Deja Vu Part One
Dec. 18th, 2004 09:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightMy story for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sangpassionne's Spike/Angel Human AU Ficathon.
Author's note: I'm posting this early because I'm away for the whole day (not the weekend now after all, due to a death in the extended family)and I'll have to add it to the Master List later, as it isn't up yet. The story is written forstrickens_girl who requested the following:
Personas Requested: Liam is a therapist dealing with a new client who thinks he is a vampire.
Three things you would like in your fic: Will seducing Liam as Spike, Will taking Liam to a 'vampire' club, public sex.
Two things you would prefer not to see: Character death, bashing of other scoobie type people.
Tone: I'm cool as long as it's not fluff.
Rating Preference: NC-17 preferably
As you can see from this, the story has m/m sex and so on, and it's dark in tone, so if these things are not for you, perhaps best to give it a miss. It's also very long, so I'm posting it in two parts, one after the other. I hope I haven't made any stupid mistakes with the psychotherapy stuff, but it's likely I might have, because I don't know much about it.
Pairings: Liam/William, Liam/other
Setting: London, present day
Rating: NC17 with m/m sex, some of it 'unsafe' and bloodplay.
Beta reader: The wonderfulevilmaniclaugh
Short glossary of things that may be unfamiliar to American readers:
Soho - area of central London with a lot of sex shops/clubs etc/both gay and straight
Old Compton Street - road in Soho, where there are several gay pubs etc
Clapham - residential area of London a very short train ride from the city centre
Belgravia - very exclusive residential area in West London
Broadmoor- secure mental hospital for the criminally insane
Deja Vu Part One
Liam stared out of the window at the trees across the road in the park. The colours were fast fading as twilight approached, but he could still make out the subtle shades of brown and red as the leaves drifted down to coat the grass.
A sudden flurry of wind blew them into crazy, tornado patterns, and Liam shivered slightly, unsure of why even as he did so. Probably, he thought, it was because today there was a distinct and melancholy chill in the air for the first time this year.
It felt like winter really was on its way.
Turning his back on the window, Liam went back to his desk and looked over the new client's notes again. He really didn't feel in the mood for seeing anyone this late and he wished he could have put the introductory session off until the morning. However, it seemed that the young man had insisted on an evening appointment, and it would have been ridiculous to turn down the money.
There was that house to think of that he and Francis were going to buy together in Ireland, with the land attached and the view of the sea.
Thinking of Francis, he opened his desk drawer briefly and glanced at the small, cardboard-framed photograph of his lover that rested inside it, letting his fingers run over the shape of the face and imagining them burying themselves in the curly black hair.
It was probably not a good idea to think of that kind of thing now, Liam realised, with the new client due any moment. Best to concentrate instead on other things to do with Francis, like the way he made Liam laugh so effortlessly, and the relaxed, and very Irish, way he could talk for hours without ever being boring. Liam felt like such a fraud in comparison; only Irish next to all the tight-lipped, buttoned-up English surrounding him, a summer visitor to Galway as a child and not even that now that all his elderly relatives – the ones who hadn't emigrated – had passed away.
But never mind that. Francis was the genuine article and he was going to teach Liam how to enjoy life to the full, the way he did, and maybe one day the mystery of whatever he saw in Liam that made him think him worth the effort of trying to overcome all that off-putting reserve would be explained.
Shutting the drawer, Liam turned back to the case notes on his desk. A young man, twenty years old - one William Aurelius by name - with behavioural problems, referred by a Harley Street doctor whose name was unknown to Liam, and who seemed to think his patient might benefit from an eclectic form of therapy. Odd name, Aurelius – rather aristocratic sounding, or maybe foreign – something Polish perhaps? - trying to make itself more melodious to English ears.
The exact behavioural problems weren't specified but the doctor seemed to think the patient was suffering from delusions – which begged the question, was he actually schizophrenic - in which case, he shouldn't be here, but at a hospital seeing a psychiatrist - or did he have some sort of borderline personality disorder, for which Liam could counsel him?
It remained to be seen.
Liam pressed the button on the intercom:
"Can you send Mr Aurelius in, Cordelia?"
His normally very efficient receptionist replied after rather a long delay, during which he heard a deep, lazy-sounding voice talking to her in the background, saying something that made her laugh. The relaxed timbre of it struck a chord deep inside Liam, leaving him with the distinct impression of having heard it before. He frowned slightly, and then found that he wasn't at all surprised when the door was opened without a preceding knock; as if he already knew how to expect this client to behave.
A short, slim young man – little more than a boy really - entered the room, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and looking rather awkward in what was obviously a good pair of trousers that had turned shiny in places where they were beginning to wear out, worn over scuffed Doc Marten boots. His hair was bleached blond, combed completely flat on his head and plastered with some kind of hair gel, as if it had tried to escape and was being firmly restrained. Somewhat worryingly, a very visible scar sliced through his left eyebrow, leaving a white patch of skin through the dark-blond hair.
Liam realised that his mouth was hanging open and he shut it quickly, knowing that he was staring, which really wasn't very professional; but then, frankly, he'd never seen such a beautiful face on a man in his life – and he thought he'd seen a few. It was a narrow face, with spectacularly flaring cheekbones, supported on a long neck, itself set on wide, but not disproportionate, shoulders. And below these, it was all good too, with a narrow waist and hips, and slim legs disappearing into the ridiculous boots.
Liam found himself wishing that the young man would turn round, just for a moment, so he could have a look at what he was certain would be a deliciously tight little backside. For a moment, he could almost feel it, as if his hands retained some memory that his mind had forgotten, and he found himself gripping the edge of his desk rather hard. Then he looked up into a pair of mocking blue eyes and realised, with an inward gasp, that this William Aurelius knew exactly what he was thinking.
Belatedly, Liam plastered a professional smile on his face and stood up, holding out his hand.
"Mr Aurelius?" he said. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Doctor O'Connor."
His hand was taken in a cool, firm grip that also felt oddly familiar and that Liam considered lingered a moment too long, before the young man said:
"Doctor, 'ey? Thought you were some sort of counsellor, mate, not a sodding doctor."
Liam wasn't sure what sort of accent he'd expected to hear issue from that very kissable mouth, but again was strangely unsurprised on hearing it, as if it were just as expected. It wasn't Estuary, and it wasn't Mockney, but something stranded between those two, and with a kind of background suggestion of something a lot classier. Already, it was becoming clear that this boy was someone who liked to conceal things about himself and had very definite identity issues.
It was a mystery, though, why he seemed so familiar, as if they'd been intimate once. Surely, Liam thought, he could never have forgotten a face like that.
"Have a seat, Mr Aurelius," he said. "And I'm not a medical doctor, of course, but I do have a PhD in Psychology, so I am entitled to call myself doctor. Some people like me to use the title because they find it reassuring, but if you don't, please ignore it. My name's Liam."
"William," the other returned, slouching down into the chair across the desk from Liam, and spreading his legs wide, in a posture that, while provocative if deliberate, seemed wholly unconscious; a small man trying to make himself look bigger.
"You've been referred to me by Doctor Gull of Harley Street," Liam said, looking down at his notes again. "I don't think I've ever had anyone referred from Harley Street before, William."
"Yeah, well," William said, stirring restlessly in his chair, "had to come, didn't I? And I promised my mum."
"Your mother wanted you to come to me?"
"Yeah, told me she'd stop my allowance if I didn't have therapy – not twenty-one yet, see, so can't access the family loot till then – so I said okay as long as I got to choose the therapist, so she got old Gull to write a referral. Got myself all dressed up to come here an' everything, just like she'd want."
He gestured at his jacket and his now-shabby, but no doubt once very expensive, trousers, smoothing the material with his hands up his thighs in the direction of his groin in a very distracting way - and this time obviously deliberately so. Liam tried not to stare at the way those thighs bulged with muscle through the thin material, in spite of their slimness, and he managed, by a supreme act of self-restraint, to keep his eyes off William's crotch.
"You chose me?" he asked, confused, and feeling that the whole session was going somewhat off the rails before it had even started. "May I ask why?"
"Oh," said William, vaguely, "I've been wanting to meet you for ages, mate - just had trouble working out how to introduce myself, like. You know how it is – different social circles – generation gap - whatever."
Liam stared at him a moment, trying to decide again if he'd ever set eyes on this William Aurelius before. There was definitely something very familiar about him, even though Liam couldn't remember where they might have met. It was entirely possible of course, that he'd seen him in the distance in some club or pub back in the days before he and Francis had more or less given up going out, in favour of long evenings at home in front of the TV, or, more productively, at the gym and then in bed. Maybe the boy hadn't been a bleached blond then, and hadn't stood out from the crowd as much as he did now?
"Have we met before?" he asked, at last, unsure about the matter and thinking it best to clear the air. If this boy had ulterior motives for choosing Liam as his therapist, the sessions surely couldn't be allowed to continue.
"You wouldn't remember," William said, and his gaze was suddenly curiously blank – eyes opaque, as if a veil had come down in front of them. "It doesn't matter a toss, mate. Anyway, I'm here now. Aren't you gonna ask me stuff about my life, and try and work out how crazy I am, or something?"
"Do you feel that you're 'crazy', as you put it?" Liam asked, putting aside the mystery for a moment and feeling it was best to try and get the session back on track before making any final decisions as to whether he could continue to see William or not.
"Nah," William said, and he snorted, contemptuously. "But like I said, when Mum threw me out, she insisted I had to have therapy. If I have it, she might even invite me back in the house, you never know, and I do miss my mum something terrible – so, other reasons notwithstanding, I said yes."
Liam glanced up at him quickly as he said this, hearing an oddly gloating tone in the delivery of the words, which was rather inexplicable. He was in time to see William lick his lips with a vividly pink tongue, his eyes staring off into space as he did so.
The sight set off all sorts of alarm bells, and Liam made a note on his writing pad to try and explore the client's relationship with his mother in greater depth at later sessions. There was something definitely not right there.
"Would it help to tell me why she's banned you from the house?" he asked, tentatively.
"Not really," William said, in matter-of-fact tones, "but I will anyway. She doesn't like my friends, nor my girlfriend. Can't stand her, in fact. Also, she got fed up with me chasing all her boyfriends away, stupid whore!"
The sudden venom in the boy's tone was startling and Liam was a little surprised, and strangely disappointed, in view of all the rather blatant flirting, to hear the youngster say that he had a girlfriend. He wondered if the boy was bi, or if he was just someone who liked to tease and who would run away screaming in outrage if he received any actual propositions from another man.
He suspected it was more likely to be the former. He couldn't see this boy running from anything.
"And have you any siblings?" Liam asked, hoping to establish a full picture of the boy's background.
"Nah. I'm an only child. What a sodding surprise, 'ey? Anyway, she seems to have forgotten that she's got nothing to be write home about when it comes to sowing wild oats or whatever, stupid cow! I mean, if she'd been a good girl, I wouldn't sodding be here at all, would I?"
"You wouldn't?"
"Had me when she was sixteen, didn't she? Got stoned at Glastonbury when she was barely legal and shagged half a dozen blokes, and the result was yours truly. She hasn't a clue who my dad is, and neither have I, and then she spent most of the 1980s snorting coke to try and stay thin, so she's got nothing to be so sodding proud of – coming on all moral crusader about what I do with my time. At least I'm not a fucked up coke-head like her."
"Who is your mother?" Liam asked, now very much getting the impression that William was trying to make him do so.
"Anne LaHaye," William said. "She was a super-model back in the 80s, mate, with a dirty little secret – a string of fucking horrible boyfriends who treated her like shit and me tagging along behind like an unwanted puppy. Oh, the misery!"
He put his hand to his forehead melodramatically, then smiled a little – even batted his eyelashes slightly. Looking away rather crossly from this display, Liam couldn't help thinking that the boy did have very beautiful eyes, and a very infectious smile that seemed to light up his whole face.
He remembered the name. There'd been an article about Anne LaHaye recently in one of the life-style magazines that Francis was addicted to– one of those 'Come and look round my beautiful house and pay me handsomely for the privilege' type things. He conjured up the mental image of a beautiful, blonde woman in her mid thirties, though looking much younger, dressed very expensively and posed gracefully on a couch in Neo-Georgian splendour – some minor aristocrat's daughter, she'd been. Perhaps that was where he remembered William from? Probably, he got those amazing looks from his mother.
"So, anyway," he said, "she doesn't approve of your lifestyle and friends. Why would that be, William?"
"She thinks they're a bunch of dangerous fucking weirdos and perverts, of course," William said, as if this should be self-evident, "which goes to show that she may be a bitch, but she's not a stupid bitch – not about some things anyway."
"So they are dangerous, then," Liam asked, "in your estimation?"
"'Course they are," William said, and he grinned, revealing perfect, and perfectly white, teeth. "Everyone knows vampires are dangerous, don't they?"
"Vampires?"
"Yeah, 'course, some people spell it 'V–A-M-P-Y-R-E-S' these days, but I can't be bothered with all that poncy, frilly-shirt Anne Rice shite. I'm not ashamed of what I am."
Liam had to admit that this was a new one on him. Of course, he knew that such a sub-culture existed, although he'd only come across references to it in New York, not here in London, but he'd never met anyone who subscribed to it.
"So you're a vampire?" he asked, carefully, not at all sure what sort of reaction he'd get.
"Yeah," William said, "so I s'pose you can't really blame her for banning me from the house, can you?"
"She feels threatened by you?" Liam asked.
"She might have noticed me eyeing her neck a few times, yeah" William said, and he grinned again, and licked his lips.
And there it was again; the oddly sexualised reference to his mother. Freud would have loved this, Liam thought - all this classic repressed – or maybe not so repressed – Oedipal desire for the forbidden, expressing itself in a totally bizarre, and possibly antisocial, way.
Unless, of course, William was making it all up, which was possible. After all, most laymen knew enough about psychology to have heard of Freud's Oedipus complex. Maybe the boy was feeding him a line that he thought the therapist would find interesting, without realising how clichéd it was?
"Do you consider yourself a threatening person?" he asked, carefully.
"Well, vampires usually are," William responded. "Some of them are even worse than me," and he stared rather hard at Liam, licking his lips and splaying his legs wider.
Liam had to look away from the boy's distracting beauty and his blatant porn-magazine poses, which were making him increasingly uncomfortable. He stared down at the name 'William Aurelius' written on his notes, and saw a question waiting to be asked.
"The name Aurelius, then," he said. "Not your father's name, obviously?"
"Obviously," William said, rather mockingly. "Was given that name when I became a vampire. Posh-sounding, innit? It's an old vampire family name, like Dracula."
Liam glanced up at him again, unsure whether he was being made fun of, but William's face was completely serious.
"So, anyway," Liam said, "you've come to me for what exactly? Do you want me to help you stop being a vampire?"
"Why would I want that?" William asked, looking astonished. "Told you, mate, I came because I told Mum I would, and because I wanted to meet you. And here I am. We can chat about the weather if you like, I'm not bothered."
He leaned back in his chair and smiled complacently, hands folded on his flat belly. Liam found his eyes focussed on those hands, which were rather big for such a small man, wide and long-fingered. The nails bore the remains of black nail polish and were bitten down almost to the quick.
He remembered his warning to himself about how he could not continue to see William if the boy's motives for wanting him as a therapist were personal but – well, there was a lot wrong here. The vampire stuff was obviously harmless - some kind of sub-Goth fetish dressing type thing probably - but there were very disturbing undercurrents to it all, if true. He wondered if the boy's relationship with his mother had changed recently – whether perhaps she had another new man in her life and William felt threatened by him.
"How did you first become a – a vampire?" he asked.
"How d'you think?" William said, sounding a touch impatient. "Met Drusilla and got bit, didn't I?"
"Drusilla?" Liam asked, firmly suppressing his impulse to laugh at the name.
"Yeah. That's her vampire name, of course. Drusilla Aurelius – same family, see. I did mention her. My girlfriend? Mum hates her guts."
In spite of everything, the repeated mention of a woman other than his mother as a defining influence on William's life was still a disappointment to Liam. He'd been unable to help hoping that the boy was gay – although such speculation was very unprofessional where a client was concerned - and he found himself unable, too, in spite of everything, to resist undressing him in his head, mentally making him stand up and unbutton his shirt very slowly, exposing what Liam was sure was a pale and well-defined chest – the boy looked muscular and lean as a whippet – the same hand then slipping down to his waist to open the top button of his trousers very, very slowly –
He started guiltily, thinking of Francis – although of course they'd never put chains on each other's fantasies – to become aware that William was once again staring at him very knowingly, and that one hand had indeed disappeared under his un-tucked shirt and appeared to be sliding over his own flesh in a blatant act of self-worship.
"She'll probably hate my daddy too, if she ever meets him," William said, suddenly, raising lazy, half-lidded eyes to Liam's face and licking his lips again. It was one of the most blatant come-ons that Liam had ever encountered and he found himself both aroused and amused by it.
"I thought," he managed to say, shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair, "that you said you didn't know who your father was?"
Let the boy say what he'd meant by the word 'daddy'. Liam wasn't going to help him.
"I was talking about my human father," William said, patiently, "not my vampire daddy. He's quite different." He sighed, then said: "I really miss him."
Liam supposed this had to refer to whoever had inducted William into this cult, or lifestyle, or whatever it was. From William's choice of words, he found himself imagining some aging queen with a taste for very young flesh, and he shuddered slightly. It was a role he'd once been afraid of finding himself in – until he'd met Francis.
He decided to put the question aside again for the moment.
"And you enjoy the – the vampire way of life?" he asked. "You don't find it interferes with your everyday existence?"
"Of course it interferes," William said. "Not being able to go out in daylight – that's a pain. But there are compensations – like eternal life an' stuff - and we have a good time and we don't care about anyone or anything – even got our own club, down Soho. Fucking brilliant place. You should come there with me some time, Liam."
"It's probably not my kind of place," Liam said, and then was secretly amused by the boy's obvious disappointment on hearing this. He was pouting very fetchingly.
Liam felt he was beginning to get something of a handle on the situation now. William was obviously quite immature and had probably been drawn into this alternative lifestyle by some woman and this shadowy older male figure, and it had now taken over his imagination completely, and at the same time widened the estrangement he obviously felt from his mother, who was possibly absent a lot when he was a child, and who quite possibly wanted to foist yet another in a long line of stepfathers on him. The 'vampires' were like a surrogate family for him.
He did seem deluded in a way, talking about the lifestyle as if it was more than just a fetish – as if it was real – but his problems obviously didn't stem from it, but from before, if he was telling the truth about his mother. She was probably the key. And, if he was telling the truth, it all fit together in a very neat, and very Freudian, way.
Liam decided to turn the conversation to rather lighter subjects, asking about William's taste in music and finding it suitably Goth-y and depressing, although the boy also had a fondness for classic punk bands – seemed to think it possible that Joe Strummer might have been his father – citing London Calling as 'the best album of all time'. However, he'd then gone on to say that, as a vampire, he'd never consider drinking the blood of someone like Joe Strummer, because it would be a 'sodding crime', and didn't Liam agree, which was a difficult question to answer.
All the time they were talking, William continued to display himself to Liam, both consciously and unconsciously, flaunting his beauty with a breathtaking arrogance that Liam could only admire. And yet there was something sweetly vulnerable about him too – something about his eyes and the set of his head on his long slim neck, which he often tilted to the side, as if puzzled about something – that made Liam's whole body thrill to his presence in a way he hadn't felt in years.
What he had with Francis was different, after all. For one thing, with Francis, it was real and not a fantasy.
By the time the hour was up, Liam felt that he'd made some progress in understanding his new client, although he was still unsure of what exactly William wanted of him – whether to seduce him or just to have his desirability reaffirmed in his own eyes. The boy might or might not be bisexual – Liam had prided himself up to now on always knowing, but he found himself unsure in this case – but whether he was or not, he was an extraordinary little cocktease, making a point, when he finally stood up and turned to go, of pulling up his trousers in such a way that the material moulded itself to his backside, making it quite plain that he wore no underwear and that he did indeed have a perfect rounded little rear end, plumped up with muscle, that was quite clearly asking to be fucked.
As if to make the point, William looked back over his shoulder at Liam and let his eyelashes rest for one moment on his cheek, before sweeping them upwards again to give him one last glance out of those amazing blue eyes.
"See you next week, then, Liam," he said, "and nice to have met you again."
Before Liam could question the 'again', he was gone. Liam heard him give his receptionist a cheery goodnight and then say something else to her, which was greeted with a laugh and a "Sorry – no."
Liam realised, with an unexpected pang, that the boy was flirting with Cordelia too. Maybe he just did it to everyone?
He went to the window and watched William emerge from the front door and cross the road into the park. He was wearing some sort of long, black leather coat – which was rather predictable really – and had the collar turned up against the wind. Leaves skirled around his feet as he entered the park and then seemed to rise up in a cloud to obscure him from sight. When they subsided a moment later, he was gone.
Liam shivered again, wondering if he was coming down with something.
*
On the train on the way home, Liam dozed a little, as he often did, which had sometimes resulted in him having to get off further down the line and wait for the next train back to Clapham; something that always made Francis laugh fondly at him when he told him about it afterwards.
He jerked awake out of a dream of white bodies writhing and spattered with red, of empty blue eyes staring at him, to find himself once again shivering all over. He also felt as if someone was watching him – which was absurd really, as the train was full of commuters, all very busy trying not to watch each other.
Liam was afraid suddenly and for no reason he could understand, wanting to be home, and warm and safe with Francis.
*
He opened the front door of the flat to smell cooking. Francis did like to cook – mostly south-east Asian fusion-y type things, often rather spicier than Liam actually liked – and this evening the aromas of garlic and fresh ginger were especially welcoming, full of warmth and colour and most of all, life. This alone was enough to make Liam relax and shake off his fit of whatever it had been on the train, telling himself he was being stupid to let all that odd incestuous vampire stuff get to him like this. After all, it was hardly the most disturbing story he'd heard in his years as a therapist – not by a long way.
Francis heard the door shut and came out of the kitchen to push Liam back against the wall in the hallway and stick an eager tongue – tasting of chillies – into his mouth. He was short, the same height as William Aurelius, but he dominated any room effortlessly with his vividness and love of life, just as he dominated Liam in bed the way no one before him ever had. Liam had considered himself a natural top until Francis came along, but now he was not so sure. He'd never thought he could enjoy being fucked so much.
"You're late," Francis said reprovingly. "Lucky I didn't give your dinner to the cat, love."
"We haven't got a cat," Liam said, putting his arms round his lover's waist and drawing him in for another kiss.
"Well, I'd've gone out and found one, wouldn't I? There's plenty of starving kitties out there for sure, who'd have made short work of it."
"Sorry," Liam said, contrite, pleased to feel himself being nudged in the groin already by his lover's swelling erection. "I had a late appointment – a new client. I couldn't get away earlier."
"Well, that fat arse of yours can make it up to me later," Francis said, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "In the meantime –"
"Forget it," Liam said, "I'm suddenly not hungry – at least, not for food."
He hauled the smaller man forward and ground his cock against him, showing him what he was hungry for. Francis grinned and allowed himself to be manoeuvred backwards and into the bedroom.
Later, wrapped in Francis's arms, his head on his lover's chest, listening to the slow comforting beat of his heart, Liam said:
"Saw this new client today, like I said."
He ran a finger up and down Francis's arm, making the thick black hair lie first all one way and then all the other.
"Yeah? You going to tell me about him, or is it a her? You must get so sick of all these hysterical females - and I should know."
Francis had five older sisters and often insisted quite seriously that it had been this childhood trauma that had turned him gay, putting him off women for life.
"I'll tell you what I can," Liam said, "which isn't much. You know how it is – confidentiality and so on."
"Sure, love, I know."
"Anyway, I've never come across anything like this before. The kid thinks he's a vampire – at least, he belongs to some sort of cult, or fetish group that pretend to be vampires, and he's really bought into it."
"A what now?" Liam looked up and saw Francis staring at him, blue eyes – blue as William's – wide and incredulous.
"I know. It sounds incredible. He seemed relatively normal most of the time, but then he'd come out with these outrageous statements that did make me doubt his sanity a little."
"Maybe he is crazy?" Francis said. "Sounds crazy to me."
"Oh, I don't really think so. He seemed pretty harmless – just immature and easily led, I expect - fallen in with a bad crowd, maybe. They have a club in Soho. We've probably walked past it loads of times and never realised."
"But wasn't there a case of some crazy feller who murdered a poor old biddy in Wales somewhere and drank her blood? Didn't he think he was a vampire too?"
Now that Francis mentioned it, Liam recalled the story. Suddenly, he had a picture in his head of William Aurelius, his beautiful face twisted and demonic, and blood staining his mouth like badly applied lipstick. It seemed so real, like something he might have seen in a film, or on TV, and he shuddered slightly.
"What's the matter, love?" Francis said. "Someone walk over your grave?"
He pulled Liam closer and then closed one hand around his cock, teasing it to a kind of exhausted half-life.
"It's strange," Liam said, his mind still on the events of the day at the same time as his body slowly woke up again, responding to Francis's clever attentions. "I've never seen him before, but in spite of that, I almost feel like I know him. Anything like that ever happen to you? Like déjà vu?"
"For certain sure," Francis said. "Happens all the time, but usually, it turns out I do know them because I fucked them once and then just forgot them." There was an edge to his voice suddenly. "Is he coming back? Is he pretty?"
"Yes, he has five appointments pre-booked and pre-paid – all in the evening. Said he couldn't attend during the day for 'obvious reasons'. And, yes, he's a little beauty, since you ask. Arse like a peach."
"And you'd be knowing that how?" Francis said, crossly, and his hand on Liam's cock was a little more urgent - insistent. "Man, that's twisted. I don't like you looking at pretty boys if they're not me."
"Sorry," Liam said, contrite again. "I didn't mean anything. Just trying to make you jealous."
"Well, you succeeded," Francis said. "You deserve a good buggering for that, Doctor O'Connor, and when I get me strength back, that's exactly what you're going to get."
"Just don't pretend you weren't trying to make me jealous with that 'I've had so many men I can't remember their faces' crack," Liam said. "Besides, he's a client, love. Strictly off-limits, even if he was interested – which I don't think he is. He told me he has a girlfriend."
Even as he said it, he wondered why he was lying to Francis and not telling him about William's blatant flirting. In fact, why bring the subject up at all?
"Well, good for her," Francis said. "But if he isn't interested, there's something wrong with him." His grip tightened further, just enough to make Liam wince. "I mean, look at you!"
"Not everyone is gay, you know, even if you are in denial about some men actually having the bad taste not to want to be fucked by you," Liam said, absurdly pleased by Francis's jealousy and his compliment. "You're hurting me."
"Ah, poor baby," Francis said. "Let me kiss it better."
His hand gentled, stroking instead of tugging, settling to an easy rhythm.
Liam gave himself to the sensations, though he knew it'd be quite some while before he'd be able to come again. He squirmed a little, as Francis moved out from underneath him and wriggled his way down the bed, until his face was buried in Liam's groin and his tongue was busy making things wet and hard. Liam rested his hand on his lover's head, digging his fingers into the curly black hair, just as he'd imagined doing back at the office. He shut his eyes and suddenly, in his mind, the short, loose curls became tight and flat and gel-crusted, and he imagined opening his eyes and that hair glowing neon-white in the darkness of the bedroom.
At that moment, Francis bit him rather hard on the balls and he flinched.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"I'm a vampi-ire!" Francis said, in sepulchral tones. "I'm going to drink all your blood and make you mi-ine."
"Very funny," Liam said.
"I thought so," Francis responded, and he grinned. "Now turn over, you big Irish tart, and let me get at that beautiful tight bung-hole again."
*
As the time came round to the day of William's next session, Liam found that he wasn't sure whether he was looking forward to it or not. He'd spent far too much time during the previous week thinking about the boy; remembering little details, like the prominent Adam's apple in his slim neck that made him look strangely vulnerable and very, very young, or the restless hands picking at each other in his lap – or that deep, smoky, too-adult sounding voice, saying all those outrageous unbelievable things about his mother.
He told himself sternly that the boy was a client, his sexuality of importance only as it bore on his case, and it wasn't appropriate to use him as a fantasy, but he found himself doing it more and more, imagining his hands stroking along the narrow muscular flanks and prising the slim legs apart to see what lay between them. One night, he was so overcome by this, that he rolled the sleeping Francis on to his belly and fucked him fast and hard, with the most perfunctory of preparation, which was greeted with an outburst of incomprehensible, and no doubt very rude, Gaelic swearing and a hot spill of cum onto the bed beneath them.
"Sod you," Francis said afterwards. "What was that for? I won't be able to walk straight tomorrow, you big git!"
Liam kissed him, rather smugly, pleased to have got to top for a change and wondering at his rather uncharacteristic passivity over the last six months. Maybe he'd relaxed a bit too much in Francis's company? It was probably a good idea to shake things up once in a while.
"Just as well you can work from home then, isn't it?" he said. "That is, if you can call messing about on computers all day 'work'."
Francis turned in his arms and kissed him rather fiercely.
"I liked it," he said, "but don't bloody do it again."
While he was speaking, Liam thought he heard a sort of ghost-voice echoing the words, a too-deep, lazy voice, issuing from a bruised, over-kissed mouth: "I liked it too. Do it again now! Do it harder!"
He blinked in confusion, convinced for a moment that someone was in the room with them, and was taken by surprise himself when he was rolled on his belly in turn by a small angry Irishman and two very insistent fingers were pushing their way into his body.
"Someone needs a lesson in manners," Francis said, and kissed his shoulder, thrusting forward. Liam howled obligingly and quite spontaneously. It hurt quite a bit.
He knew the next day that Francis had marked the whole incident down as one of Liam's fantasies – and it wasn't as if Francis didn't have some of his own – but Liam felt guilty all the same. He'd invited Francis to share his home and his life, and now he felt as if he'd violated their bed with a stranger's unwelcome presence. He went to the office that day determined to be wholly professional and to see William Aurelius as nothing more than a client, like all the others.
Of course, his resolve lasted only until the boy actually walked into the room. In spite of feeling that he'd spent the whole of the week remembering every detail of William's appearance, Liam realised that he'd actually downplayed his sheer beauty in his imagination. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of that incredible face, this week adorned with black eye-liner and with the hint of something artificial reddening the full mouth.
Liam had heard him in reception flirting equally outrageously with Cordelia – thought he'd heard him ask her out for a drink, in fact – and he felt almost angry at this blatant display of ambiguous sexuality being thrust into his face; angry that the boy didn't keep it just for him.
He put on his best, sympathetic professional manner and managed to get through the hour session without once letting his concentration drop. It was hard, though, with William splaying his legs, and once walking across the room to lean on the window sill and stare out, bending slightly so as to emphasise how very tight his jeans were. Liam looked at the ruler on his desk and was very tempted to put the boy over his knee and use it, but again, he resisted, trying to draw out of him more of the actual concrete facts and less of the ridiculous vampire fantasy.
It was hard, though. Liam felt he was really no nearer to establishing a treatment plan for William by the end of the session, although a mixture of behavioural and cognitive therapies seemed the obvious way to go. After all, the boy's behaviour was distressing to his mother and might well become so to others, so it was important to work out a strategy to help him deal with his problems, in the same way that you might do with a drug addict or an alcoholic. In fact, Liam was sure that he'd seen vampirism used as a metaphor for both those conditions, though he couldn't remember where. At the same time, some cognitive therapy might help William to understand that he did have problems, something he currently seemed in denial about, continuing to blame his mother for everything.
However, Liam was fairly certain by now that William hadn't made up any of the disturbing things he'd let drop about his home life and that he would probably benefit from some traditional psycho-analysis too, what with his obvious problematic relationship with his mother and lack of a traditional father figure – although there was, of course, this mysterious surrogate father figure – or sugar daddy, or whatever he was – who'd inducted him into the vampire cult and about whom he said very little, except that 'daddy' was going through a bad patch and needed help.
Liam was sure that a lot more than five sessions were going to be needed and he wasn't sure whether he was glad or sorry at the prospect.
*
During the following three weeks, Liam found himself gradually sinking deeper and deeper into William's fantasy world, which disturbed and excited him in equal measure. It was peopled with half-seen creatures both fascinating and repulsive, and seemed lost in a sort of febrile erotic darkness that made Liam sometimes feel as if he was stuck in an episode of Twin Peaks.
He realised that he was counting the days between each session, increasingly impatient with his other clients - although careful not to let them see it - always waiting to see the door open and that small, strangely compelling figure enter the room.
He would sit, listening as if hypnotised, to William's talk, which seemed to be opening up a world that was very strange and yet very familiar at the same time; as if it was contaminating his thoughts and making it harder to remember that there were such things as sunlight and summer and wide blue oceans – all the warm, living images and sensations that thoughts of Francis evoked in him.
It didn't help that it was mid-November now and the nights came early, and the weather was bleak and cold. The wind was from the east and had been especially bitter recently and the trees in the park were bare of leaves, their branches suitably skeleton-like and threatening against the sky as dusk fell.
Tonight was the last of William's five booked sessions and Liam was no nearer to getting the boy to acknowledge that he had any problems other than that his mother was a 'bitch.' It seemed that his theory about the possible new stepfather was incorrect, as William made no mention of it during his occasional vitriolic diatribes about his mother's taste in men, and Liam was finding that coming up against the brick wall of William's denial was becoming quite frustrating.
This evening, Liam would have to convince William to book more sessions if he wanted to see him again, although he was sure that it would be better for his own peace of mind if he didn't. It was becoming so very hard to resist touching the boy, who's every look and word seemed to invite that touch – almost to demand it like homage.
It would probably be better to let him go and disappear back into his dark little world, which was probably basically harmless, after all. When it came down to it, he was just a spoilt little rich boy with more money than sense, spinning tales to make himself feel important – which of course didn't mean that his problems weren't valid – he'd obviously had a chaotic childhood, for instance – and he might even be borderline psychotic, but Liam was beginning to feel that he couldn't do much more for William, and he might even be doing himself untold harm by continuing to see him.
He heard William's voice outside joking with Cordelia as he always did, and then the door flew open and William sauntered in, pelvis first, in his usual manner. The boy still wore his leather coat, which he normally left in reception, but was otherwise dressed for seduction, in a brown silk shirt and black jeans. He still wore those absurd boots, somewhat spoiling the effect, but the eye-liner and the gold ring now piercing the scarred eyebrow more than made up for that. There was something different about his hair today, too, Liam realised. It was not so stiffly gelled as usual and covered his head in clusters of soft little curls, which gave him a less predatory, appealingly androgynous look.
"Hello, William," Liam said, rather warily. He thought that he knew only too well what was on the boy's mind this evening, since it seemed to be on his own mind too. It was hard not to think about it when everything about William seemed to scream, rather melodramatically: "Take me! Ravish me!"
What a consummate slut the boy was!
"Hey," William said, and he crossed the room and stood hesitantly in front of the desk. Then he took his coat off and draped it over the chair back.
"Have a seat," Liam told him, waving a hand at the empty chair. "We have a lot to talk about this evening."
William sat down, perching rather nervously on the edge of the seat. His obvious insecurity gave Liam a sudden feeling of power, which spread pleasantly through his body and filled him with a sense of relaxation. Let the boy do the work.
"Is something wrong?" Liam asked him. "You seem agitated."
"This is my last session," William said at once.
"It is, but you should probably book more. You need –"
William waved his hand impatiently.
"I haven’t got this wrong, have I?" he asked. "You are queer, aren't you?"
"What?" Liam clenched his hands into fists, his feeling of euphoria disappearing rapidly.
William was on his feet again.
"It's just if you aren't," he said, "all this stupid palaver was for nothing, see. I could've let Dru do this instead – but no, she said it'd be me you'd want first."
"What are you talking about?" Liam said. "I really can't discuss my private life with you, William. Besides, it has no bearing on your treatment, and -"
He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly he found that William was sitting on his knee and that a surprisingly cold tongue was thrusting its way into his mouth, insistent and yet oddly tentative as well, as if not sure of its welcome. In spite of himself, Liam's body couldn't help responding to the feel of that small, very hard backside grinding into his crotch, and he put out his hand to push William away.
Too late. William had felt his response and he broke the kiss and raised his head in triumph.
"I wasn't wrong," he said, and before Liam could stop him, he was unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, revealing a torso as hairless and perfectly sculpted as a Greek statue, the only colour in it to be found on the two stiff little tits with their rosy nubs. Liam had only a moment to wonder how long every day the boy had spent at the gym to acquire a physique like this, when he realised that his hands had risen seemingly of their own accord to pinch the exposed nipples and then to run down the defined chest to cradle the very prominent erection tenting out William's jeans.
Instantly, the feeling of power was back, and stronger and more intoxicating than ever.
"Lock the door," he heard his voice saying, "and take your jeans and boots off."
William leaned forward to kiss him again then did as he was told, turning the key silently in the lock, then coming back towards Liam, kicking off his boots and unbuckling his belt.
"Let me," Liam said, suddenly, and he brushed William's hands away and undid his button fly, slowly, one button at a time, as he'd fantasised doing so many times in the last five weeks. Sliding his hands down the narrow flanks, he let them gather up the denim and push it down as they went, finding as he'd suspected that William was naked underneath it.
The boy had a delicious cock, uncut, and rather bigger than might be expected, like his hands, the foreskin rolled right back to reveal the drooling tip, the heavy balls nestling in a bush of soft, golden-brown hair. Liam cupped them in his hands, obscurely pleased with the weight of them, then ran a finger up the rampant cock and squeezed the tip gently. He looked up at William's face, and for a moment, he almost rescued himself from the trap into which he knew he was falling, seeing the boy staring down at him in triumph, at the same time as he bit his lip and shivered all over from the pressure of Liam's fingers.
Frowning, Liam took William's cock in a firm grip and held it still, caged in his hand.
"What's this all about?" he asked.
"Told you," William said, breathing very fast. "I've wanted to meet you again for ages. Couldn’t think of another way to do it – but I thought you'd crack sooner. Not many blokes could resist me this long – queers couldn't, I mean – and I was beginning to think you didn't want me. Glad to be wrong. Want you back."
"Want me back?" Liam asked. "We've never met, William, until five weeks ago."
"Yeah, yeah, if you like. But someone's tamed you, Liam, and it's all wrong. We need you – Dru and me. We need you back. I need you, and I'm gonna have you."
"I rather think," Liam said, and he felt as if someone else was talking through his mouth, "that I am going to have you, William. Now turn round and bend over the desk. I want a proper look at you."
"That's my daddy," William said, grinning, and again he did as ordered, planting his hands firmly on the desk and thrusting his muscular backside into Liam's face. Before Liam's brain had quite caught up with his hands, he found them resting on the two pale half-globes and squeezing the flesh between them. Again, he was overtaken by the strange feeling of familiarity. His hands had been here before. They knew this flesh – knew exactly how to draw those intimate little whimpers out of William's oh, so beautiful body.
Liam frowned again, wondering how on earth he could remember something that had never happened; but he didn't take long to consider it. Instead, he opened the desk drawer, knowing that he'd find the pack of condoms and the tube of Astroglide still in there, left over from the days before he'd met Francis and had carried them around on the off-chance. Fumbling slightly, he unzipped his trousers, which were becoming very uncomfortable, and let his cock get some air. He kept half an eye on William as he slicked it up and rolled the condom into place, noting that the boy was shivering all over – whether in fear or anticipation, it was impossible to tell – but that he hadn't moved.
"Come on!" William said, eventually. "My arse is getting cold, mate. What the fuck are you doing?"
Liam stood up and folded himself over the boy, running caressing hands down his chest and pinching his nipples.
"What the fuck do you think?" he said. "I'm not barebacking, William."
"Wouldn't have sodding mattered," the boy said. "Vampire, remember?"
That gave Liam a moment's pause – just a moment when he remembered that this was a client, and possibly a very sick client – but his body seemed to have been seized by some outside momentum that carried him through the next few minutes of careful preparation and then very slow, careful penetration, without his mind having very much to do with it. It wasn't long before he could feel his balls resting against that sweet, muscle-plump little backside, while William panted and gasped under him.
"Jesus, that fucking hurts!" the boy said. "That's not a dick you've got there, it's a sodding barge-pole. Now fuck me, why don't you?"
Liam found himself doing just that, while wondering just who was in control here, thrusting forward into the tight channel, hands clamped vise-like round the boy's narrow hips. It felt exquisite, just as he'd imagined, and he came very quickly while William swore and banged his fists on the desk, urging him on to do it again and do it harder. Drawing the slim body back against him, Liam brought William off with a few firm strokes to his cock and a squeeze to his balls, then held him cradled in his arms, holding him tight while the boy snuffled into his shoulder, complaining that his bum hurt.
For one horrible moment, Liam thought that he'd just fucked a virgin – albeit one the very opposite of shy - but then William raised his face and grinned at him, even while the tears of pain still trickled down his cheeks.
"Best I've been fucked in ages," he said. "Not since – well, knew it would be."
He kissed Liam on the mouth and stood up, reaching for the box of tissues on the desk.
Liam watched William clean himself up and dress. Now it was all over, he felt – not let down, because William's body had been just as exciting to fuck as he'd always known it would be – but odd and out of sorts, knowing that a line had been crossed that could never be un-crossed. Both personally and professionally, it had to have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. He thought of Francis and a pang of guilt went through him. They'd never actually demanded faithfulness from each other as a condition of their relationship, but Liam knew that Francis, jealous as he was, took it as a given. He also knew that Francis had been faithful to him.
"I can't see you again," he said, abruptly.
"'Course you can," William said. "I'm sick, remember? I need help. I'm gonna book myself ten more sessions, Liam – money up front. Don't worry. Mummy dearest'll pay."
"No," Liam said. "I can't be your therapist now, William, surely you can understand that?"
"Well, can I see you somewhere else, then?"
"No – look, I live with someone, and you said you have a girlfriend. This is –"
And there was William once more astride his knee, and there went his hands cupping the jeans clad backside automatically, as if they knew what to do when his mind didn't.
"I don't care about any of that stuff," William said. "You belong with us – with me. And if the only way I can see you is by being your client, then you're not getting rid of me. Besides," he continued, preening a little, "now you've seen the goods, why would you want to?"
"You really are full of yourself, aren't you?" Liam said, exasperated but also rather admiring of the boy's confidence in his own beauty – which was not misplaced, after all.
"No," William said, "I'm full of you, and I wanna be full of you again. I want you to be with us – with me, where you belong."
"You want me to be a vampire, is that what you're saying?" Liam asked, not at all sure he liked the sound of 'where you belong.'
"When you're ready," William said, "and I'm willing to wait until you are. In the meantime, though, I've brought a little something for you – well, it's for me really, but you have to give it to me."
"What's that?"
William reached into the pocket of his long coat and brought out what looked like a dog's collar, a thick leather and metal thing with a silver buckle. He pressed it into Liam's grip, then canted his head to the side, exposing his slender throat.
Liam weighed the collar in his hands. It was heavy and didn't look very comfortable. He'd seen plenty of such things of course, during almost two decades of clubbing, but he'd never worn one and never wanted to make someone else wear one - until now. Already, in his mind, he could picture how it would look wrapped round that slim neck, a mark of ownership on something that he felt, deep in his bones, did belong, and what's more always had belonged, to him. It was crazy, he knew.
He unbuckled the collar and fastened it carefully around William's neck, then sat back a little to admire it. The boy was as beautiful as sin, with his smudged eyeliner and knowing blue eyes, and the collar seemed only to accentuate his beauty further.
Liam couldn't keep the words in.
"God, you look incredible!" he said.
"Yeah, I know," William responded, smugly. "I want you to call me by my vampire name from now on, Liam. It goes with the collar, see?"
"Oh, yes? And that would be what?"
"Spike," William answered and, at Liam's mockingly raised eyebrow. "I was very young when I chose it, all right?"
"You called yourself after a dog?" Liam asked, trying not to laugh.
William pouted at him, then leaned forward and kissed him again.
"Don't mind being your dog," he said. "Woof! Woof!"
Abruptly, he stood up and walked towards the door.
"Got to go," he said, "but I'll see you same time next week, Liam."
Liam didn't answer, just watched the boy go with his usual arrogant swagger of hips, heard him talking to Cordelia, asking her if she wanted to go for that drink soon, and her saying again that she couldn't, sorry. He frowned, then set his head in his hands and let the reality of what he'd just done finally wash over him. His receptionist was better able to stick to correct procedure than he was. She knew that seeing a client outside work was not permissible – and there was he fucking said client on his desk. Belatedly, he wondered if Cordelia had heard them – although even if she had, she might well have thought it some kind of behavioural therapy role-playing thing.
All the same, he was very aware of her eyes on him after he said good night and headed past her desk to the door.
He felt very depressed on the train home, and it was crowded so he had to stand, which didn't help. He wondered what on earth had possessed him to do something so stupid. Certainly, the boy was pretty, but he'd had pretty boys before, and was it really worth jeopardising his whole career – not to mention the most important relationship he'd ever had in his life – for the sake of a pretty face and a tight arse? Liam thought he must have groaned aloud, because he became aware that people were trying not to look at him even harder than usual. He also thought that he caught sight of a black coat swirling from the corner of his eye and whipped his head round, expecting to find William right behind him. But there was nothing there.
Great, he thought, seeing things as well now. But he shivered, overcome again by the sensation that he was being watched.
*
Liam considered telling Francis what he had done for all of ten seconds after he got home. But at the first sight of his lover's face, full of tenderness and welcome, his courage failed him. He couldn't do it. He was so lucky to have Francis – something that Francis often reminded him of, with frequent mention of all the weeping and wailing that had gone on the length of Old Compton Street when it became known that Francis Doyle had settled down. It wasn't just that, of course – having someone that so many other men wanted - it was knowing that he'd never succeeded in sustaining a relationship before. He'd always managed to screw it up somehow or other – too boring, too closed off – which was ironic, considering his profession - too gloomy - whatever – and now he was busy doing it again.
If he kept quiet, maybe it would all blow over and Francis need never know?
Filled with contrition that fuelled a desperate fervour to make amends, Liam pulled Francis into his arms and kissed him frantically.
"God, it's been a brutal day," he said. "I've missed you so much!"
"Can see what you need," Francis said, backing him into the bedroom. "Coming right up, love."
Ten minutes later, with Francis buried in him balls deep, he heard his voice saying: "Do it harder! Come on, fucking hurt me!"
And in his head, it was William's voice saying it, and himself ploughing into the yielding body beneath him hard enough to split it open. He groaned.
"Something's wrong," Francis said, right in his ear. "You've gone all Catholic on me. Feeling guilty about something, are you?"
"No, no," he said, hurriedly. "Just want to feel you - that's all."
"Oh, you'll feel me," Francis said, and made him.
Liam only realised that he'd fallen asleep when he woke up to find something tickling him. He opened his eyes and watched Francis's fingers moving spider-like down his chest.
"What's wrong, Liam?" Francis said. "You've been sort of strange for a while now. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Liam said, wondering if he sounded as guilty as he felt. "It's the work – listening to people's problems all day. It gets you down after a while."
"Yes, but you're a professional, love, you're used to it. Besides, why now? It's something to do with that kid who thinks he's a vampire, isn’t it? This all started back when you first saw him."
"No!" Liam exclaimed frantically, thinking that the best defence was probably attack. "What on earth makes you say that? I mean, yes, he's disturbing. He really believes in it – has a special vampire name and everything – but he's nothing compared to some of what I hear, I assure you. Like you said, I'm a professional. I'll be fine tomorrow, I expect."
"Good. I'll hold you to that," Francis said, and Liam realised, with a sinking heart, that in spite of his words, Francis didn't believe him. He hurried to change the subject and they talked for a while about the long vacation they planned in Ireland for the following summer, with the house-hunting.
In the end, Francis fell asleep and Liam slid carefully out of bed and went and made himself a sandwich. He ate it sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his reflection in the dark window glass and wishing he could turn back the clock and make it be this morning again and he could do everything differently.
At the same time, he couldn't stop thinking about William's slim body bent over his desk, and his hands fastening that collar round the boy's neck, laying claim to him, and – he belatedly realised – being claimed in return. After all, it might just be a piece of silly fetish gear to him, but he knew that it meant a lot more than that to William – that it was an integral part of his delusion and the mysterious lifestyle that fuelled it. He couldn't see the boy releasing him any time soon.
And there was the possibility of blackmail to consider too – although why William would want to blackmail him Liam couldn't at first imagine. As a scion of the LaHaye family, he probably had more money than he knew what to do with in some trust fund somewhere, and it wasn't as if Liam was a medical doctor and could prescribe drugs.
Even as he thought it, Liam knew that William was definitely not above blackmail but that doing it for money or drugs would never enter his head. He'd do it for what he wanted. And he wanted Liam.
TBC
sangpassionne's Spike/Angel Human AU Ficathon. Author's note: I'm posting this early because I'm away for the whole day (not the weekend now after all, due to a death in the extended family)and I'll have to add it to the Master List later, as it isn't up yet. The story is written for
strickens_girl who requested the following: Personas Requested: Liam is a therapist dealing with a new client who thinks he is a vampire.
Three things you would like in your fic: Will seducing Liam as Spike, Will taking Liam to a 'vampire' club, public sex.
Two things you would prefer not to see: Character death, bashing of other scoobie type people.
Tone: I'm cool as long as it's not fluff.
Rating Preference: NC-17 preferably
As you can see from this, the story has m/m sex and so on, and it's dark in tone, so if these things are not for you, perhaps best to give it a miss. It's also very long, so I'm posting it in two parts, one after the other. I hope I haven't made any stupid mistakes with the psychotherapy stuff, but it's likely I might have, because I don't know much about it.
Pairings: Liam/William, Liam/other
Setting: London, present day
Rating: NC17 with m/m sex, some of it 'unsafe' and bloodplay.
Beta reader: The wonderful
evilmaniclaughShort glossary of things that may be unfamiliar to American readers:
Soho - area of central London with a lot of sex shops/clubs etc/both gay and straight
Old Compton Street - road in Soho, where there are several gay pubs etc
Clapham - residential area of London a very short train ride from the city centre
Belgravia - very exclusive residential area in West London
Broadmoor- secure mental hospital for the criminally insane
Deja Vu Part One
Liam stared out of the window at the trees across the road in the park. The colours were fast fading as twilight approached, but he could still make out the subtle shades of brown and red as the leaves drifted down to coat the grass.
A sudden flurry of wind blew them into crazy, tornado patterns, and Liam shivered slightly, unsure of why even as he did so. Probably, he thought, it was because today there was a distinct and melancholy chill in the air for the first time this year.
It felt like winter really was on its way.
Turning his back on the window, Liam went back to his desk and looked over the new client's notes again. He really didn't feel in the mood for seeing anyone this late and he wished he could have put the introductory session off until the morning. However, it seemed that the young man had insisted on an evening appointment, and it would have been ridiculous to turn down the money.
There was that house to think of that he and Francis were going to buy together in Ireland, with the land attached and the view of the sea.
Thinking of Francis, he opened his desk drawer briefly and glanced at the small, cardboard-framed photograph of his lover that rested inside it, letting his fingers run over the shape of the face and imagining them burying themselves in the curly black hair.
It was probably not a good idea to think of that kind of thing now, Liam realised, with the new client due any moment. Best to concentrate instead on other things to do with Francis, like the way he made Liam laugh so effortlessly, and the relaxed, and very Irish, way he could talk for hours without ever being boring. Liam felt like such a fraud in comparison; only Irish next to all the tight-lipped, buttoned-up English surrounding him, a summer visitor to Galway as a child and not even that now that all his elderly relatives – the ones who hadn't emigrated – had passed away.
But never mind that. Francis was the genuine article and he was going to teach Liam how to enjoy life to the full, the way he did, and maybe one day the mystery of whatever he saw in Liam that made him think him worth the effort of trying to overcome all that off-putting reserve would be explained.
Shutting the drawer, Liam turned back to the case notes on his desk. A young man, twenty years old - one William Aurelius by name - with behavioural problems, referred by a Harley Street doctor whose name was unknown to Liam, and who seemed to think his patient might benefit from an eclectic form of therapy. Odd name, Aurelius – rather aristocratic sounding, or maybe foreign – something Polish perhaps? - trying to make itself more melodious to English ears.
The exact behavioural problems weren't specified but the doctor seemed to think the patient was suffering from delusions – which begged the question, was he actually schizophrenic - in which case, he shouldn't be here, but at a hospital seeing a psychiatrist - or did he have some sort of borderline personality disorder, for which Liam could counsel him?
It remained to be seen.
Liam pressed the button on the intercom:
"Can you send Mr Aurelius in, Cordelia?"
His normally very efficient receptionist replied after rather a long delay, during which he heard a deep, lazy-sounding voice talking to her in the background, saying something that made her laugh. The relaxed timbre of it struck a chord deep inside Liam, leaving him with the distinct impression of having heard it before. He frowned slightly, and then found that he wasn't at all surprised when the door was opened without a preceding knock; as if he already knew how to expect this client to behave.
A short, slim young man – little more than a boy really - entered the room, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and looking rather awkward in what was obviously a good pair of trousers that had turned shiny in places where they were beginning to wear out, worn over scuffed Doc Marten boots. His hair was bleached blond, combed completely flat on his head and plastered with some kind of hair gel, as if it had tried to escape and was being firmly restrained. Somewhat worryingly, a very visible scar sliced through his left eyebrow, leaving a white patch of skin through the dark-blond hair.
Liam realised that his mouth was hanging open and he shut it quickly, knowing that he was staring, which really wasn't very professional; but then, frankly, he'd never seen such a beautiful face on a man in his life – and he thought he'd seen a few. It was a narrow face, with spectacularly flaring cheekbones, supported on a long neck, itself set on wide, but not disproportionate, shoulders. And below these, it was all good too, with a narrow waist and hips, and slim legs disappearing into the ridiculous boots.
Liam found himself wishing that the young man would turn round, just for a moment, so he could have a look at what he was certain would be a deliciously tight little backside. For a moment, he could almost feel it, as if his hands retained some memory that his mind had forgotten, and he found himself gripping the edge of his desk rather hard. Then he looked up into a pair of mocking blue eyes and realised, with an inward gasp, that this William Aurelius knew exactly what he was thinking.
Belatedly, Liam plastered a professional smile on his face and stood up, holding out his hand.
"Mr Aurelius?" he said. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Doctor O'Connor."
His hand was taken in a cool, firm grip that also felt oddly familiar and that Liam considered lingered a moment too long, before the young man said:
"Doctor, 'ey? Thought you were some sort of counsellor, mate, not a sodding doctor."
Liam wasn't sure what sort of accent he'd expected to hear issue from that very kissable mouth, but again was strangely unsurprised on hearing it, as if it were just as expected. It wasn't Estuary, and it wasn't Mockney, but something stranded between those two, and with a kind of background suggestion of something a lot classier. Already, it was becoming clear that this boy was someone who liked to conceal things about himself and had very definite identity issues.
It was a mystery, though, why he seemed so familiar, as if they'd been intimate once. Surely, Liam thought, he could never have forgotten a face like that.
"Have a seat, Mr Aurelius," he said. "And I'm not a medical doctor, of course, but I do have a PhD in Psychology, so I am entitled to call myself doctor. Some people like me to use the title because they find it reassuring, but if you don't, please ignore it. My name's Liam."
"William," the other returned, slouching down into the chair across the desk from Liam, and spreading his legs wide, in a posture that, while provocative if deliberate, seemed wholly unconscious; a small man trying to make himself look bigger.
"You've been referred to me by Doctor Gull of Harley Street," Liam said, looking down at his notes again. "I don't think I've ever had anyone referred from Harley Street before, William."
"Yeah, well," William said, stirring restlessly in his chair, "had to come, didn't I? And I promised my mum."
"Your mother wanted you to come to me?"
"Yeah, told me she'd stop my allowance if I didn't have therapy – not twenty-one yet, see, so can't access the family loot till then – so I said okay as long as I got to choose the therapist, so she got old Gull to write a referral. Got myself all dressed up to come here an' everything, just like she'd want."
He gestured at his jacket and his now-shabby, but no doubt once very expensive, trousers, smoothing the material with his hands up his thighs in the direction of his groin in a very distracting way - and this time obviously deliberately so. Liam tried not to stare at the way those thighs bulged with muscle through the thin material, in spite of their slimness, and he managed, by a supreme act of self-restraint, to keep his eyes off William's crotch.
"You chose me?" he asked, confused, and feeling that the whole session was going somewhat off the rails before it had even started. "May I ask why?"
"Oh," said William, vaguely, "I've been wanting to meet you for ages, mate - just had trouble working out how to introduce myself, like. You know how it is – different social circles – generation gap - whatever."
Liam stared at him a moment, trying to decide again if he'd ever set eyes on this William Aurelius before. There was definitely something very familiar about him, even though Liam couldn't remember where they might have met. It was entirely possible of course, that he'd seen him in the distance in some club or pub back in the days before he and Francis had more or less given up going out, in favour of long evenings at home in front of the TV, or, more productively, at the gym and then in bed. Maybe the boy hadn't been a bleached blond then, and hadn't stood out from the crowd as much as he did now?
"Have we met before?" he asked, at last, unsure about the matter and thinking it best to clear the air. If this boy had ulterior motives for choosing Liam as his therapist, the sessions surely couldn't be allowed to continue.
"You wouldn't remember," William said, and his gaze was suddenly curiously blank – eyes opaque, as if a veil had come down in front of them. "It doesn't matter a toss, mate. Anyway, I'm here now. Aren't you gonna ask me stuff about my life, and try and work out how crazy I am, or something?"
"Do you feel that you're 'crazy', as you put it?" Liam asked, putting aside the mystery for a moment and feeling it was best to try and get the session back on track before making any final decisions as to whether he could continue to see William or not.
"Nah," William said, and he snorted, contemptuously. "But like I said, when Mum threw me out, she insisted I had to have therapy. If I have it, she might even invite me back in the house, you never know, and I do miss my mum something terrible – so, other reasons notwithstanding, I said yes."
Liam glanced up at him quickly as he said this, hearing an oddly gloating tone in the delivery of the words, which was rather inexplicable. He was in time to see William lick his lips with a vividly pink tongue, his eyes staring off into space as he did so.
The sight set off all sorts of alarm bells, and Liam made a note on his writing pad to try and explore the client's relationship with his mother in greater depth at later sessions. There was something definitely not right there.
"Would it help to tell me why she's banned you from the house?" he asked, tentatively.
"Not really," William said, in matter-of-fact tones, "but I will anyway. She doesn't like my friends, nor my girlfriend. Can't stand her, in fact. Also, she got fed up with me chasing all her boyfriends away, stupid whore!"
The sudden venom in the boy's tone was startling and Liam was a little surprised, and strangely disappointed, in view of all the rather blatant flirting, to hear the youngster say that he had a girlfriend. He wondered if the boy was bi, or if he was just someone who liked to tease and who would run away screaming in outrage if he received any actual propositions from another man.
He suspected it was more likely to be the former. He couldn't see this boy running from anything.
"And have you any siblings?" Liam asked, hoping to establish a full picture of the boy's background.
"Nah. I'm an only child. What a sodding surprise, 'ey? Anyway, she seems to have forgotten that she's got nothing to be write home about when it comes to sowing wild oats or whatever, stupid cow! I mean, if she'd been a good girl, I wouldn't sodding be here at all, would I?"
"You wouldn't?"
"Had me when she was sixteen, didn't she? Got stoned at Glastonbury when she was barely legal and shagged half a dozen blokes, and the result was yours truly. She hasn't a clue who my dad is, and neither have I, and then she spent most of the 1980s snorting coke to try and stay thin, so she's got nothing to be so sodding proud of – coming on all moral crusader about what I do with my time. At least I'm not a fucked up coke-head like her."
"Who is your mother?" Liam asked, now very much getting the impression that William was trying to make him do so.
"Anne LaHaye," William said. "She was a super-model back in the 80s, mate, with a dirty little secret – a string of fucking horrible boyfriends who treated her like shit and me tagging along behind like an unwanted puppy. Oh, the misery!"
He put his hand to his forehead melodramatically, then smiled a little – even batted his eyelashes slightly. Looking away rather crossly from this display, Liam couldn't help thinking that the boy did have very beautiful eyes, and a very infectious smile that seemed to light up his whole face.
He remembered the name. There'd been an article about Anne LaHaye recently in one of the life-style magazines that Francis was addicted to– one of those 'Come and look round my beautiful house and pay me handsomely for the privilege' type things. He conjured up the mental image of a beautiful, blonde woman in her mid thirties, though looking much younger, dressed very expensively and posed gracefully on a couch in Neo-Georgian splendour – some minor aristocrat's daughter, she'd been. Perhaps that was where he remembered William from? Probably, he got those amazing looks from his mother.
"So, anyway," he said, "she doesn't approve of your lifestyle and friends. Why would that be, William?"
"She thinks they're a bunch of dangerous fucking weirdos and perverts, of course," William said, as if this should be self-evident, "which goes to show that she may be a bitch, but she's not a stupid bitch – not about some things anyway."
"So they are dangerous, then," Liam asked, "in your estimation?"
"'Course they are," William said, and he grinned, revealing perfect, and perfectly white, teeth. "Everyone knows vampires are dangerous, don't they?"
"Vampires?"
"Yeah, 'course, some people spell it 'V–A-M-P-Y-R-E-S' these days, but I can't be bothered with all that poncy, frilly-shirt Anne Rice shite. I'm not ashamed of what I am."
Liam had to admit that this was a new one on him. Of course, he knew that such a sub-culture existed, although he'd only come across references to it in New York, not here in London, but he'd never met anyone who subscribed to it.
"So you're a vampire?" he asked, carefully, not at all sure what sort of reaction he'd get.
"Yeah," William said, "so I s'pose you can't really blame her for banning me from the house, can you?"
"She feels threatened by you?" Liam asked.
"She might have noticed me eyeing her neck a few times, yeah" William said, and he grinned again, and licked his lips.
And there it was again; the oddly sexualised reference to his mother. Freud would have loved this, Liam thought - all this classic repressed – or maybe not so repressed – Oedipal desire for the forbidden, expressing itself in a totally bizarre, and possibly antisocial, way.
Unless, of course, William was making it all up, which was possible. After all, most laymen knew enough about psychology to have heard of Freud's Oedipus complex. Maybe the boy was feeding him a line that he thought the therapist would find interesting, without realising how clichéd it was?
"Do you consider yourself a threatening person?" he asked, carefully.
"Well, vampires usually are," William responded. "Some of them are even worse than me," and he stared rather hard at Liam, licking his lips and splaying his legs wider.
Liam had to look away from the boy's distracting beauty and his blatant porn-magazine poses, which were making him increasingly uncomfortable. He stared down at the name 'William Aurelius' written on his notes, and saw a question waiting to be asked.
"The name Aurelius, then," he said. "Not your father's name, obviously?"
"Obviously," William said, rather mockingly. "Was given that name when I became a vampire. Posh-sounding, innit? It's an old vampire family name, like Dracula."
Liam glanced up at him again, unsure whether he was being made fun of, but William's face was completely serious.
"So, anyway," Liam said, "you've come to me for what exactly? Do you want me to help you stop being a vampire?"
"Why would I want that?" William asked, looking astonished. "Told you, mate, I came because I told Mum I would, and because I wanted to meet you. And here I am. We can chat about the weather if you like, I'm not bothered."
He leaned back in his chair and smiled complacently, hands folded on his flat belly. Liam found his eyes focussed on those hands, which were rather big for such a small man, wide and long-fingered. The nails bore the remains of black nail polish and were bitten down almost to the quick.
He remembered his warning to himself about how he could not continue to see William if the boy's motives for wanting him as a therapist were personal but – well, there was a lot wrong here. The vampire stuff was obviously harmless - some kind of sub-Goth fetish dressing type thing probably - but there were very disturbing undercurrents to it all, if true. He wondered if the boy's relationship with his mother had changed recently – whether perhaps she had another new man in her life and William felt threatened by him.
"How did you first become a – a vampire?" he asked.
"How d'you think?" William said, sounding a touch impatient. "Met Drusilla and got bit, didn't I?"
"Drusilla?" Liam asked, firmly suppressing his impulse to laugh at the name.
"Yeah. That's her vampire name, of course. Drusilla Aurelius – same family, see. I did mention her. My girlfriend? Mum hates her guts."
In spite of everything, the repeated mention of a woman other than his mother as a defining influence on William's life was still a disappointment to Liam. He'd been unable to help hoping that the boy was gay – although such speculation was very unprofessional where a client was concerned - and he found himself unable, too, in spite of everything, to resist undressing him in his head, mentally making him stand up and unbutton his shirt very slowly, exposing what Liam was sure was a pale and well-defined chest – the boy looked muscular and lean as a whippet – the same hand then slipping down to his waist to open the top button of his trousers very, very slowly –
He started guiltily, thinking of Francis – although of course they'd never put chains on each other's fantasies – to become aware that William was once again staring at him very knowingly, and that one hand had indeed disappeared under his un-tucked shirt and appeared to be sliding over his own flesh in a blatant act of self-worship.
"She'll probably hate my daddy too, if she ever meets him," William said, suddenly, raising lazy, half-lidded eyes to Liam's face and licking his lips again. It was one of the most blatant come-ons that Liam had ever encountered and he found himself both aroused and amused by it.
"I thought," he managed to say, shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair, "that you said you didn't know who your father was?"
Let the boy say what he'd meant by the word 'daddy'. Liam wasn't going to help him.
"I was talking about my human father," William said, patiently, "not my vampire daddy. He's quite different." He sighed, then said: "I really miss him."
Liam supposed this had to refer to whoever had inducted William into this cult, or lifestyle, or whatever it was. From William's choice of words, he found himself imagining some aging queen with a taste for very young flesh, and he shuddered slightly. It was a role he'd once been afraid of finding himself in – until he'd met Francis.
He decided to put the question aside again for the moment.
"And you enjoy the – the vampire way of life?" he asked. "You don't find it interferes with your everyday existence?"
"Of course it interferes," William said. "Not being able to go out in daylight – that's a pain. But there are compensations – like eternal life an' stuff - and we have a good time and we don't care about anyone or anything – even got our own club, down Soho. Fucking brilliant place. You should come there with me some time, Liam."
"It's probably not my kind of place," Liam said, and then was secretly amused by the boy's obvious disappointment on hearing this. He was pouting very fetchingly.
Liam felt he was beginning to get something of a handle on the situation now. William was obviously quite immature and had probably been drawn into this alternative lifestyle by some woman and this shadowy older male figure, and it had now taken over his imagination completely, and at the same time widened the estrangement he obviously felt from his mother, who was possibly absent a lot when he was a child, and who quite possibly wanted to foist yet another in a long line of stepfathers on him. The 'vampires' were like a surrogate family for him.
He did seem deluded in a way, talking about the lifestyle as if it was more than just a fetish – as if it was real – but his problems obviously didn't stem from it, but from before, if he was telling the truth about his mother. She was probably the key. And, if he was telling the truth, it all fit together in a very neat, and very Freudian, way.
Liam decided to turn the conversation to rather lighter subjects, asking about William's taste in music and finding it suitably Goth-y and depressing, although the boy also had a fondness for classic punk bands – seemed to think it possible that Joe Strummer might have been his father – citing London Calling as 'the best album of all time'. However, he'd then gone on to say that, as a vampire, he'd never consider drinking the blood of someone like Joe Strummer, because it would be a 'sodding crime', and didn't Liam agree, which was a difficult question to answer.
All the time they were talking, William continued to display himself to Liam, both consciously and unconsciously, flaunting his beauty with a breathtaking arrogance that Liam could only admire. And yet there was something sweetly vulnerable about him too – something about his eyes and the set of his head on his long slim neck, which he often tilted to the side, as if puzzled about something – that made Liam's whole body thrill to his presence in a way he hadn't felt in years.
What he had with Francis was different, after all. For one thing, with Francis, it was real and not a fantasy.
By the time the hour was up, Liam felt that he'd made some progress in understanding his new client, although he was still unsure of what exactly William wanted of him – whether to seduce him or just to have his desirability reaffirmed in his own eyes. The boy might or might not be bisexual – Liam had prided himself up to now on always knowing, but he found himself unsure in this case – but whether he was or not, he was an extraordinary little cocktease, making a point, when he finally stood up and turned to go, of pulling up his trousers in such a way that the material moulded itself to his backside, making it quite plain that he wore no underwear and that he did indeed have a perfect rounded little rear end, plumped up with muscle, that was quite clearly asking to be fucked.
As if to make the point, William looked back over his shoulder at Liam and let his eyelashes rest for one moment on his cheek, before sweeping them upwards again to give him one last glance out of those amazing blue eyes.
"See you next week, then, Liam," he said, "and nice to have met you again."
Before Liam could question the 'again', he was gone. Liam heard him give his receptionist a cheery goodnight and then say something else to her, which was greeted with a laugh and a "Sorry – no."
Liam realised, with an unexpected pang, that the boy was flirting with Cordelia too. Maybe he just did it to everyone?
He went to the window and watched William emerge from the front door and cross the road into the park. He was wearing some sort of long, black leather coat – which was rather predictable really – and had the collar turned up against the wind. Leaves skirled around his feet as he entered the park and then seemed to rise up in a cloud to obscure him from sight. When they subsided a moment later, he was gone.
Liam shivered again, wondering if he was coming down with something.
On the train on the way home, Liam dozed a little, as he often did, which had sometimes resulted in him having to get off further down the line and wait for the next train back to Clapham; something that always made Francis laugh fondly at him when he told him about it afterwards.
He jerked awake out of a dream of white bodies writhing and spattered with red, of empty blue eyes staring at him, to find himself once again shivering all over. He also felt as if someone was watching him – which was absurd really, as the train was full of commuters, all very busy trying not to watch each other.
Liam was afraid suddenly and for no reason he could understand, wanting to be home, and warm and safe with Francis.
He opened the front door of the flat to smell cooking. Francis did like to cook – mostly south-east Asian fusion-y type things, often rather spicier than Liam actually liked – and this evening the aromas of garlic and fresh ginger were especially welcoming, full of warmth and colour and most of all, life. This alone was enough to make Liam relax and shake off his fit of whatever it had been on the train, telling himself he was being stupid to let all that odd incestuous vampire stuff get to him like this. After all, it was hardly the most disturbing story he'd heard in his years as a therapist – not by a long way.
Francis heard the door shut and came out of the kitchen to push Liam back against the wall in the hallway and stick an eager tongue – tasting of chillies – into his mouth. He was short, the same height as William Aurelius, but he dominated any room effortlessly with his vividness and love of life, just as he dominated Liam in bed the way no one before him ever had. Liam had considered himself a natural top until Francis came along, but now he was not so sure. He'd never thought he could enjoy being fucked so much.
"You're late," Francis said reprovingly. "Lucky I didn't give your dinner to the cat, love."
"We haven't got a cat," Liam said, putting his arms round his lover's waist and drawing him in for another kiss.
"Well, I'd've gone out and found one, wouldn't I? There's plenty of starving kitties out there for sure, who'd have made short work of it."
"Sorry," Liam said, contrite, pleased to feel himself being nudged in the groin already by his lover's swelling erection. "I had a late appointment – a new client. I couldn't get away earlier."
"Well, that fat arse of yours can make it up to me later," Francis said, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "In the meantime –"
"Forget it," Liam said, "I'm suddenly not hungry – at least, not for food."
He hauled the smaller man forward and ground his cock against him, showing him what he was hungry for. Francis grinned and allowed himself to be manoeuvred backwards and into the bedroom.
Later, wrapped in Francis's arms, his head on his lover's chest, listening to the slow comforting beat of his heart, Liam said:
"Saw this new client today, like I said."
He ran a finger up and down Francis's arm, making the thick black hair lie first all one way and then all the other.
"Yeah? You going to tell me about him, or is it a her? You must get so sick of all these hysterical females - and I should know."
Francis had five older sisters and often insisted quite seriously that it had been this childhood trauma that had turned him gay, putting him off women for life.
"I'll tell you what I can," Liam said, "which isn't much. You know how it is – confidentiality and so on."
"Sure, love, I know."
"Anyway, I've never come across anything like this before. The kid thinks he's a vampire – at least, he belongs to some sort of cult, or fetish group that pretend to be vampires, and he's really bought into it."
"A what now?" Liam looked up and saw Francis staring at him, blue eyes – blue as William's – wide and incredulous.
"I know. It sounds incredible. He seemed relatively normal most of the time, but then he'd come out with these outrageous statements that did make me doubt his sanity a little."
"Maybe he is crazy?" Francis said. "Sounds crazy to me."
"Oh, I don't really think so. He seemed pretty harmless – just immature and easily led, I expect - fallen in with a bad crowd, maybe. They have a club in Soho. We've probably walked past it loads of times and never realised."
"But wasn't there a case of some crazy feller who murdered a poor old biddy in Wales somewhere and drank her blood? Didn't he think he was a vampire too?"
Now that Francis mentioned it, Liam recalled the story. Suddenly, he had a picture in his head of William Aurelius, his beautiful face twisted and demonic, and blood staining his mouth like badly applied lipstick. It seemed so real, like something he might have seen in a film, or on TV, and he shuddered slightly.
"What's the matter, love?" Francis said. "Someone walk over your grave?"
He pulled Liam closer and then closed one hand around his cock, teasing it to a kind of exhausted half-life.
"It's strange," Liam said, his mind still on the events of the day at the same time as his body slowly woke up again, responding to Francis's clever attentions. "I've never seen him before, but in spite of that, I almost feel like I know him. Anything like that ever happen to you? Like déjà vu?"
"For certain sure," Francis said. "Happens all the time, but usually, it turns out I do know them because I fucked them once and then just forgot them." There was an edge to his voice suddenly. "Is he coming back? Is he pretty?"
"Yes, he has five appointments pre-booked and pre-paid – all in the evening. Said he couldn't attend during the day for 'obvious reasons'. And, yes, he's a little beauty, since you ask. Arse like a peach."
"And you'd be knowing that how?" Francis said, crossly, and his hand on Liam's cock was a little more urgent - insistent. "Man, that's twisted. I don't like you looking at pretty boys if they're not me."
"Sorry," Liam said, contrite again. "I didn't mean anything. Just trying to make you jealous."
"Well, you succeeded," Francis said. "You deserve a good buggering for that, Doctor O'Connor, and when I get me strength back, that's exactly what you're going to get."
"Just don't pretend you weren't trying to make me jealous with that 'I've had so many men I can't remember their faces' crack," Liam said. "Besides, he's a client, love. Strictly off-limits, even if he was interested – which I don't think he is. He told me he has a girlfriend."
Even as he said it, he wondered why he was lying to Francis and not telling him about William's blatant flirting. In fact, why bring the subject up at all?
"Well, good for her," Francis said. "But if he isn't interested, there's something wrong with him." His grip tightened further, just enough to make Liam wince. "I mean, look at you!"
"Not everyone is gay, you know, even if you are in denial about some men actually having the bad taste not to want to be fucked by you," Liam said, absurdly pleased by Francis's jealousy and his compliment. "You're hurting me."
"Ah, poor baby," Francis said. "Let me kiss it better."
His hand gentled, stroking instead of tugging, settling to an easy rhythm.
Liam gave himself to the sensations, though he knew it'd be quite some while before he'd be able to come again. He squirmed a little, as Francis moved out from underneath him and wriggled his way down the bed, until his face was buried in Liam's groin and his tongue was busy making things wet and hard. Liam rested his hand on his lover's head, digging his fingers into the curly black hair, just as he'd imagined doing back at the office. He shut his eyes and suddenly, in his mind, the short, loose curls became tight and flat and gel-crusted, and he imagined opening his eyes and that hair glowing neon-white in the darkness of the bedroom.
At that moment, Francis bit him rather hard on the balls and he flinched.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"I'm a vampi-ire!" Francis said, in sepulchral tones. "I'm going to drink all your blood and make you mi-ine."
"Very funny," Liam said.
"I thought so," Francis responded, and he grinned. "Now turn over, you big Irish tart, and let me get at that beautiful tight bung-hole again."
As the time came round to the day of William's next session, Liam found that he wasn't sure whether he was looking forward to it or not. He'd spent far too much time during the previous week thinking about the boy; remembering little details, like the prominent Adam's apple in his slim neck that made him look strangely vulnerable and very, very young, or the restless hands picking at each other in his lap – or that deep, smoky, too-adult sounding voice, saying all those outrageous unbelievable things about his mother.
He told himself sternly that the boy was a client, his sexuality of importance only as it bore on his case, and it wasn't appropriate to use him as a fantasy, but he found himself doing it more and more, imagining his hands stroking along the narrow muscular flanks and prising the slim legs apart to see what lay between them. One night, he was so overcome by this, that he rolled the sleeping Francis on to his belly and fucked him fast and hard, with the most perfunctory of preparation, which was greeted with an outburst of incomprehensible, and no doubt very rude, Gaelic swearing and a hot spill of cum onto the bed beneath them.
"Sod you," Francis said afterwards. "What was that for? I won't be able to walk straight tomorrow, you big git!"
Liam kissed him, rather smugly, pleased to have got to top for a change and wondering at his rather uncharacteristic passivity over the last six months. Maybe he'd relaxed a bit too much in Francis's company? It was probably a good idea to shake things up once in a while.
"Just as well you can work from home then, isn't it?" he said. "That is, if you can call messing about on computers all day 'work'."
Francis turned in his arms and kissed him rather fiercely.
"I liked it," he said, "but don't bloody do it again."
While he was speaking, Liam thought he heard a sort of ghost-voice echoing the words, a too-deep, lazy voice, issuing from a bruised, over-kissed mouth: "I liked it too. Do it again now! Do it harder!"
He blinked in confusion, convinced for a moment that someone was in the room with them, and was taken by surprise himself when he was rolled on his belly in turn by a small angry Irishman and two very insistent fingers were pushing their way into his body.
"Someone needs a lesson in manners," Francis said, and kissed his shoulder, thrusting forward. Liam howled obligingly and quite spontaneously. It hurt quite a bit.
He knew the next day that Francis had marked the whole incident down as one of Liam's fantasies – and it wasn't as if Francis didn't have some of his own – but Liam felt guilty all the same. He'd invited Francis to share his home and his life, and now he felt as if he'd violated their bed with a stranger's unwelcome presence. He went to the office that day determined to be wholly professional and to see William Aurelius as nothing more than a client, like all the others.
Of course, his resolve lasted only until the boy actually walked into the room. In spite of feeling that he'd spent the whole of the week remembering every detail of William's appearance, Liam realised that he'd actually downplayed his sheer beauty in his imagination. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of that incredible face, this week adorned with black eye-liner and with the hint of something artificial reddening the full mouth.
Liam had heard him in reception flirting equally outrageously with Cordelia – thought he'd heard him ask her out for a drink, in fact – and he felt almost angry at this blatant display of ambiguous sexuality being thrust into his face; angry that the boy didn't keep it just for him.
He put on his best, sympathetic professional manner and managed to get through the hour session without once letting his concentration drop. It was hard, though, with William splaying his legs, and once walking across the room to lean on the window sill and stare out, bending slightly so as to emphasise how very tight his jeans were. Liam looked at the ruler on his desk and was very tempted to put the boy over his knee and use it, but again, he resisted, trying to draw out of him more of the actual concrete facts and less of the ridiculous vampire fantasy.
It was hard, though. Liam felt he was really no nearer to establishing a treatment plan for William by the end of the session, although a mixture of behavioural and cognitive therapies seemed the obvious way to go. After all, the boy's behaviour was distressing to his mother and might well become so to others, so it was important to work out a strategy to help him deal with his problems, in the same way that you might do with a drug addict or an alcoholic. In fact, Liam was sure that he'd seen vampirism used as a metaphor for both those conditions, though he couldn't remember where. At the same time, some cognitive therapy might help William to understand that he did have problems, something he currently seemed in denial about, continuing to blame his mother for everything.
However, Liam was fairly certain by now that William hadn't made up any of the disturbing things he'd let drop about his home life and that he would probably benefit from some traditional psycho-analysis too, what with his obvious problematic relationship with his mother and lack of a traditional father figure – although there was, of course, this mysterious surrogate father figure – or sugar daddy, or whatever he was – who'd inducted him into the vampire cult and about whom he said very little, except that 'daddy' was going through a bad patch and needed help.
Liam was sure that a lot more than five sessions were going to be needed and he wasn't sure whether he was glad or sorry at the prospect.
During the following three weeks, Liam found himself gradually sinking deeper and deeper into William's fantasy world, which disturbed and excited him in equal measure. It was peopled with half-seen creatures both fascinating and repulsive, and seemed lost in a sort of febrile erotic darkness that made Liam sometimes feel as if he was stuck in an episode of Twin Peaks.
He realised that he was counting the days between each session, increasingly impatient with his other clients - although careful not to let them see it - always waiting to see the door open and that small, strangely compelling figure enter the room.
He would sit, listening as if hypnotised, to William's talk, which seemed to be opening up a world that was very strange and yet very familiar at the same time; as if it was contaminating his thoughts and making it harder to remember that there were such things as sunlight and summer and wide blue oceans – all the warm, living images and sensations that thoughts of Francis evoked in him.
It didn't help that it was mid-November now and the nights came early, and the weather was bleak and cold. The wind was from the east and had been especially bitter recently and the trees in the park were bare of leaves, their branches suitably skeleton-like and threatening against the sky as dusk fell.
Tonight was the last of William's five booked sessions and Liam was no nearer to getting the boy to acknowledge that he had any problems other than that his mother was a 'bitch.' It seemed that his theory about the possible new stepfather was incorrect, as William made no mention of it during his occasional vitriolic diatribes about his mother's taste in men, and Liam was finding that coming up against the brick wall of William's denial was becoming quite frustrating.
This evening, Liam would have to convince William to book more sessions if he wanted to see him again, although he was sure that it would be better for his own peace of mind if he didn't. It was becoming so very hard to resist touching the boy, who's every look and word seemed to invite that touch – almost to demand it like homage.
It would probably be better to let him go and disappear back into his dark little world, which was probably basically harmless, after all. When it came down to it, he was just a spoilt little rich boy with more money than sense, spinning tales to make himself feel important – which of course didn't mean that his problems weren't valid – he'd obviously had a chaotic childhood, for instance – and he might even be borderline psychotic, but Liam was beginning to feel that he couldn't do much more for William, and he might even be doing himself untold harm by continuing to see him.
He heard William's voice outside joking with Cordelia as he always did, and then the door flew open and William sauntered in, pelvis first, in his usual manner. The boy still wore his leather coat, which he normally left in reception, but was otherwise dressed for seduction, in a brown silk shirt and black jeans. He still wore those absurd boots, somewhat spoiling the effect, but the eye-liner and the gold ring now piercing the scarred eyebrow more than made up for that. There was something different about his hair today, too, Liam realised. It was not so stiffly gelled as usual and covered his head in clusters of soft little curls, which gave him a less predatory, appealingly androgynous look.
"Hello, William," Liam said, rather warily. He thought that he knew only too well what was on the boy's mind this evening, since it seemed to be on his own mind too. It was hard not to think about it when everything about William seemed to scream, rather melodramatically: "Take me! Ravish me!"
What a consummate slut the boy was!
"Hey," William said, and he crossed the room and stood hesitantly in front of the desk. Then he took his coat off and draped it over the chair back.
"Have a seat," Liam told him, waving a hand at the empty chair. "We have a lot to talk about this evening."
William sat down, perching rather nervously on the edge of the seat. His obvious insecurity gave Liam a sudden feeling of power, which spread pleasantly through his body and filled him with a sense of relaxation. Let the boy do the work.
"Is something wrong?" Liam asked him. "You seem agitated."
"This is my last session," William said at once.
"It is, but you should probably book more. You need –"
William waved his hand impatiently.
"I haven’t got this wrong, have I?" he asked. "You are queer, aren't you?"
"What?" Liam clenched his hands into fists, his feeling of euphoria disappearing rapidly.
William was on his feet again.
"It's just if you aren't," he said, "all this stupid palaver was for nothing, see. I could've let Dru do this instead – but no, she said it'd be me you'd want first."
"What are you talking about?" Liam said. "I really can't discuss my private life with you, William. Besides, it has no bearing on your treatment, and -"
He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly he found that William was sitting on his knee and that a surprisingly cold tongue was thrusting its way into his mouth, insistent and yet oddly tentative as well, as if not sure of its welcome. In spite of himself, Liam's body couldn't help responding to the feel of that small, very hard backside grinding into his crotch, and he put out his hand to push William away.
Too late. William had felt his response and he broke the kiss and raised his head in triumph.
"I wasn't wrong," he said, and before Liam could stop him, he was unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, revealing a torso as hairless and perfectly sculpted as a Greek statue, the only colour in it to be found on the two stiff little tits with their rosy nubs. Liam had only a moment to wonder how long every day the boy had spent at the gym to acquire a physique like this, when he realised that his hands had risen seemingly of their own accord to pinch the exposed nipples and then to run down the defined chest to cradle the very prominent erection tenting out William's jeans.
Instantly, the feeling of power was back, and stronger and more intoxicating than ever.
"Lock the door," he heard his voice saying, "and take your jeans and boots off."
William leaned forward to kiss him again then did as he was told, turning the key silently in the lock, then coming back towards Liam, kicking off his boots and unbuckling his belt.
"Let me," Liam said, suddenly, and he brushed William's hands away and undid his button fly, slowly, one button at a time, as he'd fantasised doing so many times in the last five weeks. Sliding his hands down the narrow flanks, he let them gather up the denim and push it down as they went, finding as he'd suspected that William was naked underneath it.
The boy had a delicious cock, uncut, and rather bigger than might be expected, like his hands, the foreskin rolled right back to reveal the drooling tip, the heavy balls nestling in a bush of soft, golden-brown hair. Liam cupped them in his hands, obscurely pleased with the weight of them, then ran a finger up the rampant cock and squeezed the tip gently. He looked up at William's face, and for a moment, he almost rescued himself from the trap into which he knew he was falling, seeing the boy staring down at him in triumph, at the same time as he bit his lip and shivered all over from the pressure of Liam's fingers.
Frowning, Liam took William's cock in a firm grip and held it still, caged in his hand.
"What's this all about?" he asked.
"Told you," William said, breathing very fast. "I've wanted to meet you again for ages. Couldn’t think of another way to do it – but I thought you'd crack sooner. Not many blokes could resist me this long – queers couldn't, I mean – and I was beginning to think you didn't want me. Glad to be wrong. Want you back."
"Want me back?" Liam asked. "We've never met, William, until five weeks ago."
"Yeah, yeah, if you like. But someone's tamed you, Liam, and it's all wrong. We need you – Dru and me. We need you back. I need you, and I'm gonna have you."
"I rather think," Liam said, and he felt as if someone else was talking through his mouth, "that I am going to have you, William. Now turn round and bend over the desk. I want a proper look at you."
"That's my daddy," William said, grinning, and again he did as ordered, planting his hands firmly on the desk and thrusting his muscular backside into Liam's face. Before Liam's brain had quite caught up with his hands, he found them resting on the two pale half-globes and squeezing the flesh between them. Again, he was overtaken by the strange feeling of familiarity. His hands had been here before. They knew this flesh – knew exactly how to draw those intimate little whimpers out of William's oh, so beautiful body.
Liam frowned again, wondering how on earth he could remember something that had never happened; but he didn't take long to consider it. Instead, he opened the desk drawer, knowing that he'd find the pack of condoms and the tube of Astroglide still in there, left over from the days before he'd met Francis and had carried them around on the off-chance. Fumbling slightly, he unzipped his trousers, which were becoming very uncomfortable, and let his cock get some air. He kept half an eye on William as he slicked it up and rolled the condom into place, noting that the boy was shivering all over – whether in fear or anticipation, it was impossible to tell – but that he hadn't moved.
"Come on!" William said, eventually. "My arse is getting cold, mate. What the fuck are you doing?"
Liam stood up and folded himself over the boy, running caressing hands down his chest and pinching his nipples.
"What the fuck do you think?" he said. "I'm not barebacking, William."
"Wouldn't have sodding mattered," the boy said. "Vampire, remember?"
That gave Liam a moment's pause – just a moment when he remembered that this was a client, and possibly a very sick client – but his body seemed to have been seized by some outside momentum that carried him through the next few minutes of careful preparation and then very slow, careful penetration, without his mind having very much to do with it. It wasn't long before he could feel his balls resting against that sweet, muscle-plump little backside, while William panted and gasped under him.
"Jesus, that fucking hurts!" the boy said. "That's not a dick you've got there, it's a sodding barge-pole. Now fuck me, why don't you?"
Liam found himself doing just that, while wondering just who was in control here, thrusting forward into the tight channel, hands clamped vise-like round the boy's narrow hips. It felt exquisite, just as he'd imagined, and he came very quickly while William swore and banged his fists on the desk, urging him on to do it again and do it harder. Drawing the slim body back against him, Liam brought William off with a few firm strokes to his cock and a squeeze to his balls, then held him cradled in his arms, holding him tight while the boy snuffled into his shoulder, complaining that his bum hurt.
For one horrible moment, Liam thought that he'd just fucked a virgin – albeit one the very opposite of shy - but then William raised his face and grinned at him, even while the tears of pain still trickled down his cheeks.
"Best I've been fucked in ages," he said. "Not since – well, knew it would be."
He kissed Liam on the mouth and stood up, reaching for the box of tissues on the desk.
Liam watched William clean himself up and dress. Now it was all over, he felt – not let down, because William's body had been just as exciting to fuck as he'd always known it would be – but odd and out of sorts, knowing that a line had been crossed that could never be un-crossed. Both personally and professionally, it had to have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. He thought of Francis and a pang of guilt went through him. They'd never actually demanded faithfulness from each other as a condition of their relationship, but Liam knew that Francis, jealous as he was, took it as a given. He also knew that Francis had been faithful to him.
"I can't see you again," he said, abruptly.
"'Course you can," William said. "I'm sick, remember? I need help. I'm gonna book myself ten more sessions, Liam – money up front. Don't worry. Mummy dearest'll pay."
"No," Liam said. "I can't be your therapist now, William, surely you can understand that?"
"Well, can I see you somewhere else, then?"
"No – look, I live with someone, and you said you have a girlfriend. This is –"
And there was William once more astride his knee, and there went his hands cupping the jeans clad backside automatically, as if they knew what to do when his mind didn't.
"I don't care about any of that stuff," William said. "You belong with us – with me. And if the only way I can see you is by being your client, then you're not getting rid of me. Besides," he continued, preening a little, "now you've seen the goods, why would you want to?"
"You really are full of yourself, aren't you?" Liam said, exasperated but also rather admiring of the boy's confidence in his own beauty – which was not misplaced, after all.
"No," William said, "I'm full of you, and I wanna be full of you again. I want you to be with us – with me, where you belong."
"You want me to be a vampire, is that what you're saying?" Liam asked, not at all sure he liked the sound of 'where you belong.'
"When you're ready," William said, "and I'm willing to wait until you are. In the meantime, though, I've brought a little something for you – well, it's for me really, but you have to give it to me."
"What's that?"
William reached into the pocket of his long coat and brought out what looked like a dog's collar, a thick leather and metal thing with a silver buckle. He pressed it into Liam's grip, then canted his head to the side, exposing his slender throat.
Liam weighed the collar in his hands. It was heavy and didn't look very comfortable. He'd seen plenty of such things of course, during almost two decades of clubbing, but he'd never worn one and never wanted to make someone else wear one - until now. Already, in his mind, he could picture how it would look wrapped round that slim neck, a mark of ownership on something that he felt, deep in his bones, did belong, and what's more always had belonged, to him. It was crazy, he knew.
He unbuckled the collar and fastened it carefully around William's neck, then sat back a little to admire it. The boy was as beautiful as sin, with his smudged eyeliner and knowing blue eyes, and the collar seemed only to accentuate his beauty further.
Liam couldn't keep the words in.
"God, you look incredible!" he said.
"Yeah, I know," William responded, smugly. "I want you to call me by my vampire name from now on, Liam. It goes with the collar, see?"
"Oh, yes? And that would be what?"
"Spike," William answered and, at Liam's mockingly raised eyebrow. "I was very young when I chose it, all right?"
"You called yourself after a dog?" Liam asked, trying not to laugh.
William pouted at him, then leaned forward and kissed him again.
"Don't mind being your dog," he said. "Woof! Woof!"
Abruptly, he stood up and walked towards the door.
"Got to go," he said, "but I'll see you same time next week, Liam."
Liam didn't answer, just watched the boy go with his usual arrogant swagger of hips, heard him talking to Cordelia, asking her if she wanted to go for that drink soon, and her saying again that she couldn't, sorry. He frowned, then set his head in his hands and let the reality of what he'd just done finally wash over him. His receptionist was better able to stick to correct procedure than he was. She knew that seeing a client outside work was not permissible – and there was he fucking said client on his desk. Belatedly, he wondered if Cordelia had heard them – although even if she had, she might well have thought it some kind of behavioural therapy role-playing thing.
All the same, he was very aware of her eyes on him after he said good night and headed past her desk to the door.
He felt very depressed on the train home, and it was crowded so he had to stand, which didn't help. He wondered what on earth had possessed him to do something so stupid. Certainly, the boy was pretty, but he'd had pretty boys before, and was it really worth jeopardising his whole career – not to mention the most important relationship he'd ever had in his life – for the sake of a pretty face and a tight arse? Liam thought he must have groaned aloud, because he became aware that people were trying not to look at him even harder than usual. He also thought that he caught sight of a black coat swirling from the corner of his eye and whipped his head round, expecting to find William right behind him. But there was nothing there.
Great, he thought, seeing things as well now. But he shivered, overcome again by the sensation that he was being watched.
Liam considered telling Francis what he had done for all of ten seconds after he got home. But at the first sight of his lover's face, full of tenderness and welcome, his courage failed him. He couldn't do it. He was so lucky to have Francis – something that Francis often reminded him of, with frequent mention of all the weeping and wailing that had gone on the length of Old Compton Street when it became known that Francis Doyle had settled down. It wasn't just that, of course – having someone that so many other men wanted - it was knowing that he'd never succeeded in sustaining a relationship before. He'd always managed to screw it up somehow or other – too boring, too closed off – which was ironic, considering his profession - too gloomy - whatever – and now he was busy doing it again.
If he kept quiet, maybe it would all blow over and Francis need never know?
Filled with contrition that fuelled a desperate fervour to make amends, Liam pulled Francis into his arms and kissed him frantically.
"God, it's been a brutal day," he said. "I've missed you so much!"
"Can see what you need," Francis said, backing him into the bedroom. "Coming right up, love."
Ten minutes later, with Francis buried in him balls deep, he heard his voice saying: "Do it harder! Come on, fucking hurt me!"
And in his head, it was William's voice saying it, and himself ploughing into the yielding body beneath him hard enough to split it open. He groaned.
"Something's wrong," Francis said, right in his ear. "You've gone all Catholic on me. Feeling guilty about something, are you?"
"No, no," he said, hurriedly. "Just want to feel you - that's all."
"Oh, you'll feel me," Francis said, and made him.
Liam only realised that he'd fallen asleep when he woke up to find something tickling him. He opened his eyes and watched Francis's fingers moving spider-like down his chest.
"What's wrong, Liam?" Francis said. "You've been sort of strange for a while now. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Liam said, wondering if he sounded as guilty as he felt. "It's the work – listening to people's problems all day. It gets you down after a while."
"Yes, but you're a professional, love, you're used to it. Besides, why now? It's something to do with that kid who thinks he's a vampire, isn’t it? This all started back when you first saw him."
"No!" Liam exclaimed frantically, thinking that the best defence was probably attack. "What on earth makes you say that? I mean, yes, he's disturbing. He really believes in it – has a special vampire name and everything – but he's nothing compared to some of what I hear, I assure you. Like you said, I'm a professional. I'll be fine tomorrow, I expect."
"Good. I'll hold you to that," Francis said, and Liam realised, with a sinking heart, that in spite of his words, Francis didn't believe him. He hurried to change the subject and they talked for a while about the long vacation they planned in Ireland for the following summer, with the house-hunting.
In the end, Francis fell asleep and Liam slid carefully out of bed and went and made himself a sandwich. He ate it sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his reflection in the dark window glass and wishing he could turn back the clock and make it be this morning again and he could do everything differently.
At the same time, he couldn't stop thinking about William's slim body bent over his desk, and his hands fastening that collar round the boy's neck, laying claim to him, and – he belatedly realised – being claimed in return. After all, it might just be a piece of silly fetish gear to him, but he knew that it meant a lot more than that to William – that it was an integral part of his delusion and the mysterious lifestyle that fuelled it. He couldn't see the boy releasing him any time soon.
And there was the possibility of blackmail to consider too – although why William would want to blackmail him Liam couldn't at first imagine. As a scion of the LaHaye family, he probably had more money than he knew what to do with in some trust fund somewhere, and it wasn't as if Liam was a medical doctor and could prescribe drugs.
Even as he thought it, Liam knew that William was definitely not above blackmail but that doing it for money or drugs would never enter his head. He'd do it for what he wanted. And he wanted Liam.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 05:01 am (UTC)I'm hooked !
dying to know what happens next so nipping over to part two right now!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 02:01 pm (UTC)Well, I feel flattered that you decided to read mine, then. Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 11:23 am (UTC)Of to read the next part.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-18 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-19 02:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-19 08:55 am (UTC)BTW, ::sends many hugs:: for what you mentioned in the beginning. Hope you're ok!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-19 11:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-19 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-19 11:55 am (UTC)