The Longest Distance Between Two Points - Chapter 1

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice

Robert Frost

William sat contentedly and quietly by himself on the wide window seat, behind the thick, red velvet curtain, smoking. He'd had the best three days of his unlife. Scary monster, as he liked privately to call his Sire, was absent. The Bitchqueen was closeted upstairs in her room, and his beloved, but extremely tiresome darling Drucilla, was with her. So, that had left him master of all he surveyed. Well, master of the large reception room he'd chosen for his own when they had first tortured and then slaughtered the owners of this quiet country seat.

He didn't know where Angelus had gone and didn't care. Angelus was a frightening, evil presence that made William's unlife seem tenuous and restrictive. William had no actual complaint to level against the scary one; Angelus had hardly ever spoken to him for the whole year that William had been his Childe. Angelus tolerated his presence, occasionally allowed him to have Drucilla, and that, was that. He ignored William, and William ignored him. No, William had no actual complaint to make except, perhaps, for that very lack of concern that his own Sire showed for his youngest Childe's welfare. Left up to Angelus, William would have been staked or starved long before this. He felt he had only survived his first year of turning purely through his own wits, cunning, and occasional flashes of charm that had saved him from the Bitchqueen's wrath. It was more a sort of underlying fear that Angelus continually induced in William that made him hate him so. Although Angelus never spoke to him, William always felt as if there was a great deal of conversation going on behind those deep, brown eyes, only that he couldn't hear it. Although Angelus rarely looked at him, he nevertheless felt that Angelus' eyes were on him all the time, even when Angelus wasn't physically present. And that was very scary, especially for a newly turned demon who had found that now he was afraid of almost nothing. All of his previous, human fears had just dissolved in the potent blood he had presumably received from Angelus. No one ever spoke of his turning, so he had had to find out sketchy details from minions who had heard the story and were glad to boast of their superior information to Angelus' new Childe. Fear of death, fear of disease, fear of injury and disfigurement, fear of getting old, fear of being ridiculous, fear of family or friends dying, fear of fear itself… all gone, all washed away in that flowing, blood red river that was Angelus' gift to him.

So, the mystery of his turning added to the fear that Angelus induced in William's otherwise fearless demon heart. Angelus was just there in his thoughts all the time like an overwhelming blackness that he feared to shine a light on and examine. Because William refused to examine or admit the treacherous thoughts that seeped into his head every time he thought about his Sire. It was like trying to hold ice when he was a boy, finding a clear, cold shard hanging from the eves of his house. He couldn't hold the thought in his head that said there was more to his hatred of Angelus than the understandable distain he would feel at being continually ignored and the fear from his overactive imagination that his very, 'being ignored', had some evil significance to it. Just as with the icicle which had slipped out of his small frozen hands, so did all other, confusing thoughts of Angelus slip out of his mind with an icy slither. Thoughts of Angelus that were not black, but red. Thoughts of Angelus that induced not fear, but empty ache that only killing and feeding and pain would remove from his heart. He found this inability to concentrate on these other feelings strange. He never had a problem thinking about other things or other people. He spent his whole time thinking, it was one of his biggest problems. He wished he could think less and act more. But he had been a thoughtful human and the demon had merely sent this thoughtfulness on a new and more interesting track. Now, he did not think in rhyme, hearing rhythmic words pounding in his head until he had to wake in the night and write furiously of his thoughts and longings. No, now he thought of ancient things and of the future and of passion in the blood and what being a demon meant. But he had no answers for any of these things and he knew that eventually, given time, the demon in him would stop thinking. He almost looked forward to that day. So it puzzled him that now, he could not think about the largest and most dominant force in his unlife, Angelus.

Bitchqueen he could think about quite well. He loathed her and everything about her. She was spooky. She reminded him of dolls in old musty shops that had eyes that looked too knowing. She always seemed too small for her elaborate clothing. She was the portrait in the attic, manifest in whore's clothing. She carried and showed the evil of her many years. Oh yes, William had no problem thinking about Darla. Usually how to avoid her and retain his currently, quite interesting, undead status. He could think about Drucilla even more easily. She was ever present in his mind a dark, chaotic worry that entranced him and held him captive for love. Admittedly, his thoughts of Drucilla were confusing. He found her exotic, passionate and very, very satisfying in bed but she wore him out with her need of him and her madness plagued him. She was one of his few fears now. Could he cope with her for eternity? He sometimes feared he could not, that he was not strong enough and it was this, fear of himself, which was the real fear.

He had no idea why he had been turned by one or other or all of this strange vampire trio. He would have thought that he was an unlikely candidate for anyone to choose to be a vampire relative. He'd heard stories of Angelus before the Vampire's turning, stories of drunkenness and whoring and fighting that fitted the demonic persona he had adopted. Darla's past spoke for itself. She was a vicious whore alive or dead. Even Drucilla had an aura of religious mysticism about her that added a delicious counterpoint to the unholy thing she had become. He though, had been a weak, spineless man sniveling in a barn when they'd found him. He had been a virgin, had never even seen a dead body let along helped produce one and he had a tendency to faint at the sight or smell of blood. Obviously, that particular aspect of his humanity had been the first thing to go, but still, he feared his ability to make the complete transition to being a demon that the others had made. His shreds of humanity, therefore, made him love Drucilla with a human level of passion, but that very humanity in him and the weakness it implied, made him afraid for their future together. So again, William had no problem thinking deeply, constantly and often sadly on the other members of his new family.

It was just thoughts of Angelus that escaped him. If he tried to think about him, he got confused. If he tried to concentrate on his Sire's voice, that voice started to whisper illicit things to him that he didn't understand or want. If he tried to concentrate on his person that was even worse, because Angelus appeared to him in his mind, as he never appeared to him for real. When William thought about Angelus, Angelus smiled and came towards him. When William thought about Angelus entering a room, in his mind, Angelus only had eyes for him. And that was so unreal it scared him, so again, the ice slipped through his fingers and left nothing but its cold tracks of fear.

He partially blamed Drucilla for this inability to think rationally about Angelus and therefore to never be able to think about Angelus at all. Sometimes in the dark, as he plundered Drucilla' soft folds with his cold, hard power, he felt all the power was actually hers in her madness and that this madness passed into him through the bodily fluids oozing between them. She worshiped her 'Daddy', found the core of her madness through his creation of her and this passion, like passion for the Lamb of God, seeped out of her and illuminated her like spectral flickers around her moist center and William felt scorched by it. When he pushed his tongue between her willing lips, the insanity of her words recorded and trapped in the soft walls of her mouth, played in his head and recorded its own presence there, contaminating him. He felt himself to be mad sometimes and blamed this entirely on this obsession with his dark princess.

Angelus was nothing to him but a more powerful Vampire who ruled the house. Nothing more. Ever. He thought this and tried to ignore that cold burning sensation as the spike of ice, that was other thoughts of Angelus, burrowed its deceitful way into his brain.

So Angelus being absent was good as far as William was concerned. For one thing, it had given him the opportunity to work on his 'great moment' as he called it in his head, actually being able to visualise the quote marks. William felt himself to be evolving. Something else was emerging from the shell that was William. He felt it. He felt he was no longer, a William. No longer the bookish, pathetic poet that had been the butt of his friends' humour. Now, he was a vicious, inventive killer with a taste for torture and pain that almost rivaled his Sire's. Almost. Now, Angelus was a good name. He had to give Scary that. Angelus. It spoke of mysticism and incense and useless prayers to a God that would never protect you from the death that the Vampire was bringing. William smacked of tearooms, wrapping up warmly and doing as your mother told you. So he had decided it was time for a change of name. Trouble was, he just couldn't decide to what. It was important, the names Vampires call themselves. He pushed to one side the destructive thought that it didn't matter what he called himself, he would always be a William and concentrated on his shortlist. He'd gotten it down to three favorites: Wraith, Razor and Shadow. Quite why he had fixed on these three he couldn't have easily said, but they stuck in his mind and seemed to give the necessary impression of grandeur and mystery and strength that he was looking for. Wraith was his favourite at the moment and he often pictured others calling him that to see how it sounded. One thing was for certain, Wraith would never be laughed at, he would not frequent teashops, he would never wear warm clothing and he would never, ever do as his mother told him. Angelus' very unexpected, but welcome three day absence had given William the space to use his new name a few times openly. He felt it didn't sound as good out loud as it did in his head, but it was a work in progress. He had plenty of time to decide. Eternity really, if only he could escape from this dysfunctional Vampire family he had unwittingly inherited and strike out on his own.

The official reason for Angelus' disappearance had never openly been discussed in William's presence by either Darla or Drucilla. But William was not stupid and he had good hearing. There had been a terrible argument between Scary and Spooky. Spooky had become hysterical and vicious, Scary had stormed out of the house with two of his minions. William did not know what the argument had been about, neither did he care really; they seemed to argue all the time lately. They seemed to fuck less too, a fact which would have amused and pleased William no end, purely with the thought of the insatiable Angelus suffering, had it not been for the fact that both Angelus and Darla turned to Drusilla for convenient relief when not getting relief from each other. This obviously distracted Drusilla and took her away from William. She had been up with Darla now for the whole day and although William enjoyed the peace this brought him, he missed her too. He had discovered one thing about unlife in his long year of experiencing it. Mostly, it was boring. Mostly, it consisted of sitting around waiting for the dark with only lunatic demons for company. Mostly, there was very little to do and vampires had acquired a totally undeserved reputation for sexual stamina for the simple reason that, usually unable to think, read, write or do anything else, they turned to sex. It passed the time.

The house was, by now, very quiet. William hadn't bothered ordering candles. He never liked risking the minions defying him when Angelus wasn't there. It would have undermined his already curious and undefined role as a Childe of the household. He had never quite worked out what the difference between minion and Childe was other than the fact that he was ignored and belittled whilst Angelus conferred, planned and worked closely with his trusted minions. So in the absence of candles the room in which William sat was not only quiet but was also gloomy and rather depressing. He felt fortunate to have his cigarettes and his thoughts for company, two things in his threatening life that never let him down.

He was surprised, however, a few moments later to hear the front door of the house fly open and crash loudly against the wall and to hear a loud voice bellowing and singing hideously off key. This was unbelievable because that was Angelus: Angelus who always moved as stealthily as an invisible cat. There was no doubt about it; that noise, that intrusion was Angelus. Angelus was clearly, very, very drunk.

William had never seen Angelus drunk before. He couldn't quite recall ever seeing him drink at all. Darla often claimed that she had first met Angelus in a pub, drunk and that she had lured him still drunk into an alley and turned him. William didn't know how true this claim was, but it seemed extremely reasonable to him that if being bitten and pressed to Darla's breasts had been the outcome of Angelus' excessive drinking on his last night as a human, it was entirely understandable that Angelus would never want to drink again. Obviously this thought was clouded by William's endless hatred of and revulsion for Darla and every part of her, particularly her breasts which she pumped up and showed off at any and every opportunity.

William was now glad, as he listened to Angelus holler for Darla and crash uncertainly but loudly through the house, that he had not called for candles and that he was hidden in the deep gloom of the empty room. He didn't like Angelus sober. Drunk, Angelus was a terrifying thought.

A brief flicker of concern crossed his mind for Drusilla as Angelus eventually found his way to the master bedroom where the women had passed the day. But it was only a flicker. Darla would no doubt fall on Angelus in a three-day, no-orgasm-frenzy and divert the drunken demon before he could unleash any unwanted attention on Drusilla.

It was with enormous surprise, therefore, that William heard Darla screeching loudly at Angelus when he reached the bedroom. And not the sort of screeching she usually indulged in on seeing her Childe. No, this was fury. This was unleashed anger. This was venom. Darla apparently didn't like drunks and wouldn't tolerate the smell of alcohol or the smell of Angelus in his current state. William let the delicious thought of Darla in her previous incarnation, being bought and poked by successive New World drunks, flit across his mind. He liked remembering that Darla was nothing more than a dead prostitute. It amused him to think this when she puffed up her chest and strutted around like the Bitchqueen from hell, giving him orders. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming and being bolted securely from the inside.

William smirked to himself. He hoped Angelus was hard, aching, weeping and desperate for it. Because now he would suffer. Now he might have to use one of Darla's maid minions, and that would belittle the great, high and mighty Angelus. Anything that pricked Angelus' self-inflated balloon was fine in William's book. He lit another cigarette and considered turning in himself. With Drucilla locked in with the spooky one he guessed he was sleeping alone again. He wasn't tired though, was slightly hungry and had been thinking and smoking too much, three things he usually found kept him awake.

He turned his head to gaze out at the moon, which was sending cold rays of illumination through the lattice and on to his pale skin. He heard, therefore, rather than saw, Angelus come into the room. He heard a soft thud, a muffled curse and a crash as fire irons were swept away by Angelus' angry reaction to tripping over the rug and crashing into the fireplace. Fortunately for Angelus, William had not called for the fire to be lit either. Looking at Angelus now, sprawled where the fire would have been had he had the courage to call the minions, William was rather sorry he had been such a coward. But he didn't have time to explore that thought and picture Angelus roasting on an open fire because Angelus, here, now, was not good. Angelus, here, now, needed to be thought about urgently. William desperately hoped that Angelus' appearance in the room was a total coincidence and that he had not been noticed, half hidden as he was by the thick curtain.

Not so. Angelus picked himself up with difficulty from the floor and staggered over to the windowsill where William was sitting.

Oh bloody hell.

He sat down too and peered balefully at William as if William were the cause and continuance of all his troubles.

'Whatya doin'?'

William wasn't sure how to answer this. Not because he couldn't think what to say to such a simple question. After all, he could have easily replied; 'smoking', or, 'just sitting here', or even, 'what do you think I'm doing you evil, drunken whoremaster'. No, it was the fact that this was the first question Angelus had ever put directly to him in all of this long year, which rather bewildered him. The first time almost his Sire had ever spoken to him. And over a year the absence of such communication had not gone unnoticed by William. He was somewhat at a loss how to reply, therefore, not having had direct experience of how 'not to anger Daddy', something Drucilla was well versed in. But whatever, he guessed the drunken whoremaster jibe was not the most judicious and opted instead for a totally non-committal reply that would not earn him either a beating or a prolonged evening listening to Angelus' drunken ramblings.

'Looking at the moon.'

'Why?'

Bugger. He was hoping his reply would immediately bore Angelus, smacking as it did of poetry and romantic things and that being Angelus, who had the romantic heart of a dead troll, he would just go. William did not like sitting this close to Angelus, he did not like Angelus looking at him, he did not like Angelus talking to him and most particularly he did not like Angelus breathing on him. Drunken Angelus was breathing and drunken Angelus was breathing noxious alcohol fumes at him. William was disgusted in equal measure by the smell of second hand alcohol and by the fact that he had found he had something in common with the Bitchqueen, something he had thought would never happen. Except of course for their fondness for Drucilla in their beds but he preferred not to dwell on that. Ever. William discovered he did not like the smell of alcohol either.

'Are ya goin' ter answer me lad?'

So, why did he like looking at the moon? Good question and one that deserved a good answer. Yes, drunken, hated Sire deserved a good answer because he had been thoughtful enough to ask one question…NO!… two questions now to his youngest male Childe in the whole year since his turning.

'Because I can't look at the sun anymore.'

Angelus continued to stare at William. William visibly saw in his mind's eye Angelus' hand creeping to the thick leather belt he wore. He saw the belt being removed and the flicker from the leather as it whipped towards him. He almost felt the sting as it connected with his unprotected face. Angelus was quick to anger and slow to vent that anger on his victims.

William was therefore alarmed, astonished and slightly sickened when instead of moving to beat him, Angelus slowly blinked his eyes, a slow sensual movement that released two large teardrops, one from each eye. William watched in fascinated horror as the tears rolled down Angelus' face, drying and disappearing before they reached his jaw line. William kept his eyes fastened on that jaw line. Nothing, nothing in this world or the next could have made him lift his eyes to look directly at Angelus again. Oh unholy night! Angelus might actually start to cry! William would honestly have said he'd rather see Angelus aiming his belt at him than see Angelus cry on him. And oh, wasn't the cold trail of that deceitful ice shard working its way into his brain again. He hated Angelus. He loathed Angelus. He was disgusted by Angelus. He forced those thoughts to the fore of his mind and tried to mentally warm the ice thoughts and make them melt away.

But eventually, like the swaying cobra mesmerized by the flute, William was forced to look directly at his Sire again. Angelus, thank the unholies, was not actually crying, but his eyes were full of unshed tears and this served to emphasis their deep, dark brown, unearthly beauty. Angelus' eyes were beautiful. William could almost feel the icicles forming unheeded in his brain. Treacherous thoughts. Bad thoughts. Angelus' eyes were not beautiful; he had to cling to that belief. He hated Angelus. He loathed Angelus. He was disgusted by Angelus. That was his mantra and he needed to repeat it.

Things then went rapidly from bad to worse because Angelus reached out his hand and laid it on William's knee. And blinked again. Hand on knee and two more tears. This was awful. William actually felt slightly nauseous. He had absolutely no idea what to do for the best. Staying here was not an option. God knows what Angelus might do next. He might try to apologize for the year of neglect. He might want to talk about Darla. Oh no, anything but that! William tried to move his knee away, without actually moving it and upsetting the drunken, very large Vampire more. Angelus only increased his grip and leant his head on the cold glass of the window.

'She dinna love me anymore, Will.'

Fuck. The talk about Darla option. What had he done to deserve this? He did not want a rambling tirade from Angelus about how Darla didn't understand him. And had Angelus just called him Will? To William's knowledge, Angelus didn't even know he was called William, let alone now calling him Will. He almost took the opportunity to tell Angelus that he was, in fact, called Wraith, but it sounded silly in his head as the words formed so he kept quiet.

Angelus looked down at his hand on William's knee. 'Aye lad, she's jealous. She knows. She's wise is ma Sire, ma beautiful Sire.' He choked on the last rendition of the word, Sire, and started kneading Spike's knee painfully, as if trying to make bread with the hard, fleshless bones.

William had the bizarre thought that maybe Angelus was having an affair and almost spluttered out loud at this. He pictured some human female somewhere fancying herself in love with the Vampire. He could see how that might upset Darla a little. He didn't know, being a virgin when he was turned, but he had a feeling that Vampire cunt would not compare favorably with that of human cunt. He had always thought of Darla anyway, as being cold, unwholesome and slightly rank. He imagined living women to be fragrant, warm and delicious, although he doubted now he would ever have the chance to try one. Well, a volunteer one anyway.

If William thought the evening had reached rock bottom he was sadly mistaken because having given up trying to get a rise out of his knee, Angelus decided to use it as a cushion instead and laid his head sadly down to rest in the crook where William had it bent up on the seat. William now effectively had Angelus' head in his lap and Angelus' long, soft hair spilling out over his thighs and…other areas he did not want to think about lest that ice in his mind spread out till he could not function for the destruction of his rational mind that usually held the ice effectively in check.

William felt ridiculous. He didn't know where to put his hands. He sort of hovered them for a while in the air then laid them softly on Angelus' hair because there was really nowhere else left for them to go.

Angelus' hair felt like a memory.

It felt like a memory of sunlight and watching flecks of dust spiral in a sunbeam that was illuminating long, blond hair. Hair that had belonged to the person who had loved him the most in the world and who had told him that there were no such things as monsters. And, with the memory of that sunbeam hot in his mind, the ice in his head finally melted and like waters breaking, his unbidden, unwanted thoughts about Angelus flooded his mind. Angelus, the God-like figure he adored. Angelus, the one he desperately wanted to want him. Angelus the center of his dead world and the light in his perpetual darkness. He had the creature he loved most in the world in his lap. He was alone with him for a few precious minutes before reality returned. And William knew that nothing would be the same for him again because once melted, he couldn't refreeze these thoughts. Once admitted, there was no going back for him. He loved Angelus, had always loved Angelus, he needed him and he wanted him.

Quite what that want consisted of he couldn't yet have said. William's self knowledge was so very poor that it had taken him this whole year to admit to himself that he didn't hate Angelus. The want part of all of this was still very vague in his mind. He had romantic notions of how a Sire and Childe…a Sire and male Childe…a male Sire and male Childe should be and it had a heroic, manly touch to it. He imagined noble warrior-like bonding rituals and deep, undying platonic friendship. How he therefore explained away in his own mind the insistent erection that Angelus' head in his lap had brought on, he couldn't have said. It puzzled him and it was his erection! He put it down to the pressure and weight of Angelus' head and nothing more. It obviously couldn't be the feel of Angelus' hair or the slight rubbing movements Angelus was making with his head in William's lap.

Uh? Hold on one minute! Was Angelus actually rubbing his head in William's lap? Was Angelus rubbing his cheek against William's erect cock?

William had absolutely no idea what he would do if things continued to develop along the scary lines they were now.

He'd been having sex for just one year. Before that, in his human life, he'd been all too aware of the many risks of having sex before a safe, secure marriage. He didn't fancy the act enough to risk it with a whore and he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a nice girl. So one year of sex, on and off with Drucilla when she wasn't pleasuring one of the others was the sum of his experience.

Lying in Dru's arms he had often thought, as he listened to the screams, howls, panting, grunting, chanting and pleading coming from his Sire's room that he was missing some vital element in the whole sex act thing. He could hardly ask Drucilla. She was convinced that his cock was a separate person from him, frequently talked to it and sometimes tried to dress it in Miss Edith's clothes. So he didn't much trust Dru's judgement on matters of the bed. As no one else spoke to him, he was a bit limited in his avenues of research on the subject. But whatever, he knew with a certainty born of intelligent intuition, that his experience of sex did not match Angelus' or Darla's. William had never screamed, howled, panted, shouted or begged and neither had Drucilla. She sometimes sang, but he felt that to be entirely coincidental rather than pleasure induced.

Listening to activities in the other room made him confused though, for as he most certainly didn't want to be the cause of any noises in Darla, except perhaps for a final huff as she turned to dust, then just who did he want to induce those noises in? Did he really picture himself replacing Darla? Did he imagine himself lying under Angelus as, with his head thrown back, Angelus came with urgent cries and deep hard thrusts deep into his slim, hard body? He was fairly sure he didn't want this. He was fairly certain that the thought of what some men did with other men in bed, was disgusting. Illegal and disgusting. He couldn't think of a cock going…there without revulsion. Could he? Surely that was by definition, totally unnatural? Surely there was only one use for that place and not a pleasant use at that. But then, of course, that was not something he now had to worry about; was it? Now, he was freed from the more unpleasant side of human waste removal. He had no waste and thus, no need to remove it. Not that this interesting vampire attribute had been explained to him by any of his useless, mad new family. Oh no, he'd suffered weeks of worry and anxiety and useless mixing of bran into his blood before he'd realised that that side of his previous life was over.

So, technically, there was nothing to revolt him in thinking about Angelus' cock in his backside.

So he thought about it for a while as Angelus pressed and rolled his head in William's lap. He continued to think pleasantly about it until Angelus turned his head and put his mouth over the front of William's britches and started biting and licking at the swelling he found there.

Now, William had been willing to give Angelus the benefit of the doubt that he was drunk and that lying in William's lap he had been completely unaware of the effect he was having by pressing with his head and rolling it around a little. Biting and licking at his cock was more difficult to explain away as a drunken aberration.

It appeared that Angelus had been thinking about William's cock and / or William's backside too. Two cocks. Two backsides. William was not especially good at arithmetic, preferring poetry and other easy subjects, but even he could work out the number of potential permutations there. Angelus then added a new factor to the equation. Mouth. Angelus unbuttoned William's britches and released his cock and took it in his mouth. Two cocks, two backsides and two mouths…should he work that out as a linear increase or an exponential one? William felt a little exponential at this very moment. He had just discovered one thing he had entirely missed out on for the last year of his new found sexual life. He had never had a talented mouth on his cock, a mouth that belonged to a body that had its own cock and, therefore, knew exactly where to lick, what and when to suck and how long to do both those things for.

Angelus was clearly talented, enthused and very, very, insistent. William hissed at the feel of his hard cock in Angelus' soft mouth and reared back against the cold glass. The moonlight was, by now, the only light in the room and it cast Angelus' head in a white, eerie glow. William felt detached from reality. Angelus, who only a few minutes ago he'd have said he hated, or at least didn't think much about at all, had William's cock deep in his throat and had…oh, sweet unholy one…and had started a deep, strong, humming against the sensitive tip which was pressed against the back vibrating wall.

William finally felt a sensation that did indeed make him want to scream. He satisfied the urge, however, by merely panting. Even in this moment of bliss he was able to have the very clear thought that a scream in the house at this quiet hour of the night would not be good.

So he just panted and came.

Just like that. Hard, fast spurting deep into Angelus' throat. Waves of fierce pleasure erupted from his balls, along his swollen shaft and pumped out of the opening slit. He felt waves of pure physical pleasure that made his nerve endings frazzle in his toes, made him dig his nails deeply into Angelus' scalp, made him screw his eyes tightly shut and see colours explode behind the lids. He continued to pump his cold sperm into Angelus' mouth long after he usually dried up on Drucilla. But then Drucilla didn't do the humming thing and therefore didn't also manage the exquisite counterpoint with her tongue on the underside of his shaft that Angelus managed. Dru didn't use her lips like a whirlpool sucking him down. Dru, clearly, was just not Angelus. The very thought of his powerful, remote, scary Sire doing this was so unexpected and erotic it made William find yet a few more drops of cum from somewhere and add them to the gallons he seemed to have pumped into Angelus already.

He now had no idea what he was supposed to do or what Angelus was going to do. Whatever he'd expected, William had not expected Angelus to rear up and catch his face in his hands. He didn't expect Angelus to press his mouth to his own and urge entry with his insistent tongue. He certainly didn't expect kissing. He'd only imagined cold bodies entering each other in the dark. He'd imagined remote physical acts involving that interesting mathematical equation of cock-plus-cock-plus-backside, squared, times mouth, times-two. He'd not even considered ever kissing a man and certainly never kissing Angelus. Angelus who he had tried to hate. Angelus who now smelt powerfully of the drink he had clearly consumed in vast quantities that day.

William suddenly found a whole new meaning in the idea of drinking spirits. Spirits. Forever, he felt these spirits would haunt him. Forever, the slightest whiff of this whisky, gin, beer and rum combination would bring him back to this time, to this room, to this window seat, to the feel of this demon kissing him with this pale moonlight illuminating these pale features. Spirits indeed. For the rest of his unlife he would be haunted by these spirits, perhaps forever trying to find in the bottom of a bottle where the spirits lived, the key that would unlock this memory for him and make it real once more.

He hoped that he would find it, because he had very quickly decided that kissing Angelus was much nicer than hating him. Kissing his Sire sent shocks down the nerves in his spinal column. Kissing Angelus made William come alive again. Kissing Angelus made William grab at Angelus' hair and try desperately to get more. It made him open his mouth to try and swallow Angelus whole, it made him harden again and thrust this hardness against Angelus' stomach. It made him want to scream again. It made him desperately want Angelus inside him in other, more intimate ways.

The kissing took away the very last of William's restraint. He wanted Angelus' cock, he wanted it buried deep inside him and he wanted it now.