Title: Lost to Ether
I’d been unconscious when Drusilla pulled me from the fire. Whispered words and promises swirled around my mind as she spoke of giving daddy thanks soon enough and of fairies who spoke to her, weaving a tale into the ether that circled my thoughts. Tainted visions of Angelus filled my every dream, influenced by her nattering no doubt, but still there. Dark eyes watching me as my spine fused itself back together. Weeks lying in a bed made uncomfortable by too many pillows and not enough heat, the ever present voices.
Daddy’s coming back.
Must get you ready.
Almost time for the party now.
Sure enough the wounds started healing. Slowly healing to the point I could sit and eventually roll through the dark corridors of the factory searching out the forces strong enough to quiet the voices. The force that would make me stop wanting to believe them, stop me looking for him around every corner as though he could make everything alright.
It was a sickness to be sure, but only partly to be blamed on the slayer and her magic aim. This was a sickness that had followed me for a century, as easily as if it were stitched into my coat pocket. Worse than that, this was a sickness bound in the blood, tied to every cell. It bound me to her, let her mutterings trickle into my ears, bound me to him, let his ever present voice ring in my head.
I’d been bound to the chair for weeks, planning Drusilla’s coming out party. The pain had mostly subsided, although my legs were still as useless as sausages on sticks. I busied myself with collecting the Judge’s parts, ignoring Dru’s waning attention even as we completed the project that had taken nearly two years to set in motion.
It seemed we’d been waiting much longer than that by the time Old Blue finally took his first steps in near a millennia. The anticipation had been worth watching him work, but turned out to be not quite the spectacle I’d anticipated. I’d had visions of watching him set the Slayer to ashes and it excited nerves in my skin as the thought crawled over me.
All things short lived I guess.
The very next morning, just as the majority of our party guests were finding dark corners to settle into, he came back. Not as I’d believed he would, but just as Drusilla had seen.
Angelus. Dark and the same as ever, confidence oozing from every stare, finishing my every sentence like old marrieds just as he had a hundred years earlier. He put the fine point to each plan that crossed my mind, slipping into the role of protector, if not confidante, seamlessly.
The first night he had ignored me, with the exception of one chaste kiss, meant as a warning volley. He’d take his pleasure in the kill tonight, but every night thereafter I’d be at his whim. He meant for me to know it, to taste the fear in my own mouth as he dragged me up rickety stairs, useless legs flailing behind me as he took me to rooms far enough from Drusilla’s laughter that he’d not be distracted.
Frigid night air rolled through broken windows, dancing across my naked chest as he explored healing wounds and inflicted fresh ones. The knife pirouetted over my body, causing me to flinch and jump when it found skin not numbed from fire and tumbling paralysis. He laved at bloody trails, teasing my cock to what little life it had in it. Mocking smile, no sympathy in his eyes when his ministrations left me flaccid and cursing his alter-ego’s lover.
At least I could be thankful he had a mind to take Drusilla each night too and had no desire to rub himself raw in my ass. Excessive amounts of cold jelly covered my body, fingers probing within, face smiling when he confirmed I’d opened myself to no man but him in more than a century of living. Groaning mouth as he spread me wide, pressing deep within, no doubt deeper than Angel had dared to go with his virginal slayer.
I wondered aloud if he’d thrust too hard, making her cry with the knowledge that the man she loved could cause her more pain than any she could ever muster hate for.
Angelus had no answers for me. Just that secretive smile that I knew so well. He’d speak to me of my own talents, turning me over and over, eyes and hands roaming over each curve and scar, tasting at newly opened gashes and fresh bite marks. He’d speak to me of Drusilla and even Darla, telling me each trick they possessed, each naughty gift they’d given him, the words they’d cry as they covered his body in come, but never of the slayer.
Some secrets I'd never know, he teased. Just as she would never know that even when my body was mostly dead to the touch he had the power to make me cry out as he slammed against organs even the slayer’s weapons couldn’t mar. Just between us, he whispered as he filled me with shuddering orgasm after shuddering orgasm.
Nothing lasts though. Not in our world, not when both he and she had wandering attentions that focused on little but destruction.
As their tales and wishes for world-ending demons filled their minds, the whispering voices in my own began to drift away. How ironic, truly. When he was a lifetime away Angelus couldn’t stop speaking in my ear, and yet now he was close, my world fell into silence and darkness once again.
For a time.