*****

Spike's POV

Oh crap. Now this ain't right. This is fucking weird. Cus I distinctly remember going to bed last night: in his bed. Oh yeah. I remember that all right. Cus I went to bed alone. And I remember before that having me shower: in his bathroom. Cus I showered alone. And before that I remember watching his TV. Cus I was friggin watching it alone. And yeah, I remember all day doing stuff by meself cus we'd had another fucking argument. All we seem to do these days is argue. So I was thinking of coming back here: to me crypt. But I hadn't actually done it. Well, didn't think I had anyway. But I'm here now.

Shit happens on the Hellmouth, but this is just.odd. Everything looks normal. I feel normal. I'm still dead. I'm still me. Maybe it's another dimension. Fucking dimensions. Maybe it's a spell. Sodding spells. Hey, maybe the last six months have been a dream. Going to LA. Living with the poof. Being with the poof. Arguing with the poof. Shit, I hope not. Cus mostly it was good. Till it wasn't. Till it got bad. Very bad.

Shit.

So, what the fucking hell am I supposed to do now? Better go an' see the Watcher. Ask him what 'planet' this is. 'Hello Rupert, what month is it, and am I actually here?' Fuck, do NOT want to do this.

God, Sunnydale cemetery don't change. That's reassuring. And hey, there's a juicy human over there. Sittin' on a bench in the middle of the night, on his own, in a cemetery on the Hellmouth.

Uh huh.

Wish I could bite 'im.

Hum. If the last six months have been a dream, maybe the last six months plus four months when I got fucking chipped have been a dream too. Oh God I don't believe in, pleaseee make me not have this chip anymore. Pleaseee when I creep up behind this warm, soft, gorgeous, moist, coppery, young man, pleaseee don't let me.

Oh friggin' hell. Oh me head. Oh shit. Fucking fuck. Why is everything else different and wrong but not THIS?

'Did you just try to kiss me? Are you trying to pick me up? Are you cruising? And what's wrong with your head?'

Oh.

Err

Oh.

Jesus, am I speechless for the first time in one hundred and twenty six years? 'Hello, Angel? Liam? Hello.'

'Do you know me?'

'Err.' I'm not sure how to answer this young man who is, Angel. Well, not Angel, cus Angel is dead. So, is this Liam? But this young man looks like LA Angel, not fucking Irish Liam. Those shreds didn't come out of no bog! That $300 hair wasn't hacked by a knife. So I don't really know what to say. 'I don't know. Do I?'

'Well, you're the one who tried to kiss me.you should know.'

'I DID NOT TRY TO FRIGGIN' KISS YOU! I'm a soddin' Vam.I'm not a fuckin' poof. It was a mistake.' Big, big mistake. 'So who the hell are you, and what are you doing in this place in the middle of the night? Don't you know this is Sunnydale?'

'I don't know. I wasn't here: then I was. Now I can't really remember much of anything. Why have you got nail polish on if you're not gay? And just what were you doing to my neck then?'

'Look, let's get out of here shall we? It's not a good idea to hang around this place in the dark. I should know. I'm going to visit a friend. Wanna come?'

'Is this a sort of 'he's got nice puppies you can stroke' kind of friend. If it is, then no.'

'I am NOT gay.'

'You sound gay.'

'Fuck off.I'm English.'these-colours-don't-run-fucking-English'.get it? Suit yerself. Come or don't come. I don't care.' But oh, please come, cus this is the most intriguing thing that has ever happened to me. Well, except for being turned that is. But this is Angel. Angel's body, Angel's voice, Angel's hair.yep, same hair. Angel's clothes. Angel's walk. And let's see.Angel's ass. But this is a man in his early twenties and he clearly don't know me. Ohhhh, endless possibilities.

'Watcher. Wake up. It's me. Watcher!'

'Your friend doesn't seem to be home.'

'Observant little fuck ain't yer? And that's never stopped me before. Ahh, there we are.' Git hides the key under a pot. What an innocent.

Odd. Again. Wonder where he is. Still, better make meself at home: he'd want that.

'So what now?'

'Beer now.'

'So, what now?'

'Whaaat.'

'You've drunk all the beer now. And the whisky. So what now? I'm feeling really tired and I want to go to sleep and wake up somewhere other than here. Somewhere I should be. Which is clearly, not here.'

Oh, that can be arranged. Cus you are beautiful and I'm drunk. And I want you. And I think I'll want you tomorrow. And the day after that. But don't want you getting all wrinkly. Don't want false teeth. Nah. Think I want you just as you are. Forever. Just like my Angel. But I ain't ever done this before. It's not something you just get up an' do. Is it? How did the poof do it? Can't remember. Concentrating on his large cock up me arse at the time. Oh. Now that's a thought.

But that's gonna be interesting cus that's exactly what's not been happening in LA. That's what all the arguments have been about. Cus it just ain't right. I keep tellin' 'im. You're the Sire. I'm the Childe and I ain't gonna stick it up yer arse. Ain't right and I ain't gonna do it. And he don't like that one bit. Says I don't love him, says I'm selfish. And duh! Course, I don't tell 'im the real reason. The truth is, I'm scared. Scared that I won't match up to the skill and expectation of a two hundred and fifty year old, very practiced Master Vampire.

So young, moist, fleshy, warm, smelly, edible Angel/Liam, what AM I gonna do about this little problem hey? Can you answer me that, me little happy meal?

'I'm going to find the bed and crash out. And with any luck you will be gone in the morning and this will all be just a dream.'

I watch him as he sleeps. And he is totally Angel now. The awake version was bizarre. Angel, with no poofy bits. Angel, with no 'Dark Avenger' swagger. Angel, without the swirly coat. That was weird. But this sleeping figure could be, Angel. In the cold flesh. Hey! 'Cept that! That ain't Angel's. That's at least two inches longer. Fucking hell. How come this Angel's got a bigger dick? What sort of shitty parallel universe is this? This never happened on any episode of Star Trek I've ever seen. Hey.maybe this works for everyone here.

Oh Bloody Hell.what kind of shit is this? This is NOT mine. Well, it looks like mine, feels like mine. It's on me. But SODDING, FUCKING HELL! I am way bigger than this little thing. I am nine inches of solid fucking shaft. This is six inches of sausage.

I'm gonna kill someone.

Know what?

Think I'll kill him.

*****
Part 2:

Oh god. What am I supposed to do now? He's dead. He's gonna 'wake up' soon. And then there'll be me. His Sire. And he'll want stuff. Oh shit, he'll want feeding and changing and playing with. And I ain't got time. Got stuff to do. Bad, evil stuff. He'll want to tag along. He'll be rude and break things. Oh God, oh God. Where is his friggin' GrandSire when he's wanted? Angel should be dealing with this. But oh, look at him. I run my fingers through his damp, sweaty hair. He's surprising this one. Thought I wasn't going to be able to do it. What with me chip an' all. Tried sneaking up on `im when he was most asleep. Thought if he was deep enough he wouldn't feel it. So it wouldn't hurt. So I could. But little lovely woke up at first prick - of me teeth that is. But did he scream? Did he fuck. He took one look at me grrr face and pulled me to his neck, held me there, stretched it back and.moaned. It was ecstasy. Me first warm, wriggling human in over six months. And a human looking like Angel. Tasting like Angel.

If I hadn't have been hard before, the moaning would have tipped me right over. But even then. Fuck it...this pisses me off. Even then, this pliant, warm, seeping body beneath me. EVEN THEN I just couldn't do it. I couldn't enter him. He was still Angel, Angelus, God, my Sire. And I just can't. But...I'm not so sure now. He don't look so much like Angel now. All dead an' all. Lying limp in me arms. Should `ave buried him really, in the garden. Done it properly. Start as you mean to go on. But Angelus held me like this till I came round. New. And better. So I guess I wanted to too.

Shit, I'd better decide what I'm gonna do with him now. Rules. I'd better decided on some rules. No fucking swearing first off. And he's gonna call me Sire, or Sir. Don't mind which. `Cept when we're doing stuff...good stuff...then he can call me Master. What else? No hair gell. Leather. Lots of leather. Hey, I might like this Sire stuff. Got me a new toy to play with! Angel toy. What should I call him? Hum.little Spike? Nah, makes him sound like a toothpick. Little William? Oh.yeah.like that. Billy, I'm gonna call him Billy. Angel'll be pissed when he learns he was called after the rock God himself. And for the first time since I moved to LA I realise how I've started to think about Angel with every thing I do. Must tell Angel this. Angel'll like that. It's Angel, Angel, Angel till my head pounds with him. My body too. I'm fuckin' obsessed with him. What will I do if I never see him again? If this is all there is going to be.

Oh soddin' hell I'm even turning into him. I have a childe and now I'm fucking brooding too. Right. That's it. NO MORE. I'm gonna get drunk, again.and.err.break something. Yeah. Then I'll.oh God I'll have little Bill with me. He'll need feeding straight away.

Oh, now there's a thought. I think I may have just got myself a walking blood donation centre. Oh boy.Billy's gonna catch a little fishy for his Daddy.

'Oh sodding HELL. How can you have inherited the fucking chip? Try again.oh sod it. Sod it!' It's a piece of metal! Inherit me stunning good looks. Inherit me piercing blue eyes. Inherit me rapier sharp wit. Fuck it, inherit me fucking sexual prowess. But NOT the sodding chip! 'Put 'im down then. Stop licking 'im,' that ain't gonna get Daddy fed. 'Come ON!'

I don't fucking believe my life sometimes. What have I ever done to anyone to deserve this shit? Cus me little blood supply unit ain't functioning. He can't bite. Like me. Like fucking ME! What sort of weird shit is this? This is NOT funny any more. It was slightly amusing when I saw the Angel boy in the cemetery. It was downright funny when he helped me drain him dry. It's even been a laugh planning all me new rules. But now I'm pissed off and I want to go home.

Right. We'll have to buy bloody blood. This is shit. Life is shit. Unlife is shit. I hate my life. OK, what can I pawn?

Well, at least the Watcher's got some easy-to-pawn goodies. So we've got ourselves stocked up on blood and beer. But what now? He's prowling around the apartment casting evil eyes at the sunlight outside. Hating that he's confined. I sit and watch him from the comfort of the couch. He's incredible. He is Angel. But SO not Angel at the same time. He's far more animated. No soul weighing him down I guess. He moves quickly, restlessly. He reminds me of someone, but I can't think who.

'I'm bored.'

'Read a book.' Oh God, did I just say that.but this is the Watcher's place and there ain't much else to do in the way of entertainment.

'Fuck off.'

My jaw literally drops open. 'What? What did you just say to me?'

'What bit of 'fuck off', don't you understand?'

'You little.' and I fling myself off the couch at him, propelling him back against the wall. He's so NOT Angel now. Angel is two hundred and fifty years of honed killing machine. This creature is still almost pliant and soft. I punch one fist lightly into his belly. Not too hard. Just a kinda, 'don't forget this could be a lot harder' sorta hard. 'What did you just say?'

'Fuc.' I punch him again. Harder.

'What?'

'F.' harder. He doubles up in pain on his knees.

'What?'

'Sorry Master.' Oh yeah, liking the sound of that. Oh.and liking the look of that! My Childe is hard.really hard, and he's grinning and licking his lips. Shit! He's smirking at me and undoing me jeans. Who does he remind me of? It's really beginning to piss me off now.

He releases my straining cock and just stares, fascinated. Is this the first time he's done this? Vampire or man? He runs his hands lightly up my shaft, examining every inch.every fucking short inch! He pulls my foreskin back over the swollen end, staring entranced at the glistening tip. He is watching a tiny bead of precum as it appears, hovering in the slit. With a flick of his tongue he captures it. The feel of his mouth so briefly on me makes my knees weaken. He catches me round my hips in his newly strong embrace and plunges me into his mouth. He makes up for lack of experience with enthusiasm. He practically rips the skin off with his teeth, first suck. I hiss and push his mouth away. He looks up at me with those beautiful eyes, saddened now, 'what's wrong Sire? Don't you like this? Are we not supposed to do this?'

'Err.' shit I really don't want to have to teach him this stuff. I want him to just do it. I mean no one ever taught.oh, but that's not true.they did.he did. Had I really forgotten my lessons from my own Sire? Days together, him showing me, letting me try, correcting me, praising me. Loving me. Teaching me till I was doing it just right for him. Till I had almost become him. It was his investment in eternity.

But I don't have the heart to do it with my Childe. All this isn't real enough. Hell, I don't want it to be real. I want Angel. I don't want to be here in this strange parallel world. But he's looking up at me with such devotion. or is it lust? I can't bear to ignore him.

'It's fine.just don't use your teeth. 'kay Mate? But you just carry right on Pet.' He gives me a loving, cheeky grin and plunges back on with enthusiasm. It's not the blow job of the century. But I close my eyes and picture myself a few weeks ago.before the bad time came. On the couch watching the X Files Movie. Angel coming over to sit with me. Angel asking daft questions about the plot.

'How do I friggin' know what's happening? I just watch it!' Angel laughing at me. Angel putting his hand on the back on my neck and stroking gently. Angel releasing my cock with his other hand and bringing me to an aching hardness. And then Angel, as I watch the images across the screen, Angel putting his head in my lap and engulfing me to the very back of his throat. He made that blow job last the whole of the movie. Stopping when he thought I was too close to coming and biting my belly till the pain made me cry out in ecstasy. Angel lapping at the blood from his teeth marks then swirling it round my tip, playing at decorating my cock with blood. When he thought I was over the crest, he started again. Licking up gently, then plunging down with his strong, talented mouth. Using his teeth to stretch my foreskin tightly back whilst flicking his tongue hard across the tip. After an hour of this I thought I couldn't feel anymore pleasure, until I felt his finger exploring my tight entrance. He knelt up alongside me on the couch to get more purchase then pushed his finger in, hooking and pulling at the tight muscle. I arched back and groaned and he speeded his mouth up, working two, then three fingers in, ramming them in hitting my prostate each time, thumping my balls with his thumb on each thrust. I grabbed his hair and enjoyed screaming his name as I came in great waves of cold cum, erupting to the very rhythm of his thrusts.

If I remember hard enough, can I go home? Cus that was like being there again. 'Cept I'm not. I'm here and my Childe is gently sucking the last drops of cum from my now, limp cock. I have my hands in his hair. I close my eyes for just another moment, cus his hair, is Angel's hair. His mouth is Angel's mouth. When I open my eyes, please make it be Angel again.

*****
Part 3:

He seems annoyed when he's finished and stomps off to bed. I wonder if the look he cast me was cus I screamed someone else's name, or cus he sensed I wanted him to be that someone. Bit shitty of me that. But life is shit. Mine is. Now. Wasn't. Was fucking brilliant, only I couldn't see it. Took it all for granted. Took him for granted.

As I fasten my jeans, brooding again, the phone rings. Now this is nothing extraordinary, phones ring. All the time. But not in this weird parallel universe. Do they? And why the friggin' hell didn't I think of using the phone? Am I fucking stupid or something? I snatch it off the stand,

'Hello, Rupert?'

'Wrong number,' and slam it down again, only to snatch it up and dial his number. It only rings twice.

'Angel Investigations. We help the hel.'

'Bint. It's me.'

'Oh God. Why are you phoning you lazy, dead thing. Get your ass up here if you want to speak.'

'Shut up. Take a breath. I'm not there. I'm here. Go get Angel. NOW!'

'Spike. Last time you phoned me from downstairs you pretended to be offering lesbian crisis counseling. The time before that.'

'SHUT UP' I'm practically screaming now. 'Get Angel, please. I need to hear his.I need to speak to him.'

'Spike.you only went downstairs with him five minutes ago. Is he in the shower? Is that why he doesn't know you are using the phone? Go away. Go watch your stupid.'

'Cordelia, please listen to me. I am not there. Please just shout down the stairs to Angel and ask him. Go on. Please.'

'I so know this is a wind up. Alright.wait there.Angel! Angel! Is Spike there with you?' I hear a pause and a muffled voice and she comes back on, 'I knew it. I hate you.'

'What! What did he say? Cordelia?' I'm desperate to make her understand. 'What did Angel say?'

'I'll tell you shall I? What he said. When I asked if you were there? He said 'unfortunately'. So you are so gonna cop it for this.'

'Cordelia. Please. Help me. I am trapped in a parallel universe. Angel is human. Well, he' s not now, cus I killed him. But please.'

'GO AWAY!' and with that she slams the phone down. I ring back desperately, but it's fucking engaged. She probably logged on, just to keep me away. Oh God. So it's all still back there. Angel is still there, and Cordelia. Angel Investigations. LA. Oh, and me. What am I doing there? Hey, and what did he mean, 'unfortunately!'

This is really doing my head in. And do I have Angel waiting for me in bed to sort it all out for me? No I do not. I have an upset childe who'll probably be crying and wailing and feeling sorry for himself. Damn, nearly had who he reminded me of then. It'll come to me, but it really is pissing me off. Oh well, better go and do the shoulder to cry on bit. I hate this Sire shit.

It's gloomy in the room when I come in. He's effectively covered the windows so the light only filters through the deep blue of a throw. I look over to the Watcher's bed. And yet again this Childe of mine surprises me. Cus he ain't weeping. Well not from his eyes anyway. He's lying spread-eagled on the covers, pulling hard at his dick with a look of pure lust on his face. And I can't help but smile at the picture. My Angel ain't done that in such a long time, I'd forgotten how erotic it can be to watch. Maybe I shouldn't be so accommodating when I get home. If I get home. Maybe I'll let him do it himself sometimes. I climb onto the bed alongside him and watch with greedy interest as his cock seeps under his ministrations, so close to coming. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and enjoying that moist tip with my tongue. But I do restrain. I glance at his face. He's staring at me. What does he want? Oh. That.

He's lifted his legs up to his chest, exposing his tight, virgin entrance. I've been here before. I've been given this invitation before. And I've always recoiled from it. Always made me feel dizzy with the implied reversal of everything I've ever known. Everything I've ever come to expect.

'Please Sire, I've never done this before.but I want you inside me. Please.'

Talk about the blind leading the fucking blind. Cus if he ain't ever done this, he's one step ahead of me by just wanting it. Cus as I said, that's part of me problem. I ain't done it either. Not with Angel, not with Angelus and certainly not with anyone else. But hell, little Bill here ain't gonna have anything to compare me with is he? He ain't exactly gonna be holding up score cards. And I am his Sire. He is my childe and it's expected. It's the lore.

'Wait here.' I put one hand on his thigh to reassure him I'm coming right back and head towards the kitchen. Watcher must have something we can use to make this first time pleasurable.

'Looking for this?' and my ever-surprising Childe holds up a tub of lube. Strawberry flavor.

'Err.where did you find that? I'm actually not sure I want to know the answer to that. Even in a parallel universe I don't want to picture the Watcher with lube of any flavor.

'It was here in the drawer.will it do?'

'Has it been opened,' please say no.

'Someone's had big scoops out of it, but we can still use it right?' Oh what the hell.

'Give it here then.' I take a scoop and rub it between my fingers. It's cold and greasy and I really don't think I'm gonna enjoy this. It's too clinical. It's too remote. I'm just not in the mood any more. Shit, I really don't want to do this. Cus don't matter what my head tells me, me heart says, 'Angel', every time I look at him. But I do it anyway. As I said, it's expected.

I take my cock in my greasy hand and start to work it against his tight hole. He's bent at the waist watching my activities with interest. And that doesn't help. You'd think I was giving him a snip at the vets. But I persevere. I push a little harder against his puckered entrance and suddenly the tip of me cock slips in. He arches back. And I don't know whether it was that instinctive movement, the result of pure, unadulterated pleasure. I don't know whether it was his groan and sudden, unnecessary, sharp intake of breath. I don't know whether it was the look of shocked lust on his face, or whether it was me. But I suddenly wished I had been doing this for the previous bit of me one hundred and twenty six years. Cus this is incredible. This is like flying. This is fucking addictive.

I speed up. I can't help it. I start panting too. And you'd have to be something that don't need to breath to 'preciate just how good this fuck had have to be. How come I've never done this before? And how come no one told me? He's so tight. Every inch of the surface of me cock is in contact with his soft lining. It's incredibly stimulating. Take the average hand job and multiply by a fucking thousand. Take a blowjob and add a few fucking pounds of pressure.

I take both his thighs and stretch him open as far as he will go. God, can you come instantly from the smell of strawberries? Cus I think I will. For the rest of me unlife. Warm strawberries and Angel. Instant orgasm. But don't think of orgasms now. Think of something else. Think of.oh yeah, think of someone else getting off on strawberry smell.think of Giles.that'll put things off for a bit. Cus I don't ever want to cum. I want to be pounding in and out of this tight ass for all my unlife. Till hell freezes over. Till I'm in hell. Don't care.the friction is driving me insane. I can't get enough of it. He's crying my name over and over. And the short staccato sound, 'Spike, Spike, Spike.' matches my insistent thrusting. I want this to last for hours, but my Childe surprises me again, cus he reaches up and taking my hands in his, puts them to his cock. And together we bring him off till his cold cum erupts between our fingers as mine shoots deep into his cold body.

He lifts my hands to his mouth and one at a time sucks my fingers clean, while I move gently in him, enjoying the last few sensations from his tight body.

When I'm finished I move to curl up with my head on his chest, but I'd forgotten the change in our roles. Before I can start to drift asleep he turns and spoons himself back into me, pulling my arms over him, reaching behind to wrap my leg over his hips. Covering him with me. Completely. He wriggles around in my embrace trying to get comfortable, and arches his neck back to be petted and kissed, rubbing his soft hair against my face. Suddenly, in a panic of need, he reaches behind to grasp my hand and tightly entwines his fingers in mine. And I suddenly realize what has been eluding me all day. I suddenly realize who he reminds me of. He is needy, wanting, demanding, selfish. He is me.

But his need in no way matches mine. I'm having to hold him, when I desperately want to be held. I'm starting to realise that being a Sire don't mean you don't need stuff. That being a Sire ain't just being strong. That it's acting strong, when you aren't. It's acting strong cus you have to. For them. Cus they need you to. Even when you're crying inside. And my cold, dead heart starts to weep for my Sire. For these things I didn't understand about him. Didn't want to know. I squeeze his fingers tighter as if he were my Angel and as if somewhere, somehow, my Angel can feel my fingers too.

*****
Part 4: Angel's POV

I haven't left his side for over twelve hours now. Except to feed. I've kept a constant vigil alongside his deeply unconscious, inert form. As if I could somehow assuage the guilt of my betrayal by this close attention to his lifeless body.

You see a lot of powerful magic in my line of business. Get offered it too. Like drugs, it's best to say no. Only I didn't. That one time. I spared a life that didn't deserve sparing. I got offered powerful magic in return. For when I wanted it. When I needed it. I never planned to call that promise in. But I did. Last night.

He came here six months ago. He turned up one day with Buffy. She came to see her father; he came along for the ride. So he said. He came six months ago and stayed. At first he found a basement to live in and only came over infrequently to drink my blood supplies or earn money from the odd demon kill. Gradually he stayed longer each visit and each visit become more frequent. He rarely spoke to me and I avoided him. Out of habit. Out of dislike. Out of fear. I feared he would destroy the links of the tenuous chain I had forged over Angelus.

Things could have gone on like that forever if it hadn't have been for Cordelia. For Cordelia's party. We were invited. She only asked me on sufferance, I know. She despaired of me the last time. She only asked Spike because she feared he would crash it anyway. So we went. He was spectacular. I gave proof to the rumour that I'm dead.

I found a couch to stay out of the way. He found me and plonked himself down next to me with a large supply of alcohol.

'Great party huh?'

'Yes. It's great. I am really enjoying myself.'

'Uh huh. So why yer hiding over here on yer own then?'

'I'm not hiding, I'm observing.' It took him a while to stop laughing, but he eventually subsided into quiet hiccups and chuckles. And it's about then that I remember it happening. He stretched his legs out in front of him and laid his head back on the couch to enjoy yet another beer. His hand fell unconsciously between us and lay just touching mine. I did nothing at first. I wanted to move my hand away, but I didn't want him to realise that I had even noticed it there. That I was bothered. I felt stupid even having the debate in my head. By the time I'd ruled out the option of pretending to move to pick up a drink, or run my fingers through my hair, it was too late. I sensed that he too had become aware our hands were touching. And suddenly the moment seemed critical. Two hundred and fifty years of passion, denial, lust and loving coalesced into this touching of hands on a couch, at Cordelia's party.

And then my world turned over. He moved his little finger imperceptibly to stroke mine. And of all the options open to me, I took the one that surprised me the most. I leaned back next to him, and responded. In this crowed room there was little we could do, but no actual sexual act of penetration could have been more erotic than our hands twisting, entwining, and squeezing together in the dark. I turned my head to look at him to find him already studying me. His dark eyebrows were raised in questioning wonderment. I nodded slightly towards the door, he stretched a seductive grin over his face and stood up, pulling me to my feet. We didn't even say goodbye to Cordelia. We made it to the car before we fell on each other. We couldn't spend long enough on any one act to get satisfaction. We kissed but hardly tasted before tearing away to rip clothes. Nothing came off completely before we were back to plundering each other's mouths. He had his hands on my pants, trying to release me before the very public nature of our position struck me.

'Wait Spike.come home with me. God. Spike stop.'

I don't know how I managed to drive the short distance to my apartment. He wouldn't leave me alone. He pulled my ripped shirt open and ran his cold hands over my chest. He played with the hairs along the back of my neck. His impatience was tangible. One hand kneaded my thigh in desperation.

'Can't you drive any faster Angel?'

I glanced over at him and laughed.

'What! What's so bloody funny?'

'It's taken us nearly one hundred years to get back here. It's approximately ten minutes from Cordelia's apartment to mine. I think we can control ourselves for another ten minutes. Don't you?'

'Fuck control,' and with that he moved his hand down onto my cock and started releasing it from my pants. I hissed as I felt the restrictions gone and his cold mouth and tongue on me.

So much for control. I came in less time that it took me to negotiate one block and a set of lights. I had no control. I was like a teenager on a first date. One suck from that talented mouth and I was gone. He sat back up and had the audacity to lick his lips and smirk at me.

'Yep, good control there Pet,'

'Yeah, well all those beautiful girls at Cordy's. Dancing. Told you I was observing.' He slapped me hard on the back on the head and laughed. He wasn't even slightly offended. He knew exactly why I'd lost control so easily.

By the time we got downstairs, we were so frenzied that we had both gone into game face without even knowing it. Kisses turned into ripping and tearing of flesh. The scent of blood permeated every sense, dulling me to all else but the feel of his body, the taste of his blood. If looking back now from hindsight, I say I remember a slight flicker of doubt even then, at his so ready acceptance of his subservient role, it was nothing more that that. A flicker of uncertainly washed easily away by another bite, another lick, another plunging into his willing, sensational body. But by the third penetration that night the flicker had grown into a steadily burning flame of resentment. It was all me giving, him taking. Oh he'd suck me off, bring me to incredible orgasms with his hand. But he wouldn't take me. He wouldn't enter me. I started to try and explain why I wanted him to enter me. That I wanted him to get as much pleasure as I did from being in him. But before I even spoke, I knew it was a lie. It was me. I wanted the pleasure I saw in his face when I was in him. I wanted to know what it felt to be filled and used. By him. And that was something I could hardly yet admit to myself, let alone to him.

And if that was the night that the rot set in, again, I put that knowledge down to hindsight. Because at the time neither of us saw it, or had the ability to change how things worked out. We were too caught up in each other, too obsessed with our new obsessions. Each other. But the rot was there, working it's way into my attitude to him, his responses to me. It's what brought me to this act of desperation. It's what's made me stay here devotedly with the body of the one I betrayed, to gain my selfish point.

*****
Part 5:

After that night, he moved in. Permanently. If Cordelia and Wesley noticed, they didn't comment. Perhaps they assumed we were just playing out the Sire, Childe role. Forming our own little lair. And they may have been more right than they knew. Because I think that is exactly what Spike did think we were doing. He played his role so beautifully. The disobedient childe, the needy young minion, the ever-willing subservient. I don't think he even wanted to look beyond that role. He didn't really see me at all. He saw only some projection of the old demon Sire he had always known. He never seemed to see my need. He didn't understand what he did see. He was always teasing me about my broodiness. Why did he never ask himself why I liked to sit in the dark? On my own. Why did he never ask why I shunned human company, shunned all company? Why? Because if he had asked maybe I'd have been able to tell him. Tell him of my fear to let go. Tell him of my loneliness and my inability to find any balance in my life. But he never asked and the game continued.

It wasn't all bad. At first. Maybe it would have been better.now I know what was to come.maybe it would have been better if it had been worse in those early months. But it wasn't. I was desperate for him, and he for me. We hardly left the apartment for the first month. I needed to know every part of his body again. Inside and out. I needed to re-bond with him, know that he was mine.

After that first frenzied night, the apartment had looked like a bomb had hit it. Every piece of furniture damaged or destroyed. The couch was ripped and stained with our blood. The coffee table in pieces from our weight as I took him spread eagled on the wooden surface. My bookcase was upturned, all the books scattered, his clutching hands pulling it down on top of us as I took him pinned against the old philosophy. My wooden floors had gouge marks and bloodstains from our nails repeatedly being torn in pain or ecstasy or that blending of the two which such passion, such need can produce. My bed was a mass of torn sheets and covers which had been used as temporary restraints. My pillows brown from the blood of his body as I penetrated him.

But we reveled in the mess. We laughed at our excess, reliving old times when these things were daily occurrences. We bathed in water awash with our own blood and drank it, savoring the coppery liquid. And we started again, this time soft and gentle, loving and intimate. I opened him wide to inspect his tight, beautiful entrance. I lapped gently at the wounds I saw there, becoming hard as his moaning grew to begging, a quiet insistent repetition of my name, 'Angel, Angel, Angel,' as if he were in prayer. And in some twisted parody of religion, I suppose he was. What can come closer to a living God than the creature that made you? What can come closer to the promise of religion, than the reality of eternity? What can come closer to salvation than total happiness here on earth? And I gave him all those things. So I bathed in his adoration. I grew hard from his worship. I penetrated him with a knowledge of my divine right to do so. And it was good. Very good.

So for a while it did become enough. It was so new. Having someone there with me in the good fight. And who better? I never really appreciated how good a fighter Spike could be until he was fighting with me. We were a synergy of power. And when the fight was done, we took that energy and charge into the bedroom with us. I used his body like a fighter uses a punch bag, to play out my fight for redemption. Not hitting him.no, that was to come later.but to pound and thrust into him with a burning need. And when I was spent? I allowed him to use me for comfort and reassurance, playing my allotted role.

But he was never there for me in the quiet times of every day's most pressing need. Times when I needed routines of domesticity to anchor me to life, he was gone, on business. As he said, doing 'bad, evil things'. He wouldn't clean the weapons with me; we never trained together. As for laundry and cleaning.I never actually saw him lift a finger to help that whole time. In one month my life was turned upside down and what I had taken for granted, was no more. When I came into the apartment, he was there. When I left it for the fight, he was there. But it wasn't me he saw. It was Angelus with a new and human face. It was what he wanted me to be. He never saw my pain. He never felt my total inability to make the connections I needed to this world. When I faced the incomprehensible humans I had allied myself with, he never took my side. I had his body, but never his support. Never his friendship. He shared nothing with me. I felt like a blind man in the land of the sighted but he refused to be my eyes to see by. He refused to interpret the world for me, so I could continue to love it and save it. But it would all have been so easy for him. This is his world. It was then he never fitted, in the old days. Now, he is this world in the flesh. Its excess, its excitement, its physicality. But he kept his knowledge to himself. He never shared his incessant television, his loud, raucous music, his addictions and his passions.

Was I wrong to expect more from him? Should I have loved him for what he was, what I had made him? In truth? I didn't trust his needy minion act for one moment. I saw him looking at me when he thought I didn't see him, studying my face, my mood.and when I would turn? He mirrored that mood. Like a chameleon. So I didn't trust him for one moment.

So the rot continued to seep through the cracks of our affections. Until, on that fateful night, I found myself, whilst in the middle of thrusting into him, pulling out to study his face. I don't think he realized that I had stopped. He expected some addition, something new and fun to follow. When I remained just starting at him he got angry. It was then I turned and offered myself to him for the first time in his one hundred and twenty six years. And he could have no idea of the leap of faith I was making in that act. How, in that offering I was offering him not only my body, but my power, my role, my very sense of self, to take and make his own. To make me him, and him me. To find that ultimate, illusive blending of beings. Two wounded creatures to make one. Shared pain.

But the Childe in him was too deeply engrained and he slid around my offered body, till he found my mouth. Greedily sucking on my lips he tried to push his tongue in, to offer me that small penetration instead. I closed my eyes as if, in that darkness, acceptance was easier, and allowed him to make his small offering.

But if I am his God, who answers my soul when it cries out? If I give him eternity, who gives my soul rest? If I give him comfort, who will be my salvation? The total lack of support he gave me in that first month, only awoke a vast, brooding, needy monster in me. And that monster started to need feeding.

*****
Part 6:

Eventually on that fateful night, the night that was to lead to this betrayal, I challenged him with his selfishness. Perhaps not at the best time. But sometimes resentment has it's own way of coming out. It can't always be controlled. He was lying between my legs, gently fondling my balls, licking up and down my shaft. I looked down at his blond head and tried to separate in my mind the selfish Childe from the man I had come to desire more than I thought it possible to want anyone. I knew it was time to speak out.

'Spike, please,' and I opened my legs wide, giving him easy access and a close view of my aching hole. 'Please.'

But yet again, he moved away and came up my body trying to kiss me, as if in penitence for his selfishness. I saw a flicker of something on his face that in that awful moment, I couldn't read, didn't take the time to read and then it was gone. I lost it. If he wanted me only as his Sire, him always as my Childe, then that is what he was going to get. I threw him from me with a sweep of my arm and pinned him to the bed. I was out of control, but not yet Angelus. Oh, the old demon was there cheering me on, screaming gleefully 'I told you so,' but I wasn't him.

But I used his tactics.

I hit Spike hard across the face. It felt like flying. The power over someone smaller, weaker, younger. I hit him again. The blood was trickling down his chin from a split in his lip and I watched it lazily drip onto his neck. Fascinated by the effect of my strength over him. I wanted to see more. See how much blood I could produce. I hit him once more, this time a powerful punch to his nose. I felt cartilage giving way. It made me hard, so I hit him again. When his face was unrecognizable, I entered him. But I did it from behind with his bloody face pressed into the mattress. I did it while digging painfully into his hips with my hands. I did it with no preparation, enjoying the tearing and the smell of blood. I did it whilst my cold, dead heart cried out for pity and understanding. I wanted love, not this. I wanted him, not this. I wanted to be wanted. Not this. But this is what we had become.

It is insidious. Power. Power and cruelty. When you are bigger and stronger, older and just.better. And when they are willing. Oh, because he was so willing. The next morning he was incredibly affectionate, willing to do anything. But to share. Never that. Because the opportunity for him to do that, was long gone. We had tipped the balance of power too effectively to return to any form of equality or love. This was just domination and the playing out of all the age-old games of Vampire Lore. And the rules came back very quickly to me. I surprised even myself.

Physical torture is easy. It's all instruments and easy, visible pain. Mental torture is so much more refined and fun. And what an easy target: a chipped, Childe vampire who wants you, who loves you. I set out to destroy him from the inside. So he would be so much more vulnerable to my attacks from the outside. I began by letting him overhear a phone call to Buffy. It seemed fitting to torture him with the one thing he tortured himself with.his belief in my continuing love for her. Oh, and how did I come to know of my Childe's fears? I'm his Sire. His God. He had confessed. One night with my cock deep inside him, my hands on his swollen member, he cried out in fear, 'Is it me?' I didn't even understand what he meant until afterwards when lying in my arms, his sobs almost uncontrollable, he told me. Told me how he had pictured me, picturing him, as her. His tight entrance.as her moist folds. His lips.as hers. Him.her.

So that's where I started. When I knew he was listening on the other extension, as he was bound to do when he knew who I was calling, I told her how much I missed her. Told her that things weren't going so well for me. Told her that I had someone, but that I was bored. That they were no substitute for her. Did I play with fire? Did I threaten to awaken some long-dead longing in her? I'm not sure at that point whether I cared one way or the other. But she was secure in her new love, strong in her rejection of me. But I wasn't even listening, because I was hearing the click of the other extension reverberating in my head as if it was a nail in my long-forgotten coffin.

When I went downstairs again, he was reading. Well, he was sitting holding a book. Seemingly intent. His arms were folded lightly over his chest, his feet up on the mended coffee table. He didn't even glance in my direction. He was unreadable. A study in concentration. Except for one thing.

I've come a long way from that pure demon, Angelus, that I used to be. But even I never realized just how far I had come, till I felt the effects of my deliberate cruelty on this creature. The creature I would die for. When I saw him sitting there pretending to read, I realized I could not hurt him again not even for an eternity of his love. I would rather set him entirely free of me than ever inflict that pain on him again. Only I had known how to hurt him, only I could have seen the evidence of its effect. For my dear, sweet boy was sitting there with his broken heart, nonchalantly pretending to read a book in a rare demon language. He didn't even know he was holding it upside down.

I couldn't stand to look at his pain. I left. And stayed away all day. He watched TV alone all day. I could hear one show after another blaring out from downstairs. I know he showered alone because I sat in the living room listening to his quiet sobs as he used the water to cover his grief. He went to bed alone. I know because that's when I decided to use the magic I had been offered those many months ago. One chance to make amends. One chance to change the path we seemed destined to walk on. One handful of dust spread over him while he slept to send him into a place where he could learn what I wanted him to know. All I had to do was to picture what I wanted him to become, hold the dust in my hand and throw it on him. Powerful magic indeed.

So I did it. I took the dust and I pictured a different life. A life where we would be equals. Where I could lay my heavy burden down upon my weary bed and he would pick it up and carry it awhile for me. I pictured a time when, if I faced my incomprehensible humans, he would be there. His presence strong, his support tangible. When I would I no longer feel like that blind man because he would be my eyes to see. He would interpret the world for me. He would share my life, my pain, my redemption.

But all I had been given the power to do was to imagine an outcome. The process was entirely out of my hands. Do the ends always justify the means? I had nothing but good intent. Was I to be held responsible for the method of achieving it? I had no control over the magic once it was loosed. What would he have to endure? How would it be achieved? What sort of creature would he be when he returned to me? And would he ever forgive me for this betrayal?

So I sit here still, uselessly guarding his body because I am not there to guard his spirit. I have trusted this magic from a creature I knew to be evil. I have used it on the only thing in this world I can't bear to lose.

*****
Part 7: Spike's POV

He'll be awake soon. I can sense a slight lessening in the depth of his sleep. I don't think I've slept at all. Been brooding. Seems to come with the territory.

I wonder if Angel meant what he said to the Slayer. It seemed true at the time. When I heard it. Oh yeah, seemed real true then. Stake meself sort of true. But now I'm not so sure. It don't seem logical somehow. And fuck it, I don't want to do a Mr Spock, but I am sorta thinking more clearly these days. All this added responsibility I guess. But all night I've been thinking `bout it, and it just don't seem logical. Cus if it is true and he loves her more than me. If it is true and he wants her, not me, then why all the angst and fucking shit he's been putting me through? Why the beatings and the shouting and the arguing? Why not just kick me out and go get her? Nah, don't make sense. But one thing's for fucking sure, it's the first thing I'll be sorting out when I get home. The first thing on me new list. Cus you can do a lot of thinking in one soddin' night of brooding. Oh yeah. An' I got a real long list now of stuff. Stuff to sort. Stuff to change. When I get back. If I get back.

He's stirring. He curls even more into my, by now, warm embrace. Then he stretches and turns on his back, staring at the ceiling. I watch intently as a small, sly grin creeps across his face, and he turns to me, reaching out for my cock.

`Again?'

Why not? He is utterly irresistible. But I'm too warm, too lazy, too tired to be too active this morning. But I still want to be inside him again. I stay on my side, slide slightly lower in the bed, lift his thigh and just.slip in. Why did I let this ever bother me? It's natural, easy and...oh, sensational. I grin at his surprised face. I kinda surprised meself. Where's the thrusting, where's the hard work, where's the sweat? And where did I learn this? Don't remember Angelus ever just lying with me like this. There was always thrusting, work and sweat with Angelus. For both of us. And I don't remember this with Angel either. He likes it a bit more active and physical too. But this is incredibly erotic. I move gently inside him, setting up a slow, long rhythm. I pull nearly out each time, till I can see the head of my own cock, purple and engorged, then slowly push back in till I gently stimulate his prostate. His face is screwed up in pleasure and he grabs the sheets with his fists, pulling at them. I take his beautiful cock in one hand and match the incredibly gentle, slow rhythm I am using inside him. His eyes fly open and he watches intently as I stoke him gently up and down, swirling my thumb over his slit, catching each bead of precum to use as lubrication for the next long pull. I love the feel of his shaft in my hand, my shaft deep inside him. He puts one hand over mine like he did last night, to try and speed me up. Impatient Childe. I bat his hand away. He tries again. So I just stop. Everything. I lie there and look up at him with a quizzical expression on my face, do you want it or not? Cus I'm the Sire and we're doing it my way! He gets the message and takes his hand away and visibly relaxes on the bed. I start up again.

I don't believe it myself, but it took over an hour for us both to cum. By the end it was almost agony. But good agony. The sorta agony that stays with you all day as a sorta ache deep in yer belly. Sorta agony that makes you hard just picturing it. Every time I had been about to come, I just pulled out, plunging my tongue into his, by now, slick, warm hole. I kept him in a frenzy of need by thrustin' it in hard, as far as I could, biting with me teeth around the edges of his tight muscle. If I bit too hard once or twice? Well blood is my passion. I worshiped at his slick entrance. I tortured him doubly by preventing his orgasm with my strong fist wrapped around the base of his cock. He was helpless under me. When I felt past the first rush of a desperate orgasm, safe to go back in, I started to show him how to make it even better for me. Jesus, I've been fucked by Angel enough times in one hundred and twenty six years to know what makes it good. I showed him how to clench his inner muscles at just the right time, how to push against my thrusts, heightening the pleasure for both of us. He was an avid learner. Eager to please, delighted in my praise. But he is so young, after an hour he was in so much agony from his throbbing cock, I had to let him finish. But I was greedy, I wanted every part of his orgasm. I moved down below him in the bed, knelt up, spread him wide with his knees pressed either side of his head and bending down, caught his throbbing cock in my mouth. With a little effort to get the pace just right, I thrust long, hard strokes into his body, whilst running my tight lips over his cock. He didn't last long. Neither did I. With matching, deep growls of desire we came together in painful, sharp, everlasting torrents of cum, me into him, him into me. A never ending circle of cum.

As he lies in post orgasmic slumber in my arms, I know now that I am truly lost. I admit to myself that I have given up the pretence of trying to separate this creature from Angel. When I entered him, it was Angel I was entering. When I sucked the blood from his soft, entrancing entrance, it was Angel's tight muscle I was licking. When I drank his cum, it was Angel's so familiar cold seed I was delighting in. I love this Child of mine with an intensity I never thought I would be capable of. But not for himself, I love him because of me. Because with him, I can be what I wanted to be with Angel, but was too afraid to try. Too afraid of his criticism. Too afraid of his derision. Too afraid of his not loving me for not being good enough. My gentle stroking of his soft, mussed hair wakens him. He opens his deep, brown, so familiar eyes to look quizzically at me. But he clearly ain't thinking quite so deeply about all this as I am, cus he just turns over with a lazy smile and goes straight back to sleep.

Jees, oh to be a Childe! I've gotta get up now. Got things to do. Got to get blood for him. For meself. Gotta try and phone the poof again. Shit. So much to think about now. But it's OK, it's worth it for the feelings I have for this Childe of mine. Worth it to know I can be inside my Childe anytime I want. That I can make him do anything I want. That he will want to do anything for me. Wish I'd thought like this last time I was with the poof. Wish I'd just done what he wanted. Wish I'd just told him I was fuckin' scared. Too late now.

My lazy Childe makes an appearance just before lunch. Driven out of bed no doubt by hunger. I can't help but stare at him. He is...rumpled and...sweet. He's dressed only in his old jeans. And his hair is sticking out at all angles, mussed. If anything makes him not my Angel, it's that. I can't help but chuckle.

`What? What's so funny?'

`Nothing, Pet. Just your hair. You remind me of someone.'

`Someone you used to know?'

`Still know Luv.' I hope.

`It won't lie flat,' he demonstrates the difficulty. `I'll look for something in the bathroom.'

`NO!' Oh no, I can take a strange Angel-like man in this parallel place. I can take turning him. I can take him inheriting me chip. I can take him. I can even take finding the strawberry flavoured lube. But NO WAY, parallel universe or not, do I want to know anything about the Watcher using hair gel. Next thing ya know I'll find leather in the wardrobe and then he'll be wanting to join in threesomes or something.

`No, just leave it. It's OK. Here, have yer blood. And drink it all. It's good for ya.'

He takes it from me and turns to lean on the counter to drink, propping himself up on his elbows, skimming through a magazine. I study his butt. It's irresistible. Like the rest of him. His jeans hang low on his waist. They are faded and slightly torn under one cheek. I chuckle again cus it's so different from the immaculate, Armani clad figure I've been sharing me life with recently. I move to stand behind him, pressing up ever so slightly against his perfect butt.

`Whatya lookin' at?' Oh God, it's a porn mag. An' I was afraid of hair gell!

`Found it under the bed. Good hey?' He pushes back against me, wriggling his butt slightly to enjoy the feel of my hard bulge against him. I reach round and slip my hand inside the waistband of his jeans. Strange, can't do that with the poof. Fuck, is this parallel Angel thinner as well as better endowed? Something very odd goin' on here. But makes it easy access to his cock. It's practically sticking up beyond his jeans anyway. I scratch my nail over the head while he flicks through the pages, looking for something good. He starts giggling like a schoolboy and I can't help but ask him why and he practically chokes hysterically as he quotes bits from the story, doing appropriate voices.

'He found his.joy spot. Fuck me with that big bat of yours. Big bullets of cream shot up his red, hot tunnel, his silken ass chute.'

I rip the magazine out of his hands and hiss a low, warning hiss. Concentrate on me boy. He grabs it back, but obediently turns to just pictures.

I squeeze his foreskin up and down, milking the first drops of precum from his slit. He pushes back some more. I release his buttons, slowly, teasingly. He finishes them off for me and pushes his jeans down to his knees. I get him to step out of them completely cus I want him spread wide. I take a step back to get meself out and to admire the picture I've created. Not one in a magazine. My Childe spread eagled against the kitchen counter, naked, his tight pink entrance clearly visible and inviting. I move back to him and as I reach round to hold his cock, I enter him, quickly this time, thrusting. He's more than ready, stimulated by the pictures and by my playing with his cock. It's great, cus he can thrust back against me, hard. I rest my chin on his shoulder and watch his face. He's entranced by the pictures. I don't really need them. I prefer to close my eyes and think of the ponce again. Imagine this is the nancy hair-gelled git himself, that this is our kitchen counter, and that this incredible, hard, throbbing cock in my hand is his cock. He cums fast and hard over my hand, the magazine and the counter. Great ropey strands of cum drip down my wrist. In my head it's Angel's. In my head I'm in Angel. In my head when I cum, it's Angel's deep channel I fill. And it's Angel calling my name.

We stay in this position for a while. I throb gently inside him, small almost imperceptible thrusts, just enjoying the sensation. I've added a few things to me list of things I'm gonna do when I get home. Sort out the Slayer shit. Shag the poof.

Cus I've got a taste for this now. Whatever else has come about from this weird fucking shit, I know I want Angel's ass. I want it in every way, every position and every place in that apartment. I ain't gonna be fobbed off with the Childe role any more! The old Sire has just gotta learn to share.

*****