ATS/BTVS - Spike/Angel(us) - Emotion - Rated R
Title: Emotion
Author: tamibrandt
Fandom: ATS/BTVS
Rating: R (Language, mentions of violence, sex)
Character(s)/Pairing: Spike/Angel(us)
Summary: Set sometime around SHELLS, Spike reflects after Fred's passing.
Warnings: NO SPOILERS
Notes: Beta'd by Myself, lexa4227
Word Count: 1,330
Written for 10_hurt_comfort
My Table Here
Spike’s POV
Angel. He should have warned me. He was my elder. My teacher. My mentor. My idol. At least, he was as Angelus. All these years I scorned and ridiculed him and he had known what this was like. He had known and never told me. Dru would never understand it. Darla could but then from what I felt and know, she’s dead . . . again.
So many people from my past haunt me now. Not just the victims either. My own vampire clan haunts me. It wasn’t like a family reunion or anything, merely those that had an impact on my existence after I was turned. The Master. Darla. Angelus. Drusilla. Angel. Even Buffy haunts me and she was still amongst the living . . . again.
The Master didn’t make a total impact on my life. He was just there. Darla’s Sire. He was the one person that the bitch had felt beholden to. He had saved her from death’s clutches literally. As much as she enjoyed Angel’s company and constantly demanded his attention from Dru and me, whenever The Master called to her through the blood tie, she went running. The times she was gone were when Angelus was at his most playful during the hunts, killing his victims with artistic flourish.
Darla herself was a selfish bitch. I don’t know a whole lot about her early life before she was turned. She always tried to forget where she came from by dressing in garish gowns and acted as snobbish as the women I knew back when I was human. Women like Cecily. Darla was a blonde version of Cecily. But, where I was the only one beneath Cecily, Angelus, Dru and I were all beneath Darla. She was a whore for fuck’s sake. Though she liked to pretend she was a well to do, though not high-priced, slut from the Colonies, she never let any of us forget that she was a whore. She used it to her advantage. As a vampire any of us have the advantage. It’s not like anyone can do anything to us. We always ate them in the end no matter how we trapped them.
Angelus was a completely different animal altogether. Where Darla used sex, my Sire used his hands. I’ve lived to be 130 years old and in that time I’ve seen a lot of things. But, seeing Angelus doing what he does best? It was like watching artist paint and seeing the picture come alive with each stroke of the brush. He would always scold me for killing too quickly and never savoring the taste. It wasn’t that I never savored the taste. I wanted to finish quickly so that I could watch him work. He loved the blood, the whimpers and cries as he bit or cut into the victim’s flesh. The sounds were like the symphony he tried to make me sit through once. I never understood operas or symphonies. I understood him though. When I was younger, he had tried to tell me what a good kill entailed. I thought it was a waste of time and trouble then. But, then I slowly came to appreciate it through watching him. He was the most brutal, most vicious one of us all. A lot of the carnage we left in our wake was due in part to Angelus. None of us could keep up with him. Not even Darla.
Drusilla was my Black Goddess. I was so enraptured with her from the moment she found me. I’d probably deny it at the time, but the second I laid eyes on her I forgot all about Cecily. I didn’t realize how insane she was until later when I met Angelus. He took great delight in telling me how he tormented her already fragile mind, how he hunted her down when she fled from him, how he turned her, and how she would stay with the mind of a child forever. I, then, took it upon myself to look after her. I never minded the task. Dru and I had fun being the youngest of the clan. It wasn’t like Angelus and Darla paid us any mind unless we were embarrassing them, or in my case, had them running away from a mob.
I don’t even remember when things with Buffy got so tangled up. I have successfully killed 2 Slayers in my existence. Yet, I couldn’t kill Buffy. Sure she was a strong fighter. She relied on her wits and not from studying books. She didn’t move with the rigidity of a Slayer who studied the ones before her. She knew what she had and she used it. Certainly that’s part of what drew me to her. But, that wasn’t all. That night when I met her in her high school; when I saw Angelus again for the first time in 54 years, there was something else there. I could smell them. Her scent was thick on my Sire. It wasn't just a passing scent either. It was the scent which clung to the skin from intimate contact. He had touched her, held her, kissed her, and stayed around her until her scent became his. Even when he ran away with the whelp, I could still smell him. I turned toward the scent and found her.
Fe fi foe fum, I smell the blood of a nice . . . ripe . . . girl.
Angelus’ scent clouded around her and stuck to her skin. Two years later when I came back for the Gem of Amara things were different. Angel was no longer living in Sunnydale. But, Buffy bore his mark on her neck. He had tasted her and not killed her. He had marked her and left her a few months before, but as we stood in the sunshine and she staked me, I could still smell his scent on her. The Scooby gang took it as a sick obsession with her, but it wasn’t that. She smelled of my Sire which made her familiar. Angelus - Angel - whichever he prefers to call himself these days, may enjoy a solitary existence, but I always needed something familiar around. For a century it was Drusilla. But, when Dru left me in South America, I went back home. That’s what Angel represents. He’s a link to my past and he’s home, always entwined around the women in our lives.
What can be said about Angel that I haven’t already mentioned? I’ve watched him these past years. For all my insults since I knew about his soul, I’ve taken notice of how he deals with it. 100 years of practice and he still struggles with it. But, when I was soulless, I didn’t understand the burden. He should have warned me what having one would do to you. When he lost it to Buffy and came back to me and Drusilla, he should have said something. When I came back for the love spell, or even when I tried to get the Gem from him, he should have told me. Where Angelus boasted, Angel was quiet and brooding. I never understood the brooding part of it. When I finally got my soul, I was completely out of my gourd. But, circumstances at the time didn’t allow for 100 years of coping. I had to stamp all of my memories down and concentrate on the task at hand, even though the dreams were killing me. Angel doesn’t know that though. He doesn’t know that I had to put my own grief aside to help the others bury the Hellmouth. He thinks that I breezed through the ‘Soul Initiation’ while he wallows in the self-deprecation of bearing his. I don’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t easy for me and that I had to force the guilt down to get the job done. Hiding my emotions all these years, it’s all I’ve ever been good at.
Author: tamibrandt
Fandom: ATS/BTVS
Rating: R (Language, mentions of violence, sex)
Character(s)/Pairing: Spike/Angel(us)
Summary: Set sometime around SHELLS, Spike reflects after Fred's passing.
Warnings: NO SPOILERS
Notes: Beta'd by Myself, lexa4227
Word Count: 1,330
Written for 10_hurt_comfort
My Table Here
Spike’s POV
Angel. He should have warned me. He was my elder. My teacher. My mentor. My idol. At least, he was as Angelus. All these years I scorned and ridiculed him and he had known what this was like. He had known and never told me. Dru would never understand it. Darla could but then from what I felt and know, she’s dead . . . again.
So many people from my past haunt me now. Not just the victims either. My own vampire clan haunts me. It wasn’t like a family reunion or anything, merely those that had an impact on my existence after I was turned. The Master. Darla. Angelus. Drusilla. Angel. Even Buffy haunts me and she was still amongst the living . . . again.
The Master didn’t make a total impact on my life. He was just there. Darla’s Sire. He was the one person that the bitch had felt beholden to. He had saved her from death’s clutches literally. As much as she enjoyed Angel’s company and constantly demanded his attention from Dru and me, whenever The Master called to her through the blood tie, she went running. The times she was gone were when Angelus was at his most playful during the hunts, killing his victims with artistic flourish.
Darla herself was a selfish bitch. I don’t know a whole lot about her early life before she was turned. She always tried to forget where she came from by dressing in garish gowns and acted as snobbish as the women I knew back when I was human. Women like Cecily. Darla was a blonde version of Cecily. But, where I was the only one beneath Cecily, Angelus, Dru and I were all beneath Darla. She was a whore for fuck’s sake. Though she liked to pretend she was a well to do, though not high-priced, slut from the Colonies, she never let any of us forget that she was a whore. She used it to her advantage. As a vampire any of us have the advantage. It’s not like anyone can do anything to us. We always ate them in the end no matter how we trapped them.
Angelus was a completely different animal altogether. Where Darla used sex, my Sire used his hands. I’ve lived to be 130 years old and in that time I’ve seen a lot of things. But, seeing Angelus doing what he does best? It was like watching artist paint and seeing the picture come alive with each stroke of the brush. He would always scold me for killing too quickly and never savoring the taste. It wasn’t that I never savored the taste. I wanted to finish quickly so that I could watch him work. He loved the blood, the whimpers and cries as he bit or cut into the victim’s flesh. The sounds were like the symphony he tried to make me sit through once. I never understood operas or symphonies. I understood him though. When I was younger, he had tried to tell me what a good kill entailed. I thought it was a waste of time and trouble then. But, then I slowly came to appreciate it through watching him. He was the most brutal, most vicious one of us all. A lot of the carnage we left in our wake was due in part to Angelus. None of us could keep up with him. Not even Darla.
Drusilla was my Black Goddess. I was so enraptured with her from the moment she found me. I’d probably deny it at the time, but the second I laid eyes on her I forgot all about Cecily. I didn’t realize how insane she was until later when I met Angelus. He took great delight in telling me how he tormented her already fragile mind, how he hunted her down when she fled from him, how he turned her, and how she would stay with the mind of a child forever. I, then, took it upon myself to look after her. I never minded the task. Dru and I had fun being the youngest of the clan. It wasn’t like Angelus and Darla paid us any mind unless we were embarrassing them, or in my case, had them running away from a mob.
I don’t even remember when things with Buffy got so tangled up. I have successfully killed 2 Slayers in my existence. Yet, I couldn’t kill Buffy. Sure she was a strong fighter. She relied on her wits and not from studying books. She didn’t move with the rigidity of a Slayer who studied the ones before her. She knew what she had and she used it. Certainly that’s part of what drew me to her. But, that wasn’t all. That night when I met her in her high school; when I saw Angelus again for the first time in 54 years, there was something else there. I could smell them. Her scent was thick on my Sire. It wasn't just a passing scent either. It was the scent which clung to the skin from intimate contact. He had touched her, held her, kissed her, and stayed around her until her scent became his. Even when he ran away with the whelp, I could still smell him. I turned toward the scent and found her.
Fe fi foe fum, I smell the blood of a nice . . . ripe . . . girl.
Angelus’ scent clouded around her and stuck to her skin. Two years later when I came back for the Gem of Amara things were different. Angel was no longer living in Sunnydale. But, Buffy bore his mark on her neck. He had tasted her and not killed her. He had marked her and left her a few months before, but as we stood in the sunshine and she staked me, I could still smell his scent on her. The Scooby gang took it as a sick obsession with her, but it wasn’t that. She smelled of my Sire which made her familiar. Angelus - Angel - whichever he prefers to call himself these days, may enjoy a solitary existence, but I always needed something familiar around. For a century it was Drusilla. But, when Dru left me in South America, I went back home. That’s what Angel represents. He’s a link to my past and he’s home, always entwined around the women in our lives.
What can be said about Angel that I haven’t already mentioned? I’ve watched him these past years. For all my insults since I knew about his soul, I’ve taken notice of how he deals with it. 100 years of practice and he still struggles with it. But, when I was soulless, I didn’t understand the burden. He should have warned me what having one would do to you. When he lost it to Buffy and came back to me and Drusilla, he should have said something. When I came back for the love spell, or even when I tried to get the Gem from him, he should have told me. Where Angelus boasted, Angel was quiet and brooding. I never understood the brooding part of it. When I finally got my soul, I was completely out of my gourd. But, circumstances at the time didn’t allow for 100 years of coping. I had to stamp all of my memories down and concentrate on the task at hand, even though the dreams were killing me. Angel doesn’t know that though. He doesn’t know that I had to put my own grief aside to help the others bury the Hellmouth. He thinks that I breezed through the ‘Soul Initiation’ while he wallows in the self-deprecation of bearing his. I don’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t easy for me and that I had to force the guilt down to get the job done. Hiding my emotions all these years, it’s all I’ve ever been good at.