*****
He appeared out of the shadows; a stocky, yet exquisite, figure consumed of death itself. A stake poked its tip out of his jacket pocket, a cigarette rested between his lips. He came to a rest at the edge of the shadows and let his hand snake into another pocket. He retrieved a nearly antique Zippo lighter and, with a flick of his thumb and index finger, sparked a tiny flame. Leaning forward, he lit the end of the cigarette and proceeded down the street.
He kept his thoughts deliberately dark as he walked. It was a habit he'd picked up over the years and recently, free from his restraints as the Slayer's lapdog, he had retreated further into the dark recesses of his mind. Fleeting images of victims; twisted, bloated mutilations minus throat and heart floating down a river of inky black that should've been their blood, the dismal procession of the families that mourned them -- a graphic and poignant wake not far behind... flashed through his mind as he walked, filled his consciousness and set his heart to pounding in something that was neither fear nor anger.
Time passed sluggishly as he walked, every second ticked by a simple repetition of the one before. The thoughts playing through his mind mingled and merged into one. As they converged they flooded his senses, leaving only the dim awareness that he was walking in his shadowy consciousness. A cacophony of screams, terrified and painful, played a soundtrack to the visions as his heavy footfalls set a beat.
He furrowed his brow as he fell into the brutal history that replayed itself in his mind. The soundtrack, the images, were so stark in his mind that he could no longer distinguish the real from the imaginary. Some were memory, some were hyperbole, he knew, but every one could be as real as the other as long as they met together in the rat race he once called a mind.
One shout, though, rose above the others. It was broken, distinctly male; not terrified yet, but getting there. It was a cry he recognized from his later victims-- the ones he toyed with. He always started slow, let them believe something other than death awaited them at the end of the game. Their cries then would start just like this -- loud and sharp, but nowhere near the crescendo of terror that would erupt from their bruised, blood-caked lips when he was through with them.
The cry continued to pierce his thoughts. Clamping his lips around his cigarette, he lifted his hands to cover his ears. The shout cut off.
Startled, he lowered his hands again. The shouting resumed, a little more frantic this time. His eyes widened and he shot forward, the cigarette falling limply to the ground as he ran toward the source of the cry. It was closer than he realized, definitely too close to have remained unnoticed by him for so long.
He growled and threw himself on the boy's assailant, knocking him flat. The vampire beneath him squirmed for a moment, then paused, golden eyes coming alight with recognition. "Angel," he snarled. "I heard you were a soul-haver now. I know you wouldn't kill one of your own, though. That," he added, forcing a ghastly smile, "has got to be some kind of nasty rumor."
Angel answered with another disgusted growl and straightened, hauling the vampire to his feet. He lowered his eyes to the stake protruding from his jacket. "What do you think?" Hearing no response, he leaned in closer, closing both fists around the other vampire's collar. "Tell Spike that I want him out of town," he whispered harshly. "You and him and Dru if she's around� everyone in that outfit had better be cleared out of Sunnydale by the end of the week." He moved a hand back to caress the tip of the stake in his pocket. "Or they can have a talk with me."
The vampire in his grasp nodded, his gaze switching nervously between Angel's face and the stake a few inches below it.
"Good," Angel commended, then patted the vampire's shoulder almost fondly. "Give my regards to Spike, won't you? Tell him Angelus says hello."
Curiosity appeared on the vampire's disfigured features. "Do you mean--?"
"Just tell him." Turning slightly, Angel started toward the boy crouched fearfully a few feet away. The boy made no move, but continued to stare past Angel, his eyes wide. Blood fanned across the side of his neck, soaked the collar of his silver polyester shirt, but still he stared. Only the wide eyes and a slight trembling of his lower lip betrayed any evidence of life in the boy. "What's your name?"
A shaky sigh and a barely audible gulp followed the question, then a gentle touch as the boy pushed himself up. "Devon," he responded at last. His hands moved on automatic to smooth the front of his shirt. "How do you know Maurice?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I asked first."
A smile crept into Angel's features, spreading his lips in a weak imitation of mirth. His eyes, like the rest of his body, remained stark and dead. "He used to be a friend." He shrugged. "Now he's the enemy."
"Wha--"
"That's all you need to know," Angel cut him off. He folded his arms across his chest and watched as Devon mused over the scant information. At last the boy glanced over. A question stood in his eyes. "It's your turn," Angel reminded him, silencing the boy's tongue before he had the chance to use it.
"We were just hanging out. Hey," Devon started, shifting his weight to one leg. His right hand fingers scratched absently at the weeping puncture wounds at the base of his neck. Angel moved on impulse to help him. "Do you know how old he is, anyway? Bastard wouldn't tell me. When I asked again, he fucking bit me. And his face! Did you see that crazy fuck's face?"
"I saw."
"I mean, what is that? Steroids? Man, I've seen some wicked shit, but that was too much. I swear he was normal when we came out of the club�" He cut off, wincing as Angel's cool hand came in contact with the wounds in his neck.
"Not too bad," the vampire remarked, pursing his lips. "You're lucky, Devon. Maurice must've liked you to let you off so easy."
"He bit me!"
"That's what I mean. Anyone else would've been dead by the time I got here."
Devon blinked. "Dead? Jesus!" His hand rose to cover the marks on his neck.
"Don't do that," Angel admonished softly. He brought his hand, equipped with the soft cloth handkerchief he had recently found the sense to carry, back to Devon's neck and started a gentle circular motion around the area of the wounds. "What were you doing with Maurice anyway?"
A light rose tinted Devon's cheeks, accentuated by his sickly pallor. He swallowed thickly before shrugging and responding. "Guy stuff."
"What sort of stuff?" Angel prodded.
Devon stiffened. The color in his cheeks deepened, the only sign of embarrassment on the boy's face. "Think for a minute. It's almost midnight, outside an adults only nightclub, two guys close enough for one to get in a good bite. What the fuck do you think we were doing?"
Angel blinked. "Oh."
"So I'm gay. You know me, now why don't you tell me a little something about yourself? Which way do you swing? Gay? Het? Pendulate a little in between? What's your sign? Your name's Angelus right?"
Angel hissed. "Angel."
"You told Maurice-"
"It's Angel." Frowning, the vampire lowered his hand from Devon's neck. "You should take care of this. It's still bleeding."
"Fuck that."
"Delirium."
"Yeah?" Devon asked incredulously. A thickening film over his eyes showed more belief in the notion. His hand was at his neck again, rubbing unconsciously. "Are you going to get me some help or nag me to death?"
Angel only stared, fighting the impulse to bite, to finish the job Maurice had so clumsily begun. The curve of Devon's neck... the tiny crimson puddles formed over the bites, the angry red spreading too swiftly around them, beckoned the vampire with a sort of call. It spoke straight to his demon, bypassing the brain and soul to elicit the best response. Inside him Angelus churned, pushing him forward.
"Angel," Devon breathed. He was so close... Devon's chest, nearly pressed against his in the close proximity, heaved in something that could have been fear or lust. A glance down made him guess both.
"Angel," the boy repeated, with more conviction. Raising a hand, he cupped Angel's chin in his palm while the other continued its investigation of the bites. His lips twisted in a grin. "Kiss me, dammit."
Angel leaned forward, pressing his cold body against the boy's warmth. His eyes slid closed as he crushed his lips against Devon's, letting them linger for a moment before he pried them apart and ran his tongue along the bottom, moistening it. He pressed them together briefly and lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of his companion.
Devon only smiled.
Angel choked out a groan then flicked his tongue along Devon's lower lip. Hearing the boy's moaned response, he continued the motion, a flutter of relief flowing through him when Devon opened his mouth to welcome the exploring tongue. The charge between them was fantastic, the scent of the fresh blood mere inches away only intensifying his passion, filling the vampire with a lust more demanding and provocative than he had experienced in his lifetime.
At last he drew back, untangling his tongue from Devon's with almost painful regret. His hands gripped the boy's upper arms as he lowered his head, moving his tongue down to lap at the dried blood crusted on the pale neck. He moved in closer, so close, until the tip of his tongue just brushed against one of the fresh wounds.
Devon hissed and pulled back, his eyes growing wide with pain and surprise. His hand, rested from the short moment it had laid limply at his side, rose almost immediately to his wounds. His gaze remained fixed on the back of his palm as Angel watched, fighting the simultaneous urges to kiss or kill the dazed boy before him.
"Devon, I..."
"Oh Christ," Devon murmured as he finally brought his gaze up to face his companion. "What the fuck are you?" Tremors shook the boy's voice, robbing it of any authority that might have been intended.
"I don't think you want to know," Angel replied miserably. He glanced down long enough to slide out of game face then lifted his head again, facing Devon in human form.
"Holy shit," Devon muttered. He shut his eyes tightly, blocking the vampire from his field of vision.
Angel stepped forward, closing most of the distance between them, but Devon reacted quickly, pulling away before the vampire had a chance to reach him. He took off at a lurching jog.
Angel remained where he was, ignoring the urge to follow, opting instead to let the boy go. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out another cigarette and lit it in short order. He left the light of the club to slip again into the shadows, the only accompaniment to his walking the occasional drag from his cigarette. He made his slow way through the streets, dimly aware, but no longer mindful of the soundtrack of screams replaying itself in his head.
~end~