Thralls

Title: Thralls, chapter 8
Disclaimer: Terribly obvious, they aren't mine. This effort is in thanks to Kay, an author who writes the best multiple pairings in ATS and BTVS that I have read. They are not to be missed.

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Buffy burst into the Magic Shoppe. Normally she would have seen Anya behind the register, it was still jarring that she didn't, but Anya was no where to be found. Nor were Willow or Tara. Or Dawn. And that worried her more than anything else. Willow and Tara, or Anya, they might do something new and unusual, like take off for a few days without saying anything to Buffy. But, not her younger sister. Dawn didn't have anywhere else to go. Dawn was just a sixteen year old kid.

Buffy stopped when she saw no one behind the counter at all. Panic gripped her at the spine and she was ready to call out when she heard Giles' voice coming from the back room. Relief flooded over her. She couldn't handle anyone else going missing. She needed someone to help her figure out what was going on, and how to stop it. She started across the floor, the voice coming clearer as she neared the door to the back room. Giles was seated in a wooden chair, it's back to the door.

"A blood-circle." The man was saying in tones of reluctant reverence, along with a heavy dose of fear. That was a tone she hadn't heard for a while. Not since the Master was killed. Giles, since then had been less excited, less motivated, less interested. They still fought the good fight, but the low level demons and young vampires were not a challenge. Buffy knew Giles was bored. She liked hearing that tone from him again, even if it meant that there was more trouble coming. He sounded alive.

"I have never seen a blood-circle myself. Just read of it, talked to a fellow watcher who had seen one. There is only one watcher who has seen it, this is remarkable, what an opportunity, it will have to be studied, recorded! Just who is involved in the circle? Do you have any names?" Giles was leaning forward, as if to get closer to the other conversationalist, as if that one was not a hundred miles distant, and on the other end of the phone.

Giles excitement and researcher's keen interest was fast outpacing the healthy trepidation he had originally felt. He dragged his notepad closer to him, pen gripped tightly, poised over the paper as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. Then his whole body seemed to sag in on itself, grow smaller. His shoulders rounded, slumped. He let out a sound of pained disappointment.

"Oh, no." He said quietly. His voice was choked with regret, with tears. Buffy went cold. Giles didn't cry. He kept the stiff upper lip, he stayed strong for her, for all of the Scoobies. For everyone who wasn't here any longer. She flashed to the reason for his distress. It had something to do with the missing. With Dawn, Tara, Willow, Jenny, Xander, Riley, Anya.

Then he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair. "Oh no. This is a horrible thing. It will hurt her terribly. Are you absolutely certain, there is no possibility of a mistake?" He sounded so sad, his voice tremulous. Buffy went to him silently, and placed a supporting hand on his shoulder. Giles let out a scream of startlement, leaping to his feet, and spinning around.

Buffy recoiled instinctively, taking in Giles' pale face. It was bad. The news. The worst. She knew it. And she had to stay here, not run. She had to stay and find out why she would want to run, and run, and run.

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Riley woke to dimness, the light that came from a night-light plugged into a socket in the en suite bathroom the only illumination. He lay perfectly still absorbing the room around him and the bed in which he lay, far from alone.

He felt on one side the warmth of a familiar form, he knew from their time together in service it was Graham. On the other side was a cooler presence. Less familiar. One he had heard of often in whispers and asides from Buffy and her friends, had seen a few times, but had not known well until last night. Now he could say they were acquainted intimately, at least in a physical way.

He ached. His thighs, especially the inner thighs, his buttocks, his lower back. His muscles were screaming with pain, strain, misuse and overuse. He remembered why. His ass was telling him in no uncertain terms he'd done something it was not prepared for, in spite of Graham's efforts. Not that there had been a whole lot of choice.

Angel had done it. But Riley had not fought. He was man enough to admit it. For whatever reason, he had not tried to stop it. He had lain under the vampire, parted his legs. And let himself get royally fucked.

Not rape. He hadn't really said no in clear terms. He hadn't pushed Angel away. He'd lifted his ass, offered himself once things started to really get going. Angel had taken what he offered, and filled him with a long, thick piece of vampire-meat. And Riley hadn't said no.

Which didn't jive at all with what he knew about himself. He was heterosexual. He had no doubts despite what had occurred in this bed last night. He turned his head seeing Angel's pale, muscular side touched by the gentle light. Riley had done it, with this man, this vampire. More than once. In fact once it was done...he had fought the separation he knew was inevitable. He had missed the thickness as it slid from him. He wanted to keep the vampire locked to his body. But. Even so. Riley knew he was not gay. Not bi. It was just Angel. Somehow.

Riley felt like an addict. He was still thinking about how Angel had felt inside of him. The stretch, the movement, the deep, powerful strokes that had rocked his world. He ached. No getting around that. But, if Angel woke and turned to him...he would roll onto his back, open his legs again. Cradle the vampire in the "V" of his thighs, as he took him inside. He would ask in a whisper or even a shout, if it took that, for the vampire to sink fangs as well as prick into him. Because that had been so good.

Feeding Angel, while Angel was balls deep in him, well Riley had craved it. He had hungered, bent his neck back, shivered in delight and completion when the fangs had hit the mark. As his blood was suckled from him, from the holes, they became the most erogenous zone on his entire body. Angel pumped into him, as he drank, and drank.

The growls had struck through him. The feral sounds, and animal aggressiveness. The possessive hands, the way Angel's big body had covered his, broader than he was by a fraction, stronger than he was by much more than a fraction. The sweat had beaded on his skin, gluing their bodies together. They'd moved as one, mating.

Graham's hands had touched him, in places they hadn't touched before, hadn't thought of touching, best friends though they were. He was grateful that Graham had not hesitated to do it, to stick fingers slicked with lube into him, opening him, saving him from being torn. Graham, steady, reliable, and always practical. A frighteningly knowledgeable virgin.

On the far side of the bed Xander sat up in the almost-dark, looking around as if trying to re-orient himself. Riley watched for a moment, and now rose up on his elbows, wincing. Xander sensed the movement and turned, his dark eyes meeting Riley's blue ones. He saw it, the moment all the memories of the night came back to Xander, in a wave, the flush rising up his neck to his cheeks. Riley saw concern and a touch of embarrassment in the other man's face. He knew without looking into a mirror his own expression was the same.

Xander had watched him having sex. Watched him, a man, submit without a fight to another man, watched him let himself be fucked. Heard him ask for it, beg for it with words and without. He hadn't wanted to see it, nor had Riley wanted him to. The choice, once again, clearly not theirs. Xander now, obviously wondering if he would do the same when his turn came.

Riley had no idea of Xander's past history with sex, beyond that he had once been in love with Buffy, and that his major relationship to date was with a former vengeance demon who talked about sex as if she was discussing whether or not to have toast with her scrambled eggs. Both female. His best friend was Willow, another woman. Strong, forceful women.

No men. Now Angel. What Riley'd heard about Angel and Xander...they had never gotten along. They actively disliked each other, Xander sniping at the older man, Angel glowering. It made Riley grateful he had not known Angel so much. He had a few encounters, and had felt the vampire put his relationship with Buffy at risk. Which he didn't like. But, he had not the years of interaction which drove Xander's dislike.

He couldn't imagine what Xander was thinking now. Contemplating the time it would be his turn to submit, to lay under Angel and let the vampire take him. What would it be like? Letting someone you were afraid of, or hated, fuck you, and not be able to stop it? Damn. That had to suck for Xander. Riley's own troubles with the situation weren't nearly so bad.

Graham stirred, murmuring something low into his pillow, muffling it to the point Riley couldn't decipher it. He turned away from Xander, felt the bed shift as Xander stood walking away, towards the bathroom. Graham was awake, laying still, his eyes open, calm, alert. He looked Riley over, all that he could see, assessing him, measuring him for upset, distress, which Riley was surprised was minimal in himself. Graham obviously came to the same conclusion. He sat up.

"You alright?" Graham asked, quietly, grey eyes steady. And strangely Riley was, he decided. Better in an odd way than Xander was. Because Xander was anticipating, dreading his turn.

ne'ichan
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