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Dark Pleasures
Part 7
by Tami
The Factory, Drusilla’s Room
The three vampires lay across the width of the bed, completely satiated. The bed covers were disheveled around them. Angel blinked at the top of the canopy, panting from the exertion of his orgasm. The force of it left him feeling drained. It had been years since he felt a release like that. He was sure that his cum would seep out of Spike’s ass for days.
Angel glanced over at the vampire in question to see him in the same position, staring at the top of the bed’s canopy. Spike would go back to hating him even more now, he supposed. After all, it must chafe knowing that you let your formerly evil, now souled, Sire fuck you.
He raised his head to look over Spike’s body and check on Drusilla. She was laid out on her back, naked and beautiful. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully. Angel didn’t think the sex they had was so strenuous that she would pass out. They’d had more adventurous liaisons in the past where Drusilla was the first one to get up and move on, leaving Angelus and Spike to drag their asses out of bed.
“Dru? You okay?” Angel asked, concerned.
“Mm,” Drusilla moaned softly.
Angel sat up and climbed over Spike’s prone form to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Drusilla. He reached up and brushed the stray hair from her face. Where Spike resembled the sculpture of a Greek artisan, with the ego to match, Drusilla had a dark, ethereal beauty with classic features.
“Open your eyes, baby girl,” he prompted.
Drusilla looked at Angel. She licked her lips, murmuring, “Yes, you are here. Soon the sky will be bright with pain, and your princess will be strong again. Did I not say this would happen?” Her eyes closed again and she was the picture of an innocent child in sleep.
“What’s wrong with her?” Angel asked, though it sounded more like a demand.
“What does it look like? She’s sick! Ever since Prague she’s been slowly getting weaker, soddin’ mob,” Spike cursed.
“A mob? Damn it Spike, you’ve been on your own how long and you still haven’t grown out of your reckless ways? Let me guess, you overstayed your welcome, allowing the natives to catch on and they attacked her.”
Angel stood up and paced the length of the bed, combing his fingers through his hair with an irritated sigh. He could blame himself as much as Spike. She was his childe. Why hadn’t he realized how sick she was? During all those clandestine visits over the last month, why didn’t he notice that she was so weak? Had a century been so long, he couldn’t read his childer’s signals anymore?
Spike slid off the other side of the mattress and jerked his clothes on. “They don't really like vampires in Prague. Don't kill you, oh no, they torture you. The mob went after us almost as soon as we arrived, one thought he had staked me; didn't realize I hadn't turned to dust, as I fell in the river. When I came to, I went in search of Dru. Found her in some castle. I soon put paid to all of them, and rescued Dru, but she is not recovering. I found out that there might be a ritual to save her in Sunnydale, and here we are,” he said as he angrily fastened a belt around his waist to finish off his attire.
The whole time he listened to Spike’s story, Angel had pulled his pants on and was now crouched down beside the bed. He’d rolled Drusilla over to face him, but she was too tired to help herself. When he shifted her around, she hung as limp as a rag doll. All those times she came to him and never told him. When she left, she walked out on her own with no problems. Why was she so exhausted now after sex? So many questions of ‘how’ and ‘why’ and no real answers.
“What ritual did you find?” Angel asked distractedly.
"Du Lac manuscript had something,” Spike started to say.
Angel glanced at him, “A spell to restore her from a book of evil that makes Aleister Crowley look like a saint.”
“Got it translated now, and everything we need,” Spike continued, looking straight at him, “Including you.”
Angel rose to his feet. “Let me see it.”
Spike gave Angel a determined look and stated flat out, “We’re doing this ritual. I will do whatever it takes to get my black goddess back. So, no ponce, I'm not showing you.”
“She’s dying!” Angel said angrily, “Don’t you think I would have helped? Just tell me what you need me to do.”
"She has been dying since we arrived in Sunnydale and now that you find yourself here, you’re all concerned?” Spike sounded disgusted. “If you really cared, you would've found out for yourself. I know you’ve seen her before now. I could smell you all over her. Oh no, our beloved Slayer-whipped Sire, you don’t get a voice in this. The ritual goes down tonight. For better or worse, you will do what is needed to save Dru.”
Angel advanced on him. “You could have been sensible for once and let go of the grudge you have against me. Just once, for her sake! You’ve had plenty chances to tell me what the fuck you were up to. I would have helped you. Instead, you’ve been choreographing fencing moves with Buffy. You could have told me in the school. You’ve had a million chances by now. But no, little Willy’s got to hold onto his grudge against me. Well, look where it’s gotten you!” Angel gestured towards Drusilla lying on the bed, watching them.
“When the moon is in the sky, the church will fill with the light of my returned strength,” Drusilla said softly.
“Yeah, I’ve had a million chances to tell you! But, since you scampered off to fuck knows where a hundred years ago, no one knows how agreeable you’d be. You’ve done nothing but try to run us off to save your little Rebecca of Sunnyhell Farm and all her mates. How are we supposed to know you give a soddin’ fuck, when you’ve done nothing to show it! I know damn well where it’s gotten me! I kidnapped your poncy ass and now I’m forcing you to do your family obligation.”
“You want to see how much I care?” Angel challenged.
He went over to a clothing trunk and slammed the lid open. Choosing a black dress, he crossed to the bed and tossed it on the mattress. He gently helped Drusilla to sit up, smiling at the adorable image she made as she rubbed fatigue out of her eyes. Gathering the dress in a large wad, he pulled it down over her head. She put it on the rest of the way and held onto Angel as she stood up to let the dress fall into place.
Spike was taken by surprise at Angel’s acquiescence. “You’re just going to go through with this? Without even a question about what it might cost you?”
"As you've pointed out, what choice do I have?” Angel said as he slipped his shoes on. “You found the cure right? I assume since you kidnapped me for the ritual, that a Sire's blood is needed? ’Cause really, what other purpose would you have to seek me out after all this time?”
“Right,” Spike nodded, still astonished at Angel’s decision. If he knew it would have been this easy to get his Sire to comply, he would have asked him weeks ago. “Let’s get my girl back, make her strong again.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Angel said as he picked Drusilla up and carried her out to the car.
Spike put on his gloves. He grabbed the cross and Du Lac ritual before he followed, still dumbfounded that Angel had agreed. Didn’t he realize the ritual would most likely kill him? Didn’t he care? Did the soul carry so much guilt that Angel would willingly sacrifice himself for Drusilla or was it a martyr thing?
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Sunnydale, the nave of one of the town’s many churches
Spike walked up the main aisle from the altar swinging a burning incense censer. “Eligor, I name thee. Bringer of war, poisoners, pariahs, grand obscenity,” Spike repeated the words that would start the ritual as he turned back to the altar.
Angel and Drusilla were strapped together to a chain hanging from the ceiling. That contraption in itself was a bitch to rig up. Angel held Drusilla to him while Spike tied them together and then rolled the chain down from the ceiling. Then, he tied Angel’s right hand and Drusilla’s left hand to it.
“Eligor, wretched master of decay, bring your black medicine,” Spike continued.
“Black medicine,” Drusilla whispered.
Spike set the censer down on the altar and picked up the Du Lac Cross with his gloved hand. “Come.” He held the cross upside-down. “Restore your most impious, murderous child.”
“Murderous child,” Drusilla echoed softly.
Spike grabbed the hilt of the cross with his other hand and pulled a dagger out. Laying the sheath on the altar, he stepped towards the couple.
Drusilla felt Angel’s eyes on her. She looked at him and gave him a shy smile, whispering loud enough that only he could hear, “We are going to be strong. All of us will be strong, soon. I will have Daddy back, and my boy will be with us.”
Angel slumped against the chain, knowing it was enough. Drusilla was never wrong. As long as this ritual restored her strength . . . Damn, he should have read over the ritual to make sure Spike knew what he was doing. His boy could be reckless at times like this. He hoped to hell this worked, that Spike didn’t fuck it up.
“From the blood of the Sire, she has risen,” Spike said as he clasped Drusilla’s hand with Angel’s. “From the blood of the Sire, she shall rise again.”
With one swift stroke, Spike stabbed the blade through their hands. Angel screamed in pain and arched against Drusilla. A blindingly bright pink light emanated from their wounds. A pulse of energy spread out and then died back down to a faint glimmer as Angel’s strength ebbed from him into Drusilla. He held tight to her hand as she fainted backwards, his energy flowing into her hand.
Angel was so focused on restoring Drusilla that he barely registered the doors of the church slamming open as Buffy arrived with the bounty hunters, her friends and Willy, the bartender. His main concern was his baby girl’s health. Remembering her words about finally being strong and together soon, he hoped she was right for the most part. Buffy may have come for him, but his childer needed to be safe as well.
Angel may not have noticed the intruders, but Spike had. He stormed angrily down the aisle and met Willy half way. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s payday, pal,” Willy replied, gesturing behind him, “I got your Slayer . . .”
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