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Jul. 11th, 2004 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightThis is my story for the Fanged Four Ficathon. It's written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sangpassionne, who requested the following:
Pairing(s) requested: Darla/Spike/Angelus
Slash requested: Yes
Time Period Requested: 1882
Three things you would like in your fic: Darla and Angelus playing with Spike. Bloodplay, nastiness, rape murder, toys.
Tone: Smutty dark
Rating Preference: NC-17
Disclaimer: Joss owns them all, which is kind of unfair.
I tried to get all those things into the story in some way or other, although 1882 was tricky, and I ended up dating it with a gratuitous historical reference. Really, it should probably be set a year earlier. And it's not Darla and Angelus playing with Spike exactly... Obviously, if slash etc is not your thing, read no further.
Beta'ed by Am-Chau Yarkona, to whom many thanks.
Roll of the Dice
Spike couldn’t stop laughing. Mirth was bubbling up irrepressibly from deep inside him and his body felt as if it was on fire with blood and alcohol, so that he hardly noticed he was soaked through to the skin in the dirty rain. His belly was full, his cock hard, and Angelus’s huge, solid presence next to him filled him with feelings he could neither explain nor articulate.
And he hadn’t had such fun in ages.
Their feet splashed through puddles, Spike unconcerned, Angelus wary of the water on his new boots. Suddenly, Spike pulled Angelus against the wall of a house and kissed him, searching for the metallic flavour of blood in his sire’s mouth. Angelus swung them to spare his good wool coat and Spike felt the rough bricks and mortar scrape against his back through his thin shirt. He couldn’t remember when he’d lost his own coat – maybe when they’d pulled down that sweep’s boy in the alley? Maybe before, when he’d held off the swearing docker whose sweetheart Angelus had just raped and killed? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care.
Angelus laughed with him and pulled away, drawing Spike after. His eyes were tinged with amber, luminous in the half-light. He put his hand to Spike’s face, taking his jaw in a cruel, possessive grip.
“I want you,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”
They stumbled up the steps of the house and then waited, still laughing, for one of the minions to come and open the door to their knock. It took a while, as usual, minions being what they were, and they passed the time by kissing and fondling each other. When the door finally opened, Angelus had already torn the sodden shirt from Spike’s back, discarding the pieces into the swirling gutter, and was licking the rain off his shivering body.
They pushed past the minion – Thomas, was it? – and into the hallway and instantly, Angelus had Spike pinned to the wall and had torn the seat out of his trousers, wet fingers probing roughly between his exposed buttocks and then jabbing viciously into him in a perfunctory attempt at preparation.
“Going to fill you up till you burst, boy,” he hissed in Spike’s ear, and Spike cried out and swore as he was penetrated, smelling blood, tears starting in his eyes from the pain. It hurt so much, yet it felt so good – being used and owned and wholly possessed by his magnificent sire, whom he adored; who was everything to him – tonight, at least.
As Angelus thrust harder and harder, not sparing him at all, Spike could feel his skin splitting, soft tissues tearing, and he roared, thrusting back, face changing so that everything became eerily clear and limned with sulphur-yellow, as the demon saw it. He laid his cheek against the wall and gave himself to the sensations, wanting more; wanting it never to end. When he felt Angelus convulse and spend, he reached for his own cock, seeking relief, only to have his hands knocked away and a fierce, possessive grip tighten around him, checking him and forcing a howl of frustration to his lips.
He opened his eyes to see the minion, Thomas, leaning against the banister, watching him, a disdainful smirk on his ugly face.
“Piss off!” Spike hissed, while at the same time Angelus, oblivious to the intrusion, began to pump him, saying:
“You’re going to come when I say so, William, and not before. Now, I’m going to count to three –one –“
Spike closed his eyes again, forgetting about the minion as he revelled in that firm controlling grip, wanting it never to let him go.
“Two – “
He could feel it now, his release, given permission to rise up through his balls, waiting – waiting on the brink –
“Three,” Angelus said, and he removed his hand as Spike came, explosively, swearing, spattering the wall with its William Morris wallpaper.
Fitting really, Spike thought, given that he had persuaded Angelus to take him out with the express purpose of drinking a toast to Dante Gabriel Rossetti, dead yesterday, who’d been coming all over something of Morris’s for years. He giggled at the thought and turned in Angelus’s arms, bare backside rubbing against the wall until his skin was sticky with his own spending and blood smeared the wallpaper behind him.
Angelus kissed him, smiling that possessive smile of his; the one that made Spike feel wanted and protected and safe.
“Good boy,” he said. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you, William?”
Spike wanted to correct him, to remind him yet again that ‘William’ was no longer his name, that he had chosen a better one long since, just as Angelus had suggested the very day he met him; but he didn’t want to spoil the moment, so he flung his arms round Angelus’s neck and kissed him back.
“I’m yours, sire,” he said. “I’m always yours.” He shook Angelus slightly. It was important that he listen. “Always,” he said again, fiercely, and basked in Angelus’s pleased smile.
Angelus was about to kiss him again when her voice came floating down the stairs.
“Is that you, Angelus? Pray, remove your wet things and come upstairs. You will leave mud on the carpets else.”
Angelus’s head had gone up instantly at the sound of that husky, little girl’s voice, and he let go of Spike at once, as if he were of no consequence at all.
“Clean that up,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the stain on the wall, and he was gone, coat dropping to the floor and boots bouncing down the stairs behind him as he bounded up them.
But then Darla’s voice came again.
“And is that William with you? Let the boy come upstairs too. Really, Angelus, you should take better care of the children.”
Angelus paused, and Spike saw a certain tension come over his sire’s body. At once, his pleasant euphoria was gone and a cold, deadening fear took its place. In his experience, bad things always happened when Darla summoned both Angelus and himself to her presence at the same time. It was ominous, too, that she’d referred to him as ‘William.’ Unlike Angelus, she had taken to calling him ‘Spike’ quite readily when he had announced the name-change. ‘William’ was for when she was displeased for some reason or other, so her use of it now did not bode well for him at all.
Still, it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting. Holding his torn trousers together with his hand, Spike followed Angelus up the stairs, saying to the leering Thomas in passing:
“Clean that up, minion,” and he put a heavy emphasis on that final word, baring his fangs to show he meant business.
The minion gave him a two-fingered answer.
*
Darla’s little sitting room was stuffily hot, with the fire roaring in the grate. Spike, in human face again, hung back in the doorway, as Angelus divested himself of shirt and trousers, quite unconcerned as to who might be watching. Then his sire went through into the bedroom beyond in search of dry clothing, leaving his wet things lying in a heap before the fire, while Darla herself turned from stirring the coals and beckoned Spike into the room. She looked beautiful as always, blonde ringlets arranged artfully to frame her face and tumble over her shoulders. She was dressed for bed, in white cotton and lace, yet there was a touch of far from natural colour on her lips and cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled and she smiled at Spike, a lioness sighting her prey.
“Come in, William,” she said, and although her voice was soft, it brooked no refusal. Spike slid into the room, keeping his back to the wall, staying as far away from her as he could. He feared her, and he knew he always would. A mere word from her and he would be dust, and no one would even remember his name.
“Madam,” he said, carefully, giving her a respectful nod.
“Why, William,” she exclaimed, starting forward, full of motherly concern. “You are soaked through. Remove those garments at once before you catch your death.”
There was no irony at all in her tone, but Spike heard it all the same, as he hurried to obey her. He’d been naked in front of her many times, and it never ceased to terrify him, but he knew he had no choice. He could hear Angelus whistling softly to himself in the other room but there was no help to be gained from that direction, not against Darla.
When he was naked, she beckoned him to come forward, her eyes raking him up and down with a certain amount of displeasure.
“You should not walk abroad in the rain,” she said. “It is full of soot, and has made you quite filthy. Come here, boy.”
When Spike was within reach, she snatched at his arm and dragged him through into the bedroom, to the surprise of Angelus, who was brushing his long hair before the fireplace. Darla passed him without comment, pulling Spike with her, until she stopped in front of the dressing table, on which stood a bowl of water left from her own evening ablutions.
“Clean yourself, boy,” she said, “and don’t forget this,” and her fingers insinuated themselves between Spike’s buttocks in a shockingly intimate way. “I will be most displeased if there is blood on the carpet,” and she slapped him hard on the rump and went back to the sitting room, Angelus following behind her without a single backward glance, as if drawn on an invisible thread.
Spike did as she’d ordered, while he strained to hear their quiet conversation. It was impossible, but he was sure he knew the gist of it anyway. Darla was probably accusing Angelus of spoiling him and failing to teach him anything of use, and Angelus, no doubt, was barely attempting to defend himself – for it was the truth, and Angelus knew it– and trying to cajole her into a better temper. When would the old man learn, Spike wondered, that it would never work?
Finished with his brief, unpleasantly cold wash, he returned reluctantly to Darla’s sitting room, just in time to hear the tail-end of the conversation.
“I would have less to say on the matter, Angelus,” Darla was saying, “if I thought you were teaching the boy anything useful instead of just debauching him.”
Angelus had nothing to say in answer to this it seemed, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them while Spike stood quietly in the doorway, hoping to avoid notice. But Darla beckoned to him at once to come and sit at her feet, naked as he was. He did so, and she began to run her silver comb through his hair, exclaiming in annoyance at the tangles. Spike bore it patiently – he could do nothing else – but he was very aware of Angelus’s eyes fixed on him, full of desire and – was that anger? He shivered, even though he knew that anger to be unfocused, the result of Angelus’s frustration.
“Why so glum, my love?” Darla said, suddenly, although she never stopped combing. “Did you not feed well tonight?”
“I fed well enough, my love,” Angelus said, shortly. “And you?”
“Drusilla and I returned early,” Darla said, “by hansom cab, because of this awful rain. We fed quite well after the theatre and she has retired for the day. Poor girl, she was quite concerned about young William here. You have kept him out until nearly daybreak. You forget, Angelus, that he is little more than a child.”
“He is old enough,” Angelus said, still terse.
“Is he indeed?” Darla said quickly; a cat pouncing. “Then surely he is old enough to know better, my love, would you only teach him. How many years has he been with us now? Why, it is nearly two, and yet you still will not allow him to hunt without you, not even with Drusilla. What earthly reason can you have to wish to be alone with him so much? I declare, Angelus, you are very selfish.”
“The young fool needs close supervision still,” Angelus protested, “or have you forgotten our unpleasant sojourn in that mineshaft already? I do not know what would become of him were he allowed out unaccompanied.”
“And at this rate, we will never find out, will we?” Darla said, and she laughed a silvery laugh. “I can see full well that you meant to keep him to yourself again this evening, depriving Drusilla and I of his company and yours.”
She had drawn Spike’s head back flat across her lap by this time, still combing, and he felt very vulnerable, looking up at her from below and with his throat exposed to her in this fashion. He’d seen her hold a victim in the exact same way before stooping to the bite.
“Therefore,” Darla continued, “in the interests of fairness, I propose a wager. Four rolls of the dice, Angelus, two each, and the winner gets to keep the boy for a week to do with as they will. Surely a gambling man such as you will not turn down the chance to gain exclusive access to this pretty Ganymede for such a length of time?”
Spike bristled at the description, aware of Angelus’s eyes raking him up and down, lingering on his neck, where it lay pale and vulnerable across Darla’s lap, than travelling down towards his groin, which he was endeavouring to cover with his knees.
Spike realised that his teeth were chattering and gritted them hard.
“Done,” Angelus said.
The moment he had spoken, Darla ceased her combing and bent to press a kiss to Spike’s forehead.
“Do you hear that, dear boy?” she said. “For a whole week, you will have the undivided attention of one of your parents. Won’t that be nice? However, in the meantime, it will please me greatly if you keep quiet as a little mouse. Can you do that, or must I gag you?”
Spike had known what was coming and he shook his head forcefully. Whatever the outcome, he was going to end up arse in the air to one of them, but at least he could spare himself a little indignity first.
Darla patted his head and then her fingers dug into his shoulder in a very proprietary way, holding him still. Spike had no idea whether she meant to win or lose this wager – only that it would fall out as she wished in the end. He tried to relax against her lace-covered knee and concentrate on pleasant thoughts, like the wonderful way she smelled, or the memory of Angelus laughing with him and kissing him, or the mad but knowing look in Drusilla’s blue eyes. It was hard, though, when all he felt was a griping fear that knotted his belly and made his bare skin clammy to the touch.
Angelus had fetched the pair of ivory dice and the dice-shaker from the backgammon set, and he placed them on the table between himself and Darla. He was smiling wolfishly, so, so certain of himself and of his notorious luck at games of chance.
“Ladies first,” he said, while Spike thought, no fool like an old fool.
Darla never let go of Spike’s shoulder, but with her other hand she slipped the dice into the shaker and then cast them on the table.
“Six and four,” Angelus said, still sounding stupidly complacent. “Well thrown, my love.”
“Indeed,” Darla replied. “When I win, I was thinking of getting young William a man’s haircut, Angelus. These curls are a little long, are they not?” Her free hand tangled in Spike’s hair and pulled far from gently. He gritted his teeth, determined to make no sound that would invite the shame of being gagged in front of his elders.
“People will mistake him for an invert and assault him in the street, looking like this,” Darla continued, smiling sweetly.
“What of it?” Angelus said, carelessly. “It’s as good a way as any of catching prey, is it not?”
Spike bristled all over again at these words, furious with Angelus. He knew that Darla must have felt the sudden tension in his body because her fingers bit into his shoulder even harder, willing him to silence.
“And what of you, my love?” she continued, merrily. “Since you will not allow him to hunt without you, will you set yourself up in the role of pimp for the boy?”
Angelus gaped at her in shock, and then his fist banged down on the table between them, making the dice jump and fall to the floor.
“I like his hair as it is,” he said fiercely. “It pleases me that it should remain that way, Darla, and I care nothing for how he might appear to others. All that should matter to him is how he appears to his sire.”
“Oh, really?” Darla replied, all innocence. “How odd, for I heard dear Drusilla say only the other day how she wished that poor William could get a decent haircut like a proper gentleman.”
“I am his sire,” Angelus said, angrily. “Drusilla has nothing to do with this.”
“If you say so, my love,” said Darla, placidly. “I am sure that you know best, of course. However, if I win the wager, I can please myself, can I not? Your turn, I think.”
Angelus retrieved the fallen dice with a brow like thunder and cast them himself. When the dice ceased rolling, Darla clapped her hands daintily and said:
“Two sixes. My, Angelus, how very lucky you are. How foolish of me to think that I could beat you at a game such as this!”
Spike watched with cynical disbelief as Angelus lapped up her flattery. Was it something to do with her being his sire, he wondered, that the stupid old git could never see through her until it was too late? He could not account for it else. Darla was up to something and any fool could see it.
Angelus in the meantime, had moved his chair closer to Darla’s and his hand suddenly came down on Spike’s other shoulder, heavy and cold, claiming ownership once again. Spike risked a glance in the direction of his sire’s face and saw the brown eyes beginning to smoulder as his gaze ran up and down Spike’s body, deeming it as good as his.
In his imagination, Spike thought, Angelus had him chained face down on his bed already.
“Why, Angelus, pray move away a little,” Darla said. “You are crowding me and unsettling the boy. He behaves so well for me as a rule, except when you are here.”
Angelus smirked at her and moved his chair away again, having made his point, and she prepared to make her second throw. Glancing at her hand, Spike saw the sudden little twist of her slender wrist and the second pair of dice that dropped down into her waiting palm, while the originals vanished into that same sleeve, but Angelus didn’t see it, leaning back in his chair, hands folded complacently on his belly.
Spike mentally shook his head at his sire’s blind confidence, but he dared say nothing.
“Well, I never,” Darla exclaimed. “How fortuitous. I have thrown two sixes this time, Angelus, pray observe.”
Angelus was frowning now, his suspicions finally aroused. He picked up the dice weighing them in his hand, and his frown grew deeper. Darla meanwhile, opened her green eyes wide and leaned forward to display her velvet and cream décolletage to best advantage. Spike saw Angelus’s eye fix there and a slight shudder go through his body at the sight, as he let the dice fall from his hand back to the table with a gentle clattering sound.
Not that it wasn’t a very fine sight, of course, Spike thought, having had the privilege of a closer acquaintance with it a time or two, but still – for so feared and notorious a vampire, Angelus was very easily distracted.
Now, Angelus shook himself and prepared once again to make his second throw, needing to roll another pair of sixes or a five and six to beat Darla, and no doubt still confident of doing so.
“Since you think it matters not that the boy resembles a whore,” Darla said, suddenly, “perhaps we might sell him to these white slavers that Mrs Butler has warned the public about. Of course, she spoke concerning young females only, but perhaps the slavers have more catholic tastes, who knows? After all, Angelus, what other use is there for him when you teach him so little? We might as well gain some profit from him.”
Again, her fingers bit hard into Spike’s shoulder, so that he swallowed his hot words of protest in a hurry. She was going to have his hide anyway. No need to give her reason to make it worse than it had to be.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Angelus exclaimed and he stood up, obviously furious again, and strode to the fireplace. Darla took the opportunity of his distraction to gather the counterfeit dice quickly back into her sleeve and replace them with the real ones. Spike could only marvel at her cunning. She always knew exactly what to say to get the result she wanted.
But Angelus turned from the fireplace and his mood had gone cold now, which was never a good sign. Someone would suffer for it later, and as it would never be Darla, Spike feared for Drusilla, who always seemed to bear the brunt of Angelus’s fury if Spike could not deflect it onto himself. He wanted to get up and run from the room before it was too late to spirit Drusilla away, but instead, he sat, rooted to the spot while Darla’s fingers maintained their implacable grip.
“Enough!” Angelus said. “I will not be spoken to in this manner, Darla. How I train the boy is my business. I have trained children before, remember?”
“Yes, and they are a credit to you,” Darla said, smiling sweetly. “There is Penn, forever going round in the same tedious little circle wherever he goes, so that one cannot bear his company for long; and there is Drusilla, mad as Mr Dodgson’s hatter. I would have thought, Angelus, you would take the old adage to heart about practice making perfect and make more effort to ensure that this boy is of some practical use to us.”
“He will be,” Angelus said, waving his hand dismissively. “He is young still. You are too impatient, Darla.”
“I?” Darla put her hand to her breast and let it linger there, a look of outraged innocence on her face. “Why, my love, you yourself said not long ago that he is old enough. Which is it?”
“I – “Angelus stuttered for a moment, then stopped, evidently at a loss for words. Scowling, he picked up the dice and stood weighing them in his hand yet again.
“These are the dice I fetched,” he said, suddenly, “and they were not before. You are cheating, woman. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
And he reached out and seized Darla’s slender wrist, shaking her arm fiercely. The counterfeit dice fell from their concealment and onto the table in plain sight.
With a furious oath, Angelus picked up the weighted dice and then slammed them down again on the table. He reached for Spike’s arm, but Darla pulled him back out of Angelus’s reach.
“Of course I cheated,” she said, laughing gaily, while nursing her bruised wrist. “Did you really think I would wager such a prize on the roll of a pair of dice, Angelus? For shame! All these years and not know me yet, my love. Well, since you have discovered me, let me tell you what we shall do. I will keep the boy for two days only and then you may have him back, but only on condition that you do better henceforward and teach him something useful.”
Angelus scowled again and opened his mouth to speak, but Darla hurried on.
“He is quick and strong,” she said, “and he has a streak of cunning under all that brashness, yet you leave him to wallow in ignorance and boredom. It is little surprise, then, that all he does is cause trouble whenever he gets the chance. Give the boy some responsibility, Angelus, if only for himself, and perhaps he will surprise us all.”
She transferred the merciless grip of her fingers from Spike’s arm to the nape of his neck, holding him fast by the hair, digging into the pressure points below his ears hard enough to hurt. He froze again in that grip, a small, frightened animal trapped in the predator’s jaws, and her other hand began to stroke his hair, comforting while she teased him along the edge of pain.
“As it is,” she continued, an edge of contempt in her voice, “even the minions have no respect for him, which is no wonder when they see daily that you treat him like a pet when you even notice him at all. What do you say, my love?”
There’s no reason for you to agree, Spike thought. She cheated. She admitted it. Just claim the prize, you vain old git. You only agreed to this stupid wager in the first place because she flattered you into it, and now she’s making terms. Just get me away from her!
But he said nothing, and not only from sheer terror, for at the same time as desperately wanting to be free of her, he knew that Darla was right.
Angelus had no intention of teaching him how to be a better vampire. Oh, the old man was always saying that he would, but in reality he had neither the patience nor the inclination to teach anyone, and he had only one real use for Spike, which required no skills save those of the whore to whom Darla had compared him.
Held fast in Darla’s grip, Spike tried to appreciate the irony of this, given her own past, but the pain he was in made it rather difficult. He could feel tears sliding down his cheeks now, quite without his volition, as her nails dug into his flesh; but when he turned his eyes towards his sire, trying to convey with them how much he needed to get away from her, it was to find Angelus watching him, his eyes fixed on that involuntary expression of agony with a kind of horrible eagerness to see what Darla would do next.
Bastard, Spike thought, and he turned his face away. He would get no help from that direction.
He knew he would have to face up to the truth of the matter, which was that, if left to his own devices, Angelus would never allow him to leave his bed, let alone allow him to go hunting by himself. Of course, when the old man was occupied with other things, he required Spike conveniently to cease to exist until he felt like noticing him again, or until Spike forced his attention by making himself impossible to ignore.
As far as teaching him the ways of the hunt, it was always: soon, or, next week, or, not just now, boy, why don’t you come to bed? Spike knew that he had enough knowledge to get himself into plenty of trouble but very little to enable him to get himself out of it, let alone familiarity with any of the myriad tricks and wiles that were part of Angelus’s repertoire.
Spike grimaced inwardly when he remembered how he’d affected to despise those same tricks and wiles, but that was when he’d still believed that Angelus was going to teach them to him. Now, he knew better. This extended childhood had to end if he was ever to earn the name he’d taken for himself; even though he also knew there would always be a part of him that yearned for his sire- to be taken under that heavy all-encompassing wing and be protected and owned – loved, maybe – forever.
Angelus had made sure of that long since, with that way he had of making you feel you mattered to him, that he cared for and desired you more than anything. Spike had felt that so strongly tonight until she had interfered, but now he struggled against the feeling, because it unmanned him, because he knew it was a lie, and acquiescing to it made him less than he wanted to be.
Besides, he already knew what Angelus was going to say. The old man never stood up to her in the end.
“Very well, Darla” Angelus said, at last. “I agree to your condition – but only on one condition of my own.”
Darla didn’t ask him what it could be; she merely raised one well-tended eyebrow.
“You will never allow me to take you and him together,” Angelus said. “I wish to do that. We will take him between us, Darla, and then he and I – will take you.”
He grinned smugly and for a moment, Spike was sure Darla would say no, but then she smiled and inclined her head gracefully, showing her displeasure only through her punishing grip on her victim’s hair.
“Very well,” she said, “I agree to your condition, for after all, what am I but a defenceless woman, and one caught cheating at that?” and she laughed her silvery laugh.
Spike was left bewildered then, seeing the look of smouldering desire that passed between them, wondering briefly if they had planned the whole thing from the start.
He was almost sure that couldn’t be so, for Angelus had seemed genuinely outraged by Darla’s treachery, but still, doubt plagued him and cold fear gripped him even harder, as he realised that Darla might just have agreed to do something she had no wish to do – for his sake.
“And now, my love,” Darla was saying. “Pray go and attend to Drusilla, who will always be your little girl and doubtless needs her daddy, and leave young William to me. I believe I am owed my pound of flesh.”
Angelus opened his mouth to say something, and his eyes once again raked Spike up and down, committing every inch of his body to memory, as if expecting to find it much changed when he saw it again. But then he shrugged and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
*
On Angelus’s departure, Darla abruptly let go of Spike’s neck and stood up, stiff and angry. She remained still for a moment, and then hauled Spike to his feet by the arm. He didn’t dare look at her, afraid of what he might see in her face.
“Look at me, boy,” she said, and her voice was cold and merciless.
He raised his head and met her eyes, quaking, only for her to pull her arm back and slap him so hard across the face that he fell backwards over the table, upsetting it and knocking the dice to the floor once again. He thought that her anger was fuelled by the promise Angelus had forced her to make, but soon realised that was not so.
“You little fool!” she hissed. “When will you ever learn? How many times do I have to tell you?”
She grabbed a handful of his hair once again in her delicate, yet relentless grip and pulled him back to his feet before marching him into the bedroom and placing him to stand in the centre of the room. At her gesture, he held out his arms for her to cuff his wrists, and then lifted one foot at a time so that she would not have to bend to cuff his ankles. He stood passively as she attached the chains that hung from the ceiling to the cuffs and hauled his arms upwards and his feet apart, so that he hung crucified for her pleasure. Seizing his face in her small hand, she held his gaze and said:
“Do you think I didn’t hear you, down in the hall, telling him that you belonged to him; that you always would? You think you love him, don’t you, you idiot! Did your poor mother give birth to a boy or a donkey, I wonder?”
Her small, cruel fingers traced the line of his jaw.
“What will it take,” she said, “to make you learn that Angelus cannot love, that he loves no one and nothing save himself?”
She paused a moment, looking him straight in the eye, then said:
“Not even me.”
Spike opened his mouth to answer and she jammed a piece of wood on a leather thong between his teeth and fastened the thong behind his head.
“I have tried to help you, boy,” she said, bitterly. “I am trying to make you see that he cares nothing for you; that he wants to own you and nothing more. Do you want to be driven mad, like Drusilla, for that is what will happen to you, if you don’t put these foolish notions out of your head? You have to become your own man and earn that brave new name of yours, and the sooner, the better before he ruins you completely.”
Satisfied that Spike could neither move nor speak, she slid her negligee off her creamy shoulders and undid the ribbons of her nightgown, letting it fall in a lacy pool around her slender feet. She stood before him a moment, displaying herself wantonly, letting him feast his eyes on her full breasts and the sweet curve of waist and hips, until his cock, obedient to a fault, rose at the sight; at which time, she seized it and bound it tightly at the root.
“I agreed to his terms,” she said, hands busy, “because I know that you will not be so foolish as to take liberties, will you, boy?”
Spike shook his head frantically, trying to watch her as she went round behind him and he heard her going through her toy cupboard and taking things out. And he continued to watch, unable to tear his eyes away, as she laid items down on the table within easy reach; a rattan switch, a pair of scissors, a little knife, obviously very sharp indeed, a pear-shaped glass object for which he could see no use but which he was sure he would come to know intimately in some way. She was standing behind him now, her cold, dainty hand stroking his bare flank, full of promise and threat.
“You will learn, William,” she said. “You will learn to be of use. You will learn to hunt and fight and kill like a master. Angelus has promised me and I have promised him – a little something to keep him sweet.”
She laughed coldly and said: “What, did you think for one moment that I expected him to fall for my subterfuge? I knew he would surely see through it and I knew just as surely how easily he would give you up to me to gain something he wanted more. Remember that and learn, boy; if you can.”
The caressing hand grew firmer, her sharp nails tracing patterns on his skin to be made more permanent later.
“But in the meantime,” she said, “until you can prove to me that you are more than just one of Angelus’s toys, and since he has not yet taught you to be good for anything else, I will put you to a task that you can well perform.”
As she came round to face him again, Spike gaped in shock at the huge length of vulcanised rubber now strapped round her hips and standing out proud from her groin, only to have her laugh again in his face at this evidence of his naivety. Trembling inwardly, he watched her dainty fingers open a small bottle of oil and delicately pour some on the monstrosity, and he thanked God, or more likely the Devil, for small mercies. Then she slid back round behind him, her nipples brushing his back like icy points, her small hands teasing his shrinking, sensitised flesh, until they rested; one palm on each buttock.
“Now, boy,” she said. “We will see how you take this, and afterwards, you can tell me which of us is the better man, Angelus or I.”
sangpassionne, who requested the following:Pairing(s) requested: Darla/Spike/Angelus
Slash requested: Yes
Time Period Requested: 1882
Three things you would like in your fic: Darla and Angelus playing with Spike. Bloodplay, nastiness, rape murder, toys.
Tone: Smutty dark
Rating Preference: NC-17
Disclaimer: Joss owns them all, which is kind of unfair.
I tried to get all those things into the story in some way or other, although 1882 was tricky, and I ended up dating it with a gratuitous historical reference. Really, it should probably be set a year earlier. And it's not Darla and Angelus playing with Spike exactly... Obviously, if slash etc is not your thing, read no further.
Beta'ed by Am-Chau Yarkona, to whom many thanks.
Roll of the Dice
Spike couldn’t stop laughing. Mirth was bubbling up irrepressibly from deep inside him and his body felt as if it was on fire with blood and alcohol, so that he hardly noticed he was soaked through to the skin in the dirty rain. His belly was full, his cock hard, and Angelus’s huge, solid presence next to him filled him with feelings he could neither explain nor articulate.
And he hadn’t had such fun in ages.
Their feet splashed through puddles, Spike unconcerned, Angelus wary of the water on his new boots. Suddenly, Spike pulled Angelus against the wall of a house and kissed him, searching for the metallic flavour of blood in his sire’s mouth. Angelus swung them to spare his good wool coat and Spike felt the rough bricks and mortar scrape against his back through his thin shirt. He couldn’t remember when he’d lost his own coat – maybe when they’d pulled down that sweep’s boy in the alley? Maybe before, when he’d held off the swearing docker whose sweetheart Angelus had just raped and killed? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care.
Angelus laughed with him and pulled away, drawing Spike after. His eyes were tinged with amber, luminous in the half-light. He put his hand to Spike’s face, taking his jaw in a cruel, possessive grip.
“I want you,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”
They stumbled up the steps of the house and then waited, still laughing, for one of the minions to come and open the door to their knock. It took a while, as usual, minions being what they were, and they passed the time by kissing and fondling each other. When the door finally opened, Angelus had already torn the sodden shirt from Spike’s back, discarding the pieces into the swirling gutter, and was licking the rain off his shivering body.
They pushed past the minion – Thomas, was it? – and into the hallway and instantly, Angelus had Spike pinned to the wall and had torn the seat out of his trousers, wet fingers probing roughly between his exposed buttocks and then jabbing viciously into him in a perfunctory attempt at preparation.
“Going to fill you up till you burst, boy,” he hissed in Spike’s ear, and Spike cried out and swore as he was penetrated, smelling blood, tears starting in his eyes from the pain. It hurt so much, yet it felt so good – being used and owned and wholly possessed by his magnificent sire, whom he adored; who was everything to him – tonight, at least.
As Angelus thrust harder and harder, not sparing him at all, Spike could feel his skin splitting, soft tissues tearing, and he roared, thrusting back, face changing so that everything became eerily clear and limned with sulphur-yellow, as the demon saw it. He laid his cheek against the wall and gave himself to the sensations, wanting more; wanting it never to end. When he felt Angelus convulse and spend, he reached for his own cock, seeking relief, only to have his hands knocked away and a fierce, possessive grip tighten around him, checking him and forcing a howl of frustration to his lips.
He opened his eyes to see the minion, Thomas, leaning against the banister, watching him, a disdainful smirk on his ugly face.
“Piss off!” Spike hissed, while at the same time Angelus, oblivious to the intrusion, began to pump him, saying:
“You’re going to come when I say so, William, and not before. Now, I’m going to count to three –one –“
Spike closed his eyes again, forgetting about the minion as he revelled in that firm controlling grip, wanting it never to let him go.
“Two – “
He could feel it now, his release, given permission to rise up through his balls, waiting – waiting on the brink –
“Three,” Angelus said, and he removed his hand as Spike came, explosively, swearing, spattering the wall with its William Morris wallpaper.
Fitting really, Spike thought, given that he had persuaded Angelus to take him out with the express purpose of drinking a toast to Dante Gabriel Rossetti, dead yesterday, who’d been coming all over something of Morris’s for years. He giggled at the thought and turned in Angelus’s arms, bare backside rubbing against the wall until his skin was sticky with his own spending and blood smeared the wallpaper behind him.
Angelus kissed him, smiling that possessive smile of his; the one that made Spike feel wanted and protected and safe.
“Good boy,” he said. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you, William?”
Spike wanted to correct him, to remind him yet again that ‘William’ was no longer his name, that he had chosen a better one long since, just as Angelus had suggested the very day he met him; but he didn’t want to spoil the moment, so he flung his arms round Angelus’s neck and kissed him back.
“I’m yours, sire,” he said. “I’m always yours.” He shook Angelus slightly. It was important that he listen. “Always,” he said again, fiercely, and basked in Angelus’s pleased smile.
Angelus was about to kiss him again when her voice came floating down the stairs.
“Is that you, Angelus? Pray, remove your wet things and come upstairs. You will leave mud on the carpets else.”
Angelus’s head had gone up instantly at the sound of that husky, little girl’s voice, and he let go of Spike at once, as if he were of no consequence at all.
“Clean that up,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the stain on the wall, and he was gone, coat dropping to the floor and boots bouncing down the stairs behind him as he bounded up them.
But then Darla’s voice came again.
“And is that William with you? Let the boy come upstairs too. Really, Angelus, you should take better care of the children.”
Angelus paused, and Spike saw a certain tension come over his sire’s body. At once, his pleasant euphoria was gone and a cold, deadening fear took its place. In his experience, bad things always happened when Darla summoned both Angelus and himself to her presence at the same time. It was ominous, too, that she’d referred to him as ‘William.’ Unlike Angelus, she had taken to calling him ‘Spike’ quite readily when he had announced the name-change. ‘William’ was for when she was displeased for some reason or other, so her use of it now did not bode well for him at all.
Still, it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting. Holding his torn trousers together with his hand, Spike followed Angelus up the stairs, saying to the leering Thomas in passing:
“Clean that up, minion,” and he put a heavy emphasis on that final word, baring his fangs to show he meant business.
The minion gave him a two-fingered answer.
Darla’s little sitting room was stuffily hot, with the fire roaring in the grate. Spike, in human face again, hung back in the doorway, as Angelus divested himself of shirt and trousers, quite unconcerned as to who might be watching. Then his sire went through into the bedroom beyond in search of dry clothing, leaving his wet things lying in a heap before the fire, while Darla herself turned from stirring the coals and beckoned Spike into the room. She looked beautiful as always, blonde ringlets arranged artfully to frame her face and tumble over her shoulders. She was dressed for bed, in white cotton and lace, yet there was a touch of far from natural colour on her lips and cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled and she smiled at Spike, a lioness sighting her prey.
“Come in, William,” she said, and although her voice was soft, it brooked no refusal. Spike slid into the room, keeping his back to the wall, staying as far away from her as he could. He feared her, and he knew he always would. A mere word from her and he would be dust, and no one would even remember his name.
“Madam,” he said, carefully, giving her a respectful nod.
“Why, William,” she exclaimed, starting forward, full of motherly concern. “You are soaked through. Remove those garments at once before you catch your death.”
There was no irony at all in her tone, but Spike heard it all the same, as he hurried to obey her. He’d been naked in front of her many times, and it never ceased to terrify him, but he knew he had no choice. He could hear Angelus whistling softly to himself in the other room but there was no help to be gained from that direction, not against Darla.
When he was naked, she beckoned him to come forward, her eyes raking him up and down with a certain amount of displeasure.
“You should not walk abroad in the rain,” she said. “It is full of soot, and has made you quite filthy. Come here, boy.”
When Spike was within reach, she snatched at his arm and dragged him through into the bedroom, to the surprise of Angelus, who was brushing his long hair before the fireplace. Darla passed him without comment, pulling Spike with her, until she stopped in front of the dressing table, on which stood a bowl of water left from her own evening ablutions.
“Clean yourself, boy,” she said, “and don’t forget this,” and her fingers insinuated themselves between Spike’s buttocks in a shockingly intimate way. “I will be most displeased if there is blood on the carpet,” and she slapped him hard on the rump and went back to the sitting room, Angelus following behind her without a single backward glance, as if drawn on an invisible thread.
Spike did as she’d ordered, while he strained to hear their quiet conversation. It was impossible, but he was sure he knew the gist of it anyway. Darla was probably accusing Angelus of spoiling him and failing to teach him anything of use, and Angelus, no doubt, was barely attempting to defend himself – for it was the truth, and Angelus knew it– and trying to cajole her into a better temper. When would the old man learn, Spike wondered, that it would never work?
Finished with his brief, unpleasantly cold wash, he returned reluctantly to Darla’s sitting room, just in time to hear the tail-end of the conversation.
“I would have less to say on the matter, Angelus,” Darla was saying, “if I thought you were teaching the boy anything useful instead of just debauching him.”
Angelus had nothing to say in answer to this it seemed, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them while Spike stood quietly in the doorway, hoping to avoid notice. But Darla beckoned to him at once to come and sit at her feet, naked as he was. He did so, and she began to run her silver comb through his hair, exclaiming in annoyance at the tangles. Spike bore it patiently – he could do nothing else – but he was very aware of Angelus’s eyes fixed on him, full of desire and – was that anger? He shivered, even though he knew that anger to be unfocused, the result of Angelus’s frustration.
“Why so glum, my love?” Darla said, suddenly, although she never stopped combing. “Did you not feed well tonight?”
“I fed well enough, my love,” Angelus said, shortly. “And you?”
“Drusilla and I returned early,” Darla said, “by hansom cab, because of this awful rain. We fed quite well after the theatre and she has retired for the day. Poor girl, she was quite concerned about young William here. You have kept him out until nearly daybreak. You forget, Angelus, that he is little more than a child.”
“He is old enough,” Angelus said, still terse.
“Is he indeed?” Darla said quickly; a cat pouncing. “Then surely he is old enough to know better, my love, would you only teach him. How many years has he been with us now? Why, it is nearly two, and yet you still will not allow him to hunt without you, not even with Drusilla. What earthly reason can you have to wish to be alone with him so much? I declare, Angelus, you are very selfish.”
“The young fool needs close supervision still,” Angelus protested, “or have you forgotten our unpleasant sojourn in that mineshaft already? I do not know what would become of him were he allowed out unaccompanied.”
“And at this rate, we will never find out, will we?” Darla said, and she laughed a silvery laugh. “I can see full well that you meant to keep him to yourself again this evening, depriving Drusilla and I of his company and yours.”
She had drawn Spike’s head back flat across her lap by this time, still combing, and he felt very vulnerable, looking up at her from below and with his throat exposed to her in this fashion. He’d seen her hold a victim in the exact same way before stooping to the bite.
“Therefore,” Darla continued, “in the interests of fairness, I propose a wager. Four rolls of the dice, Angelus, two each, and the winner gets to keep the boy for a week to do with as they will. Surely a gambling man such as you will not turn down the chance to gain exclusive access to this pretty Ganymede for such a length of time?”
Spike bristled at the description, aware of Angelus’s eyes raking him up and down, lingering on his neck, where it lay pale and vulnerable across Darla’s lap, than travelling down towards his groin, which he was endeavouring to cover with his knees.
Spike realised that his teeth were chattering and gritted them hard.
“Done,” Angelus said.
The moment he had spoken, Darla ceased her combing and bent to press a kiss to Spike’s forehead.
“Do you hear that, dear boy?” she said. “For a whole week, you will have the undivided attention of one of your parents. Won’t that be nice? However, in the meantime, it will please me greatly if you keep quiet as a little mouse. Can you do that, or must I gag you?”
Spike had known what was coming and he shook his head forcefully. Whatever the outcome, he was going to end up arse in the air to one of them, but at least he could spare himself a little indignity first.
Darla patted his head and then her fingers dug into his shoulder in a very proprietary way, holding him still. Spike had no idea whether she meant to win or lose this wager – only that it would fall out as she wished in the end. He tried to relax against her lace-covered knee and concentrate on pleasant thoughts, like the wonderful way she smelled, or the memory of Angelus laughing with him and kissing him, or the mad but knowing look in Drusilla’s blue eyes. It was hard, though, when all he felt was a griping fear that knotted his belly and made his bare skin clammy to the touch.
Angelus had fetched the pair of ivory dice and the dice-shaker from the backgammon set, and he placed them on the table between himself and Darla. He was smiling wolfishly, so, so certain of himself and of his notorious luck at games of chance.
“Ladies first,” he said, while Spike thought, no fool like an old fool.
Darla never let go of Spike’s shoulder, but with her other hand she slipped the dice into the shaker and then cast them on the table.
“Six and four,” Angelus said, still sounding stupidly complacent. “Well thrown, my love.”
“Indeed,” Darla replied. “When I win, I was thinking of getting young William a man’s haircut, Angelus. These curls are a little long, are they not?” Her free hand tangled in Spike’s hair and pulled far from gently. He gritted his teeth, determined to make no sound that would invite the shame of being gagged in front of his elders.
“People will mistake him for an invert and assault him in the street, looking like this,” Darla continued, smiling sweetly.
“What of it?” Angelus said, carelessly. “It’s as good a way as any of catching prey, is it not?”
Spike bristled all over again at these words, furious with Angelus. He knew that Darla must have felt the sudden tension in his body because her fingers bit into his shoulder even harder, willing him to silence.
“And what of you, my love?” she continued, merrily. “Since you will not allow him to hunt without you, will you set yourself up in the role of pimp for the boy?”
Angelus gaped at her in shock, and then his fist banged down on the table between them, making the dice jump and fall to the floor.
“I like his hair as it is,” he said fiercely. “It pleases me that it should remain that way, Darla, and I care nothing for how he might appear to others. All that should matter to him is how he appears to his sire.”
“Oh, really?” Darla replied, all innocence. “How odd, for I heard dear Drusilla say only the other day how she wished that poor William could get a decent haircut like a proper gentleman.”
“I am his sire,” Angelus said, angrily. “Drusilla has nothing to do with this.”
“If you say so, my love,” said Darla, placidly. “I am sure that you know best, of course. However, if I win the wager, I can please myself, can I not? Your turn, I think.”
Angelus retrieved the fallen dice with a brow like thunder and cast them himself. When the dice ceased rolling, Darla clapped her hands daintily and said:
“Two sixes. My, Angelus, how very lucky you are. How foolish of me to think that I could beat you at a game such as this!”
Spike watched with cynical disbelief as Angelus lapped up her flattery. Was it something to do with her being his sire, he wondered, that the stupid old git could never see through her until it was too late? He could not account for it else. Darla was up to something and any fool could see it.
Angelus in the meantime, had moved his chair closer to Darla’s and his hand suddenly came down on Spike’s other shoulder, heavy and cold, claiming ownership once again. Spike risked a glance in the direction of his sire’s face and saw the brown eyes beginning to smoulder as his gaze ran up and down Spike’s body, deeming it as good as his.
In his imagination, Spike thought, Angelus had him chained face down on his bed already.
“Why, Angelus, pray move away a little,” Darla said. “You are crowding me and unsettling the boy. He behaves so well for me as a rule, except when you are here.”
Angelus smirked at her and moved his chair away again, having made his point, and she prepared to make her second throw. Glancing at her hand, Spike saw the sudden little twist of her slender wrist and the second pair of dice that dropped down into her waiting palm, while the originals vanished into that same sleeve, but Angelus didn’t see it, leaning back in his chair, hands folded complacently on his belly.
Spike mentally shook his head at his sire’s blind confidence, but he dared say nothing.
“Well, I never,” Darla exclaimed. “How fortuitous. I have thrown two sixes this time, Angelus, pray observe.”
Angelus was frowning now, his suspicions finally aroused. He picked up the dice weighing them in his hand, and his frown grew deeper. Darla meanwhile, opened her green eyes wide and leaned forward to display her velvet and cream décolletage to best advantage. Spike saw Angelus’s eye fix there and a slight shudder go through his body at the sight, as he let the dice fall from his hand back to the table with a gentle clattering sound.
Not that it wasn’t a very fine sight, of course, Spike thought, having had the privilege of a closer acquaintance with it a time or two, but still – for so feared and notorious a vampire, Angelus was very easily distracted.
Now, Angelus shook himself and prepared once again to make his second throw, needing to roll another pair of sixes or a five and six to beat Darla, and no doubt still confident of doing so.
“Since you think it matters not that the boy resembles a whore,” Darla said, suddenly, “perhaps we might sell him to these white slavers that Mrs Butler has warned the public about. Of course, she spoke concerning young females only, but perhaps the slavers have more catholic tastes, who knows? After all, Angelus, what other use is there for him when you teach him so little? We might as well gain some profit from him.”
Again, her fingers bit hard into Spike’s shoulder, so that he swallowed his hot words of protest in a hurry. She was going to have his hide anyway. No need to give her reason to make it worse than it had to be.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Angelus exclaimed and he stood up, obviously furious again, and strode to the fireplace. Darla took the opportunity of his distraction to gather the counterfeit dice quickly back into her sleeve and replace them with the real ones. Spike could only marvel at her cunning. She always knew exactly what to say to get the result she wanted.
But Angelus turned from the fireplace and his mood had gone cold now, which was never a good sign. Someone would suffer for it later, and as it would never be Darla, Spike feared for Drusilla, who always seemed to bear the brunt of Angelus’s fury if Spike could not deflect it onto himself. He wanted to get up and run from the room before it was too late to spirit Drusilla away, but instead, he sat, rooted to the spot while Darla’s fingers maintained their implacable grip.
“Enough!” Angelus said. “I will not be spoken to in this manner, Darla. How I train the boy is my business. I have trained children before, remember?”
“Yes, and they are a credit to you,” Darla said, smiling sweetly. “There is Penn, forever going round in the same tedious little circle wherever he goes, so that one cannot bear his company for long; and there is Drusilla, mad as Mr Dodgson’s hatter. I would have thought, Angelus, you would take the old adage to heart about practice making perfect and make more effort to ensure that this boy is of some practical use to us.”
“He will be,” Angelus said, waving his hand dismissively. “He is young still. You are too impatient, Darla.”
“I?” Darla put her hand to her breast and let it linger there, a look of outraged innocence on her face. “Why, my love, you yourself said not long ago that he is old enough. Which is it?”
“I – “Angelus stuttered for a moment, then stopped, evidently at a loss for words. Scowling, he picked up the dice and stood weighing them in his hand yet again.
“These are the dice I fetched,” he said, suddenly, “and they were not before. You are cheating, woman. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
And he reached out and seized Darla’s slender wrist, shaking her arm fiercely. The counterfeit dice fell from their concealment and onto the table in plain sight.
With a furious oath, Angelus picked up the weighted dice and then slammed them down again on the table. He reached for Spike’s arm, but Darla pulled him back out of Angelus’s reach.
“Of course I cheated,” she said, laughing gaily, while nursing her bruised wrist. “Did you really think I would wager such a prize on the roll of a pair of dice, Angelus? For shame! All these years and not know me yet, my love. Well, since you have discovered me, let me tell you what we shall do. I will keep the boy for two days only and then you may have him back, but only on condition that you do better henceforward and teach him something useful.”
Angelus scowled again and opened his mouth to speak, but Darla hurried on.
“He is quick and strong,” she said, “and he has a streak of cunning under all that brashness, yet you leave him to wallow in ignorance and boredom. It is little surprise, then, that all he does is cause trouble whenever he gets the chance. Give the boy some responsibility, Angelus, if only for himself, and perhaps he will surprise us all.”
She transferred the merciless grip of her fingers from Spike’s arm to the nape of his neck, holding him fast by the hair, digging into the pressure points below his ears hard enough to hurt. He froze again in that grip, a small, frightened animal trapped in the predator’s jaws, and her other hand began to stroke his hair, comforting while she teased him along the edge of pain.
“As it is,” she continued, an edge of contempt in her voice, “even the minions have no respect for him, which is no wonder when they see daily that you treat him like a pet when you even notice him at all. What do you say, my love?”
There’s no reason for you to agree, Spike thought. She cheated. She admitted it. Just claim the prize, you vain old git. You only agreed to this stupid wager in the first place because she flattered you into it, and now she’s making terms. Just get me away from her!
But he said nothing, and not only from sheer terror, for at the same time as desperately wanting to be free of her, he knew that Darla was right.
Angelus had no intention of teaching him how to be a better vampire. Oh, the old man was always saying that he would, but in reality he had neither the patience nor the inclination to teach anyone, and he had only one real use for Spike, which required no skills save those of the whore to whom Darla had compared him.
Held fast in Darla’s grip, Spike tried to appreciate the irony of this, given her own past, but the pain he was in made it rather difficult. He could feel tears sliding down his cheeks now, quite without his volition, as her nails dug into his flesh; but when he turned his eyes towards his sire, trying to convey with them how much he needed to get away from her, it was to find Angelus watching him, his eyes fixed on that involuntary expression of agony with a kind of horrible eagerness to see what Darla would do next.
Bastard, Spike thought, and he turned his face away. He would get no help from that direction.
He knew he would have to face up to the truth of the matter, which was that, if left to his own devices, Angelus would never allow him to leave his bed, let alone allow him to go hunting by himself. Of course, when the old man was occupied with other things, he required Spike conveniently to cease to exist until he felt like noticing him again, or until Spike forced his attention by making himself impossible to ignore.
As far as teaching him the ways of the hunt, it was always: soon, or, next week, or, not just now, boy, why don’t you come to bed? Spike knew that he had enough knowledge to get himself into plenty of trouble but very little to enable him to get himself out of it, let alone familiarity with any of the myriad tricks and wiles that were part of Angelus’s repertoire.
Spike grimaced inwardly when he remembered how he’d affected to despise those same tricks and wiles, but that was when he’d still believed that Angelus was going to teach them to him. Now, he knew better. This extended childhood had to end if he was ever to earn the name he’d taken for himself; even though he also knew there would always be a part of him that yearned for his sire- to be taken under that heavy all-encompassing wing and be protected and owned – loved, maybe – forever.
Angelus had made sure of that long since, with that way he had of making you feel you mattered to him, that he cared for and desired you more than anything. Spike had felt that so strongly tonight until she had interfered, but now he struggled against the feeling, because it unmanned him, because he knew it was a lie, and acquiescing to it made him less than he wanted to be.
Besides, he already knew what Angelus was going to say. The old man never stood up to her in the end.
“Very well, Darla” Angelus said, at last. “I agree to your condition – but only on one condition of my own.”
Darla didn’t ask him what it could be; she merely raised one well-tended eyebrow.
“You will never allow me to take you and him together,” Angelus said. “I wish to do that. We will take him between us, Darla, and then he and I – will take you.”
He grinned smugly and for a moment, Spike was sure Darla would say no, but then she smiled and inclined her head gracefully, showing her displeasure only through her punishing grip on her victim’s hair.
“Very well,” she said, “I agree to your condition, for after all, what am I but a defenceless woman, and one caught cheating at that?” and she laughed her silvery laugh.
Spike was left bewildered then, seeing the look of smouldering desire that passed between them, wondering briefly if they had planned the whole thing from the start.
He was almost sure that couldn’t be so, for Angelus had seemed genuinely outraged by Darla’s treachery, but still, doubt plagued him and cold fear gripped him even harder, as he realised that Darla might just have agreed to do something she had no wish to do – for his sake.
“And now, my love,” Darla was saying. “Pray go and attend to Drusilla, who will always be your little girl and doubtless needs her daddy, and leave young William to me. I believe I am owed my pound of flesh.”
Angelus opened his mouth to say something, and his eyes once again raked Spike up and down, committing every inch of his body to memory, as if expecting to find it much changed when he saw it again. But then he shrugged and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
On Angelus’s departure, Darla abruptly let go of Spike’s neck and stood up, stiff and angry. She remained still for a moment, and then hauled Spike to his feet by the arm. He didn’t dare look at her, afraid of what he might see in her face.
“Look at me, boy,” she said, and her voice was cold and merciless.
He raised his head and met her eyes, quaking, only for her to pull her arm back and slap him so hard across the face that he fell backwards over the table, upsetting it and knocking the dice to the floor once again. He thought that her anger was fuelled by the promise Angelus had forced her to make, but soon realised that was not so.
“You little fool!” she hissed. “When will you ever learn? How many times do I have to tell you?”
She grabbed a handful of his hair once again in her delicate, yet relentless grip and pulled him back to his feet before marching him into the bedroom and placing him to stand in the centre of the room. At her gesture, he held out his arms for her to cuff his wrists, and then lifted one foot at a time so that she would not have to bend to cuff his ankles. He stood passively as she attached the chains that hung from the ceiling to the cuffs and hauled his arms upwards and his feet apart, so that he hung crucified for her pleasure. Seizing his face in her small hand, she held his gaze and said:
“Do you think I didn’t hear you, down in the hall, telling him that you belonged to him; that you always would? You think you love him, don’t you, you idiot! Did your poor mother give birth to a boy or a donkey, I wonder?”
Her small, cruel fingers traced the line of his jaw.
“What will it take,” she said, “to make you learn that Angelus cannot love, that he loves no one and nothing save himself?”
She paused a moment, looking him straight in the eye, then said:
“Not even me.”
Spike opened his mouth to answer and she jammed a piece of wood on a leather thong between his teeth and fastened the thong behind his head.
“I have tried to help you, boy,” she said, bitterly. “I am trying to make you see that he cares nothing for you; that he wants to own you and nothing more. Do you want to be driven mad, like Drusilla, for that is what will happen to you, if you don’t put these foolish notions out of your head? You have to become your own man and earn that brave new name of yours, and the sooner, the better before he ruins you completely.”
Satisfied that Spike could neither move nor speak, she slid her negligee off her creamy shoulders and undid the ribbons of her nightgown, letting it fall in a lacy pool around her slender feet. She stood before him a moment, displaying herself wantonly, letting him feast his eyes on her full breasts and the sweet curve of waist and hips, until his cock, obedient to a fault, rose at the sight; at which time, she seized it and bound it tightly at the root.
“I agreed to his terms,” she said, hands busy, “because I know that you will not be so foolish as to take liberties, will you, boy?”
Spike shook his head frantically, trying to watch her as she went round behind him and he heard her going through her toy cupboard and taking things out. And he continued to watch, unable to tear his eyes away, as she laid items down on the table within easy reach; a rattan switch, a pair of scissors, a little knife, obviously very sharp indeed, a pear-shaped glass object for which he could see no use but which he was sure he would come to know intimately in some way. She was standing behind him now, her cold, dainty hand stroking his bare flank, full of promise and threat.
“You will learn, William,” she said. “You will learn to be of use. You will learn to hunt and fight and kill like a master. Angelus has promised me and I have promised him – a little something to keep him sweet.”
She laughed coldly and said: “What, did you think for one moment that I expected him to fall for my subterfuge? I knew he would surely see through it and I knew just as surely how easily he would give you up to me to gain something he wanted more. Remember that and learn, boy; if you can.”
The caressing hand grew firmer, her sharp nails tracing patterns on his skin to be made more permanent later.
“But in the meantime,” she said, “until you can prove to me that you are more than just one of Angelus’s toys, and since he has not yet taught you to be good for anything else, I will put you to a task that you can well perform.”
As she came round to face him again, Spike gaped in shock at the huge length of vulcanised rubber now strapped round her hips and standing out proud from her groin, only to have her laugh again in his face at this evidence of his naivety. Trembling inwardly, he watched her dainty fingers open a small bottle of oil and delicately pour some on the monstrosity, and he thanked God, or more likely the Devil, for small mercies. Then she slid back round behind him, her nipples brushing his back like icy points, her small hands teasing his shrinking, sensitised flesh, until they rested; one palm on each buttock.
“Now, boy,” she said. “We will see how you take this, and afterwards, you can tell me which of us is the better man, Angelus or I.”