Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Thralls	By : neichan Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Xander > Angel(us)/Xander Views: 10422 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS or BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 32
- 33
- 34
Thralls by Neichan

Nicholas Yee bolted upright in the bed. He was alone on the bed, but not in the room. A hotel room from the look of it, all ornate and dated furnishings, heavy dresser, huge bed, browns and greens and ivory. The wallpaper, the elaborate, flowered kind he remembered seeing in some old movies. The stuff he recalled grandmothers were fond of. All in all, a hotel room. Big, classy, but still a hotel room.

The room's other two occupants were at the door, peering outside, the taller of the two, platinum haired, seeming to hover protectively over the shorter as they listened intently to some ruckus that was going on in the distance. Some grinding sound, like concrete being cut or broken up. Nic found his head too sore for him to care right now.

Fine. He recognized them both. Not able to recall their names, through his pounding, seething headache, but the vampire was the one designated as Hostile 17, and the smaller one, the red-haired, freckled boy-man, was the thrall Dr. Walsh made for the experiment on vampire control. Nicholas shook his head. Why, was he here, with them? That was the big question rolling around in his aching brain. He seemed to recall some conversation.... Dr. Walsh telling him something...he remembered what that was, suddenly. A wave of nausea washed over him. He had been bitten. By the vampire standing over there.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted to the bathroom, thankfully the open door and the light switched on, made it very easy to spot. There wasn't even time to shut the door as he fell to his knees, feeling the unpleasant impact bruise his knees, grabbed the rim, and vomited up his toes. Everything he'd ever eaten it felt like. Every scrap of food this year at the very least. Jeez.

He lay his face against the thankfully clean porcelain. It felt good, nice and cool. He was sweaty, hot, sticky. Unhappy. Dr. Walsh had talked to him, explained things, how they were, and his choices after he had been stupid enough to let the vampire bite him. Her exact words. Stupid.

Imprisonment and confinement at the laboratory base for "observation" after the bite. Where he would undergo regular blood sampling, and other necessary tests to monitor his condition. The confinement would continue as long as Dr Walsh felt that it should, for the safety of all concerned. Or he could agree to being part of the experiment and not be locked away indefinitely in a tiny glass walled cell under her loving care. He heaved again, spewing more bile into the toilet. He felt like pure crap.

Every soldier assigned to the Initiative was painfully aware of the lack of maternal and caring instinct the good doctor possessed. Even experienced soldiers felt their skin crawl at the mention of her tender mercies. Sometimes it was hard to watch, what she did to her specimens, even the Hostiles didn't deserve that, did they? A quick death, sure. Not torture, living dissection. Dr Walsh-Mengele. That was the nickname they used when they were far out of earshot, on the few days they spent away from the job, hanging around in Sunnyhell. Relaxing in the many bars near the Hellmouth.

His stomach heaved again. That was the main reason he'd agreed to being given the serum. So she wouldn't have him around, locked in a cell, when she got bored and decided to take a look at something's or someone's innards. Maybe his. Because as far as he'd seen, in the months working with the woman, she didn't harbor any kindness towards anyone simply because they'd worked with her at one time or another. She was far to practical to waste a resource for sentimental reasons.

He didn't know why else he'd chosen this way. It wasn't turning out so well, if this was any example. Just that it had seemed to be the choice Dr Walsh had preferred, and while he'd been strapped to the infirmary gurney, helpless, keeping her happy was first on his list. He heaved again, into the toilet bowl, so hard he wouldn't have been surprised to see body parts instead of bile. Then, after waking up in the cell, with the Hostile and his thrall, Nic didn't remember a thing. Just one big, fuzzy, sleepy blur. No. Wait. He remembered being bitten, like it was some dream, all confused and blurred.

He lifted a shaking hand to swipe at his forehead, and almost fell face first into the toilet. He grabbed the rim again, steadying himself as best he could. So. What now? He was sick. Why? Was he going to be a vampire? Had the Hostile taken too much blood? Was this a reaction to the change? Or to....He gave up trying to think. Later. He'd think all this through, later. When he didn't feel like he was dying.

He slowed his breathing, spitting the bitter taste into the trembling water. He reached up, trying to find the handle and flush away the noxious, acidic smell. He couldn't raise his head yet, nor could he find the latch...then the toilet flushed. And legs were there in front of him. He didn't even know who's they were, those legs. He blinked, and still didn't know. He closed his eyes.

Then it came to him. By a process of deduction. Not encased in black. In a pair of bright honey, yellow and green plaid flannel pajamas, with red roses dotting the lattice of other colors, that he couldn't imagine Hostile 17 wearing willingly. The vampire would probably go naked first.

So this was....ghod he couldn't remember the name. It was him, the thrall. The short guy. Then he forced himself to face brutal reality as he corrected himself silently. The *other* thrall. He, his mother's well loved if rebellious son, was also a thrall. He wished he could throw up something else, but he was empty. Besides he didn't want to lift his head and hold it over the bowl. It was too heavy, requiring too much effort.

The red haired man bent down, placing a warm cloth on the back of his neck. That was heaven. So damn good. Nic let go with a huge shiver, teeth chattering. Abruptly cold, in contrast to the one area of warmth under the square of towel, as he crouched there, naked? Why naked? Nic groaned as he tried not to think about that. The quick cataloging of his aches, pains and stiffnesses, told him some unpleasant things had to be faced.

He'd been fucked. Not severely damaged or torn, so maybe not raped, at least not without some care, but someone had been up there. He knew what that felt like, the empty ache, the rawness, it had happened in the past a time or two. Shit. By who? The man taking care of him now....or Hostile 17? Or...? He huddled on the floor, dropping down to rest on his side, half on the bathmat, half on the icy tiles, freezing cold now, tucked into a fetal position, trying to reduce his surface area, reduce his heat loss.

"Hold on. We need to get you heated up." The caring tone was unexpected. He managed a moan in response. Was patted on his bare shoulder, felt too horrible to flinch away from the familiarity.

The sound of water, bathwater running, and warm-hot steam filled the bathroom. Heat, blessed heat, filling the room, taking the chill out of the air. Ghod that would feel good, to crawl into that heat, let it soak into his bones. If only he could move.

He looked over the floor, to the huge claw footed tub. Three feet. Might as well be the entire expanse of the Sahara. He was not going to be able to drag himself even that far. Not even for the bath he wanted more than anything right now.

Which turned out not to be a problem. The small guy lifted him. Not even straining. OK now that was weird. Christ, Walsh had missed this. It was almost enough to make him smile, glad she had fucked up. She hadn't briefed them on the thrall being anything but human. So either being a thrall made you extra strong, which he didn't believe was the case considering his own state of health, he couldn't have lifted a Kleenex right now, or there had been something going on with the little guy before he'd become part of the grand experiment. Just great. He bet Walsh would go crazy when she found out. Well at least he wasn't going to be around for the blow up.

"Need help, love?" Came the British voice of Hostile 17. Not snarky, nasty or threatening, the only tones he had heard the Hostile use before. Nic felt far too miserable to care, to turn or say anything. He was too miserable even to feel afraid. If the vamp killed him he'd feel better, wouldn't he? It was impossible to feel worse.

"No. I have him. Maybe you can find him some aspirin, or Tylenol or something?" The voice was soft. Rather kind. Compassionate. The touch on him was very gentle as he was lowered into the blissful heat of the tub. He slid under all the way for a split second, then was righted, his head above the water. Supported. "Sorry." The kind voice said. "I am not so good at bathing other people. You alright now?" Nic just blinked the water out of his eyes.

"Sure thing, pet, I'll see what is around." The voice was affectionate, kind, with an edge of teasing. This was a vampire talking? Nic had never heard anything but threats from one of the Hostiles. There was the sound of cabinets opening. A bottle of pills rattling. The bitter taste of three aspirin almost making him throw up again. Great, that would be fun, throwing up in his own bathwater. But he only just managed to down a tiny sip of water, then a second, diluting the horrible taste enough to calm his belly.

"Can you hold him? I want to wash him off." Hands supported him kept him from drowning. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful or not. They washed him, everywhere. Front, back, crotch, ass.

Ah. A new level of humiliation. He was being given a bath. The first one since he was a tot.

"Grab me some more towels?" The red head asked, his voice pitched low, as if he understood how bad Nic felt. That was nice. The towels were voluminous. Soft. He was wrapped head to foot, only his nose sticking out. He still felt like crap. But he was warm crap now.

He was lifted up in strong arms, carried, rolled into the bed, the towels taken away. He shivered. A warm body snuggled in next to him. Naked. Him and them. The vampire, kept away from him, not cool skin to leech away the little warmth he had gained. Nic was thankful.

"I don't think...Spike? Maybe he needs some blood. It has been a while since he had any."

Whoa. That did not sound good, he did not want blood. He opened his mouth, croaked. Nothing anyone could understand unless they were psychic.

"Worth a try, precious." The vampire said. And there was a wrist in front of Nic. Bleeding. Blood. He expected to cringe away, but instead his body surged forward, towards the dripping limb. His hands fastened around it, with more strength than he thought possible, his teeth digging in, his mouth attaching like a limpet. And he drank.

Hot. Salty. Sweet. Life's blood. His headache faded. His body hummed. Oh, god this was not right. Not good. He *was* a fucking *thrall*.
- 32
- 33
- 34
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Thralls