I’m running a finger along the edge of my cooling coffee cup. The smell in this place is enough to drive me out, but I’ll wait. London’s unwashed masses gathering in one of its’ poorer coffee houses to drink bitter brew and pretend themselves intellectuals. Amidst this crowd I’ve found a true gem. He’ll be here tonight, I’ve no doubt. My grey-eyed lad.

Two weeks since I first saw my prey sitting here, for prey is what I believed him to be. Hair spilling softly around that ridiculous plain collar he wears, falling into his eyes. God, those eyes. I’ve seen them clouded in thought, then suddenly flash to piercing intensity as he gathers his wits for a verbal attack. But last night I saw them heavy-lidded with lust, dazed with a passion he can’t quite give a name to yet. I yearn to see that look again.

Two weeks of careful seduction. It’s my game and I don’t like being rushed. But the boy is just visiting here with his father, the first time he’s been allowed out of that careful paternal grasp. I don’t have much time left, and this one requires all my skill.

I draw him into conversation in this smoky coffee house. Letting him rant in his quiet way about politics and religion. Religion. That gets him riled. I can see the blood rushing just under the surface, suffusing those cheeks with color. I cock my head and listen, just so, to hear him draw in breath as he launches into a tirade that would rival his fathers’ sermons. I mentioned this to him once and was rewarded with a look so furious I leaned into its’ heat and just smiled. I don’t care what gets you this worked up, boy, I just enjoy the effect it has on your body. So I taunt. I argue. And lately, I’ve touched.

Subtle touches that make me laugh at my memories of swinging barmaids onto my lap for a quick grope. A quarter of a century under Darla’s firm tutelage has taught me finesse. And so much more. She’s left me to my own devises while she visits the Master at Court. I wonder what she would make of this game I’m playing? Probably laugh in that beautiful, bell-like voice of hers and ask me how he kisses as she lays her lips to mine. Ask me for the texture of his skin as she runs her small hands up my back. And I would tell her everything.

How the first time I brushed the hair from his forehead, so I could see those eyes again, he flinched. And his look felt like random sunlight. And when I grasped his hands to still them as he argued, I could feel his entire body shiver. Could count the heartbeats it took him to pull back and remember himself. Remember where we were. But best of all I can imagine the sweet smile on my Sire’s face when I tell her of the kiss. How walking through the cobbled streets listening to him fume about his father it suddenly seemed like the right time. To pull him into a darkened alley, not quite struggling for he, somehow, blindly trusted his new strange friend. I pushed my body against his, shoving him roughly against the stone wall. I remember laughing at the transparent thoughts that flitted over his face. ~Robbery? But he’s obviously wealthier than I. Assault? No room for that.~ I rubbed my length against him in agreement, no room at all. And then. Realization.

"Why?" He asked in a breathless voice that I could see him curse at inwardly.

A good student always asks questions. So I answered with my mouth. Pressed against his. He was awkward at first, and I spared a moment to wonder if he’d ever kissed another person, or worse, if his mind was going to let him deny him what I knew his body wanted. What his body had told me in a hundred stolen glances and subtle clues. But a moment was all it took, and suddenly I found myself not pushing, but holding. Those smooth lips parting under mine as I swallowed his gasp of surprise and my tongue slipped in. Into heat. Felt his body shake violently as he seemed to cast off twenty years of conditioning and just give in. Suddenly open to me, that mouth blooming and welcoming under my tongue. Then I felt it. Those red lips closing around me, teeth grazing gently as he just sucked. What a clever, clever lad.

The sudden clatter of horseshoes on the street startled him enough to pull back. I expected to see shame and fear and regret but the face tilted up to mine reflected back none of that. Instead I saw the gaze I want to always see there. Utter contentment and absolute wonder.

When I suggested it was past time for him to get home to his father I was delighted at the flash of anger in his eyes. I don’t think I could ever tire of this one. I lightened his look with a swift and hard kiss. Promising more ‘conversation’ tomorrow.

So here I sit. The memory of that kiss has me licking my lips thoughtfully when I see him stride in. Full of purpose. Full of anger. I feel a flash of protectiveness at whatever nameless demon has my lad so flushed. Because that’s my new vocation, and I will not share.

With the self-absorbed passion only youth possesses he throws himself into the chair opposite me. Those grey eyes flashing around the room, landing anywhere but on me. This will not do.

"What is it, lad? What has ye so bothered ye’ve no greeting for a friend?"

I have him. Calling him out on a breach of manners. Simple, but it means something to him. I see him pause in some internal rant, "Why bother with a greeting when my next words must be a farewell?"

I’m angry now. First I’ve suffered through a timetable on my hunt and now this?

"Running from me, are you? Did I shock yer Puritan sensibilities as badly as all that?"

God, he’s blushing, and I know it’s not from shame. I can see his hands fretting with the newspaper on the table, and for some reason my eloquent boy can’t find the words to speak to me.

Something so low and needing and desperate in his voice when he finally manages to whisper the words, "No…I would never run from ye, Angelus." Oh you would if you knew what I was, knew exactly what it was I wanted from you. What I will get.

He’s so earnest now, a fall of messy brown hair across his forehead as he leans towards me. "I’d not give your friendship up for the world, or your…conversation." I want to see more of that blush, child. "But my father…He…We must leave tomorrow."

Ah…there it is. The boy knows so little of the world that he still believes his father holds it in the palm of his hand. The preacher no doubt believes it too and senses his grip on his son shaken by his experiences in this wicked city. If he only knew…But they’re both wrong. I hold that power.

This one, so young, so eager, so close to being mine. The words are pouring out of him now, his usual logic and control forgotten.

"Ye have shown me so much. The stories ye tell! I long to have such adventures. To see the world. See strange places. But I will live and die hours from this city, following in my fathers’ footsteps. Tending his flock of sheep, spewing words at them I don’t believe. I could almost bear it. Could almost keep lying to myself…except now…I wish to God I’d never met ye!"

"You don’t mean that, lad." I give in to the urge to brush his unruly hair from his face, and can’t help the smile I feel as he leans in to my touch. Such pain in his gaze, and that makes me smile harder. I want to just suck all that human misery and self-doubt out of him and fill him back up with my own strength. Take the ability that’s already in him and forge it into iron. Feed him the knowledge he lacks and watch those eyes widen with the realization of his own power. Power that belongs to me. That’s what I want. That’s what I’ll have. I have chosen this one.

"Penn, lad, ye’ll not be leavin’ with yer father."

Those eyes, sharp on me, "I won’t?"

"No…ye’ll be stayin’. With me."

Wonder, not disbelief tinges his voice, "Staying. With ye."

"Aye."

Spark of defiance, "Just like that? Ye think I’ll leave my family and take up with ye? Good God, man, I don’t even really know ye! I don’t know how ye live, where ye live…do ye mean to keep me like some…whore?" The last word breathed low past patrician lips.

I can’t help but sit back and laugh at the look on his face.

"Ye’ve never asked about me before, lad. But to answer yer questions, I do quite well. My business is something of a…family concern, and there’s a place there for ye. An’ aye, you’ll be leaving yer family for me, an’ gladly too, I’ll warrant. Lastly, my home is not far from here, for I’ve an urge to push ye against bed clothes an’ not a stone wall."

I can almost feel his mind processing my words, the frown leaving his face. If I had breath left in my body it would fail me at his smile. With a hard swallow of his throat my eyes are captured, following the bobbing motion covered by his plain collar. I consider buying him some coffee just to watch him do that again.

"Ye’ll begin my adventures, then? Take me with ye?"

"Anythin’ ye ask…everythin’." And I’ll take the same from him. Nothing he won’t give willingly.

His answer is clear enough in his face, and it only takes me a moment to guide him through the crowd and out the door. I resist the urge to grab him and run through the streets to my door. I settle for a brisk pace that he eagerly keeps up with, trying manfully to match my longer stride.

Finally, we’re inside and he’s following me up the stairs to my bedroom. Not the one I share with Darla. He’s not ready for that bit of information yet.

He’s laughing and out of breath and beyond beautiful in his happiness. With a look of triumph he turns to me, "I will never have to see my father again! Never listen to his tired sermons. Never take another beating." He is standing just inside the doorway, eyes shining with dreams of what small promises I’ve made to him. He has no idea.

"You may be seein’ your dear father sooner than ye think, lad."

He misunderstands me, "Ye’d force me back to him?" The question breathed like a curse.

My thumb presses along his fine jaw as I cup his face, "Nay, Penn…yer mine now. But family holds something we all need. Blood calls to blood, whether in love or hate, and ye have to heed that call. If’n ye go back to see yer father, I’ll be by yer side."

That gentle brow furrowed in thought brings me back to my purpose, and I lean forward to brush my lips across his. I’ll let him lead the dance for a moment, and my student proves worthy, those lush lips pressed tightly to mine. He parts them with a gasp as he feels my tongue questing towards his, and I want to swallow every sound he makes. Those long fingers are wrapped in my hair, pulling out the tie, trying to draw me in further. Hungry whimpers from my boy as I suckle none too gently on his tongue, my own hands pressing into his hips, pulling him just so…there. His head hits the door with a loud thump as our clothed erections meet. The look of shock on his face is priceless, those bruised lips forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. I let the slow grind of our bodies sink in, watching his face, relishing his newness.

"I thought…" he searches for breath and for words, "I thought ye said something about bed clothes this time."

Does his brain never stop? I silence that sweet mouth with a wet kiss, pulling back to answer, "Aye…that I did. Just warming ye to the thought."

"God!" he breathes in sweet innocence, "I don’t think I can get much warmer!" His hands reach down to grasp mine, "But ye, Angelus…ye need some warming."

I watch, transfixed as he takes my hands, rubbing them between his own, heating my skin with his friction. Slowly he brings the fingers of one hand to his face, leaning into my touch, his mouth ghosting over my skin like a moths’ wings. I watch, I wait, knowing the speed at which his mind analyzes as those lips press against my wrist. He senses the wrongness and stills. Rough fingers replace lips. Pressing, seeking for a pulse they can never find.

And I see it. The father in the son. Eyes dark with fear and a hundred dread names for what he thinks. "What are you?"

I could laugh out loud for the ignorance of the world, but right now all I want is this boy, and I want him as eager and open as he was a moment ago, not struggling as he is now in my grasp.

"What do you think I am, Penn?" Knowing I can capture his mind as surely as I’ve pinned his body.

Fierce eyes. Studying me. I’ll swallow this attention too. I’m greedy. I’ll take it all.

"Ye are incredibly strong." He gives me a rough shove that doesn’t even register against my bulk.

"How old are ye?" He’s tilted his head…peering at my face, hoping to read an answer there.

"More than twice yer age."

"Can I harm ye?"

"Is that what ye want, my boy?" My words breathed along his throat as I lick his jumping pulse. "Are ye after causing me harm?"

"N-no. But…will ye harm me?"

"Nay…I want to give you the world my gem. Want to pour it out before ye and watch ye drink it down." My mouth moving now over his cheeks…gentle touch, "Will ye let me do that lad? Will ye let go of what ye know and let me teach ye?"

And this is my bright and wonderful lad, his hands around my waist, pulling me towards him. Arching his neck into my mouth, and who am I to refuse? Pulling that wretched bit of cloth from his neck, I sink blunt teeth into soft skin and suck against the bruise. The boy lets out a low moan as I rock my hips into his.

"Show me…please."

I can’t remember hearing a sweeter invitation, and reward him with a wet kiss as I move him back towards my bed. The eagerness of youth has him pulling on his own clothes frantically, kicking off his shoes and he is suddenly there. Naked. Before me.

Easily I push him back onto the bed, his knees bending and he falls back. Skin flushed, and I just stare at the blood rushing under that smooth skin.

"Such a lovely lad." My eyes drinking in the expanse of skin laid out before me.

"Lovely?" That frown again. "I’m not lovely, ye may as well call me pretty." Just a little indignant, just a little flattered.

"Aye, ye are a pretty one." I let my body fall forward over his, catching myself on my hands, hovering just above him.

"Ye’ve the sweetest face, yer lips jes beggin’ ta be kissed." I press my mouth to his to prove the point, pulling away before he can open to me. "An a right wicked tongue for such a novice."

I see him silence his own protest of his innocence. Good lad, no point in lying to me.

"Yer neck…ah…such bruises I want to leave here. Mark ye…let the world know I’ve been here." A good hard suck over the hollow of his throat and his hips are bucking up, his hardness rubbing against my trousers. He doesn’t know what’s he asking for, but his groan tells me plain enough.

"That’s it lad…listen to yer body, it won’t lie to ye about what it needs."

His eyes are shut tight, every nerve straining to know where I’ll touch next.

"These shoulders…it’s not the body of a preacher’s son ye have…ye’ve done hard labor. Remind me ta thank yer father for that."

Grey eyes open, and laughing with me, widening in surprise as I lower my head to his chest. He can’t voice his protest quickly enough as I latch onto one brown nipple, flicking my tongue against it as it hardens. Shock-sucked air into his lungs and his hands are scrabbling at my shirt. His breath moving against my hair as I fasten onto the nub with teeth and bear down, eliciting a grunt of pain followed by a sigh as I nuzzle the tender flesh.

I tug his hands from my clothes and raise myself, pulling back and resting some of my weight on his thighs. It’s a delight to watch his mind warring with what his body feels. I know which will win, but it’s a pleasure to watch him struggle, to know I hold the winning arguments in my hands, my lips, my cock. As if reading my mind I watch his gaze dart down to his hard length straining under my crotch.

"Such a pretty cock, isn’t it?" I trail a finger along the length and feel his body shiver underneath me. Transfixed, he watches as I pull back the delicate skin and press a finger against the moisture beading at the tip. I push down harder just to watch him bite back a cry that turns to a sob as I bring the finger up to my mouth and lick his liquid from it.

"It’s a sweet and pretty cock, ye have there, Penn my lad."

"Ye…ye tasted me!" I can hear the wonder and disgust in his voice. I’ll cure him of that.

"Aye…just a taste." He relaxes at that and I let out a laugh, "Time enough to drink and suck and swallow ye."

Such a groan my boy lets out, his body shivering with it. "God…"

I’m there, swallowing his sounds, his words, my mouth feeding on his and I can’t kiss him enough. His body rubbing beneath me, and I know he needs to breath, but I need his lips more. With a gasp he wrenches away, taking in great lungfulls of air, laughing and cursing.

"Angelus…God…how can ye…Hell…ye are the devil and ye are going to kill me…my father warned me…and I don’t care…just…God…please don’t stop!"

I lick his earlobe and blow across the wet skin. "I’ll get ye closer to God than yer father ever could my gem."

The desire to have him is so strong in me, I can’t help but slide down his body, that sweet length of flesh just begging for my mouth. No reason to resist, and I let my tongue push his foreskin down as I close my mouth around him. I move my hands to still the hips bucking beneath me, his frantic movements just drive me to suck harder, my tongue teasing as I push the skin down further.

I take him in deep, feel him moving against the back of my throat, my nose pressed into the curls at the base of him. No one’s ever touched him here like this, I own this moment. Those whimpers, the tremors running through his body are all mine. Every noise making my own cock throb in anticipation. I can wait, I’ve learned that good things come to those who wait.

Remembering that breathing is good for something I pull his musky scent in, ignoring the hands pulling at my hair. Not stopping my steady suck until I realize something is wrong. The timbre of his voice is somehow off. The fingers wrapped in my hair are pulling too hard. The words finally reaching my ears.

"Please…please…stop! Ye said no harm…ye said…"

Christ, what a broken sound! In an instant I’m next to him, cradling him in my arms. Murmuring what I hope are calming words and petting his trembling body.

"What, lad? Ye’ve nothing to fear."

"Ye left me. I was alone." He’s trying so hard to control the shaking, to find his composure. "I…I want ye here. With me."

Ahh…such an innocent! "I am here, my lovely. After tonight, ye’ll never be without me. I promise ye that."

It’s a small thing he asks, and I’ve no trouble granting it. I gently turn him so he’s facing me, his eyes turned up to mine and I understand why he wants me here. His first moment of physical love and he wants to be able to see and feel me. Tis no trouble at all.

I bring my hand up to my mouth, dragging my tongue across it and bring it down between us, grabbing his hard shaft. He gasps at this but doesn’t look away from me. Good boy. I’ve got you.

He’s young and so hard, his body arches towards me and I let him alternate between thrusting into my fist and letting me pull on his length. His eyes bore into mine, and I’m not sure what he sees, but he concentrates on it with such pure fury. So young and so hard, it isn’t long before I feel his body stiffen, feel the warm wetness spilling over my fingers.

He’s closed his eyes, and I can almost imagine he is listening to his body, hearing the gentle pulse I feel in my hand. When he is finally still, those eyelids flutter open and I am gifted with the most amazing smile. A smile I cannot believe that anyone else has ever seen, because there was never anyone worthy of it. But I am, and I accept it, one of many firsts he’ll give me before this night is done.

His movements are sleepy and sated as those elegant fingers pluck my shirt aside. He leans forward and rubs his smooth face along my exposed skin. I’ve had virgins before. Willing and otherwise. But this boy drowns in each new sensation, and I’ve no wish to rescue him.

"Ye really oughtn’t to be dressed." The clarity of his tone startles me and I look down into laughing grey eyes.

I feel a half smile play across my face, "No? Something you want then, lad?"

"To see ye."

I pull myself easily from his arms and rise from the bed, letting his gaze follow me like a caress. I remove my rumpled clothing as I stand before my dresser, staring at the empty space in the mirror. I’ve never missed catching my reflection in the glass, Darla’s lips and eyes have always told me everything I’ve needed to know about myself. But that boy, whose body moves quietly on the blankets behind me, he is my reflection in flesh. I’ve doubted in the past few weeks how Darla might feel about coming home to this…to him. I smile as I turn back to that warm body, for I’m now quite sure that this is why she left me alone in the first place. To find my self.

My lad’s eyes widen a bit as he takes in my form, his gaze resting on the rather angry looking muscle curving up from between my legs. He’s not frightened, just curious as I kneel on the bed before him, tossing a vial of oil to one side. He brushes his hair impatiently from his eyes as he rises to kneel in front of me, hands hovering uselessly.

"Ye can touch me, lad." I say, a little impatiently, rewarded with a hot look. The pride in this one…so easy to get him riled. I can see the ‘how’ hovering on his lips, but his arrogance won’t let it fall. Instead I find my skin mapped by careful hands and mouth. No teeth, but that’s something his nature and I will teach him later.

Those tentative touches shake as his hands move lower until I find my hardness gripped lightly by warm fingers. I let out a hiss as that grip tightens, and I feel my length jerked roughly. "Penn!" I gasp as I look into a wicked grin, his pace not varying. "Jesus, lad…ye’ll finish me off too soon!"

A falter in his pace, "Isn’t that…don’t ye want that?"

"I’ll tell ye what I want, my pretty one."

Time to show him who the master is here, and he finds himself on his back, my body pressed against him. Like a cat, he curls into the sensation and I groan as he pulls a hand to his mouth. "Just a taste." He whispers.

Christ on the cross, he’s already a demon! May Heaven and Hell never deliver me from this Puritan virgin.

I pull his legs up, bending his knees and lean in, wanting him to get used to feeling me, feel my pressure…just there.

"I’ll not complete myself in yer hand, boy…" His breath is harsh and alive against my throat, "Nay, I’ll bury myself so deep in ye, ye’ll not know where you begin and I end." A lazy thrust to illustrate my lesson.

A startled yelp, and he’s scooting his body away from me, trying to pull his legs together. I do believe that comprehension has set in.

"Ye’ll not! Ye can’t possibly want to…put that in me…there." The horror of the thought is evident in his husky tone. I breathe in the tang of his terror and smile. Have I mentioned that I’m an evil bastard? Well, I am, and eliciting this reaction in anyone, especially him, is a delight indeed. God…the challenge of bending his mind…making him want this…who wouldn’t smile?

I’m pulling his body back under mine, fluttering kisses along his eyelids, his cheeks, his jaw. "Shhh…calm yerself my pretty boy. I’ve promised ye no harm…ye must trust me." I press myself into his shiver. "Ye need to ferget…need to let go of those petty human fears." I thrust down against his hardening length. "That’s it, lad…feel that pretty cock of yers sliding against me."

He’s moaning now, lost in the sensation, no longer trying to free himself, and yes…those thighs spreading beneath me. "Yer a sweet one…such a young thing. But Penn…Penn!" Grey eyes focus on me again. "Ye need to take a risk…this is an adventure after all."

"Risk?" I’m suddenly so aware of how young he is…how naïve…how easy to break him, which just makes me press against him all the harder.

"Aye my gem…precious…it’ll hurt a bit. But I swear the pleasure you felt before’ll be nothing compared to what I can give ye."

"I’m afraid." The admission pulled from him like something painful and fragile.

"I know." Did I just purr?

"Will ye stop?" He gasps as our foreskins slide across eachother, "Will ye stop if I ask?"

A low laugh crawls out from me, "Ye’ll not ask that, lad. Ye’ll beg me not to."

I pull him onto his side, drawing one strong leg across me as I reach for the oil. Simple enough to slide my hand around him and tap gently at that tiny hole. Capture his small animal whimpers in my mouth as I push against him with one finger. I have to pull back and remind him, "Breathe, precious…ye must breathe."

"Can’t…please…kiss me!" His mouth struggling to reach mine.

"Then breathe through yer nose, lad." I laugh and fasten my lips to his, finally pushing past that tight ring of muscle. His mouth open against mine and he’s sucking my tongue into his mouth in desperate distraction. Dear god, so tight, so warm, around my mouth, around my finger, and I think I’ll die again from the need for him. I grind our bodies together and we’re both moaning as I work another finger in.

His grunt against this added intrusion turns into a wail as he flings his head back. "God!" And those hips are thrusting against my hand. I’m the only deity here, boy, and I will devour you whole.

He doesn’t know whether to push into my body or bear down on my fingers, all rational thought has left his brain, and I know it’s my time. As I pull my slick fingers out of him slowly my other hand moves down to circle his hardness. More distraction as I push him onto his back, draw his legs up, leaning in to whisper, "That's it lad...open yerself for me....spread...ah...that's it, there’s my good lad."

There’s a spark of fear in his eyes as he watches me anoint myself with oil, but he’s too far gone in passion to struggle as I press the tip against his hole. No, as long as he can see me he can hold on to my promises. God, impossibly tight and still beneath me, "Breathe, lovely, breathe…let me in now."

I feel strong thighs parting beneath me as he grips his legs, his chest glistening with a sheen of sweat rising sharply as he obeys me. There…bend to me…need this. My own body is shaking as I sink slowly into him, that tight glove of muscle threatening my control. It takes everything I have to hold still and not break him with a lunge.

Couldn’t harm him…not like this. I take my weight and move down to lick the tears teasing at the corner of his eyes. So sweet. Give it all to me. I’ll take so much more. That wet touch undoes him and he’s shaking with passion, shattered beneath me.

"God…oh God…ye’re…in me!" The words torn from him in gasps that send ripples around my cock.

I rock slowly into his flesh to confirm this, "Aye…and yer all around me…feel me!" And this time I pull out and move back with more force. His wordless cry calls to my demon, and my fangs itch to drop and sink into him as deeply as the rest of me. Not yet.

"Penn…lad, how does it feel?" Dropping my head down to him, my lips hovering over his. "Feel me in you? Just a little harder, shall I?"

And I do, I rear back and pull his legs with me, wrapping my arms and nuzzling his calf as I set a steady pace. Watch those hands twisting into the cloth, his head thrashing in time to my thrusts, that lovely length of flesh so hard again dripping as it bobs with my movement. Then those eyes flash open and pin me with such a look of hunger and need I still for a moment. If I could freeze this instant of his torment and surrender I would… keep it with me always. Just one word breaks past those swollen well-kissed lips, "Please…"

My boy needs me, hurts with it, and it just sings to me. I let his legs drop ‘round my waist and I cover his body with mine. Rain kisses down on that face tilted so eagerly up to mine. "Aye, Penn…anythin’…everythin’…tell me…what do you feel?"

Sweet Jesus! His arms are around me and his hips are moving with mine, his muscles clench around me and a groan is pulled from me as I try not complete myself in his tight willing heat.

His smile, bright as day, and just as glowing, "I feel…alive!" Laughter bubbling up in him as he strains to match my pace, sharp joyful cry as I grab his turgid length and pull roughly. "Yes!" And I swear his look of triumph matches my own. Well chosen. Well loved. He arches into my fist, as I pull his pleasure from him, that tight heat clamping down on me.

He’s gasping now for air as I set a punishing pace, the echoes of his passion still keeping him wrapped around me and shuddering as I bend my head to his neck. That column of flesh and muscle exposed for me, offered.

My tongue laps hard against the earlier bruise and his low moan tips my heart over as fangs drop, sinking in past skin into vein. The first blissful swallow of hot life across my palette and I’m drowning in him. Lost as I complete myself, driving into his tight body, filling my boy as I drain him. His grip on me weakening as I lap at the slowing pulse of blood and I pull back and stare for a moment.

My choice, and he sees it. That instant where he knows what he has given me and what I might offer him. Such a small voice rasps out of him, "Promise me."

What an amazing lad, my Penn is, so demanding as he dies for me. "What, my gem? What shall I promise you?"

Face so pale, lips barely moving now. "This won’t stop. This will go on and on. Promise."

A child’s dream granted by a demon, "Forever, love." With sharp teeth I make a small gash, just deep enough and press my wrist to his mouth. "Drink."

He does. Gentle lapping is all he can manage but I cradle him to me and let him drink until he stops. Until his heart ceases, and those wide grey eyes shut. I caress him in this stillness and wait.

Oh God, his body is faintly warm and pliant in my arms, and I can’t keep myself from pulling him close and burying my head in his neck to breathe his scent in. Still so human, and I spare a thought that perhaps I should have buried him…should have followed the lore. But the thought of letting anyone else’s hands touch him, bathe his flesh for burial, sink him in cold earth so far from me…Well damn the lore! I want to be here for this, I want to see those grey eyes open for the first time on this new life. A life I’ve given him as surely as I’ve stolen his humanity. Rules simply don’t apply to me and to mine.

To have him warm is just a bit of a novelty, and I can feel it ebbing gradually, so soon enough he’ll be complete. Be the demon. Like me.

Ahh…he’s just beginning to wake…I feel the subtle shift of his body in my arms, a sudden tensing as he registers the fact that he is naked, in a strange place, in my embrace. There is a sharp scent of fear, of my blood, and underneath it all…arousal.

I smile into his skin.

"You’re awake, then."

Abruptly he draws in a breath and turns in my embrace, eyes open and dark with…something.

Hunger. He’s hungry, of course. His tongue darts out between parted lips, almost snakelike, seeming to taste the air and a dreamy smile crosses his features.

"Blood." He whispers reverently.

I answer his smile, "Yes, lad. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you."

The brat looks at me impatiently, shaking his head as he leans toward me, "No. Not yet. Just…" That sweet face is moving over mine, and he’s…sniffing me! "It’s in you. What is in you…is in me."

And leans back again, as though he has solved some eternal mystery and is waiting for my accolades, but I’m a little too stunned to respond. He’s so damned calm as he speaks again.

"Who…are…we?"

Each word formed slowly, carefully, as though he thinks perhaps speech has changed for him. I’m trying to recall how aware I was when I first woke to this life, and then I remember…I clawed my way out of the grave. He has not. He died in my arms, and awoke in my arms – did I miscalculate in doing this? Should I have waited for Darla?

I can practically hear the wheels spinning in his brain as he frowns at me. He has taken my silence for some sort of rebuke and pulls himself to sit up straight and ask me, "I mean…" His voice is disturbingly steady, "Who am I?"

I’m beginning to wonder myself who this strange creature in my bed is when I recognize his suddenly agitated movements. He finds himself leaning towards me, then pulls himself back upright. A hand, moving across the bed linens toward my chest, freezes, then is pulled back to fret on his thigh. He wants so desperately to touch me, and can’t seem to comprehend why. This could be delightful.

"Who is it you’d want to be, lad?" My words are for him, but my eyes are fastened on that hand moving restlessly on his leg. I glance up to see him watching me intently, his glance flickering down as he swallows and answers me slowly, as though not content with his words.

"I dreamt…" I nod to him to continue, reining in my impatience. "I dreamt I was afraid. There were…ugly things in my dream. They wanted me to keep sleeping. But…ye came…"

There’s a glimmer in those eyes, the demon warring with the man, his need battling with what his body wants, but his mind has not awakened to. And I really do not have the patience for this. I wrap a hand firmly around his wrist and bring his hand to my chest, placing those twitching fingers against my skin. That first touch is like a shock, and his mouth hangs open in a silent ‘o’ of surprise.

Permission has been granted and I am startled at his swift change. A mere moment has passed and I suddenly find myself possessed of an armful of beautiful, squirming flesh. Pressing against me hands everywhere on my skin, mouth open and licking. God yes, licking.

My body is the focus of my boy’s incredible need. It is utter desperation in his wild sniffing and rubbing, his actions reckless as he grabs my arms, pulling them around his shaking form. A wild keening cry against my skin and I have to roll my weight on him just to still him enough that I can look at him.

And then he does still. Lies motionless beneath me and waits, eyes bright and shining. What was it Darla had said...Aurelius...all a little mad. Is this it? Is this what she means? As I drink in his need for me, I can't say I really care.

"You woke me." A simple statement, but I can see it holds great meaning for him. A look of consternation is on his face and he struggles for a moment and then breathes. Breathes me.

No thought in those eyes then, just a flash of feral gold and his body is fast and hard under mine that mouth grinning towards my throat. With ease I catch him short of his goal, holding him lightly but firmly, just a lick away from where he wants to be. I can feel the protest building in him, silenced before it can become a whine. Some control in him, but not enough.

My words are clear, cutting through his fog of lust, "Would you not be askin' nicely for your supper, then?"

The little beast growls at me! At me! Time for a change of pace, I decide.

His rebellious body thrusts up against me, and I realize the lad needs a lesson. My blunt teeth find his neck and I fasten onto the tender flesh. Worrying the skin, bruising, feeling the blood pulsing slowly, so slowly…and he stills.

He’s not protesting and I bear down harder, not enough to break the skin, but close. His hips rise sharply, and I can feel the moisture leaking from his hardness. I lift my head and smile into his confusion. His mind knows this to be pain, but his new body registers pleasure.

I blink as my gaze flickers from his down to my mark. Wet bruise like a jewel on his throat, and I’ve never known before what it was to own…to create. I think I will enjoy this.

I let his arms up only to find them wrapped around my head and pulling me back down to the abused flesh. Too soon to give him everything he asks for, so I just lay my lips gently to skin…the softest kiss. Torture is, after all, my art…my gift, if you will.

"More…please…" Sweet words from sweeter lips, but I control the game.

I move to the firmer skin at his shoulder and sink down, sink in…to fasten blunt teeth, to bruise my edible boy. More movement of that body under mine fingers scratching at my back with patrician nails. This boy is a sea of uncharted veins and willing skin and I shall map each inch with my mouth. A pleasant journey indeed.

Far from being bothered by the purpling bruises I am tattooing across him, my Penn is fighting to expose more of his body for me. Arms stretched out, legs spread for me, and I cannot help but marvel at his surrender to this. To me.

Bared for me like a willing martyr, limbs twitching under my mouth as I move across him with wild nips and tender sucks. Nothing like the cautious virgin of last night, his hunger for my touch supercedes his need for my blood. His head thrashing against the pillow, eyes shut tight, no way to anticipate my next move. I know his only desire is that my touch continue. My own needs are no less fierce as I artfully savage his perfect surface. Claim it as my own.

I’ve mouthed one nipple to aching tightness and settle for plucking at it with my fingers as I move lips and teeth to attack its mate. Laying my weight across his body as he twists and thrusts against me. I shall have lifetimes to catalogue each whimper, each moan, but I’m ravenous to have them all this night.

His body is slick with sweat and my spit, perfect skin ravaged by my bites, and I don’t believe he could be more perfect. Until. His body arches in a frenzy of desire and untouched, he completes between us, pulsing hard and quick, his mouth open in a gasp of surprise.

"Angelus!"

Truly awake at last, my name on his lips unlocking the magic, and with some regret I feel the last bit of human warmth leave him and watch the bruises slowly fade. But one. The mark of his making, this he shall always carry with him.

"You'd be knowin' who you are then, lad?" Lazy smile as my fingers play in the liquid spilled on his stomach.

That brilliant grin meets me, and I don’t think I could ever tire of it.

"Penn. I am Penn. Yours." Added quietly, "Your Gem."

God, yes, and I need to hear that, hear those words from him, and there isn’t much I want for in this existence that I cannot just take. But it is not just the words. It is the way his young voice breaks when he speaks them. All that pride offered up in such a delectable parcel.

I’m hovering above him, just drinking in the smile on his face, the sex on his skin…bending down to press my mouth to his. Tongue into that grasping wetness, content to let him suck until I feel those long, clever fingers wrap around my aching hardness. Buck into that tight fist and whisper into his ear, "Want ye, boy…want you all."

Huff of breath against my cheek, "Yes….please."

That’s my polite lad, but I’ve no use for niceties at this moment.

"On your knees, Penn."

He scrambles to obey eager and panting…god; I love the way he needs this. Needs me.

Wrap an arm around his waist and pull him flush against me. "You’ll spread those legs for me, won’t you?"

Soft whimper as he shifts, pressing himself into my shaft, nestled so nicely in his cleft. I placed a hand between his shoulders and push him down so his forehead rests on the bed, my thumbs move to pull his flesh, exposing his aperture. Demon or no, I am mindful that he is still young, still not at his full strength, so I bend to pick up the vial of oil I used last eve.

As I move, my heart is torn and delighted by his cry, "Do not leave!"

Christ! I love the ragged desperation in his tone, and it cost him much just to utter those words, for he’s silenced himself now with a clenched hand at his mouth. Somehow, he’s managed to be the boy I seduced and the demon I created. I couldn’t be more delighted.

I do not answer no need really, for his trembling stills as my hands return and I tap an oiled finger against my prize. That small muscle contracting around my intrusion needily.

"You’ll open for me, Gem." No question there.

Oh, the sweetness of his body bearing down, pulling my digit into that tightness! Feeling each pulse of his body echoed in the readying of my own flesh thrusting against his solid thigh. Less gentle with another finger, for I yearn to be inside, but my lad just thrusts himself back harder with a deep grunt.

Disciplined as I have been with him, I can hold back no more. Ignoring his gasp, I draw my fingers free and grasp his hips, pulling him back. Onto me. No resistance and I am seated in him so deeply. So tight, and I am undone by the wanton movement of his backside against me. Pulling back, almost out, taunting us both, then slamming back with punishing force until he is prostrate beneath me. Cannot help but place my hands firmly on either side of his head and pummel my hips forward.

Precious sounds of his moans reach me through this blinding lust, cannot help but call to him.

"Am I striking something sweet in you, lad? Is that why you’re groaning for me?"

Gasp of breath like laughter escaping those lips, "Yes…Yes! This is what you promised!"

I smile as I bend to lick my mark, livid and bright on his throat. "Where am I, Gem?"

No answer, just a desperate drive of his body up towards me. This won’t do, I asked a question and expect an answer. I still my body, pinning his under my weight.

Frantic keen as he tries to find some friction, finally forming words, "In me…in me…in me! You are in me!"

Low chuckle against the nape of his neck before I nuzzle the hair aside so I can lay lips to skin. I taunt him with lazy, shallow thrusts, my hands belying my need as they tighten convulsively on his hips. Bruising that pale skin, I know, but gratified to feel the rough shove of his body against my own. The boy’s harsh breathing is a goad for my lust.

Good boy and I reward him with a ferocious shove that shakes us both

"You’ll have no fear of words with me, my Gem. No shame in asking, or giving."

To test my point, I pull him up, his arms moving to steady himself, and now there is no friction against that pretty cock of his.

"Please, please, please…touch me!" The sob of need in his tone makes me smile.

"Shhh, 'tis well, Gem. Do not fret." For I have you. I shall keep you.

My hand moves to pull at his turgid length, matching the movement of my cock pressing into him. His body rocks at this two-fold assault, and even as I feel him spilling into my fist I treasure the tremors of his muscles as they spasm around my length. One last tug at his softening shaft before I move strongly into his grasping hole. Spending myself against those tight walls, moving more gently as my pulsing slows, finally pulling away and settling against my boy.

Eager eyes turn to me, shining with questions, "Angelus…"

"Yes, Childe?"

That stuns him for a moment.

"Childe?"

"Aye, lad. You are the Childe of my blood, I am your Sire."

"Sire…yes…that sounds right."

"I am glad it pleases you." I answer dryly.

"Sire." Voice firm around the word. I believe I like hearing it fall from his lips as much as he enjoys using it.

"Sire…I’m hungry." His gaze flickers to my neck.

"Time to hunt then, isn’t it lad?"

Flicker of understanding in his eyes. Good, I’ll not coddle the boy.

"How?"

Strange economy of words from the preacher’s son who talked my ear off in that coffee house for a fortnight.

"Perhaps we shall call on your family this eve, then?"

His mood changes like lightning, and I sense the demon, but it is the man’s voice I hear.

"Yes. I think have something to tell my father…and you’ll be by my side."

Almost a question, but not quite.

"Aye lad, wouldn’t miss it."

Merely two hours hard ride on horseback, but Penn has been anxious, barely speaking, except to respond to my occasional comment.

As we dismount I place a hand on my lad's shoulder, "This is no longer your home, Childe."

Calming at my touch, he turns to me with a strange expression, "Was it ever?"

"Listen to me Penn, this is not your home, not your family...you will have to be granted entrance."

Just a nod as he understands, and he moves silently to a window at the side of the house, lamplight flickering there.

"Mother!" he calls out loudly, forcing himself to sound out-of-breath, "I need to take the horses out back, one's gone lame. Father has brought home a guest and asks shall you let him in and ready some supper."

"Welcome son, I'll see to it." Comes the tremulous reply.

I spare a thought for the cleverness of his plan...far more seemly for him to request access for a stranger than himself. And supper to boot.

Moments pass before a pinch-faced woman answers the door to me, and invites me in, her body shaking with some wasting sickness. I sketch a bow and thank her kindly, not ready to alert her just yet. Her eyes brighten briefly as I feel my Childe behind me.

"Don’t just stand there, son. You must be freezing, Come in and get your friend get settled by the fire."

Silence. I wonder if anyone speaks freely in this house. Penn seems amused as he waits for her to speak.

"Where is your Father, then?"

He cocks his head quizzically at her question, peering at her as though for the first time. I don’t believe he has even heard her question. He steps closer and I can see him breathe deep as alarm spreads across her wrinkled features.

"Penn? My child, what’s wrong? What ails you?"

It was the word. The name. She shouldn’t have used it, but how could she have known? He’s young. He’s starving, and I can feel his hunger from here. But does he feed? No, he snaps her neck and watches the body crumple at his feet with a moue of disgust.

This is the strangest creature I have made. He stands before me, over the corpse of his mother, then picks up the body and sits her gently in a worn chair. Carefully folding her withered hands in her lap before he turns to me. Slowly he smiles then silently signals for me to follow him. Curious, I do.

It’s a tiny room, two small beds with white linens and soft white coverlets. A boy and a girl, sleeping peacefully, pink cheeks, red lips, and when they open their eyes, somehow I know they’ll be huge and grey like his.

He is incredibly focused on his task, moving swiftly to the smallest one, the girl. The change comes over him swiftly, and he’s tearing into her neck savagely, blood spurting as she jerks and whimpers. I can hear the slender bones breaking and his hushed curse of frustration as her blood spills too quickly for him to drink. He stands, staring down at her, at the mess he has made of her.

There is a soft catch of breath behind me, and the little brother is staring at the monster over his sister’s body. Penn is drawn to the sound like an animal to prey, his face shifting back to normal as he murmurs soothingly to the boy. Perhaps addled by sleep, the child accepts the change, sensing only his brother in the darkness and quiets under the gentle petting.

I sit on the edge of the bed; a strange observer in all this until Penn turns his gaze on me.

"Tell me." He whispers, "How do I do this?"

Grasping his hand, I press two fingers to the pulsing life. "Just here, at the throat. Feel that?"

Strong beat, steady.

"Yes." My earnest and attentive student.

"Good. Bite. Do not tear. Let his heart do the work, let it come to you."

He does as I instruct, bending himself over the sleeping lad in an economy of motion. In a moment it is done, and he stands up, as if waiting for my approval.

No roses left in the pale cheeks, and I feel a great sense of pride in my boy. Slowly I pull a slim blade from my boot, showing it to him before I carve a shallow cross on the cool cheek of his brother’s corpse.

"Why?" He stares at the tool in my hand, reaching for it as he frowns. I let him take it.

"Call it my sense of humor, if you like."

Stiffly he moves to his sister, imitating my desecration. He sounds almost numb when he speaks, and I don’t believe he even knows he is speaking.

"Every night before we sleep, Father comes in and blesses us." He places his hand on his own forehead. "Just here." Slow grin sliding across his face, "I think I understand your joke."

It is so easy to match his smile, "You do learn quickly."

"My Father would disagree."

"Ah then, it is perhaps time you shared with him what a fine student you’ve become."

His head jerks towards the front room, the most delicious gleam in his eyes.

"He’s here."

Bursting through the front door, the old man sees only his recalcitrant son.

"Boy! What business do you have leaving me in the city? I searched for you for hours, although God only knows why I wasted the time! You made me look the fool, and that is something I will not stand for!"

Penn stands patiently, just watching the man, his eyes darting after each wild gesture.

As the preacher’s eyes adjust to the darkened room, he finally sees me, and almost chokes on his anger as he turns back to his son.

"You bring a stranger into our home? At this ungodly hour?"

"Ungodly indeed." That is not a smile that stretches his lips across white teeth.

"You will call me Father or Sir!"

"I will call you nothing." In a fluid move his hand is around the man’s neck, and Penn’s face is still unchanged. Strange…I would have thought he would have relished his Father’s shock and revulsion at what his eldest has become. Nothing. No gloating. Just a twist of his wrist, and the last living thing in this house is dead. He turns to me, his eyes empty, but his hand outstretched for mine.

I have to ask, I have to know, "What do you feel?"

"...nothing...."

I believe him. There is none of the smug triumph I felt at disposing of my own father in his face. No reaction at all until I take his hand, and pull his body to mine. That touch is all it takes, and it is as though something in him is unlocked. That young body is rocking into mine, his hands moving roughly over my jacket and that sweet mouth tipped up, seeking mine.

Fierce, hungry kisses, and this is not the same creature that stood before me a moment ago. This is a wild, needful thing. This is mine. I brush my thumb roughly over my mark on his tender throat and his head tilts back with a desperate gasp. So exposed, and I cannot help but wrap my hand around his nape and hold him like that, open for me.

"What do you feel?"

"Oh God…everything!"

I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice and I have to feel those lips on me. In concert with my desire he pulls my hand towards his mouth, and there are puffs of air across my fingers before he draws two into his mouth. Fascinated, I watch those lips suckle round my fingers wetly. Pulling me in, his tongue flicking between and I’m aching and thrusting into his hip. Wicked, wicked smile around my fingers as he begins a slow slide down to his knees.

Moist sound of him releasing my hand as clever fingers undo my fastenings and before I can speak, mistakenly thinking he requires some guidance, that mouth is on me. Tongue pressing against the moisture he finds there then sucking so strongly I have to move, thrust forward, and he accepts. Takes me in, swallows me down lest I choke him. In him again and I never want to be anywhere else, never want to have anything less than his complete focus on me.

I have to tangle my hands in his hair just to steady myself, remind myself that this is mine, and I will have it, have him, whenever and however I wish. My boy’s a mind reader, for the hands that had been gripping my hips drop to the ground and he rocks back on his heels. Waiting. For me.

So I grasp that head harder and thrust past those sweet lips and take his throat, relishing in his sweet whimpers and complete submission that no one else has ever had. Ever will have. Because he is mine. Fierce creature, sharp mind and soft mouth all mine. There is this tremendous feeling of pride and lust that wells up in me, and I lose my rhythm as his strong tongue moves, pushing up against my throbbing vein. For a brilliant moment there is nothing in the world except for his mouth on my cock, willing and wet. Then with a sharpness like pain I feel my body tense, my seed spill, my hands moving to caress his head as he chokes and tries to swallow. Fear at that, but he takes it. Takes everything.

I slip from his mouth far more gently than I entered it, and fastening my breeches I crouch beside him. My fingers brush sweat-clinging curls from his forehead and he moves into my touch, nuzzling against my palm like a pet.

Those lips that have been stretched by my tongue, my fingers, my cock, are bruised and brushing wetly against my skin as he whispers, "Home."

And I know he doesn’t mean this little hovel of death.

Like a sleepy child he looks at me, "We can leave now? We can go…home?"

God yes, because home means getting us both fed properly, and naked, and in my bed.

**

My boy is suddenly awake again as we finish stabling our mounts. Well-fed now and smiling as I push him through the open door into my home, as eager as I am to get upstairs.

I follow him in and almost stumble against his frozen form, and I see where he stares. At the chair. Where Darla waits.

Quite suddenly he’s moving, fluid and graceful towards her, drawn to her as he should be. I can hear his sigh as he picks up her offered hand and raises it to his lips.

Her light laughter seems to shake his composure and I think he really sees her, sees who and what she is for the first time, and steps back.

"God…"

Her smile brightens at that inappropriate name.

"God isn’t here, young man. Quite honestly, I have seen enough – no, done enough that I doubt he ever was."

He hasn’t heard a word that has passed her lips, he is completely entranced by her movements as she stands and begins to circle him. Trapped completely, and I understand the thrall that is Darla and pity him not one whit.

His eyes follow her hungrily as she continues to inspect him, and then the most amusingly forlorn look is on his face as she turns away from him, toward me.

"My darling boy...you have been busy while I was away."

As if sensing my Childe’s need she touches Penn gently, and he leans into the touch, bends with her every movement.

She laughs, "Lovely...lovely...tell me, Childe....how does he kiss?"