London, 1880
William nervously puttered around the office, dropping papers and forgetting things. MacTavish was amused and told him to leave early, he was useless as he was now.
William was going to a party. This was not terribly unusual. But this was a special party. This was Cecily Adams' party.
William had first become aware of the young heiress nearly six months before. She had captured his heart in a single glance. He wrote poetry like never before ever since. She was the epitome of beauty and grace to him and he was going to see her tonight.
He'd made up his mind. Tonight was the night he would tell her how he felt. They had spoken before. She had been polite but she had smiled at him warmly.
William was twenty-five years old. He had never in his life been alone in a room with a woman that was not his mother or a patient. The very idea of it scared the daylights out of him.
But he was going to try.
The mirror over the washbasin in his room reflected a thin young man that looked a bit sick. His glasses were crooked and he straightened them.
Fortune favors the bold, he thought. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
He rolled his eyes. Pathetic. He picked up his coat and left the house.
* * *
Cecily Adams bit her lip and determinedly swallowed tears as William Merchant rapidly left the house. She glanced at the stairs and saw her father watching.
The old man descended and strolled across the room as though he were at a church picnic, “Is it done?”
“Yes, father.” Cecily looked down at her hands tightly clasped on her lap.
“A doctor is not who you were born to marry, Cecily. He cannot take over the family business and he would never have a real one of his own. You need to find someone who will add to the family fortune, not deplete it.”
Cecily stared into the direction William had gone. But I don't care about the fortune, I wanted William, she thought.
But aloud, she said, “Yes, father.”
* * *
Waking up six feet under the ground was not something William had expected. The last thing he remembered was the strange woman in the barn that spoke in verse.
After the initial serge of panic that inspired him to break through the coffin lid and dig his way upward, he sat on the grass of the cemetery and wondered exactly how he had managed it.
The night had never seemed so sharp and so clear. It was filled with noise. Crickets and peepers, and drunken men arguing a mile away, a dog barking far off in the distance and the flap of a hawks wings high above.
The stars were alight above him and he absently picked out the constellation Lyra. It had always been his favourite for some reason. He liked the shape and the name.
“My black knight. Naughty boy, you're up before I got here.”
Spike turned and stumbled to his feet. The dark woman from the stable was walking toward him. Well, walking was not the word. She glided.
“What did you do to me?” William asked, surprised when his voice didn't shake at all.
The woman laughed.
* * *
Sunnydale, Present Day
Spike had spent the entire of his narrative staring into his pint of imported beer. He hadn't wanted to look up. He didn't want to see Buffy's face when she found out his origins.
If he had looked up before, he would have seen her cry for him. He would have seen her rage on his behalf. He would have seen her longing to make it all better.
But he didn't look up, until he came to the part in his story that he considered pinnacle.
“I thought it would make her better. She was sick for so long. I didn't realize how the turning could change you. I felt the same, love! You have to understand that. As far as I was concerned the only difference was that I felt better. I felt strong and alive. I didn't even realize I was dead.” Spike's eyes held the glint of tears.
Buffy nodded, biting her lip, “I get it. I get it, Spike. I understand. You were just trying to help.”
Spike's shoulders slumped as if a weight had been taken off them, “Yeah. I tried.”
* * *
London, 1880
Angelus was raging about again. Spike sat very still and read the latest chapter of his new favourite story. It was a bloody good one, too. A bloke named Sherlock Holmes went about solving crimes. He had been following the story in a magazine for the last three months.
A chair crashed into the wall next to him and William absently ducked.
As long as he didn't call attention to himself, he would be fine. William turned the page as quietly as he could.
“Will you grow up and stop acting like a fledgling, Angelus! William is better behaved than you.” Darla stormed into the sitting room and stomped her foot.
Damn, William thought.
For Angelus' eyes immediately sought him out and pinned him like a butterfly beneath glass, “Oh yes, we can't forget, William.”
Angelus always said his name with a mocking disgust that made William wince. William renewed his efforts to read his story and stay out of the entire conversation.
Angelus seemed calmer suddenly and stalked over to the brandy service and poured himself a drink, “Yes, we can't forget Dru's new little pet.”
Darla rolled her eyes, “Oh, please. He's exactly what we wanted. He's a little toy to keep her entertained so we can have more time together. He does his job, leave him alone.”
William's ears perked up at Darla's unexpected defense of him. He thought she couldn't stand the sight of him. That was how she usually acted as though he possessed some sort of infectious disease that made him particularly repulsive.
He tried to just stay out of her way.
William wasn't stupid, far from it. He knew perfectly well he could talk back to Angelus and even openly defy him. This would get him an impressive beating, maybe even a session in chains in the basement. But William knew whom he had to really watch out for. Darla was the one who had the power. Angelus could convince himself otherwise, but William knew the truth.
Fortunately, Darla seemed to accept him at least on a basic level. William had heard one of the minions talking about someone named Penn that Angelus had sired years ago. He hadn't lasted a month. Darla had wanted him dust and Angelus ran him off.
She really must not hate him then, William observed, he had lasted six months now.
William became aware of Angelus' presence at his immediate right and tensed up.
“What's the matter, Billy-boy? Is the story scary?” Angelus snatched the magazine out of his hands and tossed it into the fire, “You shouldn't read it then, it might give you nightmares.”
William watched the pages burn and fumed internally.
“That was my magazine, Angelus.” Darla's voice was icy.
Angelus turned, looking surprised, “Why are you reading that trash?” He stalked over to where she was seated on the sofa and flopped down beside her, “I'm sure I can come up with something better for you to do.” He gripped her left breast firmly until she pulled away with a snarl.
“Get off me!” Darla attempted to get up and Angelus slid one and between her legs and did something that made her shriek in pain.
Then he got up. Leaving her cupping her hands between her legs, he tossed a casual, “I'm going hunting” over his shoulder and left the manor.
William watched Darla uneasily. He knew what Angelus had done. There was a tiny bundle of nerves within a woman's genitals that was extremely sensitive. William had read dirty books in his youth that inspired exploration of such things with Dru.
Angelus had pinched it, twisting cruelly. William could sympathize.
Darla rose from the sofa and left the room limping slightly, never looking at him. Sometimes William felt like he wasn't even there.
* * *
Later that evening, William was servicing Drusilla in the very ways the books had inspired when Darla stalked in. She stood there staring at him with his face between Drusilla's thighs. Dru giggled and moaned wildly, but William did not let up until he felt the telltale fluttering of the muscles inside her around his fingers. He pulled back finally and wiped his face.
Darla came over and sat on the bed. Dru lounged back dreamily and trilled, “Grandmother, William makes the pixies spread there magic. It makes me all tingly.”
“That's nice, dear.” Darla said dryly, but her eyes were on William, “Take off your clothes.”
William looked up at her from his position, pillowed on Drusilla's stomach, “What?”
“Let me get a look at you, take off your clothes.”
William cocked on eyebrow and started to strip. When he was bare, he stood quietly. He had an erection and that was quite embarrassing, but he refused to cover himself.
Darla, quite suddenly turned around, “Help me out of this gown.”
William, still unsure of what was going on, but very well trained in taking Darla's orders, complied.
When he had stripped her down to petticoats he gaped as she stepped out of them as well. He had never been allowed to see Darla naked.
She sprawled out on the bed, “Well, get on with it.”
He stared at her without comprehension for a few moments, her arms were crossed and she was scowling. Then it hit him. She wanted what he had just done for Dru.
He immediately dropped to his knees and got to work.
He knew Angelus not only did not do such things, but also though such acts emasculating. He'd commented as such whenever he caught William pleasuring Drusilla this way. He called it carpet licking.
William just called it heaven. Drusilla's inner lips were a light purple and they tasted of sweetness and musk. William had been addicted on the first lick.
Darla was different but equally satisfying. She was a very pale peach, but as he got going he went a bit pinker. She had a tang he felt must be an acquired taste. He had acquired it.
After she had come down from orgasmic high, she pulled him to her, gripping his erection. William complied, feeling his mouth go dry.
“That wasn't bad.” Darla said quietly and William knew this was high praise indeed, “You may as well have a go.”
Darla shifted her legs apart and drew him in. William immediately shifted his hips into the position he knew Dru liked and thrust forward, grinding down so his pubic bone rubbed against Darla's clitoris. He watched her eyes widen in surprise and bit back a satisfied smirk. He thrust again.
After a while, he lay next to her feeling sated. Dru clambered over him and on top. Dru liked it best on top. William suspected Angelus had done awful things to her before he turned her. She had been… interfered with. As a result, she only really relaxed when she was on top of him.
This suited William just fine. He rubbed her hip and along her thighs as Dru closed her eyes and rocked to her own rhythm.
William noticed Darla watching them intently. She was strange tonight. Drusilla arched in her orgasm above him and rolled off, playing with his hair.
Without warning, Darla climbed on top. William watched her mount him, wide-eyed.
Darla glared down at him defiantly but softened when he offered no protest.
Angelus walked in to find them in a similar position awhile later. He chuckled darkly from the doorway, “There are shops that can supply you with better toys, Darla. Toys that don't talk so much and don't need to be fed.”
Darla glared at him, and rocked harder in defiance, “Why should that concern you? You've never fed him once. As I recall, he fed US last night.”
It was true; William was the only one hunting last night not to come back empty-handed. He didn't expect anyone to comment on it, though. Especially not Darla.
Angelus' face darkened from amusement to anger and William tensed. He knew that meant trouble for him later.
* * *
William woke to searing pain and Angelus grunting on his back. This was familiar, but no less painful every time. Angelus didn't believe in lubrication.
Or consent, for that matter.
He heard the bones shift as the larger vampire shifted faces and felt the burn of fangs in his throat. Sometimes he thought this was strictly about punishment.
But sometimes he thought there was something in Angelus that needed this. Because as his fangs left the puncture would, Angelus pressed his face to the skin almost nuzzling it.
It happened too often to be simply about punishment.
When Angelus came after him sometimes, his eyes had a sort of drugged dilation, as though William were some rare form of opiate.
He wished fervently that Angelus would overcome his addiction.
But as the larger vampire rolled off him and pulled him in toward his chest in sleep, William wished that he would not.
Then he just wished that maybe, just once, Angelus would ask him. Or listen when he said 'no'.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he got to choose.
* * *
China, 1900
He was back! William was elated. The air was ripe with panic and chaos, there was a Slayer out there somewhere and Angelus had come back to them after a very long two years.
He wanted to show Angelus how much he had learned, he wanted to kill the Slayer so he would be proud to call him his grandchilde.
Angelus had never killed a Slayer. Even Darla had never killed a Slayer. He would be the first in their little Family. He wanted to be the first at something. He wanted to be the best at something. He knew he could do this thing because the outcome did not matter. Either the Slayer would die or he would. Either way, it would be the fight of his life and it proved he had the stones.
Darla and Angelus turned tale and ran whenever even the rumors of a Slayer came too close to home.
He was about to seek one out.
* * *
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