Author: Kay Tee
Distribution: Take it, but tell me where so I can visit.
Rated: NC-17, but barely
Category: Pre-slash
Pairing: Aus/Darla, Aus/Dru, Aus/S, A/B, A/X implied
Improv: collect, balm, touched, find
Spoilers: Surprise, Somnambulist, Fool for Love, The Prodigal, Becoming
Disclaimer: In my dreams I'm Joss, but during the day I have to face the cold hard truth-- I'm a hack who steals characters. But I'm not giving them back! Or I am, just don't sue me, all I have are speeding tickets and student loans.
Summary: Angelus's little secret...
Author's notes: No, this isn't the sequel to 'Xander Wishes,' though that's coming soon. And yes, I am aware that I suck at picking titles.
More notes: This part is plot, the sequel is porn. Since they both stand alone, you can skip right to 'Rumble,' I won't feel bad.
***
There was something about Angelus-- and Angel-- that not many people were allowed to know: he was a bottom. He loved to be fucked.
Yeah, when he was hunting or fighting or just sitting alone in the dark he was in complete control of himself. That just made the fucking sweeter. Bent over a chair, fangs tearing into his lower lip, sweat and blood and pre-come or sometimes nothing at all easing the way as a cock, any cock, slammed into him, Angel knew bliss, he knew longing and life and absolute bliss. Sweet and quiet.
Not the cock up his ass, there was never anything sweet or quiet about that-- and he wanted it that way-- but the complete and total surrender, that was sweet, and by god, it was quiet, because no one was ever meant to see him surrender, see him allow himself to be touched and possessed by another.
As Angelus, he'd always been so completely in control of himself; a gentleman capable of charming the most inflexible virgins into his bed; a beast on the London streets, hunting in the guise of a man; an artist carving into flesh and bones and more importantly, the psyche of his victims. At the end of the night though, Angelus had always needed to be tamed, needed to be taken, needed to surrender as he had so easily to Darla that first night in the alley, the pain of her teeth in his throat a balm to his frazzled nerves after he was thrown out of his home.
He understood this as a part of his darkness. As a human, he had never dared look at other men that way, but he learned quickly that he would never feel so complete, so tamed, so wild, so wholly possessed as when he was being fucked.
Darla saw the need in him and obliged it wonderfully. She'd always had sex like a man anyway, pinning her lovers down, taking complete control. She was happy to penetrate her favorite childe, happy to make him beg, make him scream.
She explained that the most vicious killers were often the ones that most wanted to be sodomized, that the nature of the vampire was always one of balance-- passion and reason, love and apathy, pain and affection.
Angel had always known that this was complete and utter bullshit. He didn't want to be devoured in bed because he was the devourerer on the streets, he wanted to be penetrated because it made him completely aware of every part of his body, every thrumming inch of skin, every flexed muscle-- his every nerve-ending dancing and ready to burst with pleasure.
Angelus had always analyzed himself at least as studiously as he scrutinized the humans he preyed on, and he was never more aware of who he was-- of his flesh and his demon and his core self-- as when he was being fucked.
Darla indulged him, yes. She was never soft, never giving, never willing to make love to him. She took him as he needed to be taken. But it wasn't enough. She lacked the equipment to satisfy his needs.
And so there had been a collection of others: Penn and Randolf and James and Esteban and countless, faceless vampires who had happily taken their Sire, their master. Angelus raised each successive childe with more cruelty, more brutality than the last. And when he gave them his bare back, his legs spread in seeming submission and his head resting on the knuckles of his hands, they gladly drove into him, trying to punish him for all the torments he had inflicted on them.
And Angelus loved it. They never understood that, never understood that they were behaving just as he wanted them to, just as he had taught them to. They did not understand because Angelus didn't want them to understand. When all was said and done, Angelus owned them all; they existed for his pleasure, and this was what pleased him.
Darla did not mind the presence of Angelus's many childer; she would often watch their joining in delight, or crawl under Angelus to join in the play.
Angelus had only bothered to make one female childe in all his 150 years of destruction. And Druscilla was Made simply because he had run out of things to do to her that wouldn't kill her. But vampire strength and healing power meant that she was his to torture for an eternity.
Druscilla sensed her master's love of being fucked, saw his need and craved the knowledge of penetration. He never took her until she asked, and then he touched her softly, kindly. But there was cruelty in that kindness because he knew it was not what she wanted.
She was his to torture, not to pleasure, and he would never forget that, not even as his fondness for her grew.
By the time she was twenty, she was as vicious as her maker, and Angelus truly adored her, but he could never really see the point of having her in bed. She couldn't begin to give him what he wanted...or so Angelus had believed.
Then she brought William home; a small and truly unimpressive specimen of vampire. Angelus had thought him a waste of blood and bone, and had already decided to stake him before Darla requested it. But Druscilla knew, she'd 'seen' something in the frail young poet that she knew Angelus would love. She pleaded for her childe, begging Angelus to take him to bed just once before destroying the boy.
And Angelus humored her, because she was his girl and he occasionally liked to see her happy.
What Angelus found in William was the complete antithesis of himself. The older vampire quickly realized that the quiet poet must have had a powerful dark side even before he was turned, because he obviously had quite a bit of experience in taking men. When they mated, William's strokes had been just painful enough as he slammed into his GrandSire.
Angelus was delighted and Darla was infuriated as her childe's attention drifted away from her.
The dark-haired vampire had taken the scrawny boy under his wing, coaxing out every drop of brutality the fledge was capable of, and basking in the pain and pleasure William learned to give him.
Angel often thought it was a shame it had to end. Eighteen years and then he was cursed.
After that he shunned people, and was shunned by vampires, and nobody was ever allowed to touch him... not until Buffy.
With her, he had taken a kind of perverse pleasure in seeing just how gentle he could be. She was a virgin, and an innocent, but he loved her, and when he finally made love to her, he wanted it to be perfect.
For every step towards her, he took two steps back, drawing her to him, forcing her to pursue him, forcing her to take charge of their relationship, to be the aggressor.
She played right into his arms. She was a slayer after all, with a streak of aggression running through her more powerful than the one possessed by Darla. So when the time finally came, she acted as aggressor, just as Angel had hoped she would. Her seduction was innocent and naïve, but still she was able to take control of the far more experienced master vampire, and though her actions were often unsure, he knew she would learn.
Afterwards, she had curled proprietarily into him and fallen asleep, and he had thought about all the things he would teach her. There was no guilt at the thought of coaxing out her darker instincts, no worry that he might harm her in some profound psychological way, because he had seen her eyes darken and her lips curl with pleasure when she held him down, when she rolled them over and commanded, *commanded* that he touch her, that he take her. This was all part of her nature; she was Angel's perfect match, and he loved her.
Of course, that knowledge had made him so intensely happy that he had never again experienced Buffy's delicious bedside manner.
He lost his soul and returned to William-- now Spike-- who he knew didn't need to be trained, had already been trained. But the damned boy was stuck in a wheelchair and completely useless to Angelus.
And of course, he'd staked Darla, and he was just mad with it.
There was nobody around that he really wanted to fuck him except Buffy, and she would never touch him without his soul.
Yes, he'd still wanted Buffy even after he reverted to Angelus. He'd seen her potential, and he wanted to mold her; create another Darla, but this one would have more passion, would not be as cold-hearted. He'd wanted that, wanted her.
But he noticed something as he followed her and her groupies night after night. Well, noticed *someone*.
Xander had that same quality Angelus had found in the poet, William, over a century earlier. The boy seemed weak, but he had an even greater potential for being dominant in bed than Buffy, and not just because he actually possessed a penis.
As Angelus planned his seduction of Xander, he was more than a little surprised to smell various men on him.
None of the scents were familiar, but like William before him, Xander was obviously aware of the pleasure inherent in burying himself in a pretty piece of male flesh.
Angelus was even more intrigued.
But then Acathala had turned up, and it was a sort of irresistible opportunity, so he took it. He was very rarely impulsive, because every spur of the moment decision he had ever made, he had regretted within the hour. Usually he thought things out, planned carefully, re-examined every situation, every possible variation, searching for flaws in his plans. Awakening Acathala had just been a whim. An idiotic whim. He still wanted to kill himself for that one.
He had spent half a millennium in hell, and when he got back, the world was all wrong. Buffy still wanted him, yes, but she was no longer willing to be the aggressor in their relationship. She was stilted and nervous around him at all times, and this infuriated his demon because he knew what she was capable of, and yet she held back.
Angel had no fear that he would ever lose his soul again. He knew that as soon as he started to edge toward real happiness, he would be reminded of the bloodshed and the bodies, and would spiral right back down into misery.
Buffy didn't seem to realize this, and he loved her, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so he didn't push.
But he still *needed*. And he had seen one who could give him what he wanted.