Title: Memoirs
Authors: Squire & Annie Oates
Fandom: Buffy!verse
Pairing: William/OMC
Rating: R to NC-17
Archive: No.
Disclaimers: It's all about the Joss. Grr, Argh.
Warnings: Almost NC, Character death(s), Vampires behaving badly.
Author Notes: This is *not canon. This is *our take on this 'verse.
In our world, vampires are divided by families/houses, Roushau is the name of Angelus/Spike/Drus' line.
We know there are multiple things in this story that do not match the show(s). We're more than okay with that. If you aren't, please stop reading now.
Summery: The creation of William the Bloody.
Timeline: Show-wise, 'Fool for Love'.
Feedback: Is welcome, in all forms.
I am of the line Roushau. My blood is old. Older than most lines. Yet, still so new to me, and just as unwanted. But I digress...
10 Oct, 1829
The carriage ride was smooth, wheels greased with wealth. The slight jarring of London streets only served to push him deeper into my throat. His hands upon my hair, my head... shaping my skull, giving it a form it had not possessed.
He paused between hushed moans to gasp, "My William... Do you love me?"
The answer was communicated with my naked eyes, spectacles folded just over my heart. 'You know I do.'
The young master nodded, or more aptly, rocked his head back in a suggestion of concurrence. "If it is so, you'll do but one thing for me."
I closed my eyes and swallowed. Hard.
He accepted with a hissed sound. "Yeeeeesssss. Tell me. Who. She. Is."
Gripping my hair with great force, he pulsed down my gullet and pinned me with his glare. Eyes flashing - jealousy? - he growled. "Tell me."
And so I did. Rocked back on my heels, I wiped my mouth with a square of fine linen and sold my soul.
A beauteous thing, that fair lady was to me. Precious and clever. I devoted every free moment to her adoration. Even during those simple tasks assigned me. Dress the young master, select his clothing, replace that which was worn and relieve him of his stresses. Eased by her presence in my mind. Simple enough I assume, that he thought me to bring a buoyancy to his station. Carried me along, like a doll in his pocket. To banquets, forays, speeches and liaisons. Clandestine, and not so. At one such occasion, at a time when forbidden lines were blurred, I scratched a change in those final seconds and my poem was done. This dedication to that pale angel. Russet curls, piled high atop her highborn head. Laces and silks caressing her, pearls and sapphires at her throat. At that moment, never have I loved another.
The time came, the bubbles of the vine felt in my veins. Lifted, floated me towards her. Leaned me slightly out of the door to bring her closer so that she might hear my words. Yet, paused at the threshold, I looked upon her shining face. Heated cheeks had brought color to her winter skin. She tossed her curls and laughed, mouth curving up, the sound like bells. I closed the pages and my eyes. It was enough to see her like this. This vision would hold me till my days end. If ever a time came, I would save those words for her, for then. My neck released the weight of my head, relief washed over me. Yet the book, so little and not fragile slid from my grasp. The young master, pear brandy at his exhalations, rose on the first few steps and gathered the attention of those reluctant to stumble into the night air. Casually eager fingers flipped the pages to the familiar crease, he drew his brows together, looked in my direction and smiled. His glance touched upon the crystal candlestick, the fine guilt frame above the hall table, the flowers' dropped petals. But not once, fell on me. Not as drunk as he had thought himself to be. I pressed into the shadows, praying the wall would swallow me whole. No such reprieve was granted. God no longer spoke to me it seemed. The young master wet his lips, such lovely, cruel lips and introduced my ruination.
"Here a poem, the finest your sorry ears will ever be graced by, written by our William." He gestured at the book, as though the etched letters themselves held solemn worth.
"Our fine William." His voice gone soft, almost pained. The young master looked upon the crowd and set his jaw. No way back, now.
"Our loving William." A direct look at my heart's desire. Leaving no doubt whose ears the yet unsaid words were meant for.
The crowd pinned her with their stares and listened as the young master drug my heart from my chest and pinned it as a butterfly, at her feet. Fluttering. Fluttering yet, beneath her.
First there was only silence. Shocked and uncomfortable. Then, as is common, anger swept away the unknown and vicious sounds, much more sharp than words could ever be, echoed around. I rolled across the paneling, into the next room. Searching for an escape. My words of silent vigil had come across not as a lament to our time apart, but as a mockery of her very being. Exposed. We were both so terribly exposed. Perhaps there was hope yet, in finding a common point of existence. She stalked into the side parlor and pulled the dual doors not-quite-shut. Ah, so it was to be a public flogging then. Mutual understanding had no longer a place. Her words shot out between her teeth, lips curled back in what I suppose was to be a derisive smirk. Oddly, the sharpness magnified her beauty, in a way more predatory than was comfortable to witness after sundown.
"How could you even think to dare such a thing? To write it down, of all things. You foolish, foolish boy! A servant at that. You think it's so well hidden, that a waistcoat and lawn shirt give you a secrecy that loose breeches and sweat-stained scarves do not?" A snort, most undignified, yet appropriately delicate escaped her flared nostrils. "William, useless, meaningless William."
I interrupted her here, forgetful, for the moment of the carefully posed audience just beyond the glass. "Cecily, please. I beg of you. I have known you well enough these few years, your heart sees true. Look upon my face, can you not see me? My love for you is plain. Ah, you can't, can you? Our ranks are too far apart. Give me these few moments, let me show you. If only you could see me for the man I am..."
"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."
This said with her eyes bearing down on mine. A simple courtesy. But a much cleaner cut.
She had left just after, commiserating noises coming from the common room. I stayed in the side parlor. The candles guttering out one by one, marking the lateness of the hour. Dawn would arrive soon, and it would again be safe to journey to the town house. The young master picked such a moment to swagger, stagger and fall into the little room. Landing at my feet, his soft belly across one foot, his hardness, the other. I stilled myself, waiting for sign of wakefulness. When none came, I reached down, thinking to roll him to the side. The sound of his voice halted my movements.
"Where ya' gointa go, Will? No one else'll be havin' ya now, will they? Yer marked, my William. My sweet William. Won't let you go. No'ever." A too-hot hand smeared up my leg, grasping at the bindings. "Off. Get'em off, Will."
I didn't move. Couldn't move. Betrayal too fresh in my heart. My... servant's heart.
Chastened, I stood and unfastened my trousers. The young master's hands yanking them down past my knees before they were fully undone. Turned and bent, my face was shoved into the warm velvet of the sofa. Still warm from my body's presence. I listened as he spat and remembered more than felt the two fingers shoved in. Rudimentary preparation. More for his comfort than mine. 'I'm only here to serve.'
"Tha's right, Will. That you are."
Jolted back into awareness by the realization of speech. I bit down on my tongue and tasted the sweet flush as he pressed the head inside. No warning and sheathed to the hilt. Similar, I took comfort in the routine. Movement rubbed my face across and into the impossibly soft velvet. Its texture grabbed, held me. In a flash of light across my eyelids, I hoped I would serve well enough that my coffin would be lined with similar fabric. To ride into eternity within the grasp of these arms... I smiled, a little afraid at what I was becoming, but worry was obscured by angle when the young master reached around and held me. Thick, fashionably clumsy fingers, teased at the flesh. Slid it back, ran through the fluid. I sucked my taste when those fingers shoved into my mouth, mixing with the blood. I nibbled at them, dared to bite in a spark of anger. The hand withdrew and wrapped my cock in a fist. Slammed against my pubic bone, hard enough to leave bruises. Young master always did like to mark me. A burn of sudden heat within and he collapsed upon me, pushing me further into the final resting place. Dark laughter caused my stomach a sudden roll.
In a mimic of my heart's final flutter he breathed against my neck. "You're beneath me. Always, Will. Always."
More laughter, taken flight out the door, had left me, bare-assed and weeping cock. I opened my eyes and was taunted by the sight... my book of shame, bowed open in a familiar way. Standing, I jerked my clothing together, grabbed my book and ran. Into the night. Not heedless of its dangers, but welcoming. Offering myself, a beacon of wild abandon.
I ran, shirt tails streaming, through streets and alleyways, bumping into people, cursing at them. Expecting release at any given moment. Disappointed by far. So many cautious tales, not one of them offering their services behind the pub, the stables. Finally, I sought breath behind a book-seller. Broken crates were being ransacked by rats for their straw guts. I sat, wincing and took a rest. I closed my eyes and felt the enormity of what had happened. I was no longer loyal to the young master. Nor he to I. Had ever he been? And Cecily. Unfortunately, no surprises there. I had thought out the possibilities carefully. Practiced them until I could no longer be certain they had not occurred. Yet I failed to change the inevitable. I clutched at my book and unbound the steel band about my broken heart. I mourned. And decided. I would not return. I would wait. I would enjoy what was left of this final night, and linger until the method of my departure made its face known. My eyes tightly closed, I saw the stars, spread upon the cloak of night. And felt a keening in the air before sound hit my ears.
"Effulgent."
That single, terrible word opened up a flooded river of pictures and sounds. So real I could touch and taste every single lot, so swift I couldn't yet grasp one. With the vertigo of sudden stop set on, I held to the one thing in focus. It was I. As her eyes saw me. Fire so bright, I knew it burned her. Yet still she stayed, loving me for simple existence. The stars whispered in screaming voices just beyond the thin veil she'd drawn over us. Of all the things she had seen and been, none were as bright and gloriously intoxicating as I. At that moment, I understood the fire's purpose. And she, this phoenix-in-waiting, so patient. We could have this stasis forever, if only I wished it. Anything I wanted, she would freely give. There was but one thing. The only thing, I desired above all in this eternal second.
"Do you want it?"
"Oh, yes!" I answered to her. "God, yes." I answered to Him. Silent, still.
Through her eyes, I saw the strike of my permission. Through her skin I felt the cold sweat on mine. Through her nose I smelled the spent desire of the young master, no longer my master. Through her mouth, I tasted the elixir of life. And through her body, I engraved the promise of eternity on mine. At that moment, never have I loved another.
I woke from her star-dreams some time later. Unsure of how much had passed. I only knew my body had been drained and Death awaited me with increased impatience. The Dark Princess had prepared me well for this final journey. And I was ready to complete it, more than half-way passed by now. She had hidden me away, beneath the streets, beyond the stench. It was dark here, except for the stars, who never stopped their constant requiem. My body felt the cold stone beneath it, and I thought perhaps, after I had left it, it would become yet another block. This cloaked cavern covered in stones... were they all the blackened bones of other fires? I could not be certain of it, but knew I would join them with joy. The Dark Princess had wrapped herself around me, my blood's warmth pressed to me from her skin. She opened the wound that had yet to close and gently... oh, so gently, drew the last of my breath into her mouth. My fire was dying. Soon, I'd be a star, and sing to her from the heavens. The light dimmed to dark, and all went still. For a few, exquisite moments I listened to the absence of my beat and breath. I followed the silent hall down into the heights and joined the black peace.
Awakened suddenly, the silence was overwhelming. Off-key, nothing was quite right. The feel of wood scraped under the now too-knowledgeable pads of my fingertips. Out of the close darkness in front, the faces of those who mocked me, dissected me, swam with their laughter. Trapped. I struck the rough wood above, saw only their cruel forms. Frightened more by the absence of need than the lack of air. A sound splintered and foul earth poured in, covering my face and torso. I clawed through the dirt and pried the boards apart with something like will but closer to God's fury. I sliced clawed hands over and through their twisted faces just beyond my reach. They stole my darkness. They would know what they had awoken. Air, so fresh it froze, lanced the back of my hand. I pulled it back to the dead soil and would have been surprised by the growl if it had not come from my own chest.
I gained ground and thrust the whole of my body into the night. Claimed it with a cry that set birds to flight. Sudden sensation, its intensity crippled me. I landed in a twisted pile, rolling and turning trying to escape the lilies and briar rose.
"The lamb is caught in the blackberry patch.
'round and 'round it goes, off to play.
The ones what run are ones to catch."
Hands smoothed the air above my back. The cold of them pressing in on me. Coiling, I threw myself to my feet and ran. Impossible speed, my footsteps flaring just above the cobbled stones. The change in terrain startled me into stopping and I turned about, gasping for air out of memory. Familiar houses, lit brightly, shone in tidy rows of opulence. My body, long trained in propriety, traveled to the servants' entrance and knocked.
Tired eyes answered the door. "William!? Dear boy, we had thought you dead! What on earth are you doing out there in the dark? Come in, come in! You're shivering, I'll make you some tea." The woman turned, her manner familiar, her face unshown in the veil of mockery thrown over my sight. "The young master has been in quite the rage since you ran off. You simply cannot leave your station. I fear the young master has quite the punishment planned for you. Perhaps if you are very contrite, he will eventually be able to forgive you." She turned to face me and the teacup dropped from her hand, shattering on the stone floor.
She didn't make another sound. I dropped her in the kitchen and followed my new senses to several more faces that were familiar yet unknown. I left their bodies in their beds, to eternal sleep. The house was silent, but for the ticking of the clock and the pulse of my enemy's heart. I followed the patterned rug up the stairs and deeper into the house. Soft light flowed from beneath one door. Slowly, I grasped the handle and opened it. To the left on a small dais, a curtained bed was opened to the heat of the fire. Straight ahead a writing desk and chair sat, several letters written and crumpled, discarded. Next to that were located the double doors to the balcony. To the right an arrangement of chairs and settee circled the hearth. My quarry sat sprawled in one, a green brocade beneath him. His muddied boots still upon his feet, the linen of his shirt lay open, baring the pulse that thrummed in my ears. Tired blood pooled beneath his eyes, casting dark circles. The scent of soft sleep surrounded him, making him taste tender on the air I drew into my mouth. I approached and knelt between his legs, taking in his face and the lock of walnut hair that fell over his brow. Out of habit, my hands worked began working at the leather encasing his feet and calves. He stirred, stretching his legs out in the usual manner, moaning as I massaged the tense muscles.
"Past time you returned, my William. There is a party tomorrow night at Thumbert's and my most favored waistcoat is filthy. After you finish here, you may spend the rest of the evening on it. If you manage to accomplish that, in the morn I will allow you your acts of contrition. And then, we will discuss your punishment."
The man before me opened his eyes and started at my appearance. He attempted to kick out of my grasp but I tightened my grip on his knees and felt the joints pop from their places. His breath shrilled as he sucked in air, it was then I struck. His cry stifled and sweet lies were silenced in between my predator's teeth. I drank until the last heartbeat and rocked back on my heels, stunned at sudden applause. From the open balcony doors a figure with a wide frame and a resplendently intense gaze entered the room, clapping.
"Well done, Will. Surely y'know you kin do better?" He was unmistakably Irish, and not of mortal persuasion. Strangely, I knew this man before me. And I hated him. The midnight blue satin of his shirt flowed over an ebony waistcoat and into black leather knee breeches. The style of clothing had been passé for a full ten years. Oddly, he seemed comfortable and the close cut benefited his thick form. His embroidered jacket lay over the iron railing just outside the door.
From its place tucked beneath his arm, he drew a long piece of blackened iron and held it out to me. I had a vague memory of its shape from time spent traveling as a servant. Reaching up, I slid uncertain fingers around the slim form, causing words and laughter to return to their venomous fervor.
With a glow to his eyes, my new master fixed me with a pleased smile. "Come. The night is half passed and you've much to learn."
He was magnificent horror... never have I loved another.
End.