Title: Breaking a Slayer 17-20

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17.

Buffy was numb. The cool night air calmed her overwrought nerves and soothed her aching head. She nestled close to Angel's broad, unbeating chest, and realized that Giles had upset her with more than his questions. His very humanity grated on her in a way she didn't fully comprehend. She had been without significant human contact for two months now, and the undead and demons had become her reality. Humans; their smell, their touch, their heat and grating higher pitched voices; they were alien to her now in a frighteningly real sense.

*I won't think about it,* she thought futilely, as the glaring differences between the silent, cold chest of her undead soulmate and the overheated, beating heart of her watcher jarred in her mind. Spike paced gracefully behind them, as quiet as a shadow and equally dark, despite his bleached hair and fair skin.

"Buffy," Angel said, walking smoothly through the dark with her cradled against him as if she weighed nothing at all. "Did Giles upset you or were you just…troubled by all that you had to tell him?"

She could sense the tension in her mate and realized that he was asking in his elliptical fashion if Giles was to be trusted with their fragile and tenuous new connection.

"It wasn't his fault, Angel," she said. "I just…it was hard…talking about Mom and Faith and…everything."

What Buffy left unsaid jarred upon Angel more powerfully than any of her words. She still hadn't come to terms with the rape and its aftermath. He hadn't allowed himself to see, to really know, how wounded his mate remained. He'd blindly assumed that if she could enjoy sex with him…with them…that she was healed. The truth was clearly another matter entirely. But how could they help her regain her sense of self when they were, by their very nature, the things she was sworn to destroy? Was her relationship with them helping her or merely harming her further? How could they truly help her to heal?

*

Spike was pacing behind Angel in appropriate beta position and brooding. And hating it. His was not a dark and dramatic nature. At least, not in the way that Angel's was. Hell, Angelus had been like that, too. *Guess it isn't the bloody soul's fault, after all,* he thought to himself. No, Spike was an act and react kind of guy. Fly by the seat of your pants and all that rot. This introspective garbage was for the Pouf. Yet. Yet he was being forced to think, with that portion of himself he preferred to believe had died with the poet. The Slayer wasn't getting better. Not really. Each member of their little menage a trois was flawed in a major way, and they seemed to be growing more damaged, not less, with every passing day.

Spike had watched Angel quite a bit since the soul's return…more, he'd bet, than his sire realized. And he knew that Angel was coming undone. Angelus, always a deadly current swirling just below the surface of the affable persona Angel affected, was growing more powerful daily. Spike could only imagine what his sire would be like after completing the next part of the ritual, which was set in September, mere weeks away.

Spike wondered what would happen to him after the chip came out of his *own* skull. Not inclined to waste time worrying about the future when there was fun to be had in the present, he nonetheless shook a bit at the thought of someone cutting his skull open…again…and messing with his brain. What if they damaged something irretrievably taking the damned chip out? What if he wasn't *him* when he woke up? What if he turned into some brain-rotted minion instead of a master? Would he be able to control himself? Would his sire demand that he leave? What would the Slayer do? If he fed on any but the true dregs of society, Spike knew that she'd be compelled to act. Did he care?

He snarled angrily to himself, *bloody brooding twat! Yer as bad as the Pouf. Worse.* He stormed ahead of Angel into the mansion, opening the door for his sire but not pausing to watch him enter. Spike stalked into the kitchen and warmed himself another mug of blood to replace what Angel had taken from him. He sat there in the dark, hiding himself away from his housemates and brooding, even as he hated himself for doing it.

*

Angel placed Buffy into her bed, tucking the soft sheets and sumptuous covers around her slender body. She was drawn and pale, with circles under her eyes from lack of real rest. He sat on the bed and stroked her soft hair with soothing fingers as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. The golden-brown curls slid and teased his sensitive fingertips, prompting just the hint of a purr to rumble forth from deep within him. Buffy was too tired to respond, and dropped into a dreamless sleep as her love watched over her with brooding eyes and heavy heart.

Tomorrow…tomorrow he would leave Buffy with her Watcher and take Spike to LA to have the chip removed. God help them all…it was time to redeem his word.

Buffy woke near noon to the delicious smell of Angel's homemade scones. Following her nose down the stairs, the diminutive Slayer padded barefoot into the kitchen, where Spike and Angel awaited her. Angel smiled at her as he slathered a scone lavishly with butter and placed it on a dish in front of her. "Latte, Buffy?"

"Mmm, please!" she answered, biting happily into the steaming scone and sighing in satisfaction at the scrumptious taste. Angel poured espresso into a mug for her and added heaps of sugar before dumping the steamed milk and foam on top.

"You're the best barrista in town, Peaches," Spike teased as he sipped at his own triple espresso, prompting a good natured scowl from his sire.

"Spike, I could serve you harbor sludge and you'd think it mead as long as I added a cup of sugar to it. Only childe I ever knew with a sweet tooth," Angel groused, putting on water for tea.

"Buffy, Giles is coming over, he called a short while ago. Do you want to…clean up before he gets here?" Angel inquired, looking over his mate's scanty sleep attire. Buffy was clad in her usual tank top and sweats, looking delightfully tousled but not appropriate for others' eyes, at least not in Angel's estimation.

"Um, yeah, I want to shower and change. Keep another scone warm for me, K?" she asked, gulping a bit more of her latte before heading back up the stairs.

"Damn," Spike muttered. "Bloody wanker of a Watcher comin' over means we don't get to have fun in the tub today," he grumbled.

Angel chuckled but turned the subject to more serious matters. "Spike," I'm taking you to LA with me tonight. Buffy will stay with Giles while I'm gone. I'll watch over you until we're sure the operation was a success. Then…well, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?"

*Angel looks broody as a bloody hen,* thought Spike. *Don't suppose I can blame him, though. Leaving his mate alone here to see to his worthless childe can't be bringing the big Pouf a happy.*

"You sure the Slayer's ready for us to up and leave on her?" Spike asked, knowing the answer already.

"No, I'm not, but I don't see what choice we have. She's not getting better, Spike, not with anyone but us. I'm afraid that if she isn't near people…real people soon, that she'll never reacclimate. You saw how jumpy she was with Giles yesterday. And he's her Watcher. What is she going to be like with regular humans? She needs help that we can't give her," Angel said, pacing in agitation. "The only answer is for her to live with him and get used to humans again."

"Bloody hell, Sire," Spike swore. "You can't blame the chit for bein' jumpy. It's only been a couple months since it happened."

"She needs something we're not giving her, Spike. Therapy, counseling, I don't know. She's just so hurt, still," Angel said, his normally impassive face filled with worry for his mate and frustration at his inability to save her.

A knock echoed into the kitchen from the great hall and Spike turned to get the Watcher. Angel stood alone in the kitchen, pacing and swearing to himself that somehow, someway, he *would* make this better.

*

Buffy stepped into the stall shower in the corner of her capacious bathroom. The blissfully warm water sheeted down over her body, rinsing away the vestiges of yesterday's tears and the soreness of muscles held tense for too long.

As she stood beneath the pounding spray, she tried not to think about Giles and what he would probably ask of her today. She knew her Watcher as well, if not better than he knew her. Buffy wasn't stupid. She could see his concern and knew that in his well-meaning way, he would rip at the scabs she'd let grow over her emotional wounds, baring her soul to the light of day and searing it anew in the process.

Her reaction to his proximity had surprised her yesterday and Buffy was painfully aware that if Giles grated on her nerves in such a fashion, that any other human male was likely to do far worse. She had no way of knowing whether she was reacting normally in the aftermath of the rape or not. *Certainly screwing a vampire is probably not a normal response to rape,* she chided herself, ruefully, *no matter how good it felt at the time.*

Stepping reluctantly from the shower, Buffy grabbed a capacious bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, toweling dry her short hair before donning her usual uniform of baggy gray sweats, tank top and flannel shirt. She pulled on thick athletic sox and her Doc Martins, lacing them tightly around her slender ankles.

She ran her fingers through her curls and shook them, once again glad to be rid of the weight of blonde mane that had required so much maintenance. She trotted downstairs, doing her best impression of a non-psychotic, well-adjusted, untraumatized Slayer.

*

Giles had been unsure of his welcome at the mansion that morning. He knew that both vampires blamed him for at least a part of Buffy's injuries, and if he were honest, he blamed himself as well. Regardless of Faith's duplicity, he should, somehow, have recognized Buffy, the daughter of his heart. Giles couldn't help but wince upon entering the mansion, it held such dire and dreadful memories for him.

Spike showed him into the kitchen, a pleasant room, despite the black-out shades on every window. Angel had filled the room with light, using a hodgepodge of lamps of all periods and sizes, but the air was one of cozy comfort. Giles was surprised to find that the dark vampire was a shockingly good pastry chef, serving up scrumptious scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves, as well as piping hot tea with cream, just as Giles liked it.

"Giles," Angel said seriously, "I must take Spike to LA. I will be gone for at least two days, maybe longer. Buffy needs to stay with you. I don't want her alone here in the mansion without us, and she definitely needs company on patrol. It's been light lately, but that can change in a heartbeat, as you know."

Nodding seriously, Giles studied the two vampires. He'd never really seen them together before, and they had vastly disparate exteriors, but there was something, a certain air about them that seemed as if they were related somehow. A way of standing…an aspect of their faces…some indescribable element linked the two. He suspected that he was seeing the sire/childe bond in action and longed to question them about it further. *Rude, Rupert, old man,* he thought to himself. *Rather like inquiring about a couple's bedroom habits clear out of the blue. Just isn't done at all.*

"Of course I want Buffy with me, but have you discussed this with her? Does she realize that you're leaving tonight?" he inquired, sipping at his tea.

"No. No she doesn't know that they're leaving tonight," Buffy's voice came from the doorway. Giles was unsure how long she had been there, but it was certainly long enough to get an earful, of that he was sure. He'd expected anger from her tone of voice, but the Slayer merely looked remote, as if she'd withdrawn somehow from their presence while still standing right there.

"Buffy," Angel muttered, striding over to her. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way, I wanted to talk to you privately."

"Why bother, Angel?" she asked, walking past him and picking up a scone and her still-warm mug. "I'm sure that everything you're doing is for my own benefit, as always. And really, you don't need to ask me. I'll stay here on the Hellmouth, it's my job after all. You've been free to go at any time." Her tone grew colder with every word and she flinched from his touch when he reached for her. "I…I have some things I'll need to pack if I'm coming to your place, Giles," she murmured, stuffing the last of the scone in her mouth and dropping the mug into the sink with a plunk.

Turning on her heel, Buffy strode from the kitchen and up the stairs, never looking back at the three men who loved her.

Spike swore, thrusting his empty mug of espresso at Angel and racing from the room. Giles, looking seriously nonplussed, kept the dark vampire from following him. "Angel, let him try to calm her down first. If the two of you go together she'll feel you're ganging up on her. Buffy on the defensive is never good."

Angel nodded reluctant agreement. All he had to do was recall the dreadful meeting at his apartment in LA with Faith to know that putting Buffy on the defensive could possibly be deadly. Speaking of which, he decided that Rupert needed to hear his side of that whole fiasco first hand so he knew exactly what he would be dealing with in the days ahead.

*

Buffy was stuffing clothes, dirty and clean alike, into her duffel without a care as to their state. Tears streamed down her face now that she was alone and she shook with the effort of suppressing her cries. She knew that Angel and Spike could hear her from downstairs, they'd done so before. She knuckled the tears away from her eyes and looked hazily around the room for any other possessions. There were none, except her favorite stake, which she grabbed and slipped into the bag, as well.

Suddenly she was borne to the bed by an armful of angry blond vampire.

"You stupid, bloody bint. Did you really think I was gonna let you just scarper off with nary a ta-ta?" Spike was frantically kissing her face, licking at the tears which leaked even faster from her eyes. "Pet, we love you. Both of us bloody well love you. Don't be daft about this. We're not leavin' you, Luv, we're just getting my bloomin head fixed, then we'll be back, right and tight."

Buffy sobbed openly against his chest now, completely out of control. Spike stroked her curls, murmuring endearments and kissing her face over and over. "Luv, don't cry, shush, Baby," he crooned, running gentle hands down her face and rubbing her back as he held her to him.

"You-you're getting the chip out and you'll be all 'grr-argh' and I'll have to stake you and I don't know if I can anymore and it'll be as bad as Angelus and I can't do it again…" her voice trailed off into harsher sobbing and he realized how frightened and alone she was.

"Hush, Baby. Angel may have no self-control, but I didn't bloody kill *my* family."

She looked up at him from blurry eyes and his undead heart leapt into his throat. *Oh, the tenderness he felt for this shining woman. How could he ever leave her, even for a few days?*

"'Tis true, Buffy. I left me mum right alone; blinkin' Angelus didn't even know she existed, and I kept it that way. Dunno whether it was just that his sire was a psychopathic bitch or if it was him, but I didn't want any part of that kin slaughtering thing."

He kissed her again and this time she responded, taking comfort in the gentleness of his touch and the abandon he could make her feel. Spike pushed her back into the soft covers and slid eager hands up under her shirts. "Why d'you have to hide yourself away like this, Pet?" he muttered, kissing her soft belly and toned abs before slipping his skillful hands higher to tease her rounded breasts.

Buffy sighed and relaxed into his touch, moaning in pleasure as he fastened blunt teeth around one nipple and sucked it into his cool mouth. Spike laved it with his tongue, pulling and tugging at the pebbled peak until Buffy thought she'd burst. Then he switched his attention to the other breast and bolts of pleasure shot from nipple to clit and back again.

His hands moved lower, pushing at the loose sweats until they slid from her slender hips. Spike moved between Buffy's legs and licked at her gently, coaxing her to give herself to him without hesitation. She did just that, arching into his mouth and moaning in delight at the pleasure he brought her to again and again. Satisfied that she was ready for him, he moved up her body and plunged himself deep within her.

Buffy groaned in ecstasy and met him thrust for thrust, their coupling moving from tender to frantic as they each neared completion. Spike stayed away from her neck, contenting himself with sucking and nipping at her nipples. At last, though, he felt his climax coming and slipped to game face uncontrollably. He turned his face from her, not wanting to repulse the Slayer with his true face, but she pulled him to her and kissed him. Skillfully sliding her tongue between his sharp incisors, Buffy bit at Spike's mouth before purposefully slicing her tongue open. Spike moaned and came as the Slayer fed him her own blood and his hand moved low on her body to tease her clit until she, too, plummeted over the edge into bliss.

Sucking the last of the blood from her fast-healing mouth, Spike groaned with pleasure and curled to the side of her. "Pet, if that was incentive to come back, color me here seconds after the surgery," he sighed.

Buffy smiled shyly at him, still certain that neither male would return to her, but happy in her ability to keep at least one of them physically satisfied.

Spike sensed her doubts and returned to kissing her possessively, trying without words to convince her that she was worth returning to. He'd never realized how insecure the Slayer was, but had learned that she expected abandonment from anyone who became close to her. *First her father, then her first Watcher, her boyfriend, Pike, and Satan knows, my pillock of a sire blew that little quirk into a full-fledged obsession in her,* he thought. He continued kissing her softly, until an ominous growl interrupted them.

*

Angel related his confrontation with Buffy to Giles in short clipped sentences, unsparing of himself in the recitation. Giles listened intently, but pointed out to the guilt-stricken vampire that it hadn't all been his fault. "Buffy was certainly intent on revenge, not just justice, Angel," Giles noted. "Had it not been for Faith's egregious misuse of Buffy's body, of which you knew nothing, you would have been perfectly to rights in castigating her for her single-minded pursuit of Faith. It's not allowed for a slayer to become so fixated on punishing a single person."

Angel sighed, "Regardless, Giles, I handled it badly and Buffy was totally alone at the worst point in her entire life. I'm grateful that she has you to help her now. She needs someone human to ease her back into life. She's lived at night for two months now and it's killing something within her to turn her back like this on her life. I love her too much to allow her to do that."

His attention was distracted by the sounds that began to issue from the upper level of the mansion. Angel knew that Giles couldn't distinguish them, but he was uncomfortably aware of precisely what was going on. His childe was trespassing again, and with Giles there, Angel could do nothing about it, but grit his teeth and attempt to make pleasant conversation now that the important details had been related.

He knew how traumatic even entering the mansion must be for the Watcher, and he gave Rupert full points for even deigning to speak with him in the very place where his alter ego had so brutally tortured the man.

Finally, though, he couldn't restrain himself any longer, as his mate's cries of completion became loud enough that surely even the Watcher was bound to notice them. Giles seemed oblivious, sipping at his tea with great relish and dumping clotted cream on yet another scone. Angel excused himself to "check on Spike" and took the stairs three at a time once out of the Watcher's sight.

He reached the top of the stairs and strode quickly to Buffy's room, opening the door and moving inside, before glancing up. He pushed the door shut a bit too hard as he growled under his breath at the sight of his childe and mate intimately intertwined and kissing. Their scents filled the air…arousal, completion and blood mixing in a heady bouquet. They looked up guiltily at his entrance, breaking apart and staring at him.

Angel lunged for the bed, pushing Spike away from Buffy with one meaty paw while he clutched his mate to him with the other. "I'm not leaving you, Buffy, so don't even think it," he commanded as he leaned to press kisses on her tear-stained face. She sighed sadly and clutched him to her as he rained gentle kisses and nips on her face and neck before moving his mouth to his mark. He grazed it with his teeth and Buffy moaned in want, catapulted into passion again by her mate's touch.

Angel vamped and sank his teeth into Buffy's neck with slow tender pressure and she gasped in pain that quickly transmuted to unbearable pleasure. She thrashed against him as he sipped gently from her, renewing and strengthening their bond before pulling back, unwilling to drink too much from her. He licked the wound closed with gentle touches of his tongue, grateful for her taste and touch to see him through the trials ahead with his childe. The three set themselves to rights and returned downstairs to the Watcher, who wisely did not inquire what could possibly have take so long, or cause all three of them to become so flushed.

Giles and Buffy climbed into his ancient Citroen with her bag and drove away, leaving Angel and Spike to pack whatever they considered essential for their trip to LA that night.

Buffy was being noncommunicative to the point of absurdity, in Rupert's mind. He'd attempted, in the five minute drive from the mansion to his apartment, to draw his Slayer out on any topic she cared to discuss. Vampires, demons, the Hellmouth…she dismissed them all in words of two syllables or less and sentences that rarely stretched to more than three words at a time.

The forty-something bachelor was at a complete loss. How did one deal with a woman/girl who had been brutalized, raped and abandoned and had dwelled for over a month in the dark with things better staked rather than slept with, at least in Rupert's view. He had no idea how to draw Buffy back into the sunlight from the shadows where she was hiding. He only knew that it was his duty to try and that her fate might very well lie in the balance if he failed.

So it was with more than his usual trepidation that he ushered Buffy into his apartment. She tossed her bag into a corner and sat on the couch silently, not facing him or giving any sign of what she was thinking. Rupert's first thought was to make tea, but he realized that if he succumbed again to his instinctual British reactions that he would spend yet another night visiting the loo every hour. Instead, he sat awkwardly down next to the tiny Slayer and picked up one of her hands, cupping it in his large one as he gazed kindly into her face. She met his eyes reluctantly, flinching from even that tiny amount of human contact.

"Buffy," he said softly. "I know you're been hurt, harmed almost past bearing, by your friends and me, by Angel and the loss of your dear mother, by the things that were done to you and the things that you've done this summer. But I want you to know that I'm proud of you. Your strength, your sense of purpose, your commitment to helping those in need, have seen you through crisis after crisis. And they'll see you through this, as well. I'm here now, Buffy. I'm not going to leave you to try to handle this on your own. We're together…a team…and we'll work with each other daily until you can handle everything that the Hellmouth throws at you. Please, Buffy…forgive me for being so blind that I could not see your pain."

Buffy looked into his myopic blue eyes and felt a frozen piece of her heart break free from the cold dark that had enveloped it. She reached for Giles and he held her as she sobbed brokenly against his chest. Things would be all right now. He would make it so.

*

Spike threw a few black t-shirts, some socks and one pair of jeans onto the bed and said, "A'right, Peaches. I'm packed."

Angel looked at him, engrossed in carefully folding one silk shirt after another and placing them carefully into a fine leather suitcase. "You can't be serious, Spike."

"Hell and damnation, Sire, do you have to be such a bleeding pouf all the time?" Spike ranted. "It's a few days. What more do I need? Look at you. Is this Angelus, the Scourge of Europe?" he sneered.

"Well, Spike, actually, this is far less than I ever traveled with then," Angel noted reasonably as he began folding slacks to place into the case. "After all, just my cravats and gloves alone took up an entire small case, not to mention evening clothes, morning clothes, small clothes, dinner clothes, cloaks and stockings. Do you remember that one seven-caped great coat that I had in 1879? That was a wonderful coat…" he trailed off wistfully, wishing momentarily that top hats and gloves were back in fashion again.

"Gods, you are such a wanker," Spike grumbled. "Give me black jeans and a t-shirt any day over all that rot. You were a toff then and you're nothin' but a toff now," he jeered.

"I don't see that it's any concern of yours how I dress," Angel said reprovingly. "I gave up velvet because it screams 'vampire.' I no longer wear tails and a top hat. I've even got a…sweatshirt…" he mumbled, though he'd never actually worn it. He couldn't bring himself to, just yet. Another few years and he'd grow accustomed to the newer styles. He always did…eventually. That was one drawback of practically eternal life. You just got used to a style or fad and then the next one was in and you were forced to change. It was jarring to a being of his years. He wondered how it had felt to the Master, who'd been alive for over a thousand….

Spike had never concerned himself with dressing to the nines, so it didn’t matter to him when the styles changed radically from one generation to the next. He'd welcomed the forties with their stylish suits, hated the boring fifties and loved dining on hippies in the sixties. Never knew just what they would have in their systems…from mushrooms to lsd and everything in between. *God, flower children were fab,* he thought nostalgically. *They'd screw you silly while talking about free love and then let you suck on their necks.* Damn he missed the sixties!

Angel finally finished packing and placed Spike's few necessities neatly on top of his own well-ordered piles before closing and zipping the case. Spike was mesmerized by his sire. Angel was such a bundle of contradictory impulses. Bar brawler, aristocrat, lecher, sadist, esthete, masochist, sire, ensouled pansy, intellectual, swordsman and dark torturer, wrapped into one extraordinarily beautiful package.

Spike could see why his thrice-damned grandsire had taken Liam and turned him to Angelus. He was so very lovely. Those dark eyes and thick hair, that satin smooth skin and huge body, it all combined into a heady and overwhelming package of lustful vamp. Spike practically salivated just looking at him and Angel, in his ridiculous soulful modesty, had absolutely no idea that his childe was so overcome.

Then Angel glanced up for a moment and Spike realized that his sire had known of his regard this whole time and was posing intentionally for his benefit. Spike growled in angry lust and moved forward to pull Angel into a passionate kiss.

Angel responded in kind, yanking the slighter man against him and delving deep into his cool mouth. *Spike tasted of cigarettes and blood,* thought Angel, and he craved that distinctive taste, especially since he'd had to watch Buffy leave with her Watcher.

Their kisses were passionate, yet soft, filled with a tenderness Spike was unused to in his sadistic sire. Angelus had reveled in inflicting pain upon his childer, indeed, his unlife was centered around the suffering of others. But Angel, oh, the softness with which Angel stroked Will's sensitive throat, the gentle caresses he bestowed upon his childe's silky nape…it drove Spike mad with unfettered desire.

Angel traced Spike's jutting cheekbones with sensitive thumbs, stroking down to his childe's neck before sweeping his sensitive fingers lower. He dwelled for minutes on Spike's elegant and muscular neck, teasing and tantalizing the younger vampire with erotic tracings around his carotid arteries and adam's apple. Spike sighed in wonder, his entire being overcome with the sensations that his sire drew from him.

Allowing another vampire anywhere near that vulnerable spot was a sign of total submission. And it was that submission that Angel/Angelus had craved and demanded from his childer. Complete capitulation to his every whim was Angelus's requirement. Spike granted it willingly, his total being on fire with desire for his beautiful sire. He turned his head to the side, angling it slightly so his neck was totally exposed to Angel.

Angel pressed kisses down the tender flesh before him, sucking delicately on Spike's neck and coaxing groans of passion from his wanton childe. Angel slipped skillful fingers under Spike's t-shirt and swept it over his childe's head with one quick motion, leaving that pale, muscular chest naked to his enraptured gaze. His mouth moved lower, sucking and biting at Spike's collarbones until his childe groaned against his mouth in lust.

Angel swept both hands down to tease Spike's sensitive nipples, twisting them and pulling until Spike was lost in rapture and need. Then he struck, brutally hard, with razor sharp fangs and bit deeply into his childe's chest, sucking voraciously and pulling on one sensitive nipple until Spike shouted in pain and want, clutching his sire's dark head even harder to himself.

This was all about possession and dominance, and Angel ripped the jeans from Spike's slender legs, grateful that his childe preferred to go "commando" as Buffy was fond of calling it. His hands swept down to cup Spike's turgid cock, pulling and teasing at it until Spike thrust his hips forward into his sire's large hands. Angel stopped before his childe could come, flipping him abruptly below his own bulk and ripping his pants down so he could ravage his childe's ass. Angel paused for only a moment to slice open one wrist and coat his cock with blood before plunging into his childe with consummate force.

Spike groaned beneath him, submitting with illicit pleasure to his sire's demands and gaining the sinful delight that accompanied such fealty. Angel pumped his childe's dick with one hand while thrusting deep within him and brought them both to the pinnacle of ecstasy before sinking fangs deep into Spike's neck and sucking them both into orgasm while he fucked his childe raw.

Angel withdrew from Spike's now-bloody ass and rolled to one side, drawing the slighter man onto his broad chest. He kissed Spike tenderly and pulled him to his own neck. "Drink, childe, even if it is for the last time. Know that you are my own, my Favored Childe, and I will love you always."

Spike struck, sinking his aching fangs deep into Angel's thick neck and drinking his fill of his sire's heady blood. The completion he found in his sire's bloody embrace was like no other he could ever imagine. He sighed in repletion as he drew his fangs out of Angel's neck and morphed back to his human countenance.

Angel stroked Spike's tousled blond head gently for a moment and kissed him softly with heartbreaking care before sitting up and drawing his clothes back on. They left the room and climbed into the car without needing any words. The link between them was more than enough.