Mod Challenge for Nero_Nailpolish: No One Special (1/2)
This is for nero_nailpolish who requested:
Can I request a William/Angelus fic with a really dark and angsty take on William's turning?
And lo! There was Victorian Fic! This is a two-parter. Bear with the lack of actual William/Angelus in this first half.
Warnings: Vampires being vampires. William being all milquetoast. Angelus having dreadful taste in poetry.
Drusilla needed a nursemaid, a minder. It was mostly for Darla’s benefit. Angelus rather enjoyed her ravings. They were the beautiful product of his own genius, and they made sure life was never dull. Darla, however, disagreed, and there was to be no peace with her until he gave in. Besides, Drusilla had been demanding a new toy ever since she accidentally dusted the last fellow.
They walked the groomed streets of London’s more prosperous districts, and Angelus told her to pick out whatever she liked. Drusilla’s smile gaped wide, like a child on Christmas, and she pointed through a window glowing with lamplight, “Oh, him, Daddy! He’s pretty!”
Angelus frowned, considering the mop of gentle curls bent over a writing desk. He didn’t look at all like what Angelus thought a woman would find handsome. He was not broad and tall or dark and commanding - in short, he didn’t look a thing like Angelus, but Drusilla was dancing upon his arm in excitement and talking about knights and ponies and stars, so he kissed her and promised it would be done.
He didn’t devote too much time to it. Really, it was a convenience. He enjoyed a middle class supper now and then, and it was a good neighborhood to hunt in; many self-important people who were, in fact, not important at all, easily snatched up and easily missed.
Two days later he saw the young fellow walking into another house. A party was on, and the windows were open to admit the cool air and release the sound of the pianoforte and cheerful conversations. Angelus smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie, and tucked in his blood-spotted handkerchief. The door opened at his knock and the hostess smiled vacantly at him, no doubt trying to place him. “Yes?”
“Mr. Angelus. We met at the opening?” He smiled in his ingratiating way.
It was almost too easy. The woman swept her skirts back and said, “Oh! Yes, do come in, Mr. Angelus. From the, uh, theatre opening?”
“Yes. You look as lovely tonight as you did then.” He handed his hat and gloves to the maid, who stood by, ready and silent. She was a toothsome morsel. Perhaps, now he had an invite, he’d return and partake of the staff.
***
William didn’t notice the dark gentleman, even when he nearly ran into him, trying to flee the party, his dignity, like his verse, clutched helplessly to his chest. Nor did he notice the man turn to follow him. Indeed, even when the man placed a hand on his shoulder, it took him a moment to realize.
A horrifying moment, as his cheeks were wet with tears and that wouldn’t do. Not in a man’s company. “Leave me be,” he said, not turning to face the man. He had just made it down the steps to the street and was sure he could hear laughter at his expense following him.
“There, lad. I liked your poem.”
William bristled, assuming mockery, and glared at him. “I said leave me be. Unhand me or I will be forced to…”
“Forced to what, young William?”
The bluster melted into a near whine, “Just let me go.”
The other man smiled. It was, oddly enough, the most friendly smile he had seen outside of his own family. “If I do will you go rabbitting off into the dark? You ought to know it isn’t safe to walk the streets alone of a night.” The man stepped close and dropped his voice, “There could be dangerous men about.”
William closed his eyes. The moment of flight had left him nearly exhausted, and still pain and hurt threatened to bubble up and unman him. “Sir, I thank you kindly, but my home is only a moment’s walk.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind an escort, would ye?”
The accent, disguised before but now slipping through, caught William’s attention. He did not recall any of Robert’s friends being Irish. Some disquiet penetrated the great wall of feeling in him. “Are you an acquaintance of the Addamses?”
“Tangentally,” the gentleman rolled his wrist, a gesture of non-importance, and then held out his hand as if in greeting. “Angelus,” he said.
“Pratt,” William said, in response, assuming ‘Angelus’ was a last name.
Mr. Angelus scowled on taking William’s hand. “That’s not a pretty name; it doesn’t suit you.”
His grip was crushing. William almost made an unmanful sound, bearing up under it. “It’s the only one I have, sir, and I like it well enough. It was my father’s, after all.”
Mr. Angelus grinned, and his teeth shown very white in the low light, a Cheshire cat grin. “Come with me, my boy, to the public house. We’ll discuss poetry and the vagaries of women.”
William, retracting his hand and teetering on the knife’s edge of four different emotions, did know exactly how he felt about that scheme, and responded with a very quiet, “No.”
Which had all the power of its volume, for Mr. Angelus clapped a strong hand on his elbow and whisked him off into the night, striding long and fast, so that it was all William could do to keep up. He tried several times to wrest his elbow from the man’s grip, at first subtly, as one must do with politeness, then with no regard at all to hiding what he was attempting. He grunted and twisted, but the hand remained where it was, and Mr. Angelus showed no sign of tiring.
“You are very strong,” William said, by way of complaint more than compliment.
Without breaking his stride, Mr. Angelus glanced down at him and said, “So are you.”
The casual sincerity of it - and patent falsehood - touched William’s heart. He was far to stunned to struggle further.
***
It was easy as a bringing home a whore. Oh, not so easy that Angelus didn’t enjoy it, but there was never the slightest fear of failure. He plied the boy with compliments and praise, and watched his sorrow and confusion blossom into wonder and admiration.
That, and the fellow got drunk on a mere whiff of wine.
The boy was so pretty with his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed, his wire-rim glasses slipping down his nose. That, and the poetry was charming - well, what he had heard of it. He didn’t quite get what those puffed up gentlemen had found so amusing, and told William as much. Sanctimonious fools, he called them, who wouldn’t know art if it bit them on the arse. These words were among the only honest things he said, and he let the lad dig out a few wadded papers from his waistcoat and read a few more verses.
“Aye, that’s a good one, too. ‘The sun’s golden caresses/ gild her ebon tresses’. I like a rhyme that you can see coming at you.”
“You, Mr. Angelus, are a shentle…. a gem… genilmin of great taste!” William toasted somewhere to the left of Angelus’ ear.
“It’s just ‘Angelus’, William. No ‘Mr.’ in my world.”
His eyes were wide with wonder. “Ireland?”
“Oh, no, lad. A far more exotic and wonderful land is mine. A land where true men of greatness and vision - men like yourself - are the rulers, and the cowardly, the small-minded - well, they are less than cattle. Would you like to see it?”
William frowned and squinted at Angelus. “I don’ know… sounds far. I ought to get home to Mother.”
Angelus gritted his teeth. He did detest a momma’s boy. Perhaps he would just drag the lad home and have Darla turn him. “Tell me, lad, have you ever been to New Delhi?”
More moon eyes. “No.”
“Have ye ever been to the West Indies?”
“No.”
Angelus sighed. “How sad,” he said, leaning back in his chair and scanning the room, pretending to have lost interest in the boy.
“But I want to!” William dropped a sloppy, warm hand on Angelus’ arm. “Lord, I want to see more of the world than this isle!”
“I can take you, show you the world, but you will never see your mother again.”
Mistake. The boy shied away, shaking his head in adorable disappointment. “No. I can’t. She’s so sick. She needs me.”
Angelus suppressed a frown and lied. “Fine. Come home with me tonight, sleep off the drink, and tomorrow, you can go home and ask your mother if she wants to join us on the trip.”
William perked up, eyes glittering with the feverish delight of much drink. “You mean it? She can come?”
“Of course.” Angelus draped an arm over William’s shoulders and drew him close. “I would never dream of separating a mother and her devoted son.”
After that, it was sublimely easy. The boy padded after him like a puppy dog, trusting and eager. When they got to the townhouse, little William pulled himself together enough to bow politely to Darla and greet her as a fine lady. Bless him! Angelus was starting to regret not taking more time with the boy. He had great depths of purity and innocence to destroy.
Drusilla ran up to him, tickling his chin and smiling with ravenous glee. “Oh, what a bright star, fallen into my lap! My prince is come to me. Ah!” Her mouth wide, she breathed like a snake tasting scent, her eyes glittering and seeking his out.
Angelus snatched the boy back, and Drusilla bowed her head, cowed. William swayed in confusion.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Angelus, let the girl have him.”
“She’ll mesmerize him. Be a waste, no pain, no fear, no art.”
William, so hot and loose, was draped on his side, using Angelus for support. He made some confused noise. He was looking at Darla’s cold expression. “I think… you mean me ill,” he said.
Darla laughed, genuinely and delightfully, like rain on bells. “Oh, a fine minion - he already has their characteristic wit. Go ahead, Angelus, turn him. I’ll be up to enjoy the fruits of his death, later.” Her eyes dropped lasciviously down Angelus’ body, no question of the meaning of her words. He was already hard just thinking about drinking all that hot, young, innocent blood. He and Darla would have a fine night using poor William’s stolen vitality.
He rushed up the stairs, carrying William, no longer bothering to disguise his super-human speed and strength.
***
A rush of air, and William felt vertigo drop out of his stomach, and then he was no longer in the polite front room of Mr. Angelus’ home - wait, no ‘Mr.’ - he remembered that. He found himself on a velvet coverlet. He could feel the feather bed beneath.
“Wait… did someone say ‘death’?”
“Good, William, you’re sobering up. I hate my kill to be insensible.”
“K-kill?” William did, indeed, feel himself sobering. He scrambled onto his back, crawling backward across the large bed. Before him, Angelus was removing his waistcoat, his collar and cuffs were already discarded. “Uh… I say, sir, do you have a night-shirt I could b-b…”
His attempt at nonchalance, weak though it was, dried up into silence as Angelus crawled toward him on the bed. His shirt hung open, looking strangely threatening, like the gentleman’s very skin had been torn, revealing a monster beneath. Certainly there was very little gentle in Angelus’ expression, despite the obvious joy in it.
“Shush, lad. All your problems are about to end.” Angelus was suddenly upon him, caging him with arms that felt as strong as iron bars.
William felt very, very small, all of a sudden, like a canary caught in a lion’s paws. “What are you…? Sir, desist. The authorities will hear of this!”
“Now, don’t be frightened, William,” Angelus purred, sounding the exact opposite of reassuring. He pawed William’s hair in a mimicry of concern and lowered his face to his ear and, much to William’s horror, licked it. He jumped and shivered, but Angelus held him steady, his body heavy and hard, pressing him down.
“Mm. What are you thinking, dear William? What fate are you imagining, eh? Think I’ll rape you, lad?”
At the word ‘rape’ William went completely stiff, his veins filling with ice-water. “Please let me go.” His voice quavered. Angelus was - oh god - grinding into him, and the enormous hard shape had him wishing, fervently, for death. He began to beg and cry and offer sums he had no way of procuring and favors he could not possibly bestow, if only the man let him be.
Angelus continued to lick him, his jaw and neckline, purring like a cat enjoying cream. The awful feel of cold saliva made William want to cringe away from his own skin. And then he heard an odd sound, close to his ear, like… crumbling?
And then there was pain. He screamed, feeling himself stabbed. His throat was being slit! No… bitten! He felt the teeth digging in and the sound, over his own racing heart and screams, of suckling, incongruent and yet undeniable, simpering and moaning between slurps like the most unseemly…
Unseemly? What was he thinking? William tried to struggle, paralyzed by fear. The pain was sharp, consuming. He stopped being able to hear himself beg. And something was smothering him, a heavy arm pressing into his mouth, pushing at his teeth, demanding. He struggled to breathe around it, swallowing spit as it threatened to choke him. And then he stopped being able to move, and then, with one deep breath and two shallow, he stopped breathing.
***
The boy was very tasty indeed. Angelus felt warm and full. He licked the last traces of gore from his neck, poking his tongue into the holes his fangs left, feeling for that last little morsel. Angelus straightened to admire the pretty picture he made, ravished, newly-dead and loose-limbed.
And then Angelus groaned. He’d soiled his pants, feeding on the boy. Ah, no matter, but the sticky spend and wet wool were uncomfortable, now he wasn’t caught up in enjoyment. He stood and stripped off, calling for a minion to come and take the boy out to the garden for interment. Then, cock in hand, he went in search of Darla.
Continued -->
Can I request a William/Angelus fic with a really dark and angsty take on William's turning?
And lo! There was Victorian Fic! This is a two-parter. Bear with the lack of actual William/Angelus in this first half.
Warnings: Vampires being vampires. William being all milquetoast. Angelus having dreadful taste in poetry.
Drusilla needed a nursemaid, a minder. It was mostly for Darla’s benefit. Angelus rather enjoyed her ravings. They were the beautiful product of his own genius, and they made sure life was never dull. Darla, however, disagreed, and there was to be no peace with her until he gave in. Besides, Drusilla had been demanding a new toy ever since she accidentally dusted the last fellow.
They walked the groomed streets of London’s more prosperous districts, and Angelus told her to pick out whatever she liked. Drusilla’s smile gaped wide, like a child on Christmas, and she pointed through a window glowing with lamplight, “Oh, him, Daddy! He’s pretty!”
Angelus frowned, considering the mop of gentle curls bent over a writing desk. He didn’t look at all like what Angelus thought a woman would find handsome. He was not broad and tall or dark and commanding - in short, he didn’t look a thing like Angelus, but Drusilla was dancing upon his arm in excitement and talking about knights and ponies and stars, so he kissed her and promised it would be done.
He didn’t devote too much time to it. Really, it was a convenience. He enjoyed a middle class supper now and then, and it was a good neighborhood to hunt in; many self-important people who were, in fact, not important at all, easily snatched up and easily missed.
Two days later he saw the young fellow walking into another house. A party was on, and the windows were open to admit the cool air and release the sound of the pianoforte and cheerful conversations. Angelus smoothed his hair, adjusted his tie, and tucked in his blood-spotted handkerchief. The door opened at his knock and the hostess smiled vacantly at him, no doubt trying to place him. “Yes?”
“Mr. Angelus. We met at the opening?” He smiled in his ingratiating way.
It was almost too easy. The woman swept her skirts back and said, “Oh! Yes, do come in, Mr. Angelus. From the, uh, theatre opening?”
“Yes. You look as lovely tonight as you did then.” He handed his hat and gloves to the maid, who stood by, ready and silent. She was a toothsome morsel. Perhaps, now he had an invite, he’d return and partake of the staff.
***
William didn’t notice the dark gentleman, even when he nearly ran into him, trying to flee the party, his dignity, like his verse, clutched helplessly to his chest. Nor did he notice the man turn to follow him. Indeed, even when the man placed a hand on his shoulder, it took him a moment to realize.
A horrifying moment, as his cheeks were wet with tears and that wouldn’t do. Not in a man’s company. “Leave me be,” he said, not turning to face the man. He had just made it down the steps to the street and was sure he could hear laughter at his expense following him.
“There, lad. I liked your poem.”
William bristled, assuming mockery, and glared at him. “I said leave me be. Unhand me or I will be forced to…”
“Forced to what, young William?”
The bluster melted into a near whine, “Just let me go.”
The other man smiled. It was, oddly enough, the most friendly smile he had seen outside of his own family. “If I do will you go rabbitting off into the dark? You ought to know it isn’t safe to walk the streets alone of a night.” The man stepped close and dropped his voice, “There could be dangerous men about.”
William closed his eyes. The moment of flight had left him nearly exhausted, and still pain and hurt threatened to bubble up and unman him. “Sir, I thank you kindly, but my home is only a moment’s walk.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind an escort, would ye?”
The accent, disguised before but now slipping through, caught William’s attention. He did not recall any of Robert’s friends being Irish. Some disquiet penetrated the great wall of feeling in him. “Are you an acquaintance of the Addamses?”
“Tangentally,” the gentleman rolled his wrist, a gesture of non-importance, and then held out his hand as if in greeting. “Angelus,” he said.
“Pratt,” William said, in response, assuming ‘Angelus’ was a last name.
Mr. Angelus scowled on taking William’s hand. “That’s not a pretty name; it doesn’t suit you.”
His grip was crushing. William almost made an unmanful sound, bearing up under it. “It’s the only one I have, sir, and I like it well enough. It was my father’s, after all.”
Mr. Angelus grinned, and his teeth shown very white in the low light, a Cheshire cat grin. “Come with me, my boy, to the public house. We’ll discuss poetry and the vagaries of women.”
William, retracting his hand and teetering on the knife’s edge of four different emotions, did know exactly how he felt about that scheme, and responded with a very quiet, “No.”
Which had all the power of its volume, for Mr. Angelus clapped a strong hand on his elbow and whisked him off into the night, striding long and fast, so that it was all William could do to keep up. He tried several times to wrest his elbow from the man’s grip, at first subtly, as one must do with politeness, then with no regard at all to hiding what he was attempting. He grunted and twisted, but the hand remained where it was, and Mr. Angelus showed no sign of tiring.
“You are very strong,” William said, by way of complaint more than compliment.
Without breaking his stride, Mr. Angelus glanced down at him and said, “So are you.”
The casual sincerity of it - and patent falsehood - touched William’s heart. He was far to stunned to struggle further.
***
It was easy as a bringing home a whore. Oh, not so easy that Angelus didn’t enjoy it, but there was never the slightest fear of failure. He plied the boy with compliments and praise, and watched his sorrow and confusion blossom into wonder and admiration.
That, and the fellow got drunk on a mere whiff of wine.
The boy was so pretty with his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed, his wire-rim glasses slipping down his nose. That, and the poetry was charming - well, what he had heard of it. He didn’t quite get what those puffed up gentlemen had found so amusing, and told William as much. Sanctimonious fools, he called them, who wouldn’t know art if it bit them on the arse. These words were among the only honest things he said, and he let the lad dig out a few wadded papers from his waistcoat and read a few more verses.
“Aye, that’s a good one, too. ‘The sun’s golden caresses/ gild her ebon tresses’. I like a rhyme that you can see coming at you.”
“You, Mr. Angelus, are a shentle…. a gem… genilmin of great taste!” William toasted somewhere to the left of Angelus’ ear.
“It’s just ‘Angelus’, William. No ‘Mr.’ in my world.”
His eyes were wide with wonder. “Ireland?”
“Oh, no, lad. A far more exotic and wonderful land is mine. A land where true men of greatness and vision - men like yourself - are the rulers, and the cowardly, the small-minded - well, they are less than cattle. Would you like to see it?”
William frowned and squinted at Angelus. “I don’ know… sounds far. I ought to get home to Mother.”
Angelus gritted his teeth. He did detest a momma’s boy. Perhaps he would just drag the lad home and have Darla turn him. “Tell me, lad, have you ever been to New Delhi?”
More moon eyes. “No.”
“Have ye ever been to the West Indies?”
“No.”
Angelus sighed. “How sad,” he said, leaning back in his chair and scanning the room, pretending to have lost interest in the boy.
“But I want to!” William dropped a sloppy, warm hand on Angelus’ arm. “Lord, I want to see more of the world than this isle!”
“I can take you, show you the world, but you will never see your mother again.”
Mistake. The boy shied away, shaking his head in adorable disappointment. “No. I can’t. She’s so sick. She needs me.”
Angelus suppressed a frown and lied. “Fine. Come home with me tonight, sleep off the drink, and tomorrow, you can go home and ask your mother if she wants to join us on the trip.”
William perked up, eyes glittering with the feverish delight of much drink. “You mean it? She can come?”
“Of course.” Angelus draped an arm over William’s shoulders and drew him close. “I would never dream of separating a mother and her devoted son.”
After that, it was sublimely easy. The boy padded after him like a puppy dog, trusting and eager. When they got to the townhouse, little William pulled himself together enough to bow politely to Darla and greet her as a fine lady. Bless him! Angelus was starting to regret not taking more time with the boy. He had great depths of purity and innocence to destroy.
Drusilla ran up to him, tickling his chin and smiling with ravenous glee. “Oh, what a bright star, fallen into my lap! My prince is come to me. Ah!” Her mouth wide, she breathed like a snake tasting scent, her eyes glittering and seeking his out.
Angelus snatched the boy back, and Drusilla bowed her head, cowed. William swayed in confusion.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Angelus, let the girl have him.”
“She’ll mesmerize him. Be a waste, no pain, no fear, no art.”
William, so hot and loose, was draped on his side, using Angelus for support. He made some confused noise. He was looking at Darla’s cold expression. “I think… you mean me ill,” he said.
Darla laughed, genuinely and delightfully, like rain on bells. “Oh, a fine minion - he already has their characteristic wit. Go ahead, Angelus, turn him. I’ll be up to enjoy the fruits of his death, later.” Her eyes dropped lasciviously down Angelus’ body, no question of the meaning of her words. He was already hard just thinking about drinking all that hot, young, innocent blood. He and Darla would have a fine night using poor William’s stolen vitality.
He rushed up the stairs, carrying William, no longer bothering to disguise his super-human speed and strength.
***
A rush of air, and William felt vertigo drop out of his stomach, and then he was no longer in the polite front room of Mr. Angelus’ home - wait, no ‘Mr.’ - he remembered that. He found himself on a velvet coverlet. He could feel the feather bed beneath.
“Wait… did someone say ‘death’?”
“Good, William, you’re sobering up. I hate my kill to be insensible.”
“K-kill?” William did, indeed, feel himself sobering. He scrambled onto his back, crawling backward across the large bed. Before him, Angelus was removing his waistcoat, his collar and cuffs were already discarded. “Uh… I say, sir, do you have a night-shirt I could b-b…”
His attempt at nonchalance, weak though it was, dried up into silence as Angelus crawled toward him on the bed. His shirt hung open, looking strangely threatening, like the gentleman’s very skin had been torn, revealing a monster beneath. Certainly there was very little gentle in Angelus’ expression, despite the obvious joy in it.
“Shush, lad. All your problems are about to end.” Angelus was suddenly upon him, caging him with arms that felt as strong as iron bars.
William felt very, very small, all of a sudden, like a canary caught in a lion’s paws. “What are you…? Sir, desist. The authorities will hear of this!”
“Now, don’t be frightened, William,” Angelus purred, sounding the exact opposite of reassuring. He pawed William’s hair in a mimicry of concern and lowered his face to his ear and, much to William’s horror, licked it. He jumped and shivered, but Angelus held him steady, his body heavy and hard, pressing him down.
“Mm. What are you thinking, dear William? What fate are you imagining, eh? Think I’ll rape you, lad?”
At the word ‘rape’ William went completely stiff, his veins filling with ice-water. “Please let me go.” His voice quavered. Angelus was - oh god - grinding into him, and the enormous hard shape had him wishing, fervently, for death. He began to beg and cry and offer sums he had no way of procuring and favors he could not possibly bestow, if only the man let him be.
Angelus continued to lick him, his jaw and neckline, purring like a cat enjoying cream. The awful feel of cold saliva made William want to cringe away from his own skin. And then he heard an odd sound, close to his ear, like… crumbling?
And then there was pain. He screamed, feeling himself stabbed. His throat was being slit! No… bitten! He felt the teeth digging in and the sound, over his own racing heart and screams, of suckling, incongruent and yet undeniable, simpering and moaning between slurps like the most unseemly…
Unseemly? What was he thinking? William tried to struggle, paralyzed by fear. The pain was sharp, consuming. He stopped being able to hear himself beg. And something was smothering him, a heavy arm pressing into his mouth, pushing at his teeth, demanding. He struggled to breathe around it, swallowing spit as it threatened to choke him. And then he stopped being able to move, and then, with one deep breath and two shallow, he stopped breathing.
***
The boy was very tasty indeed. Angelus felt warm and full. He licked the last traces of gore from his neck, poking his tongue into the holes his fangs left, feeling for that last little morsel. Angelus straightened to admire the pretty picture he made, ravished, newly-dead and loose-limbed.
And then Angelus groaned. He’d soiled his pants, feeding on the boy. Ah, no matter, but the sticky spend and wet wool were uncomfortable, now he wasn’t caught up in enjoyment. He stood and stripped off, calling for a minion to come and take the boy out to the garden for interment. Then, cock in hand, he went in search of Darla.
Continued -->