The Offering

By Esmeralda

Part Thirty One

They walked through the sewer tunnels in companionable silence. Xander waited until they were inside their bedroom before saying anything. "I don't think I can do this. Not again. Not with him watching."

Spike had already shrugged out of his duster. He drew his lover into his arms. "First off, we don't know that he'll need to have a ringside seat. An' if he does, we'll deal with it."

"What is it with us and the pay-per-view performances?" asked Xander despairingly.

Spike's grievance was more over the thought of Wesley getting an eyeful of his lover. He wasn't that upset by the idea of an audience. "Look at it this way. The last time didn't work out so bad, did it?" That earned him a rueful smile. "Think of it as a way to celebrate our anniversary."

"We've already celebrated our anniversary," Xander pointed out. "And this is so not how I would have chosen to do it."

"Come on, luv. It won't be that bad. You. Me. A big flat surface. What's not to like?"

"How about the killjoy chanting in the corner?"

"We could have a dry-run," Spike suggested hopefully.

"I hope you don't mean that literally."

"A dress rehearsal then." Spike tried not to sound exasperated. "Come on." He threw in a slight roll of his hips, and his best come-hither expression. The faint trace of a smirk played around his mouth. It rarely failed, and it didn't let him down now.

Xander answering smile was only slightly off-kilter. He pushed back; hooking his thumbs into Spike's jeans and tugging the narrow hips flush against his own. "Give me some sugar, baby," he leered playfully, getting in the spirit of the plan to take his mind off what was coming.

Spike loved that expression on his lover - a heady, if rather muddled blend of uncertainty, bravado, and blatant sexuality. His hot little boy, still so unsure of his own appeal. Spike had no such reservations. He captured Xander's lips in a slow, sweet kiss, putting everything he had into it. He had the double aim of easing his lover's worries, and hopefully getting some wild monkey sex in the process. Spike interrupted the kiss to look into velveteen eyes, dazed with lust. He wondered if this might not be a good time to broaden Xander's horizons. It would certainly take Xander's mind off the upcoming ceremony. If he could just loosen him up a bit first.. Spike hid his knowing smile, and his features shimmered briefly into their vampiric aspect; long enough to let his fangs score a shallow, bloody groove down his tongue.

Mouth filled with blood, Spike put his lips back against Xander's, silencing a muffled: "Wha-?" The response was immediate. Xander clung to him as the kiss grew deeper and more demanding. A burgeoning erection sprang to instant hardness, pressing against Spike's through the layers of denim. Spike grinned when he finally drew back to survey the result of his efforts. Xander looked intoxicated. The young man stood, swaying slightly. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips swollen from the kiss, hair pleasingly mussed - one thick, dark, comma curling over his forehead. Spike felt his desire rise to near melting point and he decided to put the question to his lover. "Wanna explore a kink?"

Xander blinked and swallowed before answering. "What kind of a kink?"

"The good kind," Spike promised.

"The good, good kind? Or the bad, good kind?" Xander wanted to know. He gasped as Spike lowered his head to lap at the delicate hollow of his throat, traveling from it along the steady, thrumming pulse of his jugular, to nibble at his jaw line.

"Depends," Spike mumbled between nips and kisses.

"On.w-what.?" Xander stuttered as Spike's cool tongue probed his ear.

Spike ducked his head and looked up at Xander through the veil of his lashes, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth. "On how hot and dirty you like your sex."

Xander knew the answer to that one. "Very hot. Very dirty." He punctuated each word with a kiss.

"So you want to play?" Spike wanted Xander very willing for this. It was the only way he'd even consider attempting it. He only wanted to bring his lover pleasure.

"Kink?" Xander quizzed. His voice had a slight edge of caution to it.

Bright boy. One side of Spike's mouth curled even higher. He brought his right hand up between their bodies and waggled his fingers in front of Xander's face. He waited for the mystified look to fade, and rather enjoyed the magnificent blush that accompanied Xander's comprehension. Spike loved that his lover could still get embarrassed, even after all they had done.

"You want to do that?" Xander cleared his throat halfway through the sentence, so it didn't quite come out as a squeak.

"Only if you want to." Spike let his seriousness slide into his gaze. He gave Xander a short, passionate kiss. "Don't wanna do nothin' you don't want." He meant it. There was no pleasure for him any more if his lover was the slightest bit unwilling.

"Is it---I mean, doesn't it---ah---" Xander looked flustered.

"Hurt?" Spike guessed. His response was a quick nod and a heightening of the flush colouring Xander's cheeks. "Not if it's done right. And the one doin' it knows his business. And I do." Spike turned his hand slowly, back and forth. "Highly skilled tools these are, Pet." He stroked Xander's face, smiling as his lover moved into the caress.

"Have you ever?" Xander whispered hesitantly.

"Done it before? Had it done to me? Yes, to both of 'em."

"And you---you liked it?"

"Wouldn't be suggesting it if I hadn't, luv." Spike wasn't lying exactly. He did enjoy it - when it was done right. The memory of sitting alone in the dark, naked and shivering, as the blood pooled out between his thighs was not a place he particularly cared to revisit.

"You really want this?" Xander asked.

"Only if you do," said Spike honestly, although he couldn't deny that the thought of it had him hot and hard, and ready to go.

"I trust you," said Xander simply.

For Spike, they were three little words that meant more than any long-winded declaration of love and devotion. He rained kisses upon Xander's face, interspacing them with a soft litany of pleas that he couldn't contain. "Letmeletmeletme---" Spike was barely aware that he was saying anything. He wanted to crawl inside his lover. He wanted to experience all that delicious heat and hot, pounding blood.

"Do it," Xander whispered. "Oh, God. Do it." He bared his throat to Spike's desperate kisses. He hissed as blunt teeth scraped the delicate skin. "Do it," he urged, a faint challenge to his tone. Gold illuminated the darkness in his eyes.

Spike walked them back over to the bed without relinquishing his hold. They tumbled onto it, frantically tugging at one another's clothes. Xander's jeans didn't quite withstand the urgency. Neither noticed, and the ripped, crumpled denim was discarded with the rest. With lissome grace, Spike leaned over to the bedside cabinet, withdrawing a jar of some sort of clear, glistening goop.

"You've been planning this, haven't you?"

Xander sounded more amused than annoyed, so Spike gave him an honest answer. "Not the kind of thing you can just spring on someone, Pet. You have to kind of build up to it. Besides, you ain't tellin' me you didn't enjoy all those tricks and toys I showed you?"

The flush travelled down Xander's neck and bloomed across his chest.

Spike smirked and straddled his lover, trailing a line of kisses downward, welcoming the heat that reached out to him. Xander's cock jutted up impatiently between them, but Spike ignored it. "Ready for me, luv?" Xander nodded wordlessly. "I'll go slow," Spike promised. "You tell me if it gets too much, yeah?" He moved to sit by Xander's feet.

Xander found his voice. "Okay," he agreed shakily.

Spike's fingers were shaking as he opened the jar, and he rebuked himself fiercely. It wouldn't do to let his nerves, or his desire, get too tight a hold. He needed to be in control for this. He needed to make it good for his boy. Spike set the open jar down on the bed and positioned Xander using some of the pillows, elevating his hips slightly. "Open up for me, Pet," Spike coaxed gently, pushing the young man's thighs apart.

Xander was obviously nervous. Nevertheless, he trustingly let his legs fall open, his knees drawn up.

Spike inserted one finger easily, and then two. He needn't go slowly for this part. Xander was more than used to it by now, and the young man had all the additional benefits of being not-quite human. The Consort package included a higher pain threshold and a greater tolerance for hot, dirty sex - which was what Spike planned to use to reward his lover's trust. Xander was a little tighter than usual, which told Spike he wasn't as relaxed as he could be. Spike withdrew his fingers and vamped out - sinking his fangs into the fleshy part of his hand. As the blood ran freely, Spike ran the same hand over Xander's stomach, feeling the strong muscles twitch and quiver. He left a bloody trail up the young man's chest, painting scarlet patterns round each nipple as he rubbed and twisted each in turn. Xander moaned and clutched at the blankets, trying to keep still. Spike stretched up and pushed his hand against Xander's mouth. Xander's lips clamped over the cut, suckling at it, needy as a babe on its mother's tit.

Spike closed his eyes in pleasure, feeling his lover's hot tongue probing the wound. When Spike tried to pull his hand away, Xander growled and fastened his teeth onto it. Spike growled back, though his gaze remained gentle. "Now, now. Don't be greedy, Pet." He used his other hand to stroke the inside of Xander's thigh. "There's more, if you still want it." His hand was released and he resumed his activities. This time Xander was more relaxed, and three fingers pushed past the ring of muscle with only the barest resistance. Spike kept slow and steady as his mantra, using plenty of the oily goop, and easing it inside as his fingers massaged the snug channel. Xander's silky innards welcomed him like the tightest, hottest glove. All the while Spike kept talking; a nonstop stream of compliments and encouragement designed to keep Xander aroused and relaxed.

"I've wondered about this. Thought about it - how you'd feel; holding me like this. You're so tight and hot. Like putting my hand in a flame. You're burning me, Pet. You feel so good. Fuckin' perfect." Spike eased his last finger in, grateful that his hands were relatively small. It would help make it easier for Xander. He knew the widest part of his hand would be the hardest. Remembered from memory how it felt - how impossible. Xander's breathing had sped up. "You can do this, Pet," Spike coaxed. "You're so ready for me. I can tell. I can feel it." He pushed. Met resistance. Kept up the gentle insistence. Something gave. "Fuck," Spike hissed as his whole hand was engulfed by wet, tight heat. "Fuck. Yessss."

Xander was still and silent as stone, except for the fine tremors running through his body, and the sound of his ragged drawn breaths. However, the Bond sent Spike other signals. Xander was aroused, incredibly aroused. Spike kept talking, knowing that the shock of his entry would lessen now that the discomfort was fading. His voice had dropped to a soft, raspy whisper. He was almost beyond words as he lost himself inside the velvety smoothness of Xander's body. "You wanna take a turn of this next time, luv? Think you'd like that, hmm? Drivin' your hot hand into me? Feel me touching you. This is all mine. No one else has had this. So beautiful. Fuck. You're fuckin' amazing." He held his hand still all the while, and then withdrew it.

"No!" Xander sobbed his protest.

"What, luv? Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"Inside me," Xander practically begged. "Back inside me."

Spike took another handful of the thick, oily goop - and then gently, but firmly, pushed back in. Easier this time, Xander's body was open and ready for him. Spike moved his hand, a slight rocking motion that made Xander wail.

"Oh, God. Oh fuck. Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The words ran off into nonsensical rambling.

"Breathe, Pet," Spike whispered.

****************

Xander couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't move. His whole universe had shrunk to the sensation of Spike's hand moving inside him and Spike's voice, like curls of smoke whispering around his ear. At first it had seemed impossible. So much. Too much. Then the - 'Oh, my, God, I can't. Stop' - moment had passed, and it was replaced by a deep pool of pleasure, spreading out from the point where Spike was so intimately joined to him. Pleasure so incredible it was like pain; Xander almost couldn't bear it. He had never felt anything so intense. His cock lay rigid against his belly. Already the pressure was building inside him, and he fought to hold it back. He wanted to hang onto this moment. Xander squeezed his eyes shut and gasped, his body arching up as Spike unerringly found his sweet spot. Stroking it - once, twice, - three times - and Xander came with a hoarse, wild shout, his cum shooting hotly over his chest and belly. Flashes of light and dark behind his lids as he lay, wrung out and boneless, a sweaty shaking bundle of limbs.

Full awareness returned slowly. Xander whimpered as Spike withdrew his hand; his body sensitized. He had enough sense of self to want to bring relief to his lover, he discovered that Spike had spent himself watching his release.

Spike shrugged a bit awkwardly when Xander encountered the stickiness on his belly. "You were so fuckin' hot." His voice trailed off.

Xander turned his head to kiss him. "You'll teach me?" he asked when their lips parted.

"You can try next time if you want," Spike offered.

Xander's stomach clenched in simultaneous panic and excitement. "I want to do it right. I don't want to hurt you."

"You wouldn't," said Spike confidently.

"Still, maybe you should demonstrate a few more times." Xander's eyes shone.

"You liked it then?" The smug tone didn't hide the underlying hopefulness.

Xander brought Spike's other hand up to his lips. "Like you said. Skilled hands." He suckled on an index finger, smiling around it, as Spike's gaze lost its focus for a moment. Curiosity gripped him, and he let Spike's finger slip free to ask his lover a question. "What does it feel like? You know, when you're doing that?"

"You mean, what do you feel like?"

Xander nodded.

Spike closed his eyes at the memory. "All hot and fluttery. Slippery too - like blood on satin sheets."

Some small logical part of Xander knew that he should be disturbed by the imagery. He wasn't. He kissed Spike again - hard. "My turn next time." Spike answered him with another kiss. Xander ignored the twinges and aches, knowing they would quickly fade, as he wrapped himself around his lover. Thoughts of what lay ahead had been effectively banished for a time.

Part Thirty Two

Xander was in the bath, watching Kermit drift by on a floating soap dish, when his phone rang. He'd risked putting the ringer on, rather than the usual vibrate mode. He'd found that letting the phone ring around Spike more often than not resulted in his cell phone being reduced to the sum total of its individual parts. Cellular technology was one of the few modern encumbrances that Spike refused to embrace, mainly because if Spike couldn't be reached it was because he didn't want to be. And having someone call during sex was just too fucking annoying. Although right this moment they weren't having sex, and Spike wasn't remotely unreachable because he was sitting alongside Xander in the large sunken bath.

"Phone," Spike muttered without opening his eyes.

"It's closer to you," Xander pointed out.

Spike opened his eyes. Lips pursed in displeasure, he reached for the phone and tossed it carelessly toward Xander, who fortunately caught it before it could knock Kermit off his slippery perch.

"Hel-lo, awaiting an important call. Remember?"

"So, answer it."

Xander made a mental note to forget Spike's cereal on their next grocery run. He answered the phone. "Angel. You've found one?"

Angel didn't answer him directly. "You'd better come over."

"You haven't found one?" Xander didn't know whether to be upset or relieved.

"We've found three," said Angel. "They're just - a little off the beaten path."

"How far is a little?"

"Xander-"

"Where are they?"

Angel rolled off the list. "France; Russia; Mexico. For obvious reasons, I'm thinking Mexico is our best bet. Doyle's arranging transport." (Angel was still trying to recover his Cadillac.) "Tell Spike. And pack a bag." His voice dropped to a comforting tone. "It'll be all right, Xander."

"Yeah. Thanks," said Xander quietly, all his prior nervousness rushing back to the fore. He was actually going to have to go through with this. He disconnected and turned to his lover. "You get all of that?" Vampiric hearing made private phone conversations something of a moot issue.

"Mexico's not so bad." Spike grinned evilly. "The locals are kind of spicy."

Xander shot him a dark look as he clambered out of the bath.

******************

Xander was relieved to discover Cordelia hadn't been clued-in to the details surrounding their upcoming trip. He was careful not to drop any pointers, and only hoped the others would be as circumspect. Wesley looked less than happy at the prospect of sharing drive time with Spike. Nevertheless, he stood packed and ready, awaiting further instructions. It was funny, Xander mused, how quickly people stepped into line when Angel was giving the orders. However, he had an idea that Wesley's willingness stemmed as much from an ingrained sense of duty, and a desire to alleviate his prior boredom, as from fear of possible reprisals.

One of Doyle's contacts had furnished them with a slightly rickety RV. Not stolen, they were assured. It smelled kind of funky; but it provided them with clean, if slightly cramped quarters. The loan of the vehicle came with the stipulation that it would be returned, intact, within seventy-two hours. So the decision was made to set off before sunset, with Doyle driving, and Angel and Spike safely stowed in the living area, with the shutters closed. They should arrive around dusk; leaving them the entire night to locate the altar stone and perform the ceremony. If for whatever reason they failed to complete everything the first night, the RV would provide them with somewhere to hole-up during the day, while they waited for nightfall again.

"I don't understand why I have to stay here - again," Cordelia complained.

Spike answered before anyone else could. "You're welcome to come along, luv." He nodded his head toward the others. "Them. You. Me. A moonlit desert. We could have ourselves an orgy out there under the stars." He treated her to lecherous look number seven. Xander lowered his head to hide a smirk.

Cordelia pulled a face. "Forget I asked. If you need anything I'll be in my usual place, waiting by the phone." She headed upstairs to the office, muttering under her breath: "God. Could this job get any more boring?"

With Cordelia still happily none-the-wiser to what lay ahead, they prepared to depart. The sun was low in the sky, and the shadow of the building provided some cover as Spike and Angel ran to the motor home. Wesley and Xander followed. Doyle climbed into the driving seat. While Wesley analyzed the text one more time, Angel filled Xander in on the details. The altar stone formed part of a church; in a one-horse town that had been abandoned around the time Spike was turned. Xander groaned and asked what were the odds that he'd be struck by lightening while removing a pagan curse. Spike was quick to point out that it had been a while since he'd walked the path of the angels, and no one had hurled a thunderbolt at him yet.

Wesley's muttered aside of: "Let's not give up hope, shall we?" - was largely ignored.


Part Thirty Three

They made perfect timing; crossing the border as the sun set, and arriving at the co-ordinates Giles had supplied just as the deep, satin blue of night drew overhead. Xander stepped down from the motor home; the desert air was already taking on a slight chill. He stared around him in dismay. It seemed that they had come all this way for nothing. Dust, sand, and tumbleweed were all he could pick out in the darkness; gently blowing about like leftovers from a disused film set. He looked more intently, and spied a few scattered stones and lumpy mounds that suggested long-abandoned dwellings, now reduced to rubble and memory.

"Patience, Pet."

Xander spun around at Spike's soft intonation. Spike just smiled and walked past him out into the desert. Angel brushed by, taking up a flank position from Spike. They shifted into their vampiric aspects, scenting the air. Trying to pick up - Xander didn't want to think too closely about the mouldering bones that lay somewhere beneath his feet. Angel found what they were looking for: a large stone slab covered by years of sand and dirt. It sealed the entrance to the remains of a crypt. All that was left of what once had been a sizeable church. The stone had probably been placed there by the last townspeople to leave, in hopes of keeping their loved ones safe from coyotes and other grave robbers. They all took a turn, until finally the dirt was cleared away. Angel and Spike took hold of the stone and hefted it aside.

Xander had expected the crypt's air to be dank and foul. It was certainly a little musty, but nowhere near as unpleasant as he'd been anticipating. Wesley offered a possible explanation; suggesting there might be other smaller entrances, tunneled out by desert creatures, which allowed for a regular flow of air. Xander didn't care so much about the whys and wherefores, he was simply grateful for the result; which was a small, crumbling, stone interior, maybe fourteen by twenty feet. Nothing too alarming about it, if one didn't pay too much attention to the stack of broken, crumbling headstones, and the odd carved tomb.

They searched again; Wesley apologizing whenever he dazzled someone with the high-powered torch he'd insisted on bringing along. Doyle hit the jackpot this time, drawing their attention to the strange carvings adorning the cover-stone of one of the tombs. "Unless I'm forgettin' my lessons. This isn't Latin."

Wesley took a closer look. "It's Elpfargian rune-script. Some sort of prayer I think. This is it."

"Should we leave it here, or carry it outside?" Angel left the decision to Xander.

Xander looked around him. The crypt was cold, dark, and slightly claustrophobic with all of them crammed into it. On the other hand, it also afforded a degree of privacy. He had visions of bikers, or worse, innocent rosy-cheeked campers, stumbling upon them in the darkness. "Leave it here."

"Probably for the best," said Spike, who was running a finger along the edge of the stone. "This doesn't look like it'd hold up to much hauling about."

"It is several thousand years old," Wesley was quick to point out. "And it has already survived at least one arduous journey. Including the one that brought it to this continent."

"Why bring it here at all?" Xander wanted to know.

Wesley wasn't certain. "It might simply have caught someone's eye. This rune-script really is a marvellous example of this kind of workmanship. It's quite possible that someone had it shipped here for the purpose of adorning a tomb. Or it may have been a trophy, taken from the Elpfargians, which ended up here by chance."

Xander tried to read the parts that weren't in Elpfargian. Unfortunately, the remainder was in Latin. He could pick out part of a name - the rest had crumbled away. "Jose," he read aloud. "Did he ever pick the wrong stone to rest under." Xander glanced up nervously. "Is it okay to be doing this? I mean, it's not like this is black magic, right?"

"I reckon he's past caring, Luv. But we can open him up and ask him, if you like?" Spike's tone was gently mocking.

Xander thumped his arm. "All I'm saying is, I don't feel all that comfortable making with the beast with two backs on top of some poor dead guy."

"I wouldn't have thought that disturbing the dead would trouble you," said Wesley, directing a rather pointed look Spike's way.

Xander felt his lover bristle at the look, and he placed a calming hand over Spike's arm - a subtle reminder that Wesley couldn't chant without a voice box. He also shot Wesley a sharp glance, warning him that baiting Spike was a sure fire way to lose vital bodily fluids.

As usual it was Angel who stepped in to calm things. "Enough. We're wasting time. Wesley, have you got everything you need?"

"There is one minor thing," Wesley admitted uneasily. "I've been studying the text again; and apparently the symbols aren't painted onto the participant."

"They're not?"

Wesley shook his head. "No. They're---ah---carved into the skin." He uttered the last part quickly.

Spike stepped forward, hands balled into fists. "You're not fuckin' touchin' him."

"Spike!" Angel brought a sullen, glaring Spike to heel. "Spike," he repeated in a quieter tone. "We need to do this right, remember?"

"I don't want him touchin' him," said Spike stubbornly.

"You want this curse lifted? You want Xander safe?"

Spike glowered silently.

Angel took this as acceptance. "Then let Wesley do his job." He turned to Xander. "Are you all right with this?"

Was he? Xander gave a reluctant nod. "Do it."

"I'm afraid I don't have anything for the pain," said Wesley apologetically. He held up his flask. "This may help a little."

Xander smiled. "Keep it."

"This isn't going to be very comfortable," Wesley warned. "And I'm going to need you to keep perfectly still."

Xander's smile blossomed into a smirk. "Blood? Sharp, pointy objects? Believe me when I say - not gonna be a problem here."

"We'll wait outside," Angel offered. "Unless you want us to stay?" Xander hesitated, and Spike's fingers found his. Part of him drew comfort from Angel and Doyle's presence; but was sufficiently on edge that he really only wanted Spike near him right now. He shook his head. "We're good." All right, so that was a lie, but the crypt did seem marginally less claustrophobic after Angel and Doyle had left to wait outside. Xander tugged his hand free of Spike's as he moved to unfasten his shirt. Spike stopped him. Cool steady fingers replaced his, undoing the buttons and eased the material off his shoulders. Appreciation for what was on display shimmered in Spike's eyes; a hint of gold behind the blue.

Spike unselfconsciously removed his own clothing, flinging them carelessly into a corner. Naked as a newborn, he sat on the Elpfargian altar stone, legs hanging over the side. He pushed himself back and patted the space in front of him between his thighs. "Hop up, Pet."

Xander did, and was grateful when Spike shuffled close and a cool arm encircled his waist. Xander let his head drop back against his lover.

Wesley was setting up storm lamps around the crypt to provide some measure of illumination. Once that was done he stepped forward, holding up what looked to be a small penknife. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's the best I can do under the circumstances. I've poured some alcohol over the blade. Perhaps I should heat it?"

"It'll do," Spike growled. "Just get on with it."

"Nasty oozing infections not really a problem any more," Xander explained. "Kind of a side benefit to the whole loving the evil undead thing." He was trying not to be snide; Wesley was just too easy to provoke. Xander fidgeted as he waited for Wesley to begin. He noticed that Wesley's hands were shaking.

"Watcher," Spike snarled. A warning and a reminder that Wesley had supposedly been trained to handle situations like this.

Xander felt Wesley's hand braced against his chest. The other man's skin felt oddly warm and moist compared to Spike's cool dry touch. The first incision made his muscles tighten. He closed his eyes and kept them closed as the point of the knife traced intricate patterns into his flesh. Xander felt his blood flowing freely from the shallow cuts. Warm and thick, trickling down his chest toward his belly. Spike's arm squeezed his waist, and Xander knew his lover was aroused by the sight and scent of it. The cuts were beginning to hurt. Xander tensed. His breathing and heart rate sped up. The Bond rippled and sighed. Like a living thing it seized upon the emotional underflow - Xander's discomfort, Spike's desire. It turned and twisted them until Xander was as hard and as aroused as his lover. An involuntary moan escaped him, startling Wesley, whose hand slipped. Xander gasped.

"Watch what you're fuckin' doin'!" Spike snapped.

Wesley mumbled apologies.

Spike leaned forward and rubbed his face against Xander's, murmuring soothing reassurances. His features rippled as he shifted into his vampire aspect. Unblinking yellow eyes fixed Wesley with a cold, threatening stare. "Not a peep out of you," he cautioned. Spike raised his free arm to his lips and drew his fangs along it. As the blood trickled forth he pressed the incision to Xander's mouth, ignoring Wesley's sharp indrawn breath.

Xander had already guessed what his lover was about, as the rich coppery taint of Spike's blood overlaid the scent of his own. His stomach twisted with a strange, distant hunger, and he dimly heard Wesley gasp as he sank blunt teeth into Spike's bloody forearm. Spike moaned in pain and pleasure.

"God," Wesley muttered, clearly shocked by what he was witnessing.

Spike glared at him through heavy-lidded eyes, already glazed with desire. "Get on with it," he ordered.

Wesley somehow managed to hold his hand steady as he completed the last of the markings, and then he stumbled back. It was time.

Spike moved his arm away from Xander's waist. Placing his hand firmly across his lover's forehead, he pulled Xander back, wrenching him away from the wound. Xander showed his displeasure with a low growl, but made no other protest as Spike maneuvered them so that Xander's back was against the smooth stone of the altar. Spike made short work of the rest of Xander's clothing. Laces snapped as he yanked off sneakers. Another pair of jeans fell victim, as seams stretched, and finally gave under forceful tugs.

Stripped and spread-eagled on the stone, Xander's breath hitched as a cold tongue expertly probed the cuts scoring his torso. Spike lapped at the little wells of blood pooling in each incision; purring as the hot, crimson flow trickled into his mouth. Xander could taste the coppery taint in the air. He hissed as needle sharp fangs broke through his skin and he grabbed at Spike's head; fingers wound frantically tight in the short bond waves. Spike simply let his fangs slide in and then slip out; knowing it was desire not panic that made Xander's pulse quicken. Spike left his lover's bloody chest, giving himself over to Xander's willing mouth. Xander opened his lips and took it all, drinking down the bittersweet fluid gathering at the tip.
He ran his tongue around the head of Spike's cock, before suckling hard upon the length.

Spike finally withdrew his cock, glistening with spit and precum. Cupping Xander's face between his hands, he kissed the young man. Blunt teeth had replaced fangs, but Xander tasted fresh blood from the force of it, and his lips felt bruised when Spike pulled away. Xander's next breath ended in a dull moan as oil-slicked fingers pushed their way inside. Spike's other hand held his hips, leaving marks on his skin. Xander watched Spike's face shift back into its demonic aspect. Yellow eyes bore into him as he writhed and whimpered, impaled upon the fingers thrusting ruthlessly in and out of his body. Something larger and more needy took their place, and Spike sank into him in one deep stroke. Xander wailed and threw his head back, heedless of the pain as it cracked against the stone.

"Take it. Take it," Spike growled.

<Fuck. Yes> Xander's mind chanted. He wanted this. He wanted it hard. Harder. He bucked his hips impatiently. "Give it to me. Come on. Is that all you've got?" There was no malice to the taunt. Despite Spike's insistence that Xander was no longer human, that he was a shade, part vampire; Xander felt that Spike was more careful with him than he would have been with his kind. Xander didn't want that. The challenge hung in the air for a moment. Then Spike responded. Pounding into Xander so hard, he had visions of the altar shattering beneath them, or of his spine leaving permanent indentations in the worn stone. Xander gripped his lover with his legs, and locked gazes with the fierce yellow eyes above him.

There was something strangely driven and desperate about this coupling. Perhaps it was the place, or the reason, or the presence of their unwilling observer; which gave it a semi-uncomfortable thrill. Xander tried to find purchase on the altar; his fingers slippery with blood and sweat. However, he was unable to do much more than rock his hips up to meet each thrust. God, it felt good. Perfect. Better than. He knew he was going to be feeling this for a while, Consort healing or no. Xander reached for his neglected cock; almost forgotten in the tide of pleasure that was carrying him along.The smooth, worn stone rubbed against his back. Xander could picture sparks from the friction.

Spike at last came with a howl that made Wesley's voice falter. He collapsed over Xander, shaking from the force of his release. Xander lay still for a moment and then wiggled impatiently. Spike lifted his head, bared his fangs and sank them into Xander's shoulder. Xander closed his eyes and let the world slide away - a bliss explosion, setting nerves afire and sending him tumbling into the abyss. When awareness returned, Spike was stretched out next to him, idly drawing patterns in the congealing blood on his chest. Xander turned his head. Wesley was facing the wall, mumbling in Elpfargian. "We're not done?" Xander croaked. Spike's answering grin suggested he knew several suitably lewd scenarios to fill in the time. Xander shook his head. "Time-out," he pleaded. "I think you broke me."

The grin was instantly replaced by a concerned look. "Are you all right? I know I was a bit-"

Xander pressed his fingers to Spike's mouth, cutting his lover off. "I'm fine. And you were better than." He stroked the slender lips and smiled. "I keep telling you I can handle it."

Admiration warmed Spike's gaze. "Yeah, you can." He suckled gently on Xander 's fingers, cleaning off the drying blood.

"I'm-" Wesley cleared his throat. "I'm done here. So I'll just be waiting outside---while you---ah---whatever." Book and papers pressed against his chest, Wesley exited the crypt without looking back at the altar.

Xander chuckled softly. "Think we've scarred him for life?" He felt too euphoric to worry about the potential embarrassment factor.

Spike ran his tongue between Xander's fingers and then shook his head. "Do him the world of good."

"Think it worked?"

Propped up on one elbow, Spike responded with an awkward shrug. "Maybe. We' ll have to wait an' see."

Xander sighed. "Part of me is actually gonna miss the little fella."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on. He was growing on you. Admit it."

"He bleedin' well wasn't."

"You made him a paper boat." Laughter filled Xander's voice as he remembered finding Spike pushing Kermit around the bath in the impromptu vessel.

"I was trying to drown it."

"I don't know. You two looked pretty cozy to me." Xander failed to hold his laughter back any longer at the disgusted look on Spike's face. "All right," he agreed. "You hated the frog." Satisfied, Spike resumed tracing the marks on Xander's chest. Xander eyed them worriedly. "More scars?"

"Pretty," said Spike, leaning down to trail his tongue around a swirl.

"You're weird."

"Says the boy with a frog fetish."

"I do not have a frog fetish!"

Spike just grinned infuriatingly and finished cleaning the blood from Xander's cuts.

"I just said I'd miss him a bit," Xander muttered, twitching as Spike's tongue ran over a ticklish spot. "I didn't say I wanted to adopt him or anythi-i-nnnng." The word trailed off into a moan as Spike's tongue went walk-about.

Standing outside the entrance, Wesley heard the noises and lifted his eyes heavenward in despair. "Again?" He glanced over at the motor home, but guessed Angel and Doyle were inside, and he wasn't sure he wanted to disturb them. He'd seen quite enough for one night. Possibly for an entire lifetime. Sighing heavily, he tried to juggle the torch and the book. He'd only read a few passages when he nearly dropped them both. He stared at the crypt; the sounds emerging from it making his mind go places he really didn't want to visit. He closed the book, hoisted it under his arm, switched the torch onto full beam, and walked away. Whistling loudly.


Part Thirty Four

Three nights later, Spike stood on the office roof enjoying a smoke, musing over what Xander had told him. He'd thought the boy was moping because of Wesley; he'd noticed the wanker sidling up to Xander when no one else was nearby. Doubtless he was whispering something suitably dire and dramatic into his lover's ear. Xander had simply laughed it off when Spike had mentioned it, saying it would take more than Wesley rattling on about the dangers of interspecies relationships to concern him. However, a bit of gentle prying had revealed that something was troubling his lover. Xander wouldn't go into detail, only saying Doyle had done something to get the orbs that appeared to have left its mark on the Irishman. Spike had already
noticed that Doyle was hitting the bottle a little more readily than usual, but he'd put it down to the half-demon fretting over Angel. With Angel on the mend and Doyle still drinking hard, Spike had begun to rethink that theory. Xander essentially filled in the missing piece - or at least the shape of it. Spike still had no inkling what was plaguing his friend and upsetting his lover. However, he planned to find out.

He'd told Xander he'd have a discreet word - after arguing that he could do discreet. He pointed out it would be easier without the flapping ears of Angel and Wesley listening in. He was supposed to wait up here until Xander somehow got Doyle to join him. Because Angel was fastidious about little things like cigarette burns on his furnishings, Spike could linger a while without anyone wondering why. He heard the creak of the roof door and sensed Doyle's approach.

"Xander wants to know if you're coming back down sometime this century."

Spike snorted. Not very original, Pet. He half-turned toward Doyle and waved his cigarette. "Got this to finish first." Doyle nodded and then hesitated, apparently unclear whether to stay or go now that the message had been delivered. Spike needed to make him stay long enough to talk. He drew his smokes out of his pocket and offered Doyle one. Doyle shook his head, and held up the battered hip flask that was concealed in his hand.

"Thanks, but this is my poison of choice."

"Every man needs a vice," said Spike equably.

They stood in silence, looking out over the low rooftop wall at the glittering lights of the city. Spike observed Doyle take several lengthy sips from the flask; his fingers trembling lightly - and not from the cold - it was a mild night. Spike waited. Patience was not really his thing, but he did know how to be a good listener. Angelus and Darla had liked the sounds of their own voices, and they had tended to get upset if you didn't pay the proper amount of attention. You could avoid punishments and reap the rewards if you kept your mouth shut and your ears open. His cigarette had almost burned down to his fingers when Doyle finally spoke.

"What would you think of a guy who did the wrong thing for the right reasons?"

Spike smiled wryly. "Moral debates not really my thing. Evil undead and all that."

Doyle sighed. "You know a demon called Lezzam?"

Spike shook his head and waited to see if there was more. There was.

"He's a Tavar."

Spike dropped his cigarette stub onto the roof and ground it out viciously with his boot. "I know Tavars. Fuckin' parasites." He looked at Doyle. "This isn't a vision thing is it?" He was trying to play it coy. Xander hadn't told him much, but he didn't want Doyle thinking the boy had broken any promises.

Doyle ran shaking fingers through his hair, clutching at a handful of it. His voice was soft and broken. "I didn't know what else to do."

Spike clenched his fingers into a fist. "What happened?" He could guess, but he had an idea that Doyle needed to say it, confession being good for the soul and all that. Plus, the sound of Doyle's soft, haunted voice reminded him that pummeling the brickwork probably wouldn't help here.

Doyle took another long swig from his flask. "I made a deal. I'd been to him before," he admitted. "When things got really bad. You know - checks not balancing."

Spike had heard how Doyle had lived prior to hooking up with Angel. Favours owed; debts paid. Checks and balances. It was a system that worked when everyone did their bit. But if someone down the line failed to deliver you could find yourself in serious trouble. Some people could be very unforgiving when it came to outstanding payments. Spike had suffered that himself a time or two. Of course, a reputation could keep the debt collectors at bay long enough to scrounge up payment or clear out. Someone like Doyle couldn't rely on that to keep the heavies away, and there were shadows in the half-demon's eyes that implied life had been pretty dark for a while. Certainly, you'd have to be pretty fucking desperate to turn to a
Tavar demon for help.

Spike's only close brush with a Tavar had happened shortly after he'd been turned. He and Angelus were in a club that catered exclusively to demons in an area of Bucharest. Angelus was talking business upstairs. Spike, being Spike, had gotten restless and had gone wandering. He'd stumbled across the Tavar in a back rooms, its bloated bulk stretched out over a crimson chaise longue. Spike was too fascinated by the waving tentacles to leave straight away. He was still learning about the other denizens of this dark new world, and he was eager to add to his knowledge. Was this something to hurt?
Something to kill? Or something that would bring him more benefits by being left alive and relatively whole? He had already discovered that vampires were not universally welcomed, but Angelus had aptly demonstrated that they had little to fear from the majority of other demons. However, Spike had been cautious as he approached this new find.

The Tavar didn't appear to feel threatened by him, nor did it show any displeasure at his presence. Far from it, he was made to feel welcome and given a seat and a drink. They talked, and Spike relished the chance to speak without being mocked or punched. He relaxed his guard - and that was his first mistake. A woman was brought in; young, pretty. Red hair piled high on her head, revealing a pale slender neck. Spike practically salivated at the sight. Angelus still dictated when and whom they hunted. They hadn't fed this evening, and the fluttering panic of the young woman's heart was like sweet music. When she was offered to him, he didn't stop to ask why, his suspicions soothed by the Tavar's smooth manner. He held her across his lap as he bit savagely into her soft white skin, savouring the first hot spurt of blood as it hit the back of his throat. Spike drank greedily from the dying girl, completely unaware that he wasn't the only one feeding from her.

The Tavar's eyes rolled in ecstasy as it drank in the fear and the terror; tentacles bulged and rippled under the girl's smooth skin. The first Spike knew something was amiss was when the girl breathed her last and his hunger was sated. He felt decidedly odd, like something dark and oily was crawling around inside his head. His mind felt sluggish, his thoughts cloudy and distant. He pushed the girl off his lap and tried to stand. The room seemed to tilt, and Spike felt the first stirrings of anger and alarm. The girl must have been drugged. He'd had a laudanum addict once and had puked his guts up for hours afterwards, with Angelus laughing at him all the while. Spike weighed up the competition, taking careful note of the three Fyarl
bodyguards, and was unfortunately forced to conclude that he was in no condition to take them on. He staggered for the door, trying not to lose the contents of his stomach, and ran into a familiar broad chest.

Angelus was less than happy to see the state his Childe was in. Fyarl demons were all brute strength and no finesse, and Angelus made short work of them. He took longer with the Tavar, and then he dragged Spike back to their lodgings and gave the younger vampire a lesson in following orders. Angelus had made quite certain that Spike understood what Tavar were - mind-raping scum - and no Childer of his were to sully their hands, or their reputations, by having dealings with them. Even without the lash marks on his thighs and buttocks, Spike was more than willing to listen. His mind felt polluted by the Tavar's touch, and it was months before he got the creepy-crawly sensation out of his skull.

Spike felt a cold, pitiless rage that a Tavar had dared to touch his Sire's lover. He was quite certain the Tavar had known about Doyle's connection to Angel. Tavars dealt in information, and a juicy tit-bit like Angel taking a lover wouldn't pass unnoted. That made the insult all the greater. Did they think that Angel was to be less feared because he possessed a soul? Spike would have to set them straight. For now he choked back the rage and concentrated on Doyle. Spike couldn't help but feel annoyed that the young man's unhappy state had apparently escaped Angel's notice. "I'm surprised that him-in-doors hasn't caught a whiff of that hair shirt you're flouting. Then again, he always was an insensitive bugger."

Doyle, unsurprisingly, rallied to Angel's defense. "I can block a lot of it," he confessed. "An' he thinks the rest is me working up an ulcer over him getting caught like that. He's feelin' too guilty to put a lot of questions to me."

As much as it grated him to admit it, Spike could hardly fault Angel for that; after all, he'd drawn the same erroneous conclusion. Plus, Angel had been pretty out of it for a while, and then there'd been the little matter of a curse to lift. Though if the looks Angel had been giving Doyle earlier were anything to go by, something was finally starting to dawn there. "Misdirection only works with Angel for so long," Spike warned. "He's got a nasty habit of sniffin' out the truth."

"I know," said Doyle quietly. "I just don't know how to tell him."

"You want my advice?" At Doyle's nod, Spike carried on. "Don't. You did what you had to. It worked out. Time to move on. Wallowing in guilt won't do a thing to change what happened; neither will confessing all to your nearest and dearest." Doyle looked at him. "I don't count," said Spike easily. "I'm not one for throwing stones - glass houses and all that." He lit another cigarette. "And I'm not gonna tell you that Angel's the type to forgive and forget. 'Cause we both know that'd be a lie."

"He'd go ballistic," Doyle acknowledged with another sigh.

"What he'd do," said Spike grimacing, "is don that hair shirt you're wearin' and drive us all up the fuckin' wall with his little 'Woe is me, I'm too bad to be forgiven' bit."

"He's not to blame. It was my choice."

"Then live with it," said Spike brutally. "You needed something. You did what you had to in order to get it. End of story. You got Angel back, and you gave me a helpin' hand. I appreciate that by the way," he added mildly.

Doyle smiled faintly. "You're welcome."

The eyes that were turned on Doyle held more warmth than their usual glacial hue. "Listen," said Spike. "I know your mind feels like a cesspit right now, but that'll pass. So lock things down tight and hold your fuckin' head up. You haven't done anything wrong." Without thinking he reached out. Doyle closed his eyes as cold fingers brushed his jaw. Spike swallowed hard. He hadn't forgotten what it felt like to be buried deep inside this one. He leaned close, ghosting his lips lightly over Doyle's, tasting liquor, grief, and the remnants of a desire to match his own. When he drew back, he found
himself looking into very wide, startled green eyes, and suddenly something else was clear. "You're worried someone will talk. One of them."

"Wouldn't you be?" Doyle's voice shook slightly.

"No one will talk."

Doyle looked uncertain.

"My word on it," said Spike. His gaze narrowed. "You took Xander with you." He tapped the end of Doyle's nose. "Don't do that again." He threw his unfinished cigarette to the wind and draped an arm around Doyle's shoulders, taking the flask. "And less of this. You can't clear your head if it's full of booze." Spike walked them back to the stairwell, plotting ideas for revenge as he descended with a very quiet Doyle in tow.

Part Thirty Five

Doyle was trying hard, but the touch of a Tavar wasn't something you could easily shake off. Spike's description had been uncannily accurate. His mind did feel like a cesspit: dark and festering. Spike's little speech had implied more than hearsay; Doyle was pretty certain that had been the voice of experience talking. He found himself wondering what circumstances could have led Spike to a Tavar's door. He was also wondering what Spike was doing right now. Before Spike had left with Xander, he'd looked at Doyle and smiled mirthlessly. A silent reminder of a promise. Doyle wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what Spike intended. "No one talking" - meant no one left able to talk. In the case of Spike, that most likely meant dead. Angel might deal in threats first; Spike dealt purely in violence.

However, Doyle couldn't quite bring himself to feel any regret. Things had been rough for a while when he found out about his bloodline; he'd gotten very drunk, and then he'd gotten into trouble. The kind that left you discarded in a dumpster. Someone who knew someone had suggested Lezzam. Doyle hadn't really known what he was dealing with, but he hadn't been in any position to be picky. The first encounter had left him sick to his stomach; he'd gone home and crawled back inside a bottle for a few days, swearing never to return. That promise had lasted exactly three months, two days, seven hours and forty-seven minutes. The second time was worse, and Doyle had gone home and vomited incessantly, too ill to even console himself
with a drink. He'd made the same promise; never to do it again. This time it didn't even last until the end of the month. The third time he hadn't been physically sick, even if he'd felt like he'd been gargling sewage.

Things had continued that way until the first vision had struck; and it was a testimony to how low he'd sunk that he'd welcomed the mind-splitting agony that came with his visions. Any pain that wasn't fatal was a cost worth paying to be able to finally turn his back on Lezzam. He was through pimping himself out to that creature. That wasn't to say he wasn't tempted on occasion. When things looked bleak, and they'd run out of sources to try, he'd think of Lezzam and consider going back. But he wasn't the same man any more. His self-worth was a notch or two higher than rock bottom. The wayAngel looked at him - the way Angel loved him. He wouldn't sully that by surrendering himself to Lezzam again.

Until he was faced with losing Angel; then one more stain on his soul didn't seem too high a price. Doyle buried his head in his hands and gulped back a sob. His eyes darted briefly to the bathroom door, hoping it had contained the sound. God, what was he going to do? He sometimes felt like his whole life had been one long screw-up; Angel being the one thing he had that he hadn't managed to ruin - yet. What would it do to Angel, if he found out about this? Spike was right; Angel would absorb all the guilt and blame and beat himself silly with it. Doyle couldn't let that happen. He had to button this down tight. It wouldn't be easy. The Bond was conscious of his distress, and the ebb and flow of his emotions carried along it to Angel. Doyle didn't quite have Angel's finesse dealing with their link. Terrified of something leaking through, he was equally afraid that if he shut Angel out completely, Angel would know for certain that something was wrong. Trying to mange all the subtleties with a mind that felt like wet, shredded paper was no joke. Doyle hoped a vision wasn't waiting in the wings, because right now it would wipe the floor with him.

Pushing himself up from the wall where he was crouching, Doyle went over to the sink. He splashed some cold water onto his face and brushed his teeth. It didn't help; he still felt like he'd been licking toilet bowls. He pictured what Spike was probably doing to Lezzam right now, and felt a dark kernel of satisfaction growing within him. Doyle had only found out after the fifth time that Lezzam had occasionally had a hand in expediting his troubles, hinting to people that Doyle owed that it was time to call in the debts. Lezzam had developed a taste for him, apparently. A half-Bracken was a rare delicacy to be enjoyed whenever possible.

Doyle stared at his reflection in the mirror; trying to erase any traces of stress or guilt from his features. Lezzam had chosen to play this game; he deserved whatever hand Spike dealt him.

"Doyle?"

"Coming!" Doyle took a few rallying breaths and opened the bathroom door.

Angel stood in the passageway leading to the bedroom; concern shadowed his face.

Doyle made a mental note not to over do the 'I'm fine' bit. He summoned an easy smile. "So, bed?"

Angel's concerned frown lingered for a moment before his expression softened. "Bed," he agreed.

Abruptly, Doyle found himself reaching for Angel's hand, finding reassurance and comfort in the cool fingers that wrapped around his own. He was just as helpless to stop himself from saying "I love you" as he looked up at his lover.

The concern came back, but Angel's gaze was warm and steady as he answered. "I love you too." He hesitated, and then added, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," said Doyle, a little too quickly. "Just tired."

Angel looked unconvinced, but all he said was, "Bed then." He tugged Doyle gently toward their bedroom.

Doyle didn't protest when Angel undressed him and directed him under the covers. Vampire healing abilities had taken care of Angel's horrific injuries, and Doyle was happy to let his lover coddle him a little. He snuggled up close as Angel joined him, enjoying the feel of all that hard muscle and cool, silky skin. Doyle knew women who'd kill for skin like this. <And it's all mine> he thought possessively, cuddling even closer. He made a happy humming sound when Angel wrapped his arms around him. He tried to push all thoughts of Lezzam away and attempted to ignore the sewage sloshing about in his skull. Spike was right. What was done was done, no point wallowing in it. Now if he could just get himself to believe that, everything would be great.

Angel maneuvered them face-to-face, gently brushing their lips together. Doyle held onto the kiss and deepened it, trying to lose himself in the feel and taste of his lover. He would get over this. He would keep it from Angel. And one day he would finally silence the voice that mourned for an innocence he'd never known.

Continue to epilogue