Fic: Whispers After Dark: Chapter 7
List of previous parts here
Details and warnings:
Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.
However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.
Chapter 7.
Lindsey escorted him up to the sick room. William said he didn’t mind going alone but Ripper insisted, saying that he couldn’t bear the thought of William being alone when there were boys in the school who could hurt him. The kiss he left on William’s forehead seemed a little excessive, though no more than William’s father had done and so it was written off as parental concern.
Oz looked smaller than usual under the mound of blankets and bed sheets. A bandage enclosed his head, all but a few spikes of orange hair that managed to escape reminding William of a flea-bitten hedgepig. His eyes, dark and bruised looking, lit up when William entered, but dulled again when he saw who accompanied him.
“Osborne,” Lindsey said and remained near the door, lounging against the wall, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
Oz didn’t acknowledge either visitor, turning his face towards the window, and, after a worried glance at Lindsey, William approached the bed and sat down.
“How are you?” he asked.
There was no reply, and William began to worry, thinking his friend blamed him for his hurt. “I am so sorry,” he said eventually, hoping that his heartfelt apology would change Oz’s opinion of him.
Oz slowly rolled his head on the pillow until he was looking William in the eye and said hoarsely, “Wasn’t you fault.”
“Oh it was,” William assured him, willing the weight of responsibility to fall on his shoulders alone. “If I hadn’t been such a coward and lashed out at you, you wouldn’t have fallen and-and… I’m sorry,” he concluded unable to complete the catalogue of his guilt.
Oz’s gaze tracked over William’s shoulder until he was staring at Lindsey. “Speak to him alone?” he queried.
“Not possible, Osborne,” Lindsey said. “Ripper doesn’t want the boy out of his sight.”
“I’m sure he could not have meant here,” William argued. “After all what possible harm could come to me in the sick room?”
Lindsey and Oz exchanged eloquent looks, and William sighed; he was getting remarkably fed up with the way people kept excluding him from their conversations.
“I’ll be outside,” Lindsey said eventually and swung out of the door closing it pointedly behind him.
“How is your head? And your-your arm. Does it hurt? I could get Matron…”
Oz held up his good hand, encouraging William to be silent, and when his friend had stuttered to a halt, he began to speak.
“He isn’t your friend.”
William opened his mouth to interrupt but Oz waved him quiet once again.
“Ripper is a rotten sort. No one in the school is safe from him. Or Angelus and his brother. They will…” He looked up into William’s guileless blue eyes and tempered what he was about to say. “They will do things, get you involved in things, ungodly things. Whatever you think is happening, it isn’t. When they have you, everything will change. Everything will be different. Ripper will show you what he really is.”
It was the most William had ever heard his friend say and that alone should have alerted him, but he was too consumed by the wicked accusations Oz had cast at his new chum. Standing up suddenly and shoving the chair back behind him, William spat, “And what is he? A monster?”
Oz gaped at him, stunned by the vehemence of his reaction, and unable to get a word in edgewise as William paced the floor, gesticulating wildly as he ranted, “You speak of him as if it were so. And yet how can you know? He is my friend not yours and you will not keep him from me with your hateful words and your jealousy.”
William swung round, confrontational now. “Is that the reason behind your detestation? Are you are jealous of his affection for me? That he prefers my company over yours? For that in itself is equally abhorrent to any crime a man shall commit. To perjure yourself in such a way, for such mean reasons, makes you more a monster than any other. I shall not… I cannot stay and listen.”
Turning his back on the bed, William stalked towards the door and, as his hand touched the knob, said, “I am sorry you had to say those things. I would like to have been friends but I know now who my real friends are and I cannot count you among them.”
As the door slammed shut behind him, Oz sank back into the bed, wincing as the movement caused his arm to protest and cursed his luck. If he were not so laid up he would not hesitate to challenge Ripper to keep William safe, but injured and confined as he was, he could do little but pray.
**
William’s next stop was the dormitory and his other long neglected friends. Lindsey had not wanted him to go, but William, still smarting from Oz’s words, would not be denied. He stalked ahead of the older boy, his shoulders set at an angle of determination and turned neither right nor left from his path.
Surprisingly the bedroom was empty, though William supposed that many of the boys would be taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to make a final trip to the bathing pools or try their luck at tickling the last few trout of the year. He reclaimed his spectacles and then, somewhat disappointed that his friends were off having fun without him, turned to go.
He was nearly out of the room when he heard what sounded like a quiet sob from the large wardrobe in the corner. Thinking it could be one of the smaller boys - the youngest in their dorm was a tiny lad of twelve - and not wanting to scare him, William approached the cupboard cautiously and cracked open the door. It was pitch dark inside and the angle of the sun meant little or no light penetrated the gloom, but he was able to make out a figure in the corner, curled into a tight ball with his face buried in his knees.
“I say,” William said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes-yes, quite fine, thank you,” the answer came roughly between heaving sobs that proved the words false even as they were spoken.
William, becoming concerned, leaned forwards, going to his knees. The angle of the light changed and suddenly he was able to see precisely who it was hiding in the wardrobe.
“Wesley?” he said. “Wesley? What happened? What on earth are you doing in here?” As he spoke, William reached out to touch Wesley’s shoulder to offer comfort. It occurred to him that, unlike himself, Wesley had not had the pleasure of such powerful new friends so perhaps he was homesick and pining for his father. His hand stopped of its own volition when Wesley raised his head.
“My God!” The blasphemy spilt from his lips, a pure gut reaction to the condition of Wesley’s face, and he blurted, “Was it Meers? Did he beat you so?”
Another sob from Wesley, and William regained his senses, tugging on his friend’s shoulder and urging him to move. Wesley clung to the inside of the cupboard, his bruised and bleeding hands digging into the wood as William tried to drag him out.
“Come, Wesley, please,” William gasped, close to tears himself. “Let me see you. I -I want to help.”
Wesley closed his eyes and shook his head. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - leave this dark safe space. If he did, they would see him, see the abomination he was.
‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’
No! It wasn’t his fault. He had tried to stop it, fought him, beat on that oak trunk chest until his hands bled, bitten and scratched when that foul organ had been pressed to his lips. All to no avail. The demon had done as he wished anyway, forcing his fingers deep into the hinges of Wesley’s jaw that now ached and screamed with pain. He would never smile again.
But in truth he was far from blameless, for what had he been dreaming of when the avenging angel appeared. William, that was what. And worse yet, kissing William and touching him in just the ways he was touched in reply.
No! Not the same. He dreamed of gentleness not pain, of love not terror.
Did that make him any less an abomination?
No. It made him worse. It made him vile in god’s sight. Which is why god sent his punishment….
“Angelus,” he whispered.
“What?” William replied, his hand freezing on Wesley’s shoulder.
“Angelus,” repeated Wesley with a touch more confidence. If he did nothing else, he could warn his friend of the danger. He owed him that much for incriminating him in his own lewd thoughts.
“No! No, that isn’t possible.” William was backing away from him and Wesley held out his hand, only to see William flinch away as though Wesley’s touch was enough to pollute him.
“You - you… It was Meers, or one of his boys and you…” William’s horrified face stared down at him, and for the briefest second Wesley thought he saw acceptance in his friend’s eyes before denial leapt up to take its place and William shouted, “Osborne put you up to this. He told you. Told you about my friends and… No! You are lying. You must be lying.”
Then William turned tail and ran.
**
Lindsey chased after him, having heard no more than William’s raised voice before the boy fled from the dorm like his tail was on fire. What, in god’s name, had happened in there to get William so upset. Now Ripper was going to stripe him for allowing this to happen.
The boy was fast and arrived at Ripper’s study several steps in front. Lindsey made a last desperate tackle, snatching at rough material, but William slipped through his hands leaving his coat dangling empty from Lindsey’s fingers.
Cursing roundly, he burst through the door after him and skidded to a halt. Angelus held William at arm’s length, laughing uproariously as the smaller boy punched and kicked, screaming at him, calling him a ‘despicable fiend,’ and a ‘filthy scoundrel’.
Ripper and Brolly watched with bemusement, until William landed a lucky blow to Angelus’ ribs making the older boy grunt. That appeared to make up Ripper’s mind. He strode over to the struggling pair, grabbed William around the waist and hauled him away, shouting, “Enough! You will calm down this instant and explain yourself.”
William was beyond hearing. All he saw was Wesley’s face, the fingerprint bruises around his jaw, the swollen contusions of his lips, the huge terrified darkness of his eyes, and that name, again, again and again. Angelus. Angelus. Angelus.
He fought hard. Unhindered by the exhaustion that had gripped his body when Brolly had been his target, this time his rage was pure and strong. He wanted to kill Angelus, wanted to break him until he cried bloody tears, until his face wore the same colour and fear as Wesley’s. He wanted to feel flesh tear in his hands, bones crumble and tendons rupture.
His head snapped back under the force of Ripper’s backhand, his ears ringing as he staggered and almost fell. Then the hands were back, wrestling him down, tearing off his clothes, and a voice was shouting, “Fetch me a paddle. I’ll tan his hide for this.”
The first smack across his buttocks made William yowl with indignation and kick out with his feet; he was no small child to be so ignominiously spanked. Other hands captured him fast and held him down as more blows followed and by the tenth the hurt was such that it began to burn through his rage. By twenty and then thirty his howling had become sobs and pleas, apologies, promises that he would never again behave in such a fashion, but still they came, relentless, punishing, and cruel. Until finally the last of the fight left him, stripped and empty, and he lay quiescent over Ripper’s lap, weeping silently into the older boy’s leg.
Only then did they stop, and the hands that had hurt him so began to offer comfort instead, rubbing something cool and soothing into his screaming skin and pulling him up so that he was held in strong arms with his face hidden in the crook of Ripper’s neck.
For the longest while William stayed there, his stomach churning and his thoughts all a-dither. The clouded memories of the night before, still obscured by whatever drug it was they had fed him, slowly being prodded into life. Hands on his body - the same hands that were stroking his back at this very moment - touching his private parts, working the flesh until the memory alone was enough to send a shudder through his body. Lifting his legs, displaying him and probing him intimately, a voice laughing and approving when he squirmed away claiming he would not be touched in such a manner. And, through it all, the eyes, brown and green, blue and black, fixed on him and drinking in his every humiliation.
They were right. Oz was right. He had fallen into a nest of vipers and could see no way out. Escape was impossible, Ripper would never permit it, and who could he run to? Oz had said no one was safe; did that mean there was no sanctuary to be had?
The hand on his back moved up to his neck and tugged gently on his hair. William lifted his head at the unspoken order and found a glass of bitter smelling liquor pressed to his lips. Presented with no alternative, he drank, and, as the same lassitude spread through him, he heard Ripper say, “Prepare him well. I shall have him the moment he is done.”
Details and warnings:
Whispers After Dark is an all human AU set at an English boy's public school somewhere around 1850, think Tom Brown's School Days. I haven't been overly specific about the era in terms of research, and I realise some of it is anachronistic, but in this case I really don't care that much.
However, because of the setting, some of the boys will be underage - fifteen at minimum - in case that squicks anyone. There will also be non-con, semi-non-con, bullying, fagging, spankings, the ocassional caning over a desk and private oral tutorials. Needless to say it is NC-17.
Chapter 7.
Lindsey escorted him up to the sick room. William said he didn’t mind going alone but Ripper insisted, saying that he couldn’t bear the thought of William being alone when there were boys in the school who could hurt him. The kiss he left on William’s forehead seemed a little excessive, though no more than William’s father had done and so it was written off as parental concern.
Oz looked smaller than usual under the mound of blankets and bed sheets. A bandage enclosed his head, all but a few spikes of orange hair that managed to escape reminding William of a flea-bitten hedgepig. His eyes, dark and bruised looking, lit up when William entered, but dulled again when he saw who accompanied him.
“Osborne,” Lindsey said and remained near the door, lounging against the wall, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
Oz didn’t acknowledge either visitor, turning his face towards the window, and, after a worried glance at Lindsey, William approached the bed and sat down.
“How are you?” he asked.
There was no reply, and William began to worry, thinking his friend blamed him for his hurt. “I am so sorry,” he said eventually, hoping that his heartfelt apology would change Oz’s opinion of him.
Oz slowly rolled his head on the pillow until he was looking William in the eye and said hoarsely, “Wasn’t you fault.”
“Oh it was,” William assured him, willing the weight of responsibility to fall on his shoulders alone. “If I hadn’t been such a coward and lashed out at you, you wouldn’t have fallen and-and… I’m sorry,” he concluded unable to complete the catalogue of his guilt.
Oz’s gaze tracked over William’s shoulder until he was staring at Lindsey. “Speak to him alone?” he queried.
“Not possible, Osborne,” Lindsey said. “Ripper doesn’t want the boy out of his sight.”
“I’m sure he could not have meant here,” William argued. “After all what possible harm could come to me in the sick room?”
Lindsey and Oz exchanged eloquent looks, and William sighed; he was getting remarkably fed up with the way people kept excluding him from their conversations.
“I’ll be outside,” Lindsey said eventually and swung out of the door closing it pointedly behind him.
“How is your head? And your-your arm. Does it hurt? I could get Matron…”
Oz held up his good hand, encouraging William to be silent, and when his friend had stuttered to a halt, he began to speak.
“He isn’t your friend.”
William opened his mouth to interrupt but Oz waved him quiet once again.
“Ripper is a rotten sort. No one in the school is safe from him. Or Angelus and his brother. They will…” He looked up into William’s guileless blue eyes and tempered what he was about to say. “They will do things, get you involved in things, ungodly things. Whatever you think is happening, it isn’t. When they have you, everything will change. Everything will be different. Ripper will show you what he really is.”
It was the most William had ever heard his friend say and that alone should have alerted him, but he was too consumed by the wicked accusations Oz had cast at his new chum. Standing up suddenly and shoving the chair back behind him, William spat, “And what is he? A monster?”
Oz gaped at him, stunned by the vehemence of his reaction, and unable to get a word in edgewise as William paced the floor, gesticulating wildly as he ranted, “You speak of him as if it were so. And yet how can you know? He is my friend not yours and you will not keep him from me with your hateful words and your jealousy.”
William swung round, confrontational now. “Is that the reason behind your detestation? Are you are jealous of his affection for me? That he prefers my company over yours? For that in itself is equally abhorrent to any crime a man shall commit. To perjure yourself in such a way, for such mean reasons, makes you more a monster than any other. I shall not… I cannot stay and listen.”
Turning his back on the bed, William stalked towards the door and, as his hand touched the knob, said, “I am sorry you had to say those things. I would like to have been friends but I know now who my real friends are and I cannot count you among them.”
As the door slammed shut behind him, Oz sank back into the bed, wincing as the movement caused his arm to protest and cursed his luck. If he were not so laid up he would not hesitate to challenge Ripper to keep William safe, but injured and confined as he was, he could do little but pray.
**
William’s next stop was the dormitory and his other long neglected friends. Lindsey had not wanted him to go, but William, still smarting from Oz’s words, would not be denied. He stalked ahead of the older boy, his shoulders set at an angle of determination and turned neither right nor left from his path.
Surprisingly the bedroom was empty, though William supposed that many of the boys would be taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to make a final trip to the bathing pools or try their luck at tickling the last few trout of the year. He reclaimed his spectacles and then, somewhat disappointed that his friends were off having fun without him, turned to go.
He was nearly out of the room when he heard what sounded like a quiet sob from the large wardrobe in the corner. Thinking it could be one of the smaller boys - the youngest in their dorm was a tiny lad of twelve - and not wanting to scare him, William approached the cupboard cautiously and cracked open the door. It was pitch dark inside and the angle of the sun meant little or no light penetrated the gloom, but he was able to make out a figure in the corner, curled into a tight ball with his face buried in his knees.
“I say,” William said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes-yes, quite fine, thank you,” the answer came roughly between heaving sobs that proved the words false even as they were spoken.
William, becoming concerned, leaned forwards, going to his knees. The angle of the light changed and suddenly he was able to see precisely who it was hiding in the wardrobe.
“Wesley?” he said. “Wesley? What happened? What on earth are you doing in here?” As he spoke, William reached out to touch Wesley’s shoulder to offer comfort. It occurred to him that, unlike himself, Wesley had not had the pleasure of such powerful new friends so perhaps he was homesick and pining for his father. His hand stopped of its own volition when Wesley raised his head.
“My God!” The blasphemy spilt from his lips, a pure gut reaction to the condition of Wesley’s face, and he blurted, “Was it Meers? Did he beat you so?”
Another sob from Wesley, and William regained his senses, tugging on his friend’s shoulder and urging him to move. Wesley clung to the inside of the cupboard, his bruised and bleeding hands digging into the wood as William tried to drag him out.
“Come, Wesley, please,” William gasped, close to tears himself. “Let me see you. I -I want to help.”
Wesley closed his eyes and shook his head. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - leave this dark safe space. If he did, they would see him, see the abomination he was.
‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’
No! It wasn’t his fault. He had tried to stop it, fought him, beat on that oak trunk chest until his hands bled, bitten and scratched when that foul organ had been pressed to his lips. All to no avail. The demon had done as he wished anyway, forcing his fingers deep into the hinges of Wesley’s jaw that now ached and screamed with pain. He would never smile again.
But in truth he was far from blameless, for what had he been dreaming of when the avenging angel appeared. William, that was what. And worse yet, kissing William and touching him in just the ways he was touched in reply.
No! Not the same. He dreamed of gentleness not pain, of love not terror.
Did that make him any less an abomination?
No. It made him worse. It made him vile in god’s sight. Which is why god sent his punishment….
“Angelus,” he whispered.
“What?” William replied, his hand freezing on Wesley’s shoulder.
“Angelus,” repeated Wesley with a touch more confidence. If he did nothing else, he could warn his friend of the danger. He owed him that much for incriminating him in his own lewd thoughts.
“No! No, that isn’t possible.” William was backing away from him and Wesley held out his hand, only to see William flinch away as though Wesley’s touch was enough to pollute him.
“You - you… It was Meers, or one of his boys and you…” William’s horrified face stared down at him, and for the briefest second Wesley thought he saw acceptance in his friend’s eyes before denial leapt up to take its place and William shouted, “Osborne put you up to this. He told you. Told you about my friends and… No! You are lying. You must be lying.”
Then William turned tail and ran.
**
Lindsey chased after him, having heard no more than William’s raised voice before the boy fled from the dorm like his tail was on fire. What, in god’s name, had happened in there to get William so upset. Now Ripper was going to stripe him for allowing this to happen.
The boy was fast and arrived at Ripper’s study several steps in front. Lindsey made a last desperate tackle, snatching at rough material, but William slipped through his hands leaving his coat dangling empty from Lindsey’s fingers.
Cursing roundly, he burst through the door after him and skidded to a halt. Angelus held William at arm’s length, laughing uproariously as the smaller boy punched and kicked, screaming at him, calling him a ‘despicable fiend,’ and a ‘filthy scoundrel’.
Ripper and Brolly watched with bemusement, until William landed a lucky blow to Angelus’ ribs making the older boy grunt. That appeared to make up Ripper’s mind. He strode over to the struggling pair, grabbed William around the waist and hauled him away, shouting, “Enough! You will calm down this instant and explain yourself.”
William was beyond hearing. All he saw was Wesley’s face, the fingerprint bruises around his jaw, the swollen contusions of his lips, the huge terrified darkness of his eyes, and that name, again, again and again. Angelus. Angelus. Angelus.
He fought hard. Unhindered by the exhaustion that had gripped his body when Brolly had been his target, this time his rage was pure and strong. He wanted to kill Angelus, wanted to break him until he cried bloody tears, until his face wore the same colour and fear as Wesley’s. He wanted to feel flesh tear in his hands, bones crumble and tendons rupture.
His head snapped back under the force of Ripper’s backhand, his ears ringing as he staggered and almost fell. Then the hands were back, wrestling him down, tearing off his clothes, and a voice was shouting, “Fetch me a paddle. I’ll tan his hide for this.”
The first smack across his buttocks made William yowl with indignation and kick out with his feet; he was no small child to be so ignominiously spanked. Other hands captured him fast and held him down as more blows followed and by the tenth the hurt was such that it began to burn through his rage. By twenty and then thirty his howling had become sobs and pleas, apologies, promises that he would never again behave in such a fashion, but still they came, relentless, punishing, and cruel. Until finally the last of the fight left him, stripped and empty, and he lay quiescent over Ripper’s lap, weeping silently into the older boy’s leg.
Only then did they stop, and the hands that had hurt him so began to offer comfort instead, rubbing something cool and soothing into his screaming skin and pulling him up so that he was held in strong arms with his face hidden in the crook of Ripper’s neck.
For the longest while William stayed there, his stomach churning and his thoughts all a-dither. The clouded memories of the night before, still obscured by whatever drug it was they had fed him, slowly being prodded into life. Hands on his body - the same hands that were stroking his back at this very moment - touching his private parts, working the flesh until the memory alone was enough to send a shudder through his body. Lifting his legs, displaying him and probing him intimately, a voice laughing and approving when he squirmed away claiming he would not be touched in such a manner. And, through it all, the eyes, brown and green, blue and black, fixed on him and drinking in his every humiliation.
They were right. Oz was right. He had fallen into a nest of vipers and could see no way out. Escape was impossible, Ripper would never permit it, and who could he run to? Oz had said no one was safe; did that mean there was no sanctuary to be had?
The hand on his back moved up to his neck and tugged gently on his hair. William lifted his head at the unspoken order and found a glass of bitter smelling liquor pressed to his lips. Presented with no alternative, he drank, and, as the same lassitude spread through him, he heard Ripper say, “Prepare him well. I shall have him the moment he is done.”