The Task

By Esmeralda

Part Twenty - One

Xander closed his eyes and let his head sink under the water. He came up again, blinking away the droplets; his lashes dark and spiked. Steam curled around him. The bath almost too hot, turning his skin pink.

"Oi, you better not be getting' that bandage wet."

"It's fine." Xander lifted his arm up to demonstrate. "See, not even damp."

"Hmph," said Spike, slipping back into the water beside Xander.

Xander felt halfway to being restored. He'd stumbled home, bleary-eyed and hurting. Spike had carefully undressed him, treated his wounds - lips tight with rage - redone a couple of broken stitches, and then put him into the sunken bath, with strict orders to keep the freshly bandaged arm out of the water. Spike's own wound didn't require much in the way of medical attention; the torn skin had already closed over the holes. All that was remained visible were a matching pair of purple-red indentations, on his front and back. Though the area around each was swollen and puffy looking.

"Here, Pet. Eat up." Spike pushed a plate toward him. On it was an enormous sandwich, made from two very unevenly cut slices of bread.

"Thanks." Xander took a bite. However, as Spike lifted his mug of blood Xander's stomach rolled and he put the sandwich back on its plate. Spike was watching. "I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought," Xander offered weakly. "I'll save it for later, okay."

Spike set his mug down and sat up, his back toward Xander. "Look, Pet. About what happened back there-"

"Don't…I …" Xander rubbed a hand over his face. "Can we just not talk about it? Please, " he all but begged. Spike fell silent. Xander could read the tension in the slim curve of his back. Xander sighed. "Listen. I get it, I do. I get the whole Big Bad thing and I'm cool with it. Its just killing bad guys I'm good with. Having fun with the whole torture and maim thing? That's a little trickier. But I'm dealing." Xander tentatively ran his fingers down the nubs of Spike's spine. "We're still good."

Spike glanced back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

The hopeful tone stung. Xander wondered how many times Spike had had his heart torn out and stomped on to carry around that kind of doubt. Not by me. Never by me, Xander swore silently. He leaned in and placed a firm kiss on Spike's mouth. "Yeah."

Spike turned around, covering Xander's body with his own - skin cool despite the scorching water. "You're getting' all wrinkly, Pet. Maybe we should go to bed."

Xander smiled and they shared a deep, drawn out kiss. "Bed sounds good," he agreed. Spike helped him out and insisted on drying him off. Spike then gave himself a cursory rub with the towel, before they wandered through to the bedroom. They tumbled onto the bed and tangled themselves in the sheets. Spike was adamant that Xander needed to keep warm.

"I'm fine," Xander protested. "Nothing hurts." That wasn't quite true. His forearm stung and his shoulder itched, but lying in bed beside a naked Spike he was more than willing to forget that. He snuggled closer.

"Keep, still."

Xander turned onto his side and ran his fingers up Spike's thigh. Spike stopped them before they reached their goal. Gently pushing Xander onto his back, Spike knelt over him on all fours.

"I said, keep still." He leant down and nipped the end of Xander's nose. Then he kissed away the hurt.

"Fuck me," Xander ordered.

Spike grinned. "Pushy, git."

"I can beg if it'll help?"

"It might."

Xander jabbed Spike in the ribs.

"Oi."

"Do me."

"You're hurt."

Xander gave an exasperated sigh. "Read my lips - I'm fine. Look, you can tell when I'm hurt bad. You know I'm not." He gave an experimental wiggle, and was rewarded by a twitch from Spike's rapidly stiffening cock. "Besides, I'm not the guy with a hole in his chest." He stared at the purple mark above Spike's heart and shivered. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you should rest-umph." His words were cut short as Spike kissed him; first hard, then slow. Drawing his lips and tongue into a leisurely dance.

Xander didn't think he could ever tire of this. There was no awkwardness. No clashing of teeth, or mashing of lips. No sense of simply going through the motions. Time held no meaning. The urgency of their desire tamed by a need to prolong this. Savouring the sweet, sullen heat building between their bodies: Spike's mouth like cool silk against his.

Spike relinquished Xander's lips to smother his face in tiny licks and kisses. It was like being worshipped by a particularly affectionate big cat. A bubble of laughter escaped as Spike found a ticklish spot behind his left ear. Xander tilted his head back, exposing his throat. Spike gave a little moan and pressed his mouth against it, nuzzling the delicate skin.

**********

Spike gave his lover's throat a final playful nip before moving southwards. He ran his tongue around the smooth, flat curve of a pectoral; savouring the sweet, clean skin. Detecting the subtle shifts in body-heart - rising now as he approached a darkened nipple. Suckling on the pebble-hard, puckered flesh, he was rewarded with a gasp as Xander squirmed and arched against him. Spike scraped his teeth across the sensitised nub, bestowing a tender lick to soothe away the sting. After kissing it a fond farewell he continued his explorations. Listening to the quickening thud, thud of Xander's heart.

Spike traced the hollow of a ticklish navel, rubbing his face against Xander's belly and the line of crisp, dark hairs. He closed his eyes, absorbing the heady scent of arousal. Then he moved upward again, ignoring a groan of protest. Xander's displeasure was short-lived as Spike lavished attention on the hitherto neglected nipple.
It elicited the same response as its twin - Xander arching up into Spike's mouth with a sharp gasp and a breathless: "God."

Spike hadn't finished. His lips and tongue mapped every available inch. Littering teasing bites along broad shoulders. Sometimes sucking hard: watching dull scarlet bloom beneath the young man's skin. He followed each shoulder in turn, down strong arms to calloused hands. The bandage made him pause briefly---an impatient Xander tugged his hair. Fingers reached for him as he slipped them between his lips - slowly, one by one. Down to the last knuckle then easing back to fingertip: a deliberate tease. Xander whimpered, watching him with a hot, heavy-lidded gaze.

Releasing Xander's fingers, Spike scraped blunt nails down tense thighs. Returning to grip handfuls of buttock, he lifted Xander up. There was no further preamble. Spike opened his mouth and relaxed his throat. He felt the heavy fullness jerk against his lips as Xander twisted against the sheets, a ragged cry torn from the young man's throat. The cry grew to include nonsensical ramblings:

"Spike. Please, Spike. Oh, God. Please."

Spike was in no hurry. Xander was hot and alive in his mouth, rich droplets of precum sliding over his tongue. Spike relished the needy, desperate whispers as his lover begged for release. He used his lips and tongue to skilful effect, pressing them against that full, pulsing vein and probing the weeping slit to draw out more precious, bittersweet fluid. He allowed Xander to clutch at him, fingers raking harshly through his hair. The feverish litany continued:

"So good. Oh, God, Spike. I need….Please…"

His own cock was demanding attention. Spike brought one hand to himself - smooth, urgent strokes. The fingers of his other hand whispered lightly over Xander's skin. Stroking the velvety sac, squeezing lightly. One finger brushed along the perineum, gently dipping into the entrance of Xander's body.

"Spiiiiiiiiiiiike."

Heat flooded his mouth, pulsing in a sticky stream across his tongue. Spike swallowed eagerly. Rolling the last few drops around to savour the bittersweet taste. He let Xander slip free as he sat up. Spike smirked as he took in the flushed, sated features. Xander swatted weakly at him.

"Still want me to fuck you, Pet?" The heat in Xander's gaze went up several notches. Spike decided that was a 'yes'. He rolled Xander over onto his belly, pausing briefly to admire the curve of back and buttocks. Then he was pushing oil-coated fingers deep inside, past the tight ring of muscle. The slick velveteen channel drew him in, clenching around his fingers as he scissored and twisted.

"Now. Now," Xander demanded breathlessly, hips bucking.

Spike withdrew his fingers, running them down his own aching flesh. He positioned himself, one hand gripping Xander's hip for balance. Forcing his way past the initial resistance, easing his way inside. As the tight ring gave way he sank until his belly was flush with Xander's hot skin. He closed his eyes, struggling for control.

"Spike, please."

With a snarl Spike began to thrust. Hips pistoning with such force he edged Xander up the bed.

Xander's fingers latched onto the mattress. Holding on tight as he made breathless little moans of encouragement, occasionally interspersed with words. "Yes. God. Spike."

Spike curled an arm around Xander's waist, pulling the youth up onto his knees. The thrusts gained force and tempo as Spike neared the end. His eyes turned gold, mouth dropping open as he began to pant needlessly. A low, keening howl signalled his release. Cut off as he buried his fangs into Xander's shoulder. Xander gave a shudder and a soft groan as a second orgasm was wrenched from him, seed and blood pulsing from his body.

Lips and teeth stained scarlet, Spike pulled back. He instantly bit into his own arm, cradling Xander against his chest he encouraged the young man to drink. Xander gulped down the precious fluid, the dizziness fading as Spike's strength flowed into his veins. Spike whispered: "Enough" as he gently drew his arm away. He lay them down together, curling his body around Xander's. Tugging a blanket over them both. "Sleep." Xander responded with a soft snore. Spike smiled toothily, licking the last traces of Xander's blood from his fangs.

Part Twenty-Two

Xander craned his neck to check out the clock, trying not to move too much and disturb Spike. It read 1.53pm. He pondered over whether or not he was hungry, since he'd skipped breakfast and was well on the way to missing lunch. A rumble from the vicinity of his stomach decided it. All he had to do was get up. Not easy with a hundred and fifty pounds or so of slumbering vampire draped over his body, one arm curled possessively around his waist. "Spike?" There was no answer, and Xander attempted to slide out from under his lover: foolish and futile. The arm tightened, and he was turned until he was looking into a pair of disgruntled blue eyes.

"Where you off to, Pet?"

"Food," said Xander. "I'm in danger of losing my cuddly but firm physique. Lemme up."

"Stay," Spike ordered. "I'll get you something."

"Not bedridden here," Xander pointed out. He moved his legs. "See, fully functional. And I will become obese-boy if you keep me chained to the bed."

Spike smirked, eyebrows lifting.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Okay, bad choice of imagery. But can we roll out the chains later. I want something to eat." It was very nearly a whine at the end and faced with a pouting Xander, Spike reluctantly moved over.

"Hurry up," he grumbled. "And put something on."

Xander slid out of bed and turned around wearing an expression of mock horror. "You want me to put clothes on?" Well that was a first.

Spike glowered, though there was little heat in it. "Ha, fuckin' ha. You humans catch colds too flippin' easy. And listening to you hack and hurl ain't exactly my idea of fun."

"Thank you, Florence Nightingale. I'll have to remember that when you bite another Minka demon and spend eight hours worshipping the porcelain throne. I seem to remember someone having their back rubbed and their brow mopped as they hacked and hurled."

Spike drew the sheets over his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like: "Bugger off."

Xander grinned and looked about for something to wear. He knew that despite his moaning, Spike would fret over and pamper him if should succumb to so much as a sniffle. He found a t-shirt crumpled up beside the lava lamp and slipped it over his head. Thankfully, it was his. Spike's wardrobe tended to be too constrictive for comfort. He shuffled off to the kitchenette, deciding on toast and cereal. While he was looking for the bread he came across the sandwich Spike had made him crammed inside a Tupperware container. The sight inexplicably made his eyes fill. Domesticity and Spike definitely did not go hand-in-hand. But for him, Spike at least occasionally made the effort.

He ate the sandwich while he was waiting for the toast. Drinking milk and cereal straight from the bowl when he couldn't find a clean spoon. The sink was filled to overflowing. Okay, so maybe they were both still working on the domesticity thing. But battling the demon-underworld could really cut down on your chore-time.

"Did you want anything?" he called out to the bedroom.

"Just you, Pet."

The voice was closer than he expected and Xander whirled around to find Spike leaning on the counter, naked. Very, very naked. Xander gave himself a moment to admire the gracile strength on display. Long, narrow limbs overlaid with sleek muscle. Dark brows and blue eyes a sharp contrast to moon-fair skin. Even in this guise, Spike now, looked far from human. Unclothed, Spike was otherworldly. Body pared down to power and grace. With every tilt of his head, every movement of his hand: the subtle shifts in expression. They all gave him away to Xander's knowing gaze. No human looked or moved that way.

Clothed, Spike was a gothic-punk with attitude and a sneer for all occasions. Naked, he was an incubus; all raw desire and open need.

Xander reached for Spike's hand, closing his fingers around Spike's cool ones. Spike led him around the counter and drew him close. Xander nibbled along the hard line of Spike's jaw. Planting a firm kiss on his lips that quickly grew into something deeper. Xander closed his eyes and melted into Spike's embrace, feeling the unnatural coolness of Spike's body through the layer of cotton.

Even now, when he was being slow and gentle, Spike was all coiled power and leashed savagery. Xander realised that he relished that fierceness. Understanding rose slowly within him: the knowledge that he could deal with the ruthless cruelty integral to Spike's nature, because it came with an equally fierce ability to love and protect. It would never sit easily with him, but he could deal.

Though Xander was still fearful of his own deeply buried feelings. Acceptance was one thing. This growing affinity was something else. Part of him was starting to enjoy the brutality and the bloodshed. Xander couldn't help but remember the haunting words from Louise Macon's diary:

***I feel him inside me, even when he is not close by. He has crept inside my soul and may God save me, for I cannot drive him out. May God forgive the wickedness that now resides within me, for I cannot."

Spike was in his soul. Xander had no desire to drive him out, but he wanted to hold onto his humanity. Spike wasn't a one-dimensional, evil demon. His lack of soul didn't inhibit his capacity to think or feel. But he wasn't human. And Xander was forced to accept that maybe that label also now applied to him. He could do things no human could. He could survive things no man living could ever hope to. He was a Shade, a Vampire Consort. A freak.

He blinked when Spike stopped kissing him and drew back, regarding Xander with a vaguely concerned look.

"You wanna try givin' that brain of yours a rest? I thought you was in the mood for this." Spike aimed a pointed look between their bodies. "Should I be happy that at least part of you is payin' attention?" Spike took a step back, circling his arms loosely around Xander's waist. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

"Just stuff."

"Be a little bit more specific, eh, Pet."

"A freak," said Xander quietly. "That's all they saw me as. A freak for their stupid experiments."

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

Spike felt a renewed urge to rip something's throat out. Xander wouldn't look at him; those dark eyes were locked firmly on some point on his chest. Spike didn't need to see his lover's expression to sense how disturbed the whelp was. "He's dead, Pet."

Xander's head bobbed once. "I know. It's just…He made me think, you know. I am."

Spike moved his hands to cup Xander's face, lifting it to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. You are not a bleedin' freak." Spike tried to keep the anger out of his voice. He didn't want Xander thinking it was directed at him. "So you're different. So what? You were always different, Pet. You fought demons an' helped stop the end of the world a time or two. Remember?"

"I know," said Xander. "But that's something I did. Not something I was." He sounded frustrated, struggling to make Spike understand the difference. "Then I was just normal Xander doing crazy whacked out stuff. Now I'm this weird, freaky SuperXander, who can leap from high buildings, and likes watching bad guys choke on their own blood." The last part was said in a very small, tired voice.

Spike stroked his thumb across Xander's bottom lip, enjoying the satiny plumpness. "That's what's got you so bloody rattled, yeah? You liked the show a bit too much." His tone was affectionate. "Stupid pillock. You can't see the difference, can you?"

Xander frowned.

"You're feelin' bad cos you wanted that bastard dead. You're feelin' dirty, cos some part of you got off on it. Knowin' that at the end he was as scared and hurt as he made you feel. Yeah?" Eyes full of misery blasted Spike, and that lush bottom lip quivered slightly. Spike shook his head. "Idiot. That doesn't make you any kind of evil. And it sure as Hell doesn't make you a freak. That makes you human. You wanted revenge, good ol'normal, human-type revenge. Payback for all that pain an' misery he put you through. And now, like any good little human, you're feelin' all sappy and guilt ridden over it."

Spike put his hand on Xander's chest. "That's cos of this, Pet. That great, shining soul of yours." He took Xander's hand and placed it over his own cold, still heart. "Me, I don't feel nuthin'. I gotta kick out of makin' him hurt. And I got an extra buzz, knowin' he was the bastard who'd touched you. But I'd 'ave done the same to any bugger in that hole. And I ain't ever gonna get all teary-eyed over it."

Xander was silent while he appeared to mull this over. Spike watched in relief as the lines of distress smoothed out from Xander's face. He decided to add an extra reassurance. "I told you, Pet. Your soul's safe. I can't touch it."

Xander smiled. "Yeah, you can." He kissed a confused Spike. Then his expression turned sheepish. "Sorry about the afternoon histrionics. I guess it just got to me a bit."

"Been a rough couple of days, Pet. Bound to make you feel a bit ropey."

"A rough couple of days?" Xander's voice rose slightly. "I've been tap dancing through a minefield of demonic otherworldliness since I was a Semaphore. Most kids just battle puberty. I got possessed puppets, zombies, creepy egg creatures and the odd apocalypse party."

Spike dropped his hands and shrugged, trying for sympathetic. "That's what happens when you get chummy with a Slayer, Pet."

"Oh yeah, Cos my life's got so much better since I hooked up with you."

There was silence while they both stared at one another.

"Are we…are we having a fight?" Xander asked uncertainly. "Because if we are I'd like to vote for nipping this baby in the bud right now." He took hold of Spike's hand again. "I don't want to fight with you," he added softly.

Spike's expression was pained, but resolute. He spoke in a forcibly light tone: "No, best get this out in the open, eh, Pet. Things'll only fester otherwise."

"Sounds gross," said Xander with a weak smile. "I guess you're right. You want to talk here?"

Spike led him over to the couch: a soft, sunken affair covered with an enormous black throw. They both sank down onto it, still holding hands. "You first, Pet."

"Could you, umm." Xander waved his free hand. "It's kind of distracting."

Spike cast him a long-suffering look and pulled a cushion over his lap. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," said Xander, matching Spike's dry tone. "Okay. First of all we're not fighting. Definitely not fighting. So nix that idea. This is just you and me clearing the air, okay?"

Spike heard the unspoken plea for reassurance and he nodded quickly. His own relief settling in his chest, which had felt like an Ubrookach was sitting on it.

"Greatness," said Xander. "Okay. The thing of it is I know I really don't have anything to complain about. I mean, it's not like I didn't volunteer for this gig. Not like Buff or Doyle who had the Powers bestow one on them, or Angel doing his dark crusader bit. But before I always knew I could walk away if things got too hairy. Not that I would have," he added quickly. "But the let-out clause was there. And now it's not. I…I can't just walk away any more. And I don't just mean because of this crazy Consort thing that would leave me a mindless drooling idiot."

Xander looked earnestly at Spike, who tried not to flinch. The Ubrookach was back and it had gained a few pounds. Where was the whelp going with this? Was he saying he wanted out? Cos that really wasn't an option any more, and Spike wasn't about to let him go any way.

"I love you, Spike." Xander's voice was soft and serious. "I can't walk away because it would tear a great gaping hole in me; one I wouldn't survive. And I guess that just makes me a little squirrelly sometimes. We seem to get a new nasty every week and it's driving me crazy. I can't lose you Spike, and I'm scared I'm going to."

Spike had to look away. He stared down at their entwined fingers, hearing the sudden hitch in Xander's breathing. He didn't know what he should say. Did Xander mean that he wanted to give up playing the hero? "I don't know what you want, luv," he answered honestly. "You wanna stop doin' the Dudley-Do-Right bit with Peaches and the Mick, that's fine with me. But I have to tell you, luv. I can't see me sittin' on a beach somewhere twiddlin' me thumbs. I need…I have things inside of me I have to get out." He stopped, lip curling in self-disgust. He was making a balls up of this. But how did he explain that he needed the fight. That he craved the blood and the fear.

Xander squeezed Spike's fingers gently. "I think I can get by without you trying for a tan."

Spike looked up again. Made hopeful by the faint tone of amusement in Xander's voice.

One corner of Xander's mouth turned upward in a wry smile. "I don't mean to be Mr. Doom and Gloom. It's just we never seem to get a break." Xander's smile widened into a self-depreciating grin. "And aren't I the cry-baby. Poor widdle Xander never gets a night off to hit the town. Forget the fact that you and Angel are the ones taking the big risks, and Doyle's the guy with the headache. Pity poor Xander who just wants to party." It was Xander's turn to shake his head in self-disgust.

"Hey. Leave off that." Spike sat back, drawing Xander with him. "Me and Angel we have fun with this stuff." Xander looked up from where his head lay on Spike's shoulder; he didn't seem convinced. Spike tried another tact. "Look, Peaches might act all broody but he gets a kick out of playin' the white knight. Me, I just like a good fight." That got a smile so Spike carried on. "I can't speak for the Mick. But he seems the sort to be happy doin' the right thing."

"Is that what we're doing?"

"You're askin' the wrong bloke, Pet. The whole 'Good, Bad' bit got blurry for me around the time ol'Vicky was on the throne."

Xander rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. "I think I'm just tired. Before the monstery weirdness was kind of balanced out by normal school routiney-ness. Here we pound one demon into the dirt and along comes another vision and we're off again. There's never any us time." Xander snorted. "Great, now I'm back to being cry-baby."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, luv. You're young, and you're mostly still human." Xander winced and Spike could have bitten off his tongue. "I just meant all this is bound to wear on you a bit."

Xander eased away from Spike. Sitting with his hands clasped loosely in front of him, he stared forlornly at the carpet. "I don't know what to do. I'm treading water here and there's no one to call 'time-out'; but there's no way I'm letting you go it alone, and ever time I close my eyes I see the same thing over and over. I know how it goes. I used to see…when Buffy used to….and when Jesse….God, I did that to Jesse. I can't….What if you….There'd be nothing but dust." The last word came out as a hiccupy sob. It was hard to say who was more alarmed by Xander's sudden meltdown - Xander suffering it, or Spike feeling he was to blame.

Xander wiped at his eyes angrily, while Spike struggled for something to say. He didn't have the words to reassure his lover. He wasn't planning on leaving his unlife any time soon, but there were no guarantees in this lark. He could just as easily buy it tomorrow. Spike wasn't about to offer Xander any false promises. "You think you're the only one, Pet?" Spike grabbed Xander's arm, drawing it away from the young man's face so he could see those eyes. "It rips me to fuckin' pieces every time we follow his highness on one of his bleedin' crusades. Thinkin' you could get hurt, or worse."

Spike slipped off the couch, kneeling before his young lover. "I waited more than a hundred years to find you, Pet. Do you know what it'd do to me to lose you?"

Xander shook his head.

Spike bit down on his lip, fighting to contain his emotions. "Well, let's just say if Angelus returned I'd be with him. Doin' my bit for the next apocalypse." Spike took hold of Xander's hands. "This bleedin' world only means something to me with you in it, Pet. Without you, I'd happily send the whole fuckin' lot to Hell, cos that's where I'd be anyway."

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

Xander blinked hard, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. Spike's admission had made them fill up again, this time for an entirely different reason. Maybe he was crazy. After all, a vow to bring about the end the world wasn't exactly your typical romantic declaration. But coming from Spike it was as ardent an expression of love as you could hope for. He tugged Spike up between his parted thighs. "Don't ever leave me," he whispered fiercely. Spike stretched up and kissed him hard.
Then he lay his head down on Xander's chest. Xander stroked the soft blond curls, feeling Spike relax against him.

"We all right now?" asked Spike quietly.

Xander thought about it. Nothing had really changed. Nothing had been solved or sorted. Either of them could still die or turn to dust, today or the next day. Despite that, he felt calmer. Perhaps because he'd finally realised that his fear of losing Spike was something he could live with. He'd have to. It was the price for loving him. "Yeah, we're okay."

Spike mumbled.

Xander nudged him. "What?" Spike didn't answer. Cold fingers played with the fraying hem of his t-shirt, a sure sign that Spike was procrastinating over something. With a sigh, Xander wriggled until they'd both slid down the couch and were half on the floor. Spike tugged him the rest of the way and he ended up sat on Spike's lap on the carpet. "Tell me," Xander demanded. "What were you muttering about?"

"I was just trying to remember something," said Spike.

"What?"

Spike ducked his head. "A quote."

"A quote?" Xander echoed, and immediately gave himself a mental slap for sounding incredulous. Spike had come a long way from his gutter-rat origins.

"Yeah. Can't remember how it goes exactly. Something like: "Being loved by someone gives you strength, and lovin' someone gives you courage." Spike shrugged, clearly embarrassed. "I just thought mebbe it was apt, you know. For us."

Xander kissed Spike with commendable thoroughness, tipping the pair of them backwards. Spike seemed more than happy to remain in a naked sprawl with a horny, half-dressed Xander on top of him.

Part Twenty -Three

They waited until late the following evening to call on Angel and Doyle. Spike didn't see the point and groused incessantly as he tugged on his boots.

"The point," said Xander dryly. "Is that Angel struggles with twenty-first century technology and you simply mangle it." He held up the battered remains of his most recent mobile phone as evidence. "I could just call them to check they're okay, but Angel has yet to learn how to operate his phone and you keep destroying mine."

"Bloody thing kept ringing."

Xander made a strangled sound. "Of course it keeps ringing, doofus. There are people outside of this room who want to talk to me. The last time you cut Buffy off, she and Giles were this close to coming down here." He held up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate just how close Spike had come to meeting Mr. Pointy.

"Stupid cow shouldn't 'ave called when we were-"

"-Spike," Xander interrupted. "We're always doing that. The only time we're not doing that, we're asleep after doing that, or we're out beating the beejees out of something right before we come home and do that."

Spike looked sullen. "Never heard you complainin'."

"And I'm not complaining now," said Xander. "Given the choice of naked time with you and pretty much anything else, I'd take naked time with you every time."

Spike grinned and walked toward Xander with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Xander threw up his arms. "No, down boy. We have to go and make nice with our friends. Then we can come back here and make nice with each other." Spike ignored him, peeling Xander out of his jacket and shirt despite protests. "Spiiiiiiiiike." Xander gave up as Spike started on his button fly.

***********

It was close to 2.00am when they eventually left through the sewers. As they climbed the metal rungs to Angel and Doyle's apartment they could hear raised voices, muffled at first then coming clear as they opened the trap door.

"What I want is for you to stop treatin' me like I'm made of fuckin' glass."

"I don't-"

"Yes. Yes you do. You hover over me like I'm gonna keel over any minute. And I'm not countin' earlier."

"You passed out."

"I got dizzy! I was still conscious."

Spike and Xander exchanged a look. "Maybe this is a bad time," said Xander. He'd had his fill of family rows and wasn't eager to step into the middle of another.

"Too late now, Pet. They know we're here." That fact probably had something to do with Spike having already left the sewer tunnel. He seemed utterly indifferent to the atmosphere in the apartment. Sauntering across the room he dropped heavily onto the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"Spike." Angel's warning snarl was met with a corresponding glare, but Spike removed his boots from the table.

"Hi," said Xander with false cheeriness as he hurried over to join Spike. "Sorry to drop by unannounced. I would have called but-" He shrugged.

"Spike killed another phone." Doyle guessed. "Not that having one makes much difference. Every time Angel's rings he stares at it like it's gonna sprout horns and launch a surprise attack."

Spike sniggered. Angel looked like he was biting his cheek to stop himself from saying anything. Xander felt bad for him and dug his nails into Spike's hand to make him shut up.

"Oi!" Spike pulled his hand away and transferred his glare to Xander.

Great. Now they were fighting. Xander looked away and returned his attention to Angel and Doyle. He wondered what was going on with his friends. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd heard them start on one another. Doyle had a wicked tongue when his temper was engaged, and Angel could hold his own in any number of languages. But it had never seemed this tense and strained. Usually it was a short, sharp row over someone taking a stupid risk. Followed by a lengthy making up period - which was when he and Spike usually made themselves scarce.

This reminded him too much of home, where the fights never progressed to the touchy feely stage and the atmosphere hung like a permanent storm cloud around the house. It made Xander's chest hurt now, just like it had when he was a kid. Then he'd been powerless to do anything. He didn't want to be a bystander to that kind of bitter destruction anymore. "Is…is everything okay?" he asked gingerly. "Only you both seem kind of hepped-up, and not in a good way."

"We're good," said Doyle flatly. He slumped into a chair. "Least we would be if someone would stop treatin' me like I'm gonna shatter."

Spike snorted in disgust. "Is that what this bleedin' rant is all about? Peaches here can't get his armour off?" He shook his head at his Sire. "You need to lighten up with this white knight gig. Not everyone needs you chargin' in to rescue 'em. Stop playin' the great protector and shag him already." His last comment was greeted with a triple chorus of: 'Spike!' However, his words seemed to be having some effect - certainly if the looks Angel and Doyle were exchanging meant anything.

Xander felt the ache in his chest ease and he smiled gratefully at his lover. Spike made for an unlikely cupid but he did have a strange way of making people face up to things.

Spike stood up. "Come on, Pet. Our work here's done, yeah? Let's go home and make nice." He leered at Xander hopefully.

Xander smiled his acceptance of that idea and barely had time to yell out 'Bye', as an eager Spike tugged him toward the trapdoor and home.

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

Angel and Doyle were left alone again, but the whirlwind visit had cleared the air and they both regarded one another somewhat sheepishly.

"I guess, maybe. I over-reacted," Angel conceded. "It's just, when I think what they did to you, and that on top of all this other stuff. And I didn't know before."

"Know what?"

Angel came closer, standing beside the chair. He dropped to a crouch, looking up at Doyle. "The visions. I knew they hurt you but I never realised how much."

Doyle tried to dismiss Angel's concern. "Well, to be fair, they aren't usually this bad." He reached out and tentatively touched Angel's cheek. Angel closed his eyes and captured Doyle's hand, holding it there. Doyle made no attempt to pull his hand away, and Angel moved around to kneel against his legs; head gently resting on his knees. Doyle brought up his other hand to stroke Angel's hair. He cleared his throat to continue. "I mean now that fella isn't putting the hex on me, it'll be pretty much back to the old blinders. Nothing a few headache pills won't sort." Angel's fingers tightened reflexively.

Doyle had a greater concern than his return to standard visions. "Will you keep feelin' them d'ya think?"

Angel lifted his head to look at Doyle. "I can't say for sure, but probably. The Consort Bond allows us to share pain."

It was Doyle's turn to be stricken with guilt. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I-"

Angel knelt up, drawing Doyle into his arms. "Ssh. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't change anything. If I could take all the pain from you I would. You know I would."

Doyle pulled back to look into Angel's face, smiling sadly. "Yeah, I know you would." He shook his head. "I think we're gonna hafta work on that martyr complex of yours. It's pretty much counterproductive to the long and happy existence I've got mapped out for you."

Angel caught on to the bantering tone and brought out a faint smile. "This map, does it happen to include a half-Bracchen with a cruel tongue and gift for massage?"

Green eyes lit with mischief. "It might."

They kissed: exchanging apologies and forgiveness. It quickly deepened, Angel letting out a soft groan of need, as he encountered his lover's passionate response. Doyle wasn't about to waste the moment and busied himself divesting Angel of his clothing. Angel joined in and they were both naked. The chair proved to be an awkward and uncomfortable loveseat so shortly after they departed for the bedroom. The ardour between them was amplified by the weeks of tension. Neither had been much of a mind to indulge in this kind of wildness in the wake of Doyle's near-rape, and the whole vision-mess since then.

Now finally they felt free to let go. Wolfram & Hart had been packed off to where they undoubtedly belonged. Drusilla had walked away. Darla was dust. Sinduan was dead. For now the battlefield was empty, and they could put down their arms and rediscover the pleasures that bound them together as surely as any Consort Bond. It cried out to them now, eager for their joining. Singing through their blood as they came together. Doyle managed to blindly snag the bottle of oil from the bedside cabinet. He thrust it into Angel's hand, not breaking their kiss.

Angel fumbled the bottle, abandoning Doyle's lips just long enough to look hesitantly at him. Doyle gripped him fiercely, wrapping his arms and legs around Angel's larger frame. "I swear, if you don't fuck me now I'll find a pointy piece of wood and come at ya." There was a certain amount of feeling behind the words.

Angel decided maybe Doyle was recovered enough to do this. He uncorked the bottle and slipped his hand between their bodies, sliding his fingers over Doyle's hard flesh, making the younger man hiss and buck against him. He reached further down, angling for the entrance to Doyle's body. Doyle arranged himself into an accommodating position. Angel was rewarded with an "Oh, fuck. Yes" when he hit the spot. He struggled for control, counting backwards in Minkan, determined to make this good for his lover.

Doyle was stronger and more flexible than a human even in his non-demon form, which was fortunate as Angel was operating at the very limits of his control. The Consort Bond demanded this most intimate connection. Its influence reduced Angel to raw instinct. Already overwhelmed by the taste, scent and feel of his lover, Angel was helpless to hold back any longer. He entered Doyle in one powerful thrust, sinking into the hot tight channel, blood warmth clenching around him. Doyle responded by using his legs to pull Angel forward and even deeper into his body.

Doyle's eyes appeared almost black; the pupils dilated until only a faint ring of green remained. Angel drank in the sight of his lover; cheeks flushed; short, dark hair jutting in all directions. Slender muscles bunched as Doyle clutched at Angel's arms. Now that the connection was complete, the fierce urgency could be contained and Angel began to move with slow, rhythmic strokes. Doyle's eyes rolled back and he muttered something unintelligible. Desire simmered between them, a haze of arousal and need.

Doyle was close to the edge. He needed more and dug his fingers into Angel's arms, urging him to move - Faster. Harder. Deeper. Angel responded to his lover's wants, driving into the young man's body until Doyle cried out and arched up: the frantic pounding of his heart audible to them both. Doyle's features shifted into his demon form. Angel joined him but was clearly fighting the overwhelming desire to drink from his lover. Doyle was insistent however, wanting this connection. Fangs slid through green skin, smooth and spineless below Doyle's collarbone.

It was a shallow bite, Angel gently lapping at the blood like a cat at a saucer of milk. The Bond controlled the blood hunger, stopping him from drinking too deeply. He withdrew from Doyle's body as the last ripples of orgasm faded. Rolling onto his back, Angel lay with Doyle on top of him. He cupped his hand to the back of Doyle's head and brought the young man close to the curve of his shoulder.

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

Doyle slipped back into human form as he bit down hard, blunt teeth breaking the skin. Droplets of blood rose to the surface, rich scarlet warmth against his tongue. He could taste the ancient power flowing through Angel's veins; it was a strange, heady brew. He felt Angel shudder and climax beneath him, fingers tightening in his hair. Doyle soothed the sting of the bite with soft kisses and strokes of his tongue. Angel's appreciative purr reverberated through his body and Doyle chuckled. He kissed Angel's mouth, mindful of the razor-edged fangs. He watched as gold shifted to obsidian. The gaze that met his was full of love and relief. "See," said Doyle quietly. "Nothing broken."

Angel's mouth twitched in a slight smile. "I promise I'll try to stop treating you like you're made of glass."

"Good," said Doyle with approval. "You gotta remember that just cos I'm not built like some tall, dark crusading types I could mention, doesn't mean I can't take care of meself."

"I know," said Angel softly. "But maybe I like taking care of you."

Doyle rolled off his lover, lying side-by-side on the bed. "Fair enough. And maybe I like being taken care of. But that's different to being smothered." He tilted his head to look at Angel. "You gotta give me some space. Lemme take care of you sometimes. Share the load. We're partners in this. Equal footing, yeah?"

Angel nodded cautiously.

Doyle sighed. "Look, I know how it is. You're fightin' some two hundred year old conditioning that says the little woman should stay at home, while the fella straps on his sword and takes on all comers. But do I look like the happy-homemaker type to you?"

"I don't-"

"-See me that way," Doyle finished. "Look, I know you don't think of me as a woman, I'm too fuzzy and I've got bumps in all the wrong places for that. But admit it, don't you sometimes see me as the skirt in this relationship?"

Angel squirmed beneath Doyle's scrutiny. "I don't," he insisted; a little more conviction might have been nice. He was more convincing with the next part. "I think of you as an equal."

"You think of Buffy as an equal," Doyle reminded gently, uncomfortable at bringing her name into their bed, but seeing no other way around it. "You also see her as a girl."

"She is a girl." Angel sounded confused.

"Yes, but I'm not," said Doyle. He sighed again as he realised that Angel had lost him somewhere around the introduction of Buffy. What did it say about her, that she cloud his lover's mind even when being used as an example? He put a lock on any jealous thoughts and concentrated on explaining himself to a puzzled looking Angel. "All I'm sayin' is you had a natural desire to protect her because she was a girl. It didn't matter that she could hold her own against you in a fight."

"Chivalry," Angel muttered distractedly.

"Huh?"

"The word you're looking for I think is Chivalry." Angel looked amused. "Are you saying that I want to protect you because some part of me sees you as the damsel in distress?"

Doyle thought about it. That sounded pretty much right. "Yeah."

Angel appeared to take a moment to think this idea over. Finally he said: "I don't see you as a girl."

"We've covered that part already," said Doyle, slightly irritated.

"But," Angel continued slowly. "You might be right." It was his turn to sigh. "I…I don't mean to be heavy-handed about it. It's just I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Hey. I don't want anything to happen to me either."

"You're important to me," said Angel softly. He moved down the bed so they were face-to-face. "I can't lose you."

Doyle had to swallow hard against the emotion carried in that gaze. "You won't." They kissed, slow and sweet.

"I'll work on it," Angel promised.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Doyle. That was a promise too.

Part Twenty-Four

Three weeks later….

"Wow, That's so…so…"

"Hot," whispered Tara. Who then flushed brightly and tried to hide behind her drink.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, a dreamy grin drifting over her face. "Super flamey."

Doyle smiled at the two girls, who were seated opposite. Beside him, Angel looked torn between discomfort and appreciation for the pair occupying the dance floor. Spike and Xander weren't doing anything particularly overt. There were a couple of Brangnosh demons putting on a much showier display - tentacles flapping everywhere. The two just had a way of moving together that was, as Tara said, hot. Super flamey hot.

They were in a downtown demon club, a favourite haunt of Spike's. Willow and Tara had come for a long weekend. It was Willow's first opportunity to hang out with Xander since his departure for LA, and she was quite taken with the transformation. This was a happier, more confident Xander, one with better dress-sense. Xander was wearing snug black jeans and a dark blue shirt of some shimmery, satiny material. He'd left his coat - carefully patched from the lioness attack - next to Willow. She had admired the butter-soft leather and then surreptitiously nuzzled a sleeve. It smelt wonderful. She'd slid part of it over to Tara and got her to do the same. Tara shared her sentiments. Both girls had blushed fiercely when they realised that Doyle had spotted their covert behaviour.

Doyle thought it was kind of cute. He knew that Xander came from a pretty crummy background, and it relieved him to think that the younger man had received some love and support prior to Spike. He'd been slightly wary of the girls at first. You wanted to make a good impression around powerful witches. However, they were so easy to talk to, so obviously overwhelmed and sort of shy, that he'd taken it upon himself to play the genial host along with Xander. After all, much as he loved Angel, the guy couldn't be relied upon to set others at ease, and the less said about Spike the better.

Though neither girl seemed particularly put out by Angel's silences or Spike's remarks. Evidently, living in Sunnydale prepared you for vampire etiquette, or lack of.

Doyle watched Spike and Xander move around the dance floor, amused by the way the other patrons scuttled out of the way. For the moment Spike was behaving himself. Perhaps because of Angel's warning - 'No fighting, I'm tired of picking up the tab every time you trash the place' - or more likely because of Willow and Tara's presence. Xander would no doubt have pleaded for Spike to make nice.

The club catered more-or-less exclusively to demons, but no one had raised any objections when Angel and Spike had escorted Willow and Tara onto the premises. The doorman - a hulking demon with a pair of bull-like horns - had almost fallen over in his haste to clear a path for them. One of his horns had clearly been the recipient of an amateurish repair job that seemed to have involved a lot of glue and brown packing tape.

Willow had drawn Xander to one side. "What's with the nervous pointy-headed demon?"

"Oh, he's just surprised to see Spike and Angel again."

"Yeah?" Willow could tell when her friend was hedging around the truth. "Surprised as in 'Hey, it's those guys again.' Or surprised as in: 'Oh, no. It's the guys who snapped off my horn.'?"

Xander had grinned sheepishly. "He tried to bar us once over a little disagreement. But he's cool with it now."

The disagreement had been a fight between Spike and another vampire, which resulted in a Minka demon getting dust in his drink. The resulting skirmish hadn't been pretty and the doorman made a serious mistake when he tried to evict Spike. The only reason it hadn't become a fatal error was due to Angel's timely intervention, and because Spike had started to vomit. Minka demons were not creatures to sharpen your fangs on; their gnarled skin was toxic to most. Angel had eventually smoothed things over by paying for the repairs and by offering his services to the club owner; who was being harassed by a group of vampires running a protection racket. Angel had dusted the vamps, and the grateful club owner had guaranteed them all club membership for life…or unlife, whichever.

The arrangement was beneficial for everyone. The four had regular access to a local demon haunt (demon clubs were preferable; human clubs had proved awkward and places exclusive to vampires were a definite no-no.) and while Spike could still be relied upon to start a fight most nights; the club owner was willing to overlook it so long as Angel played referee and paid for repairs. Besides which, the number of fights per night had actually decreased. Tempers tended to be contained when there was a psychotically charged vampire ready to dive into the fray the instant anything began. The owner was content to settle for one major bust-up that was all expenses covered, as opposed to lots of minor scuffles that had cost him dear in chairs, tables, and medical bills for damaged doormen.

Willow waved a hand to get Doyle's attention. He leaned forward to hear her over the music blasting out from the sound system.

"Do you think it would be safe for us to dance?" she asked hopefully.

"Oh, I…I don't know," said Tara.

"Come on." Willow gave her girlfriend an encouraging smile. "It'll be fun." She glanced at Doyle and Angel. "Is it okay?"

Doyle nodded. "Sure. We'll join you."

"What?" Angel looked startled.

"Come on, big guy. Time to show the ladies your moves."

"Moves?" Angel sounded positively panicked. "I don't have any…moves."

"Sure you do," Doyle coaxed, drawing a reluctant Angel out of his seat. Doyle still couldn't understand why someone so agile and graceful in battle moved like a golem when confronted with music. They made their way to the dance floor. Doyle towing an unenthusiastic Angel; Willow leading a nervous looking Tara. Spike and Xander were too wrapped up in each other to pay any notice. The pair continued to dance slowly around the floor; Spike had a hand clasped to the back of Xander's neck; their foreheads touched as they stared into one another's eyes. Willow made an 'aww' face, as she peeked over Tara's shoulder at Doyle. He grinned. She was right: it was too cute.

Doyle turned his attention back to his own unhappy lover. Angel stood stiffly watching the other patrons on the dance floor with a mixture of envy and incomprehension. Doyle gave an inward sigh. He'd made himself a promise that he'd teach Angel to dance, but the enormity of the task sometimes left him a little daunted. However, one thing Angel was good at was the slow numbers, so as usual they ignored the beat of the actual music and swayed to their own silent rhythm. Angel managed a tentative smile. A sort of - 'Is this okay? Am I doing this right?' Doyle gave a genuine smile back. Who couldn't go for a guy who would humiliate himself for the one he loved.

Everything was peaceable until an Okravvch demon that had imbibed a bit too much vodka with its blood and milk, decided to test its courage on Spike. It barrelled across the dance floor; five foot square with a crest of thick bristly hairs running down its back. It looked like a porcupine suffering from steroid abuse. The Okravvch lowered its head and attempted to charge Spike; who leapt nimbly out of the way pulling Xander with him.

"Oi!" Spike called out to Angel. Once he had his Sire's attention he sent his lover over. Angel grabbed the youth and spirited him off the dance floor out of harms way.

Doyle escorted Willow and Tara. "Trust me, you don't wanna be standin' too close for this."

The Okravvch picked itself out of the jumble of tables and chairs it had careened into. Snarling and snuffling it turned back toward Spike. "Come on, bog brush" Spike goaded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Let's see what you've got then." With an enraged cry, the creature threw itself at Spike. Again Spike moved aside, dodging the charge like a matador. Spike then spun around and kicked the demon, adding to its velocity as it flew into another group of tables. Patrons scattered as they moved to get out of the way of the fight, while others crammed closer to watch the action. One, annoyed at losing his drink, made a move to join in. Willow made a discreet motion with her hand, and the confused creature found itself stuck to its seat for the duration of the fight.

Foaming at the mouth the Okravvch picked up a chair and threw it at Spike, who avoided it easily. The chair hit a Sullpa demon standing behind him: it emitted a startled shriek and released a cloud of choking violet smoke. Spike moved away; though the toxic fumes were really only a concern for the patrons who needed to breathe.

Angel eyed the coughing spluttering crowd and sighed. "Stop playing with him, Spike. Finish this and we'll have a drink."

Spike seemed to consider this. "You buyin'?" Angel nodded and Spike brightened. He turned a savage grin upon the Okravvch. "Sorry, mate. Can't play any more." Its angry confusion lasted for less than a minute. Spike shifted into his game-face and attacked, showering the Okravvch with a flurry of kicks and blows. Leaving it curled up in a groaning, bristly ball. Spike sauntered over to the bar. "Blood: the good stuff. None of that watered down crap. Peaches here is buyin'." He jerked a thumb back toward Angel who was walking over to join him.

Xander slipped past Angel to place a victory kiss on Spike's mouth, Spike's arm tightened around the youth's waist as he drew the kiss out. Willow and Tara, giggling, made a show of fanning themselves. Spike released Xander and smirked at the girls, who held up their glasses to chink against his. Acknowledging his triumph.

"Please," said Angel wearily. "Don't encourage him."

Spike and Xander didn't linger at the bar for very long. Hyped up on blood and violence, Spike wanted to indulge in some heavy petting. Willow and Tara ogled the pair until Angel ordered his Childe to 'Take it outside'. Spike sneered at Angel and led an apologetic Xander away. Doyle watched them go and then smiled as he discreetly slipped his hand into Angel's trouser pocket.

Angel nearly spat his drink across the bar. He turned a startled glance on his lover, who gazed innocently back at him. As Doyle's fingers wriggled around, Angel gave a soft whimper.

"Angel? Are you all right?" Tara sounded concerned. However, there was a definite gleam of amusement in her eyes, cheeks pinking slightly.

Angel didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded. He hoped that Spike and Xander wouldn't be long; he didn't want to leave Tara and Willow alone.

"You know," said Willow. "If you two needed to go get some air…or…erm…something. We'll be okay here."

Angel and Doyle both looked at her.

"Witches, remember?" said Willow.

Angel hesitated. He glanced at Doyle - seeing the same rueful acknowledgement. It wouldn't be the thing to do, witches or no. Angel shook his head and had to speak. "No, we're fine," he choked out.

Willow shrugged. "If you're sure." She leaned toward Tara, whispering something that made the other girl smack her on the arm with a gently admonishing: 'Willow.'

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

Outside the evening was warm and damp. Drizzly rain fell, plastering Xander's hair to his head in wet curls. Spike took his lover to a dark, quiet stretch of alleyway. He pressed Xander up against the wall and kissed the young man fiercely. Impatiently tugging the shirt aside to explore the smooth well-honed chest. Xander squirmed and gasped into the kiss. Spike realised that Xander was trying to get something out of his duster pocket. He reluctantly ended the kiss. "What?"

"Needed these," Xander explained breathlessly. Holding up a pair of handcuffs. Spike grinned and reached for them. Xander shook his head, moving them away. "Ah, ah. My turn, I think."

Spike ran his tongue over his lower lip, enjoying the way Xander's pupils dilated even further. He held his wrists out and watched his lover swallow hard. The cold clasp of the metal circled his right wrist as Xander snapped the cuff shut. The young man's eyes darted about the alley.

"Over here," Xander ordered.

Spike allowed himself to be led to a fire escape.

"Is this okay?" Xander asked a touch uncertainly.

Spike responded by holding his arms up above his head. Body taut against the strain.

Xander's eyes glazed over. "Oh. Yeah. That works." Xander reached up; threading the free cuff through the fire escape before snapping it shut around Spike's other wrist. "Mine," he declared possessively.

Spike smiled. "No one else's, Pet." He bit his lip as Xander dropped to his knees, the sight of the dark haired teen kneeling in the dirt making his cock swell. They were well past the foreplay stage. Xander tugged Spike's zipper down allowing his cock to spring free, wrapping warm wet lips around it. Spike swore, struggling not to buck into Xander's mouth. The young man held him close, fingers digging almost painfully into his buttocks. Spike banged his head against the fire escape as Xander's tongue did impossibly wondrous things, blood heat and delicious suction driving him out of his mind. He began a frantic litany of: "Fuck, fuck, fuck…."

Xander squeezed his fingers, encouraging Spike to move, allowing Spike to thrust into his mouth. Spike tilted his head back, warm rain running down his face and throat, soaking into his t-shirt. He felt the head of his cock nudge the roof of Xander's mouth, wicked tongue teasing his foreskin. He couldn't hold back any longer and with a cry he came, spilling his seed into Xander's eager, waiting mouth. He felt Xander swallow, again and again. His hips continued to move until the last shudders of orgasm slipped away. Xander gave one last gentle suckle and released him; tongue fluttering back out to clean away the final traces.

Spike hung from the cuffs feeling satisfyingly wrung out. He looked down at his lover, who sat back on his heels wearing a well-pleased smirk. Spike rediscovered his voice. "How about you, luv?"

Xander's smirk curved into a cat-got-the-cream smile. He stood up and looped one arm loosely around Spike's waist. "Watch me," he whispered, unbuttoning his fly.
Spike jerked against the cuffs as Xander took himself in hand, fingers sliding up and down his cock with practised ease. Xander was close to the edge and it didn't take long. He muffled his shout against Spike's shoulder as his release flowed out over them both.

Spike whined and craned his neck, trying to reach his lover.

Xander turned his head to expose his throat, sighing as Spike's fangs punctured his skin. When Spike drew back he kissed red-smeared lips. "Love you."

"Mine," said Spike fervently.

"Yes." Xander unlocked the cuffs, glancing with faint apology at the sticky strands clinging to their clothing. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Spike ruffled the young man's hair. "Idiot." He looked up at the night sky. The rain was falling heavier now. "Few more minutes of this and Red'll never know."

Xander flushed with mortification. "Oh, God. Willow." He buried his head back against Spike's shoulder.

Spike was amused. "I think she knows we're not out 'ere countin' the stars, Pet."

Xander groaned. "Just kill me now."

A chuckling Spike slowly led his lover back toward the club. He didn't bother hiding his amusement as he rejoined the others; the scent of arousal so heavy the air was choked with it. He sniggered at the expression on his Sire's face when he pretended to want another round of drinks.

"We're leaving," said Angel.

"Now," agreed Doyle, already heading for the door.

Spike put his arm around a still blushing Xander. As he made his way to the exit the witches followed, the pair of them giggling and whispering. Spike gave the doorman a cheery parting grin; throwing his head back and laughing when the demon hurriedly stepped away - Spike put his arm around a still blushing Xander. As he made his way to the exit the witches followed, the pair of them giggling and whispering. Spike gave the doorman a cheery parting grin; throwing his head back and laughing when the demon hurriedly stepped away only to collide with a tiny Jenta that inflated like a puffer fish, shooting a series of needle-sized spines into the doorman's leg. Yeah, life was pretty good.

Continue to the sequel - The Offering