Nobody Special Part 2
Here is the second part of the request for Nero_nailpolish.
Warnings: Non-con! (Anyone surprised?) Violence. Lying. Claustrophobia.
Pairing: Angelus/William
Summary: My version of Angelus turning William. I always wanted to write one of these!
Part One Here
William awoke with a gasp and panic. Trapped! No time seemed to have passed for him, he was still crushed under weight, trapped, dying! He flailed and clawed at the surrounding… wood?
He was in a box of some sort. He beat and battered at it, and kicked. Panic must have lent strength, because the wood gave easily around his foot, and admitted a shower of earth that threatened to encase his legs completely.
Buried alive! He had no more sensible thought as he struggled, kicking, clawing, digging through wood and then earth, senseless of damage to himself as he choked on dirt and felt the overriding, desperate need for air.
Joy! Fingers breaking through, a feeling of non-resistance, emptiness around fingertips, then hand, then arm. Reaching for something to pull himself up, finding nothing, then grass. He pulled it out. He wriggled, birth-like, through the narrow canal of earth to gasp his first breath of a new life.
Angelus was standing over him, hands on his hips. He did not offer assistance as William struggled out of his grave. It was a grave - that knowledge was slowly penetrating William’s mind, as well as the fact that his position put his face in embarrassingly close contact with the other man’s groin, and the fact that the desperate need boiling in his heart hadn’t gone with the resumption of air.
Angelus stepped back as William thrashed the last few feet to free himself completely. “How do you feel, lad? Are ye hungry?”
Awareness followed the word; he was ravenous. He nodded, quickly scanning for anything to eat.
Angelus reached past William’s sight, and he turned to see a beggar woman, bound hand and foot. Angelus hauled her up and tossed her toward William, who caught her, and opened his mouth to protest treating any woman so roughly, but then his mouth was on her neck, not speaking.
Through a haze of bliss he became sensible of her death, and dropped her. Her blood mingled with the stains of his own on his ruined shirt. He stared. “What have I become?”
A slap to the shoulder nearly sent him sprawling. “Stronger. Better. Come now, boy, even a milksop like you has surely heard of vampires?”
He was about to protest the “milksop” comment, but Angelus was already dragging him back into the house. “Peter! Some fresh clothes for the new minion! Where is Drusilla? Dru! I’ve a present for ye, lass!”
And like that, he was given a large, wet kiss on the cheek, and thrown into other arms.
He blinked in shock to see the strange girl from the night before holding him. She was slight and waif-like, but she supported him as easily as the doll tucked under one arm. “Hello, Willy! I’m your new mummy!”
“Angelus?” He turned to see the man’s back as he walked further into the house. He wasn’t sure if he was asking for rescue or accusing.
Angelus threw one hand over his shoulder. “Relax, William. Dru and Peter will show you the ropes. I’ll see you at supper.”
“But… when do I go see Mother?’
The only answer came from Dru, who ran a cool fingertip over his brow and cooed. “So many worlds in here,” she said. And then she kissed him. Open-mouthed.
For a boy who had until recently fervently prayed for the opportunity to touch a woman’s naked hand, this was, to say the least, unexpected. Unexpectedly wonderful, he realized, as her arms twined around him. If he had been given the power to fly, he would not have felt better rewarded.
It was, for a while, truly a new and exciting world. He was given a bath and a poor suit of clothes. And then he was unexpectedly, wonderfully, ravished by the beautiful Drusilla, who bit and clawed at him, but that seemed only to add to the mad pleasure.
He relished in his new strength, and his beautiful charge, Drusilla. His main purpose seemed to be to keep her out of trouble, and it was no hardship at all, given the loose definition the vampires seemed to have for “trouble”.
They danced on the rooftops, quite literally, and murdered without remorse. He got into bar fights! Real bar fights with frightful big brutes of men, and beat them easily.
No one questioned the death of a well-known belligerent.
And Angelus was a kind patriarch, a font of endless wisdom on a variety of subjects. His patience was short, of course, and he did not appreciate more than one question at a time from a new minion, but he did enjoy explaining the finer points of being a vampire when in the right mood. In fact, he even favored William with some extraordinary nights on the town which he called ‘hunts’.
He found their fondness for calling their staff ‘minions’ a bit undignified, but he was not discontent. He was loved, and strong. He even approached Angelus timidly to remind him that he was to be permitted to ask his mother along on their adventures. Angelus had smiled broadly and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and assuring him it was a marvelous idea and he should go right away. He was also permitted to take Drusilla with him.
That incident went so badly that he refrained from going out much at all for a fortnight.
It was, then, like his depression opened his eyes. There were no plans to leave London. No grand tour of the world, or even the district, was in the works. Darla and Angelus, decadent pashas of their secret enclave, were well-settled and disinclined to more than the occasional night of debauchery. And what was this new freedom and confidence if he was daily dismissed and ignored? Although he had on the surface considered his new situation preferable to any previous, it began more and more to resemble his freshman year at school.
If he so much as spoke in Madam Darla’s hearing, he received a clouting the likes of which a grown man would never expect to receive.
And while the tasks assigned him were not onerous, he began to notice the off-hand way he was addressed, and the menial nature. “New boy, Angelus needs a driver tonight,” Peter called, walking past him with arms full of rope.
“You know my name,” William muttered, and then, realization hitting, he ran after the chief minion. “Hey! I’m not a coachman!”
“You are now,” Peter said, and pushed the bundle of ropes at him. “Here, take this to the carriage house. Patsy is there and she knows what its for.”
“Is this the way it is?” William wondered out loud.
“Yes it is,” Peter responded, and gave him a little shove. “Now get to work. If you don’t like it, you can strike out on your own. I dare you to. We love hunting the freelancers.”
Humbly, he ducked his head and carried the rope to the carriage house. But at night, he started whispering to Drusilla about running away, striking out on their own. Drusilla told him solemnly that they would, of course, and then laughed maniacally when he tried to extract a date of departure from her.
It was not anything in particular, or even a particular day, that made his composure snap. If anything, the request Angelus casually threw his way was more politely-worded than usual. “Oh, William, fetch me the late edition paper. There’s a lad.” He tossed a coin at him without looking.
William caught it. He always caught things thrown his way, now. He turned the coin over in his hand and then flung it back. It bounced merrily off the top of Angelus’ head.
The great gentleman turned, expression dark. “I didn’t quite catch that, boy. Care to repeat yourself to my face?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Angelus smiled, then, and grabbed the front of William’s shirt. “We’ll have to rectify that.”
William quivered with rage. He pushed himself free, though it left Angelus with a handful of white linen, which Angelus casually tossed over his shoulder. William clenched his fists. “You took me. I will never see my mother again. Where is the wonderful world you promised me?”
“You’re standing in it.”
“This? Doing your laundry? Being your nursemaid?”
Angelus crowded him toward the wall. “You’ll be whatever I tell you to be. I made you and I can un-make you.”
“Then do so, because I will not tolerate…”
Angelus boxed his ear. William’s argument was lost in a wordless cry as he launched himself at Angelus.
Angelus stepped aside easily, with a grace none of William’s tavern opponents had possessed. He crashed into an armchair. Undaunted, he picked himself up and launched at Angelus again, to hit the stair-rail.
He was pulled up by his hair before he could get his feet under him. His fists swung wildly, always somehow short of the target. Angelus shook him, hard, surprisingly hard, and smashed him through the railing.
From the study, Darla’s cool voice carried, “Do leave the house intact, Angelus.” Amazing what a vampire could hear in the heat of battle. William even heard her turning the page of her book before Angelus punched him in the nose and all sound was drowned out in a rush of blood and anger.
He kicked and screamed and shouted words that he would never have even thought to himself, before his death. Still Angelus was like a solid rock, and he the waves, wracking himself without discernable affect.
***
Angelus had not expected trouble from William. Sure, frequently young minions needed to be put in their places. It seemed as soon as their teeth were cut, they started putting on airs, expecting to challenge Lucifer himself for his throne or such. But William hadn’t seemed the type. If anything, he had been getting quieter with each succeeding week.
And now this.
He hauled the boy, hissing and struggling like a cat, up the stairs and threw him on the floor of the master suite.
As he opened his coat and felt for the strop he kept for just such emergencies, young William glanced in pure terror from him to the bed and back, then scrambled to stand in the farthest back corner, fists raised.
Angelus smiled. “Remembering the night of your death, are ye, Willy?”
“William,” he corrected automatically in a quavering voice.
Angelus approached leisurely, taking off his coat and dropping it on the settee as he passed it. “You’re not scared, now? Do you think I’ll kill ye again?”
William looked down, fiercely silent, clearly unable to admit defeat but fully aware of it looming.
“What are ye looking at? My cock?”
The boy’s eyes flashed straight up to glare at his face. Oh, what a delight this simple disciplinary action was turning into. Angelus slipped the knot from his neck-cloth. The boy flinched. Angelus stalked toward him, loosening his clothing with protracted care, enjoying ever nuance of reaction. “Is that what ye want, boy? Acting out to get a little taste of your sire’s affections?”
William roared his fury and attacked. Angelus, well warmed by the scream, deflected his first punch easily, but then was caught with a kick to the shin. The boy landed several good blows. Enough to truly infuriate Angelus, who responded by gathering the boy up and slamming him head-first into the wardrobe, then pulling him out by his shirt-front and knocking his head against the bedpost a few times.
He then tore what remained of William’s shirt off in two great pieces and picked him up by his breeches.
He had a fair enough face, but Angelus expected nothing special from his body - probably a slack bag of bones under those clothes, naught but a pouching belly. He’d had his fair share of rich man’s sons. But someone had taken care in young William’s physical education. He ran his palm over a fine body. “Drusilla has second sight after all,” he mused. “Might not kill you, after all.”
“You bastard!” William blinked and shook his head, dazed, and tried to wriggle out of Angelus’ grasp. But Angelus had new motivation now. He pulled the boy’s breeches down, tearing his flies, and threw him face-first onto the bed. It was easy enough to pin him there, covering his body with all the advantages of strength, size, and leverage.
Angelus rested his forearm hard across his shoulder-blades and saw to undoing his own flies. “Now beg,” he said.
He got hysterical sobs in response, so he backhanded the boy. “Come now, William. I give an order, you obey it. That’s how this works. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotton.”
“P-please, sir. Please let me up.”
“Mmm. Better. Keep talking.”
“What?” William twisted, trying to look back at him.
“Not that it makes any difference to what I’m going to do to you,” Angelus purred, sliding his cock back and forth along the delicious cleft of soft skin, “but why don’t you tell me what’s made you so violently turn against me?”
“You lied to me. Your whole interest in me was just to recruit a new slave. Is this what you do? Pounce upon some innocent fellow whenever there is a gap in the household staff?”
“Am I supposed to deny this, pretty William?”
“I thought you… you said I was special.”
“If you were at all special to me, you wouldn’t have died a virgin.” And, thrusting forward to emphasize that word, Angelus nullified its meaning and gloried in the howl of pain beneath him.
Glorious. Tight and firm and quivering, all the gasps and sobs: still so human, he was, like a corpse not quite cooled. Angelus fucked into narrow depths, exaulting in the feel, and licked salty tears before latching his teeth just where he had drained the boy's life, remembering that flavor drove his hips into pounding frenzies. He tore and grabbed and slammed, seeking to tear the boy apart for his pleasure.
His completion was a straight path, easily achieved, and he sighed with it, the whole of his body relaxed, replete, boneless. He pushed and prodded the tense, hard little pillow beneath him.
When he had quite rested enough to be sensible to sound, he realized the boy was still sobbing. Angelus shifted, releasing most of his weight from the boy, but gathering his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest as William immediately tried to bolt.
"Shh. Shhh, pretty William," Angelus cooed, petting the boy's hair and chest, running his hands over all the flesh he could reach. "There, lad. Ye are special. Shhh."
And William collapsed against him, sobs quieting to hiccups, undone by kindness. Angelus grinned into his shoulder. Yes, controlling William was going to be quite easy, and pleasant.
Drusilla had the sight, after all.
Warnings: Non-con! (Anyone surprised?) Violence. Lying. Claustrophobia.
Pairing: Angelus/William
Summary: My version of Angelus turning William. I always wanted to write one of these!
Part One Here
William awoke with a gasp and panic. Trapped! No time seemed to have passed for him, he was still crushed under weight, trapped, dying! He flailed and clawed at the surrounding… wood?
He was in a box of some sort. He beat and battered at it, and kicked. Panic must have lent strength, because the wood gave easily around his foot, and admitted a shower of earth that threatened to encase his legs completely.
Buried alive! He had no more sensible thought as he struggled, kicking, clawing, digging through wood and then earth, senseless of damage to himself as he choked on dirt and felt the overriding, desperate need for air.
Joy! Fingers breaking through, a feeling of non-resistance, emptiness around fingertips, then hand, then arm. Reaching for something to pull himself up, finding nothing, then grass. He pulled it out. He wriggled, birth-like, through the narrow canal of earth to gasp his first breath of a new life.
Angelus was standing over him, hands on his hips. He did not offer assistance as William struggled out of his grave. It was a grave - that knowledge was slowly penetrating William’s mind, as well as the fact that his position put his face in embarrassingly close contact with the other man’s groin, and the fact that the desperate need boiling in his heart hadn’t gone with the resumption of air.
Angelus stepped back as William thrashed the last few feet to free himself completely. “How do you feel, lad? Are ye hungry?”
Awareness followed the word; he was ravenous. He nodded, quickly scanning for anything to eat.
Angelus reached past William’s sight, and he turned to see a beggar woman, bound hand and foot. Angelus hauled her up and tossed her toward William, who caught her, and opened his mouth to protest treating any woman so roughly, but then his mouth was on her neck, not speaking.
Through a haze of bliss he became sensible of her death, and dropped her. Her blood mingled with the stains of his own on his ruined shirt. He stared. “What have I become?”
A slap to the shoulder nearly sent him sprawling. “Stronger. Better. Come now, boy, even a milksop like you has surely heard of vampires?”
He was about to protest the “milksop” comment, but Angelus was already dragging him back into the house. “Peter! Some fresh clothes for the new minion! Where is Drusilla? Dru! I’ve a present for ye, lass!”
And like that, he was given a large, wet kiss on the cheek, and thrown into other arms.
He blinked in shock to see the strange girl from the night before holding him. She was slight and waif-like, but she supported him as easily as the doll tucked under one arm. “Hello, Willy! I’m your new mummy!”
“Angelus?” He turned to see the man’s back as he walked further into the house. He wasn’t sure if he was asking for rescue or accusing.
Angelus threw one hand over his shoulder. “Relax, William. Dru and Peter will show you the ropes. I’ll see you at supper.”
“But… when do I go see Mother?’
The only answer came from Dru, who ran a cool fingertip over his brow and cooed. “So many worlds in here,” she said. And then she kissed him. Open-mouthed.
For a boy who had until recently fervently prayed for the opportunity to touch a woman’s naked hand, this was, to say the least, unexpected. Unexpectedly wonderful, he realized, as her arms twined around him. If he had been given the power to fly, he would not have felt better rewarded.
It was, for a while, truly a new and exciting world. He was given a bath and a poor suit of clothes. And then he was unexpectedly, wonderfully, ravished by the beautiful Drusilla, who bit and clawed at him, but that seemed only to add to the mad pleasure.
He relished in his new strength, and his beautiful charge, Drusilla. His main purpose seemed to be to keep her out of trouble, and it was no hardship at all, given the loose definition the vampires seemed to have for “trouble”.
They danced on the rooftops, quite literally, and murdered without remorse. He got into bar fights! Real bar fights with frightful big brutes of men, and beat them easily.
No one questioned the death of a well-known belligerent.
And Angelus was a kind patriarch, a font of endless wisdom on a variety of subjects. His patience was short, of course, and he did not appreciate more than one question at a time from a new minion, but he did enjoy explaining the finer points of being a vampire when in the right mood. In fact, he even favored William with some extraordinary nights on the town which he called ‘hunts’.
He found their fondness for calling their staff ‘minions’ a bit undignified, but he was not discontent. He was loved, and strong. He even approached Angelus timidly to remind him that he was to be permitted to ask his mother along on their adventures. Angelus had smiled broadly and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and assuring him it was a marvelous idea and he should go right away. He was also permitted to take Drusilla with him.
That incident went so badly that he refrained from going out much at all for a fortnight.
It was, then, like his depression opened his eyes. There were no plans to leave London. No grand tour of the world, or even the district, was in the works. Darla and Angelus, decadent pashas of their secret enclave, were well-settled and disinclined to more than the occasional night of debauchery. And what was this new freedom and confidence if he was daily dismissed and ignored? Although he had on the surface considered his new situation preferable to any previous, it began more and more to resemble his freshman year at school.
If he so much as spoke in Madam Darla’s hearing, he received a clouting the likes of which a grown man would never expect to receive.
And while the tasks assigned him were not onerous, he began to notice the off-hand way he was addressed, and the menial nature. “New boy, Angelus needs a driver tonight,” Peter called, walking past him with arms full of rope.
“You know my name,” William muttered, and then, realization hitting, he ran after the chief minion. “Hey! I’m not a coachman!”
“You are now,” Peter said, and pushed the bundle of ropes at him. “Here, take this to the carriage house. Patsy is there and she knows what its for.”
“Is this the way it is?” William wondered out loud.
“Yes it is,” Peter responded, and gave him a little shove. “Now get to work. If you don’t like it, you can strike out on your own. I dare you to. We love hunting the freelancers.”
Humbly, he ducked his head and carried the rope to the carriage house. But at night, he started whispering to Drusilla about running away, striking out on their own. Drusilla told him solemnly that they would, of course, and then laughed maniacally when he tried to extract a date of departure from her.
It was not anything in particular, or even a particular day, that made his composure snap. If anything, the request Angelus casually threw his way was more politely-worded than usual. “Oh, William, fetch me the late edition paper. There’s a lad.” He tossed a coin at him without looking.
William caught it. He always caught things thrown his way, now. He turned the coin over in his hand and then flung it back. It bounced merrily off the top of Angelus’ head.
The great gentleman turned, expression dark. “I didn’t quite catch that, boy. Care to repeat yourself to my face?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Angelus smiled, then, and grabbed the front of William’s shirt. “We’ll have to rectify that.”
William quivered with rage. He pushed himself free, though it left Angelus with a handful of white linen, which Angelus casually tossed over his shoulder. William clenched his fists. “You took me. I will never see my mother again. Where is the wonderful world you promised me?”
“You’re standing in it.”
“This? Doing your laundry? Being your nursemaid?”
Angelus crowded him toward the wall. “You’ll be whatever I tell you to be. I made you and I can un-make you.”
“Then do so, because I will not tolerate…”
Angelus boxed his ear. William’s argument was lost in a wordless cry as he launched himself at Angelus.
Angelus stepped aside easily, with a grace none of William’s tavern opponents had possessed. He crashed into an armchair. Undaunted, he picked himself up and launched at Angelus again, to hit the stair-rail.
He was pulled up by his hair before he could get his feet under him. His fists swung wildly, always somehow short of the target. Angelus shook him, hard, surprisingly hard, and smashed him through the railing.
From the study, Darla’s cool voice carried, “Do leave the house intact, Angelus.” Amazing what a vampire could hear in the heat of battle. William even heard her turning the page of her book before Angelus punched him in the nose and all sound was drowned out in a rush of blood and anger.
He kicked and screamed and shouted words that he would never have even thought to himself, before his death. Still Angelus was like a solid rock, and he the waves, wracking himself without discernable affect.
***
Angelus had not expected trouble from William. Sure, frequently young minions needed to be put in their places. It seemed as soon as their teeth were cut, they started putting on airs, expecting to challenge Lucifer himself for his throne or such. But William hadn’t seemed the type. If anything, he had been getting quieter with each succeeding week.
And now this.
He hauled the boy, hissing and struggling like a cat, up the stairs and threw him on the floor of the master suite.
As he opened his coat and felt for the strop he kept for just such emergencies, young William glanced in pure terror from him to the bed and back, then scrambled to stand in the farthest back corner, fists raised.
Angelus smiled. “Remembering the night of your death, are ye, Willy?”
“William,” he corrected automatically in a quavering voice.
Angelus approached leisurely, taking off his coat and dropping it on the settee as he passed it. “You’re not scared, now? Do you think I’ll kill ye again?”
William looked down, fiercely silent, clearly unable to admit defeat but fully aware of it looming.
“What are ye looking at? My cock?”
The boy’s eyes flashed straight up to glare at his face. Oh, what a delight this simple disciplinary action was turning into. Angelus slipped the knot from his neck-cloth. The boy flinched. Angelus stalked toward him, loosening his clothing with protracted care, enjoying ever nuance of reaction. “Is that what ye want, boy? Acting out to get a little taste of your sire’s affections?”
William roared his fury and attacked. Angelus, well warmed by the scream, deflected his first punch easily, but then was caught with a kick to the shin. The boy landed several good blows. Enough to truly infuriate Angelus, who responded by gathering the boy up and slamming him head-first into the wardrobe, then pulling him out by his shirt-front and knocking his head against the bedpost a few times.
He then tore what remained of William’s shirt off in two great pieces and picked him up by his breeches.
He had a fair enough face, but Angelus expected nothing special from his body - probably a slack bag of bones under those clothes, naught but a pouching belly. He’d had his fair share of rich man’s sons. But someone had taken care in young William’s physical education. He ran his palm over a fine body. “Drusilla has second sight after all,” he mused. “Might not kill you, after all.”
“You bastard!” William blinked and shook his head, dazed, and tried to wriggle out of Angelus’ grasp. But Angelus had new motivation now. He pulled the boy’s breeches down, tearing his flies, and threw him face-first onto the bed. It was easy enough to pin him there, covering his body with all the advantages of strength, size, and leverage.
Angelus rested his forearm hard across his shoulder-blades and saw to undoing his own flies. “Now beg,” he said.
He got hysterical sobs in response, so he backhanded the boy. “Come now, William. I give an order, you obey it. That’s how this works. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotton.”
“P-please, sir. Please let me up.”
“Mmm. Better. Keep talking.”
“What?” William twisted, trying to look back at him.
“Not that it makes any difference to what I’m going to do to you,” Angelus purred, sliding his cock back and forth along the delicious cleft of soft skin, “but why don’t you tell me what’s made you so violently turn against me?”
“You lied to me. Your whole interest in me was just to recruit a new slave. Is this what you do? Pounce upon some innocent fellow whenever there is a gap in the household staff?”
“Am I supposed to deny this, pretty William?”
“I thought you… you said I was special.”
“If you were at all special to me, you wouldn’t have died a virgin.” And, thrusting forward to emphasize that word, Angelus nullified its meaning and gloried in the howl of pain beneath him.
Glorious. Tight and firm and quivering, all the gasps and sobs: still so human, he was, like a corpse not quite cooled. Angelus fucked into narrow depths, exaulting in the feel, and licked salty tears before latching his teeth just where he had drained the boy's life, remembering that flavor drove his hips into pounding frenzies. He tore and grabbed and slammed, seeking to tear the boy apart for his pleasure.
His completion was a straight path, easily achieved, and he sighed with it, the whole of his body relaxed, replete, boneless. He pushed and prodded the tense, hard little pillow beneath him.
When he had quite rested enough to be sensible to sound, he realized the boy was still sobbing. Angelus shifted, releasing most of his weight from the boy, but gathering his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest as William immediately tried to bolt.
"Shh. Shhh, pretty William," Angelus cooed, petting the boy's hair and chest, running his hands over all the flesh he could reach. "There, lad. Ye are special. Shhh."
And William collapsed against him, sobs quieting to hiccups, undone by kindness. Angelus grinned into his shoulder. Yes, controlling William was going to be quite easy, and pleasant.
Drusilla had the sight, after all.