*****

Angel let himself out of Wil's bedroom, closing the door quietly. His hand shook on the doorknob, a side effect of feeding his childe healing Sire's blood. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this. Feeling Wil touch him so gingerly, latching onto him like he was the only other thing in existence.it was driving him mad.

Of course, the fact that he'd gone almost seven months without holding the blonde didn't help matters any. The first five months of that torture were achingly sharp and clear in his memories. Waking up without Wil in his bed, wrapped around his body, had driven him to tears more than once. More than once he'd wished his soul away, so that losing Wil wouldn't hurt so much. Oh, he missed Connor more than anything in the world, but the two losses were very different.

Once Wil had returned, though, Angel hadn't let himself stop suffering. Instead of welcoming his childe back into his life and his body, he'd shut Wil out. He'd only blamed his childe for Connor's death for about five seconds. After that it was simply horrific sadness. Angel hadn't bothered to tell Wil that, though. No, he let the blonde continue to think that Angel blamed him for Connor's death. Two months of hearing Wil move around the hotel and hover outside his door had nearly broken Angel's resolve to withdraw from everyone.

Now Angel was ready to return to his lover-but Wil was in no shape to accept him. Hells, had the blonde not gotten so seriously hurt, Angel wouldn't be considering them getting back together. It had been those terrible injuries that had brought him out. Seeing Wil nearly dead made Angel realize what a horse's ass he was being. Their reunion would have to wait-if Wil even wanted it.

In the meantime Angel got to suffer the ecstasy of Wil's lips and tongue pulling at his neck, drawing out his life to nourish and rebuild his own body. For Wil, it was key to his recovery. For Angel it was day after day of achingly erotic foreplay. He and Wil had shared so much-their bodies belonged to each other-that it was impossible for Angel to divorce the sexual aspects of such bloodplay. His mind knew that he was doing it to save his childe. His body, however, only felt his long-lost lover's body touching his own.

In short, Angel's right hand was getting one hell of a workout.

Once he was sure he could actually walk that far, Angel went down to his own apartment. It was dusty and cluttered-almost unlivable-from his months of isolation. That didn't matter to him; after all, he spent most of his time now in Wil's room. Angel shuffled through a pile of clothes on the floor until he found a usable shirt. Tossing the shirt on his unmade bed, Angel stripped down, carefully avoiding his painfully hard erection.

Angel laid himself back on the bed, shifting until he was a little more comfortable. He closed his eyes and ran one hand down his stomach to clasp his weeping erection. It took a few fumbling strokes to find the rhythm he wanted-loose fingers moving irregularly, pinching the head closed and pressing on his balls occasionally. It was a decent imitation of Wil's own method of touching Angel. It should have been; Angel had had a lot of practice lately.

The dark vampire arched off the bed, letting sharp daggers of pleasure ripple through his cock and balls, tensing the muscles in his thighs and ass. Behind his eyelids, images of Wil flashed by-Angel's own private skin flick. His rich memories of Wil were better than any video; remembering how Wil looked with his mouth stretched around Angel's cock or bent down in the shower while Angel reamed him hard were more than enough to bring Angel to a shuddering climax.

���...�...�...�...���

Wesley paused outside Angel's door, hesitant to knock. Normally he would have simply pounded hard until Angel answered, but something stopped him. A series of soft, low whines could be heard just inside the door. The Watcher became worried that perhaps something was wrong with Angel. Why would he be crying? Was there something wrong with Wil?

After a moment, Wesley's worries overcame his natural sense of discretion and he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so he cracked open the door. What he found stopped him in his tracks.

Angel was writhing on the bed, one hand twisted in the unkempt sheets and the other.well, now Wesley knew why Angel was making those sounds. If Wesley had been engaging in self-abuse as Angel was, he too would have been whimpering. Angel was working his hand with feverish intensity, almost bruising the soft skin on his erection. One particular moan caught Wesley's attention and he craned forward, trying to decipher what the vampire was saying. It became apparent quite quickly that Angel was murmuring Wil's name over and over.

That revelation startled Wesley enough that he realized just where he was-and what he was watching. The Watcher eased out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. The scene he'd just witnessed gave him a lot to think about-certainly more than what he'd like to do with Fred when they retired for the night. Perhaps his vampiric friends wouldn't continue their torturous dance, with Angel punishing both Wil and himself.

That thought put a spring in Wesley's step and he jaunted down to the office. Perhaps Fred was about done with the day's paperwork.

The End. Goodbye.