After Midnight pt.7
By: Michelle
TITLE: The Ecstacy of Silence
PAIRING: X&A
SETTING: Season 4 AU. You'll see.
SUMMARY: Angelus turned Xander. Xander's not a happy vamp. Nor is he willing to stay with Angelus.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor do I make any profit.
FEEDBACK: Absolutely. Feel free. Also, concrit welcome. Just
drop me a line.
/>Xander felt the ambient air in his lungs whoosh out of him when Angelus threw him on the floor, but it was a negligible thing. The crack of his coccyx on the stone was a more threatening injury. He was momentarily paralyzed. His legs wouldn’t move. Coupled with the lack of air with which to speak, his inability to move rendered him completely vulnerable to a very angry Sire.
He tried to speak, but felt those huge hands close around his neck cutting off any attempt to beg. Wide, frightened eyes stared into cold empty ones as Angelus simply shook his head and took one hand off Xander’s neck to lay his index finger against his lips.
Angelus lifted Xander by his throat and tossed him to the bed. Xander landed face down on the mattress, and felt the stickiness of his spit on his cheek. He tensed his body and pulled his arms up underneath him when Angelus began to methodically cut his clothes from him. The smooth rip of the cotton of his t-shirt left his back exposed to the cool air and to Angelus’ sadistic gaze.
The first bite on his shoulder blade didn’t surprise him, but the sharp sting of his sire’s fingernails tearing the skin off his back did. He started to scream, sucked in the air, and found his face shoved hard into the sticky bedclothes. He was effectively silenced. The searing pain of the fingernails digging into his flesh continued to his waist, where Angelus made quick work of his jeans.
Xander almost sobbed with relief when the nails were lifted, only to scream silently again when they plunged into his thighs, drawing out the fresh blood he’d taken earlier. He next felt fangs tearing the deep scratches open further, and Angelus’ tongue as he lapped up the blood. There was no sound from his Sire, no moans of appreciation, nor growls, nor snarls. Just the slick feel of a tongue in his flesh and the soft brush of hair against his thigh. He sobbed soundlessly, his body heaving.
He knew it was but a taste of things to come.
***
Spike hung, naked and shackled to the wall, straining to hear what was happening in the bedroom. He knew Xander was in for serious pain at the hands of their Sire, and he’d expected the torture to start almost immediately. However, after the initial sound of Xander hitting the floor, he’d heard nothing.
It worried him.
He struggled against the manacles around his wrists, but unlike Xander, he knew any attempt at escape was futile, so he fell short of breaking his own hands to get out of them. He finally stopped his struggles, and hung limply from the chains. He wondered when he would be remembered by the two in the bedroom.
Probably not for a long time, now his Sire had his new Childe to play with and teach, mold. He longed to be in that room. He’d been alone too long already.
Dru left him shortly after they’d left Sunnydale. Said she couldn’t stomach a mate who would side with the Slayer against his own family. Said he’d gone soft on the world, lost his demonic edge. Only she’d been a whole helluva a lot less clear with the language. He thought once, in one of her manic rambles, that she’d mentioned souls and this not in conjunction with Angel.
He’d calmed her though, and she’d whispered that the air was telling falsehoods, not being truthful. She’d said, “Silly Spike. You’ve no soul, my kitten. The air tells me lies and laughs when I cry at how much they hurt me.” She pet him, pulling him to her breast, cuddling him. “But you are soft, my sweet. So soft; you feel too much, my William. You always will.” Then she’d leaned down to kiss him sweetly, a mere brushing of her lips over his. “It will cause your death, you know?” A matter of fact question, like she was conversing with one of her dolls again. “You’ll love him too much and it will all end in you floating and floating, falling at last to the earth from whence you came.” And she’d bent her head down to look him in the eye. “And I don’t want to hurt for you when the time does come.”
Then she’d just dropped him, stood and left. Walked out the door and he’d not seen her again until he ran across her with the Chaos Demon. Dru hated slime and ugly things, and that she’d make time with something that was both ugly and oozed let Spike know that it was indeed over with her. He was alone for the first time in over one hundred years.
Now, though, he was faced with the very near presence of his Sire and another blood brother. He was so close to family, to not being alone, he’d do anything to be with them right now. He knew he could take Angelus’ anger and turn it into such pleasurable punishment. He’d not had that reassurance in a century.
Four years ago, when Angelus had first shown back up in his life, he was sure they were going to be family again. But the tosser that had taken over his Sire’s body proved that a false hope. That Angelus was manic, obsessed with Buffy and all things Slayer. He had no time for his family or making them belong again. He’d just use Spike and Drusilla to get off while he jonesed for that little twit of a Slayer.
So Spike left him to it. Made a deal with the Slayer to get rid of the insane thing that used to be his sire and he’d take Dru away. And it worked, only Angelus killed the chit instead. No skin off Spike’s back, as he’d got away with Dru, but he felt lost.
After Dru left, he figured an insane shell of a Sire is better than no one, so he’d come back. And found Xander. Newly turned, beaten and broken, and stronger than the boy had any right to be at only three days old. If Angelus was making new childer, then he must be back to his old self.
Spike would take his punishment, be brought back in the family, and he wouldn’t feel so alone anymore. Yet, here he hung, naked, cold, hungry. Alone. Not even the tortured screams of his new brother to keep him company. Angelus was back in top form, punishing them both at the same time.
***
Xander’s mind wondered as Angelus drained him of his blood. He floated about the room, looking down on himself. He was lying, face down in his own spittle on the bed, naked, with the massive beast that made him between his legs devouring him, ounce by precious ounce. In mere moments, he was sure he’d be dead, drained beyond his capacity to live. Then the sharp blow to his spine just below his waist and he was back in his body.
Angelus tugged him by his hair to look at him. The demon gaze that met his own needed no accompanying words. The message clear in the golden eyes. “You will not leave. Not by death, not by mental escape. You belong to me.” Then he was turned over onto his back.
Angelus left the bed to rifle through the small bedside stand. He came up with a crystal decanter of clear liquid and a wicked smile. Xander frowned in confusion. What could the great monster possibly do with a bottle of vodka? He watched as Angelus slowly removed the stop and tilted the bottle over his stomach.
Time stopped. A single drop froze on the lip of the bottle. Xander watched it quiver there and break loose from the edge to plummet through the cool space, shimmering as though the molecules of the air itself tried to stop it. It changed shape and color, going completely clear and spherical; then it flattened, catching the ambient light of the room and turning to a brilliant prism; finally it formed a tear; a single solitary perfect tear. He thought it beautiful.
He followed this tear’s descent to his skin and hissed when it burned him almost to his core. Angelus laughed at his silent pain and poured a stream of the holy water onto his chest, stomach and cock. The skin hissed and bubbled up in blisters, sending the puddles and tiny beads of water skittering over his fresh skin. He tried to howl in agony, but the fire from Angelus’ eyes warned of worse should he utter even the beginning of a sound.
Xander marveled at the demand for silence, tossing his head in agony as his skin bubbled and blackened under the assault of the holy water. What possible purpose could his silence be serving? Wouldn’t Angelus want him to scream? Wouldn’t the vocal evidence of his pain be music to his sire’s ears? What was with the silence?
He didn’t have time to wonder long. Angelus, ignoring his own pain from the holy water, rubbed a wet finger across his lips, which immediately blistered like his other skin. A warning. Silence is golden, my childe. Xander almost heard the thought. His lips burned so badly, he surrendered to the urge to press them together, thinking it would help, but the remnants of the water leaked into his mouth and set the inside of his lips on fire. He knew then not to lick them, or he’d ingest the deadly elixir.
When he started to pant in pain, Angelus slid down his body, bottle in hand, and traced its wet lip down the unbroken skin of his thighs and shins. Still helpless, his legs still unable to move, Xander bore the agony silently, his eyes betraying the pain by the tears that sprang up between his lashes. He breathed out a deep sigh, a silent moan and begged, with his demon green eyes, for Angelus to end the water torture.
He saw his sire nod, and he knew his relief was palpable. The soft comforter that had been spread on the bed was against his skin, soaking up the holy water, drying him off, offering relief from the burning. He nearly sobbed as the pain finally began to ease. Then he felt Sire’s tongue tracing every burned path, every blister, every blackened edges of skin, healing it slowly. He lifted his hands and buried them in Angelus’ deceptively soft hair. He wanted to hold that cool tongue in one place until that place was healed completely, but Sire was having none of that.
Angelus gave the healing kiss all over the burns, coming to rest finally at his flaccid cock. Those cool lips and healing tongue lapped at him. Gentle hands lifted him from the nest of curls and held him tenderly. He felt tiny kisses and licks all over his shaft, a little suckling on the glans, a tongue delving softly into the slit. He felt himself harden in the burned skin, painful, and yet somehow perfect. He brushed his hands through Sire’s hair, and urged him silently, mouthing “please” and “make the pain stop” and finally, with a barely whispered “sire,” and he was taken wholly into that cool moist mouth.
He dared not arch his hips or thrust into the oasis of his Sires’ mouth. He simply lay there, surrendering to the ecstacy of a soft tongue and gentle sucking. He closed his eyes in bliss, and dropped his hands from Angelus’ hair. He came quietly, swallowed into a grasping throat. He cried weary tears that slid down the side of his face to further soak the bedding.
Pain and pleasure combined. Angelus would make him crave the pain, and he’d begun his assault with a holy water shower and a healing blow job. Xander, the quiet strong man that still resisted his demon, knew this was only the beginning. His barriers against the beast that made him would be broken down one by one.
His threshold for pain obliterated.
His ability to distinguish pleasure and pain decimated.
His humanity utterly destroyed.
It was only a matter of time.
He turned his face back into the covers.
***
Angelus looked up at his boy trying to bury his face in the covers and laughed to himself. His boy had been perfect. Silent as the night is long, responsive to every sensation and even some Angelus hadn’t even thought he’d feel.
The curiosity at the drop of holy water on the lip of the bottle had been perfect. When his earthen eyes had followed that drop all the way down to his skin, then flashed into that brilliant demon green, Angelus had nearly growled with intense pleasure.
His boy was beautiful. He never moved to fight. Never screamed, never moaned, never even sobbed in agony. The only evidence that the pain was felt at all was the silent, salty tears that leaked from his lashes. His response was sublime.
He’d been afraid he’d have to resort to gagging his boy, but damn, the young thing obeyed instinctively. He’d rewarded that obedience in the only way he knew; he’d healed the damage done and given his boy pleasure. And even that was accepted silently.
He’d known three years ago that Xander was special, unique. And he’d tasted that then. But he’d had no idea just how beautiful his boy was going to be when he’d turned him. Still strong, still a fighter, but able to surrender with aplomb.
He knew Xander had wondered about the silence but had no clue as to it’s reasons. Angelus wondered how Spike was feeling, hanging in the cold great room. Alone, listening to silence.
He crawled off his boy, put the bottle back in the cabinet, kissed the available cheek lightly, and left the room. Spike was more than likely despondent by now. There must be something he could do about that.
***
Xander heard Angelus leave and finally let out the moans and sobs he’d kept in. His skin ached where the holy water had been, the burns fading slowly, but the new pink skin was tender and itched a little.
He tried to move his legs and found, finally that he could shift them closed. He rolled himself into the bedding, away from the wet spots, and cried himself to sleep. The whisperings of a satisfied demon echoing through his head, filtering through burned lips, “Sire.”
Chapter 8
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