Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter Eighteen
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"Richie?" Methos asked quietly, pulling the younger Immortal into the kitchen.

Tilting his head questioningly, Richie followed, leaning up against the counter. "What's up, Old Man?"

Taking a deep breath, Methos faced Richie squarely. "I have a favor to ask."

Grinning broadly, Richie straightened. "Fire away," he said brightly. "W's t's the favor?"

Richie was going to crow about this, he just *knew* it. Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice in the matter. It could be worse he supposed as he had a sudden flash of MacLeod being the one here with him. He shuddered and focused back on what had to be done. "I need you to stay with Spike whenever he goes out. I need you to protect him for me."

Richie's eyes widened, and broke out laughing, bending nearly in half before he stopped. "No, seriously, what's the favor?"

Gritting his teeth, Methos sighed. "That really *is* the favor. He doesn't know how to use a sword, at least not well enough, and I can't risk getting into Immortal combat right now protecting him."

Richie blinked several times before he responded. "You *are* serious," he exclaimed, then continued quickly. "Of course I'll do it," he said, grinning again.

"Treat him as you would a student." Methos smirked then, continuing. "I'm sure you remember how Mac treated you."

"Yeah," Richie laughed, "I remember it was frustrating as hell, *but* it also felt good when I suddenly found myself out of my depth."

"I suppose it's too much to ask for you to keep this to yourself?" Methos asked, warily watching Richie's expression.

Snickering, Richie nodded. "Oh yeah, it is *way* too much to ask. Besides," he added, "Joe will get a kick out of it. Well, he will after everything is back to the way it should be, anyway."

Richie frowned suddenly, worrying Methos. "What?"

"I just remembered something," he replied. "Maybe we could get him to stay inside for the next two days. I don't think you're gonna want me doing this."

Methos snorted. "No, I *don't* think that's going to be possible. Spike isn't one to sit still. Why?"

"Damn! He's gonna be trouble, isn't he?"

"Probably," he acknowledged, then continued suspiciously. "Richie. You're good with a sword. You're already going to have your time taken up with Xander. You're not stupid enough to dive into a challenge, if you can get you and them out of it. So, why do you think I wouldn't want you to do this?"

"My Watcher followed me here, and Spike doesn't strike me as the 'fade into the wordwork' type."

"Bloody hell!" Methos exclaimed. "My cover is going to shot to hell because of this." Muttering angrily to himself, he paced across the kitchen. "I managed to keep Adam Pierson's Immortality a secret from the Watchers for damn near 20 years."

He looked up, his expression brightening. "I know!" he grinned. "I'll tie him up."

Richie choked. "He may not like that."

"Oh no, he'll like it alright. He'll like it a little to much, if you ask me. What he won't like is the fact that -- oh," he exclaimed, interrupting himself as he watched Richie's face redden, "sorry, never mind."

"N-no, that's all right," Richie replied. "I mean, I know what Spike implied, I just wasn't sure . . . I mean. Ah hell, never mind."

"Does it really bother you that much, Rich?" Methos asked, more bothered by the thought than he expected to be.

Richie shook his head slowly. "No, not really. It's just . . . well . . . unexpected, I guess," he replied, shifting uncomfortably.

Methos nodded. "Yeah, I guess it would be," he offered, not really meaning it.

Spike bounded into the room, startling both of them, and preventing a finish to their conversation. "So, you two get everything straightened out?" he asked, not bothering to actually look at either of them before burying himself in the fridge. "You know, I don't remember food tasting this good a hundred years ago."

Richie laughed.

Methos smirked. "It wasn't this good a hundred years ago."

Spike looked up, over the top of the fridge door. "Really? You mean it's just not the fact that I haven't been able to really taste food for . . . well, forever?"

Methos shook his head.

"Well, I bet that doesn't hurt your perceptions any," Richie offered. "I mean, living on one type of food and only one type, I bet that gets boring after a while." He shook his head before he continued. "I can't imagine any one food *I'd* be happy with eating for the rest of my life."

"Cor, no!" Spike exclaimed, grinning. "It's not like it all tastes the same."

"It doesn't?" Richie asked, stepping forward in astonishment.

"Hell no! It comes in all sorts of flavors."

"You mean like, the blood types actually taste different?"

"No, not really, although I've met vamps that think so."

Richie rolled his eyes skeptically. "You're *not* trying to tell me the different races taste differently," he scoffed, then frowned uncertainly, "are you?"

Methos watched the byplay with something akin to fascination. Spike smirked at Richie's uncertain change of mind, and speculation crossed his face before he shook his head minutely. "Nah, not that I've been able to tell," Spike frowned, a moments confusion passing behind his eyes. "You really interested?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah," he replied sounding surprised, "I really am."

"Okay, then," Spike replied, foregoing his hunt for food to jump up onto the counter.

Swinging his legs absently, Spike smiled, looking to Methos as nothing so much as a professor about to give a lecture. Methos smirked.

"There are sev thi things that affect the flavor of blood," Spike said seriously. "And I'd be willing to bet you could figure out some of them . . . ." his voice trailing off expectantly, he watched Richie and waited.

Richie's eyes narrowed in thought for several minutes. "Well, starting with the ordinary," he began hesitantly, "I'd say the kind of shape someone was in. I mean, if for example, someone had really high or low cholesterol, or--or diabetes."

Spike nodded. "Good! And yes, disease of any kind sours the blood. Makes it damn near inedible, unless you're *awfully* hungry. Even animal blood is better than blood afflicted with some diseases."

"Animal blood's not good, huh?"

Spike shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely *not*," he answered with a shudder. "Anything else you can think of?"

"Yes, actually," Richie nodded, his grin growing. "This first one is kinda related to the last one. The amount of fat in the blood."

Spike nodded.

"Age of the person, and what they eat. 'You are what you eat,' as the saying goes."

Spike chuckled. "Yes, exactly!" he exclaimed, as if proud of a particularly bright student. "Can you think of the one thing that affects it the most?"

Richie frowned in deep thought, but after several moments had to shake his head in defeat. "No, I can't think of anything that would, not more than the we\ we've talked about."

"Emotions."

"Really?" Richie and Methos asked, nearly in unison.

"Oh, yes!" Spike replied fervently. "Blood without emotion is like. . . ." he trailed off trying to think of an appropriate expression. "Well, I can't think of anything at the moment, but it's really bland. It's one of the reasons animal blood is so bloody inedible."

"I don't understand that," Methos said suddenly. "I haven't found pig's blood to be so bad as you make it out to be."

"You've had--" Richie exclaimed his voice an octave higher than normal. "Oh, right, of course you have."

Methos took a turn at questioning Spike. "You're serious about emotions affecting the taste of blood?"

"Oh yeah!" Spike nodded, then shrugged. "I can't tell you *why* it does, although, I'm sure modern scientists could."

"So," Richie asked slyly, "what's your personal favorite."

Spike sucked in a deep, quick breath, and dropped his gaze before he spoke. "You sure you want to know the answer to that?"

Richie opened his mouth to answer instantly, but closed it soon after. Methos watched as Richie seriously thought about his answer before responding. The seriousness the young Immortal put into his consideration surprised him, and Methos wondered what his final answer would be.

"Yes, I do," he replied, but not stopping there, he continued, explaining himself and his reasoning. "I've heard Buffy's side of the 'vampire story'. I'd like to hear yours."

"Oh, I'm sure everything Buffy told you was the absolute truth," Spike replied candidly. "Vampires are vicious and cruel. As a general rule they don't care about anyone more than themselves. They love violence, blood, sex, and torture . . . not necessarily in that order. Most vampires don't give a rat's ass about humanity beyond that of food."

A new voice startled all three occupants of Angel's kitchen. Though Methos had heard her approach, he hadn't expected her to join the conversation.

"Spike once told me he loved the world just as it was," Buffy announced. "He called humans, and I quote, 'happy meals on legs'."

Richie burst out laughing, but winced as he did so. "God, that's morbid," he complained. "Funny, but morbid."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, pet," Spike quipped jumping up.

Buffy rolled her eyes, glancing toward Richie in amusement. "You've gotten the Spike 'seal of approval'. I'm not sure whether to congratulate you -- or console you."

Richie and Spike snickered.

Methos winced, wondering just how much trouble the two of them were going to get into while they were out without him during the day. As far he was concerned, it didn't bear thinking about. It was much too scary a mental picture. Maybe Richie was right, and it would be better not to entrust Spike, aka - his body, into Richie's care. He might not have a life by the time the two of them got through.

Buffy shook her head, quickly grabbing a diet coke from the fridge and left the three males alone, muttering something about 'all men' and 'it doesn't matter what species'.

Silence reigned for several moments after she left. Spike was the first to break it.

"To bad she's the slayer," he commented lightly, licking his lips. "That is one *fine* ass."

"I have got to agree with you there," Richie replied absently, his attention still on the open doorway Buffy had exited through. Then, as though suddenly coming back to reality, he blinked and returned his attention to Spike and Methos. "Well, except for the slayer part. I don't have a problem with that."

"You wouldn't," Spike and Methos replied simultaneously.

At Richie's surprised glance, Methos added, "it's instinctive at the moment."

He nodded in understanding. "Makes sense," he said. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he turned toward Spike. "You know, if you don't want to answer my questions," he said sincerely, "all you have to do is say so."

Spike blinked in surprise. "Why would I care?" he demanded hotly.

Richie raised his hands in immediate surrender. "I didn't really think you did," he replied instantly, gaining Methos' surprised respect. "I just wanted to make sure."

Spike nodded grudgingly. "Good."

"So," Richie continued, as if the interruption had never occurred, "what *is* your favorite emotion?"

"Fear," Spike replied, defiance written in every line of his posture.

"Why?" Richie shot back instantly.

Methos held his breath. This had to be the second most dangerous conversation he'd been witness to in centuries. His gut told him they were treading dangerous ground, with either of the men in the room with him able to go ballistic at any moment.

Spike blinked, his shock obvious. "You're strange," he accused.

"So I'm strange," Richie reposted, grinning. "I already knew that, now answer the question."

"Because it's sweet!" Spike shouted, then instantly calmed, an odd, almost euphoric expression coming to his face. "It's the single most gratifying, intoxicating scent in the universe. "The instant you smell and taste it, you *know* you're the one, you're the king of their existence. *You* are in control."

Methos nodded knowingly. "It's addictive," he stated.

Spike nodded. "Yes."

"I can see that," Richie added. "Okay, next question. What does it feel like to be fed from? Does it hurt?"

"It's incredible," Methos answered, snapping his mouth shut as Richie turned to stare at him incredulously.

Richie inhaled sharply. "What wa--"

"No," Spike responded unexpectedly, striding toward Richie. "It's my turn."

**Oh shit!** Methos thought, watching the two interact, wondering if he should interfere.

"Okay," Richie replied. "Shoot."

Methos almost laughed at Richie's youth enhanced assurance that he had absolutely nothing to fear from simple questions.

"Are you afraid of me?" Spike asked, circling behind the youth.

"No," Richie replied, twisting his head to keep an eye on Spike.

Methos smirked, he may not be afraid of the ex-vampire wearing a friend's body, but the youth didn't trust him either. **Good for him,** Methos thought.

"You're not afraid of what I represent, not as I am now, but as I was?" Spike stopped directly behind Richie, leaning in and whispering tauntingly in his ear. "You don't fear vampires?"

Richie shook his head, returning his gaze forward. "No, I don't," he replied firmly.

"You should," Spike replied.

Methos shuddered as the tension in the room jumped suddenly. He swallowed convulsively, his breath, though his brain told him it wasn't needed, sped up, coming in short, quick pants. He couldn't tell what was more hypnotizing, the fact that Spike was seducing Richie right in front of him, wearing *his* body, or that it looked like Richie was allowing it. He would have given a lot to know what was going through the young Immortal's mind while this was going on. Did he really know what Spike was doing? Did he realize just what it was the ex-vampire wanted? Methos flipped off track for just a moment. Did *he* even know exactly what was going on here? Methos almost chuckled as he realized he wasn't entirely certain, although there *did* seem to be a theme building.

Spike moved around behind Richie, still speaking in calm, quiet words. "Prove it," he taunted into Richie's other ear. "Show me you're not afraid of what I am, what I *will* be," he said.

"How?' Richie asked uncertainly, his sudden nervousness coming at Methos in wave after mind numbing wave.

"Spike," Methos objected, wanting to stop the ex-vampire before it was too late, before they'd all been caught up in something that couldn't be reversed -- or forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, his voice also dropping to a whisper and catching.

Methos watched as the young Immortal's tongue darted out to lick his lips. His eyes caught on that innocent gesture and he knew he wasn't going to move. He was going to stay right where he was. He was as caught in the seductive web that Spike had unexpectedly woven as young Richie was.

"I mean," Spike continued, raising a hand and tracing a single finger down the line of Richie's neck, crossing the pulse point. Methos watched its beat suddenly speed beneath his finger. "If you're nfraifraid of vampires, one feeding from you, drawing your life's blood from your neck, shouldn't bother you at all."

Richie gasped, his chin tilting up just slightly. "I'm not afraid," he insisted, but his airy voice, and the palpable fear coming off of him, gave Methos the lie to his words. It was only then he truly understood Spike's earlier words about fear. This was an entirely new perspective.

Methos wanted to call a halt to it all. He wanted to leave the room, dragging Spike with him. He couldn't. He was frozen in place, min mind too busy visualising Richie's vulnerable neck bared to him to allow his limbs to function. He wanted to be repulsed by it. He wanted to be able to simply walk out. And he tried; he really, really tried.

Spike turned the younger Immortal just slightly, until he and Methos were facing each other. "Look at him," Spike cooed seductively as the two Immortals locked gazes. "You know him, the man inside," Spike chanted. "He's your friend . . . yes?"

Eyes frozen wide, lips parted, Richie nodded. "Yes," he breathed, the word little more than a wind across the fall leaves.

"You trust him?"

Richie nodded again, unable to do anything else.

**Gods,** Methos thought. **Say something, Rich. Please put a stop to this. I'm not strong enough.**

Methos' currently un-beating heart clenched as Spike whispered his next words.

"Can he taste you?" Spike asked.

**Say no, Richie. Come to your senses.**

Richie gasped, his eyes widening more than Methos thought possible.

Spike brought his head up, eyes locking with Methos', his lips just barely turned upward in a triumphant smirk. "Come here," he mouthed, and Methos found himself stepping forward even before his brain processed the request.

He watched, swallowing convulsively, as Spike reached gen gentle, almost loving hand to Richie's neck and tilted his head to the side.

"Can he?" Spike taunted into Richie's ear. "Say yesss, Richie Ryan. Say yes to the friend you trust."

Methos watched silently, his muscles held in tense expectation, his mind screaming as Richie stared at him. He felt as though every single thought and feeling that was singing through his mind and body was plainly visible to the younger man. He felt exposed in a way he'd never imagined was possible. Torn in two, he waited and watched for the slightest sign of consent or denial from the man presented before him. Half of him pleaded silently for Richie to say yes. Half of him pleaded for the answer to be no.

Finally, seeming to move in slow motion, Richie's eyes ducked and raised, his head moving not even an inch.

Methos slowly closed the remaining distance between them, his eyes hooded, unexpected and unwanted desire dropping his eyelids half-mast. Did Richie really understand what was happening here? Methos didn't know; he still hadn't figured that out, but he was beyond being capable of asking, and he suspected Richie was beyond answering anyway.

Eyes locked on Richie's, his hand reaching toward the young Immortal, Methos was only peripherally aware of Spike moving from behind Richie to circle around behind *him*. "You can't kill him," Spike urged. "He's Immortal."

Spike slipped to the side, whispering in his other ear. "Remember," he encouraged. "Remember how it felt to be fed from. Allow the demon to come out, Adam. Let him play."

Methos felt his face morph without his conscious effort. In front of him, Richie gasped, tensing once again. Methos wondered frantically if Richie's first look at a vampire's face would fracture the spell they both seemed to be under, but the younger Immortal didn't pull away.

"Gently," Spike whispered, "That's the key. Gentle won't hurt him. Gentle will make his body sing."

Remembered pain slid through Methos' mind as the demon howled for bloody violence. It made it very easy to resist the urge to rip into the exposed throat stretched bare in front of him.

"Do it," Richie breathed, and Methos could resist no longer. He reached over, wrapping his hand around the back of Richie's neck, tilting his head further to the side and holding him immobile.

"Right here," Spike encouraged softly, once again trailing a finger over the pulse point in Richie's carotid artery.

Methos' eyes locked on that rapidly thumping spot, and as his other arm slid around Richie's waist, he slowly lowered his mouth to cover it.

Richie gasped and stiffened as Methos' fangs sliced into his flesh, the boy's fear spiking. As the first spurts of hot Immortal blood poured into his mouth, Methos swallowed. He swallowed a second time, and the taste changed, sliding tantalizingly across his tongue as Richie melted against him, moaning softly, the younger Immortal's fear buried under a sudden rush of arousal.

**Yes! More!** Pulling Richie more tightly against him, the fingers of one hand tangling themselves in the younger Immortal's hair.

"God, yes," Richie groaned.

Shock and arousal shot through him as Richie's hand came up to the back of his head, pressing his mouth closer to the wounds on the youth's neck. The rapid staccato beats of Richie's heart screaming at him, Methos complied, sinking his fangs in deeper. He growled low in his chest, and with that sound, some tiny little part of him was startled to realize he was purring.

Richie's heart beat faltered, growing slower, and the divine taste that was pumping itself into Methos' mouth changed again. It grew sweeter, hotter, becoming almost electrified, spiced as it was with the young man's renewed fear. Struggling weakly in his grasp, Richie suddenly gasped, his body arching as he moaned softly.

Methos' knees buckled out from under him as new tastes and a new scent assailed him. He wanted to bury himself in it forever, never coming back out, but Richie's relaxing grip, his limp body, and slowing heart beat suddenly forced it's way into his mind. **Richie's dying!**

He pulled back. Withdrawing as gently as he could, and ignoring the tiny electrical sparks darting across the two puncture holes, Methos instinctively licked at the wounds. "Richie?" he whispered, worry just beginning to speed through him. He didn't want Richie to die from this, even only temporarily. Relief flooded him as the younger Immortal's eyes fluttered open.

"Wow!" he whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat. "You purr."

Methos laughed lightly, relieved.

Spike pressed a glass to his mouth, and Richie automatically tried to grab hold of it. Gently batting his hands away, Spike shushed him. "You've lost a lot of blood. You'll be weak until your body recovers. Just drink. I don't know if your . . . ."

Their words faded as Methos lost himself in his thoughts. **Drink.** Without conscious thought, he raised his own wrist toward his mouth, only to have it stop halfway, caught in an iron grip. His head snapped up, and he glared angrily at his captor as he tried to jerk his arm free.

"No," Angel said quietly, soothingly as he let go, "you don't want to do that?"

Methos frowned momentarily as he tried to figure out exactly what it was he'd been going to do. His eyes widened in shock as he glanced between his wrist and Richie, curled up and quiescent in Spike's hold. "Why did I want to do that?" he asked Spike, who was staring at him in shock.

"It shouldn't have been instinctive," Spike protested, shifting his gaze to Angel, before glancing back down at Richie. "But the *Want* to do what you started would have been sparked by your caring of Richie, and the fact that, despite his Immortality, he was technically close to death."

Methos felt, more than saw, Angel nod in response to Spike's words, but felt absolutely no closer to understanding. "What did I try to do?" he snapped.

"You were going to try and turn him."

"What?!" came the twin shouts of surprise from both Methos and Richie.

"I don't *think* it's actually possible, but I don't know that for sure -- which is why I stopped you."

The shock fading away, Methos quietly processed what the two had told him. It shook him. "I drank more from him than you did from me," he asked Spike, "didn't I?"

"Yes," Spike nodded. "When I drank from you, I still thought you were mortal. I had to be careful of how much I took. I was about to pull you away, when you surprised me by doing it yourself."

Methos turned to ask Angel a question, but was surprised to discover that he'd left.

"You did what he denies himself," Spike explained with a roll of his eyes. "The bloody poof feels so guilty about what he did when he didn't have a soul, he won't even let himself enjoy what can be enjoyed without killing. He's an idiot."

"Well there is that happiness clause," Methos defended Angel, though he wasn't quite sure why he bothered.

"Happiness clause?" Richie asked.

"Long story," Spike and Methos replied together.

Richie suddenly grimaced, and rolled carefully to his feet, facing away from them both. "I've got to go . . . uh . . . I'll be right back," he stammered, and Methos was surprised by the sudden embarrassment coming from him.

Spike smirked, gracefully rising to his feet. "That's normal," he said.

"It is?" Richie asked, looking over his shoulder at them. "That was supposed to happen?" he continued, his cheeks flushing.

Methos bit his lip in an effort not to smile as he realized now, why Richie was embarrassed. "It didn't when you fed from me," he said, then cast a quick look toward Richie and shrugged. "Sorry."

"Well that could very well be because you'd already had--"

Richie groaned, hurrying from the room, "Too much information, guys!"


TBC
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