Title: Acrylic Dreams (3/?) 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 Author's Notes: Irish-Gaelic translations please forgive any oopsies I might have done: Is cuimhin liom – I remember milis og aghaidh – sweet young face de neanh – of heaven de eag – of death mo chroi – my heart Also the poem quoted is "The Longing" written by Matthew Arnold a Victorian poet. *** Twilight had faded into night as William appeared in the front yard of the cottage. He'd driven to the top of Widow's Walk and sat until darkness fell because for some reason he found the dark comforting. Now he was standing in the front yard his eyes focused on the hollow emptiness of the dark cottage windows and wondering if perhaps the stranger from the night before was watching. Slowly he made his way up the stairs to the sagging porch and eyed the door with trepidation before he stepped forward. Lifting his hand he curled his fingers into a fist and knocked on the door. Seconds ticked by as he waited and watched for any sign of life, then he lifted his hand again to knock---that's when he noticed it. A soft flickering glow as if from a candle or an oil lamp danced behind the frosted glass of the door's windows. He paused taking a deep breath then knocked gently again. This time there was an answer. The heavy door creaked opened slowly to reveal the man from the night before standing in a darkened hall. His eyes black as charcoal focused on William's face and then a frown creased his brow. "Have a death wish much?" William inhaled and gritted his teeth. "You know what I'm here for mister..." "Liam...Liam Conway. And yes I know why you're here, but I also know what I told you last night." Crossing his arms across his chest William frowned. "I need to speak with Angel...I'm not about to leave until I see him." Liam snorted. "Then I guess you'll be standing out there until hell freezes over." He turned starting to push the door shut. Suddenly William opened his mouth and spoke his hand lifting to stop the door. "Is cuimhin liom milis og aghaidh de neanh...de eag...." Turning back to William his eyes even blacker Liam snarled. "What did you say?!" William's eyes grew wide and his body trembled with muscle spasms. "Is cuimhin liom...aghaidh de neanh..." then he crumpled to the porch his eyes rolling back in his head. Kneeling Liam sat the lamp on the floor and lifted William into his arms carefully. His eyes softened as he moved back into the darkness whispering softly to himself. "Aye...milis aghaidh de mo chroi." *** Darla stood at the parlor window staring out at the gathering storm above the distant sea. Danridge had left early this morning and she hadn't seen him since. In the back of her mind she began to worry about the young man. "Come set grand mummy...have some tea." She dropped her hand letting the heavy drapes fall shut over the dark glass as the first drops of rain splattered against them. "I wish you wouldn't call me that. You wouldn't have dared call me that if it were as it were in the beginning." A soft tinkling laugh reached her ears causing her to flinch. "Well it isn't grand-mummy---now is it? And who's fault would that be?" Darla snorted and turned on the woman across the room. "This is your fault you crazed bitch!" "Now...now you really don't want dolly to get upset now do you grand-mummy? When she's upset I can't control her..." the woman began humming softly to herself as she poured a cup of tea from the ceramic pot. "The green eyed monster reared its head when daddy saved the golden boy. Always angry at dolly because she wanted a toy. If dolly hadn't done it wrong, then no golden boy. Then we would be together. Angel face and dolly with her grand-mummy like peas in a pod." Clenching her fists Darla moved to the chair across from the table her sapphire eyes going cold as ice. "I didn't ask to be brought back..." she hissed. Dark sparkling eyes lifted to focus on Darla's flushed, furious face. "You ruined it all grand- mummy...spoke to the nasty gypsies...cursed dolly's golden boy and all because of the monster. The monster with sparkling green eyes. You took dolly's family away and now the golden boy has come back." Grinding her teeth Darla lifted the cup of tea to her lips sipping as she watched the other woman with narrow eyes. Death hadn't eased her fury or her jealousy. Angelus had been hers and then the boy had been left by Drusilla in the alley caught between life and death. That's when it changed. "If you want to feel the blood dancing on your tongue grand-mummy I suggest you not plot against dolly." Reaching out Drusilla lifted the china doll from where it sat dressed in velvet and silk. "Because dolly doesn't like it. Do you pretty baby?" Smiling at the doll her face shifted and her eyes glowed a sharp animal gold in the dim candlelight. *** Rupert sat in front of his fireplace a cup of quickly chilling tea at his elbow and a heavy leather bound book in his lap. His thoughts were a million miles away---across the ocean with his son William. "Mr. Giles, sir?" He lifted his head his vacant stare shifting and settling on Joyce. "Yes?" "It's well past midnight, sir." Shaking his head Rupert's gaze settled on the grandfather clock across the room as it began to strike the hour. "Oh my...I am quite sorry Joyce. You are dismissed. Do get some rest...as a matter of fact feel free to sleep in tomorrow." Joyce moved around and settled in the chair next to Rupert watching with worried eyes as he removed his glasses polishing them with his handkerchief. "It's Master William---isn't it, sir?" Returning his glasses to his face Rupert sighed. "Yes, I am worried that my own mistakes have come back to bite William on the arse." He rubbed the knot that was forming between his eyes. "How I do wish Jenny were here. She always knew how to speak with him...they never fought..." his words faded as a tear slipped down his cheek. "Never told him the truth did you, sir?" Joyce's head tilted towards the book laying in his lap. "Don't you believe the boy has a right to know the truth about his parents?" Rupert's fingers caressed the weathered leather and he sighed. "We tried to protect him...we kept him as far away from the Council as we could. We had no idea what would happen to him---what he might grow to be?" His gaze shifted to Joyce's soft face. "His mother was the first Slayer in history to give birth to a child...and the mark...the mark on her stomach..." "What mark?" Joyce's brow knotted in confusion. Rupert opened the book to the title page his finger tracing the stamp beneath the words. Written in Latin he could read it easily enough, but he didn't have, too. Those words were burned into his mind for all eternity until he took his final breath on this earth. "A sun and three stars..." Rupert whispered, "...the Mark of Aurelius." *** He sat down in the chair next to the king sized bed, his dark eyes focusing on the pale and still form buried beneath the thick down comforter the color of ripe blackberries. It was like seeing a dream come true---a dream that had consumed him like the strongest of fires. Beneath the comforter the young man shifted, a whimper slipping from his slightly parted lips. A tiny smile crept along his own lips to curl the corners as he leaned forward in the chair his fingers tangling in the sweat dampened curls of sun-kissed reddish brown. "Sweet William..." he sighed softly, "...none has captured me heart like you, beautiful poet." Another whimper rose in the young man's throat as he writhed beneath the covers. Liam found himself standing and moving to set at the edge of the bed his fingers sliding through William's hair, then his fingertips tracing down along his cheekbone. "No...please..." William whimpered his breathing ragged and terrified. Liam leaned down closer his lips ghosting over the sharp edge of one cheekbone. "Hush now me beautiful boy...nothing will be hurting you." He hadn't even noticed that he had slipped into that brogue he had possessed so long ago. It had been with that brogue that he had spoken the night that Spike had been born in a dank, shadowy alley in London. *** London, England 1888 A shudder traveled through William as he sat on the barrel hidden in the shadows of the alley. If it had not been, enough that he had been thoroughly humiliated by Cecily he had practically run over a wealthy family as he had fled. His vision blurred as he looked down at the crumpled sheets of paper in his fist, his knuckles whiter than white. The one thing he knew at that moment was that his life was over. Mother had been wrong, he thought, Cecily could never love a man like him. "I'm nothing..." he whispered softly to himself as his voice cracked with grief. "Why are you weeping my sweet golden boy?" His head lifted wide sapphire eyes peering from behind wire rimmed glasses with a mixture of fear and curiosity. "Who...who's there?" Drusilla stepped into the alley with the crisp swish of silk skirts, her dark eyes glittering from beneath the brim of her ruffled bonnet. "The answer to all your secret wishes my beautiful singer of songs. The stars told me to look for you." He adjusted his glasses running his trembling fingers through his tousled curls. "Leave me be..." he whispered, "...I have no wish to speak to anyone." "Oh, my poor sweet prince..." her voice was like thick sweet syrup, "...who hurt you so?" She moved to his side smiling softly as she lifted a hand stroking along his shoulder. William flinched away from the touch of her fingers. It felt like ice caressing his skin even through the thick wool of his suit coat. "Madame please..." he waved his trembling hands about, his cheeks burning a bright crimson, "...this is an inappropriate place for a lady to linger. Surely your father would not allow such things." Leaning close to his ear Drusilla let out a soft breath of air, a wicked smile curling her lips as she spoke. "Roses and freshly starched linen..." she whispered softly her lips ghosting over the curve of William's ear. "P..par...pardon me?" William jerked back stutter- ing, as his eyes grew wide. Drusilla pouted softly her dark eyes glittering in the shadowy confines of her bonnet. "You smell of roses and linen..." she paused licking her lips, "...and far more my golden boy." She stepped closer and sniffed at the air as William looked on in horror. "Shame...so bitter and want...desire." Suddenly William was on his feet the crushed sheets of poetry drifting to the slimy, filth encrust- ed bricks of the alley. His bright eyes darted in his face from right to left as he sought a means of escape from what was surely a mad woman. Drusilla advanced towards William as a golden sheen flickered across the surface of her dark eyes and for a moment, he was caught in those eyes. He was nothing, but a tiny fly caught in the silken strands of the spider's web. Swallowing hard, he felt the wall hit his back and he desperately pressed against it as if he hoped to sink into the very brick. "The icy queen of winter froze your heart with but one breath. Shattered it like a sculpture of ice into tiny slivers of silver." Drusilla's lower lip pushed out in a thoughtful pout. William's mouth opened, working like a goldfish gasping out of water, then his voice finally came, cracking with emotion. "Ce...cecily...did she send you?" Tears filled his eyes as his fingers splayed against the damp brick. "Are you o...one of her...her friends?" He stuttered as the tears swelled over his lashes and trailed down his face. "Cecily?" Drusilla cocked her head as if listening to a distant aria and began to sway. "Is she the one who dared break your fragile heart?" Shaking his head William clenched his eyes shut and began gasping for air as Drusilla's soft cold hand stroked his cheek. "Please..." he moaned his frail body shaking. "I can make it all go away..." Drusilla whispered softly, "...heal your heart, give you strength like you have never know, and immortality my sweet golden boy." Her icy lips grazed the sharp edge of his cheekbone. "She hurt you...they laughed at you my sweet nightingale---do you not want to avenge yourself upon these frail mortals?" "...yes...yes I do..." William's voice was a bare whisper that only Drusilla could hear. "Then let dolly make it all better." She reared back her face shifting as one hand stroked down William's pale convulsing throat gently. As she lowered her mouth to his throat above the artery that pulsed in time with his pounding heart his eyes opened. What he saw he would never forget. *** "NOOO!!" William sat straight up gasping for air as his hands clawed at the silken comforter, his hair a mass of sweat dampened curls that clung to his pale fore- head. Seconds ticked by as he tried to calm his heart, his breathing, and as he tried to erase the image of that demonic visage from his mind's eye. Finally he began to calm and he swallowed hard as his trembling hands lifted---scrubbing at his face. The last thing he recalled was knocking on the door of the old lighthouse keeper's cottage and seeing a soft flickering light beyond the glass. Pushing back the comforter he swung his legs over the mattress and tried to focus on his surroundings. Faint golden candlelight swathed the room in an almost surreal atmosphere. It was as if he had drifted back into the past, into the world of centuries long forgotten by the high-speed revolving door world he knew so well. As he stood on trembling legs his gaze drifted from corner to corner of the huge bedroom. On the far wall a wide fireplace stood, it's marble fatade glowing a soft moonlit white in a roaring fire. Two high-backed Victorian chairs sat at angles before the fire, a small round claw-footed table between the two. On the tabletop was a cut-crystal decanter filled with a rich ruby liquid that sparkled, two matching brandy glasses, and a leather bound volume. Creeping closer on bare feet William looked down at the table his hand drifting out, his fingertips stroking the worn leather cover. Faded gold letters told him what he already knew---this was a first edition of Matthew Arnold's greatest poetry. With gentle hands he picked up the volume and opened the cover with a reverence usually reserved for ancient spiritual artifacts. A saint's bones. The Dead Sea scrolls. Inside on the flyleaf in faded blue ink, in a beautifully scripted hand was an inscription. *** Beloved of all me childer. Mine blue-eyed poet, me boy so sweet and soft. I will never leave you nor fail you in this dark world of immortality. Beloved always, worshipped forever. Your Sire, Angelus *** William swallowed as tears blurred the words before his eyes. A sudden whisper of ice crept up his spine and a memory---wispy as a cloud--- drifted through his thoughts. "But you did..." he whispered to the empty room. As sudden as the thought had surfaced, it dissipated and William let the book close again. His body trembled with an emotion that confused him and terrified him all at once. Sitting the book back down on the polished cherry wood tabletop, his gaze lifted to focus on a portrait that hung above the marble mantle. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. Stand- ing there in the candlelit darkness William Dan- ridge began to sway, his heart threatening to rip through the frail cage of his ribs, and his lungs emptied of air. His hand lifted shaking as he did something he hadn't done since he was a tow headed child of twelve. He made the sign of the cross. "God help me..." he whispered beneath his breath. The painting was a picture of exquisite detail, a work of beauty that held in each brush stroke the very heart and soul of the artist. He---the subject in question---was stretched out on a chaise lounge of a deep purplish-red that remind- ed William of boysenberry jam. Skin the color of virgin snow lay over what could only be described as the natural musculature of a dancer or perhaps a jungle cat. A silky sheer robe that matched the lounge was all the man wore and there was the erotic implication that he was seducing the artist just with his presence alone. That wasn't what had shocked William though. It was the man's face looking down at him that made the pit of his stomach squirm. The perfectly sculpted face. High cheekbones, full soft lips, and the eyes---oh, my god the eyes. "Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth, Come now, and let me dream it truth, And part my hair, and kiss my brow, And say, My love why sufferest thou?" His words were soft---a bare whisper---that could barely be heard above the crackling fire. "Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day." William tore his gaze from those beautiful sapphire eyes and turned his gaze meeting the stranger---the man known as Liam's dark eyes. "How?" He choked out, his hand waving at the painting above the mantle. "His name was William..." Liam stepped closer his expression unreadable in the firelight, "...he was Angel's lover." "No!" William's voice rose in a mixture of fear and anger. This wasn't happening, he thought to him- self. "This isn't possible!" His gaze moved back to the painting. "Everything is possible Mr. Danridge. There is more in this world than any of us can guess at times." Liam's eyes lifted to focus on the painting and the pain was evident in his expression. Shaking his head William slowly backed away. "I have to go..." Liam turned to face William then and the pain, though still evident was overwhelmed by the need and desire. "Please...don't leave..." he held out his hand, "...I already lost you once. I canna lose you again me precious boy." His accent became more pronounced as he followed William's desperate retreat. Turning, William's eyes darted around the room looking for an escape route from what could only be a nightmare. Finally seeing the door he made a terrified run for it, but Liam was close on his heels his strong fingers tangling in the thin cotton of his tee shirt. With a scream of fury, William twisted around swinging his fist. "Let me go you bloody bastard!" Easily ducking the fist Liam gripped William's shirt tighter as the slighter man tried to escape. All that happened was William lost his footing falling back on the floor as the cotton ripped away in Liam's hands. Standing there in the dim light the sound of the ocean in the distance and the crackling fire the only sound Liam glanced down at the shredded dark blue cotton then swallowed hard. Their eyes met for a moment the fear like a living wave emanating from William very skin. And what beautiful flawless skin it was, Liam thought, as his eyes roved over his sweat dappled, heaving chest. "What do you want from me?" William gasp as he pushed himself up on his hands, his heels digging into the floor. "What in God's name?!" Liam glanced back up into those all too familiar shimmering cobalt eyes. "Nothing lad...nothing, but the truth that would be lying deep inside you." Pushing back he tried to put as much distance between him and Liam as possible William shook his head. "I have no sodding idea what you're talking about!" Lowering his gaze again Liam's eyes moved down to where William's flat smooth belly was heaving with each terrified breath. That was when he saw it---the mark. What appeared to be a wine stain just to the left of his navel and hidden just beneath the waistband of the faded denim. With a graceful movement---for such a large man-- -he crouched over William's trembling legs and his hands settled on the other man's waist. William squirmed as Liam's fingertips traced along the pale skin of his stomach. "This secret..." he whispered softly as he gripped the worn denim. "No..." William choked out. Nimble fingers popped the first button and William let out a choked cry trying to pull away from Liam's hands. Liam looked up with pitch black eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place, but he knew he had witnessed that look before. As the next button popped he whimpered softly his eyes rolling back in his head. "Angelus..." he moaned. *** London 1888 Angelus had followed his childe through the misty cobbled streets sure that she would never sense him for her broken mind was far to focused on her des- tination. His dark eyes followed her trail as if it were illuminated by the midday sun and he lifted his head sniffing the air. Senses shifting through the acrid air of London to locate first Drusilla's scent and then the scent of the young boy. The boy's scent didn't surprise him in the least. >From the moment the boy had pushed between them in his hurry to escape something that Angelus could only guess at he had known. Drusilla's dark eyes had taken in the trembling slim body and the head of wild curls as he had vanished into the thick fog. Her golden boy. Cocking his head he listened intently and a frown marred his heavy brow. The stench of fear and the sound of a dying heart were close by, then there was the soft tinkling laughter of his mad childe. Quickly he ducked between the shops and watched as Drusilla skipped down the street singing softly to herself. His eyes narrowed as he caught the faint scent of fresh blood on her and he growled beneath his breath. She had done exactly what he had thought she would. Darla was a fool in her assessment of Drusilla---mad she might be, but stupid she wasn't. As soon as she vanished into the fog Angelus slipped from the shadows and followed the scent of blood back to it's source. Cautiously he stepped into the fog shrouded alley a few blocks away his nose twitching at the scent of fresh blood so much stronger here. Trailing the scent he moved amongst the littered refuse of humanity and into a darkened cubbyhole where he found the result of Drusilla's foolishness. The boy was older than he had thought at first. He lay curled on his side the stiff linen of his shirt soaked with the last of his life's blood as his body trembled with ragged breathes. Kneeling in the scattered straw Angelus rolled the boy over and gasp at the sight of a face pale as silvered moon- light. "If not anything else at least me crazy childe knows a beauty when she sees one." He whispered softly as he drew the dying boy in his arms. Brushing the tangled curls from the boys face he smiled down as his eyes drifted open. It was at that moment he had fallen in love. Yes, there were those who said demons could not love, but that was untrue. Demons could, but their love was not like human love. Theirs was a love darker and more passionate than any human soul could understand. It ran deeper than the Thames or even the cold depths of the ocean. "Beautiful boy can ye hear me child?" Nodding the boy whimpered weakly his perfect lips stained scarlet with Drusilla's blood. She had fed him, but not enough to complete the trans- formation. What she had done would have left this boy trapped between true life and death forever. He would be a revenant nothing more and in constant pain. "God has sent me to save ye child. Do ye wish to be saved?" A shudder traveled through the boy and he blinked a single tear trailing down his beautiful face. "Aye...then I shall do so and you will be me childe." Shifting he pushed up his sleeve lifting his wrist to his mouth biting into his wrist and opening the vein hidden beneath the pale flesh. He turned back to the boy whose breathing was now rattling in his too thin chest. Fear filled those cobalt eyes as he lowered his wrist to the boy's lips. "Now me beautiful blue eyed angel drink of the blood...for the blood is life. Does not the Christ tell us this?" The pale trembling boy swallowed and coughed as he spoke for the first time. "...yes..." his whisper so low as not to be heard by human ears. Pressing his wrist to the boy's trembling lips he smiled as the boy began to drink. "That's it me beauty...drink and accept life everlasting..." *** Angel's fingers traced along the pale skin as he shook his head in disbelief. "The mark..." he whispered, "...tis' you me beautiful blue-eyed poet...tis' you come back to me." Tears fell down Angel's pale face as he traced the pattern repeatedly. There was no doubt in his mind now. A sun and three stars. The Mark of Aurelius. 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