The Key to Connor II
The Angelus Chronicles
Chapter 21

Disclaimer: 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.

*

"Yoga? You want me to do yoga? This is going to help me fight
vampires?" Buffy asked, skeptically. "What am I gonna do, stretch at
them? I mean, I've done yoga stretching as part of my work outs, but
why now? I need speed, I need force, I need some…oomph!" She gestured
with her mostly healed hands for emphasis.

"Yes," Mr. Zabuto replied patiently. "But more importantly, you need
to retrain your damaged tendons and yoga will instill needed
flexibility and deep muscle strength. Please assume downward facing
dog once more."

Buffy made like a downward facing dog, vowing that she would never
mock another Slayer again. It was truly amazing that Kendra had
managed to have any personality at all with this guy training her.

Samuel shook his head at the stubborn insubordination of this Slayer.
Kendra had reported that the Hellmouth Slayer used vastly different
methods, indeed, she'd returned to Jamaica significantly altered in
temperament; but he'd had no idea that Merrick, Giles and Wyndam-Price
had let Miss Summers run so wild. She was out of control. And last
he'd heard, Rupert had actually returned to England. Perhaps he'd
simply recognized the futility of dealing with the recalcitrant
creature. Ah, well, Samuel would simply have to take her in hand. A
little discipline and she'd fall quickly into line. He was an old hand
at that.

*

Snap! The bullwhip licked another strip from Spike's back and he bit
back a howl of pain and anger with difficulty. Fucking Angelus would
just love to hear that, so Spike was damned if he'd give in. Snap!
Another strike, another strip gone. Spike had lost count, but couldn't
imagine that there was much left of his back. Angelus had started with
his left shoulder, working the whip down with skill and grace.

It moved like a live thing in his hand. Most masters had moments when
the whip would thunk to the floor between strokes, but not Angelus.
His powerful arm was in constant motion and the whip flew through the
air as if it had wings, licking strips from his victim's back, flying
back for an aerial wrist flick, then licking forward again to strip
another piece of flesh from Spike's bloody back.

Angelus chose how large or small the licks would be, and right now, he
was having far too much fun to want this over any time soon. The whip
licked tiny, two inch squares off in precisely placed, checkerboard
patterns. Spike's back would be a mass of scabbed black and healthy
white skin. If Angelus was feeling particularly sadistic, he might
force Spike to his knees so Fred could play a game of chess with the
master on top of the childe. It would be…elucidating. Though, on
second thought, Fred would certainly beat him. Unless he ordered her
not to.

The whip moved lower, licking strips from Spike's ass and drawing
grunts of pain from him despite his formidable will. *Bugger all, that
hurt!* What hurt more was knowing that Angelus wouldn't stop with
simply beating him raw. No, this was foreplay for the twisted fuck. He
was undoubtedly sporting a huge hard-on this very moment, which meant
that once the beating was over, the boffing would begin. And it was
unlikely to be any less painful.

Angelus adored the sight of Spike chained to the posts of his huge
bed, naked and bleeding from neck to ass…Snap!…knees. He took his
time, pacing each strike; keeping the supple braided leather of his
favorite whip moving constantly through long practice. He was, he
supposed, surprised that this remained so easy. After a century of
disuse, he would have supposed these muscles to have atrophied, but it
wasn't the case. *Wasn't there something about riding a bicycle?* he
mused, Snap!

Darla had kept this whip, along with his others…treasured them as
tokens of the demon she'd thought lost to her. Angel had found them
among her things after Connor's birth and not known what to do with
them. Angelus had no such difficulty. This whip, well-oiled through
the years, crafted of the finest Spanish leathers and soaked in the
blood of hundreds, if not thousands of victims, had called to him. He
was delighted to anoint it anew with his Favored Childe's First
Blooding. Not that it would be the last. No. Breaking Spike would take
time. Breaking William had, and he'd been nothing but a childe. Spike
was a Master already, with all of a Master's arrogance and power. He
chuckled delightedly to himself. This was going to be such marvelous
fun!

*

"Ow! This is so not fun!" Buffy groaned, holding hand to toe pose with
difficulty as her feet throbbed with pain and sweat poured off of her
aching body.

"This should be second nature to you, Miss Summers" Mr. Zabuto chided
gently. You are the Slayer. Your body is more flexible, powerful and
capable than any human's. Clearly you have been neglecting your
studies. I find this incomprehensible and dangerous in the extreme."

"Well excuse me for letting my death interfere in my studies," Buffy
groused, feeling sorry for herself. She relaxed from the pose and took
a drink of the tepid green tea that he fed her, laced liberally with
clover honey. It was gross. She hated tea, even when Giles had made it
for her. It didn't get any better green.

"I am 63 years of age, Miss Summers," Mr. Zabuto said quietly. "I know
you find that ancient beyond all reckoning. I practice Yoga daily. I
can hold hand to toe pose for four to five hours with no difficulty at
all. I say this not as a boast, but as encouragement to you. This is
not a matter of pride, nor a matter of strength of body. I know that
your body has suffered terrible wrongs in the near past and is still
recovering from them. This is not about strength. This is a matter of
concentration…of mental control. You have the ability to do this, all
Slayers do. You have allowed yourself to become distracted by love, by
lust, by friendship and family…by worldly matters. These are not of
concern to the Slayer. Your Calling concerns you. All else is dross.
Focus yourself and begin again. Warrior III…"

*

"Again, Childe, who is your Master?

"I'm me own bloody master, you pompous fuck!"

Thwap! The rattan cane sliced across Spike's ass, tearing through
flesh and torturing nerves. "Wrong answer," growled Angelus.

Spike held back a sob of pain with difficulty. He'd no idea how long
this had gone on. Days? Angelus would leave, now and then, and Spike
would remain chained to the posts, bleeding and hungry beyond all
measure. The black-out shades on the windows precluded measuring time
by the sun and his newly awakened senses weren't acute enough yet to
feel the sunset or imminent sunrise without being outside.

If he counted the times Angelus had left in his mind, he came up
with…7 or 8. Which could mean that he'd been here a week since rising,
or, if Angelus was in a particularly hungry mood, half a week. Gods
knew, his sire's healing legs still required blood…though he rarely
winced now and Spike assumed that he'd mostly healed. Bastard had
certainly taken in enough blood to do so.

He was damned if he'd break so easily this time round. William had
been a bleeding idiot, unused to pain and easily seduced by the darkly
handsome vampire. Spike knew what a prick Angelus could be and he was
having none of this "Favored Childe" crap. Angelus had treated him
bloody awful when he'd been stuck in that fucking chair. One good
draught, ta, maybe three, would'a done him, and he'd a been out an
about. Instead, Angelus had tupped Dru, taunting Spike mercilessly
with his mate's insane infidelity and buggered him into the mattress
besides, with nary a wrap around for his own pleasure. Asshole.

Nope, Spike was damned if he'd give before Angelus broke him for good,
and he'd go a lot longer before he'd break, though hell's forsake him,
he was hungry! Still, the Slayer's blood kept him from going
completely bonkers and he spared her a thought and thank you wherever
the bint was. He was chipless now and free, yet still he thought of
her and wished…naw. Couldn't happen, right? He was free and evil and
first thing he'd do once he was free of his poncy,
sadistic…decadent…beautiful…asshole of a sire was kill, and kill well,
right? Not go looking to help a Slayer for fuck's sake. He wasn't that
much of a prat, was he?

The cane brought him back to his senses, or at least the pain half of
them. Damn that hurt! He hated rattan, at the very least for its
damned tendency to splinter if you didn't soak it properly before-hand
as for the sting of its slicing….OUCH!
*
To be continued…

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