Title: Acrylic Dreams (1/?)
Author: Foxhunt2blue
Summary: Written for the FG Anniversary
Edition Challenge #30. AU Universe where
Angel is a reclusive artist and William is a young writer
determined to write a book about an artist who should
be older than he appears.
Rating: NC-17 (all over rating)
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angel/William
Disclaimer: Our wonderful Joss created them I had
nothing to do with it—wish I had. Frankly the boys
would be a lot happier with me as their mama! *web
Feedback: Please feed the baby slash ho' cause she can
be quite pathetic. She cries all night if she doesn't get
her daily dose of feedback. *giggle
E-mail: foxhunter2blue@yahoo.com

***

Driving up the New England coast in early summer had
its advantages, but William Danridge would rather be
back in London in his flat with a nice cup of tea doing
research for another of his 'trash novels' as his editor
called them. Trash they might be, but that trash had
kept him living in an extremely comfortable lifestyle.
He had written his first novel at eighteen on a dare from
a fellow Lit Major at Oxford. As a joke his buddy Wes
had submitted the book to a major publisher under the
name Willow Keating.

That joke had led to more than twenty novels over the
past ten years and it had also led his new editor Faith to
tell him she had the perfect project for him to come out
of the closet---so to speak.

Slowing the car he pulled down his aviators peering at
the exit coming up. A smirk curled his lips as he shifted
gears and exited off the highway.

Faith wanted a romantic biography then that's what she
would get.

***

The village of Finch's Cove was pretty much what one
would expect of a small coastal town. The main street
was lined with a variety of trees that at the moment
were in their fullest bloom. Every possible tree was
there from maple, cherry, and apple to oak and
evergreen trees.

Turn of the century buildings of brick and clapboard
housed hardware, antique, and grocery stores as well as
the town library and of all things a Starbuck's. Along
side these historic structures were newer buildings with
a sixties flavor such as the fire and police stations and
the local school. In so many words Finch's Cove was a
mix of both the old and new giving it a quaint charm
that reminded William of home in an odd way.

Pulling into a parking slot he hopped out of the car,
grabbed his backpack, and wandered into what
appeared to be the only restaurant on the main street.
'The Bow Spirit' lived up to its name. Decorated in a
sailing motif its walls were age-yellowed plaster with
dark beams, the booths and tables were made of dark
oak, and the lighting fixtures were designed to mimic
gaslights. Along the walls were paintings of seascapes
and various sailing paraphernalia---nets, anchors, and
steering wheels.

William pushed his aviators up propping them on his
head amidst the wild tangle of golden-brown curls and
looked around finally deciding on a booth at the back
that had a view of the ocean. The smell of salty ocean
air drifted through the open doors that led to a deck
overlooking the marina where a number of patrons sat
taking in the warm spring day. Settling into the booth
he switched his aviators for his reading glasses as he
picked up the menu and scanned it.

"Welcome to 'The Bow Spirit', sir. My name's Fred and
I'll be your waitress this afternoon."

Peering over the silver rims of his glasses William's
cobalt blue eyes sparkled in amusement as he studied
the young woman in front of him. "Now what kind of a
bloody name is that for a beautiful young girl, luv?"

A flurry of giggles escaped Fred as her cheeks turned a
rosy pink. "My name's Winifred, but everyone calls me
Fred for short. Oh, my God! You're English that is so
cool and you---you're so..." her voice trailed of as her
gaze settled on her pad. "Sorry I have a tendency to run
off at the mouth when I'm..."

"Now don't go worrying, pet. Winifred is a lovely name
for a sweet girl---my name is William." He smiled
wide.

"Nice to meet you, William." She smiled back shyly.

"Now let's get down to business. I'd like a beer if
you've a bloody decent one and the fish and chips
platter sounds great. There is one other thing as well,
luv."

Fred looked up from where she was scribbling on her
order pad. "Yes?"

"Wouldn't know where this painter Angel lives would
you now?"

All the brilliance drained from the young girl's face and
for a moment William was quite sure that she was
going to crumple to the floor. "Miss are you okay?"

"I...I...we don't," Fred swallowed hard her voice
lowering, "...we don't talk about---him." Her eyes were
wide and terrified behind her glasses.

Raising a brow William nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps
this might change your mind, luv." He slipped a twenty
across the table.

Fred's eyes shifted to the twenty, and then she took a
deep breath as she snatched it. She was acting as if she
were afraid he would change his mind. She leaned close
and whispered softly. "Widow's Walk. He's at the end
of the road." Straightening she smiled. "I'll have your
order for you in a few minutes, sir."

William watched as the young woman disappeared and
frowned. Why, he thought, would mentioning an
elderly artist cause such a fearful reaction?

Pulling his notes out he began to page through them in
curiosity. By all accounts the mysterious Angel should
be in his sixties for he first came to attention in the
nineteen-fifties and he was in his twenties. With a sigh
William leaned back rubbing at his eyes.

A sixty-plus year old artist who seemed to have the
same affect as the boogieman on the people of this
town---how interesting.

Was there something wrong with him?

Maybe he was a twisted hideous freak or maybe he was
insane and living with a house full of cats? Who knew?

"I bloody will," he whispered to himself.

***

Widow's Walk was a steep hill just outside Finch's
Cove, almost a small mountain in William's opinion.
Driving up the steep incline he noted how the closer to
the top he got the more rural it became. Almost surreal
as if everything had pulled back except for nature her-
self. The trees and brush thickened until he crested the
hill and saw that the road came to a dead end at a huge
jagged rock formation.

"What the bloody hell?" William stepped from the car
and looked around his gaze finally settling on what
appeared to be a driveway.

Two stone pillars stood on either side of the gravel
drive encircled by wild roses. William carefully studied
the drive, and then looked back at the car making a
quick decision he headed back to the car.

***

The driveway was longer than he thought it would be,
but William was glad he had chose to leave the car
behind. Beneath his feet the drive wound narrow like a
poisonous snake through thickets of trees and
blackberry brambles. Inhaling he could smell rich damp
earth, layers of vegetation, and the soft sound of the
distant waves crashing on the beach lulled him has he
moved. As he stepped out of the woods he was shocked
to realize that the sunlight had faded into the deep
violets and blues of twilight. Suddenly he wasn't so
sure it had been a good idea to leave the jeep behind in
favor of a walk. As he rounded the bend in the drive he
sucked a deep breath in as he got his first glimpse of the
mysterious Angel's home.

William had had not a clue that it was part of the
lighthouse complex over looking the ocean, but
apparently the house had once been the cottage that had
housed the lighthouse keeper's family. An arm of rocky
ground stretched out into the dark ocean leading to the
opening into the bay that the town was built on. In the
distance he could the lights of the town on the opposite
shore of the bay. Out at sea were the lights of boats
returning back as night settled over the ocean.

Setting before William was the doorway to a story that
he knew must hold romance and a mystery of some
sort, though at the moment words failed to explain what
he witnessed in the fading light.

The house was more than just a cottage. Its walls rose
into the darkness---a weather-beaten pine---wild ivy
covering the side that faced him. Two stories high with
tall, narrow windows that stared back like dark eyes at
him, eyes that demanded to know his reason for being
here in this lonely, remote place. As he walked towards
the house a chill crept up his spine his eyes lowering to
gaze at a low stone wall that surrounded the house---the
scent of pine and salty-brine thick on the night air.

Cautiously he moved through the rusty iron-gate and up
the rock path to the front porch that stretched around
the house disappearing around the corner into the gather
-ing shadows. As he stepped onto the porch the wind
stirred---tousling his hair---and the ancient wood
creaked beneath his weight. Another chill crept through
his gut as he stepped up to the wide double door with its
leaded glass windows. Above the door was an elaborate
carving of a pineapple, a symbol of welcome, yet he felt
anything but welcome at the moment.

For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he
should leave this place, but William had never been
scared to face anything in his life. And damned if he
bloody would be this time, he thought, as he lifted his
hand and knocked firmly on the faded wood. As the
minutes ticked by William became restless and began
pacing the porch.

"Well bloody fuck all!" He snapped as he knocked
louder this time. "I'd be guessing you aren't in there
then now are you, pet?"

Running his fingers through his hair he followed the
porch around the corner and to the back of the house
where to his surprise he found two oil lanterns lighting
the back entrance. They hung from two iron rings
mounted at the top of weathered wooden posts at the
top of a narrow staircase leading down to the beach far
below. Raising a brow William lifted one of the
lanterns and carefully made his way down the staircase
holding it high, its light glinting off the golden streaks
in his hair.

***

Halfway down the staircase William stopped to catch
his breath. Had he known that adventure and danger
came along with this assignment he would have told
Faith to go bloody well fuck herself. The stairwell was
narrow, rickety, not to mention slick with algae and the
moisture of the sea air.

Leaning against the railing he looked up at the night sky
and smiled. He had been behind a desk for far too long
and perhaps this was what he needed after all. Perhaps a
taste of adventure was far better than never having
tasted true life. His gaze lowered from the blanket of
sparkling stars to the beach below the sound of the
buoys in the harbor a reminder of where he now was.

That's when he saw what could only be a god or
perhaps it was his jet-lagged mind, exhausted and
creating such illusions, for an illusion was what this had
to be.

A man tall and pale as faded moonlight was walking
out of the breakers.

Broad shouldered and narrow waisted.

Even from here William could see the play of muscle
beneath that opalescent skin. The shadows dancing
across that perfect paleness defining each movement as
if the muscles were carved in pure marble.

The man threw back his head shaking water from his
ebony hair---or so it appeared in the moonlit darkness---
and William felt his heart leap into his throat.

"So sodding beautiful," he whispered beneath his
breath.

Suddenly the man lifted his head as if he had heard
William's soft whisper. Despite the distance and the
darkness their eyes locked and William's breath caught
in his throat---lodged there with his heart---and his
knees wavered beneath him.

"Angel," he moaned softly.

But it couldn't be---could it?

The man standing on the beach was young, vital, and
beautiful, but the man he had come to see was old. It
couldn't be the man he sought---it just couldn't. Per-
haps it was his son or grandson, but not the painter
because that was impossible.

His mind whirled as he watched the man move across
the beach and for the first time he noticed that the man
was nude. William swallowed hard and shook his head
trying to clear the fog that had descended over him at
the unsettling gaze of those dark eyes.

Slowly he began to move down the remainder of the
stairs and finally hit the bottom his boots sinking into
the moist sand. As he lifted the lantern he jerked back
to see the man---now clothed in faded, worn denims---
beads of water glistening on his skin and in his dark
hair.

A gasp escaped him as he lost his footing and he was
sure he was about to crack his skull open on a brine-
slicked rock. Instead two incredibly strong arms caught
him and pulled him back from the jagged rocks. Open-
ing his eyes he found the man looking down at him and
though is face was expressionless his eyes were filled
with a flood of expressions.

"Spike?" The stranger's voice was filled with some-
thing that William couldn't quite place. Just as sudden
as the emotion rose it vanished into coldness. "Who are
you and why are you here?" He helped William stand
and studied him with narrowed eyes.

"My name is William---William Danridge---I'm a
writer and I was looking for Angel---the artist?"

The other man snorted as he stepped around William
and began to climb the stairs. "And why are you
looking for this, Angel?

William started up the stairs after the stranger trying not
to slip on the slick stairs and yet keep up with his fast
stride. "I'm here to write a book on him."

"Book?" With a dark glare the stranger turned to
William. "And what makes you think he wants a book
written on him?"

"He has a huge following in Great Britain. There are a
lot of people who are curious about him." William
raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"They need to stay curious." The stranger turned
around and headed back up the stairs.

"Bloody Christ! What are you his sodding watchdog?
There is so much the public wants to know. Where was
he born? Where did he study art? Did he ever get
married? And why did he go into seclusion?"

As they reached the top of the stairs the stranger
growled in the back of his throat. "Maybe it was
because of snoopy ass-holes like you! Did you ever
think of that?"

William stopped and rolled his eyes. "Well maybe you
should let him make the decision you sodding bastard!"

Before he could take another breath William found
himself being lifted by the front of his shirt. The
stranger snarled as he flung him around like a sack of
potatoes and dropped him on his ass---the lantern
shattering next to him, the flame going dark.

"You listen to me you little bastard! There's no story
here! There never was and if I find you on this property
again they won't find your body!" He squatted next to
William and for a second his eyes took on an almost
golden sheen. "So any questions?"

"Fuck off!" William snapped as he scrambled back and
stumbled to his feet. "I'll talk to him with or without
your bloody help!"

A soft chuckle escaped the stranger as he stood and
walked to the backdoor. "Oh, trust me boy you won't."

With those final words the stranger disappeared through
the door slamming it shut in William's face.

"Bloody bastard," William hissed through clenched
teeth, "...don't get rid of me that easy."

Stomping around the corner and off the porch he
headed up the path to the driveway cursing beneath his
breath and vanished into the moonlit shadows. Perhaps
if he hadn't been so angry he might have given the
house a second look. He might have even seen some-
thing that would have given him pause to rethink what
had just happened.

Standing in an upstairs window the stranger watched
with sad dark eyes his palm pressed against the glass as
he watched. There was something in his eyes that spoke
of loss, one far greater than one would think of a young
man his age. As he turned he whispered softly to the
night sky.

"It can't be---he can't be," a single tear ran down his
cheek glittering against his pale skin, "...he can't have
come back---my beautiful boy."

TBC




Once I had the rarest rose
That ever deigned to bloom.
Cruel winter chilled the bud
And stole my flower too soon.

Annie Lennox
Love Song For A Vampire
(from "Bram Stoker's Dracula" Soundtrack)

http://www.geocities.com/rose_liz2001/Dark_Fantasies.html

http://www.livejournal.com/~angelstart/

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FAN-FICTION-UTOPIA/join