Sin Eater: Boston 1918 (part 6 of 6)
Jan. 9th, 2007 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatotherpervuh, generally I lean heavily on vagueness to get through this historical part of this historical fic, but a bunch of things fell oddly into place in this final part. For those unfamiliar with the events I mention, there is an A/N at the end explaining…but I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be too much of a problem either way.
this has been a huge experiment for me, so thanks muchly to everyone who has given me such lovely feedback.
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
Boston, 1918
“There you are, pet. Had me a bit worried, you did. What was the hold-up?”
Angel gave him a tentative smile as he approached. They were not a mile from Fenway, and the good people of Boston were still high on victory. Baseball—weird Yank perversion of cricket. He didn’t get it, personally.
“I was just…walking. People are so happy tonight.”
Small faint clouds of frost puffed into the September air with his speech. Time was, Spike would have made fun of the timid happiness in Angelus’ demeanor or the simple pleasure he took in the human revelry. Spike knew he’d been sketching, as he did sometimes. Jotting his observation of human life down on paper as though it were precious and worthy of note.
But at least he was back in the world. Sort of.
“Yeah,” Spike said, brushing elbows with him as they started home, hands in pockets. The human crowds parted for them as they passed, instincts being what they were. “Well, I’m sure it’s a nice change of pace for them after all the deprivation and death, to have a little celebration over sport.”
“It’s nice.”
Spike made an agreeable sound, but he was distracted by a small boy standing alone on the street, looking lost and frightened. He was so close to the alley that if Spike could send Angel on an errand….
But it was too late, because Angel had already spotted the lad, and was squatting to talk to him. He could kiss that tasty treat goodbye. Spike angled his body towards the street to publicly detach himself from the good deed, savoring the last cigarette from the pack that was increasingly difficult to find, pretending to be bored. He didn’t have to fake the eye-roll. Angel did this sometimes. It seemed to alleviate his nightmares, and since he now turned a blind eye to Spike’s hunting, it was all the same to him…if a little embarrassing.
He watched as Angel and the boy smiled at one another (who knew the poof was so good with children, when he wasn’t trying to eat them?), and then Angel was hoisting the lad onto his shoulders so he could see above the crowd. The boy pointed, and Angel loped off in that direction to deposit the tyke with his parents, backing away in shy discomfort when the worry lines on the mum’s face changed to effusive gratitude. He came trotting quickly back to Spike, a bit embarrassed, and Spike lay a guiding hand on his back in reassurance as they walked.
“A real white hat, aren’t you, luv?”
Angel stopped and turned sharply towards him, searching his face for any bitterness or mockery, but Spike had let that go. No point in it really…it was what it was, and you had to roll with the punches.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Spike paused, exhaling casually. “Suits you.”
“Yeah, ok,” Angel said skeptically, hiding a pleased little smile.
Spike salvaged his pride by pretending the expression didn’t warm him.
“Bit peckish?”
“A bit.”
“Let’s get you fed, then.”
Angel looked away and resisted the tug homeward. Spike waited through a short, pissy pause. “You don’t have to talk to me that way, you know.”
“And what way’s that?”
“I’m fine now. I don’t need you to take care of me.” There were little stubborn frown-lines forming between his brows.
“No?” Spike gave him a long look, since they both knew that wasn’t true. He wondered, sometimes, what would have become of the git if he’d never found him in that alley. His own life would have been simpler, for certain. But Angel…he was healthy and clean and alive, and he didn’t loathe himself quite so much as he might. And that had been Spike’s doing. He was certain of it.
He was Angel’s sin-eater, and he gave Angel’s soul rest.
Angel dropped his gaze to his shoes. “Spike…I know what you gave up—”
Suddenly he stepped into Angel and sealed their mouths together. Clipped the end of Angel’s sentence away with a surprised little sound that reverberated against his lips—onlookers be damned. Spike didn’t ever want it said aloud, what he’d given up…because then he’d have to ask himself what the bloody hell he’d been thinking, when any sensible vampire would have kicked this abomination out on his arse. Just as Darla had.
Angel grunted and tried to pull away, angry at being manhandled, but when Spike persisted, he melted slowly, seduced by the sweet slide of Spike’s lips. He was a romantic sod, this Angelus. Preferred loving Spike deep and slow till his toes curled, murmuring endearments of ownership in a dozen tongues. Sloppy wanker.
Spike usually let him. Had to keep him happy, after all.
When he pulled back, the look in those brown eyes was warmer. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Angel wouldn’t let go of his hand, so Spike hid their twined fingers nonchalantly in his coat pocket. He squeezed the big palm. “I’m thinking of quitting Boston, where should we go next?”
“I’ve heard Chicago is nice.”
“Don’t say that too loud tonight! Those Chicago tossers will probably be sulking about for weeks.” Which meant they’d be drunkardly and easy to pick off. Besides, he heard Chicago was quite the party these days. Wankers in Congress were trying to criminalize the pint, and everyone was tossing it back while they could.
Good hunting, and all the troubled sods his sire could shake a stick at. On second thought….
“Chicago it is.”
A/N the first: you know, I honestly didn’t set out to write this as Spike and Angel Together 4evah!!! it was just a little experiment...but then Angel was so needy and broken, and Spike was so...needy of the needy, like he tends to be, and then one thing led to another and the boys rode off into the uh night ready to tolerate each other forever. grudgingly, of course (*cough*). and see me, not complaining in the slightest.
A/N the second: The Boston Red Sox beat the Chicago Cubs in the World Series on September 11, 1918 in a home victory. WWI was on, obviously, and food and fuel was pretty tightly rationed at that point. In addition, that year half a million Americans died in an especially virulent world-wide pandemic of influenza, and Boston was stricken between August and October…people were terrified. The 18th amendment to the Constitution banning the production, sale, and transportation of alcohol was ratified in January of 1919, though Prohibition didn’t begin till 1920, and Chicago was the hot spot for bootlegging and resultant mob activity…no clue what it was like just prior, I embellished that. So these are the events Spike and Angel referred to casually. I have no idea what kind, if any, public celebration was had after the Red Sox victory, especially at night since fuel was being rationed. But whatever :P
And Chicago…well, you know. Angel has a date to save a puppy there in the early 1920s. lmao.
this has been a huge experiment for me, so thanks muchly to everyone who has given me such lovely feedback.
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
Boston, 1918
“There you are, pet. Had me a bit worried, you did. What was the hold-up?”
Angel gave him a tentative smile as he approached. They were not a mile from Fenway, and the good people of Boston were still high on victory. Baseball—weird Yank perversion of cricket. He didn’t get it, personally.
“I was just…walking. People are so happy tonight.”
Small faint clouds of frost puffed into the September air with his speech. Time was, Spike would have made fun of the timid happiness in Angelus’ demeanor or the simple pleasure he took in the human revelry. Spike knew he’d been sketching, as he did sometimes. Jotting his observation of human life down on paper as though it were precious and worthy of note.
But at least he was back in the world. Sort of.
“Yeah,” Spike said, brushing elbows with him as they started home, hands in pockets. The human crowds parted for them as they passed, instincts being what they were. “Well, I’m sure it’s a nice change of pace for them after all the deprivation and death, to have a little celebration over sport.”
“It’s nice.”
Spike made an agreeable sound, but he was distracted by a small boy standing alone on the street, looking lost and frightened. He was so close to the alley that if Spike could send Angel on an errand….
But it was too late, because Angel had already spotted the lad, and was squatting to talk to him. He could kiss that tasty treat goodbye. Spike angled his body towards the street to publicly detach himself from the good deed, savoring the last cigarette from the pack that was increasingly difficult to find, pretending to be bored. He didn’t have to fake the eye-roll. Angel did this sometimes. It seemed to alleviate his nightmares, and since he now turned a blind eye to Spike’s hunting, it was all the same to him…if a little embarrassing.
He watched as Angel and the boy smiled at one another (who knew the poof was so good with children, when he wasn’t trying to eat them?), and then Angel was hoisting the lad onto his shoulders so he could see above the crowd. The boy pointed, and Angel loped off in that direction to deposit the tyke with his parents, backing away in shy discomfort when the worry lines on the mum’s face changed to effusive gratitude. He came trotting quickly back to Spike, a bit embarrassed, and Spike lay a guiding hand on his back in reassurance as they walked.
“A real white hat, aren’t you, luv?”
Angel stopped and turned sharply towards him, searching his face for any bitterness or mockery, but Spike had let that go. No point in it really…it was what it was, and you had to roll with the punches.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Spike paused, exhaling casually. “Suits you.”
“Yeah, ok,” Angel said skeptically, hiding a pleased little smile.
Spike salvaged his pride by pretending the expression didn’t warm him.
“Bit peckish?”
“A bit.”
“Let’s get you fed, then.”
Angel looked away and resisted the tug homeward. Spike waited through a short, pissy pause. “You don’t have to talk to me that way, you know.”
“And what way’s that?”
“I’m fine now. I don’t need you to take care of me.” There were little stubborn frown-lines forming between his brows.
“No?” Spike gave him a long look, since they both knew that wasn’t true. He wondered, sometimes, what would have become of the git if he’d never found him in that alley. His own life would have been simpler, for certain. But Angel…he was healthy and clean and alive, and he didn’t loathe himself quite so much as he might. And that had been Spike’s doing. He was certain of it.
He was Angel’s sin-eater, and he gave Angel’s soul rest.
Angel dropped his gaze to his shoes. “Spike…I know what you gave up—”
Suddenly he stepped into Angel and sealed their mouths together. Clipped the end of Angel’s sentence away with a surprised little sound that reverberated against his lips—onlookers be damned. Spike didn’t ever want it said aloud, what he’d given up…because then he’d have to ask himself what the bloody hell he’d been thinking, when any sensible vampire would have kicked this abomination out on his arse. Just as Darla had.
Angel grunted and tried to pull away, angry at being manhandled, but when Spike persisted, he melted slowly, seduced by the sweet slide of Spike’s lips. He was a romantic sod, this Angelus. Preferred loving Spike deep and slow till his toes curled, murmuring endearments of ownership in a dozen tongues. Sloppy wanker.
Spike usually let him. Had to keep him happy, after all.
When he pulled back, the look in those brown eyes was warmer. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Angel wouldn’t let go of his hand, so Spike hid their twined fingers nonchalantly in his coat pocket. He squeezed the big palm. “I’m thinking of quitting Boston, where should we go next?”
“I’ve heard Chicago is nice.”
“Don’t say that too loud tonight! Those Chicago tossers will probably be sulking about for weeks.” Which meant they’d be drunkardly and easy to pick off. Besides, he heard Chicago was quite the party these days. Wankers in Congress were trying to criminalize the pint, and everyone was tossing it back while they could.
Good hunting, and all the troubled sods his sire could shake a stick at. On second thought….
“Chicago it is.”
A/N the first: you know, I honestly didn’t set out to write this as Spike and Angel Together 4evah!!! it was just a little experiment...but then Angel was so needy and broken, and Spike was so...needy of the needy, like he tends to be, and then one thing led to another and the boys rode off into the uh night ready to tolerate each other forever. grudgingly, of course (*cough*). and see me, not complaining in the slightest.
A/N the second: The Boston Red Sox beat the Chicago Cubs in the World Series on September 11, 1918 in a home victory. WWI was on, obviously, and food and fuel was pretty tightly rationed at that point. In addition, that year half a million Americans died in an especially virulent world-wide pandemic of influenza, and Boston was stricken between August and October…people were terrified. The 18th amendment to the Constitution banning the production, sale, and transportation of alcohol was ratified in January of 1919, though Prohibition didn’t begin till 1920, and Chicago was the hot spot for bootlegging and resultant mob activity…no clue what it was like just prior, I embellished that. So these are the events Spike and Angel referred to casually. I have no idea what kind, if any, public celebration was had after the Red Sox victory, especially at night since fuel was being rationed. But whatever :P
And Chicago…well, you know. Angel has a date to save a puppy there in the early 1920s. lmao.
