*****

Buffy.

Once upon a time, when she was young and her calling brand new, demons mocked her silly name. They feigned ponytails and pompoms and jumped up and down, giggling and squealing, "Look at me! I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer!"

They don't make fun of her anymore. These five years later, her ridiculous title sets the strongest of demons to shivering in child-like fear. Now they whisper it like a curse, like the Old Gods Who Cannot Be Named. Hiss it as a threat of pain and Final Death to unruly fledglings.

"Watch out, or Buffy will get you..."

Now, as I sit in this perch, in the familiar embrace of the hearty oak that has stood in this very spot since long before she or her bedroom window existed, I watch her sleeping, naked and vulnerable in the moonlit shadows of her room, and I say her name as it should be said... as a call... a verbal reverence to a Goddess due respect, awe, and desire.

"Buffy..."

She stirs, if only slightly, opens her mouth and sighs, then turns toward me, her sweet face burrowing deeper into the downy soft of her pillows.

She hears me. Even with her window closed against the winter night, and the wind whistling in the tree around me, I know she hears. She hears me echo in her blood... her bones...

The Slayer thinks that she is tied to the Soul. Soulmates -- they've both used the term in reference to one another.

Predictably, they are wrong. The tie that we share is so much simpler than that -- blood, flesh and shadow, nothing more. We are bound into a single being in ways far darker than she ever imagined. Ways that have nothing to do with pure-hearted knights on shining white steeds...

And certainly not happily ever after. At least, not the way she conceives it.

There's so much that she doesn't know about vampires. About the rare happening of being the human lover of one. She doesn't know about Blood Ties, or the eternal steel trap of memory that is a demon's brain. It remembers every moan, every sigh, every thrust and drop of blood, both virginal and arterial, in perfect detail. No... Buffy doesn't understand what it truly means to be wed to me.

But she will.

"Buffy..." I whisper once more, and again she stirs, her fine brow tightening with confusion -- dream, or real? Her subconscious can't be sure.

"Buffy..."

Magick is always spoken in threes.

Her eyes open, struggle to focus, awareness dim as she seeks the source of the voice she hears every night in her dreams. The voice she tries to wipe from her mind by fucking now-dead soldiers and Blood-born Childer.

She's confused. She thinks she doesn't know what's happening to her. Who's really been following her, this night.

But she knows. Deep down, under that Chosen One facade, she knows all too well.

I have to smile as she sits up and looks toward me, her eyes wide.

Come to me, my love. Your long wait is over at last.

Daddy's home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After leaving Spike's hole... no pun intended...I found her exactly where I expected I would, a pulse of golden, preternatural light writhing in a sea of dull, plodding cookie cutter mortals.

Her nearness whispers through my mind as I enter the Bronze and fade into the crowd.

Buffy...

I haven't seen her in a while, and right away I notice the changes. The longer, softer hair, more sweet flesh on her tiny bones, and her carriage...

She's a woman grown, now. No longer a starry-eyed child, but a female fully in touch with her center, with her true nature. Comfortable. Easy in her skin.

I can't take my eyes off her. Every moment of my eternal life, from the night I was Made to this, vanishes in the splendor of her beauty... and power. The only creature I have ever encountered who is truly close to my equal. The one for whom I was reborn.

Slayers never live long. Like shooting stars, they flare brilliantly, eliminating a drop in the ocean of demon spawn that populate this planet, before they are finally bested and burn out. Flicker to nothing. Most are forgotten but for faded pictures in musty annals stored deep in the Motherhouses of the Watchers' Council. An momentary itch on the collective skin of my kind, and no more.

But this Slayer... this... perfect warrior... her mark on this dimension will be forever. Her name will be uttered in fear and reverence until the final sunset.

For she will be there to see it, at my side.

I've always preferred hunting in a crowd. There's a feral challenge to picking *the* One... the jewel hidden amonst the dull rocks. And seeing her here...

My cock twitches in anticipation. My blood hums with her energy as it fills every vacant space in the room. The signal should instill fear in me. It is a warning to my kind, like a pheromone -- 'watch out, the Slayer's near.'

But to me, that fire is like sensual music... a siren call, tickling the fine hairs on my skin. That light is mine. Mine to touch... to taste... to drink.

To extinguish.

I move through the crowd like a whisper, barely noticed or acknowledged by the stupid cattle that crowd around her. Maybe later, one of them will make a nice snack... or... an underling, if I'm feeling generous. It all depends on how my primary hunt goes.

But for now, there is only one living being in this room that I'm interested in. One goal. One target. Only one prize I seek. The one that I've been denied for so long...

My Mate.

God, how she burns! Her lithe body moving like flame, riding the pounding dance beat, smoothing her arms around its melody as if she's making love to the music itself.

Our time apart has obviously taught her a thing or two about the more interesting uses for her magnificent body. Every inch of her is fairly screaming to be touched... grabbed... gouged... licked... sucked... bitten... fucked.

Wow. I'd forgotten how hot she really is.

I approach her from behind. Press myself against her for a beat, no more, and then move away again.

But she notices. Her eyes snap open and scan the crowd, her posture just that tiniest bit more tense. She speaks to Xander... he shakes his head in response.

No, my love. He didn't feel that. He saw no one. Only you know that I'm here. Just as it's always been. There is not another being in the universe but you and I.

Buffy forces a smile and climbs back on the rhythm, ignoring the flicker of automatic arousal that I can scent growing between her legs.

I imagine to some degree, my lover's probably used to her imagination trying to make her believe that I'm close. Used to that aching need... that unquenchable desire that her late farmboy has never been able to fill.

I only have to touch her once, and she's undone.

Her loser friend excuses himself and walks away, but Buffy stays, too lost in her body's trance to let it end.

I breeze through the throng once more, grab her hard from behind and pull her tightly against my body. She freezes, unable to turn in my embrace, and I undulate for a few moments, pulling her with me, our forms flowing together as one.

The way it should be. The way it will always be. Naturally. Perfectly.

The Slayer's stalwart heart flutters against my chest, her plump ass soft and warm as I grind my leather-bound erection into it. Gods... I could throw her to the floor and take her right now. With the darkness and the frantic noise of rejoicing all around us, I doubt anyone would notice if I fucked her until she screamed.

I let my hands wander over this long dreamed-of form... a brushing sweep over her pulsing mound... her quivering belly, her heaving breasts, tickling her nipples to peaks through the thin silk of her blouse.

Buffy gasps and instinctively arches back against me. Oh, yes, my sweet... I know you've been waiting for me. I know how badly you want me, Soul or no.

I trace the line of her jugular with my tongue, feeling her power spark like static against my tongue. Then I lick the soft curve of her ear... tickle just the wet tip inside the delicate shell, reveling in the trembling that overtakes her as I whisper,

"I'll be coming for you, lover... very, very soon."

Then I let her go with a force that sends her spinning into the people dancing nearby, and vanish once more into the shadows.

You know, I'd forgotten how much *fun* playing with the Slayer is! I mean... all this time while the Soul's kept me chained down, I've been dreaming myself into a frenzy about balling her until she wails for mercy, then turning her into my eternal super-fucktoy. But somewhere along the line, the fact that the pre-show is so damned amusing got lost under the thought of the ultimate destination.

Watching her now... how flushed with shock and fear, and yet, completely turned on she is...

I think maybe I should draw this game out a bit longer. Hell, if I kill enough of her friends, it might just drive her out of her mind...

And willingly into my arms.

So, once again, I'm changing the game plan a bit. Hell, I'm immortal -- I've got all the time in the world to take what's mine. This doesn't have to end tonight.

Besides, it's been a good goddamn long time since I struck terror in the hearts of the innocent. So, for now, I'll just think of this as foreplay. Loosen up a little. Shake off the cobwebs of a century of incarceration. Have some damn fun for a change.

The serious shit can come later.

I watch for a few more minutes, until Xander comes back to find Buffy sitting there, completely unstring by my little haunting. He looks around, clearly angry, for whoever's been harassing his sweet princess... but naturally the idiot doesn't see me. He gathers up my Mate and her coat, and hurries her protectively out into the night.

That's right, boy. Play white knight while you can. Because I have plans for you, too.

I smile and follow them out of the club.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know, these two fools really don't move very fast, for two humans who are being stalked by a bloodthirsty predator. I practically have to crawl to keep from tripping over them.

Xander keeps Buffy pulled tight to his side the entire walk. Poor girl is obviously flustered, and yet, still trying not to be. After all, *she* is the Slayer. He's just one pussy human. But Sir Gallahad insists on staying close. If you ask me, the stench of stark terror coming off him tells me that he's looking more to be the protected than the protector.

They enter Buffy's house through the back door, which is good... gives me a chance to haul Captain Cornfuck's body into the bushes before they see it. My new plan will require his rotting carcass at a later date.

I sneak around to the side and wait. Xander will calm Buffy down, reassure her that no one's around, and then he'll leave. That's when I'll make my move.

Less than an hour later, here he comes, all puffed up, stake in hand.

I chuckle to myself. One creature shouldn't be allowed to have this much fun. Except me, of course.

"Xander!" I hiss.

Boy freezes in his tracks and nearly shits himself as he spins toward the noise. I take a step out of the shadows.

"Angel?" he asks, only half-collapsing from relief. He never was quite sure if he was happy to see me. The question flickers in his eyes -- Good Angel or Evil Angelus?

Either way, he takes a step in my direction.

That's right. Come to me, boy. I'll be happy to answer that question for you... up close and personal.

"I'm glad you're here. I need your help," I tell him, and... it's not exactly a lie.

He finally decides to trust me (stupid moron) and tucks the stake into the waistband of his jeans.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" he asks, the old bitterness still clear in his voice.

As he comes closer, it's hard not to drool. He smells so good... strong and sure, even under that fear. Looks like little sharp-tongued bastard's done some growing up since last we met.

Good. That will make him that much more of a nummy treat.

"We have to get out of here. Fast," I tell him, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away from Buffy's house.

Naturally, he fights me.

"Why? Is something after Buffy? Because... Angel... at the Bronze..."

I look him straight in the eye, and fight not to laugh. I'm fairly certain I manage to keep my 'All-Business-Soul-Fuck' face firmly in place.

"Something whispered to her. I know. It's a Frashkla demon. I think I've distracted it... have it following my scent, now."

It's a thin fucking story, I know. But I'm under some pressure, and a little out of practice. I'll just have to count on this loser's blind devotion to the Slayer, and his desperate need for an Alpha to tell him what to think and do to fill the holes in my plot.

"So... what? We let it follow us?"

Yes, son. We invite it back to your place for a drink and a nice, slow fuck.

I nod. "I know how to get rid of it. Do you live near here? I need to get this spell set up somewhere inside... *away* from Buffy."

He nods his head to the west. "About five blocks. I've got a new place."

"Let's go, then," I command.

And he complies.

Good boy.

*****
Part 2:

Well, I'll be damned. Looks like old Cretin Harris has been doing all right for himself, of late. This apartment actually isn't a half-bad place to die horribly.

I wonder how good the soundproofing is.

Xander rushes around as we enter, pulling the shades and quadruple deadbolting the door behind us, then turns to me with a clap of his hands.

"Okay. Let's mojo down."

I smile at him. "How about a drink first? The demon won't follow us inside, and I could really use one."

He stares at me, uncertain of my request. Fuck. I forgot the Soul doesn't drink. Pansy.

But, hey... Xander thinks I'm Angel, superhero vampire good guy, right? I would know whether or not it's safe to have a bourbon before the magick.

So he pours us each a drink. I ease down on his couch and take a long gaze out through the slats in the blinds. Gods, it's an amazing night. It's still hard to believe that I'm free, here, and about to kill one of my least favorite humans on the planet. You really can't beat that for blessings.

Xander sits down in the chair next to me and hands me a tumbler of amber liquid, watching my every move like a hawk. He doesn't trust me, but years of being a sheep have made him vulnerable to the strongest personality in any situation.

Of course, here, that would be me. Hell... *anywhere*, that'd be me.

Boy should really learn to trust his first instinct. But I guess it's a little late to tell him that, now.

"Angel, I don't mean to tell you your job or anything, but... shouldn't we whammy this badboy or whatever before it goes after Buffy again? It really scared her... and you know she doesn't scare easily."

I sigh. No, she really doesn't. It makes frightening her so much more satisfying.

"We have plenty of time," I assure him, then finally turn to meet his eyes. "Actually, Xander... about that. I sort of lied about why I'm here."

His posture goes board-rigid in an instant. His pupils dilate. His heart starts to race, and that uniquely human male reaction to fear kicks in -- immediate erection. I can clearly scent the tang of nervous sweat springing out in the crack of his ass.

He hides it fairly well, I'll give him that. Takes a slow sip of his drink, and considers all the weapons he no doubt has hidden throughout his apartment.

"Oh... yeah?" he squeaks, and clears his throat, dropping his voice down an octave. "Then why *are* you here?"

I give him a reassuring smile, and lean back.

"The fact is, I've been... re-taking stock of my life a bit, lately. Reviewing things that I might have done differently in the past, and trying to amend some regrets."

His dark eyes are full of confusion, and he's more scared, not less, by my personal revelation. As well he should be, considering I'm specifically talking about my regret over not ripping his throat out years ago.

"W-what... does that have to do with me? Oh, hey!" he sits up straight, getting ready to move. "If this is about that five bucks you owe me from that time I paid your cover at the Bronze, don't worry about it."

I just keep smiling at him. "No. It's not that."

His eyes go wider as mine drill them to their depths. Yes, there's jealousy there. Resentment. Hatred even, to some irrational degree.

But what I'm going for is that other thing. That tiny, hidden shadow tucked securely into the denial section of his brain.

Desire. Some little part of Xander Harris has always wanted me... and wants me still. Who I am... and more importantly, *what* I am.

"Then... why?" he breathes.

Oh... he wants me to tell him so badly. And yet... he doesn't. Gods, this is fun.

I move closer, to the very end of the couch. Our knees brush, and his wild gaze shoots down to that point of contact between us.

"You and me, Xander..." I whisper loudly, "That connection that's always been between us. Did you think I didn't notice? Your nasty barbs... your insults... low blows... all just a cover."

He blinks at me for a moment, until realization snaps him suddenly to life. He's on his feet in less than a heartbeat.

"Oh, hey. Whoa. Wait a minute, buddy. You are waaaay off. My nasty attitude? It's real. All about the hatred. Don't like you. Never have, never will. Period. No connection about it."

I let my glance slide up and down his hard, young body. He's really not a bad looking kid. And I'd bet, with all that repressed anger I can feel seething right beneath the surface of his skin...

I bet old Xander would make a damn fine vampire.

"It's just you and me, now, Xander... No Buffy... No Willow... No Giles...Nobody to see. Nobody to judge." I get to my feet, and follow him as he backs away. "You invited me up here, tonight. I saw the way you were looking at me... I know that you want me. Don't try to deny it."

He holds up his hands, as if he can will me away.

"Angel, I'm uh... I'm flattered and everything, really. I mean... you're a good looking guy and all, but... I swear, I'm all straight, all the time. No wanting. Honest."

I sniff the air around him and narrow my eyes as I continue to follow his retreat. "Could have fooled me, son," I inform him. "I can smell your lust from here. Come on... haven't you ever wondered? Whether my skin feels cool... whether my mouth is sweet... how big my..."

"STOP!" he shouts, blushing furiously and fairly panting, now. "Don't come any closer, or I'll..."

He backs into the wall with a dull 'thump.' Before he can move again, I'm on him, a hand on either side of his head, pinning him backward, so we are eye to eye.

Yes, he is terrified. Some part of him knows that he's going to die, not so long from now. Some part of him wants to. But more than that, he wants this -- the rush of hormones that floods his blood, stimulated by my proximity. He wants me to touch him. Wants to touch me. Wants to taste my lips and my tongue... wants my hands flowing over every inch of his skin.

"Or you'll what, Xander?" I purr, "Run? You know... as scared shitless as you are, I don't think you will."

Before he can respond, I kiss him. Long... slow... gentle. He struggles, pushing his hands feebly against my chest, but I take my taste of him before I let him go. His mouth is warm, bitter with beer and terror. Delectable.

"You... You're not Angel!" he gasps when I pull away.

Oh, please. He's not just figuring this out *now*, is he?

I tap tiny kisses to his jaw. Flick my tongue under his chin and up to his lips. He's shivering from head to foot.

"Does it matter?" I murmur into his mouth, dipping in with a light sweep of my tongue. "It's not the soul you want, Xander... it never was." I let my hands wander, caressing his face, his neck, over his broad shoulders and chest, his hard midsection, his waistline. "You've never felt quite adequate with women, have you? You're always the pal, never the king stud. Always losing out to guys like me. But... when you insult me... when you act superior, that makes you feel like a man, doesn't it?" I grab the bulge in his jeans, and continue speaking soothingly to him as I stroke his erection through the thick material. "It's all right. Angry lust is nothing to be ashamed of. You want to know, don't you? Want to know what I 've got that's always drawn Buffy to me, when she barely gives you a second glance?"

"N...no," he stutters, barely able to give his protest voice.

I'm so fucking good at this. No wonder I'm a damn Master.

"Yesssss.... You do. The danger. The darkness. The possibility of bliss and death in one single being. I can show you. I can make you feel things you've never imagined in your most pornographic fantasies." As I speak, I continue stroking his fairly throbbing cock right through his pants, and brush tongue kisses all over his rough jaw and neck. "I came back for you, Xander, because I've always wanted you, too."

For a moment, he's completely still. But I can feel his muscles bunching under my roaming hands, and with a pretty surprising display of strength -- and frankly, balls -- Xander shoves me hard enough that I back away, and he slips out from under me, making a frantic dash for the door.

I know, it should piss me off. But... unlife is really too short to get annoyed with bad turns in games you know you're eventually going to win.

So I follow him, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my face. I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- I *love* being a vampire.

The idiot's close to tears now, and shaking so hard, he can't undo all the locks he was so careful to do when we came in.

I guess he wasn't expecting to be trapped inside *with* the monsters.

He yelps when I press up against his back, pinning him face first against his last hope for survival. Not that there was really ever any hope...

"Now, Xander... you're not being a very gracious host."

I grind my crotch into his ass, and chuckle as an involuntary shiver runs through him.

"Get off me," he hisses.

Oooh. Dead Meat's got spunk. Gotta admire that.

I grind harder, and lick his ear, then down the nape of his neck. His body heat kicks up a degree in a really fabulous mix of lust and mortal terror.

"Your mouth is saying no, but you're body's saying YES," I inform him.

"My body's saying get this fucking dead, ugly FUCK off me!" he growls.

I laugh and back away, surprising him so badly, he turns around and just stands there, staring at me. What a fucking moron.

I shrug. "So... go, then."

Xander blinks furiously, his brain short-circuiting right before my eyes.

But, you know, as much of a pussy as Harris is, he's been training for five years with the very best, and a little of that was bound to rub off. With just barely more than normal meatbag speed, he fakes left (which I don't follow -- how stupid does he think I am?), then dives right, reaching for a nearby closet.

Naturally, his hand never makes it to the doorknob, because my fist makes good, solid contact with his jaw. A pretty damn nice uppercut, actually, that sends him flying back the way he just came, and crashing into the wall.

I'll be damned if he doesn't get right back to his feet! I laugh at the silly futility of his struggle. Just like a bug in the bathtub drain... obviously drowning, but fighting for every last shred of hope for survival.

That tenacity is part of what makes being a hunter of humans so much fun. If they just gave up, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel... and that's only satisfying when I'm really hungry.

Xander's eyes jerk left, then right, looking for... what? Buffy to materialize before his eyes? Not gonna happen this time, pal. Your precious savior is tucked tight in her bed, right where you left her. This, I'm afraid, is the end of the line.

Before he can move again, I'm back on him, nailing him up against the wall. It's like we never left this position, except for the increase in adrenaline in his bloodstream, and the fact that he's twice as hard as he was before.

"Gotcha!" I laugh, and kiss him full on the lips once more. "That was fun."

His little struggle was well worth it. He's shaking so hard, I'm pretty sure he'll fall on his face if I let him go. But... notice he's not fighting anymore. He's finally realizing the truth of what I've been saying. I plunge into his mouth, and let my hands roam his body once more.

I pull away just enough to tug his sweater over his head, revealing all that warm, meaty living flesh. Mmmm. He's so tasty. I stroke and lick every inch of his torso, taking my time to suckle his tiny nipples until they're hard as stone. I slowly crouch down, never losing contact between my mouth and his skin, and finally plunge my tongue into his belly button.

He cries out -- a puppy yelp, ending with a breathy moan of my name, and tangles his hands in my hair.

That's right, Harris, you little fuck. Give yourself to me. I promise, in the end, you won't be alone.

I unclasp his belt and jeans, draw down his fly, and release his pulsing cock from the confines of his clothes. He moans deep in his chest and digs his nails into my scalp as I stroke its length.

I look up at him. The only thing more beautiful than a death mask on a human being is *that* look... pure lust. Brows furrowed tight, mouth slack, breath puffing out in half grunts and whimpers. It's a known fact: if you take a good, firm hold of any male creature's genitals, eventually, he's gonna give in.

"Do you want me to?" I whisper.

He shakes his head furiously, but doesn't look. Doesn't speak.

"Look at me," I command.

He does, and there is nothing left in those dark eyes but surrender. Once a wimp, always a wimp, I always say.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Xander."

It's better this way. Draw out the things your victims most hate about themselves... make them tell you all, and they are putty in your hands. Literally.

"Please...please..." he gasps, closing his eyes.

I smile. "Please what?" I drag my tongue up his turgid length, and circle once around the spongy head, flicking away the dew that's already gathered there.

"Oh God! Please, Angel!" I'm not sure if he's begging me to stop or begging me to go. Not that it really matters.

I repeat the attention to his penis, and his knees quake in response. "Tell me. Tell me what you want," I encourage him. "What you *really* want."

His cock jerks, and I can feel his will give like an elevator full of fat ladies. And they're all singing.

"Suck me! Please! Please suck my dick!"

Score. Another brilliant tick in the Angelus column.

I take his thick member deep into my mouth, sucking harder than any human could ever dream of. His knees finally give, and his weight leans against my chest as he thrusts wildly into my face. I slide him out, suckle his head, and let him arch back in again, keeping my mouth and throat clamped tight around him. I knead one of his ass cheeks with my hand, and use the other to fondle his balls.

"Unnnnnggghhh... Ohgodohgodyes!" he moans. His cock jerks in my mouth. "Yes. God. Angel. Don't stop. Don't stop. Pleeeeease..."

I smile around his girth and ease my finger into his crack, gently caressing the slit between his cheeks. So easy. Humans are so... damn... easy.

I pull away and stand up, chuckling at him as he falls to the floor. Xander stares up at me, overcome by anger, frustration, and just plain want.

"Wh... why did you..." he stutters.

I just smile down at him, and strip. He watches me, unable to control the wandering of his eyes over my body, coming to rest at last on my cock as I set it free, and give it a few long, loving strokes.

"I'm going to fuck you, Xander. I'm going to slam this cock into your ass until you scream like the bitch you are. And you're going to love it. Then, I'm going to personally introduce you to the concept of eternal life. That's what you *really* want, isn't it? That's why the venom... the jealousy. You've always wanted to be me."

He pushes himself up on his hands and starts trying to scoot backwards, shaking his head.

"No."

"Ah, my little pup. Said with such *utter* lack of conviction, I'm afraid. You know you want it. To be strong. Live forever. Get all the girls?" I walk slowly toward him, my hard-on firmly in hand. "And this, well... this is just a lucky bonus."

His terrified gaze ticks down to me stroking myself. Yup, I'm fairly certain that sex, power and blood all occupy overlapping parts of Xander's overtaxed brain. And there's little doubt as to the central reason why that's so.

Buffy.

"Stay away!" he cries as I reach him. I stomp on his chest, pinning him to the floor.

Sheer terror crosses those eyes. He thinks he doesn't want it. He thinks all he wants is a nice blow job from the nice vampire, so he can jerk off to the memory, but otherwise never think about it again. He thinks he's going to live through this.

Stupid boy.

*****
Part 3:

His body knows better. His penis is practically purple against his pale belly, engorged to near bursting, begging for me to touch it, even as even as fight or flight battles for space with the rut and the knowing burgeoning in his blood.

I take my foot away and back off.

"Get up," I order him.

He lies there, trembling.

"What's the matter, Xander? I thought you wanted this. You were begging me just a minute ago."

He says nothing.

"GET UP, BOY!" I roar at him.

He's on his feet in less than a second.

See? Lower creatures know their place. They just need a little reminder of who actually *is* on the top of the food chain, that's all.

I step toward him, reach out to take him by the balls, and whisper in his ear. "If you're a good dog, I'll get you off like you've never gotten off before. Now... go bend over the bed."

I step away and watch as he scurries into the bedroom and stands there, staring down at the bed like it'll eat him if he touches it.

Kid, that mattress isn't going to eat you. *I* am.

I move behind him and slide my body against his back. Xander moans softly as my dick comes up between his thighs, and he spreads his legs wider so I can rub myself up beneath his balls.

"Forever, Xander," I whisper in his ear. "Young and powerful. The top of the evolutionary pecking order at last. Whatever you want, you can just... take."

I dry hump him slowly... reach around to grasp his cock in my hand again. Wrap my fingers around and match the stroking rhythm to the smooth shifting of my erection under his sac. The boy's heart is racing so hard, I'm afraid he might have a coronary before I can kill him myself. He leans back against me, his head on my shoulder, exposing his throat. My true face slides on as I languidly lave at the pulsing vein. Ah, yes... I can taste him already. He wants this more than anything he's ever coveted in his life. Wants me, and everything I'm offering.

Just a pinprick of fang... a dribble of blood. Xander cries out, thrusting his ass back into me as I lap the droplets away.

Exactly as I always suspected... he tastes like Twinkies, sex, and endless, mind-bending fear.

"Mmmm... Xander... you taste so good..." I rumble in his ear, never easing up on my rhythm between his legs.

"Aaaaangelllll..." he groans, like he's in pain.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"Please..."

And with the begging again. He's not even my whelp yet, and already he's playing subservient like he's been doing it for years.

Which, when you think about it, he has. It's a nice change from my beloved Will, who I had to school for decades. Hard. All the way up to this very night. Not that that isn't its own sort of fun.

I think Xander will do just fine as my lackey.

But I'm bored with all this teasing, 'tell me what you want' crap. It's perfectly clear what he wants at this point, and he's already pretty much broken just by the reality of what is happening to him... what he's allowing to happen... what he wants to happen... and most mind-shattering of all, what will undoubtedly happen to him after.

I like to be sure, though. "Do you like my body, Xander? Do I feel good?"

It turns me on to hear my victims tell me how hot I am.

Just to encourage his response, I let my free hand roam down his muscular back, between the globes of his ass, and begin to rub soft circles around the puckered skin of his virginal opening. Mmm... he's tight and hot and pulsing against my fingertip. I can hardly wait to be buried inside.

"Yesgodyes!" he gasps.

"Do you want me? Do you want me to take you like this?" I moan in his ear, pulling the hand away from his crack. I lick my finger and return it quickly, gently sliding it in to the first knuckle.

"YES! I WANT YOU! PLEASE!"

Ah... that desperate yelp brings back such fond memories. Young William begged me to take him, too. Begged me to wipe away the pathetic wreck of his mortal life, and create him anew from my very flesh and blood.

The truth is, they all want it, deep down. They all want to be immortal.

I pinch his cock at the base. He's close, now, and I have every intention of getting a lot more of this for myself before I drink the orgasm from his veins.

Taking a quick glance around the room, I find a bottle of oil on the nightstand. Naughty Xander. I wonder if he uses it to beat off or to grease up his little girlfriend. Or both. Maybe at the same time.

Damn. Maybe I should have brought her here, too. I've got to start planning these things better.

I let Xander drop to the bed and reach for the oil. Doesn't the little bastard start scrambling across the mattress, whimpering, as he tries to get away!

"Where ya going, Xander?" I ask him, bending and grabbing him by the nape of the neck with my free hand.

He freezes, and squeals, "No...nowhere!"

I love it when they squeal. I let go of his neck.

"Get up on your hands and knees," I command, and watch with no small amount of glee as he does it. How many times have I imagined a scene very much like this? This disrespectful little bitch with his ass waving in the air, his shoulders and head pressed to the mattress, begging for me to tear him in half? I wish I could kill him for every time he called me names... for every time he mocked my Mate for her devotion to me... Hell, I'd like to rip his heart out for every time it *beat*.

But... I only get to kill him once, so... I have to make it count. Retribution can come after he's risen.

I squeeze the oil out onto my hands. Love that feeling, like pouring liquid silk on my skin. I love it even more as I fist it over my cock. Jets of electric pleasure shoot through my nerves, turning up my bloodlust a notch. You know, as much ass as I've gotten tonight... and as much as I've had to eat, I'm still ready for more of both.

A hundred years of self-denial will do that to a vampire, I guess. Fucking Soul.

I position myself on my knees between his legs.

"Are you ready?" I whisper. Not because I *care* if he's ready, but because I want him wide awake and fully aware of spending his final moments with the cock of his worst enemy buried to the root in his asshole.

It's a truly beautiful, poetic irony, don't you think?

His entire form is tense and quaking, and I can practically hear his mind screaming for him to MOVE. But the message just isn't reaching the rest of his body. It's waiting for its ultimate fate. I softly stroke the small of his back, urging him toward me.

He starts to cry. Pussy.

"No. Please... don't... I don't..." he whimpers.

"You don't what, pup?"

"I don't want to die!" he cries. "Please don't!"

I laugh. "Please don't... please do... which the fuck is it, Xander? Do you want me to fuck you, or should I just rip your head off and FedEx it to Buffy as a birthday present?"

He just kneels there and sobs, clutching the blankets, weakly pulling himself across the bed. It's barely worth the effort of stopping him. But... no harm in starting his whelp lessons now, I suppose. I reach out and grab a fistful of his hair, elliciting a tasty, pained yelp as I drag him upright before me.

"Don't fight me, boy. You're going to die. We can do it nice, or we can do it painful..." I chuckle. "Okay, so... either way, it's going to hurt like a bitch, but... whether or not the pain is worth it is entirely up to you."

To emphasize my point, I use my oiled hand to stroke languid lines down his chest... flick his diamond-cutter nipples, and finally wander down to softly caress his balls.

He moans and puddles against me.

I think I can safely take that as his answer. I shove him face down into the mattress and hold his head there, reaching for the bottle once more, and pour it directly into the crack of his ass.

"There you go," I whisper as he shudders with the sensation. "That's better, isn't it? That feels good."

"Yes," he gasps, rocking back toward me.

Mm. That's nice. Good Xander.

I slide my oily hand down his crevice, slicking him until his ass is shiny as new plastic. Trail my fingers down his crack, underneath his perineum, and oil up his balls with a few gentle squeezes. He whimpers as I bring my slippery digits back to his hole. With my other hand, I spread his cheeks, giving myself a better view, rim the puckered opening with a lubed finger, then let it slip inside.

Xander cries out as he takes what is probably the first foreign object he's ever had up his ass. I stroke in and out until his super rigid muscles start to soften, then poke in a second finger. He moans as I tickle his prostate, and finally, add a third slick digit.

He sobs once more at the last invasion, and I can see his tears splashing down onto the sheets, but I've got no more patience for subtlety or seduction. It's time for the payoff.

I ram my hand into him, ignoring his tears and weak cries of protest. It's all a sham, of course, as I can see his hard-on poking out in front of him just as it has been through our entire encounter. When his inner muscles finally relax around my fingers, I pull out and grab my dick, stroking it with more oil and guiding it to his entrance.

"Please, Angel... don't hurt me," he whimpers, pulling away a bit.

You know, I think that might be the funniest thing the little prick's ever said. I chuckle, but don't respond as I press my head against his puckered hole.

Oh, God, he's so tight. His body doesn't want to give way at all, even after the thorough finger fucking. So I position myself squarely in entry position, and dig my fingers in the flesh of his hips. With one good pull, I impale him onto to me. No slow thrust, no waiting for him to adjust. Just the plunge.

He gives a gutteral shout, half pain, half pleasure, as I sheath myself to the root in his pulsing channel. I thrust into him, driving his body back with my hands on his hips, and take a moment to look down... to watch his body take me in as I slam him.

After the first few moments of bellowing and weeping like a baby, Xander finally joins the fun, driving himself backward with some fairly impressive animal grunts and growls of his own. I drape myself over him and growl right back.

"I always knew you'd like it up the ass, Harris," I snarl in his ear.

He's too lost in the rut to care. That's good. That means I can make him squeal nice and quick, then glut on his hormone-laced blood. All this foreplay's made me fucking hungry.

I reach around with one still-slick hand, and take possession of his member. Xander thrusts into it, nearly fucking my hand right off, setting the same jarring pace for my jerking him as I've set for fucking him.

Oh... this is good... the giving in, the giving up... makes this so much sweeter... He smells... Oh, God, almost as good as he feels. His whole body is at maximum temperature, including his sphincter muscles, which burn my cock even as they milk me to near madness.

I pump and screw him mercilessly, loving the whimpers he starts to make as his climax grows closer. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull us upright, using my legs to keep the punishing rhythm in his ass as we both rise to our knees. His head lolls back onto my shoulder once more, and his artery pulses in time with his thundering heart.

"Do you like it, Xander? Is it good, huh? Do you like my cock in your ass? You like me jerking you off like a little fag?"

"Uuuhhhhhh... yes... yes... ohgod... yes," he pants, following up and down with my every thrust, "Don't stop. Oh God. Angel... Fuckmefuckmefuckme. Yes... Yesyes... I'm gonna... I'm gonna... OhgodI'mgonnacome... I'mgonnacomeI'mgonnacomeI'mgonna... AAAARRARRROHHHHHH!"

The incoherent fucktalk would be my cue. As he wails at the top of his lungs, his semen spurting into the air in front of us, I lean in and tear into his throat, clamping down, ripping away the flesh that protects the precious font, and drink, hard and fast.

Xander screams. Screams so loud and shrilly, I think the windows might shatter. But he keeps coming... keeps shuddering in my arms, and I can still taste the thick, sweet taste of his orgasm pumping through him. Death Bliss on top of sex. There's no flavor in the universe quite like that. It's addicting...like vampire heroin.

It doesn't take long to drain him, as hard as I'm sucking... it's more of a feed kill, really, but... at this point, I just want to Turn him, come, and get the Hell out of here. I've had about all of Xander Harris I can handle for one night. Talk about high fucking maintenance. Cordelia was an easier fuck.

His heartbeat finally slows to a labored crawl, and his once strong and healthy form goes limp in my arms. I let us both fall to the side on the bed, and release my crunch hold on his neck and cock. I bring my wrist up to my mouth and tear into it, hissing with the sting of the opening flesh. The aroma of his blood and mine combined as it pours out of me is just... wrong... wrong in a good way that makes me clamp one arm around his waist and ram deeper and harder into his cooling body, even as I wrap the wounded arm beneath his head and press the bloody gash to his mouth.

"Drink, boy."

For a moment, he doesn't respond. His lips are cold and still against my arm.

I have *never* failed to turn my intended, and I'll be *damned* if Xander Harris is the first. I force the gash between his teeth. I'm fucking him now as much from anger as anything, tearing his innards right through with the viciousness of my thrusts.

Finally, his mouth seals tight over the wound, and he pulls that first drought of Sireblood from my veins.

Oh... CHRIST! I howl in spite of myself, and shoot into his bloody channel as I come at last. Nothing gets me off faster than being drunk from, let me tell you.

Of course, when I pull my arm away, he dies. Pretty much without a whimper, even. Fitting. I let his corpse fall to the mattress and pull out of him. He'll keep until he rises at sunset tomorrow. I leave him a note where he can find me when he wakes, then jump in the shower.

Now *that* was *fun*!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now here I am, my Slayer standing in the dark looking at me through her window, still only half-awake.

Let me in, my love. Ask me to take you. Xander did.

It still makes me snicker to think about humiliating that little puke. And how Buffy and I will make him our personal fucktoy until the end of time.

Buffy takes a groggy step toward me.

That's right, baby...

"Oi! Angelus!"

What the Hell? I look down.

SPIKE? What the FUCK is he doing here?

"Fuck off, Spike," I spit at him, "This isn't your business."

I look back up at Buffy. She's fully aware, now, and staring out at me with wide, disbelieving eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"Angel?" she whispers, but I can hear her even through the glass.

I smile at her and shake my head slowly. The horror in those sweet, mossy pools grows as she backs away.

Aw... what the matter, love? Don't want to play? I have such fun planned for us.

Ow! A rock slams into my leg. I shoot a glare down at my Childe, that I hope fully conveys how disappointed I am in his behavior. Did he learn *nothing* from our earlier meeting?

"Get the Hell away from her!" he barks.

I laugh at him, and turn back to the window again.

The shades are drawn. FUCK!

"You are so dead, whelp," I grumble to myself, and leap down from the tree, turning immediately to advance on him.

Spike doesn't back down, and maintains full eye contact.

Oh, Christ. Didn't we *do* this once already? I'm too tired for reruns.

"You're not taking the Slayer," he informs me.

I crook my head at him. "No? And why, pray tell, not? She's mine. Weren' t you paying attention before?"

He bravely (or stupidly, depending on how you look at it) stands his ground, shifting into demon face, spoiling for a fight.

"She's not yours. You abandoned her. She was fair game, and I took her. She's got my mark now," he growls.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. This pup just *never* learns.

I rush him, laying him flat with a single rage-powered punch, but he's back on his feet in a moment. His tenacity in protecting the *Slayer*, of all people, is nothing short of... well, stupid, really. But it cracks me up, makes me all the more hot for him, and makes me want to dismember him slowly, all at once.

"Come on, Spike. I know she's good, but she's not *that* good. Not worth my ripping you in half, is she?"

He scowls, bares his teeth. "I'm not gonna let you kill her, you bastard."

I stop my advance. "Kill her? Why would I do that?"

Spike straightens his posture a little, a flash of confusion in his yellow eyes.

"You're not here to kill her?"

Ah, he's finally starting to get it. Maybe I won't have to pop his head off like a dandelion, after all. It would be a shame to lose my Most Favoured, especially now that I'm about to be Master.

I shake my head. "You've always had such a limited imagination, Will. There are *far* more interesting things to do with The Greatest Slayer in History than just killing her, don't you think?"

He lets that sink in for a moment, and his human visage reappears.

"Like...what?"

That's my boy. Still evil, deep down. Hasn't been fully tamed yet. I wrap an arm around his slim shoulders and lead him away from Buffy's house. "Let 's head back to the mansion, and I'll fill you in on the plan."

Things really will go so much more smoothly with my First Made at my side. Especially carrying Agent Wormfood out of here.

Dawn is only a few minutes away, and frankly, I'm beat. It's been one Hell of a night. So many bodies... so much sex... so much blood. I'm ready for a good, long snooze. But, I think maybe a blow from my boy, first. Just to wind me down.

As we leave the Summers' yard and head off toward Crawford Street, I take a final glance over my shoulder toward the house. The shade is pulled back just an inch or two, and I see my Mate's sorrowful face peeking through the opening.

Don't worry, little Buff. I'll be back. Tomorrow's a brand new night.

~FINIS~