girlpire | Five Times Angelus Got Down on his Knees

Title: Five Times Angelus Got Down on his Knees
Author: girlpire
Characters: Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, Spike, Buffy
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: See: title.
Warnings: Blood, references to torture, references to corporal punishment, drunkeness, a bad Irish accent.
Author's Notes: This prompt came from the lovely

verav. Thanks!

Five Times Angelus Got Down on his Knees

*

“Angelus, what did I say before we left?” She kept her voice calm, but in that way that made it obvious she was angry. Standing before him in one of the more secluded areas in the east wing of the expansive house, one hand on her hip, Darla held the other hand nonchalantly in front of her face so she could examine her nails. Her boy looked up from the neck of the servant girl he’d been eating. He had blood smeared across his mouth.

“Ye told me to straighten my collar,” he said.

“Before that, dear.”

He sighed heavily and pushed the girl’s body off his lap, watching it crumple to the floor with a satisfying thump. “Ye said not to eat the Duke’s servants,” he admitted. “But Christ, Darla, we’re vampires—”

“Not. To eat. The Duke’s. Servants,” she repeated quietly, glancing up at him with carefully controlled anger. “And what is that?” she asked, gesturing to the body of the girl.

“One of the Duke’s servants,” Angelus said. “But ye cannot expect me to—”

“One. Of the Duke’s. Servants,” Darla repeated distinctly. She walked toward the body and nudged it with her foot. “Well, it’s dead now,” she stated. “Along with our chances of attending tomorrow night's dinner party, I daresay. You do realize humans tend to cancel their social engagements in the wake of a murder?”

Angelus shrugged. “These humans bore me anyway,” he said. Then he stood up, grinning. “You and me, Darla, we could throw ourselves a much better party than any they could possibly imagine.” He kicked the body to one side and grabbed Darla roughly around the waist, pulling her close. She let herself be pulled, but when he bent to kiss her with blood-stained lips, she turned her head away. “What is it?” he asked. “You’re not upset, surely?”

Sighing, she put a hand up to his cheek. “How could I be upset that you are what I made you?” she asked. He smiled charmingly and leaned in for his kiss, but she put one finger to his lips and pushed him back, further smearing the red. “Especially when I get to be the one to punish you when you misbehave.”

He looked startled for a moment but quickly recovered. “For this tiny thing?” he asked, dismissing the body with a wave of his hand. “They won’t even miss her. You’ll have a place at that silly dinner party yet.”

“Perhaps. It’s a shame you’ll have to stay home, being unable to sit comfortably by then.” She smiled, eyes lit with cool anger, and delicately licked the blood from her fingertip. "Remove your trousers," she said in a soft voice. "And get on your hands and knees." This was one of his standard punishment positions. Given their relative sizes, it was often better for her to stand and have him kneel for ease of access to his arse than for him to lie across her lap. Especially when they weren't in the comfort of their own home.

“Darla,” Angelus said, holding up his hands in a placating manner, “now you know there’s no need for this. If it’s an apology you want, then you have it.” He swallowed and added humbly, “I apologize.”

“Thank you, dear. That was lovely,” she said. “Now, hands and knees. Trousers down.”

“But Darla—”

“Dear boy, you will kneel and take your punishment this instant, or you will suffer for it later,” she explained calmly. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Of course, Darla, but do ye not think you’re overreacting just a wee—”

“Hands and knees. Now.”

He huffed an angry sigh, but he began to unfasten his trousers anyway. In spite of his outward annoyance, she noticed that his hands were trembling. It made her smile. "Don't worry, Angelus," she said soothingly. "When they ask why you're not there tomorrow evening, I'll just say you weren't feeling well. Must have been something you ate."

*

The young priest covered his mouth in shock, one thin hand holding back the powerful scream that wanted to tear itself out of him. There were bodies everywhere, blood everywhere. All through the church, dead nuns and priests were arranged in humiliating positions, their bodies painted with sticky red. The raw metallic smell of it was suffocating. He walked slowly through the carnage, making himself see everything that he had hidden from, punishing himself for running when he heard the first shrieks and desperate cries. He prayed softly as he walked, his eyes sparkling with tears.

As he approached the altar, he noticed a long-haired man he didn't recognize kneeling before it. At first he rejoiced that someone in the church had been spared, but when he came closer, he saw that this man was dead as well, eyes closed and blood dripping from his mouth, blood covering his folded hands. He lingered at the dead man's side, wondering somewhat distractedly how this body was able to remain upright on its knees. It seemed unnatural.

"I'm sorry, friend," the priest whispered, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. He gasped when the man's eyes opened.

"What for? You couldn't possibly be the cause of all this, could ye?" the man asked, indicating the unholy scene.

"N-no," stuttered the priest. He took a step back.

"Ah, that's good. I should think the one responsible would be very upset at your taking the credit," said the man.

"I wasn't here," the priest said. He hung his head in shame. "I ran. I should have been here, but I ran.” The confession was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry..." His voice broke on the apology, and he drew in a ragged breath. "I'm so sorry..."

The pale man stood up. He was much taller than the priest had expected. "It's alright," he murmured, pressing a bloodied hand gently to the priest's cheek. The priest looked into the deep brown eyes of the man and began to cry, and the man pulled him into a tight embrace. "Shhh, it's alright. You're forgiven," he said.

The priest nodded into the man's shoulder, his whole body shaking as he sobbed. He faintly heard a strange crunching sound.

"I forgive ye," the man said, "because ye came back, and saved me having to hunt ye down in your own house, which would have been far too much trouble just for a priest."

The priest froze. Slowly, he looked up at the man's face, which was now grotesquely disfigured. His eyes widened with horror, and he tried to back away, but the man held him easily. "Let me go," whispered the priest. "Please, let me go!"

"Ye know, I wasn't sure how long I'd have to wait for ye to poke your head up out of your hidey-hole, so I had a nice little chat with your god in the meantime," the man told him. He grabbed the priest's hair and yanked his head back, baring his throat. "He thinks ye should die for your cowardice. And I'm inclined to agree, but then that could just be because I need one more priest for that thing over there." The dead man nodded toward the large wooden cross displayed to the right of the altar. Then he added pleasantly, "You'll never know how much your volunteering means to me.”

*

Drusilla was crying. Again.

"For god's sake, Angelus, shut her up!" Darla grumped, dragging a pillow over her face and clamping it down around her ears.

"It's your turn," Angelus mumbled sleepily. "I did it last time."

Her voice came muffled from beneath the pillow. "You turned her. She's your responsibility."

"And how do you propose I shut her up?" he asked.

Darla's hand reached blindly for something in the drawer of the bedside table. She tossed it in his direction and it landed on his stomach.

He picked it up. "A stake? You want me to stake the girl?"

"You'd better do something," she said. "I can't take much more of this."

"Fine," he said, and yawned. "I'll do... something." He stretched lazily and then climbed out of the huge bed and went to Drusilla's room. A few moments later, Dru's crying stopped.

Darla waited expectantly for Angelus to come back to bed. He didn't. Then she began to hear giggling coming from Drusilla's room. Intrigued and still slightly irritated, Darla got out of bed and walked down the hall to the nursery where Drusilla had chosen to sleep. She peeked in the door.

Angelus was lying on his back on the floor, smiling and batting at a piece of ribbon held in Dru's thin fingers. He was purring.

"Now be a doggy!" Dru giggled. "A terrible, mean doggy who wants Miss Edith for dinner."

Angelus chuckled and flipped onto his hands and knees, crawling over to Drusilla and sniffing at her neck. She laughed as he panted into her hair and licked her face. Then he dipped down and snatched Miss Edith from her lap with his teeth, growling softly and shaking the doll back and forth. Drusilla clapped her hands delightedly. "Good doggy," she cooed, patting him on the head. He winked at her.

Darla cleared her throat. Angelus turned to the doorway quickly, still on his hands and knees, Miss Edith hanging limply from his mouth.

"Darla! My Angel is playing charades with us," Drusilla informed her. “Shall he be your sire again? His impression is ever so good. Have you seen it? He goes all wrinkly like dried worms.”

“Oh, does he?” Darla crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “Well, by all means, let's have this impression, Angelus.”

He gently dropped the doll back in Dru's lap. “I'm afraid my abilities have been greatly exaggerated,” he sighed. There was a teasing glint in his eyes. “I'll never be as dried up and wormy as ol' Batface himself.”

Drusilla reached out to twirl a strand of his hair around her finger. "Will you be a pony then?" she asked, voice low and wicked. "Pretty please? Miss Edith and I would so like a pony ride."

"Not tonight, Dru," Angelus said. "Remember, your grandmother doesn't like it when we play that game." He gave Darla a sly look and whispered to Drusilla, "We have to wait for her to go out."

Darla rolled her eyes. "Do what you want with her, Angelus," she said, turning away. "I'm going to bed."

The noises from Drusilla's room were different after that. With a sigh, Darla drew the pillow back over her head.

*

The two of them had killed everyone in the pub. They were drunk of course, but it was no excuse. They'd have to leave town earlier than they'd planned.

"Darla's gonna fucking explode when she hears about this," Spike said. He and Angelus were lying side by side on a long blood-smeared table, their heads close together but their feet pointed in opposite directions.

"Aye, she will," Angelus agreed. He turned to look at Spike and Spike looked back at him. They both burst into giggles.

"Explode into fucking pieces," Spike said, giggling.

"Tiny bits!" Angelus laughed.

"Little specks of Darla all over!" added Spike.

It wasn't really that funny, but once they started, they couldn't stop. The two of them laughed so hard at each other that they couldn't even keep their eyes open. Their laughter was so intense that even talking soon became impossible. They resorted to gesturing at one another and continued to laugh until their sides ached. Angelus finally shoved Spike off the table so that he could catch his breath without laughing. Spike landed on the floor on top of a fat body and immediately burst into laughter again.

"Oh God," Angelus wheezed, rubbing his eyes hard. "I can't even move my legs."

"Reckon I'll have to drag you back," Spike suggested breathlessly.

Angelus laughed again at that image and peeked over the edge of the table to say something in return. When he saw Spike lying happily enough on top of the fat man, he lost control again and laughed for another long moment. This set Spike off as well, even though he didn't know anymore what they were laughing at.

"Christ, but you're a funny lad," Angelus finally managed, shaking his head. He offered Spike his hand. "Up with you," he said. "We should get back before our women come looking for us and find a couple of drunks wearing our faces."

Spike reached out and took the offered hand. Instead of pulling himself up, though, he pulled Angelus down on top of him with a thud of tangled limbs. This caused them both to lie in a laughing heap on the floor for another long moment, the older vampire weighing down the younger one, face buried in the side of Spike's neck as they laughed. Both their bodies were flushed with all the booze and blood, and Spike impulsively slid his fingers into Angelus's thick dark hair to hold the rare warmth of his face against his own warmed skin, just enjoying the closeness.

Eventually, still chuckling softly, Angelus rolled away and got to his knees. He tried to stand, but his shoes kept slipping in pools of blood, so he simply began to crawl towards the door. Spike snickered at the bigger vampire's weaving backside as he crawled.

"Have to go. Almost sunrise," Angelus murmured drunkenly. "William!" he called over his shoulder. "Follow me, my boy!" He continued his slow crawl over the bodies, stopping now and then to giggle into their faces, using his fingers to push their slack mouths into various entertaining expressions. Spike obligingly rolled off of the fat man and crawled after Angelus, giggling the whole way.

When Darla and Drusilla did finally find them, they were curled up together behind the bar, Spike lying half on top of his grandsire's back, both of them covered head to toe in blood, and sound asleep.

*

So his invitation hadn't been revoked. Angelus slipped quietly through the window in the spare room, musing on how naive the slayer actually was. Did she really think he wouldn't come here? It was like she wasn't even trying.

He went to her bedroom, eased inside the door without a sound. There she lay between pink and white sheets, just a young body, limp and vulnerable. He could end her now, while she slept. He could easily snap her neck without her ever waking up. He knelt down on the carpet beside her bed and leaned in close, the smell of her rich blood pulsing beneath her skin inviting him to bite. He shifted faces, and immediately her scent became more powerful, almost overwhelming in its goodness.

He barely managed to hold back. But it wasn't right like this. The game's no fun if they're asleep; you can't see that amusing look on their face when they realize they're going to die. And it's too damn easy when they don't even try to get away. Quick kills leave no time for appreciating the craft.

Darla would have ordered him to do it now. She'd have taken this chance and made use of it right away if she ever got this close. She wouldn't have understood why he didn't just kill the girl immediately, or turn her, or do whatever it was that he had planned. The opportunity was wide open, juicy bait lying defenseless, miles away from any trap. His sire used to tell him that he made things more complicated than they needed to be, but sometimes these things ought to be complicated, at least a little. Shaping the experience of death with his hands was his favorite type of art, and there's no point killing anybody if you're not having a good time.

When he thought of Darla, about what he'd done to her and why he'd done it, he almost killed the girl anyway. Almost.

He touched her hair. He let his fingertips brush gently along the softness of her cheek. He wanted her to wake up, to scream, to fight him and die. But there was a kind of morbid beauty in this moment, kneeling at the edge of the possibility that she could wake right now, that at any second, one of them could end the game. The thought of flipping that switch – of moving from this quietness of watching her sleep-breath slightly disturb her golden hair with each exhale in the dark, to a glorious violent struggle for life, the physicality of it, the pain – tickled something deep inside him. The anticipation was brutal and lovely. Could it be now? Tonight? Would she wake to find him waiting?

Some slayer. Doesn't even open her eyes when an evil thing kisses her forehead.

He sat back on his heels and looked at her for a long time. Such strength. Such a small frame. She was like Darla, a bit, in ways he hadn't thought about before now. What would she be like as a vampire? Could she be the same kind of partner to him that she'd forced him to kill?

Certainly not if she remained this naive. No, this one was due a few more hard lessons before he would consider granting her that kind of gift.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a thin stick of charcoal, then carefully unfolded the blank paper and smoothed it in his lap. He could spend hours on this portrait, reveling in the risk of discovery. He decided to stay all night and do just that, maybe leave it for her to find in the morning. He smiled. Drawing had always helped him sort his thoughts, and now would be a good time to make some plans for the future. Maybe think of some way to get Dru and Spike involved. How would they feel about a new addition to the family?

A charcoal sketch was only the beginning. This girl was going to be his masterpiece.

*