Blood Rust

Author’s Notes: This is an AU fic, obviously, but apart from the siring of William the Bloody I have tried not to deviate too much from the canon. It takes place in the current season of Angel, perhaps slightly into an AU future. Cordelia’s status makes no difference to the fic, though she appears briefly. She has slept with Connor. Spike has gone through his madness with the First. However, no one in Sunnydale knows about Connor, and no one in LA knows about Spike’s soul. Angel has not recently spent any time as Angelus. The Beast is not an immediate problem during the two nights this fic takes place. I hope I haven’t left anything out. I think not. I’m sure it will be fairly clear anyway, Thanks to Lisa and Ando for betaing, you are both stars.

“Spike,” said Angel quietly. “Spike was my boy.” He went back to toying with the pen. It was heavy and silver. “Spike was altogether different. I saw him on the street one night in London. He had all the grace of a newborn lamb. Have you ever seen one of those?”

“Well, they have none, no grace at all. Spike was like that. Skinny legs, trying to rush around. He stormed past us on the street, me, Darla and Dru, and he dropped some pages he was holding. I could smell salty tears on his face.” Angel laughed at the memory. “Told me to watch where I was going.”

“I could not help myself. I had to follow him, to find out why such a handsome, graceless young man was storming about the dark streets of London with pages of awful poetry falling from his arms. And the tears, well, they just made it more enticing.” Angel leaned forward, the pen between thumb and forefinger. He looked at Connor now, no longer abashed. He had forgotten his awkwardness.

“He looked at me as if I were about to rob him. As if I were interested in his purse.” Angel shook his head and laughed. “He wiped his face in his sleeve. His tears turned the wool dark. I was captivated. I had never seen a face like his before, certainly not in the grubby streets of London. I was called Angelus, but William, he had the naïveté of a true angel. White skin, soft hair. I imagined him singing his doggerel before the throne of God.”

“Right.” Angel laughed. “The throne of God. Of course, in those days, if something belonged to God, I delighted in taking it away. And take it away I did.” He took another swallow. It tasted watery in his mouth, but it burned in his belly like real warmth. “I asked him what brought him to such a state, hiding in a stable, tears on his face. He told me it was none of my business. It took some courage to talk to me like that back then.”

“Yeah, your old man’s gone soft,” he said. “Back then, William was so unusual, his words fascinated me more. Of course he was afraid, I could smell it on him. Afraid of me, afraid of my accent, afraid of being alone in a dark place with a strange man bigger than him. But he stood up to me, in his own way. I tore the pages from his hand and read the verses. I ripped them apart, first figuratively, then literally. He simply watched, dumbfounded. He had never seen such improper behavior in his life.”

“I asked him who he thought to impress with such drivel,” he continued, the whiskey now a hot center in his belly. “And he told me there was a woman. Cecily. He eventually admitted that she had spurned him that very evening. I laughed at him, told him it was no surprise, with such terrible verses as his. Told him Keats’s laundry list had more poetry. Byron’s dinner bill. And I watched him as he remained standing there, back to a wooden beam, taking all the abuse I threw at him. He bit his tongue, but he did not cry. Didn’t even try to defend himself. He simply stood, as if there was nothing I could say that was worse than Cecily’s rejection.” Angel sighed again, lost in the memory.

“I told him I could make him a true poet, bring him closer to death than Keats had ever been. His eyes lit up, those blue eyes, behind his spectacles. William’s eyes are marvelous, blue as the sky on a clear day. Suddenly he seemed eager to know more. Poor William,” said Angel again. “He thought I held all the answers. He looked into my eyes, and he knew. He knew what I was.”

“Not exactly. I doubt he could give it words, even in his own mind. He knew I was something other. Something… effulgent.” Angel laughed quietly. Connor frowned but stayed silent. “I had been fascinated by him; now he was fascinated by me. I pretended to lose interest, to leave him there in his stinking stable. Told him he would never amount to anything. But he pulled me back in, back in to the dark.” Angel drained his glass, and refilled it. “Of course, I let him. William was not the strongest of humans. He demanded that I stay and explain myself.”

Again Angel seemed to melt into his reverie. Connor almost wished he could go there too. Angel spoke of such alien things with such familiarity and ease. Spoke of his past with such pleasure, now, though usually he looked away when his history became the subject of conversation. Again, Connor was wary of interrupting his father’s thoughts, but again, his curiosity and impatience got the better of him.

Angel took a large mouthful of whiskey. He had never imagined telling Connor all this. He did not know why he told him now. Perhaps it was the boy’s right to know. Perhaps William really was Connor’s brother. He was too tired, and the whiskey was too warm inside him to figure it out now, so he simply continued walking through his memories of William.

“William was beautiful,” he began, his eyes measuring Connor’s reaction. He saw nothing. “So slim, with, as I said, a face more beautiful than I could have expected to see anywhere, let alone weeping in a stable in London. I stood close to him as I promised him the world, I could smell his excitement, and his fear. Those are a heady mixture to a vampire.” From the corner of his eye he watched as Connor willed himself still. “Of course,” he continued, laughing a little, “he was Victorian almost to the core. Some things he simply did not think about. But I could hear his secret thoughts, the ones he buried in all his ethereal love poems to Cecily.” He looked at his son. “You know what I mean?”

“To a vampire, no such distinctions are made. Men, women, it’s all the same. But it was a different thing then for most God-fearing humans. Though William was not so much God-fearing as mother-fearing.” He chuckled, the sound low in his chest. “He could hardly conceive of what he himself wanted. And yet…” Angel’s voice trailed away. His eyes were distant and bright. Connor knew he was watching William again, watching him finally submit to his father’s charms.

“The way he turned his head I will never forget. The way, when he saw my demonic face, he stretched out his neck, baring his throat to me. I hesitated because of my surprise and he looked at me fiercely. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so hungry for his blood. If I couldn’t smell how hungry he was for me. I wanted my William, and I knew the sooner I turned him, the sooner I would have him. You know,” he said, interrupting his own dreamlike train of thought, “at first, when I followed him, I didn’t think I would turn him. I thought maybe I would let him die in that stable, really die. I knew Darla would be furious if I brought him home.”

“I drained him slowly. It’s hard to describe the feeling of drinking one that you know you will turn. With William, it was incredibly personal and intimate, as he murmured all the little sounds into my ear of his life ebbing away. He knew what he was saying goodbye to, and he felt nothing but joy in his slowing heart. He did not know what he was facing, but I felt his courage as if it were finally unbottled. I felt him let go.” Angel sighed. “I drank until I felt his heart almost stop. I took almost all of his blood. I held him as he lay on the dirty ground while I slit my wrist with my teeth and brought it to his mouth. He drank weakly at first, lapping up the drops that fell from the wound, but soon he had the strength to hold my arm down and clamp his mouth over the cut, drinking as if he understood that his very existence depended on it. It is a wonderful thing, watching and feeling someone choose to be born.”

“Sometimes is takes greater courage not to choose death,” replied his father. “Remember, this was eighteen eighty. As far as William was concerned, he knew what would happen after his death. Heaven or hell, hopefully heaven. And yet instead of the known, he chose the unknown.” Angel smiled. “Instead of heaven, he chose me.”

“William loved that about me too. Loved that I was damning him.” For once, that melancholy tone of guilt was absent. There was something else in its place. Perhaps nostalgia, Connor was not sure. “Finally he had taken all that I could give. He was voracious from the first, my William. And then I left his body there to be found in the morning. Just one day, and he would be mine.”

“He was buried quickly, that day. I suppose his mother was shamed by his death in a stable, in the dirt. I suspect she knew more of William’s heart than he himself did before he met me. That evening, it was a cold evening, crisp and clear. I left Darla and Drusilla, telling them I would hunt alone that night. Darla looked at me strangely as I left. She knew something was different. And she knew I would never leave her with Drusilla unless I had a reason. She hated being left alone with Dru. The whole insanity thing really bugged her.” He smiled faintly, drinking more whiskey. He knew it loosened his tongue, and he did not want to stop his story yet. “So I went out into the city and closed my eyes. I listened. And I walked elsewhere and listened again. I did this until I heard him. I heard him wake up, and begin to kick his way out of that coffin.”

“Scary. And you’re so hungry, and you know what you have to do, but you’re still weak, so you hit the lid until it gives and then gag on the earth pouring onto your face. Then you start to dig your way up, kicking against the bottom of the coffin to try to force your way. Just when you think you’ll never reach the surface, you feel air around the tips of your fingers, and you catch hold of anything you can and pull yourself up and out of your own grave. And if you’re lucky, your sire is there waiting for you. I was lucky. So was William.”

“The unlucky ones wander, lost, till they figure it out by themselves, but probably get staked young anyway. They can’t survive without some kind of protection.” Angel sighed heavily, but then smiled. “William was lucky. I saw his fingers appear over the earth, saw his nails broken and bloody, he had forced his way up so quickly. I loved that. I loved that he was so eager to reach me.” Angel was smiling indulgently again. Then he looked up and caught his son’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, his smile falling. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, tell me. I can skip more.”

“Then you have no idea how much doesn’t shock me.” Connor smiled in return, a real smile. It was good to see his father happy. Connor remembered his beer and drank some. It was lukewarm by now, but he was not going to leave to get another. “So what happened next?” he said.

“He climbed out without my help. I watched him struggle up. He was fast and able and not afraid anymore. I was already proud. He stood in front of me, brushing the earth from his morning suit. Last time he was ever going to wear one of those.” Angel grinned. Connor was amazed.

“He was a natural, of course. William seemed to have been born to be a vampire. Maybe it was because he hated his life so much, the restrictions of society and expectations. He loved his new life. He hunted with passion, a real flair, you know?”

“That first night, he chose a young man, the same age as himself. Ever the poet, was William. He drained him quickly, violently. Left his neck gashed and messy. The first kill is never neat.” Angel bit his tongue, glancing at his son. He saw no reaction in his eyes. He could smell nothing but beer and whiskey. He decided to continue. The boy was right. He had told him everything else.

“Once the first hunger is abated, then you start learning the art of a good, clean kill. We walked arm in arm for miles, until he saw another he fancied. A young lady this time. I wouldn't be surprised if she looked like his Cecily. I never asked him. This time I showed him how to do it properly, how to slide his fangs in and out again, and then just drink the blood that the heart pumps straight into your mouth.” Angel ran a hand over his eyes. Connor looked away, then back again, almost afraid of his father’s thoughts. Angel continued with his eyes covered. His voice was low and rough. “Then, as the heart slows, you need to help it along, so you suck more. You can make that pleasant or painful, depending on how you do it. If you suck nice and slow and gentle, the human will think they’ve already reached heaven as their bodies mistake numbness for weightless pleasure. The harder you suck, the more painful it will be. Imagine your blood being ripped the wrong way through your arteries, the walls of your blood vessels collapsing in on themselves as they’re emptied. That’s what it’s like if you suck hard. William sucked fiercely. The woman died screaming in his arms.”

“I have never not taken what I wanted,” he said quietly. “I took you and dumped you in the bottom of the sea. I took Fred and Gunn’s trust and threw it back in their faces. I even took Cordelia, when I knew it was wrong.” He looked back up at his father. “You’re not like that. You take nothing you’re not given. You want human blood but you don’t take it.” Angel looked shocked, as if he didn’t trust his own ears. “I mean it,” said Connor. “I’ve never seen you like this before. It’s… enlightening.”

“Okay,” said Angel. He thought for a minute before continuing. “William was full now, and warm from the new blood. He was full of life, kept playing around, loving his body and its freedom. He held my hand and pulled me along the dark streets, like a child, but with a knowing gleam in his eyes. He delighted in the shocked faces of people who saw two men so familiar on the street. He began to walk closer to me, smiling and laughing, whispering into my ear, sliding his arm around my waist as he did so.” Angel relaxed again, thoughts of William calming him. “Finally we got to the house that Darla and Dru and I had taken. I expected them to be out still, to have time alone with William before facing Darla. But no.” Angel smiled again. “She knew I was up to something and had hunted quickly that night. Dru was playing with her dolls when I pulled William into the drawing room. Darla stood by the fire, and I have never seen fury like hers that night.”

“She looked at William as if he was filth. Asked me what I had brought home. Where I had found him. William just stood beside me, looking mildly alarmed. He kept a hold of my hand, running his other hand along my arm. I stood just in front of him. I was afraid, for a while, that she would stake him then and there.”

“I guess so. I was hers, and maybe I loved her, in my own soulless way. I could not imagine continuing without her. But I wanted more. I wanted Dru, for a while, before I forgot about her and just let her tag along because she occasionally amused me. And that night I wanted William. I hated the fact that I had to go through all the shouting and arguing before I could drag him upstairs and…” He cut himself off, looking at Connor. Who was smiling. Angel smiled too, and concentrated suddenly on an invisible blemish on his desk, scratching it with a fingernail. “Heh,” he said. “I guess you can finish that sentence if you like. Your choice.”

“Eventually. She had just become used to Dru, and now here was another member for our little family. I pointed out that it wasn’t the same, William wasn’t insane. She told me I was. I told her William was a poet and she laughed in his face. I couldn’t help laughing myself at that. Dru seemed enchanted by him, though. She said she always liked the taste of poets. She went on about moonbeams for a while. But I growled her down. No one was going to touch my William until I said so, even Darla finally realized that. Then I dragged him upstairs and didn’t finish the sentence.” Angel laughed and drained his whiskey again. “And that was William’s welcome into the bosom of our family.”

“For two hundred and fifty years, I was her darling boy,” said Angel quietly. “Even when we were apart. But that night, the night she died, before you were born, she put her arms around you while you were still inside her and called you her darling boy. She loved you.”

“No, no, Connor, don’t be sorry. You didn’t take her away from me.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “You gave her to me. She loved you, and I knew she loved me. For a hundred years we’d been apart, she couldn’t stand my soul. Even when she was human. But that moment she understood, and I knew her. I would not change it for the world.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one keeping secrets, pet,” he said, fishing in the pocket of his duster. He drew out a battered pack of cigarettes and lit one up. “But don’t worry. The boy filled me in on our fun trip from Sunnydale.”

“And when I got there, I looked up the phone book and found the only Summers house in Sunnydale. And when I got to her house, Spike was there, alone. Wasn’t difficult.” He spoke with his chin jutted forward in a way that infuriated his father.

“I could smell you all over him,” cut in Spike. “That's why I came. It was the son bit I had a problem with. See, I thought I was your only son, Sire darling. But Connor here tells me that he’s a miracle boy, the son of two vampires. The other vampire in this little equation being, much to my surprise, Darla, who was dead. After all of that he told me about Holtz and Quor-toth and dimensional rifts. Even about him and Cordy here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I do apologize. I just got manhandled into a Plymouth by a kid and driven to LA to a sire who has forgotten all about us at home in Sunnydale so much that it completely slipped his mind to tell us about his miracle boy! His son!” Spike spat with bitter anger. “What else has he got in store, eh? What else has he forgotten?”

He shrugged off his duster and laid it over the back of the red couch. He sat down with a sigh, his eyes still roving all over the Hyperion’s opulence. Glass clinked from Angel’s office and Connor returned with the remainder of last night’s Jameson and a new bottle. He brought himself a beer from the fridge and an ashtray, which he placed on the low table in front of Spike.

Spike poured a full glass of whiskey and knocked back a mouthful. He sighed as the liquid burned his belly, lying his head on the back of the couch with his eyes closed. Connor watched him, waiting, noting how different Spike was from his father. There was a different kind of grace to him, not exactly the grace of age, but a tautness developed over many years hunting and running.

“I had been at a party.” He laughed. “I don’t know how much you know about parties back then, but let me tell you, they weren’t big on fun. Boring sodding conversation, that’s what you got in those days at parties. Card games you couldn’t even gamble in, and some bint on a tinny piano. Not even decent alcohol. And the women? Not an ankle showing.” He smiled, shaking his head. “But the woman I loved was there. So I went.”

“Yeah,” said Spike quietly. “It’s funny, how things happen. That night, I told her I loved her. And she didn’t care. I think that was the worst part. She just didn’t care.” Spike sighed. “So I left. Stormed out of there, all passion and pain. And that’s when I bumped into Angelus. Literally. Bloody ponce took up half the street with his manly shoulders.” He smiled despite his tone. “Knocked my precious poetry all over the cobbles. I told him to watch where he was going and stormed on. Had no idea where I was storming to, and when I got there, I had no idea he’d been following me.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I don’t know why I went into that stable. Somewhere sort of warm to sit until the pain and anguish burned less fiercely.” He laughed at himself. “I thought I knew what pain and anguish were. I had no idea. Angelus taught me that.”

“The things is, I was proud of that fact. That bastard made me proud of it.” Spike smoked the last of his cigarette and stubbed it out. He knocked back another large mouthful of whiskey. “Anyway, we’ll get to that later. We were in the stable. He followed me in, and of course I was mortified that someone should see me cry. I wiped my face in my sleeve. I didn’t have time to get my handkerchief. I thought maybe he owned the stable and was there to kick me out, or maybe he was a robber. I stood up. But instead of attacking me, he asked me why I was crying. I was astounded. I told him it was none of his business.” He laughed. “I was so upset I didn’t even notice how intimidating he was until he stood up close to me. He took the pages from my hand and began to read. I knew that he would not understand, that a man like him was not capable of finer feeling. And of course he was Irish, which in those days, in London, simply meant uncouth and savage, and that was all I could see.”

“Believe me, there was more to him than that. For an evil thing, he could be quite cultured. High society loved him. Well, until he left them splattered all over the dining room walls.” Spike grinned. “Darla loved that about him. We all loved that about him.”

“Well,” he said. “As I had suspected, Angelus didn’t think much of my work. Called it drivel. Told me Shelley’s shopping list had more poetry. I said nothing, of course, knowing that such a man as he would not listen. He raved on, tearing the poems up sheet by sheet. I watched the paper fall to the ground, and he stood all over it. The ink ran underneath his boots. And I thought to myself, they’re gone. My words.” Spike shook his head, taking a drink. “And suddenly I realized I didn’t care. I didn’t care. And that shocked me. I began to watch this strange, dark man more closely. It wasn’t just anyone who could make me forget my poetry, you know.”

“Angelus looked like the devil himself,” continued Spike. “Dark and dangerous. Like Heathcliff, I thought to myself. His eyes burned with a black flame, now and then flaring amber. I didn’t understand it then, but I knew he was something different. Something… effulgent.” He laughed. Connor frowned again. He was going to ask Wesley what that meant.

“He told me he could make me a true poet, an artist, with death itself as my art. An offer pretty tempting to a Romantic like me, I’m sure you can imagine. But really, at that point, I had lost interest in rhyming. It dawned on me that I wanted, simply, to be with him. Not in any sexual way, of course. That thought never crossed my mind, not until after. But I wanted to spend time with him, this hulk of a man in impeccable tailoring, standing in a stable. And I thought, my mother would be shocked.” A smile played about Spike’s lips. “But then suddenly he went to leave. Told me I was worthless, that I’d never amount to anything anyway. I watched his back as he left, thinking, I don’t care. Let him go. But he turned around just as he reached the door and came back.” Spike’s eyes sparkled. “He couldn’t leave me.”

“I asked him, ‘Who do you think you are, coming into a stable and judging a fellow like this?’ and he laughed. He stood close to me, very close. He promised me the world. He said all I had to do was trust him.” Spike’s voice faded away as he watched the scene in his head.

“That’s when his face changed. I remember. I was utterly calm.” Spike’s voice was little more than a whisper now. “I tilted my head to the side, but I kept my eyes on him. He seemed to hesitate for a second, which made me instantly furious. Then he bit. And I have never felt anything like it.” Spike gave a small laugh at the inadequacy of the words. He fumbled for another cigarette.

“Being drained by your father?” He lit the cigarette and inhaled. “Heavenly. He did it so slowly and gently. I knew he was killing me and I could feel his big hands on my back, holding me close to him. And let me tell you, he liked killing me. I could feel him hard against my belly.”

“You want the details, kid, you get the details.” He took a languorous drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, he had a raging hard-on for me. But I couldn’t feel my legs anymore so he brought me to the floor and took the last of my blood. I could barely think or feel. I knew that I was a breath away from death. I knew that if I could only think, that thought would be exciting. I waited an age, and nothing happened. Then at last, I felt something splash on my mouth, so I licked it from my lips. It was terrible, the taste. It burned my mouth white hot, and it was viscous and vile on my tongue. But I had to have it. I felt more splash down and I licked that too. Soon I felt it tingle in my body, like electricity in every nerve, and I could move a bit again. So I grabbed his arm and sucked. I could not get enough. I lay back against him, between his legs, and sucked his wrist more. I kicked the ground, pushing back into him and he held my belly with his other hand, holding me tighter against him still. His dick was rock hard against my back. It occurred to me that I was doing that to him. Even then the irony was not lost on me, that the most powerful moment of my life was my death.”

“I didn’t know exactly, or at least not consciously. But it seemed right. Seemed natural.” Spike laughed. “Though it is anything but. There was less blood coming from his wrist now, and I still wanted more, but he pulled away. His body jerked behind me and he roared. The last thing I heard him say was my name. I remember wondering vaguely how he knew my name, because I hadn’t told him. And then it all faded to black. I died in his arms.”

“When I woke up, it was still black. It took me a few moments to remember everything. Then I realized I was in a coffin. Panicked for a minute, because I couldn’t breathe. Then, of course, I realized that I didn’t have to. I realized that what I did have to do was get the hell out of there. So I began to smash the lid. Took a while, too. There wasn’t a lot of space to get a proper swing at it. I kicked at it too, as best I could. Finally it gave way. The loose earth poured in on top of me and I felt like I was going to suffocate again. It got in my mouth and nose. I hated it. But I had to get out. I cut my fingers on the splintered wood. I started pushing up, just trying to get out of there.” Spike took a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not easy, crawling out of your own grave. When I finally pulled myself up and out, he was there waiting for me, smiling at me with that leer of his. Do you know it?” He looked at Connor.

“I don’t think,” he said, after some time, “that having a soul means you have to lose your sense of humor. And I’ve never been big on guilt. See, he was outright evil. No question about it. He put in the legwork. Me? I just did my thing. I was never as bad as him. Never. Sort of puts things in perspective.”

“That’s right,” replied Spike. “Stood and watched me spitting dirt. Probably just didn’t want to spoil his clothes, bloody poofter.” He chuckled quietly. “I was starving. He said he knew the feeling. He told me we couldn’t hunt on the Westside because I was in a morning suit. I didn’t care. I never had his palette, certainly not fresh out of the grave.” Spike raised an eyebrow. “So he took me hunting nearby. I could have eaten anyone, but of course he had his standards. He seemed pleased when I picked out a young man. Had on pince-nez. Looked a right ponce, just like me.” He laughed at himself. He spoke conspiratorially now, looking straight at Connor from his reclined position. His legs rested haphazardly on the table. “Of course, it was my first kill. Was never going to be my neatest. I think I ripped the poor fellow’s throat out.”

“Oh, what a night. Next he dragged me on and on. I was wired. High on blood and death and him. He kept his arms around me, holding me with those big, manly hands. He whispered in my ear, putting his arm around my waist. He made me tingle, did your magnificent father. He brought me along narrow streets, making up stories for people we passed, telling me what they were, telling me to choose.” Spike’s eyes were now far away. “I finally picked a pretty enough girl, dark hair, decent clothes. I didn’t care, but he seemed to think there was a significance in who I killed, especially that night. I took her by the throat. I was about to do the same thing again, leave her minus most of her neck. But he stopped me. She thought he was saving her. She held on to him as if he would take her away from me.”

“I know, ironic, isn’t it?” laughed Spike caustically. “He held her still and told me how to bite her properly, how to sink my fangs in right to the jugular without being messy. I did it and drank, I was still so hungry. I took her blood so fast she screamed in pain. Angelus laughed. He loved the sound of her screaming.”

“’Course. No one gave much of a toss, really, look how fast I was buried. And Jack the Ripper hadn’t made dead women’s bodies interesting yet. We just left her lying there and ran off. He took my hand in his and ran. He threw me against a wall and crushed me, kissing me so ferociously. Kept calling me his boy. Said he’d take me right there and then if it wasn’t my first night with him. Wanted to make it special, he said.” Spike laughed and looked at Connor. He laughed again when he saw the boy’s face.

“Oh, I think I told you too much!” said Spike. The grin on his face belied any possibility of apology. “Well, get used to it. You knew you’d hear this my way. He’s the only man ever touched me, and damned if I’m going to edit the story for your delicate boyish ears.” Spike emptied his whiskey glass defiantly and poured another. “I’m damned anyway,” he muttered.

“No, I mean specifically?” Spike smiled. “That was always a given, pet.” He lay back on the couch, his head resting on one arm and boots over the other. “He dragged me home, his hands all over my body. I think that’s where we were.”

“Well. He flung open the front door to this great big house they were renting. Fucking gorgeous, it was. Him and Darla, they liked style. Dru would’ve been happy in a damp old crypt, but those two. Had to have the grandeur.” Spike waved a hand around at the lobby. “He threw me right in against the wall, slamming the door behind him, and pushed up against me, kissing me again. His dick was hard, and so was mine. I was full of blood. It was glorious, him and me, all that heat. He must have fed earlier.” Spike reached out for his whiskey glass and drained it at a go. The blood and alcohol gave color to his skin. Or maybe it was the memory. “Then he reached around me and opened the door to the drawing room. We fell in, barely staying standing. Then he stopped kissing me, and he laughed. I looked around, and laughed too. Darla stood there looking furious. The only other time I’ve seen her that furious was when Angelus left us in eighteen ninety eight.”

“Seeing her darling boy with someone else was bad enough for Darla. She could barely stand Drusilla because Angelus turned her. And then seeing me stumble in wrapped in his arms, drunk on him? She would have staked me on the spot if she could’ve. But I didn’t let her near me. She screamed at Angelus that he was as insane as Dru. She said she’d leave, find herself another stallion. Oh, you should have seen him when she said that. Without letting go of me, he walked over to her at the fireplace and rubbed the back of his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her, but he squeezed my hand. She hated that he made her melt, but he did. Then Dru started saying something about the moon.” Spike took another drink. “I thought she was barmy. Of course I was perfectly right. But Angelus didn’t want to hang around. As soon as Darla finished her tirade, he dragged me upstairs and buggered me senseless.”

“Oh, yes,” he said with enthusiasm. “I did. His body and mine, together, sweat gleaming in the gaslight. He kissed me so deep when he fucked me, I could hardly bear his dick being so far inside me.” Spike’s eyes glowed, but his smile softened as he relented. “And maybe that’s all I’ll tell you,” he said gently.

“Yeah,” said Spike, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. He frowned and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “Knew to bring me here, didn’t he?” Spike picked up the last of the blood in his glass and drank it down. He wiped his mouth in his hand and licked his fingers. “Funny how you get to like it,” he said quietly.

The world slowed down. Angel walked towards Spike with certain steps, glowing darkly in the dimness. Spike inhaled involuntarily. Freeze frame as Angel’s face came within inches of his own, dark eyes glinting with something unseen in a century.

And then Angel kissed him, slowly at first, gently, tenderly. Soft kisses against his sensitive lips, becoming more urgent now. And despite himself, Spike found himself kissing Angel back, at first uncertainly, but then more hungrily as his hands snaked around Angel’s hips, pressing their bodies closer. Angel whimpered softly against his skin as he held Spike’s head in his powerful hands.

“Spike!” said Angel sternly. “Not the time for conversation!” And with that he growled and pushed Spike roughly against a marble pillar and crushed him against it, kissing him again with a renewed fervor. “Oh, William,” he whispered into his ear, pressing the weight of his body against him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Spike said nothing, but took Angel’s hair forcefully in hand and brought his mouth to his own again. Angel wrapped his arms around Spike and picked him up, still kissing him fiercely. He turned them around and took a few steps towards the stairs. Spike broke the kiss and put his feet down, smiling now, mischievously. He ran his hands down Angel’s arms and took the large hands in his own.

Spike looked confused, but when Angel threw him in the door to his suite, he forgot to care. He landed on his back on the ground as the door slammed shut, his sire looming over him. The windows were curtained, but the grey light of dawn filtered gently through, throwing Angel’s face into shadows of light and dark. He reached down a hand and picked up his boy by the scruff of his shirt, and threw him again towards the bed.

He stalked through the shadows to the bed, a growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes flashed amber as he moved. He peeled off his sweater, revealing skin alabaster white in the grey light. Spike suppressed a breath. He was no fledge, despite this re-enactment. He leaned back on his elbows on the bed, his eyes gleaming, taking in the sight of his magnificent sire. Angel stood before him, nudging Spike's knees apart with his legs. Spike waited.

Angel leaned forward and opened Spike’s belt, slowly, his eyes black in the greyness. Spike pushed his hips forward, arching into the bed. Angel opened the button of his fly, and then began on the zip. Spike heard each click as he pulled it down. He shivered as Angel’s fingers brushed against his belly, as if by accident. As if anything his sire did now was an accident.

He waited, biting his lip, for Angel to finish. Finally his zipper was down, and Angel began to pull his jeans off, again maddeningly slowly. Spike’s erect penis sprang free of its constraints. However, Angel paid no heed and continued peeling off the rough denim, exciting Spike with every brush of fingers against his skin.

“Now the shirt,” he said. His voice was still strong, barely cracking with lust, but Spike could hear it. Spike knew him. Angel leaned forward again and took hold of Spike’s t-shirt. In a single move he ripped it away and threw it against the wall. Spike watched it land airily in the darkness.

“Good,” he replied. He touched Spike no more, but instead undid his own pants and let them fall, kicking them away. Spike was breathless at the glorious sight of his naked sire; the light had now turned to cold amethyst with the imminent sunrise, and Angel’s skin glowed in the diffusion. From his reclined position, Spike soaked it all in: the handsome face with the darkness of the devil etched in every angle. The broad shoulders that told of gentle protection and brute force in the same breath, the chest that could crush with passion and hate at the same moment. The firm belly, manly and hard, leading to hips Spike ached to feel against his own. And then below, in that dark nest of curls, his sire’s penis erect and ready.

Spike sat up slowly, his eyes flicking to Angel’s face and then back to his cock. Angel simply waited, he did not say a word Spike needed no direction. Slowly, slowly, he raised his head closer and closer until finally he could blow, so gently, and Angel shivered. Spike delighted in the reaction.

He nuzzled into the soft hair and trailed his tongue lazily over Angel’s heavy balls. Angel whimpered, and Spike felt those large, insistent hands in his hair. He licked and sucked, and felt them pushing him more forcefully. He chuckled against Angel’s sensitive sac, eliciting a deep, rumbling groan from his sire’s chest.

“William,” he heard in a ragged whisper. Angel needed to say no more. Spike licked roughly along the underside of his cock before taking it all into his mouth at a go, right to the hilt. Angel sagged into him and moaned his sudden pleasure. Spike began an onslaught, sucking with hollow cheeks right up along Angel’s thick shaft, and tonguing the tip before roughly taking him in again, right into his throat and swallowing around him. Angel grunted and fisted his hands in Spike’s hair, pushing as deep as he could into his boy’s mouth. Spike held his ass with insistence, holding his hips as he attempted to thrust, begging for more with every quivering movement.

Spike relented and fell back, bringing Angel with him on to the bed. Angel growled his approval as he began to fuck Spike’s mouth, reveling now in this freedom granted him. Spike took it all, squirming under his sire’s force. Angel thrusted faster and faster, his legs on either side of Spike’s torso, his back already glistening with sweat in the glow of sunrise. Spike began to cry out against Angel’s shaft as he felt his sire coming closer and closer, and slid a hand between his legs and held his tightening balls gently as Angel fucked his mouth so roughly. Angel was thrown into paroxysms of pleasure at the touch and howled out his orgasm, his hips still pistoning erratically against Spike’s face. Spike swallowed eagerly, cum like blood in his throat. Angel’s movement slowed and he collapsed on the bed.

Spike wriggled out from under him and crawled between his legs and up his body until he lay on Angel’s back, fitting into the dip of his waist and the groove of his spine. His own penis, still hard, fit snugly against Angel’s ass. His body rose and fell as his sire panted in the aftermath.

“That’s true,” said Angel, shifting underneath him so he slid off his back and onto the mattress. Angel rose to his knees and flipped Spike over, his eyes taking in the entire length of his boy. The light was slightly warmer now, giving his skin a golden sheen so flawless except for those strange, enticing scars. He leant over and ran his tongue over one of them, delicately and slowly. Spike shivered under the gentle ministration. The scar tissue was sensitive yet slightly numbed at the same time; Angel’s barely-felt tongue caused frissons of pleasure to ripple along his skin. Spike inhaled sharply, his eyes shut against this new sensation. Angel moved to the next scar and traced its shapes, again making Spike shiver. He gently kissed each whitening wound, aching that someone had done this to his boy.

He kissed that luscious mouth again, deeply and invasively, laying his body along Spike’s, feeling his hard cock against his own. He began to move instinctively against it, gyrating his hips in small, slow circles. Spike groaned into his mouth, moving his own hips in reply. Angel crushed his frame against the mattress, surrounding him utterly. Spike was enveloped and aroused beyond possibility. Then Angel left his mouth, kissing his jaw line and his neck, along the line of his silent jugular to his chest. He avoided the scars this time, kissing and licking his way to Spike’s nipple. He played there, nipping and gently biting, making it hard and sensitive. Spike moaned and growled at the feel of his tongue and teeth. Then Angel moved to the other side and began again, until Spike’s chest rose and fell with sharp pants as he inhaled Angel’s dark scent and arousal and silently begged for more.

Angel heard the unspoken desire and moved again, slowly, dragging the skin of his torso gently against Spike’s cock as he slid down his body, kissing every inch of the way. Spike still moved his hips, aching for friction. His legs were splayed around Angel’s body when Angel finally reached his cock. He simply blew on it at first, causing Spike to jerk towards him. Angel caught the tip in his mouth and swirled his tongue around, tasting the weeping head. The taste was electric in his mouth, sweeping back a century and dragging it here and now. His boy. His William, here in his bed again. How he had missed this.

He took him in slowly, teasingly. Spike mewled in frustration, Angel’s heavy hands and iron grip preventing him from thrusting forcefully as he wished. He held the sheets in twisted, fisted knots. Angel swallowed slowly as he brought Spike deeper and deeper into his throat. Spike whimpered. Angel moaned at the sound, sending vibrations of pleasure through Spike’s shaft. He felt Spike’s hips buck at the sensation and held him down more firmly. He brought him in to the hilt, and then slowly slid back again, his cheeks hollowing with suction. He sucked so gently, Spike thought he was already in heaven.

But it soon changed. Spike felt him speeding up, sucking more violently now. Angel drank in his taste and scent with each swallow, bringing his boy back to him with each suck. Urgency boiled in his chest, the desperate need to reclaim his wayward William. He felt his soft skin quivering under his fingers, heard his sharp, gasping breath with each stroke along his shaft. Whimpers from far back in his throat as he flung his head against the pillow and tried to arch his back into Angel’s mouth. But Angel held him firm, pleasuring him with a measured rhythm, bringing him closer and closer at a pace he set. Spike could not fight it, and in truth, did not want to. He was with his sire again. He was powerless in those arms once more.

Angel built up the rhythm, faster and faster, until Spike’s whimpers had become moans, and moans had turned to cries. The sheets tore in Spike’s hands as he vented his pleasure the only way he could. His balls tightened as Angel’s sucking became faster and faster, and he could hear Angel’s moans of excitement as he felt his boy nearing the brink. He released his hips and felt him buck immediately, burying his nose in Spike’s soft curls with every thrust. He took him deep into his throat, finally feeling Spike’s balls contract and his cum spurt deep inside him. He swallowed around Spike’s still quivering cock, coaxing his orgasm completely from his spasming body, feeling him sag, at last, in repletion.

Spike’s cry still keened in his throat as he collapsed against the torn sheet, mercury in his veins. Angel lapped at the final drops of cum from Spike’s softening cock, hungrily swallowing the taste of his boy. Spike moaned again, his chest heaving with the aftermath of his orgasm. His eyes remained closed as his lips rose in a smile. Angel, giving his cock one last kiss, smiled too. He rose on all fours and crawled his way up Spike’s body. Spike opened his eyes a crack and watched him, dark and leonine. Angel stooped his head to kiss him softly, barely brushing against his lips. Spike watched him, his body sultry and glowing in the golden light filtering through the blinds.

He flipped Spike over with a rough hand and a quiet laugh. Again he kissed, licked and nipped his way down his boy’s body, this time along the ridge of the spine, carefully and tenderly. Spike sighed at his touch. Soon Angel came to Spike’s ass, round and firm. He bit each cheek playfully before spreading Spike’s legs around him and nuzzling in to Spike’s sensitive anus. He licked from the tender spot behind Spike’s balls right to his hole, laving it with his saliva. Spike wriggled his hips in anticipation. Angel laughed throatily.

“I said,” he whispered breathlessly, “that you know what I bloody want, sire.” He stressed the last word defiantly. Angel pushed his tongue in further and felt the muscle tighten around him. Spike leant his hips back, begging him to go deeper.

Instead, he pulled out. Spike whimpered at the loss. He felt Angel coat him with saliva, and then crawl up his body again. Angel held his hand in front of Spike’s face and he licked it thoroughly. Angel coated his cock with his boy’s saliva before lining up the head with his hole. Then he paused. Spike waited, breathless.

At the last word, Angel drove inside him, eliciting a cry of pain and pleasure from Spike’s lips. Angel cried out too as he felt his boy surround him, enveloping him, tightening around him as if he never wanted him to leave. Fighting the urge to simply push in further, Angel drew back, almost to the tip of his hard cock. Then he drove back in again, to the hilt, hearing his boy’s voice again rend the air in pleasure. Angel felt electricity surge through him, radiating from his groin through his veins to every nerve in his skin. White light already seared through his stagnant blood, and he felt it course inside him. Primal sounds escaped his lips as he drew back once more and again ground his hips into Spike’s ass. He arched his back into the movement, forcing his cock deep, deep inside that pliant yet fiercely possessive body.

Spike spread his legs and leaned into Angel’s cock, and saw a burst of light behind his eyelids as Angel hit his prostate. His own cock grew hard again against the torn silk sheet and he began to thrust back against his sire, whimpering and growling his mounting pleasure. He felt lost in Angel, drowned in him, drunk on him. His body thrummed under every touch. He felt Angel deep inside, over and over again, shattered by the feeling of belonging so utterly. He ground against that source and felt Angel tighten as their bodies acted as one, bringing them both closer and closer to oblivion.

Sweat gleamed on skin stained honey in the light. Sheets, rent and torn, crumpled as passion overwhelmed sire and son. Thick silence filled with cries of want, need, desire. The world was still and soundless around their movement. Nothing but here and now as Angel fucked his William fiercely into the mattress. Spike buried his face into the pillow, screaming his need deep into the scent of his sire. Closer and nearer they came. In their own private world of ecstasy, they moved faster and more frantically, more urgently together until finally, in a burst of pain and delight and relief and lust and pleasure more intense than they had ever experienced, they simultaneously roared out their orgasms, the walls of their world blasted with the intensity of their shared collapse.

Still moving inside the milking muscles of his boy, Angel fell to his elbows, the sheeting pulses of orgasm felling him. Spike felt his glorious weight on his body. He arched his ass into Angel’s sated penis, still feeling him embedded so deep inside. Angel panted, groaning softly into Spike’s ear. Spike replied in similar sounds. They needed no words.

They lay like that for an age, Angel gently slipping out of Spike yet still enveloping him, his strong arms wrapped around him as their bodies came down from the heights they had reached, still quivering at every touch. He lay to one side and buried his head in the crook of Spike’s neck, breathing him in. Spike lay peacefully, finally, cradled in that body he had always known.

Outside the room, down in the lobby, the sounds of morning began. Coffee filtered, filing cabinets opened, and the computer whined as it was booted up. Wesley shut the door behind him with a click and Cordelia greeted him with her usual cheeriness. Fred and Gunn brought the pancakes. Connor ran down the stairs, still yawning, but very hungry. Five voices combined in the daily chatter, conversation and discussion that made up Angel Investigations.