Rating: This chapter probably not even PG! Eventually NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters certainly do not belong to me, but to Joss, Mutant Enemy et al. I make no money from this.
Summary: A response to FGF Challenge #113 – ‘An Artist's sculpture of the most perfect of men is brought to life...’
A/N: Imagine if you will that Joyce didn’t die and that the whole thing with the First didn’t happen. Hey, it's AU, and if I have a human Liam running around, anything’s possible. *cheesy grin, eyebrows wiggle*
Yeah, and apologies to Mary Shelley for the bastardisation of her title - just love the book, that's all.
‘Oh yeah your skin and bones/turn into something beautiful/and you know for you/I’d bleed myself dry for you’ ~ Yellow by Coldplay
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 1~
Liam took the outstretched hand and grasped it warmly; this friendly gesture was reflected by his easy smile. “Hello, it’s great to finally meet you, Mrs Summers.”
The smile was immediately returned, though her eyes narrowed slightly as if her mind was elsewhere. “Please, it’s Joyce – I’d feel unbearably ancient if you keep calling me Mrs Summers. You know, there’s something very familiar about you… have we met before?”
Liam shrugged his shoulders uncertainly as he shook his head slightly. “Don’t think so, I only moved out to California a couple of years back. I’m sure I’d remember a handsome looking lady like you if we’d already been acquainted.”
Joyce rolled her eyes upwards and tutted good humouredly. “Now I know for sure that accent’s genuine – a smooth talker who thinks he can charm his way out of anything.”
Liam’s eyes sparkled with humour as he readily agreed with her, and was grateful that at least she hadn’t come out with the oft-repeated obvious ‘you’re Irish’. “Yep, kissed the Blarney stone as a little nipper, but I promise that everything I tell you is as honest as the day is long.”
“I’m sure it is. Now, back to the reason for your invitation – let’s have a look at your samples.” She bent down and started to unpack the crate, pulling straw out until she had uncovered a small bronze figurine. She picked it up and turned it round to examine the craftsmanship even more closely, clearly wanting to see it from every possible angle.
“I’m very impressed - this is even better than the pictures you sent. I’m certainly very interested in them, especially if they are all of this quality. I know that I have a few clients who would just love these – do you have any larger pieces? What are you calling them?”
He flashed a killer grin at her and laughed. “Okay, where to start with your twenty questions? Yes, I’m working on a couple of life size pieces right now. And I’m considering calling them ‘Angels’-” Liam’s quick reflexes caught the bronze as Joyce suddenly let go, her face whitening. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He stuffed the figurine back into the crate and guided Joyce over to one of the nearby easy chairs, putting out of his mind the flinching away when he touched her arm. “Can I get you anything – water, maybe?”
She glanced up at him thoughtfully and fished in a pocket for something. She pulled out a compact and opened it; Liam caught first her reflection and then his own in the small mirror. Seemingly satisfied with what she could see Joyce flipped it closed and patted Liam’s arms reassuringly. “Sorry about that, I’m fine; I just remembered who you remind me of, that’s all.”
Liam’s curiosity was piqued by this peculiar reaction and comment but she didn’t seem willing to divulge any more information about this mysterious person. They quickly finished their dealings and parted company, with some strange advice from Joyce and a promise elicited from Liam to call her as soon as he had any more work available for the gallery.
****
Stepping out from the shower and towelling himself dry, Liam reflected on the day’s events. He was happy enough with how things had gone at the gallery, but he was a bit concerned with the owner’s state of mind. She had seemed such a nice lady, but then she’d started to act a little wacky. Joyce had made a number of cryptic comments as well as producing that unexpected over-reaction. Liam hoped that not everyone in Sunnydale was as odd; this seemed like a nice town and he didn’t want to wake up one day and find himself in Twin Peaks or Salem’s Lot.
Yes, she had originally seemed warm yet business-like and ordinary but then she’d carried on and said such strange things. Not that he was too worried about it as long as she kept buying his work and her checks were good. If he’d actually considered taking any notice of her then each night he’d lock himself away in his studio until the morning.
Anyway, he mused with a faint smile forming, that didn’t happen every night - just most of them. At times he’d ache to feel the clay take shape under his capable fingers. He was driven to create; his muse was a demanding mistress and he’d often forgotten to eat or sleep until the pangs drove him away from his work. He’d moved a couch into the studio for those times that he was just too damn tired to do anything more than collapse.
Happy that he had a large enough check now paid into the bank to cover his rent for the upcoming month Liam had decided to take the night off to celebrate his good fortune. He’d already visited what he’d heard was the foremost nightspot in Sunnydale a week ago when he’d moved in to the tiny house on the outskirts of town. Liam had enjoyed that night at the Bronze but he was up for something a little different tonight.
His money didn’t stretch that far, especially when it came to clothes; most of his closet was taken up by comfortable old baggy t-shirts and ripped denims for working, and there were also a couple of suits to impress the potential buyers. Probably all of that clothing added together came to about as much as he’d spent on what he considered his most important clothes, the ones he wore for the craic. Tonight he was going to go with the classics – dark leather pants and a contrasting cream linen shirt, disregarding the silk shirts. He might be somewhat frantic for company, but he certainly didn’t want to look like he was begging.
He whistled as he left the house and started walking towards the club he’d heard about at the coffee shop. He hadn’t meant to listen in but he’d found himself staring surreptitiously at the men. The snatches of conversation that came floating over were full of trivialities and practically impenetrable gobbledygook but their unconscious gestures - hands brushing, leaning in towards each other – spoke volumes about their closeness.
He’d felt bad about eavesdropping but couldn’t help but be sort of glad. He hadn’t met many people yet and certainly wasn’t familiar enough with anyone to ask where that kind of club was. Sure he seemed easy-going and friendly enough to most people but that was simply a smokescreen – there was a reason he was happiest alone in his studio. He just got so involved in his work that he was guilty of neglecting the few relationships he’d had.
His last lover had accused him of being cold and heartless and Liam realised that up to a point he had been justified. Liam had poured all his passion and want into his creations, yet they still hadn’t satisfied him. They had finally broken up when Liam had been so caught up in brooding over what he considered to be failures that he hadn’t even noticed his partner’s absence for at least a couple of days. That was when Liam had decided to make a new start along the coast, to get out of LA and away from the bad memories there.
As he walked along Liam’s mood settled back down from the bliss he’d been feeling and his mind drifted to the dreams he’d been having. They weren’t really dreams in the way he’d usually had them; the good old standbys of being naked in front of a class, being chased by banshees, invisible monsters and suchlike.
Instead he’d merely seen a man, unmoving but with an inherent powerfulness wound up within a perfect body. He had a slim build but each muscle was clearly and beautifully delineated; however this wonderful frame was as nothing compared with the face. Tightly controlled blond curls surrounded a face that would make angels weep, all at once a conflict of sharp angles and softness. In this dream world Liam felt as though he could sense yet another contrast as he focused on the clear blue eyes, seeing a creature that was both confusingly untamed and disciplined.
****
Liam slammed the door behind him and stormed into the studio. The club had been a complete bust and he’d been happy to leave after just a couple of drinks. The foul mood that had descended as soon as he walked into the club had darkened and no-one had come near him. He’d felt trapped amidst them, as if he was the only human in a mass of moronic livestock. He wasn’t going to stay there, listening to crappy eardrum blasting noise and standing around uselessly in a wretched attempt to show how cool he knew he already was. The problem was that he really didn’t want to be there, he’d been desperate to come back and try modelling that face again.
The light was slowly brightening when Liam sat back, stretched out his kinked and aching spine and stared at the head. It was a passable imitation of his dream but the features just weren’t sharp enough, not real enough at all. A while ago Liam would have been satisfied with this rendition, but now he simply felt annoyed by it. The sightless eyes seemed to mock him and he couldn’t stand it any longer. With a roar of disappointment he pulled the clay off the stand and threw it against the wall.
As the daylight was relentlessly stabbing at his hurt and weary eyes Liam decided to go to bed and to try to sleep his frustration away. He was too tired to have a shower and get properly clean so he just rinsed the worst of the clay off his hands and stripped. He pulled the sheets over his naked body and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows.
Once again he saw the man appear out of the shadows of his dreams. The blackness that surrounded him seemed to emphasize the stark paleness of his skin. He was Liam’s polar opposite, all brightness and light against darkness and dullness; this only made him even more desirable. Liam very much wanted to be able to touch this apparition, even if it only existed within his mind. He wanted to feel firm warm flesh under his hands rather than cold malleable clay.
This time, Liam had reached that state where he was aware he was dreaming and lifted his unreal hands up towards the face. He ran a finger across a severe cheekbone, almost expecting the sharpness to cut his own labour roughened digit. He then cupped the strong chin in his grasp, smoothing his hand once more across the downy skin. Both hands explored this uncommunicative countenance, fingers dancing like a blind man wanting to store a tactile memory of this vision.
All too soon his dream faded as he awoke. He felt slightly more human for having slept most of the day away, and padded into the bathroom. A quick shower revived him even more and he next stopped at the kitchen, deliberately ignoring the studio. Sitting at the kitchen table with a sandwich and some juice Liam forced himself to face a few hard, cold facts.
He’d struck out at the club because he was obsessed with an imaginary man that he’d repeatedly dreamt about. Obsession was certainly the right word to use here – he thought about that face all the time, whether awake or asleep. He hadn’t gone to the club looking for just anyone; he’d wanted to find his fantasy and had become more and more disenchanted and angry at everyone, including himself, as time wore on.
There was absolutely no way that he could mould those striking features in clay and he was going to drive himself mad trying it. Liam finished his snack and then went into the studio. He gathered up the remains of the bust, disfigured by its passage down the wall, and marched it out into the trash wanting to get rid of all the evidence of his fixation. For the second evening in succession Liam left the house on foot, this time however, it was to free his mind and hopefully start thinking clearly.
~Part: 2~
A week earlier
Spike was surprised that the trail had led back here; Sunnydale was the last place that he'd wanted to see again. He reconsidered that thought and changed his mind; he was never going to go back to that "it's a small world" ride again. He would have done anything for Dru, but that had tested his devotion to the utmost limits.
He wondered just what unnatural chastisements Walt was being subjected to in Hell; somehow Spike didn't think that liver pecking and rolling boulders would be quite evil enough to make up for the malevolence he had visited upon the world. What was it Mark Anthony had said? "The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones." If only this was true… oh yes, Walt was gonna burn, no doubt about it.
Things had gone from bad to worse over the past couple of years and he was determined to change his un-life around. Positive thinking, that was all he needed; he'd hung onto everyone else's coat-tails for too long – he was going to take control of his future for once.
He'd tried it all – he'd gone from being Buffy's little lap-dog to trying and failing to get Angel's approval. What a bunch of cock-ups he'd made there… he'd been lust-blinded by his irrational desire for Buffy and had mistaken it for love; that's why he'd gone to get the soul. It had taken him sacrificing himself to help her save the world yet again for her to say that she loved him; it was sweet but even as she said it, Spike knew it wasn't true. And he wasn't going to make a habit of over-grand gestures just to get her approval.
So he'd disappeared from all their lives and reappeared a few months later as an insubstantial shade in Angel's new offices. No eternal rest for the wicked then. Spike tried to make some peace with himself, with what he'd done in the past. He thought that Angel would understand and that he could, would, should help him out.
That was where Spike always went wrong, thinking he knew what others wanted… changing himself to be that. It was never enough and it always grated against his nature, so now he was going to do it right.
When Angel had asked them to follow him into the maws of certain annihilation Spike hadn't hesitated. Not for more than a few seconds anyway. He'd found companionship and a welcome of sorts from Angel's friends and if he was willing to sacrifice himself for Buffy's pals then he'd certainly do the same for people he was coming to think of as his own friends. That and the fact that he couldn't bear to lose yet another part of his family, and he'd undoubtedly thought of Angel like that. Father, brother, friend, and something else that Spike had hoped for.
In that desolate alleyway Spike had been ready to go, it was how he wanted to do it; they'd thrown themselves into battling the demons and the dragon. Somehow they had survived... thanks to the timely intervention of Buffy and hundreds of demons that Angel had helped in the past. Kneeling in exhaustion amongst the debris of severed demons' limbs Spike's heart had broken into a thousand tiny painful shards as Buffy had embraced Angel. He'd found the strength to raise himself up and stumble from the alleyway, and had headed towards the car, driving away from LA until he was too tired to go any further.
Within a week Spike knew that he'd made a hasty mistake, for he really couldn't survive on his own. The feeding and fighting was fine; he was still a Master Vampire, after all, so he would have been worried if there had been a problem with that. What he couldn't handle was not having anyone to talk to, to shout at him when he was annoying, hell even to annoy just to get a reaction.
He wasn't going to jump into just anything; he had learnt his lesson a while ago – thinking of Harmony still made him shiver, in a very bad way. Thank God she'd become more empowered by the time they met up again at Wolfram and Hart… she'd been okay for a quick screw, but had the unfortunate habit of wanting to talk afterwards. From experience Spike knew that throttling didn't stop her constant prattling; he'd finally given up, distracted by her eager yells of "More, more, more."
He'd actually sat down and thought it through, decided on what he wanted and how he was going to get it. He'd covered all the bases and nothing was going to go wrong this time. Firstly, he knew now that he didn't want Buffy, he wanted Angel - but he didn't want to be the one doing all the begging and crawling. He was going to get Angel to crawl this time, and he knew just how he was going to do it.
Spike wasn't going to rely on any stupid old love spell; they never worked anyway and were never permanent. The last thing he wanted was an extremely pissed off homicidal vampire after his ass – he could do without the pissed off part of the equation.
Spike was going to capture Angel's soul along with his heart. The theory was simple; a spell needed to be cast to ensure that all Angel thought about was him, developing a crazed need to be with him. The spell would be fixed on Angel's soul and so would be as permanent as that was… this was the only part of his plan that made Spike pause. However all he had to do was make sure that he never made Angel perfectly happy…
As usual, the theory was simple, but the practice wasn't. The spell was beyond his capabilities and he needed to find a certain type of witch or warlock to help him out. News of his fighting for the good guys had spread far and wide, and very few seemed willing to do this for him now. Spike had been about to give up and was getting nicely smashed in a bar when he heard about one warlock who would take anyone's money. Since then, he'd followed the nomadic mage around the country and had finally caught up with him. Back in good old Sunnydale.
Spike knocked on the door and was shocked when it was opened by a face he knew. "Hello. So are you going you going to invite me and my money in then?"
Spike's look of surprise was perfectly echoed in Ethan's face for a few seconds, and then he recovered himself enough to nod. "I've heard a vicious rumor that you don't snack on my kind anymore… Okay, please come in, Spike. Remember your manners, dear boy, and don't eat your host."
Ethan listened to Spike's request without comment and readily agreed to cast the spell, refraining from saying that he'd almost consider doing it for free. Not because of any misplaced friendship; they'd been aware of each other during their various jaunts in Sunnydale but hadn't really traveled in the same social circles.
Ethan was just astounded at the possibility for utter chaos contained within this appeal. He was also delighted that if it worked it would probably keep that constant thorn in his side here, Buffy, quite busy. However he knew that Spike would smell a rat if he didn't accept the money and it always came in useful.
Spike paid him the money and watched carefully as Ethan set out the elements for the ritual in silence, broken only by a question. "What was his name? Before he was turned, I mean. That's the particular soul we need to aim for, you see."
Spike hesitated for a short while, then let him into their secret and told Ethan the name. Angel knew the power of names and so kept his from becoming public knowledge - Spike knew that Buffy herself only knew Angel's first name. So much for them being soulmates… she thought she knew Angel, but she didn't.
To fully know Angel, you had to know Angelus and Liam as well – and accept that all three made up the creature he now was. Buffy would never accept Angelus whereas Spike did, moreover he loved him… Spike always had, it didn't matter what face he wore for Spike.
Incense hung heavy in the air as Ethan chanted away for what seemed to be hours. The room darkened suddenly and then Spike felt a pulse radiate out from Ethan, growing larger and stronger as it escaped the confines of this space. Ethan slumped briefly and then recollected himself, releasing a huge breath as he stood up shakily.
"Goodness, does take it out of you sometimes. Here you are." He pressed a small egg shaped green stone into Spike's hand. "It's the focus of the spell; to break it all you need to do is smash this."
He walked over to the window and peered out through the drapes. "It's still dark out, so I'm sure you won't mind if I withdraw my invitation. I'm tired and I'd like you to go. Sorry, not really feeling like a very gracious host at the moment."
Spike carefully put the stone into his pocket and nodded. "I understand. Though I'm not such a bad houseguest, or so I've been told as they've thrown me out. Well, it's been fun catching back up on old times, must do it again sometime."
Ethan just raised an eyebrow in disbelief and opened the door to let him back out. Spike paused as he went through the doorway. "Just curious… what'll happen… he isn't gonna be over the top, is he? He's not going to make anyone suspicious…"
"It'll be slow to start with. A few dreams, then he'll start thinking about you more and more when he's awake. Eventually, he'll have a compulsive urge to find you. When he does he won't want to leave you ever again. That's why you've got the stone – it gives you an out." Ethan pushed him backwards a little.
"Cheers mate, but I'm not going to need it." Spike said to the closed door.
~Part: 3~
Liam was slightly annoyed that his regular supplier couldn't deliver any more materials until the end of the week. He'd only moved a few hours away from Los Angeles; it was hardly the other side of the world. Then again, he wasn't that happy with the quality of the clay he'd been using recently. On one of his earlier strolls through town he'd noticed an arts supplies shop and had made up his mind to try it out.
The doorbell jangled behind him as he stepped through the door and into a space heavy with the familiar smell of paints and oils overlaying a faint yet stranger smell. No-one else was in the shop but Liam could hear movement out back.
"Hullo! Anyone here?" Liam called out as he looked along the shelves, impressed with the quality of the stock displayed. With his back to the doorway that led to the rear of the shop he didn't notice the man enter quietly.
"Sounds like someone else who's far from home." The soft English accent made him twitch in surprise and he spun round to find a dark-haired man standing behind the counter.
"Yeah, you could say that. Don't mind too much but sometimes I miss the rain - this constant sun's such a bitch." Liam walked towards the man and rested his hands on the counter. "I'm wondering if you supply clays as well."
The man flicked through some papers nearby, checking one in particular. "Yes, I can certainly do that – I'm expecting a delivery this afternoon. Can you come back after two?"
"That'll be fine. Thank you Mr…" Liam paused, aware that he didn't actually know the storekeeper's name.
"Rayne… but just call me Ethan." He smiled and waited for Liam to leave the shop. He could hardly stop himself from rubbing his hands together in wicked delight - it was absolutely perfect timing; he had just finished suffusing the clay with the mystic shem. All it would take was a word to begin the spell.
Oddly enough, he thought to himself, that chap had reminded him somewhat of the vampire that Spike had wanted the spell cast on. If it hadn't been for the bright sunlight pouring through the window onto him, Ethan might have almost mistaken him for Angel.
****
Liam's mood had brightened as soon as he started using the clay; it seemed to flow into intricate figures under his touch. He played around for a while making tiny insects, mainly butterflies and dragonflies, astounded at the delicate shapes the clay was able to hold.
His thoughts returned to his dream once again; yet this time he felt better about it. He'd become conscious that he was only giving identity to his idea of the perfect man, his ideal partner. Maybe he existed somewhere – and if fate decreed that they meet, so be it. Until then he was going to try to create that face again, buoyed by the success of the minute creatures he'd been making.
This time his hands worked as though possessed, thumbs gouging and shaping the features, fingers smoothing the skin. Each curl of hair lay tightly against the head and the jaw swept down from high cheekbones to a proud chin. The mouth fell slightly open with the corners pulling up into the possible start of a smile. The only part of the face that he was still unhappy with was the eyes.
Liam sat back and stretched with the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows almost giving him a feeling of deja-vu. This morning, however, he was far happier with what he'd produced; it still needed a little more work, but it was better than before. Drained by the night's efforts, he dragged himself over to the couch and crumpled fully clothed in an untidy heap.
Before long the dream began again. He reached out towards the man but instead of touching his face, Liam's hands met the defined muscles of his chest. Running his hands over the strong torso he could feel his own desire rise, yet right then he wanted nothing more than to kiss and taste that beautiful, tempting skin.
His hands smoothed up towards the shoulders and then down the arms, loving the hidden strength concealed within the taut biceps. Liam felt saddened by the lack of reaction from his dream-mate until their hands brushed together; then he would have sworn that there was a quick twitch as their hands met. He brought his palms back against this effigy's own and held them there as his dream faded away.
`for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.'
Liam felt exhilarated as he awoke and stretched his arms high above his head and yawned, shaking his head to clear it. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime the day before. He would sort that out after going to the bathroom but first he wanted to take another look at the bust.
He stood in front of the head and bent down to peer carefully at it. There was definitely something different about it, and that perplexed him. He was sure that he hadn't worked that closely on the eyes; in spite of this he could see tiny little wrinkles at the corners echoing the humor hanging on the lips. He straightened up and shrugged, realizing that he had been so tired when he finished that a herd of tap dancing giraffes could have twirled through the room and he wouldn't have noticed.
One thing was certain though, he wanted to make this a full size figure and if he was going to cast it then he would need more money. On his way to the bathroom Liam stopped to call Joyce and invited her over to have a look at the bust.
****
Joyce was at the door with two other younger women, a blonde and a red-head, all looking expectantly at him. "Hello again, Liam. Thanks for calling me – I hope you don't mind, my daughter Buffy, and her friend Willow. I've told them all about you and they're desperate to meet you."
"That's okay, the more the merrier. Welcome to my humble abode. Please, won't you come in?" Liam's hand swept through the air in a welcoming gesture, inviting the women in.
They walked through the doorway and followed Liam into the studio. At first Buffy didn't seem able to take her eyes off him; then she glanced at the bust and gasped aloud.
She walked over to the stand and raised her hand towards it, but stopped herself from touching. "This... how... it's Sp-"
Willow jumped in quickly before Buffy could say anything more. "It's special, that's what it is. Who's the inspiration?"
Liam was starting to become convinced that the womenfolk of Sunnydale were all a bit peculiar. "It's kinda strange. He's a face I saw in a dream once." He wasn't going expound any more on the dream, either content or frequency – he didn't want them to think he was the weird one.
"Well, I think it's a perfect depiction, but there's something not quite right." Joyce was now standing next to Buffy, examining the head.
"It's the eyes... only a suggestion, but you might want to have a scar... right here." Joyce pointed to the eyebrow. "Otherwise he's just too perfect. It needs something to... humanize him."
Willow giggled at this, and then went wide eyed and innocent faced.
"Enough of the criticism already. Anyone want a drink?" Joyce nodded happily at Liam's suggestion. "Good, I've got some nice wine in the kitchen, let's adjourn there and we can chat some more."
Liam showed them into the kitchen, poured out the wine and soon the conversation was flowing as freely as the drink. He found out that Joyce had another daughter and that like him, they had moved to Sunnydale from Los Angeles.
"What do you think about magic and all that?" Willow asked; her concentration fixed on pouring out the last of the bottle, shaking the final drops.
"Healthily skeptical, thank you, never seen no leprechauns or banshees." Liam leaned forward; he was interested to see where Willow was going with this.
Buffy looked very serious all of a sudden. "Lots of things go bump in the night. Nasty things, big scary teeth things... Ouch!" Buffy rubbed her side where Willow had poked her.
"Yep, better check under your bed, look in your closet." Willow grinned at Liam. "I'm kinda into that... ever had your fortune told? Want to know about your past life experiences?"
Liam shook his head. "No, not really been interested in that kind of thing."
The next few hours passed in a blur and looking back on it, Liam could only really remember showing the women back out and wishing them a safe journey home. He was extremely puzzled when Buffy fixed him with a vexed glare and strode off into the night. Nevertheless, the evening had been fun and relaxed on the whole, even if he was sure that he needed to drink much more to become that forgetful.
****
"Condescending, arrogant..." Buffy muttered as she walked away from the house, making Willow and Joyce speed up to fall in step with her. "So what's with the Angel-a-like, Willow?"
"I can't be positive, because the spell doesn't have a hundred percent guarantee. Also, I'd like to actually be an empath to know if I got it right... Okay, don't get all antsy with me." Willow frowned at Buffy briefly then wiped the look away.
"Seems to be working fine – come on, tell me. We know it's not Angel, because we've spoken to him. We know he's not a drifting soul because Angel's not all Grrr, and we're still all alive here, so no Angelus. So what is he?" Buffy stopped walking and crossed her arms, waiting for Willow's explanation.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. He is human, he is a Liam, and there's some connection to Angel – or to Angel's past human life. I feel bad inside, all churned up, like I got all the answers wrong in a test." Willow grabbed at her belly and made a sick looking face for emphasis. "The spell says he's a reincarnation of Angel's human soul. And that scores so high on the gotta be wrong meter because Angel has a soul. I know that as undeniable fact – I'm the queen of putting his soul back."
"Something's so wrong here... I've got that creepy tingling going up my spine. And what about the Spike head? Major freak-out there." Buffy started walking again, determined to reach home as soon as possible and contact Angel. They were going to have to figure out exactly what had happened... this was too much like a warning sign. Buffy knew that if signs were ignored they had a tendency to blow up in your face.
~Part: 4~
The cemetery appeared to be deserted, but Spike thought that he’d take a peek around it anyway. He couldn’t believe that he was still doing this – patrolling, helping her out. Not that Buffy knew about it, he’d made sure that he stayed out of her way and he certainly hoped that she didn’t know he was about.
Anyway, he wasn’t doing it to redeem himself or anything stupid like that; it just stopped him sitting in the dank crypt he’d ‘borrowed’. Waiting for Angel to turn up… and he was going to turn up, Spike was sure of it. Fingering the stone in his pocket, feeling the polished smoothness of it, he started to think that Ethan Rayne had merely been having a laugh at his expense. A very costly laugh.
If there was no sign of Angel soon - if Spike didn’t hear anything about him, then he and Mr Rayne were going to have a little talk. A talk which would involve various soft bits of Ethan’s anatomy and Spike’s fists and boots, along with a fair amount of screaming on the double-dealer’s part. Spike’s soul may have been forcing him to fight for ‘good’ but he could still get the job done. Loved getting it done, in fact.
Walking noiselessly amongst the gravestones, Spike wondered just why it was considered okay to kill demons when there were plenty of humans around who were just as evil… more evil, in fact. Humans had souls yet they did despicable things, and to Spike’s way of thinking that was even worse – they knew better but they still did it. So why was he given such shit now for just acting according to his nature when he didn’t have the ruddy spark back then? Just how long was he going to have to keep on paying?
From behind the crypts to his left a giggle floated towards him on the balmy air, breaking him out of his reverie. Not wanting to interrupt anything he started to walk away from the sounds; then the giggles sharpened and heightened into a screech. Tasting the fear that hung in the air, Spike ran towards and past the mausoleum nearest to him.
At first glance, it looked like a group of teenage boys were picking on a couple of frightened girls. One cowered on the ground shaking in fright with her head buried beneath her arms, trying to curl up into a protective ball. The other girl was being pushed helplessly from one laughing teenager to another.
Spike stepped into the middle of the circle and grabbed the girl. He fixed his very best ‘don’t even think about messing with me’ look on his face. “Think you’d better stop that, son. Don’t think the girls want to play no more.”
“I think they do. I still want to play, so just find an elsewhere to be, old guy.” The kid that answered Spike shrugged his shoulders, moving his head from side to side as he morphed into game face.
“You think that’s scary? Leave them alone, let them go, and I won’t take care of you right now. Up to you though, mate.” Spike felt that he had to give them the option, wondering what sort of freak turned school kids. Yeah, okay, he and Dru had done it themselves in the past, but it had been part of his plans at the time. Not a thing he would have done just for fun. Maybe.
The boy spun round and launched himself at Spike with a roar, missing him completely as Spike sidestepped. Instead he almost buried his head in the wall of the mausoleum. Spike grabbed hold of his collar and threw him to the ground, kicking him in the head for good measure.
“Go home. Run! Now!” Spike growled at the girls as the other vampires’ attentions were now fixed on him. The girls took one terrified look at them and turned tail, moving away at high speed.
“Not been a good week, ‘m a bit frustrated really. Let’s see if I can’t work my frustrations out.” Spike shifted into game face himself at the same time as his hands went inside his duster, bringing out a stake in each hand. One went straight into the vamp still lying on the floor and the other, without looking, into the vamp that tried to jump him as he started to get back up.
Waving the cloud of dust away from his face, Spike saw the last vamp hightail it away from him in the direction the girls had taken. What a stupid fool, Spike thought, he was probably just trying to get away - and if he’d gone in any other direction Spike would have let him go tonight. If he didn’t get him tonight, there was always tomorrow.
Spike moved quickly through the trees into which the vamp had headed, but before he could get him he heard a familiar voice. He stopped and listened to Buffy’s trademark witticisms. Before the chip and the soul, he’d sometimes wanted her to actually stake him so that he wouldn’t have to listen to those quips anymore.
Through the trees Spike could just make out Buffy and someone else in the shade. As Buffy spun and did all that unnecessary show-off flipping and kicking stuff, finally staking the vampire, the other person moved forwards out of the shadows and a lump rose in Spike’s throat.
Angel. It was Angel. Angel was there… and he was with Buffy. Ethan was so dead – or he would wish that he was after Spike had finished with him. Bollocks to the soul, Spike was going to enjoy taking him through the nice little torture games that Angelus had taught him. Spike willed his anger down; it would be okay unless Angel hugged her, but just to make sure he shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t see it.
He moved backwards, away from the fading voices, and swore silently as he thumped up against a tree. He opened his eyes and was happy that he couldn’t see Buffy any longer. Angel was moving through the copse which made Spike sigh in relief… until he realised that the stupid git was moving away from him.
He started to run after Angel, and then remembered that the whole point of the spell had been that Angel was supposed to chase him. He stopped suddenly, and lost his footing in a slippery mud puddle, going arse over tit and crashing noisily forwards into the undergrowth. He whacked his head soundly on something pretty solid and everything went dark.
****
Spike came too with a head that felt like it was at the very least ten sizes far too big to fit within his skin. Through the haze he was aware of a couple of things. Firstly, he was lying on his side on a very comfortable bed in a dimly lit room. Next, and more importantly, his pain was being soothed away by a gentle hand stroking his hair.
Angel’s other hand was resting lightly on Spike’s hip almost, but not quite, holding him. Ignoring the brief flash of nausea that rose up as he moved, Spike turned over so that he was now face to face with Angel. Even with the spell, Spike had been worried about how Angel would feel about him – he’d only just realised that he’d simply asked for Angel to become obsessed with him. This was good if Angel liked or, best of all, loved Spike but would be very bad if he hated him.
Possibly the worst thing he’d said since he’d been in Africa – “make me what I was…” – he should think these things through before he opened his mouth.
The dark eyes were clear and fixed on him, but the brow was knitted together in what Spike hoped was concern. Angel’s mouth twitched as though he was going to smile but had thought better of it. “What happened to you?”
Spike drew in nearer to Angel who didn’t pull away or flinch when Spike draped an arm around his waist. “Tried to cut down a tree with my noggin. Don’t try it, doesn’t work and it hurts like hell.”
This time the smile did appear briefly. “No, stupid. I meant in LA… when I couldn’t find you I thought… you know what they say… you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. I thought you’d been dusted - until I couldn’t find the car either.”
Spike stopped Angel’s mouth with a finger to his lips, pressing it softly against them as he spoke. “Angel, don’t worry about the past. If that crap taught me anything, it taught me to live for now. And do you know what I want right now?”
Angel nodded and moved his head slightly so the tip of Spike’s index finger was resting against his bottom lip. His mouth parted and his tongue darted out, swirling around the tip of Spike’s finger then drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it. Spike whimpered and pulled his hand away, his finger leaving Angel’s mouth with a satisfying slurp.
That simple but erotic action had made Spike desperate to get rid of all the layers of clothing between them. He pushed Angel onto his back and lay on top of him, grinding their hips together as he swept down onto Angel’s lips. His mind whispered something from The Tempest, ‘open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly’ – he might have said it but his mouth was engaged in happier pursuits. Angel responded by grabbing his butt tightly and holding Spike as close as he could to him whilst their tongues twisted and tussled.
Eventually Spike wrenched himself away and rolled back off Angel but with his hand softly stroking along the growing bulge in Angel’s pants. “Guess you’re happy to see me then.”
Angel grabbed Spike’s wandering hand and pushed it inside the waistband, undoing the zip as Spike’s fingers snaked southwards. He gasped as Spike began to play with the curls down there and wriggled more into the wicked touch. “Happy isn’t the word for it. Does begin with h and end with y still.”
Spike snickered and pulled his hand away, slapping Angel roughly on the chest at the ‘hey’ this act brought on. He sat up and started to unbutton his shirt, then leant over and kissed Angel on the neck, dragging blunt teeth along the stilled artery. Pleased at the shiver that ran through Angel, Spike carried on removing his own clothes and then helped Angel take off his.
He knew what Angel wanted, yet wanted to dazzle him with his eloquent declarations of love. Shakespeare would be shaking in his boots. His hand stroked and scratched Angel’s chest as he leant over, raising his eyebrows. “So, wanna shag then?”
Spike yelped with delight as Angel’s strong grip pulled him back down and then moaned as their cocks brushed against each other. He raised himself up, a hand on either side of Angel’s shoulders, then dipped his head and trailed a wet line of kisses down Angel’s torso, rising back up and licking first one nipple, then the other. He sucked on one and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, feeling it harden under his mouth then did the same to the other, revelling in the power he had over Angel’s body.
As Spike’s cool mouth travelled down he was delighted when Angel arched his back, his cock brushing against Spike’s chest. He wanted to tease Angel so much more, but he was ultimately just too hungry for him. It had been so long, too long since they’d been together. He wanted to devour him, to possess him completely. Spike lifted his head back up and looked at Angel. His face was a picture, completely ecstatic, the dark brown eyes flecked with gold.
Spike knew that this was the time to tell Angel, when he was in the dual grips of lust and desire and unable to reason things through. His hand grabbed Angel’s cock and started to stroke it. “Angel, I still love you.”
Then, before Angel could say anything, Spike’s mouth went down towards the wonderful piece of flesh he held so lovingly. His tongue lapped at the tip and Angel lunged up towards him. Unable to hold back any longer, Spike took him in completely and slid his mouth up and down, licking along the sensitive underside.
Angel couldn’t control himself and started to fuck Spike’s willing mouth, thrusting passionately, his hands pushing Spike’s head against his groin. All too soon Spike sensed Angel’s body tense then shudder as he came, pulsating deep inside Spike’s throat and yelling joyfully.
Spike swallowed all that he could, and then slowly slid his mouth off Angel’s softening cock, moving back up and kissing Angel’s lips again. He almost laughed as he felt Angel twitch against him already, knowing that it was the taste of both of them on his own lips that was doing it.
Fine. Yes, he did love Angel but he was going to learn that things were different now – those power games were a thing of the past. Spike was very glad his headache had gone – he had a feeling this was going to be a long, hot night and he was looking forward to it.
~Part: 5~
Angel’s arms wrapped tenderly around Spike, one hand gently brushing the small of his back, fingers playing a silent refrain on the contours of his spine. For the moment Spike was happy to stay like that, resting on Angel’s well-built frame and exploring this alien yet familiar intimacy.
Spike wondered how much time he had wasted in not letting Angel know what he felt - a year, two years, over a century… He had always needed him in this way; even from that first moment he saw him, swaggering in after Drusilla to be met by him… bold and so beautiful. Drusilla had captured his heart and his imagination instantly, but Angelus had been so different to anyone he’d ever known.
It had always seemed like the wrong time to talk about it. If the poetic William had followed his first instincts and waxed lyrical about Angelus’s animal savagery then he would have been speedily cast off as a useless minion. Instead he’d kept the tiny scraps of paper filled with his spidery script with him always, hiding the truths from the rest of his family.
He hadn’t realized until Wolfram and Hart that Angelus had actually known about the odes and sonnets. At the time he had still been doing the Friendly Ghost thing so he’d deliberately ignored the speculative empathy from Angel and the moment was quickly lost.
When he’d gotten his body back again, he’d hadn’t been able to recapture that fleeting instant of mutual understanding and reaching out to each other. At least it had given him hope. He’d tried to think of what to say so many times, but to be quite honest they’d had that Buffy thing stopping them. Everything always had to be about her, and Spike was surprised that he hadn’t realized at first just how self-centered she was.
Though Buffy did have reason to be selfish – it couldn’t have been easy to know that she had a sacred calling when she was just a kid. Once more time Spike lamented his damnable sympathetic emotions… once the scales of insane lust had fallen from his eyes he had to admit he still sort of liked her. Hell, if it hadn’t been for her crazy ideas of a ‘happy ever after’ with Angel he probably wouldn’t have avoided her during the past week.
Spike’s head dropped down into the just right sized space underneath Angel’s chin and his eyes closed. He wanted Angel so much, but right now he wanted to be loved even more. This was comfortable, like curling up in front of a glimmering fire wrapped in a soft blanket, like warm blood and Weetabix, like being part of his family again. He could make himself wait for the sex if the cuddles were going to be this good… in the end he and Angel did have an eternal ‘ever after’ to look forward to.
He was so relaxed that he started to drift into sleep and was startled when Angel’s voice rumbled low, making his throat vibrate softly against Spike’s ear. “Are you asleep?”
“Mmmm… no… resting my eyelids is all.” Spike purred faintly and moved his head, rubbing it against Angel’s neck like a cat marking its territory.
Angel’s hand stopped its circuitous exploration of Spike’s back and cupped the base of his skull, fingers gently smoothing over the soft hollow at the nape. Spike melted into the touch, his liquefied brain barely registering Angel’s question. “Whadya say? Ohh…”
“I asked what you wanted us to do now.” Angel’s tone was extraordinarily patient as if he was explaining something very complicated to a young child. Spike was prepared to forgive him for now if he carried on being such a wonderfully soft cuddly teddy.
“Don’t really know. Can’t we kiss and make up a bit more?” Spike’s tentative suggestion was met with a laugh from Angel who pushed him off as he slapped Spike’s rear.
“Fine by me.” Angel turned a shocked Spike onto his back and shot down to the foot of the bed. Spike was about to ask what Angel had in mind when he bent down and started trailing tender little kisses along Spike’s legs, heading upwards. Not kisses really, no puckering lips and gentle little butterflies fluttering along his skin. Angel’s mouth fell into an ‘O’ and each time he touched Spike he would suck in a little, then release and move on a bit higher.
Spike found himself thinking in his rapidly reducing rational moments that Angel wasn’t that far removed from Angelus. Both were capable of making him turn immediately into quivering mush and both were extremely fond of torture - the only difference being that Angelus had preferred penetrating his body with jagged metal instruments. Angel was clearly far more sophisticated and about a thousand times more evil, even in spite of the soul.
Spike groaned at the interminable exquisite agony being inflicted on his senses. Angel’s cool mouth had eventually traveled up as far as the inside of Spike’s thigh, and he’d begun to alternate light lapping with the ‘kisses’. Spike tried to release the sheet gathered into his clenched fists, wanting to grab Angel’s head and redirect that mouth. He could have just told him where to go and what to do but his brain was all misfiring connections.
Then an idea occurred to him and he quickly slid down the bed a touch until Angel’s hair was tickling against him. Spike’s already semi-erect cock sprang fully up with that sensory overload and he willed himself to calm down. He was convinced that any other simple movement by Angel was going to push him over the edge and he just didn’t want to lose control like that. He’d thought the days that Angelus could make him come with just a touch and looks were far away and thankfully gone.
Then the door swung open and Buffy walked in and gasped. Spike’s head shot round and unsurprisingly the amazement on her face was reflected in Spike’s instant deflation.
“Fuck, knock next time, bitch.” Spike tried to grab at anything to cover himself but Angel was in the way so he seized him by the hair and pulled his head up, snarling through gritted teeth. “You didn’t lock the door?”
Angel pulled himself away from Spike’s tight grip, wincing as a few hairs were yanked out. He sat up and patted Spike’s leg affectionately. “Relax; it’s nothing Buffy hasn’t seen before… almost. I didn’t think this was going to happen and I kinda forgot that we weren’t alone here.”
As Angel spoke Spike grabbed a pillow and tried to cover his own nakedness. Buffy may well have seen it all before but she wasn’t getting a free floorshow now. Mercifully she looked to be almost as embarrassed as Spike felt, her face having gone from bone-white to scarlet within seconds.
“I remember saying I wanted you two to wrassle it out, but I didn’t think you’d really be up for it. Ohhh…” Buffy’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair as she realized what she was saying. She blinked and pursed her lips together; thinking of how to rescue the situation and then gave up, backing out through the door. “We’ve got a situation. We need to talk.”
Spike whispered a thousand curses silently in his mind as he got out of bed and found his clothes. No matter what he resolved to do he always ended up jumping through hoops on demand for her. He felt a little satisfaction, however, seeing that Angel had done exactly the same thing. He felt even more pleased to see a look of dark annoyance settle on Angel’s face. Yes, they were a pair of obedient dogs, well trained to growl and bare their teeth on command, but they didn’t have to like it.
He’d see what she couldn’t handle herself again, he and Angel would sort it out. Then they would get the hell out of there and on with the rest of their future. Glancing back over his shoulder he resisted the urge to smile at Angel and merely jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go see what’s wrong this time.”
****
Liam’s hands swept lightly over the unresponsive limbs, caressing the corded muscles that he’d formed with those same hands. Shutting his eyes he was almost able to infuse that cold clay with the feeling of warm flesh. More than anything he wished that he was holding the dream that had inspired this statue; that he was able to act upon the overpowering desire that was burning him up inside.
He’d worked during the daytime, determined to get back into a much less Creature of the Night routine. Still, though the hours had sped past he’d taken far less time to complete it than he’d thought. Liam was physically drained again, but elated with his progress and this time he managed to clean up before he collapsed again on the couch in his studio, gazing at the statue.
****
Dawn smiled up at Joyce as her mother looked over her shoulder and murmured approval at the whimsical creatures she was drawing. Unicorns and sprites ranged across the large sheets of paper, inhabiting a fantastical landscape of rainbows, moons and mountains.
“Do you like them then?” Joyce knew the answer already from the hug that Dawn had given her when the parcel had arrived. Nevertheless, when Dawn nodded she couldn’t help the little bit of mischief that rose up. “Good. I think helping clear up in the kitchen will say thank you enough.”
Dawn groaned, but put her work down anyway and followed Joyce out to the kitchen.
****
Ethan packed the last of his bags into the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. He was tempted to stay in Sunnydale to see how things played out but there were just too many major players being drawn back there. He’d just have to settle for the satisfaction of knowing that things would be going very badly for them all.
They would probably figure out eventually where the problems all began, but they’d only find the burnt-out crucible there and not him. After all this time, Ethan had become rather attached to his life, such as it was. Although he was sure that the Slayer and her pet ensouled vampires wouldn’t take a human life he wasn’t going to test that theory right now.
Anyway, there wasn’t anything life-threatening this time. If they did catch up with him, he could put it all right again. ‘Gentles, do not reprehend, if you pardon, we will mend.’
next | back