rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

Never Time Enough # 18

Title: Never Time Enough
Author: Part 1 50ftqueenie… then rngrdead – Ch 2 and beyond
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Warnings/Squicks: M/M relations
Rating: NC-17 (or MA 15+ or R?) There is violence and sex and vampires, and boys.
Summary: Xander comes back from the past with a secret.
previous parts

Part 18

Xander had informed the coven of Angel’s impending arrival, and Spike broke the news to an over excited Adrian Crent’ath who immediately a) ordered a car and driver for the duration of Angel’s visit, and b) sent out dinner invitations to *all* the who’s who of the Surrey ‘set’ and more than a few influential Londoners besides, despite Spike’s protests that Angel was ‘less than inclined’ regards large parties these days given the soul having and remorse. He was answered with a flip of the hand and dismissive “Nonsense William… It will be a night to remember… a night worthy of this fine house and the Aurelian line!”

Angel arrived in a handsome limousine some seventy one hours later, not so much bewildered by the flight or personal service… but certainly thrown by how familiar the estate looked. Other than the accoutrements of modern, wealthy households, it looked virtually the same as when he had last visited.


William had been out of control for weeks and Darla simply would not let it rest. The bloody rampage across the city had not stopped at likely demon perpetrators of the abduction of his Mate, but extended to any human that crossed his path. William was well and truly out of control.

No manner of thrashings or torture seemed to make a difference – indeed the blonde begged for more so the pain outside might match that he was feeling internally.

Darla had very quickly tired of running, insisting that Angelus take her to Europe or stake his wayward Grandchilde or preferably both! William was hurting, so reckless and uncaring of the need for the family to hunt in safety that were chased out of many old haunts for fear of the angry mobs out for dust. Darla blamed Angelus for William’s misdemeanors and the ongoing annoyance of the mad as a hatter Drusilla. She demanded Will be punished for days at a time, strung up stripped bare, beaten until he was aught but a mass of bruises or flayed skin.

Fingers were broken, toes, nose and ribs certainly, and arms too on occasion… though nothing that would slow down their progress should they need to move in the opulence to which she had become accustomed.

Nothing mattered to Will. He knew somehow that Darla had taken his Mate. His only solace was his mad Sire. She licked his wounds with glee, ran soft fingers over his bruised form and rebroke fingers “With a whack and a crack! And we all fall down!”

And through the haze of pain, Will knew his Grandsire was hurt almost as much as he. When the She-bitch was not present, he would be let down from the ceiling restraints, cradled in strong male arms and fed his Grandsire’s blood, all the while Angelus appealing to him to stem his behaviour.

They were in Romanie – fleeing from England until ‘things settled’. William was again strung up. Drusilla and Darla were sharing a bed next door, and Angelus was allegedly continuing to ‘teach that pathetic pup a lesson!’ with a short training whip, as wet and vicious as it was light weight, quite capable of drawing blood at each strike.

William was beyond anything but a rasped grunt as the forty-first blow struck, “I d’nay *want* t’ hurt ye Will… c’mon boy… don’t give her grist fer the mill! Just steady… Ahh Geeezus! Forty two!... In truth ye always were a soft one, but now I see yer strength… Forty three… Just do this for me Will… I tire of beatin’ ye at Darla’s command… But t’would best be me not her… Forty four… Please Will!!!… Care for your Sire and look for yer lover… your Mate… anon. I care for ye Will… *Please*.”

Sadly for Angelus, Darla had caught the end of the conversation. The following evening she let William down from his torture, allowed both Drusilla and Angelus to tend him gently, and two nights later fed Angelus a gypsy virgin in honor of his turning day.

That night the rest of William’s world fell apart.

Angelus just… disappeared. Explanations from Darla were laughable at best but with Dru crying hysterically and the gypsy’s blamed what was one to do?!

William the Bloody was true to his name, painting the ground in blood wherever he went. Short sharp ends to so many lives and all in the name of the GrandSire, the Mate, the Sire, the… the... It didn’t matter any more! He and Dru were in and out of Darla’s favor – she tolerating them only that her own reputation for brutality might be bolstered in the eyes of her dear Master.

He took on the moniker of ‘Spike’ and immersed himself in the blood, the crunch, the kill. Nothing else mattered now. He would please his Sire, his dark plum, and keep her safe from the bitch. Somehow he knew Darla was behind his boy’s… he couldn’t… to think of it hurt… made it real. Dru swooned he caught her and kissed lips that were too cold and too slim, yet they yielded and it was all he had left… all he had left.

After sixty or so years things had evened out. Spike had seen Angelus come and then, for reasons *Darla and soul* related, *go* in China. Abandonment – just when he had killed his first slayer, just when he needed his Grandsire’s approval, just when… just... Spike buried William the evening the bastard abandoned them for the last time, buried William for good, and became Spike.

Dru, bless her, was none the wiser. She loved WWII and their sojourn afterward in Monaco then Italy (a love affair which saw them spending nearly every summer in the south of France or Italy proper for the next fifteen or so years!). WWI had been “too much of that nasty gas that makes them taste funny and makes my eyes sting”. Added to that Spike (as he was known in all circles now) was more than happy to absent them from the killing fields after a happy sniper managed to lodge two bullets in his right buttock! After only two weeks they took their feeding to easier pickings, away from the fields of war in the Dardanelles and back to the confused streets of Paris.

Spike was more than happy to indulge his lady… it was all he lived for now… just like when he was first made – she was his destiny… But even then Spike never really stopped looking for his Mate, the brown eyed boy.

He had done his research (privately so had Angelus pre his ensouled days). A dimensional rift and consequent taking could fling one forward – but not back (?) – even his limited knowledge of universal laws seemed to indicate that. At least he thought it did?! And he knew that if Xander was dead, then he would be too, that was a given according to the laws of magic – and he wasn’t dead so Xander was… somewhere?!

So he kept looking, his dotty Sire joining in the fun by pointing out every dark haired boy, every muscled back, every soft toned voice with an American accent… Much as she innocently rubbed salt into his wounds, he loved her for it but never truly stopped looking.

And Xander strangely… had known. There was something, in the preservation and return of his essence there were residual flashes. He knew he was loved.

Angel was met by an effusive Adrian at the base of the stairs and all but got back in the car, then saw Spike… not Spike… *William* hand in hand with a slightly taller, well proportioned brunette male.

A wildly enthusiastic handshake from Adrian distracted him for a moment.

“So glad you were able to fit us into your busy schedule… It is *such* an honour to host you again Master Angelus”

Angel tore his stare from the couple at the top of the landing and focused back on Adrian, “Actually it’s just Angel… Thanks for the…”

True to his flamboyant style Adrian rounded on their guest, waving frantically at the staff to sort the luggage and ushered Angel up the stairs, “Of course… gypsies! Pffftt! Our family had had none of their nonsense for five hundred years. No scruples any of them.” Adrian all but dragged a rather overwhelmed Angel up the steps toward the main entrance where his Grandchilde and Mate waited. Xander the boy… *man* he had known so many years ago… the altered memories mixing with originals yet it still felt right, especially in this context, this house.

Adrian was still chatting away enthusiastically, “Come in and let us get you settled. I’ve put you in the east wing – the rooms are a little smaller as you’ll remember but you will have your own sitting room and the views are… well you remember the views from Grandmama’s day – we’ve kept…” He fell suddenly silent when he realized Angel was not listening, instead was entirely preoccupied by the two at the door.

A soft baritone said “Sire” as Spike bared his neck. Xander did likewise.

To his credit Adrian realized the privacy and importance of the moment and waved the staff inside, leaving the doors open and the three figures exchanging blood quietly in the moonlight.

The altered memories seemed to have shifted the relationship between the two vampires in subtle ways. Though initially both vampires were rather stiff, it soon fell away, Angel pulling Spike in to him hard, and through the link Xander felt the difference. This Angel, soul having perhaps, but this Angel was… “Sire” again at last. The two embraced long and hard, blood taken and given. And as he waited Xander pondered.

His greatest difficulty was understanding the impact of his disappearance in both realms. Still, vague flashes of the ‘interim’ his three/hundred plus years away… the gap to him was nothing, a mere heartbeat, yet now, thanks to the intervention of the coven he knew just what an impact his impromptu, unintentional departure had been. Darla had managed, in a simple act to do something equally as devastating when she ensouled then banished William’s Grandsire.

Along with that, Xander now had an insight into the period between when Angelus tried to manage the strife caused as William spun out of control and the consequent beatings and the becoming of ‘Spike’… And Xander understood the Grandsire’s need to run when the soul was handed to him. The Grande Dame Darla had won the day again, and in the blink of an eye was well rid of the soulful version of her Childe.

But now, with Xander, his Mate and Consort at his side, and in his Sire’s embrace, Xander saw Spike become William once more. Not an insipid, young poet William, but the magnificent vampire, the beautiful male who all but glowed in the wane light of the moon as he took his Sire’s blood whilst held in a full loving embrace.

Angel tasted it, but was neither envious nor angry. Spike had his Mate back and now it was up to the Grandsire to reestablish the connection with family (such as it was).

Eventually, after blood was had on all sides, the three moved quietly indoors. Spike nodded to Adrian’s PA and Angel was shown to his rooms.

Just past three in the morning, as the household slept, Spike and Xander had made love, but were both a little too awake to rest peacefully, so instead, Spike took his Mate’s hand and they padded silently through the corridors to Angel’s room.

Nothing was said, but the duvet was lifted by the incumbent vampire, and shortly after three male forms embraced in a quiet familial embrace, the warmth of the Mate heating Spike’s back as he was spooned from behind whilst resting a chiseled cheek on his Grandsire’s strong chest.

Angel was not there to provide answers to anything particularly, rather they were together to consolidate family once more.

Angel was heard to sigh contentedly before all three gave in to slumber.

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