Passion in the Desert

Warning: Totally AU with characters based on Spike (Gwillym) and Angel (Anxo). This chapter contains masturbation and graphic descriptions of ritual purging.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from the BtvsAtS characters or their entities. Other portrayals are original creations and may not be used without my permission. This is for entertainment only.
Feedback is always welcomed.


PASSION IN THE DESERT - Chapter 4

Wren danced around her room excitedly, holding the gauzy white robe that she had made for Red Moon against her bosom. The redhead’s eyes were closed as she hummed an ancient melody and spun around with a blissful smile on her face. She was sure that Gwillym had looked at her and nodded his head as he rode into camp earlier, reinforcing her fantasy that the prince truly cared for her, when in fact, he had no knowledge whatsoever that she had ever existed.

Even so, every night before bed, the young virgin would make a small sacrifice to her goddess and pray that Gwillym would be a good husband and provider to her and a loving father to the many children that she was sure they would be blessed with. Wren was certain that she would be a good wife to the prince and mother to his progeny. Her own mother and grandmother had taught her the fine arts of cooking, sewing and gathering so she was prepared to maintain an organized household, one that she was sure would impress her prince.

Wren’s mother had been standing in the doorway for a few minutes, smiling as she watched her daughter dance with joy around the room, holding the garment that she had made for Red Moon.

“And who is the lucky one?”

The redhead’s eyes shot open in shock and she blushed heavily, knowing her mother had been watching her girlish behavior. “I cannot tell you that, Mother, else I would bring ill fortune down upon him as well as myself,” she demurred, hoping to deflect her mother’s curiosity.

“He must be very special, then, to see you so happy. I just hope you won’t be disappointed if he is not your intended. The gods can be very fickle, my darling.”

“Oh, Mother!” Wren rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. “I dream about him every night. It is a sign from the gods that he is my intended.”

“I pray that you are right,” her mother sighed and gave a small smile before she turned and left Wren to her fantasies.

~ * ~

Alastar lovingly polished the dark wood of the jewelry box that he intended to present to Wren at Red Moon. Each day since he had crafted it with his very own hands, he had gone through the same ritual of applying a thin coat of beeswax to the wood, rubbing it in until he could almost see himself in the glaze.

The tall, dark-haired young man could already feel the pull of Red Moon and so could the others who would be chosen during that sacred time. Every night now, he dreamed, hoping that the gods would reveal his soulmate as he slept and every night, he had always dreamed of Wren.

Any idle time the apprentice carpenter had was spent preparing the gifts and offerings due to his gods and the family of his chosen one. For three nights before Red Moon, Alastar would be required to steal away into the night and leave an offering outside of Wren’s family tent showing his intention to claim and provide for her as his mate. Already, he had planned offerings of food and furs and the jewelry box would be his ultimate gift, containing his mother’s small wedding band of intertwined gold and silver.

Alastar closed his dark eyes and sighed at the thought of putting the ring on Wren’s delicate finger and then standing in the rays of the blood red moon with her to be blessed by the shaman mage. A soft groan came from him when his cock twitched with interest at the image of Wren on their wedding night, waiting to be taken.

Alastar groaned again and moved one hand down to the bulge in his pants and gave it a hard squeeze, willing it to go away. He had so many more things to do before the day was done and could ill afford to cater to his lustful thoughts. Besides, when nightfall came and he was on his furs, there would be plenty of time to take himself in hand and think of Wren before he slept.

~ * ~

Gwillym ran as fast as his long legs would carry him over the uneven dunes, his unfettered golden hair flowing out behind him, his naked flesh glistening in the pale moonlight from his sweat. His lungs screamed out for air, making him pant and gasp painfully for relief but he did not waver on his course toward the sacred caves.

The vampire prince prayed to the Ancient Ones for forgiveness as he struggled through the sand, asking for mercy and repurchase for his grievous sin. He begged for understanding for his taking of human blood without ritual, for taking Rowan’s blood, and he cursed himself for his weakness. Finally, when he could push himself no more, Gwillym’s body gave out and he went crashing to the ground face first and didn’t get up.

Gwillym moaned at the pounding headache and the aching pains in his chest and legs before his eyes fluttered open in the semi-darkness. He lay where he was for a few disoriented moments trying to get a line on his surroundings before he tried to sit up. A soft, enveloping warmth surrounded him and felt so good on his tired body that he was surprised to find that somehow, he was in the sacred caves, laying on a clean, soft animal fur.

The prince groaned again as he struggled to his feet and looked around. Only a few torches and candles lit the inside of the cavern but there was enough light to see the holy drawings and artifacts that adorned the monolithic walls. Even though he had seen the word paintings before, his eyes traveled in awe over the art that told the story of his people and their ancestors and his eyes were drawn to an image that looked amazingly like himself.

“I have been waiting for you, my son,” a deep but soothing voice came from the shadows. “And though it grieves me that you have returned so soon, I do welcome you.”

Gwillym was startled and jumped when he heard the familiar voice echo throughout the cave. He squinted into the direction of the sound and moved cautiously toward the shadowy figure he saw sitting in an alcove not too far from where he stood.

“Gwillym? Come to me, my young one. Do not be afraid.”

The prince moved cautiously toward the commanding voice and gasped when he was able to see. Gwillym instantly averted his eyes in respect and immediately fell to his hands and knees in supplication before the clan’s powerful shaman mage.

“Bless me, Father for I have sinned...” Gwillym begged as he groveled at the holy man’s feet.

Majid looked at the prince’s shivering form for a moment before he rose gracefully from his throne and glided down the few steep steps to stand in front of Gwillym. “Rise, my beloved one and take my hand so you may purge yourself of your sin and be forgiven.”

Gwillym could not stop trembling in the presence of Majid as he got up on wobbly legs and took the godlike mage’s hand. He could feel the electricity in the air and the power that flowed into him from the shaman’s touch and he was overwhelmed.

“I have failed, Majid,” Gwillym sobbed as he was gathered into the folds of the mage’s massive robe by strong arms. “I... I am cursed... I have taken the blood of an innocent...”

Majid had always had a soft spot in his heart for young Gwillym. Forced onto the throne by his father’s suicide, the prince had forfeited his adolescence to lead his people and defend their lands. Turning to the mage for guidance, Gwillym had forged a bond with the shaman that grew into love, not a physical love but a spiritual one that anchored him and strengthened him.

“Do not distress yourself, my child,” the shaman mage crooned soothingly to the prince. “It is not your fault, but that of your unmated demon.”

Gwillym sobbed hard into Majid’s embrace. Being with the mage was the only time that the prince could calm his soul and just... be. For three days and three nights, Gwillym would be guided through the ancient rituals that were known only to men twice his age. Majid would protect the young man with his life, if need be, for it was his sacred duty to make sure that Gwillym fulfilled his destiny to become king of the Clan Aurelius.

When Majid was certain that Gwillym was calm enough and understood what had to be done, he sent him off to the hot spring that bubbled in a nearby grotto, ordering him to bathe in its mineral rich water. The holy man then went about making a consecrated circle where the young prince would purge himself while prayers were said and sacrifices offered to their gods for Gwillym’s forgiveness.

After Gwillym had washed and dried himself, he knelt before a statue of a goddess revered for her benevolence and lit several sweet smelling candles in her honor. Then, he prayed for strength during the coming days and pardon for his sins while he waited for Majid to summon him.

The wait was not long and soon Gwillym was standing inside the hallowed circle that Majid had blessed and sanctified with ancient symbols known only to the most powerful and holiest of mages. Two roaring bonfires were on either side of the circle and lit up the cavern with its light, giving an eerie life to the word-paintings on the walls. A concoction of mystical herbs and roots had been made into a mixture that Gwillym was given to drink and once he had downed the vile tasting liquid, the shaman mage began to chant.

Majid walked clockwise around the circle, spreading tokens around its edges that represented earth, wind and fire. A clay pot filled with dirt, a hawk’s feather and a magic flame floating on oil in a silver bowl were joined by pieces of cloth, several small conjuring stones and a lock of Gwillym’s golden hair that he had given up willingly finished the mage’s spell.

“May your gods and goddesses protect you during the coming days Gwillym, so you may be forgiven and free from sin at Red Moon,” Majid said solemnly. Then he bowed to the prince and backed slowly away, leaving young Gwillym to face his punishment alone.

Gwillym trembled with fear as he watched the shaman mage leave. Already, he was nauseous from the potion that Majid had given him and he knew that in a few minutes, his ordeal would begin. He knelt down and began to recite the prayers that Majid had taught him earlier and waited.

All too soon, Gwillym was spewing out blood and bile explosively through his nose and mouth and was incontinent of urine and feces. He wretched until his eyes watered and his throat burned from the acidic fluids in his stomach being forced up and out involuntarily from his body. He had fallen on his hands and knees, shaking and trembling and moaning as his body purged itself, unable to stop the cleansing on his own once it had started.

Gwillym could hear Majid chanting softly in the shadows but it was of little solace. The shaman would not interfere in the ritual and was bound by sacred law to let it run its course. Little did the prince know that Majid would do whatever it took to insure his survival, but he could only do so much.

On the third day, the mage would come to Gwillym and tend to him and declare him forgiven. But, if the gods saw fit not to forgive Gwillym and he did not survive, the only thing that Majid could do for him would be to prepare his body for burial.

In one last cleansing ritual to atone for his sin, Gwillym wept quietly as he masturbated, and mercifully, after his hot seed joined the conglomeration of fluids that was his essence pooling on the ground under him, he sank into unconsciousness.


~ tbc ~