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This is not a new fic, but it's new here. Hope you like.
AUTHOR: Raksha
E-MAIL: RakshatheWolf@aol.com
TITLE: Nexus (1/26)
PAIRING: Angel(us)/Xander
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: What exactly went on between Angelus and Xander all those years ago?
SPOILERS: Series will move back and forth from BtVS 2 and early BtVS 7/AtS 4, and departs freely from canon.
WARNINGS: Torture, violence, non-consensual. And….Spuffiness. Sorry.
DISCLAIMER: The characters in this series are the property of Joss Whedon et al. No profit is derived from this work.
Feedback and constructive criticism very welcome.
Nexus
Chapter 1
Fall 2002
(BtVS season 7, AtS season 4)
Departs freely from canon.
Fall 2002
It was late when Cordelia and Wesley called from Los Angeles. Dawn was upstairs asleep; Xander, Spike and Willow were in the living room winding down after a strategic planning session. Buffy was in the kitchen snagging one last cup of coffee when the phone rang. Spike, exquisitely attuned to the Slayer’s moods, sensed trouble and prowled into the kitchen just minutes after Cordelia began to speak.
He found Buffy perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, listening silently, small fingers nervously twisting the phone cord.
Spike ambled closer and leaned against the bar, close enough to be at the edge of Buffy’s personal space. It was both instinct and habit for him, drawing closer to her at the first sign of trouble or distress. She never questioned it any more, just accepted his presence and depended on it. When needed, he was there: her lieutenant, advisor, confessor, enforcer. If she tended to lean closer to him at such times, it went unnoticed-but only by Buffy herself. Part leashed predator and part penitent man, Spike was held in orbit around Buffy’s sun. Unable to move closer or farther away, he served, and he waited.
Now, he stood with arms folded across his muscular chest, unseeing gaze fixed on the floor. Occasionally, Buffy bit out a terse question - “When,” then “How,” then “How long ago” - and Spike noticed that she was gradually easing forward, until her knee was almost touching his. //If she actually makes contact, I’m going to assume it’s the end of the world,// he thought wryly.
He uncoiled himself a little, casually resting an arm along the edge of the bar, his hand facing her shoulder, palm open, as if to catch her if she fell. Predictably, she leaned almost imperceptibly closer to the curve of his arm, then surprised him by keeping on until the point of her shoulder nudged lightly into his hand. He curved his fingers around her flesh, carefully still, just touching.
It should have been a minor victory for him, but the circumstances, and what little he could tell from her end of the conversation, had him too on edge to savor it. A horrible sneaking suspicion was confirmed by Buffy’s final words to the pair on the extensions at the Hyperion:
“We’ll call you if we see any sign of him here, and you do the same. I’ll get Willow to start working on the ensoulment spell.”
//Bloody Hell.//
Buffy ended the call then sat with the phone dangling from nerveless fingers. Spike extracted it gently from her grip and replaced it on its wall-mounted cradle. His expression and tone were grim. “Peaches on the loose again, then?”
Buffy stood slowly, as though suddenly very tired, and turned to face him. “Yeah.”
He watched her expression carefully. “And how in the soddin’ hell did that happen?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
His brows rose. “Yeah? Try me.”
“Short version? They thought Angelus might be able to give them some info.”
Spike was actually speechless for a second, then: “Hang on. Are you tellin’ me those twits actually sprang him deliberately?”
“Well, kind of. In the sense of removing Angel’s soul, yes, that was deliberate. Letting him out of the cage in the basement, not so much. Doesn’t it seem like us good guys should be bound by that oath that doctors take? Y’know, “First, do no harm?”
“Luv, when we hit a lull between disasters here, I’d be happy to go to L.A. and personally tattoo it on Wesley’s skinny ass for you. Of all the bleedin’ stupid stunts….” Spike broke off, shaking his head. “The First and the Worst, both at once.”
“Yep, the hits just keep on coming.” Buffy sighed, rolling her head on her shoulders as though to loosen up tense muscles. “This is just all we need.”
Spike reached out, wishing he could rub the tension from her slight shoulders. Hesitated, then settled for laying his hand lightly on her back and steering her toward the living room.
“C’mon, pet. Might as well tell the details to the lot of us at one go, so you don’t have to repeat the whole sad tale.”
A short time later, the four sat silently in the living room, absorbing the shock. Finally, Willow spoke up. “Do they think he’ll come here?” Her eyes skittered around the circle of faces, resting for an instant on Xander, who sat with his eyes down, motionless except for a muscle twitching in a clenched jaw.
Buffy spoke softly. “Wesley thinks it’s most likely that he’ll stay in the city. All hell’s breaking loose there, and they think maybe it’ll keep him interested. On the other hand,” she drew a deep breath, “hell is, of course, breaking loose here, too, plus he’s got history here. And most of it is with the four of us. Who knows what kind of grudges he’s still holding against me….”
Spike broke in with the ghost of a sneer “And o’ course, Peaches and me go way back, and our relationship hasn’t been what you’d call friendly the last little while. He might come gunnin’ for me after that bit with the torture an’ all.” Spike smiled at the memory in spite of himself. “Angelus is a little less likely to forgive and forget than Soulboy.”
Buffy continued, “And he knows that Willow can restore his soul, and Xander….”
“Right. Then there’s me. So what’s the plan?” Xander bit the words out before Buffy could go on. //Yes, Angelus held Xander prisoner for weeks and did God-knows-what to him. We all remember about that, so move on, will ya?// The subject had been off limits for five years, and still was, thanks very much.
Buffy nodded slightly, as if acknowledging Xander’s boundaries. “First, nobody goes out alone after dark. We’ll all have to be really careful until this is resolved. Willow, Xander; if either of you have to go out at night, take Spike. Xander, you should probably stay here.”
Xander shook his head. “No, Buff. I need to be at my place tonight.” No further explanation offered, but apparently no one was going to argue, for once. Xander located his boots and started putting them on, wearing his version of Willow’s resolve face.
Spike saw a little frown forming on Buffy’s face and unfolded himself from the easy chair he had been lounging in. “Wouldn’t mind a little air; I’ll walk the brat home.”
“Play your cards right and I might let you carry my books, too, Bleachboy.” A derisive snort from the vampire, as Xander stood and stretched, then grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa and turned back to address the Slayer again.
“I kinda doubt that tall, dark and psycho would go back to the mansion, but I’ll have a look around in the morning just to make sure. I’ll give you a call if I see any sign of him.”
Willow frowned. “Xander, are you sure that you can…I mean…are you okay with that?”
“Well, ‘okay’ might be a little strong, but I can do it. It’ll be daylight. Don’t worry.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Willow’s red head. “It was a long time ago.”
With that, Xander headed toward the front door with Spike on his heels, both packing stakes.
“Spike.”
The blond vampire turned in the act of shrugging into his leather duster, eyebrow cocked. Buffy stood in the doorway between foyer and living room, fidgeting uncharacteristically with the hem of her sweater. “Be careful, okay? Don’t take chances.”
He smiled, his eyes softening. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.”
Buffy stood watching as the door closed behind them.
The two men walked in silence for a time, a study in contrasts. One tall, sturdy, dark, a powerfully built blue-collar all-American in blue jeans, work boots and T-shirt; the other slight, compact, pale, dressed in unrelieved black, catlike in gait and exuding an air of danger. Eventually, Spike broke the silence, his tone conversational.
“Helluva lot’s different in five years, innit?”
Xander made no answer, but Spike could see his expression settle into a scowl. The vampire stopped to light a cigarette, then lengthened his stride slightly to catch up. “Look, mate, I know this isn’t your favorite topic of conversation, but could be the time’s come to….”
Xander stopped abruptly, whirling to face the vampire. “No.”
“Xander, it could make a difference.”
“No! LOTS of no! With a ‘Hell, no’ chaser. Discussion over.”
Spike flung down the cigarette and took a step closer, glaring up at the taller man.
“Actually, the discussion is bloody well not over. I’d just as soon not be the bearer of this particular tale, but I’m sure as hell not going to let Buffy or Bit or Red get hurt just because you’re too embarrassed to admit that Angelus got a leg over.”
Xander’s voice was soft. “Spike? You don’t know what you’re talking about. And, incidentally? Fuck you.” The boy turned on his heel and stalked in the direction of his apartment.
The vampire stuck with him doggedly. “OK, first of all, I was bloody well THERE, wasn’t I? I saw enough to know that Angelus is probably going to come haring back here as fast as his big feet’ll carry him. Secondly: Fuck you, too.”
The pair walked on in a mutual snit until they reached Xander’s building. Xander wasn’t thrilled when Spike followed him in the lobby door and up the stairs, but he wasn’t especially surprised, either. Way back when, when the shoe was on the other foot, when Angel was the Scoobies’ vampire mascot and Spike had been the brand-new menace du jour, Angel had warned them that Spike never gave up. History had confirmed his words; as Spike had gradually made the transition from annoying evil mortal enemy to annoying fellow foot soldier, he had proven to be, in all matters, doggedly, stubbornly, persistent.
Now, true to form, he followed Xander right into his apartment, and Xander muttered, loudly enough to be heard: “Note to self: Have Willow do disinvite spell.”
“Look here, mate….”
“Okay, uh, Spike, considering that this just got sprung on me, would it be too much to ask that you give me a little bit of time to figure out what I want to do? I mean, could I maybe possibly...” Xander paused, decided that he would give himself permission to lose it a little, and let his voice rise to a shout. ".... just have one goddamned minute, here!?! I mean, even five fucking seconds to think without you yammering would be nice.”
Spike raised his hands in a ‘Okay, backing off here’ gesture and spoke quietly. “I just wanted to know that you were thinking about it.”
Xander laughed bitterly. “I can’t believe you thought that there was ANY chance I WASN’T thinking about it.”
Spike nodded once and turned. “Right. I’m off, then.” He opened the door, turned to look back at Xander; started to say something, thought better of it. “Won’t say anything for now, ‘til you decide what you want to do.”
Xander sighed. “Whatever. Thanks.”
After the door closed behind the vampire, Xander sat in silence for a long time, just staring ahead at the wall. Eventually, he got up and looked at the clock. 2:00 a.m.. He moved around the apartment, gathering together things he might need, throwing them into a backpack. He caught a glimpse of his light-colored clothing in the hallway mirror. The white of his T-shirt shown like a beacon in the darkened apartment. He took time to change into discreetly dark clothing; black slacks, shoes, sweater.
Spike’s opinion to the contrary, this wasn’t a subject for a Scooby meeting. Not now, not ever. This was his business, and his alone. Moving silently, he left the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Long before he was in sight of the mansion, Xander knew in his bones that his instincts had been right. His senses crackled, and his nerves and muscles hummed with the tension of five year’s waiting for the encounter that was finally going to take place. Tonight. Now.
He found the front door unlocked and opened it stealthily, slipping noiselessly into the room. There was a fire in the hearth, providing just enough light to see by. The vampire Angelus stood in front of the fireplace, glowing in the light of the flames. His arm rested on the mantel, head down as though seeing visions in the fire. The elegantly casual posture was a habit cultivated long ago to lull the unwary by disguising the demon’s violent bloodlust, the ever-present tension of the coiled beast. Beneath the calm exterior, the vampire was wound tight as a watch spring.
Although Angelus hadn’t made any sign, Xander knew he was aware of him, had sensed his presence long before he entered the house. Xander stood frozen to the spot, vibrating like a bowstring. Soon, he became aware of a low rumbling growl issuing from the vampire’s broad chest, and he drew a deep ragged breath. At the sound, the magnificent head came up slowly and pinned Xander with a demon’s feral golden gaze.
Xander dropped his pack and stood transfixed for the space of one heartbeat, then, with a sob, he was running, running into the dark sanctuary of Angelus’ embrace. Caught up as though he were no bigger than Dawn, wrapped in arms like steel bands, held fast against the massive chest-Xander was too overcome to frame words, so he pressed frantic kisses onto the beautiful, forbidding face, moaning with the sweetness of recovering what had been lost for so long.
For a long time, Angelus just stood there, arms as tight as he dared around the fragile mortal frame, growling possessively as he registered the changes that time had brought to the body pressed against his own changeless form. Five years since he had his boy in his arms, and the gawky teenager had become a sturdy, hard-muscled man.
But Xander’s scent, spicy and earthy, ever laced with pheromones in Angelus’ presence, was the same. That, and the clumsy, hot, unbearably sweet kisses falling like rain on the vampire’s face, reassured him that Xander was his boy, still, now, and always.
With a tortured sound halfway between groan and a cry, Angelus brought one hand up to tangle in Xander’s dark hair, fisting in the soft strands to force the boy’s head into immobility. His mouth descended to cover warm, panting lips; bruising, plundering, he reclaimed what was his with a violence fed by years of desperate, lonely exile. Entranced, Angelus lost himself in the closest thing to joy he had ever known, until Xander’s whimpers finally prompted him to tear his mouth away so the boy could breathe.
While Xander fought for air, the vampire looked down on the flushed face of his boy, his own, his sweet bitch, eyes burning gold as he drank in every remembered detail: soft dark eyes half-veiled with velvety lashes under fierce, black brows, golden skin, and a red, kiss-bruised mouth that chanted his name in a broken, ecstatic whisper:
“Angelus, my Angel, love you….yours, only yours…missed you so much, my Angelus….”
Angelus backed the young man into the wall, pressed his thigh hard between Xander’s and responded in kind, his words--“Mine, mine.…my beautiful boy….my sweet little bitch....”-- muttered hoarsely against Xander's throat, punctuated by kisses and sharp nips that made the young man shudder uncontrollably.
At the strange, vividly remembered endearments, Xander moaned and buried his face against his beloved’s shoulder, grinding his adamantine erection against the body pinning him possessively against the wall. His rigid cock found a corresponding hardness, eliciting a hissing growl and a flash of yellow eyes from his insistent vampire lover.
Almost sobbing with arousal and joy at being back in his demon's arms, Xander raised his head to meet Angelus’ gaze again, tightened his arms around the powerful torso and let his head fall back and to the side. His movement revealed silvery scars, and when he sighed, “Yours…?” his tone held a questioning note.
Inflamed by the invitation and by the coy uncertainty in the youth's voice, Angelus thundered “MINE!” as his true face came to the fore. He locked one arm like a iron bar around Xander's shoulders and grasped his soft hair in the other hand, wrenching his head farther to the side. "MINE!" he snarled again, staring fiercely down at his imprisoned boy. He could feel Xander's heart pounding as though it would explode out of his chest, and smell that slight tang of fear that wound beguilingly through the scent of the boy's arousal, but the face raised to his was heavy-eyed and glowing with helpless adoration.
Disarmed by that look, the demon Angelus, still true-faced, let his own eyes soften, acknowledging his one great weakness. "Mine." the word was a whisper this time, hissed between razor-sharp fangs. The youth's eyes slid closed ecstatically as the demon bowed its proud head over him, sinking those fangs to the hilt into the firm scarred flesh of his throat.
Clinging to the vampire, Xander cried out, incoherent in the ecstasy of his lover’s bite; the joy of being back in Angelus' arms, the only place where Xander had ever felt completely right; and the thrilling pride of having this claim re-affirmed, of knowing himself to the chosen of this, the most magnificent creature Xander had ever known. Soon aroused past thinking by the feel and the sound of his master feeding from him, taking and owning him, Xander writhed in the monster's embrace, rubbing and grinding himself against his dark lover.
His arousal heightened unbearably by the squirming warm body and the exquisite taste of his pet's blood, Angelus growled around his mouthful of flesh. The resulting vibration sizzled in an instant from Xander's neck down his spine to his swollen, weeping cock, pushing him over the edge. His body went rigidly still and a keening moan tore through him as he came violently. Angelus shivered as he tasted the extra spice his boy's orgasm added to his precious blood. Thrilling at his very own's complete and unreserved surrender, Angelus tore his mouth from his beloved's throat and raised his bloody face skyward, howling out his triumph
The vampire’s howl echoed around the huge, empty house and streamed out into the velvety night. As Angelus sank to the floor with his treasure in his arms, hands tearing at fabric, intent on completing the renewal of his claim, a slim, quick figure detached itself from the shadows cloaking the exterior of the great mansion and vanished into the night in a swirl of black leather.
Aware of the lateness of the hour, Spike make his way quickly back to Revello Drive. Chances were good that Buffy would be waiting up. She’d know that he wouldn’t stop for a pint and a chat or a hand of kitten poker on this night. Only the matter at hand would keep him away from her and Dawn with Angelus on the loose. She was a smart lass, was his Slayer.
It spoke volumes for the loyalty among the Scoobies that not once had Buffy or Willow or Giles so much as mentioned to Spike Xander’s kidnapping by Angelus. Spike had been there in the mansion, had witnessed whatever had happened, and they knew it. But they didn't ask. Xander wouldn’t tell them what happened, didn’t want them to know, and they respected his feelings. For his part, Spike was very glad that he had never, in his more destructive days, used his knowledge as a weapon against them. But if he was ever going to spill what he knew, now would be the time. Buffy would know that, too.
Spike cut through a series of yards, and came up behind the house. The porch light and kitchen lights were on, and he could see a slender figure moving around inside. //Sorry, Whelp. I told you I’d keep quiet ‘til you decided what you wanted to do, but looks to me like you’ve made your decision. You’ve got your priorities…// Spike opened the kitchen door and stepped into the kitchen, shrugging out of his leather duster. Buffy looked at him calmly. She was standing by the stove, pouring hot cocoa into two mugs. There was a bag of mini marshmallows on the counter. //…and I’ve got mine.//
“Ta, pet.” Spike accepted a cup and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. She sat down and propped her elbows on the table, peering steadily at him over her mug.
“Sooooo…You got some stuff to tell me?”
“Yeah, luv.” His voice was soft. “I do.”
END of PART I
AUTHOR: Raksha
E-MAIL: RakshatheWolf@aol.com
TITLE: Nexus (1/26)
PAIRING: Angel(us)/Xander
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: What exactly went on between Angelus and Xander all those years ago?
SPOILERS: Series will move back and forth from BtVS 2 and early BtVS 7/AtS 4, and departs freely from canon.
WARNINGS: Torture, violence, non-consensual. And….Spuffiness. Sorry.
DISCLAIMER: The characters in this series are the property of Joss Whedon et al. No profit is derived from this work.
Feedback and constructive criticism very welcome.
Nexus
Chapter 1
Fall 2002
(BtVS season 7, AtS season 4)
Departs freely from canon.
Fall 2002
It was late when Cordelia and Wesley called from Los Angeles. Dawn was upstairs asleep; Xander, Spike and Willow were in the living room winding down after a strategic planning session. Buffy was in the kitchen snagging one last cup of coffee when the phone rang. Spike, exquisitely attuned to the Slayer’s moods, sensed trouble and prowled into the kitchen just minutes after Cordelia began to speak.
He found Buffy perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, listening silently, small fingers nervously twisting the phone cord.
Spike ambled closer and leaned against the bar, close enough to be at the edge of Buffy’s personal space. It was both instinct and habit for him, drawing closer to her at the first sign of trouble or distress. She never questioned it any more, just accepted his presence and depended on it. When needed, he was there: her lieutenant, advisor, confessor, enforcer. If she tended to lean closer to him at such times, it went unnoticed-but only by Buffy herself. Part leashed predator and part penitent man, Spike was held in orbit around Buffy’s sun. Unable to move closer or farther away, he served, and he waited.
Now, he stood with arms folded across his muscular chest, unseeing gaze fixed on the floor. Occasionally, Buffy bit out a terse question - “When,” then “How,” then “How long ago” - and Spike noticed that she was gradually easing forward, until her knee was almost touching his. //If she actually makes contact, I’m going to assume it’s the end of the world,// he thought wryly.
He uncoiled himself a little, casually resting an arm along the edge of the bar, his hand facing her shoulder, palm open, as if to catch her if she fell. Predictably, she leaned almost imperceptibly closer to the curve of his arm, then surprised him by keeping on until the point of her shoulder nudged lightly into his hand. He curved his fingers around her flesh, carefully still, just touching.
It should have been a minor victory for him, but the circumstances, and what little he could tell from her end of the conversation, had him too on edge to savor it. A horrible sneaking suspicion was confirmed by Buffy’s final words to the pair on the extensions at the Hyperion:
“We’ll call you if we see any sign of him here, and you do the same. I’ll get Willow to start working on the ensoulment spell.”
//Bloody Hell.//
Buffy ended the call then sat with the phone dangling from nerveless fingers. Spike extracted it gently from her grip and replaced it on its wall-mounted cradle. His expression and tone were grim. “Peaches on the loose again, then?”
Buffy stood slowly, as though suddenly very tired, and turned to face him. “Yeah.”
He watched her expression carefully. “And how in the soddin’ hell did that happen?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
His brows rose. “Yeah? Try me.”
“Short version? They thought Angelus might be able to give them some info.”
Spike was actually speechless for a second, then: “Hang on. Are you tellin’ me those twits actually sprang him deliberately?”
“Well, kind of. In the sense of removing Angel’s soul, yes, that was deliberate. Letting him out of the cage in the basement, not so much. Doesn’t it seem like us good guys should be bound by that oath that doctors take? Y’know, “First, do no harm?”
“Luv, when we hit a lull between disasters here, I’d be happy to go to L.A. and personally tattoo it on Wesley’s skinny ass for you. Of all the bleedin’ stupid stunts….” Spike broke off, shaking his head. “The First and the Worst, both at once.”
“Yep, the hits just keep on coming.” Buffy sighed, rolling her head on her shoulders as though to loosen up tense muscles. “This is just all we need.”
Spike reached out, wishing he could rub the tension from her slight shoulders. Hesitated, then settled for laying his hand lightly on her back and steering her toward the living room.
“C’mon, pet. Might as well tell the details to the lot of us at one go, so you don’t have to repeat the whole sad tale.”
A short time later, the four sat silently in the living room, absorbing the shock. Finally, Willow spoke up. “Do they think he’ll come here?” Her eyes skittered around the circle of faces, resting for an instant on Xander, who sat with his eyes down, motionless except for a muscle twitching in a clenched jaw.
Buffy spoke softly. “Wesley thinks it’s most likely that he’ll stay in the city. All hell’s breaking loose there, and they think maybe it’ll keep him interested. On the other hand,” she drew a deep breath, “hell is, of course, breaking loose here, too, plus he’s got history here. And most of it is with the four of us. Who knows what kind of grudges he’s still holding against me….”
Spike broke in with the ghost of a sneer “And o’ course, Peaches and me go way back, and our relationship hasn’t been what you’d call friendly the last little while. He might come gunnin’ for me after that bit with the torture an’ all.” Spike smiled at the memory in spite of himself. “Angelus is a little less likely to forgive and forget than Soulboy.”
Buffy continued, “And he knows that Willow can restore his soul, and Xander….”
“Right. Then there’s me. So what’s the plan?” Xander bit the words out before Buffy could go on. //Yes, Angelus held Xander prisoner for weeks and did God-knows-what to him. We all remember about that, so move on, will ya?// The subject had been off limits for five years, and still was, thanks very much.
Buffy nodded slightly, as if acknowledging Xander’s boundaries. “First, nobody goes out alone after dark. We’ll all have to be really careful until this is resolved. Willow, Xander; if either of you have to go out at night, take Spike. Xander, you should probably stay here.”
Xander shook his head. “No, Buff. I need to be at my place tonight.” No further explanation offered, but apparently no one was going to argue, for once. Xander located his boots and started putting them on, wearing his version of Willow’s resolve face.
Spike saw a little frown forming on Buffy’s face and unfolded himself from the easy chair he had been lounging in. “Wouldn’t mind a little air; I’ll walk the brat home.”
“Play your cards right and I might let you carry my books, too, Bleachboy.” A derisive snort from the vampire, as Xander stood and stretched, then grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa and turned back to address the Slayer again.
“I kinda doubt that tall, dark and psycho would go back to the mansion, but I’ll have a look around in the morning just to make sure. I’ll give you a call if I see any sign of him.”
Willow frowned. “Xander, are you sure that you can…I mean…are you okay with that?”
“Well, ‘okay’ might be a little strong, but I can do it. It’ll be daylight. Don’t worry.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Willow’s red head. “It was a long time ago.”
With that, Xander headed toward the front door with Spike on his heels, both packing stakes.
“Spike.”
The blond vampire turned in the act of shrugging into his leather duster, eyebrow cocked. Buffy stood in the doorway between foyer and living room, fidgeting uncharacteristically with the hem of her sweater. “Be careful, okay? Don’t take chances.”
He smiled, his eyes softening. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.”
Buffy stood watching as the door closed behind them.
The two men walked in silence for a time, a study in contrasts. One tall, sturdy, dark, a powerfully built blue-collar all-American in blue jeans, work boots and T-shirt; the other slight, compact, pale, dressed in unrelieved black, catlike in gait and exuding an air of danger. Eventually, Spike broke the silence, his tone conversational.
“Helluva lot’s different in five years, innit?”
Xander made no answer, but Spike could see his expression settle into a scowl. The vampire stopped to light a cigarette, then lengthened his stride slightly to catch up. “Look, mate, I know this isn’t your favorite topic of conversation, but could be the time’s come to….”
Xander stopped abruptly, whirling to face the vampire. “No.”
“Xander, it could make a difference.”
“No! LOTS of no! With a ‘Hell, no’ chaser. Discussion over.”
Spike flung down the cigarette and took a step closer, glaring up at the taller man.
“Actually, the discussion is bloody well not over. I’d just as soon not be the bearer of this particular tale, but I’m sure as hell not going to let Buffy or Bit or Red get hurt just because you’re too embarrassed to admit that Angelus got a leg over.”
Xander’s voice was soft. “Spike? You don’t know what you’re talking about. And, incidentally? Fuck you.” The boy turned on his heel and stalked in the direction of his apartment.
The vampire stuck with him doggedly. “OK, first of all, I was bloody well THERE, wasn’t I? I saw enough to know that Angelus is probably going to come haring back here as fast as his big feet’ll carry him. Secondly: Fuck you, too.”
The pair walked on in a mutual snit until they reached Xander’s building. Xander wasn’t thrilled when Spike followed him in the lobby door and up the stairs, but he wasn’t especially surprised, either. Way back when, when the shoe was on the other foot, when Angel was the Scoobies’ vampire mascot and Spike had been the brand-new menace du jour, Angel had warned them that Spike never gave up. History had confirmed his words; as Spike had gradually made the transition from annoying evil mortal enemy to annoying fellow foot soldier, he had proven to be, in all matters, doggedly, stubbornly, persistent.
Now, true to form, he followed Xander right into his apartment, and Xander muttered, loudly enough to be heard: “Note to self: Have Willow do disinvite spell.”
“Look here, mate….”
“Okay, uh, Spike, considering that this just got sprung on me, would it be too much to ask that you give me a little bit of time to figure out what I want to do? I mean, could I maybe possibly...” Xander paused, decided that he would give himself permission to lose it a little, and let his voice rise to a shout. ".... just have one goddamned minute, here!?! I mean, even five fucking seconds to think without you yammering would be nice.”
Spike raised his hands in a ‘Okay, backing off here’ gesture and spoke quietly. “I just wanted to know that you were thinking about it.”
Xander laughed bitterly. “I can’t believe you thought that there was ANY chance I WASN’T thinking about it.”
Spike nodded once and turned. “Right. I’m off, then.” He opened the door, turned to look back at Xander; started to say something, thought better of it. “Won’t say anything for now, ‘til you decide what you want to do.”
Xander sighed. “Whatever. Thanks.”
After the door closed behind the vampire, Xander sat in silence for a long time, just staring ahead at the wall. Eventually, he got up and looked at the clock. 2:00 a.m.. He moved around the apartment, gathering together things he might need, throwing them into a backpack. He caught a glimpse of his light-colored clothing in the hallway mirror. The white of his T-shirt shown like a beacon in the darkened apartment. He took time to change into discreetly dark clothing; black slacks, shoes, sweater.
Spike’s opinion to the contrary, this wasn’t a subject for a Scooby meeting. Not now, not ever. This was his business, and his alone. Moving silently, he left the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Long before he was in sight of the mansion, Xander knew in his bones that his instincts had been right. His senses crackled, and his nerves and muscles hummed with the tension of five year’s waiting for the encounter that was finally going to take place. Tonight. Now.
He found the front door unlocked and opened it stealthily, slipping noiselessly into the room. There was a fire in the hearth, providing just enough light to see by. The vampire Angelus stood in front of the fireplace, glowing in the light of the flames. His arm rested on the mantel, head down as though seeing visions in the fire. The elegantly casual posture was a habit cultivated long ago to lull the unwary by disguising the demon’s violent bloodlust, the ever-present tension of the coiled beast. Beneath the calm exterior, the vampire was wound tight as a watch spring.
Although Angelus hadn’t made any sign, Xander knew he was aware of him, had sensed his presence long before he entered the house. Xander stood frozen to the spot, vibrating like a bowstring. Soon, he became aware of a low rumbling growl issuing from the vampire’s broad chest, and he drew a deep ragged breath. At the sound, the magnificent head came up slowly and pinned Xander with a demon’s feral golden gaze.
Xander dropped his pack and stood transfixed for the space of one heartbeat, then, with a sob, he was running, running into the dark sanctuary of Angelus’ embrace. Caught up as though he were no bigger than Dawn, wrapped in arms like steel bands, held fast against the massive chest-Xander was too overcome to frame words, so he pressed frantic kisses onto the beautiful, forbidding face, moaning with the sweetness of recovering what had been lost for so long.
For a long time, Angelus just stood there, arms as tight as he dared around the fragile mortal frame, growling possessively as he registered the changes that time had brought to the body pressed against his own changeless form. Five years since he had his boy in his arms, and the gawky teenager had become a sturdy, hard-muscled man.
But Xander’s scent, spicy and earthy, ever laced with pheromones in Angelus’ presence, was the same. That, and the clumsy, hot, unbearably sweet kisses falling like rain on the vampire’s face, reassured him that Xander was his boy, still, now, and always.
With a tortured sound halfway between groan and a cry, Angelus brought one hand up to tangle in Xander’s dark hair, fisting in the soft strands to force the boy’s head into immobility. His mouth descended to cover warm, panting lips; bruising, plundering, he reclaimed what was his with a violence fed by years of desperate, lonely exile. Entranced, Angelus lost himself in the closest thing to joy he had ever known, until Xander’s whimpers finally prompted him to tear his mouth away so the boy could breathe.
While Xander fought for air, the vampire looked down on the flushed face of his boy, his own, his sweet bitch, eyes burning gold as he drank in every remembered detail: soft dark eyes half-veiled with velvety lashes under fierce, black brows, golden skin, and a red, kiss-bruised mouth that chanted his name in a broken, ecstatic whisper:
“Angelus, my Angel, love you….yours, only yours…missed you so much, my Angelus….”
Angelus backed the young man into the wall, pressed his thigh hard between Xander’s and responded in kind, his words--“Mine, mine.…my beautiful boy….my sweet little bitch....”-- muttered hoarsely against Xander's throat, punctuated by kisses and sharp nips that made the young man shudder uncontrollably.
At the strange, vividly remembered endearments, Xander moaned and buried his face against his beloved’s shoulder, grinding his adamantine erection against the body pinning him possessively against the wall. His rigid cock found a corresponding hardness, eliciting a hissing growl and a flash of yellow eyes from his insistent vampire lover.
Almost sobbing with arousal and joy at being back in his demon's arms, Xander raised his head to meet Angelus’ gaze again, tightened his arms around the powerful torso and let his head fall back and to the side. His movement revealed silvery scars, and when he sighed, “Yours…?” his tone held a questioning note.
Inflamed by the invitation and by the coy uncertainty in the youth's voice, Angelus thundered “MINE!” as his true face came to the fore. He locked one arm like a iron bar around Xander's shoulders and grasped his soft hair in the other hand, wrenching his head farther to the side. "MINE!" he snarled again, staring fiercely down at his imprisoned boy. He could feel Xander's heart pounding as though it would explode out of his chest, and smell that slight tang of fear that wound beguilingly through the scent of the boy's arousal, but the face raised to his was heavy-eyed and glowing with helpless adoration.
Disarmed by that look, the demon Angelus, still true-faced, let his own eyes soften, acknowledging his one great weakness. "Mine." the word was a whisper this time, hissed between razor-sharp fangs. The youth's eyes slid closed ecstatically as the demon bowed its proud head over him, sinking those fangs to the hilt into the firm scarred flesh of his throat.
Clinging to the vampire, Xander cried out, incoherent in the ecstasy of his lover’s bite; the joy of being back in Angelus' arms, the only place where Xander had ever felt completely right; and the thrilling pride of having this claim re-affirmed, of knowing himself to the chosen of this, the most magnificent creature Xander had ever known. Soon aroused past thinking by the feel and the sound of his master feeding from him, taking and owning him, Xander writhed in the monster's embrace, rubbing and grinding himself against his dark lover.
His arousal heightened unbearably by the squirming warm body and the exquisite taste of his pet's blood, Angelus growled around his mouthful of flesh. The resulting vibration sizzled in an instant from Xander's neck down his spine to his swollen, weeping cock, pushing him over the edge. His body went rigidly still and a keening moan tore through him as he came violently. Angelus shivered as he tasted the extra spice his boy's orgasm added to his precious blood. Thrilling at his very own's complete and unreserved surrender, Angelus tore his mouth from his beloved's throat and raised his bloody face skyward, howling out his triumph
The vampire’s howl echoed around the huge, empty house and streamed out into the velvety night. As Angelus sank to the floor with his treasure in his arms, hands tearing at fabric, intent on completing the renewal of his claim, a slim, quick figure detached itself from the shadows cloaking the exterior of the great mansion and vanished into the night in a swirl of black leather.
Aware of the lateness of the hour, Spike make his way quickly back to Revello Drive. Chances were good that Buffy would be waiting up. She’d know that he wouldn’t stop for a pint and a chat or a hand of kitten poker on this night. Only the matter at hand would keep him away from her and Dawn with Angelus on the loose. She was a smart lass, was his Slayer.
It spoke volumes for the loyalty among the Scoobies that not once had Buffy or Willow or Giles so much as mentioned to Spike Xander’s kidnapping by Angelus. Spike had been there in the mansion, had witnessed whatever had happened, and they knew it. But they didn't ask. Xander wouldn’t tell them what happened, didn’t want them to know, and they respected his feelings. For his part, Spike was very glad that he had never, in his more destructive days, used his knowledge as a weapon against them. But if he was ever going to spill what he knew, now would be the time. Buffy would know that, too.
Spike cut through a series of yards, and came up behind the house. The porch light and kitchen lights were on, and he could see a slender figure moving around inside. //Sorry, Whelp. I told you I’d keep quiet ‘til you decided what you wanted to do, but looks to me like you’ve made your decision. You’ve got your priorities…// Spike opened the kitchen door and stepped into the kitchen, shrugging out of his leather duster. Buffy looked at him calmly. She was standing by the stove, pouring hot cocoa into two mugs. There was a bag of mini marshmallows on the counter. //…and I’ve got mine.//
“Ta, pet.” Spike accepted a cup and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. She sat down and propped her elbows on the table, peering steadily at him over her mug.
“Sooooo…You got some stuff to tell me?”
“Yeah, luv.” His voice was soft. “I do.”
END of PART I