Distribution: Organized Insanity (http://www.geocities.com/crazyevildru/index.htm), otherwise ask me
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Angel(us)/Darla, Darla POV
Spoilers: everything and nothing
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the characters. I'm just depressing them for a while.
Summery: "During the Depression.. My depression- I was depressed there." -City Of : This is a possible scenario for what (who) Angel might have done while in Missoula.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Thirty-five years. Thirty-five long years- sometimes it hardly seems like it's been any time at all while at other times it seems like it's been longer. Another life- another place.
And it was.
Nevertheless, there he is, sitting on my bed, covered in dirt and mud, smelling like vermin. I can't say that I'm surprised, because I'm not. I felt him when I got off the train and perhaps that's the very reason *why* I got off here in Missoula.
I don't let his presence faze me though; I've always been strong-willed liked that. So I walk in and close the door behind me before placing the keys on the table beside the door. I shrug off my coat and place it neatly on the nearby chair.
God- just looking at him makes my blood run cold (cold*er*, anyway). Yet I want him just the same. He's *mine*. That soul, that filthy thing, reeks. It's just a constant reminder that I tried to save him and bring him back to me; but I failed.
And we both suffer because of it.
I look at him, finally making eye contact, as I step out of my shoes.
"Darla-" he says, with that voice just like my boy. I can almost pretend it's he- My darling boy, "Angelus-" the name rolls off my tongue like old times.
"I wasn't sure if-" he stops himself. And I'm glad. I don't really feel like debating the reasons of why he should be here or why he should go. If I hadn't wanted to see him, I would have stayed on the train.
And as much as it sickens me to see what he's become- I wanted to make sure he was okay. I wanted to see for myself that he hadn't been hurt because he still is my childe- even if he does have a soul.
I guess I was just feeling lonely.
I still am.
"You're filthy," I state. "Living in the sewers?" He just nods his head and averts his eyes in shame.
His dirty face barely resembles the man I found in that bar in Galway. Was that even in this lifetime?
His hair is disgusting. It clearly hasn't been cut in years- cleaned either. I can smell the dead rats in the air around him. Their dried blood stains his clothes.
"I'll draw you a bath," I say.
"You don't have-"
"Just be quiet and get those clothes off my bed."
He doesn't say anything, but stands up as I walk into the bathroom. I ate a banker and cleaned out the safe last week and it certainly has given me the funds to travel as I please, and live as I want. He *was* right- I like the view. And I'm glad I paid the extra for the nicest room in this godforsaken town. It has all the newest amenities that a small town could offer- and it's pretty nice considering the depression humans are in.
He stands in the door before stepping inside the bathroom. "Give me your clothes," I tell him. I can't take that dead stench anymore. I don't know how he lives with it.
He begins to peel the layers away and by the time I have a pile of clothes in my hand, the room has been drenched in the smell of death and decay. He stands there, not knowing what to do, as I grab a garbage bag and dispose of the clothing (if one could call it that.)
I move past him, ignoring his erection. (Some things *don't* ever change. I still get to my boy- even if it isn't really him.)
I shut off the water and then leave the room, closing the door behind me. I leave the bag of clothes outside the door to be thrown away. A quick phone call later and I've arranged for new clothes to be delivered within the hour. In the meantime, he can finish getting cleaned up.
I grab the scissors and a few candles- surely it'll be better than the smell of him- on my way back to the bathroom. I knock quickly on the door and find him submersed in the hot water, scratching at the dirt on his arm.
He's thin. I can see his ribs. He hasn't been feeding well. This fact doesn't surprise me and I can feel his eyes on me as I place the candles on the sink. I light the candles and pull the drain of the tub.
Already the water has browned and he watches as I perch on the edge of the tub. "Turn around," I tell him and he doesn't question me, but moves so his back is to me.
After a century of practice, I have gotten pretty good at cutting hair. And I used to do Drusilla's all the time, and William's as well (once he decided that 'Spike' needed short hair.)
I cut his quickly, making sure to take all the matted, crusted clumps off.
"Where are Spike and Dru?" He asks. Apparently, he's decided that since I'm seemingly taking care of him, he can ask a question and perhaps have a conversation with me.
And I don't really object, because I *am* lonely. There hasn't been much to do the past ten years since the Master was trapped in the Hellmouth. And we're still working on getting him out, but no one knows anything and I've grown tired and waiting for him to come back. There *have* to be bigger and better things waiting for me than freeing a man I really don't like anyway. (Angelus was certainly one of those better things.)
"Last I knew, they were traipsing around Europe."
"They don't stay with you anymore?" What happened to that stern tone I once knew? That confidence that dripped from his voice? And what happened to that Irish accent that spoke so proudly of his homeland? I always- of course it doesn't matter what I liked before.
But I wonder. has he just not spoken in thirty years?
I replace the plug and start a stream of fresh water into the tub. I hand him the bar of soap and he takes to rubbing it over himself, scrubbing as he goes. I sit on the edge of the tub and watch how his muscles still move the same way, still look the same and I wonder for a scond if they would feel the same.
"No. They stayed in China, but I left. I bore easily."
"I remember," he says with a half a smirk.
"Yes, well-" I smile a bit and grab the small bottle of shampoo that I sent for earlier. He stifles a groan as I start to massage it through his hair.
"I missed you, Darla," he says as I finish and stand up.
I rinse my hands off in the sink and there's a knock on the door. So I leave.
It's the clothes. I take them from the deliveryman and think of feeding, but I'm not too hungry. I fed well this past evening.
I place the clothes at the edge of the bed and the bathroom door opens and he walks out- completely naked. He never was very modest. Some things never change. Do they?
I can see so much pain in his eyes as he walks over and just sinks to his knees at my feet. His arms encircle my legs, as if begging me for something. "I'm sorry, Darla. I'm so sorry," he says over and over and I will *not* tolerate this filthy soul.
"Get up," I growl. "You may not be much of a vampire- but you can still stand up and be a man." He doesn't move so I kick him away from me and go into the bathroom. I drain the tub and put the candles out.
I take a moment to stand there in the dark- not that the dark matters much to me.
There have been times, in the past thirty-seven years, when I've hated what we are, everything we do and this cursed need for blood so much. And it's not because I care- not as if I had a soul. I just know that if things were different, he wouldn't have fed off that girl. The girl *I* brought him.
I just wish things were different. Instead, I have to exist with the fact that *I* did this to him.
Angelus- my darling boy.
I walk out and he's completely dressed, standing near the door. "Thank you," he says before turning away.
"Angelus-" I whisper. What has become of us? What happened that would find us here? Where did we go?
He turns to me and I sit on the bed. I'm so tired of being alone.
"You've barely been feeding," I say and he just looks at me, as if shocked that I would even think of commenting on it. As if I'm going to tell him to kill another baby and prove himself to me. But that's not what this is about.
"I do what I can," he finally replies, taking a step toward me.
I slowly fold up my sleeve and hold out my wrist. He just stares at me like I've grown a third eye and have caught on fire. He was always a bit dense, my boy. Some things never change.
"I- I can't-" he mumbles.
"Don't be ridiculous, Angelus. Come here," I order and he slowly approaches me, as if expecting it to be a trick of some kind. I guess I just want to feel something familiar for a while.
He kneels at my feet again and I move my wrist to his lips. "Are you-"
"Yes, Angelus. Take what you need."
He nods and his beautiful features take over his face as his fangs slide effortlessly into my skin. I feel his lips close over my skin as he takes me into his being in gulps and I can't help but be turned on by that. Angelus and I always did like to share blood- even more so than other vampires.
He holds my wrist to his mouth as he inhales my blood and I swear he's crying- or close to it.
Thirty-five years of not feeling my childe near has hurt me, too.
"Angelus-" he looks up at me and releases his hold on my wrist. It falls away from his fangs and my blood stains his lips, dripping onto his new shirt.
"Sorry, I-" but his apologies are lost when I yank him up to me and cover his mouth with mine. His mouth feels the same as it always did. Hard and soft in all the right places and the taste of my blood has washed the taste of rats from his mouth. I pull him with me further up on the bed until he covers me and settles onto my body, feeling just the same as he always did.
He grinds his hips against mine just like before- except for being a little more insistent. I can almost close my eyes and pretend that William is entertaining Drusilla down the hall and I just returned from a trip. His hands slide to my chest, tearing at my shirt. Some things never change.
Before I know it, he's torn all my clothes from my body and his lips are covering my neck and breasts- biting my nipples- while his hands travel up and down over my sex. His fingers barely slip inside me as he pets me, strokes me, making me churn, coating my insides for his pleasure. For *our* pleasure.
Yes- if I close my eyes, we're back then and I'm ripping his clothes off- just as he did mine, growling all the while, as his teeth tear at my flesh.
I feel him at my neck and my eyes fly open as I arch into his fingers, which have just claimed their rightful place inside my body. The eyes I see- staring at me. they're not him.
They're close enough. But I grab his hair roughly and pull him away from my neck. Only my mate can have my flesh there- and he's not my mate anymore.
But he's close enough for now, to relieve this ache I have inside me. I'm a whore for Angelus. Some things never change.
I push his shoulders down my body and close my eyes again, taking myself back to believing I've just returned home after a week long trip and he's desperately hungry for me.
His mouth takes familiar routes down my stomach, teasing the blonde curls between my legs. His tongue swipes up and down, grazing my clit and the dripping place his fingers are resting. His fingers just move a little inside me, twisting, opening and closing and I grip them as he tries to move them and tease me.
"Darla-" he moans as I hold his hair and push him toward my moist flesh.
Bring some life back to this body, Angelus- that rarely happens anymore.
He heeds my orders and begins to tongue me- flitting around and nipping in all the right places. He makes me whimper and scream and buck into his hands and mouth, burying his tongue and fingers deeper inside.
"Angelus-" I growl. He lifts my hips to his mouth and buries his face inside me, as if to find sanctuary. He opens me to him more with his hands that push my thighs down so he can reach inside me with his fangs, which tear me and bleed me for him.
I scream and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I shudder violently, pouring my pleasure into his mouth.
He replaces my hips on the bed and I look down at him. My cum covers his lips and drips from his chin onto the new sheets.
"Darla- can I-" Actually asking permission to enter me. Not *my* Angelus- but as I flip him over and impale myself on him. I don't care. He's close enough.
He fills me completely, same as always, and we just stare at each other for a while as I move on him- slowly. I sink down on him so slowly for a while to really feel him- let him feel me.
I don't kiss him though- that's something for another time, another us, when we had innocent blood on our lips, when our fangs cut each other until we bled ourselves into each other and drank ourselves back again.
I just pump my hips- continuously impaling myself on his familiar body. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and I can almost pretend it's *his* hands that glide over my body, caressing me and squeezing my clit as I near another climax.
He slips his finger inside me as I come down on his erection again and presses my g-spot- a place he claimed as his when he tongued me that first night after we'd fed on half his village.
I shriek when I come, dousing him in my essence again.
He finally flips us over and starts pounding into my body, seeking his own release, assuming I'll let him have it. But I'm so desperate to close my eyes and pretend I'm back in Italy before souls and gypsies that I let him do it. I let him pretend to be my Angelus.
He hits that spot inside me every time. He knows what I like, just like always. He slams into my body and I raise my hips to meet his and growl as I pull him inside me- deeper each time.
"Open your eyes," he whispers.
They flutter open just as he screams my name and I feel him explode inside me before I too go over the edge once more. And for one single second- he's my Angelus and I'm his sire and everything's exactly the same.
He falls on top of me and my hands feel his skin- his ribs- and that earlier moment is over. He has a soul and feeds off of rats. Unfortunately, some things never change.
He looks into my eyes and I'm sick of seeing his disgusting pain.
"I'm not him," he tells me. As I if I need the reminder. It's all I can think about, Angelus. You needn't remind me of how everything changed. But I'm glad he does. It makes it easier and he knows it. He and that soul want it to be easier- either that or they want to punish me. He stole my boy from me-
I roughly push him off me. "Goodbye, Liam," I state and upon hearing that name, he quickly scrambles for his clothes.
I roll over with my back to him as he dresses. I keep my eyes closed and feel us leaking from inside me and I just close my legs tightly together. I don't whether it's to keep us inside me longer or to stop the leaking reminder of what I just did. *who* I just did. Betraying Angelus with. *that*-
"Goodbye, Darla," he whispers before leaving quickly.
I wonder if I'll ever see him again- ever have another chance to get my boy back- ever have another chance to save him-
No! I don't care.
Some things never change.
Sadly- he isn't one of those things.