Little Child
He remembers the taste of the boy.
That sweet baby's blood.
He can remember the flavors separating on his tongue; pig's blood, Connor's blood... pig's blood, Connor's blood.... Of course, at the time he hadn't known what he was tasting... but now he does. It was sublime; not just because it was an infant's blood, all gentle and soft with innocence, but because it was his son's blood - strong and fierce - a warrior's blood.
And now that baby boy is all grown up, and standing right in front of him...
...and Angelus wants another taste.
The boy has been talking for a few minutes, now, and Angelus has been responding in kind. A jab here, a jibe there, a taunt and an insult... all to keep up appearances. We must always keep up appearances.
"Angel told me how you'll try to hurt me," the boy continues, "How you weren't my real dad - just some animal in a cage. Angel's my dad."
Angelus sniffs the air. He can smell the boy's anger and confusion. He's so very tired of it. Almost ashamed that his whiny brat is his.
"I'm gonna cry," he taunts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Just step closer, boy... then we can have a real chat.
"That's what he told me, and he thought I believed him," Connor says, turning slowly on his foot, presenting his back to Angelus. "The truth is, Angel's just something you're forced to wear. You're my real father."
Angelus pauses, a predatory smile sliding slowly across his lips.
Ah, the truth comes out. Good. This will be so much easier than I thought.
"I'm right here," Angelus says, dropping his voice low, dark eyes smoldering with challenge. "All you have to do is come get me."
The boy turns back around, and Angelus admires the tension in the shift of muscles.
"You'd like that," Connor says, eyes narrowed.
Oh yes, yes I would.
The boy is spoiling for a fight - a fair fight. A fight where he can feel justified in letting loose on the vampire that wears his father's face. A fight where he knows his father won't hold back. A fight that will mist the air with sweat and blood, and only one of them will be left standing.
Well... we shall give him a fight.
But first, we must get out.
Angelus shrugs nonchalantly, turning casually on his heel and walking slowly towards the middle of the cage. "You couldn't take me, anyway," he says conversationally, indifference coloring his words.
A footstep. Another. Coming towards the cage. Angelus smiles.
"We'll see."
Yes, he really is his father's son. We never back down from a challenge, and never seem to know when we're being goaded. Our one flaw.
Angelus tilts his head, clasping his hands behind his back. "Promises, promises. Don't make 'em if you can't keep 'em," he says, his voice bored.
"I wouldn't think of it."
Two more steps. He knows that the boy is now inches from the bars. He's crossed the red line. Within arm's reach. Our bravado always does get the better of us, doesn't it? It must be in the blood.
Angelus smiles. He turns slightly, rolling his head along his shoulders so he can get a better look at Connor. "This might be your best chance," he taunts, turning the rest of his body to face the boy.
"Don't disappoint daddy," he says, his voice silky, eyes gleaming in the shadows.
Connor presses his lips together and steps forward. The last step. Angelus watches with carefully hidden delight as his son wraps strong fingers around the thick cage bars. "Oh, believe me - you won't be disappointed."
Angelus drops his hands.
"No. It appears I won't."
Suddenly, he is in front of Connor, left hand wrapping around Connor's right, like a vise, squeezing flesh and muscle and bone against hard metal, nearly breaking thin fingers. Connor's left hand is pulled brutally through the bars, the front of his body smashed hard against the cage. The boy sees stars as his forehead connects solidly against the steel, and Angelus takes advantage of his disorientation.
"Stupid boy," he purrs, bringing Connor's left wrist to his mouth, lips toying with the button that kept the sleeve closed, blunt teeth grasping it, ripping through thread, spitting the offending bit of plastic at Connor.
The boy makes a strangled noise as Angelus jerks his arm again, and the vampire smirks, knowing that it's only a matter of time before that shoulder pops out of socket. Though, he'd better be careful - he didn't want anyone to try and dust him just yet.
He has plans, you know.
"Stop it!" Connor tries to yell, but his trachea is pressed against one of the bars, and it comes out weak and strangled. Oh, tsk - that will leave a bruise. Well, another one. The boy already looks like he'd taken a few beatings today. No one will notice an extra.
Angelus clamps his hand down harder around Connor's as the boy tries to slip his fingers from around the bar. Oops, there goes that delicate pinky bone.
"Fuck!" Connor manages to gasp that out, and Angelus can feel his hand start to twitch from the trauma. It only makes his smile wider.
"Now, now - struggling will only break more fingers, boy," Angelus chides, grasping the material of the shirt between his teeth and sliding it up Connor's arm, exposing the pale flesh of his inner arm.
Angelus watches the muscles in the arm tighten and strain as Connor's struggles redouble as it finally dawns on him what Angelus intends to do.
Couldn't ever accuse the boy of being quick or bright.
He jerks against the steel bars like a hooked fish, succeeding admirably at making a fool of himself, and for the barest hint of a second, Angelus considers letting him go, as this is just pathetic.
But, just for a second.
"Oh, will you stop? This behavior really deplorable. Is this how I raised you?" Angelus inquires, laving Connor's inner wrist with the flat of his tongue, the boy going stock-still at the act.
"Now that's better," Angelus says, pinching the thin and delicate skin between his two front teeth, nipping hard enough to leave a nasty bruise.
Connor whimpers. "Why?" he chokes out between gritted teeth.
Angelus turns and meets Connor's eyes, not at all surprised to find them cold and spitting with anger. He just smiles, the demon surfacing on his face.
"Because I remember how you used to taste... and I just can't help myself," he growls, then slides his fangs slowly, slowly into Connor's wrist, feeling the flesh part like hot butter.
Connor's guttural groan and twitch, and the sluggish pump of hot, young, familial blood running along his tongue almost gets him hard.
He seals his lips around the wound and sucks, nearly purring against Connor's wrist. He hears the boy gasp and whimper, and now he thinks he just might be hard.
"No, stop... fuck..." Connor supplicates, his arm so tense Angelus can feel the veins throbbing under his tongue.
Yeah, most definitely hard now.
Angelus sighs contentedly and draws back, lazy tongue cleaning the wounds of any drop spilt. Connor bites back a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head to face the other way, pressing his cheek to the bars so Angelus can't see his face.
Of course, though, it is too late. Daddy always knows.
His eyes travel over his boy, appreciatively. His feet splayed out, one propped up on the metal floor of the cage to give himself leverage. Pants low-slung on slim hips. A knife or four, stuffed into pockets or slid into the waistband. His black button-up shirt, stretched and straining at the buttons because of the hold Angelus had on him. Hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead by a thin layer of sweat. Chest heaving, muscles tense. Face, all bruised and bloody.
Angelus just wants to lick him all over.
This boy is his. More than Drusilla, more than Spike, more than Penn - more than any of the other incompetent vampires he's sired over the decades. This boy is truly of his blood.
How exciting. He decides that Connor should know this, if only because it might make the boy mad, and then he'd struggle a bit more, and struggling is always fun.
Angelus holds Connor's injured arm tight, leaning in close, pressing the ridges of his forehead against the boy's cheek. Angelus figures that with a little effort and the loss of the boy's nose, or maybe even his entire head, he might actually be able to pull Connor right through these bars.
A thought to ponder.
He inhales the boy's scent, all musky fear and blood and rage and... and...
No...
"Get off me," Connor hisses, his voice rough like broken glass. Angelus just smiles. Smiles and snickers softly.
"Mine," Angelus purrs, swiping his tongue along Connor's cheekbone, tonguing gently one of the cuts there, "You are mine. You have always been mine and will always be mine. We are two of a kind, my boy. I know your rage, your hate and anger and lust for the kill. I know the way your skin prickles and your feet arch in anticipation of a fight. I know that you want me dead. I know that you want to be free from your cage. I know that you want things back the way they were."
Angelus pauses, merely for effect. He loves effect.
"I even know the way this pulls at your dick. I know you liked it. I know it made you hard..." he presses his groin against Connor's, feeling the boy respond in kind, "just like it made me." He inhales deeply, moaning softly, "Mm... I can smell it."
He waits. Waits for the protest. The thrashing. The screaming accusations and protests. But there were none. Just the quavering exhale of resignation.
Angelus slides his cheek along Connor's, whispering into the boy's ear.
"I know, because you're of my blood, Connor. Mine."
The boy slumps against the bars, his breathing ragged and shallow.
"I hate you," he whispers, and Angelus can smell the saline as a tear slides down the side of his nose.
Angelus smiles against his son's cheek, and then nods, "Good."
He releases Connor, suddenly and violently, shoving the boy backwards. He is impressed as Connor keeps his footing, straightening up tall, fumbling at his ruined sleeve and sluggishly bleeding wrist.
"I wouldn't show that to anyone if I were you," Angelus drawls, his face once again smooth and human.
"Why not?" Connor spits, "It's your fault, not mine."
"Tsk, tsk, son," Angelus smiles, "you know they'll blame you. You weren't supposed to go beyond that little red line, there, no matter how much I taunted you." Angelus nods to the ground, then glances back up again, shaking his head, reproachfully.
Connor glares, "I'm sure they've been watching the whole time. They'll know what you did."
"Oh. Well, then... if they'd been watching, why didn't anyone scamper down on in here to try and rescue you, hm?" Angelus asks, tapping the side of his head with his index finger. "Hm... I just can't figure that out. Oh!" he snaps. "Unless, maybe... they figured they'd finally found a way to get you out from underfoot. Kill two birds with one stone, hm? Or more like, kill one really annoying brat with one... me." He chuckles to himself. "Or maybe... they didn't want to interrupt our... private moment."
"Shut up," Connor fumes, taking a step towards the stairs.
"Aw, leaving so soon? We were just getting to know one another," Angelus leers, licking his lips and gently cupping himself through his pants.
Connor opens his mouth to speak, but silence descends as they both turn their heads towards the top of the stair.
Cordelia. Angelus can smell her walking down. She smells like soap, face powder, fear and a broken heart. Not an altogether unpleasant combination.
He can see her face before she enters into the dim light. Confused. Cowardly. Clueless. Cordelia.
"Connor," she says.
Angelus drops his hand and arches an eyebrow in amusement. He believes that alliteration was created just for occasions such as this.
He smirks as Connor visibly bristles at the sound of her voice. His eyes never leave the boy's. A thousand battles are fought in those few seconds before Connor drops his gaze and turns towards Cordelia.
"Go upstairs," she says, her voice strong and steady.
Connor stiffens, turning back towards Angelus. "No."
His eyes blaze. Angelus stares at him, bored.
Cordelia grips the metal railing a bit tighter, the restraint in her voice wavering slightly, "Please. Go upstairs."
Connor holds the vampire's gaze for a second longer, breaking away as Angelus winks. The vampire can almost hear the grinding of Connor's teeth as he turns back towards Cordelia and heads up the stairs, "It's your lucky day," he mumbles, looking straight ahead, and then disappears through the door, slamming it shut.
Yes, son... it is, Angelus thinks, pink tongue sliding along blunted teeth, watching Miss Cordelia Chase approach.
Fred stands rigid, a hand covering her slack mouth. She watches as Cordelia approaches the bars and Angelus draws back from the bars, taking up his position in the middle of the cage. She watches as slowly, slowly he turns his face towards the camera, eyes and teeth glinting in the darkness.
A smile.
Her throat rebels, and she tastes metal and bile as she swallows dry, her hands shaking as the monitor suddenly goes black.
"Oh my god..."