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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Long Ago Author: Criss Moody Pairing:cvAngel/Buffy/Spike, but not sexually Rating: NC-17 Setting: General S4 BtVS I've never told anyone this before, but I bloody well hate bedding. Sheets, comforters, duvets, pillows, the whole lot of it annoys me to no end. All I ever do is thrash about, get all tangled up, and then end up the laughing stock of anyone sharing my bed. Angelus always thought it was cute, the wanker. I'd go to bed, after a lovely night of blood and mayhem, no sheets, no blankets, just my handsomely dead body and whatever or whoever I was sleeping on at the moment. When I woke up, I'd either be tangled up in a sheet, a blanket, an animal skin, a coat, or my sire's arms. I always preferred Angel's arms. 'Spose it was silly, but I always thought a great warmth radiated from those arms. They never let go, even through all my kicking and thrashing about, stuff even Dru couldn't stand. No, my sire held on to me-right up until the stupid poof had his soul forced back into him. I've never been able to wash the feel of his arms off of me. I've tried everything from scouring'till I'm raw to ripping my skin off with a fingernails or a broken bottle;nothing has nullified the feel of his arms around me, squeezing, strong and sure. For the first time in my pitiful life, I'd felt safe. He was a dead thing, cold and pale, but when I first caught that stolen glance of him, I nearly came in my pants. He was at a whorehouse, one with a reputation that even I didn't understand at the time. It catered to special clientele, with very 'special' needs. I'd wandered there,hungry, attracted by the warmth in the windows, and I found him, this dark god, sprawled like white marble against as sea of plush bodies. Only his body moved, only his arms stroked the various limbs surrounding him as a small, secret smile played on his face. Part of me said run,now; the other part slipped a hand inside my pants to grope at my hardening cock. When his hard, brown eyes locked with my still relatively innocent blue ones, my body froze, and I watched in terrified fascination as he crossed the room to open the window and throw me into the warm room. He cast me down upon the unmoving mass of warm flesh spread out on the bed, and proceeded to rape me. I'd been raped before, by fathers and brothers and odd blokes on the streets, but he took a special pleasure in it. I still think he turned me only because my hard-on continued to grow as he ripped into my arse. As I awoke, I found plenty of dining opportunities, and Angelus' cock still up me. I worked myself on the cock as I fed, slurping carelessly on a half-dead whore. I have a bloody fascinating theory on why I thrash about as I sleep. When my nancy-boy sire mademe, he didn't let me sleep. Most times, vamps are turned, they're buried, they rise, they go out for dinner. But not poor William. No, I got fucked raw, turned and fucked raw, and then fucked bloody while I had my first midnight snack. Years later, I felt a vicious thrill when my sire lost his fluffy little soul after boinking the Slayer. She never got what I had; she never got to make love to him, then wake inside his fiercely protective embrace. She's never seen him sleep,she doesn't know that he's very quiet, unless of course you touch his belly button, then he snorts. She'll never taste him the way I have, the blood and salt of his flesh rolling over my tongue. I know how lightly he sleeps, and I remember the feel of his fangs in my flesh,vand his cock in my arseas he dragged me out of slumber. As much as I loved my sire's embrace, I loathed his eyes on me as I slept. I couldn't rest when he looked at me; like all those years ago when his brimstone gaze from within the whorehouse nailed me to the spot, my entire being screamed into hypersensitivity when he washed my skin with his emotions. So, despite my much laughed over deep sleep habits, I've learned to recognize certain smells and heartbeats during my rest. It started with the feel of Angelus' eyes and his smell, and then it soon became the dark, wild aroma from Dru, and now,I can sense the Slayer from a mile away. The bitch stinks of swee thumanity, blood coursing underneath silky, vanilla-scented skin, and my sire. His scent coats her, and the tiniest bit of his blood still runs through her own. Stupid cow doesn't even know that once a vampire claims you, once he or she makes you theirs, every idiot with half a decent nose can scent it. Most vamps aren't so afraid of the Slayer because she's the Slayer, but because Summers carries the redolent stamp of my sire on her skin, in her blood, even her arousal smellsvlike him, at least to me. The minute her mortal odor slams into my nose, my demon snarls and begs for her blood, because some small part of it would taste of Angelus. In my dreams, I taste therich redness washing over my tongue, coating my throat, and infusing me with my sire. Angelus rarely let me feed from him, because to do so would have diminished his standing as a Master vampire. Every vampire would have smelled the exchange, the stolen blood in our bodies rife with our own smell. I'd sit with that Xander moron and watch his ex-demon galpal paint her toenails before I'd admit this, but I've taken to following the bitch around. Not all the time,just when I haven't got any other way to waste my neutered unlife. I sit outside the Watcher's apartment and drink in her scent, the passion sparking a turbulent adrenaline rush through her system, the aroma of as light arousal brought on by imminent battle. I know she's watched me sleep, more than once, in that basement after my humiliation at the hands of my own kind, and again the night after she sparked off to me at that club. I watch her sleep, too. Thanks to the wonder of public buildings, I've spent the last 4 hours perched on the witch's bed, arms on knees and face in hands, eating the bitch with my eyes, seeing as I can't eat her with anything else. Only her fair head and satiny shoulders rise out from the plush bedding, starkly tanned against the white cotton. She's taken to sleeping nude, with just a light sheet molding itself to her firm young skin. I spring off my perch to land beside her, sliding into a folding chair next to the Slayer's bed. I'm close enough to touch her face, her ridiculously perky breasts, her warm sex, and she's dangling away in dream land, ignorant of the- oh fuckadoodledoo,I couldn't do anything to her anyway. But I can watch as dreams twist her delicate features into fearsome snarls, clench her hands around fistfuls of her bedding, and make her body squirm. Her neck arches and I snarl inwardly as the movement exposes my sire's mark. My eyes narrow when I catch a whiff of pungent sexual arousal in the air. Whore's probably dreaming of her Ken doll. Hell, she's a vapid excuse for a mate- As she breathes out, my sire's poofy soul name forms on her lips. Every cell in my dead body freezes. Fuck it, he's like some kind of nasty plague... only plagues are usually polite enough to just kill you quickly. Under the dim light of the moon outside, the Slayer's body twists out of the sheet, revealing the tip of one breast, the skin radiating a warm, musky smell. Neither one of us will ever be free from that wanker. She can fuck all the college boys she wants, and I can curse his name 'till I turn to dust,but we'll never be rid of his claim, his scent, his blood. With a shaky hand, I touch my finger tips to the warm, pink-tipped globe of flesh so recently revealed to me, closing my eyes almost reverently. Her body stills, settles into the bed, and I shudder under the release of tension. I'll hate this bitch until the day she plunges a stake into my chest, but I'll also protect her soul against the demons knocking on the door. He shattered us, left us reeling from his touch, his blood, his... love, and then ran, leaving us to pick up the bits of flesh and soul still left, the little things we could maybe still call our own. Our pain has twisted together like some perverted knot, tighter and tighter until we can barely breathe. I am the only being who willever understand how deep loving him goes, and she's the only soul who still carries a part of his within her. Fucking hell, I'll never get out of this town. -End Feedback |