Faith in the Atmosphere - Part 6 (A Dark Shadows Story)

[lovesrain44]

Watching the shadows lengthen across the field in back of the house as he stood at the sink stirring sugar in his coffee was rather akin to listening to the sound of a clock ticking his life away. Not that he was in any trouble, not of the serious variety.

Although of late, he'd been begging for trouble of another kind, an almost invented kind. He just wasn't that good anymore at making things up, and Barnabas had seen through him each and every time. And this time, well, this time, he'd not had to make up anything. Break anything. Talk back, or walk away. Barnabas had handed Willie his own desire, a vampire sort of gift, in his own masterful way. Taking the top off of Willie's personal box of dark, seeping wants, his body seeking them, and hang what his brain had to say about it. Pandora had nothing on him, not since the first time, that day last summer, when Barnabas had removed the splinter from Willie's hand and then sealed the wound with his own saliva. His mouth on Willie's hand, his cool breath pouring down Willie's forearm.

The memory made him shiver even now.

From that moment, while not a walk down a smooth, flagstone path, he had jumped at his own shadow and chased the darkness that sprang from even a single glance from the master of the Old House. And love had nothing to do with it.

Would you want it to?

God no. It was just that—

His mind broke away from it. But his body, as it listened to the warm wind rise and felt the house shift around him, knew that the truth was there whether he was ready to face it or not. His gut knew and was shouting to the rest of him.

Better to think of a different memory, of another love, another time. Of the soft-mouthed hooker in Charleston, what the hell had he been doing there? Some-thing with Jason, waiting for some ship to come and take them north. Or south. Willie couldn't remember, even though the sudden glint of Jason’s smile was there in front of him. And the motel, ragged at the edges, but with fairly comfortable beds and clean sheets. A hot breeze through the open window. And Jason, outside the doorway as Willie staggered from the room, wiping the sweat from his neck and zipping up his pants. Jason had handed him an ice cold beer, and watched as Willie swallowed half of it down and sighed, saying something about her being the one. Then Jason had snorted at him. And asked, do you have to fall in love with every single one of them?

Willie had flicked beer at Jason and slugged down the other half. Yes, he did, for the hour, or the fifteen minutes, whatever it took. What did it matter? He paid them to pretend they loved him; in return, he had his own little fantasy. A rich, dense dream that as he pushed into them, he made believe they were his, his. His. Something had to belong to him and the hookers were it. For as long as it lasted.

It could not be that he was doing that now. This time.

Jeezus, no. Fuck no.

But what did a guy say, then? To a man whose large-palmed hand had the capacity to hold his balls and his cock all at once, who could stroke him, with that cool hand, to fullness inside of a bundle of heartbeats, kiss the back of his ear, and whisper a sweet nothing to send him shooting through a spiral of pleasure so intense he passed out.

What would Jason say to that? Willie thought about it a minute and realized that Jason would say, a man's plea-sure, there is no greater goal. Lifting a glass of beer, or whiskey or whatever was handy. He might have cocked an eye at the source of that pleasure, but would have followed it with a shrug. Maybe when a man had been around the world a time or two or three, pleasure's shape had less to do with it than the fact that it was. Even if Barnabas could have killed him with a snap, Willie had felt that silk stroking, the shivery building, and the solid form behind him. Shielding him from light and darkness both, the damp, battering wind, and the long, shifting dark beyond.

Willie could not remember feeling that safe. Ever.

He tried to take a sip of his coffee, but it was cold and he'd put so much sugar in that it had solidified to a sludge at the bottom of a cup. If he lit a candle he would have been able to see it, but his fingers told him, as he lifted the spoon, about the sugary sap sliding off it. So many times he'd put too much sugar in, thinking to gulp it all down, and then getting distracted or pulled away by Barnabas, to actually drink it while it was hot, the sugar melted. It was easier to think of that than of anything else.

What would Wesley say?

Willie already knew the answer to that. Wesley had already said it. To his boss, of all people. Said it in that way Wesley had, spouting truths without even knowing it.

Getting things you shouldn't want.

Willie had accomplished that in spades.

Had he actually fantasized about those hands, it would have been more than a dream, it would have been surreal. He thought now of Barnabas, stalking around the Old House, using those hands to swing his cane, or make a fist, or take Victoria's hand to kiss it. Those fingers, lighting matches, pointing out an item on a list he wanted Willie to remember, or curling around the edge of the curtains in the Front Room when he would look out at the moon. And all the while, his dark, snapping eyes, catching Willie and holding him there. The glare in them glowing from the vampire's soul, had he one, and the hard, intolerance that underlined every word that he said to his servant. How could a man with such eyes and hard fists use them so gently?

If Willie'd not thought about it before, his body took the thoughts his mind was generating and ran with them. Up the stairs and down the corridor to his room. To his brass bed, the fancy scrolls belying the hard, spare mat-tress and the blankets so thin they never quite kept out the cold. And the moment when, should it have been the dead of winter and a blizzard all around, the cold would have mattered not at all. He felt the hands now, a ghostly, shimmering stroke along his thighs. The shift of weight behind him on the bed, curling close along the length of his body and Willie shut his eyes, and let it come. Let the darkness come, those teeth, and the almost delicate piercing of his neck. Let it all come, especially those hands, those fingers, so strong, too dangerous, now gentled to so soul-satisfying a task, that should it be described to company, Willie did not believe even Barnabas would have words for.

But it was not love at all, and Willie knew it. That was the easy part. Love did not threaten with talk of dark rooms, or dismembering, or of whippings long due. The hard part was to separate that knowledge from the flutter in his stomach that grew into a full-blown windstorm with a word. A touch. Or even a single glance.

He was glad he'd not looked into Barnabas' eyes last night. He would have drowned there.

Willie put the cup in the sink, tipping it over to let the liquid pour out. He could hear it pour, the darkness beyond the kitchen window was now dark purple and his eyes could not catch even the faintest stars. Clouds then, overhead, moving in from the sea, that would bring rain in the morning. The kitchen felt still and hot, even as the spring air grew cool as it came down from the treetops and sought the nooks and crannies the Old House had all around. Sweat popped through his skin, under his arms, and his throat was dry. He worked the pump, bringing a palm full of water up to his mouth, only enough to wet it, barely enough to swallow. Then, with the heel of his hand, he pushed the moisture into his forehead. He felt like he was sweating all over as the water dripped into his eyes.

"If you are absent from the grounds again without my leave I will whip you. I promise it."

Willie stayed still. Moisture had gathered in the hollows in front of his ears, evaporating fast as though wicked away by a breeze. He could not say that he was surprised; his body had been telling him Barnabas was behind him for some moments now. Standing along the wall near the door to the hallway, which the vampire may or may not have actually opened. Deep in the swirl of his own thoughts, Willie had not heard him coming. But his body had known. Knew it now as the shakes started as though someone had flipped the switch on the motor that ran his nerves. He imagined somewhere his body was telling him I told you so, but his brain ignored this and tried to tell him to remain calm.

"How can you tell?" Willie asked, somehow, the question escaping him.

"You smell of the village. I do not want you to tarry there without my leave."

So that was the way it was to be. The nothing way. The it-never-happened and we-will-never-speak-of-it way. But whether he should be glad or sad, he did not know.

"Well," said Willie then, ducking his head down and gripping the edge of the sink with both hands, "maybe I was in town to town to get paint or something." Following the conversation as if this were an ordinary day, an ordinary discussion in which his lack of rights was the only issue.

"Then you were in the village on my business, not your own. I expect you to remember the difference."

The interesting thing was that the statement was said without anger. Almost without any force at all. As if it were said by rote, the vampire still half asleep and, knowing what was expected of him, said it. All of a piece. Barnabas, without words, really, for all he spoke, telling Willie how it was to be.

It didn't matter anyway, whether Barnabas meant it or not. Wesley was gone, and the only friend Willie had in the village worth tarrying over was gone. So long, and goodbye, and Willie was all alone. Made it worse some-how, being all alone, when he'd known what the difference had felt like.

Behind him, Barnabas moved, and Willie's back tightened, but the vampire was only lighting a candle. The one on the table, the cheap one for Willie's own use. Not the beeswax one, but the one made of regular paraffin. Giving off a bitter, burnt smell. Willie could now see his own reflection in the window over the sink. It was a broad, wooden framed window, with four large panes. Willie could see the shadow his own face cast across half of his features. See the water, even dripping a little down the side of his face. The glimmer in his eye. But he could see nothing of Barnabas, also in the room, standing, presumably, right next to the candle, which by the level of the light, was set on the table. In the space where the vampire must be standing, nothing reflected. Or, if there was something, it was the absence of light. A blank spot that absorbed the light, and cast no shadow. An eerie, sucking darkness, and Willie shivered as he turned around. Of his own volition. Better to face the darkness than to turn his back on it.

Now he could see Barnabas, in the half light. In his dark suit and a dark tie, white linen shirt, hair oiled and slick as though dressed with rain. The glare was there, in his eyes, a flickering sharp thing, hard-rimmed and filled with hate.

Well, that's a good thing. I don't know what I would have done had they been filled with anything else.

Unbidden, looking at Barnabas, it flooded him. The one thing he'd been fearing all day. That feeling. The shimmer in his head, soaking down through his bones, sparking small jolts up through his pores at every bend. His mind remembered Barnabas' hand on him, the cold blocked off by the arms encircling him. A breath in his ear, the silky feel of Barnabas' lips on his neck. And the stroking, good God, touching him there and there, as if he'd had a map to the most tender parts of Willie's body. Pulling moisture and passion from him by almost wishing it so. Building the fire within him with the barest turn of his fingers. Those fingers, now right there, right there in front of his eyes.

Struggling with his breath, Willie tucked his head down, and started to walk out of the kitchen. It felt bold, it was desperate, but he had to get out of there, out of eye-shot, to somewhere dark and still, to let the memories fade before his body exploded. He felt Barnabas watching him, doing nothing, and he was almost to the door before the grip of iron shot out and latched onto him. Pulled him back close with a fist so tight he felt his bones bending. He was now close enough to the vampire so that the shift of his chest as his lungs struggled to breathe brushed him against the vampire. There was an acid tang to the air now, close, this close to just-awoken death, and the mold of coffin dirt. Forgotten, all likely, in the vampire's rush to come up the stairs and lay into his servant.

"You have, of course," said the vampire, hissing, "forgotten the most important thing."

Willie made himself stare at the wall. He would not meet Barnabas' eyes, he would not turn to look at that face, and the curve of that mouth.

"What's that, Barnabas?" asked Willie, his voice jerking as the vampire shook him.

"My mother's room," said Barnabas. "If the paint has been ordered, and you were in town today, why did you not pick it up? The room could be halfway completed by this time, and yet I am forced to wait, merely because you cannot keep a single task straight in that head of yours."

Paint? That was what was on the vampire's mind? Paint? The concept worked in Willie's head like it was driving its way in, and for a moment, he could think of nothing to say.

"And tires," said Barnabas. "I can only assume by your reticence that you have neglected those as well."

"I—" Willie tried, nerves bunching up behind his neck. He shrugged to ease them away.

The vampire moved his wrist, twisting Willie to face him. His face was pale, the eyes ember-dark, the mouth a thin line. Willie could hardly look anywhere else now, and as his stomach plunged, his whole body seemed to plunge with it. Barnabas pulled him up straight.

"You try my patience," said Barnabas, a tone below that of rocks tumbling beneath a banging surf in a storm. "I will not suffer myself to put up with it."

The grip was tightening, and now real sweat was running into Willie's eyes. Pulled so close that he could not move without touching the vampire. They were almost thigh to thigh, the heat of his body being sucked out along its length. Another inch of bend and his upper arm would snap, he knew it.

"I-I'll pick 'em up tomorrow, I promise, Barnabas," he said, ducking his head, but unable to look away. "I just forgot, is all, honest, I jus' forgot."

The air seemed deathly cold now, so close to the body that walked around masquerading as life, and Willie was shaking. The vampire's eyes turned to black ice. And then the cool, cool breath slid down the length of Willie's neck, beneath the collar of his shirt. Caressing his chest, smelling of dark earth and the eternal stillness that would soon be.

"You seem to enjoy marching yourself to death's door, all for the pleasure you imagine it might afford you." This said in a dry, dank way, as though Barnabas were not quite sure he should be saying it aloud. "I would not have lowered myself to speak of it, but while you are typically deserving of discipline, you are not always entitled to what you pretend must follow."

The grip tightened on him and drew him in till he was close to the vampire; he could see the claw of eye-lashes against those high, hard cheeks. Eyes, dark brown, shot with veins. So close that their mouths might meet if either of them spoke so much as a word.

But Barnabas had that way of speaking without moving a muscle. As if the voice emanated from his throat with no effort on his part.

"You disgust me." Spat out. "No better than the vermin that crowds the waterfront, or those doxies who take money and call it pleasure."

He twitched, and released Willie to stumble back-wards against the fireplace. Willie's head thunked against the stone, his hands scrambling to grab it and climb upright. The surface cool beneath his splayed out hands, the backs of his thighs.

"Though I should not be at all surprised," continued Barnabas, "considering how swiftly you are cowed by pain, by the fact that you are just as easily seduced to pleasure."

The vampire's voice ripped through the air as though he'd just uncovered a very dangerous truth and was now prepared to defend it. He watched as Willie pulled himself all the way upright and stood on his own two feet. Willie could feel his own body tightening, his skin humming with heat. And all the while, the chill of the evening was being baked away.

Then Barnabas smiled. Looked at him, head tilted back, eyes half closed as though almost asleep. "You should remember, Willie," he said, "that you should be wary of desiring what you cannot have, because then you might acquire what you should not want."

"You don't mean that," said Willie, choking. Almost word for word, it had been what Wesley had said. Barnabas was stealing words out of a common man's mouth and claiming them as his own. If Willie hadn't been wound so tight by the vampire's nearness, he would have laughed out loud.

"Oh?" asked the vampire. "And you have an opinion? I cannot imagine of what value that might be."

The kitchen was in still darkness, the only thing Willie could hear was the hiss of the candle and the harsh rasp of his own throat. To point out to Barnabas that the pronouncement was not of his own creation was to court death plain and simple. It wasn't a much better idea to remind Barnabas of the truth about who was wanting what, but it needed saying. Willie knew he would always regret not saying it till the day he died.

"You don't mean that," he said, "'cause then how could you explain your visiting my bed last night?"

The air flickered dark and then Barnabas was upon him, an icy hand on his throat, that face, shadowed from candlelight, the eyes gathering sharp spikes of flame.

"You sully my gift," said Barnabas, and Willie could almost hear the hurt in his voice. Almost. But he could definitely hear the betrayal.

"No," Willie said, tight, the air in his throat constricted by the vampire's hand. "I ain't doin' that, honest." He looked right up at Barnabas, right into the angry fire of Barnabas' eyes. He'd never felt closer to the maw of death than he did at that moment. Never closer to the fingers just waiting to brush and caress him, leaving dark, deep trails that sank into his soul.

"But I didn't do nothin' to bring ya there, you came on your own."

"Yes, you did, you spoke with Miss Winters," insisted Barnabas. "You made her forgive me." His eyes narrowed to slits, and the flames became two yellow-hot pinpoints. The hand on Willie softened and moved to encircle the back of his neck. Barnabas looked at him. "I rewarded you for that."

Willie realized now what had happened. Barnabas assumed that Willie had not only spoken to Victoria, he had planned to speak to her, and had determined what to say that would be the very thing that would make her relent. Because Barnabas himself thought this way, he assumed that his servant would do the same. It was beyond him to imagine that he was wrong, or that Victoria had realized, all on her own, her own error in judgment.

"I didn't say nothin' to her," said Willie, his hands on Barnabas' hands, prying them off.

"Do not contradict me."

"I didn't say anything," Willie said, insisting. "You think I want to take credit for bringing her back to you when I know what you got planned for her? She came back because she wanted to."

The vampire looked at Willie as if an idea, completely new and untried, were occurring to him. His hands loosened and Willie squirmed out of their grasp. Backed away out of hand's reach and felt the edge of the kitchen sink cut into his hips. Two ideas were rocking back and forth in the vampire's mind. That either his servant wasn't as loyal as he had thought or that Victoria loved him more than he had imagined. Willie decided that the wisest course was to get Barnabas focused on the sweeter option. The one less likely to move him to anger.

"She came back 'cause she missed you." Willie made himself stop there. Watched as the vampire looked blank for a moment, and then, somewhere in the pitch and roll of his thoughts, he must have found something. Something he knew to be real. At least that's the way he seemed when the vampire turned his eyes to look at Willie.

"She came back," Willie paused to swallow, "because she wanted to, and not for nothing' else."

"But she said that you—"

"Whatever I said to her," Willie began, interrupting the vampire as he had never before dared, "she made up what she wanted to hear. People like a reason for what they do. Even me. Even . . . you."

The soft angles of the vampire's face now hardened. His eyes black, and those hands curling into fists.

"You wanted a reason for last night, and you found one," said Willie. Bold. He did not know if he was right. Or if he would even live to consider the question for any length of time. The vampire took a step toward him. Slow, the step loud in the silence.

"Barnabas, you gotta see it." Willie's voice came out sharp, fear closing his throat. "I had my reasons, you said so yourself. I would be, I mean, I would mess things up on purpose, I would—"

"You would be disobedient."

Willie gulped. Barnabas had heard him. Had actually listened. "Yeah."

"In the hopes that I would suitably reward you."

"Yeah. An' I kept at it till you did." Willie could not believe he'd just said it aloud.

Something flickered in the vampire's gaze. "And I," said the vampire, his eyes loosing their flash, "looked for virtue, even where there was none."

Barnabas stood quiet, somehow in the center of the kitchen, surrounded on all sides with table and chairs and stove, all made with a roughness he abhorred. He seemed to be looking at nothing. At least he wasn't looking at Willie. At least he wasn't still coming forward, shoulders bunched up and ready to hurt. He took a deep breath, then. One that shuddered his frame hard enough to make Willie's heart hammer in his chest.

Then he lifted his head up, and looked at his servant out of the corner of his eyes. Composed, as if he hadn't been, only a moment ago, bent on expressing his anger in the most satisfying way that he knew.

"I think that you would be well served to remember, in future, that I and I alone determine when people get what I think they deserve."

Then with a jerk of his chin, his shoulders squared, the back long and proud, the vampire gave one nod to Willie, as if dismissing him, and opened the door to the kitchen and walked out. Willie listened, his heart still hammering, to the sounds of the footsteps in the hall. Besides the fact that he'd gotten off without a scratch, he could not believe what he'd just heard. Or that he'd heard it correctly. That Barnabas was going to continue to reward him, but on Barnabas' terms. Not his servant's. If it were true. If it were.

His legs were shaking under him and he needed to sit down. Whatever possessed him to speak such truths had left him with dizzying speed and haste. He pulled out a chair and sat down. From his pocket he pulled the as yet unfinished list. Of course there were still the tires to get and the paint to pick up, how on earth had he forgotten. As his eyes ran over the list, he pulled the candle closer and tried to concentrate. Tried to ignore the dance of glee the feeling in his mind was doing. Or the scamper in his stomach as it began to anticipate the pleasures to come. Of course, it was madness that he would even want it. But stranger still was how he would have to get it.

Willie leaned forward and folded his arms, resting his head upon them. Now his eyes were in darkness, slat-ted by the spaces near his elbows, letting the candlelight in. He knew the truth of it. It was now Barnabas' game. To be rewarded, Willie would have to be good.

He would have blue balls before anything nice happened to him.

Though, of course, there was always Barnabas' quick temper to consider. He never had thought it would serve him so well.

The End

***
Master Fic List

Comments

More DS slash!!! :D

[sara-monster.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for posting this follow-up! There's not too many DS fan fiction stories online that keep me reading, but yours never fail to keep me glued to the computer screen (or fanzine page)!

Re: More DS slash!!! :D

[lovesrain44.livejournal.com]

I'm so very glad you enjoyed reading this, because I sure enjoyed writing it! Barn and Willie had such a twisted relationship, didn't they. : D
Thank you for coming by and for your lovely compliment!