The Problem

By Esmeralda

Chapter Twenty-One

Exhausted in mind, body and spirit, Doyle found himself trailing further and further behind Drusilla. He had tried to occupy his thoughts by watching the tattered hem of her gown as it fluttered around her ankles. The surrounding scenery offered no distractions, leaving him instead to dwell on the hopelessness of his situation. The scrapes and scratches from the attack were starting to itch, making him worry about the possibility of infection. That would be the final insult. It wasn't enough that even his bruises had bruises, now he was probably going to catch some gross skin disease. He wanted to sit down and cry. He'd been struggling to maintain his stoic facade for Angel's sake; determined not to let his lover know just how scared and hurt he was really feeling, but he'd been holding it all in for so long it was choking him.

His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been some time since he'd eaten: though the very thought of food made him nauseous. He was thirsty, but the parched earth suggested that water was a seldom visitor to this particular dimension. Great, so if an incurable skin disease didn't kill him, dehydration or starvation would probably do the job. Hysteria bubbled in his throat and he gave a short, strangled bark of laughter - startling himself. He knew he was a hairs breadth from full-blown panic and he was losing the fight to contain it. He stopped walking, closing his eyes and drawing in a few deep breaths to try to steady himself.

The vision hit without warning.

Doyle gasped and collapsed to his knees, shaking like a man in the grip of a fit. He tried to cry out, but the pain was so intense it robbed him of his voice. When finally it passed he lay curled up on his side, shivering. Awareness came with the feel of smooth, cold fingers gently stroking his face. He blinked, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. The blurry face of Drusilla slowly came into focus. Her eyes radiated a solemn understanding. He knew that he should move away, but the cool touch was like a balm.

Finally, he felt able to sit up and he gently moved her hand away. "Thank you." He offered a tiny grateful
smile.

Drusilla's expression remained solemn, but liquid-dark eyes glittered with an intense madness. "Did the stars sing to you? Did they send you blood and dreams?"

Doyle struggled to recall what he'd seen. It always took him a moment to set aside the pain and concentrate on the imagery. When he did, what little colour he had leached away. "Oh, God. Angel." He tried to stand but his legs buckled underneath him. He found himself gripping Drusilla's arms, his panic now full fledged.

"We have to find him. They're going to kill him. Oh, God. Oh, fuck." Words faded into broken sobs. The vision had been of Angel. He'd seen his lover about to walk into a trap - with lethal results. He let go of Drusilla and slammed his fists against the ground. Then he raised his face to the sky and screamed: "What do you want me to do?! You want me to save your champion?!" He grabbed handfuls of dirt and threw it uselessly at the sky. "How can I?! How the fuck can I?!"

He slumped forward, pressing his hands against his face, rocking mindlessly. "I'm sorry," he moaned. "Oh, God, Angel. I'm so sorry."

Drusilla watched for a moment. Then she reached forward and put her arms around him, holding him as he wept.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Where the fuck are we headin'?" Spike snarled. "We're probably goin' round in bleedin' circles."

Angel didn't want to admit it, but he silently acknowledged that his Childe might be right. With nothing in the sky, and no visible landmarks, it was impossible to work out the direction they were travelling in. It was all too possible that they had been walking in a circle for the last few hours. Spike's patience - never the stuff of legends - was nearing its limit, and Xander looked close to dropping. Lines of exhaustion adding to the worried creases already etched into his face. However, Angel was at a loss as to what else they could do. He had tried to direct the portal to take them to Doyle, but portal spells were notoriously fickle. What if he'd screwed it up? What if this wasn't even the right dimension?

Nagging doubts didn't improve his temper and he growled at Spike before increasing his pace. He should have known that wouldn't shut him up. Even back in the day it usually took more than a verbal warning to bring his Childe to heel.

"Sod this." Spike stopped suddenly. He grabbed Xander and pulled the young man to a stand still. "We're taking a break," he announced.

Angel wanted to deny them, but another look at Xander's pale, weary face made him relent. "Okay. A few minutes."

"Yeah," Spike muttered. "Cos it's gonna make all the difference if we hurry."

"Spike," Xander hissed.

"What? We might as well be marching on the bloody spot for all the fuckin' good were doing."

"Not helping here." Xander jerked his head toward Angel. Trying to indicate that Spike should shut up.

"He knows. The pouf's just too much of a sorry-arse to admit it."

"Fine. Whatever. But maybe, Mr. Negativity, you should spare us the unhelpful pessimism."

Angel watched and listened with an aching heart. Even as the pair sniped and bickered, they exchanged wordless comfort. Hands touched and petted: not sexual, just reassuring. Their obvious togetherness only served to reinforce his sense of loss and regret. When Spike silenced Xander with a gentle kiss, Angel looked away.

Suddenly, his reasons for holding Doyle at arms length seemed senseless. He'd known his actions had left Doyle upset and confused. But he'd told himself it was for the best: that he was protecting Doyle. He'd thought he was right. Now he wasn't so sure. Even more painful was the knowledge that he had purposefully refused to talk it over with his lover, and for that he had no excuse - except, perhaps, his own cowardice. He'd been afraid that if he gave Doyle his reasons, Doyle would try to offer arguments against them, and Angel knew he would be too weak to resist. Was he wrong? Was it too late to change things? Only if Doyle was…

Angel couldn't bring himself to complete the thought. Doyle was fine. He had to be.

He turned his attention back to the landscape, squinting into the distance. Something dark could be glimpsed on the horizon line. It was hard to make out. Even in his human guise, his eyes were still relatively light sensitive. He knew that of the three of them Xander had the best chance of identifying it. "Xander, what do you see over there?"

"Umm. I'm not sure. Maybe mountains?" Xander shadowed his eyes. It wasn't particularly bright, but the heat made things shift and shimmer. "Or buildings. It could be buildings." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I really can't see more than a big, dark blur."

"Then we check it out." Angel was already walking.

"Hey!" Spike scrambled to his feet.

Angel glanced back over his shoulder. "You have a better idea?"

Spike's sullen pout said no. And the three of them set off again.

--------------------

Right now, Xander decided he would give a lot for a long, cool drink of just about anything. A fierce wind had blown up out of nowhere, throwing dirt, grit, and dust into their faces. Spike had removed his shirt - handing it to Xander to use against the choking clouds. Xander wrapped it around his face, leaving only his eyes and hair visible. The latter quickly turned a yellowish-grey as the dust settled in it. Spike and Angel held their arms up as a barrier against the stinging wind, trying to shield their eyes as best they could. At least they didn't have to try and breathe in it. Sometimes being human sucked. Even with Spike's shirt, all he could taste was grit and dirt, and it was beyond foul - like something had died in his mouth. He hoped they were still walking in the right direction, because he for one couldn't see a thing. Only his ability to sense Spike kept him on track.

This place had made him more aware of the changes in his physiology. It was nothing his human senses could pick-up on, but his other senses were zinging all over the place: like a warning claxon going off inside his head. Occasionally, he'd thought he'd heard cries. He was pretty sure Spike and Angel had heard them too. However, they seemed to come under the heading of ~ 'disturbing things, best not talked about'. He certainly didn't want to think about who, or what, was making them…or indeed, why. This was Hell after all, and some things were just better left unknown.

The wind died down as abruptly as it had started. Leaving Xander to unwind the shirt from around his face, and try to hack up the half ton of dust that seemed to have lodged in his lungs. Wiping the dust out of his eyes he realized something else: they had arrived.

Though that strange, unidentifiable blip on the horizon wasn't all that much more identifiable close-to. Roughly dome-shaped, it appeared to have been hewn out of wet clay, and unlike the rest of the landscape it was a dark, rich, reddish brown. By Xander's estimation, it was about ten feet high and maybe thirty or forty feet in diameter. There was also something strangely…off…about it. Xander couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about this thing made his skin crawl.

Angel and Spike seemed equally uncertain; neither got too close and when Xander went to touch it, Spike pulled him back with such force his feet left the ground.

"Don't go pokin' at things you know nuthin' about."

"Yes, Dad- Ow." Xander rubbed his ear where Spike had flicked it.

Spike just gave him a 'behave yourself' look, before walking over to Angel. "What do you think?"

Angel shook his head; his expression said he was as nonplussed as they were. "I don't know. It doesn't fit in with the rest of this place. Maybe somebody built it?"

"For what? Therapy?"

"Maybe someone lives in it," Xander suggested. His ear still stung, so he was careful not to shift from the spot where Spike had put him. When the other two gave him puzzled looks, Xander pointed out what they had both failed to notice. "There's a door." He directed them towards an opening on the far side, about two feet from the ground. "Or maybe it's a really low window." Xander grinned. "That's it. It's a munchkin house."

"Now I know we're in Hell," said Spike dryly.

Angel looked lost.

"Oh come on. You must have seen it," said Spike. "You aren't that lucky."

"The Wizard of Oz," Xander supplied helpfully. "It's a classic."

"It's bloody awful, is what it is."

"Says the man who knows all the words."

Spike fairly sputtered his indignation. "Oi! That's not my fault. It got me subliminally or something."

Xander began to sing slightly off-key. "Oh, we're off to see the wizard…" Spike grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his hair, sending out clouds of dust. When Xander started coughing, Spike let go and gave him a 'helpful' slap on the back. "Thank you," Xander croaked, glaring at his lover. Spike smirked unrepentantly.

Angel had already left them to go and investigate. Cautiously, he placed one hand next to the opening, bracing himself as he leaned forward to peer inside. It looked empty. "I don't think anybody lives here," he told the others, who had come over to join him.

Spike took a look. "Well it ain't exactly life-styles of the rich and famous. But then we don't all have your taste in poncy decor."

"Does anyone else think it smells funny?" Xander asked.

"This whole fuckin' place smells funny."

"No. He's right. It smells…odd," Angel agreed.

"Look, are we going in or not?" Spike demanded to know. "Or are we just gonna stand here yakking."

"Go in?" Xander asked. "As in ~ in there?" His night vision was pretty good, but it still looked very…well…dark.

"I'll go," said Angel. "You two stay outside and keep watch."

Xander was torn. Part of him was relieved that he apparently wouldn't have to crawl through that black opening, but another part of him didn't like the thought of Angel disappearing through it either. "Why does anyone have to go? I mean, Doyle's not in there. Is he? We'd know if he was, right?" He didn't want to voice the - even if he's unconscious or dead.

"No, he's not in there. But he might have been here. Or there might be something else." Desperation coloured Angel's voice.

Xander understood. In this landscape of bleak nothingness anything was worth investigating. It wasn't like they were tripping over clues here. He watched unhappily as Angel slipped noiselessly inside. Spike immediately stepped up to the entrance; trying to keep an eye on his Sire as Angel moved deeper into the gloom.

"Something's not right," Xander mused aloud. "Am I the only one getting seriously creeped out here?"

"Yeah." Spike looked worried. "I think you're right." He leaned into the opening. "Oi, Peaches. You'd better get back out here. There's something funny about this." There was no reply. "Angel? Oi, Angel!"

Chapter Twenty-Three

Doyle would have remained where he knelt, lost in a grief-stricken stupor, but Drusilla had other ideas. She pulled him to his feet and made him walk. With one arm around his waist, and the other hand clutching Miss. Edith, she led him like a child. Doyle hadn't the will to object and stumbled onward. He had no idea how much time had lapsed, when Drusilla suddenly stopped. Doyle blinked dazedly. Coming out of his fugue, he followed her gaze. Ahead, still some distance away, was a dark shape. Something about it tweaked a memory…a very recent memory. His vision. Here? It was here? But then that would mean Angel was…

Doyle began to run. Drusilla effortlessly matched his pace. They'd covered maybe half the distance when she seized his arm, forcing him to stop. Doyle cried out and tried to break free, but her grip was like iron.

"Stars are the eyes of the sky," she whispered. Then she let go.

Doyle was still struggling and almost fell over. He shot her a confused look and then began to run again. Finally he reached it - a strange, rough-hewn dome. There was no sign of anyone but he heard voices from around the other side. He recognized them at once. Racing around the structure, Doyle stumbled into Xander, who yelped and raised his arms defensively. Doyle all but collapsed and Xander quickly lowered his arms to catch him.

"Where's Angel?" Doyle demanded breathlessly.

Xander suddenly realised who he was holding upright.

"Doyle?!"

A concerned looking Spike came to stand beside them.

"He's in there." Spike pointed to the dome.

Doyle's face contorted in horror. "Get him out. Now!"

Spike didn't waste time asking questions. He sprinted back to the entrance and was about to dart inside when the wall shifted. Spike stumbled back. "What the-?" As the structure began to heave and split he scrambled back, drawing Xander and Doyle with him..

"Too late," Doyle whispered.

"Gaea's children have woken, and now the party's spoiled. The King of Cups won't have his feast."

Spike jerked around to face the speaker. "Dru?"

Xander stared at her, before glancing worriedly at Spike, and then back at the heaving, groaning mass in front of them. He was still more-or-less holding Doyle upright.

As they watched, the dome separated into five rough shapes, some seven feet or so high, and almost as wide. As if they were lumps of clay being modelled by invisible hands, limbs began to emerge. Huge arms, with hands the size of pumpkins; thick, squat legs, and toed-feet. And finally - arising from their barrel chests - heads with lumpy, misshapen features. Like a boxer who'd spent way too many years in the ring. They shuffled into a circle; Angel's motionless form was revealed in their midst.

Doyle cried out and broke free from Xander's grasp. He managed to stumble forward a few paces before Spike grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up and carrying him back. "Lemme go!" Doyle kicked and struggled uselessly. "Angel!"

Spike sat him down. He kept a hold on Doyle's shoulders: fingers biting just deep enough to hurt. Doyle barely felt it. Eyes wild, he strained to reach his lover. "Angel!"

"Shut up," Spike hissed. "You go in there an' they'll stomp you into a red smear."

Doyle didn't listen. His attention was focused on Angel.

Spike shook him gently. "Look, he's all right. He'd be dust otherwise. Now you sit 'ere. I'll get him." He released Doyle, muttering something about Angel tearing him a new one if he let anything happen to the younger man.

"Spike?" Xander sounded scared.

Spike grinned cockily. "Don't worry, pet. It'll take more than these uglies 'ave got to take me."

He approached with a confident swagger, masking his own uncertainty. He'd never come across anything like these creatures before. He had no idea what their particular vulnerability might be: or even if they had one. He also had no idea if they knew how to kill a vampire, but if they twisted off his head he guessed they would find out pretty quick. As he drew close, one of them turned to face him. Its mouth opened and its jaw appeared to unhinge, dropping down to reveal a massive gaping maw, filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Nice. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry about them twisting his head off, not when they could just bite through his neck.

He watched them closely, trying to gage their speed and reach. Their limbs were relatively stumpy, but their overall size more than made up for it. In addition, Spike wasn't convinced that their current form restricted them. His guess proved accurate when he stepped a little too close and one of the creatures reached out for him - its arm stretching like play dough. Spike ducked and rolled, avoiding its grasp. This was going to be tricky. He tried to see past them to get a good look at Angel. He was beginning to stir - moving his head groggily from side to side. Spike guessed they'd cold-clocked him. Angel would be fine in a few more seconds.

Sure enough, Angel lifted his head, his gaze searching out Spike's. It clearly said what the Hell?

"Friends of yours, mate?"

Angel sat up. Very slowly. "Think perhaps I should have knocked first?"

Spike grinned. His Sire was always cool in a crisis.

"Nah. They'd probably 'ave thought you were feelin' 'em up."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Any idea what they want?"

"Dunno, but from their dental work I think maybe they want you for a toothpick."

Angel nodded. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long. Few minutes maybe." Spike wondered if he should mention Doyle. He decided against it. Angel might be cool in a crisis, but when he was emotional he got sloppy. There'd be time for touching reunions when they were out of this mess.

"So. Any ideas?" Angel asked hopefully.

"Not a clue, mate. You?"

Angel stood up. He froze as one of the creatures stomped forward, opening its mouth and howling directly into his face, before falling back into line with the others.

Angel blinked hard. "Nope, can't think of a thing."

"Try edgin' past 'em." Spike suggested.

Angel didn't look happy about his chances, but he gave it a try. However, no sooner had he put one foot in front of the other, then the creature moved to block him, baring its teeth in a threatening fashion. Angel backed away. "I don't think they're going to go for that."

"Guess we do it the hard way then." Spike stood, poised and ready. "You set?"

Angel's eyes flickered toward him. Do it.

Spike let out a blood-curdling cry and aimed a drop kick at the closest creatures leg. It absorbed most of the blow but staggered slightly. Spike rabbit-punched the second one. Distracted by the leather-clad tornado darting in and out, the creatures broke rank, leaving a gap wide enough for Angel to slip through. Enraged at the loss of their quarry, the creatures began to howl and flail their mighty arms. Spike narrowly avoided a massive fist - saw his Sire was free - and decided it was high time to make a run for it.

He caught up to Angel, who had suddenly stopped upon seeing Doyle.

Spike jabbed his Sire in the back. "Don't stop you pillcock! Run!" He grabbed Xander's hand and pulled him along - checking to see that Drusilla was with them. She was, her eyes shining with excitement. He glanced back. Noting with relief that Angel had picked up Doyle and was racing after them. The creatures gave chase, breaking into a strange, lolloping run.

"Where are we going?" Xander gasped between breaths.

Spike hadn't got a clue. He just hoped these things weren't in it for the long haul. They didn't look like distance runners.

Drusilla laughed excitedly. Spike grinned, letting out a wild whoop. Xander's look said he thought they were both unhinged…but he joined in. The three of them ran, laughing and yelling. Angel and Doyle sped along silently beside them.

Perhaps it was the prospect of their prey carrying some strange mental affliction that discouraged the creatures. Or maybe they simply tired of the chase. Whatever the reason, they stopped: slowly turning and ambling away, until only the occasional disgruntled howl could be heard in the distance. The five ran on for some ways, before stopping too. Drusilla clapped her hands with girlish glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Spike eyed her uncomfortably. He was happy to find her safe and well, but he was more concerned that she didn't screw up things between him and Xander.

She was no longer his sweet plum. The dark goddess who made his blood sing. The most he felt for her now was a sort of filial affection. But did Xander understand that - and if he didn't - how to make him see it? Right now, Spike opted for showing where his affections lay. He kept a tight hold of Xander's hand and maintained a respectable distance from his former love.

Doyle had passed out. Angel gently lowered him to the ground and knelt beside him. He tenderly stroked the young man's face. Doyle moaned softly.

After a moment or two his eyes fluttered open. His gaze fell upon Angel. He raised his hand weakly and his fingers brushed Angel's face. His eyes widened. "You're really here." There was wonder in his voice.

Angel nodded, unable to speak.

Doyle flung himself forwards with surprising speed. Wrapping his arms around Angel he burrowed his face against the broad chest.

Angel closed his eyes as he held onto his lover. Lowering his lips to Doyle's hair he placed a reverent kiss upon the younger man's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Spike decided it wouldn't hurt to give them a minute. He drew Xander to one side and turned away from the pair, affording them what little privacy he could.

"Is Daddy happy?" Drusilla asked.

Scanning the landscape for any sign of their lumpy friends returning, Spike answered absently. "Yes, pet. Daddy's happy." The affection slipped out without thought. Spike could have bitten off his tongue. He turned at once to his lover. "I didn't mean nuthin' "- and then he stopped, suddenly realising how that might sound. He called Xander pet all the time. Fuck this. He drew Xander into his arms and kissed the boy with everything he had. Skilfully stealing Xander's surrender with teeth, lips and tongue. Nipping, sucking, licking, biting. His emotions flooded the link between them and Xander swayed under the duel assault.

Spike was equally lost. Drowning in Xander and everything the boy felt for him. Spike had to force himself take a step back: either that or take Xander here and now. His self-control wasn't aided when he got a look at his lover. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Lips wet and swollen from the kiss. So fucking do-able Spike wanted to forget all about self-control. He growled and reigned himself in with effort. "Oi." He called out to the lovebirds still kneeling in the dirt. "Mebbe we should get back, yeah?"

Angel nodded, getting to his feet and assisting Doyle. He took the second portal spell out of his pocket. Following his recital the mist appeared, swirling and writhing around them. Then the portal itself - a black chasm floating just above the ground. Angel lifted Doyle into his arms. The young man flushed.

"I can walk," he insisted. But it was a token protest.

"Humour me," said Angel. He had no intention of letting Doyle go.

Spike glanced at Drusilla and hesitated. The corner of Xander's mouth quirked up in a wry smile and he nodded. Spike held out his hand. "Come on, baby. Time to go home." Drusilla smile and took it.

"You're the Prince of hearts," she told Xander. Xander raised his eyebrows at Spike.

Spike just shrugged.

Angel stepped up to the portal. "Let's go."

He went through and the other followed.

Chapter Twenty Four

Xander could feel something cool and damp wiping his face: it felt wonderful. His lips curved into the trace of a smile.

"Xander? Pet. You awake?"

"Hmmph," said Xander.

"Come on, pet. Open your eyes. That's it."

Reluctantly, Xander opened his eyes…to see a concerned-looking Spike hovering over him, a wet washcloth in his hand.

Spike literally sagged in relief. "About bleedin' time. That's it. No more portal travel for you."

"Wha-?" Xander tried to speak. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

Spike dumped the washcloth into a bowl. "You've been out of it for hours, luv."

Xander heard the worry in Spike's voice and knew he must have given his lover quite a scare. He lay a hand upon Spike's arm and squeezed it gently.

Spike gave a nod and a brief smile, before adopting a suitably chastening expression. "I mean it. No more fuckin' misbehaving. You do as you're told from now on. When I say stay, I mean stay."

"Woof," said Xander weakly and he sniggered. He couldn't help it. He jumped when the bowl suddenly went sailing across the room - smashing into the wall. Water and broken china scattered everywhere. Wide-eyed, Xander looked at his lover.

Spike stood, hands clenched into fists. He was shaking.

"Spike?"

Spike turned. His expression was equal parts rage and distress. Though Xander didn't need to see it. He could feel his lover's turmoil and he cursed himself for being an idiot. "Sorry," he offered quietly. Spike just stood there, staring at him. Xander made his wobbly legs obey him and got up. He wrapped his arms around a trembling Spike, and rubbed his face against the black t-shirt. "I mean it. I'm really sorry. You have my word. From now on I do exactly as you say."

"No you won't." Spike's voice was affectionate.

Confused, Xander raised his head from Spike's shoulder. He looked questioningly at his lover.

"Sometimes you'll listen, an' sometimes you won't. And whichever, you'll still do your own bloody thing. You're nobody's yes-man." Spike pushed back a stray black curl. "You're your own man, pet. That's what I love about you." He grinned. "'Course, you still belong to me."

Xander felt his heart quicken upon seeing that smile. "Yours," he whispered, tightening his hold.

Heat flared in Spike's gaze. "Mine," he agreed. Walking them backwards he tumbled them both onto the couch.

"Ooof," said Xander, as he landed with Spike on top of him. He got comfortable and wrapped his legs around Spike's thighs. "I think I'd like to fuck you." His matter-of-fact tone was incongruous with the desire in his expression.

Blue-gold eyes glittered. "That could be arranged."

"Now?" Xander asked hopefully, grinding his hips against his lover's.

Spike sat back and almost slipped off the couch. He growled. "Not enough room," he muttered. Without another word, he picked Xander up and slung him over his shoulder.

Xander winced as his zipper pressed into his erection.

"Huh? Hey. Where are we going?"

"Home," said Spike simply.

"Oh." Home was good. Home meant bed and space and privacy. The latter made him suddenly remember something. "The others-"

"-Are fine," Spike finished. He'd taken them over to the trapdoor. He swung it open and dropped down into the darkness - still carrying Xander.

"Aargh," Xander croaked.

"You okay, pet?"

"Mmmm." Xander's voice was almost an octave higher than normal, alerting Spike to his not-so-little problem.

"Want me to take the edge off?" Spike asked.

Xander could practically feel his lover's smirk. "We are not doing it in a sewer," he said firmly. He'd lost most of his inhibitions since hooking up with Spike, but every guy had his limits.

"Here, grab hold."

Except Spike, apparently.

It took Xander a second or so to work out what Spike wanted him to do, and then it took Spike another moment or two to get them both into position. Xander found himself with his back pressed against the rungs of the sewer ladder. His legs were hooked over Spike's arms and his groin was now more-or-less level with Spike's mouth. At Spike's insistence (though admittedly it didn't take much), Xander undid his jeans and took himself out. He had to reach up and grab the rungs above him for support when Spike wrapped cold lips around his straining flesh.

"Oh, god. That's…that's…Oghmphf." Xander lost the ability to form coherent speech as Spike's tongue probed the weeping slit. He arched his hips forward, trying to push himself in deeper. Spike relaxed his throat and swallowed Xander down to the root. Xander gave a choked little gasp and began to thrust frantically. Spike simply let him, while continuing to play Xander with his tongue. It was times like this when Xander really appreciated having a lover who didn't need to breathe. His thrusts grew more erratic and his moans more desperate. Then with a final cry he came, flooding Spike's eager mouth with his seed. Feeling his lover swallow again and again.

Xander banged his head weakly against a metal rung, trying to keep himself from fading out. He whimpered as Spike suckled gently on his softening length, lapping up the last of his cum with a clever tongue. He raised his head and met his lover's smug gaze. "I hope... you're… not …expecting me… to… walk now," he mumbled breathlessly. Spike just gave his now lax flesh once final loving lick, and then gently tucked him away. He swung himself up past Xander to yank the trapdoor closed and then lifted Xander back onto his shoulder.

"Home, James," Xander muttered, closing his eyes.

Spike smacked his backside sharply.

"Hey," Xander protested. "We agreed. None of that."

"We did?" said Spike innocently.

Xander wasn't buying it. "No. And no way. We are not taking advantage of the young man in the post-coital haze." Spike bit him through his jeans. "Yow!" Xander tried to rub the offended patch but Spike grabbed his hand. "Ow, Ow and Ow. Do we need to get you a chew toy? You know, I think there's a squeaky rubber bone in one of those boxes of junk we sorted."

Spike pretended to be hurt. "Is that anyway to talk to the nice man who's just blown you?"

"Is this anyway to treat the nice man who's going to fuck you?" Xander countered.

Spike released Xander's hand and kissed the bite-mark. "All better now?"

"Getting there," said Xander, affecting a pout.

Spike smiled and lowered his lover to the ground, pushing him back against the wall. "Got anything else you want kissin' better?" he leered.

Xander grinned.

Spike sealed his lips over Xander's smirk.

When they broke for necessary air - necessary for Xander anyway. Something had slipped into Xander lust-fogged brain. "Drusilla!" he exclaimed.

-Distracting Spike who banged his teeth against Xander's. He drew back swearing. "Fuck! What?"

Xander rubbed his own mouth. "D-oo-illa," he mumbled. He lowered his hand after wiggling his front teeth to check they were still firmly attached. "Where is she?"

"Does it matter?" Spike asked exasperated.

Xander gave him a well duh look. "That depends. Is she planning on getting reacquainted?"

"With who?"

"You!"

Spike shook his head. "She's gone, luv. She knows how it is. She might be mad but she's not crazy enough to try an' come between me and you, pet."

Xander stared. It couldn't be that simple. Could it?

Spike seemed to sense his bewilderment. "You wear my claim on you like a brand," he explained. "I told you, luv. There's no going back. This is it."

Xander did understand. Up until a few weeks ago he could still have walked away - albeit with some major withdrawal in the offing. But the grace period had passed. The link between them was complete. It would continue to grow stronger and deeper, but only the death of one or both of them could break it. Spike owned him heart, body and soul…literally. And the knowledge made him warm from the toes up. "Come here," he instructed.

Spike closed the space between them and let Xander turn him around - back pressed against the sewer wall.

Xander began to cover his lover's face in kisses: cheeks, brow, jaw. Intersecting each with a soft: "Love you."

Spike closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure, baring his throat to Xander's questing lips.

Xander bit down hard, drawing blood. He suckled as Spike moaned and writhed against him.

Spike's features shimmered. He opened his eyes. They glittered cat-like in the darkness. He grabbed a handful of Xander's hair and wrenched the youth's head back. Xander's lips were smeared with blood: his eyes gold. Spike snarled and captured his lover's mouth, kissing it roughly.

Xander finally broke the kiss, guiding Spike toward his throat. He shivered as Spike licked along the column of his neck. Then cried out in wordless ecstasy as Spike sank his fangs into the tender flesh. As Spike drank, Xander came for a second time. His hips thrust lazily as his pleasure pulsed from his body, hot and sticky. Their surroundings were forgotten as they drifted in a private world made for them alone.

Chapter Twenty Five

Angel watched a sleeping Doyle, thankful beyond anything he could express to have the young man whole and in his keeping. He offered silent thanks to the magnanimous deity that apparently did watch over vampires and their lovers.

He had directed the portal to return them to the apartment, but Doyle and Xander had emerged on the other side unconscious. It appeared to be a side effect of portal travel. He and Spike were left feeling sick and weak. Xander and Doyle suffered more acutely, probably because they were still alive. Angel had carried his lover into their bedroom, while Spike laid Xander on the couch. Angel had removed what remained of Doyle's clothing - frowning at their torn and tattered state.

His concern increased when he noticed the fresh scratches marring Doyle's arms and chest, and the crescent shaped cuts on his palms. They weren't deep but they showed early signs of infection. Angel cleaned and dressed them carefully. Whilst he was finishing off, Drusilla came to stand beside him. She eyed Doyle's still form speculatively.

"He's different."

Angel nodded cautiously.

"He has a gift."

"Yes."

Drusilla whimpered and clutched her hands to her chest. "It hurts him."

Angel swallowed hard. "Yes…Yes it does."

Drusilla raised her hands, knuckles resting against her temples as she swayed. Her wide-eyed gaze was eons away. "So much pain. The stars weep with it. But I see a union of blood and soul." She seemed to come back to herself and she reached out a slender hand to cup Angel's cheek. Her eyes were free of their usual insanity as she smiled at him. "Be happy, Angelus."

Angel watched her walk back to Spike: kneeling and whispering something to him. He saw Spike's torn expression, and then watched as the pair kissed. Angel knew they were saying a final goodbye. Spike's parting smile was bittersweet as Drusilla placed a last tender kiss upon his forehead. Finally, she touched Xander's cheek, as a mother might a child. Then she was gone. He felt the momentary wrench of loss, but knew that he didn't need to be overly concerned for her welfare.

Perhaps Drusilla was… broken. She was also intelligent, cunning and powerful. Possessing gifts that had saved them all in times past, and would no doubt continue to guide and protect her. Despite the evil that resided within her, Angel hoped that they would.

Hours had now passed. Doyle had murmured occasionally, but showed no other signs of waking. Angel maintained his vigil and tried not to panic. He'd heard Xander wake, followed by the sound of muffled voices and something breaking, before the pair had eventually left through the sewer tunnels and silence had fallen again.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Doyle opened his eyes with a groan. "Oh, God. What the hell was I drinkin'?"

Angel smiled his relief and held out a glass of water. Doyle reached for it with shaking hands and Angel quickly stepped in to help - steadying the glass and holding it to Doyle's lips. Doyle drank greedily. When he'd finished, Angel placed the glass on the bedside cabinet. The blanket covering him had slipped down and Doyle eyed the white dressings on his torso with a grimace.

"So much for this being a really bad dream then."

Angel brought his chair closer to the bed and sat down again. Doyle fiddled with the edge of the blanket and studiously avoided his gaze. Angel stilled the nervy gesture by covering the slim fingers with his. "What happened?" he asked gently.

Doyle tried to shrug: it was a somewhat aborted motion, owing to the wince that overtook it. "Look, it was nothin' much. I met a demon. Drusilla helped me out."

"She did?" Angel was surprised and pleased. It wasn't often any of his Childer did something that could be construed as the right thing. He allowed himself a tinge of fatherly pride.

Doyle saw it and smiled. "Yeah, she did good. I'll have to thank her properly. I didn't really get the chance before."

"She's gone, but it's okay. I think she knew."

"Gone? When? How long have I been asleep?"

"About eight hours. And you weren't really asleep. You were unconscious for most of it."

"Uncon-? How long have you been sitting there?" Doyle seemed to notice Angel's haggard, rumpled appearance for the first time.

Angel mumbled his reply. "Maybe eight hours, give or take."

Doyle shook his head in fond exasperation. "And I don't suppose you got any rest during those eight or so hours?"

"I'm fi-"

"-Fine, yeah. You look it." Doyle patted the space beside him. "Come here before you pass out, an' I find meself trippin' over you."

Angel clambered carefully onto the bed and stretched out beside his lover. "You haven't told me yet."

"Huh?"

Angel lightly traced an uncovered shallow scratch.

"What happened?"

"Oh. That."

Angel wasn't about to be fooled by the dismissive tone. "Doyle-" he began.

"-All right." Doyle snapped uncharacteristically. "The demon wanted me, okay."

Angel's expression darkened. "You mean he-"

"I mean in the 'would you take your clothes of so I can fuck you' sense of the word," Doyle snarled. He rubbed his bandaged hands over his face. "Oh, God. I can't do this."

//No// Angel pleaded silently, genuinely terrified that Doyle might consider ending things between them.

"Doyle, I-" He struggled to find the words, not knowing how, or if, he could put this right.

"Hold me?"

Angel responded to the faint whisper without thought; setting aside his bewilderment to gently wrap his lover up in a comforting embrace. Doyle snuggled against him with a sigh.

"Damn you're good at this," Doyle acknowledged happily, his words muffled against Angel's chest.

Angel was confused.

"I want to tell you," Doyle continued. "I just…I can't do it with you lookin' at me. This is easier."

//Oh// Relief flooded through him, along with understanding. "Okay," he whispered into the younger man's hair.

"I didn't know where I was," Doyle began softly. "I just thought mebbe I was somewhere else, you know. Like Australia. Guess I should have been more clued in. I mean a psycho bitch like her isn't gonna pack me off on a free holiday is she. I didn't really know until I found Drusilla. Or it was more like, she found me."

"You said she helped you? Was that when-?" Angel couldn't say it.

Doyle nodded, his head rubbing Angel's chest. "Yeah. He…he wasn't takin' no for an answer."

Angel had been rubbing his hand in a soothing circle on Doyle's back. He paused, fingers temporarily tightening into a fist, before resuming. "Did he hurt you?"

"Yes. No." Doyle sounded tired. "I don't know. I guess, mebbe a little. It was more what he was doing." He paused. "Are you sure you wanna hear this?"

Angel cupped Doyle's face, guiding it to meet his concerned gaze. He brushed his thumb lightly across the young man's mouth. "I can hear anything you have to tell me. Do you need to say it?" he asked gently.

Doyle gave a nod and lay his head back upon Angel's chest. "I think mebbe I do."

"I'm here," Angel whispered.

"Always?"

Angel's hatred for the creature intensified with the uncertainty in that word. "Always," he assured.

Doyle began - describing the creature and its assault upon him in a quiet, halting voice. By the time he finished his body was shaking with fine tremors. Angel choked back his rage and guilt, crushing it ruthlessly. It wouldn't help. Instead he gently drew Doyle's face level with his own. The young man's eyes were shut. "I love you." Angel followed this heartfelt declaration with a kiss to Doyle's left eyelid. "I love you," he repeated, kissing the right. "I love you." Over and over he said the words, an outpouring of his soul. Tears fell as he whispered them, wetting his lips with salt. When he chastely kissed the corner of Doyle's mouth, a tentative tongue stroked after it.

The taste of Angel's grief seemed to unlock something in Doyle, and he began to weep too. Tears that were interrupted when he cried out suddenly: "Why?! Why don't you want me?" Raw voice, splintered with hurt and anger.

Angel flinched. "Oh, Doyle. No. No. I never meant-"

Doyle didn't let him finish. "-Then what the fuck do you mean? What do you want, Angel? What is it? I'm good enough for now, but you don't wanna be innit for the long haul?"

"No!"

"Then tell me." Doyle all but begged. "Talk to me, cos I'm drownin' here."

//So am I// Angel cried silently. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed onto the floor. Turning away he studied his hands as if they held all the secrets of the universe. "I never meant to hurt you." //Please believe me.//

"I know," said Doyle softly. "But you are. You hafta know that."

Angel did and the knowledge tore at him. Interlocking his fingers, he squeezed them together until the bones grated in protest. A slender bandaged hand slipped over his.

"Stop it. Talk to me. Tell me what's goin' on in that crazy head of yours."

"I'm afraid," Angel admitted reluctantly.

Whatever Doyle had been expecting, this apparently wasn't it. "Afraid?" he repeated, surprise colouring his tone. "Of what?"

"You. Me. This," said Angel succinctly. "Mainly me. What might happen if things go wrong."

"By things, I'm guessin' you don't mean us fightin' over who squeezes the toothpaste the wrong way?"

Angel smiled sadly. "No."

Doyle propped himself up against the pillows. He tugged on Angel's hand until Angel turned to face him. "So this is the ugly spectre of Angelus hangin' over us?"

"Partly."

Doyle's expression said he wasn't going to accept that as an answer.

Angel continued hesitantly. "If I made you my Consort, there'd be no going back. Once the binding is complete, it can never be broken.

"And you don't want that." Doyle's voice was soft and sad.

Angel shook his head, speaking hurriedly. "-No. I want that." Emotion clogged his throat. "I want that. I've never wanted anything more."

Some of the hurt left Doyle's face. Then confusion clouded his features again. "So what's the problem here? You've got your soul. I want this. You want this. What's stoppin' us? You think I'm gonna wake up one day and have a revelation." He feigned a shocked expression ~ "Oh my God, that..that's a vampire, and…ah, no,…it's a guy."

"You were married. You wanted children."

"You know, the key word there is 'wanted'. Yeah, I used to be pretty keen on the idea of havin' a few little Doyle's runnin' about the place. But I think maybe that had something to do with the problems me and Harry were having." He registered Angel's surprise. "What? You thought me and Harry were the original Hallmark couple until I went all demony on her?"

Angel had, but he didn't say anything.

"Believe me, what we had was definitely not all hearts and roses. I'm not sayin' it was all bad either, but we were young. More in love with the idea of being in love than anything, I guess." He shrugged and then winced as it tugged something.

"I'm sorry-"

Doyle waved him off. "-Don't be. I had some good times with Harry. I wouldn't go back and undo her and me, even if I could. But it wasn't the forever deal. I think I probably knew that then, and I sure as hell know it now." He paused and stroked his thumb across the back of Angel's hand. "This ~ This is the forever deal for me. You're it." He wouldn't meet Angel's gaze as he softly added: "I was kinda hopin' I was it for you."

Angel leaned forward until his forehead rested against Doyle's bowed head. "You are, never doubt it."

"Then why?"

Angel struggled to explain. "A Consort - once they're fully claimed - forfeits the right to make certain…choices. They can't ever leave the vampire they're bound to. If they do, they die. They need the vampire's blood, but it's more than that. They need the vampire's attentions to survive. That's one of the reasons Consorts are seldom made. Most vampires don't want the responsibility. A neglected Consort will simply give up on life. It's not a conscious choice on their part. It's just the way it is. They can't ever take another lover - not unless the vampire permits it. Lastly, if the vampire should be destroyed, the Consort dies too."

Angel drew back just enough to meet troubled green eyes. His own darkened with self-hatred. "Back in the day, I owned people. They were possessions. Toys for my amusement-"

"-But that's not how you see me," Doyle cut in.

"No." Horrified tone.

Doyle smiled gently. "It wasn't a question, love. I know you don't see me like that. I was just checkin' we were both on the same page here."

"I don't know where I am," Angel confessed miserably.

"Then how about I lay it out for you? You just step in if you think I'm gettin' it wrong?"

Angel nodded warily; he wasn't certain where Doyle was going with this.

"The way I'm hearin' it, you're not comfortable with the idea of me not havin' a choice. Since back when you were misbehavin' you didn't exactly allow a free reign. Second. You're still edgy about this 'is my soul permanent' thing. On the grounds that if your evil alter ego makes a comeback, I'm pretty much history?"

Angel winced at the bluntness, but nodded again.

"So far so good. On to the final point then, yeah? An' this is the real biggie. The 'I was evil, I was cursed by gypsies, an' now I have to suffer for all eternity.' An' this one has an added bonus. The 'everyone I've ever cared for is either ~ evil, mad or dead.' Or mebbe even all three. Though that kinda excludes Buffy. I guess the whole knowin' you experience has just mentally scarred her. So, have we covered all the bases?" Bitter anger had crept into Doyle's voice.

"More or less," Angel conceded quietly.

Green eyes blazed. "Right, well. Forgive me for being blunt here, but that's a crock of shit. What you have are commitment issues. An' I should know. I don't exactly come from good stock myself. My Da couldn't even hang around long enough to welcome me into the world. An' me an' Harry didn't exactly go the distance."

"Doyle, I-"

Doyle made a slicing motion with his hand. "Let me finish. We're gonna take this one major obstacle at a time, okay. First this ownership thing. Am I right in thinkin' it swings both ways? Yeah, I'm stuck to you like a burr, but you can't exactly let me off at the nearest bus stop. You get the same addiction, just with a few extra bells an' whistles."

Angel nodded hesitantly.

"Right, Scratch that then. Onto number two. Is your soul gonna slip? Okay, fair enough, there are no guarantees attached to this one, but we've done okay so far. An' is it just me, or is the way we're carryin' on now not just as detrimental to my health? I mean, Consort or not: I share this bed. It won't be your pillow that buys it if you do a complete 180."

Angel couldn't even find an answer for that.

Doyle licked his finger and made two lines in the air. "Two down. Now last, but by no means least, the 'I have to suffer 'cos so is it written.' Again. Crap. There's a world of difference between penance and purgatory. You're doin' your part. You're helpin' the poor lost saps out there who haven't got a fuckin' clue just how dark this life can get. You say this curse was meant to keep you miserable? Well you know what, no disrespect to the dead an' all, but fuck 'em. Who are they to say how things should be? You're not tellin' me they foresaw you workin' for the Powers?"

The fire in green eyes crept up a notch. "They were hurtin'. You took one of theirs an' they wanted you to suffer for it. They gave you your soul to make you feel guilt. They wanted you all remorseful an' tormented for eternity. Well guess what? Goal accomplished. I don't somehow think you bein' with me is gonna make a much of a dent in it."

Angel looked at him.

Doyle sighed. "Well, okay. Mebbe bein' with me does help some'. But remember, I'm the guy who sits an' listens when it all goes wrong. Don't be tellin' me you don't still feel guilt. You put good Catholics to shame."

"I don't mean to put it all on you."

Doyle's mouth tightened in annoyance. "Not the point I'm makin' an' you know it. I'm here for you. You know that. I want to be here for you. Fuck, you couldn't cut me loose with an axe. But, shit. You think I'm not scared. You think I don't wake up some mornings thinkin' is today the day he's gonna start wonderin' what the hell he's doin' tyin' himself to me. Now you an' Buffy I could see. She's beautiful. She's a Slayer. She's got power an' class. Me, I'm just a hard drinkin' half-breed with issues." He'd barely got the last sentence out when Angel reached forward and grabbed him by the arms.

"Don't ever talk about yourself that way. You've got more guts and more heart than anyone I know. You care about people, Doyle. Even if you pretend you don't. You made me see the mistakes I was making. You carry the burden of your visions and you never complain, even though I know you still suffer the pain from them hours after they've passed."

Angel released Doyle's arms and brought his hands up to cup the young man's face. "And do you have any idea how much I love you?" he finished softly: a tinge of wonder to his voice.

"Mebbe half as much as I love you?" The corner of Doyle's mouth twitched in the suspicion of a smile.

"Not possible," Angel whispered. Closing the space between them, he kissed Doyle deeply.

"So, is that a yes?" Doyle asked, a touch breathlessly.

"That's a yes. If you'll still have me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." The weak humour did little to hide the young man's obvious relief.

Angel settled back, drawing Doyle into the close shelter of his arms. After a few minutes, Doyle jabbed him sharply with a finger.

"You ever pull anything like this again an' I will show you up close an' personal what a pissed off Brachen demon looks like."

Angel nodded meekly.

Doyle pretended to be satisfied, but he'd caught the glint in his lover's eye. After a brief pause he added: "So you think you can take me?"

"In a heart beat."

When Doyle tried to tussle, Angel caught his hands and held them fast.

"No fighting. You're hurt. You need to rest."

"No," Doyle's voice was husky. "I need you."

"I don't think-"

"Then. Don't. Think." Doyle pushed up with his hips. God. He wanted him. But- "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." So sure. Green eyes alight with passion and need.

Angel did the only thing he could do. He surrendered gracefully. Releasing Doyle's hands, he reclaimed the young man's lips, kissing them with aching sweetness.

Doyle responded eagerly, opening his mouth and deepening the assault, drawing tongues into the battle. Angel gave a soft moan and ran his fingers lightly over the softly furred chest, carefully skirting the bandages, scrapes and bruises. The sheet slipped away, and a fully naked Doyle pressed against him: one leg hooking over Angel's. Gradually, Angel became aware that Doyle was trying to say something - he was mumbling into the kiss. Reluctantly, Angel broke it.

"You're overdressed," Doyle explained breathlessly. He tugged impatiently at Angel's shirt. "Off," he ordered. "Off now."

Angel didn't bother with the niceties of undressing. He ripped the shirt free from his body and, with a little more effort, did the same with his pants. Socks and shoes had been dealt with earlier. He hadn't worn underwear. Doyle made a happy sound and wrapped himself back around his lover. The kissing resumed. Angel paused briefly, when an unguarded touch elicited a gasp other than passion.

"Stop, and I'll kill you." Doyle told him fiercely.

Angel proceeded, cautiously at first. But soon lost himself again in the taste and touch of his lover. He suckled gently on the sensitive skin on the underside of Doyle's throat, making the younger man arch and gasp against him. It was time. He drew back - resulting in a whimper and a curse. When Doyle tried to tug him down again he resisted. "Wait," he instructed softly. He watched green eyes widen as he shifted his features. Slowly, deliberately he sliced his fangs across his wrist, biting deep, until the blood flowed freely. He brought the bloody limb to Doyle's lips and cupped the young man's head with his other hand. "Drink."

Doyle needed no second bidding. Until now, Angel had only permitted minute tastes - knowing the power he carried in his blood. Now he offered it without restraint. He felt blunt teeth graze the torn skin around the wound. A tongue - muscle and heat - probed the bloody slit. Then Doyle began to drink. Angel watched with gold, unblinking eyes. Doyle's hands came up to hold him, nails biting deep.

Angel let his head fall back, his lips curling away from his fangs. He rumbled softly. Seconds ticked by. Doyle was all but gnawing at the wound, trying to summon more blood. Angel smiled beatifically and caressed the short, dark hair. Eventually, he threaded his fingers into the soft tufts and tugged. "Enough."

The young man mewled and tried to wiggle away from the grip without breaking contact with Angel's arm. Angel tightened his hold and pulled. With what sounded suspiciously like a growl, Doyle relinquished his claim. He fell back, lips and teeth a rich scarlet. Angel's smile widened and he brought the young man's mouth to his; lathing his tongue across it before exploring it in a very thorough kiss.

He felt Doyle change - the brush of soft spines across his skin, the raw silk of inhuman skin. Angel left Doyle's lips and drew his tongue across the blue spines, rumbling appreciatively. Crimson eyes met his own, filled with almost painful need. Angel slipped his hand between their bodies and stroked the hardness he found there.

Doyle cried out and thrust helplessly. Angel trailed his tongue to the curve of an ear. "Can, I?" Rough voice. Tightly wound control. Losing the battle.

"Anything…anything…pl-please." Doyle rocked against him. Angel took the bottle from the bedside cabinet. He struggled to maintain control as Doyle writhed and whimpered with need. With trembling fingers and the utmost care, he tenderly prepared his lover. Doyle's words had faded to nonsensical ramblings. Angel turned the young man onto his side, applied the assistance of some hurriedly positioned pillows, and settled behind him. He sank forward slowly, listening to every breath and moan - seeking assurance that Doyle wanted this as much as he did. Afraid he might inadvertently hurt his lover.

Any lingering doubts vanished when Doyle drove back, impaling himself with a sharp exhalation of pleasure. "Oh. God. Yessss."

Angel began to move. Slowly at first, savouring the tightness. The cling and give of wet, silky heat. But the rhythm built rapidly, movements becoming erratic and jerky. Angel felt the need for release coiling within him: urgent, relentless. He gave a choked howl and sank his fangs into Doyle's shoulder - at the point where the spines gave way to velvety smooth, green skin. Brilliant copper exploding on his tongue, senses overload, the coil unleashed. Growling, arching, pounding. Driving into Doyle: who cried and clawed with his own release, shooting streams of cum across the bedspread.

They stayed joined together as they recovered. Doyle cocooned in Angel's embrace, breathing hard. Angel purring loudly: a deep, rumbling sound of contentment. He lapped at the bite mark on Doyle's shoulder, soothing it with his tongue. "You okay?"

Doyle shook with a tremor of laughter. "Okay, doesn't even cover it."

As much as Angel didn't want to leave his lover's body, he needed to see Doyle's face. He withdrew slowly and carefully. Doyle gave a murmur of protest. "Sssh." Angel whispered. He eased himself over and around Doyle's recumbent form, laying down again face-to-face. Lines and ridges smoothed back into human guise.

Doyle closed his eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. Then he gave his head a little shake, and the spines and green hue vanished. To be replaced by flushed skin, shadowed with faint stubble, and eyes, bright with unrestrained happiness.

"I'm good," he assured a worried looking Angel. "I'm better than good. I'm…" He grinned and shrugged. Lost for a word to express how he felt.

Angel felt his concerns melt away. He nuzzled Doyle's face and resumed purring, feeling the soft 'huff' of Doyle's laughter against his skin.

"You know, you guys would lose a whole mass of points on the scariness scale if this ever got out."

"Hmmwhazzit?" Angel mumbled happily.

"You. Big bad teeth. Purring," said Doyle. "Do all vampires do it?"

"Don't know," said Angel, wriggling down slightly so he could lick a nipple. "Don't care."

"Umm. Wha-? Ohhh." Any further questions were lost in a medley of happy sighs. "God. I feel good," Doyle murmured. "Better than high." He came back to himself slightly. "Not that I'd know, I mean…"

Angel just raised his head and gave him an amused look.

Doyle flushed. "Hey, I was young."

Angel nodded with a knowing grin. Then he explained. "It's my blood."

"Better than a sack full of happy pills, yeah?"

"Something like that."

"So…?" Doyle's voice trailed off and he ducked his head.

Angel knew what the younger man wanted to hear. "Yes."

He kissed Doyle. "I've claimed you. It's begun."

Doyle was grinning so hard his face had to be aching from it. "Good. An' I want more. But right now-" he snuggled closer "-I wanna sleep." He mumbled, voice already drowsy. "I'm buzzin' an' crashin'…weird…."

Angel used the remnants of his shirt to wipe them off and then snagged the sheet that had slipped onto the floor, drawing it over them. He wanted to watch Doyle. The young man was practically glowing; it was a good look on him. But exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he quickly followed his lover into sleep.

Chapter Twenty Six

A distressed whimper chased Angel from his dreams. Doyle was still sleeping, but his face said it was far from a peaceful slumber. He was starting to move restlessly, emitting soft little moans and grunts. Angel attempted to gently liberate his lover from the nightmare, but no sooner had he touched him then Doyle jerked awake with a wild cry, his eyes glazed with fear and confusion. Doyle sat for a moment, breathing hard; after a few seconds his gaze cleared and settled upon Angel. Doyle offered a sheepish smile - a less than sterling effort. Then he suddenly stiffened, his pallor increasing several notches. Angel recognized the signs and made no move to impede his lover as Doyle suddenly bolted from the bed and made toward the bathroom. He followed, but stopped outside the bathroom door - hearing the unmistakable sounds of violent retching.

Conflicted by the desire to give Doyle some privacy and the need to offer comfort, Angel gave in to the latter and pushed the door open. Doyle was hunched over the toilet, vomiting blood and bile. Feeling helpless, Angel hunkered down behind him, rubbing Doyle's back to ease the spasms. It went on for a worrying length of time but eventually Doyle sank back. Resting his head against the tiled wall he sat, frighteningly pale and clearly exhausted. Angel left his side only long enough to retrieve a warm towel from the bathroom cupboard, and a cup of water from the basin.

--------------------

Doyle smiled shakily when Angel wrapped the towel around him. He hadn't realized how cold he was until the warmth from it seeped into his skin. He sipped at the water, trying to cleanse the bitter taste from his mouth. "Not your fault," he croaked. He didn't want this to be something else Angel blamed himself for.

"I know."

Doyle pulled a face. "Sorry, guess I should have warned you that you were settlin' down with a basket case."

"You're not." Angel's voice was harsh with emotion.

Doyle felt horribly self-conscious. He took another sip of water. "I used to do this a lot you know."

"Nightmares?"

Doyle snorted. "That's puttin' it mild. I used to wake up screamin' and throwin' up. You know.when I found out about-" he touched his face "-my dramatic heritage. I thought mebbe it was down to the drink." He smiled tightly. "I used to put away a fair bit." Angel's gaze offered sympathy but no judgment. Doyle was grateful. He coughed, and then winced. He felt like he'd been gargling with razor blades.

"It scared the beejees out of me, you know?" he continued. "Findin' out. It was like - 'hey, guess what, demons do exist, and you're the livin' breathin ' proof.'" He felt the traitorous burn of tears and scrubbed his hand across his face. "God. I need a shower."

"I'll run you a bath," Angel offered. Pointing out: "You can barely stand."

Doyle couldn't argue with that, even if he'd had the energy to. He sat, huddled in the towel, while Angel ran the bath, adding oil and lighting some candles - bathing the room in a warm, soothing glow. It was quickly done, and Angel helped him up and assisted him into the tub. The water was blissfully hot. Doyle closed his eyes, losing himself for a moment in lapping, liquid heat. His fingers closed around a washcloth and he snatched it, wiping it roughly across his skin. He gave a brittle laugh. "I feel like I should have a bell." He opened his eyes. Angel was watching him, puzzled. "You know - 'unclean, unclean'."

Puzzlement changed to shocked dismay. "You are not unclean. God. Doyle-" Angel's voice broke, and he leaned forward, over the edge of the tub; gently resting his head on Doyle's arm. "When I think what it did… I want to kill something." Growled out, low and deep. No blanket comfort; just plain, brutal truth.

Doyle suppressed a shiver. He almost forgot sometimes - the killer inside. Though the knowledge that there was virtually nothing Angel wouldn't do to keep him safe was in itself strangely reassuring. He turned his head, taking a moment to study his lover: suddenly very conscious of the power and beauty held in that form. As though somehow aware of his silent scrutiny, Angel lifted his head, eyes glittering, obsidian edged in gold. Behind the grief and anger, Doyle could see the pain of remembrance. He knew that Angel's foray into Hell haunted him still. Though Angel refused to share all the details and Doyle hadn't pushed for them. He understood Angel's need to protect him - frustrating as it was - and he had actively encouraged his lover to seek out Spike instead, for a 'little chat'. The fact that Angel had acquiesced so readily had hurt a little, but Doyle understood that Angel didn't feel the same need to protect Spike from the ugliness of what had happened.

Maybe this would convince Angel to open up to him a little more. Shared experiences and all that. And, God, Angel had been there for how long? Doyle felt a surge of love and awe that his lover had literally braved Hell and all its terrors again - for him. Which also brought to light a question. "How did you find me?"

Angel dropped his gaze slightly, looking up through a fringe of dark lashes. "Darla." Subdued tone that said he knew Doyle wouldn't be happy with that answer.

Doyle wasn't. He sat up, gripping the sides of the bath for support. Water sloshed over the rim. "Didn't I say to stay away from that crazy bitch?"

"She's dead."

//Shit// Doyle blinked. "How?" Wanted. Needed to know.

"I.I burned her." Angel held Doyle's gaze; his emotions stretched out and laid bare for Doyle to see.

This was why, deep in his heart, Doyle had never once doubted Angel's commitment to him. He knew only too well what Angel felt for him: because he felt the same. "Good," he replied with total honesty. He only hoped that the state was permanent this time. The way Angel's gaze suddenly sidled away again told him that there was more. "What?"

"There was a lawyer."

"And?"

"I let Spike kill him."

"Why?" Doyle deliberately kept his voice and face free from any kind of judgment.

"He was helping Darla. He put her in touch with the Aruubus; gave her the portal spell."

"He know what he was messin' with?"

"Yes."

"Then, an' if you'll pardon the cliché, the bastard deserved everything he got." //And then some// Doyle thought darkly. Part of him regretted not being there first hand to witness justice being meted out.

"There could be trouble. The law firm that he worked for has an agenda…that involves me."

Doyle's fingers tightened on the slippery bath sides. Panic clawed at his chest, making it hard to breathe. "A law firm?" he croaked in disbelief.

Angel nodded. "Wolfram & Hart."

The name jostled a memory. "I've heard of them. They have some pretty strange clients on their books." Not to mention powerful. "Killin' that lawyer might rattle their cage a bit."

Angel's mouth thinned. "I had to let them know."

Cryptic. But Doyle got it. Bottom line - Angel dealt in death. The lawyer's demise carried a less than subtle message ~ 'mess with mine and reap the consequences.'

Doyle shoved his panic back ruthlessly. "We're gonna have to watch our backs." Angel didn't answer and Doyle frowned. "You're not thinkin' of sendin' me away?"

"Would you go?"

"No." And a whole world of no. Angel's hand came up to cup his face, thumb stroking across a cheekbone - pressing just hard enough to make Doyle blink.

"Good. You belong with me," said Angel softly.

Doyle didn't miss the declaration of ownership. The gaze that pinned and held him said: 'you belong to me', as clearly as if Angel were shouting it. The rush of relief and happiness left him dizzy. And surely this was wrong? Shouldn't he feel trapped, suffocated? But he didn't. Instead he finally felt as if he belonged. And he did. He belonged to Angel. He knew that he had a silly smile plastered on his face and he couldn't bring himself to care. Besides, Angel was smiling now too - albeit a touch sadly.

"The water's getting cold. We'd best get you out of there." Angel didn't wait for a reply. He scooped Doyle out of the bath like he was a child. Wrapped him in a towel and, utterly unimpeded by either wet slippery skin or the water logged floor, he carried Doyle back through to the bedroom. Whereupon he rubbed Doyle down gently but briskly, ignoring muffled protests. Pyjamas were produced.

Doyle raised an eyebrow. "Flannel?"

Angel actually looked a little flustered, which was kind of sweet. "They're warm," he mumbled.

Doyle decided not to press his lover on where or why he'd suddenly found flannel pyjamas. He ducked his head to hide a grin and held out his arms. "Okay, let's have 'em here." He was rewarded with a pleased little smile and Angel displaying hitherto untapped skills for putting on clothing. He was grateful for the assistance, as all at once a need for sleep seemed to have crept up and whacked him over the head. He closed his eyes and sank back onto the bed with a sigh. "Stay," he mumbled, reaching out blindly.

Angel took the hand and held it onto it. "I'm not going anywhere." The words were punctuated with a gentle kiss to Doyle's temple.

Doyle tensed as Angel settled down beside him. He felt that it was best to at least offer his lover some warning this time. "I'll probably dream again," he whispered. He could feel it already: choking, mindless terror and raw-edged memories. Churning and twisting inside of him, like a nest of serpents just waiting for release.

"I know."

Doyle felt a little of the tension dissipate. Angel knew. Angel understood. Then he felt something else - a strange warmth seeping under his skin. Like heat and comfort tinged with pleasure, humming through his body. "A-Angel?" His voice was hoarse with wonderment.

"Sssh, Sleep."

Fingers stroked up and down his arm before settling around his waist, holding him in a loose, reassuring embrace. Doyle knew that somehow Angel was doing this - sending him comfort through their infant bond: the first tangible proof of its existence. He wondered if this was how Xander felt, scared and thrilled and buzzing with happiness. More powerful than the sweetest lullaby, Angel's love soothed him. Chasing back the serpents and letting him slip peacefully back into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Xander made no attempt to hide his seraphic smile: burrowing deeper into the blankets with a little shimmy and a happy sigh. Life, he decided, was pretty good - crazy lawyers and impromptu trips to hell dimensions notwithstanding. While he was laid out basking in the afterglow, Spike was on a mission to find more lube. (They'd exhausted the bedroom's supply.) Xander could hear the occasional thud, followed by a stream of muffled curses as Spike rooted around in the next room. "Try under the sofa cushions," he called out helpfully. There was always some under the sofa cushions. He would have gone to assist, except he wasn't at all certain he was capable of standing upright at the moment. His limbs felt weightless, and the slightest movement sent a tingly, residual ache through his body.

At last a triumphant Spike returned, pouncing onto the bed with a playfulness that made Xander's heart clench. When did he get so lucky? And, God: just how close had he come to losing this?

"Penny for 'em, Pet."

He should have known that Spike wouldn't miss the shift in his expression. Xander smiled and reached for his lover, drawing him down for a long hard kiss. "Do you want to talk, or do you want to fuck?" he asked when they finally separated.

But Spike wasn't so easily distracted. "What if you do the talking, an' I'll do the fucking," he suggested, pushing Xander's legs up so that his knees were bent and his feet were flat against the mattress. He slipped a pillow under Xander's hips and with a wicked grin dropped down onto his belly. Squeezing out a generous dollop of lube he began to apply it.

Xander gave a little gasp as Spike's finger slipped inside. "You…expect…me…to….to…t-talk?" he asked breathlessly. "Now?" Spike's only answer was to nip his thigh. "Ow. Okay." Xander's frown melted away as Spike probed a little deeper, stroking the magic spot. "Hmm….wazzaz, ummmugg," he burbled.

Spike rolled his eyes, but a satisfied smirk teased his mouth. "You are so easy," he crowed.

Xander raised his head weakly. "So says slut boy. What if we swap places and we see how chatty you-oh….oh…umm." His complaints died out as Spike added another finger.

Spike however was merciless. "Talk." He pushed in a third finger, making Xander whimper and writhe. Then Spike withdrew his fingers and knelt up. Lifting Xander's legs, he positioned himself, but only nudged the needy opening, teasing it.

"S-P-I-K-E" Xander drew out his lover's name, frustrated almost beyond bearing. He pushed his hips forward impatiently. Spike smacked his rump. Xander growled. "All right. If you must know I was just thinking about you."

"Me?" Spike managed to sound both smug and surprised at the same time.

Xander gave him a 'well duh' look. Then lowered his gaze and quickly mumbled the rest. "I was just thinking about us being here, like this." He glanced up again, his eyes full of remembered fear. "I nearly lost you-" Spike dove forward so quickly Xander almost bit his tongue in surprise. His lover's cold fingers encased his face in an almost painful grip.

"*No*. You won't lose me. *Not ever*." Spike's eyes glittered blue and gold.

Xander opened his mouth to speak and wasn't entirely surprised when instead Spike kissed him: a bruising, demanding kiss. He murmured appreciatively and gave himself totally to it. He tasted blood. The sweet, metallic tang of his own, and the deeper, richer flavour of his lover's. Skilled fingers slipped between them; a brief burning pain as his body was breached, then the familiar fullness as Spike slid slowly home. Xander interrupted the kiss to draw a breath, gasping in mingled pain and pleasure. "More," he demanded. "Move. Now."

"Bossy, git," Spike murmured affectionately. But he responded, driving in deep, and then drawing back. Quickly repeating each sharp thrust, building-up tempo and rhythm.

Xander tried to hold back. He'd already come twice this evening: once in the tunnel on route, and again later inside his lover. It didn't seem to help. He could already feel the pressure building. His body's need for release overruling his self control. Strong fingers wrapped themselves around his aching flesh and stroked - once - twice - He came, arching his back and crying out, his seed spilling hotly across his belly.

Spike didn't falter in his strokes. He released Xander's slippery flesh to clutch his hips, white fingers leaving red indentation marks. Spike's face shimmered, sharp ivory and vampiric ridges emerging. Xander unwound his fingers from the sheets and reached for his lover. Spike caught his hands and threaded his own fingers through them. Xander welcomed their coolness. He felt like a column of white flame had replaced his spine. He was burning up: molten lava pooling beneath his skin. "Spike." It came out as a breathy gasp. Spike arched forward, pushing in even deeper. Xander's cry was drawn out into a ragged wail as Spike's fangs cut through his skin. Ecstasy sang through his body as his blood rushed to answer the ancient summons. Impaled upon his lover's flesh and fangs, Xander bucked and sobbed as - with no more seed to spill - another orgasm tore through him.
He fell back, utterly spent, darkness hovering around the edges of his vision. Spike drew back and howled his own release, baring bloody fangs as he flooded Xander with his icy seed. Xander gave a weak 'oomph' as Spike collapsed on top of him. He wiggled his hand free and jabbed a finger into Spike's ribs - knowing it was the only thing that would make his lover move. Sure enough, Spike growled and shifted slightly to the side, staying half sprawled across Xander sweaty, trembling body. Xander moved his hand up to stroke the messy blonde curls. He knew that Spike was listening to his heartbeat slowly returning to a more normal rhythm. After a few shaky breaths, he recovered the use of his voice. "Love you," he whispered softly. Spike just nuzzled his chest and purred. Xander closed his eyes and sank gratefully into sleep.


Some time later…..

Xander eyed his lover's naked form appreciatively, as Spike moved around the tiny kitchenette. An unidentifiable punk track blared out in the background. This had been home for a little over a month now. It had taken time to make it habitable - sufficient for Xander any way. Back in the sixties and seventies it had been a local dive. The club had finally been closed down after one too many drug raids. Boarded up and forgotten by all but its oldest, unliving member.

Spike had a fond regard for the place, and had dragged a curious Xander to look it over one evening. Xander had no difficulty seeing its potential. It was situated in a run down area; their only neighbours would be the occasional down and out. Except for the entrance stairwell it was all below ground - a converted basement. (A feature of its former clubbing appeal.) So there were no windows. The office had wall to ceiling carpeting in a garish purple, and an orgy sized sunken bath. There was even a door leading to the sewer tunnels. Age and mould had made most of the existing fixtures and fittings unusable. But Doyle 'knew a guy who knew a guy', and after weeks of hard work they moved in.

The musty damp odour had gone, as had the rats and the rubbish. The bar (Spike's favourite part) was up and running. They even had electricity and hot and cold water: thanks to some ingenious diverting of the mains supply. Xander recognized all the effort that Angel and Doyle had gone to and thanked them both profusely. Even Spike seemed impressed when he saw their house-warming present. It was a bed. But a bed like no other. Certainly, it was like nothing that Xander had ever seen. It had to have been constructed inside the office (now the 'master suite') because it was way too big to fit through the door. Carved from dark red mahogany, it wasn't just a bed it was a work of art. Doyle had shrugged and mumbled something about 'a friend of a friend owing him a favour', and had then pointed out that it had been Angel's idea. Which then saw Angel toeing the carpet and doing the 'aw shucks routine'.

Spike had ended the touchy feely moment by practically shoving Angel and Doyle back into the sewer in order to 'take the bed for a test spin'. Though not before he'd kissed Angel and Doyle - leaving the former startled but smiling, and the latter flushed and struggling to walk. Xander had sympathized: Spike's kisses had a tendency to send the blood flow rushing south.

So now they had a home. To Xander's mind, the first real home he'd ever had. Maybe Spike's too, since his previous life and unlife had been more-or-less nomadic. The kitchenette had a small two-ringed stove, a fridge and a microwave. Spike was rooting around in the cupboards for some cereal to mix with his mug of blood. Singing along to the music as he opened and slammed doors. He'd spent a good twenty minutes prior to that, complaining that Doyle better have a vision soon because he wanted to eat some bad guys. Xander had stood, quietly absorbing all the grumbling, trying to hide a smile. To him the mug of pig's blood was a symbol of how much he was loved. After all, Spike wouldn't lose any sleep if he grabbed a body off the street to snack upon, but he didn't because Xander didn't want him to. And Xander hadn't even had to ask.

He rested his elbows on the worktop and sipped at the coffee Spike had made him. It was strong enough to melt metal, but Xander didn't mind. However, as he watched his lover making a mess - spilling cereal everywhere - the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. He straightened up, frowning. Spike noticed his unease at once.

"What's up?"

Xander opened his mouth to say he didn't know, when suddenly a swirling black whole appeared behind his lover. There was no time to shout a warning. Before Xander's horrified gaze a cloaked figure appeared, their face and form completely hidden. Spike turned as the figure raised its arm. The stake took Spike high in his chest - a direct blow to his dead heart. He'd barely turned his head, his anguished gaze connecting with Xander's. Then all was dust.

"NOOOOooooooo!" Xander sat upright gasping for breath, eyes staring ahead, stark with terror.

"HuzWha-? Xander?"

Spike's concerned voice was soft against his ear. Cold arms were already folding around him, drawing him into a loose embrace as though uncertain whether or not he wanted to be held. Xander had no such uncertainties. He burrowed into his lover's arms with a choked sob. Spike simply held him, stroking his back, rocking him gently.

After while, Spike whispered: "Bad dream, pet?"

Xander just nodded, unwilling to trust his voice.

"Come 'ere then." Spike lay back down, drawing Xander with him.

Xander rested his head against Spike's chest, the skin cool against his cheek. "There…there was one of those portal things," he explained brokenly. It still all seemed so real. His heart was beating double time. "Someone…something…they staked you." The last part came out as a horror tinged whisper and Spike's arms tightened around him reflexively.

"Still here, Pet."

"I know," said Xander softly. "But what if-" Spike tilted his head up, silencing him with a finger on his lips.

"No ifs. What happens, happens. We deal. That's all there is to it. But, just so as you know, I ain't that easy to take out. Remember, luv. I've been around a while. I've seen some pretty fucked up stuff and there's always been some bugger who thought they could take me."

Xander thought of Penn and said nothing.

Spike's expression was still tender, but there was a familiar cocky glint in his eyes. "But I'm still here and they're not. So what does that tell you?"

Xander's heart had slowed somewhat and he managed a shaky smile. "That you're the Big Bad?"

Spike gave a slight shudder and his face shifted into its vampiric guise: gleaming gold eyes and jagged teeth. He rolled them both until his body covered Xander's. "Who I am is 'William the Bloody', and that's a name that sends fledglings fleeing back into their fuckin' holes and demons running for their lives. I was out hunting around merry London when ol' Jack was still hidin' behind his mother's skirts. "

Xander shivered involuntarily. Sometimes he forgot just how old and deadly his lover was. Curious despite himself he had to ask: "Jack? You mean Jack the Ripper? Do you know-I mean, did you know who he was?"

"Can't say I really knew him." Spike's grin turned devious. "But I know why he stopped."

Xander frowned. Then his eyes widened. "You?"

"Let's just say Dru and I showed him he wasn't the only nasty lurkin' in the dark."

Gold eyes glittered with fond remembrance and Xander couldn't help but smile in response. So his lover was responsible for bringing an end to Jack the Ripper's reign of terror. "You're such a Robin Hood." He leaned up and nipped Spike's chin.

"Fuck that. He was makin' bleedin' things difficult," Spike growled. "You couldn't have a go at someone without half a dozen 'helpful' sods yellin' for a Copper."

Xander wasn't fooled. "So the fact that he was carving up the locals had nothing to do with it?"

Spike gave a half shrug and muttered: "Well, he was nuts. The wanker made Dru look sane. And the only demon he had was in his head. 'Sides, couldn't have him goin' around thinkin' he was the baddest thing in town."

"So you had a showdown?" Xander wasn't sure whether to be amused or not that Spike seemed to have viewed Jack the Ripper as unwanted competition.

"He tried to grab Dru," said Spike simply.

"Ouch," Xander winced. "I bet he regretted that."

Spike grinned nastily. "Not for long."

"Did she-?"

"Yeah. An' then I showed him a few tricks."

"Okay. I think maybe we should skip the rest of the history lesson," said Xander quickly. "I sense a rising squick factor and I don't think my stomach can handle it right now."

Spike's face shimmered back into its human semblance and his expression softened. "You all right?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah. Course now I'll probably dream about crazy guys with knives, but what the heck." His attempt at lightheartedness fell woefully flat.

Spike looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he grabbed a handful of Xander's hair and pulled his head back.

"Hey. Wha-?" Xander's words died out as Spike's features shifted again, and sharp fangs suddenly pierced his throat. He felt them slice through his skin, tearing almost gently to steal the blood beneath, cold lips and tongue lapping at the crimson flow. Pain and heat. Shadows dancing: drawing him toward the darkness. Then Spike drew back and bit deep into his own arm, thrusting the ragged wound to Xander's lips. Xander's mouth closed around it instinctively as he drank deeply from his lover's body.

Moaning with pleasure, he clutched the limb tightly, unwilling to surrender this ultimate intimacy. Not better than sex. Just-

Oh.

Yeah.

Mmm. Fuck.

-Something else. Something his brain still struggled to accept and understand. But he wanted this. God, he wanted this. Spike cradled him against his chest. Xander could hear him doing that strange panting thing, and knew from the hardness poking into his back that Spike wasn't just along for the ride. The Consort bond sang between them: its pleasure at their bloody union an almost tangible presence. Xander could hear the dull thud-thud of his heart; feel the blood rushing through his veins. Hyper awareness. And out of his head - a perfect, unnatural high. Spike severed it by pulling his arm away, ignoring Xander's growl and pushing him back when he would have followed.

"Enough."

Xander obeyed the order with sullen grace. Forcing himself to be content with licking the last traces of Spike's blood from his lips.

Spike ran his tongue wetly along his own wound. Then he lay down, hooking a leg over Xander's thighs. "Sleep."

The softly whispered command had Xander closing his eyes before he realized what he was doing. "Hey," he murmured sleepily. "No Fair." He'd guessed that somehow Spike had used the Consort bond to lull him back to sleep. And he was willing to bet it would be dreamless too. Cool fingers carded through his hair and caressed his face..

"Sleep."

Xander needed no second bidding. The word had barely left Spike's lips when his breath evened out and he sank gently into sleep.

Spike smiled - old and knowing. He placed a surprisingly chaste kiss against Xander's cheek and lay his head down upon the young man's shoulder. Gold muted back to fathomless blue, which in turn disappeared behind closed lids. For now the nightmares were banished, but Spike know it was only a temporary measure. He knew fear - had wielded it like a weapon. Xander would have to face his eventually. But when he did, Spike would be close by.

Cold fingers wound around warm living ones. Spike listened to his lover's heartbeat, and willed his own nightmares away.

Continue to Sequel - The Task