Work Text:
Night Terrors
by Salustra
goddess_salustra@juno.com
~~ London, 1880. ~~
Angelus noticed him the moment he ran into him. Literally ran into him. The fellow was barreling full-tilt, eyes awash in tears, not looking where he was going. Angelus was used to taking in people at a glance. And he noticed immediately that despite the ill-fitting clothes, this boy was beautiful. His eyes followed him, even as he made an off-hand remark to Drusilla to make herself a playmate. Drusilla moved after the young man, probably drawn to him by the same force that made Angelus' eyes seek him out. He made excuses to Darla about watching over Drusilla and followed her to the alleyway.
Drusilla was moving forward, speaking gently to the man. He was looking up, confused, hurt...and then his eyes looked past Drusilla and spied Angelus. His blue eyes glittered in the flickering lamplight, and he saw Angelus' dark eyes. He was ensnared.
Drusilla stamped her foot prettily and moved aside. "Well, it's no good Daddy. 'e doesn't want *me* now, wants you. Your own little boy."
Angelus nodded, almost absently, and he soothed Drusilla with a few words. "It's fine, Princess. You'll find other playmates. You're going to have a brother."
The boy's gaze never wavered. Angelus moved in close, cupping that face in his hand. Skin like silk. He felt that warmth, and that sweet trembling. Almost too sweet to take away. *Almost*. He pulled him closer, wrapping arms around him. "So bright and beautiful," he said in a low sensual growl. "What's your name, boy?"
"W-W-William," the youth stammered out. He blushed so very prettily.
Angelus stroked that pink cheek, leaning forward to scent over him. So delicious, innocent, virginal.
The boy swallowed hard, his pulse picking up. "What's yours?"
Braver than he looked, too, Angelus thought. He decided to reward that bit of bravery. "Angelus," he said.
Then he gripped the boy's shoulders firmly as his fangs slid out. He let his lips touch first. The boy moaned for him and arched his neck. Too pretty by far. Then the fangs pierced home, and that hot bright blood hit his mouth. The boy only gasped and gripped tighter. As Angelus slowly drank his life away, he moaned. He clung to Angelus like a lover. It was irresistible to Angelus. He drank him in greedily, but was uncharacteristically gentle with him. He held him tight and firm, almost bruising, but none of his typical savagery.
The thudding pulse begins to slow eventually, then finally skittered to a near-stop. Angelus pulled back then, at that point of death. He was warmed now, all that lovely life inside him. His eyes were black and dangerous. He ripped open a wrist and pressed it to William's mouth.
"C'mon, boy. Drink," he commanded.
Those blue eyes were still open, staring, unfocused. Blue and perfect. Little bits of sky. Angelus' blood trickled down into his mouth. The first drop hit his throat, and he began to drink. Weakly at first, then he made greedy little pulls. Angelus let him drink good and long. He wanted this boy. But finally he gave him as much as he could, and he pulled back the wrist. That slender body shivered and his blue eyes slid shut as he died.
Angelus smiled, licking the last traces of blood off his lips. He swept the boy up in his arms and moved quickly through the London streets. He paid no attention to Drusilla, or indeed to anyone else, though Drusilla followed for a while, turning off when she saw an orphanage. He moved into the house they had taken over. An ambassador's residence. He carried him into one of the empty bedrooms, not the one he shared with Darla. No cold terrible grave for his boy. He removed his own clothing, then the boy's. Tempted to rip it off, but he'll need something to take him shopping in. He slid into the bed, pulling his still cooling body against him. In a few hours he'll wake. There was a faint whimper from the closet, and Angelus smiled. He'd stuffed a maid in there, for a convenient snack. She'd make a perfect first meal for his boy.
He looked at him. He brushed the sable hair back off his face. He wanted to see those blue eyes again, but that would have to wait until he awoke.
In the meantime, he looked over and touched that body. A work of art, hidden in those horrible clothes. Pale perfect skin, with long flat muscles. Skin softer than most women. Inkstains on his nails...some sort of literate person, then. But soft hands, with long slender fingers. A gentleman. Never did a day's hard work in his life. No matter. Those soft hands would be heavenly touching him.
Darla fluttered in later, during his pain-staking examination of his new possession. He exchanged a few words, and managed to shoo her away. He'd pay for it later, but right now he didn't care. He held that slender body against him until there was the first stirring. The eyes opened, and a reflexive gasp of breath was taken. Those cool blue eyes locked with warm whiskey ones.
"Angelus," he gasped.
Angelus smiled. The first word from his mouth was his Sire's name. He knew at that moment that they were made for each other.
The next few hours were the usual settling in. Angelus explaining to William what had happened, what his new station in life was, and then feeding him. He ended up drinking the girl himself, and feeding William from a cut on his chest. He wanted this boy bound to him, forever. An eternal companion.
It was time for bed and the boy fidgeted. Couldn't seem to stop moving. Angelus refused to put up with this. He pulled the boy close, wrapping him in steel-strong arms, keeping him still until the boy finally relaxed and drifted into sleep.
Sometime during the day William had a nightmare. Not what most people might expect. Not of fangs and his life being sucked away. What he saw was a spoiled young woman, trampling him beneath her feet. He squirmed and cried out. Angelus was sleeping soundly, and didn't stir at first as William jerked out of his grasp. He was wide-eyed and wild, not sure where he was. He charged to the large standing gilt-edged mirror, staring in it, not seeing himself.
Angelus opened his eyes and climbed heavily out of bed, pulling William tight against him, burying his face in William's soft fragrant hair. He would normally growl and be cross, but he was still fogged with sleep. So he just muttered, "What's wrong, m'boy?"
William, still caught in the claws of his nightmare, whimpered, "She said I was beneath her. I wrote her poetry and told her I loved her and she told me I was beneath her."
Angelus, despite himself, was moved. He kissed the side of his neck. "I've got you, m'boy. I've got you. Never have to worry about that sorry bint again. You c'n write me poetry."
William subsided, relaxing into the strong arms that held him. Angelus gathered him up, scooping him in his arms and carrying him back to bed.
~~ Italy, 1893 ~~
Spike was huddled in the bed, shaking, sleeping fitfully. His back was raw and bleeding. He had crossed Darla again while Angelus was out.
Angelus could smell the blood the moment he walked in. He growled at Darla, knowing arguments were futile. She crossed her arms, scowled, and flounced off to her bedroom. Then he moved into Spike's bed, gingerly, carefully. He gave the best comfort at his disposal. He licked the wounds, cleaning them, easing them, slowly closing them. If Darla had forbid him, he would have had to fight her about it first. But apparently whatever Spike had done wasn't serious enough to warrant a fight.
Spike tried to be impassive at first, though pulled out of sleep at the first weight of Angelus settling into the bed. But then he whimpered at the gentle rasp of that cool soothing tongue. He let it all out, little calls of pain and contrition and begging forgiveness. Angelus rumbled back, soothing him that way as well. He knew Spike drew fire from Darla because she was venomously jealous of Angelus' attentions to his childe.
The fact that Spike was willful and bratty only gave Darla good excuses for her all-too-frequent whippings, which she took care to administer when Angelus was elsewhere.
"I've got you, m'boy," He purred in a deep rumble only Spike ever heard. "S'all right now."
Spike relaxed then, at last, trembling and purring in his Sire's arms.
~~ China, 1900 ~~
Spike wasn't sleeping. Dru lay in his arms, sleeping at last. Angelus was gone. According to Darla, gone for good this time. Spike had been so happy, only two days ago. He had killed a Slayer, Angelus was back, all was right with the world. But now Angelus was gone. No clue where, no reason why. So he couldn't sleep.
He lay there pondering, for hours. A poem came to him, and he set it in his head, knowing he could write it down whenever. Perfect memory, one of the dubious gifts of the undead. He could recall every moment, every look, every touch his Sire had ever given him. All lies, apparently, but he clung to them nevertheless.
Sometime in the night, Dru cried out, thrashing, whimpering. Some dark dream possessed her. Spike pulled her to him, stroking her hair, purring, soothing her. "Don't worry, Princess," he cooed. "I've got you."
Dru slowly stopped thrashing and settled in his arms, resting against him.
Spike smiled. He wasn't alone. He whispered to her sleeping form. "I will be there for you, Princess. I will never leave you."
And then, and only then, did he close his eyes and go to sleep.
~~ A submarine somewhere in the Atlantic, 1943 ~~
Angel's lips quirked in an almost-smile. Strange how fate worked. He was thrown together with Spike, after all this time, trapped in a tin can.
Here they were, naked, Spike spooned against him. Spike thought he was Angelus, so like old times, they had ended up in bed. He looked down at that pale face, stroking the cheekbones. He hated the black, slicked-back hair, but everything else was as he remembered. Even the scar, newly acquired the last they had seen each other. He traced it gently, then down and over his body. Tomorrow they would be near land, and he would have to send Spike away. Couldn't keep him. Too many complications.
So tonight he was sleepless. Had to store up memories to last. No telling if he would ever see him again. Spike stirred, whimpering a little. Angel smiled, and cooed and purred to his childe. "I've got you." Spike settled immediately at the sound of Angel's voice.
He trusted me, Angel thought. He trusted me and I left him. And I'm going to leave him again. Angel knew then, with an echoing certainty, that he would regret this. But for now he just stroked his hand over perfect pale skin.
~~ Los Angeles, 2003 ~~
A ghostly Spike walked into the penthouse. It was dark and quiet. Angel was asleep. Spike had been coming here every night since he reappeared in Angel's office. Angel didn't know. Spike just stood by the bed, for hours, watching that powerful muscular body, that brutally handsome face.
Watching the arms that will never hold him again. He'd resigned himself to that. They were too far apart. Too much time and too much history lay between them. But standing here, every night, he wished it wasn't the case.
Tonight he won't be content to just stand by the bed. He moved over, closer, and extended a ghostly hand. He concentrated, pushing all his desire, all his passion, into that one hand, and stroked it softly over his face and neck, and rested it on his chest.
Angel stirred a little, eyes not opening. "Spike. S'ok. Go back t'sleep."
He grabbed a long pillow that lies next to him, cradling it to his chest, stroking it. "I've got you, m'boy."
Spike pulled back his hand, shaking, and walked away. He didn't come back the next night, or any night again of his ghostly existence.
~~ Somewhere in the world, not too long ago ~~
The cabin is very remote. Lovely, near unspoiled wilderness all around. And that's the way its two inhabitants prefer it. Lots of wild game. No need for bagged blood. They hunt, not for humans but for animals. It's challenging, and if they catch large game they don't even have to kill them.
The cabin itself is simple but well stocked. Self-sufficient, using natural sources for power. And, of course, there is a big, sturdy, fluffy and comfortable bed.
None of which seemed to help Spike tonight. He's restless. Too many nightmares waiting when he closes his eyes. Lots to choose from, but tonight is the anniversary of that final battle. The one only he and his Sire walked away from.
He manages to wriggle out of Angel's arms and walks around the cabin, padding silently. He looks out into the night. The night here is so black and so bright all at once. No lights, but millions of stars. Usually looking up at that sky soothes him but not tonight. He's still there when strong hands slip an oversized shirt onto his shoulders. It smells of its owner. Angel. Strong hands pull him close. Angel nuzzles Spike and whispers in his ear. "I've got you, m'boy. Come back to bed."
END