Queen's Gambit

Drusilla was torn from his arms and William sprang out of the linen cupboard in pursuit. He had the presence of mind to yell, "Dru, fight him!" before laying in to Angelus himself. Surely between them they could take the older vampire down.

A bellow of rage erupted from Angelus as William's fist connected with his nose and he staggered back, Drusilla's arm still clutched in one huge hand. She wasn't fighting. It had drained out of her the moment he touched her, just like it always did. On his own now, William refused to give up. Adrenaline surged through him as another of his punches hit home - the alcohol Angelus had consumed slowing his reaction times - and Drusilla dropped to the floor, covering her head with her arms as the two males started to fight in earnest.

William didn't even try to restrain his holler of glee when Angelus tumbled backwards down the servant's stairs. This time he had him for sure. Not waiting for his elder to rise, he leapt down after him and hauled him to his feet, landing more well placed punches. Driving him back, past the nursery, past the governess' room. Angelus staggered, shaking his head like a stunned bear, trying to collect his senses in the face of alcohol and this unexpected barrage of fists.

The main staircase loomed behind them, with a two-storey drop to the tiled entrance hall below. William surged forwards determined to end it now. This time the old man was going down. No more days listening to her screams of agony intermixed with cries of ecstasy. This time he would protect her, from Angelus and from herself.

Angelus registered William's sudden charge and dropped at the last second, twisting to rise when the young vampire was above him and tossing him high into the air and over the banister. Eschewing the stairs Angelus followed him down, using the balusters to slow his drop to the entrance hall. He touched down lightly yards from where William had landed and strolled over to where the youngster was trying, without much success, to push himself to his feet.

Placing a leather booted foot heavily on the back of William's neck, Angelus gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, savouring the sensation of having his prey pinned and then stated calmly, "You can either stay down or I'll beat you down. Your choice."

"Never." William spat, along with a goodly mouthful of blood. "I'd rather die than let you have her again."

The boy was a marvel. He persisted in pursuing this ridiculous campaign of his and all it brought him was failure.

"For the last time, William, Drusilla is mine. Neither you, nor Darla can tell me when or whether I shall have her. Do you hear me?"

There was silence from the floor and Angelus increased the pressure until he felt tendons begin tear. Still there was no acknowledgement or submission.

Grinding his teeth together in frustration, Angelus decided to try another tack. Lifting his foot from William's neck, he stamped down hard on the back of the boy's knee, thrilled by the yowl of pain the blow elicited and the feel of bones shattering. He followed it up with well placed kicks to ribcage and pelvis until William was curled up trying to protect his body.

Dropping into a squat, Angelus grabbed a handful of darkly bloodied blond hair and yanked William's head back until their eyes met. "Be grateful, boy, next time I will kill you," he promised, registering the defiance still lingering behind that stormy gaze, before slamming the fledgling's head into the tiles.

When he was sure the boy was unconscious, he dragged him down to the sub-basement, opened the door and threw him down the stairs, pausing to bolt the door behind him before he went in search of Dru. It would be dawn soon so he had a limited amount of time to spend with his girl before Darla returned home.

***

Drenched coat slipping from her hand the second she crossed the threshold, Darla glared around the apparently deserted house. Even a truly vile kill had not been enough to salve her nerves; in fact the mother's screams had shredded her last nerve - before she'd shredded the mother.

"Angelus!"

No answer, only tell tale muted wails from the master suite upstairs.

God damn the boy, why couldn't he leave Drusilla alone now she had a childe of her own to play with. Speaking of which. Darla stalked through to the dining room, expecting to find William drowning his sorrows in the stock of liquor as he normally did when Angelus took his Drusilla away, only to find it empty. She frowned, surprised, then tasted the air, reaching beneath the flavour of the newborn still lingering in her mouth, and caught the scent of the fledge's blood.

Back in the entrance hall, she belatedly noticed the pool of gore drying on the tile and followed the drag marks that led away and down towards the kitchen. The trail ended outside the cellar door and a large red handprint confirmed that this was where Angelus had stashed the young vampire. Darla unlocked the door and peered down into the dank hole with its green slime-covered walls and foetid stench. There, floating face down in stagnant river water, was William.

She hesitated, tempted to leave the youngster there, before an interesting idea suggested itself to her. Springing into action, she grabbed the window pole and used its hooked end to snag William's shirt and haul him towards her. Once within reach she regarded him distastefully, wondering if there was any way to get him up the steps without having to touch him. Frankly, he stank and it would take a miracle to get the smell out of her dress.

Sighing, Darla resigned herself to loosing yet another outfit, caught the back of his braces in one hand and pulled him up the stairs behind her.

***

William woke to a nasty headache and an excruciating ball of agony that was masquerading as his left knee. Only when he moved did the pain from several broken ribs kick in and he dropped back onto the pillow with a stifled groan.

Hang on? Pillow?

Prying his eyes open again and deliberately ignoring the swimming sensation this caused, he looked curiously around the bedroom. Large marble fireplace, complete with roaring fire. A good quality Kidderminster carpet covering the floor, its swirls of deep reds perfect for hiding the occasional blood spill. Against the far wall stood a heavy mahogany dressing table - sans mirror - its surface littered with combs, brushes, pots and bottles. The generalised clutter associated with most women's bedrooms.

He was in the mistress' suite!

What the hell was he doing in Darla's bed - William peered under the sheets - naked, when the last thing he remembered was Angelus beating him to a bloody pulp?

He wasn't left to ponder for long. The door pushed open and Darla entered dressed in one of her exquisitely embroidered tea gowns, propelling a young grocer's boy before her. Seeing William was awake, she graced him with a smile and nodded at the human. "Dinner. I presume you had no chance to feed before Angelus rendered you unconscious?"

William stared at her suspiciously. Up until now their relationship had consisted of her studiously ignoring him unless he got in her way, at which point he was treated to the sharp side of her tongue. And now she was offering him dinner in bed and being almost friendly? He shivered. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

"Hurry up then," she urged, giving the lad a shove, "or do I have to bite him for you as well."

The human staggered into the side of the bed and, hunger overcoming his aches and pains, William reached out for him, pulling him forwards, and sinking his fangs into the boy's grubby neck. Not stopping to savour the taste, which was rather onion-y in all honesty, he drank greedily, shaking his head to drive his fangs deeper and open the wounds. Blood spilled liberally from his mouth and down his chin, dripping messily onto his chest as he fed.

Drained, the corpse slid to the floor and landed with a lax thump, staring up with lifeless eyes. On the bed, William blinked and panted heavily, feeling his damaged tissues knitting together as the fresh young blood gave his accelerated healing powers a much-needed boost.

Finally the rush subsided. With a shudder he raised his head to stare again at his grandsire's sire, who still watched him with calculating blue eyes from the foot of the bed. In the privacy of his or Dru's rooms he called her the ice-queen, but with a demon's perception he saw beyond the aloof and disdainful demeanour to the underlying beauty that resided in her petite form.

Face pulled into a disapproving moue, Darla advanced towards him, gesturing at his gory torso. "Don't allow that on the sheets. I have no desire to sleep in blood stained rags."

He glanced down, her strict words at the evidence of his carelessness confounding his features back into human form.

Cloth. Water. He needed something to clear the mess up. What could Darla be thinking, him feeding with all the finesse of a week old baby? There, on the wash stand. The water and a flannel cloth he had brought to her quarters the day before. With a pained groan he stood, pulling the sheet off the bed and tucking it around his waist to maintain a semblance of decency. Then limped across the room, poured a generous amount of water from jug to basin and started cleaning the blood from his chest and face.

Darla regarded the bathing fledgling in silence, considering her plan. William was smaller than Angelus, obviously, but there was a well-muscled leanness about him that she couldn't deny was attractive. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all.

He jumped when she touched his shoulder and then grinned at her sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed by his skittishness, which Darla actually found quite endearing compared to her regular lover's brash enthusiasm.

"We have a problem, you and I," she murmured, running one finger down his back, smiling slightly at the way his skin quivered under her touch. Like a prize thoroughbred, she thought, a delicate Arab rather than the stalwart hunter she had kept all these years.

"A problem?" He stepped back, towelling himself off, a frown lines creasing his face. She spun away from him, striding across the room to the fireplace and leaning one hand on the mantle shelf.

"Yes, a problem. You want Drusilla, yes? You resent Angelus' interest in her?"

"What of it?"

"I want Angelus back. I had hoped that your presence would have curtailed his interest in the girl but in many ways it has simply encouraged him." Darla glanced back at the bed and noted with satisfaction that she now had William's full attention. He was sitting with his head bowed; the towel gripped tightly between his fists, but the tension in his shoulders belied his apparent lack of interest.

When he made no move to answer her, she made her way back towards him again, stopping just short of where he was sat and said, "I suggest we declare a truce, of sorts. And use Angelus' nature against him."

His eyes came up to meet hers; stormy meeting ice blue and he cocked his head quizzically. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that exactly." His voice was sliding into that roughened accent he'd adopted in recent weeks. Such a pity, although it leant a roughened allure when combined with his deep voice.

"Like this," she said and leaned down kissing him delicately on the lips, not wanting to scare him off.

He pulled away suddenly as if she'd burned him. "Darla.?"

She shook her head, putting a finger against his mouth to silence him and moved forwards, lifting her skirts so she could straddle his lap. Well-placed pressure on his shoulders had him falling backwards and Darla followed him down, adjusting her position so that his damaged ribs were saved from the majority of her weight.

Their lips met again and Darla took the lead, encouraging his gentle caresses to her sides and back by wriggling her body suggestively against his groin, which swelled in answer to the pressure. When he opened his mouth to groan, her tongue assumed its attack, darting into his mouth and scattering touches on his palate and teeth. William's enthusiastic response surprised her. He deepened the kiss, pursuing her tongue back into her mouth and then stopping, only to nibble on her lower lip, eliciting a moan she hadn't even noticed was trying to escape.

Deciding it was time to regain the initiative, Darla insinuated her hand between them ripped the sheet away and grasped his erection tightly. He bucked up against her seeking friction and she went with him, denying what he needed. If this was going to happen it was going to be on her terms, not his.

He stilled, as if sensing what she had in mind and she started to pump him slowly and evenly, brushing her thumb over the head of his cock on every upstroke. Smiling as she watched his hands fist into the discarded sheet in an effort to control his actions, Darla lowered her head and laved her tongue harshly over his right nipple.

"Oh god."

She glanced up just in time to see his eyes roll back as the lids fluttered closed. He was so responsive, reacting to the slightest touch and change in pace, and she took the time to experiment a little until he was thrashing beneath her, his eyes screwed shut and his breath coming in frantic pants.

At the first touch of Darla's hand, William thought he had died again. This woman couldn't be more different from his Dru, her directness and experience an absolute contrast to the passivity his dark princess displayed when he took her. The dire implications of exactly who was touching him were forgotten as his body reacted instinctively, his hips thrusting up into her hand. But she'd read him well, her body riding his like a professional, and the only contact he garnered was the brush of her silk gown over the tip of his cock.

He fought to relax; quickly realising Darla was as bossy in bed as she was out of it. Though when her lips and tongue closed over his nipple, there was no way for him to bite back a curse. He hadn't realised his body could be so sensitive and Darla was playing him like a fine instrument, her fingertips and mouth skimming over his nipples and chest, shoulders and arms. All the while her small hand working his cock till he was squirming and biting his lip to stop from coming too soon and humiliating himself.

Then, all of a sudden, she was gone and he groaned from the loss of contact and again when he heard the sound of silk over skin. Propping himself up on his elbows, he opened his eyes and whimpered. Darla was stood before him in all her nude glory, the blue gown pooled at her feet, its pearl buttons torn from their moorings in her haste to disrobe. Pert breasts, fuller than Dru's, topped by perfect pale-rose nipples, the delicious dip of her waist that needed no corset to accentuate its narrowness and corresponding flair of her hips. And the neatly trimmed down nestled between her thighs proved conclusively she was a natural blonde. Legs, long and beautifully proportioned. And all of her covered in smooth, unblemished alabaster skin.

William stared; his tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly very dry mouth. This was Darla. Darla! Wanting him in her bed and, so yes, she probably did prefer Angelus, but William felt he had to be worth something if this creature was willing to entertain him in her boudoir.

She advanced towards him, every line of her body screaming predator, and he swallowed thickly, unsure of exactly what she wanted from him. Only when she stepped past him to climb onto the bed and his eyes followed her, did he notice the scars. The marks of a whip, silvery and multitudinous, stretching from her shoulders to the round of her buttocks. Some remainder of her human life, William supposed, but rather than detract from her beauty they seemed to add to it, adding a hint of mystery and danger.

Darla settled herself on the pillows and then crooked her finger for William to join her, suppressing her mirth at the expression of wide-eyed shock on the young vampire's face. He scrambled up the bed to kneel next to her, obviously hesitant about what to do next. He seemed so innocent. Was it possible that he and Dru hadn't? After all, the girl was as mad as May butter. She had to ask.

"Have you had her?"

Embarrassment flooded his eyes and Darla was fairly sure William would be blushing if it were still possible. His head dropped and he mumbled "Yes," into his chest.

Using a single finger she raised his head until he was looking her straight in the eye. "There is no reason to be ashamed, William. There is no propriety amongst demons. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. Surely Drusilla has told you all this?"

This time the answer was no.

***

Two Months Earlier

"Damn it, Dru, I don't have any money!" Grabbing her hand, William dragged Drusilla away from the window of the shop where a porcelain doll had entranced her for over half an hour.

The freezing March wind swept through them as they rounded the next corner and, when he was convinced he'd finally got her moving in the right direction, William let her hand drop and pulled his thin jacket around him. Their strange appearance attracted no small amount of attention. Though he'd tried to dress Dru appropriately for the weather, she was wearing one of her wool dresses and elegant coats from her wardrobe, he would have to persuade her to wear hat and gloves if she were to pass in human company. He, on the other hand, was reduced to some ratty clothing he'd managed to scavenge from one of his kills when his morning coat had finally succumbed to the rigours of his new life. Its worn material did nothing to stave off the cold, made worse by their inability to find a decent meal for the last two nights and he cast envious eyes after the one or two men sporting fur-collared greatcoats. Would it be so wrong to kill one of them simply for their clothes?

No, it was too risky. They all looked well to do and, inexperienced as he was, William realised that such prey would quickly be missed, and that would attract unwanted attention, a cardinal offence in Angelus' book.

His reverie was soon broken when he realised Drusilla had vanished. Looking around frantically, he spotted the trailing edge of her distinctive green coat disappearing back round the corner they had just left.

"Dru?" Cursing quietly, he ran after her, only to see her vanish again down the side of a warehouse. Seriously concerned now, William sped up, hoping to catch her up before something happened. If she decided to have one of her visions while he was away from her, god only knew what she might do.

Somehow she managed to stay one step ahead of him. Initially and with relief, he thought she was heading home but then she veered off, leading them on a merry dance through streets that became increasingly unfamiliar. Only when he saw Clapham Junction looming ahead did he grasp that she was heading straight for the tracks that bordered their territory. His panic reached desperation point when he realised that the maze of stationary engines and carriages were the perfect place for her to get lost completely.

"Christ!" He muttered to himself, then called, "Dru!" a little louder, his voice bouncing back off the surrounding metal and wood, and he strained his ears to try and catch any trace of her.

Nothing.

It was too damned enclosed for him to see or hear anything!

A quick vault and scramble took William up the side of a Pullman and he paced the top silently, straining his senses again.

There! In the distance was the sound of a woman's voice singing. It had to be her, no one else was mad enough to be entertaining the stars at three a.m. Then came other voices, male ones.

Jumping from one carriage to the next, William made his way towards them, finally dropping onto the tank of an engine, only to curse roundly and dash for the cabin roof when the residual heat burned through the thin soles of his boots. Cautiously, he peered down from the top of a stationary engine and his stomach flipped.

Surrounded by a small gang of three shunters, bathed in the light of their lanterns, and dancing as she had a wont to do, was Dru. The men seemed bemused by her antics, calling out to one another, wondering who this spellbound creature could be.

"Reckon she's out of Bedlam, boys?"

"Nah. They never had anything so pretty in there. All drooling idiots and loonies. I'd wager this one's a dasher."

William's rage rose at hearing Dru referred to in such a disrespectful fashion and he was tempted to just attack the men with everything he had - fists and fangs - but a quiet voice inside him said the risk was too great and he should be reasonable. These weren't the type of men to abide by the Queensbury Rules any more than Angelus, and he wouldn't be able to take them down at odds of three to one. There had to be a way of evening things up or for him to gain an advantage.

Silently he dropped to the ground on the far side of the engine and searched around on the stone littered ground until he found what he was looking for. Then he returned to his perch.

"Fancy a bit of fun, little lady?"

One of the men was approaching Dru now and she merely stared at him, head to one side as if trying to understand some unfamiliar tongue. The others watched on, their lanterns resting forgotten on the ground.

In a blur of accuracy and movement, William sent three smooth, round stones skimming through the air and ping, ping, ping, everything went black as the glass shattered and the flames were extinguished.

Sharp cries rose from the men and William seized his advantage, launching himself down off the engine, amongst them before they knew what had hit them. One, the fool who had the temerity to proposition his princess, fell quickly and soundlessly, but he had underestimated the others. Even in the dark and hindered by their muted human senses, these fellows were good fighters, and, backs against the wall, they weren't about to give up easily.

Driven stumbling backwards by a meaty punch to the jaw, William tripped over the tracks and measured his length on the ground. The humans were on him immediately, pounding into his back and head with heavy boots, and he felt a flash of fear before he remembered that pretty much anything barring a stake through his heart would heal in a couple of days.

His groping hand fastened around a slim piece of metal, and he grabbed it and thrust it up into the second man's belly eliciting an agonised scream as it pierced his gut. It was music to William's ears and he rose with a roar, his demon emerging with a force he had never previously experienced. Ignoring the man writhing on the ground he flew at the third, registering his expression of fear and horror, just as fangs sank into his neck, ripping his throat open down to the bone.

The blood sprayed out, coating William's face and hands, surrounding him in the scent and texture of death. It was intoxicating. Better than the finest brandy and more exquisite on his tongue than any stealthy back-alley murder. This was power, strength, and achievement. This, was exactly what William had been searching for.

Letting the drained corpse slide to the ground, the vampire advanced on his final victim, uncaring of the gory picture he presented. The man had pulled the metal from his gut and staggered to his feet, pressing his fingers over the seeping wound. He brandished the weapon in front of him in a vain attempt to defend himself.

"G-get away from me. M-monster."

The vampire cocked his head and regarded the man through cold amber eyes. "Yes. A monster. That's what I am."

Panicked, the shunter stumbled backwards and, like William before him, caught his foot in the tracks and fell, sprawling. The vampire was on him in a second, wresting the spike from his hand and plunging it down through his shoulder and into the earth beneath. Another scream ripped from the man's throat, joined by more when moments later a second nail was driven through the other side, pinning him to the cold wet ground. The pain overwhelmed him, his sight blackening as blessed unconsciousness beckoned.

As the man went silent and still, the exhilaration William had been feeling drained away, leaving him shaking and gasping. He crawled away, head and ribs shrieking from the blows that had landed and slumped to the tracks, staring up at the sky.

Only then did he hear her, quiet scrunching over gravel as she approached.

"Oh, William. Spikes. What a pretty mess, you've made."

***

"Want. Take. Have. It's a simple as that." Darla looked into the young vampire's glazed eyes. "William?" And with a blink he was back with her.

Chapter Two

William's eyes raked across her body, their azure colour darkening to midnight blue at what he saw. "Want. Take. Have," he whispered and as he spoke, the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast.

"Do you see something you want?" Darla's voice, now quiet and acquiescent.

"Hell, yeah," he breathed, his thumb trailing over to caress around her nipple in slow circles. It pebbled under his touch, rising to press into his palm when he enclosed her entire breast.

She caught his wrist and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. "Then take, William."

***

The whip fell for the final time completing the precise pattern of marks, and Angelus flung it to the floor before lowering his head to run his tongue across the split skin, teasing the edges and savouring the flavour of her rich blood.

Drusilla whimpered, the gentleness almost as overwhelming to her senses as the brutality that preceded it. Much as she feared Angelus' touch, she craved it in equal amounts and the slow burn in her belly that had started with the first cut was flaming now to intense proportions.

She pressed up into his mouth, her untouched buttocks rising from the bed. "My Angel," she whispered, wanting so much more from him but knowing that asking would bring this to an end all too soon.

"Was there something you wanted, Dru?" Angelus' voice was harsh and twisted with displeasure. And the words escaped before she could stop them, "Take me."

He rose above her, parting her thighs and driving into her from behind in one swift movement. A delighted squeal escaped her lips and she pushed back, welcoming the feel of him inside even as she dreaded the words that would surely follow.

"Like that, do you whore? The way your Angel fucks you?" Angelus grabbed her hips, pulling out only to slam back in with all the strength of his preternatural body.

Screaming with equal parts pain and pleasure, Drusilla tossed her head back getting lost in the sensations he was causing.

"Say you've never had it better, girl. Tell me!"

"Never! Never, Daddy. Only you. Always you." She almost sobbed with relief when his hand came round to twist her clit, heightening her pleasure until all she could do was hang on to the straining bedstead as he rode her hard and try to ignore his muttered words.

"Filthy fucking whore. Letting men touch you. Opening your legs for any scum that wants it. I'll show you. Never want another after me."

As his excitement mounted Angelus grabbed her long hair, yanking her head up and back until she was bowed beneath him and he could reach her neck. With a roar he bent forwards and slashed his fangs into her throat, ripping it open until blood gushed out to spill on the already scarlet sheets. At the taste of her, his thrusts sped up, becoming erratic as he strained for completion, and the mantra of hate changed to something different, almost sobbed. "Darla, Darla, Darla!"

They reached the peak together, Dru weeping uncontrollably from his hateful words, unneeded breath rattling in Angelus' lungs as he emptied his hatred into her.

"Mine," he growled possessively, falling exhausted to her side and pulling her into his arms.

She flinched from the contact on her damaged back and answered, "Yours, my Angel. Always yours."

They lay in silence for a few moments until a deep chuckle rumbled from Angelus' chest. "I guess that boy of yours isn't up to snuff, then."

Smiling smugly against his chest, Drusilla murmured, "It doesn't matter. Grandmummy's teaching him."

The impact of the door hitting the wall brought a shower of plaster down from the ceiling and one glimpse of those scrawny globes pumping between his lover's thighs reduced Angelus to a killing frenzy. Leaping across the room he seized William and hurled him into the wall, the collision demolishing Darla's dressing table and bringing down several pictures. Angelus stalked after him to finish things once and for all, his rage at being cuckolded knowing no bounds.

Before he was even halfway there, Darla had interposed herself between them, hands planted on her hips and glaring up at her childe.

"What is this?!" she demanded, the anger in her eyes leaving Angelus in no doubt that he had overstepped his mark.

"Darla." he began, stepping toward her, his hands spread placatingly.

"Don't `Darla' me," she snapped, "You waltz into my rooms, without my consent, and proceed to assault my leman."

She paused and he tried again to interject, desperate to defend himself. "Darla, let me."

Darla interrupted, shaking her head and turning away from him slightly. "No, Angelus. What is sauce for the goose, remember. You insist on having Drusilla, despite my objections, thus it is hardly fair for you to complain when I find myself some small entertainment."

William wasn't sure whether to be insulted or grateful. He didn't consider himself `small entertainment' but on the other hand Darla was defending him, something he was hardly in a position to do since hitting the wall had exacerbated his injuries.

Sinking into despair, Angelus gripped Darla's arm and promised, "I won't take her again."

In response Darla raised her eyebrows and asked disbelievingly, "Never?"

"I promise, my love. Never." He wasn't quite on his knees but it was a close run thing.

Darla hesitated, wanting to trust him but unwilling to be duped. Then she said, "You understand that if you do then I will have William."

Head hanging, Angelus agreed and Darla fell into his arms, kissing him ecstatically. As they fell back onto the bed William went to leave, content that Dru was his at last. When he reached the door he glanced back just in time to catch the look of unmitigated hatred that Angelus was shooting in his direction. He shuddered and slipped from the room, hoping that the repercussions of this little adventure would not be as severe as he feared.

***

"Where are we going?"

Dru's pout raised an enormous grin on William's face.

"You'll see when we get there," he answered and then grabbed her around the waist, lifting and twirling her high into the air. "You'll love it kitten, I promise."

She giggled down at him, her hair whipping loose around her face, caught up in his infectious excitement and bent to kiss him. He returned it passionately, letting her slip down through the circle of his arms until her feet touched the ground once more.

The smell and touch of her aroused him to bursting point as it always did and they were both panting by the time their lips broke free.

"God, I love you," he murmured against her cheek. "I want to take you here and now. Watch your face as you come for me. Taste you, feel you, make love to you."

She squirmed against him, straddling his thigh and working herself through the layers of cloth, his affectionate words driving her body as efficiently as they invaded her heart. William, her knight protector, who had saved her from Angelus' cruelty and shown her what she had always suspected - that love didn't have to hurt. He raised her skirt, one strong hand pressing against her bare buttocks and the other wriggling underneath to slide into her body. She clenched around him, her quim already soaked and fluttering, and ground harder into his leg, her rapid breath glazing his ear.

It was moments like this William wished he could preserve forever and he tipped his head back to study her, drinking in the sight of her getting lost in the pleasure he was giving her. Eyes fluttering closed, the dark lashes creating an exquisite fringe against her flawless pale cheeks. Her mouth, moist and pink, lips parted slightly with her cat-tongue peeking through. He caught it with his teeth, biting gently, and swallowing her silent scream as she bucked hard, her hands clutching his arms as her channel grabbed and held his fingers.

Spent, she slumped bonelessly against his shoulder, her face buried in the crook of his neck and he took the opportunity to reinstate the drape of her dress and clean his fingers of every trace of her flavour.

"Tastes so good. Like strawberries and cream."

"Silly," Dru slapped his shoulder. "Strawberries are for good girls."

A stray lock of raven hair had drifted across her face, and William spiralled it around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. "You are my good girl, my beautiful girl, my girl."

They stood wrapped together, a strangely beautiful couple washed in moonlight on a hot summer night and obviously lovers to anyone walking near. Not that there was anyone to see; the roof of the Marlborough Street Police Court tended not to attract casual passers-by.

"It's a fairy palace!" Dru clapped her hands excitedly and twirled round gazing up at the vaulted ceiling. "Full of dead children and spinning stars!"

William followed her; his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his jacket. His stomach was contentedly full from the porters they had eaten and he couldn't be arsed to ask her what the hell she was talking about. A bazaar didn't seem a likely place to find dead children but if Dru said they were there, he was willing to believe her. Still she was right about the fairy palace. The thin pale light shining through the leaded roof illuminated the booths, glinting off glass and metal and throwing contorted shapes crawling up the stall fronts. Though it probably wasn't half so beautiful to human eyes.

They wandered through the passageways, Dru stopping every few feet to gaze at something in a window or to rattle at shutters that blocked her view. Eventually she paused outside a well-secured stall and stood silently for several minutes, her head cocked as if listening to ghostly voices. Keeping a close eye on her, William smashed open the lock on a nearby jewellers thinking to find Dru a pretty necklace or a brooch for Darla. He was disappointed. The stuff was cheap, not a real gem amongst it and although Dru enjoyed sparkle for sparkle's sake, nothing less than genuine would be good enough for Darla.

"Here, my William. A gay maid has to be rescued and you shall be her knight."

William joined her, twining their fingers together and raising her hand for a chivalrous kiss. "A gay maid, is it? And where would this tender morsel be hiding, m'lady?"

She giggled at his antics then pointed at the toy stall, protected behind brightly painted wooden shutters.

"They've locked her away and she's crying so loud, William. If you let her out she promises to be good."

"Well, that's all right then. I wouldn't want to take a bad girl home." He grabbed the top of the middle shutter and ripped it clear off its hinges, bending the brass retainers beyond repair.

Row upon row of dead eyes greeted him, staring out from painted porcelain faces with red cupid's bow mouths. William shuddered and quipped with fake cheerfulness, "I'd wager these are yer dead children."

Stepping back and gesturing for Dru to do likewise, he stripped off his jacket and wrapped it round his fist. Then, muttering "Want, take, have," under his breath, he smashed the window sending dagger-like pieces of glass spinning in all directions.

Dru was in before he could follow up, clambering over the shards to get to the dolls and leaving a bloody trail as the glass cut into her hands. She made directly for a small blonde one with a pink lace-trimmed dress, picking it up and cradling it in her arms like an infant.

"Hush now, my darling. Mummy has got you," she sing-songed, climbing back to the floor, ignoring William when he grasped her elbow to help her down. "And if you are good there will be crumpets and butter for tea."

***

"Why exactly are we here again? And why the hell do I have to keep dressing like this?" William tugged at his high collar and the waist of his tight livery trousers, extremely unhappy that he was being dragged back to this house in the West End for the second time in a week.

When Darla didn't answer, he continued facetiously, "You know, I was really hoping we could be best friends. After I gave you my body and all." He mock swooned against the carriage door; "I knew it. I've lost all your respect."

Darla shot him a filthy look and reached over to adjust the wig he was wearing, before commenting calmly, "Just keep quiet and speak only when you're spoken to. When we get inside try not to attract too much attention. Stay with the servants and for goodness sake don't eat anyone."

Their rented landau stopped outside the house in Norfolk Street, a typical Georgian style terrace with a grandiose entrance on the ground floor rising with increasing simplicity to the servants quarters under the eaves. William rang the doorbell and, when the butler answered, handed over the calling card Darla had given him, the second one he had delivered to this house in the last week. They were admitted immediately and while Darla was escorted to visit with the Mistress of the house, William accompanied a footman down to the servant's hall.

Upstairs, Darla found a young woman who was desperate to talk to someone, and used her well-studied persona as a minor member of the Prussian nobility to lend an air of authenticity and security to the whole proceedings.

"Have you known my darling Louis for many years?"

There were circles of exhaustion under Lily's beautiful blue eyes and a note of desperate hope in her voice. It was this that Darla planned to exploit and today's visit was the opening move in what promised to be an interesting game.

"We were formally introduced in Versailles in '71, however our families have been acquainted for several generations. He is my cousin, I believe, although at several degrees removed."

"Versailles! I hear it was a beautiful occasion but you must have been a mere child."

Fluttering, Darla accepted the compliment and shared the details of an event she had in fact witnessed at firsthand with her new acquaintance. An hour later the two women had moved from polite conversation about mutual acquaintances and on to gossiping about their men-folk. Half an hour after that they were fast friends and Lily was ready to call Darla sister.

"I love him so very much but his family will have none of it, nor me."

"And what of Edward?"

Lily dismissed her husband with a flick of her lace handkerchief. "He cares not. Fishing is his entire concern. Were it not for that I'm sure he would remain abed all day."

"Will he acknowledge the child?"

The colour drained from the young woman's face and an arm snaked protectively over her belly. "How did you know? The only one I told was Bessie."

Darla smiled, remembering the tiny dark haired lady's maid who had tried to purchase her life with this titbit of information then said reassuringly, "Louis wrote to me. He was devastated at being sent away and asked that I look out for your interests, yours and his child's."

A look of immense relief spread over Lily's face. At last she had someone who would share her burden, someone who could help her through these difficult times, someone who had only her welfare at heart. It made a change after the recent rejection and humiliation she had suffered.

"He has given me access to some monies, enough to clear your debts here in London and to provide a small stipend until the child is born, but Lily," Darla leaned forward and placed a hand on the titian haired woman's arm. "He begged me to tell you not to mention this to anyone. His family would be most displeased if they knew of my involvement so let us keep this between ourselves."

"Completely. I won't breathe a word to anyone. It will be our secret. I trust you, Darla." Lily took a deep breath, covered Darla's hand with her own and finished, "I place my child's life in your hands."

"Good girl. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Just one more thing and please understand that I have to ask you this, is there any possibility the child could be another man's?"

Momentary doubt clouded the woman's eyes and then they cleared. "No," she asserted but Darla could sense she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Not even Bertie's?"

Lily swallowed and ducked her head. "Maybe. Possibly."

Darla sat back and smiled. Whoever the father, the babe was sure to have blue blood.

"So I says to Master Bunting, t'was only a shilling the last time I bought from you and d'you know what `e told me?" There was a collective holding of breath as the servants waited to hear what gem of wisdom the sweet-maker had imparted. "'E says it's all Daisy's fault. Yon Bertie needs a sweetener these days and the price of sugar rises accordingly."

The room echoed with the sounds of laughter, accompanied by loud slaps on the back and an outbreak of general conversation. In his corner seat William smothered a yawn. For three hours he'd made small talk with the male servants and flirted with the housemaids but, much to his frustration, none were forthcoming about the family. The only topics of conversation were the exploits of high society figures, which held less than no interest to him. He was deathly bored by the whole affair and starting to feel extremely peckish. The last hour, being surrounded by humans he couldn't even have a sip from while they blatantly bared their necks, had driven him into quiet distraction and he resolved to tell Darla that she could come alone the next time, he was done with playing her servant boy.

"William?" Annie, the lady's maid, newly employed and, according to the footman, yet to settle well with the rest of the household, called from the stairs. "Your Mistress requires her carriage."

"Thank god," William muttered under his breath and while Darla said her farewells upstairs, he made his way down Norfolk Street to the Strand.

The fog had closed in again and it was promising to be a real peasouper, the first of the autumn. Rather than risk the crossing himself, William tossed a farthing to a sweeper to recall the coachman from the nearby mews. That done, he sauntered back towards the house keeping his eyes peeled for a likely meal, even in such posh areas there was always the chance of picking up a delivery boy or a beggar. One of the houses he passed attracted particular interest. As he watched from the shadows, three women dressed in nurse's uniforms entered and two others left, raising the possibility that the place was some sort of community lodging, an ideal hunting ground. All those young women with no family to look out for them or miss them? His fangs itched at the very thought. If Darla insisted on spending long hours visiting her new `friend' then, William decided, he might well exploit the situation.

Darla finally appeared at the door and after handing her into the carriage, William joined her, tearing the wig from his head the second the door was closed. Slumping back in the seat he relaxed and commented sarcastically, "Nice evening? Hope she was worth the bother `cos the servants were a waste of bloody space."

She glared at him and William flinched, belatedly remembering that he was supposed to keep up the façade until they were away from the house. The rest of the journey home was made in strained silence.

***

"Four months, Angelus. You lasted four miserable months. Then you wait until I am out of the house. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Do you really think that little of me?"

Thankfully Angelus' answer was inaudible through the walls and William was able to continue his pretence of ignoring them.

"I'm hungry, my William. Shall we go out and hunt?"

He glanced up at Drusilla's face, pausing to study her beloved features for a moment before returning to his task. "Soon, princess."

She sighed and stared toward the curtained window, her eyes taking on that far away look he was so familiar with, not even flinching as he bathed the open wounds on her wrists. Such treatment was really unnecessary, the chafes from the manacles would heal of their own accord within a few hours, but it seemed wrong to William to leave her thus bloodied. He regarded his actions as a combination of atonement and cleansing, and it was a ritual he fulfilled each time Angelus had taken her away from him.

"Do you love me?"

William glanced up again and was caught by the sudden clarity in her eyes. This was a turn around. Typically, she would drift away for hours after he was done with her and spend her time talking to the stars. Laying the cloth to one side, he took both of Dru's hands in his and brought them up to his mouth, punctuating his words with gentle kisses, first to their backs and then to her palms.

"You are my everything. My beginning and ending. Alpha and omega. I love you more than un-life itself."

Their eyes met again and beneath the all-too-brief sanity, William saw something else lurking. Something cold and honest.

"If you love me, why do you let him hurt me?"

It would have been kinder to drive a stake through his heart and William reacted the only way he could - with fury. He leapt from the bed, throwing her hands away and started pacing, running his hands through his over long hair and disgustedly pulling free the ribbon that secured it.

"Christ, Dru. Don't you think I've tried? You saw what he did to me last time and this time." He stopped, realising his anger was only fuelling her unhappiness and dropped to his knees in front of her.

Softly he added, "I can't be here all the time, my love. And Darla needed me this evening." The high collar of his footman's costume received a discontented yank to show his displeasure.

"And I need you again." A voice came from the doorway.

William looked over to where Darla was standing, still dressed in the roseate taffeta gown she'd worn on her house call. Exactly why she'd decided to cultivate the lady of that house remained a mystery to the rest of the family but they were each, in their way, wary enough of Darla's temper not to enquire too deeply.

And right now her temper looked fit to power a steam engine.

"We only just got back." William grumbled as he clambered to his feet, then he winked at Drusilla and finished cockily, "Dru and me were going out somewhere nice for dinner."

"That was not a request, boy." Darla turned on her heel and stalked off to her suite. William raised a curious eyebrow at her sudden reversion to formality, shrugged at Dru and followed.

***

Angelus hunted, the fog covering his movements as he stalked London's poorer streets rendered him a true Angel of Death, unseen and unheard until his fangs ripped the throat from some careless soul. He took three that night until he found one to his fancy. The other bodies he left in the gutter, barely tasted, for the constables to find, knowing that a madman or wild dogs would get the blame in the morning.

He tried unsuccessfully to lose himself in the chase but images of his women pursued him even as he stalked his prey. Darla, his love, his sire, and the face that saved him from an ignominious death on Galway's streets, from the pox or a well-placed knife, like as not. She was beautiful, an exquisite porcelain doll drawn in pinks and whites - and she was a whore. The stripes on her back marked her as such and there was nothing Angelus could do to be rid of them.

Sometimes, when they were together, he would sense them under his fingers and they would burn, all but rendering him incompetent. It was then he turned to Drusilla, using her to drive away his feelings of inadequacy, pounding all his resentments and hatred for those men into her body. What else could he do? Darla would think him a fool, or worse - weak, for his jealousy. She was her own woman and answered to no man, except maybe her Sire, but the idea of anyone having touched her in that way when she was still human and fragile and warm filled Angelus with impotent rage.

And now Darla was taking that outlet away from him. He was torn between wanting to destroy her and wanting to cast himself on her non-existent mercy in the hopes she may end him.

As he wandered the streets he conjured visions of her in his head, as she would have been before the Master found her; delicate and naïve, exploited and beaten, finally succumbing to the hideous vampire's kiss in a desperate bid to end her desolate life. How he wished it could have been him, that he could have been the one to bring her over because he would have done it earlier, when she was still whole and perfect. When her skin was entire like Drusilla's and before that cruel whip signed it.

Then there was this `thing' with young William. The idea that Darla would use the fledgling in such a petty way was enough to bring much needed hilarity to the situation. As if such a feeble skinny boy could threaten him.

Angelus halted in his tracks, lost in the moment. Did she think that? Did she really think so little of her childe? She was including William in her plans and taking him with her when she went out for the evening, doing whatever it was she was doing. Maybe she was teaching him? Perhaps, despite everything, she had also seen through to the potential Drusilla had noticed in the boy. What if Darla was grooming William to take his place?

That cast an entirely different light on the matter. What Angelus had considered an ill-founded threat to his manhood suddenly became a challenge to his status as head of the family.

He started walking again, then broke into a run, determined to get home and destroy the boy. That was the answer. If he staked William then whatever plans Darla had for him would die as well.

Too easy - a voice in his head murmured. She will know that you suspect her and she will find another. Worse still, she may leave you and sire another.

Again Angelus stopped, confused by his own thoughts. He then took to pacing slowly along the pavement while he tried to find some semblance of order in his head. His feet found their own way to Brick Lane and into one of its disreputable drinking establishments. Armed with a well-watered pint of beer, Angelus found a seat in the corner and sank into alcohol and plans.

When the Master had wanted Darla back, Angelus had simply offered her what he knew she wanted - a life above ground with all the human luxuries she'd become accustomed to. This was an entirely different sort of contest; one he had no easy answers for. Not knowing what it was Darla wanted made it impossible for him to offer it.

Seated at a table across the dark and smoky room, an interesting pair attracted Angelus' attention. They were nothing remarkable in themselves; in fact he saw hundreds like them everyday. The first was an older man, a costermonger in all likelihood going by his clothes. The second, younger, probably his apprentice, was hovering at the elder's elbow. As Angelus watched he was riveted by the play of body language between the two men, the way the apprentice mimicked his master's posture and gestures, laughed a moment later than him and gazed with respect filled eyes.

A hundred years ago it could have been him and Penn.

Maybe it could be him again. William was Drusilla's make and, as such, Angelus had fairly much ignored the boy unless he caused problems, relying on Dru to teach him the ropes. But if he took over, played mentor to the fledgling, winning his trust and respect, then it would effectively neutralise Darla's plan.

As for the other? If she insisted on taking William to her bed, he wouldn't gainsay her, but neither would he give up Drusilla. She was too important to him. A release valve for his frustrations, the canvas on which he painted his resentments and insecurities. She was the reflection of all he'd wanted Darla never to have been. A child corrupted, a woman driven mad and an innocent become a whore.

He drained his pint, left the pub, fed well from his fifth victim that night and started home. Darla had drawn up the battle lines and launched the opening salvo. All Angelus needed to do was batten down the hatches, ride out the storm and prepare to retaliate in kind.

***

It was past sunset the following day when Angelus finally reached home. The unusually clear October dawn had caught him unawares after days of fog and left him trapped in a coal cellar. The house was quiet and his stomach twisted with a sickening lurch at the thought that Darla may have taken the others and gone.

His long stride devoured the stairs and he wrenched open the door to Darla's suite, a large part of him expecting to find it stripped and emptied. It wasn't. Feminine accoutrements still littered the sides; the writing desk still held Darla's favourite pen and piles of clothes were draped in luxurious piles across the sofa.

Sighing with unrestrained relief, Angelus sank onto the colourful mound of jewel-toned satins and taffetas, and inhaled the sweet scent of his women that clung to the material, jasmine and lavender, musk and family. And below them the smell of blood, fresh and coming from the bedroom - William's blood.

Yesterday he would have walked away, smugly content that the youngster had been taught a lesson. Today, as William's self-declared mentor, he headed towards the chamber to discover just how angry Darla had been. Just as he reached the door it opened and William was thrust through it, falling to his knees and collapsing on the floor at Angelus' feet. The older vampire caught a momentary glimpse of blonde hair and red silk before a collection of clothing was hurled into his face, and the door was slammed shut leaving him alone with the youngster, who.

"Holy mother!"

The boy looked as if he'd been wrestling in an abattoir.

Resting on one knee, Angelus rolled William onto his back, quickly assessing the familiar looking injuries, so similar to the ones Darla had delighted in placing on his body in years gone by.

Although his nose had been bloodied and his lips bruised from pleasuring her with his mouth, the fledgling's face was basically undamaged, but it was the only part of him that had escaped so lightly. A carcanet of tearing bites twisted around his neck, each deep and penetrating. His wrists wore the bracelet evidence of restraint and attempted escape, and assorted scratches, bites and burns peppered his torso. Both nipples lay concealed under hardened wax, which trailed in stiff lines down his abdomen to his groin and it was there that Angelus paused and shuddered. The boy's engorged cock had been wrapped in red and gold ribbons, his balls drawn high up against his body and the whole was an unhealthy bruised colour, bluish purple with need. Darla must have ridden him for hours without letting him come to cause that. Tentatively, Angelus ran a hand over the distended mass eliciting a yelp as William tried to curl around himself again. At least the lad was still semiconscious.

"William!"

A pair of pained blue eyes fluttered open and frowned up at him. "Angelus?" The name was poorly enunciated around a distinctly swollen tongue.

"What on god's green earth did you do?"

Shrug.

Obviously answers were not forthcoming. Still they needed to get him cleaned up properly and the sitting room floor wasn't the best place for that. "Can you walk, boy?"

A cross between a giggle and a sob came from the floor, followed a moment later by "Yeah, I think so."

Between them they managed to get William up on his feet, where he stood hunched over and rocking slightly. He didn't look like he wanted to walk anywhere.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

William raised his head and stared at Angelus in surprise. "She done this to you?"

"A few times, years ago. These days she wouldn't dare." Angelus paused, and then finished thoughtfully, "I don't think."

That did garner a laugh, which broke off into a moan as the movement caused unwanted friction.

"Look, you need to take that lot off." An expression of terrified horror skated over William's face and Angelus chortled and qualified, "The ribbons, nothing else. I'm not about to castrate you."

"Think Darla did that already."

"You might be right. It's not pretty. Wanna cover it up?" Angelus shook out the smart grey livery trousers and offered them over with a smirk. "A good tight pair of trews."

"Ass."

It felt good to banter and, as they made their slow and painful way down to the kitchen and the running water it promised, an uneasy camaraderie developed between the two.

William leaned back against the solid kitchen table, legs apart and willing his knees not to shake. Angelus knelt at his feet and William bit back another yelp and clutched the table edge when the older vampire gently moved his sac to one side.

"Now, hold still." Wielding the knife cautiously, Angelus slipped the tip of the blade between ribbon and flesh, relying on its razor sharp edge to split the material. Neither of them had fancied this method but when fingers proved too clumsy and scissors impractical, the knife was the only option left.

The first strip parted and Angelus peeled it away to an accompaniment of quiet whimpers. Glancing up to check on his protégé's state of mind before cutting again, he was confronted by William's silent tears and screwed up eyes. The sight tugged a heartstring Angelus didn't know he still possessed and a feeling of shared and assaulted masculinity filled him.

"Hey," he said gently, "one down."

William scrubbed a tremulous hand across his face and answered, "And too sodding many left to go."

They exchanged a rueful smile, which said more than any number of words and Angelus bent back to the work in silence. As the last piece of cloth fell away, William whispered hoarsely, "I spent without her express permission."

"Ah." William's simple statement explained everything and Angelus rose to his feet, clasping the young vampire's face between his hands and staring deeply into his eyes, stormy grey with confusion and pain. "There are things you need to know about Darla, my boy. That is one of them."

When William opened his mouth to answer Angelus placed a finger over it and said, "I'll explain later. Right now you need to do something about that."

Together they looked down at William's abused genitals and William sighed. Removing the ribbons hadn't done much for the deep ache that seemed to encompass his entire pelvis. "Won't it go away if I just ignore it?" He raised hopeful eyes to Angelus.

"Maybe, eventually. But the easiest way is to bring yourself off. It's what I always did."

William nodded but didn't move, so Angelus turned to leave saying, "Do it quickly. It hurts like fuck but at least it gets it over with."

He closed the door behind him and rested his head against it, listening. After a few moments of silence came a yelp and a broken litany of curses and then silence again. The sound of the tap running followed then it was shut off and the swearing started over. For long minutes the routine was repeated, yelps and whimpers, sobs and curses until at last Angelus could take it no longer. He cracked the door open and peeped in. William was stood over the sink, panting heavily, his hand wrapped laxly around his engorged and weeping cock pumping it slowly. Every few strokes he would stop, shuddering and chewing his lip and shaking his head, only to start again a second or so later.

Angelus let rip a curse of his own. It would take the boy forever if he tried to do it like that.

Pushing the door open quietly, he slipped back into the room. William was so immersed in concentration he didn't notice he had company until Angelus touched him on the shoulder, causing him to jump and nearly fall over.

"I. It." He stammered, looking everywhere but up at Angelus, surprised and embarrassed at having been caught out so easily.

"You're not doing yourself any favours, lad, trying to be gentle. All you'll do is make it worse."

"I-I know. But."

"Do you trust me?"

William gazed up into dark unfathomable eyes and ran the question back through his head. Did he trust Angelus? The demon who had beaten him almost into his second death? The demon who took Drusilla and sometimes made her hurt so badly she couldn't walk for days? No. The answer to that was emphatically no. But, did he trust the other male who was standing before him now, the one who had suffered in this exact same way? Unequivocally, yes. When it came to an abused dick the only person you could trust was another man.

"Yeah, I think so."

Angelus lifted the glass from the lamp and extinguished the flame plunging the room into darkness, then poured oil from the reservoir into his cupped hand. Leaning back against the table where William had stood earlier, he gestured with his head, "Come here then."

Uncertainly, William approached and stood facing him, again his eyes looked at everything except Angelus. The older vampire sighed, "Turn around lad and rest against me." This would probably go easier for both of them if they didn't have to look into each other's eyes.

William did as he was bid, his legs straddling Angelus', and his body tense as he leaned back.

"Now relax."

Gently Angelus massaged the warm lamp oil into the engorged flesh but as his touch became firmer William flinched and started to pant harshly. Eventually his hand grabbed Angelus' wrist halting his movements.

"I-I'm sorry. It just hurts so bloody much."

As soon as William broke his grip Angelus started again, this time managing several more strokes before William's fingers starting fluttering over his arm. Angelus started to lose his temper and released his hold on the boy's shaft. Seizing both the hovering hands, he pulled them up until they were round his neck and growled, "Leave them there or I will cut it off."

William swallowed heavily and nodded, locking his fingers together. The position was more intimate than he would have wanted and he was painfully aware of the older vampire's hard body pressing against his back. When Angelus took up where he'd left off, William whimpered and dropped his head back onto Angelus' shoulder, unconsciously baring his neck.

Now it was Angelus turn to swallow. The sight of the boy stretched out was breathtaking. A body he'd always considered skinny or scrawny was in reality lean and covered in well-defined muscle. The skin he'd named pasty glowed in the moonlight rivalling Darla's in its translucence and pale beauty, and the whimpers and moans William made as his arousal grew were nothing short of enticing.

Angelus found his own passion rising to match William's, helped along by the way the lad was wriggling against him, his buttocks tightening convulsively as he thrust up into the tight channel created by his hand. Panting slightly, Angelus dropped his free hand to William's hip, then snaked it across his abdomen, pressing him back against his aching groin.

Pre-come mixed liberally with oil slicking Angelus' hand and the alluring scent of sex filled the air. His lips mouthed wet kisses up and down William's neck, eliciting an incredible response as the lad started to beg, "God, please Angelus. Need. I want."

"What do you want, William? Tell me, my boy." Shifting into demon face, Angelus traced the path of his kisses with small nips of his fangs.

But William was beyond words, all he could do was grasp Angelus' head and bring their lips together in a punishing kiss, their tongues duelling between their mouths, dancing bloodily from one to the other until they felt joined in an eternal twining of moist cool flesh.

The feeling spread to the rest of their bodies and they were suddenly moving in tandem, a synchronised tarantella of push and pull, advance and retreat, each getting lost in the feel of the other's body. As William started to shake with the power of his long denied orgasm Angelus ripped his mouth away and plunged his fangs into the lad's neck, tasting near ecstasy in William's blood. He drank greedily, gasping around deep draughts of blood, and shuddering as his own release swept through him soaking the front of his woollen trousers, leaving him weak in its wake.

Long moments later, Angelus became aware of a very awkward silence in the room. Not from him; though he wasn't entirely comfortable standing there with William's cock still in his hand. But he had taken Penn on occasion, so really this was nothing new.

Obviously it was for William, who was back to looking at everything except Angelus.

The older vampire felt a sudden, inappropriate and rather insane urge to chuckle at the ridiculousness of their situation, not the best thing to do in front the self-conscious fledgling. But try as he might, the feeling wouldn't go away. His chest started to vibrate and his shoulders shook as he clamped down unsuccessfully on his mirth and despite his best intentions, Angelus found his gaze drawn back again and again to William's face. The expression of horrified embarrassment he found there simply fuelled his laughter and it finally escaped, barking out and rolling around the silent room.

William threw Angelus a stricken look, tore himself from his arms and ran.

Part Three