<> and ** are thoughts and/or emphasis..the story
makes which obvious. I hope.

Distribution: Just let me know where its going first, please. Archive away.
Feedback: Please feed my fameslut demon. It gives her a happy.
 
 

Ronin: Within You Part 4
 

Spike awoke when the darkness was complete, when the apartment was enfolded
in its inky embrace. After all these years, his body knew instinctually when
it was safe to rouse. He sensed, even in slumber, when the clamoring of
mortal noise was stilled, and the air was filled with sounds of other night
dwellers, from crickets to vampires. He searched the pitch for Angel, but he
was alone in the room.

Spike sat up and ran a hand through stiff blond locks, scanning the floor for
his clothes.

Angels voice, gentle, teasing, "Hey, sleeping beauty. Morning."

Spike grunted a reply. Angel thrust a cup into his fist. "You always were
grumpy before your first drink." Spike downed the pigs blood without
thinking, then groaned as the offending flavor coated his tastebuds and
throat with a sickly tang. Pale imitation. Pointless, really. Like
non-alcoholic beer.

He looked up to catch his Sire's indulgent grin. He hadn't drank from Angel in
over a day, and the mind-link was slightly weakened. Still he thought he
heard the promise to stock up on <<the good stuff>>. Maybe it was just
wishful thinking.

"Find out anything of use?" Spike finally queried, his voice still hoarse
and raspy from sleep. He wondered how long he had actually been out. Damn
dream, it had set him on his ass.

Angel half-nodded, then relayed what he had learned from Wesley, and managed
to glean from his research. Surprisingly little, actually, considering the
time and effort he'd already expended. "Apparantly, it's a Catalyst Daemon. It
draws on powers other than its own to act. By itself, it has essentially no
strength, but once it's activated....awakened, it can be quite strong."

"So, what turns it on?" the smaller vampire asked, then grinned a bit at
the double entendre. The joke was lost on Angel, who was reading from a page he had
printed off his computer earlier in the day... "Initially activated by a
spell, it then requires a host to perform its mission. It draws energy from
this host, and will gain in power over time. The mission it will perform
varies according to the original spell, the Caster, the goal, and the
recipient host. Once initiated, its intent can not be stopped or slowed by the
stones destruction, or by any counter spell. Only the original spell Caster
can alter the course of the Catalyst once it has begun."

Spike was following, "What we need to know then, mate, is who pulled its
string and what they had in mind, aye?"

Angel nodded. He noticed with some degree of sadness how Spike sometimes
still ended his comments to him with a question. It was as if he couldn't or
wouldn't express an important thought without his Sire's approval. He gazed at
the smaller man in his bed.

"I want to know what you think, Will. If you think this is from Druscilla?"

Angel watched Spikes Adams apple bob up and down in a hard motion, followed
by the shrug the blond used to cover up his bodys betrayal of his feelings.
When he at last answered, his voice was tight. "I don't think Dru would send
anything to hurt you. She....she worshipped you, Angelus."

Spike most often referred to his Sire by his Olde name, the Hunters name,
much the same way Angel would call his Childe by William in more emotionally
charged moments. But the use of the Predator name this time served only as a
reminder of the vast changes these years had wrought. And what the changes
had meant to them all, including Druscilla. The dark haired Cockney girl had
been little more than a toy to Angelus, albeit a sometimes cherished one. To
Angel she was a neverending source of pain and regret. But to Spike....

Angel looked again at the blond sitting in the middle of his bed, hands wound
around his knees like a lost child. He looked in this moment much like he did
the first time Angel ever beheld him, some two hundred years ago. Hungry,
small, alone. Anger, shame, and the old desire warred inside Angel's chest. He
knew William would tolerate no measure of comfort. Still, Angel had to speak
his truth.

"She loves you, my Childe. She always has. You have to know that. Her
feelings for me were --"

Spike cut him off with a growl, yellow eyes flashed in the darkness, "No,
she **needed** me. She loved you. And I don't wish to talk about this any
longer. You asked me if I think the package is from her, the answer is, I
don't know. I get no *hit* of her off of it, but it's been a long damned
time."

Angel closed his eyes, took a breath and switched tactics, "Problem is,
Will, we have to talk about it. According to the lore, the daemon in this
stone alters itself to suit the will of the Caster. If that caster is
Dru....we have alot bigger problems on our hands than just some frightening
dreams."

Spike narrowed his eyes , looked at Angel expectantly to finish. The dark
haired vampires answer was halting, "Well, Druscilla's not exactly...I mean
she's --"

A sharp laugh interrupted Angel's hesitancy. "A fucking loon? Bloody hell,
mate, you think I don't know this about her? I lived with the wench for over a century.
She talked to inatimate objects and left **me** for a Fungus Demon. You think
that's the workings of a sane mind?!"

Angel burst into laughter. His broad smile met Spike's own before he
continued, "The problem is that her instability may have affected the
workings of this Catalyst Daemon, made it even more unpredictable. Even if we
figure out what the goal of the original spell was, with the way Druscilla's
mind works...well, in short, we have no idea what we should expect."

Spike smirked a bit more. "Aye, that would be Dru. Defies all expectations."
Angel heard the rare display of undisguised affection in Spike's tone. He
dropped another coin into the bottomless well of remorse in his soul named
Druscilla, and curled his hands into fists to keep the apology on his tongue
from spilling out. To voice his reparation now would bring a degree of
solace to Angel, but it would also serve to further fuel Spike's ire. His
Childer had suffered enough at his hands. He wouldn't add to it. When Angel
had at last relaxed enough to open his fingers, tiny, bloody half moons
marred both his palms.

The level of emotion emenating from Angel was so tangible, their Blood Bond
was almost superfluous in Spike's understanding of it. Spike could literally
*feel* his Sire's pensive mood. The breakers washed over
him....guilt.-.anger....regret... confusion....Within seconds, it became
too strong to surf and he felt suddenly as though he would drown. His
heightened senses caught the faint odor of Angel's spilt blood, and he gasped
aloud.

"Willam...I --", Angel began, but was cut short by the lithe movements of
the smaller vampire, who had all at once sprang from the bed and into his
lap. He was on his back before he could fight the assault, and a demanding,
cool mouth latched onto the left side of his neck. Angel could hear the chant
clearly now as the fangs broke his skin, <<shut up, just shut up...>> Any
other time he surely would have either laughed or been completely enraged. At
the moment, however, all he felt like doing was weeping unconsolably.

Spike was cradling Angel's head in strong, certain hands, and gnawing on the
side of his neck with languid ease. He wasn't drawing the blood out so much as
lapping at it, only increasing the pressure with the tips of his fangs when
the fount slowed. It was the difference between making love and fucking
really, Angel thought..and he felt the grin slide across his arched neck as
Spike picked that analogy from his mind.

Long fingers twined in the back of his dark hair, tipping his head further
back, straining his already taut muscles. Angel gasped once, then was still,
allowing the feeling of being gradually drained to overtake him completely.
In seconds he wouldn't even be aware of the hard, insistent body pressed
against his own. The suckling would work its alchemy, and he would become
pure sensation. He was becoming addicted to this thrill ride. This curious
mixture of comfort and terror. It was like falling from a very high place in
slow motion. You knew eventually you would hit the ground, and that maybe it
would be painful. And still, the rapture of the descent overwhelmed the fear
of impact.

The air rushed past his ears and his nerve endings vibrated as he felt the
blood being pulled from his extremities. It was almost like having a pulse
again, as the sucking created a pace for the otherwise still blood. First a
tingling in his hands, then his feet, and finally, his chest heaved with the
effort to contain the lifes fluid he didnt really require. A brutal twisting
in his normally silent heart. What strange habits the body cherished, even
after two hundred and fifty years. As if his cells remembered mortality and
struggled valiantly to recreate the impression of it.

Then, he was floating above the room, and he watched as William raised up
from the crook of his shoulder and neck, and licked his bloodied lips. He saw
himself, motionless and silent, arms relaxed above his head. He watched as William
raked his teeth over his own wrist, and offered it to him. The first few
scarlet drops fell onto his unmoving lips. Then William pressed his wounded
wrist against his mouth, and Angel was tossed savagely back into his body as
his demon took command of it. He grasped his Childe's arm in both hands, and
reclaimed the blood which had been stolen from him, in furious gulps.

Soon, Will was bucking against him, grabbing his arm, and pulling away from
the sucking which had become more painful than pleasant. <<Shhhhh.....>>
Angel pinned the smaller man beneath him, and moved from his wrist to the
throat, his sucking holding none of the pacific qualities he had earlier
recieved. He tore into the white flesh, and drank until all thought was again
banished, until there was no regret, no fear, nothing but harsh, brutal
desire. He drank until the litany of screams and moans coming from the
squirming figure beneath him quieted to small vanquished sobs of mindless
pleasure.

When he had drained Will nearly totally, he lifted his head, and looked down
into the unblinking blue eyes. Their usually startling cobalt color was glazed and
subdued, and long, dark lashes lay still on ashen cheeks. He easily lifted
the boys pliant form, and lay him upon the velvet duvet on his bed. Angel
climbed in beside his lover, and once more pulled his body close to his
chest. With the sharp edge of his index finger, he traced a line along his
own chest, from one pale nipple to the next. A thin streak of scarlet
appeared. Spike was wholly exhausted. He merely twitched at the tempting
scent. Then Angel pulled his blond head forcefully closer to the seductive
repast, and instinctively, he clamped his mouth over the laceration.

When Angel felt Spikes strength returning, felt his blood being drawn
forcefully once more through the lash in his skin, he sank his own teeth
into Spikes shoulder, joined in the feast. The vampires remained locked
in the circle... in what it crossed Spike's mind was the undeads version
of a blood-filled sixty-nine... for what could have been hours.. or days....
Spike wasnt really sure, didn't really care. He held onto Angel's shoulders,
dug his fingernails into the smooth, unyeilding flesh, and realized with a start,
that the soft humming sound filling his ears was coming from him. Purring
with a mouthful of Sire's blood. It was like singing.

Tonights blood had been silent up to now. Spike was learning there were many
levels to this kind of sexual and mental symbiosis. Sometimes during the
blood exchange, his Sire's thoughts shone so brilliantly he could scarcely
separate them from his own. Sometimes they were a mere rustling of ideas or
emotions, autumn leaves in his mind. And then, sometimes, it was as if a
curtain would descend, and Spike would see and hear nothing at all. He could
only surmise that Angel had the ability to sever the connection at will.
Spike had been unaware that such a skill existed, although he could certainly
understand its usefulness. For instance, in the past with Druscilla. Having
an insane vampire skipping about ones conciousness often made for an
unnerving evening.

The curtain had abruptly risen, however, suddenly there was war. Two powerful,
preternatural minds colliding with the ferocity of a hurricane, each
battling for dominance. The images flew like arrows, landed like missles;
the hands which had pitched them remained unclear to either. But there was no
place to take cover from the pictures which recoiled violently from one
vampires mind to the next..........
 

End Part 4
 

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