Nexus Chapter 3

Angelus pulled the door closed behind him and prowled into the room. Broad chest bare, sleek abdomen

Angelus sat propped against the headboard of his bed wearing silk pajama bottoms, reading Marcel Proust and sipping brandy. The Proust belonged to the Soul; Angelus was finding that he didn’t much care for Proust. He was impatiently waiting, killing time, and Proust and his stupid fucking cookie struck him as tedious. Travel the globe drinking hot human blood laced with hot human emotions for the better part of two and a half centuries then you can write about sense–memory and lost time, you silly French twat.

He lowered the book to his lap and rolled over onto one elbow to look at the boy who lay unconscious, naked, bound and gagged with his back to the vampire. Impatience with precious French novelists aside, Angelus was in exceptionally high spirits. He had waited a long time for this, and so far, he was having a fine time.

None of this had been planned specifically for tonight. Angelus was by nature a patient schemer, but not to the point of inflexibility, for he recognized that even the most careful strategist had to be open to opportunities presented by happy chance. So, tonight when he had caught the scent of Xander out on his own he had seen it for the opportunity it was. It was rare indeed to find any of that band of audacious infants out alone, and, even as he congratulated himself on his good fortune, Angelus had felt a twinge of irritation at Xander for being careless, and cold rage at the Slayer for allowing it. One more thing for that bitch to pay for in blood. And you’ll have to learn more caution, boy. If I really meant to pick you all off one by one, you’d be a sitting duck. Not to mention the admittedly slight risk from the other so–called vampires around here, one of whom might have a lucky night.

Angelus had snarled softly at the thought. The sooner he had his scent on the boy, the better. Word was out that he was back, and even after a century of curse–driven foolishness, the name of Angelus still meant something. Among vampires, perhaps the most territorial race of creatures that had ever existed, Angelus had a long–standing reputation for violence, and for possessiveness. Besides, all but the stupidest of fledglings instinctively knew the smell of a master vampire, and would automatically steer clear of a mortal wearing his scent. With those thoughts in his brain, immediate pursuit seemed not just imminently desirable, but necessary.

Moving with silently with supernatural speed, the demon had changed course to track the boy. It was easily done; a vampire’s olfactory abilities were like a bloodhound’s, and seemed to grow keener with age. Moreover, vampires were also extremely sexual creatures, exquisitely sensitive to pheromones. On the rare occasions when a mature vampire at the height of his powers took a serious sexual interest in a mortal, that vampire’s sense awareness of that particular mortal became very acute, indeed. Angelus could have tracked one Alexander LaVelle Harris across a continent with a year–old trail if he had to.

A soft moan from the sleeper beside him drew Angelus from his memories of the evening and back to the object of his desire these many months. The inviting expanse of the boy’s warm back drew him like the scent of violence, and he had waited so long….With a soft growl, he gave up on Proust and gave in to temptation, slinging the book to the floor and easing across the mattress until he was pressed against the unconscious boy, spooned rapturously against the live heat of him.

What was it about this boy? In the whole miserable century that demon and soul had been forced into cohabitation, both parts of his nature had fought desperately, constantly in turmoil, driven almost to madness by vastly different desires. Until this boy, this maddening, beautiful, intoxicating boy.

The Slayer, now. She inspired adoration, devotion, and desire in the soul, but loathing and obsessive hatred in the demon. With the soul gone, the desire was revealed as a taste for her blood and flesh, a longing to dominate and inspire fear before delivering well–earned death.

But Xander was different. Xander called to both halves of his nature. The demon recalled gleefully the moment when Angel had first gotten close enough to scent the boy properly, and realized that part of what made Buffy’s scent so irresistible was the hint of this boy, one of her closest friends, that clung always to her. The demon, a little quicker on the uptake, had correctly identified that earthy, spicy irresistible note in the Slayer’s scent as “Other,” and had only been waiting to see….

That night at the Bronze, Angel’s attention was on the Slayer and he was unaware of her little friends standing diffidently 30 feet or so away. Until Angelus, the demon, brought them forcibly to his attention. One glimpse of the boy, a tall gangly beam of light and innocence, pain and vulnerability, mystery and warm heat, and Angel had been caught against his will, while Angelus flung himself against the bars of his prison behind those sad, souled eyes and howled “MINE” at the top of his lungs.

Now, months later, Xander’s obvious adoration of Angel struck Angelus as a cruel irony. Angelus had no intention of ever letting Xander know how haunted by thoughts of the boy Angel had been. With a little luck, it was a moot point now. Besides, Angelus was convinced that, if by a stroke of bad luck, the soul found its way back, Angel would never admit his desires or act on them; rather, he would keep fighting his attraction to Xander with everything he had, determined to love Buffy, Buffy the ideal, Buffy the light and fair and pure and good and female.

Since demons ignored little things like gender preference, Angel had attributed his attraction to the boy to his vampire nature, so it was one more thing Angel would wrestle his demon to the death over if he had to. In Angel’s world, repentant and soul–having equals straight as a ruler, apparently. And never mind that dullard Liam’s drunken fumblings with the stable lads. How soon they forget. Angelus scowled at his thoughts. Aye, blame the demon for all the truths you don’t want to face, coward. Like the fact that you fear Xander as much for what’s between his ears as what’s between his legs. You and your Slayer bitch like things black and white. My boy’ll never be that simple.

Angelus nuzzled the unconscious teenager’s neck, feeling the hot blood rushing under the fragrant skin, wishing that he could sense the boy’s thoughts and feelings as easily.

Later. He’d work it out later. For now, here was the boy, in his house, in his bed—His. Angelus pressed his mouth against the back of the boy’s neck, feeling the thick lustrous dark hair against his cheek, getting drunk on the smell and feel and taste of his prize.

The night Angelus had seen the teenagers in the cemetery, he had barely resisted body and instinct’s urgent command to kill the Slayer and the little redhead, get them out of the way and make the boy his right then, across the nearest tombstone, cock and fangs buried…but no. Leave the impulsive behavior to cruder beings like Spike. Angelus had always been a capable of great patience, especially when it came to things he wanted badly. And he wanted Xander very badly indeed, and under very specific circumstances.

Still, it had been hard to keep his composure that night when the boy started to perfume the air with pheromones, but then that very tinge of desire strengthened his resolve to wait, to have it all. He’d wanted to howl with pleasure; his boy wanted him. His mind bombarded him with images; Xander on his knees, Xander bent over, moaning with want and fear as Angelus ripped his pants down, and pushed in again and again, the boy struggling, screaming….

NO. Not like that. Not yet. Without understanding why, Angelus wanted what Angel had; he wanted Xander to look at him the way he looked at that pathetic souled mongrel. He wanted to catch the boy staring at him across the room with naked longing. And if the brat got aroused by his presence even knowing that he was Angelus, the battle was half–won. He would have him, and he would have him willing! And when the boy had willingly surrendered himself, heart and soul, then there would be plenty of time to teach him the darker pleasures of pain and domination.

Since the moment that the soul burned away in its own fever for the slayer, he had been planning his strategy. It had all happened sooner that he had intended, but the opportunity had been too perfect. Although tonight’s Angel masquerade had been the inspiration of the moment, it had paid off beyond his wildest dreams. He had stolen something precious from the Soul, and gods, it had been sweet. As he had expected all along, Xander had unimagined depths of passion. The vampire shuddered and got harder as he remembered the way the boy had bared his throat so sweetly for him, and the way he had buried his face in Angelus’ groin, scenting him, tasting him greedily.

The boy made love like a demon, and Angelus could imagine himself millennia from now, sitting at time’s end watching the tired old sun’s final setting, and still reminiscing about Xander Harris and his rosy, kiss–swollen virgin mouth.

Xander woke slowly to a throbbing pain in his jaw and a nagging ache everywhere else. He was also cold and thirsty. The cause of the ache was easily determined; he was lying on his side on a bed, gagged and hogtied, knees drawn up, bound wrists lashed close to bound ankles. He was cold because he was naked. He wasn’t sure where he was, but given the room’s bad–70’s–porn black and red color scheme, plus the manacles on the wall he was facing, plus the memories that were beginning to flood back, he was guessing that he was chez Angelus.

With the realization came a nauseating flood of terror and grief; Xander was immediately aware that his chances from walking away from this undamaged, let alone alive, were pretty much non–existent, and that the prospect of serious pain before hand was likely indeed. He wondered about his friends; would they realize he was missing in time to try to save him, or…

“When the time comes for me to murder your little friends, perhaps I’ll keep you with me for a while,” the demon had said. How long had he been unconscious? Xander wondered with a fresh wave of terror if they were all dead already, and moaned around the gag.

Immediately, the mattress moved as a weight shifted behind him. Xander froze as soon as he realized that he wasn’t alone on the bed, images from his little interlude with Angelus flooding his mind in Technicolor. He felt a cold hand touch his bare shoulder and slide down his body to his hip; it patted his buttock then was gone. Then, more movement, the sound of bare feet hitting the floor, the mattress springing back as someone stood.

A moment later, a bare–chested Angelus prowled into Xander’s sightline and stood looking down at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, the vampire squatted on his haunches so that he was eye to eye with the terrified teenager. One hand reached out and pushed the hair out of Xander’s eyes, smoothing it back from his forehead with a creepily tender gesture.

“You are a pretty thing.” Angelus’ voice was a whisper of silk. “Pretty and sweet.” Cool fingertips traveled down Xander’s jaw, stroked lightly up and down his throat before going to work at the gag in his mouth, releasing it. Immediately, Xander gathered together what meager moisture he could from his dry throat and spat full in Angelus’ face.

“But not too sweet, I see.” Angelus’ tone was dryly amused. Shocked by his own audacity, Xander had squeezed his eyes shut to wait for death; at the sound of the vampire’s words, he opened one cautious eye. “Here, shove over.” Angelus shifted him enough to sit on the edge of the bed near Xander’s updrawn knees, then placed his right hand firmly over Xander’s mouth. “We’ll have no more of that.”

As Xander watched, bewildered by the change in the vampire’s demeanor, Angelus wiped the glob of saliva off his face with the tip of the index finger of his left hand, then, holding Xander’s gaze with his, reached behind the boy and very deliberately wormed his hand between Xander’s buttocks until the saliva–moistened digit was touching Xander in his most private place, lightly probing where no one had ever touched him before. The teen squeezed his eyes shut again, thinking God please let this just be a bad dream and let me wake up right now please…

“Xander, look at me.” The vampire’s voice brooked no argument. Reluctantly, Xander obeyed. As soon as his eyes locked with the vampire’s, Angelus drove his finger hard into the boy’s virginal anus.

Angelus fought to keep the exultation he felt from showing as he battered his way past the tight resistance. He’d been pretty certain after their earlier encounter, but now he knew for sure. He’s a virgin. No one’s touched him but me. And no one ever will.

Xander screamed behind Angelus’ broad palm, his body in a spasm of pain and shock at the rough invasion. Then, as Angelus looked on, eyes intense, arousal swept over and around the pain and the teen blushed in an extravagant body–wide wave of scarlet.

Slowly, still avidly watching the Xander’s expressive features, Angelus withdrew his finger almost all the way – Sweet Hell, he was tight!–then shoved it hard back into the boy. And so warm. Angelus felt himself getting harder as he began to work his finger in and out of the boy in languid rhythm. When the boy was panting lightly with arousal, he began to speak.

“I don’t plan to kill or maim you. But I’m going to keep you for a while, and if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll make you damn uncomfortable. Be a good boy, and you’ll be treated well. Be a bad boy, and you’ll be punished. The door is locked, and guarded. You can’t get away. Spit at me again, and I’ll give you to the minions for their pleasure.” As he spoke, Angelus had continued finger–fucking the boy; now he crooked his fingers and adjusted his angle until he found the boy’s prostate, and was rewarded by a soft moan. He removed his hand from Xander’s mouth and began caressing the boy’s cheek.

“Well, what do you say, boy? Will you be good?”

The boy moaned, eyes tight shut again.

“Speak up!” Angelus stilled his hands to get his attention.

Angelus saw Xander gather his wits, his dignity, and his resolve, in that order, a split second before the boy looked at him with murder in his eye, and said coldly, “Go to Hell, you filthy bastard.”

With an extravagant show of regret, Angelus withdrew his hand from Xander’s body, smiling inwardly as the boy tried unsuccessfully to stifle his sigh at the loss.

“Well, I did try. Just remember: you set the tone for our dealings, not I.” With quick efficient movements, the vampire produced a knife, cut the rope lashing Xander’s wrists to his ankles, and the ones binding his ankles together. For the honor of the Scoobies, and whatever small shreds of his manhood were left, Xander’s stumbled to his feet, surged forward and barreled into the vampire–shaped brick wall before him. OW! Well, gonna die anyway, (not believing the psycho’s promises to the contrary) might as well go down fighting.

The next fool who even hints that my boy’s a coward is too stupid to live, Angelus decided as he caught Xander easily and hauled him close. Holding the boy in an iron grip, Angelus morphed out and, snarling, gave the boy an up–close look at an open and ready mouthful of fangs. Xander cringed in spite of himself, and a satisfied Angelus flung him easily away, watching as the boy hit the wall and stayed there, at least temporarily cowed.

Angelus opened a wardrobe, muttering as he searched. “There’s irony for you. First time in two centuries I think about doing something with a human besides torture them to a horrible death and bathe in their blood, and the brat won’t let me be nice. Ah, well.” Having found what he sought Angelus returned to the boy and jerked him to his feet.

“Have it your own way, boy.”

With that, he held up his hands to show the boy what he held, chuckling as defiance returned and those heavy dark brows knit in a scowl. Angelus backed his captive into a corner and trapped him there with his body. Hoped the boy didn’t notice his hands shaking as he buckled the leather collar around Xander’s neck.

Unable to resist the temptation, he stood back to survey the result. The body before him was lanky and colt–like, tall and still growing, but already broad through the shoulders, muscles groups unexpectedly defined, indicating the potential for real power.

Above the heavy black leather collar with its silver fittings, the lush black waves sprang about his head like a lion’s mane, framing a pale face that silently screamed defiance. The youth’s jaw was set like a bulldog’s; under fierce brows, the black eyes were snapping with fury.

And not a single outward sign of the terror Angelus could smell coming off the boy in waves. Magnificent. The vampire shivered with pleasure, then stepped forward to catch the end of the rope that bound Xander’s wrists together. The boy struggled ineffectually to keep his hands where they were, hiding his genitals from the demon’s ravaging gaze. He actually bared his teeth at the vampire as his hands were tugged upward, revealing his nakedness.

Angelus’ mouth went dry at the sight of what he had held in his hand only hours ago, then glimpsed hurriedly while he undressed the unconscious boy. Now he looked his fill, drawing an unneeded breath as the boy’s flesh stirred under his burning gaze.

Oh, wonderful. Xander groaned inwardly as he felt his cock harden. Way to go with the manly tough guy act, Loser Boy. Give me back my frat party wig, I was born to wear it, apparently. Do what you want, Mr. Vampire. Go ahead and kill me, but could I get you to screw me like a girl first? Maybe let me suck you off one more time? Please, humiliate me, by all means. Yessirree, I definitely want some ridicule with my horrible untimely death. Abruptly, Xander’s thoughts were cut off, replaced by blank awe as Angelus once again did the unexpected.

Angelus had been entranced by the play of emotions in the boy’s head, the way he fought to hide them, to keep his pride. What had happened to the boy to give him that kind of control? His thrice–damned family, no doubt. Angelus could smell it all, though: Shame, rage, fear, and most of all, dark and hidden desire struggling against the boy’s fierce determination not to be broken.

The demon was shaken to the core by the depths of arousal the boy awakened in his jaded flesh. Without conscious thought he moved closer to the boy, instinctively knowing the one thing that would make a dent in the boy’s resistance.

The kiss rocked them both, boy and demon alike. The caresses traded in the alley were only a prelude to this frank, needful onslaught. After the initial shock, Xander was lost, his mouth hot and eager against the vampire’s devouring lips and tongue; bound hands writhed between their bodies, trying to find purchase. Impatient for fuller contact, Angelus pulled away just long enough to jerk the boy’s hands from between them, pulling them up over his head so he could press himself fully against Xander’s warmth as he resumed his hungry exploration.

Immediately, Xander dropped his arms around the vampire’s neck, using the leverage to arch closer to the larger body. As though in reward, cool fingers found his painfully hard nipples, first caressing, then pinching sharply. Xander moaned at the harsh touch, the sound vibrating against the vampire’s tongue as it explored the boy’s mouth.

Pinning the youth hard against the stone wall, Angelus dropped his hands to Xander’s hips and ground his cock hard against the boy’s erection. Xander pressed back for an instant, then, abruptly went still. Puzzled, Angelus lifted his head and stared down at his boy. Beautiful. Flushed and wanton, swollen red lips invitingly open, velvet eyes heavy–lidded with passion. Angelus enjoyed the sight for the space of a heartbeat before the face before him hardened once more into defiance.

Unbidden, an old bit of country wisdom from a nearly–forgotten lifetime surfaced in Angelus’ mind: “Sure, an’ ye can reason with an ox, but ye’ve got to get it’s attention first. That’s what the whip is for.” Angelus stifled his momentary disappointment and straightened his shoulders. Y’re not a farmer with an ox, boyo, but better that than a lovesick lad with a coy maiden. Go on the way you were, and it’s ye’ll be wearin’ the yoke and the boy’ll be havin’ the upper hand.

“The whip it is, then.” Ignoring the boy’s gasp at the words he had unwittingly said aloud, he looked for the length of chain he had dropped minutes before, located it and hooked the end to the boy’s collar.

Seconds later, guardian minions jumped to attention as the door to the main bedchamber flew open and a determined looking master vampire strode out, half leading, half dragging a naked and struggling human on a leash. Past the guards, along the corridor, down the stairs to the main level, past another group of minions, through a doorway into the main hall and past the master’s two Childer, who stopped what they were doing as the master and his new possession passed through on their way to the basement.

The dark–haired one, a woman seated on the floor with a collection of mutilated dolls and chipped teacups brimming with gore, watched the strange procession with a little frown playing across her rather addled countenance. The second, a slender blond man in a wheel chair, as sharp as his companion was vague, observed the little procession impassively, then lit a cigarette. Only then did he lift one sardonic eyebrow and comment. “Well now, pet,” he paused to blow a series of smoke rings. “there’s something you don’t see every day, innit?”

Drusilla sat looking after Angelus for a long time, then turned her attention back to Miss Edith, sighing mournfully. “Poor Daddy. Poor Spike. Poor Dru.” Spike rolled his wheelchair closer to Dru’s place on the floor before the fireplace.

“Here, what’s that, luv?” He reached over and stroked her dark hair.

She shrugged, then sing–songed “Daddy’s brought home a new baby. Now we will be four at table, and you and I must go lower and take the crumbs.”

“Drusilla, are you saying that Angelus is going to turn the whelp?”

“Oh, no. Daddy won’t change him. He’s Little Brother, and mustn’t be touched.”

“Dru, luv, you’re not making sense; if he’s not to be like us, how can he be….”

“Poor Spike.” She leaned her head against Spike’s knee. “Daddy has a new boy now.”

Spike frowned, puzzled. “But Daddy won’t make him like us, luv? But why? What do the stars tell you?”

Drusilla was half–singing, half–muttering now, her eyes were fixed on some far dimension. “Ooooh, Spike, he’s a game and a puzzle. And the prize inside burns! Burns like a soul, but worse.”

“Who, luv? Angelus?”

“No! The boy, the boy’s a game and a puzzle! And when you’ve won, you’ve lost!”

“But, Dru...”

“The prize is all for Daddy, poor, poor Daddy….HUSH! Hush! We mustn’t even speak of it….” Drusilla’s eyes were darting crazily around the room as thought the corners were full of ghosts and spies. Leaning close to Spike’s ear, she whispered, her voice shaking, “Daddy is in love.”

Spike jerked his head back to look into her face. She nodded solemnly, eyes huge and black. “Oh, bloody hell.” Spike thought for a moment, then his eyes narrowed, taking on a speculative expression. “So tell me, luv: Does Daddy know that?”

In the basement, Angelus fastened Xander’s bound wrists to chains hanging from the ceiling, suspending the boy so that he supported his weight on his toes, or strained his shoulders. Then he walked slow circles around the boy, admiring the play of hard muscles under the skin that was golden on arms, legs and torso, pale on hips and buttocks.

Angelus felt his grudging respect for the boy growing, for, even though Xander’s body was trembling, his eyes were unflinchingly defiant. The boy was shivering, teeth beginning to chatter a little from fear and from cold. Hell, the dungeon–like space was so dank that even the vampires felt the chill. He stepped closer, hands smoothing around the quivering torso, holding the boy’s gaze in his as he caressed warm silky skin.

Almost without volition, Angelus leaned in and kissed the boy’s soft mouth again, then murmured against his warm throat. “Come, lad; don’t make me do this. Submit to me; take your place willingly in my bed; I’ll see you warm and fed, and I’ll no’ hurt ye much…”

Where was the cruelly contemptuous Angelus of earlier in the evening? Xander was disarmed by the near–kindness in the vampire’s voice; at his touch and his words, the boy’s cock twitched, hardening further, but when Angelus lifted his head to kiss the boy again, Xander wrenched his face aside, jaw stuck out mutinously. “Very well, then.” Angelus chose a long, thin leather crop from a selection on a nearby table and stood before Xander again, looking appraisingly at the body before him and tapping the whip against his leg.

The seductive glow was gone from his eyes, leaving them merciless and cold. Xander felt his breath and pulse accelerate still further as the moment stretched unbearably, then Angelus exploded into motion with sickening speed, and a thin welted stripe was oozing beads of blood across Xander’s chest. Xander drew a hissing breath and flung his head back, the muscles in his neck cording.

The rich scent of the boy’s blood exploded in Angelus’ already aroused senses and the whip in his hand was momentarily forgotten. Here and there along the freshly cut path of the lash, the beads of blood fattened and ran; one meandered down and clung to a swollen nipple and the vampire groaned and caught the boy to him again, grasping him around his ribcage and lifting him effortlessly as he lowered his mouth to the hard little morsel of flesh. Sucking roughly, he tasted his boy’s blood for the first time.

Snarling, the vampire trembled violently, and the grinding of bone was loud in the dank air as he shifted into gameface. Sweet Hell and all it’s demons! He’d drunk mortals by the thousands, but this was a new thing altogether! Xander’s blood was as powerful as if some magician had created it just for him, as dizzying as his first taste of whiskey centuries ago, all smoke and spice and bright innocence with sin running through it like black ribbons. Lost to the taste of his boy, he moved his mouth hungrily against the length of the cut, worrying the parted flesh with his tongue, learning a new and insatiable hunger. Not enough, by the gods, not nearly enough…Blindly, he lifted his face to the boy’s bared throat, fangs fairly itching….

Just in time, a soft whimper drew him back to himself, and he froze as the boy struggled weakly in his arms. Xander’s heart was pounding like a wild thing against his chest, and Angelus pressed a gentle hand against it, forcing his human face back to the fore and making soft shushing sounds in his throat. The boy’s face was still turned away from him, eyes squeezed shut, but the vampire could see the tears trickling down pale cheeks, smell their salt. He contented himself with licking them away lightly, forcing down his longing with an iron will.

Still shaking, unsettled by the boy’s unexpected power over him, he picked up the whip again, then stood there, horrified to realize that he was reluctant to hit the boy again. Fear welled up in the vampire, driving rage before it.

Xander stiffened as the vampire’s howl split the air around him, and his eyes flew open an instant before the second blow of the whip slashed across his ribcage, closely followed by a third stroke lower on his belly, a few inches above his now–softening cock. His head lolled forward now, shuddering breaths coming fast through clenched teeth. Angelus moved behind him, and the boy finally cried out as four cuts fell in quick succession, spaced from shoulders to hips. His cries turned to sobs as the whip slashed countless times across his pale buttocks, and he sagged in the bonds as a final flurry of blows marked the tender backs of his thighs.

Angelus moved around to stand again before the boy, who hung his head sullenly, refusing to acknowledge his tormentor. Xander kept his eyes screwed shut as he felt the vampire’s eyes on him, jaws clenched in effort to hold back the treacherous tears. Silence reigned for long moments while Angelus waited for some sign of surrender and Xander hung there, defiant. Finally, Angelus stepped closer; breathed into the boy’s ear: “I WILL be your master.” No response, and the vampire snarled, flung down the whip and turned scowling, slamming the door behind him and mounting the stairs two at a time.

Don’t leave me.

Sick with self–loathing, Xander bit his tongue to keep from saying the words out loud. What in the Holy Fuck is wrong with me? He wanted the pain to stop, okay, fine; wanting to creep into the arms of the soulless murderer who was torturing him? Not so OK. There in the dark, Xander flexed the throbbing muscles in his calves, taking some of the knife–like pressure from his shoulders. God, please get me out of here, preferably before I die or do something I can’t forgive myself for. If I’m not at that point already. Xander shuddered as he remembered how the feel of Angelus’ mouth had excited him, even when he seemed about to drain him. How can I possibly be this fucked up?

Okay, his Scooby duty to despise and defy all evil vampires (plus whatever he had in the way of manly pride) warred against the temptation of being comfortable, “warm and fed.” All perfectly understandable. What really tormented him, if he was honest with himself (and it was hard not to while hanging from manacles in a dark dungeon, bleeding from the whip,) the main source of Xander’s psychological discomfort was his complete and utter failure to see the whole “taking his place willingly in Angelus’ bed” clause as a negative.

In the alley, his arousal had continued even after he’d found out that his partner wasn’t Angel, and earlier today, in Angelus’ bed, the vampire’s finger in his body had sent his mind out of control with desire. And let’s not forget those kisses. Or, if we want to stay sane, let’s do. Even when Angelus whipped him—which hurt every bit as much as a person would imagine—he had controlled his hard–on only by closing his eyes and concentrating on the pain, willing the image of Angelus away and pretending that he couldn’t feel Angelus’ kiss still burning on his lips. Now, here he was, chained up in a vampire’s dungeon, in mounting physical discomfort, with a raging hardon just from remembering said vampire’s kisses. Even the usually–cocky voice in his head sounded small and scared. Am I ever in trouble.

Twelve hours or so on his own down there and he’ll be more amenable, thought Angelus, settling down for his daylight sleep. I’ll rest ‘til dusk, then hunt, then go to him. An hour later, the vampire was still awake. Two hours later, he was out of the bed and pacing restlessly. Soon after, he was on his way down to the basement to get his boy.

Fall, 2002; Revello Drive

Spike raised his eyes from the cooling chocolate in his mug and looked at the woman across the table from him. She was pale but composed, although he had seen her wince slightly when he’d described seeing Xander dragged naked into the dungeons. “Course, I’d’ve begun to wonder even without Dru’s bombshell.” He took one more look at Buffy’s face, then plunged in. Not like it’s anything she didn’t already know. “Takes the whelp down to the basement—got it all fitted up as a dungeon, an’ all—and fifteen minutes later, he’s back upstairs, scowling like he’s just met with the taxman. An I ask myself, when did Angelus ever give anyone a fifteen minute do? The Angelus I knew wouldn’t have even got a good start in that time, and this version of Angelus was crazier even then the one I knew before.”

Spike drained the cup, sneaking another appraising look at his Slayer, who looked just fine. No shrinking violet, that. Spike wondered for the millionth time what kind of vampire she’d make, then pulled himself back to the task at hand.

“Yeah, the old sire was right bloody thorough when it came to torture and such, so when he didn’t spend any time down there with the brat, I started to wonder. Wished I could walk so’s I could go down there and see the brat’s state f’r myself, but couldn’t, cause some cheeky bint had gone an’ dropped a pipe organ on me spine.

“Sorry.” The tiny little smile with its flash of dimples had its usual effect on Spike, and he basked in it, prolonging the moment by cocking a brow at her and pushing his now empty mug toward her with one finger. “Tell you what, pet. Hit me again, and we’ll call it square.”

“Well…..” She scrunched her nose at him as if considering his offer, then agreed with mock reluctance. “…alright, but after this, you’re cut off.” She took the cup and rose, turning toward the stove. “You’re almost as bad as Willow when it comes to sugar and caffeine, you know that?”

“Oi! Am not.”

“Are too.” She put the refilled cup in front of him. “A third cup and you’d never get to sleep all day. Then you’d be Mr. Cranky Vamp all evening.”

“Y’sound like a right wife.” She went still, and he cursed himself. Clumsy ass. Why’d you have to say that? D’yer have to bollocks up everything? He glared down at the marshmallows floating in the cup as if they, not he, had just fucked it up.

Still standing over him, Buffy looked down at his now tense features and felt a pang. He walked on eggshells around her, and punished himself every time one cracked. It was starting to bother her. A lot. Impulsively, she threaded her fingers lightly through his platinum hair. Startled, he met her gaze, and she tightened her fingers, grinning at him and play–tugging. “Mister, if I was your wife, you’d REALLY know the meaning of the word evil.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and managed a ghost of his usual grin. “Worst nightmare, eh, Slayer?”

“Better believe it, Blondie.” She gave his hair one last gentle yank, then returned to her chair. “Now get on with it, will you?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and pushed his wistful thoughts away until later. “So, something’s definitely goin’ on. Angelus stomps up the stairs and goes to his room, an’ everyone else toddles off to bed, but I stay up, ‘cause something’s tellin’ me another shoes goin’ to drop.”

“Sure enough, before any time at all, I hear those big feet of his pacin’ back and forth, and before you know it, here he comes again. Didn’t even notice me sitting there, just clomps back down the stairs. ‘Well, mate,’ I tell myself, ‘ he’s just been workin’ out his strategy, now he’s going to get on with it.’ So I figure that’s the show for the night and I’m thinkin’ of going to bed, when here he comes up AGAIN, and I’m thinking ‘what is this, a soddin’ parade?’ when he shows up at the top of the stairs.”

Spike fell silent, and stared into the middle distance until Buffy made an impatient gesture. He started and made a little ‘sorry’ face at her.

“So, my Sire, the effin’ Scourge of Europe, the most heartless bastard that ever lived, comes up those stairs and wanders by again, still doesn’t notice me sitting there, which fact alone is pretty strange. You don’t survive two centuries by not paying attention to what’s goin’ on around you, pet. But what’s really odd? He’s got your donut boy. Not draggin’ him by the hair, not slung across his shoulder. No, my Sire, the only bein’ I’ve ever been afraid of (present company excepted, o’course, luv,) he’s got your boy just like this” Here Spike folded his arms in a ‘rocking the baby’ motion. “Silly ponce looked just like a little girl with a soddin’ kitten, he did.”

He met Buffy’s wide eyes. “I bloody well didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. But then, once I regained my equilibrium, so to speak, I began to see the entertainment potential in the situation. I figured now he’d leave my Dru alone, plus, I knew sure as Hell that dear old Sire was in for a world of trouble, which he had comin’ to him, far as I was concerned. What I didn’t foresee, and prolly should’ve, was that the old bastard was going to try’n make sure we all got buggered along with him.”

Buffy made a little “O” of understanding. “Acathla!” she breathed.

“Yeah. Soddin’ Acathla. But that came later. Until all that broke loose, we got a bloody good show.”

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