Title: With False Compare
Author: Willa
Pairing: William/Angelus (Angelus/Darla, William/Drusilla)
Rating: NC17
Setting: 1880 - onward (roughly)
* * * * *
From Sonnet #130...
A is for Angelus, who in the beginning was Adam to Drusilla's Eve. She,
the temptress who stole him from the Tree of Life, and he, the master of men
who took the second bite. Plucked him, green as leaves, and led him dazed through
winding London streets to a man dark as sin and white as snow.
"Eat, for he's good," she'd murmured, licking his blood off her fingertips. And Angelus, who otherwise wouldn't have bothered (or so he later swore) saw Drusilla looking at him with favor, and out of whimsy made him what he is now.
Vampire.
*
B is for brutality, all the creature Angelus seems able to show. As William digs out of his grave, a great ham-fisted hand grabs and hauls him out bodily. Set roughly on his feet, he's brushed off - beaten - till the last of his grave dirt crumbles away.
Cold brown eyes stare at him from that pale face. "This's the best you could do, Drusilla?" Angelus scoffs, Irish accent mocking. "He's a pathetic joke of a man."
"Oh, no, Daddy." His Lady curls against him, kittenish. "He's my dark Knight."
Angelus curls his lip. "That we'll see, Dru. That we'll see."
*
C is for carnality. William's never known the joys of flesh as he learns them in Drusilla's arms, her slender legs round his back and arms twined about his neck. From dainty fangs to fragile toes, he worships his Dark Princess to the point of blasphemy.
When Angelus learns of this, he laughs himself to sickness. "Blasphemy? Our existence is a blasphemy, one we take great joy in. Go on, then, and rut like pigs. There'll come a day."
What he means by that, William doesn't know. Doesn't want to know.
He'd rather this dark-golden idyll with Drusilla last forever.
*
D is for damnation, which comes as a surprise. William has been stupid, he realizes. They kill mortals to eat, releasing their souls into the London murk. They're murderers.
Again, Angelus mocks him. "We are hunters," he says flatly as they feast one night, sharing a scullery maid between them. "Tell me, is a lion damned to hell for chasing gazelles?"
"No?" William ventures.
Angelus looses a bitter laugh. "Yet because we hunt, we are doomed to hell. Tell me: where's the justice in that?"
William has no answer, but he can taste brimstone with the blood on his tongue.
*
E is for effulgence, and when he can, William doesn't think about Angelus and the disturbance that dark creature brings with him. He sups the sparkling-champagne blood of young humans, the rich wine of adults, and shares crimson kisses with his Drusilla. In gameface she is exquisite; in human guise, a prize beyond compare.
He knows she is special. Mazed, cracked, put together as a shattered vase in many fragile pieces that easily fly apart. But she blazes as with dark-golden light, and to him, Drusilla's love is the definition of the word that drove him into her arms: effulgent.
*
F is for fortitude. William bears up beneath Angelus' constant scrutiny, as he believes a soldier might do with his severe master-at-arms. The older vampire has taken to constantly berating him for his style, his slaughters, even the way he dresses, and his eyeglasses.
"You're no proper vampire," he'll say darkly before slipping off to hunt alone. "Fop. English dandy, headed for the stake."
It is only for Drusilla's sake that he endures Angelus' scowling disapproval. She'll be bereft when he takes her away from Angelus, as he means to. For now, though, he bides his time and is brave.
*
G is for God. William's often surprised that he does not miss church, sacraments, nor sermons.
One night, when Angelus is in a rare good mood, William dares to ask why. The vampire is surprised. "Does a condemned man miss the noose, when he escapes? Does a woman miss childbirth? Fool. You've broken free of that. There's no God, nor devil." He laughs. "If anything, we are the devils! In that, we rejoice. Will you hunt with me?"
William declines. He needs time to think this over. This, and the surprising invitation. Does he imagine it, or is Angelus softening?
*
H is for Hell.
It's a peculiar sort of torment that William finds himself living in. Just as he once criticized William for every small infraction, Angelus now surrounds him with bonhomie, escorting him every night on the hunt.
To his dismayed delight, he enjoys watching Angelus feed. The blood-smears on his mouth are aesthetically pleasing, as is his demonic face. We are the devils, he's said. William now agrees. Watching Angelus feast on a family before their own hearth is like watching a devil cavort in Hell.
It's easier to believe himself damned, now... for he savors the sight.
*
I is for inspiration that comes as William finds himself now fascinated by Angelus. Though he knows his poetry is poor, still he gives in to the urge. Foregoing hunts, he closets himself with ink and paper, striving until dawn for the right words to describe the mystery that is Angelus.
When Angelus finds him out, he laughs William to shame. But William fights back, no longer the rabbit that fled a party. He's coming into his own, and will write what he damn well pleases. Not even the object of his interest shall say him nay. Not any more.
*
J is for justice. William's seen how cruelly Angelus treats Drusilla, and even his growing fascination doesn't blind his eyes. Boldly, he makes his declaration of independence, stating plans to take her away.
When he comes to, he's strung on a rack, Angel above him with heated knife in one hand and well-wrapped crucifix in the other. "You will not defy me," he grates, eyes bitumen-black. "You're mine, both of you, to treat as I will. You're wanting justice? Have a taste."
He tortures William for hours, leaving him scarred and burnt. But not broken. Not quite broken. Not yet.
*
K is for karma. An Indian concept, or so William supposes from his reading. As he heals, sometimes tended by Drusilla when it's in her mind, the vampiress Darla arrives from a higher Master's court. It amuses William deeply, darkly, seeing fearsome Angelus wound round this tiny creature's finger, obeying her every whim.
That is, until she turns disdainful eyes on William and declares him unacceptable. To his shock, even as he nurses cross-shaped burns, William listens as Angelus defends him against his Sire.
The turning of the wheel, he muses, watching them squabble. What will come of this cycle?
*
L is for loss. Darla's "had quite enough" of Angelus and determines to take Drusilla for a London Season. There's great feasting among debutantes and their beaux. Neither male is welcome to come.
Long and bitter are the arguments. Deep is William's grief and dread. But in the end no one dares defy Darla. William weeps over Drusilla's slim, pale fingers and into her silken curls. She giggles, prattling of dollies in satin dresses, toy soldiers, and blood.
The vampiresses ride away proudly, leaving their men behind. Men who look at each other with wary eyes, uncertain: what comes next?
*
M is for mankind, and fearsome is the violence that Angelus wreaks after the women's departure. For once, William's glad to go a-hunting together, with Angelus' caution abandoned for bloodlust. Nightly, they bury their hands in entrails, gleefully devouring the helpless.
One night they divide a pickpocket, sweet as sugar-candy. Angelus dips a finger in the blood and offers it to William. Unthinking, he sucks it into his mouth, savoring the taste.
He doesn't see light flash in Angelus' eyes, but feels a sudden jolt in his gut. Both catch unneeded breaths.
After that night, they hunt alone. For a time.
*
N is for nevermore. What happened - William's mouth, suckling at Angelus' finger - it must not happen again. Every time he thinks on it, he feels a low, sinking flip in his gut, making him dizzy and sick. He isn't certain why he feels this way, but wants as much distance as possible between himself and Angelus.
It's hardly a problem. Angelus avoids him as if he has the pox. They hunt, feed, and sleep alone. Often, days pass without exchanging a word.
But he can feel those dark eyes on him. Watching. Waiting. Measuring.
Yet to what end? William dreads to wonder.
*
O is for opportunity. William should have known, by now, that Angelus would not be one to let anything slip through his fingers. He wakes, one dusty-smelling afternoon, in the hayloft where they sought shelter at dawn. Angelus kneels beside him, trousers pushed to his knees, and oh, God - he is naked beneath, his member swollen erect. Pushing it toward William's lips.
When he would turn his head, Angelus forces it back, using the tip to paint sticky fluid across William's lips. "The women are away," he says hoarsely, "So you and I must play."
Shivering hard, William hesitantly takes the prick into his mouth and suckles, as he had Angelus' finger. His stomach twists into tight knots, and his own member grows hard.
So. This is what Angelus has waited for, and wanted.
He is truly damned, then - for he believes now, he has wanted it all along too.
*
P is for playfulness. For the first time ever, William sees the spark of whimsy deep inside Angelus. Though shy, little-knowing what to do, his mouth brought about a shuddering completion. Then there were laughing kisses - startling, arousing. Then Angelus' lips, on William's own member -
He cannot remember spending such a delightful day before, never. Chasing each other roundabout, pouncing cat-like. On his knees, William learned the pleasurepain of penetration with fingers and prick; of that deep secret spot that shows him stars at noon.
They fall asleep carelessly as kittens tumbled in a heap - sticky, satiated and smiling.
*
Q is for quixotic, as to his delight William finds out Angelus can certainly be. Acting smitten as a lusty boy, he ducks out at dusk, while William slumbers, bringing back a dimpled maid and a curly-haired boy for tea. Farm children, sturdy and full of wonderfully nourishing blood.
Nothing could be so romantic as receiving that buxom girl, her blood vital and alive.
Finished, the vampires kneel over the bodies and begin with a kiss. Soon, they're naked, writhing in the carnage. Smeared from head to toe with crimson, glorying in it.
William begins to believe himself in love.
*
R is for ravishing. Angelus does nothing by halves. Time and time again he floods William with seed, flooding his channel. William's grown to love, no, lust after being filled, thrusting himself up like a London whore.
Angelus isn't ungenerous with other affections. He suckles William's prick, giving his own up in turn. He devours William with kisses, open-mouthed or silver-pricking-sharp along neck and jaw, drawing beads of blood he laps up with his tongue.
William follows his every lead, dazed and smitten. His world has shrunk to Angelus alone. He no longer thinks himself in love - he believes it.
*
S is for sexuality, and William is - was - part of a world that never referred to it, and would not dream or dare speak of things that he now does.
In a rare lull, sipping on a milkmaid's dying body spooned between them, he asks Angelus why this is so.
Angelus looks thoughtful. "Because they're fools," is his final decision. "Not knowing how to appreciate a good thing."
William is shy. "Have you always wanted me?"
Angelus' grin could out-glitter the stars, bright and cold. "Now what do you think, sweet William?"
And he kisses him then, sharp and bloody.
*
T is for trembling, for Angelus has reduced William to a quivering mass of want and need with this latest attack on his senses. One hand gripping the base of his prick to stop William's completion, he has licked and suckled, thrust his fingers up William's channel, massaged that magic spot deep inside, and even rubbed his own full member hard against William's.
All dignity forgotten, all modesty cast aside, William writhes and begs Angelus to let go, to let him reach that pinnacle the hard grip denies him. Angelus only laughs, kisses him deeply and wetly, and torments him further.
He shakes with the need to reach his pinnacle. Angelus knows this, and glories in pushing him further, harder, deeper.
When he is permitted to release himself, it is like walking into the sun again.
Boneless, yet soaked with joy, he reaches for Angelus to embrace him, but -
*
U is for their undoing. Outside, they hear the jingle-jangle of horses, and two feminine voices, oddly... familiar...
Angelus jerks away from William as if his blood runs with holy-water. "Get your clothes on!" he hisses. "It's the ladies. I'll not be caught with my pants 'round my ankles, buggering the likes of you!"
Naked, dazed, William stares. But surely - Angelus loves him - yet he loves Drusilla as well - such confusion -
The barn door opens. Daintily slippered feet step inside, mincing through the straw. Darla laughs, sweet and scornful. "Oh, really, Angelus. Although I expected as much, given your tastes."
*
V is for viciousness. He'd forgotten, during her time away, what a bitch Darla is. A bit of him trembles at his daring; the rest of him rebels. And so he sprawls naked before her instead of kneeling, or scrambling for his clothes. "Low tastes?" he questions, growling.
She looks deeply amused. "Silly boy. Did you think he loved you? You were merely a distraction." She bends to him. "He belongs to me. Now and always. Never you."
Drusilla giggles. "Have you been a pretty toy to play with? Lovely boy! But now the game's over, for we've come home to Daddy." She flings herself into Angelus' arms, half-dressed as he is. He won't meet William's eyes.
And deep inside, William feels his heartstrings snap.
*
W is for William, willpower, and wantonness. Though crushed as the night he met his first death, William sprawls in the straw, stroking himself idly to new hardness. "What if he was just playing?" he asks. "Was still me that had him. Not you."
Her eyes narrow. "Angelus, Drusilla's childe is impertinent. Will you punish him or shall I?"
"Oh, right, shift the blame about." William stands, his member jutting out obscenely. "But it comes down to this. You left. I stayed. Your cunt's been riding horseback. My cock's been ridden bare-backed. Who's had the better end of the bargain?"
*
X is for xenophobia, quite a fancy word William learned when he was a prissy little mother's boy. He holds that word fiercely as Darla does her anger with him, for they both suffer from it in the wake of their confrontation.
Angelus acts not as if nothing happened, but as if it did - and he regrets it sore. He will not look at William, much less touch him. He pushes Drusilla away when she wants Daddy's affection, shoving her in William's direction. For Darla's part, he follows her with passion, but none of the fire she loved - that William, also, lost his heart to.
On his own, he has become harder - more cunning - harder to catch and hold onto. He's slipped away like a fish from a net. Become a foreign thing.
But perhaps that's for the best. Because after those nights in that barn William, too, has changed.
*
Y is for yearning. William feels his old self disappearing day by day beneath a hard shell, a brittle layer of cruelty and callousness that he knows is but an imitation of Angelus' darker heart. Yet when the others lie soundly sleeping, he is on occasion tormented with memories of that hayloft, and Angelus' mouth upon him, in him, surrounding him.
Yearn - yes, he yearns for that golden time. If he'd only the sense to run where the women couldn't track them - or the strength to face the devil Darla down -
But no, he had not and did not.
So he returns to caring for his Dark Princess, loving her fiercely as ever and being adored in return, at least. But he doesn't dream of her, nor does he wake suddenly with her name on his lips.
What cannot be, cannot be. But he curses his weakness, and daily he grows tougher in the hopes of defeating it.
The vampire William is dying. And on the day he slaughters his first with the aid of two railroad stakes, he washes his hands in their blood and knows himself to made anew.
William panted after Angelus. But Spike serves only himself.
*
And Z is for zealot, for that is what Spike has become. He bears up, sneering, through all of the changes - Angelus' leaving them, Darla leaving them, and eventually, Drusilla leaving him all alone. He suffers the slings and arrows of children a fraction his age. Bears the indignity of being muzzled like a dog at the government's whim. Even falls in love again, though once again he goes unrequited.
Through it all, zealously he holds onto his hard-won hatred of Angelus - no, excuse him, Angel. It is his prize, and the rare chances he has to torment his former brutalizer - lover - Judas - are like jewels he can roll between his fingers.
He lays down his life with the regret that Angel will go on.
But once again, he returns to life, roaring back from dust into something else entirely. Facing Angel down in an office full of strangers, all whom stare at him as if he's the bloody Second Coming.
Angel glares at him, but in the brief seconds before his look turns to that of anger, Spike sees a flicker of the same yearning he once felt himself.
"Spike," he says darkly.
And Spike straightens, face twisting into demonic shape. It's been a long time, Angel, but a zealot's hatred (for his betrayal) never dies. Lowering his head, he charges for Angel, and...
* * * * * * *
For those interested:
Sonnet #130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
