It's an Ache

A/N: Lyrics from Papa Roach- Scars.

Part One

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much.
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open, just to feel.

“What can I do for you today, William?”

The white-blonde head looked his way before resuming its slouched position against the arm of the couch, staring moodily up at the ceiling, and Ethan sighed. He loved the boy like a son but sometimes it was all he could do to not strangle the git.

“If you aren’t going to tell me what’s wrong, will you please go home? I do have paying clients who have actually have appointments, you know.”

When all that did was earn him a glower, he rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, rubbing absently over the bridge of his nose. Ah Rupert, there is so much of you in this boy. Which was probably why he put up with the blonde’s moods, in the first place.

“I don’t know what is going on but if you don’t talk to me then I can’t help. If you just need somewhere to hide out a while, you can use my office,” he suggested, glancing at the clock. If the lad actually needed to talk, then Ethan had time to listen, but if he was just going to sprawl there and sulk, he had paperwork and phone calls to get done before his next patient.

“Not hidin’, me and m’parents are getting’ on fine.”

Oh, thank fuck. Finally a reply.

“Then why don’t you tell me what is the matter, William?” he asked, in calmly measured tones. Will turned to him and smirked, fingers lacing together over the boy’s flat stomach.

“Oi, why do you insist on callin’ me that? You’re a professional, aren’t you s’posed to use the name us psychopaths prefer bein’ called?”

“You aren’t crazy, Spike, and you’re stalling.”

The blonde shot him a disgruntled look before heaving out a sigh, turning back to stare up at the ceiling once more. A fleeting thought to maybe paint the ceiling a more interesting color the next time the office was redecorated flickered through Ethan’s mind as he watched the young man stare intently upwards, but he shoved it away to steeple his fingers and restrain a low sigh.

Spike was almost ready to talk, he could sense it, and frankly, it worried him to think about the things that could have brought the boy to his office in such a state. Not that his distress was obvious, or would even be evident to someone who didn’t know him well, but Ethan had known him since birth and could see it in the way the boy wouldn’t meet his eyes, the way he snarked and joked and tried to draw attention to other things.

He was hurting.

There were only a handful of things that could upset the younger man so badly, enough to drive him to see Ethan in a professional capacity. Something that hadn’t happened since Ethan had released the boy from his care last year, reminding him that he could still come see him anytime he wanted, to talk or just get away from his parents.

And since it wasn’t his parents that had caused this upset, it was either work related or had to do with the issue that had brought him into Ethan’s questionably tender care in the first place. Personally, he hoped it was the former.

“How is the writing going?”

The guileless, broad grin that crossed the lad’s face dashed that hope, however, though he was incredibly pleased to see the look before Spike smothered it, putting back on his usual mask of nonchalance.

“’S goin’ great. Sold two more songs last week, one for a pretty penny, too. Hadn’t wanted to part with that’n but Mum said she didn’t mind her song bein’ played over the radio. That then everyone would know how special I think she is.”

Ethan felt his heart swell with pride, as it always did when he heard news of the boy’s successes, as much for those hard won triumphs as for the fact that the lad had taken the very thing that had almost destroyed him and used it to build a life for himself. Spike was stronger than he gave himself credit for.

“That’s excellent, William. You’ll have to let me know when someone records them so I can listen for them,” he told the young man, smiling at the slight flush of pleasure and sparkle in the bright blue eyes remnant of the boy he used to be before transforming into the hellion now before him.

There were a few minutes of silence, Ethan watching and waiting, sensing that if he were quiet, Spike would crack sooner, the boy’s agitation plain. He was clearly steeling himself up for something, grabbing at the courage to start speaking and letting someone inside.

Knowing the blonde as he did, he knew what it was costing him to sit there and force himself to open up.

After another moment, Spike heaved a sigh and looked towards him, speaking softly. “Right, look. You know how you’ve told me if I talk about it, tell the story and get it out of me, that it’ll start the whole ‘purgin’ and healin’ of the wound’ bollocks? I mean, I don’t see myself how it’ll change anythin’, you pretty much have pieced the story together anyway, yeah?”

Ethan inclined his head at the annoyed questioning look, knowing the boy’s bluster was just that, a way to hide how uneasy and nervous he was. Chewing on the side of his lip, Spike sighed again, slumping back against the arm of the couch and continued.

“But if you think it’ll help, I’m willin’ to give it a shot. Sick of carryin’ this around, I am.”

Keeping his face calm and unreadable, Ethan simply nodded, hiding the almost giddy feeling rushing through him at the huge step the boy was taking. After being clammed up for seven years, he had given up hope the young man would ever take the chance and allow himself to start the healing process.

Spike darted another look at him, as if he were pleading for him to start the questioning, lead him to where he needed to go, but Ethan knew he had to let the boy tell the story in his own way and at his own time. Holding up a finger, he picked up the phone and called his secretary, telling her to cancel all of his appointments for the rest of the afternoon, stating a family emergency.

It was.

He would cancel his appointments for the rest of the year if it would get Spike to talk to him and let go of the bitterness and other chaotic emotions he sensed the blonde was carrying.

Settling back in his chair, he gave Spike a small smile and a nod that told him to start whenever he was ready. After a few more moments, the boy started to speak.

***
Drunk and I’m feeling down
And I just wana be alone.
I’m pissed cause you came around
Why don’t you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can’t help you fix yourself
You’re making me insane.

Have you ever looked a stranger in the eyes and felt your whole bloody world shift? You don’t know the bloke but there’s this ‘click’ and you realize with a wash of icy chills down your spine that stranger or not, love or hate, you can’t live without this person in your life.

No, I’m not talkin’ bloody soulmates or love at first sight.. it’s a bleedin’ addiction, an obsession, needing them the way you need air and light.. nothin’ sweet and fluffy about it, it’s an intense, dark fuckin’ compulsion.

An ache.

Angelus.

Fuck, it’s been seven years since I could say that word, that name. I’ve shoved it so far back that I wouldn’t even think it.

It was the summer after the year I spent in the States, with Xander. His dad’s Irish, worked with m’father before they moved there, remember? We had just finished our junior year and I’d asked Da if I could stay to graduate.

We were celebratin’ that he said yes with a pile of movies and these huge banana splits with half the sweet stuff in the kitchen on them and I had been moaning over that first decadent bite when the front door slammed open and this guy with the face of a fuckin’ god came stridin’ in.

Still can’t eat ice cream.

Blue eyes half closed with pleasure glance up in surprise as the door opens with a loud bang, tongue still pressed to the dripping spoon, pineapple, cherry and chocolate with sweet vanilla exploding in his mouth. Stormy dark eyes flicker over the room only to slide back to his with an almost audible snap, going warm and liquid as something hot sparks in the inky depths, sucking the air from William’s lungs.

Seconds and years, decades and centuries pass in that brief moment of connection, intense and rocketing even through the glasses that usually shield the blonde from the world. Later that night, he’ll wonder exactly how long they would have been frozen in place like that, if it hadn’t been for Xander’s exuberance, the slightly older boy jumping up and tackling the young man.

That beautiful face creasing into a broad smile as the dark man throws his head back and laughs will haunt him through his dreams for years, the dark ripped jeans and tight shirt, the silver bar glinting in a black eyebrow, dark spiked hair brushing over the silver hoops in his ears… no other would or could ever compare to that first full on look at Liam Angelus Harris.

Was Xander’s older brother, o’course, I knew that from the pictures around the place. But that first look in his eyes? Nothing could have bloody prepared me for that.

Home from college for the summer, all of twenty-three, which seemed so grand and adventurous at the time. Being that now, I can see just how bleedin’ young he really was, but when you’re goin’ on seventeen anything over twenty seems so grown up.

Ultimate bad boy he was, singer of his own punk band, tattoos and piercings, devil may care, didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything.. he even had a motorcycle for fuck’s sake. He was trouble and me being me?

He was perfect.

I wanted danger, adventure. I wanted to be something other than what I was, mousy little William who always had his nose buried in a bloody book. Someone other than weak, small Will who was so easy to tease and taunt.

Spent two long, so long weeks agonizing over him. About the fact that even if he did like boys, there was no way he’d go for a ponce like me. Not that his parents woulda went for it if he did.

That was one thing I shouldn’t have worried about, the Harris’s. Never were home, them, and when they were they paid little to no attention to their sons. Don’t know why it didn’t hit me before that summer since I’d been there a year, but things weren’t all peaches and cream in that family.

Didn’t dare tell Xander; even though he was perfectly fine with me bein’ gay, I wasn’t sure how he’d feel bout me fallin’ head over heels for his brother, his idol. He’d tease me every now and then and I’d flush and stumble over me words, but far as I know he never realized.

But yeah. Was danger I had been wantin’ and it was danger I got. Not the deadly kind, don’t look at me that way, Doc. He never hit me or any o’that shit.

Got in over my head, though, I did.

From that first hot and painful kiss after he got tired of stalkin’ me around the kitchen one night, I was his.

Fuck, was I ever his.

Big, warm body trapping him in the corner of the kitchen counters, hard thighs pressing into his as a big, scarred hand with faded homemade tattoos lifts his chin to raise his flushed face. Dark, intense eyes lined in black glittering down as those sinful lips curve into a faux harmless smile, devil’s smile, murmuring quietly, “Have I done somethin’ to piss you off, William? Or are you avoidin’ me for a different reason? Tell me I’m readin’ you right cause you’ll just break m’heart here if I’m wrong, blue eyes.”

Syrupy sweet, honeyed words on a tongue slick with Irish charm, he was lost before those lips even brush his. Firm and spiced with the forbidden taste of liquor, so hot when that wicked tongue slides past his shocked and parted lips to stroke his and send jolts of something hot and heavy down his spine.

On some deep and primal instinct, his body melted unconsciously and pressed against the bigger one crowding him, arms coming up to slide his hands into that mess of dark hair, disheveling it even more than it already was. A low, husky groan vibrates the chest against his and the tongue in his mouth slides deeper, stroking slickly and curling up against the sensitive roof of his mouth, making his bare toes curl on the cold linoleum floor.

He isn’t aware he’s making any noise until Angelus lifts his head and purrs down at him through slightly flushed lips, “That’s it, let me hear you. So fuckin’ delicious.” Then his mouth is being claimed, taken, once more, the pleasure thrumming through him as he finally hears the soft bleating sounds trapped in his throat that he realizes he’s been making since the first stroke of Angelus’ tongue.

Bloody embarrassing, that, but it was his first kiss after all.

It started out as fun, but even that fun was intense and heart-pounding, sneaking off into dark corners and sharing secret glances.. every time we touched, it got more powerful, more .. just more. Every touch, every look drove things higher until even the smell of him when I entered a room would make me hard.

It wasn’t days after that first kiss when I got him to fuck me.. or he got me to get him to, I’ll never be sure exactly who it was seducing who that first time because I’d never wanted anything so bad. It was bloody scary and most of it is still a blur, but .. fuck.

Oi, come on, Doc. You can’t give me that look.

You and Da were younger than that when you started foolin’ around. Don’t look so bleedin’ shocked, did you think none of us knew?

He misses you, ya know. Wishes things were different and that you feel more comfortable at the house. Don’t be such a bloody wanker, Mum doesn’t care.

Alright, alright.

Just talk to him, okay? Drivin’ me round the bend.

Right.

After that first time, I couldn’t keep my soddin’ hands off of the big bastard. Needed him like nothin’ else in my life, I did. He became everything in such a short time that I’d wake up in a cold sweat thinkin’ I’d dreamed it all up and the huge fuckin’ ache was like a hole in my chest, makin’ me unable to breathe until I snuck into his room and saw him.

I was addicted, worse than any drug addict, and every move he made, made the craving spike higher until I couldn’t move without thinkin’ of him, wantin’ him. He filled my every waking minute and haunted my dreams.

Never was I so glad that Xander had a group of friends before I got there that I didn’t really get along with, so I had excuses to not go with him and be alone in the house with his brother.

We’d pretend to be playing video games or some shit, or Angelus would be teachin’ me a riff on the guitar, maybe watching a bloody movie, until the moment the house emptied out, then we were all over each other.

Knuckles white as his hands clench on the headboard of Angelus’ big wooden bed, staring hazily down at them as his knees are slid farther apart on the mattress, big, hard hands cupping the cheeks of his ass to knead and spread them. Biting, open-mouthed kisses being pressed to the soft pale skin along the dip of his spine, down to the curved, plump cheeks, dark, sensual whispers spoken into the white skin of how fuckin’ beautiful he is like this, how they have at least two hours before someone was due back home.. of how he is going to keep him just like this, spread for his lips and tongue.

That first brush of slick tongue down the so-sensitive crevice of his ass, down to that tiny indent of puckered skin with the million nerve endings he’s never realized were there until the hot, soft and wet slide over it makes him buck and keen helplessly. The way he dimly feels grateful ten minutes later, as his cries and sobs are too loud to muffle against his arm any longer, that he’s so damn glad Angelus waited to try this until everyone was out of the house.

The way he is delirious and begging for the older man to touch his aching cock not five minutes after that, body shaking so hard that he wonders how his knees are holding him up, how a few minutes after that, he stops begging because he’s howling and coming from not even one touch to any other place on his body.

How he’s begging him to stop, begging for mercy by the time the first car pulls back into the driveway.

That first month.. Jesus Christ, was it only a month?

It felt like a few speedin’ moments and like an eternity. Like I’d never not known his touch, never had to even think about facing life without him there.

But right, that first month? Soddin’ hell, it was perfect.

He was there for me, paid attention and took care of me. And me? I was infatuated beyond believing. Nothing in my life had prepared me for him, for the feelings he wrought from me without even trying.

I’d sneak into his room at night or he to mine and we’d spend hour after silent hour driving each other bloody insane. Every free moment we had during the day, every moment we had alone was filled with hard, maddening kisses and touches, wordless promises.

We burned so hot and so fast, you’d think we would burn ourselves out, the pure insaneness of it banking the fire. If anything, it got more powerful.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all about shaggin’, far from it. I’d never been much of a talker, just observed life, but he listened to me, wanted to hear what I thought and how I felt. I talked more to him than I have to everyone else I’ve ever met put together.

He made me feel important, cared about, until I wanted to scream from the rooftops bout how very fuckin’ much I loved him. I did. Bloody everylastin’ hell, I still do. Always will.

Used to write these god awful poems for him but he never laughed, just got this intense look on his face before showin’ me how to set them to music. His life was music, he lived and breathed it. Passed that on to me, he did.

A bleedin’ month. Four weeks, twenty-eight to thirty-two days.

But perfect.

So bloody perfect that it amazes me how soddin’ fast it all went to hell.

I tried to help you once
Against my own advice.
I saw you going down
But you never realized.
That you’re drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand.
Compassion’s in my nature
Tonight is our last stand.