Bloodsugar

Author Notes: For Xof, my lovely and patient beta for "Fluids”. Thanks for keeping me in line and for helping me through the jitters of my first posting in this enormous fandom. You remain one of the best writers I've ever known and having your assistance was an honor.

Story Notes: Please note two things: one, that I am aware that I'm stepping out of canon with the use of the name "William” during my story's timeline. Thanks to the reader who mentioned it in the interest of purity. I appreciate your thoughtful attention. And two, I am also stretching the canon timeline a bit around Buffy's 17th birthday. I needed another night in there to weave this little web.

Following the exhilaration of Angel's tale, Giles had been unable to sleep until well after dawn. He woke at nearly 5:00 p.m. in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, limbs heavy and achy from lack of circulation. Bones cracking as he stretched, he got out of bed carefully and went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

Darkness fell early in the Southern California winter and he stood looking out the kitchen window at the last of the twilight while the kettle heated. When the water began to boil, he scooped three large spoonfuls of black tea into his favorite pot then reached for the softly hissing kettle.

Her eyes appeared suddenly outside--large, almond-shaped, indigo. Smooth black hair arranged in big curls at the ends, flawless porcelain skin and lips painted in crimson perfection. He could only see her from the shoulders up as she was standing outside the closed kitchen window.

For a moment, Giles wasn't positive he really WAS seeing her. He blinked and she was still there, her image a bit muted by the closed glass. He blinked again and she remained, but her expression had changed ever so slightly. Her chin was tilted a smidgen to the right and her beautiful eyes regarded him with fervent curiosity.

The kettle still dangling by its handle from his fingers, Giles swallowed and his heart began to hammer in his chest. He had been certain Drusilla and Spike were killed in that church. They had all been certain--even though they had seen no actual bodies. Clearly, they were mistaken. In light of their failure, Drusilla would have only one reason for stopping by that night.

Momentarily unable to move, Giles took a deep breath to clear his head. "No," he said out loud, looking right into those hypnotic eyes. God, they were wonderful. Kaleidoscopes of blue and black.

Drusilla reached forward with her thin, pale hand and scratched her long fingernails against the glass, causing a horrible shrill screech. Again, she mouthed those words and again Giles said no.

Her perfect lips turned up in the tiniest of smiles and she scraped her nails on the glass again. She said his name but Giles could not be sure he'd heard any real sound. He couldn't stop staring at her. He didn't even mind that awful squeaking on the window glass anymore. He felt like he might loose control of his bladder if he didn't look away. She was so very lovely . . . His entire body began to hum.

And then everything went dark and Giles felt the pressure of cool fingers cover his eyes. He felt himself pulled back against the taut body of another male and real fear paralyzed him until he heard the intruder speak.

"Don't look at her," Angel said. "Turn around and walk into the other room." He released Giles and helped him turn himself toward the kitchen doorway. Angel took the kettle out of his hand. "Go," he said. "Into the living room and sit down. Don't look at her again, Rupert. I mean it."

In a daze, Giles moved one foot in front of the other until he found himself at his couch. He flopped into the cushions and then covered his eyes with his hands, just in case. From the darkness behind his eyelids, he heard Angel open the kitchen window.

"It's not my house, baby. You know I can't. Besides, you got enough of my blood at that church. And I can still feel those holy water burns. That was very naughty of you. Why don't you run along."

She was quiet for a long moment, then she said "come to us, then. Come and give my boy what he needs. You know I'm not strong enough to heal him. Besides . . . I want you to see my presents."

Angel said nothing and then Giles heard the trees rustling outside the window. There was no sound at all for so long, that he finally couldn't resist taking a look.

Standing motionless in front of the open window, the vampire gazed out at the fresh darkness. Drusilla appeared to be gone, but Giles wanted to be sure.

After another ageless pause, Angel closed the window again. "Yeah," he said. "For now, anyway." He picked up the kettle and poured the boiling water into the prepared teapot. "How do you take it?" he asked. "Sugar? Milk?"

Carrying the pot and a cup into the living room, Angel set them both on the coffee table before he sat down. They had switched positions from the night before and Angel's large frame made the chair look slightly insubstantial. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Reaching for the pot, Giles poured some of the tea into the cup. It hadn't quite brewed long enough yet, but he wanted to drink it anyway. He needed something to steady his nerves. "We . . . thought we'd killed them," he said. "Did you know they were alive?"

Angel looked down. "I didn't know for sure until right now. But I had a feeling. A sense. I guess I knew on some level, but I wasn't acknowledging it."

"Right," Giles frowned. "Of course. Revenge. Then why didn't Spike come, as well?" Suddenly realizing the obvious, he gaped wide-eyed out the living room window. "Or, did he?"

"No," Angel said decisively. "It was just her." He looked out the living room window as well and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he closed his eyes as though he were meditating. "He couldn't come," he said finally. "Apparently he's injured."

Laughing bitterly, Angel said "I might have been a little out of it when all that was going down, but I do remember Buffy throwing a pipe organ at them. My guess is that Spike came away with a few broken bones. Those take much longer to regenerate than cuts and bruises. Months, sometimes, depending on the extent of the damage."

"I see." Giles sipped his tea, his mind racing with possibilities of how Spike had been injured. Was he temporarily out of commission? Was he crypt-ridden? It seemed he would be terribly easy to kill if he were.

"I'd leave him be for now," Angel said presciently. He stood up again and walked toward the breakfast bar where he took hold of a full bottle of whiskey there. Handing it to Giles, he said, "I've had this for a while. 30-year-old Jameson's. I thought you might enjoy it."

"Oh," Giles looked at the bottle with mild awe, knowing such a libation was quite pricey. "My goodness. Thank you. That's very kind."

Again, guilt panged through Giles' body and he found himself unable to meet Angel's eyes. "Well, it wasn't necessary. Like I said, I am very interested in your story. I hope you've come back this evening because you're planning to go on--not just to rescue me from imminent death."

Going back to the kitchen, Angel found the cupboard where Giles kept his clean glasses and brought two back to the living room. He opened the bottle of Jameson's with a sweet crack of the seal and poured for them both.

Giles finished his first cup, finally feeling that strange fog clear from his head. The tea was helping and he planned to make some toast soon because he hadn't eaten in hours. But the Jameson's smelled amazing, crisp and woody. He looked forward to tasting it. But first, he had responsibilities to see to.

Angel's handsome face clouded slightly. "She's been having dreams about Dru," he said softly. "I told her not to worry about it, but I guess I was wrong."

"Yes," Giles said. "Buffy's dreams have a rather dreadful tendency to come true. You'd best watch yourself out there. I'm sure they see you as allied with us and will take appropriate action if they find you alone. After all . . . it was their intention to kill you before."

"If you'll excuse me, I need to call her right away." Giles walked over to the phone on his desk and pressed the speed-dial code for the slayer's number. After a moment, she answered in her usual bright tone.

"Oh, God," she said, far too seriously. She took most things too seriously these days. Being in love makes one overreact to just about everything--but especially to things that concerned the loved one. "It's not Angel, is it?"

"Er, as far as I know," he stammered. "But I had a visit from Drusilla a moment ago. Apparently we weren't as successful at the church as we might have hoped."

"She tried to get in," he explained. "I'm assuming she planned to kill me. But clearly she was unable. Alas, she buggered off but I think it's safe to say that where there is Drusilla, there is Spike."

"Well," Giles said, again glancing at Angel. "Perhaps he couldn't for whatever reason. I suspect it's very likely you injured him severely."

"Not severely enough. Be careful, Giles. I'll keep my eyes open, too, but . . ." Her tone changed to one of halting reluctance. "You don't want me to patrol tonight, do you?"

"Well," she hedged. "Now that you mention it. I sort of have a date, but not until later. Angel said he was doing something early in the evening and he'd meet me around 10:00. I guess I can do a quick patrol before, though. If . . . you think I need to."

"Indeed. I'll talk to you later. Goodbye." He set the phone down and went back to the couch where he poured himself the last of the tea in the pot. "You didn't tell her you were coming to see me?" he asked Angel. "I don't understand. Is it a secret?"

He shrugged. "If she knew I was here, she'd ask a bunch of questions about why . . . It's less complicated if she doesn't know we're talking. Especially with her birthday coming up. No need to freak her out unnecessarily."

Giles nodded, but inside he felt a cold sneaking suspicion. "I suppose you're right." He settled back again preparing to hear further tales of sex and gore from Angel's past, when he realized he was wearing the exact same clothing as last night. "Oh," he said, feeling his face heat up with blush. "Would you excuse me for another moment?"

Giles went down the hall to his bedroom and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a pullover. In the bathroom, he had a quick wash and brushed his teeth, then dragged a comb through his disheveled hair. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered what Drusilla could have seen in him a few moments ago. He was certainly no handsome prize when he first got out of bed. Not that one needed to be handsome to be killed by a vampire, but still . . . the way she'd looked at him had been decidedly come-hither. Remembering how he had felt under her hypnotic gaze made him shudder again. Angel had been right. He'd intervened at the last possible moment.

Lying on his belly in the big unmade bed he shared with Dru at The Factory, he watched the door with keen interest. If his heart still worked, it would have been beating like mad about then.

The sounds out in the main room were indistinct and strange. It wasn't Dru; it wasn't one of their feckless minions. It didn't seem to be human, either. But from where he lay, he couldn't see around the wall to determine exactly who or what had infiltrated their hideout.

In the main room, there was a faint clicking sound that had even rhythm, like steps. But the sound was so soft and repeated four times, instead of two. He couldn't begin to guess what would make such a sound. And then he saw it.

A tiny gray kitten appeared in the bedroom doorway and froze when it saw Spike lying on the bed. They stared at each other, the kitten's glassy yellow eyes sharpening as its pupils narrowed to focus across the room.

"Isn't she scrumptious?" Drusilla said, crawling into the room behind the tiny creature. "I found her outside digging up the dirt near a fresh grave. I think she pooped in it." She snickered like a child and Spike couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, my darling--I thought you heard me," she cooed apologetically. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. You're so vulnerable like this."

Drusilla stood, gathering the kitten in her arms, and walked to the bed where she sat down gently. The kitten squirmed until it got free, then padded across the rumpled bed to Spike's side. That tiny pink nose touched his cold arm and the kitten recoiled slightly then moved forward again, exploring.

"Why is that, luv?" Spike watched the little furball walk on fledgling legs over the uneven blankets and sheets and then sit beside his left shoulder. Its tiny paws sparkled with fine white hairs and beneath that he could see needle sharp claws that were barely retracted. That had been the source of the clicking sound on the floor.

"Because she was lost in the woods," Dru explained matter-of-factly. "I don't know where her brother is, though. Perhaps Angel got him."

"Yes," she whispered conspiratorially. "He's with the watcher. For the second night in a row." She leaned forward and lowered her voice even more. "He's telling tales of your pleasures, my sweet."

Frowning, Spike tried to sit up but winced from the pain in his crippled back. Reluctantly, he remained lying down. "Will you tell me what he's saying?"

Drusilla stroked the kitten's little gray ears and the tiny one looked at her lovingly. "You see, he needs to get it off his chest," she explained, her voice dripping with sympathy. "He's having dreams about it all. He misses you so much."

Spike laughed bitterly. "Pet, I'm deliriously sure that's not the case. If Angel is dishing the dirt about me to the watcher, he's doing it to help that insufferable slayer finish me off. He must know we're still here."

Blinking in astonishment, then checking himself for being astonished by anything Drusilla ever said, Spike reached for his lover's hand. "You did what, sugar lips? You spoke to him tonight?"

"Of course," she said, taking the kitten into her arms again. "I went to see the watcher--that impotent little man. He wouldn't let me in! Angel stopped him from opening the window." She shook her head, scowling at the indignity of it all.

"Right," Spike said, urging her to continue. A slimy feeling slithered in the pit of his stomach but he knew better than to rush her when she was telling a story. One could only get all the pertinent details when Dru revealed them in her own time.

"Angel needs to talk to SOMEONE," she went on. "So he's talking to the slayer's keeper. It's quite sad, really. He should come talk to us. We understand."

She held the kitten up and looked into its golden eyes. "He's talking about the Abbey and the boys in that alley in White Chapel. Angel misses you, Spike. It's so obvious. He's dreaming of touching you. He's dreaming of all the yummy kisses you gave him. That's what he's telling the watcher."

Sighing, Spike closed his eyes, hoping against hope that this was all some horrible nightmare. He buried his face in the pillow and groaned, wishing for the millionth time that night that he wasn't broken. Wishing he could just get up and go ram a stake into Angel's pathetic, soul-having, rosy little heart. Wishing he could do just that with the slayer chained to a wall helplessly looking on.

When he returned, Angel was standing before the living room window with his hands clasped behind his back. That night the vampire was clad in black jeans and a soft-looking beige turtleneck--no doubt the touchable look was for Buffy's benefit. He smiled at Giles over his shoulder as the watcher sat down again.

"Coast is clear out there," Angel reported. "She went back to wherever Spike is. They have a specific energy when they're together. It makes a sound. I can hear it now."

Nodding, Angel turned back to the chair and sat down again. "Yeah, it's almost a perfect E-minor." He settled back with his drink in hand and crossed his legs. "I don't know where they are," he said regretfully. "I'm guessing they're at The Factory, but I can't say for sure. I'd tell you."

"I know you would," Giles lied, but he put a sincere smile behind it to give it weight. "Right, then. If you're sure we won't be interrupted again, I would love for you to go on."

"Yeah," Angel said. "But that wasn't the end of it, though. The stuff that happened after that is what's making me feel so . . . weird. You know, the guilt thing."

Disturbingly, Angel glanced out the living room window again before he resumed his tale; as though there was something out in the night he was keeping his eye on. A little chill ran up Giles' back, but he tried not to let his imagination run away with him.

Dru hadn't said a word to him since the night before. She kept her distance and wouldn't let him touch her, no matter how many times he tried. Angelus refused to apologize--in his mind, he had nothing to apologize for. He had wanted William, William had wanted him, and so they had enjoyed each other. The act being right or wrong was completely irrelevant. And it wasn't much of an act, anyway. She had nothing to complain about.

That night, Drusilla was gone when Angelus awoke. He searched their rooms for her and found only her discarded dolls scattered about, but no trace of the fierce girl herself. Her devoted young William had yet to rise.

"She's probably at the Abbey again," Darla said as she walked naked into the washroom to have a bath. "She's very upset with you, Angelus. I'd see to that if I were you. Her madness makes her horribly dangerous."

Voluptuous as Venus in the glow of the candles placed on the edge of the tub, Darla merely waved at him as she sprinkled lavender oil into the running water. He left her with a lecherous smile.

He nearly flattened an old woman passing on the narrow sidewalk as he burst out into the cold street. Reflexively he apologized then bounded off down the wet cobble stoned road.

They were staying just outside the city center of York and the large stone wall the Romans constructed surrounding the town could be seen from their inn. Angelus walked toward the wall, longing for the heat and congestion of the taverns near the Micklegate. The blood of drunken revelers was always that much sweeter.

The night was frigid but clear and the bloated moon glowed like a lamp. It wasn't quite full yet, perhaps tomorrow night. He stopped for a moment and looked up, marveling at the pattern of the stars. So many of them that night. Like tiny holes punched into the black velvet of the sky. Orion, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor. Tilting his head, he squinted for Lupus, his favorite constellation, on the northern horizon. While looking up, he sensed William approaching from behind but he did not let on. He waited until the young vampire was right behind him before he spun, lunged and pinned the boy to the cold grass, laughing wickedly.

William struggled under him to no avail, completely outsized by the older vampire. "Get off, you bleedin' poofter!" he shouted, but he couldn't hide his smile. He always enjoyed rough play.

Grinning, William slid his chilly fingers up under the hem of Angelus' shirt, tugging the fine hairs just below his navel. "You know what I liked best about drinking your blood?" he whispered.

Lips spreading in a slow, easy smile, Angelus rolled them over on the wet ground so the boy was on top. His hands slipped around William's narrow hips, drawing their bodies flush together. Their eyelashes almost touched. He knew he would find the young one hard and he wasn't disappointed. That eager cock throbbed against his own, just begging to be pleased.

"I know what you liked," he growled, brushing his nose against William's. "You liked how I handled you. I felt it in the way you responded. You wanted me to fuck you, but your girl wouldn't let you. Poor whelp," he chided. "Controlled by a bitch."

"Well, she's not here now," Angelus continued, watching those blue eyes very closely. He rolled his hips in a slow circle, rubbing their swelling erections together. The action made William sigh and bite his full bottom lip. "You came after me because you want more. Isn't that right?"

William sniffed Angelus' neck and lips, inhaling deeply. Then he pushed himself up and out of their grappling embrace, stepping off toward the road. He grinned over his shoulder. "I'd love to taste your blood again, that's true. But you're a master of self-flattery, mate. I came after you because I'm hungry and I like watching you feed. You're so bloody vicious. It whets my appetite. And I always learn something new about the way human arteries can burst when I watch you kill." He started toward town again, his lean backside rolling easily with his stride. "So," he said over his shoulder again. "Let's go eat."

Angelus watched the younger vampire stroll away, wondering if his own blood was responsible for this sudden surge of confidence in the lad. Whatever the reason, he liked it. It brought William closer and closer to irresistible.

Getting to his feet, he caught up with his companion and they headed for the old Roman wall that surrounded the Viking city of York.

"If I may," the watcher interrupted, walking over to his wall of books. "In the diaries, there's a description of how you were reluctant to accept William into the fold until after he killed his first slayer."

"Well, there were a lot of things that went into my acceptance," Angel said. "Killing one slayer wouldn't be enough by itself. But it was impressive."

They glanced at each other and Giles was momentarily frozen by Angel's eyes. His pupils were sharply dilated, making his irises appear completely black.

"Your eyes . . ." he said, then trailed off. Angel's eyes were once again very obviously brown and looked completely normal. "Never mind. I must have imagined . . . it's nothing." He turned back to the book in his hand, but it took him a moment to concentrate on what he was looking for. That blackness he'd seen in the vampire's eyes had raised all the hairs on his body.

Turning pages, Giles walked back to his seat on the couch. "Right," he said. "Here it is. This is the diary belonging to the watcher of the slayer Spike killed during the Boxer Rebellion."

"Really?" Angel said, his curiosity clearly piqued. "May I?" he held out his hand for the book and he and Giles looked at each other for a hesitant moment.

"Oh, well . . . I . . ." Giles didn't know what to say. The protection of those diaries from the eyes of vampires was as much a part of his sacred duties as looking after Buffy. Again, he was torn by the highly unusual situation he was in with Angel and he found himself unable to make a decision.

"It's okay," the vampire said gently. "Never mind. I don't want to stress you out." He sat back in his seat, resting his fresh drink on the top of his knee.

"Thank you," Giles said gratefully. "Uh . . . right, here. This watcher has rather detailed reports of the four of you that go on for several years. He wrote: `Angelus and the new male in the group--a blond, weak-looking boy called William--seem to be forging a bond, albeit a reluctant one.'"

"I was definitely reluctant," Angel laughed. "At first, he was always making mistakes, always doing things that made me want to stake him. I don't know how he lived through the first two weeks he was with us. Dru was the only reason, I guess."

Giles continued. "The passage goes on to say: `the young one is careless and blatant. He craves attention and tries to get it by creating havoc wherever he goes. Like an impish child, he seems to be trying to impress Angelus.'" Looking up, he asked, "is that why he began all that gory carnage with the railroad spikes? To win your favor?"

Angel considered this, his brow knitting in thought. "Well, at first all he cared about was Dru. But after a few months with us, I guess he realized he needed to get into my good graces. Plus, he was becoming stronger every night." The vampire sighed. "I don't know if it was all about me. I think he just LIKED the violence. Still does."

Angel lowered his eyes and his thick lashes made spider-shadows on his pale cheeks. "Things were different then, Rupert. I was different."

His dark eyes flashed briefly, then softened, and Angel regarded him with a look of open frailty. "What do you mean? Have I . . . given you some reason to think I'm not being truthful?"

Walking the book back over to the stacks, Giles put it back in its place carefully. He spoke to Angel without turning to him at first. "It's the way you're talking about your former life. Your eyes." Then he met the vampire's imploring gaze. "I suppose it's just something I feel."

"I think you might," he replied, honestly. "She allows herself horrid vulnerability around you. At any time you could . . ." He couldn't say it and didn't need to.

Angel slumped in his chair, shaking his head. "Rupert, I would never. I can't even imagine it." When he looked up then, his eyes were rimmed with red. "I can't believe you think I would. I care for her."

"I know you do," Giles said, walking back to his seat on the couch. "And I believe that YOU believe you would never harm her. But, Angel . . . things can happen. These dreams she's had about Drusilla, they have to mean something. Slayers don't dream for no reason. That, together with the dreams you've been having about Spike and your past together. Well, it's just all so troubling. You must admit."

Angel was silent for a long time and when he spoke again, his voice was ragged and bruised. "I know I can't ask you to really trust me, Rupert." He raised his eyes imploringly. "But Buffy does. That's got to mean something to you."

"Yes," Giles said. "It means she's in love with you. And we are both men of the world. We know that being in love clouds one's judgment."

They sat for a long time without speaking, both of them thinking a thousand thoughts. Finally, Angel sat forward and reached for the bottle of Jameson's. As he poured, he said, "do you want me to continue?"

William didn't like the smell in the first tavern they went into, so they moved on to another down the road. People clustered in the narrow streets, bundled against the cold, making their way from one inn or pub to the next. The vampires slid through the human throng easily until they reached the next tavern door.

His eyes made a quick sweep of the clientele and then a beautiful redhead pressed her ample body between the two of them in the doorway.

"I hope you handsome blokes are comin' in," she said, batting her round green eyes at William. "It's not every day we get such creatures in this place."

"No, lass," Angelus said, laying his brogue on thick. "I reckon it's not every day." Grabbing the woman, he shoved his way through the dense crowd and up to the bar. William was right behind him, pressed against him with that hard, lean body tense with anticipation.

They drank a few rounds of whiskey then took the woman off into a corner. She was happily drunk and enjoying the attention of two such attractive young men. Poor thing had no idea what was about to happen to her.

Finding a table in the dark, they sat the woman down between them. William put his arm around her almost bare shoulders and brazenly looked down the front of her blouse. Angelus smiled at his brashness, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"My friend and I would love to kiss these breasts, luv," he said, making his eyes sparkle with lust. "They're so full and luscious."

Reaching out with his large hand, Angelus cupped the woman's left breast and lifted it up and out of the lacy bodice of her dress. The nipple was big and pink and he kissed it once before taking it into his mouth to suck. He was so gentle at first, relaxing her, feeling her arousal growing with the heat in her body. Glancing up, he saw William kissing her smooth neck, softly nibbling her earlobe and murmuring dirty little things to her.

She closed her eyes, smiling blissfully and then she let her head rest against the back of her chair. As soon as her neck was exposed, William covered that big vein below the jawline with his mouth and bit down hard.

Angelus felt her flinch but she didn't try to escape. Instead, she remained still, breathing hard, eyes closed. Her plump fingers toyed with the ends of Angelus' hair as he continued his soft suckling at her breast. He could smell the hot coppery odor of her blood as William lapped it, see the boy's throat moving as he swallowed. When he could stand it no longer, he drew the woman's nipple deep into his mouth and drove his fangs into that tender flesh.

The blood was so warm and sweet . . . like thin running honey. He moaned as it filled his mouth, swirling it around so it touched all his sensitive tastebuds. The redhead's big nipple tightening into a hard knot as he assaulted it, which made it even more succulent. Watching William enjoy their feast aroused him wildly and he couldn't stop watching his young companion. Those lips, that throat, those long thin fingers squeezing the woman's other breast as he drank. Thick wheat-colored eyelashes fluttering slightly against his cheeks. Angelus sighed when he saw those pale cheeks infuse with color from the blood he ingested.

William looked just like a child in that moment--a ravenous, greedy child sucking his mother's milk. Gorgeous, he was. So very primal.

Leaving the tortured nipple, he moved up to the woman's neck and dug his hands into William's curls. He pulled the boy's head back before he was ready and hot blood gushed over his pouting bottom lip. Unable to resist, Angelus leaned in and sucked that lip, brutally gnawing it with his still exposed fangs. William moaned and trembled under the woman's weight, the soft vibration of it passing through her body to Angelus. The kiss went on endlessly, an agonizing test of the other's threshold for arousal.

The woman was saying something, but her weakened voice was barely audible over the din in the tavern. Angelus looked down and found her watching them with round, terrified eyes.

The next tavern they chose was even more crowded and they split up once they got inside. It didn't take them long to find victims and they met at the bar again for another whiskey. Standing together, they looked around the crowded room, assessing the faces of the patrons.

The crisp night had cooled even more as it drew toward its silent middle point and the streets were beginning to empty. The Micklegate stood as the entrance to the walkway along the wall surrounding the city and there were two sets of steep, darkened stairs on either side of the gate. Angelus took William's wrist and led him up one side of the stairs until they were into the thickest, echoey darkness. There, he stopped and drew William close to him . . . close enough for their eyelashes to flirt softly.

The young one pressed against him with his whole body, his arms slipping around Angelus' waist in the darkness. Cold fingers on his blood-heated back, warm lips against his own. Angelus closed his eyes and inhaled William's scent as they kissed deeply, wetly. That tantalizing ginger-honey smell . . . so warm and edible. Their tongues played together, stroking each other, tasting the other's saliva. Blood, salt and sugar . . . everything on William had a hint of sweetness.

Their bodies rose together in reflexive breaths, pushing forward and into each other. The kiss grew more urgent in the dark stairwell and soon the sounds of their rough panting echoed around them, seeming to gather the voices of nearby ghosts in the frigid night.

Inside the moist kiss, sharp teeth tingled and lengthened and clicked softly against one another. William purred and then nipped Angelus' hot bottom lip--quick, shallow punctures--tiny, pinhole wounds. He sucked and trembled all over.

Angelus sighed, thankful for the wall behind him as he felt dizzy and lightheaded suddenly. All his senses focused on the point where the blood was leaving his body. The soft rush like a tiny, whooshing breeze in his ears each time William drew. Again, the suckling sounds were maddening . . . intoxicating. He felt his skin begin to tingle as his erection tensed in his trousers. He held William's hips so tight in his hands, he could feel the curve of each bone beneath the rough fabric, under that perfect white skin. He knew he was moaning, he could hear it. And the moaning made him vulnerable. But there was no stopping it. The pleasure had taken him over.

The next few moments were a blissful blur of sounds and sensations. Angelus felt drunk and airborne, his mind reeling with color and light. His trousers were shoved open and pushed down, his body turned against the wall in the black stairwell and his hot cheek suddenly frozen against the wet stone. The sucking went from his lip to the nape of his neck, the tender spot at the top of his spine where the hairline hit. Piercing fangs, piercing cock, penetration and draining, all at once. Angelus cried out as his body instinctively opened to receive the pleasure, opened to give the blood.

In that instant, there was blinding flash inside him--some sudden, pervasive alchemy working its will on the core of his being. He felt completely overtaken and alive, virtually flying and falling with pleasure and release. And at the same moment, he was terrified. Angelus felt like he was being possessed.

William's hips rolled and pumped as he sucked, driving his swollen cock in as deep as it would go, then sliding it out with painful slowness. Angelus reached for the wall for support but his fingers slid on the damp stones. Still he tried to grip something and his palms made a flat, wet slapping sound each time he tried. He felt William trembling and groaning and he knew the end would be quick. His own body was racked with pain and ecstasy, the brutal scratching in his anus in perfect harmony with the bliss of the sucking at his neck. He felt his cock shudder and ooze, then kick against his belly as his prostate swelled to meet William's driving thrusts.

The wetness flooded into him, hot gushes as the boy gasped and his teeth slid out of Angelus' flesh. Moaning into the hollow darkness around them, they bucked against each other, both shimmering with convulsive pleasure--sparkling under the influence of some dark magic neither of them had expected.

His orgasm seemed to be all over him, stretching through every nerve and every cell. He exploded with it, bright bursts interrupting the wet darkness around them. Silvery ripples moved through his blood as the spasms finally waned. Angelus was only vaguely aware of William's weight on his back, collapsed there, as he was, chest heaving, face slick with blood-sweat.

"I love what I see inside of it," he said. "I love the images and sounds of you . . . of all those secret pleasures you deny yourself. I love the truth your blood tells me. The truth only I know now."

Turning as quickly as he could, Angelus reached for William's throat in the blackness but the boy was gone. His footsteps echoed on the cobbles halfway down the quiet street.

For a moment Angelus just stood there, dazed and furious. He licked at the throbbing wounds in his lip as they began to heal. He drew up his trousers and straightened his clothing, not feeling any need to rush back to their rooms. William would tell the women what had happened, no doubt. He'd laugh about it. Knowing he'd let the boy best him in a moment of vulnerability had him feeling both weak and angry--but those feelings canceled each other out. He was left with nothing but numbness.

Choosing to go in the other direction, Angelus went up the stairs to the narrow top of the wall. He walked around the entire city over and over until the sun threatened on the horizon. Only then did he go back to the hotel and just as he'd expected, he found his dark little family asleep.

Angel laughed humorlessly. "For whatever reason, no. In fact, he never told. As many times as we fought after that--as many times as we've been this close to murdering each other--he's never said a word. It's as though it never happened. Except . . ."

"Yes," he assured. "Not a word to Buffy. But, Angel . . . why . . . I mean, I don't understand. Why does it continue to happen? You and Spike are, for all intents and purposes, brutal enemies."

He shook his head. "Don't you see? That's always the problem. We're CHOSEN enemies, not natural ones. By nature we're family. By nature, we're . . . connected." Again, Angel looked down. "Something happened that night, Rupert . . . something chemical, in our blood. There was some sort of exchange that neither of us were aware would happen and it altered us somehow. We're . . . powerless to it if we get close enough to each other. Close enough to smell."

"Oh, no," Angel said. "I could easily kill him. But I can't . . . stay away from him if he's too close. It's like an electrical charge. Magnetism. It's totally irresistible."

Mind racing, Giles sat back again, his brow wrinkled in thought. "What did Drusilla mean when she spoke to you tonight? When she said she wanted you to come to them and give Spike what he needs. What, exactly, does he need from you?"

"He needs my blood," Angel said. "Dru got pretty strong from that little transference in the church, but she's still too weak to completely heal him. She probably brought him back from the edge of death, but . . . she needs me to bring him the rest of the way." He looked at the clock on the wall in Giles' kitchen and then he stood to get his coat on.

Opening the door, Angel turned back and sighed heavily. "I don't have any choice. That's the thing . . . the guilt. He is the anchor for me, the thing that keeps pulling me. On the one hand, I can't bare the thought of killing him and on the other . . . I'll never be free of him until he's dead. But until he is . . ."

Stepping out onto the porch, Angel tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather coat. "Look, I just want to make sure we have an agreement about . . . you know."

Leaning in the doorway, Giles crossed his arms over his chest. The night was cold and there was a little breeze moving in the trees. "We do. As long as you understand that if you harm Buffy . . . I'll kill you myself. And I'll do it with a smile."

"Rupert," Angel said. "I have always understood that." He shook his head and his expression became that familiar mixture of brooding intensity and bridled anger. "You can't possibly know how this is for me. To care for her so much and to be unable to . . ." Looking down, his voice dropped to a ragged husk. "You just have no idea."

Giles frowned, shivering from the cold both outside and in. "No," he said. "I supposed I don't. But if you go there, and give him your blood, won't they simply kill you?"

Slowly, Angel moved down the walk and into the night. "I don't see why they wouldn't," he said wearily. "And I can't say I'd care much if they did."

Giles closed the door, rubbing his arms to warm up. Just like the night before, his house seemed strangely silent in Angel's absence. He couldn't help wondering if he really was alone or if he was still being observed by some hypnotic creature in the night outside.

Sitting uncomfortably in that blasted wheelchair, he circled the big table in the main room of The Factory over and over as he waited for Dru to return. He'd sent their minions to watch all the entrances, which left him alone inside. The fire crackled on the large hearth and the sweet scent of fresh roses perfumed the air. Dru had been gathering them all week to decorate the place for the party.

Gripping the arms of his chair, he wheeled to the corner so his back was to the wall. This way, he couldn't be attacked from behind in case his grand-sire had brought company. Waiting anxiously, he watched the stairs until his lover and their wayward brother began to descend.