How to Treat Your Lover

“Oh, and that Rachel girl with the crazy boyfriend called. Said to say thanks, and that she found a little faith. Said you’d know what that means,” Doyle reported to his friend and boss.

“I don’t know about you, but I had a nice day,” Angel said looking out at the night sky. “You know, except for the bulk of it, where I was nearly tortured to death by my childe,” he said wryly.

“Yeah, well, you stood up,” Doyle commended.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Oh, God. I was this close to telling him everything. I mean, one more hot poker and I was going to give him the ring, your mom – everything,” Angel gave Doyle a rare smile of amusement. “How is your mom?”

He opened the fire escape door to his building and followed the Brachen demon inside.

“She’s fine, and thank you for not giving my mother up to the torturous vampire Angel,” Doyle said gratefully.

“Eh, I would have inflicted worse pain in my soulless days. Marcus was only touching the icing as far as tortures went, but damn I did not enjoy being his guinea pig,” Angel said sardonically.

The two friends walked as far as the main floor, said their goodbyes and broke away. Doyle left to go back to his apartment; Angel took the lift downstairs to his. When the platform hit the bottom floor, a familiar scent came to through the wire cage surrounding the elevator shaft. It wasn’t the hint of cigarette smoke or the odor of whiskey, which sickened him that drew his attention. It was the scent of Spike.

Angel growled. That boy will never learn. First he kidnaps me, has me tortured, too vain to do it himself, and now . . . ? Now he’s camped out in my apartment.

Angel swung the door to the lift open and stomped into his home, bypassing the living room he headed toward the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of blood, trying hard to ignore Spike sitting at his kitchen table and smoking. At least he had manners enough to use the ashtray.

“Wot, no hello?” Spike asked in mock hurt.

“What have we got to say to each other, Spike?” Angel asked as he threw the bag of blood in the microwave and turned it on.

“How about ‘Hello, Spike, why are you here?’ or ‘What do you want before I throw you back out on your arse?’” Spike ran through the numerous options of what Angel could say to him.

Spike shifted uneasily on the chair. He always hated Angelus’ silent treatment. The blonde vampire craved any attention he could get from Drusilla, from Angelus, hell, even from Darla. Now, Angel ignored him as best he could and it made Spike uncomfortable.

“How about ‘I don’t want you anywhere near me or mine after spending the better part of the day having me tortured over a God damned ring, Spike?’” Angel asked sarcastically.

“Hey I dug up Sunnydale for that ring; I fought a Slayer for that ring --”

“And lost it to said Slayer.” Angel cut in.

“It’s mine fair and square!” Spike yelled over Angel’s voice.

Angel walked over and picked Spike up by the lapels of his duster, and smashed him back against the stove.

“The ring was not yours. It will never be yours, Spike. It’s gone! Destroyed! No longer existent on this earth!” Angel growled at his child.

Spike moaned softly at the sudden contact of his Sire pushing his hips against the stove. He tried hard to hide his reaction from his Sire who hadn’t touched him in a century or more. He gritted his teeth against the electricity that flowed down to his cock; the appendage hardening against his will.

Angel glared at Spike, not acknowledging the condition the younger vampire was working himself into by rubbing his crotch that way. His own cock hardened from the long, lonely century away from his childe. For good measure, Angel bucked his hips hard, shoving Spike back against the stove and they both moaned.

“You know, Spike, I thought after all the years we were together you’d have picked up enough skills on torturing that you wouldn’t need to hire a psychotic vampire like Marcus to do your dirty work for you. Did Angelus teach you nothing?” Angel queried.

“Angelus taught me plenty about pain, Angel. Things that, as a vampire with a soul, you’d never carry out because they were too degrading for the likes of you,” Spike shot back.

“You think so, boy? Angelus is still buried deep inside me somewhere, I think his return could be arranged,” Angel grated out.

Spike’s eyes lit up in surprise mixed with fear. He had wanted to taunt Angel, but he really didn’t miss his sadistic Sire. Angelus redefined the meaning of pain and torture. Nights of being hung up and whipped or painfully seduced into an excruciating need for release. Since then, Spike had groomed himself to be the Big Bad. The one vampire other vampires feared; he was a fledgling vampire under the tutelage of the legendary Angelus. Spike was his own man now.

“Angel,” Spike choked out before . . .

Angel pulled Spike closer by his lapels and vamped, sinking his fangs into his childe. He growled as he fed, causing the blonde vampire to moan and thrash his hips against his Sire, trying to throw the elder vampire off of him. Angel took long, hard sips of his childe’s blood; letting Spike writhe against him until the younger vampire went still, capitulating to his dominant Sire.

Angel retracted his fangs and licked the wounds closed, sending a shudder through Spike. He let go of Spike and sat down in the seat vacated by Spike earlier. “Tell me what’s gone on in Sunnydale since I was there last.”

Spike had to grip the stove to keep from collapsing on the floor when Angel let go of him. The other vampire had left him hard and wanting and sat there in front of him like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Spike growled under his breath. Poncy bastard knew what he was doing when he pulled that dominant move on me.

“Spike,” Angel said to get his attention. “Sunnydale: what’s gone on?”

“I don’t know, Peaches, but when I got there, your girl was being used by some pillock college student just in it for a good lay. You know how your Slayer is. Sex is a relationship with birdies, flowers and all that rot,” Spike said, watching his Sire for any reaction of his news about Buffy.

“She what?” Angel croaked, nearly choking on his blood drink.

“What what? Oh. You mean Buffy. Some git that wouldn’t know the bleedin’ end of a wooden stake had a go at your girl,” Spike said in a snarky manner.

Angel gave Spike a hard look. His Buffy had moved on? He knew he told her that they had to be away from each other. That he couldn’t lose himself in her no matter how much he wanted to. That’s why he had moved to L.A., one hundred and fifty miles from Sunnydale, making his Slayer so close yet so far away. But to hear that she had moved on to a human boy? He stared hard at Spike with a jealous glint in his eyes.

Spike looked back at Angel and for a moment he thought he saw a bit of Angelus creep through to the surface. He knew the older vampire had claimed the Slayer. He could smell his Sire on her and see the mark on her neck when they fought in the Quad. His Sire was one greedy, possessive bastard when he wanted to be. He saw that possessive heat rise in Angel’s eyes even now.

Angel looked Spike over hungrily as he remembered hot nights in Tuscany with just him and Spike, Darla and Drusilla not around, either on holiday or asleep in other rooms, he couldn’t remember.

What Angel did remember, vividly, was the glow of Spike’s alabaster skin in the moonlight through the open windows. It was one of the few times Angelus was gentle with William. The younger man’s anal passage wrapped tight around his cock, hot from feeding on Tuscan maids before they had returned home. Will’s cries of ecstasy echoed in his mind as he remembered leaning over the blonde vampire’s slim, muscular body and thrusting his cock deep and hard into his childe’s ass.

Angel shook his head to clear it of memories and refocused on the vampire before him. His mind drifted to thoughts of the overindulgence of blood during sex. Spike’s blood was always sweeter in the heat of passion. Sweeter than the blood he drank now. Even sweeter than Buffy’s slayer blood, because it was the blood of his childe.

God, he had to stop thinking of Spike. Their time was over a century ago. There was no way his childe would accept him now. Not without dominating the younger vampire with his status over him. Spike was no longer a fledgling vampire, but a master in his own right. He wouldn’t succumb to Angel’s will anymore.

“She’s mine! Just as you are mine, William,” Angel growled at his childe. “I claimed her. She told me she would always be my girl. My girl, Spike! I look after what’s mine.”

Spike was startled at first by the possessive growl that came from his Sire’s chest. He hadn’t seen this level of possessive instinct since he and Drusilla ran off in London to crash a Duke’s party in 1889, and a warlock tried to make off with Drusilla. Angelus had come barreling through the doors and snatched Drusilla back before he beat the guy to a bleeding mass of flesh and then drank him dry.

“Like you look after me, Angelus?” Spike asked, angry that his Sire cared more about the Slayer than he did his own blood.

“I’ve always looked after you, Will, even when you never realized it. I’ve always kept tabs on you,” Angel admitted before going on, “Now I want you to do something for me. Go back to Sunnydale and look out for her. I’ll feel better knowing you’re watching out for her than any mortal boy.”

Spike sighed and nodded. The blonde vampire stood up, stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and used the grate in the floor to leave Angel by way of the sewer tunnels. He hoped he wouldn’t regret acquiescing to his Sire’s request.