(no subject)
TITLE: Broken Glass
RATING: X. R. However high is highest.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: And when things can't possibly seem to get any worse...
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air, Makes Us Stronger and Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, Things Fall Apart then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Spike/Herbert, Dawn/von Krolock etc.
WORDS: 13,160
NOTES: For the record, I love so many moments in this fic. Especially the Spike/Herbert ones. Spike/Herbert OTP! __________________________________
The morning started with music.
Sounded like a bloody daft thing to think, but even burrowed under the expensive duvets, pillows fluffed up around his ears and cosier than a vampire in his lover’s bed had any right to be, Spike heard the music.
Turning over on the broad mattress, he noticed that Herbert’s side of the bed was empty, but that was no surprise. It had been days since Herbert had slept well, often leaving the bed to roam the castle and distract himself with anything and everything.
As much as Spike tried, he couldn’t get Herbert to stop fretting, and he’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t about to be able to talk some sense into the Graf.
Or the Niblet for that matter. Kid didn’t want to go to the Graf, in case she upset him more, but didn’t seem to hear Spike when he said that her absence was a big part of the trouble. Neither of them wanted to make the first move. Stubborn twits.
Even the Slayer hadn’t managed to do much more than assure the Niblet that the mini-Slayers had nothing but soggy loo roll for brains and that she would always be a part of Slayer Central, even if she didn’t hang around there anymore.
So for the eighth morning in a row, Spike had woken at his usual time in a bed that seemed much bigger than it had when Herbert had been curled around him, watching the sunlight playing across the ceiling as it rose.
The music was new, though.
Sounded like a piano, although Spike couldn’t recognize the composer. It was a ponderous, achingly melancholy piece, whatever it was and that didn’t bode well for Herbie’s mood, if he was listening to something that tragic. Probably the CD player in the living room, because the room had bloody fabulous acoustics.
Still, he didn’t move immediately, listening to the rise and fall of the music, the fading to softness and suddenly echoing rise to pounding, passionate anguish.
Good thing there wasn’t an orchestral backing. No one playing a piano as beautifully as that should have had any twits with strings and sticks trying to overlay them with too much drama.
After a while, though, he knew it wouldn’t be helping Herbert’s mood to continue to listen to something that sounded like someone’s heart breaking in music. Beautiful sound, but bloody depressing.
Stumbling out of the bed, he tripped over one of Herbert’s slippers, while rubbing a hand over his drowsy eyes. Silly poofter always left his slippers on Spike’s side of the bed and never apologized for it.
Kicking the slipper out of his way, he tugged on a pair of loose trousers. Herbert had insisted on him having some comfortable trousers that weren’t jeans for sprawling around the house in, and while he had protested they made him look like he’d escaped from a harem, all flarey soft fabric and deep, jewelled colours, he had to admit that Herbert had been right about the comfort factor.
Plus, it didn’t hurt to let a nice refreshing breeze ripple around the unmentionables.
Draped over the back of the chair, one of Herbert’s shirts was swiped and pulled on over Spike’s slighter body, hanging open as he wandered out into the hall. He paused, looking both ways, then followed the sound of the music.
Weird thing was that it didn’t seem to be coming from the living room.
Yeah, there were other stereos about, but with the clarity of sound, he’d expected Herbie to use the best stereo in the house.
Still, wasn’t like anyone was behaving in any ways that could be called normal at the moment, so Herbert listening to music on a sub-standard sound-system would be a minor thing to worry about.
Halfway down a staircase, he spotted Illyria, who was motionless on the banister, her feet braced against the stone. She was staring ahead of her and he tilted his head to peer at her, waving a hand in front of her face. She didn’t move, apparently either lost in thought or ignoring him.
At least she was consistent in her behaviour.
Hopping down the stairs, his toes curling on the edge of each step, he paused at the foot then turned into one of the side corridors, moving from bare flagged-stone to a carpet that ran along the centre of the hall.
Wherever it was coming from, the music had changed slightly. Though still melancholy, it was softer now, poignant rather than aggressive, rising up the scale in pitch and tone.
Closing his eyes, the young vampire followed the sound until he walked squarely into what transpired to be a wall. Knowing Herbert and knowing the tricky old castle, it couldn’t be just a wall. When he pressed his ear against what looked like stone, sound rippled through it too clearly.
Tapping the surface, he grinned. Nice.
Another twenty minutes had him poking, prodding and fondling every inch of the wall, but nothing seemed to work or even give an indication he was on the right lines. Somewhere beyond it, it sounded like a piano was weeping drops of pure despair.
Kicking the thing and swearing at it had about the same effect and sometimes, Spike had to admit, it helped to have an ex-demon-god-type with super-strength and a tendency to use the inhabitants of the castle as her own twisted version of Big Brother.
Trotting back along the hall, idly fastening a couple of the shirt buttons as he went, he hurried back up the stairs towards her.
With a persistence that impressed even him, he talked at her, tugging on her arm and climbing onto the banister behind her, until she had turned flashing blue eyes at him, her expression icy. “Why do you disrupt me?”
“Disrupt?” Spike blinked. “You’re just sitting.”
The demon looked away in the direction of the music. “I am listening.”
“Fine,” Spike made a face. “I’ll stop disrupting if you come and break down a secret door for me. I’ll leave you to listen all you like after that.”
“And if I do not, you shall harass me?”
“Like a pro,” he promised seriously then squeezed her upper arms. “C’mon, pet. I need to find Herbie and get him back on his feet.” She was still for so long that he thought she’d glazed over again. “Look, I don’t want to see my boy fall apart.”
“And this music will cause him to crumble?”
Spike shrugged. Not really a lie, if you thought about it. “If I don’t get him cheered up, it could.”
Illyria was silent. “This would displease the Sorcerer,” she noted finally. “This, I cannot allow.”
“Good stuff!” Spike exclaimed, scrambling down from the banister. She followed him wordlessly as he hastened back down the hall towards the hidden doorway in the wall. “There’s a panel or something in this wa…”
Pushing past him, the demon touched a spot on the wall no different than any other, and a solid block of stone slid inwards. Turning, she stalked away past him, leaving him staring at the door-sized opening.
“How did you…?”
“You look for what is not there,” her voice rang back to him. “I saw what was.”
Spike gaped at the opening for a second longer, then called over his shoulder, “Thanks, pet.”
“Your disruption continues. Be silent.”
Obedient for the first time, he ducked into the opening, descending a long, twisting staircase, a dry, cool breeze whispering around him as he hurried down. The stone steps seemed barely used, as sharply cut as they probably had been the day they were crafted, and the walls were bare and smooth.
Peering upwards, it seemed like the staircase went on upwards as well, towards the upper levels of the castle, yet now he had a feeling they were heading to a part of the lowest levels that probably met with the grounds somewhere.
One of these days, he decided, he would have to map out the castle, then challenge Herbert to a game of hide and seek which would actually be fair for the first time. Never fair, when Herbie knew every hidden hall and then some.
The staircase opened out into a hall before him and at the end he saw a doorway. The door was open and, unless his ears were playing tricks, that room was the source of the music.
And now that he was closer, it didn’t sound like a recording at all.
Hesitant, he crept towards the open door, stopping dead in the doorway. His hand leapt to steady himself against the frame as he stared into the sun-drenched room at the figure there.
While Herbert had probably been impeccable when he had arrived, his hair had broken loose from its restraints, spilling around a face that was strained with emotion. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his head bowed over the keyboard of a magnificent, polished grand piano.
Oblivious to Spike’s presence, his hands wandered the keys as tenderly, as familiarly as they would wander the body of his lover, drawing out that heart-breaking music again. His shoulders were tensed and his sleeves, which had clearly been rolled up once, slipped and flapped against his forearms.
Spike found he wasn’t breathing.
Not that he needed to, but if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to.
Against the golden backdrop of morning and the misty land visible through the panelled windows, Herbert had never looked more dazzlingly beautiful, but even more than that, the agonizing tension that radiated from his body was captivating and terrifying in its intensity, every part of him embroiled with the music he was producing.
Rising up the scale once more, his right hand tenderly caressed a sorrowful melody from the keys.
By the door, Spike shook himself from his dazed stupor, moving into the room, closer, wondering if it would be cruelty or mercy to tear Herbert away from the piano that seemed to be bearing the weight of his emotions.
“Herbert.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all he could manage and he heard the brief falter in the music.
Herbert’s shoulders shivered and his pale fingers rippled back down the black and white keys, little more than a blur as his pace quickened, then slowed again. The key changed and for a moment, it seemed that some level of peace had descended.
“Cheri...” He sounded so tired, his head rocking back on his shoulders, even as his fingertips picked out a sad melody.
Taking the unspoken invitation, Spike approached the stool Herbert was seated on, laying his hands on his lover’s shoulders. “You about done, love?” he asked softly, aggrieved by the taut tension that was wrapped around Herbert’s body.
Slowing the rhythm, Herbert closed his eyes and sagged back against Spike’s chest with a sigh as the melody faded into silence. His hands dropped from the keyboard to his sides. The tips of his fingers were dull red, bruised.
“Thank you, cheri.”
With a kiss to the top of Herbert’s head, Spike wrapped his arms around the elder vampire. “Didn’t know you could play,” he murmured, wanting nothing more than to carefully soothe each of those bruised fingertips. Didn’t know how long Herbie had been at it, but he’d been listening for nearly an hour and if Herbie was as knackered as he looked, then it probably had been a bloody long while.
Against his chest, Herbert laughed faintly. “Yes... yes, I am full of surprises,” he whispered. He tilted his head, pressing his temple against Spike’s shoulder, one hand rising to touch the back of Spike’s hand. “I did not mean to wake you.”
“Better that I got up when I did, I think,” Spike murmured. He turned over one hand, catching Herbert’s, and gently touched the reddened fingertips. “Tell you what.” He lifted the hand to kiss those fingertips tenderly. “I think we’ve been behaving too much lately. S’about time we got pissed. Sod the rest of them. Let’s break into the wine cellar.”
He felt Herbert’s exhausted smile against his shoulder. “You know, cheri,” he said softly. “I think that is a marvellous idea.”
___________________________________
Truly, it was a sight to warm the coldest heart.
Hidden between half-light and darkness, Johannes von Krolock watched as his son was hoisted from the floor and half-carried to the broad bed that took up a generous portion of his room.
The youngest vampire in the household sat down on the edge of the mattress and patiently divested Herbert of his wine- and blood-spattered clothing, smiling fondly as idle caresses touched him and occasionally, leaning in to kiss Herbert’s lips.
It was more than apparent that both of the youngsters had spent most of the day indulging in the best wines stolen from his extensive cellar, yet the Graf could find no anger within him for such childish naughtiness.
Regret and sadness had risen too quickly to allow it.
The moment he had heard his son playing on his piano, he had been forced from his chambers, forced to acknowledge that perhaps, he was not the only one suffering in these uncomfortable circumstances.
It had been decades since he had been compelled to conceal the piano from Herbert, for fear the boy would do more damage to himself than good. A passionate creature, his son put his life into his music and so often exhausted himself to the point of collapse, playing for hours on end without respite.
Today had proved how wise that decision had been all those years ago.
And yet for three hours he had stood by, watched his son breaking apart over the keyboard, unable to move, to intervene, both shocked by the depth of feeling displayed and guilty that he had been so utterly unaware of it.
When William had entered the room and approached, there was such quiet and accepting openness on Herbert’s face, such simple tenderness between them that the Graf had withdrawn into the shadows, his mind overwhelmed.
Days earlier, when he had been approached by William, when he had come so close to utterly destroying the fragile psyche that they had spent so many months carefully rebuilding, he had not realized. He had certainly not believed it when his son had turned on him, defying him for the first time since his infancy.
Sheer shock had forced him back, that day, more than acceptance of Herbert’s quiet pronouncement. He had watched the gentleness with which his son had tended his lover, his every gesture saying so much more than a thousand words could.
His son was in love, unless he was truly mistaken.
For the first time in four centuries, Herbert had allowed another close enough to him to allow himself to fall in love. For years, von Krolock had watched him deliberately shatter relationships, sabotaging them and forcing the deeper emotions and ties away before they could linger, breaking dozens of hearts as he went, yet now…
He had been unaware of it.
So addled by his own breaking relationship, so determined to distance Herbert from his freshest failing and sorrow, he had ignored his son’s greatest display of emotion and bravery for generations, had almost shattered it by breaking this creature that Herbert had come to clearly love so much more than von Krolock had anticipated.
That was why he had concealed himself more deeply. That was why he had been unable to approach his beautiful boy. To know he could have broken the person he loved above all others by simple ignorance hurt even more than the loss of Dawn.
Never before had he been so utterly unaware of his son's state of mind. In four long centuries, nothing had distracted him from that which was dearest to him, most especially not a relationship that was falling apart around him,
If this was what the fracture between he and Dawn was causing, better to gently let her go before bitterness took hold, rather than draw out his own grief and his son's turmoil any longer.
For his own good, and thus for Herbert's, Dawn should be allowed to depart. She was unhappy here. Her unhappiness was leading to the emotional disarray that had sent his son rushing to his piano for the first time in decades, pouring out his every emotion in agonizing music. Better to free them all from it.
Watching as William negotiated Herbert into his nightwear, his son grumbling all the while, his voice slurred by fatigue and alcohol, Johannes could not help but notice how pale and drawn his son’s face was beneath the rosy veneer of the wine. He looked utterly exhausted, something he had not seen in his child for years.
“I want more wine.”
Smoothing Herbert’s hair, William smiled indulgently. “Think you’ve had enough for now, love,” he said, to which Herbert made an unflattering face. “Anyway, I’m not trekking all the way down to the basement to get another bottle, only to get back and find you snoring your arse off.”
Herbert pouted. “You don’t love me at all,” he grumbled.
“Course I don’t, you silly wanker.” William kissed him on the forehead. “You make me wear poofy clothes and you steal all the covers. You start being nice to me and I might think about it.”
In the space between reality and its edge, von Krolock touched his fingertips to the reluctant smile playing across his lips.
“I am nice,” Herbert mumbled, as William rose and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Compared to what, exactly?”
Herbert pouted again, tilting his cheek against his unbound hair on the pillow. “You should not be so cruel to me, cheri,” he grumbled. “I cannot think well enough to be rude back to you.”
“I know,” Folding his shirt and trousers, William donned a loose pair of what looked like pantaloons. “All part of my cunning plan.” He crossed the floor and tossed his own clothing and Herbert’s into the linen basket, then returned to the bed. “Now, you going to be a sprawly arse or do I get more than one pillow tonight?”
With a protesting mumble, Herbert squirmed across the bed a bit and William climbed in without hesitation, pausing only to flick off the lamps.
In perfect concert, they arranged themselves amid the pillows and expansive duvet, Herbert settling himself against his lover, head on his shoulder, utterly trusting. Slipping his arm around Herbert’s shoulder, William smoothed his hair again.
“Sleep well, love,” he murmured. “And if you wake up early again, you wake me up too, all right? And no wandering off.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Herbert mumbled, groping out blindly for the duvet, which William tugged up and arranged over them both. “You are still cruel.”
“And you’re still a wanker,” William murmured. “Now, shut up and go to sleep or I’ll never shag you again.”
“My bedroom.” Herbert sounded sweetly petulant and drowsy. “Can talk if I like.”
“Our room, you silly poof.” William kissed Herbert gently. “Now, shush.”
“Spoil-sport.”
“Bloody right.”
It was William’s words, however, that caused the Graf to rouse himself to look away from the adorable scene before him to look around the room once more.
Several things leapt out at him that he hadn’t noticed before; William’s boots tossed in the half-open wardrobe, his clothes scattered here and there, hanging out of drawers. There was even a small stack of books on the nightstand on the side of the bed the young vampire now occupied.
Shaken, he allowed himself to fade from the room.
How was it possible that he had been so blind that he had not seen how deep Herbert’s love for William ran? Or that it was reciprocated just as passionately?
That Herbert had allowed someone to share his chambers, to remain with him whenever he wished, was something he had never imagined his son would permit. The quiet trust he placed in William was astounding, breathtaking, and that William responded with his heart, giving himself and all he had to Herbert…
And yet, he, Herbert’s father, had been utterly oblivious.
What had he put his beloved child through while he wallowed in selfish isolation? Had William been absent, he dared not to think what would have become of Herbert, had he been lacking in the support he had so clearly been receiving from the young vampire.
And had his son not interrupted his claiming, what would have become of Herbert if he had torn William so thoroughly asunder as he had intended? His son’s first real love affair, almost destroyed entirely by his own hands.
It would have been unforgivable, irredeemable.
His groundless wanderings came to a halt as he realized where he had brought himself. Before him, the door of Dawn’s chamber stood as a silent barrier, but he stepped through it as if it were naught more than mist.
This madness had to end. Herbert needed peace of mind, William should feel safe, she should be happy, and if that meant freeing her, so be it. His heart had dealt with greater pain before. Even now it was, at the thought of Herbert.
Yes, better to let her go with love rather than loathing.
Ascending the staircase, he saw her face illuminated by the soft moonlight, her dark hair spread on the white pillows. She looked so peaceful, untroubled by the pain of the world, and he hesitated in approaching, drinking in every subtle tone and shade on her lovely face, the way her lips curved, the soft brush of her lashes against her cheekbones.
He could have watched her like that for an eternity, yet he forced himself towards her, sinking to sit on the edge of the bed and gently touching her hand, which lay loosely upon her stomach.
Coming awake instantly, born of reflexes quickened by years of peril, her eyes opened, focusing on him. He saw the surprise, felt his heart aching as she whispered his name with such surprise and wonder.
Bowing over her, he touched his lips to hers, savouring every moment of contact, his eyes closing to mask the pain as she wrapped her arms around him, returning his kiss with her fire, pulling him closer.
Words were forgotten as they divested one another of their clothing, sinking together onto her bed, tangled in one another’s arms. Her fingertips touched his face, brushing his lips and his throat and he held her close, memorizing every inch of her warm, fragrant body with his hands and lips.
Her every sigh was like music, and when he felt her heartbeat stutter as completion assailed her, he thought he might weep at the thought of never seeing her shadow in his doorway again.
Kissing her tenderly, he held her close, and as the moon rose, she slipped towards sleep in his embrace. With her nestled against him, her hair spilling like silk against his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to her brow.
“Forgive me, liebling,” he whispered against her brow, his fingers threading through her hair, a final caress. She nodded slowly, drowsily, so close to sleep. His kiss was feather-soft against her forehead. “You may depart when you will.”
______________________________
Funny how slippery the edge of the tub was.
Never really noticed it before, but it really was bloody slippery.
With warm water bubbling around him, right up to the middle of his chest, and his arms spread along the cool rim, Spike’s fingers skittered on the edge again, curling a little bit to stop him sinking any further.
Tilting his head back, he grinned vaguely at the ceiling, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.
When Herbert had said the castle had been upgraded since his last visit, way back in the day, this definitely wasn’t what he’d imagined. After all, what kind of evil image did it give to the outside world if you had a bloody huge bathroom with a fantastic view and a Jacuzzi that could easily sit five?
Not that he was complaining. Oh, no. After shaking off a hangover from the night before, he was up for the self-pampering. Definitely nothing bad about the sensations rippling through and over him, making his skin thrum and his toes curl and uncurl against the smooth bottom of the tub. Say what you like, but a Jacuzzi was one of the little luxuries that everyone should have.
He bit on his lower lip, the nape of his neck pressed against the curved lip of the tub, his legs shifting under the water.
On the edge of his awareness, he heard the muted squeal of the hinges of the door, but didn’t both to open his eyes. Not in the mood for distraction. He sighed, slipping a little deeper in the water.
“Spike, you got a...” Niblet. Course.
Lifting one hand, he waved her away, a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh escaping him.
“It’s important!” She sounded tetchy. Pity.
“Nibs,” He was impressed his voice sounded so steady, his eyes half-opening. “Shut up or sod off...”
By the daylight streaming in behind him, he saw her blink at him. “What...”
Turning his hand, he flipped a finger up at her, his hips shifting. His hand dropped back to the edge of the tub, fingers pressing hard against the surface. Eyes pressing closed, he arched back against the smooth side, an almost-silent moan escaping his parted lips.
“Oooo... kay...”
In spite of himself, as he sank to the throat in the water, unable to hold himself up any longer, he felt his mouth twitching in a grin. Still, it was a moment before he could open his eyes, exhaling a pleasant sigh.
Standing a dozen paces across the room, Dawn was staring at him, nose wrinkled.
“Mm?”
“Um... I guess you really like Jacuzzis, huh?”
His ribs quivered lightly, first with mirth, then with something more as he felt lips touch just below his navel. The tongue that had been playing so wickedly beneath the bubbling water flicked at the shallow indent.
“Yeah...” he heard himself murmur, closing his eyes. “They’re great...”
Fingertips traced along the backs of his thighs and fangs raked lightly across his ribs, making him shudder, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. His own fingertips were white, gripping the edge of the tub for dear life.
Could feel the Niblet’s scrutiny on him, but his attention was elsewhere. Most especially on the lips moving slowly up his chest, and he made himself open his eyes just in time.
Heard Dawn exclaim, but whatever was said wasn’t enough to distract him.
With sunlight streaming through the windows that framed half of the tub, Herbert’s soaked hair glowed like burnished gold, spreading in a cloud in the water around his head and shoulders as he broke through the rippling, sparkling surface of the water.
Beneath the surface, his hands slid against Spike’s thighs, thumbs slipping firmly against tensing muscle, but his eyes were modestly down, lashes like delicate ochre brushes against his pale cheekbones.
His lips parted, Spike felt his unneeded breath catch sharply as those thickly-lashed eyes opened just as Herbert’s smile broke the surface, thoroughly angelic, but his eyes were nothing but wickedness and desire flaring in liquid silver.
Reaching out, unable to restrain himself, Spike pulled that smiling mouth hard against his, groaning into the kiss as Herbert’s body slid against his, as slick and wet as his own was, warm with stolen heat.
“You,” he panted out between kisses, his lips trembling against Herbert’s. “Are so fucking beautiful.”
“I know,” Herbert murmured, his thumbs scraping over Spike’s hipbones, pulling Spike’s body so hard against his own that the young vampire’s head dropped back against the edge of the tub again.
Tilting his head with a smile, he nuzzled Spike’s wrist, then palm. “We have an audience,” he noted softly, rubbing his jaw against the heel of Spike’s trembling hand before drawing Spike’s thumb between his lips and sucking on it. “Mmm?”
Blue eyes cracked open a fraction. “Nibs...”
“Um...”
Spike almost managed to voice a protest when Herbert’s lips slipped away from his skin, but hands moved beneath the water and what words he had considered were forgotten as he felt the press of Herbert’s body between his thighs.
“You are interrupting, cherie,” Herbert murmured in Dawn’s direction.
“Your dad...”
Grey eyes shimmered. “You are interrupting,” he repeated softly, jerking his head towards the door.
“I’ll... uh... go...”
Glancing over his shoulder, Herbert’s smile was wicked, and Spike wondered if he was just seeing things, the way Herbie seemed to glow by the sunlight, his profile so bloody perfect right then.
Hands tensed on his skin and he arched with a wanton groan as Herbert’s body invaded his. Tugging his hand free, he clutched wildly at the side of the tub, drawing rapid breaths as he felt Herbert press closer, deeper, harder.
Somewhere, a door slammed.
When he managed to force his eyes open again, slashes of mercury watched him from beneath hooded lids and soft lashes. He could see the tip of a pink tongue between pale lips and white teeth and felt hands squeeze his hips harder.
Heavy, sodden gold slid over shoulders, brushing his cheeks as soft as the mouth that touched his. Tasted that tongue. Felt those white teeth. Groaned against those pale, lovely lips.
“Bloody love you, you bastard,” he moaned.
Those lips hesitated for an instant, then he felt the smile, felt the arms around him and his own slipped from the side of the tub to clutch at Herbert. And the water rose up around them, bubbling all the while.
________________________
Stalking into the study, Dawn looked around the room. It was pitch-dark and looked like no one had been in it for days, but this was Johannes, and she knew this was one of his choice places of lurkage.
Approaching the desk, she touched the wick of the candle on the desk. Still warm.
“I know you’re around here somewhere,” she called out sharply, glaring at a point on the ceiling, her hands on her hips. “You just gonna keep on hiding every time I come anywhere near you until I go away, or you gonna find some balls?”
“I have said that which needed to be said.”
Though he spoke from behind her, she didn’t turn around straight away. Clenching her jaw, she took a breath to calm herself, then pivoted to look up at him. “So that’s it, is it? You want me gone?”
“I said no such thing,” he replied, voice just as calm and quiet as hers. Ha!
“You said I could go ‘when’ I want,” she said. Huh. There was that calm starting to shake a bit. “No question there, Johannes. When. Not if. Don’t plan on having me hang around, huh?”
She saw the flare of something in his eyes. “Liebling...” He stepped closer to her, extending a hand.
“Don’t you dare ‘liebling’ me,” she hissed, recoiling from him. “You come to me with your niceness and cuddles after you ignore me for weeks, then tell me you think I should get outta here and avoid me again? What the hell do you want with me, Johannes?”
“You desired another,” he said softly. “I would not hold you back.”
“Hold me back...?” She stared at him incredulously. “You son of a bitch! You wanna use that as an excuse to get rid of me?”
“Dawn, what cause would I have to wish for you to depart?” His long, pale hands were slowly curling by his sides. Huh. Looked like she wasn’t the only one with damage to her calm.
“When, Johannes. When. After everything you said when you asked me to stay here...” She stared at him, brows drawing together. “You didn’t think I would stay this long, did you?” He made no reply, gazing at her steadily. “Did you?”
“Did you?” he countered and she could see the flash of ire in his eyes.
She threw a vicious glare at him. “I didn’t know,” she replied venomously. “I didn’t know what would happen, but I think you always thought I’d go, you thought I’d be outta here and even now, you think it’s gonna happen.”
“Is it?”
“You tell me, Johannes. You want me here or not?” She stepped up to him, staring him in the eyes. “You treat me like hell, you leave me wondering if you’re pissed at me and then you tell me I can go...” Her lip curled back from her teeth and she shoved past him. “To hell with you,” she hissed.
“Dawn.” His voice was infinitely soft, but the power froze her as suddenly as a chain around her. “Stay.”
“Stay?” she echoed incredulously, forcing her to break free of that mesmerising voice. “What the hell am I?” She whirled around and stared at him. “A pet? Is that all I am?” She stalked closer to him, eyes flashing. “Someone you get to play around with until you decide, ‘oh, wait! I think I’ll let you go now?’” She was barely inches from him. “I’m not a fucking toy, Johannes!”
“You’re still mine, little girl.”
“Oh yeah?” She jutted her chin out and glared up at him. “And if I walk out that door, what you gonna do? Force me to stay? I don’t think so. I can do what I want, when I want and who I want and you can’t stop me.”
His hand leapt up, catching her around the throat and she gasped as she was jerked off her feet, her face brought close to his. “Whatever you are, you vicious little hoyden,” he snarled. “You are mine until the day you die.”
“Fuck you!” she spat, grimacing as his fingers tightened. “I’m mine.”
“I hold your life in my hand, little girl,” he retorted in a low growl.
One of her hands swung towards his face and he snared her wrist, squeezing, but her other was already moving and he cried out in fury and pain as her palm impacted with his cheek, the blow echoing back, punctuated by the hiss of sizzling flesh.
Whirling around, he hurled her across the room and she bit hard on the inside of her lip to stifle a cry of pain as she bounced off the surface of the table and crashed down, knocking two chairs over. The wood of one of them shattered and she felt the splinters scrape against her skin.
Staggering to her feet, she wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “You fucking bastard,” she growled.
Black eyes blazed at her and she could see the raw, bleeding cross-shaped burn gouged into his cheek. “You are not leaving this place,” he hissed viciously, stalking towards her.
“I don’t even get the option now?” she demanded with a bitter smile.
He loomed over her and she drew a sharp breath, eyes widening, when he caught her hand, squeezing her fist around the cross she was still gripping. Blood seeped between her fingers, trickling down her wrist, but she kept glaring at him, despite the fact it felt like her insides were shivering from pain and fury.
“You will stay,” he said quietly, the low snarl underlying the words. He slid his hand down to her wrist, pulling aside her sleeve and baring the mark of his bite, the smear of fresh blood staining her skin. “You are mine.”
She lashed out with her other hand, but her fingers were caught, squeezed until she felt something give, her vision danced with spots of pain. “You can’t keep me here, you son of a bitch,” she hissed at him.
He leaned closer to her, lips curling mockingly. “I can...”
There was a crack as her forehead smashed against his nose and she saw the rain of red, heard him curse.
Jerking her head back, tossing her hair over her shoulders, she gave him a derisive smile, so undignified with blood streaming over his pale face and his eyes blazing with rage and something more.
And it was the something more that made her rip her arm free of his hand, tossing aside the bloody crucifix, sinking her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth down on hers with a violence that shocked her.
He pulled her hard against him, meeting her kiss and matching the violence, his hand freeing her other one to let him squeeze her hips. She bit down on his tongue, snarling a warning when she felt the flesh break open under his long nails, felt him growl in response.
His arm was beneath her suddenly and she gasped aloud as she was brought down on her back on the table with bruising force, the air forced from her lungs, then his mouth was on hers again, claiming, starving, demanding.
She heard the clatter of his ink and pens thrown off the desk, the fluttering thumps of the books thrown ruthlessly aside, off the polished table.
This was what he needed. This was what she wanted. This was what both of them hadn’t realised.
She could taste his blood and hers, cold and warm mingling, could feel his tongue lapping at the inside of her torn bottom lip, felt him shudder at the taste of it, felt the pleasure run through him, echoed in her.
Then his mouth was gone and she felt the chilly air of the room hit bare skin, felt his hands on her thighs, forcing them apart and tried to rise only for invisible pressure to force her back flat. Swore, but didn’t mean it.
His lips touched her inner thighs and she hissed aloud, her hips arching.
Bad damn time to be at that time of the month.
Or good, judging by the low, purring growl that seemed to run from his throat right up through her insides.
His mouth touched her and she gasped again, a shudder of want so desperate running through her that she wasn’t surprised when he chuckled.
“You sick bastard!” she moaned out.
“Mm,” he agreed, then delicately traced his tongue along her most secret places with soft sounds of approval every few seconds. And when he touched that point, lingered, lapped, her body twitched with every single delicate touch of his tongue.
She was biting the inside of her lip again, could feel pulses everywhere, right to the bloody cuts on her hands and even in the ragged gash inside her lip. Every pulse. Every beat. Every one of them matched by the deepening and knowing laps of that wicked tongue.
Panting, breathless, staring. No words. No thoughts. Hips shifting, needing, begging without words. She shuddered under the magical bindings, breath shivering on her lips. Hands tensed. Eyes pressed closed. Heat. Want.
Fingers slipped within. Tongue flickered.
Breath caught.
Barely a sound as she came apart, left panting.
Lips touched her thighs. Kissing, teeth scraping, not biting, not yet, not time.
Then, he was over her, his mouth touching hers. Could taste him, could taste her, could taste blood, taste want. Met his kisses, felt the magic shiver away, her hands rising, in his hair, blood streaking, pain mingling.
His shirt was gone. Felt bare skin against her thighs, felt him slipping closer, wanting, ready.
Forcing her eyes open, lips back from her teeth and she arched to him, felt him sink into her, felt him hiss against lips and teeth, saw his eyes close, felt herself pushed back on the table.
He was over her, her hands moving on him as he pulled her close, chest to chest, lips to lips, deeper, harder and making her his, making her... no...
With a growl, she launched herself up to him, caught him off-guard. Forced him over, on his back, brought him down hard, fast, bloody hands leaving prints on bare skin, pinning him flat.
“No,” she snarled when he tried to rise.
Black eyes blazed. “Dawn...”
Her slap was resounding. “No.”
His lips peeled back from his teeth, flashing by the light slanting in from the hall and she reversed the blow, backhanding the growl out of him. The inside of his lip tore on his canine along with her knuckles and she crushed her mouth down on his, her fingers biting into his chest, nails raking into his skin.
She felt his fingers slip to her hips, felt the skin break, felt the warm tickle of her own blood trickling over her skin, but ignore it. Just a few cuts. No big.
Her fist knotted into his hair and she leaned down over him, her body shifting, making his eyes widen, making him hiss in turn. She pulled his head to one side, dragged her tongue up his throat.
“Dawn...” The growl was hungrier, feral. Fingers splayed, slid up her back and he was pulling himself upright, pulling her fast against him, her knees banging against the tabletop, hands clutching his shoulders.
“Shut up,” she hissed against his throat, then bit him with all the force she could muster, until she felt his skin give, until she tasted and felt blood, until she heard him cry out aloud for her.
Beneath her, his body tensed and they were falling, landing heavily on the floor, still tangled in one another. Fighting for purchase, she sank her nails into the wound in his neck, making him arch, forcing him onto his back once more.
Tossing her hair back, the nails of her other hand scratching down his chest, she gave him an icy look, then her mouth was on his and her nails were digging deeper and his growl gave way to a groan.
Tearing her mouth from his, she let her body move against him, felt his nails biting into her thighs, felt him arching beneath her.
“Lemme get this straight...” she panted out, hair clinging to blood on her face, blood dripping from her lips. “I’m mine. You don’t own me. You try to keep me here by force and you’ll regret it.” Sinking over him, her mouth touched the other side of his throat and she could feel his shudder. “Doesn’t mean...” she whispered against his unmarked skin. “That I won’t stay, though.”
And then she bit again, tearing flesh, tasting blood, biting harder when his nails cut deep in her thighs.
_____________________
Part 2
RATING: X. R. However high is highest.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: And when things can't possibly seem to get any worse...
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air, Makes Us Stronger and Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, Things Fall Apart then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Spike/Herbert, Dawn/von Krolock etc.
WORDS: 13,160
NOTES: For the record, I love so many moments in this fic. Especially the Spike/Herbert ones. Spike/Herbert OTP! __________________________________
The morning started with music.
Sounded like a bloody daft thing to think, but even burrowed under the expensive duvets, pillows fluffed up around his ears and cosier than a vampire in his lover’s bed had any right to be, Spike heard the music.
Turning over on the broad mattress, he noticed that Herbert’s side of the bed was empty, but that was no surprise. It had been days since Herbert had slept well, often leaving the bed to roam the castle and distract himself with anything and everything.
As much as Spike tried, he couldn’t get Herbert to stop fretting, and he’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t about to be able to talk some sense into the Graf.
Or the Niblet for that matter. Kid didn’t want to go to the Graf, in case she upset him more, but didn’t seem to hear Spike when he said that her absence was a big part of the trouble. Neither of them wanted to make the first move. Stubborn twits.
Even the Slayer hadn’t managed to do much more than assure the Niblet that the mini-Slayers had nothing but soggy loo roll for brains and that she would always be a part of Slayer Central, even if she didn’t hang around there anymore.
So for the eighth morning in a row, Spike had woken at his usual time in a bed that seemed much bigger than it had when Herbert had been curled around him, watching the sunlight playing across the ceiling as it rose.
The music was new, though.
Sounded like a piano, although Spike couldn’t recognize the composer. It was a ponderous, achingly melancholy piece, whatever it was and that didn’t bode well for Herbie’s mood, if he was listening to something that tragic. Probably the CD player in the living room, because the room had bloody fabulous acoustics.
Still, he didn’t move immediately, listening to the rise and fall of the music, the fading to softness and suddenly echoing rise to pounding, passionate anguish.
Good thing there wasn’t an orchestral backing. No one playing a piano as beautifully as that should have had any twits with strings and sticks trying to overlay them with too much drama.
After a while, though, he knew it wouldn’t be helping Herbert’s mood to continue to listen to something that sounded like someone’s heart breaking in music. Beautiful sound, but bloody depressing.
Stumbling out of the bed, he tripped over one of Herbert’s slippers, while rubbing a hand over his drowsy eyes. Silly poofter always left his slippers on Spike’s side of the bed and never apologized for it.
Kicking the slipper out of his way, he tugged on a pair of loose trousers. Herbert had insisted on him having some comfortable trousers that weren’t jeans for sprawling around the house in, and while he had protested they made him look like he’d escaped from a harem, all flarey soft fabric and deep, jewelled colours, he had to admit that Herbert had been right about the comfort factor.
Plus, it didn’t hurt to let a nice refreshing breeze ripple around the unmentionables.
Draped over the back of the chair, one of Herbert’s shirts was swiped and pulled on over Spike’s slighter body, hanging open as he wandered out into the hall. He paused, looking both ways, then followed the sound of the music.
Weird thing was that it didn’t seem to be coming from the living room.
Yeah, there were other stereos about, but with the clarity of sound, he’d expected Herbie to use the best stereo in the house.
Still, wasn’t like anyone was behaving in any ways that could be called normal at the moment, so Herbert listening to music on a sub-standard sound-system would be a minor thing to worry about.
Halfway down a staircase, he spotted Illyria, who was motionless on the banister, her feet braced against the stone. She was staring ahead of her and he tilted his head to peer at her, waving a hand in front of her face. She didn’t move, apparently either lost in thought or ignoring him.
At least she was consistent in her behaviour.
Hopping down the stairs, his toes curling on the edge of each step, he paused at the foot then turned into one of the side corridors, moving from bare flagged-stone to a carpet that ran along the centre of the hall.
Wherever it was coming from, the music had changed slightly. Though still melancholy, it was softer now, poignant rather than aggressive, rising up the scale in pitch and tone.
Closing his eyes, the young vampire followed the sound until he walked squarely into what transpired to be a wall. Knowing Herbert and knowing the tricky old castle, it couldn’t be just a wall. When he pressed his ear against what looked like stone, sound rippled through it too clearly.
Tapping the surface, he grinned. Nice.
Another twenty minutes had him poking, prodding and fondling every inch of the wall, but nothing seemed to work or even give an indication he was on the right lines. Somewhere beyond it, it sounded like a piano was weeping drops of pure despair.
Kicking the thing and swearing at it had about the same effect and sometimes, Spike had to admit, it helped to have an ex-demon-god-type with super-strength and a tendency to use the inhabitants of the castle as her own twisted version of Big Brother.
Trotting back along the hall, idly fastening a couple of the shirt buttons as he went, he hurried back up the stairs towards her.
With a persistence that impressed even him, he talked at her, tugging on her arm and climbing onto the banister behind her, until she had turned flashing blue eyes at him, her expression icy. “Why do you disrupt me?”
“Disrupt?” Spike blinked. “You’re just sitting.”
The demon looked away in the direction of the music. “I am listening.”
“Fine,” Spike made a face. “I’ll stop disrupting if you come and break down a secret door for me. I’ll leave you to listen all you like after that.”
“And if I do not, you shall harass me?”
“Like a pro,” he promised seriously then squeezed her upper arms. “C’mon, pet. I need to find Herbie and get him back on his feet.” She was still for so long that he thought she’d glazed over again. “Look, I don’t want to see my boy fall apart.”
“And this music will cause him to crumble?”
Spike shrugged. Not really a lie, if you thought about it. “If I don’t get him cheered up, it could.”
Illyria was silent. “This would displease the Sorcerer,” she noted finally. “This, I cannot allow.”
“Good stuff!” Spike exclaimed, scrambling down from the banister. She followed him wordlessly as he hastened back down the hall towards the hidden doorway in the wall. “There’s a panel or something in this wa…”
Pushing past him, the demon touched a spot on the wall no different than any other, and a solid block of stone slid inwards. Turning, she stalked away past him, leaving him staring at the door-sized opening.
“How did you…?”
“You look for what is not there,” her voice rang back to him. “I saw what was.”
Spike gaped at the opening for a second longer, then called over his shoulder, “Thanks, pet.”
“Your disruption continues. Be silent.”
Obedient for the first time, he ducked into the opening, descending a long, twisting staircase, a dry, cool breeze whispering around him as he hurried down. The stone steps seemed barely used, as sharply cut as they probably had been the day they were crafted, and the walls were bare and smooth.
Peering upwards, it seemed like the staircase went on upwards as well, towards the upper levels of the castle, yet now he had a feeling they were heading to a part of the lowest levels that probably met with the grounds somewhere.
One of these days, he decided, he would have to map out the castle, then challenge Herbert to a game of hide and seek which would actually be fair for the first time. Never fair, when Herbie knew every hidden hall and then some.
The staircase opened out into a hall before him and at the end he saw a doorway. The door was open and, unless his ears were playing tricks, that room was the source of the music.
And now that he was closer, it didn’t sound like a recording at all.
Hesitant, he crept towards the open door, stopping dead in the doorway. His hand leapt to steady himself against the frame as he stared into the sun-drenched room at the figure there.
While Herbert had probably been impeccable when he had arrived, his hair had broken loose from its restraints, spilling around a face that was strained with emotion. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his head bowed over the keyboard of a magnificent, polished grand piano.
Oblivious to Spike’s presence, his hands wandered the keys as tenderly, as familiarly as they would wander the body of his lover, drawing out that heart-breaking music again. His shoulders were tensed and his sleeves, which had clearly been rolled up once, slipped and flapped against his forearms.
Spike found he wasn’t breathing.
Not that he needed to, but if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to.
Against the golden backdrop of morning and the misty land visible through the panelled windows, Herbert had never looked more dazzlingly beautiful, but even more than that, the agonizing tension that radiated from his body was captivating and terrifying in its intensity, every part of him embroiled with the music he was producing.
Rising up the scale once more, his right hand tenderly caressed a sorrowful melody from the keys.
By the door, Spike shook himself from his dazed stupor, moving into the room, closer, wondering if it would be cruelty or mercy to tear Herbert away from the piano that seemed to be bearing the weight of his emotions.
“Herbert.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all he could manage and he heard the brief falter in the music.
Herbert’s shoulders shivered and his pale fingers rippled back down the black and white keys, little more than a blur as his pace quickened, then slowed again. The key changed and for a moment, it seemed that some level of peace had descended.
“Cheri...” He sounded so tired, his head rocking back on his shoulders, even as his fingertips picked out a sad melody.
Taking the unspoken invitation, Spike approached the stool Herbert was seated on, laying his hands on his lover’s shoulders. “You about done, love?” he asked softly, aggrieved by the taut tension that was wrapped around Herbert’s body.
Slowing the rhythm, Herbert closed his eyes and sagged back against Spike’s chest with a sigh as the melody faded into silence. His hands dropped from the keyboard to his sides. The tips of his fingers were dull red, bruised.
“Thank you, cheri.”
With a kiss to the top of Herbert’s head, Spike wrapped his arms around the elder vampire. “Didn’t know you could play,” he murmured, wanting nothing more than to carefully soothe each of those bruised fingertips. Didn’t know how long Herbie had been at it, but he’d been listening for nearly an hour and if Herbie was as knackered as he looked, then it probably had been a bloody long while.
Against his chest, Herbert laughed faintly. “Yes... yes, I am full of surprises,” he whispered. He tilted his head, pressing his temple against Spike’s shoulder, one hand rising to touch the back of Spike’s hand. “I did not mean to wake you.”
“Better that I got up when I did, I think,” Spike murmured. He turned over one hand, catching Herbert’s, and gently touched the reddened fingertips. “Tell you what.” He lifted the hand to kiss those fingertips tenderly. “I think we’ve been behaving too much lately. S’about time we got pissed. Sod the rest of them. Let’s break into the wine cellar.”
He felt Herbert’s exhausted smile against his shoulder. “You know, cheri,” he said softly. “I think that is a marvellous idea.”
___________________________________
Truly, it was a sight to warm the coldest heart.
Hidden between half-light and darkness, Johannes von Krolock watched as his son was hoisted from the floor and half-carried to the broad bed that took up a generous portion of his room.
The youngest vampire in the household sat down on the edge of the mattress and patiently divested Herbert of his wine- and blood-spattered clothing, smiling fondly as idle caresses touched him and occasionally, leaning in to kiss Herbert’s lips.
It was more than apparent that both of the youngsters had spent most of the day indulging in the best wines stolen from his extensive cellar, yet the Graf could find no anger within him for such childish naughtiness.
Regret and sadness had risen too quickly to allow it.
The moment he had heard his son playing on his piano, he had been forced from his chambers, forced to acknowledge that perhaps, he was not the only one suffering in these uncomfortable circumstances.
It had been decades since he had been compelled to conceal the piano from Herbert, for fear the boy would do more damage to himself than good. A passionate creature, his son put his life into his music and so often exhausted himself to the point of collapse, playing for hours on end without respite.
Today had proved how wise that decision had been all those years ago.
And yet for three hours he had stood by, watched his son breaking apart over the keyboard, unable to move, to intervene, both shocked by the depth of feeling displayed and guilty that he had been so utterly unaware of it.
When William had entered the room and approached, there was such quiet and accepting openness on Herbert’s face, such simple tenderness between them that the Graf had withdrawn into the shadows, his mind overwhelmed.
Days earlier, when he had been approached by William, when he had come so close to utterly destroying the fragile psyche that they had spent so many months carefully rebuilding, he had not realized. He had certainly not believed it when his son had turned on him, defying him for the first time since his infancy.
Sheer shock had forced him back, that day, more than acceptance of Herbert’s quiet pronouncement. He had watched the gentleness with which his son had tended his lover, his every gesture saying so much more than a thousand words could.
His son was in love, unless he was truly mistaken.
For the first time in four centuries, Herbert had allowed another close enough to him to allow himself to fall in love. For years, von Krolock had watched him deliberately shatter relationships, sabotaging them and forcing the deeper emotions and ties away before they could linger, breaking dozens of hearts as he went, yet now…
He had been unaware of it.
So addled by his own breaking relationship, so determined to distance Herbert from his freshest failing and sorrow, he had ignored his son’s greatest display of emotion and bravery for generations, had almost shattered it by breaking this creature that Herbert had come to clearly love so much more than von Krolock had anticipated.
That was why he had concealed himself more deeply. That was why he had been unable to approach his beautiful boy. To know he could have broken the person he loved above all others by simple ignorance hurt even more than the loss of Dawn.
Never before had he been so utterly unaware of his son's state of mind. In four long centuries, nothing had distracted him from that which was dearest to him, most especially not a relationship that was falling apart around him,
If this was what the fracture between he and Dawn was causing, better to gently let her go before bitterness took hold, rather than draw out his own grief and his son's turmoil any longer.
For his own good, and thus for Herbert's, Dawn should be allowed to depart. She was unhappy here. Her unhappiness was leading to the emotional disarray that had sent his son rushing to his piano for the first time in decades, pouring out his every emotion in agonizing music. Better to free them all from it.
Watching as William negotiated Herbert into his nightwear, his son grumbling all the while, his voice slurred by fatigue and alcohol, Johannes could not help but notice how pale and drawn his son’s face was beneath the rosy veneer of the wine. He looked utterly exhausted, something he had not seen in his child for years.
“I want more wine.”
Smoothing Herbert’s hair, William smiled indulgently. “Think you’ve had enough for now, love,” he said, to which Herbert made an unflattering face. “Anyway, I’m not trekking all the way down to the basement to get another bottle, only to get back and find you snoring your arse off.”
Herbert pouted. “You don’t love me at all,” he grumbled.
“Course I don’t, you silly wanker.” William kissed him on the forehead. “You make me wear poofy clothes and you steal all the covers. You start being nice to me and I might think about it.”
In the space between reality and its edge, von Krolock touched his fingertips to the reluctant smile playing across his lips.
“I am nice,” Herbert mumbled, as William rose and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Compared to what, exactly?”
Herbert pouted again, tilting his cheek against his unbound hair on the pillow. “You should not be so cruel to me, cheri,” he grumbled. “I cannot think well enough to be rude back to you.”
“I know,” Folding his shirt and trousers, William donned a loose pair of what looked like pantaloons. “All part of my cunning plan.” He crossed the floor and tossed his own clothing and Herbert’s into the linen basket, then returned to the bed. “Now, you going to be a sprawly arse or do I get more than one pillow tonight?”
With a protesting mumble, Herbert squirmed across the bed a bit and William climbed in without hesitation, pausing only to flick off the lamps.
In perfect concert, they arranged themselves amid the pillows and expansive duvet, Herbert settling himself against his lover, head on his shoulder, utterly trusting. Slipping his arm around Herbert’s shoulder, William smoothed his hair again.
“Sleep well, love,” he murmured. “And if you wake up early again, you wake me up too, all right? And no wandering off.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Herbert mumbled, groping out blindly for the duvet, which William tugged up and arranged over them both. “You are still cruel.”
“And you’re still a wanker,” William murmured. “Now, shut up and go to sleep or I’ll never shag you again.”
“My bedroom.” Herbert sounded sweetly petulant and drowsy. “Can talk if I like.”
“Our room, you silly poof.” William kissed Herbert gently. “Now, shush.”
“Spoil-sport.”
“Bloody right.”
It was William’s words, however, that caused the Graf to rouse himself to look away from the adorable scene before him to look around the room once more.
Several things leapt out at him that he hadn’t noticed before; William’s boots tossed in the half-open wardrobe, his clothes scattered here and there, hanging out of drawers. There was even a small stack of books on the nightstand on the side of the bed the young vampire now occupied.
Shaken, he allowed himself to fade from the room.
How was it possible that he had been so blind that he had not seen how deep Herbert’s love for William ran? Or that it was reciprocated just as passionately?
That Herbert had allowed someone to share his chambers, to remain with him whenever he wished, was something he had never imagined his son would permit. The quiet trust he placed in William was astounding, breathtaking, and that William responded with his heart, giving himself and all he had to Herbert…
And yet, he, Herbert’s father, had been utterly oblivious.
What had he put his beloved child through while he wallowed in selfish isolation? Had William been absent, he dared not to think what would have become of Herbert, had he been lacking in the support he had so clearly been receiving from the young vampire.
And had his son not interrupted his claiming, what would have become of Herbert if he had torn William so thoroughly asunder as he had intended? His son’s first real love affair, almost destroyed entirely by his own hands.
It would have been unforgivable, irredeemable.
His groundless wanderings came to a halt as he realized where he had brought himself. Before him, the door of Dawn’s chamber stood as a silent barrier, but he stepped through it as if it were naught more than mist.
This madness had to end. Herbert needed peace of mind, William should feel safe, she should be happy, and if that meant freeing her, so be it. His heart had dealt with greater pain before. Even now it was, at the thought of Herbert.
Yes, better to let her go with love rather than loathing.
Ascending the staircase, he saw her face illuminated by the soft moonlight, her dark hair spread on the white pillows. She looked so peaceful, untroubled by the pain of the world, and he hesitated in approaching, drinking in every subtle tone and shade on her lovely face, the way her lips curved, the soft brush of her lashes against her cheekbones.
He could have watched her like that for an eternity, yet he forced himself towards her, sinking to sit on the edge of the bed and gently touching her hand, which lay loosely upon her stomach.
Coming awake instantly, born of reflexes quickened by years of peril, her eyes opened, focusing on him. He saw the surprise, felt his heart aching as she whispered his name with such surprise and wonder.
Bowing over her, he touched his lips to hers, savouring every moment of contact, his eyes closing to mask the pain as she wrapped her arms around him, returning his kiss with her fire, pulling him closer.
Words were forgotten as they divested one another of their clothing, sinking together onto her bed, tangled in one another’s arms. Her fingertips touched his face, brushing his lips and his throat and he held her close, memorizing every inch of her warm, fragrant body with his hands and lips.
Her every sigh was like music, and when he felt her heartbeat stutter as completion assailed her, he thought he might weep at the thought of never seeing her shadow in his doorway again.
Kissing her tenderly, he held her close, and as the moon rose, she slipped towards sleep in his embrace. With her nestled against him, her hair spilling like silk against his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to her brow.
“Forgive me, liebling,” he whispered against her brow, his fingers threading through her hair, a final caress. She nodded slowly, drowsily, so close to sleep. His kiss was feather-soft against her forehead. “You may depart when you will.”
______________________________
Funny how slippery the edge of the tub was.
Never really noticed it before, but it really was bloody slippery.
With warm water bubbling around him, right up to the middle of his chest, and his arms spread along the cool rim, Spike’s fingers skittered on the edge again, curling a little bit to stop him sinking any further.
Tilting his head back, he grinned vaguely at the ceiling, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.
When Herbert had said the castle had been upgraded since his last visit, way back in the day, this definitely wasn’t what he’d imagined. After all, what kind of evil image did it give to the outside world if you had a bloody huge bathroom with a fantastic view and a Jacuzzi that could easily sit five?
Not that he was complaining. Oh, no. After shaking off a hangover from the night before, he was up for the self-pampering. Definitely nothing bad about the sensations rippling through and over him, making his skin thrum and his toes curl and uncurl against the smooth bottom of the tub. Say what you like, but a Jacuzzi was one of the little luxuries that everyone should have.
He bit on his lower lip, the nape of his neck pressed against the curved lip of the tub, his legs shifting under the water.
On the edge of his awareness, he heard the muted squeal of the hinges of the door, but didn’t both to open his eyes. Not in the mood for distraction. He sighed, slipping a little deeper in the water.
“Spike, you got a...” Niblet. Course.
Lifting one hand, he waved her away, a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh escaping him.
“It’s important!” She sounded tetchy. Pity.
“Nibs,” He was impressed his voice sounded so steady, his eyes half-opening. “Shut up or sod off...”
By the daylight streaming in behind him, he saw her blink at him. “What...”
Turning his hand, he flipped a finger up at her, his hips shifting. His hand dropped back to the edge of the tub, fingers pressing hard against the surface. Eyes pressing closed, he arched back against the smooth side, an almost-silent moan escaping his parted lips.
“Oooo... kay...”
In spite of himself, as he sank to the throat in the water, unable to hold himself up any longer, he felt his mouth twitching in a grin. Still, it was a moment before he could open his eyes, exhaling a pleasant sigh.
Standing a dozen paces across the room, Dawn was staring at him, nose wrinkled.
“Mm?”
“Um... I guess you really like Jacuzzis, huh?”
His ribs quivered lightly, first with mirth, then with something more as he felt lips touch just below his navel. The tongue that had been playing so wickedly beneath the bubbling water flicked at the shallow indent.
“Yeah...” he heard himself murmur, closing his eyes. “They’re great...”
Fingertips traced along the backs of his thighs and fangs raked lightly across his ribs, making him shudder, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. His own fingertips were white, gripping the edge of the tub for dear life.
Could feel the Niblet’s scrutiny on him, but his attention was elsewhere. Most especially on the lips moving slowly up his chest, and he made himself open his eyes just in time.
Heard Dawn exclaim, but whatever was said wasn’t enough to distract him.
With sunlight streaming through the windows that framed half of the tub, Herbert’s soaked hair glowed like burnished gold, spreading in a cloud in the water around his head and shoulders as he broke through the rippling, sparkling surface of the water.
Beneath the surface, his hands slid against Spike’s thighs, thumbs slipping firmly against tensing muscle, but his eyes were modestly down, lashes like delicate ochre brushes against his pale cheekbones.
His lips parted, Spike felt his unneeded breath catch sharply as those thickly-lashed eyes opened just as Herbert’s smile broke the surface, thoroughly angelic, but his eyes were nothing but wickedness and desire flaring in liquid silver.
Reaching out, unable to restrain himself, Spike pulled that smiling mouth hard against his, groaning into the kiss as Herbert’s body slid against his, as slick and wet as his own was, warm with stolen heat.
“You,” he panted out between kisses, his lips trembling against Herbert’s. “Are so fucking beautiful.”
“I know,” Herbert murmured, his thumbs scraping over Spike’s hipbones, pulling Spike’s body so hard against his own that the young vampire’s head dropped back against the edge of the tub again.
Tilting his head with a smile, he nuzzled Spike’s wrist, then palm. “We have an audience,” he noted softly, rubbing his jaw against the heel of Spike’s trembling hand before drawing Spike’s thumb between his lips and sucking on it. “Mmm?”
Blue eyes cracked open a fraction. “Nibs...”
“Um...”
Spike almost managed to voice a protest when Herbert’s lips slipped away from his skin, but hands moved beneath the water and what words he had considered were forgotten as he felt the press of Herbert’s body between his thighs.
“You are interrupting, cherie,” Herbert murmured in Dawn’s direction.
“Your dad...”
Grey eyes shimmered. “You are interrupting,” he repeated softly, jerking his head towards the door.
“I’ll... uh... go...”
Glancing over his shoulder, Herbert’s smile was wicked, and Spike wondered if he was just seeing things, the way Herbie seemed to glow by the sunlight, his profile so bloody perfect right then.
Hands tensed on his skin and he arched with a wanton groan as Herbert’s body invaded his. Tugging his hand free, he clutched wildly at the side of the tub, drawing rapid breaths as he felt Herbert press closer, deeper, harder.
Somewhere, a door slammed.
When he managed to force his eyes open again, slashes of mercury watched him from beneath hooded lids and soft lashes. He could see the tip of a pink tongue between pale lips and white teeth and felt hands squeeze his hips harder.
Heavy, sodden gold slid over shoulders, brushing his cheeks as soft as the mouth that touched his. Tasted that tongue. Felt those white teeth. Groaned against those pale, lovely lips.
“Bloody love you, you bastard,” he moaned.
Those lips hesitated for an instant, then he felt the smile, felt the arms around him and his own slipped from the side of the tub to clutch at Herbert. And the water rose up around them, bubbling all the while.
________________________
Stalking into the study, Dawn looked around the room. It was pitch-dark and looked like no one had been in it for days, but this was Johannes, and she knew this was one of his choice places of lurkage.
Approaching the desk, she touched the wick of the candle on the desk. Still warm.
“I know you’re around here somewhere,” she called out sharply, glaring at a point on the ceiling, her hands on her hips. “You just gonna keep on hiding every time I come anywhere near you until I go away, or you gonna find some balls?”
“I have said that which needed to be said.”
Though he spoke from behind her, she didn’t turn around straight away. Clenching her jaw, she took a breath to calm herself, then pivoted to look up at him. “So that’s it, is it? You want me gone?”
“I said no such thing,” he replied, voice just as calm and quiet as hers. Ha!
“You said I could go ‘when’ I want,” she said. Huh. There was that calm starting to shake a bit. “No question there, Johannes. When. Not if. Don’t plan on having me hang around, huh?”
She saw the flare of something in his eyes. “Liebling...” He stepped closer to her, extending a hand.
“Don’t you dare ‘liebling’ me,” she hissed, recoiling from him. “You come to me with your niceness and cuddles after you ignore me for weeks, then tell me you think I should get outta here and avoid me again? What the hell do you want with me, Johannes?”
“You desired another,” he said softly. “I would not hold you back.”
“Hold me back...?” She stared at him incredulously. “You son of a bitch! You wanna use that as an excuse to get rid of me?”
“Dawn, what cause would I have to wish for you to depart?” His long, pale hands were slowly curling by his sides. Huh. Looked like she wasn’t the only one with damage to her calm.
“When, Johannes. When. After everything you said when you asked me to stay here...” She stared at him, brows drawing together. “You didn’t think I would stay this long, did you?” He made no reply, gazing at her steadily. “Did you?”
“Did you?” he countered and she could see the flash of ire in his eyes.
She threw a vicious glare at him. “I didn’t know,” she replied venomously. “I didn’t know what would happen, but I think you always thought I’d go, you thought I’d be outta here and even now, you think it’s gonna happen.”
“Is it?”
“You tell me, Johannes. You want me here or not?” She stepped up to him, staring him in the eyes. “You treat me like hell, you leave me wondering if you’re pissed at me and then you tell me I can go...” Her lip curled back from her teeth and she shoved past him. “To hell with you,” she hissed.
“Dawn.” His voice was infinitely soft, but the power froze her as suddenly as a chain around her. “Stay.”
“Stay?” she echoed incredulously, forcing her to break free of that mesmerising voice. “What the hell am I?” She whirled around and stared at him. “A pet? Is that all I am?” She stalked closer to him, eyes flashing. “Someone you get to play around with until you decide, ‘oh, wait! I think I’ll let you go now?’” She was barely inches from him. “I’m not a fucking toy, Johannes!”
“You’re still mine, little girl.”
“Oh yeah?” She jutted her chin out and glared up at him. “And if I walk out that door, what you gonna do? Force me to stay? I don’t think so. I can do what I want, when I want and who I want and you can’t stop me.”
His hand leapt up, catching her around the throat and she gasped as she was jerked off her feet, her face brought close to his. “Whatever you are, you vicious little hoyden,” he snarled. “You are mine until the day you die.”
“Fuck you!” she spat, grimacing as his fingers tightened. “I’m mine.”
“I hold your life in my hand, little girl,” he retorted in a low growl.
One of her hands swung towards his face and he snared her wrist, squeezing, but her other was already moving and he cried out in fury and pain as her palm impacted with his cheek, the blow echoing back, punctuated by the hiss of sizzling flesh.
Whirling around, he hurled her across the room and she bit hard on the inside of her lip to stifle a cry of pain as she bounced off the surface of the table and crashed down, knocking two chairs over. The wood of one of them shattered and she felt the splinters scrape against her skin.
Staggering to her feet, she wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “You fucking bastard,” she growled.
Black eyes blazed at her and she could see the raw, bleeding cross-shaped burn gouged into his cheek. “You are not leaving this place,” he hissed viciously, stalking towards her.
“I don’t even get the option now?” she demanded with a bitter smile.
He loomed over her and she drew a sharp breath, eyes widening, when he caught her hand, squeezing her fist around the cross she was still gripping. Blood seeped between her fingers, trickling down her wrist, but she kept glaring at him, despite the fact it felt like her insides were shivering from pain and fury.
“You will stay,” he said quietly, the low snarl underlying the words. He slid his hand down to her wrist, pulling aside her sleeve and baring the mark of his bite, the smear of fresh blood staining her skin. “You are mine.”
She lashed out with her other hand, but her fingers were caught, squeezed until she felt something give, her vision danced with spots of pain. “You can’t keep me here, you son of a bitch,” she hissed at him.
He leaned closer to her, lips curling mockingly. “I can...”
There was a crack as her forehead smashed against his nose and she saw the rain of red, heard him curse.
Jerking her head back, tossing her hair over her shoulders, she gave him a derisive smile, so undignified with blood streaming over his pale face and his eyes blazing with rage and something more.
And it was the something more that made her rip her arm free of his hand, tossing aside the bloody crucifix, sinking her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth down on hers with a violence that shocked her.
He pulled her hard against him, meeting her kiss and matching the violence, his hand freeing her other one to let him squeeze her hips. She bit down on his tongue, snarling a warning when she felt the flesh break open under his long nails, felt him growl in response.
His arm was beneath her suddenly and she gasped aloud as she was brought down on her back on the table with bruising force, the air forced from her lungs, then his mouth was on hers again, claiming, starving, demanding.
She heard the clatter of his ink and pens thrown off the desk, the fluttering thumps of the books thrown ruthlessly aside, off the polished table.
This was what he needed. This was what she wanted. This was what both of them hadn’t realised.
She could taste his blood and hers, cold and warm mingling, could feel his tongue lapping at the inside of her torn bottom lip, felt him shudder at the taste of it, felt the pleasure run through him, echoed in her.
Then his mouth was gone and she felt the chilly air of the room hit bare skin, felt his hands on her thighs, forcing them apart and tried to rise only for invisible pressure to force her back flat. Swore, but didn’t mean it.
His lips touched her inner thighs and she hissed aloud, her hips arching.
Bad damn time to be at that time of the month.
Or good, judging by the low, purring growl that seemed to run from his throat right up through her insides.
His mouth touched her and she gasped again, a shudder of want so desperate running through her that she wasn’t surprised when he chuckled.
“You sick bastard!” she moaned out.
“Mm,” he agreed, then delicately traced his tongue along her most secret places with soft sounds of approval every few seconds. And when he touched that point, lingered, lapped, her body twitched with every single delicate touch of his tongue.
She was biting the inside of her lip again, could feel pulses everywhere, right to the bloody cuts on her hands and even in the ragged gash inside her lip. Every pulse. Every beat. Every one of them matched by the deepening and knowing laps of that wicked tongue.
Panting, breathless, staring. No words. No thoughts. Hips shifting, needing, begging without words. She shuddered under the magical bindings, breath shivering on her lips. Hands tensed. Eyes pressed closed. Heat. Want.
Fingers slipped within. Tongue flickered.
Breath caught.
Barely a sound as she came apart, left panting.
Lips touched her thighs. Kissing, teeth scraping, not biting, not yet, not time.
Then, he was over her, his mouth touching hers. Could taste him, could taste her, could taste blood, taste want. Met his kisses, felt the magic shiver away, her hands rising, in his hair, blood streaking, pain mingling.
His shirt was gone. Felt bare skin against her thighs, felt him slipping closer, wanting, ready.
Forcing her eyes open, lips back from her teeth and she arched to him, felt him sink into her, felt him hiss against lips and teeth, saw his eyes close, felt herself pushed back on the table.
He was over her, her hands moving on him as he pulled her close, chest to chest, lips to lips, deeper, harder and making her his, making her... no...
With a growl, she launched herself up to him, caught him off-guard. Forced him over, on his back, brought him down hard, fast, bloody hands leaving prints on bare skin, pinning him flat.
“No,” she snarled when he tried to rise.
Black eyes blazed. “Dawn...”
Her slap was resounding. “No.”
His lips peeled back from his teeth, flashing by the light slanting in from the hall and she reversed the blow, backhanding the growl out of him. The inside of his lip tore on his canine along with her knuckles and she crushed her mouth down on his, her fingers biting into his chest, nails raking into his skin.
She felt his fingers slip to her hips, felt the skin break, felt the warm tickle of her own blood trickling over her skin, but ignore it. Just a few cuts. No big.
Her fist knotted into his hair and she leaned down over him, her body shifting, making his eyes widen, making him hiss in turn. She pulled his head to one side, dragged her tongue up his throat.
“Dawn...” The growl was hungrier, feral. Fingers splayed, slid up her back and he was pulling himself upright, pulling her fast against him, her knees banging against the tabletop, hands clutching his shoulders.
“Shut up,” she hissed against his throat, then bit him with all the force she could muster, until she felt his skin give, until she tasted and felt blood, until she heard him cry out aloud for her.
Beneath her, his body tensed and they were falling, landing heavily on the floor, still tangled in one another. Fighting for purchase, she sank her nails into the wound in his neck, making him arch, forcing him onto his back once more.
Tossing her hair back, the nails of her other hand scratching down his chest, she gave him an icy look, then her mouth was on his and her nails were digging deeper and his growl gave way to a groan.
Tearing her mouth from his, she let her body move against him, felt his nails biting into her thighs, felt him arching beneath her.
“Lemme get this straight...” she panted out, hair clinging to blood on her face, blood dripping from her lips. “I’m mine. You don’t own me. You try to keep me here by force and you’ll regret it.” Sinking over him, her mouth touched the other side of his throat and she could feel his shudder. “Doesn’t mean...” she whispered against his unmarked skin. “That I won’t stay, though.”
And then she bit again, tearing flesh, tasting blood, biting harder when his nails cut deep in her thighs.
_____________________
Part 2