A Paler Shade of Green

A/N: Hello! Good news, everyone! I has a new chapter. ^^ I do apologise for the extremely long wait in between the last one but I must warn you that the next chapter will probably take equally as long to get written. I have a very busy, full, tiresome life that doesn’t leave a lot of time for fic-writing but that doesn’t mean this story isn’t very special or important to me, because it is. And I know it’s important to a lot of you guys as well so thank you for telling me so in your reviews and emails. I hereby dedicate this chapter to all of you.

And especially The Happy Monkey of Doom for her amazing fanart of Kylar and Lorne. Honestly, I have never gotten fanart before and the fact that someone would take the time to personally draw not just Lorne but a character /I/ created means the world to me and I still look at it almost every day in awe. It also provides much inspiration and gives me a reason to keep going with this fic, even when I get too tired and think I can’t possibly continue. But I have! To all you wonderful people, I hope enjoy this update (it’s extra long to make up for my absence!) and please, please tell me what you think of it.

Warnings: This chapter gets more ‘adult’ towards the end. Lorne/solo, heavy on the swear words and pornographic fantasy. (Like you weren’t all waiting for it to head into the gutter XD)

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Part 4.


Later in the afternoon, Connor vanishes to go hunt some vampires, armed with stakes, knives and an axe. The girls come back from their shopping expedition with a huge pile of boxes and bags full of clothing for Kylar, as well as shoes, socks and underwear, Cordy and Fred laying each ensemble onto Cordelia’s bed and explaining what goes with what and how to wear each item and to which sort of occasion each piece can be worn. There are soft, comfy clothes he can train in, like sweatpants and tank tops, and casual outfits suitable for day wear as well as a few fancier ones, like tailored pants and collared shirts for evening functions. They’ve even bought Kylar a slick black suit and a couple of coloured ties, just in case he ever goes to the opera, ballet or a musical theatre performance which is highly likely since Lorne loves that stuff and won’t be able to resist initiating Kylar into the dazzling world of show business. Since Kylar has been practically living in a ratty robe for most of his life, he hasn’t had a chance to develop his own style yet so most of the clothes the girls chose for him consist of modern teenage gear similar to what Connor wears – jeans, sneakers, long-sleeved t-shirts, hoodies, a couple of jackets (one denim and one belted black woollen to keep out the bitter Los Angeles winter cold) plus an assortment of trendy guys’ accessories like printed canvas and metal studded belts, key-chains, pendant necklaces, trucker caps and knitted hats which will be handy for disguising his horns when he goes out in public. He now has sunglasses to conceal his red eyes too and gloves, to hide his green hands.

Understanding very well what it’s like to have flaws, the girls even got him a few thick wrist-cuffs in black, white and brown, in case he feels self-conscious about his captivity-scars and wants to cover them. Knowing about the boy’s affinity with living creatures, Cordy and Fred are careful not to buy anything in leather or made from animal skins, substituting vinyl instead. A lot of the pieces are classified as Goth or Emo but being an Empath and having such deep feelings and sensitivity means Kylar is pretty much an Emo-boy anyway. His facial markings and colourings appear like heavy make-up so the look will suit him and highlight his striking features. Trying not to let fashionista Cordelia dominate their purchases, Fred managed to slip in some hippie-themed articles, like woven organic-cotton pyjamas, hemp cargo pants and t-shirts tie-dyed with vegetable pigment, as well as bracelets and necklets with shells and stones on them, arguing that the nature-loving boy might not always want to dress like a punk. Cordelia reluctantly agreed and allowed Fred to pick a few pieces too but she drew the line at checked flannel shirts or cowboy boots like the tiny Texan girl started to suggest. Kylar should look like a city teenager, not a farm boy. His farming days are over for good now.

What’s lying on Cordy’s bed is a base of mix and match pieces that Kylar can add to himself later on and is a good starting point to figure out what his own style is, and what he decides will suit his personality best. The main goal Cordelia and Fred wanted to achieve with selecting this particular wardrobe was to make Kylar fit into this world but at the same time make it very clear that he is a boy in spite of his natural feminine beauty. When people see him dressed in these clothes, and see the lean, hard shape of his body, he won’t be mistaken for a girl anymore.

As Cordy is currently explaining to the young demon, he may not enjoy wearing these strange items at first but he has to try them and wear them at least a few times to gauge if he truly feels comfortable. If he doesn’t like anything, he can always give it away to charity. Or give it to Connor.

Kylar listens to Cordy’s advice in overwhelmed awe, touching and stroking the luxurious fabrics laid out on the bed and closely admiring the necklaces and bracelets, never having worn jewellery before. He’s never been rich enough to own any. Everything is so beautiful, expensive-looking and well-made and he is unable to believe all this extravagance now belongs to him. He feels very, very spoiled and he can never thank the two young women enough for what they have done. But he will try.

The next hour is spent with him trying on his many outfits in Cordelia’s bathroom and then coming out to bashfully display and model them, much to the girls’ delight. There’s lots of ‘Oooh’s and ‘Aww’s. And not just from the females. Lorne’s there too. He’s sitting on the clothes-laden bed next to Fred, watching the fashion show with a non-stop grin on his face (and a cocktail in his hand), loving the way each and every article of clothing looks on Kylar and constantly complimenting him on them, and also praising Cordy and Fred for their fabulous purchases. They’ve done a fantastic job of dressing the frail teenager and though the stuff may not have been what Lorne would have chosen, every single thing looks amazing on Kylar. Admittedly, the clothes are hanging off his undernourished frame somewhat but once he gains a bit of weight back he’ll look even more amazing and well...let’s be truthful here...hot. Frankly, if the boy was any hotter his hair would spontaneously catch on fire.

“You’ve outdone yourselves, girls,” Lorne has to admit. “I couldn’t have dressed him better myself. In fact, I’m sure of it. If it had been up to me, he would have ended up looking like my Mini-Clone. But this...”

He gestures to where a blushing Kylar is standing in front of them, clad in black boot-cut jeans, a white chain-belt with matching wrist-cuffs and a black and white printed stretch-top that emphasises his flat chest and slender arms. With his waist-long hair and charcoal/violet eye-shading he could be a member of some alternative music group or a flashy theatrical metal-band. Especially with the twin horns curving out of his forehead.

“He looks like a demonic little rock-star. I love it!” Lorne beams widely and appreciatively at the younger Pylean.

Though he does not know what a ‘rock-star’ is Kylar senses it’s a flattering remark and he flushes even more, his cheeks turning greener, pleased with Lorne’s praise of his updated appearance. He bites his soft, wine-coloured bottom lip with perfect white teeth and lowers his dark eyelashes which are long enough to belong to a girl, wearing three coats of mascara. Except he isn’t.

Incapable of keeping his opinion to himself in the presence of such gorgeousness, Lorne blurts out, “God, you are so damn cute, Kylar. I could just eat you.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Lorne wishes he could take them back because they sound a lot dirtier than he meant them to. And dammit, now that he’s said it, he’s unwillingly imagining peeling those brand new clothes off Kylar and pressing his lips to the smooth olive skin underneath which is so very bad and improper and just unforgivably /wrong/, especially since he’s meant to be Kylar’s guardian and father figure and shouldn’t be having those kinds of indecent thoughts at ALL. Cordy smirks at Lorne, raising one tweezers-shaped brow like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. Also catching the sexual inference, Fred discretely clears her throat, the petite brown-haired girl embarrassedly looking down at her hands. Honestly, Lorne couldn’t make his attraction to the pretty eighteen year old youth any more obvious.

“Not that I would! Eat you, I mean. Because we don’t do that on this dimension,” Lorne hastily babbles, trying to do damage-control in case Kylar has taken his words literally. “Not unless you’re Hannibal Lecter and have some Chianti to go with your liver and brain. ...But of course you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Realising that he’s jammed his four-toed foot into his mouth again, Lorne gives one of those awkward grimace-smiles, wondering how to remove it this time. Kylar is staring at him with a perplexed expression, as though he thinks Lorne is speaking in an utterly different language. The boy doesn’t get the whole Silence of the Lambs reference or the oblique oral sex implication either which is a blessing because Lorne really doesn’t want to discuss the birds and bees with the kid just yet. It’s far too early in his parenting duties to go there and Kylar’s too young and innocent to comprehend what blowjobs are anyway. Clearing his disgustingly perverse mind and rubbing that spot on his brow between his horns, Lorne sighs and gulps down the rest of his drink before attempting to speak again.

“What I meant to say, Kylar, was that the clothes Cordy and Fred bought look great on you. That’s all.”

“I am looking like a boy now?” Kylar hesitantly asks, needing to make sure his gender doesn’t get confused any longer.

“Definitely,” Lorne mutters, not game to say anything else.

“Absitively posolutely,” Fred seconds with a boosting smile, her gaze trailing over Kylar’s thin, curveless male body. In these stylish threads he seems taller somehow, or maybe he’s just standing straighter and more assuredly and not hunched over in fear and anxiety as he was when Fred first spotted him. The kid glances down on himself, tentatively adjusting his belt and smoothing down the front of his close-fitting shirt, trying to get used to wearing something that wasn’t previously filled with tuberous root vegetables. He’s as skinny as a sack of bones but if he were human, designers would go crazy for him. This is the exactly the waif-like look they prefer – big eyes, big lips, emaciated figure, long hair. If this was an alternate universe, Kylar could have been preparing for a modelling shoot for a glossy magazine.

“You better watch out, Kylar,” Cordy light-heartedly teases him, fluttering her lashes flirtatiously. “Dressed like that I might just try and eat you too.”

She turns to wink at Lorne and the flustered demon allows himself to smile back, sensing that Cordelia understands how impossibly attractive Kylar is and does not hold anything Lorne for his improper thoughts towards the boy. Shit, Lorne’s not a monk. Never claimed to be. He can try and ignore it all he wants but the fact remains: Kylarkmar of the Muthwok Clan is simply stunning.

“You know what would make you look even more yummy and delicious?” Cordy enthusiastically leaps up from the bed, fishing out a lock of wavy mulberry from Kylar’s wild mane and inspecting the tips of it. “If we trim that poor mistreated hair of yours. Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous and the colour is divine but seriously, when was the last time you went to a salon? Or even a crude barber shop?”

“Um...never?” Kylar confesses.

“Yeah. I can tell.” Cordy walks around the boy, running her fingers through his tresses with a slightly displeased expression on her face. “You have so many split ends, it’s not funny. And you are in desperate need of a deep conditioning treatment.”

She stops and smiles confidently.

“Fortunately, I can fix all of that. Purifying auras isn’t the only thing I’m good at, y’know.” She begins to steer Kylar towards her bathroom and the all-important hair products contained within, calling over her shoulder, “C’mon, Fred. We’ve gotta complete this makeover properly.”

“You got it,” Fred replies, scurrying to her feet, eager to see what Cordy is going to do with Kylar’s unruly tresses.

“Okay, well. I have to get ready for tonight so I’ll leave you gals to it,” Lorne volunteers, sensing that he’s not needed at present. “But don’t take off too much, all right? Kylar spent years growing it to that length. If you give him a crew cut, Cordy, or one of those stupid styles that resembles a turkey’s butt I’ll murder you.”

“Stop worrying, Lornekins,” Cordy throws back breezily, already wrapping a protective towel around Kylar’s narrow shoulders. “It’s too pretty to chop off. I’ll only remove a couple of inches off the ends, I promise. And maybe put in a couple of highlights, get rid of that I’ve-been-living-in-a-cave look he’s got going on.”

Creasing his brow, Lorne reluctantly replies, “All right, I guess he needs a little maintenance but don’t go overboard.”

“You are going away?” Kylar questions with slight anxiousness in his voice, more concerned with the thought of Lorne leaving him than what Cordelia is planning to do to his hair.

“Just for a few hours. I have a show to do at Caritas. You know, my club with all the mirrors and the portal you came through? I belt out a few musical numbers and then I listen to other demons sing karaoke - badly - and after they finish I tell their fortunes.” He shrugs. “It ain’t my dream job but it pays the bills.”

Ducking into the bathroom to plant a light kiss on Kylar’s apprehensively-crinkled forehead, Lorne reassures, “Don’t fret, apple-cake. Cordy and Fred will take good care of you and I’ll see you when I get back. All right?”

“All right,” Kylar answers, sounding disappointed, but he bravely dredges up a small smile for his handsome, kind-hearted guardian.

Truth be told, Lorne doesn’t want to leave Kylar at all but he has to go to work and earn the cash to take care of his surprise surrogate son. He has to be responsible now. Besides, he’s the star of the show and Caritas doesn’t function without him. Demons will be lining up outside the entrance waiting for him to open up and they’ll get violent and destructive if he doesn’t appear so he can’t get out of it, no matter how much he wants to. He’ll just go and put on an act for the crowd, like always, but the one thing that will make his night go a little faster and better is the thought that Kylar will be here waiting for him when he gets back.

“Bye, Lorne. Have fun!” Fred farewells as he exits the room, the older demon waving a casual hand over his shoulder, already singing one of the cheesy, corny love songs he’s going to perform this evening.

“/Every night in my dreams... I see you... I fee-eel you... That is how I know you go on.../”

The familiar sound of his idol’s voice melodiously filling the hallways leaves Kylar with a comforting, safe feeling and he curiously turns to face the two girls who are arming themselves with combs, scissors and other strange hairdressing implements he’s never seen before.

“What is a ‘turkey’s butt’?”

Fred glances to Cordy for the explanation and Cordy is happy to give it.

“What Lorne was talking about is a style of hair-cut that’s short at the front, sides and top and longer on the back. Like a modern mullet. Boys like to put product – a stiffening agent – into the back of it and fluff it up so it looks the fanned-out rear end of a large farm bird. It’s hideous, trust me, and we certainly WON’T be doing that to your lovely locks,” Cordelia firmly assures the suddenly-nervous Pylean.

“You don’t have to worry, Kylar,” Fred joins in with a smile. “Cordy will make you look amazing. Not that you don’t already but after she’s finished with you, you’ll feel like a new boy.”

“Good.” Kylar nods, facing himself in the mirror with a thoughtful expression. “I want to feel new.”

Cordy and Fred exchange a silent glance, both of them knowing what horrid, dirty, painful, unpleasant things Kylar has been through in the past and fully understanding his desire to let all that go and start afresh in this alternate dimension. Changing his appearance is part of the teen’s total transformation and the two young women standing in the bathroom will endeavour to make sure that Kylar feels the newest, freshest and cleanest he’s ever felt in his life.

First, Kylar gets his hair washed in the bathroom sink and then it is towel dried. When Cordelia combs it out and raises the scissors to make the first cut, he stiffens and abruptly ducks out of the way.

“Kylar?” Cordy frowns at him in puzzlement. “It’s not going to hurt.”

“I know,” the teenager replies timidly, gathering his dreadlocks protectively in both hands, four on each side. “I was afraid you’d cut these off. Please don’t. I want to keep them.”

“Of course, honey,” Cordy reassures him, gently squeezing his shoulder with her free hand. “I wouldn’t do that. I only want to trim the ends of your hair, that’s all. Is that okay?”

After a moment’s contemplation, Kylar grants permission with a nod. Trusting the former princess of Pylea to keep her promise, he folds his hands in his lap and watches in the mirror with eyes like glittering rubies as Cordelia whirls around him with scissors snipping, bits of damp hair falling to the floor. It might look alarming but true to her word, she doesn’t touch the dreads, only taking off about three inches from the bottom of the rest. She would have taken even less but there’s a fair bit of dryness and damage in Kylar’s tresses that no amount of conditioning will ever repair. His hair is very heavy and thick and that heaviness weighs it down and straightens each strand so she thins it all out, evenly layering it in order to release more of its natural wave, giving the boy’s berry-coloured locks more spring and movement. Though she works quickly, she is careful not to accidentally snip off any of his dreadlocks as they seem to have some kind of special significance for him – perhaps a type of tribal thing - and besides, they add a twist of unique Kylar-style to his look.

Next, Cordy explains what highlights are and with Kylar’s agreement and Fred’s assistance, the older brunette woman chooses a few sections of the boy’s mane and coats them in bleaching cream, wrapping them in foil to develop. She leaves the bleach on for only half the recommended time, so that each section of hair turns a subtle pinky-blonde, not yellow or white blonde which would look too harsh on Kylar’s naturally vivid purple-maroon hue. When the blonding agent is rinsed out in the sink, Cordelia uses some toner to stop any yellowing from occurring, then squirts on a liberal amount of hydrating conditioner and leaves it for a couple of minutes to really soak in and nourish the kid’s neglected mane. When that is washed out Fred carefully combs and detangles Kylar’s mulberry strands, avoiding the precious dreadlocks, and then Cordelia finishes off with a professional blow-dry.

Gazing at himself in the mirror when she’s done, Kylar almost can’t believe the difference a simple hair-cut can make. His hair has more shine and bounce to it and it feels much lighter, as though it’s floating and flowing around him instead of dragging down heavily on his scalp. It now sits about mid-back and it’s that glossy it glimmers in the light when he moves. The streaks give an interesting new depth to the overall colour, the pinkish highlights complimenting his pale green skin tone, and when he runs his hands over it, Kylar is astounded by how soft and silky his hair is now that all the split-ends are gone. It looks new, it feels new and it definitely makes him feel like a new demon too. This is just what he needed to complete his transition from one dimension to another, to shed his old skin and slip into a different one. A better one. A freer one.

He is not an outcast clan-member, an unwanted spawn, a beaten, broken servant nor a frightened, filthy cave-dweller any longer. He doesn’t have to live in fear anymore. He doesn’t have to hide who he is. He can simply be Kylar, the Kylar he’s always wanted to be. Unchained and unshackled. Unburdened.

All his life he has been told that he’s useless, worthless. Ugly. Looking in the mirror in front of him, he now sees that this is not so. Pylea is ugly.

Not him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, unable to express how sincerely grateful, touched and appreciative he is to the two human girls smiling at either side of him, pleased with their handiwork. He is practically a stranger to them – some traumatised being from another world who just jumped into this one - but already they have helped him in so many ways. They have been so understanding, considerate and giving when they didn’t have to be. Though he can sense that they enjoyed doing it and don’t expect any kind of repayment for their kindness, Kylar vows that one day he will pay them back, if not with money then in some other way that will mean something. Even if he can only pay them back with his heart and his loyal friendship then that is what he will do. These caring young ladies are now his friends and he will do whatever it takes to keep them.

“Thank you both so very much. For everything.” With tears welling in his eyes, Kylar turns to the girls and hugs them, one after the other, hoping that even though they are not empathic Cordelia and Fred are able to feel his sincerity and gratitude and the love he is starting to grow in his soul for the two of them.

“Oh, you’re more than welcome, sweetie,” Cordy murmurs, hugging him back. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“You surely do,” Fred agrees, smiling and giving the stick-thin boy an affectionate squeeze, feeling his bones through the new clothes he’s wearing, a timely reminder that it’s now about dinner time and Kylar needs feeding. “You wanna come into the kitchen with us and learn how to cook?”

“Yes, please,” Kylar replies eagerly, keen to learn new skills, especially if they involve eating. “What will we be making? Broth? Gruel? Goulash?”

“Ew, God no. None of that disgusting demony slop.” Cordy curls her lip, remembering the unappealing greyish substance she got fed during her brief stint as a stable-hand on Pylea. “We’ll teach you how to make a proper, traditional, good old American dish.”

That night Kylar discovers what macaroni and cheese is. And he loves it! After living off a few scavenged nuts and berries for months on end, everything he puts in his mouth on this dimension tastes like pure culinary heaven to him. After he has his empty belly filled with delicious cheesy mounds of steaming yellow pasta and sauce, he helps the girls wash and dry the dishes, listening to them babble on about all the yummy things in this world he simply must taste – both sweet and savoury - Cordy and Fred deciding to go shopping again tomorrow just for foods to show him, subsequently compiling a grocery list and discussing different recipes over the kitchen table. While they’re doing that, Kylar excuses himself and goes to use Lorne’s bathroom, lingering in the other demon’s space afterwards, opening his wardrobe and touching and smelling his clothes, just to feel closer to him. The scent of his man-perfume – or ‘cologne’ as Cordy called it - is everywhere and it makes Kylar long for Lorne’s lively presence. Sitting on the bed, Kylar wishes the other male were here, and that they could converse and make discussions. He misses the sound of Lorne’s voice and he feels slightly envious, knowing that halfway across the city of LA other demons are listening to it and probably not appreciating what they’re hearing, not the way Kylar does.

Lorne’s not the only one who’s busy that night – Angel, Wesley and Gunn have a job on as well, only theirs doesn’t involve singing, more like chopping, stabbing and slicing. Connor is still out there somewhere, also chopping things up with his enormous axe, only preferring to work alone. That means that the only people left in the hotel are Fred, Cordelia and Kylar. With his full tummy, Kylar begins to get sleepy so he kicks off his new shoes (which are starting to hurt his feet, in truth) and curls up on Lorne’s bed to have a nap until his handsome guardian returns. He is starting to get used to the sinking feeling of the soft mattress. It makes him think of sleeping on clouds. An added bonus is that he doesn’t wake up with sore hipbones anymore, as he did when he slept on the solid cave floor. Cordelia peeks in on him once, just to make sure he’s okay, and finds the horned teenager dozing contentedly, hugging one of Lorne’s pillows to his small frame. She smiles and leaves him be.

Sometime later, there is a noise outside in the lobby and, being a light sleeper, it wakes Kylar. Thinking it might be Lorne, he sits up, his senses reaching out of the room, attempting to connect empathically with the returning individual. Apart from Fred and Cordelia he can sense another aura in The Hyperion but it’s not the older male he’s awaiting so Kylar emerges from Lorne’s room, goes down the hall and peeks over the stair railing to see who it is. He discovers Connor below, coming back from a cemetery where he dusted a bunch of newly-turned vamps climbing out of fresh graves, efficiently turning them into piles of grey ash. He’s dusting himself off with his hands.

Also sensing Kylar, Connor lifts his head and meets the demon boy’s striking scarlet eyes, the hunter offering the peaceful Pylean a small smile of greeting. Smiling in return, Kylar experiences a flush of pleasure that Connor seems glad to see him and he waits for the auburn-haired youth at the top of the stairs, hoping they can speak for a little while. He finds Connor rather intriguing and interesting and would like to learn more about him, in particular how he came to be born from two Van-tal – two vampires - yet still remain human.

Quickly putting his weapons away and hopping up the steps, Connor stops in front of Kylar, taking in the second teenager’s trendy change of clothes, something Cordelia and Fred obviously provided him with. In that fashionable black and white jeans and top combo, with the chain-belt and matching accessories, Kylar looks like some kind of model for a demon teen-girl magazine, like a young musician or actor. He’s got the prettiest pair of lips Connor has ever seen, full and dark, like blood-red fruit, like pomegranates, like the mouth of a Goth princess with the velvety violet-shadowed eyes to match. And not a touch of makeup on him whatsoever. Connor would never admit it out loud but Kylar is far prettier than any girl he’s ever looked at and there are a lot of girls in LA to look at. They try to make themselves attractive with their eyeliner, mascara and lipstick – all caked on thickly - but compared to Kylar’s naturally-pigmented androgynous allure, they just appear trashy and fake.

“Hi,” Connor mumbles to him, still a bit overwhelmed in the presence of such bewitching beauty.

Also bashful around his new ivory-complexioned friend, Kylar greets shyly, “Hello, Connor. Did you have a successful hunt?”

“Yeah. Staked some vampires. Killed a couple of demons too. Bad ones,” Connor hurriedly amends but Kylar takes no offence. He understands how bad demons can be, even to their own race.

“I’m glad,” he tells Connor, genuinely meaning it. He’s normally averse to slaughter of any kind but if Angel’s slayer son got rid of some of the horrendous wrongness in this universe tonight, then that can only be a beneficial thing. Kylar senses that that’s Connor’s purpose in life, his destiny. To hunt evil. To destroy it. To fight for justice. Like Angel, he is a warrior for good, a champion of this world, but to look at Connor, it’s difficult to tell that. He just looks like a normal human youth. With those slender limbs, he doesn’t even look strong. But he is. Powerfully so. Kylar knows because he was knocked down flat on his back by a mere tap of the boy’s fist.

The blue-eyed male tilts his head, also scrutinising Kylar with an interested air.

“Your hair. You’ve done something different to it.”

“I didn’t do it. Cordelia did.” Kylar reaches up and picks out one of the lighter strands. “These are called ‘high-lights’.”

“Nice. Suits you.” Before Kylar starts to think that he’s being flirted with, Connor changes the subject. “Hey, that demon doctor here earlier today... Did he come to see you?”

“Yes. I had a headache and collapsed in Lorne’s room. I am fine; I just need to consume more sustenance.”

Connor feels a stab of guilt, thinking of the blindfolded sparring he coaxed the frail Pylean into. “Was I pushing you too hard? Was that my fault?”

“No. It was mine,” Kylar readily claims. “I should have stopped when I felt dizzy but I wanted to keep going. I would like to be able to do what you do, Connor. As well as you do it.”

“You will. You’re good.” Connor has to admit, “You could be better than me, even.”

The green-skinned teen widens his eyes in surprise. “Do you believe so?”

“Wouldn’t say it otherwise. The whole empathic thing? I don’t have that. It’d be handy, though,” Connor contemplates thoughtfully. “I’d be able to dust a lot more vamps if I knew what they were thinking.”

“I’m still learning how to use my ability. You will continue to assist me?” Kylar questions. “With the sensory training?”

“Sure. No problem.” The brunette boy allows a half-smile to touch his lips. “It’s fun training with you.”

At the praise, Kylar lights up again, another one of those pleasant flushes sweeping through him. They’re warm and wonderful. He didn’t get many of these back on Pylea. Since he’s been here, he’s been feeling them all the time. It must be what ‘happy’ feels like.

“So Kylar, you doing anything now?”

The Pylean youngling shakes his head, guessing that he’s about to be invited to participate in some type of human social activity. “I am only waiting for Lorne to return.”

“Well, until he does, you wanna come back to my room? We can hang out, eat, listen to music.”

“Music?” At the very word, Kylar feels excited. “Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you.”

“C’mon,” Connor urges with a lift of his chin, beginning to head down the other end of the corridor, towards an ascending stairway. “I live further up here. Away from all the old people.”

Connor isn’t just being civil to Kylar because he has to, or because the demon is girlishly cute. Connor actually likes the guy and admires his calmness, resilience and inner strength. Kylar’s been through some serious shit – including slavery and starvation - but he hasn’t let it beat him or get him down. Connor sees a little bit of himself in the second teenager. Not the having horns part but the growing up on a hell dimension and then arriving in LA part. He knows all too well what it’s like to be alone in a strange world, not knowing how it works, who to trust, how to survive. How to behave. As they are the same age, Connor takes it upon himself to educate Kylar in adolescent matters of interest, one of which is music, switching his stereo on and loading up a few compact discs once they are within the privacy of his bedroom.

Before Connor can hit the PLAY button, though, Kylar peeks at him with apprehensive eyes.

“Connor, are we going to be friends?”

The human teenager graces him with a slight smile. “Sure. We kind of already are. This is what friends do – spend time together. Doing stuff we both like.”

“Well, if we are to be friends and to share aspects of our lives then...” Kylar swallows nervously. “Then there is something you should know about me first.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Connor asks nonchalantly.

Straightening his spine, Kylar inhales a brave breath, deciding to be bluntly honest.

“I’m a murderer.”

Not expecting THAT answer, Connor’s eyes go round with shock. Staring at the polite, delicate, harmless-looking youth in front of him, he exclaims dubiously, “You are?”

Kylar nods and lowers his gaze, not proud of it but also knowing it was something he had to do to become free. “My mother sold me to a farmer when I was fifteen winters old. He was my master and I was his slave. He did this to me.”

Turning around, Kylar lifts up the back of his shirt, showing Connor all the white slashes that ruin his green skin, all the violently inflicted lashes and whip-strikes that intersect and overlap from the top of his pants to his shoulder blades. That’s as far as the young demon has lifted the T-shirt but the marks keep on going beyond that, reaching up towards his neck. His whole bony back is one awful latticework of scar-tissue.

At the sight, Connor sucks in a horrified breath. When Kylar drops his shirt and turns around he sees the same horrified expression on Connor’s face.

“I killed the farmer,” Kylar continues quietly. “I threw a venomous snake at him and watched him die from the poison of the bite. That’s the day I escaped and ran into the woods.”

Angel’s son just keeps staring at Kylar, trying to imagine this gentle, nature-loving vegetarian murdering someone. On purpose.

Toying with his decorative vinyl wrist cuff – the one covering his captivity chain-scars – Kylar questions with uneasiness in his tone, “Does this knowledge change your opinion of me?”

Blinking, Connor answers slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, it does, actually.”

Feeling his stomach sink, Kylar whispers, “You do not wish to be friends with me anymore.”

“Never said that. In fact, I like you even more now.”

Drawing his hairless brows together in uncertainty, Kylar stares at the second eighteen year old. “But I killed another living being. I took a life.”

“So?” Connor lifts a shoulder. “I do that all the time. Why do you think my nickname is The Destroyer? Besides, after what your ‘master’ did to you, he had it coming.”

His spirit lifting, Kylar gazes at Connor with hopeful redcurrant eyes. “You do not think I am a bad person?”

“Hell, no. I think you’re awesome!”

The complete lack of judgement on the other boy’s behalf gives Kylar such a sense of overwhelming relief, only just realising how much he longs for Connor’s acceptance and friendship, something he never had back on Pylea – a companion of his own age, someone who liked to be around him and didn’t care that he was different to everybody else. Apart from animals, Kylar never had a true childhood friend. Now it seems he’s just gained one in the blue-eyed Van-tal spawn – a thin boy with the strength of ten men and the heart of a champion.

“I think you’re...awesome...too,” Kylar replies bashfully, rewarded by one of Connor’s rare grins.

Instructed to take a seat on something called a ‘bean bag’, Kylar gingerly perches upon what looks like a sack filled with dried peas. He’d rather sit straight on the hard, solid floor but doesn’t want to offend Connor by refusing the offer. The stuffed sack makes light crunching sounds and shifts unstably when he sits on it, causing him to give a tiny anxious gasp and fling his arms out as he sinks downward, but the shifting soon settles underneath and around him, proving to be surprisingly comfortable and supportive once it stops moving. Used to the peculiarity of this soft frameless furniture, Connor plonks down on his own bag of beans, pressing buttons on a black rectangular item named a ‘remote control’.

Due to his habit of spying on Lorne singing to himself back in the fields of Pylea, Kylar thinks he knows what music is, but he is astounded beyond belief when he hears the voices coming out of Connor’s speakers, some airy and magical, others scarily loud and booming and angry. There are child-like, quirky girl-voices as well as mature, crystal-clear female sopranos while the male singers vary widely from resonant and soulfully seductive to growling and snarling, to playful and cheeky. And then there are all the different musical instruments, each one producing noises Kylar has never imagined, noises he didn’t even know existed, from crashing cymbals to wailing guitars to deep throbbing bass that seems to vibrate right through the centre of his body.

These fascinating sounds are miraculously stored on flat, circular devices that shine with all the colours of the rainbow, Connor filling him in on the different styles of bands and artists around from rock, alternative and heavy metal to pop, rap and techno. Kylar rapidly learns to appreciate this wondrous audio stimulation and the extensive range of emotions that vocals and melodies invoke in him - some songs making him joyously euphoric, others bringing him to tears with such despairing sadness, some making him blush with sensual and explicit lyrics, and some summoning an emboldening defiance and rebelliousness, particularly what Connor calls ‘punk’.

Fetching two cans of cola, Connor gives one to his guest – also sharing a large packet of Gummi Bears between them - but Kylar barely even notices what he’s drinking and snacking on, too captivated by the songs being played for him. When he first hears the haunting voice of Amy Lee from Evanescence, Kylar’s eyes go very wide in delighted astonishment, and then as he loses himself in the exquisite, evocative spell of the piano and violins, they fall closed, as if to shut out everything else so he can listen with all of his being. As the song plays on, Connor watches in amazement as goosebumps form on Kylar’s bare arms, the young demon hugging himself and shivering with indescribable pleasure. When a teardrop slips out from between his lashes and trickles down his cheek, Kylar doesn’t even realise it, utterly absorbed in the emotional experience he’s having.

Watching the changing expressions on the other teenager’s green face amuses Connor and touches him at the same time. If he thought Lorne was sensitively attuned, then Kylar is fifty times more so. It’s like he doesn’t just hear the music, he feels it, all the way in his heart, the songs affecting him in precisely the way they were intended. He has no hang-ups about what music is cool or uncool, be it boy band or sappy chick stuff; Kylar is mesmerised by it all. He could listen to it for hours on end and the only thing that finally drags him away from Connor’s room is Lorne, Kylar intuitively sensing the other Empath’s return to the hotel. He graciously thanks Connor for the entertaining evening and the refreshments, and then rushes off to meet his beloved guardian.

Lorne smells strongly like cigarette smoke and alcohol. His voice is raspy from using it so much and he seems tired – his empathic abilities temporarily worn out by the many psychic readings he performed over the last few hours - but when he sees Kylar skipping down the stairs to greet him in the lobby, his eyes brighten and he still has enough energy to smile dazzlingly and sweep the kid into a fond hug. As Lorne fixes himself a soothing milk-based nightcap and they make their way back upstairs, Kylar tells him all about his musical discoveries, more animated and energised than Lorne has seen him so far. Although, that could be due to the soda and candy that sweet-tooth Connor would have no doubt given him, Kylar most likely still buzzing on his first sugar-rush. Smiling and nodding at the appropriate places, Lorne gives his own overused vocal chords a rest and lets Kylar do all the talking.

“And then we listened to Iron Maiden, which is not a young woman made of metal as I first thought but a band of men with instruments and a lead singer and the song I liked most of all was Run to the Hills because that’s what I did when I escaped the angry mob chasing after me back on Pylea and if I hadn’t done that then I wouldn’t have found the portal and I wouldn’t have been able to come here and find you!” Out of breath from that uncharacteristically lengthy sentence, Kylar stops and glances at Lorne’s silent figure, unable to distinguish the reason why his usually chatty custodian isn’t saying anything.

“Is it considered improper for me to visit with Connor while you are not here, Lorne?” Kylar asks fretfully, not wanting to displease his primary caretaker. “If you would prefer me not to do so, please inform me now and I will not go there again.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can visit him,” Lorne answers, waving away Kylar’s worries and ushering him inside the bedroom. “As long as he’s nice to you, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, he is. He’s very nice. Thoughtful and quiet. It’s hard to believe that he is called ‘The Destroyer’.”

Lorne snorts into his drink. “You haven’t seen him with an axe yet. And you don’t want to. Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

Sitting on the queen-sized mattress, Kylar makes a quizzical expression. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes when we go to a job, he comes back with ‘souvenirs’. And by ‘souvenirs’ I mean severed body parts.” The older demon grimaces and sets his glass down on the low wooden table at the end of his bed. “I’m surprised he didn’t show you his gruesome dried ear-necklace.”

“He is a hunter. I realise he kills things,” Kylar acknowledges. “But unlike hunters back on our home world, Connor only kills evil creatures. To save people from them.” He glances sideways at Lorne as the taller Pylean shucks off his jacket, removes his silk cravat and starts to unbutton his shirt, his back to Kylar.

“Lorne, will I be able to participate in – what do you call them – jobs? With the others?”

“One day, maybe. When you’ve done enough training. Protecting the innocent and fighting the good fight...It’s damn hard work, kiddo.”

“I am not bothered by hard work. I wish to earn my keep here, as they do.”

Turning, Lorne unintentionally gives Kylar a glimpse of his green, spotted chest, visible through the gap in his opened shirt. Kylar even catches a flash of smooth stomach which sends one of those small, secret flushes through him.

“Listen up, my little asparagus stalk,” Lorne begins in a mildly chastising tone. “You’re nowhere near fit enough or strong enough to even be /thinking/ about working yet. Besides, I am voluntarily accepting guardianship of you so you don’t need to pay for anything. All you need to concentrate on right now is getting healthy again, okay?”

He frowns at his scrawny ward. “Did you have dinner? Candy doesn’t count.”

“Yes. Winifred and Princess Cordelia showed me how to make macaroni and cheese earlier. It’s very tasty.” Suddenly remembering what else the girls did, Kylar interjects, “Oh! Did you happen to notice my hair?”

As an excitable Kylar spins around to show him its neatened, highlighted layers, Lorne chuckles and replies, “I sure did, dumpling. I didn’t think it was possible but somehow Cordy has made you look even cuter than before.”

His back still turned, Kylar beams happily, high on sugar and Lorne’s flattery. “Touch it. Feel how soft it is now.”

Never one to refuse a tempting invitation, Lorne shrugs, steps closer and smooths his palm over the boy’s head, taking a lightened lock of wavy mulberry between his fingertips and letting it slip through to the end, feeling its improved texture and glossiness for himself. On any other boy the pink streaks would seem questionable and unwisely-chosen but on Kylar they are perfect, matching with his feminine features and sensitive soul. Somehow, Lorne’s handsomely-hooked nose finds its way into that lovely long cascade of rippling hair and before he knows what he’s doing, Lorne is smelling it, breathing in deep and closing his crimson eyes to savour the scent. Not only does Kylar’s hair possess the colour of berries but it even smells like them too, like fruits of the forest and wild flowers. Being this close, he can even detect the fragrance of Kylar’s skin and it’s like morning dew on a mossy rock, like the fine mist coming off a waterfall, like everything pure and pristine found in nature. In a world that can be rotten, dirty and diseased, Lorne finds Kylar’s clean, fresh purity such a delicious drawcard, such an innocent enticement. Standing there a whole head taller behind the boy, Lorne slides his left hand into that curtain of purple-red, loving the silken feel and the warm thick mass of it, slowly combing through the satiny strands as he continues inhaling the youth’s intoxicating perfume.

Feeling Lorne’s gentle, exploring fingers in his hair gives Kylar luscious little tingles that spread over his scalp and down the nape of his neck, making him shiver with the sensuousness of his guardian’s caresses. He is aware that Lorne is attracted to his scent and is not offended in the least. It pleases him that Krevlornswath is drawn to him in such a manner. Kylar is similarly attracted to Lorne’s scent too – that masculine aroma of mystical spice sitting just beneath the chemical layer of smoke soaked into his cinnamon-coloured suit. Starting to feel delightfully dizzy, Kylar lets his breath out with a small sigh, leaning backwards into Lorne’s bigger body, pressing nearer to his care-giver and fluttering his lashes shut, blissfully letting Lorne touch him. The teenager’s agreeable reaction awakens Lorne’s desires even further and he slips an arm around Kylar’s frail form, pulling him closer. He feels a pair of protruding shoulder blades against his chest and some sharps knobs of a spine but Lorne ignores those, focusing on the softness of the surrounding flesh, on Kylar’s willowy waist and slightly rounded tummy, full of nourishing food. The boy’s bottom is firm against him, stirring Lorne’s groin into life.

Kylar’s so young and tender and warm - just what Lorne needs to help him relax after enduring a wearisome night at the club, listening to other people’s problems and trying to solve them, one after the other, like a living vending machine dispensing fortunes. Or misfortunes, in some cases. What he sees with his psychic eye often makes his job so damn depressing. He missed Kylar like crazy every second they were apart but now he has the eighteen year old embodiment of loveliness in his arms, all dreamy and docile, just ripe for the taking, like a fragrantly-full fig on the tip of a branch. Forgetting about his demanding karaoke business, Lorne’s head instead fills with fantasy images of a near-nude Kylar lying back on a carpet of fallen leaves in the dappled light of the setting sun, ivy woven in his hair like a woodland faun, the beautiful boy shifting his shapely legs apart and beckoning with inviting scarlet eyes for Lorne to come join him on the forest floor, to remove the sash of silkworm-spun silk from around his hips and kiss all of that bare, olive skin, to taste the sweetness of his nectar and coax musical notes of husky pleasure from Kylar’s parted plum-coloured lips.

Being held so closely from behind, Kylar must be able to feel Lorne’s demonhood beginning to harden against his lower back, and he might even catch a glimpse of the erotic visions in Lorne’s head, but the inexperienced youth doesn’t react in revulsion or fear. If anything, he seems to melt against Lorne even more, one of Kylar’s slim hands finding Lorne’s thigh and clutching it tremblingly, not wanting this wonderful new intimacy to end.

Caught in Kylar’s unknowing spell of enchantment, Lorne breathes in again, deeply, face still buried in the kid’s gorgeous hair. Sweeping those berry-red tresses aside, he reveals the younger Pylean’s neck, jaw and delicately-formed earlobe. There are darker green veins visible in the side of that pale green throat, a white vinyl collar/necklet fastened around it, showing how slender and graceful it is. Lorne’s fingertips brush up the exposed part of Kylar’s throat and trace around the shell of the boy’s ear, receiving another one of those delightful shivers in response. Wanting to explore all of the youth’s striking model-like features, Lorne shifts his hand across to one cheekbone, outlining the fragile angularity of it, and then skates around Kylar’s eye socket and smooth violet-shaded brow. He continues further up over a speckled forehead, skimming lightly over dark skin-cracks surrounding the base of one petite mahogany horn. Lorne caresses it, gently stroking over the grooved point with the pad of his index finger. Horns are extremely responsive to touch, despite being made out of blunt bone, and Kylar gasps softly at the sensual stroke, the sound snapping Lorne out of his trance and filling him with horror.

Good God, what is he DOING?

Hastily unwrapping his arms from around Kylar’s skinny body, Lorne steps back in shock, away from the too-tempting teenager. You don’t just go fondling another demon’s horns without being asked to. Though visible, they’re actually quite a private, personal area of one’s anatomy. He may as well have shoved his hand down the front of Kylar’s pants with how brazen that move was. Lorne should have known better. Kylar’s not some lusty fan in his audience, slipping into his dressing room backstage to take a quick tumble on the couch after a show. Kylar isn’t easy or slutty. Far from it. He’s completely innocent and even though he seems willing and submissive, he doesn’t deserve to be taken advantage of in that way. A disturbing thought strikes Lorne, a reason as to why Kylar – a former captive who by all rights should be highly uncomfortable with physical contact – was letting himself be manhandled so freely. Since he’s still weak and is not able to work yet, he probably thinks that this is how he can ‘earn’ his keep here. By allowing Lorne to have sex with him. The idea of Kylar whoring himself for food and a place to stay sickens Lorne, his own appalling actions towards the whip-scarred child disgusting and shaming him.

“I need to take a shower,” he mutters as he turns away, feeling incredibly dirty. “Go to sleep, Kylarkmar. It’s past your bedtime, young man.”

Wondering what he did wrong, Kylar gazes yearningly at the closed bathroom door, his skin still tingling from where Lorne touched it, especially down the side of his face and neck. Being empathic, he knew that Lorne enjoyed the contact, just as Kylar had. But then the older male just switched off, like one of these electric bulbs of light installed in the ceiling. Had Kylar offended Lorne in some manner? He doesn’t know. Lorne wouldn’t tell him, his mind shut off like the door he’s now showering behind. On this dimension people’s behavioural responses – either human or demon – are vastly different than they were on Pylea. There, you knew exactly how anyone felt and they weren’t afraid to tell you so, quite often loudly and pompously. Here, it appears that there is an acceptable level of sharing emotion with others and then there’s a point where it cuts off totally. On this world people must keep a lot of their innermost feelings hidden and not even an Empath like Kylar can clearly decipher them. From what he’s witnessed so far, he is beginning to believe that the intricacies of American social interaction will confound him tremendously. It will almost certainly take him a while to figure it all out. But Connor did warn him about the expected inter-dimensional culture change and its difficulty to grasp.

Eventually sighing, Kylar comes to the conclusion that Lorne’s just tired. He’s not angry with Kylar. He’s been working and his aura is drained. That’s all. He just needs to recharge like that portal Kylar came through. Now that he dwells upon it, Kylar realises that he feels tiredness too. His own emotions got quite the work out when he listened to Connor’s shiny compact-discs of music and it is quite late now, well past midnight, in fact. Excepting Angel, who is by nature a nocturnal creature, everyone else in the hotel have gone to their beds. He can sense them sleeping, their auras giving off softer, dimmer vibrations than they do when they’re awake. Even Connor is calling it quits for the night, washing the vampire ash out of his hair and getting ready for slumber. Kylar decides to do the same, as he was told to. Lorne is his parental figure of authority now and he must do what Lorne instructs him, so Kylar chooses one of the pyjamas that Cordelia and Fred bought him – a soft organic cotton pair – and slips into them, buttoning the top up to his neck and securely tying the drawstring around his scrawny waist so they don’t slip off. He removes his wrist cuffs and necklet, laying them on the bedside table nearest to his side of the mattress. The girls have brought all his new clothing into Lorne’s room, leaving the boxes and bags stacked neatly on the floor until Lorne makes space for it in the wardrobe. With the muted sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom, Kylar climbs beneath the sheets of Lorne’s bed and waits for his guardian to join him. Unbeknownst to Kylar, the sugar-hit has finally worn off and soon he feels sleep tugging at him, drawing him into its dark, quiet embrace.

Meanwhile, Lorne is tugging at himself in the shower. Carefully concealing his thoughts and emotions, of course. His demon-flesh is aching and throbbing like an infected tooth and if he doesn’t do this, he won’t be able to sleep a wink at all tonight, let alone lay next to Kylar without molesting him. Damn, Lorne hasn’t gotten laid in what seems like eons. That’s why he got all gropey with the kid who’s meant to be his adoptive son, for all intents and purposes. Well, enough of that. No more hair-sniffing, no more indecent fantasies and definitely no more horn-touching. At least not Kylar’s horn, anyway. It was a huge, huge mistake and a severe lapse of judgement on Lorne’s behalf, not to mention a breach of the naïve boy’s complete trust in him. It certainly can’t happen again and this is the best way the passionate Pylean knows how to relieve his pent-up frustrations without morphing into a larger, uglier version of himself and going on a violent smash-rampage like some kind of demonic Hulk.

As the short-haired Deathwok-clan deserter tips his head back and lets the hot water pour over his patterned chest and shoulders, he takes his stiffened green organ with a firm grip and pulls it with slow squeezes, thinking about the busty blonde waitress at Caritas, the hot Hispanic hustler he passed on the street earlier - anybody other than the sweet-smelling teenager in his bed right now.

Cradling and rolling his heavily swollen testicles in his other hand, Lorne thinks of the delicious pair of humanoid Ho’kio demons who were at the club tonight - not singing, just watching everyone else and sharing drinks at the bar. Ho’kio demons are always born in twos, as twins. They weren’t parasitic twins but they may as well have been, going by how intimately and suggestively they were dancing together later on in the night. Their species is known for being sexually promiscuous and ambiguous and these two sure were, with one of the siblings appearing very feminine and the other more masculine, but both extremely arousing with long jet-black hair, flat chests and lithe builds, each criss-crossed in strips of leather that showed far too much white skin. Together, with their mix of male and female qualities, they are able to lure anyone they choose as a mating partner and tonight they were giving Lorne the come-fuck-us signals, repeatedly glancing at him with sultry, identically-dark eyes and licking their luscious lips in unison. One of them had a tongue ring. Lorne would have quite happily gone home with both of them for a bit of demony twincest if he didn’t have Kylar expectantly waiting for him back at the hotel. But flaming hell, those two creatures were the hottest things he’s seen in a long time and he almost regrets not taking them up on their offer. Actually, he belatedly wishes he HAD gone to mate with them because then there’d be no need for what he’s doing now.

Rubbing his palm over the deep cranberry-coloured head of his thickened member, he imagines the evilly-seductive twins kneeling on the floor in front of him, pleasuring him with two mouths, kissing his belly and expertly working their way down. He pictures them flickering their long pointed tongues over his stomach and upper thighs, slithering over his heated flesh like black snakes, wrapping all the way around his dick in ways mere humans couldn’t achieve. He visualises the doppelganger demons as they greedily suck on him, one after the other, and then turn to shamelessly kiss each other while he gazes down upon them with blazing crimson eyes. Jacking himself harder, Lorne imagines grabbing the more feminine one by the hair and shoving into those sinful ebony lips, feeling that tongue-stud slide along his shaft. He pictures screwing the pretty one’s mouth while the other muscular Ho’kio uses his lengthy oral appendage to probe between his slenderer twin’s wantonly-spread legs, finding a tiny black hole and sliding slickly into it. Feeling his orgasm cresting, Lorne bites his lip to muffle his moan, his fist pumping furiously. In his mind the kneeling demon twins merge to form one being. Somehow, that face he’s thrusting into changes and becomes Kylar’s. It’s now Kylar on his knees in front of Lorne, sucking him with those wine-red lips, Lorne’s fingers clenched in Kylar’s rippling purple mane, his hard green cock slamming in and out of the boy’s virgin mouth. Violating it.

Fucking it.

Bracing himself against the tiled wall with one arm, Lorne feels his legs turn into jelly as he explosively comes, spurts of thick, built-up bodily fluid surging from the dick in his fisted hand and descending into the shower-spray, swirling down the drain in dissolving white strings.

Gasping, he stands in the same position for a minute or two, warm water raining down upon his trembling, pleasure-shocked limbs while recovering his senses. When he does, Lorne is overcome with guilt and shame at what he was thinking about at the moment of climax but he’s too damn exhausted to punish himself. What’s done is done. He’s got it out of his system; he’s expelled his lewd urges and so now he can just get on with being the father and role model he’s expected to be.

By the time he dries off, puts on his dressing gown and returns to the bedroom, Kylar is already fast asleep and has no idea what sordid thing Lorne was doing in the shower cubicle. Thank God. Even though his sexual needs have been taken care of, the older demon contemplates sleeping on the couch away from Kylar, just to be on the safe side, but he knows that if he did that he’d only wake up to find the kid lying on the floor next to him again. For some reason, Kylar likes him nearby. Sighing resignedly, Lorne pulls on his pyjama pants and slips beneath the covers, careful not to disturb the other boy with his movements. Turning the lamp off and stuffing a pillow under his weary head, Lorne sighs again, rolling over with his back to Kylar’s tranquil, evenly-breathing figure.

Before he closes his eyes, Lorne makes a sombre vow to himself.

Tomorrow, for both their sakes, Kylarkmar has to move out into his own room.