Listening

“Do you mind if I….” Buffy hovered hesitantly over the edge of the bed, silently asking for permission to sit. She glanced nervously at the vampire, firmly ensconced in the only other seat available. It was about twenty four hours since she’d brought him back to her house, invited him into her home, even though he was killing again (and wasn’t that a dumb ass risk). During that time she had set up a small living space in her basement, covered the windows and dragged in a few pieces of spare furniture. She’d only managed to get him to move by threatening to knock him out and throw him downstairs. He hadn’t stirred since, sat unmoving as only a dead thing can, clutching the blanket around his shoulders as if it were the only thing between him and… and what? That was what she was here to find out.

“Spike? SPIKE.”

“Huh?” Vacant eyes shifted up to briefly meet hers, and for a moment Buffy felt her chest constrict in fear at the haunted emptiness they contained. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice was cracked, huskier than usual as if though he’d spent the day crying or screaming.

She sat. “You…you said last night that you talked to girls.” A distracted nod was directed her way. “Because you couldn’t talk to me.” Again his eyes met hers, but this time it was she who broke the connection, frantically searching the floor for something to anchor her gaze. There was no accusation in his eyes. It would have been justified, but all she could see was understanding, An understanding of why she wouldn’t want to talk to him, and the ever present self-loathing that seemed to define Spike’s every expression these days. Not a pleasant combination, but infinitely preferable to the vacancy she had glimpsed earlier.

“Do you think you can talk now? To me, I mean. I know I haven’t been Miss availability recently, but I want to -I can be - if you want to that is. This thing, that’s been happening, not just to you, to all of us. It’s bad, very bad and I left you there, right next to it, even though I could see what it was doing to you. I feel I owe you...”

A cool hand was gently laid over her own, and Buffy fought the urge to jerk away. Communication needed trust on some level, and that wouldn’t be garnered by flinching like frightened rabbit every time he touched her.

“You owe me nothing, love.” Buffy glanced up and their eyes met again. Spike quickly pulled his hand away, obviously flustered, and muttered an apology under his breath.

“Don’t apologise. It’s me. I’m just having to get used to,” she shrugged, “I don’t know, having you around again. In a friend, sort of friend, kind of a way.”

Buffy winced, still unsure of how to define their relationship. Certainly not relationship with a big R and other relationshippy sorts of things. Friendship? Hard to call him a friend, they may boinked like bunnies, but she knew next to nothing about him. So hardly a friend then. Acquaintance? That sounded like someone you sent a Christmas card to, or maybe spoke with once a year, by phone, long distance. It hardly described someone you’d spent the best part of 4 months... She laughed quietly to herself.

“Something tickled yer?” A quizzically raised eyebrow met her gaze. For a second, she could almost see the old Spike, snarky and cruelly cutting in his wit. But only if she ignored his eyes, which were alien enough to belie the fact that they resided in the same body.

“I was just thinking that I know next to nothing about you. We spent half of last spring... you know, and yet most of what I know about you, as a person, man, about your life before Sunnydale, is from Giles’ books.”

“Not much to tell.” The bleak note was back. ‘Oh subtle, Buffy’ she thought. ‘Just remind the vampire with the newly acquired conscience all about his murdering past, why don’t you’.

“It couldn’t all have been murder and mayhem?” A quiet snort suggested she might not like the answer. “Okay, so no questions about all you can eat human buffets. How about,” she searched her mind for something that could be considered a ‘safe’ topic between them. “You mentioned music. You said the Big Bad was playing music to you, is that right?” Shrug. “Spike,” she tried to hold on to her temper, but it was a losing battle. “You asked me to help you. How can I help you if you won’t speak to me?” Silence. Buffy stood up to leave. If he wouldn’t talk there was precious little she could do. Just as she reached the stairs a quiet, hesitant voice stopped her.

“It was... it was a tune, I think. A tune I remember, from before.”

“A tune. Like a song, an old pop song or something?” This time something vaguely resembling a chuckle met her words.

“A bit before pop songs, love. An old English tune. Folk song.” Another pause and a shrug, then silence.

“In your head or was it from outside, someone singing it to you?” Again silence. “Spike, please. Tell me, then maybe I can help you.”

“Outside, then in my head. In my head. In my head. “ Buffy quickly moved to the side of the chair as she saw signs of increased agitation. Spike’s whole body language was changing, his knees pulling up, rocking, and hands coming up to cover his head. “In my head, Buffy. It wouldn’t stop. Won’t stop. Make it stop. I don’t want to hear it. Make it stop.” The last was almost shouted, a hopeless cry for help.

She grabbed his flailing arms and held them still. “Sing it to me. You can. You’ve sung to me before, remember. Sing to me now. Show me.”

A desperate shake of the head was followed by a verbal refusal. “No, not singing. Won’t sing. Won’t stop, won’t stop, won’t stop.” This time Buffy’s fuse blew. She gripped Spike’s arms tightly and shook him hard. Then she grabbed his face pulling it upwards, forcing the vampire to re-engage with her, bringing him back from whatever hallucinatory place he retreated to whenever he became too stressed.

“Sing it to me. Sing it now.” Her voice brooked no argument and he responded immediately, his voice still cracked and somewhat hoarse. Releasing his arms, but holding his gaze, Buffy stepped back and listened while he sang. Their eyes remained locked, Spike seeming to use the contact as some sort of invisible crutch. As the song faded to silence once again, his eyes dropped and rested on his hands.

“Why that song? It’s pretty enough but why would that make you ki...” she stopped, rethinking her words as she saw his shoulders start to hunch again. “Do the things you were doing?”

“Please Buffy,” Spike’s voice was pleading now. “Don’t ask me. It isn’t anything you want to know.”

“I have to know. I have to understand how the Big Bad is controlling you, how its making you kill again. We all need to know Spike.” Buffy gentled her voice and reached out, again cupping his chin in her hand and making him meet her eyes. “We need to know Spike. If we’re to stop it happening again, we need to know.”

“She used to sing it to me, - him - William. Before. When I, he, was still human.”

“Who used to sing it?”

“Mother.” The word was sobbed out and as his eyes closed, Spike raised his hand to bush away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Why would it choose a song your mother used to sing to get you to kill. That doesn’t make sense. That would make it a good memory surely, not a bad one, not a killing one.”

Buffy was up and pacing, her slayer instinct to physically fight whatever the problem was temporarily overcoming her resolve to be listening girl. “Tell me,” She demanded, waving her hand at the figure in the chair, who was doing a good impression of a hedgehog, trying to curl up on himself again. “Tell me why it would choose that, that innocuous little tune. Spike, bloody well tell me.”

It was the swearing that broke through. Buffy never swore, well not usually, just when…Spike shook his head. No, not going there. Not going to think about that, never again, never again. Think about something else. The song. She wants to hear about the song. Her hot little hand grasped his arm again. So small, so strong. Spike found himself hypnotised by the small bruises he could see starting to bloom on his skin under her fingers.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll...”

“Stake me? Please?” It was all he could think of. She’d threatened to do it enough times in the past, but now he wanted it, truly wanted it, yet she refused him. And wasn’t that ironic, he would have fought her before, as best he could, but now when he would welcome it, welcome the silence and the peace away from his ghosts, she wouldn’t.

“No! Staking’s too good for you. I’ll chain you up and put you in the bathtub. Better yet, I’ll chain you up and put you in Xander’s bathtub.”

“You wouldn’t.” He looked up at her, wide-eyed, aghast that she would even consider doing such a thing. Buffy’s expression was implacable and Spike’s future was suddenly horribly full of Harris’ bathroom, and Harris’ bath, and Harris’ voice continually whining about Spike being in Harris’ aforementioned bathing space.

“You betcha I would. Now start talking.”

Spike cast his mind back and wondered how to start. “What do you want to know?” He held up his hand, putting a stop to the retort before Buffy could interrupt. “I know. About the song, right? But how much? Everything? There are some things you won’t want to hear.” Some things I don’t want to tell, he added silently.

“Everything.” She was standing now, arms folded over her chest, looking every inch the Slayer she was.

“Everything? Even, umm, you know, personal stuff?” Spike felt he was probably looking a bit wild around the eyes, wilder than usual that was.

Buffy nodded resolutely. “Everything. Everything you remember about the song and everything you remember that’s connected to the song.” She’d been tempted to let him off the hook, but the wide-eyed, panicked look on his face appealed to her sense of mischief. Plus, Spike never spoke about himself, not personal stuff anyway. And what had she been saying earlier, that she knew nothing about him? Well, this was an ideal opportunity to change that.

Spike swallowed loudly, then looked down and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’d better sit down then, pet. This might take a while.”

William’s memories first then. Spike cast his mind back, allowing a little of William to come through. It wasn’t easy even with the soul, William mostly tried to stay hidden, it was easier that way.

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London May 6th 1880

The bright afternoon sunshine was pouring in through the parlour window, bathing his mother in its warm glow. William sat quietly listening to her play. She was gifted on the piano and he loved to listen. It reminded him of earlier, easier days, before his father, his sisters.

“William?” Her gentle voice brought him out of his reverie with a small, guilty start.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I was simply asking whether you had heard this tune before? I’m sure my mother used to sing it and the tune has just come back to me.” The simple melody fell from the instrument as her skilled fingers travelled across the keys. Soon the music was joined by a beautiful voice expressing sad poignant words that filled his heart with tears. As the last note faded, William looked at his mother with unabashed pride and pleasure.

“No Mother, I don’t believe I have ever heard that before. I’m sure I would have remembered. It’s so beautiful. We English have always been able to produce the best from the simple things in life.” He joined her by the piano and let his hands rest on her shoulders. She looked up at him with a small smile on her face. “Much like you, Mother. Able to do so much with so little.”

She reached up to him, a shadow passing over her face, and patted his hand. “Don’t worry, William. Everything will be all right.” He allowed himself a small reassuring squeeze before he dropped his hands, moving to her side. “Sing again. Teach me. I’d love to learn it.”

They spent the afternoon doing just that. It allowed William to push his worries to the back of his mind. Money, primarily. The small legacy his father had left was nowhere near enough to keep them both, let alone pay for the maid or his continuing education. Then there was Cecily, beautiful, wonderful Cecily. The woman he worshipped, all be it from afar. Did she return his affections? Could he dare to dream that she might feel one iota of the love he felt for her? Tonight he would know, because tonight he would tell her, and hang the consequences.

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“So your mother taught you the song?” Buffy asked as gently as she could, trying to ignore the tears tracking their way down Spike’s, - no, - William’s face as he spoke. Tears that told of the quiet love and respect he had had for his mother. “And that was the night, yes? When she rejected you. When you met Drusilla. The night you died.” Buffy felt an inward twist of horror. Somehow, despite everything, she’d never thought of Spike as a murder victim and yet that was what he was. She remembered Angel telling her once of how Darla had found him in an alley and how he had virtually begged her to free him from his narrow, boring existence. Buffy suspected it was probably very different for Spike and that William wouldn’t willingly have left his mother alone in the world.

“Yeah, that’s right love. The night I died.” A rueful grin spread across his face. “Or as you once so eloquently put it, traded up the food chain.” He paused. “You sure want to hear all this? It gets a bit, umm, nasty now.”

Buffy nodded and sat back on the bed, curling her knees up under her chin and resting her arms on them. She’d read the Watcher’s diaries. She knew what Spike was like, didn’t she? Okay this was going to be a bit like seeing the movie of the book but how bad could it get, really?

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn.” Spike settled back to continue with his tale.

 

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London May 22nd 1880

“William. Stop singing that blasted tune and come away from the window.” His Sire’s strident tones penetrated Will’s daydream and he pulled back, belatedly realising that the dawn had broken unnoticed and that he was in imminent danger of incineration.

“Leave him, darling.” Darla’s smooth voice followed. “It will save us the job. The boy’s far too much of an idiot to last long anyway. I can’t see what that foolish girl saw in him.” Will looked over at his Sire and watched as Darla reached up to turn her lover’s face towards her, bringing them together in a passionate kiss. He still felt quietly horrified by their public displays of affection, foolish perhaps but real none the less.

During his two weeks as a vampire he had learned many things. How to feed, all be it from humans the others had brought home for him, and how to love a woman, - really love her. Drusilla had left him with no illusions about the role that he was destined to play in her life. Yet, some things still shocked him. The casual way both Darla and Drusilla showed their desire. How they both shared his Sire’s bed. How they had tried to insist he join them. He killed, yet was dismayed by nakedness; he had taken a human life and yet balked at the idea of sharing a bed with all his new family. He’d ended up sleeping on the floor, trying to block first laughter and then the sounds of animalistic rutting from his ears.

“Not now, lover.” Angelus extracted himself from Darla’s embrace. Will was surprised, he’d never seen Angelus rebuff her advances before and was astounded when she pouted at him with an expression he was far more familiar with seeing on Dru. Drawing the petite blonde woman back into his arms, Angelus bent down to whisper something in her ear. The look she shot across the room made Will’s borrowed blood freeze, there was something malicious and just a little bit lustful about the way she ran her eyes up and down his body. He folded his arms across his chest shivering slightly, and turned away from the couple returning to his perusal of the outside world, albeit from a safer distance.

“You girls have fun then.” William heard the parting words and the heavy door closing quietly. For the first time he was alone with his Sire.

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“Hang on a minute, Mister,” Buffy interrupted. “I thought you told me Dru was your Sire?”

Spike glanced up at her, frowning slightly, obviously disconcerted at having his train of thought broken. “It’s more complicated than that. Traditionally a Sire can mean two things, usually they’re done by the same person, vampire, whatever, but for me there was two. First off, the vampire that makes you feeds you their blood, that is your Sire, technically and physically. In that sense, yes, Dru is my Sire.”

“Like you sired those vamps from the other night.” Buffy felt tempted to hit herself as she saw her careless words hit the mark.

“Yeah, like them.” Spike’s body language changed again, the more open, confident posture he had adopted whilst telling his tale, drew in on itself, he wilted.

“And the other type?” Buffy tried to get him back on track, starting to enjoy the tale even if she was a little surprised that Angel had any part to play.

“Huh?” Spike’s head popped up and he refocused on her and the story. “Yeah, the other type. They’re the one who trains you, teaches you to hunt and kill, and claims you as a Childe - if you’re lucky.” The last comment was followed by a small snort as if he wasn’t so sure that luck was the best definition to use.

“You don’t sound convinced about, you know, being lucky to be claimed as a Childe. From what I’ve read it’s a good thing, isn’t it? Gives a young vamp some level of protection.” Buffy cocked her head wondering why any vampire wouldn’t be grateful their Sire didn’t just bite them and leave. In her experience the young ones were pretty dumb and were dead easy, pun intended, to dust.

“I guess that depends on who does the claiming. For me, my Sire in that sense was Angelus.” Spike’s eyes blazed at mention of his Sire’s name, then the look faded, replaced by something more akin to amusement. “I guess I’m going to have to feel a bit differently about Angel now. Funny though,” he shook his head and grinned slightly, looking down at his hands, “I can’t seem to summon up any affection for him at this precise moment.

“So Angelus claimed you, whatever that means. Although why Dru couldn’t teach you is beyond me.” Buffy was eager for Spike to continue and so missed the shocked look on his face when she mentioned her lack of knowledge about claiming.

“Umm.” Spike desperately tried to gather his thoughts, wondering if he could just give her the edited highlights of the tale he was telling, but for the life of him he couldn’t think how. Distractedly he searched through his pockets for fags and lighter, only managing to find his zippo, which he twisted restlessly through his fingers.

“D...Dru? Teach me? You did meet her, didn’t you? I loved her dearly, nearly as much as…” The word stuck in his mouth. Wrong, wrong, wrong thing to talk about. He hit his head with his fist. Shit, shit, shit. That’s what happens when you let your guard down. That’s what happens. Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid. She was going to hate him again. Leave him again.

Buffy sat quietly. She knew what Spike had almost said and could see the pain it had caused him. Summoning up some of her inner grit, she filled in the missing words. “Me. Almost as much as you love me.” Her words seemed to have the desired effect. The panic faded and he just sat silent and still again, staring at the wall. “Spike? Spike. Keep going. This is really interesting, a bit weird, yes but interesting. I’d never thought about how you guys lived back in the day. Tell me more. Tell me about the song.”

Eyes never moving from the wall, Spike took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “The song. Right. The song.” His gaze quickly flicked across to her. “You still sure you wanna hear all this?” At her nod, he began again. “So for the first time in my un-life I was alone with my Sire, Angelus….”

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London May 22nd 1880

William stood, back to the room, glaring determinedly out of the window at the dawn. He could hear the sounds of a whisky being poured and a cigar being cut and lit behind him. The comfortable sounds of his Sire relaxing after a night out. But he was feeling far from relaxed himself. Customarily Darla’s commentary on the night’s activities or Dru’s giggles and flirtations accompanied those sounds, but not this morning. This morning there were no women to distract his Sire, no silliness or crude exposition on the stupidity of humans. Flinching Will berated himself for the thought - ‘In other words no women’s skirts to hide behind. For God’s sake man, get a grip on yourself. Get over there, have a drink and …’

“So, what was the song?” The question came out of the blue and right behind his ear. Will yelped and jumped round, finding himself face to face, or more accurately eye to chin, with his Sire.

“Song?” It came out as a squeak and Will heard a rumble of laughter reverberate around Angelus’ chest. He tried again. “Song? What song?”

“The song you were singing so prettily when we came home.” How did he do that? Get so close so silently. Will instinctively back-pedalled, moving away from the vampire looming in front of him. Unfortunately, the step back put him uncomfortably close to the morning sun that was starting to creep into the room. He quickly moved forward again, lifting his hand to check he hadn’t done anything stupid like set his hair alight. His hand was beaten to it by another much larger one that smoothed over his unruly curls and drifted down to the back of his neck.

“No damage done. Turn around let me check your back.” The hand gripped more tightly, twisting him round and Will let his feet follow its lead. Another hand then brushed down his back and buttocks, “Still perfect.” There was a slight pause and Will could feel Angelus’ critical gaze sweeping over him. “Are they the only clothes you have? You look like a sack tied up in the middle, boy.” Will stood silently, wishing Angelus would to let him go and stop looking at him like a piece of slightly worn merchandise he was considering purchasing.

“Ouch.” The grip on his neck tightened and a sharp shake rattled through him.

“I asked you a question, boy. Do you have the common courtesy to answer your elders when they speak to you?” That blew it. Angelus may be his Sire, but Will had been the man of the house for six months before he died, and he was damned if some upstart mick was going to talk to him as if he was some recalcitrant schoolboy. He twisted out of Angelus’ grasp and unleashed a tirade of fury and frustration at the older vampire.

“Get off me you great lout. Of course these are my only clothes. You think I asked them to bury my wardrobe with me. And I haven’t exactly had a chance to go home since…” He didn’t even see the blow coming, but he certainly felt it land. His final thoughts as he flew across the room were, ‘Well who’d have thought he could hit that hard’, before his head contacted sharply with the marble fireplace and the world went black.

The rustling of paper was the first thing to penetrate the darkness. Will cracked one eye open and saw, from his position on the floor, that Angelus was sitting in his wing backed leather chair apparently absorbed in a newspaper. Opening both eyes the young vampire looked blearily around the room trying to ascertain how long he had been unconscious. The heavy drapes were firmly shut, but the bright sunlight around the edges seemed to suggest he had been out at least an hour. Will shifted carefully, trying not to move his head, but was unable to suppress a groan when even that slight movement set his head pounding.

“Awake are you? I was beginning to think you were going to stay out all day.” Angelus was calmly regarding him over the top of the paper as if he hadn’t just tried to knock his head off. “I believe I asked you if they were the only clothes you had, and if you can’t give me a civil answer this time, I’ll throw you through the window.” All this was imparted in a politely pleasant tone usually reserved for passing the time of day. Will sat up, holding his head, determined not to show how much it hurt. Deciding that at this point discretion was probably the better part of valour, he answered as respectfully as possible.

“Yes, these are the only clothes I possess.” Angelus’ eyebrow raised questioningly and Will racked his brains for the form of address which Angelus would find suitable. “Umm…Sire”

“Better. We may make a vampire out of you yet. I also asked you about a song you were singing. What was it? ‘Tis a pleasant tune and well performed. Not one I’ve heard in my many travels.”

“It’s a version of Early One Morning, uhh...Sire. My mother taught it to me, not these two weeks past. She played it me on the piano. I believe her mother taught it her.” Will answered as fully as he could, anxious to avoid another blow like the last. He wasn’t sure whether the next would succeed in taking his head off his shoulders.

Angelus settled back to his reading then shot another comment across the room. “I’d like to hear it played and sung. Do you play, boy? I’ve heard that some, more delicate young men, are taught music.” The implied insult in the vampire’s voice was unmistakable, but Will was not going to rise to it this time.

“I play a little, Sire. I was taught alongside my sisters for a couple of years.”

“Sisters?” Angelus dropped his newspaper into his lap and shifted forward in his seat, looking hungrily at the younger vampire now sitting against the wall. “You have sisters, do ye?” The Irish brogue rolled from his tongue, becoming more pronounced.

Will fought down the urge to ask him why the hell he cared and answered as best he could. “No Sire. They both died some six months ago, as did my Father. There is only my mother and myself left. Though now, I suppose, my mother is alone.”

“Huh.” Angelus sat back, no longer as interested. “Then maybe we can kill two little birds with one little stone, Will. We will visit with yer mother this evening, get your clothes and you can play me that little ditty on the piano.”

“Would that really be possible, Sire.” Will didn’t dare let himself hope, he’d missed his mother terribly and wanted to reassure himself that she was coping without him.

Angelus grunted. “Not only possible, my boy, but essential I think. When I was a child and all that. It about time you started to learn who you really are.”

“A vampire, Sire?”

“Yes and a bloody bad one at that. But that will change. I’ve been watching you and Dru seems genuinely fond of you. I wondered what the hell she’d dragged home when you first arrived, thought she’d made another stupid mistake, another one I’d have to get rid of at a later date. You’re not the first she’s turned but the first she’s still taken with after the initial glow’s worn off. You like her, I assume?” The question took Will by surprise. He hadn’t considered that Dru may have taken other paramours before him, apart from her Sire of course, and that any lack of interest on her part would result in his final death had never have even crossed his mind.

“I...I adore her, Sire,” he stuttered, trying to assure Angelus that his commitment to Drusilla was absolute. “I’d never let a soul hurt her; I’d protect her with my own life.”

Angelus folded his newspaper carefully, placed it on the arm of his chair and sat forward, giving his full attention to the fledgling that sat, still bleeding slightly, against his wall. “At the moment you couldn’t defend her from a flea, boy. That’s why I’ve decided to claim you as my Childe. Teach you myself and train you to look after her. Darla wishes to travel and Drusilla can be an absolute liability in the wrong company, so you will be trained to be her warder, keep her safe for me until we return. Learn this and I will teach you more. In a few decades, you’ll be able to strike out on your own, become a Master in your own right. Darla thinks you a fool. I’m not so sure. In some things I’m tempted to trust Dru and you are the one she chose.”

Again Will was speechless. He stared at Angelus trying to grasp what had been said, the significance of some of it was beyond him, but what the older vampire seemed to be offering was an apprenticeship of sorts, for which the reward was Drusilla. A gift the like of which he had never could never, have dreamed.

“Plus,” Angelus sat back in his chair with a smirk, “claiming you won’t be a real chore. You’re prettier that Penn, and he turned out to be a damned good fuck.”

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“Whoa. You fucked Angel?” To say Buffy was shocked was something like saying a hurricane was a mild breeze that would blow over in a couple of minutes.

Spike grinned. He’d been waiting for this and although it was probably a little malicious he was rather enjoying bringing down her image of Angel as some darkly heroic virgin, untouched by any but Buffy’s hands. The fact that that was probably true at least of the modern version of his Sire didn’t detract from the frisson of glee he got from denting the image just a little.

“No, pet. Angelus fucked me. Significant difference there, as you’ll see.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Sure you still want to hear?” Spike met her eyes with a challenge. This was something they were both familiar with, and there was no way that Buffy was going to let him win.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” She grit her teeth and sat back.

“Right then. As you can imagine I was a bit gobsmacked…….”

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London May 22nd 1880

“Ex...Excuse me?” Will couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He thought his Sire just suggested they would have sexual relations, but the idea seemed so far fetched he felt he needed to clarify the fact.

“I said,” this time Angelus’ smirk actually reached his eyes, a remarkable occurrence in Will’s short experience, “That you are prettier than Penn and he turned out to be a damn good fuck.”

He wasn’t sure what to say, nothing that wouldn’t earn him another bout of unconsciousness anyway, and Will decided he didn’t want to be insensible around his Sire anytime soon. A quick glance at the windows showed that any chance of escape outside was impossible, and the memory of Darla’s lascivious gaze earlier suggested appealing for her help would be pointless. He was effectively trapped in a house with a man, no vampire, many years his senior, infinitely stronger and faster than he, who was going to bugger him. He was fucked, probably literally.

Falling back on every Englishman’s defence in times of need, Will politely pointed out the error of Angelus’ ways.

“You do realise that sodomy is illegal in this country, don’t you?”

This time the older vampire made no attempt to contain his mirth. “Oh God, Will, the expression on your face.” He roared with laughter, throwing himself back in his chair, unable to speak for a few moments. Finally regaining some semblance control, he gestured at the highly stuffed settee that sat adjacent to his chair. “Sit lad, have a whiskey. Helps to soothe shattered nerves or so they say.”

Getting to his feet, Will approached his still chuckling Sire warily, poured himself a large shot of the amber liquid and knocked it back in one large gulp. “Gah.” Nearly choking before he remembered he didn’t need to breathe, Will wiped the tears that had sprung, unbidden, to his eyes from the strong liquor. Then he poured himself another shot and sat down rather heavily. After about a five minutes, during which time he sat quietly sipping his drink and avoiding Angelus’ eyes, Will took a deep breath and broke the silence.

“So you were jesting then? About, you know.” He kept his gaze fixed on the wall above the fireplace, where the mantle mirror had hung until Darla had demanded its removal three days previous.

“No. I’m going to fuck you. It’s traditional and never let it be said that Angelus does not follow the lore to the letter.” Will spared him a quick nervous glance from the corner of his eye, just enough to see the smirk, before Angelus continued, “Especially when following those traditions is so much fun.”

“Fine for you to say, mate. You’re not the fuckee.” The alcohol was lending Will’s vocal chords its own form of courage, something that only became problematic when it also shut down the brain cells that dealt with discretion.

“Mate?” That eyebrow was back again, and the humour had quickly drained from the older vampire’s voice.

“Um, Sire.”

“Better. Come on lad, it won’t be anything you haven’t done before, surely. You went to school didn’t you? Fagged for some aristocratic prig. Pretty boy like you wouldn’t have lasted six months without someone showing him the ropes.” Angelus was trying to sound comforting, Will was certain of that. The trouble, as he proceeded to tell his sire at some length whilst trying to maintain at least a modicum of self-respect, was that the older vampire was entirely wrong. He explained that due to his somewhat delicate nature as a child he had attended a small private school, where there had been no ‘fagging’ of any kind. His first sexual experience of any description had been with Drusilla and, if Angelus really wanted to know, the fact was he couldn’t remember ever having seen another man naked.

Angelus sat remarkably quietly throughout the little speech although the smirk that had dropped so recently from his lips was firmly reinstated by the time Will had finished. “What never? You must have seen me. You were in the bedroom all last week, you must have seen….”

Will shook his head firmly in denial. “Kept my eyes shut. All the time.”

Angelus reached over and took the empty glass from his hand, refilled it with a rather larger shot, and handed it back with the observation, “I think you better have another drink, William.”

Will, took a large gulp, closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the comfortable cushions and muttered quietly under his breath. “That’s right, get me drunk and take advantage.”

The unexpected response was growled rather than spoken, and was enough to make Will meet his Sire’s eyes for the first time in about an hour. “It’s going to happened one way or another, my boy. You can either take it like the vampire you are or I’ll knock you unconscious, tie you to my bed and do it anyway.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, blue meeting black in a challenge that was as old as time itself. Blue folded first and Will looked down at his glass, sighed heavily in a resigned way, drained the rest of his whisky and held the empty glass out, tacitly acknowledging his capitulation. “When you put it like that, I guess I don’t have much choice. Any chance you could refill this for me, Sire?”

For the next few of hours the two vampires got steadily drunk, or in Will’s case drunker. He was unused to hard liquor and even a vampire’s constitution couldn’t protect him for long. By the time the sun had passed it’s zenith he was roaring drunk and had discovered that the idea of being fucked by Angelus was not scaring him anymore. In fact, somewhere inside his alcoholic induced haze he was finding the idea just the teeniest bit intriguing, if not attractive. In all honesty his Sire was a very handsome chap. Tall, broad, classical features, despite his tendency to glower at anything that displeased him. His voice was pleasant; with its soft brogue now punctuated by the occasional word Will couldn’t understand but may have been Gaelic. He also had nice hands, big hands. Nice, big hands which were currently grabbing his and pulling him over to kneel at his Sire’s feet.

“Touch me.” The almost whispered command slunk through Will’s alcohol soaked brain straight to his hands, which were currently resting in his Sire’s lap, and trying to ignore the rather obvious bulge they had found there. He courageously attacked the buttoned trousers but his fingers all seemed to be the size of sausages and wouldn’t do as he wanted. With a grunt Angelus brushed his hands away and quickly undid the awkward things, winning Will’s undying respect and a lopsided but grateful grin. A large hand tousled his hair and a wry voice commented that he had probably drunk a bit too much. Far too drunk to reply, Will simply nodded, then stopped quickly as the action made the whole room tilt on its axis. With another grin he slid slowly sideways, most ungraciously, and landed in a heap on the floor at his Sire’s feet. Angelus shook his head as he stood up, muttered something deprecating about youth and alcohol, unceremoniously slung the younger vampire over his shoulder, and took him up to bed.

Will woke that evening in Angelus’ bed, naked but with his virtue still intact. He also had an excruciating hang over. Propped on the small cabinet next to the bed was a letter written in Angelus’ flowing script and situating his Sire’s linguistic roots in entirely non standard English that was at least a century out of date.

“The ladief and I have gonne to dine. Ye sholde have thine soonest as thy head is, without doubt, paining thee. We have left it bye the fir. Eat well and heal. The door is lockd fo do not trie to leeve.

Angeluf”

It was strange Will reflected, as he glanced at the comatose boy lying by the fire, that Angelus’ written words were so much more archaic than the way he spoke. Maybe such habits were harder to lose when faced with pen and paper. He pondered the question as he helped himself to dinner, putting the corpse neatly in the corner when he had finished, then retired to the bed to consider the rest of the note.

It was perfectly obvious that whatever had started that morning had not been finished and he was under no illusions that Angelus certainly intended to come back and finish the job. Tonight. He lay back and tried to relax but the fresh blood he had just consumed raced around his body making him ready to, frankly, fuck something. Normally he would have grabbed Dru, and they would have had a damned good time but it was abundantly clear that there was no Dru to be had.

Squirming around in the bed, Will tried to ignore the demands his body was making, all to no avail. He was achingly hard and no matter how he lay or what he thought about his erection would not subside. Eventually, he threw himself over on his front and started humping the mattress in frustration. It wasn’t as if he were really masturbating, something he knew would drive him insane, it was just that he needed some sort of relief so he could sleep. Completely absorbed in the fantasy of a wild and wanton Dru he had conjured in his mind’s eye, Will totally failed to hear the bedroom door open and close, quiet footsteps cross the room, and the almost silent disrobing of his Sire.

“Feeling better I see.” The voice came from next to his ear and again Will yelped and jumped.

“Jesus Christ, Angelus. Scare a fellow to death why don’t you.” Will grabbed hastily at the sheet to cover himself and averted his eyes when he realised his Sire was also naked. Very naked. And from the brief glimpse he’d had, very aroused.

Angelus chuckled and sat down completely unselfconsciously on the edge of the bed. When Will continued to avert his eyes, he grabbed the younger vampire’s chin with one hand and pulled his face round so that he could see him. In retaliation, Will shut his eyes.

Sounding almost disappointed, Angelus sighed. “It’s going to be a very boring night if you insist of keeping your eyes shut, but I suppose we can work around it if you insist.” Will cracked his eyes open and met his Sire’s amused gaze.

“I got very drunk last night, didn’t I.” He stated as a matter of fact. “But, you know, although I don’t remember much, I do remember thinking that this,” he gestured between the two of them, “wasn’t such a bad thing. I think,” he quickly added as a lustful glint appeared in Angelus’ eyes. “But I’ll be frank, Angelus; I’m bloody terrified. If I could still do it I’d have pissed myself by now. In fact, what I’d really like is another….”

Whatever else he was about to say was lost as Angelus captured his mouth in a cool hard kiss. Will’s eyes popped open in surprise and fixed on his Sire’s. Then, as a tongue ran itself insistently along his closed lips demanding entrance, he closed them again, opened his mouth and allowed himself to get lost in the kiss. The cool tongue invaded his mouth tasting of blood and whisky, playing chase with his own around teeth and palate. At last somewhere in the middle they met and Will found himself moving closer to his Sire, reaching for support, grasping his broad shoulders and practically climbing into his lap. One large hand grabbed the back of his neck, holding him still, not allowing him to escape the kiss as another grasped his erection, and started to stroke gently. Will felt a small moan escape his chest as he bucked into the hand and desperately grabbed at those shoulders for a firmer hold.

Eventually he pulled away, his head spinning, feeling breathless despite knowing he didn’t need to breathe. Meeting his Sire’s eyes, Will suddenly felt a little self-conscious. He had given himself entirely into that kiss and now he felt naked, exposed and somehow vulnerable. Plus, Angelus still had his hand on his dick and that felt just plain odd.

“Umm.” He looked down in confusion and got an eyeful of Angelus’ erection and the aforementioned hand on his. He looked away quickly, but the image was imprinted on his vision. Large, pale considering the obvious state of arousal, and tapping lightly on a firm muscled belly in time to the gentle strokes being administered to his own member. “I’m not sure about this. I think I’m starting to have second thoughts,” he started.

The grip on his neck increased and an exasperated voice said. “Don’t you ever shut up? Maybe I should just give your mouth something else to do.”

Will found himself thrust face first into his Sire’s lap, held tightly by the back of the neck. Scrabbling for purchase he braced his hands on Angelus’ thighs and tried to push back, away from the inevitable confrontation between cock and mouth. The grip tightened again and a less than amused commentary started. “For God’s sake boy, you wouldn’t shut it a minute ago, now bloody open it again.” He tried to shake his head but the grip on his neck simply increased until he saw stars and, as he opened his mouth to gasp, Will found it suddenly full of a very hard and aroused penis. The pain in his neck was making his eyes water, he wanted to escape, but Angelus was offering no quarter. As he tried to pull away and close his mouth, his teeth made brief contact with engorged flesh.

A low growl stopped him. “If I feel teeth or, God help you, fangs I’ll rip your dick off and feed you with it.” Will froze, and tried to make sure his teeth went nowhere near his Sire’s cock. It wasn’t easy as Angelus was thrusting into his mouth and the thrusts were getting deeper, occasionally touching the back of his throat and making him gag. Abruptly he was released and he fell sideways off the bed, landing with an undignified thump on his back. Angelus peered at him from the bed a slightly harassed and irate look in his eyes.

“You really have no idea what you’re doing at all, do you?” he stated, pointing out the blatantly obvious as far as Will was concerned. Will shook his head, not trusting his voice and throat to speak. “You need to learn. Come back up here.” Angelus retreated onto the bed and Will reluctantly got up and followed him.

“Has anyone done this for you?” Angelus asked. Will shook his head absently then stopped listening, preoccupied with studying the sight that had met him when he got onto the bed. His Sire was laid out, flat on his back, arms pillowing his head, torso stretched out luxuriously like a great cat, toes flexing in anticipation. What really held Will’s attention, however, was Angelus’s cock. Stuck up there, rising from dark curls and leaking all over the place. He put his hands to his lips as if trying to connect the experience of having his mouth full, with the object itself. A slap on the head brought him back to himself.

“I said, not even Dru?”

Again Will shook his head. “She...she tried but I wouldn’t let her, Sire.” His voice sounded hoarse and a little strange.

“You should. She gives good head, that girl.” Angelus grunted. “What about touching yourself? You must have done that.”

Will felt humiliated, he wanted to curl up and die, again, and this time not wake up and find himself in this strange alien world. Feeling tears rise in his eyes he reacted the only way he knew, with an angry frustrated outburst. “I told you this morning Angelus. I bloody explained. You know what I know. You were there; you’ve been in the room every time Dru and I have … you know.” He waved a hand wildly to emphasise his point only to have it caught in a far larger and more powerful grasp.

“I know what you told me, but I found it hard to believe. You must have been twenty-five, twenty-six and you expect me to believe that you’ve never masturbated.” Angelus looked incredulous.

“Never. My father told me it was wrong, that it would make me go mad. He showed me pictures, even took me to the hospital with him. I saw them, Angelus, the ones who couldn’t stop. It was hideous, horrible.” Trying to convey the terror at what he had seen Will looked his Sire straight in the eye as he explained. “And I am, I was, twenty- seven,” he added for good measure.

“And they say Catholics give their children guilt. Poor boy. All that time and all that frustration.” Shaking his head sadly, Angelus cupped Will’s face with his hand, running his thumb down one cheekbone. Then he grinned wickedly “Think of all the time you’ve got to make up for, no need to worry about going mad, no unwanted babies, no chance of the pox. The world’s your oyster Will.” Caught by the infectious smile, Will grinned back, putting more courage on his face than he felt in his belly.

“Right.” Angelus cuffed him gently round the head again and pointedly looked back to his still straining erection. “Back to business. First lesson you already know, no teeth, not yet anyway, not until you know what you’re doing. Second, relax. You don’t need to breathe, you won’t suffocate and any tongue that can talk as well as yours does can do an awful lot more than that.”

The next half an hour was spent giving Will a rudimentary grasp of plating, only spoiled by a brief tussle when Angelus had to point out that as Will’s Sire he was not about to teach him by demonstrating on a stupid fledge. Finally, they settled down for Will to try his best and bring his Sire to completion. Despite the ache in his jaw, his stiff neck and a throat that currently felt raw, he found was looking forward to the task. A pedantic fellow by nature, Will always subscribed to the idea that any task worth doing was worth doing well, so he tried to make it as good as possible.

His Sire tasted good, slightly salty with a coppery after taste and the sounds he made when Will got something right were a reward in themselves. Running his tongue around the edge of the bulbous head elicited a most satisfactory response, so Will did it again, then allowed his tongue to drift up to the slit that was still leaking copiously. He held the base firmly and poked gently with his tongue. When that got a grunt, he tried again, harder, and was rewarded with a small gasp and thrust. Feeling braver he placed the whole of the head in his mouth and tried to take in as much as he could. Wrapping his tongue around the shaft he bobbed his head up and down, allowing his Sire to set the pace with his hips. After a while, however, he felt ready to try something a bit different, following Angelus’ advice he relaxed his throat fought his gag reflex and swallowed.

“Jesus fucking Christ boy.” The bellow must have wakened the household, not to mention the neighbours. Will couldn’t help but chuckle, as best he could with his mouth full, and the reaction was amazing, if a little disconcerting. Two hands grabbed his hair and Angelus thrust up into his throat, deep hard thrusts that threatened to completely undo his resolve. Desperately trying to remain relaxed, Will spared a glance at his Sire’s face, and was gratified to see that his true visage had appeared and that he was panting desperately. Although having little choice in the matter, Will decided to hang on for the ride, knowing from his own experience that the appearance of the demon’s face heralded an impending orgasm. He was soon rewarded with a “Fuuuck...” a last deep thrust and a mouth overflowing with cool fluid, which he swallowed reflexively. Finally, finally, Angelus released his hold on Will’s hair and he was able to lift his head, easing his stiff neck and shoulders.

“Right. Lesson learned, I think.” Angelus raised a shaky hand to his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Looking down at his horribly smug looking childe resting on his belly, he queried, “You did say you had never done that before, yes?”

“Yes, Sire.” Will felt very satisfied, he’d faced the challenge, learned some new skills and passed with flying colours. He felt like he was moving up in the world. Which as it turned out he was, pulled up into a deep passionate kiss that he felt more than ready to return. While tongues explored mouths, hands did their own thing drifting over skin, caressing shoulders and back, chest, legs, buttocks, bodies entwining as if their whole bodies were sharing the kiss. Again, Will felt the sensation of falling and pulled away breathless.

Ignoring Angelus’ little grunt of disappointment Will kissed and licked his way down his Sire’s neck pausing over the slight silvery scar at his throat. He sucked briefly on it and at the low, but unmistakably annoyed growl, moved lower following collar bones and tracing muscles until he came across flat, nipples already peaked with arousal. Remembering Dru’s reaction when he had sucked hers Will placed his mouth over one and drew in into his mouth using his tongue to tease the tip of the nub. Again a reward, the grunt and thrust of an already aroused cock against his own. He thrust back, gasping unneeded air at the wonderful friction, again and again, faster, harder. Will could feel his own ardour increasing as he frantically bucked his hips rubbing their cocks together hard and fast.

“Enough. Stop.” A hand on the nape of Will’s neck backed up Angelus’ slightly breathless command. A small whimper escaped Will’s throat but the potential for pain in the hand was enough to still his movements. “Gonna take you, boy. Gonna fuck you so hard you scream.” Will found himself tumbling again but this time face down into the pillows, the full weight of his Sire on his back. He could feel the hard length of Angelus’ erection against his buttocks and he squirmed, his body unsure whether it wanted to escape or continue the game.

A deep rumble in his ear induced a full body shiver, “You gonna scream for me, boy? Scream when I push into your tight little hole. Fill you up and make you mine.” A hand slid between his buttocks and a finger pressed against his hole. “Rules are the same as before. No teeth and relax. Believe me it will hurt a lot less if you relax.” The instructions were breathed into Will’s ear and again he shivered. The hand returned to the nape of his neck and his face was pushed deeply into the pillow as the finger continued its task, pushing and working at him, pressing in, opening him up.

“Relax, God damn you.” Angelus grated out. When there was no change he temporarily ceased his exploration of Will’s nether regions and slid a pillow under his recumbent hips, lifting the younger vampire’s ass higher off the bed. “See if that helps.” Will was desperately trying not to panic, willing his body to relax and allow the inevitable to happen, but when Angelus’ finger finally breached him pressing inside and twisting harshly, it was the last straw. He panicked, squirmed frantically, and tried to get out from under his Sire.

“Oh, sod it.” Angelus cursed. Abandoning all pretence at gentleness, he kicked Will’s legs apart, positioned himself against the virgin hole and pressed forward, using his full weight on Will’s nape and shoulders to stop him wriggling away.

Pain blossomed through Will’s body. Only able to comprehend one thought. ‘Oh fucking Christ, unbelievable pain’. He was being split in two, his body pulled apart inside by that hard intruder pushing into him. He couldn’t move, his Sire’s weight on his neck and back, completely immobilised and enclosed him and just, pain, pain, pain, ripping through him, ripping. Jesus, he just felt something go, then screaming crescendos of agony in his legs, back and ass. Stop!. He had to get him to stop. Please, please stop, make it stop! Will knew his cries were muffled against the pillow, but he couldn’t stop yelling. He hit out with his hands, managing to land a couple of weak blows to his Sire’s shoulders and back before they were grabbed and held, tried then to move his legs, but there was too much pain.

“Will. Will. Stop fighting me. I’m in now. All the way in. Just relax little one. Don’t fight. It will only make it worse.” The words washed over him, soothing, calming. The hand on his neck was no longer gripping so tight it made him see stars, but stroking his tense muscles. His hands were still restrained but not in a bone crushing hold, just enough to stop him flailing.

“I’m going to hold still, okay. Now, just try to relax.” Will shuddered, trying to fight his way through the pain and panic, trying to find himself again, realised his true face had emerged and he’d bitten clean through his lip, and shredded the pillows. Pushing back the waves of fear that were threatening to overwhelm him, he sobbed again, dragging in huge lungs full of unneeded air. “Please stop, Sire. It hurts. It’s too much. I can’t bear it. Please Sire.”

“Damn. This could have gone better. Listen to me Will. Are you listening? Are you hearing me?” Will forced himself to nod into the pillow.

“Right.” Another faint sob jerked through Will’s body and Angelus moaned and cursed quietly. “For God’s sake, don’t move. I’m only just holding on here.” Then slightly louder, “I want you to feel through the pain Will. Feel through it,- you’re a vampire for pities sake. There has to be blood the first time, blood for the claim, but there’s nothing I’m doing to you that won’t heal in a couple of hours after a good feed. That’s better. You’re relaxing, I can feel it. Now, I’m going to move slowly, just a little. Feel through it.”

He tried, he really did try. He focused on Angelus’ muttered words and tried to feel through the pain. Tried to find something anything but mind numbing agony. Clawed his way through it. Felt Angelus moving slowly, felt the panic lift, felt his world start to unfurl again, open out from the tight ring of pain and darkness which had enclosed him. There, was that something? He sought after it desperately, moving his hips. Again, yes, not pain.

“You feel it now, little one? The golden edges to the red and black, the pleasure in the blood and pain.”

Will whimpered, but this time not from pain. The pain was still there but it was more like a backdrop, or a catalyst through which the pleasure now burned, consuming him.

He pushed back harder and was rewarded by another moan and curse. “God, so damned tight. You do that again boy and I swear I going to fuck you right through the mattress.” Another push back. “Fine you asked for it!”

Now it was burning, Will felt like his skin was on fire, he was hotter than he’d ever been when alive. He could feel the pleasure coursing through him, pounding in time with Angelus’ thrusts, which he met each time with his own. A pounding sounded in his ears and his body - like his heart was beating again. As if his blood was flowing. He could feel the knot of extremis curling around his gut, his balls, cock, and ass. More, Sire, just a little more. He could hear his own breath echoing his Sire’s as they reached together for just a little more. A little longer. A little further. Chasing. Chasing something. Then the bite. Fangs ripping into his throat. His body exploded, screaming its gratification and release, from the pain, from the blood, from the pleasure, the lines blurred, skewed, twisted around each other. Then a vortex sucking him down, pulling him away from sensation, from pleasure/pain/blood, into cold darkness and then sleep.

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

“And can I just say - ewww. Way too much information. But I still can’t see how being butt fucked by your Sire…” Buffy’s words trailed off when she saw Spike’s finger wagging at her and the serious expression on his face.

“Don’t reduce it to that Slayer. Don’t give me the food chain line again. You didn’t understand then, and if you don’t listen you won’t get it now. Being claimed like that is a profound experience, one that, well I was going to say made me the vampire I am today, but that’s not strictly accurate. But it changes you. Most vamps will get by without it, they survive for a few years sometimes as long as a decade, but to be a Master, like me, like Darla, like Angelus, that experience is vital. I have crawled away from fights I shouldn’t have survived because of that night. I took down two Slayers because my Sire twisted the lines and allowed me to feel past the pain.”

“You’ve been there yourself, Buffy. I’ve seen it, when you see the gold against the black and red, when the fist that should have laid you low has you coming back for more. It’s a powerful thing, plus it gives you greatest fucking orgasm on the planet.”

There was an almost wistful look on the vampire’s face as he spoke and Buffy remembered that first time between them. The blows they had exchanged, the violence of their coupling had shocked her when she’d thought about it later, but they had crossed that line together then, both feeding off the pain and feeling the pleasure beyond it. She remembered the hunts through the cemeteries, how she would return to Riley’s side, nerves screaming for release, demanding he make an impression, any sort of impression on her body that would not have faded by the morning light.

“Okay. Say I do get it,” she flushed and looked away from Spike’s quizzical expression, “I still don’t get what that has to do with the song. I mean that is what we are supposed to be talking about, not your pornos from the past.”

“That’s to do with the other part of the claim.” Spike settled back again. “By the time the sun set the next evening Angelus had had my arse more times than I can remember. Mostly, glad to say, a lot less painful than the first and he’d fed me his blood several times to help me heal quickly. A thing I was very grateful for. That’s what creates the bond see, between Sire and Childe, sharing blood. The bond is like a two way street; responsibility and obedience, his responsibility and my bloody obedience. Obsessive bastard. A bond that is sodding difficult to break and at that point, just after the claiming I would have done anything for him, anything.”

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

London May 23rd 1880

The two vampires lay twined together, naked limbs lazily caressing and stroking, feeling the sun move below the horizon, the sign that their world was waking up.

“So, Will. What are we doing tonight?” The younger vampire raised his head sleepily from the pillow and looked askance at his Sire. He searched his slightly befuddled mind for a suitable reply. It seemed highly unlikely that Angelus was giving him a true choice as to the evening’s activities, so it must be a trick question.

And, low and behold, there was the answer. “Visit my mother, pick up my clothes, and sing you a song, I think Sire.” He grinned when his answer was received with approval.

Two hours later, the pair found themselves standing outside Will’s old house. Ignoring the rumbling of hunger in his belly, and with his Sire’s reminder that they would both need an invitation to enter still in his ears, Will knocked on the door. Sarah, the maid, cracked the door open, exposing only a small amount of her considerable girth, gave a small scream and nearly collapsed.

“Sarah. It’s Master William. We need to come in, quickly. There were people following us and…” The woman found her voice and opened the door further, “I’m sorry Master William, you scared me half to death. Come in, both of you.” The words were scarcely out of her mouth when Angelus pushed past her into the house. Will followed more slowly, allowing himself time to drink in the comforting sights and smells of his old home.

“Your mother is in the parlour, Master William. She’s been so sad Sir. She thought you were dead, she said she’d seen your body and... Oh.” The grey haired woman put her hand to her mouth as she realised she was babbling hysterically.

“It’s all right, Sarah. I’m back now. You go and make us a nice cup of tea. I need to speak with my mother.” Will left her standing by the door and went into the parlour, noticing the black drapes, which adorned photographs and mirrors around the room. His mother was standing in the by the fireplace looking expectantly at the door still in mourning dress.

She gasped when she saw her son and sank into a chair. “William. How? Where?” Will rushed to her side and knelt at her knee, taking her hand in his own, patting it reassuringly. “Hush. None of that matters now. All that’s important is that I’m here, I’m home.”

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us, boy?” As his Sire’s amused tones rumbled around the room, William quickly stood up, “Mother, I’d like you to meet, Master Angelus, he’s been, err, helping me out over the last couple weeks.” The master vampire bowed elegantly over the lady’s hand and offered her one of his most charming smiles, his eyes twinkling with dark mischief. “It’s not hard to see where yer son gets his pretty looks Madam. I have to say it’s a pleasure to meet the mother of such an obliging young man.” Both mother and son met his comment with a slight flush of embarrassment and averted eyes.

Releasing the small hand, Angelus took a turn around the room looking with apparent interest at curios and pictures scattered about on lacy cloth covered tables. “I have to say what a beautiful home you have Ma’am, and here’s the piano, a most exquisite instrument.” He winked at Will. “You play well so I have been told. Would it be presumptuous of me to request a tune, one that young William here has sung to me.” He raised a questioning brow at the flustered woman who was wondering quite what to make of this strange guest her son had brought home.

“Please mother?” Will offered her his hand and escorted her to the piano, lifting the polished wooden lid which protected the ivory keys. “You know which tune,” he whispered in her ear. The notes rang out filling the small room and, as his mother played and sang, Will allowed himself to relax and enjoy the familiarity and simple comfort the music offered.

As far as Will was concerned Angelus had settled in one of the chintz covered chairs to listen, so he was surprised when his Sire wrapped his strong arms round his waist and rumbled into his ear. “You must play for me, boy. Much as yer mother’s voice is a dream, t’was you I came to hear.”

The young vampire took his mother’s place at the piano, allowing Angelus to escort her back to her seat. Placing his hands on the keys he started to play, losing himself in the tune and words. He didn’t hear the muffled gasp from behind him, and it wasn’t until the coppery smell of fresh blood filled the room that his hands faltered. Spinning round in horror he saw Angelus holding his mother around the waist and neck, the blood was evident on her neck, but lost in the mourning black of her dress.

“Angelus. No!”

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

Spike stopped mid sentence. The horror of what happened, so long hidden behind his demon’s needs, renewed with the telling.

“He killed your mother?” Buffy’s voice was loud in the silent basement. “That’s just horrible.”

“It’s worse than that pet. Much worse than that.”

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

London. January 16th 1881

‘You know,’ Spike thought to himself as he knocked back the last of his gin from a smeared and filthy glass, ‘this doesn’t taste bad once you’ve drunk enough of it.’

Calling the barkeep for a refill he looked around the room, ignoring the stench of unwashed, drunken human bodies. It was a particularly squalid gin palace even by the standards of the East End and the liquor they served was raw enough to blind a human. All it was doing to Spike was getting him very, very drunk. This time he had really blown it. When Angelus found him, he was going to be so much dust blowing in the wind, or more accurately being sucked down into London’s filthy drains. It wasn’t just the running this time; it was the trail of carnage he had left behind him, again. Apparently there was already another Watcher on the family’s tail, despite their care since returning from Yorkshire, and Spike was pretty sure his actions were giving the man plenty to report.

Things had just spun out of control after his mother…. Spike threw back another drink and banged on the bar for more. There was never enough. Gin, whisky, brandy, he’d tried them all, but there was never enough to let him forget. If Angelus had just killed her then maybe he could have forgiven him, but no. To take her like that and then use the bond to force him to…The look in her eyes when he’d entered her…. Spike half fell off his stool, vomiting up a large portion of the gin he had just consumed. Since then he hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as his Sire, refused to speak to him unless to pick a fight, and had made Dru the absolute centre of his new family. When he wasn’t out drinking himself into a stupor or creating havoc.

Clinging to the edge of the bar with shaking hands and trying to control his lurching stomach, Spike considered his options. Could he run far enough that Angelus wouldn’t find him? He knew his Sire would have minions on his trail by now and the chances of slipping past them in this condition were small. Maybe he should just go back and face the music, so to speak. A deep laugh/sob and he added to the foulness at his feet. Get it over with and face his final death like the vampire he was supposed to be.

To his relief, it was nearly dawn by the time Spike made it back to the house, at least the whole family should all be home. Although he now ran the risk of running into Angelus, he desperately wanted to say goodbye to Dru and apologise for leaving her. Slipping in through the front door, Spike made it to the bottom of the stairs before a cold voice stopped him.

“Idiot. Half of London is in uproar thanks to your stupidity. Angelus is still out looking for you and here you come sneaking back into the house like a thief. Where have you been?” His shoulders slumped. Worse than Angelus, Darla’s was the voice calling him back.

“Ma’am.” Without turning to face her Spike simply stood facing the stairs the last bit of fight drained out of him.

“I don’t know what to make of you. In the beginning you were merely incompetent but in the last few months your behaviour has become idiotic, foolhardy even.” Her voice softened and Spike felt her small hand rest on his shoulder. “You know Childe, Angelus can be less than sensitive at times and Dru, well, we all love her dearly, but she lives in her own world. If you need someone who’s not quite so quick to anger you may come to me.”

Not really able to believe his ears Spike took her offered hand and followed her into the sitting room. There he found someone who was willing to listen as he spilled out the whole tale. Not surprisingly Angelus had already imparted much of it to his Sire, however, Darla seemed curious about how Spike had reacted.

“Do you understand why he did it? Did you ever give him the chance to explain?” Spike shook his head. Angelus had attempted to speak to him on several occasions, but each time he had provoked his Sire’s anger with his insolence. Somehow bruises seemed to heal more easily than his heart.

Darla patted the seat next to her, inviting him to sit. “The nature of any vampire is normally very close to their original human character. Our demons simply give us the freedom and strength to do the things we would not dare to as humans. As my Sire taught me, ‘What we once were informs all that we have become and the same love will infect our hearts.’ As a human you were a good man, am I right? A man who loved with all his heart and soul.”

Suddenly ashamed of his human weaknesses, Spike nodded. “Don’t be ashamed William, that type of passion can be a good thing in a vampire. You loved your mother very much, didn’t you? And could you have been truly content here with us knowing that she was still out there living her life without you. Look how quickly you leapt at the chance to visit her. It is better this way, William.”

“I could understand him killing her, Ma’am. That makes sense, even more after what you said, but the other. That I can’t understand. I can’t forgive.” Darla’s hand cupped his cheek, searching his eyes for some indication of where the problem lay.

“You are young. Maybe you truly do not comprehend what happened. William, do you trust me?” A hesitant nod was the only answer. “I need to speak to you without human words and misunderstandings coming between us. There is a way for us to do this but I will need to take you into myself. Do you understand?” This time a shaken head and confusion mixed with fear in blue eyes. “I will take your blood, as much as I can without bringing your final death and then return it to you, with it will come knowledge and, I hope enough understanding to allow you to rebuild the bond with your Sire.” She looked around her with dissatisfaction. “This room is inappropriate. Come, Childe”

Darla led the way to her bedroom and they lay together on her bed, Darla holding Spike tightly in her arms. “Trust me, Childe.” She whispered, as her fangs pierced his throat with an almost gentle movement, then the blood was drawn from his body in powerful draughts. A faint prickling started in his fingers and toes, then numbness and profound lassitude spread through his body starting in his extremities. His body was dying again, but this time without hope of rebirth. Then he was free - floating in an inky darkness filled with sibilant sounds, scaled bodies caressing just on the edges of his mind. No conscious understanding, although the potential for meaning tantalised, almost words poured around him, swirling through nothingness, time was meaningless and yet of the utmost importance.

The sunset woke him and he stretched luxuriously feeling better rested than he had for a very long time. It took a few moments for his alien surroundings to register, then he realised he was in Darla’s room, in Darla’s bed. Memories flooded back, and although there was still horror, Spike also found acceptance and quiet understanding. His demon no longer battled with his humanity, instead there was balance with the demon holding sway. The demon who, through William’s memories, had also loved his mother, his Sire using the bond to allow the demon to love the only way it knew how, to take and possess, and if necessary, to rend and tear the still living flesh.

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

“Okay. Now that was just gross. I don’t how you can sit there and tell me that you...you,” Buffy stopped, temporarily lost for words. “Did that,” she finally spat out, “to your own mother.”

“Not me, Buffy. The demon, and Angelus using the bond. They did it together.” Spike was, if possible, looking paler than usual and clutching the blanket tightly round his shoulders. He looked almost vulnerable she reflected but this revelation had shaken her badly, possibly more than the discovery of his recent murders and she wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

“So, you’re trying to tell me you’re no longer the demon, that you’re not a vampire any more? ‘Cos I’ve got a basement full of dust and a police record as long as my arm that says differently.”

With a frown of concentration on his face, Spike fished around for a way to try and explain what he wasn’t sure of himself. “It’s more complicated than that. And it’s been happening for a while. When this sodding chip first went in I hated it, fought against it; I would have done anything to get rid of it. But after a bit, I kind of got used to it. I stopped fighting it so hard. Then you, and working with the Slayerettes, and later…us. I dunno, it was like, the balance changed again. Like there was more William, less demon. The more I was around you the louder William was talking. And then with this... this soul,” his voice changed, almost bitter, “it has all changed again. ‘Cause now there’s even more pulling apart, and I’m not sure where I begin and end. And he talks, and it talks and then there’s them and they talk too, and…God, They are so fucking loud!!” The lighter smashed against the far wall, as Spike leapt up in full game face and threw it with his full strength. As if the action scared him, he quickly returned to his human features and shot a slightly embarrassed grin in Buffy’s direction.

“And sometimes I’m glad I’ve still got it. The chip I mean, even if it did fucking hurt when I hit Harris.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. His description of the changes he had perceived in himself left her somewhat mollified. Ironically, his light-hearted comment about Xander reassured her more.

“So, much as I hate to intrude on the little committee meeting you’ve got going in there, is that it for the song? I think I get now why the Big Bad is using it. I guess it must go straight to your demon or something.”

Spike picked up the battered lighter, shrugged and sat back down. “I dunno love. All I know is the music starts and I stop. Or start, depending how you look at it. But there is more, if your tender ears are up to it.”

The challenge hung in the air between them. It was almost like the old dance, Buffy reflected, not with the violence or the sex, but familiar ground even so. The verbal thrust and parry, rather than the physical.

“I can deal. Hit me.” Meet the adversary on the middle ground, use words to disarm him, then go in for the kill. “Umm...Forgot, tried that, got your ass kicked.” And score, she cheered silently, as the words hit true leaving Spike scrabbling around for what was left of his ego. That was the thing about men whatever their species, she thought comparing the vampire’s reaction to Xander’s or even Giles, they couldn’t quite get over being less powerful than such a ‘little slip of a girl’. She sat back on the bed with a self-satisfied grin and tucked her legs under her.

Conceding defeat and slumping back in his chair, Spike ground out a reluctant answer. “Humph. Right then. You ask, you get. Although, what the hell you’re going to make of these pretty tales is beyond me.”

“We’re still back in the day all right? So, bit of back story then,” he continued and, as Buffy sat transfixed, the vampire gave her a potted ‘those were the days’ of life with his strange family. How he and Angelus had rebuilt their bond, “Not that it was all-pretty like. Spent as much time fighting each other as we did fucking.” How he had been taught to ‘do’ for Dru and then, together, they had learned to cope without their Sire and Darla when the older pair travelled away. He gave her the low down on his introduction to fighting techniques and skills with assorted weaponry he would need to survive. Told of his lessons in language and lore, his shoulders flexing as he remembered Angelus’ sometimes-violent teaching methods, “Bastard with a strap if you didn’t get it first time. And living with him? If you thought he played head games with you, try being part of the sodding family.”

There were many things left unsaid. There was no real mention of hunting or killing anything other than demons, and Buffy didn’t see fit to demand information. Then the fateful trip to Romania. Spike’s demeanour suddenly changed from almost happy in his reminiscences to shuttered and, Buffy suspected, scared.

“He left us. Just like that. One day there, the next gone. Dru was a fucking mess. Took both Darla and me to control her when she realised her Daddy had gone, and that stone bitch never said a word, not one word. Not ‘Oh, I threw him out’ or ‘Stupid pratt’s gone and got all souled’. Just gone.”

“Then she gets wind of doings in China, and decides that a bit of R and R in the Orient is what we all need. And the bastard turns up again; Darla hovers around him like a bloody mother hen, won’t let me or Dru near him, and then after a couple of months he vanishes. Darla throws an absolute hissy and ships us all back to London.” Spike shrugged and scrutinised his fingernails. “You reckon Little Bit would lend me some polish? I feel sort of odd without it.”

Ignoring the painfully sorrowful expression that had prompted his sudden nail obsession, Buffy pointed out that it probably wouldn’t suit his new clean-cut image. “So you’re back in London, Angel’s gone for good and you’re shacked up with ho and mamma-ho.”

He flashed her an evil glare, “No call for that love. Put your kitty claws away and play nice. And Angel wasn’t gone for good.”

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

London Spring 1907

Six years they’d been in London. They had gotthemselves a nice place and, between the three of them and a select band of minions, they’d carved out a decent range. Based around Brompton, it was a productive area, with a good mixture of high class housing for parties and the occasional servant, and slums for regular feeding. But now Darla had taken off again and this time she’d taken Dru with her. They didn’t want to leave their hard won territory with no one to look after it, so the ladies had volunteered him as guard dog. Said they fancied a bit of time away, sharing girlie giggles and whispering to each other behind his back. Packed all their fancy stuff too. Spike bet he knew how they’d be spending their nights and momentarily pitied the poor sods they tangled in their webs of lust.

‘Well’, he pondered as he slipped on his evening jacket and ran his fingers across his top lip smoothing the small moustache he now sported, ‘I can do better than that.’ One thing the girls didn’t know about their territory was the number of high-class brothels the area supported. He’d found out pretty damn quickly, but with both Dru and Darla at home making demands on him, he hadn’t bothered to sample the wares. Tonight, he planned to do just that. It had taken him a while to find the right house, even pulling on the contacts Angelus had passed on. The trail had lead from the Aphrodites in Paris, through the successor to Mrs. Berkeley here in London and on to the rather select establishment he intended to visit. One that catered for rather specific tastes.

Two hours later, his cab drew up outside an innocuous looking house and he hopped down, ground his cigarette out under his heel and tipped the cabby a farthing. Checking his cuffs for any sign of the food he’d picked up before the cab, Spike - or Mister William Bartlett, for the evening - walked briskly up the steps to the front door and rang the bell. His contacts and chosen cover had already facilitated arrangements, so he was soon sat in a very elegantly furnished sitting room sipping an excellent French brandy. Spike smirked to himself, Angelus would be astounded to see his ruffian youngest Childe sliding so comfortably into the role of Edwardian gentleman. Then he was no longer the eighteen year old fledge he’d been when his Sire had left, but twenty-eight and a Master with a Slayer under his belt, and he now knew the importance of image when moving in certain circles. Although still disposed to use his middle class accent for everyday interactions, Spike could now slip seamlessly between the cultured tones of an Old Etonian and the coarse vulgarities of a street hawker.

The room door opened lifting its heavy velvet curtain clear of the carpet and the lady of the house presented herself with a shallow bob.

“Mr Bartlett, how nice of you to visit our establishment. May I enquire, Sir, is the brandy to your taste.” Spike grimaced, smelling a rat. Mrs. Franklin would only have taken the time to ask after the liquor if there was a hitch with the arrangements he had made.

“Adequate, Mrs. Franklin, adequate,” he answered waiting for her excuses to start, tapping impatiently on the arm of the leather chair. He was going to be mightily annoyed if the silly woman had double booked him, and was giving another client preferential treatment. She obviously read his mood correctly, fluttering her eyes closed as she affected another small curtsey, an attitude more fetching in a younger woman, Spike reflected, than in one well into her fifth decade.

“My deepest apologies, Sir, for keeping you waiting but we have had a little, err, bother with a previous visitor and the young lady will be delayed for a short while.” As if in answer to her words the sounds of a scuffle sounded outside the door and a loud voice could be heard cursing.

Looking nervously towards the door, Mrs. Franklin bobbed again saying, “Excuse me Sir,” and practically bolted out of the door. Spike followed at a more leisurely pace, curious to see who had managed to cause such a rumpus. These places were usually discreet in the extreme, requiring impeccable references before admittance was granted. Peering through the door he was treated to the sight of a large dark haired man being ejected from the premises.

“Angelus?” He whispered. Then more loudly as he pushed hurriedly out into the narrow hallway, “Angelus? Is that you?” The figure turned, and, although partially concealed from the light in the street, Spike recognised his Sire’s face. It was the scent that confirmed it however, now pervading the entrance hall and smelling of arousal and barely contained anger. A hand on his arm delayed him a moment, as one of the heavies employed to police the house tried to stop him from, “Getting involved, Guv’nor” and by the time he looked back, Angelus had disappeared.

“Damn, ” he cursed quietly looking up and down the street. There was no sign of the older vampire and the chances of being able to track him by scent through streets that, although empty of people at this hour, were crowded in the smells of humanity were small. He turned back to the house deciding that his best course of action was to continue with his night’s entertainment, and pump both Mrs. Franklin and his companion for information.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.” Buffy accused from her perch curled up on the bed, an unhappy scowl on her face. “First the down and dirty on vampire sexcapades and now whorehouses. What’s next ‘A guide to Angel and his fondness for farm animals.’” Spike studied his nails minutely, suppressing a grin, and the urge to comment that soldier-boy was a far more likely candidate for that proclivity.

“Just the facts, love. You wanted to hear. I’m telling. If you don’t like? Just say and I’ll shut up.” Maybe he was being a little cruel, but it was fun to burst some of Buffy’s illusions about his illustrious Sire, particularly as she had compared them so unfavourably in the past.

Buffy pouted again, looking much younger than her twenty-one years, and motioned for him to carry on, adding, “I can’t think why he had to visit a brothel, though. It’s not as if he had any problems getting girls to hit on him round here.”

This time Spike didn’t attempt to hide the smirk and looked her straight in the eye. “It wasn’t just any old brothel, pet. It catered to a very specific kind of client; ones who enjoyed giving and receiving punishment.”

“Wha...what?” Buffy choked out, then narrowed her eyes at the vampire, who was now trying to look innocent, as if he couldn’t understand why his comment would have shocked her. “You…you complete poop-head!” She shrieked grabbing the pillow off the bed and launching it at him. He caught it, laughing at her unreservedly. The look of glee on Spike’s face was refreshing enough that her anger didn’t last. “You know, it’s good to see you laughing again,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve cracked a proper smile since you got back.”

His grin vanished. “Not been much to laugh about, love,” he stated blandly, returning to his nails, good mood gone as quickly as it had arrived.

She shifted forward and put a hand on his arm, being as gentle as possible, “Come on, even Mister Broody-pants cracks a smile these days, or so I’m told. Keep on with the story, I can’t wait to hear what you guys got up to next.” Buffy smiled encouragingly, despite the flutters in her belly. It was nice too, to hear about Angel even if the circumstances were a little, hmm, ‘unorthodox.’

“Okay,” he flashed her an empty smile, “Back to school then.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taking a long drag on the cigarette cupped in his gloved hand, Spike rolled his shoulders under his heavy coat, relishing the pleasant soreness that would be gone by the morning. The girl had been as good as promised, considering she was only half-demon and had just spent a few hours with Angelus. He’d missed someone to indulge this particular kink. His princess could never stay focused for long enough, and anyway she preferred to be on the receiving end, and Darla tended to get a little carried away. He’d decided against a repeat performance after their last little session left him laid up for two days. Safety words may be for wimps, he thought, but they had some merit when one was playing with Darla.

On the upside, the girl had succumbed easily to Dru’s hypnotic parlour trick, obviously eager to talk about her previous client and had given him enough information to start the search for his Sire. Armed with the name Angelus was currently using and a list of clubs he was known to frequent, Spike had set out this evening hunting a very specific prey.

After lengthy consideration he’d decided that finding Angelus was important. Another Master vampire in his territory without permission could not be tolerated, even if it was his own Sire. Despite their history there was always the chance that Angelus was thinking of making a move on it. Which was why he was stood outside, sheltering from the torrential spring rain, near yet another exclusive gentleman’s club, checking it off his list. So far he had drawn a blank; yes, Angelus was known, but no he wasn’t there and hadn’t been around for a couple of days.

About to hail a cab Spike hesitated as a familiar scent invaded his senses. It was dulled by the rain but too well known to be mistaken. Turning quickly he spotted the dark figure of his Sire entering the building he’d just left. “Damn.” Too late to challenge him on the street, now he would have to approach him in the club where his behaviour would have to be modified in the presence of so many humans.

After leaving his hat, coat and gloves with the butler, Spike searched the club. Luckily it wasn’t a large place, although all the rooms had a similarity that was almost eerie. There was dark wood panel everywhere; the large windows were all covered with plush velvet curtains, and heavy leather chairs were clustered around warming fires burning in huge marble fireplaces. He easily found the older vampire, picking up his scent when he entered the fourth room. He was ensconced in a comfortable chair, a whisky in his hand, deep in animated conversation with a young blond human. Taking his hands out of his pockets, ensuring they were both in full view and obviously empty, Spike walked cautiously towards his Sire, waiting until he was about three feet away before speaking.

“Angelus,” he stated, keeping his open handed stance and his voice just on the human side of a growl.

Without lifting his head or acknowledging the younger in any other way, Angelus answered, equally blandly. “William. Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us?

Shooting a look of pure fury at the blond man who was watching the interaction with fascination, Spike muttered under his breath, grabbed another chair and sat down with a huff. He couldn’t believe his Sire had been so dismissive of his presence, so secure in his superiority. He was a fool if he underestimated his own Childe that way. Spike huffed again after the first had provoked no reaction. A slightly irritated “What?” came in response.

“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” He tried for demand, but it came out as more of a petulant whine with overtones of street trash. Spike kicked himself. Two minutes back in his Sire’s company and he was behaving like a fledge again. So much for Angelus being impressed by his ability to blend in.

“Percy, this is William. A particularly irritating young relation of mine.” Angelus waved dismissively, not bothering to return the introduction. Spike swallowed the insult and leaned over extending a hand to the human.

“William Bartlett, Sir. At your service.” His hand was taken in a warm firm clasp. “Any friend of Angelus’,” he continued trying to gather up the remnants of his dignity.

“And yet that accent is far from being Irish.” A small smile played around the young man’s mouth as he studied Spike’s face. From this distance the man looked very young, possibly twenty-three or twenty-four, and Spike suppressed a slight pang of jealousy that his Sire may be looking at this pretty boy as a potential childe.

“The bastard English side of the family, hence the accent and bad manners,” Angelus interjected, demolishing Spike’s cover and ego with one sentence.

With a nod in his companion’s direction, the human continued his perusal, adding almost as an after thought, “Grainger, Percy Grainger. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Spike extracted his hand and repressed the urge to wipe it on his trousers. Somehow he was being made to feel like the junior member of this trio, which was grossly unfair as well as being totally inaccurate.

“So, Angelus. What brings you to London?” He asked with feigned indifference. This was his Sire’s cue to explain what the hell he was doing in another Master’s territory.

Angelus sat back and gave Spike a studied glare. “Having a quiet drink with Percy until you turned up,” he answered shortly and with obvious irritation. Spike bit back a sharp retort. If that was the way he was going to play it, Spike could play too, remind his sire just where he stood in the family.

“Could have given a bloke a bit of warning before waltzing into town. Give us a chance to get the family ready, roll out the red carpet, that sort of thing.” If things followed their normal course the two of them were about three exchanges short of violence, Spike reflected as he returned Angelus’ glare with a cocky one of his own.

He was unprepared for the deep, almost regretful sigh that came from Angelus, and even more surprised when he was courteously asked, “Your er.. grandmother and sister? I trust they are keeping well?”

“Well, yes.” Spike hesitated, thrown by this tolerant display. “They are out of town, visiting friends in the country.” He bit off the respectful ‘Sire’ that almost fell from his lips. So easy to fall into old habits where Angelus was concerned. The older vampire always could play him like a fine instrument, and it seemed the years apart had done little to change that.

“Good. And yourself? You are looking well and…prosperous.” The gaze had now become appraising; more typical of the Angelus Spike was familiar with. Maybe he could get his Sire to forget this stupid little human upstart. He felt a little flirtation was probably in order.

Casting a suspiciously shy sideways look at him through his lashes, he pouted slightly and said in a husky whisper, “Thank you. You’re looking well yourself, Sir.” The sir should be a sure thing Spike reckoned. As close as he could get to Sire in human company, but close enough for Angelus to read the subtext.

Sure enough the older vampire shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pulled his jacket across his lap and cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said hurriedly, “good, glad to see it.”

Percy had sat in silence throughout the conversation, his head turning from one to the other as if he were watching a lawn tennis match. At the final exchange a broad smile graced his features, and he leaned towards Angelus in a conspiratorial manner. “Not quite a relative then?” he asked quietly, shooting Spike a curious look, which was returned with as much hauteur its recipient could muster.

Again Angelus cleared his throat obviously discomforted by the unvoiced accusation. “A distant one. We’ve known each other for many years and have, on occasion, been a little more, and less, than friends.” Spike cheered inwardly. Now he felt in control of the situation. It was good to know he was still proficient at pushing his Sire’s buttons too.

The conversation turned to more mundane matters and Spike found himself rather taken with the young human who, it turned out, was a composer and pianist. He had a pleasant voice with an accent that he couldn’t place, but was certainly not English. Possibly from one of the colonies Spike surmised. The younger vampire sat quietly enjoying the discussion that swept over and around about three centuries worth of music. Angelus has specific tastes, based primarily in the music of the eighteenth century, but had the knowledge to express his reservations at later works. Percy was a modernist, with a penchant for Scandinavian composers, and had been being personally acquainted with Edward Grieg. The two battled like old friends, obviously relishing point and counterpoint.

An hour later, Spike was getting restless and was starting to feel excluded. He knew enough to realise that, at this table it was better to keep his mouth shut and be thought a fool, than open it and prove so, however it was starting to grate on his nerves. He was used to being the centre of attention and railed at being pushed out.

Automatically falling back on old patterns of attention seeking behaviour, he started to fidget, tapping on the chair arm, fiddling with his glass and sighing loudly. The hand that snaked out and clipped him round the ear came as a complete surprise, and he squeaked in a most unmanly way. “Sit still.” The order from Angelus was pitched in exactly the same tones he used in their sitting room twenty years ago, Sire to fledge, and Spike found himself pouting petulantly in response as he rubbed his ear. Angelus shot a glance in his direction at the action and Spike grinned in return. The look they exchanged was overflowing with memories.

Percy coughed, obviously embarrassed to interrupt and stood up. “I really must be leaving. Mother will be expecting me.” Spike smirked at the young human’s unconscious repetition of his own words all those years ago and got to his feet, extending a hand. His Sire also rose, but only to request that Spike organise a cab for the human while they said their farewells and collected their coats. As he hurried off on his menial task, Spike spared a glance back at the table and saw the two deep in conversation again.

Waiting with the cab outside the club, grateful that the rain had now ceased, Spike witnessed a warm farewell between his Sire and the human that was peppered with promises to meet again the following evening. He was somewhat surprised to hear his own attendance requested by the young man and Angelus agreeing to it.

The cab drew away and with it went the comfortable camaraderie the two vampires had managed to establish in the club. Spike stared at the ground uneasily and kicked the toes of his expensive calfskin shoes into the pavement waiting for his Sire to say how things were going to progress.

“You’ll ruin them.”

“What?”

“The shoes. You’ll damage the toes if you do that.”

“Whatever.” Spike shrugged and started to wander off in search of a cab for himself. It was an hour till sunrise and he wanted to get home. He tensed slightly when he felt Angelus walk up beside him, matching him step for step.

“So?” The tentative question insinuated itself into Spike’s head.

“So what?” He threw back non-committedly.

“Where to? Your place or mine?” This question fell into stony silence as the pair turned off the main road and into a dark alley, avoided by humans but perfectly safe for their kind. Spike ignored it, seething with anger at the assumption that they could pick up where they left off nine years previously.

When he judged they were far enough from the street to avoid any human involvement, he swung round and punched his Sire hard in the face. Angelus staggered back, taken by surprise but recovering quickly. Spike followed up with several more blows to face, chest and belly that were easily blocked though not returned. Changing tack he dropped suddenly, using his leg to sweep the older vampire off his feet, and drop him unceremoniously on his arse in the dirty alley. Treating his Sire to a look of absolute disdain, Spike turned up the collar on his Chesterfield, adjusted his hat and stalked off. He’d gone twenty steps when a weight hit him full in the back and he went down face first in a puddle, Angelus on top of him.

Not bothering to fight back, instead he growled, “Fucking get off, Angelus.”

“Why don’t you make me,” came the rejoinder in his ear.

“I’m not going to fight you, Angelus, so just get off me.” The weight disappeared and when he looked up Spike saw a hand being offered as support. Ignoring it, he clambered to his feet, looking down at his ruined suit and grunting in annoyance.

“If you don’t want to fight, what the hell was all that about?” Angelus looked genuinely confused at his Childe’s violent outburst.

“That,” Spike waved a hand distractedly as he tried to brush the worst of the mud off his trousers, “was for walking into my territory without so much as a by your leave. For treating me with contempt in the club and for thinking you can still order me around like some sodding fledge. That, Angelus, was for being an utter wanker.”

Complete silence met his tirade. Spike gave his trousers up as a bad job and instead turned his attention to the vampire standing bemused in the middle of the alley.

“It’s been nine years, Angelus. Nine years. You may have missed it, but I’m in charge now. Remember China? A Slayer? Jesus Christ, you are a complete git, aren’t you?” He turned away disgusted and continued on down the alley.

“Spike?” He ignored the cry and kept walking. Angelus followed him and quickly caught up. “William?” he asked quietly. “You said Darla and Dru were out of town. I just thought we could spend some time together, catch up, ….you know.”

Spike sighed loudly. It wasn’t an apology, but it was probably as close as he was going to get. “Come on then. Might as well go to my place. Have you eaten? I’m okay but we could pick something up on the way back. The larder’s empty what with the ladies being away.” A hasty reply ensured that their next stop would be the house in Brompton where Spike’s lair was located.

Three hours and several bottles of whiskey later, back at the house, violence erupted between them again. It was about Darla, but for a change it was Spike attempting, through a haze of alcohol, to defend her while Angelus ranted on drunkenly.

“She’s changed. Relaxed a lot since you left. Like I said, you should stay till they get back. Would be fun, everyone back together.” Spike was simultaneously furious at Angelus for demanding his presence was kept a secret from the rest of the family, and fascinated as to why that should be so. No matter how he pushed and prodded he couldn’t get his Sire to say why he had left them again in China.

Angelus was on his feet in the middle of the room pontificating as only a drunk can. “No. No. She doesn’t want to see me. Doesn’t care anymore. And you, boy, you will do as you’re told.” That was the final straw. Spike was quite prepared to put up with the temper, even the crude comments about Darla and Dru but undermining him in his own house was totally beyond the pale.

He tried a final warning but to no avail, his Sire was on a roll and his voice was getting more strident as he berated Spike for every seeming slight and trumped up charge he could string together. There was no way in hell that the minions wouldn’t have heard him and Spike could not let such disrespect go unchallenged. He lurched to his feet, waited for a break in the tirade and swung.

‘Damn, missed.’ Either he was drunker than he thought or the bastard was quicker than he was. Spike swung again, this time connecting, but loosing his own balance in the process. They went down in a tangle of limbs and continued to hit out at each other, wrestling across the carpet, first one then the other gaining the upper hand. Eventually, they gave up and lay on the floor. It was good, Spike decided. The room didn’t move as much when he was on the floor.

“Missed this.”

“Huh?” The room may not be moving but his brain was still slow on the uptake.

“You, me. Fighting. Arguing. I’ve missed it.” A reflective silence followed as both vampires remembered the brawls they’d had in the past.

“Yeah. Me too. Can’t do it with the girls. Always get the wrong idea when you wrestle them to the ground. Not that I’m complaining like. No siree, not a word of complaint ‘bout that.” Anything else Spike had to say was lost as his Sire’s mouth covered his in a drunken but demanding kiss.

And nine years dropped away as if they were nothing. Spike fumbled at the buttons of his Sire’s trousers all the while repeating, like a mantra in his head; this is not about submitting, this is not about Sire and Childe, this is two Master vampires who just happen to find each other extremely attractive. A small groan escaped him when the buttons finally came undone. Then another frustrated one when he hit another layer of cloth. He pulled out of the kiss and looked down, before staring back up at Angelus quizzically.

“You do remember you’re a vampire, yes?” Angelus nodded. “So what’s with the drawers? Been chilly recently?”

Angelus shook his head despairingly. “You have absolutely no sense of propriety, do you. I bet you’ve nothing on under that fine suit and shirt.”

“Not a stitch, mate.” Spike quipped, illustrating his point by putting his Sire’s hand firmly against his crutch. “I’d have lost them all by now, if I wore them. You know Dru. Never was one for patience.” He stood, leaving Angelus on the floor looking rather forlorn and disappointed.

“If we’re gonna have to get that much clothing off you, we’re going upstairs,” he indicated with his head. “You go on up. First door on the left. I’ll be there in a bit. Just need to check up on things, lock up. You know.” As Angelus left the room, Spike sat back in his chair with quiet satisfaction. This was different, getting to order his Sire around, being the head of the family. Now if he could just get the mood to carry on over into bed they might have some real adventures. Self control that was where the crux of the problem lay; specifically, his own lack of self-control. Dropping his head into his hands, he lamented his inability to restrain himself when he was around his Sire. ‘Fuck, he smells so good’, was the only coherent thought currently in his head and it really wasn’t helping.

Liberally dousing his head with cold water didn’t help either, but it did sober him up enough so that by the time he made it to the bedroom he could probably have found his own backside without the aid of an atlas. Angelus was already in the bed, hidden under white sheets and a heavy, down-filled counterpane and appeared to be asleep. Which was only to be expected, Spike concluded, as it had been over an hour since he’d been sent upstairs and the room was almost cosy from the heat of the fire that had been burning in the hearth all evening

After pulling the screen across the fireplace to safeguard against inopportune coals, he shed his clothes quickly, leaving them in an untidy heap on the floor and hopped into the bed as well. Pounding the pillow in his nightly ritual to get comfortable he was interrupted by a pointed cough. Turning his head Spike found himself looking into his Sire’s deep brown eyes.

“I was sort of hoping you were asleep,” Spike said quietly. At the questioning look he sighed heavily and buried his head in the pillow. As he was trying to gather his thoughts, he felt cool fingers start running gently up and down his spine.

Shivering slightly under the caress, he bit his lip and turned his head again so that he was looking the older vampire in the eye. “It can’t be the way it was, Angelus. I’m not a fledge anymore. I won’t - can’t - allow that.” Angelus hummed his contended agreement into Spike’s ear not slowing his ministrations for one second.

“Are you listening, mate?” Spike persevered, determined to get his point across before his body took over from his mind in the thinking department.

“I heard you. I agree. You talk too much.” With that Spike’s mouth was devoured once again in a hard demanding kiss.

Mumbling, “Oh, sod it,” into his sire’s mouth, Spike returned the kiss with equal fervour, relishing the feel of his sire’s powerful body as it arched over him, pressing him onto his back and into the soft mattress. His lips were suckled harshly and when he felt an insistent press between them, he reflexively opened his mouth. Angelus’ tongue plunged in, twining with his before continuing its mission to become reacquainted with every millimetre of his palate. Spike groaned and arched off the bed as his Sire’s hands left their death grip on his face and moved down his body. They moved with expert finesse, stroking and teasing, never spending more than a few seconds on any one spot, seemingly more bent on giving pleasure then simply taking it, and Spike was willing to indulge him. Wrapping his arms around his lover’s back, he returned the favour, gorging himself on the cool silky feel of his Sire’s skin as avidly as he devoured his mouth, tension building between them as careful caresses were exchanged for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, Spike could contain himself no longer. Writhing slightly under Angelus’ more than gentle ministrations, he moaned in frustrated desire. So different in nature and pace from their previous encounters, he felt like he was being treated like spun glass, with excessive delicacy and concern. Although initially aroused by the obvious care contained in his Sire’s touch, he needed more, needed a return to something more familiar. He wanted to climb inside the glorious body above him, allow it to consume him, feel it surround him with its strength and carefully constrained power.

He pushed up into those skilful hands as they ran light touches down his chest and over his ribs, and was rewarded when they returned, this time nails following an identical pattern harshly enough to leave red tracks and to make him gasp into the kiss. Pulling back, eyes heavy with lust, Angelus smiled, “Still like a little pain with your pleasure then eh, William.” In a sudden move, he grasped Spike’s arms and held them, one large hand around both wrists, pinned to the pillow above his head, then bent to assault the now vulnerable chest with his tongue and teeth.

Spike arched again and hissed, as flat human teeth became fangs, grazing across one nipple almost but not quite breaking the skin, the other twisted almost brutally by strong fingers. Eventually his wrists were released but, when he moved to twine his hands in his Sire’s hair, Angelus growled.

“Leave them.”

Spike obeyed, a frisson of fear and expectation flowing through him. Angelus might be willing to give him pleasure, but he obviously wasn’t ready to give up control, not that he expected anything different from his domineering Sire.

He groaned again, grabbing onto the brass bed head as an aid to still his own movement, as Angelus moved further down his body, tracing the patterns of muscle and bone, with tongue and fangs leaving wet, slightly bloody swirls on his skin.

His breath hitched and conscious thought abandoned him the next moment as that wonderfully enticing mouth moved further down, deliberately bypassed his pulsing cock and instead buried itself in the crease between his thighs and groin. His hips were pinned firmly by his Sire’s large hands with thumbs pressing almost painfully into what on a human would be the pulse points.

Despite his own better judgement, Spike found his legs moving slightly apart in answer to Angelus’ demanding caresses and, as if in reward for his action, his sac was gently lifted and the soft skin behind was laved harshly with a powerful, rough tongue. He bucked frantically into burning nothingness under the stimulation, desperate for any friction that would give some sort of relief from the slow torture being perpetrated on his body.

“Do you have something?” Angelus’ lust drenched voice penetrated Spike’s befuddled mind. ‘Something? Something what? Oh.’

“On the nightstand. Oil,” he managed to gasp out. Seconds later cool, slick fingers brushed across his entrance, making him push back against the tenuous contact, only to buck forwards again desperately when his cock was enveloped by a cool, soft mouth. A breathless cry escaped his throat as the lips tightened and fingers firmly breached him simultaneously. Caught between two points of pleasure Spike writhed frantically, hands still resolutely clutching the bars of the bed stead, searching for a rhythm that would bring him to completion. But it wasn’t to be, Angelus was moving to his own measure, designed to bring nothing but divine frustration to his victim. Allowing no mercy, he twisted his fingers, slowing drawing them almost out before slamming them back deep inside.

“Christ. Angelus, please.” Spike was almost sobbing with desire to be filled completely by his Sire. When the teasing mouth released him, he thought his pleas had been heard, but it was immediately replaced by a slick hand that continued to pump him in counterpoint to the fingers in his arse.

He wanted to tell Angelus what he needed; to be entered; filled, completed, but all that escaped his lips was a pitiful supplication, whispered into the unfeeling air of the dimly lit room. “Please Sire.”

In a move that defied even vampiric reflexes in its speed, Angelus moved back up his Childe’s body, straddled his hips and impaled himself on his shaft. Spike’s yellow eyes snapped open, his face having immediately shifting to demonic at the shock of being buried to the hilt in his Sire’s body.

“Fuuuck, Angelus!” Spike gasped out in shock. Even in his wildest fantasies he’d not entertained this possibility. His Sire had never allowed this. To Spike’s knowledge had never allowed any of his childer to penetrate him in this way. And yet his Sire seemed to know exactly what he was doing, holding Spike immobile beneath him, with hands and legs, as both struggled for some measure of control over their own bodies.

Golden eyes locked on each other as Spike went to move his hands down to Angelus’ hips, and he hesitated when he heard a deep menacing growl emanate from his Sire’s chest.

“Don’t move.” Spike broke eye contact first, looking to one side and exposing his throat in a gesture he hoped was submissive enough to mollify the older vampire. The growl immediately changed to a deep rumbling purr as Angelus expressed approval at his childe’s ready acceptance of the situation. Taking this as tacit consent for at least some involvement in proceedings, Spike looked back, and was immediately bewitched by the sight of his Sire’s magnificent body poised above him. Skin painted in erotic honey tones from the flickering light from the fire, brown eyes half closed with desire as he started to move.

For the next few moments, Spike’s major concern was fighting the impulses in his own body. Impulses that demanded he thrust, and grasp, and take pleasure from the tight channel surrounding him. Panting slightly, he renewed his grip on the bars of the bedstead, using them as an anchor against which he could throw his desires for movement. After long minutes, he managed to overcome baser instinct enough to enjoy the sensation of being ridden by his much larger and, it seemed, most skilful, Sire.

The pace Angelus set was agonisingly slow; he ground himself into Spike’s pelvis, raising and lowering himself only slightly as he used the younger vampire’s body for his own gratification. For Spike it was sheer torment as his cock was used without surcease for stimulation with no consideration for his own needs and he was reduced to concealing his sobs of frustration under harsh gasps of air, pulled rapidly into his dead lungs. The bedstead groaned in protest as he strained against it, fighting the urge to thrust upwards into that unbelievably tight body. To pound into that fluttering assthat was grasping and teasing him with his Sire’s every movement. After an eternity Angelus increased his movements, starting to pant as he lifted himself almost completely off his childe before slamming back down, driving the head of Spike’s cock into the pleasure spot deep inside him.

Reaching for his own, copiously leaking, erection, Angelus began to pump it rapidly with desperate, hard strokes, obviously near to reaching climax. A moment later, he thrust down hard, completely impaling himself on Spike’s length and froze, a roar wrenched from his throat and eyes rolling back, as he came hard, spilling his seed over Spike’s belly and chest, his channel tightening spasmodically as his body found its release. Growling in frustration, Spike thrust up into his Sire, wanting to join him in completion. In response, Angelus dropped forward, grasping Spike’s wrists again and locking their gazes. Without breaking eye contact, he started to move again, clenching and relaxing his tight muscles as he thrust down. Then, without warning, he struck, sinking his fangs deep into Spike’s jugular, pulling one huge draught of blood from the throbbing body beneath him and driving his thrashing childe over the edge within seconds.

Spike’s world imploded as his orgasm swept over him. The sensation of being embedded in his Sire’s channel and impaled on his fangs, combined with the heady feel of his blood being drawn so fast, proved too much. Howling his release, he arched off the bed, his entire body shuddering as he came and came deep into Angelus’ body.

Angelus collapsed sideways onto the bed, his breath quickly slowing to nothing. After a couple of minutes he let out a small chuckle, turned on his side and propped his head on his arm, gazing at Spike who was still staring glazed eyed at the ceiling.

“Wager that surprised you,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Fuck, yeah.” Spike was still lost in his head, a dozy grin spread across his face, busy coming to terms with what had just happened. Being able to take Angelus in that manner, and yet totally unable to participate in the act, had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life and he wanted to savour it. Unfortunately, it seemed that Angelus had other ideas.

Jabbing a finger repeatedly into his childe’s ribs, Angelus chuckled again, as Spike squirmed away, making an unhappy grimace as his post coital moment was interrupted.

“Your face is an absolute picture. Anybody would have thought a Slayer just fucked you.” Angelus was obviously immensely proud of himself and wanted to gloat.

“It would have been less of a shock, frankly mate.” Spike grinned in spite of himself. It was a long time since he had been able to take pleasure in his Sire’s company and he was enjoying every minute, so far. It seemed that Angelus had mellowed somewhat in his years away from the family. He rather liked this new, more sharing, Angelus. However, enough was enough and he wasn’t going to allow his Sire to remain in this self-congratulatory mood all day.

“So what’s with this Percy chap. You two seemed awful chummy, him being a human and all.” This was genuine curiosity. Although, they had to interact with the human world, it was unusual for any vampire to strike up what was essentially a friendship with food.

Angelus fell heavily back on the bed and he glared at the ceiling, before stating coldly, “I met him at a club. He seemed like a nice guy. We have a lot in common. That’s all.”

‘O Oh, an awkward subject’ Spike thought, noting the abrupt change in his Sire’s demeanour. Something here the old man doesn’t want to talk about. “What club would that be then? Like that one I saw you in two nights ago?”

“Huh? Not the one last night, no.” Angelus looked confused.

“That’s not what I said. I said ‘two nights ago.” Spike paused for effect. “Mrs Franklin’s place, down Pelham Crescent.”

At mention of the brothel, Angelus managed to go paler than he already was. “Um,” he hedged, “somewhere like that. Not too clear on the details.” He stopped, frowning slightly as Spike’s words sank in. Then he turned, saying “You saw me at the brothel? You never said.”

“Didn’t want to bring it up with a human around, haven’t had a chance since. That’s how I found you. Saw you get thrown out, found out where you went, tracked you till I caught up.”

Angelus winced at his words. “And Mrs. Franklin’s place. Anyone left alive after you’d ‘found out where I went’.”

“Don’t be a bloody fool, Angelus. I’m not likely to create merry slaughter at a decent brothel. You taught me better than that. If I want a quick snack I’ll take a run through the slums, like I did last night.” Spike was incensed that Angelus would consider him careless of the useful facilities in his range and so hardly noticed the expression of relief, then horror, that crossed his Sire’s face at his subsequent remarks. “Always food hanging around down there and none to notice if some goes missing. Got a tasty one too, ‘Bout fifteen and just ripe for the plucking and the sucking.”

“Is that rain?”

Spike stopped at the interruption and cocked his head to listen. “Sounds like it. Loverly damp London. I missed it when we….” He stopped again, surprised as Angelus got out of the bed and started to get dressed.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I’ve got things I need to do. You will be at the club tonight, about eleven.” This was a statement, not a question, and Angelus’ tone was icy.

“Yeah, no problems.” Spike sank back into the pillows. He was confused at his Sire’s sudden exit but the day’s lethargy was catching up with him and he was quite prepared to push his confusion aside and deal with it later, after he’d slept.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“That must have been Angel you were with? He never told me.” Rather than shocked at the revelation, Buffy sounded intrigued. “We didn’t know you even existed until you turned up in Sunnydale and wouldn’t have known about the…I was going to say relationship, but… hmm. It was only when Xander said you called Angel ‘Sire’ that we knew there was any connection between you.”

“I expect he wanted to forget all about me, pet. Not exactly a poster boy for the white hats back then, was I.” Spike sighed. ”Not that I am now, what with the killing and the feeding,” he added quietly.

“How come you didn’t know he had a soul? I thought it was something you could sense. Xander says you reacted pretty quickly when you got close to him at the school.”

Spike frowned, as trying to remember a long distant event. “Couldn’t sense a soul, but I smelt fear. It was pouring off him. There was no way that the Angelus I knew would have been afraid of me, so I knew there was something wrong. Then it sort of hit me. That he’d been broken, somehow. But even then I didn’t know how or when. It wasn’t until Dru saw him that we realised he had a soul, and not until Angelus came back to us that we found out what had really happened in Romania.”

“So you thought you were with Angelus and it was Angel. I don’t get it. They were so different when… you know.” Buffy seemed genuinely confused as she pondered what Spike was saying, and jumped when he let out a short barking laugh.

“Well, he wasn’t exactly sane when he got out here was he. What? You think I would have hung around him long if he was that much of a nutter back in the day?” He shook his head. “The Angelus I knew. He was very different, more like the Angel I met in London. Oh, he’d enjoy a good slaughter and torture as much as the next vamp, but he wouldn’t have tried to send the world to hell.”

“Says the vamp who tried to get the giant smurf to kill off all the humans,” pointed out Buffy.

Spike had the decency to look embarrassed at the well-placed accusation and didn’t try to justify his actions. There was no justification. What he and Dru had tried to do was evil. It probably wouldn’t have resulted in the end of the world, as witnessed by the ease with which the Scoobies had destroyed the Judge. But it had been evil nevertheless. It could have killed a great number of people and he could hardly look back on it with pride.

“So. We’ve had vampy porn again. Which, by the way, seems entirely uncalled for. What about the song? There is something about the song in this, yes? Tell me you’re not just telling me this to get some sort of perverse pleasure out of it.”

“Didn’t you recognise the name? The man in the club? Percy Grainger?” Spike had been surprised that the Slayer hadn’t interrupted, incredulous, at that point in the tale.

She shook her head, “No. Should I know him? Was he important?”

Spike snorted. “Only the man who wrote it down, love. Put it to written music, got it as well known as it is today.”

Buffy frowned. “So where did he hear it, and what has that got to do with you?”

“That’s the next part of the story. Are you sitting comfortably?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike went to the club that night and every subsequent one. Each time Angelus and Percy were already there, deep in discussion about music or politics, but they broke off when he arrived and spoke of other things that he may find interesting. At the end of each night Angelus would leave at the same time as Percy, making no attempt to go back with Spike or even converse with him without the human present. He simply informed Spike that his presence was required the next night and left.

By the time a fortnight had passed following the same pattern Spike was getting frustrated and mightily annoyed with his Sire. Obviously something had happened when they had been together but try as he might, he wasn’t able to work out what it could have been. He resolved to have it out with Angelus, even if it meant punching him in the face again. After all it had worked the last time.

That evening Spike arrived at the club deliberately late and play-acting more than a little drunk. Angelus’ only reaction was to throw him a look of pure disgust when he took his usual seat next to them. He then proceeded to ignore his childe for the next hour, instead continuing his discussion with Percy which, to Spike, seemed to be about the merits of Vivaldi versus Johann Sebastian Bach, and why the former hadn’t been famous when he alive. As far as Spike was concerned neither composer deserved so much attention. He tended toward the more popular entertainments found in music halls, places where he and Dru could laugh and hunt at the same time. Almost tempted to say exactly that, he opened his mouth to comment, only to shut it again with a snap when Percy announced he was leaving.

“Like I said Angelus. I will be back in less than two hours and we really need to talk about the matter we were discussing earlier. You won’t be leaving, will you?” There was a slight coldness in the young human’s eyes as he spoke, and Spike noticed that Angelus looked away from him before he answered affirmatively. Percy then quickly took his leave and walked out, leaving the two vampires alone for the first time in many days.

Silence reigned. Angelus was obviously uncomfortable; shifting around in his seat, ordering himself a drink without asking Spike if he wanted another and generally trying to ignore the fact that the younger vampire was there at all.

Eventually however, he spoke. “We, you and I, have a problem.” When Spike failed to answer, slightly flummoxed by his Sire’s serious tone, Angelus continued. “He knows who and what we are. He knows where we live, who we live with and how to kill us.” He flicked a glance up into his Childe’s slightly stunned eyes. “He has left papers lodged with friends that will give everything to the Watcher’s Council if he disappears without leaving word of his whereabouts in person. In short he has enough material to bring down what’s left of the family.”

Spike ground his teeth in an attempt to control his temper before asking, “And what stupid git gave him that information.” He glared accusingly at Angelus, who looked a little chagrined.

“Really, I said very little. He knows my name; all the rest seems to have come from speculation. It turns out he had a friend that was serving in Peking when the Boxers rebelled. His friend shared many stories about that time with him, including one far fetched tale about four Europeans who were rumoured to be Kuang-shi.”

Spike laughed dryly as Angelus used the familiar Chinese term for vampires. “Haven’t heard that word for a good long while. But seriously, that could have been anyone or anything. You must have told him more than that for him to have so much information.”

“Unfortunately the tale included a pretty good description of the four of us, plus names,” Angelus continued. “Then about a week after we first met I turned down an invitation to afternoon tea with his mother and I told him about my unfortunate allergy to sunlight, the usual cover story. It seems that peaked his curiosity and he decided to do a little digging of his own. Un-fortuitously for us a month ago he found himself in some company with a vested interest in seeing us dispatched.”

“Watchers.” Spike growled, unable to truly comprehend what Angelus was telling him. Darla was going to throw a absolute fit if they had to move on from their hard won territory in London, not to mention the distinct possibility of having to leave Europe with a Slayer hot on their trail.

“Precisely. Young Watchers, trainees. Who are gossips as well it seems. Percy mentioned his interest in the occult and they told him about our world, the demon world. He then told them about the story he had heard from China. It seems our little family is currently well-studied in Watcher circles and they took some glee in filling in the details. The rest is his own research. It wasn’t hard for him to find out where I was living, and the information on you and the others he collected in a week. Had someone on your tail the second time you met him.” Angelus shrugged, not precisely accusing Spike of carelessness, although it would have been well justified. Instead, he was obviously looking to shift a small amount of the blame for the situation off his own shoulders.

Spike sat quietly for several minutes absorbing the information that Angelus had passed on. Then he stated, “So killing him and stashing the body’s not an option then.”

“Not unless we want the Council after us in style. I don’t know about you, but I rather like London. I’d rather find another way around the problem if we can.” Angelus looked questioningly at Spike who, after a moment’s consideration, nodded his agreement.

Upon receiving a positive answer, Angelus continued, “He only told me this tonight, just before you arrived. He said he has a proposition for the pair of us, but wanted us to have a chance to discuss the possibilities of a negative outcome from his nefarious scheme before he would pass on any details.”

Spike let out a short laugh, “Now there’s ironic. Two Master vampires caught out by a human’s evil machinations. I tell you, demon’s have nothing on humans, and they have the cheek to say we're soulless monsters.”

When Angelus failed to answer, Spike leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Tell you what, mate. Let’s just hit the council, take them all out, then you and me go on the run. It’d be fun. Bit of the old whirlwind again. Leave the ladies behind and go and create a bit of bloody slaughter in the New World. What do you reckon?”

Angelus turned a heavy gaze on his childe before saying in a sarcastic tone, “Why Spike, I think that’s one of your better plans. Yes, why not. Let’s leave Darla and Dru here to face the Slayer and go on a Grand Tour of the United States, sounds like a brilliant idea.”

Spike shrugged, “Don’t ask me. I’m not the planner in this family. I leave that up to the expert. Oh sorry forgot, that would have been you. Until you upped and sodding left us, anyway,” he added pointedly.

The two sat in uncomfortable silence for some minutes at the end of Spike’s accusation, before Angelus asked, “So. Are we willing to find out what he wants and see if we can cut a deal?”

“Don’t see as we’ve got much choice,” Spike sneered. “But if you don’t mind. I’ll not be here. You have a cosy chat with your human friend, and come and tell me what he says. Okay?” He stood, deliberately turned his back on his Sire and stalked out of the room, demanding loudly for his outdoor clothes to be brought immediately.

The rain was still falling heavily when Angelus left the club over an hour later. Looking around he spotted Spike standing across the street, sheltering under a large tree, his lit cigarette and arrogant stance unmistakable even through the rain soaked darkness. He approached his childe somewhat tentatively; unsure what mood he would find him in. As he suspected Spike had managed to get remarkably wound up during the time he’d been waiting.

Not waiting for Angelus to speak, Spike came right to him and jabbed him in the chest with a sharp finger. “I’ve been thinking. And this, this mess is all your fault. So I reckon it’s you that should be doing the paying, not me.”

Angelus sighed. This type of behaviour was typical of Spike. When faced with a situation that he couldn’t solve by hitting something or, not that he would ever admit it of course, something that scared him, Spike always reacted the same way, with accusations, frustration and aggression. He was so predictable, in an unpredictably volatile sort of way.

“That’s not going to be possible.” He decided to try for the conciliatory approach but was interrupted.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘won’t be possible’? Don’t you come ‘won’t be fucking possible’? This is your problem and you can sodding well solve it.” Angelus found he was being slowly driven backwards into the street as his irate Childe continued to pursue him. He was very tempted to simply slug the idiot and drag him down a back alley so they could sort it out but, by now, Spike’s behaviour and increasingly loud and penetrating voice was drawing the attention of the cabby’s waiting outside the club. Instead, he simply used the tone he reserved for Spike when he was being particularly obnoxious.

“William!” He snarled deep in his chest. It was enough to bring Spike up short. Not enough to take the anger out of his eyes or to calm his agitated body language, but it did halt the behaviour that was raising the very real possibility of the cabbies trying to attract the attention of the police.

“If you don’t shut up we’re going to have company.” Angelus nodded toward the drivers who had gathered in a curious group to watch the argument, obviously wondering if it would end up in a fight.

“Let them call the sodding coppers. We’ll take them all out. Fucking humans!” The last was spat out with quiet vehemence, but Spike had stopped trying to push Angelus over and turned back to the tree, his body shaking with anger and frustration. Spike was livid. He didn’t want to be beholden to a human for his continued existence, but he couldn’t see any way out of the situation. Darla was going to kill him, again, if he didn’t sort this out before she and Dru got back. For all his big talk he knew very well that Darla was the real head of the family. He was only allowed to play pater familias under sufferance.

“Follow me.” Angelus walked off round the corner without bothering to see if he was followed. They needed to be away from prying human eyes while they talked. Angelus had a good idea that there was going to be an out and out brawl when he shared the details of the price Percy wanted for his silence. Spike followed, still angry and more than a little scared at what his Sire was going to say.

A couple of streets down the pair turned into the same alley they had fought in two weeks previously. Angelus stopped some distance from the street and leaned against the wet brick trying to find shelter from the still falling rain. Spike joined him and the pair stood in dismal silence for a few minutes.

“So?”

“So. It’s pretty simple. He’s a collector, usually of music, folk songs and the like. He’s also a composer and often draws inspiration for his music from stories. Kipling is his current project and he’s looking for something for his next. That’s where we come in. He wants us to tell him stories, basically our un-life stories. The longer we talk and the better it is, the less he will tell the Council. If we give him enough he won’t say anything.” Angelus sighed heavily. Spike grinned over at him, significantly happier at the disclosure.

“That’s it? Just relive the good old days and we get off scot-free. Bloody hell, but I’m liking this plan.” He frowned when he saw the reluctance on his Sire’s face. “Cheer up, mate. Not exactly a high price is it?”

“Maybe not for you,” muttered Angelus, “but then again.” A bit louder he added, “There’s more.”

Spike cocked a curious eyebrow.

“For you anyway. Percy is quite taken with you, Spike and, after our ‘discussion’ that first evening, it appears that our friend has decided to take a bit of a walk on the dark side. In short, my boy, he wants you for one night, anything goes, no questions asked.”

Silence. Spike found another cigarette and, fumbling a little, lit it from the one he’d just finished, inhaling huge lungs full of smoke and blowing it out slowly into the cold air.

“And you told him no.” It was a statement, not a question and Angelus didn’t comment.

Spike stood up from the wall and turned to face him, his agitation starting to show again. His voice was calm, but vibrated with tension. “Tell me, you told him no. Tell me you said that there was no way in hell that was going to happen.” Angelus just looked at him and didn’t speak.

“Fucking hell, Angelus. I cannot believe you’ve sold my arse to a human!” Now all pretence at calm was gone. Spike’s voice had gone up one octave and several decibels.

“I thought, boy, that your arse for one night was a small price for the safety of the whole family.” Angelus kept his voice as low and unruffled as possible, knowing that he needed to handle the situation very carefully if he wanted to avoid a very nasty fight.

Interrupted just as he was building up to an explosive outburst, Spike paused, took another breath as if to continue speaking, then stopped again. Angelus could see the thoughts moving across his face with glacial speed and was quite prepared to defend himself from the expected punch. Thus he was completely thrown by his Childe’s next action.

“Sire.” There was as much deference as Spike could muster in his voice, and his eyes were firmly planted on the ground. “Sire, don’t do this, not with a human.” He paused and when there was no answer, he dropped on one knee, took one of Angelus’ hands and pressed it to his bowed forehead. Using an almost ritualistic voice he continued, “I, William, Childe of Angelus of the Order of Aurelius humbly beseech …”

Angelus put a hand on his shoulder, halting the formal plea. “I’m sorry, Spike. I’ve already given my word. You know it’s within my power to do this and I have taken the decision that this is in the best interests of the family. I’m sorry, Childe.”

Spike looked up at him with an expression of disbelief on his face. All he read in Angelus’ eyes was implacability. He made no attempt to hide the tears of shame that had appeared in his eyes. He simply sagged, the fight draining out of him completely as he sat back on the muddy ground, covered his face with his hands and howled his humiliation and defeat.

Angelus stood considering the sobbing, sopping heap sitting in the filthy alley. He shook his head, “Pride, William, is a dangerous thing.” He waited for a response but there was none forthcoming. He continued, “You will be at the club tomorrow at the usual time. You will be polite to Percy. You will be polite to me. You will also do exactly as you are told.” And with that he walked away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“He could do that?” Buffy was aghast and her face reflected her disbelief. “How could he do that?”

Spike looked over at her in genuine surprise. “Didn’t Rupert get you to read any of the old books? Granted some of them are crap but they all agree on one thing. We’re a hierarchical lot, us vampires. We may fight and kill, even within our Orders and it may be a bit different these days but we still tend to towards feudalism. There’s one vamp in charge and he,” he frowned, “or she, calls the shots. Anyhow, result is, Sire’s can do pretty much what they want with their Childer. There’s no ‘Royal Society for the Protection of Childer’ in the vamp world.” The last was said ruefully and with little humour.

“Why did you let him?” Now Buffy was confused. The Spike she knew would never have allowed this to happen. Hell’s if he’d been prepared to hit Angelus round the head with a tire iron, why would he have gone along with this decision. He should have fought tooth and nail to get out of it, if he were as upset by it as he claimed. That must be it, she decided and said as much. “Bet you were just covering what with all the crying and all the wailing. Bet you really fancied his skanky ass.”

“That is so far from the truth you wouldn’t believe.” She’d normally expect anger with the denial, but there was none, just resignation. “I considered myself a Master. He was a human and I had been given to him, effectively as a slave, even if it was only for one night. The only thing he wouldn’t be allowed to do was give me my final death. Anything, and everything, else was firmly on the agenda.”

After a beat, Spike continued. “As to why? If I hadn’t Angelus would have disowned me. Darla would have disowned me. Even Dru, love her, would have walked away, without so much as a backward glance. A decision had to be made for the welfare of the family and, as the senior vampire present, it was Angelus’ to make. I wasn’t prepared to lose the lot of them, so I had no choice.”

“But he wasn’t Angelus really, he was Angel.” A technical loophole maybe, but Buffy couldn’t resist pointing out the flaw in Spike’s logic.

“Rules were written before souls, pet.” He shrugged, “Plus, it’s not like Darla would have done anything different if she’d been there.”

Interesting insight. “So if Angel told you to do something now, would you?” Spike shot an interrogatory look at her before replying.

“Would depend on what it was. Only went after him before when I had nothing left to loose. When there was nothing left he could take. Not doing what he said wouldn’t cost me anything now. Dunno. Hadn’t thought about it.” Spike shook his head as if to clear unwanted thoughts and continued. ”You want to hear the rest of this?”

“Carry on, O master story teller.” Buffy waved her hand and sat back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a much-subdued Spike that arrived at the club the following night, one that sat in silence, only answered direct questions and didn’t make eye contact. One that had dark rings under his colourless eyes, and looked as if he hadn’t fed properly for a month. Angelus was surprised; he hadn’t expected this reaction. Anger, yes, violence, absolutely, but not resignation. What he didn’t know was how shattering this turn of events had been to his childe.

Sitting quietly in his chair, Spike looked blankly around the club. His two companions had stopped trying to involve him in their conversation, leaving him to wallow in his own thoughts, and what turbulent thoughts they were. This was the first time Spike had been left alone without any of his family to support or advise him. Running into Angelus had been wonderful and his company had offset the bleak loneliness that had settled over him when the girls had left. But the whole thing was turning into a nightmare. He had spent the day tossing and turning in his bed unable to sleep for fear of what his dreams would show him, and he hadn’t fed, unable to focus on the hunt.

Granted Angelus and Darla had enthusiastically introduced him to the whips and chains side of vampiric sexuality, but that was different, it was blood, it was family. This thing was going to be with a human, one that he could kill without breaking sweat and he was going to have to submit to him. Spike was scared, not so much of what the human may do to him, but how he would control his own instincts not to kill him when he did. He was young and insecure enough to be completely undone by the entire idea. He needed to talk to someone. Actually, what he really needed was to rip the stupid human’s head off, but that wasn’t possible. Angelus had forbidden it, thus it wouldn’t happen. So he was reduced to having totally poncy feelings and needing to talk.

Trouble was, Spike sighed into his whisky which he held clasped to his chest as he slouched in his chair. The big problem with that was the only person he could speak to was Angelus, who was even now ignoring him and conversing happily with the human who was causing all the problems in the first place. He tuned in to what they were saying and then listened harder.

They were discussing arrangements for how the price was to be paid. Not letting any indication cross his face that he was hearing them Spike quietly absorbed the information that was being exchanged. He was hoping that Percy might give something away, something that Spike could use against him to preclude the whole thing happening, but the human was as closed mouthed as usual. ‘For a man who could talk for hours, the bastard says virtually nothing’ Spike bemoaned to himself.

From what was being said; Percy wanted to talk to Spike first. There was a limited amount of time before Darla and Dru got back into town and he had no desire to attract their interest, so Spike would spend the next week or so spilling his guts, metaphorically speaking, to the human. When the stories dried up, they would move on to the next part of his payment, and then in all probability he would be doing it literally. Only when Spike’s part of the deal was finished with would Percy turn his attentions to Angelus. With over a hundred and fifty years under his belt, Angelus had a wealth of stories to tell and Percy wanted every one of them. Spike hoped his Sire wasn’t planning on leaving London anytime soon, it may take years for the human’s curiosity to be sated.

Having heard enough, Spike stood up to leave only to feel Angelus’ hand on his arm restraining him.

“Sit down, Will. Percy has some other things he wants to ask before you go.” Spike bit back a sarcastic comment and allowed himself to be pulled back into his chair. He didn’t want to speak to the human, but he couldn’t think of a way to avoid it that didn’t break Angelus’ command from the night before or sound petulantly childish.

“William?” Wanting to look anywhere but at Percy, Spike raised his eyes and glared at Angelus, who glared back and nodded toward the human who was addressing him.

Spike shifted the focus of his gaze and met cold, almost amber eyes staring intently back at him.

“Since I got interested in your family I’ve done a lot of reading.” The human met and held his gaze without a flicker. Desperate to get a rise of some sort from the man, Spike allowed his true face to emerge briefly. Nothing, no reaction at all. He couldn’t help but be impressed, there weren’t many who could stare their natural predator in the eye and not flinch. He nodded slightly, giving respect where it was due.

“Much of what I have read seems completely unbelievable and I wanted to ask a few questions. Angelus informs me that you have agreed to...umm, spend the night with me?” Spike couldn’t contain a disparaging snort at the word agreed. Percy raised his eyebrows and looked in askance at Angelus.

“He’ll do as he’s told.” There wasn’t an inch to manoeuvre in his Sire’s tone, so Spike forced a small smile onto his face to encourage the human to continue.

“I’m sure Angelus has told you where we met. I have frequented such places often both here in London and at home in Australia.” That was the accent. Not that common in the circles Spike moved in, which was why he hadn’t recognised it.

“I have seen, and experienced, much but it always frustrated me that there were limits beyond which a fragile human body could not be driven.” Spike was starting to feel a distinct chill down his back, a phenomenal achievement for a room temperature creature that didn’t feel the cold.

“And now, I am fascinated and excited to learn that I am to have the opportunity of experiencing a body that cannot be significantly damaged past the point of healing, one that either enjoys, or does not feel, extreme pain. Tell me, William, which category do you fall into?”

If he’d been human, Spike would have gagged at the cold calculating tone of the question. As it was his stomach lurched and he dropped his eyes to his hands, breaking eye contact before the human, when he had promised himself he wouldn’t. He heard Angelus draw in a sharp breath and smirked in spite of himself. ‘Yeah, you bastard. You’ve given me to a fucking madman. Happy now?’

“Answer him.” Angelus’ voice sounded flat, but still uncompromising.

“I feel pain.” Spike wasn’t about to qualify that in case he inadvertently encouraged the psycho.

“Ah, but in the same way a human does? What about your reactions to sexual stimuli? Are they the same?” Pushing his chair back with an inhuman growl Spike went to leave. There was no way in hell he was putting up with this, he was getting out and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop him. ‘Except Angelus’, he reflected, as a cold hand gripped his throat and raised him to his toes.

“Put him down, Angelus. It’s of no matter if he doesn’t wish to answer my questions. I’m sure we can discover the answers together.” As soon as his Sire’s hand released him, Spike left the club, vowing never to return.

The next day was an unusual one for London in the spring. The sun was shining and the sky was the beautiful colour it only seemed to achieve after days of heavy rain. All this, of course, was lost on Spike as he paced around the house, unable to sleep and prevented from leaving by the daylight raging behind the curtains. The four minions that were allied with the family had either found somewhere else to sleep or hidden in the cellar to escape his violent outbursts, and the elegant rooms were littered with the broken evidence of his frustration. By the time the sun had set he had already passed screaming point, and had entered the state of cold calm only reached by those in a thunderously bad mood.

It was this atmosphere that Angelus walked into and, not surprisingly, also into the waiting fist of his Childe. It was a solid punch. It would have killed a human. It certainly stunned the vampire. He went down on the hard tile floor of the entrance hall and tried to protect his head and body from further punishment. Five minutes later, he retaliated, realising that although Spike wasn’t going to be able to kick him into unconsciousness with his soft shoes, he wasn’t going to stop trying. In a quick move Angelus swept the younger vampire’s legs out from under him. He heard a loud crack as Spike’s head contacted with the floor and expanded on it with two well-aimed punches to his temple. Then he sat back against the wall to wait for Spike to come round.

Trying not to move his head more than necessary Spike dragged himself over to the wall next to his Sire and leaned back heavily. After a couple of minutes of silence he fished in his jacket pocket with shaking hands and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a matchbook. He dropped the matches three times before Angelus took pity on him, picked them up and lit the cigarette.

Spike inhaled deeply and said in a level voice, “I fucking hate you, you bastard.”

Angelus lit another a cigarette from the packet lying on the floor and let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

“I know.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Spike’s hands had finally stopped shaking but he hadn’t calmed down conspicuously. He just couldn’t work up the energy to fight anymore, but it wasn’t going to stop him from protesting.

“I’m not going back to the club.”

“You are.”

“I’m fucking not.”

“You are. And I’ll tell you why. If you don’t you’ll have to watch everything you’ve worked for washed down the drain. I know that and so do you. You will have the Council on your case and Slayer on your tail, and this time you won’t have the family to back you up, ‘cos I won’t let you drag Darla and Dru down with you. When word gets out you won’t be welcomed anywhere. You’ll be known as a renegade who won’t keep his word.” The pair sat like mismatched bookends staring at the wood panelling on the opposite wall. The only movement, saving the breath needed for speech, were the regular trips cigarettes made to mouths.

“He’s a human, Angelus. You can’t break your word to a human. That’s nuts.” Spike rolled his head on the wall, knowing that Angelus was right but wanting to deny it all the same.

“But he’s acquainted with enough demons to make sure it’s known that you welched, and I’m damn sure the Watchers will ensure that word is spread if it helps them flush you out. Face it, Spike. There are no choices here.”

They sat in silence again, each stubbing their cigarettes out on the floor as they finished. Eventually Spike smiled.

“You sure we can’t just kill him. He wants to know about pain tolerance, I bet we could make it last a real long time.”

Angelus matched him with a smile of his own. “Tempting though it is, the answer’s still no. I gave my word, so the plan goes ahead.” He paused for a moment, then added. “Do you want me to be there?”

Spike’s head snapped round, then he slowly returned to his intimate study of the wall, “Bloody hell, no way. Bad enough this is going to happen without you seeing me make a total git of myself.” His hands were shaking again and he needed another cigarette. This was getting dangerously close to the conversation he’d wanted to have last night.

“Are you likely to?” Angelus voice was full of quiet concern.

“I dunno. I mean, its pain right. Been there, done that. No big deal. But this guy’s a nutter. We’re talking experiments here, not a bit of blood and fun.” Angelus opened his mouth to interrupt, but Spike was on a roll and wanted to finish before he lost his nerve.

“I could kill him so easily. What if he does something, something really bad? What if I lose control and kill him? Then I haven’t just welched, it’d be worse. When it’s you, or Darla, that’s not a problem, you have control. With this human,” the word was spat out with distaste, “I could just crack and tear his head off, then the whole thing’s gone to hell.” That was what he’d needed to get out, the fear of loosing control. Spike had a short fuse and he knew it, and right now it scared him.

“I could make sure you’re secure. Use proper chains and tell him not to remove them.”

“Could we trust him?”

“Probably not.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “There’s always magic.”

Spike shuddered at Angelus’ words but he kept silent. He hated magic in all forms, he didn’t trust it and hehated the way it made his skin crawl.

“There are amulets that would reduce your strength to that of a human. Something like that wouldn’t help you with control, but at least you couldn’t rip his head off if you got free.”

“That would be real comforting.” Sarcasm, the last resort of the desperate. “Ta very much, Angelus, not only do you want me to spend the night with a whacked out crazy man, you want me to do it without the benefit of vampiric strength. I think not.” They were running out of options and Spike knew it. Maybe he would just have to rely on his tenuous self-control.

Angelus was quiet again for a while, then he said, “What about one of Dru’s tricks, the hypnotism thing she does. Is there anyway we can use that? Plant something in your head to make you do what he says. She does that all the time.”

“But Dru’s not here.”

“There must be someone in London who can do the same thing. I could ask around.” Angelus was starting to sound enthusiastic and Spike had to admit that the idea had merit. It was a familiar magic, something that he and Dru had played with before.

Decision made. “Right mate. It’s a deal. You look into that, while Percy pokes around in my head for fun stories, and hopefully by the time he’s poking around in my other bits I won’t be trying to eat him.”

The two parted on better terms and, after cleaning himself up, Spike left to spend the evening with Percy at the club.

Six days passed with no word from Angelus and Spike was starting to get jumpy. What of he didn’t come back? It wouldn’t be the first time his Sire had disappeared without a word. The evenings with Percy hadn’t been too bad so far, the human had been friendly and considerate, and hadn’t spoken to him about the real price of his silence. Spike hadn’t brought it up, but he wasfast running out of tales, and then the topic was sure to change.

So it was with some relief that Spike greeted Angelus when he arrived at the house that evening bearing good tidings. There was a gypsy woman near Clapham that would do it for a price. She didn’t normally work with vampires but Angelus, and a large purse, had convinced her otherwise. An appointment had been made for the next night, so Angelus joined Spike at the club that evening to explain to Percy what they planned to do.

Over drinks and in a considerably more relaxed atmosphere the three of them got into conversation about the vampires’ human lives and families. Angelus explained that he had killed his entire village after Darla had turned him, and Percy had enquired whether Spike had done the same thing. Even after so many years Spike still couldn’t look back at that particular act without disgust, so it was with some reluctance that he told the human what he had done and why.

He was surprised at Percy’s sympathetic reaction to the tale. The human listened intently before saying, “You must have loved your mother very much. I know how that can be; my mother is the most wonderful woman in the world. I don’t doubt that I would have done the exact same thing.” He smiled sympathetically before asking, “The song that you sang, would you sing it for me? I have numerous versions of it, but I would like to know if it’s one I have already heard.”

Spike complied and Percy was entranced. “I’ve never heard that particular combination of words and music. I wonder, do you think I might use a phonograph to record it?”

Late the following afternoon Percy brought his phonograph to the lair. Spike had evicted the minions and spent half the day ensuring the larder was empty and the house was clear of any traces of blood. Percy seemed able to ignore the brutal aspects of the stories Spike had told, treating them more like folk tales than the truth. Whether he would keep that distance if confronted by a drained human corpse was doubtful, and Spike didn’t want the human deciding that the information he held should go to the council anyway.

It took them three hours to record the song successfully, and by the end Spike’s head was buzzing with it. By the time he and Angelus got to Clapham his Sire had clipped him innumerable times, was grinding his teeth and had almost been reduced to begging in an attempt to stop him humming the damned thing.

The gypsy’s trick turned out to be a little more than Spike had expected. She was going to put a phrase in his mind that when spoken would make him comply with any commands. It took Angelus nearly an hour to talk Spike into going ahead and he only agreed after the old woman promised that the effect would have worn off after about a week. Actually, he wanted to kill her to make sure but curiously Angelus was very reluctant to let him do it.

The journey back in the cab was tense. Spike was jumpy, waiting for Angelus to suddenly demand he start hopping about on one leg or something. Angelus was quiet, almost broody, a most unusual mood for his Sire. Eventually Spike cracked.

“What is it then?”

“What’s what?”

“The phrase. The one that’s gonna have me doing things I don’t want to do.”

“You want me to use it here?”

“Why not. Might as well see if it works. If it doesn’t we’re not too far away to go back and kill the old witch.”

Angelus closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. “Not even in jest, Will. Leave gypsies alone. They leave a nasty after taste.”

“No they don’t. The lot Darla had us take out in Romania were a right tasty lot.” Spike sighed in fond remembrance and Angelus shuddered again before saying.

“The phrase is ‘cessante causa cessat et effectus’. Happy now?”

“That’s Latin. Why would she use Latin?”

“I chose it. It’s obscure enough that no one is likely to say it to you for the next week or so without meaning it. Okay?”

“But what if someone does. Will I have to do everything….”

Angelus cut in, “Will, shut up.” Spike shut his mouth, but that was okay because he was going to shut it anyway.

Angelus raised his eyebrows. “I should have done this years ago. Come here.” Spike shuffled up the seat closer to his Sire, but that was okay because he liked sitting close to him.

Angelus smiled. It wasn’t a reassuring smile and the rest of the trip was made in silence. Spike thought of lots of things he could have said, but...he didn’t.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy sat playing with her shirt, pondering what she had heard. It looked like there was a direct connection between this song and some sort of mind control. “So is that how this thing, whatever it is, is controlling you? Did it short out your brain or something?”

“Slayer, I have no idea. All I know is that the song and the blank bits seem to be linked up in my head. I remember having the thing stuck in my head when we went to the gypsy woman. I don’t remember ever hearing it since.” Spike was uncomfortable. It had been a very difficult evening, he was extremely hungry and it wasn’t about to get any better because…

“What about the phrase. Have you heard that? What does it mean? Did it work?”

There was no stopping the Slayer when she got her teeth into something. Dinner was going to have to wait. He sighed, then answered her.

“In order; no, ‘when the cause is removed, the effect disappears’, and yes.”

It took Buffy a couple of moments to work her way through the oblique statement, but she got there eventually, her eyes lighting up with understanding. Spike looked at her fondly. He loved her very much, but harboured few illusions. Sometimes Buffy was blonder than he was.

Then she asked, “How well?”

“Extremely well.” He just knew that was coming.

“Well enough to make you kill?” And that.

“Tell you what. I’ll get on with the story and you can tell me at the end whether it worked well or not. Okay, pet?” Maybe if he hurried this along he’d get fed which would help quell the desire he currently feeling for Buffy. Well, Buffy’s blood anyway. When she didn’t disagree, Spike dragged his eyes away from her tempting neck, fixed them on the wall and continued.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Back at the house Angelus helped himself to a cigar from the silver box on the mantle and got comfortable in one of the large chairs by the fireplace. Spike poured two glasses of a particularly fine brandy he had acquired and joined him, handing over the bowl like glass in silence.

The pair sat, Angelus swirling his brandy around and sniffing it appreciatively, Spike feeling completely strung out, but unsure of what to do. Eventually he slammed his hand down hard on the arm of the solid leather covered chair. At the sound, Angelus broke out of his reverie and looked up. Spike frowned at him in frustration. The only reason he wasn’t pointing at his mouth and miming speaking was that he still had a shred of dignity left.

“Oh sorry. Did you want to say something?” The evil smirk made it patently clear that Angelus knew exactly how frustrated his childe was. Spike made an obscene gesture in his Sire’s direction, which was answered by raised eyebrows and a broader grin.

“Just think, a whole week of silence.” Angelus said reverentially and looked blissfully off into the distance for a moment before returning to consider his, by now, livid companion. “Okay. I relent. You can speak, Will.”

Spike gasped. He hadn’t even been aware of the obstruction in his throat until it was suddenly gone.

“Bloody hell.”

“Insightful. If that’s all you have to contribute maybe I should…”

“Don’t!” There was a hint of panic in Spike’s voice. He was out of control again and hated it.

Angelus stared at him and couldn’t resist raising a speculative brow. “Strip,” he commanded.

“Sod off,” Spike said as he stood and put down his glass, his hands moving to undo his jacket. “I’m not taking my clothes off down here,” he continued as he slipped it off and unfastened his vest, “just because you say so,” he finished. The vest slip to the floor to join the jacket. By this time Angelus was chuckling loudly as his typically voluble childe explained exactly why he wouldn’t follow the order while his hands continued to do it. He took pity once Spike was down to his trousers and told him to stop when he was halfway through unbuttoning his fly.

The chuckling was replaced with uproarious laughter, as Spike looked down at his half-naked state and untidy heap of clothes in obvious confusion. Spike was flummoxed. It was as if he’d been split in half, as if Angelus’ words had spoken directly to his hands without going through his brain first. Part of him had been aware of what he was doing, but it was almost like it was another person doing it. He shivered, ’Creepy’.

“I wonder.” Angelus was looking speculative again, and Spike was worried. The older vampire leapt to his feet. “Stay there,” he commanded as he strode out of the room.

Spike's incensed cries followed him. “Angelus. Where are you going? Don’t just walk off. And don’t you bloody dare just leave me here. I’m not dressed. Angelus!!”

Ten minutes later, Angelus returned to the sitting room, holding a small cloth bundle carefully in his hands. Spike’s yells had diminished to almost silent cursing during the time he was gone, but he was still stood by the fire, clothes around his feet, flies undone, unable to move a muscle.

Unwrapping the package carefully on the top of the bureau that nestled in the corner of the room, Angelus called Spike over. Spike almost balked when he saw what was waiting. Lying there, swathed in white silk was Dru’s ebony and silver crucifix.

He looked at Angelus, swallowing hard. “Please?” It was the only word that he could force out.

“We need to know how well this thing works. After all it’s not as if you don’t take your clothes off for me now and again.” His Sire was getting rather too much fun out of the situation, Spike surmised as he turned to the crucifix, ignoring the slightly dizzy feeling it gave him, and glared at it as if daring the thing to bite him.

“Pick it up.” Spike’s mind was screaming at him, battering at the inside of his head, not to touch it but once again the command bypassed his brain and went straight to his hand, which reached out and grasped the cross, holding it tightly and lifting it from its shroud of silk. Pain seared through him as the skin on his hand started to blister from the contact. He could smell scorching meat, could feel the flesh of his hand cracking and burning. He didn’t hear Angelus’ command through his howls of pain, but his hand dropped the crucifix anyway.

As the spell was broken, Spike staggered back shaking his head as his demonic face, which had been brought forward by the pain, receded and clutched his injured hand to his chest. Angelus used the square of cloth to quickly pick up the cross, rewrapped it and put it safely back on the bureau. Then he turned his attentions to the younger vampire who was leaning against the wall, keening quietly to himself as he nursed his hand.

Ignoring Spike’s shaky refusal, Angelus took the injured hand carefully in his own and prised open the fingers. It was a mess, the skin had gone from most of the palm and fingers, what flesh was left was charred and blackened and in several places he could see the stark white of bone.

He pulled Spike’s quivering body into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t think. I forget how young you are sometimes. How easily you damage.” Pushing Spike back into a chair, he dropped to his knees and took the injured hand in his own again, bringing it to his mouth. Slipping quickly into his true visage Angelus sliced his tongue on his fangs and used his bloody saliva to lave the damaged flesh on his Childe’s hand.

After a couple of minutes, he paused. Spike’s shaking had stopped but it was replaced by something he hadn’t heard for a longest time. A deep rumbling purr was rolling out of Spike’s chest and when he looked up, Angelus could see that the younger vampire’s eyes were closed as he bathed in his Sire’s ministrations. At last satisfied that the hand would heal quickly and with no lasting injury, Angelus sat back on his heels.

“Well that’s cleared up a couple of questions.” His voice sounded cracked and emotional, but he ploughed on when Spike’s eyes flicked open and the purring stopped. “This thing works well, even to the detriment of your own safety. I’d wager you’d walk into the sun if I commanded it.”

Spike snorted, quickly recovering his usual cynical disposition. “A bit too well if you ask me.” He stopped short, thinking rapidly. “I can’t let Percy have this level of control. This,” he indicated to his hand, “is ridiculous. I couldn’t drop the damn thing until you told me to. If I’d have held it any longer my whole damn hand would have burned through.”

Angelus agreed and gave the problem due consideration as he fetched and refilled their brandy glasses. After each had taken a hefty drink he said, “What you wanted was something that would stop you from attacking him. How about I command you not to hurt him before you go, then the rest is up to you. Percy doesn’t have the command phrase so you still have control over your actions, but still have the fall back of the hypnosis to stop you from killing him."

Spike thought for a while, slowly sipping the drink he held cradled in his right hand. “Plus there’s the added bonus of him not being able to use the phrase on me later in the week. I like it. Like a safety word for him.” Then he shook his head in self-disgust. “Will you listen to me. This is stupid, worrying about a human, trying to protect him from becoming my dinner. I should be taken out and staked, miserable specimen that I am.”

“You’re doing it for the family and if this ‘magic’ helps then it’s a good thing.” Angelus didn’t sound too sympathetic, considering he’d just done his best to disable him. The shock of what had happened was receding along with the pain, but Spike was still feeling shaken by the implications of it.

“So, mate. How do we turn this thing off.” He looked Angelus straight in the eye, challenging him not to do it.

“I simply repeat the phrase, ‘cessante causa cessat et effectus’.” As the last syllable escaped from Angelus’ lips Spike felt as if a weight had lifted off him. He shuddered at the strange feeling, stood up and paced round the room, stopping occasionally to shake himself like a wet dog.

“Better?”

“I’ll do. Let’s not do this again until we have to, okay.”

It was two days later when Spike was waiting for Angelus to escort him to the house in Pelham Crescent, that the younger vampire started to get nervous. Having overcome the hurdle of his own self control Spike found he was now dwelling on the details. He didn’t believe that the human could do anything close to what a Master vampire could achieve with the same tools. But his experience of such play had always involved the giving and receiving of pain/pleasure, the twisting of the boundaries, and finally a carnal exchange of blood. He was not used to feeling solely pain, even when Angelus had flogged him for stupidity or carelessness he had been so angry at his Sire that he had ridden out the punishments on a wave of adrenaline.

This was not going to be the same. It was likely to be more like the incident with the cross, and that had simply been bloody painful. Spike flexed his hand as he stood by the window watching for Angelus to arrive. Virtually all trace of the injury had gone, but he was certain he could still feel the burning.

The minute the cab pulled up outside the house, Spike shot out of the door and joined his Sire. During his wait he had come up with a list of things they needed to discuss.

“He mustn’t cut anything off,” were his opening words to a very surprised Angelus.

“And a good evening to you, William. How are you?”

“Don’t be a facetious git. Did you hear me? You must make him promise not to cut anything off. Or use fire. He mightn’t be able to put me out in time. And can you search the place for crosses. After the other day, I don’t think I want crosses or holy water.”

“’Cessante causa cessat et effectus’. Shut up!” Spike’s mouth snapped shut cutting off the rest of his list. He fought silently with himself for a few moments before subsiding in a sullen heap.

Angelus raised an eyebrow questioningly then continued, “I will speak to Percy and share your concerns. Believe me, I have no desire to wait on you hand and foot while your limbs grow back or to sweep you off the floor. Happy?”

Spike nodded. “Good. You can speak again. Good evening, William.”

Spike breathed out a sigh of relief. He hated not being able to speak. “Good evening, Sire.”

The location for the rendezvous was perfect as the brothel had facilities that weren’t available anywhere else, except maybe in Spike’s lair and there was no way in hell he was allowing this to happen in his own house. It was also staffed by people who were the sole of discretion, so whatever happened behind its doors remained a secret. When the pair arrived Spike was shown into the same richly appointed sitting room he had waited in on his first visit, while Angelus was escorted to the room they had booked for the night. Five minutes later, he was back and all business.

“Right. Come on then. Let’s go down.”

“Down? The room is down?”

Spike followed Angelus out of the room skipping to keep up with his longer strides. Damn but he was going to have to work on this dignity thing after. The longer he spent around his Sire the stupider he ended up behaving. They reached the top of a steep set of stairs, the lighting was dim but the whitewashed walls reflected what there was. As Spike peered down he decided it looked vaguely cave like.

Angelus stopped. “The room is down. It’s in the basement. The walls are thicker and stronger.“ Spike bolted, but a large hand caught him by the scruff before he’d made it two paces.

“Where do you think you’re going? Stand still and shut up.”

The magic froze Spike in place. Angelus took one step towards him and reached out to straighten his cravat and brush the non-existent creases out of his jacket. Almost as an afterthought he took Spike’s face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, before standing back to look.

“I’ve spoken to Percy. He realises the dangers of fire and wasn’t planning on using it. You are in no danger of becoming dust. Do you understand?”

Unable to move, Spike waggled his eyes in what he hoped was a yes-like manner.

“Good. I haven’t been into the room, Percy met me in the corridor but he assures me everything will be fine and remember I will be just upstairs. Okay?”

Waggle.

“Now for your instructions. You will not kill Percy. You will not hurt Percy unless he specifically asks you to. Do you understand?”

Waggle.

“Good. You can move but stay close to me. Oh, and I guess you can speak as well.”

“Well, thanks very much.” Spike had no choice but to stick to his Sire’s shoulder as they went down the stairs towards the basement room, but he did it with as much bad grace as he could muster.

Percy pulled open the heavy raw wood door to the basement room with a huge smile plastered across his face.

“Come in, come in. You’ll let all the hot air out.”

The vampires entered the room and looked around curiously. A huge solid wooden bed, it’s posts carved with exotic animals and birds, was tucked into one corner and covered with piles of multicoloured pillows and a carmine counterpane. Standing at the foot of the bed was a large chest of the same solid wood, but this had figures of a more demonic nature that seemed to writhe in the dim light. Hung from the walls were hundreds of yards of draped silk in harmonious shades of red with the occasional glimpse of gold behind. The floor was a dark wood, polished to almost black and glossy from wear. It was swelteringly hot and obviously kept that way by the roaring fire that was burning cheerfully in the huge fireplace. The smell of heat permeated everything, but just underlying it was a spicy smell that Spike didn’t recognise. Beside the fireplace there were two dark leather chairs with associated occasional tables. Spike swallowed nervously at the fire and nudged Angelus but it was Percy who answered him when he saw the vampire’s concern and the direction he was looking.

“There’s no need to worry, William, really. I know how vulnerable you are to fire. I will be extremely careful. Your London is a beautiful city but I feel the cold in my very bones at times.” He turned to Angelus, the smile never leaving his lips. “You can leave him with me. I will take good care of your childe.”

Angelus gave Spike’s shoulder a quick squeeze and whispered, “You must stay in the basement until Percy gives you permission to leave. Do you understand?” When Spike nodded, he gave another squeeze and slipped soundlessly from the room.

As the door closed behind Angelus, Percy opened another concealed behind the wall hangings. A moment later he reappeared carrying a decanter and two glasses which he handed to Spike with another bright smile.

“Make yourself at home, have a drink or not, its your choice. I have a couple of things to do. Be right back.” With that he departed through the same door.

Spike inhaled deeply as the closing door moved the heavy air, trying to scent what was in the other room, but the heat from the fire was enough to overpower any but the strongest smells. He gave up, looked at the things in his hands and helped himself to a large shot of what turned out to be a very pleasant Irish whisky. After pulling one of the chairs slightly further away from the fire, Spike sank down into it with a sigh, enjoying the warmth and the liquor. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

He woke when the manacles snapped shut round his wrists. Percy was staring at him from the other side of the room, where he had retreated as soon as the vampire awakened.

“That was just damn sneaky.” Spike drawled and shook his hands at the human; the chill metal of the manacles sliding slightly on his fire warmed skin.

“I burnt some incense on the fire. Nothing fancy, just enough to make a vampire sleepy if they stay in the smoke for long.” Percy’s voice had a slight quaver to it. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. Angelus assures me that you can’t hurt me, but I wanted to be certain.”

“And you thought these would stop me?” Spike uncurled himself from the chair and stalked fluidly across the room until he was standing toe to toe with Percy. The human smelled strongly of fear and was obviously very nervous. This was fascinating, where was the cold man he had glimpsed in the club two weeks ago, the one who had scared him. He looked the human straight in the eye and allowed his demon forward. “If I really wanted to hurt you I don’t think manacles could prevent it, do you?”

Percy backed away and dropped eye contact. ‘Curiouser and curiouser’ Spike thought, if he’s this easily intimidated then tonight’s going to be a doddle. All I’ll have to do is say no and flash some fang at him and he’ll run away. With those reassuring thoughts Spike relaxed and returned to his human guise. He deliberately turned his back on the human and walked easily back to his chair. Despite the manacles he managed to pick up the shot glass and knocked back the rest of his drink.

“So, what now mate?” The man might be nervous but a deal was a deal, and Spike planned to see the night through to the bitter end even if he had to help.

After nervously clearing his throat, Percy opened the partially concealed door again and said. “If you would be so kind as to follow me?”

The adjoining room was what Spike had been expecting when he’d first entered the basement. The only odd thing about it was the light that was being thrown into every corner from tungsten bulbs. Spike squinted against the brightness. Although electric light was quite common amongst the affluent in London, it was not something he appreciated, preferring the softer glow of gas or firelight. The temperature was not significantly lower; a pot-bellied stove in the corner was belching out huge quantities of heat. There was chest similar to the one at the bottom of the bed, but no other furniture. The walls were whitewashed like those of the corridor and glared with reflected light. They were also studded with large black metal rings. The solid beams that supported the ceiling sported others and still more were embedded in the stone tiled floor. Dangling from the ceiling threaded through one ring and firmly attached to another in the wall was a heavy chain.

“Want me up on that?” Spike kept his tone friendly, he’d decided that Percy probably needed a guide to his dark side and he was just the vamp to give him the tour.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

The chain was quickly locked into the manacles then Percy, having asked politely, divested Spike of his shoes and added fetters, retrieved from the chest, to his legs that were fastened to rings on the floor. Then Percy excused himself yet again, shutting the heavy door behind him. Spike was left standing in the middle of the room, stretched uncomfortably between ceiling and floor, fully dressed and feeling a bit daft.

After a couple of minutes with no sound of movement from the other room, daft had turned to boredom and then into annoyance. If this was the human’s idea of a joke, Spike was not laughing.

“Hey! Percy! You coming back? This is getting stupid.” His voice echoed around the walls and he listened to them fade into silence. The only sound was the distant crackle of the fire that he could just pick up through the heavy door.

Then he smelled it. Blood. A vampire can pick up the smell of fresh blood at a considerable distance and this was fresh, human and being shed in the adjoining room. Spike started to panic. Visions of Percy cut and bleeding out on the bed flashed through his mind. If the human died then the information on the family would go to the Council; all their efforts would have been in vain. He wrenched at the chains to try and loosen the rings, but to no avail. Irons, chains and rings had obviously been devised with a vampire in mind and they weren’t going to shift.

Suddenly, the door slammed back and Percy strode into the room carrying one of the occasional tables and a box, which he put next to the chest. All trace of his former nervousness had gone, he now smelt of anger, arousal and traces of blood. Spike sniffed the air carefully; underlying it all was another scent, a chemical scent. As the human turned to face him Spike felt the same chill he’d had at the club. Percy’s tawny eyes were flat and cold, his stance arrogant and the look he was giving Spike was bold and calculating.

A horrible realisation uncurled in Spike’s mind. He’d been played by a master of the game and had completely fallen for it. He would have resisted being restrained to this extent if this had been the man to try it, but there had been no threat from Percy before. He had been an ineffectual Mummy’s boy. How had ‘soft’ Percy become ‘crazy man’ Percy so quickly?

Folding his arms across his chest, Percy walked over and repeated the battle of wills they had played out earlier. When Spike broke eye contact first, the human could not contain his glee; “Cocaine is a wondrous thing. I should imagine it’s much like becoming a vampire, it gives the mildest man the freedom to enjoy himself. Fancy coming along for the ride?” When Spike’s eyes widened in surprise, Percy sniggered, “Not that you have much choice.”

As Percy turned to walk away, Spike, in full demon face tried to lunge at him, but as soon as the impulse to hurt and tear the human entered his head, his body froze and refused to move. Percy threw a cold smug smile back at him.

“So Angelus was right - you can’t hurt me. Still, I think we’re both safer like this, don’t you?”

Spike heard the box being opened and decided that he wasn’t going to hang around to find out what was in it, however well the chains were designed. He grasped the chain above his head with both hands and used his full strength to pull against the rings embedded in the floor. There wasn’t even a hint of movement beyond the couple of inches the chains allowed. He persevered. Even the strongest bonds were known to give under constant abuse.

When Percy turned back round Spike’s coat and feet were already covered in his own blood where the irons had torn into his flesh.

The human was perturbed and shook his head; “Angelus led me to believe you had agreed to this. If you won’t co-operate, William, I will have no choice but to contact the Council.”

This time it was not the magic that stopped Spike in his tracks. In his desperation to escape he had completely forgotten the deal. The magic was not to help protect him but to protect the human from him. His role was to submit to whatever the human wanted. He sagged, letting the manacles take his weight.

“Better.” The straight blade in Percy’s hand shot flickers of reflected light into Spike’s eyes as he waved it in front of the fang filled face. “I think I prefer a more human look if you don’t mind.”

Spike forced his demon away, grunting with the effort. He hadn’t had this much difficulty controlling his face for years, and it brought back nasty memories of his first few nights as a fledge, memories which made him feel even more vulnerable.

“Now, some of these clothes need to go.” The cut-throat razor was run up the side seams of Spike’s jacket, then up the sleeves. “Just tell me if I catch you.” Percy commented with a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Vest, tie, collar and hose followed the jacket, as did the buttons on the shirt, leaving Spike in just his trousers and his shirt hanging open from his shoulders. When he had finished, Percy, with infinite care, replaced the blade in the box and stood surveying the results of his actions. He seemed pleased and reached into his pocket, drawing out a piece of cloth.

“As this is to be in the nature of a scientific experiment I thought it important for you to be as objective as possible in your reactions, and that wouldn’t happen if you could see what I was about to do.”

As he spoke Percy covered Spike’s eyes with the cloth, plunging him to darkness, and tied it firmly behind his head. Automatically, Spike’s other senses kicked up a level. He could track the human easily from the sound of his heartbeat, he still smelled strongly of arousal although the blood odour had almost gone. It must have been from the syringe Spike reflected as he focused on following Percy’s movements. The man was still close to him, not near enough for the vampire to feel his breath, but close. The knowledge didn’t stop him from starting at the warm hand that pressed against his chest.

“All I want from you is genuine reactions. I want you to tell me what you feel. Do you think you can do that?”

Spike nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The hand left a burning trail down his cool skin as it traced a path to his waist.

“Do you feel this?”

Again he nodded.

“I said ‘I want you to tell me’. That requires you to speak.” The voice had adamantine hardness and the hand was removed.

“Y-Yes. I felt it. Y-Your hand was hot.”

Being required to verbalise what he was feeling made it hard to focus his other senses and Spike briefly lost track of where the human had gone. The hand was replaced with a burning sting that followed the same route from chest to waist. Spike felt the blood from the gash flow down his belly, and pool at the top of his trousers.

This time the command to communicate was accompanied by a hard slap across the face.

“Honestly, William. I’m really disappointed. I was assured by your Sire that you would co-operate fully and all I am seeing on your part is recalcitrance.”

Spike bit back a sarcastic quip. In his experience letting his smart mouth loose when he was chained up only led to bad things.

“It burns. Stings. I could feel the blood, but I think it’s stopping now.”

The human didn’t answer for a few moments, then he said with fascination, “This is remarkable. I can see the wound trying to close. Tell me, what about this?”

There was a stabbing pain in the centre of the wound, just below his solar plexus, it was enough of a shock to make Spike gasp and try to curl round it.

“That bloody hurts!”

“And this?”

A twisting and drawing sensation in his gut followed that made Spike gag into his answer.

“Yes! And I can feel something pulling inside.”

Spike struggled to retain his composure. He wasn’t exactly sure what Percy had done but he had his suspicions. ‘Now I know how a chicken feels when you draw its entrails out’ he reflected philosophically as the human stopped and moved away. He could hear the sound of water and suspected that Percy was cleaning his hands.

“Do you always heal so quickly?”

This was solid ground. After twenty-eight years as a vampire, Spike knew exactly how long it took him to heal.

“Yes. Although fresh blood helps speed up the process.”

“And you are well-fed I presume?”

“I fed earlier today and have done regularly for the last week. So I’d say, yes.”

Percy was standing right in front of him again. His heartbeat slow and steady, his breath carrying a faint scent of cloves.

“I wonder? ”There was a slight pause. “Is the reverse true? If you loose a lot of blood, does that stop the healing?”

Spike racked his brains. With a strong family around him he had been lucky, there had been few periods of starvation in his un-life, other than deliberately inflicted ones when he was a fledge. But from what he remembered.

“I think so. I can’t really be sure. It’s been a while and I was very young. It may have been immaturity that slowed my healing.”

“Hmm. An interesting line of investigation. I must say I found the Council’s information on your kind sadly lacking. They seem to know next to nothing about what makes you tick.”

“More interested in dusting us, mate.” Spike’s head tracked round as he followed the human moving behind him. The pain in his gut was subsiding now and he flexed his abdominal muscles to make sure everything was still working.

The blade was back and slid down the back seam of his shirt; the material falling away as it was cut from his body. Warm hands ran across his shoulders and down each side of his spine. Spike’s skin quivered under the touch.

“You’re so cool, despite the heat in the room.”

“Corpses always feel cold to the living.”

“Is that how you consider yourself? A walking corpse?”

The hands slid round the waist of his trousers and started unbuttoning his fly. Spike shrugged, trying to ignore the fingers that were brushing against him as they worked. He didn’t spend much of his time thinking about what he was; he was too busy being it.

“If you want my opinion,” Percy’s body was plastered against his back like a heated blanket and Spike’s nerves zinged when the human’s breath slid past his ear.

“I don’t know many corpses that could boast this.” Spike hissed and bucked into the scalding grasp around his half-hard cock.

“Do you feel this?” The strokes were firm and strong and were very efficiently scattering what was left of his brain.

“Umm. Yes. Hot.”

“Temperature is important then?” Now they were a little harder and faster. Spike licked his lips, suddenly dry in the hot room, finding it hard to focus on what he should be saying.

“Different. Different temperatures. M’ cold, you’re...hot.”

A small whimper escaped his throat when the hand disappeared, and he turned his head trying to work out where the human had gone now. Still behind him apparently as his trousers were pulled down and cut away. Then the hands were back running quickly and efficiently over his back and buttocks as if assessing a piece of horseflesh.

“You have no scars. No marks at all. How is that? You must have been injured in the past.”

Spike cleared his throat. This guy was swinging so quickly between moods he was finding it hard to keep up.

“Don’t scar. Part of the vampire healing thing. Except the one on my brow. Slayers sword did that. Must’ve been magic.”

“Yes, I saw that. That’s what made me wonder.” The human had moved away again and was standing by the table.

“You really are an incredible species. Do your bodies ever change?” Percy was rummaging for something. Spike could hear rattling noises which he guessed were things being moved around in the chest.

“No, not really. We can loose and gain a bit of bulk, but essentially we stay the same as when we’re changed.” Metal scraped on tile right in front of him and he nearly swallowed his tongue when his cock was gripped again with a hot hand.

“Forever?” The strokes were hot and hard and what was it he wanted to know again? Spike thrust forward, the heat and friction driving him slowing round the bend.

“Until we’re dust…Arghh!” The scream was ripped from him as something pierced the base of his cock sending explosions of agony round his body. He tried to pull away when he felt metal being forced into the wound and even when the initial pain faded Spike could still feel something deeply embedded, and the blood running freely from his body.

“What the fuck did you do?” He was staring down at his injured penis hoping he could burn through the blindfold if he glared hard enough.

Percy chuckled, not a comforting sound. Even less comforting when it was overlaid by the sound of blood splashing onto metal.

“A nifty little gadget called a cannula. Keeps the vein open while you bleed. I think it will be enough to stop you healing too fast and closing the wound. If I’m right then your blood will continue to flow until I either remove the drain or you run out. We’ll see.”

“You bastard!” His blood was pouring from the opened vein, though not at the speed a vampire could drain it. Spike reckoned he had about ten minutes before he bled out. Then what? It wouldn’t kill him but it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Does it hurt?”

“Of course it fucking hurts, you idiot! You just stuck a bit of metal in my dick!” Actually the pain wasn’t too bad now but Spike was one pissed off vampire.

“Not that. The blood letting.” Percy’s voice was the epitome of tolerant patience as if he were speaking to a small child.

“No.” The answer was definitely petulant but he felt he had the right. Spike heard the human move away toward the table again and smelled the whisky before he heard it being poured.

“Let me know when it does.”

After five minutes, Spike could feel a dull ache in his limbs which he ignored. Two minutes later, when it had grown to a burning throughout his body, he decided that telling Percy might be a good idea. By the time the human had removed the cannula and managed to stop the bleeding Spike was only half-conscious and his body was playing him symphonies in pain.

The taste of stale blood in his mouth brought him round enough to gulp down the offering, and as his head cleared Spike realised the blindfold had been removed, and he was being fed his own blood from a metal basin.

“You really are very obstinate, aren’t you?” The bowl was removed before Spike’s bloodlust had receded but at least the pain was reduced to a dull ache again. Percy’s eyes were looking deeply into his gold ones as he spoke; they contained interest but no concern. Then he tapped Spike on the nose with one finger, his voice scolding, “Human face, please.”

“I’m not a fucking puppy.” Now he’d reached sullen, Spike reflected. With very little effort, if things continued on their present course, he’d have reached full-scale sulk by the end of the night. He fought his demon down anyway.

“No, you’re not a puppy. But you are stupid and stubborn. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with your attitude.” Percy was standing by the table again, his back to the vampire. The bowl of blood was on the floor and Spike could smell the heavy copper odour of it calling to his demon.

“Could you cover the bowl?”

“What?” Percy turned round.

“The bowl. I can smell the blood. It makes it hard to stay human. Could you cover it or move it.” Spike could feel his face shifting as he spoke. He had to be careful not to slice his tongue as his fangs alternately dropped and withdrew. The human put the bowl outside the door then walked back over and placed his hand gently in the centre of Spike’s chest.

“You hate being out of control, don’t you? Why fight it? You have no control tonight I have it all. If you would just submit then I’m sure you’d feel better.” His hand drifted south again and he gently stroked the growing arousal he found there.

Spike flinched; the wound had closed but had not healed enough to stop it hurting as he became erect. Percy noticed his reflexive movement and pressed his fingers lightly onto the damaged flesh. Spike hissed and tried to pull away.

“What do you feel?” A nail dug into the laceration when the reply was slow in coming.

“Argh. Its like I’m feeling it with my whole body not just there.” The nail was removed but the stroking continued. Percy cocked his head on one side and stared down, watching what he was doing

“Fascinating. And this also hurts?” It was like bad toothache, from what Spike could remember of toothache.

He nodded then, seeing Percy’s frown, quickly added, “Like I said, only in my whole body. That’s just the centre of it.”

“But it’s not stopping you from reacting. Your erection is firm.” To emphasise his point he gave Spike a hard squeeze. The vampire yelped.

“Blood loss seems to increase your sensitivity to everything.” Percy paused then pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the manacle from Spike’s right wrist. The moment it was released Spike brought it to his mouth cleaning away the dried blood from his earlier escape attempt. Percy was sat on the chest studying him, and as his tongue worked Spike looked curiously at the human wondering what would come next.

“I want you to masturbate.”

“What?” It seemed he was.

“I want you to touch yourself. Bring yourself to completion. I wish...”

“I know what you mean.” Spike looked up at his other hand still firmly chained to the ceiling. “Don’t suppose you’d undo the other one then.”

“Why? You need both hands. Is this some sort of strange vampiric thing?”

“No.” Spike could be the epitome of patience as well, even if the human was being bloody stupid. “I’m left handed.”

Left was swapped for right and Percy resumed his seat on the chest, arms folded, leaning against the wall. His demeanour was unbending, not exactly an appreciative audience Spike reflected as he looked away and closed his eyes. Humming quietly to himself, the vampire searched his memories for a good fantasy to help him forget the human burning holes in his flesh with his eyes.

While he flicked through the picture book in his mind, Spike gripped the base of his erection firmly in his fist and ran it up the length, pinching his foreskin over the head with a practised twist of his wrist. The memory that fell most easily for him was his last encounter with Angelus and he quickly moved into a strong rhythm while replaying the day’s events in his mind. With a bit of judicious editing, he soon had his Sire on his knees, glorious cock streaming and tight little hole twitching, begging to be fucked hard and fast. Spike groaned at the image and increased the speed of his pumping as his envisaged plunging into those cool muscular depths. His fangs dropped as he felt his balls tingle and he sliced his tongue to taste the blood that was such an integral part of coming. As the sensitive skin parted under the razor sharp teeth his nerve endings screamed, sending bullets of pain ricocheting around his body. They all shot straight to his groin, slammed into his balls and sent him careening over the edge. His legs gave out and he fell heavily into the shackle binding his right hand, almost pulling the shoulder joint from its socket. That set off fresh waves of pain, which joined in the party currently raging in his cock, and he came again, falling to the floor his body spasming as he tried to regain control.

Curious eyes were watching him when he finally managed to stop breathing and shaking from the force of his climax. Spike raised his head and looked around, blinking at the bright light after the darkness of his mind and licked his lips.

“I’m on the floor.” His voice sounded a long way off and a bit odd.

“I undid the other manacle when I thought you were going to tear your arm off. Does that normally happen?” Percy handed Spike a cloth and got up, watching as the vampire wiped himself with trembling hands. “Does it?”

Spike grunted and shook his head. The brutal kick in the chest came out of nowhere and he slumped to the ground again, gasping from the burning pain that radiated from the point of impact, it felt like at least one rib had broken.

“That is going to be your final warning. I told you I wanted you to tell me what you feel. It requires that you speak. I asked if that normally happens.”

Spike coughed hard when he tried to pull in enough air to speak, then shook his head and scooted backwards away from the foot that was heading towards him again. At last managing to catch his breath, he panted out; “N-No. It was the pain. M-Made it m-more. Harder.”

“See that wasn’t so difficult was it. All you have to do is what you’re told.” A hand came down to rest on his head and Spike had to resist the urge to bite it off. “I think we understand each other now, so I’m going to undo your legs.”

Spike felt the fetters being released, and pulled his knees up to his chest protecting his injured ribs. If he received no more blood tonight, the pain was going to remain at the same high pitch for this whole trip.

“Blood.” He murmured into the floor. Then realising that Percy could not have heard him, he turned his head and said it again a little louder.

The human knelt down next to him. “You need more blood?” Spike nodded, then muttered a quiet ‘yes‘.

“I think I want to see you behave before we do that. You show me you can do as you’re told for a couple of hours and I’ll feed you again. Is that a deal?”

A couple of hours. Spike winced at being in this level of pain for that long, let alone having to move. But, as Percy said, he had no power here, so he’d just have to deal.

Spike pulled himself up to a sitting position and answered as forcefully as he could, “I’ll do as I’m told.”

“Then stand up.”

Spike managed to get as far as his knees, but by then his head was spinning and he dropped to all fours to try and regain his equilibrium. Percy had no sympathy with his plight.

“Up, William. Now.”

As he staggered to his feet, Spike stuck out a hand and found it caught by the human who was standing near him. Percy drew him up and put a comforting arm round him as he rested his head on a warm shoulder. As Spike stood shaking against him, Percy slowly ran his hand down the silky cool skin on the vampire’s back until it came to rest in the hollow above his buttocks. After a few moments he started tracing small circles with his fingertips. Spike arched into the touch instinctively and started to purr. Percy stopped and looked down at him quizzically.

“Are you purring?”

“Hmm?” Spike raised his head sleepily. The pain had reduced to a dull ache again and he’d had been drifting off, enjoying the sensations not realising what he’d been doing.

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “I said, ‘are you purring’?”

Taking the hint Spike nodded quickly. “I think so. It felt nice and it started to stop hurting. So, yeah, I probably was purring.”

Percy moved away so quickly that Spike nearly fell over again. The human virtually ran into the adjoining room, muttering something under his breath. Spike followed him more slowly and leant heavily against the door frame. The bowl of blood was at his feet tucked neatly against the wall so it didn’t get kicked over. A quick glance at the human, who was totalling engrossed flicking through a large book, convinced Spike that it was worth helping himself. He slid down the wall nonchalantly and when that evinced no reaction he picked up the bowl and lifted it to his mouth. Not even a mouthful of the cold, gelatinous fluid had passed his lips when the bowl was dashed away covering him and the floor with dark blackish blood.

“I thought we had a deal.” Percy’s voice was flat and icy calm and Spike could have cried as he saw his meal seeping into the wooden floor.

“We did. We do. I’m sorry. I was hungry.” Desperately the vampire started to suck his bloody fingers then run them up his torso to rescue more of the precious substance. It may have been cold, stale and almost congealed, but to Spike it tasted like the finest ambrosia.

The first backhand across the face made him blink, the second made his ears ring, by the fifth his nose was bleeding and he was trying to protect himself with his hands.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Bloody hell just stop! I said I’m sorry.”

When the sixth never came Spike lowered his arms and sniffed, feeling at his nose to see if that too was broken. It wasn’t but there was blood on his lip and in his moustache. He wiped away what he could and cleaned his hands again before looking up to see where the human had gone.

Percy was sat on the bed looking through the book again. When he realised Spike was watching him, he said brightly.

“I’m going to have so much information about you and your family to pass on to the Council. Do you think they’ll give me an honorary degree for services rendered?”

Spike gave a small sob at his words. He’d blown it. The whole family was going to get dusted because he, William the Bloody Awful Poet couldn’t resist a bowl of blood. He would be lucky if the Council got to him before Angelus or Darla. At least death at the Council’s hands was likely to be quick. In one last desperate attempt to salvage something from the situation, Spike crawled across the floor and knelt at the human’s feet. When he got no response he pushed his head into Percy’s knee trying to gain his attention, then he purred.

Percy reached out and grasped Spike’s chin, raising his head and studying his face. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

“Now you submit. I have never met a more stupid, bull-headed and stubborn individual in my life.” Percy looked down at the bloody body that was trying to wrap itself round his leg. “Lets get you cleaned up and we’ll try again.”

The human brought the water and cloth from the other room and Spike sat quietly on the floor while the blood was washed off. He could have done a better job himself, but this was about letting Percy have control and Spike wasn’t going to risk blowing it again. When the vampire was clean, Percy picked up his book and went to sit by the fire, indicating that Spike should join him. They sat quietly for a while, Percy in one of the chairs reading his book; Spike sat on the floor leaning against his knee. Periodically Percy would pet him and Spike would purr. It was relaxing in a surreal sort of way.

Despite all his promises to Angelus to obey and follow through with the plan, Spike knew that he hadn’t really meant a word of it. Not until he’d heard Percy declare his intentions to give them all up to the Watcher’s Council, had he’d really believed and understood the implications of his failure. It was at that point that he truly accepted that the fate of his entire family was in his less than capable hands and, in order to succeed, he had to submit totally to this human. Now Spike felt he had reached a place where he was no longer responsible for what happened. If, by morning, Percy were not happy then Spike would know that it wasn’t due to any lack on his part and would go to his final death knowing he done his best. It really was relaxing in a surreal sort of way.

Just as he was drifting off, lulled by the heat from the fire and the hand softly caressing his hair, Percy snapped the book shut with a sound of annoyance and disgust.

“There is nothing, nothing about vampires purring. I cannot believe that they don’t have this sort of information. What were they watching all these years?”

Spike tapped his leg. He wanted to speak but wasn’t sure if he was allowed. On the occasions he had truly submitted to Angelus, his Sire had demanded his total silence unless given explicit dispensation.

Percy looked down, puzzlement on his face. “Yes?”

“It’s not easy to get us to purr and watchers don’t usually go round stroking vampires so they wouldn’t know.” Point made, Spike sank down and put his head back on Percy’s knee.

There was silence for a few moments then Percy spoke, a musing note to his voice. “You may be right. If I hadn’t met Angelus and we hadn’t become friends, the closest I would have got to either of you would have been as dinner. You are very strange creatures. Something from folk tales and our worst nightmares, yet able to discuss the spiritual pleasures of music. You converse like a man and purr like a beast. You are neither man nor beast.”

He looked down speculatively at the vampire curled round his leg. “You seem more relaxed. Has the pain gone?”

“No, but just a slight ache.” Spike wasn’t going to mention his ribs. The blood he’d managed to lick from his fingers and torso had allowed the bones to start knitting, but they were still very sore.

“How flammable are you?” Damn, the scientist was back. Spike liked the quiet bookish Percy; he was safe and comfortable.

“Pretty flammable. The older we get the less easily we burn.”

“Put your hand in the fire.” This was it then. When Angelus found his ashes in the morning he would know it was ultimately impossible to trust a human. Spike stood up, walked over to the fire and reached out toward the flames.

“Stop.” Spike froze.

“Now, I trust you.” Percy stood up and took his hand, pulling it back from the fire. “I’m sorry, but I needed to be certain.”

Circling Spike with his arms, Percy looked at the vampire for long moments. Spike was standing silently, arms loose at his sides, eyes downcast, the very picture of submission. Raising his hand, Percy explored the contours of the vampire’s oh so human face.

“You are really are beautiful. I can see why Angelus is so captivated.” His fingers came to rest over full pink lips. “And such a pretty mouth. So much better when it’s not chattering all the time.” An agile tongue snaked out and brushed against them, sending chills down his spine. When he made no move to pull them away, the tongue returned and his fingers were drawn inside the vampire’s cool mouth, where they were teased and suckled gently. Percy shivered and pulled Spike closer, pressing his evident arousal against the other’s hip.

Directed by the unspoken command, Spike dropped to his knees, nimbly unbuttoned Percy’s trousers and drawers, and released his erection. Before proceeding, the vampire looked up questioningly, as if searching for permission. Percy nodded slightly and was rewarded when a cool mouth absorbed his burning flesh. He gasped and grabbed quickly for the shock of dark blonde hair that was buried in his groin. The mouth immediately stilled.

“Sorry. Just a shock. Like you said, temperature difference.”

Coherence and even full sentences? Spike decided he was obviously doing something wrong and returned to his task with renewed vigour. He hadn’t done this for a while, but Angelus had been a hard taskmaster, teaching lessons that weren’t easy to forget. And now it was only appropriate that Percy should benefit.

Percy quickly decided that if being in a demon’s mouth meant he was damned to hell for eternity, he would go there happily. Even the most skilled whores hadn’t been able to match this. Soft lips closed around him again and the tip of a tongue fluttered around the underside of his head, before running firmly up and down his shaft. A hand was caressing his sac, stroking and rolling it slowly through long skilful fingers. The sight of his penis repeatedly disappearing into the vampire’s mouth as the head moved rhythmically over him was unbelievably erotic.

Spike sucked in his cheeks, enclosing as much of the burning shaft as he could with cool muscle, and tried not to pull away when Percy twisted his fingers into his hair and thrust repeatedly in response. A hand on the man’s hip steadied his movements and when he’d slowed, Spike deep throated him revelling in the uncontrolled moan and renewed thrusting the action elicited. He swallowed, allowing his throat muscles to grip and work Percy’s cock, tongue and cheeks retaining their tight shape. Feeling the balls in his hand tighten and lift, Spike pulled his head away slightly, catching the head and shaft, and sucked firmly. He was rewarded with a tight grip on the back of his head and, a couple of thrusts later, a mouthful of warm, viscous fluid. He swallowed reflexively, gagging slightly at the strong bitter taste which was so much stronger than anything a vampire produced. When the man’s shuddering had stopped and his heartbeat had returned to normal levels, Spike quickly cleaned him and re-buttoned his clothes, remaining on his knees looking at the floor.

Percy sank back into his chair and sat in shocked silence for a few moments. Then, in a voice tight with feeling, he said, “You don’t need to breathe then.”

Spike looked up at him, “No. Only to speak and sometimes as an autonomic response.” Then he added rather smugly, “Useful skill, isn’t it.”

Scraping a slightly shaky hand through his hair, Percy sat back and murmured, “It certainly is.” Then he cleared his throat and, latching on to what Spike had said, added “Autonomic response. Such as when?”

Spike sat back on the floor crossing his legs, small child style, completely at ease with his nakedness and evident erection. “Well, I think I’d have breathed if someone just did that to me. Didn’t you notice me breathing earlier?” He was pretty sure he’d breathed during that rather earth shattering orgasm.

Percy shook his head. “I was more bothered by your attempts to rip your arm off, sorry.”

“Guess we’ll have to do it again and this time you’ll have to remember to watch for me breathing.” Spike felt better. He was quite happy to go along with whatever Percy suggested, and he was content that he had brought such pleasure with a display of oral prowess that for once hadn’t involved his smart-ass humour.

Consulting a pocket watch he pulled from his from his vest, Percy narrowed his eyes before addressing the vampire at his feet. “Go and get the manacles and a short length of chain from the other room.”

Spike leapt up to comply and soon returned with the requested items, holding out his hands so they could be shackled with ease.

“Not here. Over on the bed.” He followed Percy, positioning himself close to the foot of the bed as instructed. Percy looped the chain around the bedpost twice, then locked the manacles securely around Spike’s wrists who jerked on them hard to show he was securely held.

Regarding the vampire kneeling naked on the bed with a hungry gaze, Percy produced the blindfold again. “Much as I like to look at your lovely blue eyes, this should make it easier to concentrate.”

Before his world went dark again Spike had the time to notice that much of the coldness had gone from Percy’s face. It looked as if the nasty high from the cocaine was wearing off which should mean a return to the more nervous man who had greeted him that evening. It was a reassuring thought.

The blindfold secure, Percy ran his hand down the vampire’s flank, marvelling again at the silkiness of the inhuman skin. Far from being corpselike, the flesh under his hand was firm and fairly thrummed with life; the skin, virtually hairless and incredibly pale, was a little dryer and cooler than would easily pass for normal, but that did not detract from what was, all in all, a very attractive package.

“Do you use your looks when you hunt?” He could quite imagine this fascinating creature seducing some unsuspecting young thing only to drain her body and cast her soul into hell. Percy shivered at the thought.

“Depends. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” Spike was going to do his best to answer all of Percy’s questions, but talking about hunting humans with a human probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Depends on what?”

“In the slums it’s grab a quick bite and move on. Not a place for sophisticated methods.”

The hand caressing him stilled and Spike could almost hear the man’s mind filling in the gaps with information from the stories he’d told. He’d leave the rest up to Percy’s imagination if he could. The hand was removed and Spike could hear a slightly raised heartbeat moving away from him. When Percy spoke again his voice was colder and more businesslike and Spike belatedly realised that this man’s imagination was probably very efficient.

“We are looking at autonomic response. You breathe when damaged, that much I’ve seen, but you also claim to breathe under other forms of stimuli. Is this true?”

Spike was cast suddenly back into William’s memories of a lecture hall, the professor standing behind the podium, glaring at his class over half round glasses. He shivered, getting the image of a huge microscope peering down at him.

“Yes.”

He’d located the heartbeat not far from him at the end of the bed and, when he heard the sound of items being shifted around, Spike surmised that Percy was searching through the chest that stood there. He swallowed nervously wondering what the man would find; the memory of the cannula was still rather vivid.

“I want you to control your breathing. You are not to breathe if you can help it. Understand?” The heartbeat was back next to him and Spike moved as far away from it as he could, the chains rattling slightly as he shifted.

“Uhuh. No breathing. I get it.” By now Spike had his feet under him ready to jump in any direction, arms stretched taut toward the post. He’d almost started breathing from nerves.

“Are you scared?”

“Just wondering what yer gonna do.” The heartbeat was moving again. ‘Damn, I wish the man would stay still,’ Spike thought as he turned his head from side to side trying to zero in on its new location. He felt the bed sink slightly behind him and shot round, one leg sliding to the floor as he lost his balance. He scrabbled frantically for purchase on the post and then flinched when a hand seized his forearm hard enough to bruise even a vampire’s flesh.

“Do your victims do that? Flinch away in fear when you grab them and sink your fangs into their neck.” The words were spoken coldly but the air that carried them burnt a path across Spike’s face. And now he was breathing, panting in short painful gasps.

“Is it fear that is making you breathe now?”

Spike let his breath hitch and stopped it. Hands grasped his hips painfully and he was dragged back onto the bed and into a sitting position, legs crossed as he’d been on the floor at Percy’s feet. His arms now pulled up to one side and behind him.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’ve stopped. It was nerves, that’s all.” No vampire would admit to being scared of a human.

“So you’re nervous of me, not scared.” Fingers stroked up Spike’s neck, from collarbone to ear, following the track of his jugular.

“Uhuh. Not scared.”

“What do you feel?” And that hot hand was on his chest again, this time running slowly back and forth between his collarbones dipping occasionally to brush over his nipples. This time Spike knew exactly what he was expected to do.

“Your hand, hot, across my chest. It’s kind of nice.”

Nice enough to attract the attention of certain parts of his anatomy anyway. The stroking continued slowly moving lower and tracing the lines of his ribs and down his sides. Fingers lingered slightly over the bruises, as if exploring the damage, but moved on without causing further pain. Spike started to relax under the gentle ministrations until Percy hit a particularly ticklish spot under his ribs and he tried to squirm away.

“What now?” The man’s voice sounded exasperated at Spike’s reaction.

“Tickled.” That was mumbled.

“You’re ticklish?” Percy managed to sound amused and surprised at the same time.

Spike was indignant. “Yeah. So?”

“I just never thought vampires would be ticklish. It’s such a human thing. Did you used to be ticklish there when you were human?”

It was Spike’s turn to be exasperated. “I don’t know. It was nearly thirty years ago. How am I supposed to remember a thing like that?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

The hand moved again, avoiding the sensitive area and continued to drift down. Not the subtlest of foreplay, Spike contemplated, but still a step up from Dru who seemed to regard undoing his flies and hoisting her skirts’ up sufficient most of the time. What was odd was the lack of kissing. For orally fixated vampires, mouths tended to get as much use as hands, which meant that Percy’s caresses, although sweet and pleasant, were strangely un-erotic. Finally, was the thought that crossed Spike’s mind, when the man’s hand reached his erection and started the strong movements he had used earlier in the night.

As the stroking increased in pace, Spike tried to make himself more comfortable. He uncrossed his legs and shifted his hips down so his arms were above his head and he was leaning back against the bedpost. Percy stopped what he was doing and removed his hand. Spike looked around blindly, wishing he could see the man’s face. Percy didn’t smell angry, in fact he smelled aroused.

“Why did you stop? I’m sorry I moved. I’ll move back if you want.” Spike started to sit back up but was stopped by a hand on his knee.

“No. Don’t move.” His knees were lifted apart and both feet were placed flat on the bed. A tentative hand lifted his sac gently and a finger ran down the soft skin behind.

“Angelus. Did he…umm?”

Spike was not a stupid vampire, most of the time. He understood what Percy was saying. “Did he bugger me? Yes. Why?”

The hands were withdrawn quickly and the bed moved. Spike could suddenly smell disgust pouring off Percy in waves.

“It’s foul. To do that. Dirty.” Ahhh, that was the problem.

“Not for vampire’s, mate. Nothing else been through there since the day I was turned. Just like a quim for the bloke on top.” Then he added thoughtfully, “‘Cept tighter a lot of the time.”

“You don’t…?” Percy was surprised again now and his disgust was reducing.

“Nope. Don’t piss either. Blood goes in. Nothing comes out. Don’t ask me how or why. I have no idea.”

The bed dipped again as Percy sat back down. Then the hand was back on Spike’s knee.

“Does it feel good?”

“Can do.” So long as it’s not Angelus buggering you dry for three hours straight. Some things were too private for Spike to share.

“Turn over.” Percy’s voice sounded a lot more assertive suddenly, and Spike sent out a silent plea for the chest to contain some sort of lubricant.

“Kneeling? Lying down? How do you want me?” This was going to be…interesting.

“Turn around, kneel up and lean on the bed post.” Spike did as he was requested, wondering if Percy’s moods usually changed this fast or if it was still the drug. Then there were two hands on his buttocks pulling them apart less than gently. Spike flinched when a finger was pushed into him.

“Does that hurt?” Again no concern, just interest.

“Yeah, a bit. It’s been a while and your finger’s dry.” Spike reflected that he may be leaving himself open to more pain, but if there was any of the nice Percy kicking around he might take the hint.

The finger stayed where it was but stopped moving. “But you’ve been around Angelus recently.”

“Umm.” Spike wasn’t sure his Sire was going to thank him for this but. “I did him last time. No one’s done me for about thirty years. Not since Angelus left. Plus I was turned a virgin, so..”

“You return to being that way.” Percy interrupted. “I understand. You said ‘dry’. Will anything do as lubrication?” The finger was removed and Spike nearly sagged at Percy’s words.

“Something slippery is good. Oil maybe?” The bed shifted again and Spike heard things being moved around in the chest.

“There’s nothing in here.” Damn. “I presume the whisky would be inappropriate? “

Spike thought for a moment. “No. No good. Imagine getting raw alcohol on your dick. It would sting like hell.”

There was silence from Percy. Then he said rather coldly, “I never said I was going to use my dick. I’ll go and see if there’s anything upstairs.” With that Spike heard the main door open, and Percy’s footsteps and heartbeat move away

It was almost impossible for Spike to gauge the time, but he was certain it was well past midnight. Dawn was at about six, so by his calculations Percy had a good couple of hours to play. Spike puffed out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d taken and let his forehead drop onto the bedpost. This was not going to be fun. What interest his cock had shown in proceedings rapidly flagged.

After a few minutes Spike heard footsteps on the stairs, and the door opened and closed. Percy’s voice was quite bright when he spoke, “Got it. One of the young ladies had some oil, so we’re all set. By the way I hope you didn’t misinterpret what I said before I left. All I meant was that it may be difficult for me to observe your breathing if I’m so intimately involved in what’s happening.”

“Thanks for letting me in on the secret, mate.” Spike couldn’t keep the note of sarcasm out of his voice. Inwardly, he was somewhat relieved.

The bed dipped. “I’m sorry, William. Did I worry you?” Two people could do sarcasm it seemed. Extremely cold oil landed on Spike’s buttocks that were abnormally warmed by the fire and he fought not to gasp at the shock of it on his skin.

“The rest of the house is quite a lot colder I’m afraid. I’m sure it will warm quickly though.” The oil was running down the crack of his ass and Percy’s fingers followed it rubbing the oil around. Spike remained silently leaning on the bedpost, his forehead resting on his arms, concentrating on his breathing.

“Tell me what you feel.”

‘Damn it all to hell’, Spike thought, how was he supposed to not breathe when he had to breathe to talk.

“The oil was cold, but it’s warming now. Your hand is hot. Feels nice. Slippery.” A finger paused over his hole briefly before continuing to move as even more oil was poured onto him. “Think that’s probably enough oil.”

“You think? I’ll take your word for it. So, what now?”

“What your finger did before? Do it again but push in.” ‘Spike; the walking manual on how to bugger a vampire’. His buttocks were pulled apart again and Percy’s finger pressed against him. Then it disappeared.

“I can’t see. Bend over further.” Spike did just that, easing the chain down the bedpost, dropping his head and shoulders onto the bed and lifting his ass as high in the air as he could. He cursed silently as his legs were pulled further apart. This was probably one of the un-sexiest things he’d ever done; in fact it was hateful. Completely exposed in this position, he felt like a scientific specimen.

Percy’s fingers were back, curiously touching him in small circular movements around his entrance, pressing gently. When, with no further ceremony, two were violently shoved in, Spike had to focus really hard on not breathing. His muscles had clenched hard around the sudden intrusion, and he was having problems relaxing. Before he was anything like ready the fingers moved, twisting round and pumping in and out. This time he couldn’t fight his deep inhalation as long unused muscles were stretched painfully.

“You breathed. Is it good?”

“No. Hurts. Give a bloke a chance to get used to it, will you.” The words were hissed through clenched teeth.

“Sorry.” The fingers stopped moving and Spike managed to get his twitching anus back under control. When he felt ready he pushed back slightly and Percy took the hint, starting to pump his fingers again, albeit more slowly this time.

“Scissor your fingers.” Spike was reaching new heights of surreal. Percy complied and started stretching him.

“I can see the muscles relaxing and you’re getting looser.” But a running commentary on how his ass looked and felt was the most surreal part yet.

“More.” He wriggled encouragingly. Percy withdrew his fingers then pushed in three, marvelling at the way the inhuman body seemed to devour them. The quivering muscle around his fingers was warm, presumably from friction, but inside the vampire’s slick channel was still curiously cool.

“Deeper. And press down.” Obediently Percy did exactly that, sinking his fingers forward as far as he could then pushing downwards. He almost stopped when he felt something odd and spongy under his fingertips. Spike’s hips jerked forward and his anus clamped down again.

“What was that?” Percy did it again, pressing on the same spot. It got exactly the same reaction.

“Prostate. Feels good. Like fireworks in your cock.” Spike was going mad; trying to control his breathing, give Percy directions, and not lose track of what was happening was too much. The next moment control over his breathing was irrelevant. Percy was pumping his fingers again, hitting his prostate every time, and Spike was panting and trying to control the rest of his body.

“You’re breathing.” There was a self-satisfied teasing note in Percy’s voice and he stopped moving his hand. Spike whimpered and pushed back, fucking himself on Percy’s fingers trying to re-establish the nice rhythm he’d had going. The fingers were pulled away then quickly replaced with four. The stretch was painful but at this point Spike didn’t care. He couldn’t touch himself and at this angle there was virtually no friction on his cock so he was going to take what he could. Thankfully Percy took over and assaulted his insides in a thoroughly satisfying way.

When Percy removed his hand again. Spike didn’t hold back the sob that burst from his lips. He’d been so close, his cock was streaming and his balls felt like they were in a vice.

“Will this make you complete?”

“It would have done.” If you hadn’t stopped, you stupid bastard. Spike felt he was getting very good at not saying everything that was in his head.

“Can you take more?” Even though he couldn’t see, Spike turned toward the man sat behind him.

“What?” Did he mean what Spike thought he meant?

“Can you take my whole hand?” He did.

“Right now I’ll take anything if I get to finish.” Spike made no attempt to keep the angry frustration out of his voice.

“I saw it done once in a club. It was to a woman and it wasn’t very pleasant. I need more oil.” Now Spike was moving past surreal and out the other side. Was there something beyond surreal? Philosophy had never been his strong suit.

Percy’s hands were back and Spike quickly stepped in. “I’m gonna have to breathe and I’ll need time to relax. When you push in try and fold yer hand up and twist it round, like you were putting a cork back in a bottle, then make a fist. And it may be better if you kneel up behind me.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Angelus has. And his hands are a lot bigger than yours, so you won’t damage me if you’re careful.”

Percy followed his instructions carefully. Spike got plenty of time to relax and pretty soon he felt the man’s whole hand slip inside him and ball up. He was breathing hard now, his ass hurt like hell and his muscles were clenching spasmodically.

“Now what.” There was not a hint of lust in Percy’s voice, just curiosity.

“Move yer hand.”

“Like this?” The hand inside him flexed, moved gently further in and the knuckles ground over his prostate.

“Fuck yeah! Keep doing that.” Spike’s voice was broken and creaky. He really wished he could get at his cock, but if Percy kept doing that he’d come anyway. A few minutes later he was panting, demon out and pushing back to meet the hand inside him. He was close, his balls were tightening and his ass clamping down around Percy’s wrist. The base of his spine tingled and with a wrench inside he hit the edge and everything boiled over, just as Percy reached round and squeezed round the base of his cock, hard. Spike grabbed the bedpost with both hands and screamed. It was a girly scream but he didn’t care. His body was coming anyway, hips thrusting frantically forwards into the hand gripping him. Every muscle contracting as the rest of his body tried to make up for not being able to ejaculate. His whole body was shuddering and grasping, and his balls were trying to explode. He bit down hard and his fangs sank into his own arm down to the bone. The agony/ecstasy lasted forever and the shaking even longer.

Eventually he came to. Percy’s hand was gone from his ass, his cock was still throbbing painfully and leaking, and someone had tightened the vice up round his balls.

“You fucking bastard.” Spike yelled the invective into the mattress. He was in agony.

“I saw that in a club too.” The blindfold was removed from Spike’s face and he blinked, looking around. Percy had a huge grin on his face. “I believe its called a dry orgasm, and it had much the same effect on the gentleman I saw as it did on you. You’re very human you know.”

Spike suppressed the growl in his throat and tried to smile. It was more like a rictus grin round his fangs. “Has anyone every told you that too much watching is bad for you?”

Percy’s grin got even broader. “Yes,” he said lightly as he unlocked the manacles. “That’s why I’m going to bugger you now.” Then he laughed. Surprise was an odd expression to see on a vampire’s demon face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“And that’s it. Nothing else about the song or magic in my head”

Buffy squeaked. “But you can’t stop there. Did it work? Did Percy give the information to the council? What happened next?” She was kneeling up on the bed, every fibre of her body quivering with frustration at the termination of the tale.

“Didn’t think you liked vampire sexcapades, pet.” Spike grinned at her from the chair. In contrast to Buffy, Spike was bonelessly relaxed, having slid down in his seat during this part of the story, and was now virtually lying down, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms linked behind his head.

When Buffy pouted at him, he relented with a sigh and sat up. “Tell you what, you go and get me a mug of your finest pig’s blood, and I’ll sit here and try and remember the rest.”

The Slayer was a good audience, Spike thought to himself after she left. She gasped and flinched in all the right places and appreciated the humour and excitement he’d injected into what could have been a very dry tale. She reminded him of Dawn when she’d been listening to his ghost stories. Spike shuddered. Of course they had been quite different and he cringed inwardly at the memory of using his own foul past to impress an innocent teenager.

By the time Buffy returned, Spike had invented and discarded several versions of the ending and had decided that the truth, however unpalatable, was the only option. The Slayer deserved to hear what a nasty bastard he was.

Settling down again after finishing his meal, Spike continued.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What really stuck in his mind was the heat, inside him, outside him, surrounding him. Spike grinned to himself as he lay face down on the bed. Percy was a very hot human, he’d concluded when the man was buried balls deep in his ass and some of that remarkable warmth was still inside him. And the breathing, there had been a lot of breathing from both parties, if he remembered rightly. It had been a good way to finish the evening and had left him feeling pretty content. He hadn’t wanted this, had deeply resented Angelus using him, but when Percy had slid down into the bed after his second orgasm, Spike had known from the look on his face that the family was safe. So what if his Sire had whored him out, what did it matter that he’d been bled, battered and bruised by a human. His family was safe again and that was all that counted.

Spike rolled over searching for the residual heat left by Percy’s body. He’d faked sleep and the human, not knowing any different, had slipped out of the bed and dressed without speaking. Now Percy was in the other room. He sat up when the door opened, attracted by the smell more than the movement. Percy was carrying one of the shot glasses and it was filled with fresh blood.

“I thought it was the least I could do, William.” He said sitting on the edge of the bed and handing Spike the glass. “You’ve been very helpful tonight and I’m sure that you’ll be pleased to learn that I have no intention, as things stand, of passing on what I know to the council.”

With a quick grin in Percy’s direction, Spike drained the glass. It was odd, all Percy but with a slightly bitter after taste. Maybe it was the residual cocaine from the shot the man had taken earlier.

Percy stood up. “Anyway, I’m leaving. There are clothes for you in the other room. I will tell Angelus that you are ready when I see him.” He extended his hand and Spike took it, feeling the elevated pulse under his fingertips. “It’s been very nice to meet you, William.”

With that, he was gone. After a moment Spike hopped off the bed and shot into the other room to grab the clothes. He felt good, really good. He couldn’t wait until his Sire arrived, he’d go and meet him. Tell the stupid sod what had happened, and then maybe drag him back to the lair for the day. Slamming the door behind him, Spike ran up the stairs, slap-bang into Angelus.

“Hey! Have a good night? I did.” He shot a fang filled grin at his startled Sire and resisted the urge to drag him back downstairs.

“Spike?” Angelus was frowning at him. Stupid killjoy. No sense of fun. Maybe he should stake the bastard instead of shagging him bloody.

“What? You got a bug up yer arse or something” Spike was bouncing on his toes, full of energy and not sure what to do with it.

“Why are you showing your true face?”

Stupid bastard. Why shouldn’t he? He was an evil vampire, ready to rip the heads off anything that got in his way. Course he had his fangs out.

“Ready for a bit of bloody mayhem? Thought we could go and do over the Watchers. Stop for a quick snack at the House of Commons, then move on to the royals. That’d be a bit of fun. Imagine all that blue blood running around. Bet we could make ’m scream.” Nothing could stop him. He’d rule the world by tomorrow.

“Have you taken something?” Spike didn’t answer, just grabbed Angelus’ arm and pulled him towards the door, ready to leave and start his plan for world domination.

“Stop.” The magic was strong but not enough to completely counteract the huge amounts of cocaine Spike had ingested with the blood. All it did was slow him down enough so that Angelus could tangle him in his arms. Spike protested, snapping and growling as he fought to get free. Angelus wrestled him out of the door and into a cab. He had to get Spike back to the lair before he became completely uncontrollable. Then he was going to find Percy and have a little chat.

It took two days for the last of the drug to wear off and Spike spent that time chained to the wall in the basement of the house. Angelus stayed with him until the continual tirade of foul epithets and hurtful accusations became too much. Then he left. On the evening of the second day a minion came to release the chains.

Spike shot upstairs, wanting to find his Sire. He’d said some stuff, which although justified had been pretty nasty, but there was no sign of the older vampire anywhere. When questioned the minions simply said that the Master had left the previous morning and had not indicated when he would return. Pacing around the upper rooms of the house, Spike spent the night in utter frustration not knowing whether to go and search for Angelus or wait at the lair for him. It was nearly dawn when he heard the front door open and he flew to the top of the stairs, convinced it was Angelus returning and with his Sire’s name on his lips.

He bit off his words at the sight that confronted him. Collapsed on the floor in the hall was Drusilla. Terrified at what he might find, Spike ran down to her. He couldn’t think why she would be back and without Darla. He could smell her blood, but the scent was stale so she was healing.

“Dru? Princess?” Spike gently brushed her dark hair off her face. It was matted with mud and her face was dirty and tear-streaked. Lifting her carefully in his arms, Spike ordered a minion to find her food before carrying her fragile form up to the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed, Dru stirred and opened her eyes. When she saw him she gasped and threw her arms round his neck sobbing.

Spike held her tightly as she cried, rocking her slowly and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. His princess always liked it when he held her. Slowly she calmed and Spike was able to make out the words through her tears.

“Grand-mamma’s gone. Gone away. Gone to dance with another one.”

As Spike held her in his arms later that day, he went over the events as he understood them. The girls had been enjoying the high life in Brighton when an emissary from Darla’s Sire approached them. Word had finally filtered back to the Master that Angelus was no longer in the picture, and the bat-eared vampire had decided it was time for his favourite childe to come home. Darla had resisted, saying that she wanted to return to London to her family and territory, so both she and Dru were taken by force. Dru had managed to escape and had made her way back to London and back to him.

Spike was furious. Darla was gone, as was Angelus. The Master would have minions out searching for Dru so they would have to leave London. Everything he had worked for was forfeited, everything he had spent the last few weeks fighting for was over. He had submitted to a human, been tortured and beaten by a human and finally poisoned by the same human, all for nothing. His family was gone, there was just Dru and him left. When the sun set and Dru stirred, Spike had already decided what to do.

His dark goddess was beautiful as she ravaged the throats’ of the humans at the club. They left the bodies stacked three high in the lobby, scarlet and blue entrails trimming the light fittings, grey matter and bone fragments decorating the walls. There had been no sign of Percy or Angelus, and Spike had no time to find them but the message he left was brutal. He even resurrected his trademark railway spikes to ensure it came over loud and clear. They left another one at the brothel before whiling away the daylight hours exploring everything that wonderful establishment had to offer. It had been hard to distract Dru when the time came to leave.

Blood spattered and encircled by the battered corpses of the ‘oh so discrete’ staff, Spike swept Drusilla up in his arms and danced her around. She laughed in unrestrained glee and threw her head back showing off her pale elegant neck.

“Let’s go, luv. Come and be my whirlwind. My one, my only dark, wicked plum.”

She sighed onto his lips and whispered, “Paris is beautiful in the spring.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were tears of regret coursing down Spikes face as he finished the story. So many lives they had taken, so many more they had ruined.

Buffy stood without saying a word and walked up the stairs out of the basement. As she reached the top she heard a quiet voice behind her.

“Slayer? Would you do something for me?” Buffy didn’t answer but neither did she leave. Spike continued, “When this is over, whatever happens, whether I….Could you ring LA for me. Tell him, tell him I’m sorry…and that I…miss him.”

Buffy closed the basement door as she left.



N.B. - When I watched ‘Sleeper’ I was fascinated by the choice of Early One Morning as the song that plays with Spike’s mind. I did a little research and discovered that it was arranged by Percy Grainger. Being an obsessive person, I then researched Grainger and made some fascinating discoveries.

Grainger was a self-flagellator who used to spend a lot of time in S/M clubs. He liked to push the boundaries of behaviour including sexuality. He also had a thing for the ‘blue-eyed English’. I ask you, who couldn’t write a story with all those hints.

Having said that, there is no evidence that he ever buggered a vampire or took cocaine. Those are my inventions and should be treated accordingly.

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