And trying to edit said horror mpreg with the family in town, while they proceeded to drive me nuts, not as fun as you'd think. o.0 Luckily, I wrote most of this way back when the ficathon was announced. So all I had to do was edit. But, if you know me, you know that's the hard part. *snort*
Also, I can't keep my hands out of the writing hole. I sent off some lines to elizabeth_cs and she made some amazing artwork, then I made a few changes. *face palm* But her artwork stands on it's own merits, believe me. It is some awesome stuff. Well, don't take my word for it. See for yourself.
Story Banner and Comic Strip at end of fic, by elizabeth_cs
Title: The Rising Son (1/1)
Pairing: None really, but the important relationship is between Xander and William and in turn their relationship with Spike.
Timeline: Set 20 years after an AU S4 where Spike and Xander were both captured by the Initiative. Instead of chip implantation they were used for cloning experiments, which produced a son, William.
Summary: William sets Xander free.
Warnings: non-con, blood, gore; allusions to incestuous leanings, medical experiments and procedures, character death, and of course, mpreg
Feedback/Concrit: Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie (concrit in comments is fine)
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were
Beta: Only one this time. The fabulous and wonderful crazydiamondsue!
A/N: Dark!fic, please have your woobie standing by.
The Rising Son
That night the streets ran with blood.
The hunger would not be sated. No one was safe. I gorged, feasted. Tore flesh from bone with viscous glee, my laughter ringing out over the dying screams.
I was finally free and tonight was my coming out party.
I wanted to dance down the streets in celebration but my victorious demon howled out in rage at the injustice of still needing a cane. Even with the newfound strength and enhanced abilities, I still had the wretched body of an invalid. The maddening pain was gone but the large gaping hole in my ribcage, forcing me to hunch over, was not.
My deformed body and haggard features kept most people away. But fools would help me hobble across deserted streets, only to reach the other side to die in my arms, their cries of terror echoing around us.
The retreating clink-clink over paved stones was the only sound to follow in my wake.
What people saw, when they saw me, was death, their own mortality. And that’s what I gave them, over and over and over again. Only the approaching dawn brought an end to my feasting. And then it was time to return home, to my son and to his father.
William had helped me hold a snarling Spike down, but kept his distraught face turned away and hidden by his dark hair. Over Spike’s muffled cries, I could hear William panting and moaning, whether from excitement or revulsion I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting my point across. I was no one’s guinea pig. Not anymore. Spike made an error in judgement when he let William sire me, and I was getting some of my own back.
It wasn’t about sex. It was about power, and showing Spike that he didn’t hold it over me. Not anymore. Not with William by my side. The players had shifted sides and we were finally going to be a true family, with one notable exception. Spike wasn’t master of the manor anymore. It was my time. My turn to control…to be in charge and I was savoring every victorious moment.
After I was done, making sure to spray my spunk deep inside and then rub the bloody remnants over his exposed belly, I asked William if he wanted a turn with his other father. The very suggestion seemed to shock William out of his stupor and he released his father as if he were radioactive, allowing Spike to curl into himself and whimper piteously. Like I suspected, William declined.
He might have traded sides but he still loved Spike. I shrugged. It didn’t bother me in the slightest. Then I left the two of them there together, William holding onto a bloody, broken, dirt covered Spike, crying out in pain.
I knew, at least for tonight, they wouldn’t come up with plans to dethrone me. Not just yet. That would take a little bit of time. And I’d be ready.
When I returned, William was still up, watching the night as it turned to day. I looked into Spike’s room. He was under several layers of blankets but I could still see him shivering beneath them. I couldn’t have been more pleased by the outcome of tonight’s festivities. Spike in shock, William brooding. I relished the feel of the wickedness seeping into my bones from my triumphant demon.
I never would have guessed, all those years ago, that this was where I’d end up. One day a happy, blissfully ignorant pipsqueak of a boy, the next, a lab rat hooked up to machines, organs missing, with injected dead cells molding themselves inside of me.
The lab coats called it ‘experimental cloning’. I called it Hell.
There was a brief moment of hope, of a possible life outside the white laboratory walls, when Spike broke us out with a frenzied escape. Feral, uncontrollable, in a rage, he dragged me down white hallways that turned red behind us, spattered with gore as he savagely tore through man and woman alike. I ran as fast as my rounded belly and swollen feet could carry me, thinking of freedom, friends, and home, only to find myself imprisoned, by Spike, for the not yet known creature’s needs.
And yet my tortuous captivity by my new family was better than that government lab any day.
I could do nothing but lay immobile, pinned down by cool hands, skin covered with sickly sweat, as my defiled body was stitched haphazardly back together by back-alley shamans, who wiped their hands clean of chucks of flesh and shards of bone even as they reached for their pay. Then I watched helplessly, not knowing what Spike would do with me next, as he coddled and cooed to the creature.
In any ordinary case William would have been a normal, healthy baby boy. A normal, healthy baby boy that shared DNA with the dead, but he’d still be alive. But whatever mystical force animates Spike, it held strong to his stolen DNA as well, and William was anything but ordinary.
The stench of death constantly surrounded him, even as his preternatural body continued to grow and thrive, nourished by my body, my blood. His sweet appearance belied the truth. No heartbeat, no breath. Skin deathly pale. Life manufactured, not born.
It was hard to see at first, but as he grew, as the years wore on, as he took more life from me as each day passed, it became clear. In every way but one, that lush growth of wavy dark hair on his head, he was a perfect physical replica of his other father. And, for a time, they were inseparable.
But with my encouragement, I saw William grow to become his own demon. Even with the soul torturing him and twisting his mind as it had, he successfully pulled away from the shadow of his vampire father.
Planting that seed of hate was the hardest thing I had done. William had been utterly devoted to Spike, but the empathy and love he craved would never come from Spike. So with subtle moves, stealthier than any game of chess we had played together, I maneuvered him into place. To bring me over, to free me from my prison of rotting flesh and deformed bone, to grant me access to Spike I never had before…to bring him to his knees.
Yes, this was my favorite part of the last 20 years. This was what I had been waiting for. The moment when no one held anything over me, lest they wanted to die, oh so sweetly.
It took me several years to get here. More death, more tears. Lives and loves lost. Blond highlights streaked with blood red mash and pulp. She shouldn’t have tried. I was already past the point of saving.
I was already a monster. Hideously deformed, physically broken, a hollowed out shell of my former self. The only thing left to me was my mind. And with it, I manipulated the one thing I could. My son.
But now, I’m the real deal, a monster on the inside, as well as the out.
Cane clicking softly along, I limp to William as he stares out at the brightening sky, soft pinks replacing the midnight blues I once hated so much. Funny how your perspective can change with a quick slash of fangs and few hearty gulps of undead blood. The sun once a source of safety and freedom, was now the harbinger of my doom. And the dark, cold night was now mine for the taking.
He flinches as I rest one hand on his shoulder. My grip only becomes harder, more cruel. “Wh-what happens now?” he asks, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he draws breath over wet tears.
I can’t help but chuckle and rub my hand down his chest, inside the rag his shirt has now become. Dirt and blood have seeped into the fabric and there are rips all along where Spike clawed for his freedom.
The rumble is still in my chest as I bend down and lick the cuff of his ear. Instinct takes him over and he slumps back into my arms. I won’t take him. No, I’m not that cruel. But I could if I wanted to and it’s enough that he knows that.
“It’s a new beginning, William.” I purr into his ear, burrowing the tip of my nose inside the shell, seeking the round hole to nestle into, so he can feel my cool aided breath inside of him. He shivers and I smell his excitement.
Starved for attention, my son is. The one weakness his other father didn’t account for. Thinking the demon would keep him content, he forgot the soul. The soul that cried out for me in his sleep as a baby. The soul that sought warmth, tenderness, and love. And I pried apart that need and laid it bare to use for my own purposes, just as I’m doing right now.
It is that need that saved me, set me free. Playing on my son’s fears of abandonment and isolation. Making him crazier than he already was. Drusilla has nothing on my boy.
Before pulling away, I give his distended nipple a harsh tug. He gasps and trembles and finally stills. A contented rumble flows through his chest as he lolls his head back and nuzzles into my side.
I run my hand over his dark hair, a tangled matted mess after the fight. I love to touch it, play with it, as it’s the only thing besides the soul that he inherited from me. His mouth falls open and I pull his hair forward so I can still touch it and place a finger in his mouth, running it down his lips and into the dark, wet hole.
“Have you fed tonight?” I ask. He looks drawn, thin, tired. The fight with Spike took a lot out of him, more than he realizes yet.
Not releasing my finger, he gives his head a little shake, his bright blue eyes imploring me to give permission.
Ah, the feeling of sweet victory. I hide my satisfaction at such an implicit sign of submission. It wouldn’t be nice to rub it into his face so soon after. Maybe later. Once we get settled, but not now. Now, it’s time to celebrate.
I nod, giving consent and brace myself for the bite. Not the bite itself but for the euphoria of it, pooling into my groin, my mind, the hole where my soul used to be. His features shift, and then he slices into the skin, along the finger from knuckle to tip and sucks in the prettiest way. Mouth and tongue working together to undo me. I just barely hold off, using my grip on his face and hair to ground me. And yet, I hungrily watch the dark hair move over his cheeks as they hollow around my finger.
Removing my finger now is the only way to maintain control. So the slippery digit slowly comes out, William following behind it, head and back arching to keep contact for as long as possible. Once free, the saliva and blood string from it to his sweet mouth. He closes his eyes, licks his lips, and smiles, fangs protruding over his lips to pierce his flesh. His blood beads, poisonous droplets from a venomous mouth. He opens his eyes, revealing amber aflame with malicious delight.
Shocked at my stupidity, I stumble back, cane slipping from my trembling grasp. How could I not have seen?
William stands and locks his arms around my wobbling waist, following with each step as I try to escape. Catching me, holding me upright as I nearly trip over my own cane. Once backed into the wall, I have nowhere else to go. In an instant, he changes from the scared, little lost boy he was only a moment ago, to the vicious demented killer he really is. Fierce, insane, in lust with his parents. Pushed and pulled to the brink only to be dropped over the side in a heap of wasted desires.
Now was not the time. And I had ruined my chance to be free.
He crushes me into the wall, our bodies touching from groin to chest. I can see the sky lightening behind him in the window. It’s been too long; it’ll be cresting soon. We need to close the curtain and start tomorrow anew. But I know that isn’t going to happen. The festivities from earlier are far from over.
He closes in, demonic face to the fore, razor-sharp smile rabid, his hardness pressing insistently into my hip. He nuzzles into my neck, rubbing and writhing over me with his body. A part of me wants it and he knows.
A heady rasp against my ear, “You were right. It is a new beginning. But not the one you’d thought it’d be.”
As he bites deep into my dead flesh, I quiver uncontrollably, loving every second of it, never being this close to any other. My arms come up, fingers winding into his wild hair, body throbbing in time to his suckling. A passionate, loving blaze ignites deep inside of me, the place of his birth, where he was torn, ripped violently from my skin and bone, leaving a gaping hole. We were once one body, one being. I knew his thoughts, his feelings. And he knew mine.
And now, with the taste of my blood untainted by perverse sickness and disease, he knows them again. Knows how to play me, like I played him.
I open my eyes, watching helplessly as the unflinching sun crests over the horizon, body imprisoned by love, lust and need. A need infinitely stronger than for the chance I had and lost. He’s made sure of that. Time forgotten in a son’s embrace.
So now, we’ll be one again.
As dust under his Father’s feet.
Some more of elizabeth_cs's wonderful work! She's managed, with a just a few images, to recreate the emotions in the fic perfectly. Bravo!