Lamentations

Disclaimer: No, they aren’t mine. I wish they were, but they aren’t. They belong to their creators. No money is being made. I just take them out, put them in pretty dresses, and make them fight each other. No harm, no foul. Feedback: Feed the writer. Review.

Spike watched curiously as the ash at the end of his cigarette wobbled, paused, twitched again, and then broke off. He followed its path downwards as it descended to the floor. It stood out amongst the other ashes there, being darker and coarser than its predecessors.

Most of the ash was from minions. They'd fallen quickly, never expecting to be struck down by the hand of their master. He'd done it with the only memento he'd taken from Sunnydale: a stake from Giles' collection. One by one the youngest of his flock had vanished, skin burning away to bone and bone clouding the stagnant air with swirling, iridescent dust.

Spike didn't miss the minions. They were unbalanced, angry, and impulsive. No matter how hard Spike tried, they refused to learn subtlety or grace. Eventually he grew tired of constantly watching over them, monitoring their every move. It was simply more than he could handle.

Three mounds of ash drew Spike's attention more than the others. They belonged to his childer. Geoffrey, who insisted upon being called The Bane of Boston. Marisol, his lovely Darkling. Brutus, the quiet one--and the dumb one, if his siblings were to be believed. They had arrived home from feeding and carousing to find Spike working his way through the minions. His Darkling had of course joined in, using her favorite blade to hack off limbs, disembowel, and generally make a horrific mess. Underneath all the ashes and dust lay the remnants of her work.

Brutus simply stood in the doorway, watching Spike with confused eyes. It actually hurt Spike to stake him, his most simple childe. Brutus' death roused Geoffrey into action as the eldest of Spike's childer realized that Spike wasn't just cleaning out the riff-raff. Unfortunately Marisol got carried away and sliced up Geoffrey, making Spike's job that much easier. Marisol never noticed the stake sliding through her shoulder blades. She disappeared in a squeaky cry and the sharp scent of sulfur.

Spike didn't regret killing Geoffrey. He, like the other childer, was crude and unskilled. Spike wondered if it was his blood. Was it tainted? Did the soul make his childer insane and worthless? Was it his damnedable humanity, that festering shroud of who he used to be, hanging over his head like the Sword of Damocles, that weakened his offspring?

Spike lit another cigarette off the last one. He had precisely three left in this pack; once they were gone he was leaving. Running was more like it. Chasing something he wasn't even sure still existed. It wasn't as though he had a choice, though. Spike had been holding onto air for so long that he'd almost forgotten what the ground felt like.

Every day passed and took with it another facet of his sanity. He had to leave, to find himself before he lost what little mind he had left. Somewhere out there was the rest of him, stored away like so much junk mail, meant to be discarded but forgotten. Spike hoped that it would remain that way, dusty and unnoticed, until he came by to claim it.

Spike wasn't very confident that Angel would acknowledge his existence, much less help him. The last time they'd talked... well, perhaps torturing one's Sire wasn't the best way to mend fences. But that had been before, before the soul, before Buffy, before...

Before the world had been torn apart, crumpled up, and glued back together with mucilage. The seams were obvious, lined with feathery paper fibers and yellowing glue. Creases and dark spots from rotting garbage marred the once-perfect surface. Humanity, once blessed but now in whole a curse, stumbled upon the warped ground, scrabbling for mercy and taking it wherever it could be found. The murder that was the future had come, riding Spike's soul with a riding crop to his flank, bringing its favored horsemen along for company.

Spike remembered when he'd been evil; recalled with bitter fondness the days when the blood he spilled had been horrifying in its excess. Those sepia memories were trite in comparison to the seething, pregnant decay of today's night, ever eternal and overwhelming in its magnitude.

Perhaps the bygone years hadn't affected Angel as they had Spike, hadn't frozen his soul and shattered it into crystal dust like so much sugarpane. Angel was the stronger of them, the one with a century's worth of tempering and curing to inure that precious soul. Spike had been reborn on the cusp of the darkest night; soul given to crawling, tendons atrophied from regret. If only he'd had a few decades to crawl the gutters and wish for oblivion.

The blasted irony of it all made Spike want to laugh, were he a laughing man. Angel as his future. That was so rich, so perfect, so fucking screwed up Spike couldn't see straight. His Sire hated him, despised the very existence of Spike in his memories. If Angel could go back in time and obliterate William, the bloody awful poet, he would.

No, that wasn't accurate. Angel would have turned his light-and-dark, calculating-and-calculated family away from that pathetic fool, would have left William to get over his aching obsession over Cecily, to marry some comfortable, cold woman and die with a household full of children who didn't understand their lonely, sorrowful father.

Spike couldn't help but prefer the course of history as it had actually occurred. That life would have been lived unexamined, lived in a dreamland of regret. Not that his life as he'd lived it was any better; one of the few things he'd learned in his long life was that regret was a chronic condition. Those who said that they lived life without it were little more than liars, deceiving the world and themselves like grifters with their shell games. Those who thought that giving something voice made it true.

Spike knew differently. The word given voice only brought truth along when truth was there in the word. Otherwise falsehood was pursuant. Angel could tell the difference, separating lies and truth like wheat and chaff. His Sire was ever fallible in his perfection, but there was one place where he would never fail to read what was there, if he really looked. That place was Spike.

"Of course," Gabriel replied, resting against a crumbling stone pillar. All too familiar chocolate eyes studied the broken crucifix on the far wall. "She's a runaway, purple hair, maybe sixteen. Has a tattoo of a solar cross on her forehead. A pack of vampires near Les Promenades de la Cathédrale are going to try for her before morning."

Angel nodded and reached into an old confessional, retrieving his weaponry. "Is she alone?" Another runaway, another corpse. He'd grown accustomed to not finding these stars of Gabriel's visions. It was as though they didn't want to be saved. The Dark One seemed to favor them, as though they were particularly tasty morsels for his delectation. Perhaps they were.

"Speaking of shelters..." Angel walked into another confessional stall and returned with a large cloth bag. "I cleaned out a Kathar demon nest last night. Figured you could use these." Ever since Gabriel had moved out of the church and into his office at the central downtown shelter, Angel had worked hard to keep the man supplied with everything he needed: food, clothes, even money. After all, Angel needed far less of that kind of thing than did the living man.

Gabriel took the bag of clothing with a sad smile. "Thanks, we do. I'd better get going if I'm going to make it back to work before sundown." Angel watched as his grandson left, taking the only joy in the church with him. The vampire then turned around and walked quickly to the back of the church. A trapdoor in a side room gave him access to the underground mall that was beneath his home. That was where he would start his search for the endangered girl.

A quick look through the grate at the end of his access tunnel told Angel that there was no one in the dressing room of Electric Death, the clothing store that was also his way into the underground. The store itself was packed with teenaged customers not wholly unlike the girl he was looking for. Garish hair painted and lacquered into impossible shapes, metal shoved through every available patch of skin, leather covering as little skin as possible. Clear thermal plastic gave the rest of the youths' bodies a cheap child's-toy appearance. Perhaps that was the point; these children wanted to look like objects to be played with and discarded.

That was what was going to happen to them anyway. If the street gangs didn't kill them outright, they'd hook the lost ones on the substance of the week. On the off chance these refugee youths escaped that death, another one was waiting for them at the hands of the government. Reform corporations were contracted to teach runaways and vagabonds how to be meaningful, productive members of society. They usually did that by killing them.

"Maudit!" Angel growled as something sharp hit his shins. He glanced over to see a scruffy, homeless man leaning against a garbage can. The guy looked just criminal enough to have seen something. Ignoring for the moment his now-aching legs, Angel approached the man, watching for whatever had struck him. "Er, bon soir," He began, eyeing the club the man had in one hand.

"Si j'avais rencontré une fille comme ça, j'serais encore en train d'la baiser. Tu peux-tu sacrer ton camp? Tu rends mon pusher nerveux." With that, the guy swung his club at the garbage can, making a loud racket. Angel jumped back and prepared to make his hasty retreat.

Angel continued down the dingy corridors of the mall, looking for anyone even remotely useful. His informants were strangely absent, gone from sight to whatever hovels they inhabited. The ventilation system in the underground was working a bit too well; while the place was blessedly free of the rank stench of human waste, it was also nearing the frigid temperatures of the aboveground city. Montreal in winter was not always a hospitable place; the bitch-goddess who ruled the ground, river and sky was a pitiless creature.

Visions like this one were, ironically, what kept Angel on the road to redemption. It wasn't the cases where he saved the night and the girl that made him want to continue. No, it was this kind of thing, where he knew with the certainty of the damned that he wouldn't reach her in time; that she would be drained, turned or both long before he located someone who knew something. He would stumble upon her cooling body, for once the unnatural pallor not caused by drugs, malnutrition and cold. It was when he was decapitating and burying the discarded innocents that Angel saw who he was. Warrior? Most certainly not. That title did not belong on a man who passed his nights amongst the dross of humanity, sifting through the junkies, winos and dealers for a few roughhewn gems worth setting in The Powers' crown.

The world had become a dark place, one that frightened even Angel at his most ferocious. An apocalypse had come and gone, bringing plagues of locusts and raining brimstone, taking Angel's son and last love. Connor had been so very sure that he could stop the dark coming. Instead he had been banished to the nothingness from which he'd come. Cordelia, heavy with child and stewing in a broth of her own making, had tried to run. She'd begged Wesley to help her escape, to get away from Angel. The seer couldn't allow Angel any contact with his grandson, wouldn't let him know what his own son had planted inside her. Wesley did not allow that injustice to occur and forbade her flight. The darkness took her at the child's birth and once again Angel found himself kneeling in sorrow, one love gone and another, newer one, in his hands.

On the night of Gabriel's birth, Angel left Los Angeles forever. He took the child away, to somewhere without the stench of demonic law firms and oracles. In Montreal he found the abandoned Église St-James, resting like a defrocked priest amidst the bustling, sinister downtown streets. He bathed the baby in wells that once held holy water and swaddled him in the holy robes of those who'd come before him. The child never questioned why he lived in a church and never attended school like other children. By the time that age had been reached, the shadow of chaos had descended on Montreal, as it had the rest of the world. No one questioned a father's right to protect his child.

Some days Angel spent his idle time remembering the past. Wesley, who made his amends with Angel but died anyway, slain by the bitch Lilah. Angel tried to warn him, tried to explain that she was something to avoid. Wesley never listened to the important advice, only the stuff that was easy on the soul. Gunn and Fred? Angel didn't know and couldn't force himself to care. The couple had made it very clear that their first priority was keeping themselves alive. Perhaps they'd succeeded. Angel doubted it, though.

"Laissez-faire," Angel growled, stomping off. ::Why do I get the feeling that someone doesn't want me to find this girl?:: Angel asked himself. Crazy blind men, crazier old ladies... The people in the mall scurried to avoid the menacing vampire as he prowled through the corridors.

Angel glanced at his watch. Sunrise was in less than half an hour. If the girl had survived the night, good. If not, he'd deal with it later. It was time for Angel to go home, sup on the blood of the dead, and curl up in his bed for a day of restless, painful slumber. The weather reports had been for clear skies, so Angel climbed a sewer access tunnel and took to the streets. Fires burned here and there, their presence masked by hordes of bodies surrounding them, soaking up their meager warmth. Angel ignored the catcalls, the offers and the threats as he made his way back to his church. None of the locals bothered him, knowing somehow that the only current resident of St-James was a dangerous killer.

Angel eased open the weighty front doors and welcomed himself home. The church was dark, air a bit damp. He needed to open a window before he retired for the night. As he found something to prop open the nearest panes, a tendril of something achingly familiar teased him. His mind frowned, flipping through memory after memory. What was that? Where had he encountered it before? A name rested on the very tip of his tongue, but he couldn't grasp it. Frustration laughed at him as he tried to remember, tried to discern. All he got was lust, sorrow, ache, loss, and want.

The shuffling tap of rubber on stone alerted Angel to the presence of an intruder. He spun around even as a sharp dagger appeared in his hand. Had he not had a death-grip on the weapon, though, he would have dropped it immediately upon seeing his uninvited guest.

"Shit!" Angel growled as something sharp hit his shins. He glanced over to see a scruffy, homeless man leaning against a garbage can. The guy looked just criminal enough to have seen something. Ignoring for the moment his now-aching legs, Angel approached the man, watching for whatever had struck him. "Er, good evening," He began, eyeing the club the man had in one hand.

"Never mind," Angel growled, stomping off. ::Why do I get the feeling that someone doesn't want me to find this girl?:: Angel asked himself. Crazy blind men, crazier old ladies... The people in the mall scurried to avoid the menacing vampire as he prowled through the corridors.

"Why are you here?" Angel asked flatly, hiding the eagerness with which he took in his childe's presence. Spike was...different, somehow, than he had been the last time Angel had seen him. Then again, the younger vampire had gotten himself a soul in the years since their last meeting. A soul, a Slayer, and now what?

Spike averted his eyes, forcing himself to make careful study of the floor at Angel's feet. "Came to my Sire," He said sullenly. Why was he here? ::Sire, can you not see? Where are your eyes, have they fled your face? What are those deceptively familiar orbs if not your own eyes, watching and always knowing?::

"My light and my darkness," Spike confirmed. "But wrong, scarred and not right. They would not kneel, would not accept. Until now. Now they bow forever." ::Angel, how did you survive it? Live through Penn and his death? Or was it that you couldn't do what I did, end your family. After all, I am still here. You didn't kill Dru. Darla... no one blames you for killing Darla.::

"Who killed them?" Angel asked cautiously. If Spike had indeed Sired childer, then their loss would be very painful. The Sire-childe bond was a deep and enduring one. In the past it had been the only reason he hadn't just staked Dru and Spike for their atrocities.

Spike bit his lip. "Their Sire," He whispered, ashamed. "They were monsters, feebleminded creatures of nothingness, but they didn't deserve that, or to live either." ::Help me, Sire. I do not want your pity for those lost ones; they are not why I am here. Take me back, show me that I am your childe and not just a wretch borne of your shame.::

"They were weak, wrong. Never listened," Spike murmured. Angel hadn't demanded his exit yet, an omission that emboldened the younger vampire. He took a few steps forward, daring to look up into the blessed face of his Sire. "I listened to you, Sire. Please say that I did. Was I not a good childe?"

Understanding began to dawn for Angel. Spike had Sired vampires, soulless vampires. Since Angel had never attempted to do so after receiving his soul, he had never really considered the ramifications. How would a fledgling react to a Sire who wept for those he'd killed, who suffered the pain of his victims? "Spike," Angel began softly. This incarnation of his childe was worrisome, almost frightening. He seemed only half there, and what was in front of Angel lacked the confidence and swagger of his beloved childe. This was a broken, hollow man.

::Please, Sire, I beg you. Take me back into your old, teach me, teach me what I do not know.:: Spike swayed on unsteady legs, finally feeling the effects of days without blood. He fell to the ground, kneeling at Angel's feet. Slowly, so slowly, he sank further down, down until his forehead pressed to the stone floor, hands resting on either side of Angel's feet.

Angel stared at his childe, at Spike who lay prostrate in front of him. How long had it been since Spike had willingly done this, put himself into his rightful place? Not for almost 150 years, long before Angel had been cursed. A long-forgotten emotion swept through Angel like a sun-warmed breeze.

The dank chill of the church fell away like so many autumn leaves. Spike was kneeling at his feet like a childe should, waiting for the first order of the night. Angel couldn't believe this, that Spike would willingly return to him. He was Angel, not Angelus; the souled bastard, not Spike's Yoda. This wasn't right, wasn't real, was just another of Spike's seedy games. "Get up," Angel ordered harshly, feeling a hard slap of cold hit his heart. It hurt him deeply to refuse what was his by rights, but if it was not offered in truth, he didn't want it.

A memory woke up deep in Angel's mind. It uncurled from its sleep, winding around through blood and glory to pound on the door to the vampire's consciousness. Angel jerked as remembrance flooded him. Those words, moaned in sorrow, whenever Angel punished a young Spike. Those same words, panted in breathless pleasure when Angel granted him release. Angel knew he was damning himself even as he reached for the door.

Spike immediately turned and walked to Angel, stopping about two feet from the elder vampire. Hands were left at his sides, head down, eyes locked on the ground. ::So close, almost there, touch me, remake me, Sire. Please just don't make me leave you.::

"One rule, Spike," Angel murmured, studying his childe. "Do not disobey me." That rule alone would tell Angel if Spike was serious. He desperately hoped the blonde vampire was, though. He needed this. Up until just a moment before, Angel hadn't realized that, but it was true. Angel desperately needed Spike, his childe, here with him. He needed this creature to fill all the holes he'd allowed to be carved into his life. The places Gabriel couldn't fill, the crevices left by time and nature and tears.

Spike stood in front of a deep well of cool water, luminescent skin glowing in flickering candlelight. Angel stood in the shadows some distance away, watching his childe. The younger vampire waited so perfectly, muscles frozen like the clearest water. Not a twitch, not a sideways glance. It amazed Angel to see his frantic childe so...calm. "You're filthy," Angel hissed at Spike. "Wash yourself."

::Wash...in holy water?:: Spike's eyes widened slightly. ::A test. This must be a test. How far am I willing to go, how much will I endure, to win my Sire's affections? He thinks I will shirk, I will refuse. Oh, how long it has been! He should know I would do anything to gain his approval.:: One step, then another and Spike was poised over the water, deadly surface casting no reflection. Spike reached out, willing his hand to stay firm and steady.

Angel smiled as he saw Spike visibly swallow his fears and tentatively touch the water. The look of astonishment on Spike's face could not be faked. The blonde immediately plunged both hands into the well, splashing himself with the icy liquid. it pooled on the stone floor, darkening the granite. Angel shifted slightly to accommodate a fully expected erection. Spike was a glorious creature in his own right, and in this state he was truly a celestial being. Glassy, iridescent water made his alabaster skin sparkle in the light. Damp curls fell across his brow as the vampire cleaned himself as best as he could. "Enough," Angel barked. Spike was shivering now, flinging water droplets off himself as the cold waters and equally cold air made him quake. Vampires might not be susceptible to hypothermia, but being too cold was still unpleasant.

Spike heard the directive and immediately dropped his hands to his sides. He'd gotten caught up in bathing, in the cold feel of water on his bare skin, contrasted with a heat he knew had to come from his Sire's gaze. He knew that Angel was affected by this--just as much as he himself was. Where once the air was little more than stagnant cries and dampness, now the church was filled with the essence of wanting. Angel's dark, thick arousal, twisting and commanding Spike's lighter, spicier aromas. They danced, flirted, and waited to be fulfilled.

"Follow me," Angel ordered, leaving the shadows to walk down the center aisle of the church. Spike did as he was told, bare feet slapping softly on the hard surface. He left his clothes behind, forgotten, in the entranceway. Until Angel told him to don them again, he would remain as he was.

Angel led Spike into his living quarters, which took up most of the back rooms and tower. The bathroom was dominated by an enormous claw-footed bathtub, as much of an anachronism as he himself was. "Draw a bath," Angel ordered Spike, standing off to one side.

::He still favors sandalwood and jasmine,:: Spike noted as he found Angel's bath salts. He ran the water to the exact temperature he remembered Angel preferring, adding in foaming crystals and oils. Nothing less than the most relaxing of baths would do for his Sire. How many times had they done this, all those years ago? Spike remembered waiting on Angelus, washing his long, dark hair. Then Angelus would pull him into the water, showing him how to be of service even in that awkward position.

Angel watched as Spike stood next to the bath, waiting for Angel to approach. "Attend me," Angel commanded. Spike came to his side, reaching for his jacket. The garment was carefully placed on a nearby clothes hanger. Then Spike went to work on Angel's shirt, trousers and shoes. The procedure was done with almost pristine efficiency. It was obvious to Angel that Spike had forgotten nothing, even though the younger vampire had shown none of his training in Sunnydale.

Spike reached for a large natural sponge as Angel stepped into the bath. The blonde vampire couldn't help but stop to relish the scent of his Sire's skin meeting heated water. It was intoxicating to the younger demon. Oh, how he longed for that, to sense that perfume every night! ::Just let me live here, in your service quarters, Sire. I shall wait on you for eternity, if only for the ecstasy of your presence.::

Spike opened his eyes, appalled that he had drifted off. However, Angel's face held no rebuke, so the blonde retrieved the sponge he had dropped into the water and ran it down Angel's chest. Ah, that pale-honey skin was so alluring, slick soap casting mirrored shadows along Angel's nipples. Spike focused completely on that skin, on removing any foulness that had dared touch his Sire.

Angel let himself enjoy Spike's ministrations as his childe sloughed of the irritations of the previous night. Spike remembered so very much--the place on the back of Angel's neck that always needed just one more pass with the sponge, how he had to press a little harder on one shoulder to keep from tickling his Sire. It had been... how many years since someone had shown this type of easy care and attentiveness to him? Angel couldn't remember. Buffy had never done this, and no one after, for sure. And before there had only been... Spike who did this willingly. Only his blessed childe.

Spike was about to repeat his cleansing of Angel's left arm when his Sire reached for the sponge. It was released immediately and Spike knelt back on his knees opposite Angel, head down and hands on his thighs. The first touch of soap and rough sponge brought Spike's head up. "Ah--"

::Sire please stop, please don't give me this gentleness, for in no way have I earned it.:: Tremors began to wrack Spike's body. His Sire was... showing kindness. Had he perhaps, just maybe, pleased Angel? ::Oh that this may continue, please let it be so. If nothing more, then just this...::

Angel decided that they'd both had enough. If Spike kept looking like that, he was going to forget everything that the blonde had ever done to earn his enmity and simply sink into that fondly remembered body. That would do neither of them any good; if Angel's suspicions were right and Spike was playing him, then Angel would be hurt. If Spike was truly here for help, to offer himself to his Sire, then it was just too soon for them to cleave unto one another. If Spike was here to claim his place at Angel's side, he needed more training.

Spike's eyes flew up to Angel's face when the elder vampire stopped washing him. "The sun is up. We should rest." The blonde immediately clambered out of the tub and fetched a towel for Angel. He started to dry off his Sire as soon as he was clear of the water, gently whisking away the excess moisture. All the oils in the bath left Angel's skin silky-smooth and richly scented, drawing Spike even closer to him.

Angel held out a towel to Spike and waited for the blonde to dry himself off. "Follow me," Angel murmured as he walked out of the bathroom. Spike pulled the drain plug and rushed behind his Sire. They entered the darkened bedroom, which was ascetic in its spareness. The only thing in the room was a large bed and a small table against one wall. Angel pulled back the heavy bed covers and climbed in, burying himself under layers of down and cotton.

::May I rest here on the floor, Sire, or shall I watch you as you sleep?:: Spike studied the room that held his beloved Sire. It was spare, almost ugly. Only Angel's presence made it livable. But his Sire... who had touched him with something approaching gentleness. He was happy, ecstatic, to be allowed this close, this soon. He'd fully expected to be kicked out onto the streets.

Angel frowned. Had Spike just lain down on the floor? He moved over to peer down at his childe. "Spike, get up here." How was it possible for Spike to willingly follow every directive given to him and still frustrate his Sire? It must have been a gift from some vengeful god.

Spike stood quickly and curled up on the foot of the bed, careful not to crowd Angel. The elder vampire growled and reached for his childe. "You sleep in the bed, with me," The dark demon said, irritation seeping through his voice. "Unless I tell you otherwise, you spend your days here." Spike nodded, ducking his head to rest it on Angel's shoulder. Angel curled Spike around him, getting them comfortably situated.

Spike did not resist. There was no way he could have. The blonde vampire was frozen in a euphoric cloud, so very close to his Sire. Oh, Angel was not only touching him but holding him close, *ordering* him to stay by his side. His Sire. Beloved. ::I am yours, Sire, yours to create and destroy as is your will. The silk of your skin calls for creation. Please, let us become.::

Spike stopped moving. He'd awoken with the sunset, lured by the nightly death of the sun and his goddess's return. Spike's first thoughts had been that he'd dreamed the past days; his childer were whole and for once not spurning him. The cold body next to his was Brutus, his solid weight holding Spike down when he would claw at himself in his sleep. As consciousness set up residence in Spike's mind, however, he realized that all of his hazy memories were correct and that the demon holding him close was his Sire.

Angel felt all the changes in Spike as his childe first woke, then took in his surroundings. The elder vampire waited as Spike realized who he was with and relaxed. In the span of a second his childe went from the bonelessness of sleep to stiff, tense terror, and then to a soft-firm point in between. Awake and aware, but relaxed. Content. Waiting. It was the waiting that concerned Angel. What, precisely, was he going to do with Spike?

The day's sleep had given Angel much time to think. While his childe had rested, being so obviously exhausted, Angel had drifted from thought to unconsciousness and back again. If Spike was going to stay with him, Angel was going to take his childe in hand. Angelus had wasted this precious creature, letting him go before he'd ever been cursed. Angel's unsouled predecessor had been bound by the traditional restrictions of vampire culture that involved training up and releasing childer.

Spike had never been just another childe. He was Angelus' compliment, giving where Angelus was intractable, forceful when Angelus didn't care, resistance when Angelus needed someone to shove. Angel hoped, prayed and was nearly to the point of begging, for Spike as he was now to be that for him. Why? Angel was lonely, lonelier than the abandoned church he'd made his home.

For decades, the only person in Angel's life had been Gabriel. Ah, his precious grandson. In him Angel had the closeness, the adoring love that he'd missed out on with Connor. To be fair, as Gabriel got older, Angel had told him all about his father and mother, Angel's own life, and tried to help the boy understand why he got those awful nightmares. Gabriel had inherited Cordelia's visions, along with her demonic nature, Connor's strength, and neither of his parents' inherent paranoia.

That said, Angel and Gabriel's relationship was distant. It wasn't due to any failing on either man's part; Gabriel was more of a loner than Angel. He simply didn't need a close relationship with Angel. Their understanding was quiet and from afar; Gabriel had moved out of the hotel at 17 to work at a city mission. At 30, he was one of their most relied-upon employees, as well as Angel's seer. Angel missed his grandson, but understood at the same time that Gabriel needed what he needed, even if that wasn't what Angel could provide for him.

But that left Angel alone. The vampire saw a deep irony in his solitude. For years he'd put up with people wanting to be near him but not too close, because of the curse and his own vampiric nature. The curse, the goddamned curse... it was meaningless now. Angel knew that if he stayed hyped up on the strongest drugs and buried deep inside his true love for an eternity, he would never be in danger of losing his soul. Between Connor and Cordelia and the dark coming, Angel's soul would never know true happiness.

No one could ever fathom Angel's relief. He could never become Angelus again. That alone almost made everything worth it. And through the years, Angel almost grew accustomed to being by himself. After all, since being cursed the first time, he'd only shared his bed a few times, most of them bittersweet.

"There's blood in the kitchen," Angel murmured, releasing Spike. The blonde immediately rolled out of bed and crossed the room. Angel let himself enjoy his childe's presence, even as it melted into shadows and floated away to other places. His mouth watered as he remembered how that skin tasted. Angel's fingers ached to touch, to stroke and press and grasp and slide that impossible silk. And he wanted. Oh, he wanted so much. Wanted Spike to come back and give himself to Angel, as he'd given himself to Angelus. A scraping, metallic sound in Angel's head gave him pause. No, that wasn't what he wanted. Angelus would want that. Angel wanted, needed, something else. Something more than the flesh and blood that was their beginning.

Spike located the kitchen with his nose, following a faint trace of animal's blood to the tiny room. It was a disappointment of a church kitchen, too small in which to prepare anything of note. On one side of the sink was a stove, complete with small aluminum pot. A quick search located a glass decanted and chalice, old but still whole. Spike poured a large measure of what smelled like horse's blood. It was remarkably fresh. Angel must've known the butcher rather well to get such new, untainted food.

Each of Spike's movements was a precise, razor-edged dance step. Reaching for a stirring spoon became an act of celestial grace, with muscles striving for perfection underneath a glory of wanting skin. Even in his absence, Angel the Sire was there, watching. Knowing. Spike had to do his best, had to expend that extra bit of effort. Everything Spike did was in honor of, because of, and in gratitude of his Sire. Only the best would do, be it the most debased of scutwork or the ultimate sacrifice.

Steam began to rise from the blood and Spike watched, hawk-like, until the first tiny bubbles appeared at the pot's sides. He decanted the ruby liquid quickly, rinsing out the pot before it could get sticky. He retrieved the chalice and walked back to Angel's bedroom.

Angel smelled Spike's return long before the blonde reached him. There was something obscenely sacred about the vision Spike presented. Body white as driven snow, broken only by the deep shade of blood suspended in one writer's hand. Chalice extended in supplication. His childe, the demon priest. All he needed was a god to worship, an altar to lay himself upon.

Spike stopped by Angel's bed and poured a ration of blood into the chalice. Angel sat up and accepted the glass, oddly thankful that Spike had found it instead of his usual chipped mug. Then he noticed that Spike hadn't brought one for himself. After a moment, Angel held the glass out, which Spike refilled. Instead of drinking it, however, Angel placed it into Spike's free hand, trying to ignore the velvet that was touching his childe. "Drink."

Spike glanced at Angel. It was night and Angel had work to do. Perhaps he was supposed to leave until Angel called for him again. Something wasn't right, wasn't completed... Angel couldn't go out like that. He had to be covered, protected, finished. Spike walked over to the closet that faced the bed. Inside it he found the expected soft, dark clothes, which he removed for Angel.

Angel allowed Spike to dress him. The blonde was almost as efficient as Angel himself was, but the barely-there caress of Spike's fingers on him made the waiting worthwhile. Angel could carry those touches with him all night, knowing that Spike was at home, waiting for him.

Spike stood back and waited for the order to leave. Surely Angel would give it now, when he was ready to leave. "I've got to work now," Angel murmured as he ran his hands through his hair. "Stay here. I'll be back before sunrise." With that, Angel swept out of the room, stopping by the bathroom to fetch his wallet. Then he was gone, out into the night in search of his latest damsel in distress.

Spike stood in the bedroom for a long time, unable to move. ::I am to stay. Stay, here in my Sire's home. He wants me to stay. Perhaps one day he will want me.:: Eventually Spike became aware of his motionlessness. ::Surely I am not to just stand around. There is too much I should do here.::

Angel wished he'd remembered to bring the folding shovel Gabriel had gotten him one Christmas. The ground was hard from so many weeks of winter cold, making his job all the more difficult. At least the cold and dark had driven most people out of the Parc-nature du Bois-de-Liesse. He'd come out this far only because a frequent informant had told him he'd seen a girl matching Gabriel's vision out this way. Now Angel was burying her, sans head, in the icy, snowy cold of a land foreign to her.

She'd been a drifter, running from something she thought was worse than the frigid loneliness of the north. It was unfortunate that she'd sought shelter in a place so torn by separatists that it had no heart left to give. The cold, forbidding face of Montreal called to few people, all of them broken somehow.

He would've lingered, whispered a few words in her memory, but he was far enough from home that he needed to leave immediately in order to get back. He winced as he folded himself into his car, wishing he wasn't so filthy. He'd gotten over his fixation with appearance soon after leaving Los Angeles, but he still liked being clean. Mud and leaf debris caked on him, fouling his skin and filling the car with an earthy, musty odor that reminded Angel of the unkempt elderly. Death was what clung to him, following him like a drunken heckler. Couldn't he be left alone? Did his nemesis and those fucking horsemen not just take a vacation and go somewhere else? Must he always fail?

Spike had just finished sweeping the entranceway floor when Angel returned. The blonde stashed his broom and stood next to the well, waiting for Angel to close the door and acknowledge him. He'd spent the entire night cleaning--dusting, mopping, scrubbing. The church was, to be honest, filthy. Spike didn't even consider blaming Angel. His Sire was busy with his destiny and had no time to do menial work. However, he would surely appreciate floors without dirt smeared over them, a bathroom without soap scum, and clean fixtures. Spike had also laundered pretty much everything in the church he could reach, using the washing machine and dryer he'd been surprised to find in the basement.

Angel came home to the scent of lemons. To be precise, the smell of lemon-scented cleaner. The interior of the church was awash in light, shining off newly-scrubbed walls and floors. Angel, however, had no trouble ignoring the surprising, welcoming cleanliness of his home. His attention was on Spike. His lovely, marble childe stood in a garden of light, beeswax flames dancing around his shoulders. Lost blue eyes glowed like cold fire. Were it not for the random smears of soot and grime on Spike's body, Angel would have sworn he'd been replaced by a statue.

Spike's head shot up. ::I am too filthy for my Sire.:: He nodded and turned to retreat into the bathroom. Angel followed him, still carrying his purchases behind his back. When they got to the bathroom, Spike watched Angel in confusion for a moment before reaching for the dark vampire's clothes. His Sire was also grimy and mud-covered.

Angel let Spike undress him, setting his new purchases aside for the moment. This time Spike did not hesitate to settle into the warm water with Angel, nor did he balk when Angel chose to bathe him. Angel relished the soft murmurs that arose as his childe finally relaxed. When Angel pulled Spike to him, cradling that beloved form to his chest, Spike went willingly.

::Ah, Sire, for this I would endure all the hells ever dreamed up by the devil himself.:: Spike's eyes drifted closed as Angel held him close. Strong Sire's hands clasped him, pulling him back together. That gentle pressure was a surer glue for Spike's soul than anything he'd ever encountered. Oh, how he craved this!

Angel let them drift into a warmed, drowsy state. He was pleasantly aroused, hyperaware but not aching from the delicious closeness of his childe's body. The only thing keeping Angel from simply sleeping in the bath all day was what he'd bought earlier. He needed to present those purchases to Spike. He sat up reluctantly, rousing Spike. The blonde stood, reaching for a towel for Angel.

Angel withdrew a strip of dark leather, accented by silver fastenings. Spike's eyes widened. ::A collar!:: It was... ::You would give me this?:: Angel held the item out to Spike. ::Claim me, Sire. Take me back into your fold, into your bed where I belong.:: "I..."

A slender hand began its elegant climb. Past the waist, forward across a sculpted torso, over to that strip of skin and element. ::With this collar, I thee take as my Master, in sickness and in health, to lead and protect me, to free me through your sweetest control.:: The leather was a beatific kiss, blessing Spike's earthbound hands as he accepted it. Liquid silver, cold and sliding as he brought this seal to his neck, gliding past every fear he'd never had. This was his Sire's right, his gift, his love. Once Spike buckled this collar, he was once again bound to Angel, as he had once been, when the world last smiled upon them.

Angel watched the collar wrap around Spike's ivory neck, binding his soul to his childe's as silver met silver in a silent, shattering wail of finality. The presence of that midnight dark band on his childe brought Angel back to the moment. His childe. *His* childe, willingly bound, resting forever at his feet. Wanton, wanted. Needed. Craved. "Spike," Angel whispered hoarsely. He needed the touch of his childe, proof of Spike's existence here in this lonely, abandoned house of gods.

Spike heard what Angel did not say and moved closer to his Sire. Those whisky eyes held what Spike himself felt: desire, strong and thick, feared and fearing. His Sire should never fear what lay between them, nor Spike's response to him. No! This Sire, his everything, the totality of his existence, he was never to suffer such doubt. Spike reached for Angel, hands worshipful from the first contact.

Angel groaned as Spike slid his hands down the dark vampire's chest, tracing well-defined muscles and teasing aching flesh. Then Spike was gone, falling, on the floor, and then there was nothing. Nothing but incredible, wet pressure. Suction. Angel looked down in time to see Spike pull back and sink down again, slowly-too-slowly swallowing his cock, hands wrapped around Angel's thighs as the blonde prayed a litany of contact, of tongue and lips and convulsing throat.

::I shall want nothing but this, Sire, your body given in trust to me, to be loved and cherished. Let me hold you inside myself, where you dwell always. I am yours, as I am of you. Accept this offering, Sire. All is quiet here in our heaven, so that I may give fully to you. Softly, softly, Sire, I am begging you. Let those perfect eyes see how I adore you.:: Spike dragged his lips over Angel's cock, catching precious drops of precome on his tongue. ::Such a lovely nectar you give unto me, Sire.:: Then Spike took Angel deep, swallowing over and over again. Oh, how he loved the way Angel's cock stretched his throat, pushing the limits of his eternal body. How had he forgotten how much he needed this, this penitent glory?

Angel threaded his fingers into Spike's silky hair, giving reassuring contact to his childe as he was worshiped. And that was what Spike was doing, Angel knew. He could feel the difference; he'd been serviced by enough people to know the difference. This...emotional surrender, wanton gift of pleasure, it was what they both needed so badly. It was what Spike had given Angelus when he'd been a newly born vampire, and what Spike was giving Angel now. And still Angel watched, fascinated, as Spike's ecstasy-wracked face pressed into his loins. His climax was coming, slow but speeding, a marathon drawing ever closer. Pleasure in parallax, moving in and out of synch with his mind.

::You are almost here, Sire. Be realized, come, be born into me. Trust me with your seed, your precious self. Come for me. Am I acceptable? Can I bring you pleasure? Is this good enough for you?:: Spike redoubled his efforts, striving for perfection, needing this validation. ::Oh, Sire, is this what you wanted?::

The universe and eternity quietly gathered their belongings and returned to their regularly scheduled programming, satisfied that this pair, brought together and ripped apart by forces they were loathe to control, were once again reunited. This time, they swore, not even the blasted beings who found such amusement in hurting their charges would dare interfere.

Spike rocked back on his heels, eyes glazed with adoring peace. He let time slow down around him so he could linger over the taste of his Sire, overwhelming each of his senses with that heady presence. ::Anointed. I am anointed by my Sire. He has accepted me.::

Angel sighed his pleasure, letting the unnecessary rush of air stroke his lips. His lovely childe, so generous, so controlled in his wanting. Perfection of that sort deserved nothing less than the same in return. With that end in mind, Angel took in another breath. "Stand up."

Spike let go of his reverie and stood to face his Sire. Angel looked... satisfied. That was even more than Spike had hoped for. He waited patiently, weeping cock easily ignored, as Angel reached for the forgotten bag on the floor. Spike's attention stayed on Angel's face until a glimmer of endless blue-black caught his eye.

Angel saw where Spike's suffering mind went with that comment. Shaking his head, he reached out to pull Spike to him. "I won't share you, Spike. Not with anyone." The dark vampire then thrust the silk garments into Spike's hands, turning away from his child to retreat into his bedroom. "Get dressed and heat up some blood," He threw over his shoulder as he disappeared.

Spike shook out the garments. Loose, almost baggy trousers and an open shirt. Spike slipped them on, shivering as silk glided across his erect flesh. The clothed draped over him loosely, barely kept on by drawstring ties and his own shoulders. The blonde shook himself out of his trance and rushed to the kitchen, not wanting to leave his Sire waiting.

The process of preparing his Sire's meal calmed Spike considerably. He lectured his recalcitrant body about control, railing against his own unruly desires. He existed for his Sire, only his Sire. His body was for the pleasure of his Sire. His pleasure was for the pleasure of his Sire. There was no other way, no other reality. Once the blood, this time a blend of cow and sheep, was suitably warm, Spike prepared it for consumption and went in search of Angel.

Angel reached for Spike, drawing the blonde close to him. The younger vampire's silk coverings slid between them as he pressed their bodies together. Angel reached up to tilt Spike's head back, opening him for his Sire's kiss. Ah, the honey of his childe's mouth! Angel let himself slip beneath the surface, coating his senses in that smooth coolness. Spicy surrender graced his tongue and he swept deeper, looking for more of that elusive flavor. His childe, his lover, one who knew his demon and his soul in equal measure. Here, in his arms, a place he should always be.

Spike fell back, caught on Angel's arms. He was suspended in mid-air, weightless but for the press of Angel's body against his. He opened for his Sire, a vessel filled with the most delicate of strength. ::Take what you would, Sire. All that I am is designed for you, to please you, to make you. I am the flesh made word made flesh again, word made flesh made word. You make me and unmake me with every passing second. I am beauty when you find me that way and the most reviled offal when you do not. Take this that I have for you!::

Angel leaned forward, eagerness shifting him from lassitude to action. He delved deeper, ever farther, until the only light he could see was Spike's soul, a pale blue flame burning deep within the velvet blackness of his childe's demon. The demon he had given this perfect being, the reviled vampiric gift that had served to remove all but the pitch blackness from young William's existence. The soul Angel could not claim to be his doing; no, Spike had returned that to himself. Now he was illuminated from within, formed the same as his past selves but different. Angel could taste what had changed. The human William had been complex and hot in his saline-teared warmth and confused emotion, a kaleidoscope of vibrancy. The young vampire Spike was a violent swath of black, powerful in his monochrome force. The childe who had returned to him was neither of these ghosts, however. This Spike was a still water of flickering, impossibly faceted soul-blue, buried deep within inky, demonic midnight. That strange, living light illuminated even the shadows it cast. Angel was drawn to it as a moth to a flame, but when he dared touch he found himself unharmed. The heat was in the form of loving, eternal warmth; his skin begged for more of this wondrous substance.

The ferocity of Angel's kiss melted Spike until he was little more than ropy strands of desire, laying fallow-in-wait for his Sire's fertile touch. ::Sire! What I am will never cease, I cannot stop serving this, you that I love for eternity. Take, take and I shall give, for my being is for you!:: And still Spike happily endured this most gorgeous of assaults, this tender claiming. ::My pleasure is yours, Sire, take what you will. Please, Sire, do not stop, please, I beg you...::

The vibration of a broken wail caught Angel's ear as he pushed further. With a startled jerk, he realized that he had Spike bent, contorted, over his arms. His childe was spread out in a swirl of alabaster and night sky, a kiss-bruised, liquid-eyed offering upon the altar Angel was creating for him. Angel was struck the intensity, the sheer magnitude, of his desire for this creature. He didn't just want to touch Spike, or even lay him down and sink inside that welcoming body. He craved a newfound completion with this other half of himself. Lust was a pale, weak word for this feeling because it implied a hollowness Angel did not feel. This had nothing to do with physical satiety. Angel's very soul needed this, needed Spike. This Sire needed his childe.

Spike felt the loss as Angel stripped away the silk separating them. Then he was falling again, this time onto the bed as Angel turned them and let the leaves of his childe's tree flutter to a soft cotton forest floor. The heavier, dark green and glossy canopy that was Angel came down to give shelter to this delicate being even as Angel's hands worked to put him back together.

The incredible sensation of love washed over Spike as Angel let them touch. Skin so familiarly cool lit him afire, burning with a heat so entrapping, like Medusa's gaze. Spike was the ragged butterfly in Angel's silken web, caught but willingly so, waiting for his first and last master, please come o lord and remake me in your image! ::You honor me, Sire, with your hands. You bring me to being, out of the shadows of hope and waiting, with each caress. If I live to the end of sorrow itself I will never earn this boon you have given me.::

Angel buried his face in Spike's neck, wanting nothing more than to sink his cock and his fangs into this vessel who had offered himself up with a teardrop and a whispered 'Sire.' The next second whispered in Angel's ear that what he wanted was what Spike wanted too, was what the young childe was waiting for, was praying for with each gasp of useless air. Angel reached blindly over, needing something to settle between them, something to diffuse this intensity. Spike's skin was burning through him, touching every nerve in his body with the strongest acid a heart ever cried.

Spike couldn't restrain his cry when warm, viscous liquid struck his chest. His eyes shot open in time to see a crimson stream splash down upon him, coating him with slippery life. He watched, eyes curious and expectant, as Angel drew one finger through the lake of existence on his body.

Angel stared, fascinated, at the contrast of alabaster and crimson that was his childe. He traced one smooth pectoral, drawing a pale pink line through the cooling blood. That coated finger came up to his lips, where he washed away the evidence. The first taste of childe-flavored blood flooded his tongue. Spike was ever the delicacy, making the plainest of offal into a rare vintage. Entranced by that unique property of his blessed offspring, Angel bent his dark head to that seductive body, craving more of that heady taste.

"Angel!" Spike cried as his Sire laved at his sensitive skin. The pleasure on his Sire's face was obvious and Spike felt his unbeating heart falter. He was pleasing his Sire, giving him pleasure. Angel was taking his pleasure, as was his right. Spike was lost, drowning in those dark eyes. His capitulation was complete and utter; there was no part of him left in reserve. This was his Sire who would cradle him in his arms forever. ::Thank you, Sire, for this my life you have given me.::

Angel felt a change in Spike; something had broken free. The pale vampire arched under Angel's ministrations, not holding back anything. Every response, every cry, belonged to Angel. The dark vampire accepted them graciously, as he did everything Spike gave him. The blonde handed over his pleasure, his need and his love, all of which Angel treasured and returned tenfold. Slowly, ever so slowly, they moved together, in concert. Angel moved and removed the redness between them, sliding aching fingers inside the infinite tightness of his childe's body. Spike trembled at the touch, so new after so many decades of chastity.

Spike's legs fell open as Angel prepared him, slicking that grasping place. ::Please, Sire, please, I will beg, I will plead at you feet! Take of me, be inside me, open me for you, take your place inside me, where you belong, where you have never left!:: Slender hips canted up, physically asking for more, for whatever Angel would give him.

Angel leaned forward to capture that sinless mouth one more time, needing more, needing to consume his childe again and again. It seemed the more he took, the more there was to touch, the more there was to want. His own body was betraying him, demanding in its most strident voice to be joined with the heaven that waited underneath him. Were it not for the fact that Spike so obviously wanted the same thing, Angel would have ordered his body to cease its clawing and shouting.

Spike was floating on his Sire's kiss, letting the presence of that glorious tongue soothe him, when he felt the first pressure, the telling sign. His very last death nearly came upon him as Angel slid inside, joining together what never should have been separated. ::Where once I was broken, empty, wanting, now I am completed, whole. I am, where I formerly was not. I have been made again, yet again, twice in one eternity by my Sire!::

Angel was transfixed by the ecstasy on his childe's face. That Spike could want this so much was almost beyond his comprehension. Words, unbidden but not untrue, fell as leaves to join Spike on their shared altar. "Mon amant, mom coeur, my perfect childe," Angel whispered into Spike's ear, words sliding down like water. "Mon âme, is this what you wanted, what you needed? To have me inside you, taking you?"

Angel heard his childe and knew that he was finally hearing Spike's soul speaking, calling out in whispers and screams. "Tu m'appartiens, je te possède tout entier. Mine, Spike. Never leave, you can never leave, never leave," He chanted, fangs finally descending. He had to, needed to, couldn't *not* do this, take his childe as he'd first been taken. Deeper and surer than sex, more meaningful.

Spike watched as his Sire changed, shifting to reveal a different but equally beloved face. The younger vampire felt his own countenance shift, control fleeing in the presence of overwhelming desire. "Ai besoin de moi, sauve-moi. Please, Sire. Please..." His pale head tipped back, exposing a midnight-banded throat for his Sire's delectation.

"Forever, Spike, you belong to me," Angel cried as he struck. Strong, sure ivory parted alabaster skin, just above Angel's display of ownership. Desire-heated blood spilled forth, wantonly reaching for Angel as both Sire and childe strained for completion. As nearly painful pleasure replaced the substance of his body, Angel's soul reached out, meeting Spike's halfway. Through blood and come and cries and tears they met and twined together, cold fire and placid rage marrying in a ceremony of rapture and anguish.

::I am. Now, only now, do I exist. This my Sire he has come to me, in me.:: "Angel, Angel, Love you, Angel, I love you, love you, love you, love, love..." Spike's voice faded as pleasure so complete it overtook reality as the center of the universe crashed into his mind, pushing his soul out to meet Angel's. Once there those two souls mated, kissed softly in understanding. Together, they were one-not-one, all-in-nothingness.

Happiness woke up Spike, curling his pale lips into a graceful smile. Noting how close he was to Angel, tucked into his Sire's shoulder, Spike edged even closer. Oh, how he cherished this moment! Nightfall was still many minutes away, leaving the younger vampire with precious time to savor this contact, this heavenly presence. His Sire. A deep, reverent breath brought Spike that most beloved of perfumes.

::Oh, Sire, I love you. How could I have ever thought differently, even for a moment? The absurdity of my foolishness shames me; to even consider Drusilla to be any substitute for you... Hubris on my part, nothing less.:: Tears fell unbidden from dayskyblue eyes, anointing Angel's shoulders with passion. Slowly, regretfully, Spike eased himself out of his Sire's embrace and stood. He felt guilty about pulling on the garments Angel had given him, never wanting to hide himself from his Sire. But Angel had made it very clear; Spike's body was for him alone.

The kitchen was cold and gray with indirect evening light. Spike located the last of Angel's blood stores, noting that there wasn't really enough for both of them. Fortunately there was a bottle of rich red wine in one cabinet. Spike had found it whilst cleaning. It was still good, so he used it to flavor their meal. He was just about to pour off the now-heated blood when a noise caught his attention. It was not from Angel's bedroom, but from the front of the church. An intruder... Spike set the blood off the heat and quickly but silently strode into the building's main room.

"There's a nest of fledges near the Old Fort. They're going to take on some street kids just before dawn," The man told Spike. The vampire watched him slip out the door. "And Spike?" Gabriel continued, letting his body hang between sunlight and religion. "It was nice to meet you."

Spike stared at the doors for several long minutes. Many questions roamed free in his mind, ones he wouldn't ask his Sire. Thinking of his Sire reminded Spike that there was blood cooling on the stove, so he returned to the kitchen. It only took a few endless minutes to reheat the blood.

Angel noted as he woke that he was unpleasantly alone. That wouldn't do; even after only two days he was addicted to his childe's presence. The elder vampire was just about to rise and find his errant lover, a host of reprimands set to fall from his lips, when Spike returned. Angel scowled at the silk shielding his childe, but softened at the welcome sight of blood. Perhaps he wouldn't be angry at Spike, not when the childe's absence was well-meant.

Angel motioned Spike closer to him before accepting the chalice. He sipped at it leisurely, enjoying the heady bite of wine mixed into the blood. He took in a mouthful of the warm liquid and turned his head, sealing his mouth to Spike's. He then let the fluid flow between them.

His childe capitulated so sweetly, gave himself over with a totality that was so intoxicating, that Angel couldn't help but want to reward him. He pulled back and took another draught of blood, at the same time letting his fangs descend to slice his tongue. Then he returned to his childe.

The moan that followed reverberated deep into Angel's soul. Spike leaned forward, seeking more of this truly perfect substance. Wine and Sire's blood... Angel inside him, closer even than he had been the day before! ::I shall never leave you, Sire, not now. You have bound me, blood, soul and body. Where you lead I shall follow.::

Finally Angel drew back, knowing that this night was destined to be filled with the world outside their haven of stone. He quickly drank down the last of his meal, replacing the chalice in Spike's hands. "Drink," He commanded as he got out of bed. The elder vampire quickly went to his closet and dressed, refusing to look at the succubus that was in his bed. If he did, even for a second, they would spend the next hours there, locked in most pleasant combat.

Spike finished off the now-cool blood, watching as his Sire's perfect body was hidden from his sight by leather, denim and silk. It should have hurt, that Angel would choose to dress himself instead of allowing Spike to do it, but the blonde vampire was grateful for the reprieve. After that most intimate of kisses he knew he would be unable to stand. As Angel finished, Spike recalled his earlier conversation. "Gabriel was here."

Angel spun on his heel. "When?" He must have been deeply asleep to miss his grandson's arrival and departure. Then more serious thoughts crossed his mind. That meant that Spike had faced Gabriel alone. What had his grandson said? He would have recognized Spike; even as he was now, the younger vampire was a unique figure.

Angel sighed. And there, in one statement, was his evening. A long night spent away from home... away from his childe. Unless, of course, Spike came with him. He wasn't sure that was a good idea; even though Spike had a soul, he wasn't bound like Angel was to fight chaos. Still, he couldn't force Spike to stay here forever, with nothing to do. That wasn't fair, not to either of them. Of course, he should've thought of that when he was procuring clothing for Spike. What the younger vampire had shed in the foyer was unusable, and what Angel had gotten for him was more suited for candlelight and water than streets and violence. Ah, well... perhaps tomorrow night he would take Spike out. However, Spike still needed something to do whilst Angel was out... Fuck it all.

Spike restrained himself as he followed Angel out into the darkening night, trying not to laugh his joy to the awakening stars as he poured himself into the passenger seat of Angel's car. The dark vampire navigated through crowded streets, avoiding the street venders and pretty women, all selling shell games wrapped in scraps of tatty nylon silk.

Angel felt his childe fall into place behind him as they walked from his car to the spot where he'd seen a group of fledges. The scenario was eerily familiar; once upon a time Angelus and Spike had moved in a like manner, a hunting pair in eternal synchrony. This night was the witness to a reunion of sorts; two vampires found a rhythm they had once claimed as dead. The orchestration was hauntingly familiar yet simultaneously new; the strident wails of innocents replaced with the plaintive moans of the penitent. Still the song was poignant and sharp. Both Angel and Spike could hear it in their blood, see it in every movement.

Spike waited for Angel's signal, a sweet permission that was given without hesitation. The fledges were given no quarter; once released Spike was a motionless whirlwind, striking with a furious silence that left nothing but dust in its wake. Angel too was consumed by his fiery rage, a righteous vengeance falling upon those celestial features. Tonight, this night, his innocents would be spared. It mattered not to Angel that he saved them from this one demonic fate only to see them fall to another, more chemical one. It was Gabriel's path to fish such lonely souls out of the sea of despair; Angel simply kept them from being consumed by the deep-sea monsters.

The battle left Spike exhilarated; it had been far too long since his Sire and he had stood side by side, spilling blood together. This was better, far better, than before. The glory that surrounded them was bathed in light, not darkness. His body was singing, clawing at his own skin, wanting to complete this feast of blood with a deep taste of his precious Sire. He wanted, no--needed--to offer himself up to Angel, to be taken in a final act of blessed violence, to feel that terror slide softly into tenderness.

Angel beheaded the last fledge, watching as the dust settled upon a barren patch of deadened grass. He turned to Spike, already sensing an electric disquiet in his childe. Those crystalline eyes glowed, fractured and repaired, evening's light blinding them both. His body was next to Spike's before his mind realized that he'd moved. Razor-thin metal clattered upon stone as strong hands bent back that sculpted face, baring a swan's neck for his delectation.

Spike's eyes fluttered shut as Angel took claim of him. ::Take, Sire, drink. This blood in my veins is yours, waiting to bind us together. Take, Sire. Your blood has affianced me to you, may my blood complete this betrothal. Marry us, Sire, that we may never part.::

The street kids who had lingered to watch the show slowly faded into the night, unaware and uncaring of their good fortune. All they knew was that someone had dispatched of a rival gang, one made up of the 'others'. It was night now, time for them to find their solace, either in each other or in the goodness that was chemistry.

Angel swam in the rich, dark sea that was his childe, reveling in the swells of absolute devotion that lapped at his soul. Slowly, regretfully, he retreated back into himself, leaving that warmest of havens. Awareness tickled the left side of Angel's mind, drawing his eyes across the street. There, leaning against a rubbish bin, was Gabriel.

Spike shifted back very slightly, crooking his neck just enough to push Angel's collar over the healing bite mark his Sire had given him. Slowly his eyes were reborn, taking in the absolute night that was spread out above him. It was only then that he noticed his Sire's distraction. He looked over to what so fascinated Angel, swaying closer to that guardian body.

Gabriel stepped out of the shadows and approached his grandfather. The young man sighed softly at the sight of Angel and Spike together. His vision had been pleasant, very much a change from the usual still photographs of death and violence. The reality that inevitably followed those flashes was grisly. This, however, was not. No, these two men, standing so close as to be one entity, glowing in sister-moon's shining light, they were good together. Gabriel had known when he'd gotten the vision that it was one of the rare good ones, a forewarning of something positive for once. Now that he'd seen it in person, he had no doubts; these two were for each other. However, given the opportunity, Angel would walk an easy path with Spike, one that would eventually crumble into a marsh of loss. He could prevent that, with a few simple words. "Good evening, Grandfather," he murmured, stopping a few feet from the men. Angel was...protective of Spike, that much was obvious.

Angel led Spike back to his car, taking his childe in hand. He could barely take his eyes off the collar. The plain band of leather set off Spike's skin so nicely, accentuating his feral elegance. "Gabriel's father was my son. Connor," He began. Spike listened silently, accepting what his Sire would give him. And oh, how his Sire had suffered, all at the hands of a most cruel fate.

The drive through Montreal was a stretch of silences interspersed with hailstorms of revelation. Spike listened. Angel talked. With every new detail, Angel waited for Spike to rebel, to show his disgust and revulsion. This story was not one for the fainthearted or the casual companion. Still, Angel knew that come the next evening, he would be alone.

Spike followed Angel through the mall, obediently allowing his Sire to procure him less ratty clothing. That done, they went by the butcher's to lay by a store of blood. Angel spoke little after finishing his story and Spike added nothing. What was there to say? His beloved had lost more than Spike had ever possessed, swept up and tossed out like so much trash. Would that he could take that pain away, pull it into himself and soothe his lover's wounds.

Angel occupied himself with a few matters of business whilst Spike put away their purchases. He listened as the blonde rustled about, folding new clothes and placing them in the closet, setting containers of blood in the refrigerator. When Spike joined him in his office, he was naked but for his collar, gliding across the floor to wait by Angel's desk.

Angel finished shortly thereafter and retreated into his bedroom. Spike had said nothing, had not reacted to what Angel had told him. The elder vampire wasn't sure if he should be grateful or not. If Spike's only rationale for not screaming out his rage was a fear that Angel would in turn forswear him, the dark vampire would be greatly saddened. He did not want a companion who hated him but stayed out of fear and desperation. However, it was too much to hope that his childe would understand all that had passed in the decades that had separated them.

Unable to deny his Sire, Spike brought forth his anguished heart. "That you have suffered so, lost so much. All those who you have loved are gone, washed away. Even this one, Gabriel, is forever shadowed by this past you share. And he, he is at arm's length from you. This suffering you should not have, Sire." Emboldened by his own words, Spike turned to gaze upon that beloved face. "Give this pain to me, Sire. I do not mind carrying it; being yours it would be sweet."

Angel gaped at his childe. Spike, if her was speaking truthfully, held no revulsion for his past, had no issue with his previous lives. Moreover, he wanted to share the burden of regret. Angel's eyes watered in honor of his childe, who was more the redeemed warrior than he. Was it not Angel who had doubted this creature's love, Angel who had feared Spike's flight? And now, to repay Angel's faithlessness, was this selfless offer of haven, of sanctuary and love. Angel was broken by this truth, this absolute and divine passion that Spike gave unto him. "Ah, Spike," Angel whispered. "How is it that are you my childe? It is beyond me to create such a giving soul."

Spike sighed sadly. His Sire, always so sorrowful. "That is not for us to question, Sire. We are, as we were and as we will be. I belong to you; I am yours as you have made me. So long as you want me by your side, there I shall remain." ::Please, Sire, see that I want you to have this, my soul and my self, all that is who I am. It is indeed yours.::

Angel crushed Spike to him, unable to bear the transcendent soul that shined out from his childe's opened eyes. He allowed himself the barest glimmer of hope, of faith and trust. This Spike, aged by pain and a soul he could not have possibly wanted, this Spike who came to him in grief and need, was truly his childe, flesh of his flesh and blood of his blood. His childe, who would walk beside him forever, always holding him together with his fiercely quiet, perfect love. "You will never leave me, Spike," Angel commanded, now confident that Spike would obey him. How could he not? Spike followed him out of love and devotion, the truest and surest bonds that ever did exist.

"I am yours, ever and always," Spike vowed, holding his Sire as tightly as he himself was held. Spike's soul swelled and pulsed, vibrant and full with the infinite passion he had for Angel. For this moment to exist forever Spike would give anything, would walk to the ends of the earth and back, would embrace the hated sun and repudiate his goddess moon. For this he would die by his own hand, vanquished to the hell he deserved. For this, for this he would love, as purely and completely as ever did a childe love his Sire.

Angel kept Spike in his arms all through the day, never once letting his childe wander even a centimeter from him. There would be time enough to suffer the loss of his childe, when nightfall came and work bade them part. But each day in the future would be molded after this one; all of them a litany of oneness where Sire and childe would know no loss, no loneliness, no separation.

For the first time in decades, Angel sent up a true prayer, one of thanksgiving. He gave praise to whosoever chose to grace him with this that he had once thought lost. This gift was beyond compare and he would treasure it, hold on to it, and cradle it in his arms until the stars fell from the sky and their world was no more.