I had to flat~ice 7 full sheet cakes today for our local Hallmark plant employees. My arms are very tired and I think that I still have some icing ... just here.
Here! Is my Valentine's gift to everyone.
Set after Ats 3.9 Lullaby
Picked over by tabaqui and written from a luscious prompt given to me by lostakasha ~~ Angel/Darla and a pearl necklace...
She gets a charge out of being so weird,
Digs getting downright strange.
But I can keep a handle on anything,
Just this side of deranged.
He found the pearl necklace in the small pile of belongings that Darla had left behind. She had never carried much with her, even back in the day. She’d preferred to procure new clothes in each city they visited, always staying current with the latest styles. She only kept a few material items close and even then, they’d likely come up missing after running to catch a train or a coach or the ever-popular escape from a mob.
Angel held the beads that seemed to glow in his palm and shook his head. It couldn’t be the same necklace. Not after all this time. A smile curled around the corners of his lips. Darla had loved those pearls.
He could hear Connor breathing in his crib, the hotel silent around him. All his humans were sleeping, recovering, healing and Angel sat awake in the dark, watching over his son. He leaned back in the chair, the pearls slipped smoothly through his fingers as he lifted them up. The necklace swung in the dim light and Angel picked through the memories in his mind … and he wondered if Darla had ever done the same.
Remembered when they were four. Remembered when they were reckless and free and wild and insane with lust and desire and themselves. Remembered when they were family …
He still couldn’t put a finger on what exactly he and Spike had done to incur the wrath of Darla, but this particular time; it was incredible, spectacular. She was beyond angry, she was furious. Tied, arms and ankles to the bedposts, naked and bleeding from the unending strikes of a wide leather belt, Angelus couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She was tiny. She preferred silk to satin. She loved having her hair and nails done and she never left whatever house or castle or inn they might currently inhabit without looking her best. Even being chased on horseback through forests and fields by villagers or townspeople with pitchforks and stakes and fire, Darla would always first insist upon wearing a hat. Lacing her shoes, wearing her best dress.
She loved dinner parties and if they weren’t invited to enough to suit her, she’d hold her own. She’d find the tallest candelabras and the thinnest china. She’d make sure the cutlery was pure silver and that the fragile crystal was spotless. She would hire string quartets to play and after dinner there would be dancing. Endless dancing with swishing skirts and laughing couples and shameless flirting that lasted until dawn. Until it was time to feed, time for their guests to die just as the sun rose behind heavy curtains.
But when she was angry; Spike shut up, left if he could, hid if he couldn’t. Drusilla would retreat into her shell of madness and Angelus was left alone to crawl for her, bleed for her. And how Darla loved to hear him beg. He knew that he could get away from her, that he could’ve, probably, overpowered her. Dusted her, which he had a feeling that someday he'd end up doing. But somewhere in Angelus, some place in his mind where the demon had first met with his consciousness and taken up residence where Angelus supposed that his soul had once been, he knew that he belonged to Darla.
Darla whipped him with the belt until there wasn’t a spot on his skin from ankles to wrists to neck that wasn’t covered with welts, glowing with fresh bruises and bloodied from cuts. She’d taken off her pretty dress and paced around him wearing nothing but a tightly bound corset and white silk hose. Her hair fell in curls from a fancy braid that twisted around her skull and a pearl necklace bounced and slid over her cleavage.
Angelus was mesmerized, so dazed with pain that he involuntarily flinched when Darla noticed his fascination and smiled. When her hand moved up to undo the clasp and unwind the necklace. She dangled it in front of Angelus and he didn’t even try to see in her eyes what she had planned. He knew that he’d find out.
She crawled up the mattress from between his legs. She slid the nails of one hand over the welts and cuts and brought them to her lips, sucked them clean. She settled at the top of his thighs, leaned down and kissed him. Her teeth sunk into Angelus’ bottom lip and he could taste his own blood on her tongue as it stabbed into his mouth. He pulled against the bindings at his wrists and ankles, but he was immobile. Secured down in a way that only Darla and sometimes Spike could accomplish.
She dangled the pearl necklace over his chest, dragged it though the blood and down, down … to his cock. And even through all the pain, Angelus was swollen and hard. Hard for her, for this, for their life. The absence of anger in her eyes scared him. The sight of curiosity and interest made him more than nervous. She wouldn’t kill him, he was sure of it. Maybe. Probably.
“What are you doing, Darla?”
Her smile was death and sex and evil temptation. She twisted the necklace around his dick. Started at the base and slowly worked up the length of him. Tight and tighter, each perfect bead pressing into his tender skin. She scratched him with her nails and laughed when his hips rose, lifted her as she rode his thighs.
Darla finished her precise twining just under the head of his cock. She carefully hooked the ends of the necklace together and laughed. Angelus growled. He pulled against the silk bonds that held him. Whimpered when he realized he was completely helpless. He felt her fingers dip lower, past his balls and over his opening, still slick with saliva and blood. The sharp bite of her fingernails as she pressed inside him.
She slid over his chest, the corset rough and pulling. She fingered herself, sinking one, then two inside her body and held his decorated and tortured cock. She opened herself and Angelus watched her face as he felt her through and over the pearls. The beads kept him from the wet heat. From the tight, clenching walls of her that he knew better than the back of his hand. Darla’s knees slid apart, her spine straightened and her head fell back. Her first movements were shallow and slow, but as her body adjusted they became faster. Deeper. Harder.
The pearls shifted as Darla rode him, perfectly balanced. They pinched and ground into his cock. His head pressed into the pillow behind him, his back bowed and he thrashed, writhed under her. Darla’s thighs clamped around his hips, one hand moved behind and Angelus could feel her fingers on his balls. Grabbing, pulling, twisting. The scrape of pretty pink nails from her other hand over one of his nipples and Angelus trembled. He shook through a dry, unfulfilling orgasm as she fucked him with her fingers. As she fucked herself on his cock.
Angelus jerked his arms and fresh blood dripped from his wrists to the sheets. He could smell it and it made him hungry. It made him angry. It made him move with fresh, hard jerks and snap at the empty air in front of him.
It made him whine.
“Please, Darla … please…”
He could still hear her laughter. Even now, here in the Hyperion, holding the pearls in his palm. She laughed and laughed and laughed. He could hear her, see her above him. The way her hips twisted, the way her blue eyes would darken, then fleck with gold. The way her teeth would grow and cut into her own lips. The way her chest would rise and fall, hitch and pant as if she was breathing when she was on the edge.
Darla’s head lifted and Angelus saw the ridges on her face and the flash of her teeth. The pink of her tongue as it slid out of her mouth and licked her lips. She fell on him, drank from him. From his chest and neck and from the soft skin just under his arm. Darla tore into his body and she came five times, six. Seven. Clenching and sucking and slurping and moaning.
Then she slid off of Angelus, out of the bed. She wiggled her fingers at him as she walked away. His blood smeared on her cheek, her corset, her hose, her thighs. She stripped off what was left of her stained clothing and Angelus heard the splash and slosh of Darla sliding into an already prepared bath.
Angelus groaned. He could be here for hours. All night, possibly days, if she remembered what had pissed her off in the first place. His cock throbbed under the tight string of pearls and his hips moved as if she was still on him.
Thirty minutes, an hour … Angelus lost track of time, he bent his neck to lick at the blood that was drying on his bicep. He couldn’t hear Darla anymore. The splashing had stopped, her off key singing had died away and he was sure she’d fallen asleep in the cooling water. Another reason for her to be angry with him when she woke up; colder than normal, wrinkled fingers and toes.
He saw the bedroom door open out of the corner of his eyes and the blond head of Spike as he crept in. The smile that turned to silent laughter as he took in Angelus’ position, one hand clapped over his mouth.
“Get me out of this.” Angelus’ whispered.
Spike’s eyes glittered with unshed tears of humor as he nodded. He started to cut through the silk that bound Angelus’ ankles until he saw the pearls that still decorated Angelus’ cock. Those blue eyes met his and Angelus’ teeth cut into the inside of his cheek, fresh blood in his mouth.
Spike leaned over him and Angelus felt the wet lap of Spike’s tongue over the head of his cock. Angelus’ hips jerked and his hands closed into fists.
“Take it off, Spike. Take it fucking off.”
Spike met Angelus’ growl with one of his own.
“I didn’t hear you say please, ‘Gelus.”
A different kind of struggle now, Angelus twisting against silk, but not to get away. Not to slide out of the bed and escape the whipping lash of the belt or the sharp clawing pain of Darla’s fingernails. This was a fight to fuck up and up and up … past the cold grip of the pearls and into Spike’s mouth.
Spike carefully unhooked the necklace’s clasp. He slowly started unwinding the pearls from Angelus’ cock, his mouth working down on reddened sore flesh as it was exposed. Two fingers slid into his mouth and pressed behind Angelus’ balls. Pushed into him.
Angelus was wracked with cramps, tightening every single one of the muscles in his back, his shoulders, his thighs. The frame of the bed creaked as he pulled and pulled and he finally, finally heard the satisfying tear of fibers as his teeth grew and his face changed and his tongue flicked around daggers of ivory.
His hands were free at the same time that Spike unwound the last turn of the pearls around his cock and they went directly to Spike’s head. Sinking into the golden hair and Angelus thrust up, pulled down. Whispergrowl of Spike’s name over and over as he filled Spike’s mouth, hit the back of his throat and tangled his fingers tighter. Pulled harder. Arched his back and opened for Spike’s fingers.
The necklace slipped from his groin to his hip to the stained sheets beneath him and Angelus came and came … and came.
Angel slid the perfect Japanese pearls through his fingers. Connor slept undisturbed in his crib beside Angel’s chair. Cordelia and Wesley, Gunn and Fred … Angel could hear every breath they took. He could tell when they shifted in their beds. He brought the pearls to his face and felt the cool, smooth rub of them on his cheek, his jaw, his lips.
He closed his eyes and inhaled and the world swam around him. His hand tightened as he felt everything around him shift and turn.
His blood. His semen…
She’d kept them. All these years. And he knew, somehow, he knew … she had held them in the dark, just like this. Held them to her face and her nose and her mouth and remembered. Remembered when they were four.
When they were family.
*lyrics from ‘Pearl Necklace’ by ZZ Top
*smooches you right on the lips*