Drusilla:

Always the King of Wands, my angel. Strong and defiant, terrible in his beauty. His most deadly weapon is himself. He sits on the edge of table where I've placed him and he waits for me to bring the basin of warm water and the rag. Covered in blood and spunk, he is. Sweating my William's scent from every pore. I put the basin on the table beside his naked body and wring the rag in the water.

Can't resist having a taste, though. Right up his left cheek . . . nice, long lick. Mmmmmm, so sweet. He leaks his blood, my Spike's blood, good whiskey and sweat. I tell him he's delicious and his eyes begin to see me. Back to brown from that wicked black. Back to me, he comes. I wipe his face first, cleaning away the blood from around his beautiful mouth.

"All right, my precious?" I say, but he can't talk yet. I clean his face and kiss his lips, gently, as his daughter. The way they smell together is bright and sharp-makes me crave my lover so badly. I watched them before I had to separate them. Watched them writhing like mad, wild beasts. Trying to suck each other dry. Trying to die together. It's what they want, after all. What they've always wanted since the first time.

Daddy's trying to speak, clearing his throat. He looks at me and his eyes are almost all cloudless. It's because he's away from my darling's smell. If he can't smell Spike, he thinks all right. Get them near, though . . . no thinking allowed. Only biting and drinking. And soaking each other with spilled seed.

"Can I . . . have some water?" he says, voice raw and lovely. He's been screaming so much from the nightmares. Don't know why they make him scream. Same dreams make my Spike go all creamy in his sleep. They call to each other, reach out. Letting them touch might not have been so good. No telling how bad it will be later tonight for my sweet boy.

I bring him a bottle of water and he drinks all of it but the last bit, which he splashes on his face. I wipe it away with the rag, cleaning off the last of the blood there.

Looking down at his naked, soiled body, he runs his trembling hands through his hair. Primps, he does. He did say he had a date. That mewling girl with her pointy bits of wood. Makes me want to sever his head knowing he loves the slayer. He should be with us, silly boy.

And just like he's reading my mind, like he does, Spike starts to scream Angel's name behind the closed door.

Angel looks at the door and his eyes get full of clouds again. I touch his cheek and make him look at me. He does, focuses. He knows he has to. But Spike screams again and the starved aching in his voice makes me and Daddy want to die. Love him, we both do. Can't stand to see him hurt.

"I gotta get . . ." Angel tries to go for the door, but I stop him, push him back so he's sitting on the table again. He looks at me and his eyes are clear. He tells me he needs his clothes.

"You stay," I tell him, putting my finger on his nose. "Stay right here." I keep my eyes on him as I go to the bedroom door. When I open it, Spike is scrambling into his wheelchair. He's going to try to get out. I go inside right quick-like and shut the door behind me, rushing over to help my darling back onto the bed.

"Dru," he pleads and it's horrible. "I have to . . . please bring him back in . . . I need him." He's shaking so bad he can't move right. He loses his grip on the chair and almost falls, but I catch him. Put him back up on the mattress real carefully. Broken still. I can see the wrong place under his skin along his naked back.

I try to calm him, but it's no use. Mad, he is. Mad with hunger for Daddy's blood . . . for all Daddy's fluids. "I want you to be quiet now, my darling," I say. He's looking at me, desperate and sad, trying to be good. He shakes his head and reaches for my hand, squeezes. He's trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Baby," he breathes. "Please bring him back in. It didn't work, you see? I need more."

"He'll come back later, love. He's got no more to give you now. You know that. He needs to rest."

Poor sweet. He twists on the wet sheets and I can see him fighting-trying so hard to be a good boy for me.

He'll be all right for now, so I gather Angel's nice clothes-almost forget that soft leather belt because it wasn't with the rest of the things. It was on the bed, near the pillows. Wicked children wanted to play rough, did they? Not likely with my boy broken like he is. I bet that made Spike so angry. Angel is such a dirty kitty with leather.

I take the clothes out of the room and close the door again. Good Daddy is still where I left him, sitting so lovely and naked on the table. He's cleaned himself off with the rag and his skin is pristine now. No more drying fluids to mess up the canvas. Seeing him there makes me want to give him tattoos. I want to draw pictures on his body with stiff little paintbrushes for hours.

I ask if he can dress himself and he says he can. He's hungry. Says he's weak. I send one of our house staff to get him a bag from our supply-O-neg. His favorite. When it comes, I put the bag in the warm water while Angel gets himself dressed. Pity, really. I love him naked. Be happy if he stayed about like that all day.

I lean on the table while he slips on that belt. We smile, secret-like. He knows I know.

"He couldn't play hard, could he?" I say.

"Not tonight. He'll be all right in a little while."

"Says he needs more," I tell him. "I can still see the broken bit in his spine."

Angel nods and pulls that fuzzy jumper over his head. Again, he primps his hair with his fingers. Daddy's so vain. Checks the jumper for stains, touches it with his hands. He likes it. Soft and furry. That little bitch will like it, too.

"Have you had her, yet?" I wonder.

He won't answer. I know it. I like the asking, though. Makes his teeth tight.

"Remember what I told Spike about her?" he says to me. So fierce, like I'd be scared of him.

I give him my good-girl face.

"Same goes for you, doll. Don't talk about her. At all." He puts on his fine leather jacket and I get a good noseful of the smell. Angel's body in soft black leather. One of the best smells in the history of sex.

He reaches for the bag warming in the water and tears it open. I watch him drink the blood down quickly. He licks his lips when he's done, then gives me a little kiss on the mouth. Warm, he is. And he reeks deliciously of Spike, even after I bathed him.

"Coming back?" I say.

Angel says nothing. He walks toward the stairs to go up and out, but he stops when he sees the two boxes on the table. I don't want him to look at them. It's not time for him to see those yet. I want it to be a surprise for him and the slayer. Oh, yes . . .

Happy Birthday, Buffy.

"What's this?" he says, walking to the table. He puts his hand on one of the boxes, but doesn't try to open it.

"Presents," I say. "For the party."

"What's in them?" His eyebrows lift up when he says that and for a second he's Angelus again. Cocky and wry, so bloody gorgeous.

"Parts," I tell him.

He goes all smirky and then turns back to the stairs. "Parts of what, Dru?" he says as he starts up.

"A really big toy."

Daddy nods, but it's the sort of nod that says he knows I'm up to no good. Always am, after all. He loves it, too. I see it on his face. He loves the way we play.

"When are you coming back, my angel?" I ask him again. Can't let him go `til he says. "Spike needs more, you know. He's not done mendin'."

Never one to miss a cue, Spike groans like a stabbed dog from the bedroom. Poor little puppy. He'll be so hungry tonight.

Angel is trying to leave without answering, but I'm having none of that. I go to the foot of the stairs and start up behind him. He knows I won't let him leave. He knows I'll destroy him first.

Turning around in the dark stairway, he smiles at me all sweet-like. "Oh, Dru. You know I'll be back. Later."

Can't help but smile at that. "After your date with the slayer, then? All covered in schoolgirl kisses."

He glowers a bit and that makes me smile more. In fact, it makes me laugh.

"I'll make up the guest room," I say and then I allow him to leave.

He'll be mad with craving in a few hours, anyway. Starving for my boy. It's always the way. Until Spike's well again, the craving to trade fluid will torment them.

**************

Buffy:

I'm not gonna panic. That would be stupid. He's coming. He's just . . . late. I am SO not gonna panic.

I'll just sit here and flip channels and wait for him because I know he's coming. He wouldn't stand me up-not this close to my birthday. In fact, Angel wouldn't stand me up anyway. He's coming. He's only a little late. 45 minutes isn't THAT late.

Finally-I hear him outside and I try not to run to the door, but fail miserably. I open the door and he's standing there, all beautiful, tall, dark and hot. That sweater he's wearing makes me want to climb him like a tree. I don't, of course. I'm supposed to be all mad cause he's late.

He smiles and says he's sorry, he got tied up on an errand, and then he comes in and puts his arms around me. When he kisses me, all my worries just evaporate like fog in the desert. God, I'm so pathetic. I can't resist him and he knows it. He is such an amazing kisser. I guess he would be after 240 years of practice.

He tastes clean and a little bit like alcohol. I don't ask him about that, I just kiss him. I swear, I could kiss him forever and never come up for air. He doesn't need air, so that works out.

Now that he's here, I don't care where he was or what he was doing. He's safe, he's with me and everything is right with the world.

Since it's late, we just go inside and sit on the couch. We talk, we kiss, we talk some more. I love talking to him, even if it's hard to get him to talk about himself. It's like he's trying to protect me or something. We talk about my birthday and he asks me what I want, but I can't think of anything. I mean, we both know what I want. He wants it, too. At least I hope he does.

He leaves around 1:00 in the morning and we stand on the porch kissing for another half hour. I'm all shaky when he goes and I feel like I could pass out. I know it's all from being aroused, but it feels like something else . . . like something spiritual. His kisses remind me of that God-feeling I used to get when I went to Sunday school. That feeling that someone was watching over me.

I go to bed, but can't sleep for hours. All I can do is wonder what he's doing. Where he is. What he looks like in whatever light is around him. God. He is so beautiful, it's just wrong.

Where are you, lover? What do you do when you're not with me?

*****************

Angel:

By 2:30 he was sitting on the end of his bed, arms clutching himself, rocking slowly to keep from screaming. He shivered with hot flashes and chills and his body ached to be touched in all the most secret places. Places Buffy had yet to even dream of. Being with her those few hours had only made it worse. She was so tender and young, so warm. Her tentative, virginal kisses were excruciating. Being with her made Angel ache inside and out because she had no idea.

The worst of the withdrawal was upon him, and it had never been this bad before. But then, none of them had ever been hurt as badly as Spike was before. He knew he had to go back. He needed to. Until Spike's body was healed, there would be no peace. No matter how much he wished he could just ignore the burning instinct-Angel was their sire. Angel had no choice.

By 3:45 a.m., he was at their door again.

*****
(continued soon-the ending is coming, I promise!)