Author's note. Because I use alot of Old' Brit and Irish slang, you can click on certain words and they will take you to a 'definitions' page. At KMS. If you want to come back, you will have to click the back button on your browser. Pressing the link on the 'definitions' page will take you to a page that no longer exists.There is also a sexplanation page for those of you who wonder how I could write incest. Again, you will have to click the back button to get back to this site.
Ok, this fic has stuff going on in it. First, the timeline is different. Angel was turned at twenty instead of twenty seven, his sister was older than in the cannonized timeline of BtVS. Also, there is alot of dialect and accenting I used. Saw "Angela's Ashes" and fell in love with the Irish pronunciation of the word 'fuck'. For explantion of the terms and quotes I use, please click on the highlighted text words when you get to them.
Secondly, this story has rape and incest in it. There used to be adult/minor sex as well, but I decided to change it to make it adult/adult sex, even if it's just barely. It's twisted and does not entirely reflect the nature of sexual abuse. I don't condone it, it's for fantasy only. For my rant about this subject and how I feel about it, please click here.
If you're still interested, then without further ado, please enjoy this little fic I'm proud of.
Angel faced away from a cab on a backroad near the outskirts of L.A., watching his urine soak the dirt by the side of the road. When Cordy had given him the vision of a boy scout retreat being attacked, he had taken the job alone, refusing to let anyone come with him. He'd found the roadside strip of 'forest', which was really a sparse cluster of trees leading off the backroads into the city. Angel had not even given the demonic Gythron time to show itself to its intended victims, but had taken it out far away enough so that they did not hear the commotion. He'd wet his pants during the fight.
When he had first been turned, his new state had made him sensitive to the night air. Everything had meaning, everything was scented sweetly. It was so much more concrete than he'd been used to, back then. As Angel walked back to the cab, thoughts of his sister Lauraly consumed him. He hissed in pain when his shin connected with the edge of the cab's footstep, cursing himself for not being more careful. However, tonight the pain was a welcome distraction from his existence. He slid back into the car and closed the door beside him. "No more magic potions for impotence," he said absentmindedly to himself. He had tried to stop these thoughts of his sister for a week now, and when he had asked Cordelia to go to a magic shop in town that was reputed to deal in erotic matters, she had simply given him an odd look and thought it would be better not to ask what it was for. The damn thing had made him piss half the night, and now his erection was returning a anew . His erection was worse, but not by much.
She had been barely eighteen the first time he'd "fucked" her. Then he had thought of it as lovemaking, but today he knew better. He had read and read about sexual offenders, and knew the difference between a healthy relationship and incest.
He had been almost twenty one, she had been barely eighteen. Their mother had been passed out in the only acceptable bed in the house, as usual. Lauraly had gone to town to fetch some meat scraps and bread for Christ's Mass dinner.
Their mother had begun drinking shortly after their father had died, having fallen down dead drunk in the town square five years earlier. It was as if she had been waiting the whole time, knowing he would never share his booze with anyone, and then finally , when he had died, Patricia had taken his place. Liam and Lauraly had not much complained. She was a woman with as much temper as their father (when he wasn't around to dispense blows) and now she usually lay in bed, which worked to everyone's convenience.
As Angel absentmindedly rubbed his shin and stared through the cab window, he still felt the guilt for allowing her to go to the market alone. They knew about the wild gangs on the outside of town, but Liam had been a good fighter, a strong and voracious one even before he had been turned. He had earned respect among most of the gangs in the area, and the ones that didn't respect him had respected the protection afforded him by the gang he was himself a member of. Along side with looting, some raping, and some dallying with harlots and trollops in pubs (depending on the individual tastes of each man), they ensured the safety of their neighbors and kin. He had always looked away when when he saw one of his friends deciding to have his way with some girl or woman who had been misfortunate enough to cross paths with him. He felt sympathy for them, remembering his mother's own touches, the pleasure and confusion they had brought him, the silent tears he had endured for years in the back room of their little house, where he had 'taken his medicine', as his father had liked to refer to it. Angel was still sorry it had been the drink and not he, himself, that had killed his father.
Secretly, however, he sometimes hungered to take a woman by force. Liam would lie down at night, despite the sympathy he felt for the women who had been harmed, despite the guilt he had felt in not having the courage to stand up to his friends on their behalf, and take himself in hand, jerking harder and harder against the dark emptiness to the thoughts of what he had condemned earlier that day. The tearing of a maiden's clothes, the shrill scream she gave, and mostly, the struggle. Knowing how good fucking a tight, unwilling woman must be.
Lauraly had gone. She had gone to the market and he had let her go because he had been fucking careless. He knew that gangs roamed the woods, and that respect for him and the fact that his own posse was not currenlty in a war was not enough to offer her certain protection. They had grown careless. He had been with his gang, and had not wanted to leave the party in Old Flannigan's barn where there was ale and pussy and he felt like a real man.
Lauraly had gone to the market, and she had gotten the bread and meat, scraps because times were tight around Christ's Mass, and that was all her brother had been able to pinch worth after what was needed to pay the taxes for the home and some sweetened potatoes as dessert. As she had waved her farewell to the butcher, she had had an odd sensatioin, as if someone were watching her. She turned her head, but no one seemed to give her special care, except for Aaron, the bard who sang for his supper when he could get it. He was sweet on her, she knew, and she waved to him before quickly turning in the other direction so that she didn't give him the idea that it meant more than it did. He was handsome, and she might have given interest in him if she knew Liam would ever have permitted it.
In most things, her brother was gentle. He had always been like the father to her, the parent that Patrick and Patricia had failed to be. She was allowed to stay up late many nights. Liam often brought her jewellery or sweets when there was money for them to be had, and she never wanted for a decent winter wrap or a decent, button-and-lace dress. When it came to men, however, he was despotic. If any boy of man dared lay his eyes on her too long in passing, he was quickly and painfully shown the error of his ways. Even the fellows Liam ran with knew better than to set their sites on Lauraly. And then there had been that summer.
In a shed, Lauraly and Thomas O'Ryan had found themselves, in the dark, with his hand up her dress. When he touched her there, she had known a thrill she didn't think possible. It was not like when Patrick, her father, had done it to her. Not like when he had forced himself inside of her, forced her to lower her mouth and do disgusting things. It was different because she and Thomas were in love. He loved her and she knew it, and his touch was gentle. A thrill, like the first taste of chocolate someone has.
When the baker had told him, during a visit in town, that he'd seen "that pretty brunette lass o' yours kins' walking the road back to the outskirts wi' that boy wi' the curly fiery hair, long like a buggerer", a silent rage had built in Liam. He had smiled thinly at the baker and thanked him for his information and fine bread. Then Liam had walked the path back to home quickly. He had hoped they might be in the house, but no such luck . His search was half -hearted, he had not really expected to find his sister canoodling in their own home.
For a moment he paced, wondering where they might have hidden. Then it came to him. The abandoned scrap of a house that had been Spinster Mildred's. He ran for the shack, but found no one in it when he got there. Just as he had been about to leave, he heard something. He thought it might of been a rat for a moment, which this house certainly had it's fair share of. But Liam wasn't sure. As he listened, he began to make out the distinct voice of Lauraly. It did not take him long to find them in the shed.
In the quiet, sweet darkness, with his hand up her dress and her's in his britches, Thomas knew he was in heaven. He would simply take her away if her brother Liam would not give his approval of their marriage. Suddenly, a bright light cracked the sweet abyss, and Thomas had to squint his eyes to adjust. Suddenly, he was away from Lauraly and on the grass in the balmy July warmth, hands instinctively raised to prevent attack and harm to his pupils.
"Ye fecking sod!", Liam had shouted, his voice reverberating in Lauraly's ear as she sank into shock and fear. Jesus, he had found them. She knew Thomas would be in for it if she couldn't gather her wits about her.
"Oh, Christ, Liam, cop on!" , she had shouted, with one foot out of the shed, steadying herslf so she could exit it. Liam looked at his half undressed sister. The laces at her bust were untied, and , frozen for a moment, he noticed the small peaks of her nipples jutting out from the fabric. Her hair lay around her shoulders in disarray. "And YOU, " he continued his barage, " ye FECKING whore!! Dinnah use God's name in vain when ye look like a brasser from Lady Beauty's!", Liam grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her aimlessly aside from the shed. The sight of her nipples had brought anger and disgust not only at her, but with himself; he'd felt his cock stir at the sight of them.
With Thomas O'Ryan still on the ground, afraid to rise, not wanting to set him off, Liam turned to his sister and said quietly, almost calmly, "Go. Go home, start sup. I'll be wanting a decent meal, that is if I can stomach it at the sight of ye." When she did not turn towards home, he urged her, "well, what are ye waitin' for? Go on, now!"
Lauraly summoned her courage, knowing she did not want Thomas to be run out of town, or suffer the thrashing he would surely get not only from Liam, but the entire Saint Bridget's gang as well. "Liam," she began, uncertain, then feeling her strength grow, " I am not leaving. I cannah. Thomas an' me love each other, and I cannah leave ye here to beat me love half to death. I will not. Will ye not let us love? He loves me, look!" With that, she thrust her hand out to Liam, to show him the slip of a ring that Thomas had saved enough money from his Shoesmith's assistant job for. It was a poor excuse for a ring, thin as a delicate necklace chain, but it was gold, and it signified his love for Lauraly. "He's gonna marry me, right. Ye cannah stop us. I beg ye, Liam, dinnah try. We'll be wed in September. I ken ye care for me welfare, Liam, but he's a good man, an he's gonna marry me, so ye needn't worry."
Liam looked, in disbelief, at the whisper of a ring seated on her slim finger. "He's a bloody shoesmith's assistant," Liam said, swallowing, grasping at anything to convince her not to marry this pathetic worm of a man. "An' ye'r but seventeen. Lee-Lee, he's fecking penniless! I cannah allow ye to marry the fecking sod." Liam stuck to his disdain for Thomas's poverty, refusing to allow his sister in on the fact that between now and the last time he'd told Thomas to sod off, he'd seen him walk into Beauty's some nights. And refusing to admit to himself the reason he had not allowed another boy from town to even look at Lauraly.
Lauraly had felt her ire grow then and said, matter of factly, with what could be described as calm glee, " Ye cannah stop us. Ye ken, Liam," she continued, not wanting her brother to be sore at her all week, "can ye not jus' let us love? Old Man McGinty is near nine'y. He'll be dead soon enough, " Lauraly said, quickly crossing herself before adding, "...bless his soul. An' body... The money will be better, and I'm not too young. It will be so, so please make yer peace with the man I love."
Liam had looked at the two of them, a mask of uneasy acquiescence overcoming his face. "Right then," Liam said.
"But I'll not let ye run around in sheds like a fecking trollop. And if ," he continued, swallowing to keep his rage down at the name, "Thomas is to be your husband, we had better have a discussion of things. What is acceptable and what is not. "
Lauraly looked down at Thomas, a tear of joy appearing in her eyes as their gaze locked. They were triumphant. Liam would approve. "LIAM!", Lauraly shrieked, throwing her arms around her brother in a fit joy. "Oh, Liam, Liam, LIAM!" Liam felt his cock begin to swell and pushed her off too roughly and quickly, almost knocking her to the ground.
"Lauraly," he said, "Go start the dinner. And have a fecking drink for me when I get there, I'll need me spirits raised. Have two, I s'pose, for Thomas should be joining us, if we can have what needs to be on the out and right."
Lauraly looked at her brother, and for a moment, he almost regretted his decision. She looked so joyful, so full of life and she was glowing. Jealousy stirred within Liam, and he easily resolved himself. "Thank you, Liam. " That was all Lauraly said before glacing quickly at Thomas and turning towards their home to start sup. She would prepare a rich dinner, harvest was getting ripe and money was good to be pinched in summer. Bread and grilled chicken, with potatoes and sweet peas, how lucky Thomas would be to have her as a wife! She was an excellent cook, having learnt from her mother before the alcohol had consumed too much of her time to teach or beat her daughter.
But Thomas did not come home to Lauraly's dinner that evening. How could he, laying six feet underground?
Liam had outstretched his arm and offered his hand to Thomas, then kicked the boy in his ribs as he was trying to get off his knees. Liam had beaten him savagely, almost to the point of death, and then , as he stood above Thomas's bloody, beaten flesh, Liam had spit on him, and told him to leave that night lest he kill him on sight again. It would have been so simple for Thomas to leave, for he loved Lauraly, the brasser's at Lady Beauty's had just been a cheap substitute for his love, but he would not risk his life to have her.
Entering Old McGinty's shop, he had asked him for his pay early this week. Old Man McGinty took one look at him and gave it to him. He knew that Thomas's lady, Lauraly, had a useless brother with a temper, and he had no want to be caught up in that.
Liam had gotten word of Thomas being in town and had gathered the St. Bridget's gang. Before they could set out, Thomas came unwittingly by their glen lair, and Liam tore into him. Running off with a girl from one of their men's kin without his blessing was a capital offense, and for a time they joined in before it became clear that Liam wanted to do this by himself. Liam had laughed the whole time and not stopped until someone had had courage to point out that Thomas's body lay without life in it. When it was over, they had put Thomas's body in the deep ravine where they left their victims who were not to be had around anymore.
When Liam had returned at nightfall, Lauraly had come running to the threshold to greet Thomas. When she saw that Liam was alone, she knew. He had made Thomas leave. Her face broke and tears sprang to her eyes immediately as she began to cry. "Luv," Liam began, "he wasn't worth it. He wasn't. I'm sorry." Lauraly didn't believe him for a minute, and she knew that Liam had simply forced Thomas to go. Lauraly rushed toward her brother and beat at him mercilessly. Liam simply stood there, taking the blows until she was overcome with sobs. He held her then as she collapsed in his arms. She had since resigned herself to the knowledge that Liam would choose her man.
So she waved at the handsome blonde lute player politely and went on her way. And she had gone home through the woods, and when she returned home, her dress was torn and her hair was a mess. Her face was covered with flowering violet bruises.
Lauraly entered the house in a daze, and Liam called out to her, rising from the kitchen table, where he had been sitting quietly in the twilight by a lamp. On the Eve of Christ's Mass, all devil boys and rogues were at home with their rightful blood kin. Their mother Patricia was seated by the kitchen stove, a glass of wine in her hand , mumbling 'Just a Little Irish Ditty' under her breath. Liam rose and went to the front door, jovially calling out for Lauraly, even though he could see her silhouette plainly in the doorway. "Me thought we'd been waitin' fer the second comin', not ye no more! What in Sweet Mary's name took ye so long? " Then he saw her more clearly. Her dress was torn almost to shreds, only a scrap of fabric remained that couldn't cover even her ankles. Lauraly's bust was ripped. Dirt clung to her face and dress, her hands empty and shaking. Her rapists had taken even the food for dinner.
Liam slowly swallowed to keep his rage down as the realization of what had happened set in.
As the cab worked it's way towards downtown L.A., Angel swalled in disgust now, remembering how he had felt rage not just at the boys who had raped her, but at Lauraly. How many times had he jerked himself off in his youth, thinking of his sister? How many times had they cared for the house when their parents could not, he raising money and she doing the housework? They had lived almost as husband and wife, and Liam had wanted her then, even after going to confessional and doing the penance and prayer given to him by the priest on the other side. He had wanted her for himself alone. He still did. But today he truly knew how wrong it was, how he had hurt her. If only he had held her as he should have, comforted her, been her brother.
Instead, he had looked at her for a long moment before saying softly, "Go wash up. We'll have a decent sup, and then I'll see the fellows and find who did this..." he couldn't bring himself to say, '...who did this ...to you.' He wanted to say it. He wanted to hold her. But he also wanted to beat her within an inch of her life. Another man had had her first. Another man, oh - not one, not another man, a lot of other men and they had had a grand old time with his Lauraly. He would kill them, but he hated her for it.
When Lauraly stood, half undressed and looking like the women he had seen his comrades ravage so many times, in shock and unable to move, he had quietly reiterated his statement. "Get a fecking pail of water, and wash the stink off. Ye smell of other men. Put some clothes on so ye dinnah look like a harlot." With that he had turned on his heal and walked back towards the kitchen, refusing to meet Lauraly's hurt eyes.
She had dressed herself. She had walked into the kitchen and taken a pot of water kept on the stove for hot drink in case of chills, and her mother had stared into the ceiling, unaware of anything but her own pain. Angel had sat there, Angelus and Liam had sat there, cutting a few potatoes to boil for what would be their scant Christ's Mass dinner. He did not look up at Lauraly who winced in pain as she took the pail and retired herself to the alcove near the front doorway. She had stripped naked, and though the winter cold invaded every room but the heated kitchen, she did not feel the chill. She had walked home in the freezing night for an hour, with barely a scrap of fabric to keep her warm. The boys had taken her winter wrap.
Lauraly had taken a piece of her dress and ripped it, wrapped it around her hand, and dipped it into the scalding water. She felt dirty. She wanted so badly not to feel dirty. It had been so long since she had felt so much disgust with herself. When their father had died, her brother had stopped Patricia's molestations of him, and she had not moved on to Lauraly, but stayed drunken and dazed.
She ran the scalding water over her her right calf, slowly feeling the frozen mud slide off her leg and onto the scrap of rag she had thrown below her on the floor to catch the dirt. Then the other one, hands sliding down, down her thighs, never up to remind herself of the hands that torn up her thighs barely an hour ago.
When she had washed, she put on an old, faded yellow winter dress. She didn't want to look attractive. She wanted to feel comfort.
Lauraly entered the kitchen, and there was little conversation between anyone. Her mother had gone to their only good bed and passed out, and Liam had finished eating by then and was fixing to leave the house in search of the other men in the St. Bridget's gang.
Suddenly, Lauraly rushed to him and pulled him towards her. "Look at me, Liam!" , she pleaded. "Yer me brother, don't ye love me? Can ye not stand the sight of me now that yer fecking carelessness has come back at me! Ye should have let me leave with Thomas. He may have been penniless, but he would never leave me the way ye just did. Ye fecking sod! How DARE ye call me names, and tell me I stink! As if I ASKED FOR IT! As if it isn't YER FAULT for running with the St. Bridget's gang! As if yer so high and fecking mighty! Or have ye forgotten how our sweet Da used to bend ye over and give you a good poke 'imself like ye weren't more than the harlots ye feck yerself!" Liam smacked her, and shoved her roughly onto the wooden floor. Lauraly just laughed in his face. "What? Can I laugh or what? The truth hurts doesn't it Liam! Ye look at me tonight like I'm some fecking cow who deserved it 'cause ye feel ashamed that sometimes, when dear Da was fecking ye in the dark when Mum was on her monthly, ye prob'ly liked it!"
At her last sentence, Lauraly had the breath knocked from her by another hit from Liam, and then his body was on hers. " Am I the fecking devil's spawn then? Remember, we're two of kin, Lee Lee! Ye fecking cow, ye walked with Thomas like some whore at Beauty's, desperate, DESPERATE for a taste! Desperate for love, for anything, like it was ne'er enough, what I gave ye. ", Liam spat out, eyes filled with violence and rage. " T'was ne'er enough! I gave ye me love, an' ye just took it an' spat it back at me. An' all those times, when ye thought Patrick would come for ye, but he dinnah, DID HE? Came for me instead. He'd sit there fecking my arse and ye'd lie awake in the other room, but ye dinnah know why it wasn't ye, but me those nights, eh ye fecking whore, ye couldna even keep yer skirts down on our God's eve! " He had been so angry with her, his rage pumping him, driving him, fueled by the fact that his body covered hers, the object of what he could never have. Her heart had belonged to Thomas, and her abused body laying beneath him as he spat out his frustration and ire at her, was arousing him. Liam decided he had had enough of turning the other cheek.
Lauraly felt a rough hand groping against her thigh and pushing her skirt up. Paralyzing fear spread out to her body as she realized it was her brother, her own brother who was doing this to her. God help her, she must be whore for him to do these things to her. She was strong, and she had fought Liam bravely tonight, but deep down she was still torn apart and terrified, all of the things that run through a rape victim's head were coursing through hers. And how as her brother was shoving his tapered fingers roughly into her quim, an unwelcome longing stirring within her that had gone unsated that night.
"Liam, " she pleaded. But it was no use. He simply ignored her and continued molesting her. A sob escaped her when the bodice of her yellow dress was torn, just as her other dress had been torn that night. Liam's hands squeezed her breasts, fondling them harshly as. He took one of Lauraly's nipples and twisted it roughly, making her cry out in pain.
She felt his hand withdraw from her cunney, and for a moment Lauraly thought it was over until she realized he had freed his hand in order to yank down his pants and britches. She didn't know what disgusted her more, her brother, or her own growing dampness.
Liam guided himself roughly into her cunt, almost missing and wincing along with Lauraly as he streched the tender skin against her arse, before taking himself in hand and placing his cock at the entrance of her quim. He fucked her roughly, ignoring her tears, her pleas as she lay beneath him, concentrating only on on filling her until she screamed his name in either pain or pleasure to purge the other men from her mind and body. Within minutes, however, he came. It was a missed opportunity that was never regained, Angel mused thankfully. Less than a month later, Darla had turned him.
Angelus had wanted to rape her "for old times sake", as he told a stunned Lauraly who believed him an angel when he showed up at the door of their home the night after his burial. Instead, he had decided to just kill her. Lauraly had turned into a strong woman. She would have simply went to her death stoicly if he had killed her after raping and torturing her. The simple kill, the simple realization on her face that her angelic brother was a monster, who would do more than take her dignity, but her soul - that had been priceless to Angelus.
As the cab pulled up to the Hyperion, Angel handed the driver a hundred dollar bill and wordlessly exited the car. A bloody tear fell to the concrete as he remembered her pain. Still, his cock was hard. He had wanted to deny his past, and who he was. For so long he had succeeded, but tonight he knew that would come to an end.
Entering the empty lobby of the Hyperion, Angel did not bother to wonder where everyone had gone for the night. He walked to the desk, opened their phone directory, and searched out the number for a therapist.