Title: Suzerain’s Companion (working title)
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Post WWIII and 250+ years on from the Black Thorn. Highly refined, purpose bred ‘Companion’ Alexander is ‘liberated’ by feral humans, consequently rescued by the Suzerain Spike’s forces, the head of which decides to ingratiate himself by presenting his Sire with a boy reminiscent of one of the former Scoobies.
Spoilers: Canon is AU - very post S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here!
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
He was led to a smaller room and stood compliant as the rather worn second hand collar he’d been issued in the First Angelus’ facility was replaced.
The ferals had removed the pretty silver choker he’d always worn.
Now he had a thick choker of gold encircling his neck.
The handler locked it in place and the Companion almost cried for joy. But then he was handed a pair of white, heavy cotton trousers and white thick wrap around jacket resembling a martial arts suit, fashion from hundreds of years earlier.
Alexander was not used to wearing such clothing… or much clothing at all. And in the holding pens he had been nude… so had not even worn the comfortable black stretchy pants from his daytimes at Breeder Natte’s facility since he was captured.
He pulled on the pants, then simply stood in the cell looking confused and desperate over to the handler. The put upon green demon simply sighed and helped him into the jacket, then tied a white fighting belt around his slim waist.
His hair was brushed with military efficiency and he was thrown a stick of mascara and small mirror with a grunt from his until now silent handler. “He used to like the pretty ones – your best shot at surviving.” Alexander also heard the muttered, “Poor Bastard” and worried all the more. He had no idea if he qualified as ‘pretty enough’.
He applied the eye makeup quickly and followed the rather agitated handler from his basement prison, up three flights of stairs into a magnificent state of the art home. He was led along a long white corridor, only to be left standing outside an enormous set of plain black doors.
He simply stood, hands behind his back and waited. The handler knocked and a staff member opened cautiously before pulling the boy into the room by his karate belt.
He knew better than to fall to his knees, it was unbecoming for a well bred Companion, instead he simply stood motionless in front of the Suzerain, tilted his head down in a sign of supplication, and waited.
It was thirty minutes before the blonde dressed in a classic 1930s style suit from human times, looked up from the paper on his desk and appraised his First’s ‘Gift’.
Alexander hadn’t moved in all that time, he stood ‘at ease’ feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, and desperately in need of scratching his nose! But he held his position, knowing that if he failed to impress, his life would be severely shortened.
Eventually the Suzerain looked up from a screen, and what Alexander could only interpret as a ‘thinking machine’. At least that’s what Natte told him as a youngster, all the rage amongst the elite.
Alexander quickly focused his gaze on the ground.
The Suzerain Spike levelled a cold, calculating gaze on his prize. “Do you read?”
“Suzerain… Yes … I read.”
The cold tone did not change and Alexander was acutely aware of the less than impressed stare, “Do you sing and dance?”
“Only if you wish, Suzerain.”
“And you are trained in sports?”
“Not all but most, Suzerain. Golf, Swimming, Gymnastics… what is it you wish?”
Spike took a long draft of his cigarette, blew the smoke casually into the room then asked, “And indulge me… what else can you do??”
Alexander blushed, something not missed by his now owner, “I can pleasure… And I speak four languages adequately and am a registered breeding Companion, Suzerain.”
“Do you know how to kneel?”
Alexander moved forward and dropped immediately.
“Hmph… Can you listen young one?”
The endearment was not lost on the Companion and the response automatic, “Yes Suzerian, always to you.”
“I don’t need a pretty boy listenin’ to me you dolt! I need a bloody asset, not an ornament!” Alexander’s hopes swiftly went from joyful to devastated, but his owner had not finished, so he knelt well behaved, rather than begging.
“How’s your memory?”
Still on his knees in front of the suit clad Suerain he said rather shyly, “I believe it’s excellent Suzerain”
“Good what I need is an extra set of ears in the room… Ones as don’t have their own agenda so ta speak. And what *you* need to do is prove to me, pretty boy, is why *you* are *worthy* to be kept on by the leader of the known world. So get on your feet and stand over there – free corner of the room.
“You to remember all the conversations at the cartel meeting today… clear? You don’t move. You don’t speak. If it works out, I’ll sort a bloody suit for you sometime soon, or at least have you in a black one of those. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb today… but I’ll deal with that.”
Alexander was contrite and knew his place. “I will do my best Suzerain.”
“Too bloody right you will. Now stand up and take your spot. Haven’t got all day.”
Alexander raised his eyes just a little in hope that he was welcome as he stood, but all he saw was the cold gaze of his owner before the Suzerain turned back to his affairs, obviously expecting his order to be followed without further question.
The Companion complied immediately, taking his spot beside a palm in a classic bronze pot, standing at ease and schooling his body to be motionless.
And so the Cartel leaders filed in, each delegation brought the leader and the deputy. They sat around an enormous table that had three huge jugs of water and glasses as the centre pieces, the pecking order for seating very obvious. As soon as all were seated and with a drink, the meeting began.
As Angelus had entered and sat on the Suzerain’s right, the Companion’s breath hitched a little. He had to get this right or holding pens and public amusement would be his future.
Alexander listened most carefully, committing to memory all the names and seating positions of the attendees, using the fingers behind his back as a reminder. Then he began to listen to the dialogue. He noted that the Suzerain said little merely sitting back with his hands in his lap and head slightly tilted or when thinking hard, tended to put his hand to his face, thumb on one defined cheek bone and forefinger across his lips.
Others were more animated and as Alexander listened, he noticed how much they gave away due to their leader’s silence.
One vampire in particular was effusive in his compliments and enthusiastic regards the success of their cartel in the west of what was once southern USA/Mexico.
Alexander watched his owner’s hand come up and recognized that something was not quite right – he listened even harder. The financial reports being presented were that the projections of the previous year only just meeting their targets. But the silent observer saw the twitch and the nervous hands under the table. He watched as the Suzerain quietly asked the man if there was any more to report at which point the twitch occurred again as the answer “No Suzerain, we will do better next quarter.”
The meeting adjourned for a short break, other members filing out into the anteroom on command promised blood, alcohol or coffee and a ‘variety of snacks’.
The Suzerain Spike turned to him immediately all had left the room and simply said “Well?”
Alexander fell to his knees (with some relief as he had been standing motionless for over an hour).
Eyes down and hands still behind his back he reported all… It was near word for word and the Companion missed the rather surprised look on the Master Vampire’s face as the meeting was recounted.
“So your impressions of the Master of the Southern Cartel Carlos?”
“He seemed to be holding something from you, Suzerain. I could see his hands moving nervously, and he twitched when challenged regards the finances, though not with other queries. He also twitched when the black market of feral blood was mentioned.”
His owner stood abruptly and Alexander knew to hold fast, though from the aggressive stance, was truly terrified he was about to be hit – and hard. But instead his hair was ruffled and a rather amused owner simply said, “You might just work out Pet. Now get to your corner and enjoy the fun.”
Called back in after their break the general mood was jovial. It suited their supreme leader. He allowed loose tongues to waggle as the delegates re-entered the meeting room, before opening with a number of mundane territory issues. His First, Angelus, took the floor and Spike had time to look hard at Master Carlos.
Under the table he held his own tiny computer and called up all the *reported* financial dealings of said Cartel leader in the last twelve months, then cross referenced it with his income, and finally with the raids on two feral ‘blood farms’ by the demon military in the last two years. Some found not just ferals but feeders stolen from nearby farms owned by the cartel itself – though the theft never reported. Neither establishment could be pinned to Carlos, but his sudden ‘spending spree’ would indicate another source of income, and at the time Spike could not but help think “Thou protesteth too much.”
As the cross references were made Spike made a decision. He knew Carlos’ second Julio and had always found him a ‘solid’ character, certainly not as shifty as his boss.
Mundane matters over with, it was time to oust the mole. “I am intrigued by the idea of alternatives to our feeders. Anyone around the table having trouble with the feral harvesting farms in your regions? We need a solution.”
The dialogue erupted as most Cartel leaders found the practice to be either worthy of reporting or at least handling within their region. Carlos was unusually subdued, his second nudging him several times. But the Suzerain was staring directly at him and he did precisely what he willed his body not to, he flinched.
Faster than even the other vampires could track, the Master Vampire Spike, now just over four hundred years old, was upon the hapless Carlos, had hauled him from his chair and had him pinned high up on the wall by his neck, flailing helplessly.
“Now see, let me explain something. It’s business and it’s politics. And we are a *for profit* organization, and if you are makin’ profit mate then you *owe it* to the organization to let us take our bit.” Spike squeezed a little harder at the throat, and although Carlos did not have to breath, he could feel veins and arteries beginning to collapse and had started to see stars.
“Now do be a good fellow and tell me just how *many* feral blood farms you have in your territory… under *your* control at the moment… because I’m afraid we seemed to have missed that in your financial report… possibly for the last few years wouldn’t you think!”
Spike could smell the terror and guilt flowing from the vampire and simply grinned to Angelus as he, still holding the vampire off the floor with one hand, said to the group, “It seems like there is going to be a slight restructure at middle management level.” Upon which he squeezed the neck even harder heard a crack then tore the head from the body. Angelus was at his side with a clothes brush to remove the dust from Spike’s immaculate suit before he retook his seat as though nothing had happened.
He addressed Julio, “Financial reports… accurate ones… and back dividends by Tuesday or your entire Cartel leadership will find out just what a Suzerain is capable of.”
Julio nodded profusely and was infinitely grateful that the meeting was officially closed following his boss’s demise.
All departed but for Angelus who stayed for a short time to debrief regards the rise of Cartel leader Julio. The orders were to watch him also. But they had a few days up their sleeve, if he came back contrite and with reports and cash then all would be well.
Sire and Childe were just exchanging wrists when there was a heavy thump in the corner as the Companion fell in a dead faint.
Alexander had been standing without moving for first one and a half then two hours and had not eaten or had water since around midday the previous day, something that seemed to have escaped the attention of the entire staff and his owner.
He did not radiate distress, simply started to see sparkles as the world disappeared, his ears began to ring, and then random images before … black.
He had no idea what had happened as he came to on a lounge suite in a room he later realized was the Suzerain’s own office. He immediately panicked. He had failed in his task and would be disposed of. Despite a throbbing headache and very sore elbow and hip that had taken much of his fall, he swiftly rolled off the couch and prostrated himself on the ground, not even sure to whom he needed to appeal.
The Suzerain was across the room in seconds as he saw the human’s actions.
“What’s this?? Get up you idiot!! What the *bloody hell is wrong with you*?!… Handlers say you haven’t had anything to eat or drink since yesterday! Why?”
Alexander knew he had failed his owner and was shamed. He kept his position fully down but knew to answer a direct question. He lifted a little then replied, “I was called to you Suzerain. You ordered me still and attentive. I believe I did that Suzerain. I did not know the protocol to ask for food or water… or for relief of human needs. But I did try for you Suzerain… I can recall the second part of the meeting, but… Oh I am sorry for…”
Spike suddenly realized his own error. That the handlers had been dismissed was normal, but he had given the Companion no method of expressing his needs and as they did not coincide with his own, it had not even occurred.
For the first time in over two centuries, Spike felt for another that was not his Childe. This beautiful being, so like a friend from before the destruction, had done everything the Scoobie would have done for the greater good and in this case it was for The Suzerain, Alexander’s owner.
Spike lifted the near unconscious figure of his Companion onto his own bed, called for his surgeons and stood back as they tended to boy.
“He will be fine Suzerain, but he is underfed. If you wish to exploit his talents then a refined diet is recommended. If I am not out of line Suzerain… he is most exquisite, and worthy of your attention – if only as accessory.”
Spike dismissed the medico and moved onto the bed with the boy.
For some unknown reason, now in private, he let his fangs drop and opened his wrist. He lifted the again unconscious Companion, and dripped his own blood from a wrist into the lax mouth. Alexander reflexively drank then, surprisingly, latched on and started to draw the liquid in hard drafts. For some reason the look and the actions prompted Spike’s response. It was old memories and that of an alpha male and for the demon instinctive – something previously offered.
He dragged the boy up and bit down hard, taking back what was his and showing the boy his place.
The Companion fell back, still only semiconscious but blissful, and having come – something his owner only realized several minutes later. He too had climaxed during the act and though not embedded in his chosen, he had inadvertently claimed the Companion. If he rejected the boy now, the Companion would die an agonizing death that would also affect the Suzerain.
Spike pulled away, suddenly realizing what he had just done, “Oh Bloody Hell… Not again!”