Title: Going Down, Part 2/3
Author: Neena (varscona_pal@yahoo.ca)
Rating: FRAO
The Bull and Bush Pub, it turned out, was along the far north end of the Northern Line, and it took most of the forty minutes, and the rest of Rupert’s spare change, to get there.
It was one of those old, traditional type pubs, frequented by old, traditionally type folk. Not the sort of raucous trendy nightspot he imagined Spike would hang out at. The air was as thick and yellow as a Victorian fog, and it was getting thicker with every puff of every cigar. The pub was dark, its muted amber lights soaking into the aged, glossy wood of the tables and booths. The walls were grimy and cluttered with historical bric-a-brac and Guinness signs, with the odd football pennant thrown in for good measure.
“Oi! Ripper!” came a shout from one of the back booths. Rupert craned his neck until he spotted the pale hand flagging him down. He picked his way quickly through the throng of patrons, trying to avoid the looks of unbridled disgust being aimed in his direction—this was their place, those looks said, and they didn’t want the likes of him getting too comfortable in it. He made it to the back unscathed and slid into the booth across from the vampire. He was pleasantly surprised to find two full pints on the table.
“Took the liberty…” said Spike in answer to Rupert’s raised eyebrows.
As much as Rupert was dying for a drink, there was something he needed to know first. “Why’d you ask me to come here?” he asked.
“Why’d you come?” Spike countered.
They studied each other in the dim light of the pub, and to Rupert it was like looking into a mirror. A warped mirror, but a mirror nonetheless. The unspoken answer to both their questions was that they were desperately alone, and despite the fact that they should be mortal enemies, they’d made a connection the night before. And that had to count for something. So, for right here and right now, Rupert was not a watcher and Spike was not a vampire.
“Drink up,” said Spike. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Rupert raised his pint, waited for Spike to do the same, and together they downed their drinks, sealing their unspoken truce.
“Alright, let’s see it,” said Rupert, wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand.
“Not here,” said Spike in a conspiratorial whisper. He took Rupert’s hand and led him around the bar and out the back entrance. The door banged shut behind them and they were alone in the back alley, the crisp air biting at their hands and faces.
“Here?” asked Rupert with an anxious grin. He pushed Spike up against the wall and pinned him there with his whole body.
Spike felt Rupert’s heat seeping into him from the contact and he closed his eyes to bask in it. Something very hard was pressing up against him. But that something was far too high to be the sort of something he was hoping for. He opened his eyes, taking a quick glance down before meeting Rupert’s eyes.
The fact that there was a wooden stake pressed against his ribs should have been cause for concern. And it would have been, except there was no hatred—no intent—in the eyes of the man wielding it. It was clear he was merely giving a nod to his moral duty, and judging by the fear in his eyes, Spike could tell he fully expected to be killed for it. Spike slid his hand down Rupert’s arm and gently pried the weapon from his hand. It clattered to the ground at their feet, clinking softly as it rolled back and forth across the pavement.
Rupert was probably as grateful as he was terrified to find himself disarmed. He closed his eyes, waiting for the painful end that was bound to come next. But instead of sharp fangs at his throat, he felt cool lips on his. With nearly palpable relief, Rupert returned the kiss, eager to make amends. Adrenalin had his heart racing, and he found he couldn’t contain himself. His hands yanked Spike’s shirt from under his belt and greedily claimed the cool, solid flesh beneath as his own. But that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. His hands wanted to explore more exciting areas, and they wasted no time heading for Spike’s belt buckle.
But before he could set to work on the belt, Spike batted his hands away. “No. Not here,” he said. “Follow me—we haven’t got much time.”
“Much time ‘til what?” Rupert called out after the vampire’s rapidly retreating back. “Damn,” he muttered, and took off after him. He had to run full out to catch up with Spike, and when they finally came to a stop he was so out of breath that he silently vowed never to touch another cigarette for as long as he lived.
“What—is this it?” Rupert wheezed, taking in the chain link fence and the old, abandoned building on the other side. It wasn’t exactly the romantic spot he had in mind.
“Now we go down,” said Spike. He effortlessly lifted a loose corner of the fence high enough for them to pass through.
Rupert was intrigued enough to momentarily forget how randy he was. The building was locked, but neither that, nor the large blue sign warning trespassers to keep clear, deterred Spike from jimmying the lock. The door opened onto a concrete stairwell, leading down farther than the eye could see. Emergency lighting and various helpful signs indicated that this was an emergency escape route for the Underground, and the raucous noise of a passing train echoed up from the abyss to confirm it.
“You brought me to a tube station?” asked Rupert incredulously.
“Not…exactly,” Spike said, an odd twinkle in his eye. “Now let’s go—we’re running out of time.”
“What’s the rush?” asked Rupert, feeling a strange urge to sink down to the floor and maybe have a little nap.
“The rush is the rush,” Spike answered, and ran his tongue over his teeth in a decidedly predatory way.
Not for the first time, Rupert wondered if he’d gotten in over his head. His instincts told him it would be suicide to follow a vampire underground, but as Spike disappeared down the stairs, he knew he would go after him. His feelings for Spike aside, just thinking of what his father would say if he found out was reason enough to go on.
As they made their way down the seemingly endless staircase they passed an ancient and dilapidated lift. Even though it was clearly a death trap, Rupert was sorely tempted to risk using it—they’d only gone down a few flights and he was already getting tired. In fact, he was far more tired than he should have been, and he was starting to feel a nice, buzzing light-headedness. Still, he carried on after Spike, determined now to see it through to the end. Whatever that end might be.
“How much further?” asked Rupert. It seemed like they’d been going down these stairs for hours. He was getting seriously dizzy, and his legs felt like they’d drifted miles away from his head. He had to cling to the railing to keep from tumbling the rest of the way down.
“Nearly there, pet,” Spike said. A train screeched its way through a tunnel somewhere nearby, sounding like it was right above them. Rupert instinctively ducked, causing him to lose his grip on the railing. Only Spike’s preternaturally quick reflexes stopped him from tumbling to a certain death. “Easy does it. Funny—never would have guessed a big bloke like you couldn’t hold his liquor.”
“I can hold my liquor just fine, thank-you,” Rupert protested, “when that’s all that’s in it. What did you put in my drink?”
“Just a little special something—I think you’ll like it,” said Spike, hoisting Rupert up so he could support more of his weight.
A dull, residual pang of apprehension swept through Rupert as the vampire half-carried him down the stairs. He’d been drugged—he couldn’t fight now even if he needed to. And as the drug slowly crept through his system he found he really didn’t give a damn. He was half nodding off by the time they finally reached the bottom. Spike gently tapped him on the cheek to wake him up.
“Wake up, Ripper luv, you don’t want to miss out on all the fun.”
Rupert lifted his head and took a dozy look around. They were standing on an old, unfinished station platform. No paint, no tiles; just a concrete framework of what was should have been a busy tube station. The tracks and the tunnels were boarded up behind sheets of thin plywood, which were heavily decorated with graffiti.
Spike let go of Rupert, leaving him to sway drunkenly under his own power while he knocked loose one of the lower boards. It swung in a downward arc, hanging by a nail in the upper left corner, revealing a heavy darkness beyond. He jumped down though the hole and vanished into the blackness.
Rupert stared at the hole in a drugged haze, trying to figure out where Spike had gone. Then a voice from the darkness called out to him.
“Ripper! Are you coming or not?”
Rupert snapped out of his daze and glided gracefully towards the gap in the wall, then proceeded to waft effortlessly to the ground on the other side like a leaf on the breeze. Or at least it felt that way to him. Spike yanked him up off the floor where he’d landed in a less-than-graceful heap. He guided him through the darkness towards the platform on the opposite side, but instead of climbing up onto it, Spike took a sharp turn and headed down the tunnel. With a train rumbling along tracks somewhere above, and a strange, flickering light coming from the dark tunnel ahead of him, Rupert was sure he was about to get flattened by a train.
He giggled. He didn’t know why, but the thought of getting run over by a phantom train whilst in the arms of a vampire struck him as incredibly funny.
“Shut it, Ripper!” Spike hushed in a half whisper. But that only made Rupert laugh harder.
Then they came to a large alcove dug deep into the tunnel wall. That’s where the odd flickering light had come from. It was candles—hundreds of candles. And strewn all about the ground, in various degrees of nakedness, were a dozen or more couples. Only, they weren’t having sex.
Rupert suddenly felt more sober, and the chuckles died in his throat. They were vampires, and they were feeding off humans. And yet there was no panic—no screaming and frantic, futile struggling to escape. Their victims looked…peaceful.
“Spike, what is this?” he whispered.
“This is your nest of vampires,” answered Spike with a grandiose wave of his arm.
“What are they doing?”
“Thought that was pretty obvious.”
“These people…they’re—they’re just letting the vampires feed off them,” said Rupert incredulously.
“The ultimate high—there’s nothing quite like it, so I’m told,” said Spike. “If you think you feel good now…”
Rupert felt dizzy again as the shock of what Spike was suggesting hit him. “You—you want me t-to let you bite me?” He backed away in horror, but didn’t get far before the stone wall of the tunnel stopped him. “I won’t! I couldn’t!”
“Shh, luv,” Spike cooed. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” He gently nudged Rupert further into the alcove, and he responded with zombie-like acquiescence. Spike knew he’d have his way—the same way he knew Rupert didn’t have it in him to use the stake he’d brought—because somewhere, deep down, the young man wanted it.
Hell, he was practically begging for it.
Spike dragged him by the belt to a quiet corner of the alcove where some old cushions and a ratty looking blanket made a cosy makeshift bed. A little nudge was all it took to knock Rupert backwards onto it. Spike took in the view appreciatively—heaving chest, fiery eyes, and waves of desperate yearning coming off him like haze off the desert floor.
He lowered himself down over Rupert slowly, enjoying the parade of emotions marching across the young man’s face. For the first time in nearly a year Spike actually forgot about Drusilla and the pathetic lifestyle he’d fallen into since her departure. He knew she would deride him for wanting a human for anything other than food, but he decided he didn’t care. Tonight wasn’t about the blood.
Tonight was about soft, warm, human lips and quiet whimpering moans. It was about proving that he was still desirable, that he could still feel something other than heartbreak. Spike wrapped himself up in Rupert’s warm arms, revelling in his heat. There was no need to rush now—Rupert’s buzz was working its magic, literally, and it would be a little while yet before it peaked in its potency.
Rupert squirmed under Spike’s pressing weight. Not because he was trying to get away, but because the vampire’s amorous ministrations were giving rise to a painfully hard erection, and it was digging into Spike’s thigh. Spike knew what he was trying to do, but instead of giving him room to alleviate the pressure, he retaliated by grinding his own hardness into Rupert’s belly.
Rupert grunted, but the sound was muffled by Spike’s plundering mouth over his. Cool hands found their way under his clothes and slid up his chest. They were enough of a distraction for Rupert not to notice that Spike’s kisses had strayed from his mouth, tracing along his jaw line. Only when he felt the vampire’s lips at his throat did he come to his senses.
“No, Spike!” he said firmly, pushing him away.
“I’m not gonna kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I know,” said Rupert, although he had no logical reason to believe any such thing. “It’s just…I can’t have a scar. Not there.” Rupert couldn’t completely shake the watcher in him—he knew that being branded by a vampire would ruin him in the eyes of the council. It would be demeaning—a sign of failure stamped on his neck for the entire world to see.
“Not there?” repeated Spike. “You’d prefer somewhere else, then?” His pale blue eyes darted suggestively southward.
Rupert swallowed hard and nodded. He was only vaguely aware that what he was doing was borderline suicidal. The drug Spike had slipped him had completely numbed his fear. And it was also making him extremely…receptive…to Spike’s advances.
Clothing began to disappear between bouts of prolonged kissing. And as each successive layer found its way to the growing pile on the floor, they took time to admire whatever new bit of flesh had been revealed. By the time Rupert was finally laid bare in the warm, flickering glow of the candlelight, he’d become so aroused that the mere sight of Spike’s smooth white body hovering over him was nearly enough to finish him off.
“Hang on, pet, the best is yet to come.” With his eyes trained on Rupert’s, Spike crept slowly down the flat plane of his stomach, blatantly ignoring the one massive landmark jutting out and begging attention. Instead, he spread Rupert’s legs apart and settled down between them.
Rupert watched him fixedly over the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his pulse jumping at the thought of what Spike might have in mind for him. Cool fingertips traced lazily up and down his inner thigh, teasing him until his nerves were singing.
“The thing about the arteries and veins down here,” said Spike, gently prodding Rupert’s thigh in illustration, “is that they’re deeper than the ones in your neck. So…the best place to get at them is…” and he playfully walked his fingers up Rupert’s thigh until they lightly bumped his scrotum, “…right here.”
Rupert scarcely had a chance to flinch before Spike let his demon surface and plunged his fangs into him. He let out a brief, shocked gasp at the temporary flash of pain, and then he was carried away by a tidal wave of euphoric pleasure. It was beyond sexual—he’d had sex; he would happily give up sex for the rest of his life just to feel this good even once more before he died.
Rupert was much too wrapped up in his own mindless bliss to care that his lifeblood was slowly being drained from him. There was no pain, just the steadily weakening whoosh of blood pumping through his body and the nuzzling pressure between his legs. He wasn’t even aware that he’d blacked out until he felt Spike gently shaking him by the shoulders. He slowly blinked his eyes open to find the concerned vampire staring down at him.
Spike was quick to reign in his emotions—he didn’t want the kid to think he was soft. “’Bout bloody time,” he snipped. “For a while there I thought I’d either have to turn you or bury you.”
“Why didn’t you?” asked Rupert. His voice was a creaky whisper, and he felt like that phantom train had managed to flatten him after all. The high was most definitely gone.
“Why didn’t I what?” asked Spike.
“Kill me? Turn me? It’s not like I could have stopped you.”
“Against the rules,” Spike stated flatly, as if there couldn’t possibly have been any other reason. “What we got here is the perfect set-up. All the blood we can drink without the hassle of hunting and leaving behind masses of dead bodies. The humans get a high like no other, an’ we slip unnoticed under the radar.”
Rupert tried to sit up, but he was knocked flat by a powerful wave of dizziness.
“Take it easy, Ripper.”
“I feel like my entire body is made of lead.”
“Yeah…sorry ‘bout that. I got a bit caught up in the moment, and I might have taken a little more blood than I should have.”
Spike sat down and watched his drowsy companion struggle to stay awake. “Don’t fight it, my sweet. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
Rupert was quiet for so long that Spike had assumed he’d drifted off, but he hadn’t, and his soft whisper caught him by surprise. “Spike…have you done this with a lot of people?”
Spike reached out a hand and stroked it through the young man’s wavy brown hair. “The feeding part, sure, I’ve brought a few down here—but the rest of it…no, Ripper—you were the first.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across Rupert’s face, and then sleep took him.
“…And the last,” Spike added quietly.