The Longest Distance Between Two Points

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Summary: Angelus makes a promise to William that changes William's life. Many years later, Angel comes to Sunnydale to remind Spike of that promise.

AUTHOR: Jenny
EMAIL: ladymoluk@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.squashduck.com/ltd/index.htm
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Spike/Angel(us), William/Angelus, Angel/Spike/Cordelia
DISCLAIMER: The usual, they are not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has Darla and Drucilla paired with both Angel/us and William/Spike but not explicitly. It also has Angel/Spike/Cordelia in one explicit scene.
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Chapter 1

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice

Robert Frost

William sat contentedly and quietly by himself on the wide window seat, behind the thick, red velvet curtain, smoking. He'd had the best three days of his unlife. Scary monster, as he liked privately to call his Sire, was absent. The Bitchqueen was closeted upstairs in her room, and his beloved, but extremely tiresome darling Drucilla, was with her. So, that had left him master of all he surveyed. Well, master of the large reception room he'd chosen for his own when they had first tortured and then slaughtered the owners of this quiet country seat.

He didn't know where Angelus had gone and didn't care. Angelus was a frightening, evil presence that made William's unlife seem tenuous and restrictive. William had no actual complaint to level against the scary one; Angelus had hardly ever spoken to him for the whole year that William had been his Childe. Angelus tolerated his presence, occasionally allowed him to have Drucilla, and that, was that. He ignored William, and William ignored him. No, William had no actual complaint to make except, perhaps, for that very lack of concern that his own Sire showed for his youngest Childe's welfare. Left up to Angelus, William would have been staked or starved long before this. He felt he had only survived his first year of turning purely through his own wits, cunning, and occasional flashes of charm that had saved him from the Bitchqueen's wrath. It was more a sort of underlying fear that Angelus continually induced in William that made him hate him so. Although Angelus never spoke to him, William always felt as if there was a great deal of conversation going on behind those deep, brown eyes, only that he couldn't hear it. Although Angelus rarely looked at him, he nevertheless felt that Angelus' eyes were on him all the time, even when Angelus wasn't physically present. And that was very scary, especially for a newly turned demon who had found that now he was afraid of almost nothing. All of his previous, human fears had just dissolved in the potent blood he had presumably received from Angelus. No one ever spoke of his turning, so he had had to find out sketchy details from minions who had heard the story and were glad to boast of their superior information to Angelus' new Childe. Fear of death, fear of disease, fear of injury and disfigurement, fear of getting old, fear of being ridiculous, fear of family or friends dying, fear of fear itself… all gone, all washed away in that flowing, blood red river that was Angelus' gift to him.

So, the mystery of his turning added to the fear that Angelus induced in William's otherwise fearless demon heart. Angelus was just there in his thoughts all the time like an overwhelming blackness that he feared to shine a light on and examine. Because William refused to examine or admit the treacherous thoughts that seeped into his head every time he thought about his Sire. It was like trying to hold ice when he was a boy, finding a clear, cold shard hanging from the eves of his house. He couldn't hold the thought in his head that said there was more to his hatred of Angelus than the understandable distain he would feel at being continually ignored and the fear from his overactive imagination that his very, 'being ignored', had some evil significance to it. Just as with the icicle which had slipped out of his small frozen hands, so did all other, confusing thoughts of Angelus slip out of his mind with an icy slither. Thoughts of Angelus that were not black, but red. Thoughts of Angelus that induced not fear, but empty ache that only killing and feeding and pain would remove from his heart. He found this inability to concentrate on these other feelings strange. He never had a problem thinking about other things or other people. He spent his whole time thinking, it was one of his biggest problems. He wished he could think less and act more. But he had been a thoughtful human and the demon had merely sent this thoughtfulness on a new and more interesting track. Now, he did not think in rhyme, hearing rhythmic words pounding in his head until he had to wake in the night and write furiously of his thoughts and longings. No, now he thought of ancient things and of the future and of passion in the blood and what being a demon meant. But he had no answers for any of these things and he knew that eventually, given time, the demon in him would stop thinking. He almost looked forward to that day. So it puzzled him that now, he could not think about the largest and most dominant force in his unlife, Angelus.

Bitchqueen he could think about quite well. He loathed her and everything about her. She was spooky. She reminded him of dolls in old musty shops that had eyes that looked too knowing. She always seemed too small for her elaborate clothing. She was the portrait in the attic, manifest in whore's clothing. She carried and showed the evil of her many years. Oh yes, William had no problem thinking about Darla. Usually how to avoid her and retain his currently, quite interesting, undead status. He could think about Drucilla even more easily. She was ever present in his mind a dark, chaotic worry that entranced him and held him captive for love. Admittedly, his thoughts of Drucilla were confusing. He found her exotic, passionate and very, very satisfying in bed but she wore him out with her need of him and her madness plagued him. She was one of his few fears now. Could he cope with her for eternity? He sometimes feared he could not, that he was not strong enough and it was this, fear of himself, which was the real fear.

He had no idea why he had been turned by one or other or all of this strange vampire trio. He would have thought that he was an unlikely candidate for anyone to choose to be a vampire relative. He'd heard stories of Angelus before the Vampire's turning, stories of drunkenness and whoring and fighting that fitted the demonic persona he had adopted. Darla's past spoke for itself. She was a vicious whore alive or dead. Even Drucilla had an aura of religious mysticism about her that added a delicious counterpoint to the unholy thing she had become. He though, had been a weak, spineless man sniveling in a barn when they'd found him. He had been a virgin, had never even seen a dead body let along helped produce one and he had a tendency to faint at the sight or smell of blood. Obviously, that particular aspect of his humanity had been the first thing to go, but still, he feared his ability to make the complete transition to being a demon that the others had made. His shreds of humanity, therefore, made him love Drucilla with a human level of passion, but that very humanity in him and the weakness it implied, made him afraid for their future together. So again, William had no problem thinking deeply, constantly and often sadly on the other members of his new family.

It was just thoughts of Angelus that escaped him. If he tried to think about him, he got confused. If he tried to concentrate on his Sire's voice, that voice started to whisper illicit things to him that he didn't understand or want. If he tried to concentrate on his person that was even worse, because Angelus appeared to him in his mind, as he never appeared to him for real. When William thought about Angelus, Angelus smiled and came towards him. When William thought about Angelus entering a room, in his mind, Angelus only had eyes for him. And that was so unreal it scared him, so again, the ice slipped through this fingers and left nothing but its cold tracks of fear.

He partially blamed Drucilla for this inability to think rationally about Angelus and therefore to never be able to think about Angelus at all. Sometimes in the dark, as he plundered Drucilla' soft folds with his cold, hard power, he felt all the power was actually hers in her madness and that this madness passed into him through the bodily fluids oozing between them. She worshiped her 'Daddy', found the core of her madness through his creation of her and this passion, like passion for the Lamb of God, seeped out of her and illuminated her like spectral flickers around her moist center and William felt scorched by it. When he pushed his tongue between her willing lips, the insanity of her words recorded and trapped in the soft walls of her mouth, played in his head and recorded its own presence there, contaminating him. He felt himself to be mad sometimes and blamed this entirely on this obsession with his dark princess.

Angelus was nothing to him but a more powerful Vampire who ruled the house. Nothing more. Ever. He thought this and tried to ignore that cold burning sensation as the spike of ice, that was other thoughts of Angelus, burrowed its deceitful way into his brain.

So Angelus being absent was good as far as William was concerned. For one thing, it had given him the opportunity to work on his 'great moment' as he called it in his head, actually being able to visualise the quote marks. William felt himself to be evolving. Something else was emerging from the shell that was William. He felt it. He felt he was no longer, a William. No longer the bookish, pathetic poet that had been the butt of his friends' humour. Now, he was a vicious, inventive killer with a taste for torture and pain that almost rivaled his Sire's. Almost. Now, Angelus was a good name. He had to give scary that. Angelus. It spoke of mysticism and incense and useless prayers to a God that would never protect you from the death that the Vampire was bringing. William smacked of tearooms, wrapping up warmly and doing as your mother told you. So he had decided it was time for a change of name. Trouble was, he just couldn't decide to what. It was important, the names Vampires call themselves. He pushed to one side the destructive thought that it didn't matter what he called himself, he would always be a William and concentrated on his shortlist. He'd gotten it down to three favorites: Wraith, Razor and Shadow. Quite why he had fixed on these three he couldn't have easily said, but they stuck in his mind and seemed to give the necessary impression of grandeur and mystery and strength that he was looking for. Wraith was his favourite at the moment and he often pictured others calling him that to see how it sounded. One thing was for certain, Wraith would never be laughed at, he would not frequent teashops, he would never wear warm clothing and he would never, ever do as his mother told him. Angelus' very unexpected, but welcome three day absence had given William the space to use his new name a few times openly. He felt it didn't sound as good out loud as it did in his head, but it was a work in progress. He had plenty of time to decide. Eternity really, if only he could escape from this dysfunctional Vampire family he had unwittingly inherited and strike out on his own.

The official reason for Angelus' disappearance had never openly been discussed in William's presence by either Darla or Drucilla. But William was not stupid and he had good hearing. There had been a terrible argument between scary and spooky. Spooky had become hysterical and vicious, scary had stormed out of the house with two of his minions. William did not know what the argument had been about, neither did he care really; they seemed to argue all the time lately. They seemed to fuck less too, a fact which would have amused and pleased William no end, purely with the thought of the insatiable Angelus suffering, had it not been for the fact that both Angelus and Darla turned to Drucilla for convenient relief when not getting relief from each other. This obviously distracted Drucilla and took her away from William. She had been up with Darla now for the whole day and although William enjoyed the peace this brought him, he missed her too. He had discovered one thing about unlife in his long year of experiencing it. Mostly, it was boring. Mostly, it consisted of sitting around waiting for the dark with only lunatic demons for company. Mostly, there was very little to do and vampires had acquired a totally undeserved reputation for sexual stamina for the simple reason that, usually unable to think, read, write or do anything else, they turned to sex. It passed the time.

The house was, by now, very quiet. William hadn't bothered ordering candles. He never liked risking the minions defying him when Angelus wasn't there. It would have undermined his already curious and undefined role as a Childe of the household. He had never quite worked out what the difference between minion and Childe was other than the fact that he was ignored and belittled whilst Angelus conferred, planned and worked closely with his trusted minions. So in the absence of candles the room in which William sat was not only quiet but was also gloomy and rather depressing. He felt fortunate to have his cigarettes and his thoughts for company, two things in his threatening life that never let him down.

He was surprised, however, a few moments later to hear the front door of the house fly open and crash loudly against the wall and to hear a loud voice bellowing and singing hideously off key. This was unbelievable because that was Angelus: Angelus who always moved as stealthily as an invisible cat. There was no doubt about it; that noise, that intrusion was Angelus. Angelus was clearly, very, very drunk.

William had never seen Angelus drunk before. He couldn't quite recall ever seeing him drink at all. Darla often claimed that she had first met Angelus in a pub, drunk and that she had lured him still drunk into an alley and turned him. William didn't know how true this claim was, but it seemed extremely reasonable to him that if being bitten and pressed to Darla's breasts had been the outcome of Angelus' excessive drinking on his last night as a human, it was entirely understandable that Angelus would never want to drink again. Obviously this thought was clouded by William's endless hatred of and revulsion for Darla and every part of her, particularly her breasts which she pumped up and showed off at any and every opportunity.

William was now glad, as he listened to Angelus holler for Darla and crash uncertainly but loudly through the house, that he had not called for candles and that he was hidden in the deep gloom of the empty room. He didn't like Angelus sober. Drunk, Angelus was a terrifying thought.

A brief flicker of concern crossed his mind for Drucilla as Angelus eventually found his way to the master bedroom where the women had passed the day. But it was only a flicker. Darla would no doubt fall on Angelus in a three-day, no-orgasm-frenzy and divert the drunken demon before he could unleash any unwanted attention on Drucilla.

It was with enormous surprise, therefore, that William heard Darla screeching loudly at Angelus when he reached the bedroom. And not the sort of screeching she usually indulged in on seeing her Childe. No, this was fury. This was unleashed anger. This was venom. Darla apparently didn't like drunks and wouldn't tolerate the smell of alcohol or the smell of Angelus in his current state. William let the delicious thought of Darla in her previous incarnation, being bought and poked by successive New World drunks, flit across his mind. He liked remembering that Darla was nothing more than a dead prostitute. It amused him to think this when she puffed up her chest and strutted around like the Bitchqueen from hell, giving him orders. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming and being bolted securely from the inside.

William smirked to himself. He hoped Angelus was hard, aching, weeping and desperate for it. Because now he would suffer. Now he might have to use one of Darla's maid minions, and that would belittle the great, high and mighty Angelus. Anything that pricked Angelus' self-inflated balloon was fine in William's book. He lit another cigarette and considered turning in himself. With Drucilla locked in with the spooky one he guessed he was sleeping alone again. He wasn't tired though, was slightly hungry and had been thinking and smoking too much, three things he usually found kept him awake.

He turned his head to gaze out at the moon, which was sending cold rays of illumination through the lattice and on to his pale skin. He heard, therefore, rather than saw, Angelus come into the room. He heard a soft thud, a muffled curse and a crash as fire irons were swept away by Angelus' angry reaction to tripping over the rug and crashing into the fireplace. Fortunately for Angelus, William had not called for the fire to be lit either. Looking at Angelus now, sprawled where the fire would have been had he had the courage to call the minions, William was rather sorry he had been such a coward. But he didn't have time to explore that thought and picture Angelus roasting on an open fire because Angelus, here, now, was not good. Angelus, here, now, needed to be thought about urgently. William desperately hoped that Angelus' appearance in the room was a total coincidence and that he had not been noticed, half hidden as he was by the thick curtain.

Not so. Angelus picked himself up with difficulty from the floor and staggered over to the windowsill where William was sitting.

Oh bloody hell.

He sat down too and peered balefully at William as if William were the cause and continuance of all his troubles.

'Whatya doin'?'

William wasn't sure how to answer this. Not because he couldn't think what to say to such a simple question. After all, he could have easily replied; 'smoking', or, 'just sitting here', or even, 'what do you think I'm doing you evil, drunken whoremaster'. No, it was the fact that this was the first question Angelus had ever put directly to him in all of this long year, which rather bewildered him. The first time almost his Sire had ever spoken to him. And over a year the absence of such communication had not gone unnoticed by William. He was somewhat at a loss how to reply, therefore, not having had direct experience of how 'not to anger Daddy', something Drucilla was well versed in. But whatever, he guessed the drunken whoremaster jibe was not the most judicious and opted instead for a totally non-committal reply that would not earn him either a beating or a prolonged evening listening to Angelus' drunken ramblings.

'Looking at the moon.'

'Why?'

Bugger. He was hoping his reply would immediately bore Angelus, smacking as it did of poetry and romantic things and that being Angelus, who had the romantic heart of a dead troll, he would just go. William did not like sitting this close to Angelus, he did not like Angelus looking at him, he did not like Angelus talking to him and most particularly he did not like Angelus breathing on him. Drunken Angelus was breathing and drunken Angelus was breathing noxious alcohol fumes at him. William was disgusted in equal measure by the smell of second hand alcohol and by the fact that he had found he had something in common with the Bitchqueen, something he had thought would never happen. Except of course for their fondness for Drucilla in their beds but he preferred not to dwell on that. Ever. William discovered he did not like the smell of alcohol either.

'Are ya goin' ter answer me lad?'

So, why did he like looking at the moon? Good question and one that deserved a good answer. Yes, drunken, hated Sire deserved a good answer because he had been thoughtful enough to ask one question…NO!… two questions now to his youngest male Childe in the whole year since his turning.

'Because I can't look at the sun anymore.'

Angelus continued to stare at William. William visibly saw in his mind's eye Angelus' hand creeping to the thick leather belt he wore. He saw the belt being removed and the flicker from the leather as it whipped towards him. He almost felt the sting as it connected with his unprotected face. Angelus was quick to anger and slow to vent that anger on his victims.

William was therefore alarmed, astonished and slightly sickened when instead of moving to beat him, Angelus slowly blinked his eyes, a slow sensual movement that released two large teardrops, one from each eye. William watched in fascinated horror as the tears rolled down Angelus' face, drying and disappearing before they reached his jaw line. William kept his eyes fastened on that jaw line. Nothing, nothing in this world or the next could have made him lift his eyes to look directly at Angelus again. Oh unholy night! Angelus might actually start to cry! William would honestly have said he'd rather see Angelus aiming his belt at him than see Angelus cry on him. And oh, wasn't the cold trail of that deceitful ice shard working its way into his brain again. He hated Angelus. He loathed Angelus. He was disgusted by Angelus. He forced those thoughts to the fore of his mind and tried to mentally warm the ice thoughts and make them melt away.

But eventually, like the swaying cobra mesmerized by the flute, William was forced to look directly at his Sire again. Angelus, thank the unholies, was not actually crying, but his eyes were full of unshed tears and this served to emphasis their deep, dark brown, unearthly beauty. Angelus' eyes were beautiful. William could almost feel the icicles forming unheeded in his brain. Treacherous thoughts. Bad thoughts. Angelus' eyes were not beautiful; he had to cling to that belief. He hated Angelus. He loathed Angelus. He was disgusted by Angelus. That was his mantra and he needed to repeat it.

Things then went rapidly from bad to worse because Angelus reached out his hand and laid it on William's knee. And blinked again. Hand on knee and two more tears. This was awful. William actually felt slightly nauseous. He had absolutely no idea what to do for the best. Staying here was not an option. God knows what Angelus might do next. He might try to apologize for the year of neglect. He might want to talk about Darla. Oh no, anything but that! William tried to move his knee away, without actually moving it and upsetting the drunken, very large Vampire more. Angelus only increased his grip and leant his head on the cold glass of the window.

'She dinna love me anymore, Will.'

Fuck. The talk about Darla option. What had he done to deserve this? He did not want a rambling tirade from Angelus about how Darla didn't understand him. And had Angelus just called him Will? To William's knowledge, Angelus didn't even know he was called William, let alone now calling him Will. He almost took the opportunity to tell Angelus that he was, in fact, called Wraith, but it sounded silly in his head as the words formed so he kept quiet.

Angelus looked down at his hand on William's knee. 'Aye lad, she's jealous. She knows. She's wise is ma Sire, ma beautiful Sire.' He choked on the last rendition of the word, Sire, and started kneading Spike's knee painfully, as if trying to make bread with the hard, fleshless bones.

William had the bizarre thought that maybe Angelus was having an affair and almost spluttered out loud at this. He pictured some human female somewhere fancying herself in love with the Vampire. He could see how that might upset Darla a little. He didn't know, being a virgin when he was turned, but he had a feeling that Vampire cunt would not compare favorably with that of human cunt. He had always thought of Darla anyway, as being cold, unwholesome and slightly rank. He imagined living women to be fragrant, warm and delicious, although he doubted now he would ever have the chance to try one. Well, a volunteer one anyway.

If William thought the evening had reached rock bottom he was sadly mistaken because having given up trying to get a rise out of his knee, Angelus decided to use it as a cushion instead and laid his head sadly down to rest in the crook where William had it bent up on the seat. William now effectively had Angelus' head in his lap and Angelus' long, soft hair spilling out over his thighs and…other areas he did not want to think about lest that ice in his mind spread out till he could not function for the destruction of his rational mind that usually held the ice effectively in check.

William felt ridiculous. He didn't know where to put his hands. He sort of hovered them for a while in the air then laid them softly on Angelus' hair because there was really nowhere else left for them to go.

Angelus' hair felt like a memory.

It felt like a memory of sunlight and watching flecks of dust spiral in a sunbeam that was illuminating long, blond hair. Hair that had belonged to the person who had loved him the most in the world and who had told him that there were no such things as monsters. And, with the memory of that sunbeam hot in his mind, the ice in his head finally melted and like waters breaking, his unbidden, unwanted thoughts about Angelus flooded his mind. Angelus, the God-like figure he adored. Angelus, the one he desperately wanted to want him. Angelus the center of his dead world and the light in his perpetual darkness. He had the creature he loved most in the world in his lap. He was alone with him for a few precious minutes before reality returned. And William knew that nothing would be the same for him again because once melted, he couldn't refreeze these thoughts. Once admitted, there was no going back for him. He loved Angelus, had always loved Angelus, he needed him and he wanted him.

Quite what that want consisted of he couldn't yet have said. William's self knowledge was so very poor that it had taken him this whole year to admit to himself that he didn't hate Angelus. The want part of all of this was still very vague in his mind. He had romantic notions of how a Sire and Childe…a Sire and male Childe…a male Sire and male Childe should be and it had a heroic, manly touch to it. He imagined noble warrior-like bonding rituals and deep, undying platonic friendship. How he therefore explained away in his own mind the insistent erection that Angelus' head in his lap had brought on, he couldn't have said. It puzzled him and it was his erection! He put it down to the pressure and weight of Angelus' head and nothing more. It obviously couldn't be the feel of Angelus' hair or the slight rubbing movements Angelus was making with his head in William's lap.

Uh? Hold on one minute! Was Angelus actually rubbing his head in William's lap? Was Angelus rubbing his cheek against William's erect cock?

William had absolutely no idea what he would do if things continued to develop along the scary lines they were now.

He'd been having sex for just one year. Before that, in his human life, he'd been all too aware of the many risks of having sex before a safe, secure marriage. He didn't fancy the act enough to risk it with a whore and he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a nice girl. So one year of sex, on and off with Drucilla when she wasn't pleasuring one of the others was the sum of his experience.

Lying in Dru's arms he had often thought, as he listened to the screams, howls, panting, grunting, chanting and pleading coming from his Sire's room that he was missing some vital element in the whole sex act thing. He could hardly ask Drucilla. She was convinced that his cock was a separate person from him, frequently talked to it and sometimes tried to dress it in Miss Edith's clothes. So he didn't much trust Dru's judgement on matters of the bed. As no one else spoke to him, he was a bit limited in his avenues of research on the subject. But whatever, he knew with a certainty born of intelligent intuition, that his experience of sex did not match Angelus' or Darla's. William had never screamed, howled, panted, shouted or begged and neither had Drucilla. She sometimes sang, but he felt that to be entirely coincidental rather than pleasure induced.

Listening to activities in the other room made him confused though, for as he most certainly didn't want to be the cause of any noises in Darla, except perhaps for a final huff as she turned to dust, then just who did he want to induce those noises in? Did he really picture himself replacing Darla? Did he imagine himself lying under Angelus as, with his head thrown back, Angelus came with urgent cries and deep hard thrusts deep into his slim, hard body? He was fairly sure he didn't want this. He was fairly certain that the thought of what some men did with other men in bed, was disgusting. Illegal and disgusting. He couldn't think of a cock going…there without revulsion. Could he? Surely that was by definition, totally unnatural? Surely there was only one use for that place and not a pleasant use at that. But then, of course, that was not something he now had to worry about; was it? Now, he was freed from the more unpleasant side of human waste removal. He had no waste and thus, no need to remove it. Not that this interesting vampire attribute had been explained to him by any of his useless, mad new family. Oh no, he'd suffered weeks of worry and anxiety and useless mixing of bran into his blood before he'd realised that that side of his previous life was over.

So, technically, there was nothing to revolt him in thinking about Angelus' cock in his backside.

So he thought about it for a while as Angelus pressed and rolled his head in William's lap. He continued to think pleasantly about it until Angelus turned his head and put his mouth over the front of William's britches and started biting and licking at the swelling he found there.

Now, William had been willing to give Angelus the benefit of the doubt that he was drunk and that lying in William's lap he had been completely unaware of the effect he was having by pressing with his head and rolling it around a little. Biting and licking at his cock was more difficult to explain away as a drunken aberration.

It appeared that Angelus had been thinking about William's cock and / or William's backside too. Two cocks. Two backsides. William was not especially good at arithmetic, preferring poetry and other easy subjects, but even he could work out the number of potential permutations there. Angelus then added a new factor to the equation. Mouth. Angelus unbuttoned William's britches and released his cock and took it in his mouth. Two cocks, two backsides and two mouths…should he work that out as a linear increase or an exponential one? William felt a little exponential at this very moment. He had just discovered one thing he had entirely missed out on for the last year of his new found sexual life. He had never had a talented mouth on his cock, a mouth that belonged to a body that had its own cock and, therefore, knew exactly where to lick, what and when to suck and how long to do both those things for.

Angelus was clearly talented, enthused and very, very, insistent. William hissed at the feel of his hard cock in Angelus' soft mouth and reared back against the cold glass. The moonlight was, by now, the only light in the room and it cast Angelus' head in a white, eerie glow. William felt detached from reality. Angelus, who only a few minutes ago he'd have said he hated, or at least didn't think much about at all, had William's cock deep in his throat and had…oh, sweet unholy one…and had started a deep, strong, humming against the sensitive tip which was pressed against the back vibrating wall.

William finally felt a sensation that did indeed make him want to scream. He satisfied the urge, however, by merely panting. Even in this moment of bliss he was able to have the very clear thought that a scream in the house at this quiet hour of the night would not be good.

So he just panted and came.

Just like that. Hard, fast spurting deep into Angelus' throat. Waves of fierce pleasure erupted from his balls, along his swollen shaft and pumped out of the opening slit. He felt waves of pure physical pleasure that made his nerve endings frazzle in his toes, made him dig his nails deeply into Angelus' scalp, made him screw his eyes tightly shut and see colours explode behind the lids. He continued to pump his cold sperm into Angelus' mouth long after he usually dried up on Drucilla. But then Drucilla didn't do the humming thing and therefore didn't also manage the exquisite counterpoint with her tongue on the underside of his shaft that Angelus managed. Dru didn't use her lips like a whirlpool sucking him down. Dru, clearly, was just not Angelus. The very thought of his powerful, remote, scary Sire doing this was so unexpected and erotic it made William find yet a few more drops of cum from somewhere and add them to the gallons he seemed to have pumped into Angelus already.

He now had no idea what he was supposed to do or what Angelus was going to do. Whatever he'd expected, William had not expected Angelus to rear up and catch his face in his hands. He didn't expect Angelus to press his mouth to his own and urge entry with his insistent tongue. He certainly didn't expect kissing. He'd only imagined cold bodies entering each other in the dark. He'd imagined remote physical acts involving that interesting mathematical equation of cock-plus-cock-plus-backside, squared, times mouth, times-two. He'd not even considered ever kissing a man and certainly never kissing Angelus. Angelus who he had tried to hate. Angelus who now smelt powerfully of the drink he had clearly consumed in vast quantities that day.

William suddenly found a whole new meaning in the idea of drinking spirits. Spirits. Forever, he felt these spirits would haunt him. Forever, the slightest whiff of this whisky, gin, beer and rum combination would bring him back to this time, to this room, to this window seat, to the feel of this demon kissing him with this pale moonlight illuminating these pale features. Spirits indeed. For the rest of his unlife he would be haunted by these spirits, perhaps forever trying to find in the bottom of a bottle where the spirits lived, the key that would unlock this memory for him and make it real once more.

He hoped that he would find it, because he had very quickly decided that kissing Angelus was much nicer than hating him. Kissing his Sire sent shocks down the nerves in his spinal column. Kissing Angelus made William come alive again. Kissing Angelus made William grab at Angelus' hair and try desperately to get more. It made him open his mouth to try and swallow Angelus whole, it made him harden again and thrust this hardness against Angelus' stomach. It made him want to scream again. It made him desperately want Angelus inside him in other, more intimate ways.

The kissing took away the very last of William's restraint. He wanted Angelus' cock, he wanted it buried deep inside him and he wanted it now.

Chapter 2

Spike woke a start in the deep, comfortable bed they had made their own for the last few months they had been in Prague. He took a few slow, unnecessary breaths and turned to the still sleeping Drucilla. He pulled her close to him and took a deep smell of her hair. It always reassured him to hold and smell Drucilla. It made him feel safe and secure and took away the fear of the dream. In all his scary existent, Drucilla was the constant against which he measured the extent of his own change. She had not changed at all from the mad, beautiful, mysterious vampire he had inherited nearly one hundred years ago. She looked the same, acted the same and thought the same. She even wore the same style of dress. All of this reassured Spike and gave him some continuity in this rapidly changing world. Because Spike had changed a great deal from the William creature he had just dreamed of. He was so no longer William that the dream almost had no power to affect him. Almost. Because he had to admit to himself, it did. It did affect him. He yearned every day to dream it, but feared it too, because although the dream brought Angelus back to him, at the very same time it effectively reminded him of the moment that had fucked up his entire unlife. Forever. It reminded him of the moment when Angelus had fucked him up for the rest of his unlife. And he had special reason to be dreaming it today. Oh yes, Spike had very good reason to be remembering his dead Sire today.

Spike knew he would sleep no more that day. He was resigned to lying awake next to the sleeping Drucilla with the heat of the room oppressing him. He was resigned to the fact that he could not return to and finish his dream. But he could remember, he remembered stuff very well. He particularly remembered that night. Every long moment of it.

Angelus had not sobered up from the effects of diluting some of the alcohol he’d consumed with a few pints of Childe cum. Rather the opposite. The heady mixture seemed to have tipped the balance from large Irish vampire who was very drunk, to drunken thing that might once have been a vampire. He pulled away from kissing William and tried to catch his Childe’s face in his hands again, missed and lurched over William against the window. He cursed and shifted position on the window seat effectively losing his balance and tumbling to the floor where he lay face down giggling.

William tidied himself up a bit, put his still hard cock away, buttoned his britches and tried to decide if, given Angelus’ inebriated state, he’d make it to the door before Angelus realized he’d gone. Much as William had enjoyed the exquisite orgasm he’d had in Angelus’ mouth and as much as he’d enjoyed the kissing and as ready as he was for exploring more with his Sire, he also wanted to get away quietly by himself and think all this over. He knew this was pathetic and not worthy of a Wraith, but nevertheless, it was what he wanted to do. He had a lot of new things to think about. He stood up and tried to step quietly over Angelus, but it was not to be. A large, strong hand held his ankle in a painfully tight grip and Angelus rolled over onto his side trying unsuccessfully to prop his head up with his other hand.

William decided to be bold. He had nothing to lose really and he might as well get proverbially hung for a sheep as for a lamb.

‘It’s late, Sire. Please let go. I want to go to bed now.’

William expected Angelus to fly into one of his hormonal rages at this so was alarmed, yet again, when his simple words seemed to wring nothing but anguish from the slightly unfocused demon on the floor.

‘Aye, Will, it is. It’s very late and I’m not meself. I’m drunk. I am. Drunk. I’ve been drinking.’ Angelus stopped and seemed impressed by his own admission as if he thought that, as no one had noticed he was drunk, it was pretty decent of him to admit it. But as all drunks do, he clearly liked the sound of his own voice and soon continued. ‘She knows you see.’

Angelus was clearly fed up with trying to talk to a Childe standing over him, because one moment William was preparing to leave and the next he was flipped on his backside by Angelus pulling his feet out from under him. Angelus struggled to sit up too and they sat side by side against the wall under the window.

‘How did she find out lad?’ Angelus looked to William, looked deep into his eyes, as if the answer to this mysterious question lay in their blue depths. William knew this to be unlikely, given he had absolutely no idea what Angelus was talking about.

He broke eye contact, fished in his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one, hoping he was looking mature, hard and rather Wraith-like.

He was actually debating giving in to his earlier, baser desires and trying something more with Angelus. The oral sex already seemed a dim, unreal memory. He wanted to recapture that mood, but couldn’t think how. Angelus was still muttering to himself when he suddenly turned to William and laid his hands on the side of his face - albeit rather unsteadily, with the merest of trembles.

Angelus’ eyes were deeply troubled again; his considerable forehead lowered, giving the impression of serious thought. William wasn’t fooled for a minute, he knew all of this was mood and emotion found at the bottom of a bottle.

‘I think she smelt me thoughts of you lad.’ Angelus gave a wise nod to himself and sank his head on William’s shoulder.

What thoughts? William hadn’t seen much evidence over the past year that Angelus thought at all, let alone that he thought about his youngest Childe. But given that Angelus was quietly sobbing on his shoulder, in the fashion drunks are wont to; he didn’t have the heart to point this out to him.

‘Then I cried yer name, Will. Oh Will, I cried yer name, to her! In me passion, I cried yer name and she knew. What am I ter do?’

William ground out his cigarette, pushed Angelus off his shoulder and this time grasped his Sire’s face in his own hands. Because this was getting ridiculous and it was starting to get him angry. He had been quite willing to give in to the overwhelming knowledge that he actually loved Angelus. After all, if he was put over a rack and tortured for a few days, he would probably admit that he had known this quite well over the whole of the last year, but the weakness this implied had just pissed him off, so he’d gotten all poetical picturing ice shards and the like. Too much thinking again. He just had to stop that. But, (and this was a big but, with quote marks and even underlining), he was not prepared for Angelus to start any stupid crap about how he really loved William and thought of William.

Angelus could keep his bottle-induced passion and leave him alone.

So when he spoke, his voice was far more dominant than usual and he took a tone he sometimes risked with the minions, but never, ever before with Angelus.

‘You don’t even know my bloody name half the time, so what the hell are you talking about?’ He was tempted to add, ‘Sire’, in an insulting tone at the end of this, but held it back. Even drunk, Angelus scared him a bit and he didn’t want to provoke him too much.

Angelus’ eyes filled up again and he put his hands dramatically to his chest like an actor strutting on a stage, indicating that William’s words had wounded him to his core. The effect of this was slightly ruined when he lost his balance on the wall and started sliding sideward, but he hauled himself back up to sitting and resumed his dramatic pose.

‘William, Childe, I love thee. Didn’t ye know? Yer all I think about, day an’ night, ye haunt me thoughts, Will. Oh, tell me ye knew this. Oh, tell me do!’

William’s jaw dropped open. He wished he had thought to count the words Angelus had just slurred out, because he was utterly convinced they were more than Angelus had ever said to him before. An unlifetime of words in one go.

And what words

He could think of nothing useful to say, so he just echoed Angelus in a weak, girlie voice. ‘Love me?’

In answer, Angelus attempted to kiss William again, but he was clearly beginning to suffer the effects of the drinking more as each minute passed. He missed William’s mouth and placed a fumy, wet kiss on his jaw. William didn’t mind as it gave him the opportunity to collect himself and regain the upper hand. He grabbed Angelus’ shoulders and even shook him a fraction.

‘You! Love Me!’ He looked Angelus straight in the eye…well, straight in one eye; Angelus’ other eye seemed to be sliding alarmingly off focus to one side. ‘You are very, very drunk. You have been refused your Sire’s bed. You are just looking for a convenient hole. Don’t…don’t try to confuse THIS, with love. You don’t have the right. You don’t know what love is. Oh, and do you know what? I hate you!’ William sat back with a satisfied look on his face. He tried to tell himself he felt better and that he had aired long held grievances against his Sire, but the churning in his guts told him differently. He’d crossed the line now. No turning back. But, oh! How dare he! How dare Angelus do this to him. He’d used the cheapest, worst, most transparent chat up line any drunk ever used…’I’ve always secretly loved you…didn’t you realise my ignoring you all the time was really my way of showing my abiding passion for you?’ William had the distinct feeling that in pubs around the known world and definitely in Clapham, drunks like Angelus were using that line on easy targets like him, creatures they would despise and belittle in the morning when their lust was sated.

William’s satisfaction with his untrue declaration that he hated Angelus was entirely ruined when Angelus cast him a tortured look and promptly burst into drunken, uninhibited tears. His previously slurred speech now became almost incoherent as he tripped over his words in his haste to try and explain what he wanted to William. He took William’s hand in his own, turning it over and over like a worry bead.

‘Me Gods Will, I knew ye’d think that, I knew. From the first, when she threatened to stake ye, before ye even woke up, I knew. I knew that if I ignored ye like she wanted, like she demanded, ye’d never know, ye’d think I hated you. But oh, love, I couldn’t let ‘er stake ye, I couldn’t. I wanted ye even then, even then when ye lay in me lap, dead and cold, I wanted ye. But she saw through me, she knew me, saw that look in me eye which should ‘ave been for her. Oh, Will…’ Angelus now hauled himself up to kneeling in front of the astounded William, leaning on him and pinning his shoulders to the wall. He came in close, putting his face right up to William’s as if by bridging the gap between their bodies, he could bridge the emotional gap that existed between them. ‘Didn’t ye feel it, William, when ye came around? The arguments, the tension, didn’t you know it was all about you? Every time I went to you, she fought me, every time I threatened to leave with you; she said she’d kill you. Oh Will, it was all to protect you, my Childe, my little one.’ He was sobbing so hard now, William had trouble working his words out at all and he did want to work them out now. He wanted that a lot, because suddenly things were starting to make a great deal of sense to William. All the things he had sensed and thought that were strange about this new family of his and his position in it were now becoming clear.

Because he believed Angelus.

His intuition told him that this drunken, but heartfelt declaration, explained the things he had sensed from Angelus but had never been able to explain to himself. The feeling that Angelus was watching him all the time, the feeling that Angelus said things to him that William did not hear out loud. William tipped his head slightly to one side, studying his distraught Sire. And that simple move seemed to push Angelus over the edge of the emotion he was trying to hold in, for at that look from his Childe, he swiftly took Will in his arms and seemed to be trying to swallow him whole, so passionate was his kiss.

William fell into the kiss with an abandon he had not allowed himself when Angelus kissed him earlier. Now, he was kissing the Sire who loved him. And that was a great deal better than kissing someone he loved one-sidedly. He put everything into the kiss that had disturbed or upset him over the previous, hideous year; all the longing, all the hurt, all the questioning was pushed into Angelus mouth by William’s insistent tongue for it to be absorbed and soothed by his Sire’s powerful essence. William knelt up too to get better access to Angelus’ mouth. William felt that time stood entirely still in the room. In his fertile mind he felt that there was only Sire and Childe, united at last, in a passion that both of them wanted and needed. William now felt his existence had been justified. This was what he had been made for. This is where he was needed and where he fitted best; his mouth on Angelus’ mouth, his tongue clashing and moving with Angelus’ tongue, his hair being pulled and twisted by Angelus’ strong hands and his…ahh, William’s agile mind swiftly darted down to where his cock was now pressed into Angelus’ groin and Angelus’ very obvious, insistent erection. He wanted his cock inside Angelus too where he felt that would fit best.

He pulled away slightly from Angelus’ mouth to look him in the eye. He saw the same thought there that must have been evident in his eyes. Lust, desire, need, love? He moved his hands slowly down to his Sire’s shirt, keeping his eyes locked with Angelus’. He hadn’t learnt much about Vampire Lore in his long, lonely year, but one thing he had learnt; Childer did not initiate sex with their Sires and male Childer were never, ever allowed to enter their male Sires. It was unthinkable, destructive, dangerous. But he also knew one thing quite clearly. This might be his only opportunity ever of doing just this. Whilst Angelus was drunk, whilst Angelus was emotional. Once he sobered up he would be unlikely to let William do this ever again…even when they were together without Darla, as William knew now they would be…even when there was just the two of them together, forever, as William now saw as his future. He had no idea why Angelus had picked this evening to claim his Childe and frankly didn’t care. He wondered if the three days away had focused Angelus’ mind too. But he knew that this was real for both of them and that Angelus would not renounce him again.

So he continued his slow insistent undressing of Angelus. He ignored the quiet, whispered pleas for him to stop. He took Angelus’ murmured ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and ‘don’t’ to mean, ‘yes’ and ‘again’ and ‘more’. He felt, with a new depth of understanding for his Sire, that what Angelus said was not always what he meant and in this case, 'no', most definitely did mean, 'yes'. So he continued. He gently, but insistently, pushed Angelus back so he was lying on the floor. William lay over him, his hands braced each side of his Sire’s head. Angelus’ eyes were unfocused and his movements unsteady, but William didn’t let this put him off his aim. He moved slowly down Angelus’ body until he had access to the buttons of his britches. He used his tongue for a while over these buttons until he felt Angelus arch to his touch. Given this unmistakable signal, William brought his hands down and slowly started to unbutton each side, alternating his eager finger movements with the occasional licking and biting that Angelus clearly enjoyed.

At last he had his target. He was able to free Angelus’ cock and take it in his hand. William was in an entirely new world now. He had no map for this new land with which to navigate, but strangely he did not feel lost. He felt he was on familiar ground because, after all, what did he have in his hand but something he knew very well? He had a cock, an erect cock and he was very familiar with one of those. What fascinated him and made him so hard he could hardly contain his own urgent orgasm, was wondering just how different, or similar, was Angelus’ cock to his own. He decided to find out.

He started with a tiny lick up the underside, just to see what it would do. If Drucilla did this to his, it twitched and he would rear back on the bed, helpless and desperate. He was extremely pleased, therefore, to discover that Angelus’ cock twitched exactly the same. William even gave a small grin to himself as Angelus reared his hips up to William’s mouth. This was fun. There were many other areas William wanted to explore, so he wasted no time. He moved down so he was lying below Angelus’ cock and looked at the place where the base and balls stretched down to the perineum and on towards that small puckered hole that William was determined would be the final target of his fun tonight.

He wanted to try something on Angelus he could never get Dru to remember to do with him. He took his thumb and just pressed hard on that place at the base of Angelus’ straining cock where it went deep-rooted into his groin. Angelus groaned and laced his fingers in William’s hair and increased the volume of his insistent chant, ‘no, stop, don’t’. William took this for ample encouragement to continue and added a light series of licks up from the place he was pressing to the closed-over tip of Angelus’ cock. He was delighted to discover that Angelus found this as erotic as he did himself because Angelus’ cock surged free of its thick protective foreskin, its glistening tip shining in the cold moonlight that streaked in through the casement.

The sight of the soft, mushroom shape of his Sire’s cock entranced William. He increased the pressure of his thumb whilst moving Angelus’ cock with his other hand so the moonlight moved, rippling across the surface. This seemed to send Angelus to a new level of pleasure because William could distinctly see a trickle of precum leaking from the delicate slit in the otherwise totally smooth head.

William knew exactly what he wanted now. It surprised him, it was not something he’d ever thought he had wanted to do, but it was all he could think of, looking at that small, icy stream. So he did it. He reached up with his tongue and tasted it. As his tongue lapped at the few drops that bubbled out he raised his eyes to Angelus lying above him. He was very pleased to see that his Sire was watching him with keen interest. William couldn’t help giving him a grin and a slow, seductive smile as his licked and nuzzled at the source of this exquisite fluid. It was as good tasting Angelus’ precum, as producing his own!

Angelus who, suspiciously, was now looking much more focused, increased the pressure on William’s head, clearly trying to push his whole cock into William’s mouth. William just cast him another sly grin and swirled his tongue around the tiny slit for a while, strenuously resisting any attempt to push him lower. After a while he got bold and grabbed Angelus’ wrists, pulling them away from his hair, holding them in a firm grip and forcing them down to the floor. He risked a glance up at Angelus and laughed out loud to see him silently laughing at this boldness. Angelus let him hold his wrists pinned to the floor like a father who allows his son to beat him in play fighting.

William didn’t care if he was being humoured. He was very aware that he had managed to move this strange, unexpected night from one of lust, desire and passion, to one of friendship, sharing and fun. He’d done that entirely by himself. He felt very pleased with this turn of events and rewarded Angelus for his new mood by plunging his whole mouth and throat suddenly down onto the cock he had only been playing with. Angelus reared up at the waist, his laughter turning to a frantic hiss.

‘Ye Gods, Childe, where did ye learn to do that? NO! Don’t stop, don’t answer me, but ye’d better not let me find ye…ahh, hell’s dominion…better not let me find ye’ve been with any of the minions doing this…I won’t have it, Will, ye’re mine, do ye hear?’

William did and he decided to reply with a prolonged ‘um’. Which was the best he could do given he had eight inches solid vampire shaft in his mouth. He grinned inwardly as the effects of this deep vibration caused Angelus to start unnecessary panting as his eyes rolled back theatrically in his head.

He knew exactly what Angelus must be feeling because William had recently enjoyed this very treatment from his Sire. He sincerely hoped Angelus did not give way to a temptation to scream and just to make sure he let go one wrist and clamped the palm of his hand securely over Angelus’ mouth. William's humming ‘um’, therefore, was changed to deeper, lower, 'ahhs' when Angelus’ tongue flicked out and started licking the palm that was silencing him. The 'ahhs' turned to silent screams of pleasure when Angelus’ fangs descended into the soft flesh at the base of his Childe's thumb. Angelus ripped the tendon open and greedily sucked the tempting thumb in a mirror image of William sucking his cock. The two vampires lay joined in a circle of need. William felt his Sire wouldn’t last much longer and tried to make a counterpoint with his tongue on the underside of Angelus' cock, exactly as the one that had earlier brought him to his own explosive orgasm. He could feel himself getting slightly light-headed from the blood loss from sucking on his hand. It was like the feeling he got from chain smoking, a buzz, a moving to a place where he felt bolder, better, bigger. He found the rhythm with his tongue he was looking for and felt rewarded by Angelus increasing the sucking on his hand until, feeling an impending orgasm, Angelus released the bloody thumb from his mouth, pulled free of William’s other hand and placed both his hands on the back of his Childe’s head. With Angelus helping, William found just the right, final few thrusts and they brought him off together in an endless eruption of cum in William’s mouth.

William felt Angelus’ sperm splash against the back wall of his throat.

Is this what Dru felt when she sucked him off?

If so, why didn’t she fall on his cock every time she saw him, desperate for him in her mouth? Why did he have to ask her to do this? Why? He had never felt so charged, so alive, even more than when he had been alive. The taste of Angelus’ cum, the smell of him in his orgasm, the feel of his hands in William’s hair, he had found his true home and in their future together William determined he would do this whenever, wherever he could. Eventually the stream of cum rushing down his throat stopped and William, knowing how sensitive Angelus’ cock would now be, released it gently from his mouth, being careful not to touch the delicate tip until Angelus was ready again.

Fortunately for William, Angelus’ cock was only about eight inches of him, there was another six foot two at least that William wanted to explore. He knew the final place he intended to end up in, but he had a long journey planned to that place. Angelus had an agenda too; he pulled William up for another long, deep kiss. Incredibly, there was something new to their kisses yet again. Each time they kissed, they moved on a stage from the previous one. This one was the best so far because along with the passion and need, was the fun and friendship they’d discovered earlier. It seemed Angelus didn’t know whether to kiss, or laugh at, his newly-discovered, delightful, talented Childe’s boldness, so they just nipped at each other, kissing, pulling away, laughing, playing with lips, teeth, and tongues.

William was the first to break away; he looked at Angelus with a cheeky grin and placed his blunt, human teeth directly onto the soft front of Angelus’ throat. It wasn’t one of the things he’d planned to do whist exploring Angelus’ body but the play kissing with his Sire had emboldened him. Besides, his thumb was hurting like hell and he felt he was owed a bit of a top up. He waited for Angelus to give him permission. He’d never done this, had never even allowed himself to dream of this exquisite privilege, so he waited expectantly. Angelus lay still for the merest of moments then stretched his neck back giving William the taste and feel of the skin stretched tight over his Adam's apple. William took this for the permission he sought and delicately pierced Angelus’ throat with his fangs. He used his utmost skill and finesse with the precious thing he had in his power. One more fraction of pressure and a hot spurt of the most desired fluid in vampire existence, shot with living force down his throat. The contrast of hot, following on from the cold cum, was sensational. But soon, all thought was lost to William as he drank deep and long from this, the essence and core of his beloved Sire. Angelus moved his hands to William's back and made soft, sensual movements in small circles to encourage his Childe's feeding. William lay entirely on Angelus, their cocks rubbing together, William's urgent one bringing Angelus' back to life, their stomachs hard against each other, their chests flat and matching and fitting. Angelus lifted his hands from William's back and stretched his arms luxuriantly above his head. William lifted his arms too and they entwined fingers, Angelus stretching William's arms up till his sockets ached, but he continued to feed. His stomach filled and swelled with Angelus' blood. It enriched him, made him feel powerful and ancient. It made him feel, for the first time, pure demon. He felt the human parts of his complex personality dissolve away in this potent demon flood. He knew that in their new, soon-to-be life together, he would quickly lose those last few, unwanted human traits if he were allowed to feed often like this.

Eventually though, Angelus ended William's feast. He disentangled his fingers from William's, lowered his arms and pushed William gently away. When his Childe didn't immediately relinquish his hold, Angelus started a low, Sire growl of warning. William tensed and instantly pulled away, looking up at Angelus, desperately hoping he hadn't transgressed and ruined this precious time. When he saw Angelus' amused look, he grinned back and slowly licked his lips in a sensual and heartfelt, 'thank you'. Angelus grinned too and for a minute both lay there, still and content, William stretched and comfortable on Angelus. Each studied the other's face, these well-known, but strangely new faces, each feeling as if he were seeing the other's true face for the first time.

William had always thought his Sire ancient, powerful, grim. He'd never really seen how young the human aspect of him really was. Lying relaxed under his Childe, he hardly looked as old as William himself. It was an aspect of his Sire that shocked him and made him feel protective towards him. For the first time, William wondered what unlife was really like for Angelus. From William's perspective this year, it had seemed Angelus had it all. He had the power, the command and the authority. He had minions at his beck and call and two beautiful Vampire Queens to gratify his every sexual urge.

Now, William wondered what Angelus thought about his responsibility. Who did he confide in? What did he fear? William saw a huge hole in his Sire's life that he wanted to fill. Their future together was looking better every minute. From the lover he'd first thought of being, to the friend he'd recently discovered he could be, to the support he felt he was needed for…William saw his role becoming more and more clearly defined. William saw just how perfectly they fitted together.

He broke his gaze away from Angelus' hypnotic eyes and slithered his body down until he had access to his Sire's broad, smooth chest. His own arousal at the sight of Angelus' flat, brown nipples fascinated William. He had always thought of himself as a breast man. He liked cupping Drucilla's soft breasts in his hands, pumping them up, pinching and sucking at her nipples, shaking her to make her breasts wobble, making her top him so he could watch them hang, pendulous over his face.

But now, he could not imagine or remember anything more erotic than this very wide, very flat chest. He moved his hands in a sweeping motion from Angelus' belly up his sternum and flaring them out over his nipples. Angelus bent his arms behind his head to raise himself up a little and using them like a cushion, settled in to watch his Childe's exploration.

Angelus' nipples soon responded to this sensuous treatment. The next time William's hands moved over them they were hard like pellets from a shotgun. William pinched them up and cast a shy glance at Angelus. He could never get Dru interested in his and he often wondered if he was abnormal in the delightful sensations his own nipples could give him. The object of his speculation responded to his quizzical glance by biting down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood. He gave a nod of approval to William and smiled. Needing no more encouragement, William bent down and took one of the perfect, hard spheres in his mouth. It was like sucking on a tiny boiled sweet. He flicked his tongue over it and gently, teasingly, nibbled with his human teeth. He moved over to the other side. He felt he knew exactly what Angelus was feeling, felt somehow a direct connection between Angelus' nipples and his own body. He actually felt his own balls tingle and contract as he bit his Sire's nipples. He didn’t want to come yet, so he moved away from the nipples, ignoring the groan of protest from the watching vampire, to concentrate on the next area on his journey: Angelus' belly.

This exquisite area of flesh was hard, yet luxuriant. Quite different from William's own lean, hungry one. He probed around Angelus' belly button with his tongue, licked a trail from one side to the other, but couldn’t resist for much longer the potent draw of Angelus' soft curls. He buried his face in them, drinking deeply of his Sire's aroma. He wanted to embed the scent of his Sire into his memory banks. His demon, like a wolf, wanted to learn his Sire's scent.

But the moment had come now. William didn’t want to delay any more. He had traveled the length of Angelus' body and arrived back where he had started, at the place of entry. William pushed Angelus' legs up and away from him. He didn't catch Angelus' eye, he didn’t want to force his Sire to stop him. They both knew this was transgression beyond what any Sire should tolerate.

William started gently licking and blowing on Angelus' cheeks, each lick moving closer to the tightly closed hole he wanted open and receiving…each lick bringing him closer to the Promised Land.

William's entire world imploded and focused on this tiny area of puckered Sire flesh.

Chapter 3

Angelus groaned a deep, low groan at William’s actions. So he got bolder and, sucking one finger, he pushed the tip gently against the tight hole in front of him. The entrance ring of strong vampire muscle stayed firmly closed. William was surprised how resistant it was. This time he bit his finger and used the gush of blood to ease entry. With one firm push he was inside his Sire. Only now did he look up. If Angelus looked angry, he knew he’d have to stop. They were defying ancient, immutable lore. Angelus held William’s gaze for moment then slowly and seductively eased the tip of his tongue out from between his lips in a mirror image of William’s fingertip in him. When he was sure his Childe was concentrating, he started flicking his tongue in and out. William felt an erotic charge fizzle down his spine and started moving his finger to match the rhythm of Angelus’ tongue. He grinned to himself when Angelus immediately grunted with pleasure and bit down on his own tongue, drawing blood. William looked down and concentrated on his task. He watched his finger disappear into the hole. He watched as the muscle stretched and gave to his thrusting. He desperately wanted to know what this felt like and hoped that Angelus would waste no time showing him once they were together. He was lost in the moment, finding his rhythm when suddenly Angelus let out a high-pitched squeak, sat up wide-eyed and started panting deep, unnecessary breaths. ‘Oh, fuck, Will!’

William was shocked. No one had ever used that word in his hearing before, except for the dead prostitute. That word was almost as shocking coming from his Sire’s lips than anything else that had happened tonight. Naturally he stopped, wondering what had upset his Sire so. He was amazed, therefore, when Angelus grabbed his hand and practically tried to force the bloody finger back in. ‘Oh God, Will, find that spot again!’

‘What spot?’ William was genuinely at a loss; this was all experimental and new to him.

‘I don’t know. Just try. Please!’

That was too much. He’d had Angelus drunk, Angelus sucking him off, Angelus kissing him, crying on him, allowing him to feed off him, laughing with him, swearing at him and now he had Angelus begging him. He decided he liked Angelus begging best of all. Angelus begging made William very, very hard indeed. And being very hard he felt like pushing his cock into Angelus and seeing if he could use that to find this interesting spot again. He knelt up on his heels and holding Angelus’ gaze, started slowly and teasingly unbuttoning the front of his britches. Angelus’ eyes flew open even more. William knew he was surprising his Sire a lot tonight. He reached into the now loose front and pulled out his penis.

They looked at each other once more. Angelus’ pupils were dilated and he was still panting. He drew his legs up a bit more and gave William a view of his hole as William worked his cock lightly, planning to use his cool, seeping precum as lubrication. William closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. This was undreamt of. He opened them again to capture in his mind forever the picture of Angelus lying on the floor waiting for him with his legs stretched up and his aching hole exposed and stretched for William’s enjoyment.

But before William could move his cock to embed it in the place he felt it was meant to be, they both heard the distinct and none too dulcet tones of Darla on the upper floor of the house. She was calling for her Childe.

William was shocked to discover that the reason he’d been able to see Angelus’ reactions to him for quite a while now was that they were illuminated by the first soft, harmless rays of dawn, not moonlight. So whilst time had clearly stood still for William, he was forced to concede that it had moved on quite normally for the rest of the household. Darla was calling and looking for her errant Childe. Perhaps she felt guilty at turning him away. Perhaps she was worried that he’d fallen drunk in the path of the on-coming sunlight. Whatever, William didn’t care to examine her motives. All he cared about was Darla moving slowly but surely towards them as she opened and searched each one of the bedrooms in turn. All he cared about was calculating whether he would have time to cum fully inside Angelus, before she found them. William kept up the light stroking of his cock, making sure it was ready to plunge into the hole that seemed to draw his gaze. As far as he was concerned, as Darla was going to have to accept them now, she might as well get used to the whole truth at once: not only were Angelus and his Childe reconciled, they were lovers and friends as well. He looked up at Angelus, raising his scarred eyebrow and giving a cheeky but sensual grin. He was caught up short and literally felt his dead heart kick over in shock once or twice when he saw Angelus’ face. His Sire had twisted his neck back to look towards the door and had a look of abject terror on his face.

‘Call to her, Angelus, tell her where we are. She’ll know soon enough.’

Angelus turned his head back to look at William on hearing these pleading words. To William’s eyes it almost looked as if Angelus was moving slower than normal speed or maybe that was his over active imagination again, trying to delay what his intuition told him was going to be awful.

Angelus skittered away from him on the floor, pulling on his clothes.

‘Get dressed. NOW!’

‘What? Why? Angelus?’

‘NOW!’ Angelus flew to William and pulled him up to standing against the wall and actually did his trousers back up for him, fumbling desperately with the tiny buttons, his fingers brushing unconsciously and uncaringly on William’s still hard cock.

‘Sire?’ William could manage to say no more. He was falling fast down into a darkness he felt he would never recover from.

Angelus looked him in the eye, placed his hands on his shoulders and pinned him hard against the wall.

‘Will! Are ye listening to me? Yer not yet, I can tell.’ He slapped William very gently across his face then continued, holding him tight against the wall. ‘William, are you listening to me?’ William nodded slowly that he was, his eyes wide, fixed on Angelus. ‘Will, it can’t be. Not yet. She mustn’t know. She’ll kill ye. She will. This was a mistake. My mistake. The drink…I just wanted you and the spirits freed me.’

The hideously destructive and insidious thought flitted across William’s mind that Angelus had not been as drunk as he had been giving the impression he was, but the thought was rapidly dissolved in the overwhelming flood of dread that Angelus’ words stirred in him. He tried harder to concentrate on his Sire’s urgent, low speech.

‘Will! Listen to me!’ They both heard Darla’s voice, now at the top of the stairs, now coming slowly down, calling to the minions to look for their Master. Angelus snapped his head back to Will, pressing him so hard against the wall that William felt his imprint might forever be left here in this room. ‘Will!’ Angelus was frantic now. ‘Will, listen. I won’t forget this night. You must remember too, please Will, tell me you will remember this. One day, one day we’ll be free, but not now. Do you hear me?’

William did hear. He heard very well. He heard the structure of his unlife shattering and the broken pieces falling to the ground.

Darla was very close now. Angelus clearly didn’t feel his message was getting through to his dazed Childe because he suddenly bent his face to William’s and ravished his mouth with a passionate kiss. Pulling away, he held Will’s face still by his jaw. ‘WILL! Attend me now!’

And then Angelus said the words that had shattered William’s future and fucked him up for the rest of his unlife. Because it was not the sex, or the kissing, or discovering that his Sire loved him that destroyed him, it was what Angelus said next that did it.



In Prague, over one hundred years later, Spike turned slightly from the still sleeping Drucilla. It had taken him nearly the whole of her sleeping day to work up to this point in his memory. He always remembered slowly, wanting to play his mind over the feel of Angelus, the taste of Angelus and the smell of Angelus. He remembered so clearly, it was as if Angelus was here in this bed with him, not Drucilla.

But Angelus was not here, he was dead. He had been for nearly the whole of Spike’s unlife, had been since the night of Spike’s first Slayer kill. Angelus had gone out into the night and just never come home. Spike knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Angelus was dead because if he was not, where was he? If not dead and not still with Darla, why was he not with his Childe? Spike knew exactly where Darla was; he had kept close tabs on her since the night they parted. She had recently returned to her Sire and was enjoying the company benefits of a small Hellmouth. But Angelus had to be dust, because if he were still around, he would be here, with Spike. It was what he had promised as he held William pinned to the wall, as they listened to Darla’s footfalls getting ever closer. It was what had fucked up, and continued to fuck up, Spike’s life.

So Spike utterly refused to believe what he had been told two months ago. Every year or so, a minion would bring vague, unconfirmed news to Spike that Angelus had been seen. Spike dismissed these as stupid rumours and often killed the bearers of the message. After a while the demon community stopped mentioning sightings of Angelus to his Childe. It was unwise they decided and got you staked. So it was particularly disturbing for Spike, that on returning from her hunting one night, Dru had casually said, ‘Daddy is with Grandmummy again. All the stars sing of it.’

However hard he had questioned her, he could not get any more information out of her. But she was very, very sure of what she had ‘seen’. Angelus was back with Darla and the Master on this small, insignificant Hellmouth.

Spike’s entire world had come crashing down around him at this news. Angelus dead, he had been able to accept. Eventually. It had taken him almost a hundred years to do it, but he had come to terms with the idea of never seeing his Sire again. But Angelus not dead, Angelus back with Darla had just utterly destroyed him. Because Angelus had promised him. That night, before Darla discovered them together in the room, he’d promised William things that enabled him to survive the nightmare time that was to follow.



William felt his collarbones starting to crush under Angelus’ desperate grip. But the pressure did not lessen at William’s hissed intake of breath. If anything, it got firmer so urgent was Angelus that he have William’s full attention.

‘Will, attend me. Now! Listen, we cannot be yet. But one day. You have to wait for me, William, you have to be ready. And Will, know this…whenever you see me with her, remember, I will be thinking of you, not her. I will take her in me arms and kiss her with a passion you have never seen, but in me mind Will, I’ll be kissing you. Watch us and think of my tongue in your mouth, not hers.’ He demonstrated his words by softly kissing William’s mouth. William didn’t respond and gave no indication he understood Angelus at all. This made Angelus even more distraught and Darla had reached the bottom of the wide staircase and was conferring with some minions. ‘Will, when you lie in bed, listen to us, I’ll cry out as I come, that I love her, but it’ll be you I’ll be saying it to, your body I’ll be coming in. Do you understand, Will?’ With one last long look at his Childe, Angelus flew out of the room to meet his Sire and make his apologies. William heard Angelus laugh and claim he smelt too awful to embrace her, slipping cleverly away to wash all traces of William off himself before she discovered the truth about that night.

William had stayed pressed against the wall for most of that day. He had no strength in his heart to will him to move, to feed, or to start unlife again. Angelus had ended one way of being for him just as effectively as he had one year ago by taking his human life. He had rather Angelus had laughed at him and returned to his Sire and that all of this had merely been a drunk’s great joke. William did not want to know that Angelus loved him, but that he could not have him. William did not know how to love by halves. It was not something unlife had taught him, he loved passionately and completely. Slumped against the wall that day he saw how unlife would be for him now and he did not want to return to it.

But eventually he had to move. Eventually he had to feed again and try to pick up the pieces of the existence that Angelus had destroyed. But he had to give his Sire his due; he was true to his word. Every time Angelus and Darla came into the room, Angelus would sweep her up with an urgent, passionate kiss. She would break away from it; glowing from the unexpected rush of desire Angelus had shown her recently. She sensed that ever since the drinking episode he had been wild with desire for her, he had taken her incessantly, wanted her day and night and she reveled in her power over him, lauding it over the others, making them feel her importance.

And William had watched all of this.

He had listened to Angelus crying ‘I love you’ over and over from the privacy of his bedroom.

Just one or twice had they been left alone together, no Darla, no Drucilla, no minions, but these times were so short and so infrequent, William despaired of being able to tell Angelus all he wanted to. All Angelus did was pull him into an urgent kiss, run his hands over William’s body and renew his vow, that one day he would be free to claim his Childe. A few times Angelus even risked touching William when Darla was present. In the darkened corners of theatre boxes whilst waiting for the ladies to move elegantly past, Angelus would occasionally press back into William, deliberately moving his hands behind him to feel William’s ever present erection. In coaches when the women fell asleep from the long, tiring journeys, Angelus would take William’s hand in his own and bring it to his lips, biting once again into that soft pad at the base of his thumb, renewing his vow to his Chide.

But none of these times were enough for Angelus either. He seemed to become slightly mad with frustrated passion and when he could not lay his hands lovingly on William, he laid them in other ways. Under the cover of punishing William, he could at least touch his skin, lick the blood from his wounds, hear him beg for release, if only for release from the pain. So with his Sire watching, Angelus would torture William. For the slightest, invented transgression, William would be subjected to days of beatings and whipping. As if to make the feel of the whip worse, Angelus would run his hands over William’s naked body, preparing him, Darla laughing her high-pitched encouragement to this cruel treatment. William sometimes wondered if she suspected why Angelus did these acts, but looking into Angelus’ face as he raised the whip to bring it down across his stomach, even he could not see any pretense in that cold, cruel expression. If he could not see through the pretence, how could she?

And the effect of all this on William?

It made him desperate and miserable to a point that the only thing that drowned out his misery was the fear and pain of others. He became pure demon, suppressing what he saw as the human weakness in himself. He found his new persona and was pleased with it. He decided to call himself Spite. He wanted to spite Angelus, Darla and everyone who crossed his path. He wanted to reek havoc and rip and tear and make everything bleed. He wanted entropy and dissolution.

He was a little disconcerted, therefore, that when he told Drucilla to no longer call him William, but to call him Spite, she immediately misheard what he said and started to call him Spike with a gleeful repetition she kept up all day. She flew to ‘Daddy’ and told him that her William was now called Spike. She told everyone and however many times he tried to correct her, whispering subliminally in her ear when she was asleep, ‘Spite’, ‘Spite’, ‘Spite’, she never got it. She called him Spike and so after a while he gave in and became inventive with his new name and the instrument of torture it suggested to him. He had never before seen fear like it from his victims until he showed them what he intended to do with the spike. He had never heard cries of pain so long and so piercing as from those hapless humans he impaled and left to die in agony. It was as well he had never heard of Fraud and could not see the connection between what he did with spikes to others’ small puckered holes and what he was burning to do with Angelus. All he knew was that their pain helped to drown out thoughts of Angelus until he had, inevitably, to return to the family group and witness what Angelus did with Darla, in his name.

And so it would begin again, the pain and the fear and the bringing of chaos until his head spun with the sound of his victims and he became confused as to where their pain started and his ended. It was all pain, it was all fear, it was all despair. But he never doubted Angelus. Except for doubting the wisdom of telling him all this in the first place, he never doubted that Angelus loved him and that what he did with Darla, he actually did with him. Sometimes, lying in his bedroom next to Angelus’ room he actually felt Angelus’ penetration of Darla, he swore he could feel a rush of cold cum in his body when Angelus cried out ‘I love you’ and he despaired of this madness and where it would lead him. He saw no sign of Angelus attempting to leave his Sire, let alone to stake her and William didn’t know how much longer he could go on with this pretence. The screams and wails of his victims’ fear were having less and less effect and he was tiring of the game. He wanted to rest and to be still and to be able to start thinking again, without pain. So when Angelus went out one night to hunt and didn’t return, Spike knew the agony, along with the ecstasy, was over. He eventually parted with Darla and went his way with his dark Princess.

The only thing that kept him vaguely sane was the thought that at least if he couldn’t have Angelus, then neither could anyone else, especially Darla. So it came as a particular shock that night in Prague to hear from Drucilla that Angelus was not dead, that he was ‘alive’ and that he was in America, in California, on a Hellmouth and more importantly, he was with Darla.

Oh yes, that had not been good news. Spike did not quite know what to do for the best. He wanted to go to California, but he didn’t. He wanted to take up where they had left off, but he didn’t. He was no longer William, no longer Spike of the early years either. Now he didn’t give a shit for vampire lore or vampire culture, if he went there he would fight Darla for his Sire if he could. But would that bring Angelus to him?

Spike turned again on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He’d thrown off the covers some time ago and his long, pale, incredibly thin body was softly illuminated from the filtered sunlight coming in through the tightly closed shutters. He looked at his body. He looked at his flaccid cock. He looked at his hands, his arms and his legs. He tried to see himself as Angelus had seen him. For this was Spike’s great worry and fear. He did not now think that Angelus wanted him. Surely, surely, if Angelus wanted his Childe he would stake Darla? This, was not then. Childer, Sires, Masters, they were all very old ways of thinking as far as Spike was concerned. This was the age of McDonalds and the Internet. All that old vampire shit belonged to the age of crinoline and smog. If Spike had left it all behind him, then so could every other bleeding vampire. If Angelus wanted him, he could stake Darla and claim him. That he had stayed absent for nearly one hundred years and then returned immediately to his Sire did not bode well for their future, as far as Spike was concerned.

So he didn’t go to California. He stayed in Prague and put up with Drucilla’s increasing madness and passion for the church. Every night she prayed on the simple church-going folk, trying to find in their blood, the blood of the lamb that had been so cruelly lost to her forever. Spike let her go and rarely accompanied her on these feeding frenzies, so he was not there to protect her when the congregation of Our Lady before Tyn discovered her feeding on their Bishop.

There should be a difference between a congregation and a mob, but to Drucilla that night there was little to choose between them. They tore at her, tried to reclaim the stolen blood, tried to prevent her escaping by destroying her very limbs. She only made her escape because, in their frenzy, they attracted the notice of the authorities and became the victims of a riot squad themselves. Spike found her the next day and carried her back undercover of darkness to the hotel. He feared even his love for her could not keep her ‘alive’ now.

It was particularly bad timing, therefore, that one brave minion risked a stake to tell Spike the latest news from Sunnydale. He felt it would be welcome news and that it would earn him some much-needed brownie points with the unpredictable blond one. He told Spike that he had heard from a very reliable source that far from Angelus living with Darla and the Master, he was in fact very estranged from them and living entirely on his own.

Oh yes. This was bloody good news. Just what Spike fucking needed to know now, with a half-dead Drucilla, totally unable to travel. He thanked the poor minion with a particularly painful uppercut to his jaw and returned to tending his beloved Princess on the bed. Fucking hell. So Angelus had not returned to Darla. Spike’s mind was in a whirl of confusion. Surely, if he knew where Darla and Angelus were, surely Angelus would likewise know where he was? Why hadn’t Angelus sent for him? Maybe he was biding his time. Maybe he didn’t know where Spike was? Europe was a big place. Maybe he’d just disappeared too well in Prague. Spike was wild with desire to return to America and see Angelus again.

This desire did not lessen of course when, still caring for Drucilla who was now almost well in body if not in mind, he heard that Angelus had staked his Sire. It all finally made sense to Spike. That’s what Angelus had been waiting for. He had not sent for Spike till it was safe for him. He had been waiting merely to kill Darla. Now he would send for him. But why wait? Why not go to this, Sunnydale, and surprise him? So that’s what he did.

Over a century of waiting. Over a century of loving. All his passion, all his need for his Sire had been thwarted by that small, blond, female vampire. And she was now history.

As he traveled those ghastly miles with Drucilla, there was one clear, clarion thought in Spike’s mind keeping him going:

"At least there will be no small, blond female to get between us now"

Chapter 4

Spike woke up with a start on the cold slab he now favoured as his bed.

Fuck it. He'd done it again. He'd been dreaming of dreaming. He'd been having a dream about Prague and in that dream he had been dreaming of…before. He wondered if anyone else did this or was it just him? Was it just a sign of his impending madness, or a result of this bloody chip that gave him such vivid and painful dreams? He remembered every detail of the dream and some things about the time…before. He never allowed himself to think about that time, but if he did he remembered impressions and smells and pain. He guessed all his memories were confused and damaged by what came after. And he sometimes had the vague impression that the memories, like ice, wouldn't stay in his mind, but that they slipped out when he tried to focus on them and left him with nothing but a cold trail in their wake.

It didn’t help his thinking, of course, that he had a raging hangover and sour clammy breath and skin. He felt like shit basically. He had no idea why he'd gotten so drunk in the Bronze last night. It had been funny to start with; the others incredulous when he'd started mixing gin with rum and beer. Why did he do that? He hated the taste of it, but there was something in the smell that always made him think of moonlight and other fucking shit. He always tried to get to the bottom of the bottle; peering in as if there was something he was looking for, talking to imaginary creatures he saw there, asking for answers to questions he had forgotten. It always amused his young audience. But it hadn't been so funny when all he'd gotten this time was drunk, punchy and had to be brought back by Harris and laid on his slab. He was particularly concerned that he might have let his Big Bad persona slip when being so drunk. The humans had no real idea what being a vampire was. They saw him basically as a sort of human who used to bite people. But they were only children and he couldn't blame them for being innocent. He thought perhaps he had been too once.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the tomb and considered his options. He needed a shower, clean clothes, some food and a fag. Not in that order though. He lit a cigarette and considered the other three. He had plenty of choices really and quickly settled on the Slayer's. They were the most likely to be out and had the best shower anyway. He should know; he'd been using it regularly for over three years. He sometimes wondered if any of his new human acquaintances actually thought about how he kept clean or washed his clothes, given he lived in a crypt. It never seemed to occur to them. Humans were stupid as shit sometimes.

He crouched under his blanket and made his way over to the Summers' house. Just as he thought, they were all out either at school or work. He used the key he'd had cut and let himself in. First he stripped out of his stuff and put his jeans and tee shirt in the washer on a fast cycle, left his coat and boots on the kitchen floor and made his way completely naked upstairs to the shower. He could only assume that being three women in a house they just didn’t notice that someone else frequently used their shower, their shampoo and their soaps. He sometimes amused himself by imagining the arguments that would go on between Buffy and her sister about who had been using whose stuff. He got in under the hot water and put his aching head on the wall, allowing the water to work its usual miracle in his mood. This was part he always enjoyed about drinking…the post-drinking Summers' shower.

He didn’t dry off, not wanting to use and have to wash a towel, but wandered around for a while in the bedrooms, drying naturally in the air. He liked to keep a close check anyway on what they were doing, reading diaries and letters and looking in their closets and drawers for interesting information. It was how he had survived this long. When he was dry he went back to kitchen, transferred his stuff from the washer to the dryer and raided the fridge. He desperately needed blood, but a cheese sandwich would keep him going and he tucked into a three-layer monstrosity with pickle. He'd never seen these humans eating good, thick butties and thought they didn’t know what they were missing. He carefully washed up, put back on his warm, clean clothes, laced up his beloved boots, took his usual, small amount of money from the housekeeping jar in the cupboard and went into the sitting room to watch a little telly. He wished he could light up, but knew that would give him away, so he ate half the box of chocolates he found on the couch and smiled again to imagine Joyce blaming her daughters for their absence.

Feeling much better now he had the time and the inclination to return to the dream. He'd not really stopped thinking about it all this time, but his thoughts of it had been unfocused and drifting. Now he wanted to concentrate on it. That was the trouble being too much alone. He thought too much. He seemed vaguely to remember a time when he had stopped thinking, but he couldn’t remember why that had been and when he tried too hard to remember, his brain felt cold, so he stopped. But that dream. Had it been the alcohol that had made him dream of that time again? Maybe. He remembered being in Prague with Dru. That was a bad time. She'd needed so much blood to recover. He'd had to hunt and hunt and hunt in an endless blood bath of feeding, something that now made him hard to think about. Hunting. He'd loved it, but now it was over and he'd tried to make a new unlife for himself. Just as long as he still had this chip that was. When that came out, he had a whole new hunt planned. But he put that thought to one side to think about the dream again.

It had all gone badly wrong of course.

He arrived in Sunnydale with such expectations. He was going to reunite with Angelus. His Sire finally wanted him and even if they didn’t take up where they had left off on that hard wooden floor, even if Angelus did not lie down and spread his legs for his Childe, Spike knew that they would be all in all to each other. He would be Angelus' companion and friend. He would complete his Sire.

He'd arrived in this small town after a nightmare trip with Dru. The only good part had been stealing his beloved car, but the rest of the trip he preferred to forget. He would never attempt it again, with such a damaged companion. He'd made his way straight to the Master's court, to pay homage and to ensure that the rumours were true, that Darla was dead and that her Childe had done it. He was surprised to find the Master dead at the hands of a new Slayer. Having killed two, he was not afraid to find he'd come to the town of a Slayer and a brilliant plan had formed in his mind. He would take the body of the Slayer to his Sire as a 'welcome me home' present. He pushed to one side the thought that this made him no better than the family cat bringing home a dead bird to 'Daddy'. He was no one's pussy. So he stalked the Slayer, went to where he was told she would be, watched her dancing, watched her fighting, spoke to her, smelt her, wanted to feel her. Because this Slayer was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, she radiated her power, like light. She had an aura of purity that had drawn him like the proverbial moth to a flame: the immediate attraction of opposites. This small, blond, beauty. Oh, how he wanted to take that light and purity from her and bend it to his darkness. How he wanted to have her and destroy her.

Sitting on Buffy's couch, Spike gave a rueful smile to himself as this memory. He'd seen her - small and blond and female - but he hadn't made the connection. He hadn't even suspected it. How could he? How could he suspect that he had been supplanted, yet again, and by another small, blond female? A Slayer no less. It was inconceivable.

So he'd set up his killing field in the school, planned her death and was utterly shocked to find Angelus there too. It was not how he'd planned the reunion. He was also shocked by how much Angelus had changed. He'd have hardly recognized him if he'd past him in the street. Short, stylish hair. New clothes. He even looked as if he had lost weight; perhaps his clothes just fitted him better. Spike had always thought Angelus striking, powerful, attractive: now he thought him beautiful. His desire for this creature flared up in him again, making him feel reckless and powerful. This was not how he'd planned it, but what the fuck, they were here now. He hadn’t bagged his Slayer, but he went with the flow as ever and had embraced Angelus, expecting Angelus to be equally glad to see him.

Spike fiddled with the remote control for a while, flicking channels. He hated this part. He hated remembering this; it still gave him pain all these years later. It still made him wake up from dreams like he had had last night, his cheeks wet and his thoughts chaotic. Because in the passion of his embrace, he had smelt the Slayer on his Sire…fuck, smelt her in him. Angelus was illuminated by her aura. Contaminated by it. Spike smelt love on his Sire and it was not demon love, hot, red, violent and painful, the sort of love Spike had expected to smell for him. It was human love, white, pure and sugary and it had been for her. He could not smell the blood of the human boy on Angelus, nor smell Angelus' cum on him.

In the instant of that embrace, he'd known that Angelus was lost to him again and this knowledge destroyed him.

Not because his Sire was captivated by the Slayer, he could understand that; he'd seen her too. No, what destroyed Spike that night and made him crazy was that Angelus lied to him. He lied to his Childe about the Slayer, about himself, about everything. Everything that Spike had wanted, needed and expected from coming to this place was destroyed by that lie.

He was nothing to Angelus but an enemy that had to be lied to.

Much later, Spike had been told of Angelus' Damascus shit. Spike had no time for talk of souls. What was a soul for fucks sake? He'd had one. It was gone apparently. Was it hanging around somewhere intact, waiting for some gypsy to bring it back for him?

Duh! He didn't think so.

So...what...there were thousands of souls, all milling around somewhere? Yeah…right! What if you got the wrong one? It was all shit as far as he was concerned, a soul was just a fancy term for human confusion and a conscience and he was permanently confused and he still had a conscience, of sorts. He felt like shit when Dru got hurt because he wouldn't go to the Church with her. Wasn’t that a conscience? So did that mean he had a soul too?

So, Angelus trying to claim he was all-important and different because he had a soul was just crap as far as Spike was concerned. He still couldn’t hold a fucking cross could he? And in Spike's book, that meant Angelus was no different to him. It was just his Sire's pathetic way to excuse the obscene fact that he was in love with a Slayer. It was just his way to avoid being blamed for all the killing and torturing he'd done and have all the girlies sorry for him. It was sick.

Spike liked to pretend that all of this had occurred to him on seeing Angelus again in the school hall, but of course, it hadn't. All he had felt then was rage, betrayal and hatred. All the rest had come to him slowly over the following years when he studied Angelus, watched him obsessively and hated him with a demon level of hatred beyond what he would have thought himself capable.

Spike sat quietly on the Summers' couch thinking over the years since his arrival in Sunnydale. It had been a roller coaster ride, he had to admit that. Looking back now all he could remember was the hate.

Until the chip that is.

That tiny piece of technology had changed everything for Spike. It had given him access to the human world and he had discovered he liked it. He'd discovered television and junk food and the pleasure to be had in having friends (of sorts). He'd found a role (of sorts). He knew he could feel human style love. He adored Buffy. It had been easy, his obsession for her had just mutated from wanting to possess her power, to wanting to possess her love. She was all he thought of now.

He never, ever thought about Angelus, or Angel, or whatever the fuck he wanted to call himself. The names vampires call themselves: it was pathetic. He hadn't thought about Angelus, fuck, Angel, since he'd left. He never wondered what he was doing in LA. He never thought about him at all, never imagined him in that big city, working. Never thought about contacting him, never wanted him to come to Sunnydale and see him now he had the chip and felt so different about everything. Never wondered if he was happy. Never thought about going to LA to see if Angel's memory had improved, never wondered if there was any future for them at all. No, Spike never thought about Angel, it was better that way. He loved Buffy and that's what he was concentrating on now.

He had a dilemma too. Next week it was Buffy's Birthday. He hadn't been invited of course, but he wanted to take her a gift anyway. But what? He had thought about this long and hard for weeks. He had considered smellies, but thought that too personal from an undead creature she purported to loath and didn’t want awkward questions about how he knew what sort she liked. Chocolates were lame. He really wanted to buy her jewelry, imagined every night placing a beautiful necklace around her neck, bending over to nuzzle where it lay, sinking his…fuck, no! Stop that thought right there! Anyway he couldn't afford decent jewelry and wouldn’t insult her with crap. So that left him a bit stuck for an idea.

He reluctantly decided it was time to leave, buy some blood with his easy-come-easy-go-money, and return to his own place. He mentally did his leaving-the-Summers'-checks: machines off, dials back where they had been, shower as he found it, cushions pumped up, telly back to their channels, door locked. All safe. He crouched again under his blanket and ran towards the slaughterhouse. He always felt pissed off having to buy pigs' blood from his contact when if he didn’t buy it, it would only be flushed away, but he wasn’t about to upset his regular supplier by pointing this out. Besides, he had just stolen the money anyway. So he paid, ran back to his crypt and drank the foul, lukewarm fluid.

As he drank he didn't think about Angel and wonder how he liked his pigs' blood in LA. He didn’t wonder if Angel ever treated himself and bought illicit human blood as Spike sometimes did. He definitely didn't imagine drinking that blood with Angel, entwined with him in some large soft bed. He did tell himself that Angel was lost to him as effectively as if he had died again, not through his indifference to his Childe, or through Spike's hatred of him, but through the simple fact that Spike now loved Buffy; his own small, blond, female.

And wasn’t that delicious irony?

Spike felt something akin to pain in his head when a malicious thought slipped in that said…'and isn't your love for Buffy just another way to spite Angelus?' He'd had that thought once or twice before and he knew it wasn’t true. He loved Buffy because…because she…oh fuck, he knew she spent most of the time either trying to, or threatening to stake him. So he didn’t know why he loved her, but he knew it was nothing to do with using a small, blond female to punish his Sire.

And with these thoughts, Spike suddenly had an idea for Buffy's Birthday present. It was different: he had to admit that. Different but brilliant. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. It set just the right tone. So he started his preparations.

Buffy had the usual gang to her party. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Dawn was not very good at keeping surprises. Her excuse to get Buffy to accompany her shopping to help her chose an outfit for a dance was so weak, that Buffy immediately suspected an ulterior motive. But she didn’t mind, any parties were good and she didn’t really like surprises anyway. She had enough of those in her everyday, Slayer life. There had been surprises though, one very big one when a knock on the door had been opened to reveal Angel standing there, apologetic look as usual on his face, with a beautiful bracelet engraved with her name. She forgave herself the awful thought that she was just as pleased with the bracelet as with seeing Angel and got over her confusion at this by inviting him in and introducing him to anyone he didn’t know. This only consisted of Tara, so the introductions didn't last long.

The party got into full swing. Some food had been eaten and some music played when another knock sounded on the door. Buffy opened it and was extremely annoyed to find Spike standing there, also with a gift in his hands.

'Happy Birthday, Slayer.' He pushed the box at her and she could hardly not take it from him. She didn’t want to open it though. It looked about the right size for a necklace and the thought of taking, or wearing jewelry from Spike revolted her. 'Go on. Open it then.'

Willow, Xander and Dawn crowded around her to see the present. She felt awkward, so she invited Spike in and with a secretly pleased smile he followed them all into the living room. It was with a shock so profound he nearly screamed, that he found Angel sitting on the couch next to Buffy's Mum. If he had thought for one moment that Angel would come to this party, he would have staked himself rather than tried to wangle an invitation. Angel was looking as shocked as Spike, but something else too. Angel was looking annoyed and…bloody hell, could that be jealous? Spike suddenly remembered that the last time he'd seen Angel, Angel had been hung in chains with hot pokers through most of the joints in his body. Something that had been partly Spike's fault. Not all his. But he'd admit a certain level of blame for that incident. He also remembered that Angel had never seen him chipped. He'd not seen him invited into Buffy's home either and welcomed (sort of), as a (sort of), friend. Oh...this was going to be good.

Spike immediately started to ham up the extent to which he was friendly with the Buffonians. Dawn helped immensely by unconsciously slipping her arm through his to peer over his shoulder to see Buffy opening the box. Joyce helped even more by getting up to get him a drink and slipping his duster off his shoulders to hang it up. Spike cast a glance over at Angel to see his reaction to all this. Marvelous. Angel's brow was practically Neanderthal with rage. Oh blessed day.

Buffy had succeeded getting the shoelace with which he had tied his present off the box and cast a glance at Spike with her hand poised to open the lid.

'It's not a severed arm is it, Spike? Maybe a bleeding heart?' But Spike could hear the humour behind her comment and was glad. Angel would hear it too and be even more furious. Besides, it fitted with his present, which he sincerely hoped she would find equally amusing.

'Just open it Slayer. Live a little.' So she did. She put her hand in and lifted out…a stake. It was a beautifully carved stake, polished so the wood grain shone with a deep luster and it had a pink leather wrist strap fitted through a drilled hole in the blunt end. In a sort of daze she fitted her wrist through the strap and tried the stake's balance and weight. It was perfect. She flipped it up for use and let it drop a number of times marveling at its feel in her hand.

She looked questioningly over at Spike who just shrugged his shoulders. 'You're always threatening to stake me, Slayer, so I thought I'd give you a better weapon. Make it memorable for me!' If anyone understood the double meaning in this throwaway line, they didn’t let on. Spike hoped Angel got it. 'See what I carved? Like a bullet...there's now a stake with my name on it!' Buffy looked at him and saw the twitch of laughter around the corners of his mouth. She started laughing too and made a mock play to stake him. He feinted to one side openly laughing now and they play wrestled for a moment before Buffy broke off to show everyone the present she was clearly delighted with. She showed it to Angel. He took it from her and twirled it around in his hand. Spike watched his reactions.

'It's fine wood. What is it?' He didn’t look at Spike, but the question was clearly addressed to him.

'English Oak.' Spike's reply was curt to the point of rudeness but no one seemed to notice. Angel ran his finger up and down the polished, smooth, hard wood. Spike distinctly saw in his mind the unwelcome image of Angel's finger running up and down his cock. He was furious to feel himself harden. He hadn't hardened to the mock fighting with Buffy, so why now? He was so mad at himself he stomped off to the kitchen to see if he could hasten the drink Joyce was supposedly making for him. He'd had a head start on the drinking, having consumed a large amount before having the courage to come here anyway. He found Joyce on the way back with a beer for him so he reluctantly returned to the living room where the party had gotten back into full swing. Dawn was dancing with a very reluctant Giles: Willow and Tara were up too, only their movements were slightly more intimate. Spike hopped up onto the chest of drawers to watch for a while and drink his beer. Suddenly Xander's voice broke the mood.

'Hey, dead men! How come you're wearing the same clothes? Is that a, ‘vampire goes to a party’, compulsory outfit sort of thing?'

Spike looked aghast at Angel who was looking similarly at him. Oh fucking hell! They were both wearing white shirts and black leather pants. Angel had black shoes, Spike his black boots. Before either of them could comment on this hideously embarrassing turn of events, Xander pressed his advantage. 'I guess it's a Sire thing then? You are Spike's Sire, aren't you, Angel?'

Buffy stopped talking to Anya and looked at Spike. 'You told me Dru was your Sire.'

Angel looked between Xander and Buffy with a pained expression on his face. Spike couldn’t be sure whether this was due to the fact he was being questioned about being Spike's Sire or because Spike had denied his parentage to Buffy.

'Come on Spike, fess up then. Whose your Sire really?' Spike looked at Buffy and then directly at Angel.

'It depends, Pet, on what you mean by Sire. But I'd say Dru was.'

Xander looked at Spike. 'That's not what you said when dead boy had me by the neck in the school. You said Angel was your Sire. You allowed to change your mind about this stuff then? Hey Giles, you're the vamp expert, what's all this Sire stuff then, can Spike divorce his Sire?' Giles looked quite crossly at Xander, perhaps suspecting that this humourous banter was probing into areas you didn’t want to with vampires.

If a vampire denied his Sire, it was serious business.

'Err, I don't think this is the time or the place Xander, to discuss vampire business, do you?'

'Well, it sure is weird wearing the same clothes.' Xander continued to mutter and snicker to himself for a while and Spike and Angel tried to look anywhere but at each other.

Buffy decided to play the new CD that Dawn had given her for her Birthday and pushed it into the deck. No one took much notice until Angel, trying desperately not to look at Spike yet watching him closely, saw that Spike was staring fixedly at the player. Angel listened too and caught the words of the song,

Days I'll remember all my life
Days when you can't see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me
But it's alright
Now I'm not frightened of this world believe me


I wish today could be tomorrow
The night is long
It just brings sorrow let it wait


Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day believe me
It was as if the song had been written for them. Angel wondered how many other people get to attend a Birthday party with someone they killed. He guessed not many. Angel felt as if all eyes were on them, but of course they weren't. Spike was lucky, at least he had a drink to occupy him. Joyce noticed Angel’s lack of a glass and offered to fetch him something. Angel looked at her and tried to reply quietly.

'I don't drink.'

But as the music happened to finish at just that moment, what had been meant as a private comment to her, was overheard by the whole room including, of course, Spike. Anya was the first to pick up on Angel's words and in her blunt, ex-demon fashion asked the question everyone was thinking, but no one dared to voice.

'Oh, I guess if you drink you go all grrr and, 'I-must-kill-everyone', again and hurt people. Do you?'

Angel shifted uncomfortably under everyone's gaze but having been emboldened by Spike’s obvious reaction to the song, he fixed his eyes on the lowered blond head and said slowly and distinctly. 'No, I don't go grr when I drink. But I do hurt people.'

Everyone wondered why he looked at Spike so intently as he said this and why Spike had been strangely quiet since his denial of Angel as his Sire. He sat silent now, apparently intent on a flaking nail. Anya was about to comment on Angel's reply when Spike spoke quietly without looking up.

'Just as well people don't care what you do then, ain't it, mate?'

They weren't sure how this reply related to Angel's strange comment when Angel came back with an even odder remark. 'People used to care. They used to care a lot.'

At this, Spike left his nail alone and looked up directly at Angel. All heads in the room turned to look at him now. This was a fascinating conversation and they hoped someone would explain it to them.

'No. That's where you are wrong, poofter. They never cared. They hated you then and they hate you now.' At that clearly annunciated comment, Spike hopped off the chest and went into the kitchen to refresh his drink. If his hand was shaking slightly? Well, he would be the only one to know. That bloody song. Why did the Slayer have to play that? He found the bottle of stronger stuff he knew was behind the beer and gulped down a good half of it in one go. He was definitely drunk now and blamed that for the sick feeling he had in his belly.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Joyce suggested they play a game. All the youngsters groaned in unison, thinking she was going to suggest charades, or musical chairs, or some other hideously embarrassing thing. But with a wicked smile she suggested a game of truth or dare and they all gathered around in a big circle in the middle of the room, eager to embarrass themselves another way. Angel stayed firmly on the couch. No one even considered him sitting cross-legged on the floor with them, it just wasn’t…Angel. As Joyce had suggested the game, she got to choose the subject and she chose, 'regrets'. Everyone had to name the thing they regretted the most. She nominated the Birthday girl to start. Buffy gave her the sort of outraged look only a daughter can manage and pouted for a while as she thought. Then with a smile she took the challenge.

'The thing I regret the most, is not telling my Mom I was a slayer from the beginning.' When Joyce looked in wonderment at her, she gave a slight shrug. 'You've been my strength since you've known. I wish I'd told you.' They smiled at each other for a moment before Buffy turned swiftly away and nominated Xander next. 'Come on, your turn now. What's your biggest regret.'

Anya clearly expected him to say something along the lines of, 'not meeting Anya earlier,' because she looked extremely annoyed when he said what he most regretted was not working harder at school and going to college.

But the voracity of his words was slightly called into question when he turned to Dawn and said in a pompous 'teacher voice', 'so you see, you've got to work hard at school, or you'll regret it like Xander Harris.' She punched him on the arm and he laughed then turned quickly and unexpectedly to Angel, who had thought himself excused from this game by virtue of staying on the couch. And by being two hundred and fifty. And by being dead.

'Ok big vamp, what's your biggest regret, or can you limit it to just one?'

Angel clearly didn’t want to reply to this and gave a small dismissive wave of his hand, but the others chimed in, pressing him. Some of those present clearly had personal motives in knowing his answer to this question. Both Giles and Buffy were quite insistent in their demands for his answer, one thinking of Jenny, one of her ‘first night’. When he still refused to play, Joyce reminded him it was truth or dare and that if he didn't answer, she would dare him to do something. Angel visibly blanched even whiter than he already was at this threat. He did not have the sort of personality that would allow him to act the fool, so he clearly decided that truth was the safer option.

'Alright then. What do I regret the most…from two hundred and fifty years of regret? I’ll tell you, shall I? Spike. That's what I regret the most. I regret Spike.'

You could have dropped a pin in that room and have the sound of its falling deafen your ears. This answer was as unexpected, as it was embarrassing. It was made even worse for some of those in the room, because they were facing the hall. Willow and Tara were facing Spike, who was frozen there, a bottle half way to his lips. They were so busy watching Spike stagger backwards and turn to run out of the house, that they barely heard the rest of Angel's reply. 'I regret not having Spike as mine all these years and I regret being alone, when I could have had my Childe with me.'

Angel wondered why Willow turned to him with a furious expression on her face. 'Angel…go after him!'

'Who?' Angel was truly bewildered.

'Spike. He heard what you said, about regretting him. Then he ran out. Angel! He heard you, oh…you should have seen his face!'

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Jenny - ladymoluk@hotmail.com