Warnings for this chapter: Torture, rape, death of a major character (but he gets better)


Two bodies entwine with his, one sleek and pale, skin cool like his, the other warm in sleep, darker and golden with a slight sheen of sweat from their earlier exertions. He knows he’s not the only one who will dream today. Xander will readily admit that he is plagued with nightmares that equal his own. And Spike, while he might not admit to nightmares, never the less does not reject the comfort of two sets of arms when he jerks awake on certain nights, unneeded breath rushing into his lungs and a name no one dares speak anymore on his lips.

He doesn’t want to sleep, but daylight has arrived and its soporific effects draw him into slumber, an unwilling traveler on a journey taken too often.

He wakes up on an uncarpeted floor. Part of him wants to just stay there with his eyes closed, the laughable comfort of cold marble feels much safer than what he knows waits for him when he opens his eyes. But reality filters in, in spite of his best efforts to push it away, ripped to shreds by a voice filled with false warmth.

"Hello Rupert. I wasn't sure you were going to wake up. You had me worried."

He opens his eyes to find Angelus' face barely inches from his, the dark eyes cold and flat, so much like a snake's that he wonders at his ability to keep from flinching away. Painfully he gets to his feet, refusing to stay on the ground while this---monster walks above him.

"What do you want?"

Sounding downright chipper, the vampire replies as if stating the obvious. "I want to torture you. Heck, I used to love it and it's been a long time. I mean, the last time I tortured somebody they didn't even have chain saws."

Watching the movements of the vampire, he sees the statue with the sword sticking out of it. It is a ridiculous looking thing, really. Almost as ridiculous as Angelus' outfit of leather and silk, each a caricature of evil. Angelus glances over at him while patting the statue. "Yeah, Acathla. He's an even harder guy to wake up than you are. I mean I performed the rituals, said all the right phrases, blood on my hand..nothing." The frustration is evident in Angelus' movements if not his voice. "I figure you know the ritual, you're pretty up on these things, you could tell me what I'm doing wrong." All the fake warmth drops from that voice then, as the vampire comes back towards him. "But honestly, I sorta hope you don't. Cause I really want to torture you."

Soon after the real pain begins.

Swimming up out of blood tinged darkness shot through with neon explosions of pain, he feels his glasses being pushed onto his face. It takes a few moments for him to realize that this is the only item of apparel he wears, except of course for the cuffs of the chains that hold him upright to dangle from the ceiling. It is a measure of the pain that he already suffers that the ache in his shoulders barely registers. The dark shape in front of him materializes into the form of his tormentor, silky voice flowing in razor edged waves over his senses.

"Rupert, I’m impressed. How’re you holding up?"

It takes enormous strength to cant his eyes upward toward the chains that disappear into the darkness above him. It also takes several breaths to spit out the two-word answer.

"Never better."

"Glad to hear it." It chills him that in some bizarre way, Angelus does sound glad.

"You know I can make the pain stop." Cold hands caress his overheated flesh, and he is amazed that icicles don’t form as those hands plow tracks in the blood and sweat running down his chest. Angelus is behind him now, whispering in his ear. "Tell me what I want to know and this will all be over." He manages a snort perversely glad that he is so weak at the moment. He doesn’t have the strength to bring up the hysterical laughter that is bubbling just under the surface. The arms around him tighten and cruel fingers dig into his chest. Angelus’ voice in his ear becomes even softer, more insidious.

"Something funny, Rupert old pal?" He shakes his head as he feels Angelus grind against his naked back, a horrifying hardness making its presence known. He feels his mind trying to slip away a gibbering insanity trying to replace this awful reality. He knew about this, had been trained in vampiric theory most of his life. But the reality of an imminent buggering by an insane vampire just couldn’t be learned about sufficiently in a classroom. He felt that hysterical giggle try to bubble up once more and clamped down sharply on it.

"Don’t…don’t take me…for an idiot…Angelus." He just barely holds back a whine of pain as fingernail break through skin. "We both know your not…going to get—information…from me. And we both know that you..are..going to..k..kill me."

"Ah, Rupert, you might as well tell me, cause—and I really hate to be so cliché here—there really are worse things than death. I should know…" Angelus nuzzles his neck, turning his stomach worse than any of the previous torture. "…I’m one of them."

He sighs, trying to bring air into constricted lungs. It hurts, the pain constant now and the knowledge that there is worse to come makes his breath hitch, or maybe it’s the blood he can feel collecting in his throat. "Well…then…I sup-p-pose I shall have—to tell you…" He tries to clear his throat. It doesn’t work. "You must perform the ritual…" Angelus is quiet now, but has no patience for his dramatic pause.


"…wearing a…tutu."

The dark vampire roars in his ear, and the nails leave furrows on his chest as he whirls away from him.

"That’s it! Somebody bring me a chain saw!"

"Now mate, you’ll never get your information if you cut him into little pieces." He blinks sweat out of his eyes and sees the torchlight gleaming off of bleached hair and chrome. Oh goody, Spike. Now the torture is indeed complete.

"What do you want, Rollerboy?" Angelus stalks over to the wheelchair bound vampire, looming presence lost on Spike whose attitude seems to escape even the boundaries of his confinement. He wonders though, if Angelus notices the slight tremor in the hands that light the cigarette. He knows that it is anger, not fear, that causes the bleached blonde to quiver.

"Oh just came to see if you were any closer to putting the cap on your whole ‘end the world’ scheme. I see it’s working about as well as offing the slayer."

"You don’t know shit boy." Angelus grabs Spike by his hair, bending his head back and staring into stormy blue eyes. It is a blatant show of dominance and he wonders at Spike’s ability to back down. But back down he does, breaking eye contact first and looking over at him. The look Spike gives him is…strange. The smirk is there, but watered down, the Big Bad still lurking underneath the carnage of a crippled body that should have healed long ago. There’s something else there though, not pity, more like commiseration.

"Well, I do know that unless you want to hire yourself a Necromancer, and those blokes charge an arm and a leg—literally, you’re going to have to keep sonny boy over there in mostly working condition."

He couldn’t hold his head up any longer and wearily closed his eyes and let the insane conversation wash over him.

"You know, you’re right Sit n Spin."

"I am? I mean…of course I am. What’s going on in that overly gelled brain of yours Angelus?"

He heard the footsteps of the elder vampire come towards him again, felt leather and silk against his abused flesh as the chill body pressed against his back once more.
"Oh, nothing much" He could have sworn that he heard Spike mutter under his breath "Got that right mate…" But then he had more important things to focus on. Like the hissing sound of a zipper being lowered and the hand in his hair that pulled his neck to the side. And Angelus’ once more gleeful voice.

"I think that I’ll leave another present for that old gang of mine to find. My last one seemed to go over so well." He felt the blunt head of Angelus’ cock breach him and the white-hot agony of the forced entry nearly drowned out the piercing of his neck by twin fangs. His eyes flew open and he shrieked. The last thing he saw before his world went dark and he felt his heart stop was Spike’s blue, blue eyes filled with anger and an unfathomable sorrow.


To Be Continued...





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