Learning To Share - Chapter 6
Eventually on that fateful night, the night that was to lead to this betrayal, I challenged him with his selfishness. Perhaps not at the best time. But sometimes, resentment has it's own way of coming out. It can't always be controlled. He was lying between my legs, gently fondling my balls, licking up and down my shaft. I looked down at his blond head and tried to separate in my mind the selfish Childe from the man I had come to desire more than I thought it possible to want anyone. I knew it was time to speak out.
'Spike, please,' and I opened my legs wide, giving him easy access and a close view of my aching hole. 'Please.'
But yet again, he moved away and came up my body trying to kiss me, as if in penitence for his selfishness. I saw a flicker of something on his face that in that awful moment, I couldn't read, didn't take the time to read and then it was gone. I lost it. If he wanted me only as his Sire, him always as my Childe, then that is what he was going to get. I threw him from me with a sweep of my arm and pinned him to the bed. I was out of control, but not yet Angelus. Oh, the old demon was there cheering me on, screaming gleefully 'I told you so,' but I wasn't him.
But I used his tactics.
I hit Spike hard across the face. It felt like flying. The power over someone smaller, weaker, younger. I hit him again. The blood was trickling down his chin from a split in his lip and I watched it lazily drip onto his neck. Fascinated by the effect of my strength over him. I wanted to see more. See how much blood I could produce. I hit him once more, this time a powerful punch to his nose. I felt cartilage giving way. It made me hard, so I hit him again. When his face was unrecognizable, I entered him. But I did it from behind with his bloody face pressed into the mattress. I did it while digging painfully into his hips with my hands. I did it with no preparation, enjoying the tearing and the smell of blood. I did it whilst my cold, dead heart cried out for pity and understanding. I wanted love, not this. I wanted him, not this. I wanted to be wanted. Not this. But this is what we had become.
It is insidious. Power. Power and cruelty. When you are bigger and stronger, older and just…better. And when they are willing. Oh, because he was so willing. The next morning he was incredibly affectionate, willing to do anything. But to share. Never that. Because the opportunity for him to do that was long gone. We had tipped the balance of power too effectively to return to any form of equality or love. This was just domination and the playing out of all the age-old games of Vampire Lore. And the rules came back very quickly to me. I surprised even myself.
Physical torture is easy. It's all instruments and easy, visible pain. Mental torture is so much more refined and fun. And what an easy target: a chipped, Childe vampire who wants you, who loves you. I set out to destroy him from the inside. So he would be so much more vulnerable to my attacks from the outside. I began by letting him overhear a phone call to Buffy. It seemed fitting to torture him with the one thing he tortured himself with…his belief in my continuing love for her. Oh, and how did I come to know of my Childe's fears? I'm his Sire. His God. He had confessed. One night with my cock deep inside him, my hands on his swollen member, he cried out in fear, 'is it me?' I didn't even understand what he meant until afterwards when lying in my arms, his sobs almost uncontrollable, he told me. Told me how he had pictured me, picturing him, as her. His tight entrance…as her moist folds. His lips…as hers. Him…her.
So that's where I started. When I knew he was listening on the other extension, as he was bound to do when he knew who I was calling, I told her how much I missed her. Told her that things weren't going so well for me. Told her that I had someone, but that I was bored. That they were no substitute for her. Did I play with fire? Did I threaten to awaken some long-dead longing in her? I'm not sure at that point whether I cared one way or the other. But she was secure in her new love, strong in her rejection of me. But I wasn’t even listening, because I was hearing the click of the other extension reverberating in my head as if it was a nail in my long-forgotten coffin.
When I went downstairs again, he was reading. Well, he was sitting holding a book. Seemingly intent. His arms were folded lightly over his chest, his feet up on the mended coffee table. He didn't even glance in my direction. He was unreadable. A study in concentration. Except for one thing.
I've come a long way from that pure demon, Angelus, that I used to be. But even I never realized just how far I had come, till I felt the effects of my deliberate cruelty on this creature. The creature I would die for. When I saw him sitting there pretending to read, I realized I could not hurt him again not even for an eternity of his love. I would rather set him entirely free of me than ever inflict that pain on him again. Only I had known how to hurt him, only I could have seen the evidence of its effect. For my dear, sweet boy was sitting there with his broken heart, nonchalantly pretending to read a book in a rare demon language. He didn't even know he was holding it upside down.
I couldn’t stand to look at his pain. I left. And stayed away all day. He watched TV alone all day. I could hear one show after another blaring out from downstairs. I know he showered alone because I sat in the living room listening to his quiet sobs as he used the water to cover his grief. He went to bed alone. I know, because that's when I decided to use the magic I had been offered those many months ago. One chance to make amends. One chance to change the path we seemed destined to walk on. One handful of dust spread over him while he slept to send him into a place where he could learn what I wanted him to know. All I had to do was to picture what I wanted him to become, hold the dust in my hand and throw it on him. Powerful magic indeed.
So I did it. I took the dust and I pictured a different life. A life where we would be equals. Where I could lay my heavy burden down upon my weary bed and he would pick it up and carry it awhile for me. I pictured a time when, if I faced my incomprehensible humans, he would be there. His presence strong, his support tangible. When I would I no longer feel like that blind man, because he would be my eyes to see. He would interpret the world for me. He would share my life, my pain, my redemption.
But all I had been given the power to do was to imagine an outcome. The process was entirely out of my hands. Do the ends always justify the means? I had nothing but good intent. Was I to be held responsible for the method of achieving it? I had no control over the magic once it was loosed. What would he have to endure? How would it be achieved? What sort of creature would he be when he returned to me? And would he ever forgive me for this betrayal?
So I sit here still, uselessly guarding his body because I am not there to guard his spirit. I have trusted this magic from a creature I knew to be evil. I have used it on the only thing in this world I can't bear to lose.