The Key to Connor II
The Angelus Chronicles
Chapters 5 - 8Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Angelus/Buffy. Cordy/Gru.
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, sex and bad, bad words.
They faced a truly dire situation. One which Spike was unsure they could ever overcome. He and Gru, alone, against all odds. Personally, Spike would rather have his sire flaying his back raw with his favorite bullwhip.
The Grusalag, mighty champion of Pylea, destroyer of demons, consort of the Princess Cordelia, and warrior for good was elbow-deep in shit. At least, it looked that way to Spike, who was lurking in the doorway to avoid being dragged into the disgusting mess that was Connor's nappy. The baby cooed and gurgled at Gru, while he attempted to extricate a single baby wipe from the plastic container. Sighing in defeat, Gru grabbed a handful of the wipes and covered Connor's butt with them, swiping at the glop there with decided lack of finesse for one so coordinated on the battlefield.
Once the mess was removed, Spike stepped in, anxious to avoid a repeat of Gru's last diapering attempt. Gru had neglected to fasten the Velcro strips and Connor's nappy had fallen completely off. Cordelia had been mighty brassed off about the pee all over her comforter, as Spike recalled.
He slid the nappy quickly under the baby and fastened it with alacrity. If not quickly covered, Connor was immensely fond of shooting his hapless caretakers in the face with his John Thomas. Gru, returning from disposal duty, looked duly impressed as Spike laid the now clothed, sleepy baby in the crib for a nap.
"Truly, William the Bloody, you are a venerable champion of the diapering," he said, in awe. "From whence cometh your skill and dexterity? I was informed that those who hunt the night for blood do not bear live young, with the exception of your esteemed grandsire and sire."
Spike snorted, trying not to laugh at Gru's baroque speech patterns. "Nope, no childer of my own, Gru. Childer are a pain in the neck, and not in a good way, if you know what I mean."
"Your implication that the bites of the night walkers can be pleasant has been born out by centuries of tales in Pylea. Though of fearsome countenance when enraged, both you and your sire, Angel seem not to lack for companionship."
"Well, Gru actually, that's due more to centuries of experience in the sack than fantastic fang skills, but still, I do offer a good bite, if you know what I mean," Spike bragged. "Now my sire, well, the Pouf is definitely out of the running these days. Though I suppose now that Angelus is back in control things will be different."
Cordy, newly returned from shopping and encumbered with far too many bags to comfortably hold, snorted and rolled her eyes in disbelief at the conversation. "Would you give me a hand with these bags, please, boys and stop with the sex talk already?" As she spoke, one bag toppled off the pile, but halted inches from the floor before wafting ahead of her to the kitchen table. "Thanks, Den, you're a lifesaver…I think that's the eggs!" Cordy said, smiling into the air at her favorite ghost.
"So, D'ya get my Wheatabix?" Spike asked impatiently, rooting through the bags.
"Yes, got them. God knows how you can possibly eat that disgusting concoction," Cordy complained, handing over the box.
"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it, princess," Spike grumbled, tearing open the box and grabbing a bowl to pour his blood into. He tossed it in the microwave and waited impatiently for it to warm. Grabbing the bowl, he took the crackers and crushed them over the steaming blood, mushing them into it with a spoon before taking a huge slurping bite. "Mmm," he sighed, crunching happily on the clotted mass. "Now *this* is eatin'. Nothing better except for straight from the source. Don't suppose you'd like to volunteer?"
"Eeeww! As if!" Cordy stalked to the cabinets and began restocking their food. Turning, she noticed Gru had found the ready-to-eat jello cups and opened one. He was slurping the green gelatin off of his fingers and grinning ear to ear. "Gru! Use a spoon, for goodness sake!"
"But my Princess, preserved k'tmgrl entrails are a delicacy to be savored on the fingers! To eat them otherwise would be not only rude but uncouth!" he said in surprise, sucking a bit more jello off the end of one finger and gazing at her with adoration.
Spike broke into uproarious laughter, spitting Wheatabix and blood back into his bowl. "He's got you there, princess. Wouldn't want to be uncouth, now would we?"
Cordy sighed in complete exasperation with the two of them. "Spike, shut up and eat your damned blood. Gru, that is Jello, not entrails, and in America, we eat it with a spoon! Here!" She handed him a spoon and he began eating the jello with difficulty, watching in dismay as it jiggled off the spoon and onto the floor. "Aargh. When you two have stopped messing up my kitchen, come join me in the living room. We have strategy to plan," she said, tilting her head arrogantly and stalking into the other room.
*
"Open wide, Lover," Angelus smirked at Buffy, waving a spoon tauntingly under her nose.
Buffy glared at him, but reluctantly opened her mouth. She didn't want Angelus to know how healed her right hand was, and if that meant letting him feed her and care for her, then she would just have to bear it. Though the urge to punch him silly was overwhelming. She kept a lid on her seething emotions and ate what he fed her without complaint. Well, much complaint anyway….
Angelus was enjoying himself immensely. He knew that relying on him for such a simple requirement drove the Slayer crazy, so he drew out each meal to torment her a bit more. Her hands and feet still smelled of blood, so he knew that she was too wounded to help herself, or to escape. It was that he was counting on.
Still, he hadn't imagined that feeding his mate could be this…rewarding. Seeing the angry tears that she refused to shed when she looked at him, he realized how lonely she had been since the soul left her three years earlier. He could use that to break her, he knew. Any weakness was a point for exploitation, any insight into her character, a chance to destroy yet another cornerstone of her independence. He could tell that she was far too thin, even given the drain of the Gate and he suspected that she'd been neglecting herself for a long time. He'd start there, he thought.
'You're nothing but skin and bones, Buff," he mocked, his voice feigning concern. "You look like Dru…no tits, no ass, no nothing. I like my women with more curves on them."
Buffy snarled at him, "Good, then I'll be leaving now, thanks for sharing…."
Angelus laughed, happy at baiting her into speaking to him. Much of the time, she refused to even acknowledge his presence, which irked him to the extreme. She knew all the right buttons to push, but two could play that game. *He* knew exactly what got to her…Angel had perfected that.
"So, Buff, I know you were never all that much in the tits department, but surely, even you know better than to starve yourself to stickhood. What, are you anorexic or something?" he prodded with a malicious smile, as he offered another spoonful of hearty beef stew.
"For your information, Angelus, I'm a perfect size 2, thank you very much, and your childe certainly seems to appreciate my charms, even if you don't. What do you say, Lover," she taunted with hatred inherent in every syllable, "we could call him and have *him* pick me up. I don't think he'll complain about the view. At least, he never did when he was under me…."
Angelus snarled, bested once again by this wounded woman who should have been at his utter mercy. Every time he thought he had the upper hand, just as before, in Sunnydale, she'd turn the tables and mess up his carefully laid plans. She should have been weeping by now, helpless before him and instead she was throwing his childe into his face!
With a deep throated growl, he slammed the nearly empty soup bowl onto a nearby table and pounced on his wounded mate. He ripped the bandages from her left hand before she could do more than squeak in surprise and he grabbed her hand in both of his, spreading the fingers and attacking the crusted-over wound with lips, tongue and teeth.
Buffy groaned as Angelus tore the scab from her hand. Agony shot from every nerve in her sensitive hand and she jolted upright, trying to pull away from the angry vampire who clutched her.
Angelus held on even tighter, sucking at the powerful blood of his unwilling mate and reveling in her pain and distress. He lapped at the palm of her hand, pulling blood from the wound with voracious appetite, determined to punish her for daring to taunt him. He listened with glee to her cries of pain and delighted in each suffering moan. Finally, though, the wound bled clean and he forced himself to stop, afraid of harming her past repair.
Buffy collapsed back onto her pillows, too weak to fight Angelus any more as he left her to find clean bandages and returned to wrap her hand back up. He smirked down at her, and leaned over to plunder her mouth with long, cold kisses before he laughed and strode from the room in triumph.
*
Angelus paced stealthily through the corridors of Cordelia's apartment building. He'd lurked outside earlier that night until Spike and Gru left. It was the perfect opportunity to pay a little visit to Queen C.
He inserted the key she'd given him into the door and gave it a push. Cordelia was right there, standing in front of him with Connor in her arms. The baby was fussing, and Cordy had clearly been walking with him, trying to get him to settle down. Angelus grinned maliciously at her. "Well, Cordy, isn't this a charming little domestic scene. You, me, my boy…what more could I possibly ask for? We're going to have so much fun!" He lunged at her and howled in pain as he bounced off the unseen barrier blocking his entrance and landed in a heap on the floor.
Cordy smirked at him. "Sorry, Angelus, Spike changed the locks for us. Oh, so, thanks for leaving me that key…I've been wanting to give him one." She pulled the key from the door and began to close it in his face. Angelus snarled his anger at her, game face on and a feral look in his eye.
"That Childe of mine has overstepped his bounds for the last time, Cordy. Make sure to tell him that Daddy is coming." He stood with one lithe movement and stalked away, furious beyond reason that he had been barred from entering when his childe could come and go freely.
He leapt into his car and drove the short way to his new apartment building. He needed a kill to get his mind off his ignominious failure. Climbing from the car, he spotted a young woman grabbing groceries from her trunk. She looked up in surprise when he lifted the groceries for her. "Here, let me give you a hand with those," he smiled, giving her his best safe, puppy dog eyes.
The woman looked wary for a moment, but relaxed when he picked up the rest of the bags, encumbering himself so much he couldn't possibly be a threat. *He must just be a really nice guy,* she thought. "Thank you so much. This would have taken me at least three trips to do on my own," she said.
"No problem. My little sister lives in this building -- I was just visiting her. I worry about her down here at night, too. I would hope that someone would look out for her the same way," he smiled, laying on the charm. "I'm Angel."
The woman blushed a bit at his friendly regard and punched in her floor on the elevator. "I'm Kathy. It's nice to meet you, Angel."
Angelus purposefully hung back from her, not crowding her in the small enclosed space and he could hear her heartbeat slow as she relaxed even more with him. "So, what do you do?" he asked in a friendly tone.
"I'm a secretary," she replied. "I got off work really late tonight and there isn't a thing to eat in the whole place. I just had to go to the market and pick some things up." They walked from the elevator and she stopped at a door with her keys.
"Well, I'll just leave these here in the hall for you…you know you shouldn't invite strangers into your apartment, right?" he smiled down at her and moved as if to lay the bags down.
"Well, since you introduced yourself to me and I to you, you're not a stranger anymore, are you, Angel? Why don't you come in and join me for dinner? It's the least I can do to thank you for your help."
"Why, Kathy, thank you for the invitation. I haven't eaten all day…just too busy, I guess." He followed her into the tiny, but immaculate apartment with the bags in his arms.
Kathy bustled to her kitchen and Angelus followed, gloating at the ease with which he'd entered. *Another bird ripe for the plucking,* he thought. They just made it so damn easy. He plunked the bags down on the counter and waited for the hapless woman to get rid of hers. Then he struck. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall. Kathy shrieked and pushed at him. "What are you doing? Let go!"
She pounded useless fists against him as he pulled her even closer. Angelus smiled down at her. "But, Kathy, you invited me inside for dinner." He vamped to game face and she screamed louder. "And I'm really, really hungry," he said as he sank his fangs into her delectable neck. He made quick work of his impromptu feast, sucking the woman dry in minutes. He dropped her lifeless corpse to the floor and strode from the apartment, leaving the door wide open. With any luck, someone would rob it as well and Kathy would become just another statistic.
Angelus knew that he couldn't hunt like this indefinitely in the building. But he didn't plan to stay much longer anyway. Just long enough to heal Buffy so she wouldn't go through unlife as a crippled vampire. His mate must be perfect in every way…and he was certain that Buffy would make a marvelous childe.
*
Buffy was standing. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she held on to the bed and attempted a step. It was too much, and she fell to her knees, struggling to hold in her cries of pain. Tears streamed down her face at her weakness. She'd never taken this long to heal before, but with Angelus taking her blood daily, she just couldn't seem to gain her strength back. At least he hadn't bitten her again. She pulled herself up, reopening the wounds on her hands slightly, and climbed painfully back into bed.
She knew what it meant that his mark remained on her neck while the Master's and Dracula's had disappeared. She'd read enough in the journals of previous Slayers and Watchers to realize that she was Marked with a capital M. But Angel had never completed the mating…had never allowed her to mark him in return. Instead, he had taken her willing gift of blood and rejected her, leaving her in the smoke and slipping away to LA without even a goodbye. She ached for her mate, for that was what he was to her.
All of the dreadful things she had said to him since then were feeble protests against his utter rejection of her on that day. She'd never felt a more powerful bond to anyone than when she writhed beneath him on the floor of the mansion in ecstatic pain. She could have lived with never being with him sexually again, though it would have been difficult, if only he had shared the blood bond with her in return. Instead, she felt adrift, half of a greater whole that he had brutally broken apart.
That Angelus was now the other half of that whole made Buffy sick. The evil that Angelus had done in the near past was nothing compared to his reign as Scourge of Europe. She knew that if she didn't stop him, he could easily become the Scourge of America. She must stop him, no matter how she was tied to him.
*
Angelus strode into the bedroom and smelled blood. Slayer blood. Despite his feeding, the smell made him hunger for her again. He couldn't get enough. He walked to the bed and looked down at the Slayer. She gazed back at him with blank eyes, doing her best not to provoke him. She was tired, so tired from trying to walk, and she felt as if one push from him could catapult her over the edge.
Angelus seemed to sense her weakness, for he leaned in and kissed her with surprising gentleness. It was only when Buffy refused to respond to him that he forced her mouth open and deepened the kiss. Still, he seemed more passionate than punishing. Buffy was afraid of this new mood. It was easier to resist him when he was angry, for it was then that he resembled her Angel the least. Gentle, coaxing kisses such as Angel had taught her, those were deadly dangerous, for then she was tempted to forget who she was dealing with.
Buffy could see in his eyes that he knew this, knew her every weakness and planned to prey upon them all. "Buffy," he said, stroking her face possessively with his thumb. "I think it's time for your bath now," he smirked down at her and she blinked.
"What? I can't go in the bathtub, what about my bandages? Are you nuts?"
"No, Buff. I know you can't go in the water yet…that's why the water is coming to you." He gestured and she looked up to see Fred carrying in a small basin of water, shower gel and towels. She placed the basin on the end of the bed and handed the towels to Angelus. He motioned for her to leave and turned to the Slayer.
"So, Buff, this should be fun!"
"No."
"No, you don't think it will be fun, c'mon Buff, don't you want to get clean? I mean, frankly, you're beginning to smell, not that I don't find it…enticing."
"No. I won't let you do this to me."
"Ooh, Buff, I think I struck a nerve." He grinned down at her again, delighted in her response. "You are going to have a bath and I am going to do this. Don't make me get Gunn in here to hold you down. Or maybe you'd like that? I can call him…Gu…"
"No. Don't call him. I…just do it and get it over with, damn it."
Angelus pulled the dingy hospital gown from Buffy's thin shoulders and she sat there, naked to the waist and glaring at him. He dipped a washcloth in the warm water and soaped it with the gel, then leaned forward to wash Buffy's back and neck.
The warm water felt so good to her strained muscles, but she tried not to let him see how good. She couldn't show weakness! She couldn't.
He dipped the cloth back in the water, then worked his way lower on her back, soaping her spine with care and inching even lower to the top of her butt. Buffy held in the sigh that wanted to escape at the blessed feeling of the clean warm water. Angelus put the cloth back into the basin and grabbed a towel. He dried her back sensuously, rubbing the skin dry in small circles.
He moved to do her front, pulling the gown and her sheet away from her naked body and pressing the basin forward between her legs. Buffy gasped, then regretted it, as he smirked knowingly at her. He lathered the cloth up again and began on her arms, stroking down to her wrists and paying special attention to the inside of her elbow where the pulse beat so enticingly. He raised her arm up and soaped under it, intentionally spilling water over her breast and watching it trickle down to her flat stomach.
Buffy shivered at the sensation and damned herself for reacting to him yet again. Then she jumped as the cloth moved from her collarbone down to her left breast. Angelus swept the cloth around and around, teasing her areola and forcing her nipple to tighten into a hard peak. He moved to the other arm and repeated his sensual motions, teasing her nerves with pleasure and muddying her brain. Buffy gasped out loud, no longer able to control her response to him.
It had been so long since she'd seen Angel, such a horrible year. She'd taken physical pleasure from Spike, but only because she could feel Angel in him somehow. The Sire/Childe bond was there, the same as her Mate's bond was there, no matter how crippled. She hadn't been able to explain it to Spike, but she knew that deep down he knew why she could never love him. Her heart, her soul, her very being were already given to Angel and nothing could change that, no matter how cruelly he abandoned her, rejected her, even hated her. She was his.
Now her love's body nestled near her, stroking her with gentle fingers, tantalizing her with his presence. He was all that she'd ever wanted, everything her heart yearned for with all of its intensity…but the soul, Angel's beautiful tortured soul, was missing. Buffy knew her own weakness. She knew how easy it was to succumb to the passion and ignore the pain. Spike had taught her that, and she was grateful to him for letting her warm herself just a bit near his fire.
But Angel/Angelus was no mere fire. He was a conflagration…a seething forest fire posed to devour her completely. She had to distract him from these tender caresses. Had to anger him somehow. She could hold him at bay if only he didn't act like her Angel.
As Angelus swept the cloth lower, laving her belly with its warm suds, Buffy thrust against his hand seductively. "Mmm," she moaned, "keep doing that, Lover. It's just like Riley's warm tongue on my body."
Angelus growled his displeasure and pulled his hand back from her delectable body.
"What's the matter, baby?" Buffy asked mockingly. "*You* left *me,* remember? And I have to admit, there are…benefits to a human body, especially one as, well, athletic as Riley's! He was so…warm, so energetic. Really, you were right when you said I should find something real…someone I could be with in the light. He was tremendous."
Angelus growled warningly, all thoughts of teasing her flown as his jealousy over a mere human daring to touch his mate overwhelmed him.
Buffy continued mercilessly, "Oh, and I must say, Angelus, you trained Spike so well. Really, really, really well. Words just don’t do him justice. I never got to appreciate that no-breathing thing with you, after all, we just had one night together. But Spike, God! He can go for hours at a time just eating me. I've never come so hard in my life. It's heaven, Angelus. I really do have to thank y…"
His feral growl interrupted her as he tossed the basin and towels to one side and twisted Buffy underneath him until she lay face down on the mattress. One meaty paw held her in place while his other hand jerked his leather pants open. He thrust into her dry body, tearing her open as he pulled back and thrust again. By his fifth jab into her wounded depths, he'd drawn enough blood to lubricate his way. He pushed her into the mattress of her bed, thrusting brutally until he climaxed, filling her with his cold seed. He withdrew and climbed from the bed, leaving Buffy lying there with blood and cold cum spilling from between her legs. "What, Lover, nothing to say?" he taunted her as he fastened himself back into his leather pants.
Buffy glared up at him and snarled in triumph despite her obvious pain. "I knew you couldn't handle it, Angelus. You're nothing but a vicious animal, after all. And you know what? I kill animals. Just wait, *Lover,*" she crooned. "Your time is coming."
Angelus flinched at her deadly calm, then tried to shake it off, striding from the room and calling for Fred to go clean up his mess.
*
Buffy was not going to cry. No. She could take the pain that Angelus had bestowed on her. It was nothing. She had far worse from routine patrols through the cemeteries. And if she kept telling herself that, surely she could believe it. The important thing was that she had kept control the entire time. Angelus hadn't broken her…couldn't break her, as long as she didn't let him in.
But oh, how it hurt, and not just physically, to be raped by her mate's cool body. To gaze into that beloved face and see, not the soul that she loved so much, but a raging beast whose rapacious appetite for pain and suffering could destroy the whole world. Buffy was absurdly grateful that he'd taken her from behind. It wasn't a position she'd experienced with Angel, and she hadn't had to look at Angelus while he did it. Somehow, that made it better. By the time he'd finished, she'd managed to collect herself enough to mask her pain and respond only with her hatred.
More importantly, he hadn't yet realized how healed she was. Her hands were practically better now, from his bites and the exercises she'd been faithfully…all right…obsessively doing. Her feet weren't as good yet, but they, too, were progressing. She had to keep hoping. At least with the hands almost healed she could help herself along if she could get crutches. Somehow, she'd have to convince her captor that that would be a good thing. He'd have to think it was his idea, though. She pondered ways of subtly suggesting it so that the egomaniacal vampire would consider it his own thought.
*
Spike was stalking his sire. He'd happened upon Angelus earlier that evening. It was simple, really. Spike had hunted at his sire's side for decades and knew his habits intimately. Angelus was especially fond of the innocent…he said they tasted better. Spike thought that was bullshit, personally, but it gave him an advantage now.
He'd located his sire at an all-night rave, perfect hunting grounds for a vampire if ever there were such a place. Angelus had moved from one room to another, seducing with his gaze and drawing the stupid kids after him like the proverbial pied piper. Spike wondered if the X that so many of them were on did anything for their blood. Too bad he couldn't try it to see, but his last drug experience had not been positive. Nearly burned at dawn, he had, and bloody well barely noticed. *Ah, Woodstock…what a trip…*
Angelus left the party at 4, stalking silently through the streets like a bad dream. Or perhaps he was just Spike's bad dream. In any case, his childe lurked behind, trying to stay far enough back that the bond between them wouldn't alert his sire to his presence. Spike hadn't renewed the bond since Angelus became Angel a century earlier and hoped that it had become tenuous enough that his sire couldn't sense him. He'd never known exactly what the bond did or didn't tell Angelus. It wasn't the sort of question one asked his sire if one wanted to keep his skin. Angelus was a big enough prick to play it up, anyway.
At last, his sire entered an expensive apartment complex. Spike backed away across the street and looked up to the top floor. Sure enough, lights came on, shining from the windows under the black-out shades. In a few minutes Gunn and Fred appeared, quickly scarpering off to hunt for themselves, Spike guessed.
Bingo. Now he'd just toddle off and tell Cordelia and Gru about the location and maybe they could get the Scoobs to show some balls and come to LA to help destroy his pillock of a sire once and for all.
*
Connor was crying. Again. Cordy swore there was something about her that just made him crazy. When Gru held him he was fine, but the minute she picked him up, whammo. "Gru, please, don't you know any lullabies?" she asked, desperately.
"I am sorry, my Princess. Song was not a part of life in Pylea. I believe that is why Krevlorneswath of the Deathwa Clan was filled with such joy at his return to this plane of reality. Is that not so, Singer?" he asked Lorne, who was busy mixing formula in the kitchen and humming under his breath.
"What? Oh, yeah, right, Gru-baby. No songs in Pylea. Nasty place. Glad to be out of there for good."
"If you wish, though, Princess, I could do the Soporific Dance for young Connor. How strong are your floors in this abode?" Gru took one measured hop and the room shook. "Perhaps not…."
"Uh, uh, uh, no way, you luscious little Grusalag! No Dancing! At least, not Pylean Dancing. Much too, well, ludicrous comes to mind, but I'll be kind and go with, disruptive instead. Here now, hand the little one over, Cordelicious." Lorne took Connor from her and offered him the bottle. His mewling cries stopped immediately and he sucked lustily at the formula. "Sure got Daddy's suction there, didn't you, little guy. Though I suppose we can't really tell if it's Daddy's or Mummy's, now that I think about it," he crooned.
"Gah, feedin' the little biter again, are you?" Spike asked as he stomped into the apartment. "Bloody child eats all the bloomin' time. You lot make me sick, all this cooin' over the little bastard."
"Hey, Spike, you know what? We don't really care what you think. In fact," Cordy added, ready to lay into him….
"Shut yer gob, princess. Found him, I did. And your fangy friends, too."
"Oh, my god, really! Great, now we can call Willow, Tara and Xander and get them up here!" Cordy rushed to the phone. "We can curse them all. It's perfect."
"Yah, right, perfect. Till the next time one of em gets happy. Thought about that, prom queen?" Spike snarled, incensed that she thought recursing everyone would make everything hunky-dory.
"William the Bloody has made a good observation, if a trifle curt," Gru said, crossing to take Cordy's hand in his. "Perhaps the better action would be to remove the threat completely?"
Cordy pulled her hand from his and glared at him. "For your information, Gru, that 'threat' is our friends. We're not going to stake them, not if I have anything to say about it."
"Well, princess, maybe you don't. Look, here's the address. I'm gonna eat and crash for a while, then get back there through the sewers. Angelus hates em, but he'd never pick a place without access." Spike stomped off to the kitchen to grab some blood, more convinced than every that this whole bloody situation was resting on his white shoulders. *Better keep those damned curses to themselves. What if they decide to go for four instead of three, just for company?*
*
Spike stalked, slow and cautious, through the dark tunnels below the sunny city. Here, in the dark, he could feel the pulse of life above and around him. The frenetic to-ing and fro-ing of mortals convinced that if they only bought that new dress, perfect suit, the right makeup…haircut…car; that life would be wonderful. He snorted to himself. Life *was* wonderful. It tasted so sweet on the tongue, sizzled into your mouth like an electric kiss. Life…blood…they were the same. Humans didn't get it, not really. Vampires could taste a million things in a drop of blood. Fear, sadness, pain, joy, love, hate, bleach…. It was all there for the discerning palate. And Spike had a very discerning palate indeed. All of Angelus's childer did.
Angelus was a harsh sire, but he'd not made weaklings. Nor did he generally waste his time making minions. He preferred solitude. Not Spike. He'd liked being surrounded by minions. Childer took too much time and effort to train, break, and care for…that whole volition thing was highly overrated. Minions woke hungry and ready to kill. With a master nearby, they followed directions easily. Of course, without a master, they invariably got themselves killed. They were just too stupid most of the time to avoid it. But you could always make more, since they didn't require nearly the same amount of blood that a childe did. Spike had watched Buffy take on twelve once. It never seemed to occur to them that if they'd just gang up on her, they could take her tiny body down with sheer numbers. Nope, instead, one posturing fool after another would taunt her, she'd stake him and move on to the next. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
Spike climbed silently up the sewer access ladder to the basement of the apartment building. He could scent Angelus. His sire had been here recently…within the past two days, from the strength of the scent. Spike slid the access panel open soundlessly and climbed quickly out, alert for any sign that he'd been detected.
As he expected, there was none. He slid the panel back in place with gloved fingers, knowing that Angelus would scent him on the panel if he didn't disguise himself. He had picked up the workman's gloves at a hardware store the previous evening, and soaked them in gasoline. The reek was enough to send him starkers, but it served to deaden his scent, even to the most discerning nose. He dropped the tainted gloves into the trash and continued on his way after washing his hands repeatedly under the laundry room tap.
Spike took the elevator to the penthouse suite and stepped quickly from its confines, crouched and searching for a sentry. There were none. This was entirely too easy…but Angelus hadn't seemed anxious when Spike observed him the previous night. Buffy was probably too hurt to even fight him. Spike shuddered to think of what his sire might be doing to the Slayer. He had a nasty streak a mile wide and Buffy hadn't seen the half of it yet. Spike prayed with every ounce of his being that she never would.
He remembered months of pain-racked screaming when Angelus first broke him to his will. Childer were, by their very nature, disobedient and prone to challenge their Sire's authority. William had been a prodigy in that department. Angelus had beaten him bloody and broken every single day for a year before William the Bloody had broken before him. Darla had taunted him that his nickname wasn't about his victims as much as it was about himself.
He slunk to the doorway of the suite and fiddled with the knob for a few moments. All those years of breaking and entering paid off with the small 'click' of the lock. He eased the door open and looked around him, restraining a whistle at the opulent surroundings.
Angelus had always been a sucker for the decadent and this place was no exception. Tulle triple-lined black- out draperies and satin covered chaise lounges set the tone of turn of the century opulence. Mirrors ensconced in gold-foiled frames lined the walls and Spike wondered at his sire's taste. Surely placing mirrors in which one couldn't be seen all over the room indicated a certain amount of mental instability, didn't it? He sneered to himself in awed disdain.
Spike's reverie was interrupted by the approach of Gunn. The vampire was, if anything, more attractive to Spike's eyes than he'd been as a human. His large frame moved with sinuous grace and he approached at a run, determined to remove this interloper from the premises with dispatch.
Spike snarled, melding to game face with a thought and crouched his smaller frame. Gunn didn't realize it yet, but he was dealing with a Master vampire and minion never fared well in those rare encounters. Spike exerted his will and brought Gunn to a halting stop with his thoughts alone. "Minion," he hissed, projecting menace and threat with all his considerable might. "You are seriously outclassed. Withdraw or die the true death at the hands of a Master, fledgling!"
Gunn bowed unwillingly before him and backed away. He summoned Fred with a shout and the two exited the apartment with alacrity, leaving Spike alone and triumphant. He darted to the room where he was sure he'd find the Slayer, and stopped in surprise, dumbfounded at what he saw.
Buffy was practicing Tai Chi katas. Her forms were slow and halting on her damaged feet, but her hands moved crisply through the motions, holding each as long as possible before flowing into the next with no hesitation. Her stance was perfection, despite the pained look on her face as she stepped into each position. Spike was captivated anew by the determined grace with which she moved. She was fluid as the ocean, powerful as the earth, and her blood and pain called to his being like a magnet, drawing him ever closer to the fire that blazed within her slight body.
Buffy looked up, her concentration interrupted and stopped dead in her tracks as his presence registered. "Spike!" she called, with a note of gladness in her voice that broke his heart anew. "Oh, my god, Spike, it's you!"
He ran toward her and swept her into his arms, kissing her pliant lips and hugging her to him with tender arms. He cradled her in his cool embrace, pressing kisses upon every part of her gorgeous, care-worn face. She looked so terribly tired; so dreadfully strained, as if will and will alone held her up and moving. But she kissed him back with passion and relief, prompting him to return those kisses ten-fold. He delved into her heated mouth, tasting that well-known, but ever exciting flavor that was just her own.
"Buffy, Pet, it's me. I'm here to take you to safety. He'll never hurt you again. I swear it!" He swept her into his arms, holding her tiny form easily as he walked toward the door.
With a roar, Angelus stormed in, stopping Spike dead in his tracks. "So, boy, you thought that you could fuck my mate and get away with it, did you? You thought she'd turn to you since she couldn't have me? But I'm back now, Spikey. And I don't share. Put her down, Childe."
Spike glared at his sire in hatred and loathing.
"Put her down before I rip her from your arms and throw the murderous whore across the room, you insolent brat! How dare you touch what is mine? How dare you taste her, fuck her, use her when I couldn't even be in the same town as she was? You will pay for your disobedience, Childe of mine, in ways you cannot even fathom. Now put her down and come here!"
Spike resisted the pull of the Sire bond with difficulty. *Christ, didn't think it'd still be this strong,* he thought to himself as he gently placed her onto the floor. She knelt and leaned her back against the wall, preparing, as well as she was able, for the onslaught she was sure would come. At least Angelus hadn't found her standing. At least he didn't know how fast she had healed from the grievous wounds that bitch Lilah had inflicted on her. Spike could hold that in his head and take comfort from it. He would need that comfort, he knew. Angelus was in a killing rage and Spike was going to bear the brunt of it…that was clear.
Spike turned to face Angelus and was too late to prepare himself as his sire leapt upon him with lightening speed. Growling in anger Angelus kicked Spike across the room to slam against the wall with a force that would have snapped the spine of a human. Spike slid to the floor and jumped to his feet, springing forward to attack his sire with fists and fangs.
Spike lashed out with a brutal one-two-three combination, striking Angelus in the chin with an uppercut, followed by a left cross and a lightening fast spin kick that knocked him backwards. Angelus's head snapped back and he snarled in rage, shaking his head slightly and darting forward to tear at Spike with his meaty paws. He raked the shirt from Spike's chest with one pull and bashed at his childe with the other fist, knocking him squarely in the solar plexus and jolting him backwards with the force of the blow.
Spike darted to the side and lashed out with a roundhouse, followed by another spin kick. Angelus looked surprised as he fell backwards; then angry. Play forgotten, he jumped back into the fray, hammering blow after blow on his smaller childe until Spike fell, barely conscious, to the floor below him. Angelus grabbed Spike by the throat and pinned him against the wall, slamming his head against it repeatedly, with deadly force. "Who is your Sire, boy? Who commands you?" he snarled, voice barely recognizable in its furious bestiality.
"Fuck off, you pouf," Spike spat, only to be battered against the wall again, until his head rang, vision blurred, and pain beat through him like a drum.
"What was that, Childe of mine? Did you dare to insult me? Who made you? Who owns you?" Angelus demanded, pounding Spike harder into the wall with each word.
"Don't matter. I'm me own Master now. You're nothing, Angelus, nothing at all. I've shagged your mate, I've taken your place, I'm not yours to fuck with anymore, you poncy bastard!" Spike snarled, vision barely focused on the incensed face of his sire.
Angelus growled and battered Spike's head against the wall a dozen more times until he slumped in his sire's hands, unable to stand on his own. "You've been without discipline for far too long, Childe. It's time I showed you who is the Master around here." Angelus dropped Spike's unresisting body to the floor with a thud and strode to the closet past Buffy's crouched form.
She looked at Spike and he shook his head slowly at her. She was too weak to fight against his sire at full strength, he knew it and she knew it too. The fact that she'd do it and die trying filled him with gratitude. And fear. He couldn't let her fight his battle for him. She'd surely lose. He beseeched her with his eyes to stay where she was and she nodded reluctantly. Then she did the unthinkable. She looked him in the eye and mouthed, "I love you." For that, and that alone, Spike would have braved ten beatings at his sire's hands. He smiled cockily back, wincing as his wounded face ached at the motion. "Love you, Slayer," he whispered silently.
Angelus found what he was searching for in the closet and turned with a truly evil grin to his childe. In his hand he held a long, flexible bull whip. He snapped it experimentally, with the grace of long practice. The sound sent a shudder of remembered pain through Spike and a shock through Buffy.
Angelus hauled Spike to his feet and pushed him roughly against the wall. "Stand there, Childe. Don't move," he ordered. He stepped back and flicked the whip at Spike's back with a graceful motion. It licked the skin off in a two inch wide strip. Spike shuddered but didn't cry out, digging his fingers through the plaster wall in desperation to stay standing.
Angelus began thrashing him, snapping the whip in steady rhythm and removing skin and flesh from his childe's back with each motion. Spike groaned, unable to hold the sound in any longer as the fire on his back filled him with agony. He slumped against the wall, fingers tearing through the lathe and plaster as he fell to his knees against it. He shivered in pain and reaction with each blow, uncertain how much longer he could stay conscious.
After an eternity, or so it seemed, Angelus stopped hitting him. He paced to Spike and pulled his head up by the hair. He glared into his childe's eyes in triumph. "Clean it," he growled and thrust the bloody whip at Spike.
Knowing what his sire demanded from long practice at this very task, Spike shuddered and began sucking his own flesh and blood from the supple braided leather. The taste of blood, any blood, revived him slightly, but the utter humiliation of the task made him rage inwardly. He worked his way slowly down the length of the whip, sucking and licking carefully. At last he reached the slender end and sucked it into his mouth, cleaning it to a spit shine with his tongue. He finished and dropped it from his mouth, wearily gazing upward to meet his sire's eyes.
Angelus stared down at him with golden lustful eyes and unfastened his belt and leather pants with hasty fingers. He grabbed Spike by the back of the head and pulled his bloody, dripping mouth onto his raging cock with one brutal motion.
Spike nearly gagged at the length and width of his sire's hard cock as he was pummeled mercilessly. Angelus fucked his mouth with no finesse or patience, stabbing repeatedly into Spike's throat until he moaned with renewed pain. Angelus turned his head and looked at Buffy, huddled against the wall with her eyes closed against the sight of her former lover raping her current one.
"What's the matter, Lover? Doesn't the sight of Spike taking my cock like the bitch that he is fill you with lust? I don't smell any desire, but you always were pretty vanilla. Such an uptight little virgin. God knows how you even managed to give me one second of happiness, that first time. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Guess it had just been so long that the soul was grateful for anything, no matter how frigid and inexperienced. Spikey, here, though, Spikey can suck dick better than any childe I ever made. Isn't that right, William?" he laughed down at the blonde currently choking on his length.
Spike glared back at his sire with bleary eyes. He couldn't bear that Buffy was witnessing this, that she had to watch as he was humiliated and broken by his sire…again. It had been bad enough when he'd been trapped in the wheelchair. Angelus had buggered him raw every day, and even though his legs were too weak in the beginning, his other senses had worked just fine. He'd almost been grateful when his sire had turned his attentions to Drusilla. Angry and betrayed, but grateful for the respite. Until Angelus had started demanding his presence at their little scenes. Bastard. He would love to just bite down and rip that fat dick right off, but Angelus would live through it, and likely kill him, just for kicks.
At last, Angelus shot, grabbing Spike to him and pumping into his face so hard Spike was sure he'd broken his nose. Angelus pulled out, leaving a trail of blood and cum on his childe's mouth and chest and striding from the room with a laugh. "Bye, Spikey. I'll see *you* later!"
Spike lay on the floor where Angelus had dropped him. Every fiber of his being ached, but what was worse was the failure. He'd failed Buffy…again. And she'd seen everything. Now she would truly have reason to mock him. He closed his eyes in utter defeat and degradation.
A small hand stroked down one side of his aching head. Soft cloth brushed the tears, blood and cum from his face with gentle motions. He blinked and looked into the tear-filled greenish hazel depths of the Slayer's moody eyes. She was crying. For him. She leaned over and kissed his face softly, cleaning his chest off with her shirt. *She's naked from the waist up, using her own clothes to clean me?* He moaned in pain from the many wounds Angelus had inflicted on him. Her hand, holding the back of his head, was dripping with his blood and she winced from his moan.
She pulled him gently to a sitting position and held him to her throat. "Drink," she whispered. "It will heal you."
Spike pulled back and hissed at her, "No! Came here to save you, not feed off you, Slayer!" He moaned as his sudden movement reopened the wounds on his back. *Gods and monsters I hate whips! Angelus has bloody well loved em, ever since I've known him. Bastard. Give me a good brawl any day, just don't beat me like an animal.* Of course, that was precisely why Angelus loved to use them on Spike, because he knew how much it angered him. Pouf was never satisfied with just physical pain when he could inflict emotional pain, too.
Buffy pulled Spike closer to her, turning her head to one side and pressing her neck to his bloody mouth. The punctures on her neck from Angelus weren't healed yet, just scabbed over and Spike's vampire saliva quickly reopened the wounds. Her powerful, living blood seeped gently into his mouth and against his will he swallowed, helpless against her and his own raging need.
Buffy pressed closer against him, her naked breasts rubbing his equally naked chest. Spike moaned in sudden arousal, the combination of his own pain, his blood, her blood and her intoxicating body awakening every lustful vampiric instinct in him. He pulled her onto his lap and sucked harder at her neck, thrilling in her moans and the scent of her arousal as she shuddered beneath his hands. He stroked her hard-tipped breasts, teasing the nipples with his fingers until she cried out, "Spike!"
