I FUCKING HATE THIS!

I remember once, this street hack voodoo bitch down in New Orleans put a hex on me, and for a friggin' week, all I could do when I opened my mouth was bleat like a fucking sheep. Took Dru less than 24 hours to find a reversal spell, but SIX bloody DAYS to get her brain together enough to cast the soddin' thing... and I couldn't do it because all I could say was "Baaaaa". (and let me tell you, that doesn't translate into Latin.) Worse than that, half the time I didn't have control of my mouth at all, so I couldn't just shut up and wait for the spell to work. I ran around the damn lair bleating and snorting like a bloody idiot whether I wanted to or not.

The gut-wrenching fucking angst melodrama unfolding in this goddamn hotel room is just like that! I mean, HELL! All I wanted was to give my wounded Sire a little jolly, you know? He was feeling poorly, and a good blowjob always perked him up in the past...

And yeah. Yeah, I read him poetry! So what? Doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Doesn't mean I wanted to sit there and bloody cry like a little pud smacker, working through my "issues"! It's like their fucking ironic ennui is a damn virus, and banging them has passed it on to me. I'd rather be dust than feel the Slayer's sweet little lips on me, my Sire holding us and weeping into our hair like we're on one of those "Oprah Reunites a Family" specials!

What is happening to me? Why the bloody fuck am I here?

(you love them)

I DO NOT FUCKING LOVE THEM! I'm a FUCKING DEMON! A GODDAMN VILLIAN, FOR CHRISSAKE! I've done stuff to humans that'd give LOVECRAFT nightmares! I've played Cat's Cradle with Dru using ENTRAILS! I've taken a bloody catclaw to PRIESTS! I've done more than my fair share of rape, torture and murder, you know? I'M FRIGGING EVIL! Why does everybody forget that?

It wasn't until I laid eyes on this fucking BITCH I'm holding in my arms that I started acting like a bloody POUFTER!

Aw... fuck. I'd yell if I could stop bloody crying.

This is so wrong. It's against all the laws of nature and bloody man, what's happening, here. The way I feel right now. Angelus was screaming at me that I didn't have a soul, and he was spot on. So why?

(remember your little theory about the chip, nancyboy?)

Oh, BUGGER THAT! Sod the effin' chip, and sod this souled faggot and sod the goddamn bloody Vampire Slayer who's supposed to be my natural fucking enemy!

(oh, come on, Willie... don't tell me Angel didn't taste good in your mouth. It was heaven to have his fangs in your throat again, and you know it. and everytime you touch the friggin Slayer, you turn into a blubbering mess.)

I was confused, is all, what with him almost dying... finding him in the shape he was in, and her all crying and whatnot. He is still my Sire, even if He is a homo. He's blood, you know? That's all. And she's needy...

Damn it. I'm fucked.

It's too much, all this damn shouting and pain and affection... being able to feel every damn thing that they feel like it's running through my veins right along with my own growing lunacy.

(you love them, you bloody pansy.)

I don't. I don't love them.

I feel like I'm standing outside my body, and looking in at this clutch of flesh, blood and agony. I want to be drunk. I want to be out hunting. I want Dru to be singing about two-headed kittens and how the friggin' stars are singing. I want Angelus to call me boy, and bang me till I bleed. I want the taste of hot blood in my mouth. I want to hold Death in my arms.

(I want to be a real demon again.)

I don't want this. I don't want to be a neutered, muzzled animal being held tenderly by some fucking knight in shining armor. I don't want the Slayer's warm hands on my face, her little comforting kisses like candy on my lips.

It's a nightmare. A fucking demon's worst nightmare.

(you keep telling yourself that.)

Angel pulls away first, one of his big hands on my cheek, the other on Buffy's. She looks up at him like he hung the damn moon just for her, and he gazes down at her like she's the most precious jewel in the fucking universe.

(you're jealous. you want him to look at you like that.)

Like Hell, I do! I want him to go back to what he was a week ago -- a fucking painful memory shoved in the back of my brain right alongside that chip!

His eyes tick to mine. His thumb strokes a lazy, familiar path across my cheek, down my jaw, he swallows hard and...

Fuck me. There's something in those eyes, something... hot and sharp and...

Son of a bitch. I know what he's thinking. Jesus H Christ on a popsicle stick!

I look at the Slayer. She's practically a little kid, for Chrissake! What the Hell is she gonna think about the spot of kink her flawless bloody Prince Charming is suggesting?

She steps back out of our little huddle, and pulls off her nightshirt, letting it fall to the floor, and now she's standing there, that bloody amazing body bare in the soft light of the fire.

Gotta say... I wasn't expecting that.

My eyes jerk back to Angel. So... what do we do now, Master? You're the director of this little porno movie...

("Dear Penthouse: My vampire Childe and I had a tasty threesome with the Chosen One the other night. There was a whole lot of staking, but no dust.")

And doesn't the bastard look surprised!

I really can't believe this is happening to me.

Truth be told, I'm instantly as hard as a rock, because... let's face it, rhyme or reason aside, this is probably going to rank right up there on William the Bloody's Top Ten List of Really Good Fucking Nights.

So me and the pouf both stand there, gawking at the barenaked Slayer, and she smiles softly and reaches out a hand to each of us, and says,

"I think maybe we can get around the Curse."

.....

That was my mind short-circuiting.

I look at Angel again, but he's busy staring at the Slayer's tits like they're the bloody Pearly Gates, and she's fucking St. Goddamn Peter, standin' there, going, "Hey, Angel. How are ya? Come on in and grab yourself a harp."

What do I do? I think I respond to this little turn of events with a squeak.

She doesn't say anything else. Just walks toward me, and fucking takes my face between those hands and starts monging on my mouth.

Angel stands there like the big, dumb lummox his is, and watches his freaking soulmate suck my face off. He's jealous, sure. I can smell the "Don't touch my mate, whelp," pheromones flying off him like crazy. But he's a kinky bastard, this I know from personal experience. And it sure as fuck isn't the first time he's watched me do his mate. In fact, Angelus used to get all kinds of ha-ha's, sitting in a chair, fully dressed, next to his bed while I fucked Darla six ways from Saturday.

'Course, he usually pounded me senseless, afterward...

But I'm thinking he's thinking that the three of us together is going to be some sort of cosmic rubber for his bloody Curse. If he's doing both of us, he's not going to be perfectly happy, is he? Hell, "Penthouse" got nothing on us.

Buffy dislodges herself from my mouth, and turns to look at Angel. She doesn't know what the fuck she's doing, obviously. But... hey... this is their game, not mine, so I'm not lifting a damn finger to help, even if my package is hard enough to shatter if you hit it just right.

I've been in a threesome or two before, of course. In fact, Angelus was usually one of the three. I know that somebody often gets left out for a time. But that gets remedied right quick when things heat up, fear not. I'm not at all jealous to watch the little nympho walk over to my Sire, and run her hands over his bare chest like he's a bolt of fine silk, and she's looking to make herself a dress. He closes his eyes and shivers.

Okay, so I'm a little jealous. But I pass the moment by gettin' outta my drawers before he can even finish moaning, "God, Buffy..."

Aye-fucking-YAH! Let's skip all the mushy bullocks and get to the shagging!

Oh, but wait. I forget this is Romeo and fucking Juliet, we've got here, and they've been apart for a while--all that forbidden romance rot-- so there's a bit of sighing and slow caresses, and moaning about love and whatnot.

So while I'm standing here watching, polishing my knob -- because yeah, it's damn hot, watching the Slayer strip off Angel's pants and start working her mouth over every inch of that incredible body of his -- let me tell you my theory about Perfect Happiness.

I didn't stop them from scrogging before because I was afraid of that nutter fucking remnant of my Sire coming back if they got nasty. Honestly? I think that rotten fucker's gone forever, and good riddance, because that particular incarnation of Angelus just wasn't right in the head.

Nope. I stopped Buffy and Angel from doin' the deed for no other reason than I was thinking it would be good for a laugh. Believe me, if I'd thought it was going to lead to an hour of friggin' intensive therapy, I would've let 'em go at it, watched 'em go, then let myself be amused by all their guilt and worry, after.

My Sire's not going to lose His soul if he bangs the Slayer, anymore than he did when he got off with me. Here's why: it's not sex that cuts Peaches' ties to his eternally tortured essence -- not even sex with his beloved Buffy. The way I read it is this (and I mean *read* it, because I stole all the Watcher's notes and did just that. Do you really think I woulda blown him if I didn't know for certain that shootin' his wad would bring back that fucking psycho? Uh... no.): The fairy's meant to suffer -- that is, all his angst and woe and torment is supposed to weigh on his mind night and day, forever. He's supposed to be wracked with remorse, remember all the damage he's done and all that, 24/7, till Doomsday.

Now, way back when, when him and Goldilocks first got funky, it was like he wasn't what he was anymore. First time he'd gotten any in a hundred years, and all this unconditional love, acceptance, and desire from this innocent little thing... Being with her, inside her; having her, his mortal enemy, show him enough love and trust to give herself to him... Poor bastard had hope for the first time in a damn painful century. He was probably making love to her, thinking about how freakin' blessed and lucky he was, planning a future together, and when he let go?

Oops. Forgot about the soul. Forgot about the guilt, the suffering, the anguish, and all his contrition for the blood and murder and mayhem he spent 150 years perpetuating.

It wasn't the coming that did the poor fucker in. It wasn't even coming in his precious bloody soulmate -- it was the forgetting. And I'd bet you a million fucking dollars, if he snogs her right now (and I'm thinking he will), he's only gonna be half in the sex, because the only thing he'll be thinking about is that Curse, his soul, and all the bloody amends he still has to make.

But anyway... back to the matter at hand. So to speak.

The Slayer's down on her knees, now, and my Sire's gettin' the knob polishing of his... okay, the last couple of hours or so, because I give damn good head. His knees are shaking like he's gonna fall over, his hands tangled in her hair, and he moans deep in his throat.

Did I ever mention Angel's a bloody hot lay? Makes these wicked noises... loves to talk. Murmuring and groaning and sighing and all that, like he's doing now.

Okay. Enough waiting. My turn.

I approach them, and run a hand down the wanker's enormous barrel chest. God, he's just... beautiful. I can't help myself. My brain knows I should hate him, hate her, hate this... but the rest of me doesn't give a tosser's afternoon with a bottle of Vaseline what my brain knows. I step close to his side, and one of his trembling hands comes out of her hair and digs into mine, pulling me right to his mouth.

Oh, yeah... His tongue flicks along the length of mine, then traces my lips, and then he sucks my tongue between his teeth, and he starts doing a mini-performance of what Buffy's busy doing to him down below. God, he tastes so good... like the blood he drank a while ago, and even though it wasn't fresh, that taste...

Fuck. That tangy taste... his taste... the taste of blood and tears, pain and Slayer and me, and my whole damn existence is tied up in this mouth. I sink into the kiss, and in a moment, a small, warm hand reaches up and wraps around my...

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST! Now her mouth joins in, and it's so different, this time. She's with *me*. She's sucking *my* dick. All I can do is watch, and Angel watches too, which is too friggin' much, for me. He's watching his precious bloody Mate blow his Most Favoured Childe while he strokes her hair, urging her on.

You better believe this is a kink even I never thought of. At least, not when I was awake.

I'll tell you what, if I ever see that fucking moron Army hick again, I'm gonna buy him a damn fruitbasket for teaching Buffy how to give such amazing head. Assuming, of course, that my honorable Sire never quite got to that particular comfort zone, considering he turned into a nutter bastard after their first scrog.

She really is fucking astounding, and my brain freezes completely at the sensation of her mouth around me. All there is in the universe is that heat enveloping my rod, and his cool hands caressing my chest, pinching my nipples.

Lost, is what I am. Fucking bamboozled by passion you better bloody believe I haven't felt in a good, long time. If ever.

And it isn't more than one or two of her heartbeats after that before we've all tumbled on to the bed, a tangle of arms and legs, flesh and hands and mouths, tongues and teeth, hard cocks and hot pussy.

Human sex. This is human sex, all the way. No blood besides what's in us, no fangs, no purring or growling, just moans and sighs and panting and yelps in the darkness. Been a long time since I've had human sex.

I don't know who I'm touching, after a bit. And I don't care. Cool, hot, soft, hard, it's all the same... it's all fucking good. We're one breath, one fucking heartbeat, one Blood. And a whole lot of genitalia.

All irony aside, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Someone pushes me on my back, and I feel Slayer legs straddle me... Sire cock rubbing hard against my thigh. I look up into her eyes... beautiful, smoky, lusty eyes, dark with all this animal rutting. I watch her sink down over me, take me into her living heat, then lean down and capture my lips as she rides me with these incredible feminine noises. She arches straight again, throws her head back, and Angel reaches between us, sinking his fingers into her Gasp and Grunt. Buffy cries out, slams down hard on me, and I can feel his finger dancing on her clit, her muscles squeezing me so hard I think I'm going to pop, and his lips are back on mine. Oh, FUCK! I can feel his hardness jerking against my leg, straining for the same release I can feel rushing toward me... God, Sire, I love you... Slayer... oh...Jesus!

She starts... wailing. Screaming, I swear, and me and Angel both open our eyes to watch her go... her eyes roll back in her head, her nails rip into his arm, my stomach, and he's moaning, "Yes... Buffy..." and her goddamn Slayer muscles are ripping me apart like some erotic fucking rack made out of flesh.

But she stops before I go over, which is okay by me, because yeah, I love her, and she feels like a bloody miracle, but...

I don't want to come in her. Not this time. And I don't want my seed spurting all over empty air and skin, either. I want inside. Inside him.

Buffy climbs off me and falls between us, panting. His lips close over hers, and he kisses her gentle, sweet... I suck on her earlobes, her throat. We take to licking her from head to foot, the two of us, one on each side, and she whimpers like a little puppy, arching her hips in the air as me and my Sire dry hump them, whispering and murmuring to her all the while.

Her juices smell like... power. Like pure, animal sex. Like me and her, and him too, somehow, and I follow my instincts down the lines of her hot little body down to that sopping next of curls between her legs, and plunge my face inside.

Sometimes, this is just as good as blood... especially from a live, writhing, throbbing Slayer. She's pouring all over my face, and I eat her slowly, just loving the shiver in my cells to taste the might in every drop. I make my way up to her clit, and take it, hot and quivering between my lips, sucking for all I'm worth. Her cries are muffled by my Sire's mouth as I look up, watch their faces fucking, and drive my fingers into her to the same rhythm as his tongue between her lips. He pinches her nipples softly, then traces the curve of her breasts, over her ribs, her belly. Her free hand reaches down, urging his mouth back to her nipples once more.

We both suckle at her like pups at their bitch, and she starts making these noises... part my name, part his, and a good dose of murmuring, cooing nonsense. I slide my fingers in and out of her, and her honey increases... changes viscosity and aroma, and she starts shouting again. Angel encourages her with his deep, soft voice... I follow the increasing pace of her heartbeat with my tongue until her body goes completely rigid beneath me, and her breath hitches to a stop. She's completely bloody silent as she comes, her heart pounding like it's gonna explode, and she arches her hips off the bed, carrying me with her, and Angel watches, moaning like there's no tomorrow. And holy shit, she tastes so goddamn good.

When she comes crashing to Earth again, she pulls me up by the hair beside her, and takes to kissing and licking her pleasure off my lips. Then Angel leans over her and kisses me, tongue deep, doing the same.

He pulls away, and I moan... "Sire..."

That does something to him. I don't know what, exactly, and I really don't give a fuck, because he practically dives over the Slayer, his carcass full weight right on top of me, and starts monging on my face like it's going out of style, and our legs and arms are all tangled, our equally aching and throbbing cocks rubbing against one another.

Now... I've read the Kama Sutra. I know that some pretty amazing bloody things can be done with a humanoid body -- especially a vampire one -- during sex. But I could sit and think about this night for a million years, and I could never begin to explain the logistics of this next bit. But I tell you... it happened anyway.

A quick description? Angel sandwich. And yeah, it's as damn yummy as it sounds.

The Slayer rolls away from him, on her side, and throws one leg up over his hip. He drives up and underneath her, fittin' like they're two pieces of a damn puzzle, and he drapes his hand over her waist, giving her a good finger wriggle as he starts thrusting in and out of her. Me... I steal a good goopy fistful of her plentiful wetness to lube myself up, and slide right into his... oh... fucking Son of Satan... my Sire's tight fucking hole...

Heaven is, by God, this particular Vampire With a Soul Oreo.

I ease into him and practically come on the spot, he's so tight. It takes a good bit of arranging and rearranging and grunting and moaning and occasional elbows in the face to get a rhythm going, but...

It's bloody worth it. End result being me sliding into him, and him sliding into her, and all of us groaning and crying out and making all kinds of fucked up noises.

But CHRIST... I've never felt anything so damn good in my life.

Blood is the center of reality for vampires, and more so, even, during sex. There's something... inherently animal when two vampires go at it... when all illusion of humanity is totally shattered, and lust becomes about pure demon nature. So, as I'm rocketing into oblivion buried to the hilt inside Angel's incredible ass, I do what comes naturally... I bury my fangs into him like he's made of friggin' butter, and he roars as that precious, forbidden Sireblood floods into my mouth. I ram him harder, which makes him ram her harder, and she's yelping like crazy. He snarls... demon noise, and I open my eyes, because I want a damn visual memory of this moment that I'm nursing from his vein as I fuck him.

What I see is mind-blowing... Buffy bows back against him, and turns her head just so... offering her damn throat to the rabid wolf... and Angel half-moans, half growls, and it's like slow motion as he lowers his true face to her offering... demon lips softly kissing her pulsing artery... she sighs his name, and then... BAM! He tears into her. She screams at the top of her lungs, slamming herself onto him. He starts whimpering as he drinks, and that's the end of it for all of us. Blood, fangs, cocks and snatch, pulsing, squeezing, thrusting, ramming and coming for fucking ever.

I swear, I passed right out. Never happened to me before when there wasn't a branding iron involved. That's what you call your earth-shattering shag.

*****

The smell of the sunrise wakes me, which never happens. Jesus. Old Will shagged ragged, if you can imagine. My whole body has that sort of weightless, blubbery-tired aching feeling like all my muscles melted, and I'll tell you right now, I haven't been so damn relaxed in a good, long time.

I open my eyes to find my Sire standing there in his froofy silk boxers and matching robe, toweling his hair dry, gazing down at me and the sleeping Slayer like we're hanging on the walls of the damn Louvre.

He sees I'm awake, and gives me a mushy smile.

"'Morning," he says softly.

"Yeah, no bloody kidding," I grumble. I'm not much for the early rising, and I can't think of a good reason why I should be now, but that Angel's standing there boring holes in my skull with his eyes.

"There's coffee, if you want," he says, and wanders over to the fireplace.

I just lay there and watch him move. He adds another couple of logs to the fire and gazes absently at the growing flames, looking like his old broody self, and I start to wonder if maybe I dreamed that whole smut scene last night.

Don't know. Don't really care.

I get up and head into the kitchenette to pour myself a hot java. The old-fashioned silver percolator is full of that noncy LA crap Angel likes so much that tastes like chocolate and nuts or some bullocks. Me, I just throw any old brown beans in with half the water you're supposed to use, and hope it's got a shitload of caffeine.

Another little reminder of how different we are, me and my Sire.

But... really, that's only surface stuff. I glance over at him, and his gaze is locked back on the Slayer again, so I check her out to see what's so damn interesting.

I've said it before... she really is a beautiful woman. So tiny, all curled up like an angel, tangled in the blankets with a little smile on her face. She's got this... aura, I guess, to her. I don't know if humans can see it--or Hell, if I ever even noticed it before now. It's like those pictures of saints you always see, where they're all surrounded by this pale golden haze. She's got that. It waivers around her like heat on summer pavement. I wonder if that's the draw of her, for me and Angel. Like that visible power makes her a bloody beacon for darkness. I don't know. But it makes me sorta warm inside to look at her, and know that I had some part in making her look so content.

Angel's got the same look on his face, and I'm reminded again that we're not so different, after all.

I wander over and sit in the chair beside him. He's turned back to the fire, now, and that pensive, big brow-scrunching look is back. See? I told you --no Perfect Happiness for this poor bastard.

"Your coffee sucks," I tell him.

A bit of a smile crawls across that fucking handsome-ass face, and when he turns it on me, it's like standing in the sunshine for the first time in a hundred years. And I was never one much for the sun when I was alive.

"Thanks," he says, "Considering you like your coffee closer to the consistency of mud, I'll take that as a compliment."

I just snort at him and light up a smoke. His caveman brow furrows a little further.

"I really wish you wouldn't smoke in here, Spike."

I shoot him a look. One thing for sure hasn't changed -- Angelus never liked people smoking in his bedroom without his leave, either. Of course, he wouldn't have expressed it like Angel just did. I'd be laying on the floor on the other side of the room, wiping blood off my chin, while he was putting the smoke out on whatever the closest bit of my bare skin was.

"I had to drag your enormous ass ten miles through the filthiest bloody sewers on the planet, you covered with shit and stinkin' like vampire rot. I think I'm entitled a smoke with my coffee."

It's a low blow, but... hey. I take my power where I can get it. With him, it's guilt.

Doesn't he bloody laugh. "Touch�," he says, and turns his attention back to the Slayer.

The expression on his face now is like something straight out of a gothic romance. This mixture of love and longing, desire and pain, and I can practically hear his dead heart healing and breaking all at once to look at her.

No doubt he's thinking some about last night, just like me.

"I find it sorta hard to believe you're really okay with this," I tell him, nodding toward her.

"I am, and I'm not," he replies.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

"I can't say I'm completely comfortable sharing either of you," he explains, turning to look at me again, "And I'm still not sure how I feel about you and Buffy being... involved. But... like she said, it's her choice. I don't have to like it. And I..." he swallows hard. "I trust you with her. At least I can be certain she's looked after, even if I can't be with her."

I can't bloody well believe what I'm hearing. I lean toward him, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Hold on a minute, there. You mean to tell me you're not gonna... I mean... the two of you aren't..."

Look at me, flabbergasted again. He can bang her now, right? Wasn't that their major malfunction? I mean... his soul looks to be fairly intact to me, even after last night's little adventure. So... what's with the martyr bit? Wait. What am I saying? This is Angel, we're talking about. Bet he's got a horsehair shirt in that closet somewhere.

He shakes his head. "Just because we can sleep together doesn't change the fundamental circumstances of our lives, Will. We have responsibilities... to the world, to ourselves. Now isn't the time for us to be together. I still can't give her the things she deserves... home, happiness, family. I can't fully give myself to her, knowing the curse is still there, and there's still so much I need to do to..."

He trails off, but I know what he's thinking. "be worthy of her." Schmuck.

"I can't believe you're still stuck on all that normal life bullshit. Please. Do you know what happened with Agent Blandboy? Her little side-trip into normalcy that you're so damn convinced she needs?"

Angel flinches and closes his eyes. I'm thinking Farmbred Fuckwad isn't exactly his favorite topic of conversation. And I bet he forgot all about the meathead through his little tribulation, and all the way through the shagging last night.

"Hell, mate," I go on, "Boy couldn't handle the pressure of being the Slayer 's damn consort. Ended up going out and playing snackbar for a bunch of demon ho's, for Chrissake. Kept saying he wanted to understand the "hold" you had over Buffy. Stupid bastard. And didn't he bugger right off when she wouldn't tell him that she loved him?"

His eyes flash-- shock, anger... turmoil.

"He what?" he says softly, "I thought... she told me..."

I shrug. "Dunno what she told you, but... from where I was standing it looked to me like the fine lad was pastime rebound loser."

He blinks. "Riley left her?"

"Yup. She's starting to think it's a pattern."

Angel frowns so hard, I think his face might crack. Can he see out from under that brow? "No... she can't think that," he whispers. "How could she?"

I chuck him in the shoulder. "Hey, Sire. Least you know that you still stand front and center in the Slayer's esteem, eh?"

He shakes his head. "She shouldn't have let him go. He seemed like... a good guy. Solid. Dependable. Loyal."

"She should get a dog, then, if that's what she wants. She's the Slayer, ya moron. She doesn't get the white picket fence and the 2.3 kids and the minivan or whatever. She gets swordplay and hellspawn, mate. Sacred duty and all that."

He's not even listening to me anymore. He's staring at her, and his damn big mouth is just running of its own accord. "She's the reason for all of it, Will. The only reason I even have this life. My purpose. I'd forgotten how... her light used to inspire me. Her power... That... belligerent innocence... Seeing her again, touching her, brings it all back. I remember now why I decided to become something in the first place. Why I'm doing all of this. She's the reason. I wanted so much more for her than what I had to offer... I owe her that much, at least."

Oh, bloody sobbing Christ. I mean, I can understand what he's saying. Can relate, even. At least, about her pull... Hell, how many times did I get away from Sunnydale, off looking for a new and better life, only to be sucked right back to the Hellmouth again? I'm thinking it was for a lot more than the nice scenery.

But really. Why does Angel always insist on seeing the bottle half empty? Shouldn't he be jumpin' for bloody joy that Beef Bulkhead is history, and it turns out he can shag the bint after all? But, no... he's gotta focus on the pain. Well... you know my theory about keeping his soul firmly in place. All about the brooding, that.

"What am I, chopped monkey meat?" I gripe at him.

Time for a subject change. He doesn't need to know the way I feel about Buffy. And him worrying himself back into the loonybin in his skull isn't going to help anybody, either.

He lays that half-smile on me again. "Hardly. You're part of it too, Will. Having you close is like..." He sighs and shakes his head. "I left you because I thought it was the best thing for everyone. You didn't exactly dissuade me from that when we met again, either."

Is be back on that again? Christ. I roll my eyes at him. For somebody who used to fancy himself such a big brained dandy, he sure is a bleedin' idiot.

"What'd you expect me to do? I didn't know what the hell you were about. You left without a word a hundred years ago, and now you're suddenly back and palling around with the Slayer and her chums? Not exactly a happy sort of reunion, what with you trying to kill me and all. Was right pissed off."

He scowls. "I think the whole rape and torture incident made that fairly clear."

Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.

"Sorry," I grumble. And really, I sort of am, now.

Angel shrugs. "Water under the bridge, I guess." His gaze sweeps up to my face again. "You've changed a lot since then."

Ain't that just a "Guinness Book"-sized understatement. "Mm," I grunt.

That's all he's getting out of me on that topic.

"I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you've been looking out for her. I've heard there've been... problems."

"Only if you call her arch enemy the Dark Slayer stealing her hide and scrogging her boyfriend, an indestructible half-demon Frankenstein almost skewering her, her mum having brain Cancer, and some Demi-God in a tight red mini-dress Buffy can't even make a dent in a problem, I guess. Yeah."

And I thought his frown couldn't get any deeper.

"Nothing she can't handle, mate," I lie. We're taking care of him right now. We can worry about the Hellmouth later.

He forces a smile, and nods. "She's a lot tougher than she looks, but a lot softer than she acts, Spike."

What a freaking poet. Bloody poufter. 'Course... he's right.

We sit there for a while, me sippin' my joe and smoking, him just looking thoughtfully into the fire. I think a bit on what he said about me changing. My whole damn existence has mutated into something completely different than it was a couple of years ago. I always thought demons didn't change, you know? We got turned, and pretty much stayed the same vampire until we were dust. But the more time I spend around humans, the more I see that our species really aren't that different, when it comes to growth. I really have changed. And so has my Sire... and not just because of his soul, I don't think.

I have a lot more in my life, in some ways, than I did when it was him and I and Dru and that cuntbag Darla. And then, in some others, I have a lot less. Guess that's bound to change a bloke. I look at him, and get that bizarre pang again, and something else rolls into my head.

"So you're not going to hook up with the Slayer. What next, then?" I think I mean it for more than just him. The whelp in me wants him to tell me what the Hell to do with myself, now. Now that I'm in love with a damn Slayer and a Dudley Doright-Demon, stuck drinking pig's blood from a jar for the rest of eternity.

But his look just darkens, and his posture sags like somebody dropped one of those cartoon anvils on his head. He sighs.

Bugger's got looking depressed honed to a fine art.

"I have to stop them," he says. "I sincerely doubt Darla will be satisfied with a few lawyers."

Although I bet she found it awfully satisfying that he let it happen, that batty bitch.

I realize something else... something that slams into my brain and my chest fit to knock me right out of my seat.

'Them,' he said. Isn't just Darla he's planning on 'stopping.'

"You... you're going to... kill them? *Both* of them?"

All emotion on his face and in his eyes rushes away, leaving him looking vacant, and... frankly, dead. I can't stop the shivers that run down my spine.

"There's no other choice," he says flatly, "I can't just let them roam free."

"WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT?" I yelp at him.

He gives me a nasty "shut your gob" look, and nods toward Buffy.

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT STUPID BITCH! I'M NOT LETTING YOU DUST DRU, YOU BASTARD!"

I've got very few sore points, really. Takes a lot to set me off, usually, 'less I've been drinking. One is this chip in my skull. Another is my manhood. A third could well be the wanker himself. And the last... Drusilla. Whether we're still together or not doesn't matter a damn bit. She was my mate for 99% of my life, and we were whelped together. That doesn't go away just because she shagged a couple of really ugly demons, and I'm having a love affair with the Vampire Slayer.

She makes a little complaining noise, and stirs, but doesn't quite wake up. My Sire's face isn't empty anymore. In fact, he's got a look that I sometimes see in my nightmares -- right alongside whips and hot irons and such.

Angel grabs me hard by the arm and drags me out of the bedroom, holding me fast as he shuts the door behind us.

"LET ME GO, YA FUCKER!" I shout.

Naturally, he ignores me, and hauls my ass down the big, faggy hotel staircase, across the lobby, through a steel door, and down another flight into the basement.

Can't help wondering if maybe he's got a rack stashed away down here.

We get to the bottom, and he flings me away.

"You shut your mouth, boy!" he hisses, "I don't want her involved in this!"

"THIS?! You're not talking euthanizing PUPPIES, Angelus! This is murdering your entire family! Not that you've ever had a problem with that before!"

Yeah, I'm being nasty. But like I said.... sore spots.

Angel stands ramrod strait, his spine like a damn steel bar. Jesus. He slouches so much all the time, I forget how bleedin' tall he is.

"It's not murder," he says seriously, sounding for all the world like Judge Friggin Judy, "That word only applies to humans. This is justice."

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" I take a step toward him -- yet another little defiance that would've gotten me flogged bloody a hundred years ago. Angelus never took well to being challenged. I grab a broom standing against the stairwell, and snap it in half over my knee as I stalk him. "WHY THE FUCK DON'T YOU STAKE ME, THEN? I'M NOT HUMAN, EITHER! I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING SOUL!"

He flinches, and fuck me... takes a step back.

"What, you won't because I'm harmless? I'm not fucking HARMLESS! NOT WHERE YOU'RE CONCERNED! AND I'M NOT LETTING YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON HER HEAD! IT'S YOUR DAMN FAULT SHE IS THE WAY SHE IS ANYHOW!"

Angel goes even more tense, and stands there, scowling at me. I may not be the biggest brain on the planet, but you better believe I know how to push the dumb bastard's Stop button.

"SO? COME ON! WHAT'RYA WAITIN' FOR! FUCKING STAKE ME ALREADY!"

Guess what he does when I menace him again with that broken broomhandle?

Nothing.

So I stop my Ali impression and start staring back, broom handle still between us.

"I'm not going to stake you, Spike," he informs me.

"Why the Hell not? I've got nothing to live for, and it's the only way you're gettin' near Drusilla. I swear, I'll dust you first, Sire or no!"

Without any warning at all, he deflates again, like somebody stuck a big pin in him. Bugger loses fifty pounds and six inches just like that, as he exhales and sinks down onto the steps.

Oh, here we go. Bet he starts whining about staking his Sire, now.

"That's not something you want to do, believe me," he says softly.

Told you.

"Yeah, well...I don't have a conscience, so..."

I'm not really gonna stake him, either. I've heard too many nasty horror stories about blokes who dusted their Makers... they go nuts... get torn apart by others in their bloodline. Hell, just look at Angel. He staked his and turned into Sir Freaking Lancelot.

But, all rules aside, I'm not going to let him touch Dru. If I gotta kill him and go totally over the edge, so be it.

I don't think for a second it'll come to that, really. He's talking a big game, but I've got serious doubts that he'd be able to bring himself to do it.

"I don't know if I can do it again, Will."

See?

I sit down beside him and light up a smoke. Angel doesn't even flinch, which tells you how messed up he is, right now.

He shakes his head in that sort of crazy way, like he's arguing with himself, and since I can't hear either side of it, it's pretty bloody freaky.

"It's my fault," he whines, "All of it. I made Drusilla. Worse, I made her mad. What choice does she have, but to follow Darla? Childe or no, Darla always has been, and always will be, Alpha."

I don't think females work in terms of domination, really. Only males give a toss who's got the bigger dick. But... this is his breakdown, so I'll just stay with it. Especially since he's talking himself out of staking my Mate.

"She was right there. So close. She accepted her fate. Redeemed. She... I promised I would stay with her, and then..."

I've got not a speck of a clue what he's babbling about, now. And I'm getting eaten with the curiosity. Her who? What was her fate? Why did he promise he would stay with whoever she is? This is better than "Passions".

I almost ask him, but... it looks like he's done. He covers his face with his hands and gets quiet again.

For about five seconds.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know why the Hell I'm here at all. Nothing makes sense. Nothing I do makes a bit of difference."

Wait. Didn't he just finish telling me that the Slayer was the reason? That he had his bloody Destiny, and killing his Sire was part of it, somehow? Now he's just confusing me.

Though... I guess I can understand his brain being all scrambled. He did spend a couple of centuries in Hell. Or whatever passes for it, considering I don't much believe in such things. And I think if there was a Hell, I'd sort of want to be there, because that's where all the interesting people are.

I think, like me old Sire's so aptly demonstrated -- and my life, too, I guess -- the only Hell that really exists is the one we make for ourselves, in our own minds.

Listen to me, like friggin; Lord Byron. I swear, hanging out with this ponzy's gonna ruin me, yet.

Not that I'm in such good shape as it is.

"I don't know either, Sire," I tell him, "Why are any of us around?"

And now with the Plato.

"I let them kill all of those people," he says, still talking into his hands. His voice is sort of hollow, empty like his eyes were a bit before. "All that blood is on my soul."

I don't even realize what I'm doing. I put my arm across his monstrous shoulders, give him a squeeze, and shrug. "They were lawyers. Evil lawyers, at that. Although, I guess that's sort of redundant, isn't it? Anyway...I figure you did the world a favor."

"It wasn't my place to decide their fate. And now, Darla and Dru... I can't let them kill anybody else. But I don't know how to stop them," he says, leaning into me.

I don't have any damn answers for him. Hell, it's all I can do to get up and put on my pants every night, most times. Personally, I think he's taking it a bit too hard, and being mighty pompous, wanting to punish our girls for doing what comes naturally.

But I don't tell him that.

"If I don't stop them, who will?" he mutters.

The door at the top of the stairs opens, and the Slayer's scent fills the dank air, like a cloud of warm vanilla.

"Hey... do I even want to know why you're down there?" she says, a smile in her voice. Then I guess she takes a good look at the position we're in... me comforting him and all, and the smile goes out the window. "Are you guys okay?"

I look up at her, all sleepy and rumpled, half teenager, half raging friggin' sex kitten, and I find myself wondering, for a second, how someone like her got mixed up with the likes of me and my Sire. A couple of mutant bloody demons.

I pull back and look at him. He's finally taken his hands away from his bugger-all gorgeous face.

Right. I remember, now.

"Sire's having an existential crisis," I tell her.

She looks at him, all worried. "Angel?"

He takes a deep breath, and turns. When he sets his gaze on her, it's like somebody lit a fire in his eyes.

"I'm okay," he lies.

Damn noble bastard. He's ripping himself apart about doing what's supposed to be *her* job. And I'd say he's still a bloody far sight from "okay."

"Well... can you do it in bed?" she yawns.

Me and Angel are wide awake, of course, but... I guess I'm starting to figure out who's really the Master, here, because the both of us get up without a second thought, take the little hands she offers us, and let her lead us back up to the warm bedroom.

We all sort of huddle together under the blankets, and I figure, as Angel's deep rumble and Buffy's little fairybell tinkle in response as they talk lull me back to sleep... there are worse places to be, right?

*****