All I Need...

* * * * * * * * *

Part 37

It was largely due to his sense of disgust with himself that Angel hadn’t bothered to check his e-mail in days. In fact, he hadn’t checked much of anything, aside from trying to gauge his degree of sanity because… how could he be dreaming about—fantasizing about—Harris of all people?

Okay, he’d told Spike the truth a while ago when he’d said the one-time human wasn’t as much of an eyesore as he’d once been, but that didn’t excuse it.

He’d tried to find some way of blaming Angelus for the entirely inappropriate thoughts, of course, but somehow that wasn’t quite working, and it was working even less since the night before when Nina had given him that odd look while they’d been kissing and then pulled away.

She’d left shortly afterwards, and something about the look in her eyes then told him that come the next full moon, he’d best be very sure that her ‘respite’—meaning the cell she usually stayed in for those three nights—was locked very securely. Not that she’d mentioned whatever it was she was thinking, but… he really thought caution would be a good idea.

So, close to four days without checking his messages, and when he did…

Angel groaned, reading the letter from Giles yet again.

“Was he drunk?” he wondered aloud, entirely unsure of why the Watcher would have said any of those things; especially to him. But still, the many questions and comments had him thinking.

Why had he been willing to take a chance on ruining Buffy’s life by loving her?

Oh, sure, he’d made all the right noises at the time. Too old for her, a vampire, it could never work… and he’d been right about all of those things. And still… he’d always gone back, hadn’t he? Always put himself right there in front of her, even knowing that their fascination for each other would lead them not only into temptation but through it and out the other side.

That the other side had ended up being his other side—other half, really—seemed like poetic justice in a way, though it had also led him directly into Hell, both literally and figuratively.

He almost thought Giles was deliberately trying to stir him up. Or down. Whichever direction an Olympic-sized brood was, anyway, but… the man had said he wasn’t asking in order to hurt him, and he liked to think he knew Giles well enough that if that had been the Watcher’s intention, he would have just said so. Or at least not bothered to say it wasn’t the point, and…

“He must have been drunk,” he muttered. “Or maybe he got hit on the head again. He could have, if he’s still helping to train the Slayers…”

None of which was helping him figure out what to say when he replied—and he would reply. He had to. He still owed the man, after all… if only for not dusting him when he’d had the chance, although Angel was well aware that that was the least of the balance due.

Finally, he simply sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as he tried to summon the proper words.

* * * * *

“So when do you want to try it?” Dawn slipped into the conversation, timing it well enough that Fran had a mouth full of pizza and would have to think about the question instead of just brushing it off. “I told you I’m helping you, okay? So stop putting me off.”

Fran sighed silently, even as she chewed and tried to swallow as quickly as possible. “I’m not avoiding you, Dawn,” she lied easily. “It’s simply that… it’s a one person ritual, alright?”

Wide blue eyes rolled. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why the Powers want me to help you.”

The Slayer sighed, silently cursing the Powers That Be. “Maybe they simply wanted you to help me get here. Did you ever think of that? And now I am here, so your work is done. Just… let me do what I came here for, alright?”

There was something about the other girl’s voice that worried her, although Dawn had no idea of what or why. What she did know, however, was that… no matter what Fran said, Dawn was for damned sure going to be there when she did that ritual, even if that meant she’d have to spy on her friend.

“Fine. Whatever,” she finally said, tossing the paper napkin from her lap onto the plastic tray beside her empty plate. “I just wanted to do something to help Xander and Spike, you know. Because I’ve known them for, like… forever. But cool. Do it all yourself.” She pouted playfully on the outside. “We still going to that movie?”

Fran breathed a purely internal sigh of relief and glanced at her watch. “Yes, and we’ll need to hurry. It starts in twenty minutes.”

The two girls dashed through the mall, laughing merrily, but if Fran thought her intentions to perform the ritual alone were forgotten, she was very wrong.

* * * * *

In the end, Dawn ended up doing what was close to the very last thing she’d ever wanted to do.

Her feet dragged along the corridor, reflecting her emotional reluctance to expose herself to what was disturbing and discomfiting.

Still, she’d actually managed to get a good look at the papers the young Slayer had had on the plane, and… well, somebody had to be getting the Amphora because Fran for damned sure wouldn’t know where to find something like that. A few very simple phone calls had shown Dawn just how rare they were.

So someone was helping, at least with that item, and that meant Angel… or Illyria… and Angel had simply looked at her like she was speaking Porlit-ese when she’d asked him.

Unfortunately, the sporadically blue former God kind of freaked her out, but still… Fran wasn’t telling her something. That much had become clear in the two days since their shopping trip. The girl had been keeping mostly to herself but also seemed to be… not sad, exactly. Odd. Different. Not herself. And that was definitely disturbing.

Thus it was that Dawn was deliberately forcing herself to approach the woman who insisted on referring to her as

“Old One,” Illyria announced herself from the room. “I feel your presence. Proceed within.”

* * * * *

Angel wasn’t entirely sure of how long he’d been zoning, as Harmony would have called it had she seen him. He was simply glad that Dawn had burst in when she had, though he had no idea of what she’d been talking about.

Well, okay, he was fairly certain that it had something to do with some sort of ritual the young Slayer wanted to perform, but that wasn’t particularly enlightening, considering.

So. Thinking hadn’t helped him to figure out how to respond to Giles’s e-mail. The alternative was going on instinct and not thinking.

‘Well, that shouldn’t give you any trouble, soulboy. Not thinking is what you do best,” Angelus observed with what felt like a smirk.

Brown eyes rolled, even as Angel hit the reply tab. ‘At the risk of sounding school-yard… takes one to know one,’ he answered, smirking himself at the sudden anger he sensed from the demon… because that anger was actually mixed with a good bit of pride.

He took one deep breath, purely to compose himself, and started to write.

* * * * *

And apparently Fran wasn’t the only one who was hiding something because while the blue being had readily admitted to procuring the Amphora of Descent for Fran, the one-time Hell God hadn’t chosen to share any other information, and if Dawn had been a vampire—or even a Primal—she knew she would have been growling or snarling.

It was times like this, she realized, that she missed being able to threaten people with her sister, but Buffy was in Italy, and somehow Dawn doubted that Illyria would have felt at all endangered by her, anyway.

“Fine,” she muttered angrily, striding towards the elevators, “if Fran won’t tell me what’s going on and the crazy blue chick won’t either, then…” And with that she pressed the call button on the lone elevator that went to the residential floors, swiping her pass card through the magnetic detector and pressing the proper key.

* * * * *

~From: Dark Avenger
~To: Watcher Man
~Subject: Re: Research

Giles,

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, but your last letter was… surprising wouldn’t be a strong enough word.

I honestly have NO idea of why you decided to ask me all that completely out of the blue, but since you did, I guess I owe it to you to try to answer.

I’d be lying if I said this isn’t hard for me, but if anyone has the right to dredge up old heartaches and miseries, it’s you. I know that. And you’re right. It is my fault that Angelus killed Jenny Calendar.

It’s my fault because I should have known better than to think that I deserved any happiness at all, much less the degree of it that I found that night with Buffy.

And I owe you for hurting her, too. She was— still is—YOUR Slayer. And I… he… whichever. We tried to break her.

I did love Buffy, Giles. Hell, a part of me always will. But no matter how much we cared for each other or how much we wanted things to work out, we were doomed from the beginning.

And not because of the curse; not because of what happened when it was broken.

We were doomed, Giles, because neither one of us could be what we truly wanted to be.

I couldn’t be a man for her. A human man. I couldn’t be the man she thought she saw when she looked at me.

And she couldn’t be the woman she wanted to be.

I think… if Buffy and I had met and we’d both been human—not Slayer and vampire; not Warriors for the Powers—we might have had a chance. Or maybe not. Like you said, there’s no way of knowing, right? It’s all… either a mystery or pure luck.

But that’s not what you want to know, is it?

You want to know how I let myself love her when I knew—knew—she probably wouldn’t make it to seventeen. Or eighteen. Or nineteen. Or twenty. And the answer is… I didn’t.

I didn’t let myself love her. Gods know I didn’t choose to. I just… did. I couldn’t help it, Giles. I looked at her that first day here in L.A. and she was so golden and beautiful and pure. And I wanted her.

There I was, pulled from a garbage-strewn alley and the rats I fed on. And Gods, I was so lost. And then Whistler showed her to me and I wanted. But I didn’t love her then, Giles. I couldn’t.

It wasn’t until later, after I’d moved to Sunnydale and started to help her—and by extension the rest of you—that I loved her.

I’m going to be entirely honest, here, and tell you… I don’t really know how it happened, myself. One minute, she was the Slayer and I wanted to help her because I—the soul—knew it was the right thing to do. And the next thing I knew, she was Buffy… and I would have done anything, and I do mean anything, to keep her safe. To make sure she got to live another day… and another, and another.

Believe me when I say that the last thing I wanted was to love her. But I wasn’t given a choice.

Crap.

I know you didn’t actually write to hear all of this. It’s history and it ended badly. It seems more like you’re questioning yourself. Like maybe that ‘distraction’ you mentioned is something more than that.

I can’t tell you whether it’s right or wrong to pursue whatever young Watcher you’ve got your eye on, Giles. It isn’t my place. All I can say is…

In just over two hundred and fifty years of existence, I’ve known love—true, deep, gut-wrenching, misery-inducing, heart-rending love—only once, and regardless of how it turned out, it was a gift. A gift I didn’t deserve.

If you’ve found someone who makes you feel as complete as I felt back then—before everything went to shit—then I’m happy for you.

Even if you ignore that person for the rest of your life, Giles… at least you’ll know there really was someone for you.

So, yes. I asked myself if loving Buffy was wrong. I fought it as much as I could, and believe me, Angelus helped with that part. But finally, I had to accept that… love can never be wrong. Age doesn’t matter. Gender doesn’t matter. Hell, look at Spike and Harris and you’ll see that even species doesn’t matter as long as the feeling is mutual, and that’s really all I can say on that subject.

As for the research, I’m guessing you’ve been really busy or you’d know that one of your Slayers—Dawn’s friend Fran?—apparently found some sort of ritual that might help. Hopefully, it won’t take too long to set it up.

Oh, you wouldn’t have an Amphora of… Docent on hand, would you? I think that’s what Dawn said, anyway…

Well, if you do have one, can we borrow it? I’ll send it back when we’re through.

If you come up with any more information, I’d appreciate a heads up. Thanks.

~Angel

* * * * *

He didn’t quite have the nerve to read over what he’d just written; mostly because if he did, he’d probably never send the damned e-mail.

That didn’t stop him from hoping that it helped, at least a little.

His finger hovered over the ‘send’ tab and finally he closed his eyes and clicked the mouse.

“There,” he muttered, feeling very relieved all of a sudden, “No going back now.”

* * * * *

“She what?” Spike demanded loudly, looking at Dawn as though she’d lost her mind. “You’re kiddin’, right? Fran… Fran has some bleedin’ ritual an’ she didn’t bloody well tell me?”

“I… I thought you knew.”

Xander groaned as he stepped into the living room area and found himself speared by two pairs of blue eyes, though one set was lighter and gold-flecked. “What?”

“Tell us what ya know ‘bout Fran’s bloody plan, luv,” the vampire ordered, his Xan’s suddenly guilty look making it clear that his bloke had been keeping secrets, which just… pissed him off no end. “Dawn,” he added, low and intent, “Leave us, yah? Need ta have a bit of a… chat… with my boy, here.”

She almost wanted to object but then she noticed the way Spike was staring at Xander, and… “Um, find me later?”

Spike nodded, eyes still locked on his bloke’s. “Count on it, Niblet.”

He waited until he heard the door close behind her and sensed her heartbeat fading towards the elevator, even through the wards on his rooms; then he shifted, blue turning glowing gold as he approached his love. “Well?” he growled, ready for the confrontation the intensifying green-sheen promised.

“Ah… shit.”

* * * * *

“Could have handled it!” Spike snarled, slamming his bloke hard against the bedroom door yet again. “Not a fuckin’ child, am I?”

And Xander was barely holding on, barely keeping his beast from streaking to the fore and responding in kind, but that would get them nowhere and he knew it, even if the hyena didn’t. So instead of hitting or pushing or even bucking violently against the somewhat slender form holding him there, Xander let his hands find and clench in soft cotton, holding his vampire close.

“No,” he said simply, eyes tight on gold, “you’re not.”

It was the strength and obvious restraint his Xander was showing that had Spike’s fury calming just a bit. That and the very matter-of-fact tone of the brunette’s voice and the leashed reaction that showed plainly in his bloke’s gaze.

“Right, then,” he said, trying for a calmer tone himself, “why didn’t ya tell me? Ya knew. Could tell when ya came in, mate.”

A moment or six of silence to soothe the beast within and Xander found himself babbling, though not in the manner of the donut-boy-that-was. Instead, his words were clear and concise; contrite, even, as he spilled them out on one long gust of air. His fear that the ritual wasn’t meant for a non-pack Primal; that it might hurt one or both of them… that it would require too much power or that Fran might miss something, and finally… finally, his worry over what it might do to his love if—for whatever reason—it didn’t work.

“I couldn’t stand it, baby,” he finished, heart beating rough and hard in his chest. “I couldn’t stand watching the hope die in you; couldn’t bear to feel you hurting inside. I… fuck, Spike, I’m sorry, I just love you so much, and I… wanted to be sure!”

That he might have done—probably would have done—the same thing was irrelevant, Spike told himself. His bloke had lied to him, and after all their promises of no more secrets, and… and the fingers clenched in his shirt were suddenly uncurled, and hot, damp palms were pressing against his chest, the heat both soothing and not, and…

“Bloody hell, luv,” he growled, tongue sliding over sharp, jagged teeth as his anger quickly faded into desire, “not playin’ fair, are ya?”

One hand slid slowly from his love’s chest, moving to the top of a shoulder and pausing for a moment as fingers felt the trembling of tense muscle. “When did I ever say I played fair, baby?” Xander whispered, that same hand sliding to cup the nape of his vampire’s neck. “Besides,” he added, leaning in close enough that his lips brushed the rim oh Spike’s ear, “we don’t need an angry fuck right now, do we?”

The blond groaned, cursing and blessing the day he’d hopped on that plane for Paris. “What do we need then, pet?” he heard himself ask, his body pressing closer, harder, against the irresistible solidity of his bloke’s.

And that was a damned good question, Xander admitted silently, even while the fingers slowly stroking his vamp’s chest began tweaking lightly at one small nipple, teasing it to a point. “We need,” he murmured, tracing the perfect curve of that alabaster ear with his tongue, “to forgive each other, baby… and we need to make love, Spike. Make love. Angry can come later, okay?”

Spike nodded quickly, his head jerking almost spasmodically as his bloke’s tongue continued its welcome assault. He had no idea of what they were supposed to forgive each other for, but standing there, his Primal’s body so hot and hard between him and the door… he didn’t really care. Still, he understood the sense of the question and tilted his head, his voice grating out wantonly when he replied. “Angry… can come… much later, pet… Xan… bloody fuckin’ hell…”

* * * * *

As usual, there was some sort of unspoken understanding as to who would be taking whom first and Xander wondered for a moment whether that meant his hyena and Spike’s demon somehow communicated. That moment ended quickly, though, because he’d never been able to think well when he had his lips on Spike’s hole. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure of how he managed to have enough sense to talk, but somehow he did.

“Gods, Spike,” he murmured, eyes traveling from the slightly haired sac and over the thick, turgid length laying against the pale stomach. “So fucking perfect, baby…”

The blond groaned as hot brown-green eyes met his own. His hands tightened, pulling his knees farther apart. “Bloody hell, luv… enough soddin’ teasin’!”

Xander chuckled and returned his attention to the glorious sight before him and blew one slow, wanton breath across the deep pink pucker before lowering his mouth again, the tip of his tongue lapping at it delicately. “Gonna make you howl,” he whispered, elbows braced against the mattress, his hands curling over the tops of Spike’s thighs.

His spine arched roughly, legs opening wider still as his bloke’s fingers dug into tense muscles. “B-bloody…!”

“Shhh… shhh… gonna feel so good, baby…” and with that, Xander finally stopped teasing and focused entirely on his vampire’s anus, his tightly pointed tongue pressing, lapping, deliberately rolling against that tightness, pushing against it until it slipped through and slipped deep.

Blond hair ground roughly into the pillow as Spike’s cry came out as a squeak. His hands tightened, bruising the backs of his own knees, and he didn’t care. “X-xan! F-fuck, luv…!” His entire body was even tighter than it had been when he’d had his bloke against the door, but now… now it was a different kind of tension and that was more than welcome. “Please, luv… pet… precious… Xander! Please, I…”

Brown hair swayed, even as Xander drove his tongue deeper, harder, curling it wickedly and letting it flick strongly against the spongy nub within the tight, cool channel. His cock throbbed roughly and if he’d had a third hand, it would have been wrapped around it to stave off the orgasm he felt approaching. Then again, his recovery time was more or less instantaneous with his vamp, so… he put the concern from his mind and flexed his fingers hard.

His bloke was going to kill him. That was all Spike could think. His bloke was going to kill him—or at least make him pass out—with just his tongue, and that would destroy any chance of the bout of love-making he’d been imagining, and as that was an unthinkable outcome, Spike did the only thing he could think of. He released his own legs and drove his fingers hard into the longish, slightly shaggy hair. “P-please, luv… want ya, yah?”

Xander chuckled silently and flicked his tongue against Spike’s prostate one more time before finally giving in to the increasingly desperate tugging and pulling back to gaze gently into wide, golden-blue eyes. “Want you too,” he whispered, his voice catching slightly as the fingers in his hair flexed. “Want to fill you, baby… be so deep in you… Gods, Spike… wish you knew how much I need you…”

And suddenly—so suddenly that Spike couldn’t begin to understand or hold it in—he understood.

“Doesn’t matter,” he found himself whispering back. “If’n ya scar, pet. Doesn’t… bloody fuckin’ hell, do that again…” He pressed back and down onto the two fingers slowly stretching his saliva-slick hole. “D-doesn’t m-matter, luv… kn-know y-you’re mine… w-we… we’ll leave… find somewhere th’ demons won’t keep tryin’ ta steal ya away…”

And maybe they would, Xander admitted. Maybe. But “not right now, love,” he answered, cutting off any reply by the simple expedient of closing his mouth over his vampire’s, kissing him slowly, sweetly, thoroughly, as one more finger entered that stretching, grasping hole. “Gods, Spike… gonna take you, baby… can’t help it. Need you, love; need you, baby. Need to feel you wrapped so tight and cool around me… getting warmer and warmer while I slide in and out…”

And there was no way that he could possibly ask for anything else. Not when his bloke was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, and especially not when he knew his Xan meant it. And when he felt those amazing fingers pulling out of him with a soft, wet ‘pop’, he moaned encouragingly. “Please…”

* * * * *

There was obviously a God of Primals, Xander thought gratefully, because he hadn’t cum yet and he’d fully expected to as soon as he’d pressed into his vamp so slowly and lovingly. And it was lovingly, he knew.

He loved Spike. Loved him more than he’d ever even imagined loving anyone, and that was saying a lot. And sure, he’d already known that, but right in the moment, as he rocked so slowly, so gently into his blond’s tight body and Spike responded with soft gasps, his long, elegant fingers ghosting over Xander’s skin…? It was like a revelation.

“I love you, Spike,” he said, as though it was something new, “and if that means…” Xander sighed, slowing the movements of his hips, though not stopping them, “If that means leaving, then fine. And if it means finding some sort of sorcerer to… to make the Morah blood inert so you can mark me and turn me, then…” he bit his lip. “Then that’s f-fine too…”

The vampire groaned, still rocking on his Primal’s cock. “No gettin’ human again,” he managed to grunt. “Just… keep makin’ love ta me, Xan…”

And what could he do, other than move again—faster, harder—his cock finding that perfect point within his vampire while he held himself back; forced himself to hold on until his love—beloved, a small voice said, which he readily agreed with—found his own fulfillment.

Fortunately for the both of them, it didn’t take long.

Hips shifted, pressing deeper.

Legs rose, wrapping higher.

Arms clenched, holding tighter.

And when they came—and it was ‘they’…

Two throats released wild, wicked, wonderful shouts that weren’t contained by the wards… even slightly.

And when the two lovers reversed their positions a mere ten or so minutes later, the wards were equally ineffectual.

* * * * *

tbc...