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PARING: S/X |
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Night Terrors
by
BmblBee
Part One
London.
An unmarked, unnoticed brick, three story building sat in the center of the bustling city. It was innocuous and unremarkable on the outside, concealing the vital, critical activity that took place within.
The first floor housed the offices of the less important figures of the organization. As the level of importance of the employees moved up so did their offices. The more vital employees with the stricter security clearances were on the second floor.
The highest level was reserved for the most important few. Those who ran the Council and in turn, controlled the world. Forget the Kings and Presidents, it was the small group of humans on the third level of this quiet building that really determined the future of the planet Earth.
The third floor also held the main conference room. The war room. The space where plans, ideas and tactics were discussed. It was where the head of the Watcher's Council met with the delegates from the various sectors to receive their reports.
It was a room he himself had designed. Unbeknownst to most, it contained things that meant a great deal to him. Tomes from the library in Sunnydale. Pictures of old friends and family, most lost and long gone. It contained his past and gave him strength for the future.
There was a long, solid mahogany table that dominated the richly oak paneled conference room. Two of the walls were lined with bookshelves of reference books in all possible languages, both ancient and modern. One wall was tempered glass, flooding the room with light while, in respect for the vampires as well as other demons allergic to the sun, spelled to be strictly solar resistant.
It was an area designated for business. There was no idle chit chat, no office gossip, and no employee flirting and joking took place here. This was a room that daily decided the fate of the world.
It was early, eight am, and all chairs, save one, were full. The table was crowded, each seat occupied with it's
designated owner, human or demon, waiting in anticipation for their leader to arrive.
Each one shuffled their papers, reviewed their notes, and prepared for the short allotted time they would be given.
Expected to present their facts and figures in an efficient manner. No one wanted to be caught short. No one wished to be singled out and shown to be deficient.
The low murmur of conversation, the clatter of the water pitcher as it was poured and passed, the muffled cough or rare yawn all ceased and silence filled the room the moment the door opened and closed. It signaled the meeting was to begin. Everyone immediately sat up straight. "Good Morning Mr. Giles." The voices in the room sounded like a group of kindergartners who had been trained in the show of respect.
Giles gave no acknowledgement. He crossed the room quickly, his perfectly fitted Armani suit moved with his trim body like a silk glove. The flawless look completed with a $250.00 haircut and just a hint of cheap discount drugstore after shave given to him by a certain assistant.
Giles went directly to his captain's chair and dropped down. Directly on his heels was a small blond man who took his seat in the corner and immediately flipped open his notepad, checked his pen and began taking the notes of the morning meeting.
"Good morning, Members. I'm extremely busy this morning so this meeting is going to have to be brief."
A chorus of muttered "Yes, Sir's" and "We understand. Sir's" quickly filled the room. No one was surprised. It was the almost identical way each morning meeting was started.
No one knew if Mr. Giles was really all that busy or if he just didn't want to be fucking around, sitting at a table listening to a bunch of lackeys whining. No human or demon had enough courage to ask.
"Fine. Good then. Let's begin." Giles polished the lenses of his glasses. He glanced back at his secretary who nodded that he was prepared and he then turned to the first person sitting directly to his left. "Li Chang, what have you to report from the eastern sector?"
The older, oriental man dipped his head in a quick nod and gave his very practiced report as efficiently as possible. "We have squelched the yeti uprising with a territorial compromise. There was a minor increase in vampire activity in Nepal which was handled by the local slayer, and there is no sign of occupation around the cave of the sealed hellmouth. We have no urgent situations to report, Sir." The report was completed with another nod and Li Chang relaxed.
"Excellent. Good job Mr. Chang. Melanie Numbers, what is the status of that Zekel demon your office was dealing with in the norther region of Antarctic?"
"We..." Ms. Number's voice cracked. It was a show of weakness she would curse herself for during the next twenty years. "Sorry, we have him on ice, Sir and are assured that as long as he doesn't thaw, he will remain dormant."
Giles glanced back, he wondered what snide comment Andrew would have recorded about that blunder that they would chuckle over in bed. Andrew dipped his head, a movement that appeared, to the other's as an assurance that he was not missing anything important. Giles knew better. "That's fine, Ms. Numbers. Mr. Kl`^tkr, what is your office doing about
that jungle meercat possession?"
And so it went. On around the table. On around the world. Each area, each continent, divided up into sectors, represented by an ambassador of sorts who presented the daily report of the condition of the demon activity in their part of the planet. Upon the reorganization of the Council, Giles had been appointed as the leader, unquestioned. It was a position earned and well deserved. It was recognized as a new beginning. Something that even the most argumentative factors respected and appreciated.
The few demons who had protested and threatened to cause a disruption to the newly formed leadership were immediately dispatched. It was a move that both eliminated the problem and sent a clear message to the remaining delegates that Rupert Giles had no time for bullshit.
One of the first orders he had given was that the huge pool of slayers be immediately trained and dispatched, in groups of two or three to all the corners of the world.
Willow, his right hand, had expertly matched the strength and individual talents of the girls up with the area in which they could do the most good. It was an extremely effective situation and for the first time in the last two centuries, the Council was maintaining control and the negative demon activity which, although it could never be stopped completely,
had been dramatically curtailed.
Giles led the Watcher's Council with an iron hand.
In turn, each delegate had given a curt abbreviated report which would be followed up by a clear, concise, detailed, typed daily report that would be dropped off in a basket on the side table by the door. At that time they would all, with great relief, slip from the room and the glare of the man they feared and respected.
The last man to give his report was a small, bony, nervous man with a southern accent. His territory was North America. Always a problem area. A situation that while not his fault, he considered his responsibility and took with the utmost seriousness.
"Mr. Findley, has your California office been able to get a grip on that vampire increase?"
Findley flinched under Giles' scrutiny. "Yes Sir. We can report a fourth quarter decrease of twenty-one percent, Sir. We do however have another slight situation that has been brought to out attention. It appears that there have been several disappearances that we consider demon related. Six so far. All reportedly gay men. Traces of Pectal slime were detected at the point of disappearances. Nothing really important. I'm sure whatever is doing this will move on if we don't find it first."
Giles removed his eyeglasses and focused his piercing stare at the middle aged man who was now praying the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "What city in California?"
Findley cursed his lack of preparation and immediately began frantically fumbling through the pages of his written report, his hands shaking, his fingers twitching. With a huge sigh of relief, he located what he needed. "Oxnard, Sir. Oxnard, California." His smile of success lasted only a second when he saw the look that passed between Rupert Giles and his secretary Andrew and Andrew's worried answering nod.
Giles instantly shoved back his chair and stood, looming over the cringing group of delegates. "OUT! Out, all of you! Meeting over! Get out!"
The room exploded in activity. It took less that sixty seconds for the room to clear. Still, to their credit, each delegate dropped their report in the basket before disappearing, thanking their lucky stars that they were not responsible for the Northern sector and returning to the safety of their own offices.
Andrew promptly rushed to Giles side. "Don't jump to conclusions, Rupe. I'm sure he's fine. After all, this is Xander we're talking about. He's too smart to...........shit."
Part Two
Giles stood facing out the huge conference room windows with his rigid back to the scrambling underlings who were leaving as quickly as possible. Immediately, Andrew riffed through the basket till he found the California report and he closed the door as the last one left.
His eyes scanned the brief outline, that really offered no more facts than had been given, and he checked the back of each page to make sure he hadn't missed something.
"There really isn't much here, Rup, but I think it's way too soon to start to panic. After all, there must be thousands of gay men in Oxnard. Besides, the report indicates that there isn't any positive evidence of demon involvement. They just disappeared. Hell, people disappear everyday. Could be murder, could be suicide, shit, they might not even be dead. Might be transients that just moved on. I think the first thing we need to do is check with the local authorities and see what angle they are perusing."
The Head Watcher's stiff unmoving posture gave no indication that he had even heard what his assistant had said and the silence dragged on. Andrew took two steps forward.
"Rup? Is there something........."
"Call Willow. Get her down here. NOW."
Without another word, Andrew left to do as he was told. He knew when it came to the possibility of danger to one of his children, the Ripper was not to be questioned.
Down the hall and to the left, Willow's office was the corner one that provided the light and extra windows that her plants needed to grow and thrive. Dressed in a long skirt and peasant blouse, her hippie appearance was a direct contrast to her all business attitude.
Sitting behind her desk with her glasses perched on her nose, she punched the intercom button. "Milly, do you have those invoices for last months herbs and spell ingredients? I need the ones that coincide with the artifacts Wesley has."
The voice on the other end had the answer Willow expected. Milly always had what Willow requested, usually before she asked for it. Milly was what Willow called "priceless". The middle aged woman was one of the few hold overs from before the destruction of the old Council and she had been invaluable in helping blend the new with the old.
"Yes, Ms. Rosenberg, I'll bring them right in. Oh, Ma'am? Andrew is here and he says Mr. Giles needs to see you in the main conference room."
Willow took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk. She rubbed her hands over her tired eyes and scratched her short bitten fingernails across her scalp, ruffling her chin length red hair. "O.k. Tell him it will be a while. I really need to log these expenses and file the reports on last months trip to Africa. Maybe we can have lunch, oh, no wait, I already have an appointment with the lab at noon. Tell him...."
Before she could finish, the voice on the other end of the intercom cut her off. "Willow, it's Andrew. Giles said to come now. We have a situation in Oxnard."
The last syllable of the last word had barely left his mouth when the door flew open and Willow's sensible, flat sandals flew past him and down the corridor, Andrew hustled to keep up.
"What's happened?" She tossed the question back over her shoulder without slowing down.
"We aren't sure." Andrew rushed ahead to open the door for her. "Maybe nothing. You know what a worry bug Rupert can be."
Willow raised her eyebrows at the endearment but said nothing. It was a well known, never discussed secret that the Head of the Watcher's Council was fucking his assistant. Opinions ranged from mild disinterest to gratitude to the young man for supplying what appeared to be a very stress relieving relationship. A Rupert Giles that was satisfied at night was much more reasonable by day.
The door opened and Willow marched in. "What is it, Giles? What's happened?"
Fear and frustration flared behind his eyes, and Giles wanted to scream at her that if she had attended the morning meeting she would know, but he didn't. He prided himself on his control and restraint. Proper English behavior prevented such undignified antics. That and a healthy respect for the power of the strongest witch in the Northern hemisphere.
Instead, he handed her Findley's report, which she scanned quickly and, copying Andrews movement of earlier, flipped it over twice to make sure there wasn't hidden information on the back. There wasn't.
"So, what does it mean? All it says is that six gay men have disappeared in the last four months. Were there any bodies found? Any evidence of demon activity? Oh, God, Giles, there are no names of victims listed. You don't think.........? Shit, Giles, has anyone spoken to him? GILES, IS XANDER SAFE?"
Andrew cringed as he saw the aura of red begin to appear around Willow's head. A dangerous indication that the witch was becoming agitated and upset. A certain sign that any normal, well thinking person would run like hell. Andrew took two steps back.
Giles immediately stepped forward and put his arm around her shoulders. Willow was one of his own. He had stood by her through the good times and the bad. He had loved and raised her from a young teenager to the woman she was now. There was only love and respect in his heart. He was the only one who had no fear of her. Willow was enormously grateful for that. "Calm down, Willow. We need to look at this rationally. The most important thing right now is to make sure Xander is safe. Has anyone heard from him at all? Anyone? Anything?"
Willow's eyes dropped to the table. In a flash she remembered the last time she had spoken to him, touched him, wrapped her arms around him.
They had escaped. They had survived. The bus stopped outside the crater that had once been their home, their universe. Together the survivors had stared down into the graves of their friends and families and they wept. Xander had squeezed her hand as he cried. His parents, his co-workers, his Anya. All gone. All dead.
Willow, too, had been devastated and so caught up in her own sadness and shock that she didn't realize till much later how broken Xander was.
At first, everyone had stayed together. The bus carrying the slayers, the victors, had ended up at an out of the way motel. One that scarily resembled the Bates motel from the movie Psycho. It was a joke that allowed the tension to break. After what they had just faced, a looney with a knife and a dead mother couldn't even begin to rattle them.
For the first twenty-four hours no one slept. Huddled together in one room they sought comfort and they comforted. They cried, whispered, questioned, and consoled. Some just rocked and sobbed. The injured were tended to and began healing.
By the third day, they had started to break off into groups of two, three and four. Wandering out and starting to inhabit separate rooms. Giles had forced himself to again take control. He knew if he didn't immediately take charge of what was left of the Watcher's Council, a demon coup would overthrow and try to run it, making it almost impossible to rebuild.
No, that couldn't be allowed to happen. The time was now. He gathered everyone together in the small courtyard at the rear of the motel and the first meeting of the new Council of Watchers took place. He told them that he still had access to small hidden accounts in banks in London. He would buy tickets for them all and they would go, claim the brick building and move in. They would be the new power.
The new slayers would immediately begin training and the Council would execute a plan to again control the demon population of the world. This setback would not allow the delicate balance to tip the world in favor of the evil.
Just having a direction and a plan, turned the tide. The air sparked with hope and anticipation. The feeling of hopelessness lifted and it looked like the sun may just keep it's promise to continue rising after all.
By the end of the week, the arrangements were in place. The excitement of a new beginning had everyone walking on clouds of euphoria. Willow had never noticed how quiet Xander had been and if she did, she was sure it would be
different, he would be different, once they were in England.
Willow continued to stand silently, staring down as she remembered that morning. The last morning.
They had no bags to pack. No personal belongings. They had all agreed to go as they were and buy what they needed once they got there. Giles had gotten them all tickets on the first flight of the morning and they eagerly collected
outside by the bus.
Willow rushed to Xander's room concerned that he had overslept. That was just so like him that it gave her hope. She banged twice on his door then rushed in. "Xan. Come on. Get your lazy ass up. The bus is waiting. Xan?"
She saw the note immediately. She knew bad news when she saw it. Cautiously, as though she feared it may bite her, she picked it up.
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My dearest Willow, |
So they left him behind. A decision Willow had always regretted. He had promised to stay in touch, but he hadn't. No one had known anything of him until a few years ago when out of desperation, Willow had done a locator spell and found him living in Oxnard.
Giles had assigned an agent in that area to keep an eye on him and submit regular reports. They said very little. They said he was alive. For Willow, that had been enough.
Part Three
Xander stretched and rolled over in the big, soft bed. He rubbed his face in the warm pillow and inhaled the sweet scent of strange after shave. It was the only remaining indication that someone other than himself had occupied the space.
He smiled as he recalled the night before. The small, slim blond young man he had brought home and fucked into the mattress. His hand slid slowly down over his chest, pausing to flip his fingernail over his swollen nipples, a move that sent waves of tingles to his morning wood.
The boy had been young, legally of age but inexperienced and shy. At thirty, Xander had seemed confident, strong and the boy had been extremely flattered that someone like Alexander Harris would take notice of him.
Xander rolled over on his back and put both hands into play as he thought about how they had met. His fingers brushed over the fine hair trail that ran, like a lazy creek, to flow into the roaring river of thick, black bushy hair. He prided himself on his hard, flat stomach, the result of hours and hours of working out at the gym.
As usual he had gone out of town. Although he owned the most successful gay strip club in town, Xander had strict personal rules about dating, or even casually fucking, someone that worked or frequented there. It could be a complication to his near perfect life.
He preferred the nameless, anonymous sex that came from one night stands. Meet 'em, fuck 'em and boot them out the door. A routine that worked well for him. He was a private man. He had few close friends and he liked it that way.
Since his rebirth at the end of the past life, Xander had been afraid of nothing but commitment. The day he had walked away from that desert motel was the beginning for him. He had, over the last ten years, almost completely blocked out the memory of the time before. Sometimes, he almost thought it was all just nightmares. He had all but convinced himself that he was only remembering past bad dreams and not real life.
His missed Willow and his memories of her as a small child in grade school. He knew they had gone to high school together but he didn't dwell on that time.
His heart twinged with a sadness he refused to examine if a stray thought of Giles entered his mind. He remembered a nice man, a librarian, that had been good to him. Buffy was a blank. Her name and face obliterated.
When people asked about his parents, he explained that they had died in a freak accident that he preferred not to talk about. That was true.
Xander spread his legs and drew his knees up, putting his feet flat on the bed. One hand rolled his balls as the other hand reached toward the bedside stand. Digging through the drawer, he found by feel what he needed.
The boy had never been actually fucked before. He was fresh, just barely out of the closet. He had cheerfully given his cherry to the handsome, strong man who had bought him drinks and danced with him. The only quirk the man seemed to have was that he wanted to call the boy "Spike" when he fucked him. When the man in the bar had asked, the boy
said he didn't care.
Xander laid the tube of Anal Eze on his chest and reached again into the drawer as his other hand wrapped loosely around the shaft of his rigid, warm cock. The fingers of his left hand gripped the smooth, rubbery, cock shaped dildo
as his right hand stroked his own. His was tender, the purple head still slightly sore from the night before.
Xander's cock dripped and he moaned at the memory of how tight the boy's ass had been. Releasing his throbbing shaft, Xander quickly lubed up the long, thick vibrator. He then ran his slippery fingers over his own puckered, tight opening just as he had done for his partner.
He had put the boy on his knees, shoving the blond's face into the pillow and running his hands over the sweet, round, ass. Xander had shushed his fears and taken his time toying, fingering, and lightly breaching the tight ring. He slid one finger in and felt the boy tighten in anticipation. Xander now squeezed around his own finger.
Virgin or not, Xander was no fool. He tore open a foil pack and quickly slid a condom down over his aching, eager dick. He knew he was clean and had himself tested almost obsessively as a fear of death haunted him.
His cock hardened more and the muscles on his inner thighs strained as his knees fell open. He knew he should give it more time and the boy had begged his reassurance that it wouldn't hurt, but Xander couldn't wait.
Remembering the moment. The intense feel of the virgin ass clamp around his hungry cock as it forced it's way in, Xander lifted himself up and shoved the dildo deep inside, reveling in the pain and burn. "Oh, fuck."
The boy had stiffened, his body reacting to the sudden intrusion and splitting pain, he had cried out. It only served to make Xander harder.
"Ow. Ow. Wait, I want to stop."
"Shhh. Hold still and relax. Let your body feel me. Jesus, you feel so good. Come on, Baby. That's it, I promise it's gonna be so good if you just relax."
Xander slid his hand around and felt the boy's now softening cock. He held their bodies still where they connected and he began to lick, kiss and nibble the boy's neck as he stroked. "God, you taste so good. I could just bite your neck like a vampire. You ever been bit? You ever been sucked? Next time I'll suck your cock till you cum in my mouth. You want that, Baby? You want me to suck your cock?"
Gradually the boy's young prick began coming back to life as he groaned at the nasty words being whispered in his ear.
The memory felt strong, erotic. Xander pulled the rubber cock back and shoved it in deeply. "Ugh. Oh, fuck, Spike. Just like that."
When the boy was fully hardened, Xander began rocking, his cock just slightly moving in and out. Within minutes, the boy's breathing became more erratic and he was moving too. Xander pulled out further and pushed in roughly. This time the reaction was different.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Damn, you're fucking me. You're really fucking me."
Xander had chuckled and then let himself go. Blocking out the boy beneath him, he slipped easily into his fantasy world of another blond. One less specific. One whose face he could hardly remember, but whose name always brought on an orgasm that nearly blew the head off his cock.
"Ug,ug,ug, yeah, Spike, shit, Spike."
It was the chant he muttered last night. It was the chant he repeated this morning.
He listened to the wordless grunts and moans and imagined them coming from other lips. His ears detected a faint accent. It made his sac draw up and the electric zing roll down his spine. His backbone curled around the boys and Xander shot his sperm into the latex.
His warm, sticky release filled the tip of the condom and he was only slightly aware that his companion was also jerking, pumping cum over Xander's hand and onto the sheets of his bed.
Xander's eyes rolled back as he relived the night before. He rammed the thick, heavy, false cock, pistoning it into his body as his fist stripped his slippery meat.
"Spi....." The internal muscles gripped and rippled as the name spilled from his lips and the wet cum shot from his cock. It was always then, in that split fraction of a second, as the first shot of cum erupted from his painful erection that he thought he could remember. Behind his eyelids, it was almost there. A smiling face. Blue eyes and sharp cheek bones. A profile distinct and clear, but then just as quickly, it was gone. Fading, more forgotten with each squirt till Xander collapsed, sated, happy, mindless and boneless.
Afterglow time was thirty minutes. Period. If he was alone, like this morning, he would leap from bed and head happily
to the shower. If he was not alone, after thirty minutes, he soon would be.
"Thanks. Had a great time. Stay? No, sorry, that doesn't work for me. Yeah, sure, just leave your number and I'll call sometime. Yeah, I know, but I've been called worse."
Xander Harris could be a prick.
Part Four
Buzzz
"Good morning. A.I. Angel Investigations. To speak to an investigator in English, please press #1. All demon languages, press #2. "beep" If this involves an infestation, press #1. Vampire attack, press #2. All wereanimals, press #3. Other dimensional projection, press #4.
Giles fingers waggled unsurely over the telephone keypad. He wasn't sure what the problem, if there was one, was. What were those options again?
"Oh, for heavens sake, Harmony, just pick up the receiver."
"Hey, hi, Giles. Why didn't you pick a number? You know I spent a lot of time researching the set up of this phone system to be the most efficient possible."
Giles sighed. After the recovery from the great fall of Wolfram and Hart, Angel had gone back to the basics. A simple agency that investigated and dispatched problems of the paranormal and demon variety. Helping the helpless he called it.
Unfortunately, some remnants of the huge conglomerate had survived. Harmony had been one of them and Angel wisely felt it was smarter to keep her around where he could watch her and keep her evil activities to overshopping and clubbing rather than mass murder.
Wesley was the other survivor but, for reasons he won't discuss, he chose two years ago to join the rebuilt Council in London rather than remain with Angel. Giles, of course, never queried him. It wouldn't have been proper.
"Harmony, dear, wouldn't it be better to just answer the phone and ask the caller what they want?"
Harmony's silence indicated she was trying to reason that one out. Something that may take more time than Giles had.
Today. This week. "Harmony? Look, is Angel around? I need to speak to him."
"Huh? Oh, yes, sure."
Harmony pressed the intercom button then tipped her head back in the direction of the inner office door way and shouted. "Hey, Boss. Pick up line #1. It's Giles. Rupert Giles from the Council."
Angel's enhanced hearing cringed at the double assault of the booming voice over the intercom and shouting from just outside the doorway. He resolved to again try to explain to her how it all worked. Something he knew would be a waste of time.
Instead, he simply picked up the phone. "Rupert. It's good to hear from you. How is everyone? How's the Council coming along? Um, how's Wesley?"
"We are all well, thank you. The establishment of the new Watcher's Council has gone better than we could have hoped. The past few years have been difficult ones but things are now very methodical and demon activity kept, for the most part, in check. We are, as they say, a well oiled machine."
"So, Wes is good?"
"What? Oh, yes, we are all fine. So kind of you to be concerned. Angel, the reason I called is more of a personal nature than professional. We have a possible situation in Oxnard and as your agency is the closest, I wondered if you could do some checking into it for us."
Angel became momentarily distracted at the thought of a well oiled Wes, and it took him a minute to return to track.
"Oxnard? Isn't that where Xander Harris is? Is something wrong with the boy? Has he finally contacted you?"
"No. We haven't spoken to him. The thing is, one of our delegates reported some strange disappearances there. All the victims were men, apparently gay men. and all disappeared without a trace. It could be nothing, it could be a human legal matter. However, under the circumstances.........."
"Yes, yes or course. Tell you what Rupert, I'll have the matter checked on immediately and get back with you within the hour. Um, if I can't reach you, will someone else, like maybe Wes, be there to take my call?"
"No, no. This is too important. I will wait by the phone. I promise you that I will be here till I hear from you. Thank you, Angel. Thank you very much."
Angel slumped in his over sized, plush leather chair. He checked the small clock on his huge desk. He was late. An hour late to be exact. He always liked to start his daily brooding by 11:00 am and here it was almost noon. Glancing up, Angel rolled his eyes and shook his head as he saw the man leaning on the door frame. Hoping against hope that he would just walk away, Angel turned his back to the figure and waited.
Spike chuckled, pushed off and sauntered in."What's the matter, Peaches? That doesn't look like your usual "woe is me" face. Something up? Somethin' Old Spikey can do for you? Suck your dick? Lift my legs and air out the old prick pipe?"
Angel flinched and spun in his chair till he faced his obnoxious childe. "Shut up, Spike. You disgust me, you know that? I told you before, anything that happened between us was a fucked up mistake and will NEVER happen again."
Spike snorted. His eyes couldn't meet his sire's and hard as he tried to cover it up, his voice carried that twinge of sadness that he hated so much. "Yeah, I hear you. Never again. Not until hell freezes over, or you get drunk enough. Or lonely enough Or maybe just when you get to thinkin' about Buffy again. Isn't that who you pretend you're with when you're puttin' it to me?"
Angel opened his mouth then closed it again. What was the point? What would they gain by having the same argument they had every day. Besides, as disgusted as it made him feel, Angel knew Spike was not entirely wrong. Angel would inevitably fuck Spike again, but not while visions of Buffy danced in his head. No, the naked images would be male. English and very proper. The fantasy would be Wes.
Angel missed Wes. He wanted him back. He wanted him in his bed with his legs tossed over Angel's shoulder's making that cute little piggy grunt every time Angel slammed it home. Angel couldn't believe Wes had actually left him. Walked out over a stupid disagreement. Left because Angel refused to be public about their relationship. Abandoned ship because Angel refused to let him go along on demon hunts. He never did appreciate Angel's efforts to keep him safe.
At first, he was sure Wes would be back. He had waited. Hell, he was still waiting it was just that sometimes the waiting got too hard, the loneliness too deep. And that's when he gives in. That's when all the borrowed blood in his body floods to his groin and fucking Spike up the ass begins to look like a good idea.
Unfortunately, after pumping copious amounts of cum into him, the brain functions resume and the self loathing kicks in. "Why do you stay here, Spike? If you hate me so much, why do you stay?"
Spike shrugged and looked down at the chipped black nail polish. "I dunno to tell you the truth. Got no place else to go, and sides, always plenty of demons need killing. Always a dangerous new case comin' cross your desk that need's that special Spikey touch."
Suddenly, Angel's eyes lit up and he had the perfect solution. Talk about killing two birds with one stone, Angel held a rock that could flatten about five of the little bastards. "You're right! Sit tight, buddy boy, I have the perfect case for you."
Snatching up the phone, Angel hit speed dial and within seconds Giles had picked up.
"Watcher's Council. Rupert Giles speaking."
"Giles, Angel here. I made some phone calls....." Angel crossed his fingers at the lie. "........but can't find out anything specific about that situation we discussed. I know how vital this is so I am sending someone there immediately. A field agent who can get the whole story and report back."
"Fine, fine. Thank you Angel. We will keep in close contact until we know, yes?"
Angel had climbed aboard the 'how does this benefit me most' train and figured if he was going for a ride, he might as well travel first class. "Yes, of course. Now I have found that in an operation like this, it works best if I have one contact there that I work with. Oh, I know. Why don't you give me Wesley's number and I can call him immediately as
soon as my agent arrives there."
Spike sat scowling in his seat. He had a fairly good idea that he was the field agent being sent who-knows-where for the Council of Wanker's, but Angel's nervous fidgeting was a bad sign.
Spike had an inkling that Angel was just about to fuck him up the arse again, and not in the good way.
Part Five
Using his key, Xander entered the back steel door of the Fabulous ( no longer, Ladies) Club. He picked the mail off the floor where the postman had dropped it into the slot and flipped through it as he walked towards his office.
Bill, bill, bill, credit card offer, notification that his TV Guide subscription was about to run out, National Enquirer, and a catalog from Wedgies, the premier thong maker in the business.
This was his routine. It was the same thing he had done every morning for the past eight years since buying the place. It was funny the way it had happened. Xander never thought of himself as a business man. He had been bar tending here for a couple years when the owners posted a notice that they were selling.
The idea had come to him like a bolt from the blue. He had a sizable savings account in the bank and just knew he could make the changes needed to build this into a thriving business.
He had been right. Starting with the basics of higher class dancers, expensive drinks and a cleaner establishment aimed more for gay men than cheap, giggly housewives, and the bottom line had shot through the roof. Xander Harris was a success.
Xander breezed into his office, dropped the mail on his desk, and punched the button on his coffee maker. He grabbed up the remote and aimed it at the flat screen that hung on the wall. Judge Judy was on and he hated to miss her.
Instantly, the local news popped up. Xander hated the news and never watched it or read a paper. It was depressing. It was hopeless. It gave him a feeling of edgy anxiousness so, like everything else that stirred uncomfortable feelings, he avoided it.
His world was right here and the only thing that concerned him was what occurred in his own life.
'Besides,' he thought. 'why worry about something I can't change? Leave world issues to world leaders.'
Dropping down into his soft, swivel chair he aimed the remote, then, just before he could pull the trigger, something caught his eye. Instantly, he sat up straight and turned up the volume.
".............has been reported missing. Jack Hampton is the sixth man to go missing in the last one hundred days. Police are not releasing specific facts that lead them to believe there is a connection between all these victims but authorities are asking anyone with information to please contact them immediately."
When the pictures of the six men appeared on the television, Xander shot up out of his chair. He recognized them immediately. Of course he could be more certain if the reporter showed the victims from the back of the head, but, no. Xander was positive.
Except for the boy he had fucked last night, those were the last six men he had picked up and taken home over the course of the past four months.
Xander took a step back. He could feel the anxiety begin to build. It was a condition he had wrestled with for years. He would wake from nightmares he couldn't remember, his body soaked in sweat, his heart pounding, nearly exploding from his chest, his lungs gasping from lack of oxygen.
Quickly, he began frantically riffling through his desk drawer. 'Pills, where the fuck are those damn pills?'
Xander hadn't needed them in years, yet he always kept a fresh bottle on hand. When he finally found them he took two, without water, and he began pacing.
"What the fuck? I mean seriously, what the fuck? Should I call the cops? No, no, not yet. Not till I find out what the fuck. They were fine. When they left me, they were fine. Oh, my God. It's my fault. If I hadn't tossed them out they wouldn't be dead. Who said dead? Not dead, just missing. Maybe together. Maybe there's a gay man convention
somewhere and they all went together. Shit. No one invited me. I should be pissed off. O.k., wait, I'm losing focus."
Xander's stomach twisted up like a sailor's knot. It was an old feeling. A familiar feeling that had plagued him for years. It was what originally drove him to the Hard Man gym on the corner where he had built his body up into a rock hard, self defense, machine.
It was one of the things that had helped him conquor "the fear." The nameless, faceless, thing that ate him up and owned his old life. But he had put all that behind him. He was a new man. He had sucessfully blocked out anything before ten years ago and he was free. Or so he thought.
But now it was back. It slammed into him and terrified him with whispers of unknown horrors. Things that go bump in the night and gobble up small children in their beds. Xander grabbed his head as a migrain threatened to start and he whimpered. Suddenly a poem his Grandma had read him as a very small boy ran through his head.
Little orphan Annie came to our house to stay.
To wash the cups and saucers and brush the crumbs away.
To shoo the chickens off the porch, to brush the hearth and sweep
To make the fire and bake the bread and earn her board and keep.
And all us little children, when the supper things is done,
we sit round the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun.
A listenin' to the witches tales that Annie tells about
and the goblins'll getcha if ya don't watch out.
Xander was shook. Where the hell had that memory come from? He hadn't thought of that in twenty years. Looking back at the television, he saw that they had moved on to a story about the flooding in the midwest and he turned the set off.
He briefly considered calling the police, even going so far as to pick up the reciever and quickly dropping it back down. Deep inside him, he knew that could be a grave mistake.
How would it look? He was the last one with each of these men and now they were missing. The cops would label him the next Hannable Lector and lock him up faster than one of his dancers could drop a G-string.
No, the best thing to do was wait. If the authorities tracked him down, he would lawyer up and refuse to talk. After all, he was innocent. "Fuck! he muttered. "The fucking prisons are full of innocent men."
Xander paced back and forth in the small office. He knew, even at thirty years old, he was too pretty to go to prison. If he couldn't make a relationship last more than thirty minutes how the hell could he be married to Bubba for twenty to life? Xander wiped his sweaty palms on his freshly ironed tan Dockers and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.
Something about this whole situation felt sickeningly familiar. Like a bullet he had know was coming and had so far been able to dodge. But that didn't make any sense. How could he possibly expect a situation of this magnitude.
Xander screwed the palms of his hands into his eyes. The headache was growing, getting worse, right along with the nausating feeling of doom in his bowels.
It was starting. That thing that lived in the back room of his brain was rattling the door and trying to get out. He had over the years developed several ways of controlling the thing that lived there, or at least thought he had. Now it felt stronger, stronger than any of his chains could hold.
It was the creature called memory. It was from the time before and he had, up till now, kept it under lock and key. He'd fucked a therapist once who told him memory repression was a dangerous thing that had a way of biting you in the ass and that he should try to work through it.
Xander had tossed the man out before his thirty minute allotment. He resented the invasion of his privacy. No one could understand but Xander's refusal to remember was his self preservation. He knew if he looked too closely at the past, it could kill him. So he didn't. He used alcohol, marijuana, sex, any distraction he could and had sucessfully reduced it to a vague memory. He had it in check. He had it conquored.
But now, he knew by instinct, that it was still there. He may have closed it off, but it was still there, waiting to burst out and when it did, it may just scare him to death.
The poem is titled Little Orphan Annie by James Whitcomb Riley and was one my Mother read to me as a young child.
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