Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

  • Mood:

Schmangstathon Fic!

Torments of the Damned

By Snow

Set after Ats 5.8 ~ Destiny
Written for liliaeth
Beta by elucidate_this
Thank you, babe.

“Haven’t seen Dru since … for years.” Spike looked out over the view of Los Angeles below with Angel. The wind blew around them, the night sky was smoke and velvet and Spike turned his head up. “Don’t you miss the stars?”

Angel kept his eyes down. The building below them was almost empty. A few lawyers pulling overnighters in their offices, Angel could hear their hearts beating and he knew if he went back inside, he would be able to smell their frustration. The building reeked with the stench of it. A cleaning crew worked their way methodically through each floor. If he tried, Angel could hear the soft, musical Spanish they spoke to each other.

“I go out to the mountains when I need to see the stars.” Angel watched a black limousine move below them, dropping off a woman dressed in diamonds and lace and a man with a tuxedo and a hard on that Angel could smell from thirty stories above the street. “And I haven’t heard anything about Dru either. Every once in a while I think I can feel her nearby, but it’s gone before I have time to go look. The world is a big place.”

“What about Xander? Willow? The rest of them?”

“No.” Angel shook his head, wondered why they talked in circles and knowing that it was the only way he and Spike could talk. Without bringing up past hurts, without starting another, endless, pointless argument. “I haven’t seen any of them. Haven’t looked. Haven’t tried.”

“I’m --“ Spike started to speak, stopped and Angel looked over at him. Angel watched as Spike avoided his eyes, looked everywhere but at the other vampire. Angel waited with his infinite patience for Spike to speak again, watching as he moved restlessly.

"Sometimes I want nothing more than to go find them all. Help with whatever they are doing. Be a part of the team again. Be a part of ... but I can't go back. Just like I don't belong here with you. I'm not part of your 'big picture'."

"I'm not sure about that." Angel whispered. He'd stopped trying to see Spike's face. Returned his view to the world below them, the cars that sped past thirty stories below.

"Not sure about what?"

"You. Me. Anything. I used to think it was so cut and dry. Redemption. Making up for everything I'd done. The Shanshu. Now I find that what I thought was my destiny may not even include me, may never have. It could have been about you all the time, Spike."

"I was in Hell, you know."

Angel looked back to Spike at the loud declaration.

"You were there."

"What?" Angel asked, realizing that this conversation had suddenly turned into something more.

"Well, not you. Angelus was there."

Angel shook his head, "Spike, Angelus is inside of me. Every day, every hour, every minute." Angel touched his chest, his palm flat on the dark material of his shirt. "He's always right here."

"No." Spike took the two steps that separated them and pulled Angel's hand down. "He was with me. Constantly. What was Hell like for you, Angel?"

Now it was Angel's turn to move away, to look out into the distance.

"I don't talk about that. Ever."

"It was endless for me. Agony. Beaten. Whipped. Flayed. Raped, over and over and you ... Angelus did it all."

"Spike, it wasn't me, it wasn't Angelus. Angelus isn't something, someone, that can take day trips to Hell to torture random vampires that die saving the world."

"I'm not random." Spike sputtered and Angel watched as Spike’s hands automatically felt his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, for his lighter.


More of a habit than the actual smoking was, perhaps it was the need to hold something in his hands when he got upset. When he felt too much. When he remembered …

"Break for me, boy."

The low growl beside his ear, the feel of razor-sharp teeth sliding from his neck down his back.

"Break and it won't last as long. It won't hurt as much."

Blood and spit when Spike laughed, amazed that he could.


"Have it your way." Angelus bit in, just above his hip and Spike screamed with the pain. His arms in chains, his ankles cuffed together. Iron that cut and sweat ran into every torn spot on his body.


“You were there, Angel.” Spike insisted and Angel shook his head. “What was it like for you? Was I there?”

“I am not having this discussion.” Angel turned and walked away, heading back to the door that led to a private stairway and to his apartment. Spike caught him just inside, Angel felt his fingers dig into bruises that hadn’t healed.

“You will have this discussion. You.Were.There.” Spike hissed and pushed Angel against the wall, holding him there.

“No. I wasn’t.” Angel pushed back. He was tired. Disgusted with himself for the whole evening and everything that had led up to it. His body hurt, his brain hurt and Spike was not helping. Spike was the reason for it all. Spike and the Goddamn prophecy and Angel was not going to discuss his time in Hell with him.

Spike followed him doggedly, although quietly -- for a change. Angel sighed as he heard Spike pouring whiskey from his bottle and just kept ignoring him. Stripping off his shirt, wincing at the motion it took, the pain it woke, he headed for his bedroom.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I attacked you as soon as I saw you after you did whatever you did with the amulet?”

Angel rolled his eyes at the question that came from his sitting room, pulled on a pair of silk pajama pants. He walked out of his bedroom, his hand on the back of his neck, attempting and failing to relieve some of the tension that cramped and bit. Taking the crystal tumbler full of whiskey from Spike without even realizing he done it, until he tasted the burn on his lips and down his throat.

“No. I didn’t. It was filed under ‘Oh, look. Spike attacked me for no good reason. Again.’” Angel moved to the couch, sitting down, or falling down into the leather. Opening the drawer of an end table and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He took one out and tossed the box to Spike. Angel lit the end with the flame of a candle and half-heartedly smirked at Spike’s expression.

“Angelus. You were talking about Angelus. Sometimes he’s too close.”

Angel saw Spike shudder and hurriedly light a cigarette, take a deep drag and empty his whiskey, then refill it.


It only took the look in Angel’s eyes, the cigarette between his lips and Spike felt the collar around his neck. The high, thick leather that cut and refused to bend or give and Spike couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t look down. Deep brown eyes in front of him, a smile that seemed wrong on that face. That painted a picture of true evil, of death and torture and pain.

He was naked, hung in chains and cuffs. Blood weeping from numerous open wounds. Angelus standing in front of him, breeches open, stroking his own cock, then reaching for Spike’s. Rough, hurting, hard. Too tight. Too much.

“Tell me that you want me, boy. Tell me that you need me.”

“Fuck off.” It hurt to speak, Spike remembered Angelus choking him with those same long fingers that were pulling and twisting his cock right now.

Angelus rolled his eyes and laughed.

“You don’t get it, do you Spike? This is your life. This is your eternity. This is your reward for giving everything up. For saving the world.” Angelus spat the words out. Voicing his anger at the idea of someone being able to give that much, to care that much, as if the entire situation reminded Angelus of someone else.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, Angelus.” Spike mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking of the last thing he saw. The clear beauty of Buffy’s tears. Of her eyes looking at him, her hand was touching his. Her knowledge that he was doing, had done this for her, for her friends. For everyone.

For himself.


“Spike?” Angel took another drink of the whiskey, the last drag off his cigarette, crushing it out in the crystal ashtray. “Are you ever going to leave me alone tonight?”

“Angel.” Spike said. His voice so quiet that if any humans were in the room, they wouldn’t have been able to hear him at all. His voice so full of pain that Angel immediately looked at him, that Angel couldn’t see anything but Spike for that moment.

“Angel. You were there. I was in Hell.”

Ignoring his aches and pains, the torn muscles, healing cuts and bruises, Angel got up and moved to Spike. Reached out to him for the first time in too long, in forever. Wincing when the blonde vampire moved into his embrace, not sure at first if Spike was going to hit him again, or accept what he offered.

“It wasn’t me.” Angel whispered.


This wasn’t the Hell that Spike was expecting, if he had been actually expecting anything. There were no rivers of lava, no fires that burnt without fuel. No brimstone and sulfur or endless valleys filled with writhing, tortured souls. There was no heat, no cold, no temperature at all. There was no sound, but for the screams that tore his vocal cords and, of course, the constant chattering from Angelus.

Spike was not in a cell, not in a room. Not in anyplace that he could describe. A black void, the chains that were soldered to the cuffs on his wrists and ankles trailed off into nothing. And when Spike pulled on them there was no slack at all. He was naked. When he bled, when the iron cut into his skin -- when the leather of the whip Angelus used on him over and over split his flesh, when the silver blade of the knife slipped through and into muscle and tissue -- the blood that dripped and spilt from him did not pool at his feet. It simply disappeared.

Angelus was always there. He didn’t take breaks. He didn’t wander off. His attention was not diverted from Spike for one minute, for one second, for one instant. It was constant, unrelenting and endless. Angelus beat Spike until he lost consciousness and when Spike would open his swollen eyes, he’d find himself biting into his bottom lip, his mouth full of blood and feel Angelus’ cock ripping and tearing into him.

He was stretched out to the limit of his bones, of the tendons that held them together by the chains. Angelus’ hands gripping his hips, his fingers pressed into bruises and sores that never had a chance to heal and the feel of Angelus’ teeth tearing into the muscles of his shoulders, the back of his neck. Angelus’ hard chest was slick with Spike’s blood and smacked into him, and then it would start again, over and over.

No night, no day, no end, no beginning.


Angel tightened his arms instinctively, his senses filled with the familiar smell of Spike. How long had it been since they were this close? How long had it been since they touched each other with anything but disgust and mutual hatred?

“It wasn’t me, Spike.” Angel repeated, closing his eyes. Refusing to let any memories, any thoughts at all of his own time in Hell enter his mind. Instead, Angel chose to let Spike tuck his head under his chin, allowed himself to feel the strength of the younger vampire against him.

“Prove that you weren’t there?” Spike asked, pulling away just enough to look into Angel’s eyes.

“How can I do that?”

Angel already knew the answer. His lips were on Spike’s before the sound of his voice dissipated. He could feel Spike’s hands slipping over his chest, sliding down to the drawstring of his silk pants and an involuntary low purr rumbled through him. An automatic response to an intimate touch, to what Angel had denied for years.

He took Spike to his bed, undressing him in the dark. Lying him down, his mouth moving over pale skin, over hardened muscles. Over bruises that his own hands had made, over healing cuts, the dried blood washed away, yet the taste lingering on Spike’s body, the scent remained.

Angel’s tongue lapped at Spike’s cock, gathering the precome and savoring the flavor. His touch light until Spike’s back arched, until Angel felt Spike’s fingers in his hair.

Angel licked down the base, feeling the crunch and brush on his lips of the stiff, curly hair found there. His hands slipped under Spike’s thighs and cupped the cheeks of his ass. Lifting Spike inches above the bedspread and rolling Spike’s balls in his mouth, sucking and licking, nibbling with blunt teeth and spreading Spike’s thighs apart until he found what he was looking for, until he had what he wanted. The bittersweet, sour taste of Spike. The sound of his voice coming from far away, calling Angel’s name. Spike’s legs tightening around his shoulders as he pressed his tongue inside, as his thumbs opened Spike and he alternated between licking and teasing and giving Spike what he needed.

Angel stopped and started and went around in circles. Above the edge of the bed, his own hips danced to a slow beat, his cock straining for friction, for contact, for anything. Angel didn’t let up for a moment, until Spike’s fingers went from crushing his skull to pulling him up.

“Come here.” Spike’s voice was crushed gravel and desire and Angel had no choice but to comply.

Angel followed Spike’s direction, licking over his abdomen to his chest, to his neck, to his lips. Moaning at the feel of Spike’s hand on his cock. So long since he’d felt anything there but his own fingers.

They moved together with a rhythm that had not been forgotten. Hands that remembered the map of each other’s body, mouths that sealed together in kisses that lasted far too long to even pretend that they were human, that they needed to breathe. Faces flickering in and out of demon visages, until they were both there. Riding the edge of their orgasms with elongated teeth, with ridges on their brows and yellow eyes that glowed in the dark. Bared necks and blood on their tongues as the growls changed to roars that shook the artwork that decorated Angel’s private rooms in their frames on the walls.

Minutes or hours later, limbs still tangled and come smeared and cooling on their skin, Angel repeated his whispered words. He licked his lips to keep the taste of Spike, of his body, of his blood fresh on his tongue.

“It wasn’t me.”

“I know.”


Writing For: Lore
LJ Name: :liliaeth
Pairing Option #1: Spike/Giles
Pairing Option #2: Spike/Angel
Brand of Hurt: both
Wants: non-con with Spike as the victim, Spike as sub, Spike forced to
wear a collar
Doesn't Want: dominant Spike, Spike as evil, any mention of B/A
Maximum Rating Preferred: NC17
Additional Details: I really don't like charbashing, and I prefer good
Spike, evil Spike was interesting, but not near as interesting as when
he started changing and fell in love with Buffy. I'd prefer to see
respect for the B/S Ship and Buffy treated as a good person.

*licks you*
Tags: angel/spike, ats, fic
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →