two months as a stripper in order to pay the car repair bill..." his voice trailed off into awkward silence as each of the four people in the car pondered *that* mental image. Tara chuckled, Willow blanched, and Anya...
"Is that where you learned to do that neat trick with your..."
"SAAAYYY, who wants a ding dong? Twinkie? Baloney sandwich?" Xander was desperately searching for yet another topic. The unfortunate part of being engaged to a socially backward ex-vengeance demon was that really, no topic was safe. Just when you thought everything was hunky dory, she'd remember someone she had cursed with a raging case of genital herpes, a distressing tendency to cough up body parts, or an inordinate interest in feces and there went the conversation.
"Um, we're fine, Xander," Willow replied.
"Not really much for the baloney, anyway," Tara added. "Thanks though," she added, politely. "Willow," she said, turning to her lover with a shy smile, "you know that I'm willing to try the spell for Angel. But I'll need to be much closer than you were. I just don't have the same level of energy available to me. I'm much more used to earth magics and small healing spells."
"That's ok, Baby. The changes that we made to the language of the spell with that exchange student from Romania may actually give Cordelia a whole lot more than she asked for. I didn't want to raise her hopes on the phone, though. I know she and Angel are just friends, but she cares an awful lot about him."
"So we're going to Cordelia's apartment, then? And you have directions? Cool." Xander nodded happily, delighted to have a definite place to travel to.
"I am not threatened by our inclement visit to your ex-girlfriend's abode," Anya stated. "I know that you and she did much pawing and groping in broom closets; which seems an odd place for any sexual gratification. Why did you chose that location for your clandestine groping of her breasts and buttocks, anyway, Xander? You've never evinced any interest in taking me to a broom closet. Should I be jealous, or is this simply another phase that adolescent males pass through such as your amazing fascination with spanking six months ago? Not that I minded, of course...you have such big manly hands. I especially liked it when you..."
"AAAAAAAHNYA, just look at that view! Isn't that just a truly lovely, um, motor park?" Xander interrupted desperately. His face was, he was sure, the color of Barney the Dinosaur. The combined snorts of suppressed laughter from the lesbians in the back seat wasn't helping either.
"I don't like trailer parks," Anya stated. "Those who live in them are portrayed very negatively in the movies as being lacking in money. Why would I be interested in people like that, Xander?" she asked innocently.
Xander was just thankful that he'd distracted her long enough to lose her train of thought. It wasn't that he was ashamed of their activities...alright, he *was* ashamed of their activities, or at least the amount of time they spent engaged in such activities. It was more the general awkwardness of the whole conversation. Discussing sexual experimentation with your childhood friend, her female lover, and your ex-demon fiancˇe was a no-win proposition. Better to avoid the bad. Much, much better.
*
Cordy paced, holding the gurgling Connor in her arms. He was a sweet, sweet baby, but he just didn't want to be put down. He wanted to be held, rocked, sung to (thank god for Lorne), anything but put down. They needed to get one of those bouncer seats, pronto, cause her back was killing her.
"May I take the young one from you, my Princess?" Gru asked her with a concerned smile. "I know that his growing heft is wearisome to your slender back. Or perhaps Krevlorneswath might take the child so that I may administer a deep muscle massage to soothe you?"
"Oh, god, yes, Gru, please!" Cordy begged. "My back feels like someone has been pounding it with a hammer."
"Here's Uncle Lorne," the green-skinned demon crooned melodiously. "Hey, Connor-baby, how's it going, pumpkin? How about a little lullaby to whisk you off to dreamland? Hmm? Here's a good one from your homeland...well, your daddy's homeland, anyway.
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
The baby slept peacefully in the arms of the green demon. He placed Connor ever-so-gently into his pack-n-play and covered him with a light cotton blanket. Lorne knew that he was considered flighty by the others, but to him, the joy of song, heck, JOY period, was worth more than anything. Pylea was such a dismal place for an empath of his sensitivity that Earth was, by comparison, Nirvana.
Here, he could sing to his heart's content. Here, musicians existed who lived and breathed their music. Here there was Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and Strauss; Rodgers and Hammerstein, Bernstein, Lloyd-Webber. Here there was Madonna, Wynona, Alanis, and, heck, even Britany; Sinatra, Bennis, Elvis and Williams. Music welled from within him to meet the strains of the wind and water; the sky and earth. It swelled into a symphony of life in which he was but a player. Lorne loved every second, however dark, because he knew that the music would shift and turn to reveal the light soon enough.
*
Author's Note: Ok, I know this is short and leaves you hanging, but to be honest, I know NOTHING about whips. Soooo, while I wait for my alpha to arrive and "instruct" me, you will just have to be satisfied with this part..... -Rhi
*
Angelus swore and threw the drained corpse of his latest victim across the room with one violent motion. Fred cowered before him, fearing the rage that increasingly consumed her master.
His legs still weren't completely healed. He could stand now, without too much pain, but walking any distance was excruciating. He'd killed over fifty people since his fall, sucked them dry, but their blood was too weak. He knew exactly whose blood he needed to complete his healing, but she was still gone. Gunn had gone seeking her and never returned, which led Angelus to believe that the Slayer must, somehow, have finished the vampire off despite her weakened condition.
*She always surprises me,* he thought. *Just when I think she'll break for certain, she finds some way to fuck things up for me.* 500 years in hell, for instance. And he didn't even age there, so the power that would normally have accrued to a vampire that old wasn't his to command. At least the Slayer's blood had increased his strength when she'd saved his pitiful soul. Blech. If only the soul had remained quiescent for a few more moments, the demon could have turned his mate.
Instead, here he was, trapped in bed and unable to retrieve her. He growled at Fred, "Bring William to me. It's past time that he suffered for his part in this debacle."
Fred left and returned moments later with the naked William. His curly brown hair still looked right to Angelus, despite his vicious childe's century as a blond. Most of that time Angelus had been gone, after all.
Despite his vulnerability, William sneered at his would-be sire. "You don't look all high and mighty now, Angelus. What's the matter, Slayer get you *down*?" he taunted.
Angelus growled low in his throat and motioned to Fred to bring the man closer. "I see humanity hasn't improved your tongue, Will. You know, my arms work just fine. Perhaps I should have Fred bring me one of my whips and we'll see how long you continue to annoy me?"
William winced then shook himself. He'd always hated Angelus's whips. Bastard got off on pain, his own and anyone else's. William preferred his pleasures less excruciating, thanks ever so.
"Yes, yes," Angelus snarled at Fred, "that's what I want. Bring me the cat and the riding crop for starters. We'll see how bonnie William enjoys those before moving on to other things." He stood and took one step forward towards the smaller man, hissing at the pain in his legs.
William faced him squarely, not bothering to run. Fred could catch him in an instant, he knew, and he refused to cower before Angelus. "Don't look like walking is that much fun for you, eh, Angelus? Odd how it's always more fun when other people are in pain."
Angelus grabbed him by the neck and squeezed slightly, just enough to make the blood beat in William's ears and his head spin with dizziness. "Don't taunt me, Will," he crooned. "This could still be fun."
"Right. Fun for you, you bloomin' poofter. Not for me."
"William, William, such language. Where is the lovely Victorian gentleman whom I turned? I'm really quite shocked to hear such vulgarities issue from your pretty mouth. Perhaps I should...fill it with something?" he taunted.
Angelus laughed and released Will's neck in order to fasten his arms to the mahogany posts of his bed. He left Will's feet unchained, but kicked them apart for good measure, hissing and growling at the flare in his own legs as he did so. The pain was invigorating, sending stolen blood rushing through his body and filling him with lust for the beautiful man before him.
"You know, I filled Buffy's mouth more time than I can count these past few months, Angelus," William teased, glaring over his shoulder at Angelus. "I know you didn't have time to teach her, but trust me, Captain Cardboard must have taught her a few tricks because, damn, can the chit suck cock!" he laughed at the rage on the vampire's face.
Angelus growled, "Enough! Give me the crop, Fred!" She handed it to him wordlessly and stepped back. Watching a master at work was inherently satisfying to a minion. Angelus was, to all extents and purposes, her god, and she worshipped him accordingly.
He pulled back his arm and flicked it forward, striping William's back with the leather. He didn't hit hard enough to draw blood yet, not wishing to damage the nerves. No, this first round was simply to bruise and awaken every inch of Will's skin in preparation for what was to come. Painstakingly, Angelus worked over every part of William's back, arm moving tirelessly to the sound of his victim's soft gasps.
William refused Angelus the satisfaction of hearing him scream yet. He knew eventually, he'd break, but damned if he'd do it soon. His despair, ever present since Buffy had been trapped in the lobby, was slowly turning to rage, which bequeathed its own perverse power.
*
Angelus worked the riding crop lower, beating William's ass and thighs with the stiff leather. The pale skin glowed a satisfying crimson when the vampire was finished with it, bruises purpling almost immediately as the blood rushed to the surface. He chuckled in delight. As he recalled, the backs of Will's knees were particularly sensitive. He sliced the crop across one and was rewarded with a shout of pain from the man who had managed, somehow, to keep silent throughout the beating. Angelus awarded the other leg the same treatment and William screamed again.
Angelus forced himself to stop long before he truly wished to, exercising a control he rarely bothered to employ. He didn't want to mark William before he turned him. Will's skin was so lovely, so finely grained, it would be a shame to mar it permanently. Angelus dropped the crop, growling a command to Fred, who hastened to pick it up and clean it before returning it to its hook in his armoire.
He strode to the side of the bed with deliberate, painful steps, hissing under his breath as each movement jarred his aching bones. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it - he chuckled inwardly, acknowledging the twist of mind that let him take nearly equal pleasure from his own pain as from others - he was randier than ever, and here was his lovely William, all tied up, with nowhere to go.
Angelus crawled like some stalking cat across the wide expanse of blood-dark satin sheets to kneel in his black leather pants before his captive, soon-to-be-childe. Will's head hung down, tears of pain and despair trickling slowly from his stormy blue eyes. He was a truly delectable picture to the dark vampire, even more so when Angelus realized that Will had bitten completely through his bottom lip in an attempt to keep from screaming while Angelus was beating him. The blood had run from the swollen, now-purple lip down William's chin to dry in a sticky stain on his pale chest.
Angelus traced the path with one hard finger, raising an eyebrow as William's breathing deepened and his heartbeat began to race. The blood that had been diverted to flood the poor bruised expanse of his back, from shoulder to knee, suddenly moved forward and...down. Angel looked down at the evidence of William's growing desire, then back up at his victim and smiled knowingly. "And you always insist you don't get off on pain, William, my love. Naughty, boy," he chided sarcastically.
"Fuck off, Angelus, you twisted bastard. You're the ponce what gets off on pain. How're those legs feeling now, eh?" William taunted right back, then gasped as Angelus leaned forward to lick the dried blood from his chest. The dark vampire growled in pleasure at the taste, moving up William's bound body with slow, painstaking strokes of his raspy cold tongue and William shivered at the sensation. Angelus sent shivers racing from the point of contact across his chest to his now-hard nipples and down to his hardening cock, all from those slow, languid licks of his tongue. William wanted to look away from the sensual expression on the vampire's face but found himself drowning in those dark eyes.
Angelus was passion embodied. Pain given flesh and a chance to play. He used himself and those around him to satisfy every whim, from simple to serious, with equal fervor and an almost childlike pleasure. William had seen victims apologize to him as they died, for cutting his pleasure short, and he had accepted those apologies as his rightful due. He danced through unlife with a song in his heart, and if it was a dance of death, it was no less beautiful for that fact.
He held William's gaze as he lapped at the blood on Will's chin, then sucked Will's lip into his mouth, soothing the soreness of the bite with his cool tongue before he sank his own teeth into it and reopened it. Angelus drew on the cut, slowly, teasing William with long strokes of his cool tongue over the enflamed and sensitive skin of his lip, then dipping his tongue further into the young man's mouth in passionate, sensual kisses that dizzied his senses and made him pull on his bonds, not to escape, but to pull his captor closer and submit further to him.
With a snarl, Angelus turned to Fred and ordered, "Leave us! Bring me more to drink, pure ones, but keep them with you until I desire them." Fred hastened to obey, nearly tripping over herself on her way out.
Angelus turned to William and released the chains that held his arms to the bedposts, catching the man's body gracefully as Will fell backward and groaned in pain as his bruised back hit the bed. "Will ye fight me, bonnie William?" he growled, nuzzling roughly at Will's neck with his mouth. "Must I mark ye afore yer mine again in truth? Submit, Childe."
William hurt from his neck to his knees, but he thought of Buffy and struggled against the vampire crouched above him. He tried to rise, but Angelus's bulk and strength were too much, and Will fell back with a moan.
Angelus struck him across the face, his handsome human features disappearing along with his illusory gentleness in an instant. He leapt on William and sank his fangs deep into his neck, striking for the carotid artery with unfailing accuracy and long practice. He sucked at the gushing lifeblood noisily...no sweet, movie-vampire, he...smearing blood across his mouth and around the wound and swallowing great draughts of it with loud gulps.
William felt his life fading fast and spared a moment to hope that Angelus would forget that he meant to turn him. Perhaps the vampire was so enraged that he'd kill his victim instead and William would finally be free. Free. What would that even be? He'd not lived long enough to understand what freedom could mean in the strict class-bound society of Victorian England. And death had not brought freedom...hardly that. He'd been bound to the vampire who sired him, and in turn the one who'd sired him, to the clan, to the night, to the kill. No, freedom was a myth, of that he was sure. He felt his heart falter, as it tried to find blood to pump. His breath fluttered, growing faint and gasping. Light faded and the world went far away. He closed his eyes. He was so cold...
*
Author's Note: The poem that Angelus recites to William is Colmcille in Iona. It was written by Robert Farren, an Irish Poet born in 1909. It's one of the most moving and articulate representations of spiritual ecstasy ever written. What Angelus does with it is, of course, blasphemous. -Rhi
*
Heat. Hot. Wet. Warm. Blood. Yes! Blood. LIFE! He sucked at it harder and it exploded over his tongue, filling his gullet with life. The taste, GOD, how could he have forgotten the taste? It was like nothing, like everything, better, more, fuller, stronger, indescribable. It pounded through him, bringing colors that he could touch; feelings he could taste; sounds he could see; and thoughts he could hear. Every sense was alive in a way he'd not been able to conceptualize as a human, despite the fact that his body was dying. He could feel it now...feel the old life ebbing as the new one waxed.
Angelus held him, he realized. His sire. Will growled and drank deeper of the Sireblood, sucking voraciously at the font of eternal youth and unlife of power and pleasure and pain all mixed into one unholy communion. He felt Angelus's strong hand on the back of his head, holding him in place, fixing him here, where he belonged for all time. His sire's Favored Childe.
Angelus growled, his head growing dizzy at the orgiastic sensation of William sucking at his throat. It was better than sex, hell for vampires, it *was* sex. The stupid humans just didn't get it. Blood was life, blood was sex, blood was everything, nothing, godhead, nirvana, eternity and negation in one. In Om.
He pried Spike's rapacious mouth away from his throat and pinned his childe to the bed beneath him. He nuzzled at the now-healed wound in William's neck, sinking fangs into him again, with more gentleness this time. He sucked slowly, savoring the turning flavor of William's sweet, sweet blood. William writhed under him moaning in abandon and clutching at his sire with needful hands. Angelus growled in lust, still sucking at Will's neck. He felt the powerful blood of his once-and-now-again-childe coursing through his undead veins, making him feel truly alive for a moment. It was a marvelous if illusory feeling. He drained William nearly to the point of true death again, stopping only when the young one felt cool and almost dead beneath him.
Angelus didn't have to open the wound himself this time, William sank budding fangs himself and Angelus arched into the bite in ecstatic pain as William sucked the blood from him. He groaned and thrashed as his childe drank from him, his cock rising paradoxically despite the blood loss, desperate for release as the pain/pleasure taunted it beyond reason.
They continued to drain and feed each other that long, long night until finally dawn was near. Angelus drained William for the last time, leaving him spent and hungry. The Sire covered the Childe carefully with a blood-stained sheet, limping painfully to the door and bellowing for Fred. He hungered, and for more than blood. He'd wanted to preserve *all* of William's human (and virginal) body unmarked, which had meant denying himself one of the traditional pleasures of siring...possession of the childe's entire body. It was making him downright...cranky. He grinned.
Ah, well, if he had to delay one hunger he would feed another. This should be fun. He needed blood and death to improve his mood, and he wanted them NOW! "Fred!" he bellowed.
The minion scampered into the room, bowing and scraping in her haste. "Yes, Angelus?" she whispered.
"Where are my victims?" he asked.
"I'll bring them, Master, right away. Just a moment." She raced out of the room, returning with four teenaged youths. All looked healthy, and none had been fed from. They didn't smell of drugs or alcohol, not that either would particularly have bothered him. He had plenty of time before young William awoke.
He drew the first one to him. She was clad in black and gazed at him adoringly when he switched to game face. He realized, with a sneer, that she was a vampire groupie. *Well, more's the pity for her.* He didn't want any more minions, and blood was blood. He drank her down in a heartbeat, and dropped her spent corpse to the floor. He turned to the second, pulling the goth boy to him and ripping open his throat in a single brutal movement. He joined his compatriot moments later. Angelus was too busy feeding on the third to notice Fred neatly dragging the first two corpses away. The fourth actually tried to run. That was when Angelus noticed that his legs were finally almost healed. *Must have been William's blood that finally did the trick,* he thought to himself as he leapt powerfully to the back of the leather-clad punk and tore out his spine with a joyful snap. *Yum. Young and tasty. Just what I needed to renew myself.*
"Fred, when you're done cleaning this mess up, draw me a bath. I want to soak for a while before night falls. I have plans for this evening. Big plans..."
*
Cool arms surrounded him and cold lips caressed his forehead. The low, husky whisper of lilting words played across the chamber in which he lay...
Colm heard the whole of their praying
(As he heard the sounds of summer
Weaving and criss-crossing in the daylight
And making one sound, the summer's)
So he heard the praying of the brethren,
As they labored at their tasks in Iona,
Tailor asking blessing on his scissors, [were those fingers on his legs?]
Weaver asking blessing on his spindle; [were they drifting up his thighs?]
Cobbler on his last and on his brad-awl,
Wheel-wright on his spokes and on his flanges; [ah! a cold hand on him!]
Creel-man on his withes and on his wattles,
Herd on his lambs, upon his cattle. [it was teasing his cock, taunting him]
And this man figured grace in querns of granite,
And that one as the bellows in his smithy;
One compared his soul to corn unwinnowed,
One to a currach nosing among the Torrens;
The voice paused in its recitation, pressing cool kisses to his neck, tonguing his non-existent pulse...still doubly, triply sensitive there! Fangs scraped, teasing him, and he arched into them, begging for more. They retreated and the voice began again as the lips moved lower to his collar bones...
A wheel-wright pondered: "Prayers are like the true-set wheel-spokes
That keep the soul, the flange, right-round for its journey";
A bee-keeper pictured Heaven a hive full of honey;
A mason cried: "God is like stone--strong, sure, upholding."
Ah! The hand on his cock teased harder now at the words of stone, pulling delightfully, painfully, pleasurably and Will fought to come awake. Fought towards consciousness.
And Colm heard all of this praying
As the shadow of the glorified body,
As a changing of body to spirit,
As a change of one world to another.
He wasn't cold any more, he felt alive yet knew he wasn't. Knew he was...other. Knew the same way he knew that the bond he felt to Angelus, for surely the husky low voice reciting the poem to him was that of his sire, Angelus, lover of pain and passion, poetry and pleasure. Strong, muscular legs spread his and a hand moved there in that most intimate place. He was lifted slightly, positioned...
As penetration with God-head,
As perpetual levitation,
As conversation in Heaven;
And his soul leaped in its members,
Angelus thrust home, forcing William's virginal passage open with a shout of pleasure that drowned out Will's own groan of pain. Angelus drove himself back and forth slowly into his childe's slight body, drawing blood that slowly eased his way into the tight opening. He chanted as he thrust deeper and deeper within his childe.
Like a spear driven with power,
Like a spring shot from a hillside,
Like fire gushed from a mountain:
He crooked on his knees to hold it,
William submitted, bending his knees to take more of Angelus into himself, knowing that he had to accept, had to take what his sire demanded. The pain washed over him, drawing his demon to the fore and he opened his eyes. The chamber was dark, yet he could see perfectly well. The vampire rampant above him was pounding powerfully into him and William met every thrust with lifted hips as Angelus took him in his arms...
Flattened his body on the sand-dunes,
Murmuring God's name like a lover,
And was wrapped in Christ's arms, in the Bridegroom's.
And O what were the fasting, and the vigils,
Angelus leaned over and kissed him, crushing Will's hard cock between them painfully. He plundered William's mouth with his own, drawing blood from Will and himself and sharing it freely with his childe. They both reveled in the taste of mingled blood, sire and childe mixed together as one. Angelus leaned his weight to one arm and moved the other hand to stroke William's cock lightly at first between their bodies as he continued to thrust himself deeper and deeper within Will's ass.
And starving of desire, and the labour,
And the wading into streams like thorn-woods,
And the live-long travelling through psalm-books...
Compared with the kisses of the Bridegroom...
Will groaned, the blood in his mouth from Angelus's painful kisses, the tugging pleasure of his sire's skillful hand and the burning, fullness of Angelus's hard cock rubbing his prostate every time he entered his ass pushing him over the edge in a climax of unbelievable ferocity. He bucked up, taking even more of Angelus into him as he screamed out his pleasure and spent across his own chest. Angelus groaned out the last stanza.
Compared with the breath of the Anointed...
As sand-dust given for amber;
As week-ash given for gold-dust;
As grass exchanged for fine raiment.
Then screamed "William, Childe!" and rammed himself home, deep in Will's ass, filling him with cold, dead seed before collapsing on top of him, spent and, for once, satiated.
"Must you always awaken me with bloody Irish poetry whilst you're buggering my poor arse, Peaches?" Will complained plaintively, pushing Angelus off with a thrust and clutching at himself with a wince. "And fuck if you didn't make me a virgin this damn time. What in Satan's name were you thinkin', Angelus? This bloomin' hurts!"
"Ah, but Will," Angelus purred, rolling on the bed like a satisfied cat, "you're so damn tight this way. And you will be for eternity, Childe. Just think how much fun I'm going to have."
"Bloody great. Stick that big wank up me and rip me all to shreds...next time, use some lube and skip the soddin' poetry, you great poofter! I'm takin' a shower," Spike announced.
"Aren't you forgetting something, William?" Angelus asked silkily, still curled on the bed.
"Whut?"
"My permission, Childe," Angelus ground out with a dark smile. "You're new made, William. You exist at my whim. My pleasure. Ask my permission...Childe," he growled.
"Fuck that, Angelus. You can bloody well sod off if you think I'm jumpin' though all those thrice-damned hoops again just so you can get your soddin' kicks. You are such a twisted fucker."
With a snarl and a leap, Angelus was upon William before he could think, taking him to the floor in a heap. "Wrong answer, dearest Childe. I see some...discipline will be in order after all..." Angelus drawled with glee.
To be continued...
