The Space Between: III
Jan. 14th, 2007 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17 overall, this section very PG-13
A/N: A special thanks tokidcyclone for late-night conversations and great plot bunnies. I stole an idea and modified to suit my purposes. Hopefully, the special characterization in here will be enough to secure my forgiveness.
Scratch and scratch…what is with the fucking lace, Spike? I keep winding up here with an irritating bit of lace rubbing the back of my neck. If this is some kind of metaphor, I may beat the shit out of you…Angel refused to open his eyes. Buffy eating Spike flesh and baby Dru spinning in circles were about all he could take. If this is really what the inside of Spike’s head was like, it was a miracle he had managed to stay sane. Of course, arguments could and had been made regarding Spike’s relative sanity. Hell, Darla often tried to convince him that of his two Childer, Drusilla was the sane one.
“Darling Boy, Drusilla is the sane one. Her madness shows itself, whereas William’s…” the voice drifted off, and Angel snapped to attention. Where was she? The little Dru spinning infinite circles in front of deadly flame, the heady lavender swimming, and no Darla. He had heard her, his Sire and she would know. She’d always known William so well. Once, well-lit from a drugged victim, she’d confided in him that she and William were two of a kind. What had she said? It was hard to remember here, his own thoughts growing indistinct in the muzziness of Will’s mind.
“Sweet, pay attention. You remember what I said. I told you that he and I had both suffered for want of love. Piece of meat, the two of us, with hunger in our veins. I hardened. He never did. It was why he irritated me. A reminder of the foolish girl I died to leave behind, “ Darla said in his ear.
She was close. He could smell her, gold and ginger, sweet and seductive. He could feel her silk, sliding through his fingers. Her slight
weight, barely denting the sheets they slept on, hardly a handful in his large arms. The differences between a man and a woman had been imprinted on his thighs and cock. Angel stroked his own neck, hands stuttering and bumping over the scar that connected him to Darla forever.
Stupified, Angel rose and stumbled out of the parlor, arms groping for the feel of silk and cold skin. Stairs swam in front of his eyes and he moved, climbing climbing climbing, door opening and she was there. Laid out on the bed, ivory and gold and perfect, his Sire come to him. Arms clasped him and he bit, lips and fangs closing around a small nipple. Nursing, blood rich and heavy in his throat, he sighed, feeling his head clear.
“You see? He wants to be found, my darling. He plays at hiding, but he wants to be found. Wants your love, as I did. Angelus, my lovely, my own, you must think, “ Darla crooned.
Angel detached himself from her breast and sat up, looking down at the vision of Darla in Spike’s mind. How he must have studied her, to get her every detail so perfect. She was so strong here, so alive, in ways he hadn’t appreciated before.
“I can hear you, Angelus. Why am I here? Busy bee, your mind, filled with noisy questions,” Darla laughed, standing. She transformed, hair lengthening, clothes flowing over nude slippery skin.
“The Scourge of Europe, my darling. That’s what you were, but even William knew you were never my equal. He loved you, and adored Drusilla. But, he worshipped me. Not just my beauty, or my hard earned whore’s skills, but my armor. Adamas, he called me once. I didn’t know what he meant, had to eat a professor to figure it out. Diamond, the hardest substance known to man, cold and sparkling. The little poet, always with his words.”
“You’re not real,” Angel murmured. “Not real, but the blood…”
“No, my boy, I’m not real. Any more than any of this,” she gestured at the room, which wavered and shimmered, visions in the heat haze. “Merely figments of a damaged mind, Angelus. You’re frightened. Frightened of me, of Spike, of the power in his head.”
“There’s nothing in my boy’s head that holds any terror for me, Darla,” Angel growled.
“You lie,” she rejoined softly. “What we once were, Angelus. Remember that? What you fear isn’t William, it’s yourself. How will he see you? How will he make you see yourself? That is your terror and you must face it.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, fingers firm and unyielding.
He met his own eyes, the mirror that rejected him in life embracing him here in his Childe’s mind. Mind’s eye, he chuckled to himself. He saw now what he’d refused to see before. Hair long and flowing, shoulders broad and imposing, face demonic and vicious.
“I name you Angelus for that is what you are. Your false face has no presence here, the Angel you struggle to be. See, Angelus. My boy, the beautiful Childe I created, he lives inside your mind. “
Angel closed his eyes, and focused. He had felt imprisoned inside this body and this was why. Darla said he was Angelus and that Angel was a false face. Perhaps. He tried so hard to deny the demon. But he wasn’t Angelus anymore.
“You are,” Darla insisted. “My childe, my boy, he’s in there. I can feel him, smell him. Stop denying it, Angelus.”
“I’m not, Darla. You’re right. Angelus is here, is always here,” Angel opened his eyes and saw himself. Face human again, he was smaller now, lighter. “I’ll never be free of him, of myself. I am what you made me, Darla. But, I’m more than that. I am what I made myself. The evil, the slaughter, the love and the pain…those are all mine, “ Angel stood back and smiled.
Darla wasn’t real. Buffy wasn’t real. Drusilla wasn’t real. But the fear was real. The pain was real.
“I’m not afraid of Angelus. I’m not afraid of you, Will. Drusilla, Buffy, Darla, these are just the faces of your fear. You want me to stop hiding? Fine, I will. Now you stop. Come out, little one. Come to me and let me help you.”
Darla faded, and as the darkness once again swamped Angel’s vision, he felt slender arms around him and a familiar scratching at the back of his neck. When I get out of here, he thought vaguely, I’m really going to have to talk to Spike about this whole lace thing.
Rating: NC-17 overall, this section very PG-13
A/N: A special thanks to
kidcyclone for late-night conversations and great plot bunnies. I stole an idea and modified to suit my purposes. Hopefully, the special characterization in here will be enough to secure my forgiveness.Scratch and scratch…what is with the fucking lace, Spike? I keep winding up here with an irritating bit of lace rubbing the back of my neck. If this is some kind of metaphor, I may beat the shit out of you…Angel refused to open his eyes. Buffy eating Spike flesh and baby Dru spinning in circles were about all he could take. If this is really what the inside of Spike’s head was like, it was a miracle he had managed to stay sane. Of course, arguments could and had been made regarding Spike’s relative sanity. Hell, Darla often tried to convince him that of his two Childer, Drusilla was the sane one.
“Darling Boy, Drusilla is the sane one. Her madness shows itself, whereas William’s…” the voice drifted off, and Angel snapped to attention. Where was she? The little Dru spinning infinite circles in front of deadly flame, the heady lavender swimming, and no Darla. He had heard her, his Sire and she would know. She’d always known William so well. Once, well-lit from a drugged victim, she’d confided in him that she and William were two of a kind. What had she said? It was hard to remember here, his own thoughts growing indistinct in the muzziness of Will’s mind.
“Sweet, pay attention. You remember what I said. I told you that he and I had both suffered for want of love. Piece of meat, the two of us, with hunger in our veins. I hardened. He never did. It was why he irritated me. A reminder of the foolish girl I died to leave behind, “ Darla said in his ear.
She was close. He could smell her, gold and ginger, sweet and seductive. He could feel her silk, sliding through his fingers. Her slight
weight, barely denting the sheets they slept on, hardly a handful in his large arms. The differences between a man and a woman had been imprinted on his thighs and cock. Angel stroked his own neck, hands stuttering and bumping over the scar that connected him to Darla forever.
Stupified, Angel rose and stumbled out of the parlor, arms groping for the feel of silk and cold skin. Stairs swam in front of his eyes and he moved, climbing climbing climbing, door opening and she was there. Laid out on the bed, ivory and gold and perfect, his Sire come to him. Arms clasped him and he bit, lips and fangs closing around a small nipple. Nursing, blood rich and heavy in his throat, he sighed, feeling his head clear.
“You see? He wants to be found, my darling. He plays at hiding, but he wants to be found. Wants your love, as I did. Angelus, my lovely, my own, you must think, “ Darla crooned.
Angel detached himself from her breast and sat up, looking down at the vision of Darla in Spike’s mind. How he must have studied her, to get her every detail so perfect. She was so strong here, so alive, in ways he hadn’t appreciated before.
“I can hear you, Angelus. Why am I here? Busy bee, your mind, filled with noisy questions,” Darla laughed, standing. She transformed, hair lengthening, clothes flowing over nude slippery skin.
“The Scourge of Europe, my darling. That’s what you were, but even William knew you were never my equal. He loved you, and adored Drusilla. But, he worshipped me. Not just my beauty, or my hard earned whore’s skills, but my armor. Adamas, he called me once. I didn’t know what he meant, had to eat a professor to figure it out. Diamond, the hardest substance known to man, cold and sparkling. The little poet, always with his words.”
“You’re not real,” Angel murmured. “Not real, but the blood…”
“No, my boy, I’m not real. Any more than any of this,” she gestured at the room, which wavered and shimmered, visions in the heat haze. “Merely figments of a damaged mind, Angelus. You’re frightened. Frightened of me, of Spike, of the power in his head.”
“There’s nothing in my boy’s head that holds any terror for me, Darla,” Angel growled.
“You lie,” she rejoined softly. “What we once were, Angelus. Remember that? What you fear isn’t William, it’s yourself. How will he see you? How will he make you see yourself? That is your terror and you must face it.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, fingers firm and unyielding.
He met his own eyes, the mirror that rejected him in life embracing him here in his Childe’s mind. Mind’s eye, he chuckled to himself. He saw now what he’d refused to see before. Hair long and flowing, shoulders broad and imposing, face demonic and vicious.
“I name you Angelus for that is what you are. Your false face has no presence here, the Angel you struggle to be. See, Angelus. My boy, the beautiful Childe I created, he lives inside your mind. “
Angel closed his eyes, and focused. He had felt imprisoned inside this body and this was why. Darla said he was Angelus and that Angel was a false face. Perhaps. He tried so hard to deny the demon. But he wasn’t Angelus anymore.
“You are,” Darla insisted. “My childe, my boy, he’s in there. I can feel him, smell him. Stop denying it, Angelus.”
“I’m not, Darla. You’re right. Angelus is here, is always here,” Angel opened his eyes and saw himself. Face human again, he was smaller now, lighter. “I’ll never be free of him, of myself. I am what you made me, Darla. But, I’m more than that. I am what I made myself. The evil, the slaughter, the love and the pain…those are all mine, “ Angel stood back and smiled.
Darla wasn’t real. Buffy wasn’t real. Drusilla wasn’t real. But the fear was real. The pain was real.
“I’m not afraid of Angelus. I’m not afraid of you, Will. Drusilla, Buffy, Darla, these are just the faces of your fear. You want me to stop hiding? Fine, I will. Now you stop. Come out, little one. Come to me and let me help you.”
Darla faded, and as the darkness once again swamped Angel’s vision, he felt slender arms around him and a familiar scratching at the back of his neck. When I get out of here, he thought vaguely, I’m really going to have to talk to Spike about this whole lace thing.
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no subject
on 2007-01-14 08:13 pm (UTC)lovely chapter,
like the bits with Darla.
*snogs you*
no subject
on 2007-01-14 08:53 pm (UTC)::blushes::
Snogging, huh? I'm all for the smoochies. Does this mean I can chase you around the room wearing a Spike mask now?
no subject
on 2007-01-15 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-15 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-15 05:57 am (UTC)Yes, I've been a bad bad sire...
no subject
on 2007-01-15 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-15 05:50 am (UTC)You know, it's all your fault. I wanted to write something porny and plotless, but no! I'm all Dreamed up now. Sigh...I'm worried about this one. I feel like I'm not quite mapping the bizareness that is Spike's inner life. Can't quite figure out how to fix though. Any suggestions would be gratefully received...
no subject
on 2007-01-15 03:52 pm (UTC)