Sin Eater: New York 1907 (part 5 of 6)
Jan. 5th, 2007 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatotherpervok I have to post this now before I keep fucking with it and adding to it and I ruin the whole thing. *squints at the changes I've made* I can't keep my fingers out of the dough unless I stick it up here for the world to look at, so I'm taking away the temptation.
this is probably my favorite part. it's also a bit longer, for all of you who have been lamenting. annd I get to use my favorite spangel icon. well, one of my favorites. I have a lot of those. lol.
angst, ahoy. and uh. I should possibly be sticking a warning on this chapter, so...be warned that a warning of some sort is necessary.
Title: Sin Eater
Author: Mel (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
btvslover82)
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: uh...R? I guess maybe NC-17, though...I'd say R for non-porny intent of the smexing.
Summary: pre-canon AU. What if Spike stumbled across Angelus just before he fled China? A peek at how their lives would have been different.
Warnings: typical vamp stuff...violence, sexual violence, death. insanity. angst.
A/N: I'm keeping everything pre-leave-off point as close to canon as possible, so sire = in the sense of mentor.
Previous parts here
New York, 1907
Spike was hardly through the door to their dingy little flat before he was slammed back against the wall by the entrance.
“Angelus,” he greeted the man pressed against him pleasantly.
“I told you to call me Angel.” Angel’s teeth were bared, and he looked like he’d been rolling in garbage. A distinct possibility.
Spike smiled. “Angelus.”
“You stupid little prick. I told you not to feed on children.”
“I didn’t feed on—”
“Don’t test me, Spike. I smell the boy on you.”
Spike licked his lips. “In me, mostly.”
He ignored Angel as he slammed him back against the wall by the lapels, instead contemplating the ceiling in a blasé manner.
“Although, before that, I was in him, which he seemed to enjoy a bit better…. And technically, not a child. Thought himself a man, he did. Breadwinner of his family and all…so of course, eating the rest of them was a mercy killing, really. So many wee ones, I thought I’d rot my teeth out with the sweetness. And the mother, well, she was a piece….”
Spike giggled as he was flipped around and slammed face-first into the plaster hard enough to dent the wall. He laughed harder still, choked like sobbing, when a thick cock thrust violently into his arse before his trousers were even caught around his knees.
His arms were twisted up at a painful angle behind his back, but even so, he shoved back into the searing burn of it, delirious on the pleasure-laced pain. The coupling was fast and harsh and rough, as it ever was these days, rough enough that Spike didn’t (couldn’t) come until Angel struck, fangs tearing into his throat to feed greedily. He rested his forehead against the cool surface of the wall as Angel drank him damn near dry, till he was dizzy and high on the orgasm and his own blood loss.
Spike was still catching his proverbial breath when Angel slumped heavily against him, trapping him against the wall. The fight, the rage, always left Angel after the fucking and feeding, so his tongue was soft and soothing as it lapped at the blood seeping from the wound in Spike’s throat. But when Angel pulled out, Spike couldn’t stifle the hoarse shout at the pain of semen and flesh grating on his open wounds.
He cringed with dread as the big body behind his shuddered at the sound. Bloody hell, not again.
His sire’s forehead fell against his shoulder with a choked sob. Always despair and regret, with this one. One cool finger stroked delicately against his torn opening, while Spike struggled to contain his flinch.
“Christ, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t want to….” Angel drew in a shuddering breath, easing back when Spike started to turn towards him, slowly for advanced warning. Bad to startle him after…the last time he’d taken to the street like a startled deer, Spike barely found him before sunrise. “I always hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He let Angel sob against his collarbone for a moment, making comforting ssh-ssh noises until the worst had passed. Then he shuffled him towards the bed like a tired child, tucking him under the covers for sleep before moving away to clean himself with a damp cloth. He made sure Angel was dead to the world before cleaning the blood and spend off his sire’s cock. A disaster, too, to let him awaken to the evidence.
When he gingerly eased himself into bed, Angel nuzzled closer, seeking the comfort, and Spike drew him in. Angel’s limbs were heavy and solid, thrown over his body in a way that used to be possessive. Now…he just didn’t know. He stared at the ceiling a long time as he healed, feeling the burn in his arse and the wash of loneliness. He missed Dru. Hell, he missed Darla, and he sure as sod-all else missed Angelus, when he was strong and capable and quick to laugh. He wasn’t sure what was worse, these moments of clinging weakness, or what he would wake up to the next morning…the stinging contempt once Angel had convinced himself that his violent actions had been justified.
And they were. Spike made sure that they were. Took children and innocents, made sure their stink of terror still clung to him when he came through the door. Spike preferred veal to begin with, but he made sure he bragged to his old sire about the way he glutted more than any one vampire needed to survive. Then Angel would force him down and fuck him and feed from him like it was punishment. Domination, so he’d learn his lesson and be a good boy next time.
Even though they both knew he’d continue eating for two.
Was the only way to keep Angel fed properly without drivin’ him barmy with guilt. Took him a year and a half in America to work that one out, but now they were in a fine routine, and the only victim on Angel’s conscience was Spike’s arsehole, which suited everyone just fine.
Angel whimpered in his sleep, muttering enough aloud for Spike to recognize just which European slaughter was plaguing his nightmares tonight. He tugged him closer and murmured a soft nothing or two to make the larger man quiet and relax against him.
Fact was, Angelus, his Angelus, was gone. Never coming back, though Christ knew Spike had spoken to every mage and demon in this new city to try and rid him of this disease. Angelus was gone, and the bloke left in his stead was nuttier than Dru. Least his princess had been able to care for herself, most days. Had a sense of self-preservation. Dignity. Joy in life.
Angel had none of those. All Angel had was Spike.
So he couldn’t afford to bugger it up.
Part 6: Boston 1918
this is probably my favorite part. it's also a bit longer, for all of you who have been lamenting. annd I get to use my favorite spangel icon. well, one of my favorites. I have a lot of those. lol.
angst, ahoy. and uh. I should possibly be sticking a warning on this chapter, so...be warned that a warning of some sort is necessary.
Title: Sin Eater
Author: Mel (
btvslover82)Pairing: Spangel
Rating: uh...R? I guess maybe NC-17, though...I'd say R for non-porny intent of the smexing.
Summary: pre-canon AU. What if Spike stumbled across Angelus just before he fled China? A peek at how their lives would have been different.
Warnings: typical vamp stuff...violence, sexual violence, death. insanity. angst.
A/N: I'm keeping everything pre-leave-off point as close to canon as possible, so sire = in the sense of mentor.
Previous parts here
New York, 1907
Spike was hardly through the door to their dingy little flat before he was slammed back against the wall by the entrance.
“Angelus,” he greeted the man pressed against him pleasantly.
“I told you to call me Angel.” Angel’s teeth were bared, and he looked like he’d been rolling in garbage. A distinct possibility.
Spike smiled. “Angelus.”
“You stupid little prick. I told you not to feed on children.”
“I didn’t feed on—”
“Don’t test me, Spike. I smell the boy on you.”
Spike licked his lips. “In me, mostly.”
He ignored Angel as he slammed him back against the wall by the lapels, instead contemplating the ceiling in a blasé manner.
“Although, before that, I was in him, which he seemed to enjoy a bit better…. And technically, not a child. Thought himself a man, he did. Breadwinner of his family and all…so of course, eating the rest of them was a mercy killing, really. So many wee ones, I thought I’d rot my teeth out with the sweetness. And the mother, well, she was a piece….”
Spike giggled as he was flipped around and slammed face-first into the plaster hard enough to dent the wall. He laughed harder still, choked like sobbing, when a thick cock thrust violently into his arse before his trousers were even caught around his knees.
His arms were twisted up at a painful angle behind his back, but even so, he shoved back into the searing burn of it, delirious on the pleasure-laced pain. The coupling was fast and harsh and rough, as it ever was these days, rough enough that Spike didn’t (couldn’t) come until Angel struck, fangs tearing into his throat to feed greedily. He rested his forehead against the cool surface of the wall as Angel drank him damn near dry, till he was dizzy and high on the orgasm and his own blood loss.
Spike was still catching his proverbial breath when Angel slumped heavily against him, trapping him against the wall. The fight, the rage, always left Angel after the fucking and feeding, so his tongue was soft and soothing as it lapped at the blood seeping from the wound in Spike’s throat. But when Angel pulled out, Spike couldn’t stifle the hoarse shout at the pain of semen and flesh grating on his open wounds.
He cringed with dread as the big body behind his shuddered at the sound. Bloody hell, not again.
His sire’s forehead fell against his shoulder with a choked sob. Always despair and regret, with this one. One cool finger stroked delicately against his torn opening, while Spike struggled to contain his flinch.
“Christ, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t want to….” Angel drew in a shuddering breath, easing back when Spike started to turn towards him, slowly for advanced warning. Bad to startle him after…the last time he’d taken to the street like a startled deer, Spike barely found him before sunrise. “I always hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He let Angel sob against his collarbone for a moment, making comforting ssh-ssh noises until the worst had passed. Then he shuffled him towards the bed like a tired child, tucking him under the covers for sleep before moving away to clean himself with a damp cloth. He made sure Angel was dead to the world before cleaning the blood and spend off his sire’s cock. A disaster, too, to let him awaken to the evidence.
When he gingerly eased himself into bed, Angel nuzzled closer, seeking the comfort, and Spike drew him in. Angel’s limbs were heavy and solid, thrown over his body in a way that used to be possessive. Now…he just didn’t know. He stared at the ceiling a long time as he healed, feeling the burn in his arse and the wash of loneliness. He missed Dru. Hell, he missed Darla, and he sure as sod-all else missed Angelus, when he was strong and capable and quick to laugh. He wasn’t sure what was worse, these moments of clinging weakness, or what he would wake up to the next morning…the stinging contempt once Angel had convinced himself that his violent actions had been justified.
And they were. Spike made sure that they were. Took children and innocents, made sure their stink of terror still clung to him when he came through the door. Spike preferred veal to begin with, but he made sure he bragged to his old sire about the way he glutted more than any one vampire needed to survive. Then Angel would force him down and fuck him and feed from him like it was punishment. Domination, so he’d learn his lesson and be a good boy next time.
Even though they both knew he’d continue eating for two.
Was the only way to keep Angel fed properly without drivin’ him barmy with guilt. Took him a year and a half in America to work that one out, but now they were in a fine routine, and the only victim on Angel’s conscience was Spike’s arsehole, which suited everyone just fine.
Angel whimpered in his sleep, muttering enough aloud for Spike to recognize just which European slaughter was plaguing his nightmares tonight. He tugged him closer and murmured a soft nothing or two to make the larger man quiet and relax against him.
Fact was, Angelus, his Angelus, was gone. Never coming back, though Christ knew Spike had spoken to every mage and demon in this new city to try and rid him of this disease. Angelus was gone, and the bloke left in his stead was nuttier than Dru. Least his princess had been able to care for herself, most days. Had a sense of self-preservation. Dignity. Joy in life.
Angel had none of those. All Angel had was Spike.
So he couldn’t afford to bugger it up.
Part 6: Boston 1918
