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Sleeping Beauty Redux

 

Pairing: A/S, Angelus/William

Rating: NC-17 barely.

Written for: somecandytalkin; for the Fractured Fairytales Ficathon 11-30-04 

Once upon a time there was a young poet named William. His eyes were blue as the sky, his hair golden honey and his skin pale and fair. One star-filled night while at a dance, the demon Angelus met the young William and saw him for what he was: he was a prince among men and he was destined for great things. Angelus saw William and knew all this at a glance, and the demon wanted the young poet for his own.

 

The demon set about seducing the young William. They met over tea and talked of art, at the gentlemen’s club they sipped brandy as they spoke of politics, and they took long walks in the park beneath the full moon and William confessed his hopes and dreams to the demon, never suspecting the evil he stood next to.

 

Then, one fateful night William ran sobbing from a party and Angelus ran after, choosing to follow the weeping poet rather than take his revenge on those that had wronged what was his. As Angelus caught up to William in a dark alley, he looked into William’s pain filled eyes and knew love. Now the demon wanted nothing of love and other human emotions, so it did the only thing it could do, it cursed young William, sending him far away where the demon would never have to deal with him again.

 

Angelus pulled the sobbing young man to his chest and allowed his true face to show. He ignored the shocked gasp of the man in his grip as he lowered his fangs to the pale neck stretched enticingly before him. At the first prick of fangs at his neck, William swooned. Angelus drank deeply of the pure blood that flowed through the young man’s veins and just before William had taken his last breath, Angelus cupped the pale face and brought William’s mouth to his, taking William’s lips in a deep kiss. The demon cut his tongue on his fangs and forced it deep into William’s cooling mouth, pouring his blood into the young poet. William gasped and began to suckle at the ancient blood; and so the curse took effect, driving William’s soul far from its shell and bringing a demon to live in its place.

 

And so the demon Spike was born. Angelus taught the demon many things: how to hunt prey in the dark of the night, through small village and large, crowded city, how to seduce the innocent and break them for a demon’s play toy. And, during the long, sun filled days that were dangerous to their kind, Angelus taught Spike the ways of Sire and Childe. In the soft, tangled sheets of the finest beds or on plush rugs in front of roaring fires their pale bodies came together in lust and dominance. Angelus would sink cock and fangs into his demon childe, demanding passion, demanding submission, demanding blood. And so it went, and Angelus was content.

 

But as often happens, things changed. Angelus took a gypsy girl as his meal and her clan brought a terrible curse onto the demon, gifting Angelus with his soul. Suddenly Angelus could see quite clearly the wrongs he’d done, the evils he had wrought. All the human emotions the demon so feared were suddenly flooding him, at war with the demon still trapped in his body. Worst of all was looking upon his chide and seeing the loving young poet, so full of potential, that he had cursed. He looked upon Spike and knew shame and guilt greater than anything Angelus had ever know before. Unable to face the guilt, he ran.

 

Years passed and the demon Angelus became Angel, a warrior for the light. He fought to redeem himself of all the wrongs he had done, but none haunted his dreams more than the face of young William. And then Spike, his childe, was back, but the years had produced a vast gulf between them, filled with sharp thorns of anger, betrayal, and abandonment and Angel could not cross it.

 

Years continued to pass and Spike the demon began working for the light as well. Angel rejoiced that perhaps not all of William had been cast out, that some traces of the poet prince still remained, but the thorn filled gulf was still between them and Angel could not cross it.

 

They were reunited, Sire and Childe, once Spike had regained his soul, this one asked for and not a curse. They fought side by side, knights for The Powers that Be. But Spike was still not William, and Angel was saddened. Then, there was a tower of evil to topple, and a dragon to fight, and many warriors were killed that day. Spike himself was grievously injured, and no one knew what ailed him. And so Angel sits beside Spike, whose pale form sleeps without waking, and he holds his Childe’s hand and tells his Childe the story of their life. Others come and go, telling Angel that there has been no change, that they cannot tell what causes Spike to sleep so. Angel thinks he knows, remembers the curse he himself placed upon the young poet and despairs that it will never be made right. Finally, one star filled night; Angel gathers the sleeping man in his arms and lowers his lips to the pale, cool ones he remembers so well. The kiss is gentle, and not the blood filled kiss of the curse, but one filled with love and regret. “I’m sorry Spike, I’m sorry my William, my love.” Angel holds the pale body to him and sobs tears of regret.

 

Suddenly the body trembles in his grip and a soft gasp is heard. Angel lays the body back onto the bed and watches in awe as one, two, then more shuddering breaths are taken and a pink flush steals over the porcelain skin. Honey colored hair, grown out from pale blonde during the long sleep, lays tousled on the white pillow and sky blue eyes blink open in confusion.

 

“S…Spike?”

 

Blue eyes widen in recognition, then fill with warmth and passion. “A…Angel?”

 

The soft, hesitant voice is one that Angel thought to never hear again and he grabs the young man, pulling him into his arms. “William? Oh gods, William, is it you?”

 

Warming arms weakly wrap around his neck and a soft mouth leans up for a kiss. “Angel my love, I have missed you. Have I been asleep?”

 

Laughing, crying, Angel kisses the young poet deeply. Love, that all too human emotion that the demon so feared, overwhelms him and he is floating, flying, soaring in his joy. A strange sensation settles over Angel then, as he holds his long lost William in his arms. The demon and the soul, united in their love of the poet, merge. Peace and love imbue every corner of Angel’s mind and he realizes that even though he signed away his Shanshu, that this, this is his redemption. And it is better than he could ever have imagined.


”William, my love, I will never let you go.”

 

~~~

And they lived happily ever after.

 

The End.

 

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