And then he heard the sounds of two hands clapping.

Spinning low, his eyes focused on the figure at the edge of the alley.

"Looks like Puppy found some teeth...care to share, Pet?"

Those were the words he heard falling from carefully sneering lips.  But it was the tone that he understood.  

The words were light, but their expression was low, feral...hungry.

Angel's body was still held in a low crouch and the other man's eyes were flickering from his stance to the body at his feet.  Watching...waiting for realization to dawn.

And it did.  The hunter was up, on unsteady legs, back flattened against the wall, staring at the corpse, but his senses fastened on the form approaching him.

Cautiously.  The smaller man silently moved forward, waiting for any sudden moves.  When none came he slid forward fluidly, half pinning the larger man against the wall, one hand hard and flat against the rough surface.

The other hand.  Moving languidly, white fingers, spider-like ghosting over the still form, never quite touching.

Until, hovering, the sound of a zipper sounding loud and obscene in the death quiet.  And Angel's body wasn't his own.  It belonged to the dead man on the ground and the dead man pulling his cock into the night air.

Angel should have run.  He knew this.  He was immortal.  A demon.  A hundred years older than the slender creature with clever hands doing that ruthless thing to him.

But all he could was watch.  Knew the blonde demon's eyes were fastened on his face.  Didn't matter.  All that he could focus on was the sinuous motion of skin on skin.

He stiffened at the low laugh as fingers wrapped more tightly around his shaft and continued the rough, familiar pull.  Stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Trapped.  

Surrendered to the need and didn't even move into the fierce tug on his flesh.  Body stilled but focused on the memory of movement that was happening in the here and now.  No talent, no artifice.  It could be his own hand, but he's aware it's not.  It's not his hand moving angrily, jerking him off.  

He won't drive into the tight, demanding fist. Because maybe, just maybe, if he can keep his hips from thrusting.  Smother the groan that's threatening to tear his throat from the inside out, then maybe this isn't happening.

But it isn't a dream.  His eyes register the blurring speed of movement even as his mind denies it and his body overrides all reason and denial.  And he finishes.  Quietly.  Remembered moans dying inside him, trapped with the other ghosts he houses.

Efficiently, the stream is directed away.  To the ground.  Disappearing into the dark asphalt with a thousand other forgotten stains.

And he knows what's expected.  Even as he is tucked away.  False closeness of that other body removed from his side.  He does it.

Holds out his hand, a movement pulling the cuff further from his wrist.  Knowing that cold blue gaze has never dropped from him for an instant.  Even as chilled hands grasp the offering.

Even when steeled points break the skin and the real euphoria hits.  He can't look back.  His brain, gone somewhere, registers the growl of satisfaction and that somehow manages to sink into his skin.  Seep in from the lips wrapped around the wound.  Suckling. Pulling him back into this place.

And it's such a real fear, this unwillingness to look.  Childish and tangible like the worst fears can be. Because he knows what he'll see.

The demon.  Himself.

And that's too much. He snatches his hand back from that other reality.  Breaking the contact that snaps him mostly back to where he is.  In this dark place.

"No more."

And his demon is laughing at him.  Wild blonde hair, blue eyes snapping into gold and back again, remarkable cheekbones he's sure are sharp enough to cut glass.  Yes, this is his demon.

"Not by half."  The other breathes into his face. Suddenly close enough that he feels the blood scent like a caress.  "You'll be back."  Shifting, to lean into the visceral assault, and knowing it has moved on.

There.  At the edge of the alley.  Still laughing at him.  "And I'll be here."

And when he does lift his head.  Allows himself to focus.  The space is empty.  There's a dead body at his feet.  And he needs to be somewhere else.

The day after is easy.

He believes those words he uttered to the dead.  No more.

So simple to feel the renewed strength flowing through him and believe it's just this renewed sense of purity.

Doubt for a moment.  Staring at his wrist, at the perfection of skin.  He hasn't healed this fast since...

Doesn't matter.  His skin may have forgotten, but the sense memory is there.  His hand moving up, tongue flicking out.  Willing the sensation to be what he wants.  Needs a scar.  Wants something stronger than the smooth skin he finds and the taste of only himself.

Drops his arm, allows the feeling to be tucked away in the back of his mind.  Where it belongs.  Flushes the two bags of blood, disposed with the ease of practice.

Nice to relax in Cordelia's company.  Actually listening to her banter with Wes and Gunn.

Reveling in the lack of dark wings beating their accustomed gloom on him.

The second day was a little trickier.  

The vision.  The battle.  All that he could handle. It was being trapped in the cab of Gunn's truck on the way home.

Feeling the triphammer of Wes' heartbeat, still coming down from the rush of the fight.  The smell of the blood still trickling down Gunn's bicep, just oozing into Angel's pores.

Every bit of self control focused on his hands digging into his legs.  Because it wasn't them.  None of this raging urge had anything to do with them.  This was just desire.  And their buzz, their life were just sparks, igniting it.

And he knew they were aware of his change in mood. Knew his own quiet was bringing them down.

Couldn't help it.  Couldn't stop for the idle chat in the lobby.  Couldn't bear their eyes on him as he walked, almost shaking from the need to run, up to his room.

And by the time he closed his door behind him, he was trembling.  The glass of the decanter clinked dangerously against the crystal tumbler.

The whiskey which he knew was mellow and rich, and all things that fine liquor should be, couldn't be tasted in his mouth.  And this made him sob.

And it's such an alien sound.  But it's his, and he cradles the pain in his chest.  Nurturing it.  Because there should be pain.  Gypsy gift that he's been wrapping and unwrapping for years now.

No one knows the secret delight he takes in this.  But he has to, has to have *something* to feel.

Brief shudder that it isn't guilt.  That although he remember the words that came out of his mouth, that there will be more.

And in his room, the shadows grow a little stronger. Lengthen.  Hold him.  Nuzzle his ear and ask him 'When?'.  The need wants to know when it will be fed again.

No.  He doesn't *have* to do this.  It's merely something the body wants.  Something that happens between today and tomorrow.  Can't think.  Won't think about ten years from now.  Ten days from now. Tomorrow night.  Because that's too far away.

And it's all locked away inside and it wants to get out.  God help him.  Because he wants someone to know.  Wants someone to tell him why he's still in control. Why he hasn't turned into the monster.  Why is he still a man, with needs.  Why he still loves his friends.

It would be easier the other way.

So much simpler if he just wanted the one life.  The life of the demon.  But he wants this life too.  The life of a man.  Working towards something.  

And the simplest question makes him quake in fear. What if he doesn't have to choose?

Fingers warmed by friction moving lazily over his cock.  Torturous movement demanding more from him this time.  Each time.  Distance closing between bodies, and cool lips on his ear.  "Feel it.  Let it go."  

Greedy voice pulling his hips forward.  Forcing him to become active.  To do more than accept.  

Thrusts forward once, then back to stillness.  The reward is a rougher grasp, a stronger pull and those lips moving in a sibilant hiss, "Good, luv."

It isn't hard to give in.  The incentive is those same lips fastened on his vein and pulling.  Dizzy orgasm of blood and come and lust.  It's becoming more difficult to separate one act from the other.

Maybe he isn't supposed to.

Because that hard honey voice laced with nicotine drags him further outside himself each time.  Not so detached that his hips aren't moving on their own now.  How many times did it take before he was grunting and fucking that tight fist with abandon.  Borrowed blood where it *belonged*, his brain empty of his own thoughts.  Possessed by the demon jacking him over the cooling corpse.

His demon is so persuasive.

The light is blinding in that concealed space as the words wash over him.  "Give it to me."  "Come for me."  "You want this."  "I've got you."

And he does.  So thoroughly caught, but not captured. Willingly.  Doesn't feel like a trap.  Too familiar for that, and his memory catches on something, so he shuts his eyes.

"Doesn't matter.  I can still see you.  I'm always here.  Always watching."

And if he were to take the words apart and analyze them, it's disturbing.  So he doesn't.  Takes it as comfort, really.  Simpler that way.  No reason to fight it.

It's getting easier.  Two lives.  But he's in both of them, so...There's logic in there somewhere.  

It's just in the spaces in between it's frightening.  

In the hotel lobby it's warm with human life and laughter soaking into his skin like forgotten sunshine would.  Conversation so easy.  If they marvel at the change, they aren't saying so.  They accept him as they always have...only now they seem to enjoy him. Strange comfort here.

Stranger comfort in confined spaces.  

And it's odd how all those dark alleys and dim doorways have become the brightest places in his universe.  How now when he goes home he feels overwhelmed by the shadows of well-lit spaces.   So all the lights are on.  Constantly.

Sits staring.  Lies sleeping.  Doesn't matter.  It has to be bright.  Helps carry him back to those moments.

Moments that are consuming him without leaving him empty.  And how is that possible?

Human blood just singing through him.  He feels like he must glow with it, but still they don't say anything.

His shaft so hard and drooling and *ready* when the demon pulls it out.  He expects the sardonic look, amusement at his more than evident need.  But it doesn't come.  

Exchange of bodily fluids.  The phrase jumps in his mind.  Because clinically, that's the description of this nocturnal routine.  That bothers him.

He wants to think about that.  But there's no time.  

Vision.  Wes and Gunn are gone, working at  Anne's shelter.  Just Cordelia.  Tears streaming down her face, but not from pain.

"Children.  He's hurting them.  They're just kids...Angel..."

"What is he?"

"Human."  Disgust and anguish, and he holds her for a moment.  Wants to tell her he knows what dwells in the dark places, and they don't all have horns or claws...or fangs.

It's enough.  Her sorrow is more than enough for him to understand.  

He leaves.  Finds the warehouse.  No children.  Just men.  Humans.

Editing the celluloid.  Packaging up the shipment for deliveries to those whose needs this fulfills.  

There's a fine spray of blood across the white screen flickering with the images of small hurt bodies. Stops the noise of tiny cries and screams by crushing another body into the projector.  Shuts off the hammering in his brain by viciously sinking teeth in and just...gorging.  No reason not to. These...things...were just taking up space.

But feeding this way...off *them*...he feels almost filthy.  Knows it's ridiculous.  Silly superstition that their blood is anything other than sustenance. He can't really be tainted by their evil.  And even if he could, he has enough of his own.  

But the need to be cleansed is there.  The ache to be pure is so strong he groans.

"Angel?"

He turns, and almost laughs at the look on the blonde demon's face.  Confusion.  No...wariness.  

And he does laugh. This makes the demon step back. Which is wrong.  Closing the distance between them is the most important thing in the world right now.  So he moves.

Stands there.  Waits for the ritual to begin.  

But that 'want' voice inside his head should be quiet.  Stilled with blood. It isn't.  Vague urges becoming more distinct.

Stops the hands reaching for his belt.  Grasps them. Hard.  Pulls that body up to his.  Just breathing in the scent.  

Lets one hand loose to snake up the body pressed in to his, fingers moving through harsh hair, cupping the skull.  Tilting his own head...just so.  Making the offer apparent.

No hesitation in the tongue lapping strong against his neck.  Full body shiver as lips are laid to skin and just suck.  Audible sigh as razor fine teeth sink in. Just enough to open the flow.  And he's beyond content to have that tongue lap against his jugular.  Have those sharp hips rock against him.  That body so hard against him and needing.  

And it's almost like a key slipping into a lock.  Not quite, but so close.  Ghosts and memories straining against the confines he's built up.  Chink in the armor.

With a gasp, that mouth is pulled from his skin and he's looking into dazed eyes, blue again.  Lips ruddy with his own blood, parted slightly as if he can't quite shake the disbelief.  Blinking once.

Then a slow, hard slide down the length of Angel's body until the smaller demon is kneeling.  Hands growing more facile as the belt is undone, the fly unzipped.  Still no pretense as the pale face leans forward and just nuzzles against the dark curls, the shaft almost caressing along one cheek.  

There is a look of surprise on the younger man's face as he pulls back.  He's been here before...but that was a lifetime and a soul ago.  Surprise, but not confusion.  One hand to his mouth and he licks broadly across the palm, using his own slick to pull the foreskin down, bare the shaft to his tongue.  Slow drag of teeth and lips up the length.  

"Please..."  The word whispered above him is enough, and with one lick across the tip, he is sucking the man into his blood-warm mouth.  Cheeks hollowed with suction, fist moving over the base.  And this isn't about seduction.  Never was.

Finally those hips working with him.  Thrusting into his mouth.  Fucking his throat.  One hand spared to cup the heavy sack, fingers pressing down rubbing against that sweet smooth spot.  All movement frantic before the pulse of come pushing down his throat. Pulling back, just to catch some in his mouth, then sucking in again to swallow against the slowing throb.

Angel's hands in his hair, yanking him upright staring at his mouth, looking as though he's about to speak then thinks better of it and licks.  His head bent over the blonde, tongue pressing against lips, then plunging in.  Tasting and taking.  Angel's arms wrapped around the smaller man and feeding on his mouth.  Eyes shut tight because if he opens them he knows the light will blind him.  

One arm dropping to move between them, pressing a large hand against the erection straining against the other man's jeans.  Startled by the sudden hiss and even more abrupt absence of the body in his arms. That he wants there.  That he wants.

The wariness is back in those blue eyes.  His demon is backing away again.  The growing distance almost a painful *thing* growing in Angel's chest.  Searches for the words, some charm to tie his demon to him, but the blonde keeps moving.

Such an eerie tone to the voice tonight as a careful mask slips over his face, "Just remember.  I'm watching."

As if that were enough.

Nothing seems to be enough anymore.  Not the time spent with his friends.  Not the hours spent fighting the good fight.  Only too much time in between.

It's being alone that he can't stand.  Makes him over-think.  The memory of light leaving him exposed, laid open.  Available to all his desires that hover over him anxiously.  Waiting with him.

He knows when he has to go out again. Things become vague....diluted life, and he's struggling against shadows even as he stares into the now-bare 100-watt bulb.

Blinks back against the shadows and remembers. I'm watching you...always there...is he? Watching now?

It helps to think that.  Because as much as he needs to presence of those humans in his life, this need goes deeper.  So much older.  So much a part of him. Blood.

It's not the blood making him hard right now.  It's the thought of those blue eyes, watching him.  Knowing him.  

Brown eyes open and staring ahead at the ghosts he conjures up.  Large hands moving from the arms of the chair to his thighs.  Willing the vision to be reality.

He finds if he stares at the light long enough it's not his hands pulling his cock.  Hands wet with spit because that tongue had been...

Blunt fingernails shifting up his throbbing length where teeth had been.  His hips lifting with rough thrusts into tight fist that should be a throat. Blinded eyes searching for that elusive burn only captured at another's touch.  His touch.

His taste.  And for a moment he had both.  Enough to carry him through this moment.  Enough for the brilliance to flair in his brain and burn out doubt as he came in his fist.  Shaking with momentary rapture.

It's when he's coming down...when his brain clears for a moment...starts to really *think*.  Brow furrowed in confusion, because he'd wrapped his arms around that smaller figure, thrust his tongue into that mouth and devoured what he could find of himself there.

Frozen in that snapshot, and realizes.  The demon never moved in response.  Blonde hair, taut muscle, blue eyes....never pressed back in that last embrace. And he's angry suddenly, that those arms weren't clutching him.  Fierce flash of memory, and that tongue hadn't pressed against his....hadn't taken anything back.  Except blood...and semen.

Next time....the kill is fierce and quick...expedient as he can be in the half-euphoria of life bursting on his tongue.  Doesn't even have to turn to know the other is there.  Scent on the air a little like desperation, and that's oddly....pleasing.  Smiling as he does turn and catches the smaller body quickly. Aggressive use of his larger weight to cover and push forward, still smiling.

Expecting a struggle.  Anticipating force.  Not disappointed.  Grunt of surprise though as the aggression is moved into him and not away.

Mouth snarling up to meet his in a frenzy of tongues lashing and lips pressed together in a fury of need. Wonderfully those arms wrapped around him, and that terrible empty space between Angel and the rest of the world is gone.  Vanquished in the bruise of leather/denim clad muscle contending for maximum press against him.

This time no protest when his hand moves between their bodies, making space for his target.  Some alchemy of sex has their cocks free in his large hand.  Come slippery and gliding with each jerk, between the thrust of both hips.

Rocking over-sensitive flesh, so smooth hard and warm since that's where all life and movement are hovering.  Waiting for it.

His blonde demon's lips sliding from his with a final suck and lick.  Blunt teeth growling along  jaw, cheek, throat.  Savage tear of ivory now, something like a whine as slimmer hips ram up.  Hands grabbing at dark hair, pulling that thick neck down to just suckle and thrust, allowing Angel to hold on and pray, his head bowed in something like supplication.  Hand moving in a soft liquid blur.

Both growling toward the frantic moment. It's fierce and hallowed and it belongs.  To him.

And he thinks with what's burning in him right now he won't see shadows for days.  Can wrap it up inside the way he's still desperately holding this body against him.  For a very long time.

His demon disagrees, but the voice isn't harsh. "Enough."

Sticky disengage.  Captures the slow smile on the blonde's face and burns it into his retinas. Souvenir.  Until next time.

This time Angel's brave enough to ask, "You're watching?"

Wins him a laugh, "Always."

Just enough to keep him safe a while longer.

He brings Cordelia ice cream, staying up late and listening to her stories.  Tucking her into a spare bedroom because she'd fall asleep driving home. Watching her sleep.  Head turned just so and he can see the pulse beat gently at her elegant throat.  

Beautiful.  He loves the life thrumming through her. Loves what it brings him.  Her friendship, loyalty, overly brutal honestly.  Closes the door and walks to his own room.

Asleep himself within moments.  Smiling.  Only one light left on.

It's like that for days.  Not that he doesn't think about it.  Wants it.  Plays back the images in his brain.  His own fingers press in remembered place on his flesh where the other had touched.  Craves to have that body with him.  Under him.  Around him.

Finally sinking in that wanting isn't enough.  That's not how it's done.  This dance has a delicate virtue to it, and wanting just sullies it.  It has to be need.

So he is patient.  Moving through his life with a vigor borne of living blood and animal lust.  His two lives merging in these moments.  He'll wait because his demon is watching and waiting with him.  

Here.  Now.  The need is all the ghosts and fears inside him. Begging to be let through the walls. Devouring him with such sweet pain.  Need making him hard and fast.  Little delight or vengeance in the kill because it is simply what must be.  A means to an end.  

Gently laying the body on the ground.  He's a half-life away from being complete.

Turning.  Nothing.

No one.  

Slow spin as his eyes search.  Scanning for what he knows must be there.  Should be there.  It was something like a promise, wasn't it?  "I'm watching." "Always."

Repeating the words like a mantra.  Belief and need keeping him there.  Waiting.

It's almost dawn and something hurts so deep down inside of him he wants to scream.  He waited.  He needed.  Wasn't that enough?

Almost blind by the time he stumbles into his room. Darkness close around him and crushing.  

So he talks to his shadows.  Cajoling, begging.  Just a rest from the whisperings of need crawling along his skin.  It feels like ill omens scratched along his flesh.

Foretelling nothing.

He mourns the loss of light, tries to calm the rising panic.  Succeeds for a moment, and that's enough. Barely.

Adequate, so he can straighten up, blink his eyes and see the room.  Knows the blindness is just the mirage shimmer of desperate need.  Shoves the fear to the back, remembers who he is.  He can do this.

Survive another day.

Because tomorrow will be different.  It has to be.

The next day was so different.  So many different kinds of wrong he could feel the hysteria bubbling up in his throat.  Willed the constriction of his muscles to hold back whatever sound wanted to erupt.  Scream or sob.  Instead, settling himself in his room to wait out the storm of thoughts raging in his brain.

Random thought patterns.  It's just another dilemma. Doesn't mean he has to address it.  Doesn't mean he *has* to listen to these voices.  His inner dialogue, waging a silent war between man and monster, his salvation and his addiction.

And above this quiet roar of thought is his demon. Telling him he can't control it doesn't need to.  His own voice sounding loud in the empty room, "But what if they find out?"

Words hanging in the air.

What if Cordelia gets a vision...about *him*?  It's a little late for that now, though, so is it really a concern?  Why haven't any of the bodies turned up in the police reports that Gunn pulls each day?  Why isn't Wesley suspicious of his physical changes?  He's stronger, heals faster, surely a man with Wesley's training would ferret out the truth.  Surely.

So many rules broken.  There must be a price to be paid.

Unless.  Unless what he's doing isn't so wrong.  His prey have all been so evil.  So dark.  He can smell it on them.  Has smelled it on himself.  It almost makes...sense.  What if it's his right to visit retribution using his demon?  

His demons.  Because he wasn't alone in this until last night.  

His demon broke the promise.  Ruined the intricate pattern.  Sudden anger at being left alone with this desire.  At being forgotten.  That's what's eating at him....the demon had promised to be there.  Always watching.  And he wasn't.  He can't feel the presence now like he knows he should be able to.  Knows he's alone.  And there's a frightening freedom in that. Loss of conscience, with the soul intact.  

So...human.

Ancient pride stirring in him.  Righteous rage at being lied to.  At being abandoned.  Full stop of the voices in his head.  He stands.  

Realizing that payback is the mother of all bitches.  

Knowing that he has been taught a lesson.  Shown to feel what it's like to be left alone when your world is nothing but different levels of need.  Wonders what that other felt at being deserted so many years ago. Suspects it was a more frantic thing for such a young one.  But he is not young.  Hasn't been young or felt young for such a long time.  He's a long way from frantic.

Not desperate at all, really.  That would imply some sort of question, an uncertainty about what is going to happen.  There is no doubt.  He is going out again.  Tonight.  And it isn't about hunger - it's only been hours since his last kill.  

In defiance he'd sucked down two bags of cold blood, daring the old habit to restore order to his universe.  It hadn't.  But if it had, only he would have known. Just another secret to cosset and hold dear.  Lock in the box for his mind to play with.

There's only one goal in mind right now.  To get through the afternoon with a minimum of contact. Flashing Cordelia a smile that he knows goes nowhere near his eyes when she knocks timidly and opens his door.  Just checking on him.  Cringes at the spark of something in her eyes, but she doesn't voice whatever concern she feels.  He's able to slip past her interrogation, with a weak excuse and a gesture at the daylight seeping through the dark shades.  Bolt his thoughts and body away in his room.

Wanting and waiting.  And a little too focused.  On sunset.

Dusk usually sidles up to him, like something familiar and welcome...an old friend, always the same.  An agreeable handshake.  Tonight it's a crack across his back and an unvoiced command.

Time to prove that he doesn't need the demon.  That he hasn't forgotten.  Show that the lesson he has learned is that the rules are irrelevant.

And *that's* what missing.  He could rationalize all of *this* if he only knew the rules.  He can feel a bit of hysteria rising up like bile at that thought. Shoves away the need for rationale.  Pushes it back down in favor of the hunt.

This is the hunt.  His hunt.  Not looking for blood this time.  Looking for lust.  For the pure animal joy of culling the herd.  Something pretty.  Something small.  Something blonde.

And there she is.  Shivering.  No...crying.  And those tears sliding down her cheeks make him want to lick them off.  Savor them.  Put more of them there, and just hold that head by its' shining ringlets.  Like a doll.  Made to be broken.

Did he make a sound?  She looks up, startled by something.  Realizes she's wandered from the party raging a few doors down.  Aware now, perhaps of the vulnerability she presents.  She starts to walk, but not back to whatever heartbreak she'd found in that well-lit house.  No, she moves away, towards the darkness.  Little lost lamb.

He follows.  Slowly.  Her scent catching him, so easy to pick out that sweet sad aroma from all the others moving through the night air.  He wonders if he grabs her, tilts her head just so, looks down...will her eyes be blue?  He can hope.

Allows himself the deliberate pleasure of making a noise.  So he can share with her.  Let her know, without allowing her to see.  Needs her to know this is his dance.  Slow smile as her breath catches in her throat and she turns, seeing nothing in the shadows, but looking all the same.

But she knows.  And starts to run.

The smell of adrenaline pumping through her body assaults him like a slap, and he grins into it.  

Following the trail of sweat and tears, images of drinking that from her first flashing through his brain.  First...and then the utter sweetness of breaking through delicate skin to pure blood laced with fear that *he* put there.  For no other reason than because he could.  Proof of life without his demon.

Sudden frown.  Game over already?  Because she darted in misdirected fear down a blind alley.  Hardly fair, but he's smiling as he finally steps out of the shadows.  Lets her see the face of her romancer. Gratified as his human countenance lulls her for a moment.

"It's all right.  You're safe.  No need to cry." Words uttered as he moves closer to her.  Closing in.

Her momentary sense of security shattered as he presses in closer.  A wild leap in her pulse and he wants to thank her for the gift.  A whimper escaping her lips as his arms move around her.

"Shhhh....I'm going to make those tears go away.  Trust me..."  Grin of pure delight playing over his face as she falls silent.  Almost limp now in his arms. Surrendering.  And isn't that what prey should do?

So fascinated with studying her acquiescence, almost in love with the bend of her neck as she slumps against him.  Doesn't notice the approach until it is too late.

Sudden snarl of rage from him and a shriek from the girl as she is torn from his embrace.  The roughness of the movement enough to startle her into motion as she finds the energy to bolt down the alley.

He won't turn.  Won't look.  This isn't the way it's supposed to be.  He wanted to control it, just this once he tells himself.  

"Not gonna happen, ducks.  Wasn't meant to be...jes' accept it and we can move on."

"You weren't there."  The words dragged from him, feeling like bits of glass tearing him on their way out.  Sounding just as rough.

"S'okay.  I'm here now.  Look...let's get ya home. We'll talk there.  Get ya inside...get ya straight.  No worries.  Come on then."

Lets himself be pulled along.  Like a child.  Needing guidance.  Needing home.  And somehow, for some reason that he can't quite yet fathom, this demon.  No, his demon is offering him both.  

The hotel is empty.  Cool marble echoing their footsteps back at them, and he realizes how much like a mausoleum this place is.  Never noticed that before.

Steady movement until they both sit in his room. Watching each other like the reflections they will never have again.  He's just going to wait for the other to speak.  Waiting.  It is after all, what he's good at these days.

"Ya wanna know why I wasn't there last night."

Response too obvious to be spoken.

"Was there."

That wasn't the expected answer.  Of course none of this is really anticipated.  Least of all sitting in his room across from this....from *him*.

"Was there.  Didn't want ya to see me.  Was angry."

Voice quiet, calmer than he feels, "Why?"

Nothing calm in the agitated response.  "Ya think this has been easy for me?  Think I don't wish for simpler times.  Hell, I look at you an' I see *his* face.  Not blaming you, jes' saying....miss me Sire."

Deafening silence suddenly springs to meaning in his mind.  Suppresses the need to put his hands over his ears to stop it.

Curses inwardly at his need to know.  "Why did you come back then?  Why bother to stop me?  Would have thought you'd enjoy seeing me brought low like this. You know what would have happened after, I couldn't have -."

Interrupted.  "S'like you said...things change.  Can't go back, can only go forward.  An' right now I need you sane, need you willing.  Need your blood.  It's still Sire's blood, innit?  So that's it.   Two leashes...I hold yours you hold mine...need a yank every once in a while, don't you?  We'll be safe as houses. S'okay...I'm here."

And he is here.  Out of the chair.  Moving closer.  

"This isn't a history lesson, *Angel*."  Stress on the name, right where he needs it.  "We aren't going back...this is new."  

Slim body, still looking for all the world like a boy, crouching between his knees.  

"So that's it. I watch your back....an' you watch mine."

Slow shake of the dark head in disbelief.  

Sigh of exasperation from the demon covered by a move forward.  Hands sliding up powerful thighs, face tilted up.

"Ya've believed in curses and divine power fer so long....why stop now?  Still got the soul, right? Still got yer human pets.  Still fightin' the good fight.  So....you must be doing all right.  Why fight it?"

Futile wish of a plague on his past self for teaching this creature so well.  Because the argument makes sense.  And those hands are moving slowly back and forth, inching closer to his groin.  

"Soul's safe with me, pet."  Cool hand pressing against the bulge in his pants.  "No chance of ya forgettin' who you are with me, is there?"

The cracks in his personal walls getting wider all the time.  Because he wants this.  Wants to let it go. Wants both lives.  Needs the demon to keep him safe. As promised.

Lips whispering up towards his mouth.  "Take it...don't be a fool.  S'all I've got...an' ya need it...don't ya?"

Yes.  Reaches out with both hands to grab, pulling that lithe body up to straddle him, yanking that head down to feed on that canny mouth.  Allows his tongue to test his memory, sliding across teeth he knows, opening wide and just licking across the palate.  Lets out a growl at the hard grind of hips.

Blonde head pulls away, laughing...triumphant.  Leaping backward and running toward the large bed.  Throwing himself and landing on his back only an instant before Angel follows.  Settling on the smaller form with a satisfied grunt.  No hesitation as he shreds the clothing from both of their bodies.  Finally able to make one continuous lick from hip to neck, nibbling at the vein sluggishly pulsing there.  Tiny smile of satisfaction that he'd caused that stimulus.

Wider grin as legs part beneath him.  Slender hips canting up so hard flesh rubs together and the resulting gasp is gathered up in Angel's mouth and fed back in hard thrusts of tongue.  Eager suckling pushing his hips painfully against those below him. Rough gasp.

"Ya need it, don't ya?  Need to be in me...want ta fuck me hard, don't ya, luv?"

The truth of the words slamming in to him.  Suddenly frozen.

Muttered curse below him, "Not a chit, Angel.  Ya can't hurt me."  Arms pulling him down mouth trailing his jaw.  "C'mon, give it t'me good.  Want ta feel that thick cock o' yours in me hole."

Swift mouth on his, teeth bruising his lips until he opens then pulled into that wet place.  Wounding teeth and tongue sucking, biting, as strong legs wrap around him.  Imprisoned by that body and mouth.  No choice. And he does want it.  Wants to bury himself so deep in tight flesh that he can't find a way out.  Wants to be taken in and remade.  Needs to be whatever his demon wants him to be.

And he can.  Can adapt.  Can survive.  As long as the blood in this creature writhing beneath him calls to him.  Forever.  Can't be denied.  Won't renounce this blood tie, because the demon's given it all back to him...only wants *this* in return.

Only too willing to give in, his body trembling from the lust in the voice wrapping around his mind as tightly as the fist claiming the stiff flesh between his legs.

"Put it in me, dammit!  Gimme what I need, Angel!"

Yes.  He's pushing those willing knees up, exposing the puckered bud clenching beneath the silky sac. Reaching to gather the wetness on the shaft bobbing angrily over rippled abdomen.  Looks up to almost angry blue eyes and he urges two fingers in, watches in fascination as azure snaps to gold and back again. One syllable pushed out between clenched teeth. "More!"

Three fingers shoulder tensing as he drives his hand forward, crooking his fingers ruthlessly just...there. Hips bucking wildly under his hand.  Pays to know your demon well.  

"Hell...Bloody hell!  Do me!  Now, Angel -- ah...god, just fuck me, man!"

Stretching himself over that body, concentrating as legs wrap around him again.  Wet, aching and poised over that hole looking so small against his hardness. Heels digging into his back and he falls forward with the first thrust.  Deep.  Holding.

Wants to talk, needs to tell the demon how good this feels.  How right.  Coming home and finding everything just as you left it. Manages to open his mouth against the collarbone underneath and suck as he trembles.

"Please..."  Such a keening sound coming from the mouth moving against his ear.  Puffs of cool breath speaking more need.  "Move...ya git....move!"

Pulls back, pulls almost out, pulls a gasp from the body beneath him.  Slams back in.  

"Fuck, yeah!"  Fingers digging into large shoulders, cock lying stiff and hard between them, drooling and red. "C'mon...touch me...jack me...fuck me...harder, dammit!"

Body bent to the demands of the demon.  Tattooed flesh flexing with each thrust into that tight hole and each and pull on swollen flesh.  Driving himself into that haven of grasping muscle.  Ramming in his own need manifested in this fierce mating.  

Cry of near pain as muscles grip him tight and cool fluid pulses over his hand.  Surrender to the orgasm wrenched from him by the demon beneath him.  Feels his own wetness spilling inside, slicking that wonderful place.  Never wants to leave.  Wordless appeal as he bends his head, seeking that mouth on his neck.

Soft whimper at the teasing licks.  Knows the demon is smiling, can feel it on his skin.  Ready to beg for it as the vein rips under those fangs.  Silent tongue pressing into the ragged hole and his cock just twitches in final agony in that tight dark place. He'd give more if he had it, settles for crouching above the body, and letting the other suck greedily at his neck.  Lets hands grip his hair tightly and hold him in place.  So good to let go.  

Finally just a gentle lapping at the savaged skin and he gently pulls out, drops beside, lies on his back. Almost wants to ask, but doesn't have to as that cool body leans into his.  Turns to see blue eyes looking intently at him.

"Good ta let it out, innit?  Bit of a wild ride ya gave me.  Needed a good seein' to."

"I was just thinking - "

In the blink of an eye his mouth is stopped by a tongue, pushing in, demanding his attention.  Gives it willingly.  The demon pulls back, smirking.

"S'not allowed, pet.  No thinking.  I gotcha.  Yer safe."

Body curled against his, lips nuzzling at the healing wound.  He likes this.  Like a key fitting a lock.  He can almost hear the quiet snicking sound of something opening, but he wants to sleep.  Eyes shutting drowsily.

"You're watching."

"Yeah...brought ya home, gonna watch over ya.  Always here."

It's good to feel like this at last.  Harbor.  Home. Protected.  He falls into sleep.  Dreaming of nothing.

----------------------------------------------------

His eyes slowly open.  A strange smile spreading across his face at the feel of a familiar body pressed to him.  Displaced sense of being here before and yet this being completely new.  Further disoriented at the images of the past few weeks playing back in his head.  Sudden frown at that.  Too much pain.  Too much darkness.  

But that's gone now.  Replaced by the sureness that he is exactly where he belongs.  Stronger than he's been in....forever.  Happier than he has any right to be. Looks down to see blue eyes blinking back sleep...regarding him.  The demon answering his smile, "'Morning, Angelus.".

His own demon finding voice and answering,  "Missed me that much, boy?"

Hard smile as the blonde pulls himself over the larger body.  Rubbing himself against him, sniffing deeply then purring into the offered throat, "What can I say?  Yer my addiction."

"Clever clever lad."