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Night Terrors

by
BmblBee

Part Sixteen

Spike had settled in nicely. The hotel suite was clean, large, high priced and came with all the amenities that a vampire of his stature required. Naturally, Angel was picking up the tab.

He had responded to a light knocking on his door at around 4:00 am and was delighted to see a cooler of O+ waiting just outside. He set it on the table and happily went to the bathroom to bake his chilled body in the huge, waterfall shower.

Afterward, he slipped on a pair of black satin sleep pants and trotted barefoot into the living room. He then dropped down on the sofa and turned on a pay-per-view movie. Porn, of course. The night had been an amazing one. He had returned to the club with the intention of speaking to someone in charge about the missing men and enjoy a drink or two. He also thought he may have a repeat performance of the famous Billy Bob dance but the cowboy either didn't work tonight or he was already tap dancing on the head of someone else's lap.

Just as well, the ensuing confrontation with Harris more than made up for the lack of pitty pat on the old pecker. He chuckled when he remembered the stunned expression on Harris's face when he realized who it was and the way he turned tail and ran.

Spike scowled. For a second he honestly thought the whelp was going to deny knowing him. Spike shook his head. 'Impossible.' he thought 'No one ever forgets William the Bloody, and especially after all we went through together.'

Spike realized, with some surprise, that that actually bothered him. They had fought side by side. True, there had been some really bad times in the past, including fucking the demon girl and the little misunderstanding with Spike's relationship with Buffy but, by the last days, Spike really believed they had come past that. Maybe not best mates, but, something.

"Shit!" Spike stomped around the small living area. "I fucking died for them and the ungrateful shit didn't even thank me." Spike threw his arms in the air and could feel himself working into a froth when he was suddenly interrupted by another knock at his door.

Xander had arrived at the hotel nearly twenty minutes earlier. He had sat in the lobby, arguing with himself for so long security was starting to look at him oddly. A little voice in his head had screamed at him to run. Just get up and leave. Xander recognized the voice as the same one he had heeded ten years ago and he want to listen to it now, but he knew
he couldn't.

Something inside him had always known this day would come and now it was here. His past had finally caught up with him and was waiting in room 801.

Punching the elevator button, Xander selected the floor written on the back of the card he held in his hand. He snorted. He always thought the elevator to hell would be going down, not up to the penthouse.

In no time, he heard the ping and stood back as the doors slid open. Almost on auto pilot, Xander stepped out and marched toward the door of doom.

He checked the number on the card against the one on the door. He double checked. He listened. He waited. He held his breath and lifted his hand. He knocked on the door.

Still agitated, Spike jerked the door open. Although both men fully expected the other, both stood speechless. Xander's eyes scanned the top of the familiar white blond hair down to the beautiful blue eye and sharp cheek bones.

Spike's naked, slim, firm torso was exactly as he remembered and Xander was suddenly struck by the realization that every man he had chosen to take to his bed was a pale imitation of the man who now stood in front of him. He blushed when he recalled how each powerful orgasm came with the name 'Spike' rolling off his tongue.

Xander made no move to enter. "I just had to see. I had to know you were real and not just another nightmare."

Spike smirked and puffed with pride. It had been a long time since he had been someone's nightmare and it tickled him more than he could put into words. "Real enough. But look at you. All grown up. Baby bird flew the nest and made a right life for himself," Spike cocked his head to the side, "or maybe the Slayer tossed you out. That what happened? She decided that after Sunnydale was gone she didn't need you anymore?"

The memories had returned earlier but now the real flood gates opened and all the emotions and insecurities that went with those memories came rushing back, slamming into Xander with such a force he staggered, his stomach rolled and all the blood rushed to his feet.

"I never should have come here. It was a mistake. I need to go." Xander spun on his heels but was stopped before he could repeat his earlier escape.

"Wait. Harris, wait. Shit, you know what an arse I am. Don't go. Come in for just a minute. Talk to me for a sec. That whole Slayer remark was uncalled for."

Xander stopped. He still didn't recall one hundred percent of the before time but he knew one thing for sure, that was the closest he had ever heard Spike come to an apology. Besides, Xander needed answers. He had come here for the truth and was determined to get it. Reluctantly, Xander eased over the threshold.

Spike stood back, giving the man plenty of room to pass and Xander stepped inside. He knew he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life but he needed to make it. He had to know. He needed that classic therapy term, 'closure.'

"Why are you here, Spike? After all these years, why are you bothering me now? How did you find me?" Suddenly another thought popped into Xander's head, one he hadn't considered before. "Are you alone? Are the others with you? Did you all come here to drag me back into that hell that used to be my life?"

Spike tipped his head and looked at the man in front of him. He saw the raw fear in his eyes and smelled the rank terror that rolled off his heated human body. Surprisingly, Spike took no joy in what he was causing. "No, Xander, no one else is here. Just me, just your old pal Spike. Just come to chat with you a bit. That's all. Please, sit down a minute and let me explain, all right?"

Reluctantly, he lowered himself into a hard wooden chair, never taking his eyes off the vampire and maintaining plenty of space between them. He was prepared to dash to the door if need be.

Spike continued to study the man in his room. He was stunning. Tall, dark, strong, absolutely gorgeous. How could this possibly be the same goofy, stuttering boy that had stood so bravely the night of the fall? Spike was overwhelmingly drawn to the familiarity of him combined with the newness.

Spike dropped down onto the sofa across from Xander and sighed. "I didn't come here to do anything to you Xander. Willow had done a locator spell years ago and we knew you lived here in Oxnard, but it was your choice and your life so we didn't interfere. I was sent here because of the missing men. The Watcher's Council thinks it's demon related and contacted Angel. Angel sent me and, well, here I am." Spike threw his arms out and smiled his biggest smirk/smile.

"I saw you die. Burn up in the basement. I remember going back for you and you were kissing Buffy, then you.....died."

Spike leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head in defeat. "Yeah, painful that. But, apparently the Powers weren't done toying with me. I ended up being spit back out of that damn amulet, right into the great Poof's office. Seemed I had nowhere else to go, so, I stayed. Been there ever since." He lifted his face and looked sadly into Xander's.

Xander waited. That sounded like the truth but it also had the ring of 'not quite everything' to it. That's when it all came together in his mind and Xander leaped to his feet. His face turned red as he became more and more upset.  "So, Willow did one of her little spells and now you all know that I was with each of those men before they disappeared. Great. Well let me tell you right now that it was NOT my fault they vanished. I didn't do anything to them but have sex with them. It was an ugly coincidence that they disappeared right after."

Spike's eyebrows shot straight up. 'Well, well,' he thought. 'Isn't this an interesting turn of events.'

Part Seventeen

Kim Li knew if he had been a bit more flexible, he would have kicked himself in the ass. What had seemed like the right thing to do at the time now, in retrospect, was probably the biggest mistake of his life.

Xander was his best friend and had been for the past eight years. He gave an uneducated, dancing rent boy the chance to improve himself in life and work his way up to a managerial position he knew he hadn't been qualified for. But Xander had faith in him and Kim had done all he could to prove that faith was not misplaced.

For that and a million other reasons, Kim loved Xander. He loved Xander with all his heart and would sell his soul if that love were returned, but it wasn't and Kim knew what they had was better than nothing. It was more than a friendship. It was a relationship.

He also knew Xander had serious issues. Repression issues that centered around his past and the final days before the fall of Sunnydale. Kim respected that and never pushed, even when his curiosity nearly drove him to distraction. He knew Xander went out of town and he knew what his friend did there. That was another issue that was out of bounds.

Closing time. Kim spoke briefly with the cleaning crew, giving them instructions to spend more time on the floors in the back room and letting them know that no one had replaced the toilet paper in the restrooms.

He tried to keep his mind on business but the fact was, Kim was unsettled. He was distracted and angry with himself for what he had done. He had never seen Xander as upset as he was this evening and Kim knew that by giving his friend that stranger's card, he had probably added fuel to the fire.

Kim remembered the look on Xander's face as he turned the card over and over in his hand. He had mumbled something about an angel and stared at the hotel information on the back. In that instant, Kim knew he had made a mistake.

He begged Xander to let him drive him home. Xander refused. He told Xander not to go see the strange blond man until he had calmed down. Xander promised he wouldn't. Kim knew a lie when he heard one. He had offered to go with his friend. That offer was rejected with the most force. Whatever was going on, Xander did not want Kim involved.

With all the details seen to, Kim locked the back door of the club and turned in the direction of home. He lived only a mile away and often walked to clear his mind. Tonight he needed that time more than usual to decide what to do. Somehow, he would help Xander. Whether his friend wanted that help or not.

The night was dark, overcast and moonless. A heavy damp blanket of fog engulfed the area and made visibility less than five feet in all directions. Despite the gloomy, ominous feel, Kim loved this time of the early morning.

It reminded him of home. Not San Francisco, where he grew up, but home-home. The place of his childhood. Korea, where he was happy. Where he was Kim Li, son of local fisherman Yung Li.

It was mornings just like this that he remembered walking with his Father. They would hurry through the dirt roads of their small village down to the pier where his Father had a rickety fishing boat. Kimmy, as his parents called him, was too young to go to school so he went fishing with his father while his Mother went into the city to clean house for the rich people.

It was wonderful. He was happy and loved. Apparently he was poor. Fortunately, no one told Kimmy that. The bubble burst one day when he was nearly seven. His parents told him he was to be sent to America to live with an uncle for a better education.

Kimmy cried and life was never the same. Especially when he reached his teens and the uncle who had never wanted him in the first place, realized he was gay. Kim Li became another resident of the streets. Luckily, he could dance. That was about the same time Xander bought Fabulous and Kim's life took a whole new turn.

~*~*~*~*~

Flipping the collar of his windbreaker up around his neck to offer a minimum of protection against the heavy, damp fog, Kim started towards home. The more he thought about it the more anxious he became to get there. He needed to speak to Xander. To call him the minute he got home. To satisfy himself that he didn't go to the blond's hotel room.

Kim's step increased and he moved faster through the darkness. He knew he could trim at least five minutes off his walk time if he cut through the park up ahead. There was a jogging path that wound through a kiddy park with swings and a slide and cut diagonally across the block.

Kim reached the park right on schedule and lifted the rusty latch on the iron gate. He pushed it open and slipped in, allowing it to slam shut behind him. The air was wet and silent around him. There was no breeze or sound. It was as if he were the last person alive on the face of the earth.

Kim shuddered. He told himself it was from the cold and not the eerie spooky park. The fog was so dense it obliterated the view of the path in front of him. The further he went, the more disoriented Kim felt.

Clutching his jacket tighter, Kim thought he detected a movement ahead. A slight shifting of a shadow somewhere off to the side of the gravel path. Slowing slightly, Kim kept his eyes on the spot where he........THERE! He saw it again. A man. There was a dark figure of a man standing with his back turned.

Kim's heartbeat pounded and the cold damp air rushed in and out of his lungs. The fear curled in his stomach and he knew he had now made two terrible mistakes this evening. Walking home and walking home on this particular path.

His mind blasted him with the pictures from the evening news of the smiling men who had recently disappeared without a trace. He wondered if any of them had taken this particular stroll. Swallowing the lump that was wedged in his throat, Kim refused to turn and run. He was a man. He would continue on and pass this figure that had, admittedly, made no threatening moves toward him.

Kim's eyes locked on the man's back and he knew just a few feet more and he would be past. Kim picked up the pace, never tearing his eyes from the man who now was slowly turning towards him. Kim blinked. The heavy grey fog distorted his vision and gave the illusion that the man's feet had no part in his movement, as though he were inches from the ground.

'Almost past. Almost past. Almost.........' Kim's thoughts froze in mid sentence. He had reached the man who had now turned to fully face him. Even in the dark and the thick damp mist, Kim recognized him.

"Xander? Shit, Xan, you scared the hell out of me. What the fuck are you doing out here?" Kim chuckled his relief and mentally told his bladder to stand down. "Damn, Buddy, I thought you were a serial killer or Freddy Krueger or something."

Kim laughed weakly, wiped sweat from his brow and shifted on his shaky legs. Every muscle in his body shook like jello. "Hey, wanta go to my place? I need a fuckin' drink after that. Hell, I need a whole fuckin' bottle after a scare like that."

The dark figure remained silent. His face showed no comradery, no smile, no response, no recognition. His dark eyes seemed to burn holes in Kim's face and the smaller man began to think he had released his fear a bit too soon. "Xan? Hey, man, you o.k? Look, I gotta get home, I'll see ya tomorrow, k?"

Before Kim had the chance to step away, the figure opened his mouth and a low whispery sound, like crackling paper, flowed out. Despite his internal alarms, Kim stepped closer to his friend. "What? What did you say? I can't hear you. What?"

Suddenly the dark figure's mouth dropped open wide. Wider than Kim, if he had thought about it, would have known was possible. Even in the dim, dark night, Kim could see easily into his friends gaping mouth. There were no teeth, no tongue, nothing. Nothing but blackness. Horror rushed through him and Kim knew he was glimpsing hell. Kim took a step back intending to run for his life but found he couldn't move.

Instantly, the mouth opened even wider and the sound emitting from it now became loud, shrill and eardrum shattering, stopping Kim in his tracks.

"AGH! Damn, stop!" Kim slapped his hands over his ears and dropped his head against the piercing, pain wracking sound that seemed to be going through his brain like a knife.

With his eyes scrunched closed in agony, Kim never saw the face of his friend as it disappeared. Replaced, consumed by the black hole that now opened to a space of three feet in diameter. The sound never wavered.

Suddenly, the still, quiet air around the men began to move. The leaves, cigarette butts and trash paper that littered the ground lifted and swirled around Kim's feet. The dark, now headless, figure threw it's arms out at it's sides and the whirlwind increased.

The fog seemed to come alive and the force of the current gripped, jerked and tugged at the legs of Kim's pants. The rest of the park around them sat motionless as though waiting to see what horrors were taking place in their innocent space.

The figure's arms lifted higher, at the same time the black hole grew larger and the agonizing sound even louder. With an overwhelming 'WHOOSH' of air, Kim's body was lifted horizontally into the air, the top of his head aimed directly at the ominous black cavern that had been his friend's face. With a terrifying certainty, Kim knew what was coming.

Suddenly, with a roar, and a huge rush, the air turned to a vacuum and Kim felt his body being sucked forward, head first, into the terrifying cavity. His arms flailed for anything solid to grip onto but found only the wet molecules of fog. His body flew as his screams echoed in the deep empty openness.

As the last of his feet disappeared, the air resounded with a loud crack, a sound so earsplitting and final it could have been the God Zeus cracking a giant bullwhip. Before the last of the sound had faded, both men were gone.

Gently, all the whirling litter and debris settled back to the ground and no trace of any being, human or beast remained. In relief, nature itself sighed and the fog began to lift. The first brave cricket released a timid "chirp"

Part Eighteen

Spike sat comfortably lounging on the sofa in the sitting room area of his expensive suite. The one Angel Investigations will be receiving a hefty bill for. The one with all the perks.

He had one arm tossed casually over the back and the patented Spike smirk was firmly in place. He watched, amused, as Xander paced restlessly back and forth in front of him.

He had to admit, the boy had grown up impressively. Gone were the slight skin problems and slump shouldered stance, faded away with the excess baby fat and stumbling uncoordinated walk. In it's place were strong, broad shoulders, a too short haircut and expensive dental work. All absolutely delicious.

".......so you see, just because I was the last one to see each of the men before they disappeared doesn't mean it has anything to do with me. I mean we just had dinner or went out for a drink and then went back to my place. Ah, you did know I was gay didn't you? I'm sure you knew that's why Anya and I didn't get married. Shit, Willow knew and if Willow knew, the world probably knew. But anyway that is kinda off point. What was the point? Oh yeah, those men. Well the fact was, we dated, we went to my house and, um, you know, and then they left. Next thing I know, POOF. They are gone. Just gone. Course I mean poof as in disappeared not poof like you always called Angel."

Xander mouth rambled on as his brain screamed "Shut up you idiot!" He felt as though he were standing outside himself watching helplessly as his body was reduced to the old Sunnydale Xander and it made him sick.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only realization that was coming to him. It didn't take long to put two and two together and recognize that every man he had taken to his bed in the last few years had been a pale imitation of the amazingly sexual blond vampire.

A vampire who hadn't aged or changed a single hair in the last ten years. He was even still wearing the same black tee and jeans. Xander scowled. Surely he had changed those over the years. Xander continued to babble unchecked and apparently on autopilot as his mind left his mouth and roamed aimlessly down a different path.

Curiosity had led him to read a book once on sexuality. It had said orgasm triggers were powerful things. A word, a thought, a fantasy, used at the moment of release could become so deeply ingrained that it was almost required to gain that release.

Was that what he had done? The memory of Spike had buried itself so deeply in his psyche that just saying his name not only triggered, but was actually required, to get off.

He stared at Spike. Now his thoughts stepped off the clinical and impartial and began a leisurely stroll through the Oh-God-Too-Personal path of mental musings.

'Why the hell is he sitting there almost naked? How could I have forgotten him? Or did I? Was Spike always this sexy? NO NO! He's a vampire! Danger! Vampires bite, and fuck. Buffy says they will fuck anything. I wonder if Spike fucks men. Oh, God, Angel. That's disgusting.'

Spike tipped his head to the side, his eyebrow lifting slightly. He had detected the change the instant the man's emotions had shifted gears. The scent, the heartbeat, the breathing all slowed, sweetened with the faint illusion of arousal. His pupils dilated and his speech slurred.

Spike had stopped listening to the pointless rabble that continued to pour from the lovely cupid shaped lips and focused now on the shine and plumpness of that mouth, especially when Xander would regularly lick and moisten them nervously with a quick dart of a shiny pink tongue.

Spike's hand slowly wandered up his chest, his fingertips brushing lightly over his cool, exposed nipples and he felt the familiar tingle stir in his groin. His cock had not yet started to fill but he knew it wouldn't be long.

Xander blinked, suddenly silent. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Wha? I'm sitting here listening to you explain your situation 's all."

"No it isn't. You're touching yourself! I'm trying to explain what happened and you're stretched out, nearly naked, and touching yourself! Jesus Fuckin' Christ, Spike! You haven't changed a bit. That's it. I'm outta here."

Xander spun on his heels and headed for the door, enormously relieved for any excuse that got him out of there with a shred of dignity and still able to claim the high road.

No tail between the legs for this guy.

'Oh, fuck!' Xander moaned as his thoughts raced out of his control once more. 'Why the fuck did I think of tails and between legs? Out! Run! Just move your fucking feet!'

Snatching the door open, Xander stopped. Without looking back, he kept his voice low and controlled. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders and spine. "Stay away from me Spike. I'm not that guy anymore. I live a normal
human guy life and I want to keep it that way. I don't want to see you again."

With that, he walked away, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Spike smoothly lifted himself to his feet and walked over to where Xander had just stood. Looking out, he caught just one last glimpse of the man as the elevator doors slid shut and he snorted.

"Sorry, Pet. But this thing is nowhere near resolved." After closing the door, Spike returned to the sofa where he grabbed his phone and quickly dialed.

ring ring ri....

"Angel Investigations. We help the hel....."

"Shove it Peaches. I got news."

"Spike?"

Spike wanted to scream his frustration and wished he were close enough to slap the face off the big oaf.

"Yes, Spike! Who the fuck else calls you Peaches?" Angel's thoughts drifted again to the handsome watcher that he missed so much.

"What do you have Spike? I'm expecting to be busy soon." Spike just shook his head. He just knew that one of these days the great poof's brain would turn to jello. Well, wasn't like Spike hadn't warned him.

"Fine, I'll be quick so you can handle that LITTLE matter. I talked to Harris. He's fine. Alive and kickin', like I said. Anyway, I'm not sure yet what kind of demon it is but I think Harris is possibly involved. So, that's it. I will need to stay here for a while till this matter is all tied up nice and neat. I'll call back when I know anything more."

"Yeah, but......" Angel already knew he was talking into a dead line. Fucking prick had hung up on him, again. Slamming his phone down on the desk, Angel fumed, muttering to himself. "Damn. This was my chance to call Wes and I still don't have anything to report. Fucking Spike. Xander's fine. Alive and Kicking." The last was said in a whiny, imitative voice which he suddenly cut off as a new idea started to form.

"Oh, hell yes!" Angel grabbed the phone back up and clutched it in both hands before dialing.

ring ring ri.....

"Good morning, Council of Watchers. How may I help you?"

"Hi. Yes, this is Angel of Angel Investigations. We help the helpless."

"Of course, Mr. Angel, I remember. How may I direct your call?"

"I need to speak to Wes, um, Mr. Wyndham Price. It is a matter of strict urgency and confidentiality. I can't talk to anyone but him."

"Certainly sir, please hold."

Angel grinned and settled in, waiting for the titillating strains of Muskrat Love to engage him. He was more than a little disappointed when a poor rendition of Autumn Leaves floated through the lines.

"Wyndham-Price here, how may I help you?"

"Wes?"

Silence

"Wes?"

"Yes. Angel. Why are you calling me?"

"Hey! Strictly business. Giles told me to report only to you on this Xander Harris, gay demon problem. Now if you are refusing to take my call...."

"What do you have Angel?"

"Oh, about eight.......oh you mean the case. Well, my field agent made contact and so far Harris is alive, but there is definitely a problem. A big one. I have a big one, Wes. Anyway, Spike thinks Harris is up to his eyeballs in this problem and could be at great risk. Spike thinks you should come immediately. Are you coming,Wes?"

Wesley was stunned. It was exactly the news they had all feared. "Look, Angel, thanks for your help. We will, of course, come immediately."

For the second time he stared at a dead line and wondered, 'Doesn't anyone say good-bye any more?' This time he didn't care. Nothing could spoil his good mood. Wes was coming and, very soon, he would be too.

Part Nineteen

Xander sat in his car in the cool early morning hours outside his house. He had no idea how he had gotten there. The windshield in front of him did not frame a picture of double yellow lines, pot holes or road kill squirrels. Instead it had played a full color movie on the big screen of the backs of his eye lids.

It was a memory film he had long forgotten he loved to see. He was a player in the movie but only had a bit part. The star of the action film was the man he watched.

Xander could clearly imagine himself standing back, off in the shadows, as the fight raged on. Demons, vampires, beasts and monsters. The villain changed nightly but the hero was always the same.

Short, tight, deceivingly small, the blond was like lightning on feet. He spun, kicked, punched and moved, flowing like liquid mercury and just as deadly to touch. Completely cloaked in black, his body was pure sex.

Xander gripped the wheel in both hands and dropped his forehead down on the backs of his knuckles. He remembered. Buffy. Spike. Spike was fucking Buffy. Xander had felt disgusted, jealous, betrayed and most of all confused. Rushing through him, the emotions were fresh and sharp as the day he first heard.

Suddenly, Xander felt very tired. Tired and old. Dragging himself from the car and up the walk, he thought briefly about calling Kim and inviting him over for breakfast. Kim was his anchor to this life. His assurance that this was not Sunnydale and he was no Scoobie. After a moment's consideration, he decided against it. It was late, he thought, his friend was probably already in bed.

Xander walked in, dropped his clothes and willed his mind to shut down.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel was absolutely giddy. He rushed around his small basement apartment that was nestled underneath his place of business. His plan was flawless. He would rush off to Oxnard on the pretense of saving Xander whats-his-name, and rid the world of the demon.

Of course Wes would be there and need his help and expertise. Angel would selflessly give it. When this was all said and done, Wes would realize the foolishness of his leaving and be overwhelmed with love and lust at the sight of the
crime fighting hero vampire.

Angel would stand bravely back, long black coat billowing in the wind. Angel made a mental note to check the weather channel for wind gust reports. He would let Wes apologize and rush into his arms. Angel would accept him back and together they would return to L.A. and their life and bed together.

It couldn't fail.

Angel hustled about, straightening the rooms, picking up discarded clothes, socks, and empty mugs with dried pigs blood caked in the bottom.

He hurried into the bathroom and arranged his bottles of shampoo, conditioner, smoothing serum, mega gel, mousse, and final spritz. He casually wondered how he had gotten so low on hair supplies and vowed to run to the market. While he was there he would get wine, candles and some of that cherry flavored lube that tingles. Wes always liked that so much.

He picked up the wet towels off the floor and dropped them in the hamper. The bedroom was next. He picked up all the clothes off the floor, most of them still clean and hung them back up. Deciding on the right outfit each day was so difficult.

As he jammed another neck tie in his underwear drawer, something caught his eye. Something neatly folded and tucked towards the far back corner. Something almost forgotten.

Angel reached in and tugged it out. Soft, smooth, small, black satin boxers. Angel held them up to his nose and inhaled deeply. Despite being washed, they still carried the scent of Angel's own release combined with......."Wes"

Angel hesitated. He took a few moments to calculate the time it would take for Wes to fly over, minus the drive time between here and Oxnard divided by the expendable number of brain cells yet undamaged. The solution to the mathematical equation was a resounding 'YES!'

Angel immediately dropped his black linen trousers and slipped off the matching silk shirt. He grabbed the boxers and flopped down on his bed. 'Which one, which one?' His mind sorted through his library of favorite fantasies till he came across a very special one. A bedtime story he had often tucked himself in to. A narrative that never failed to satisfy.

Closing his eyes, Angel again smelled the traces of spent passion, rubbing the slippery fabric across his face slowly.
He then balled the boxers up in both hands and shoved them down between his legs. Low, under his sack, pressing them against the sensitive skin between balls and ass and he let his mind set the scene.

'I am sitting in my office, in the dark, brooding, when a man comes in. "Mr. Angel?" He asks. "Yes." I answer. "We need your help." He says. "You have come to the right place." I tell him of my mission in life and he is naturally impressed.'

Angel's cock is hard and waiting restlessly for his hand to touch and stroke it. He brushed the satin underwear lightly over his groin, balls and cock letting it tease like a whisper. His mind continued on with the story.

'How can I help you?" I ask. He says "It's my son, Wesley. Today is his birthday and he is finally of age but he has no experience in life. All he does is study and he knows nothing of the way of things. We need a man to break him in. Will you do it Mr. Angel? We will gladly pay you." '

Angle wrapped the boxers around his hand and his hand around his cock. The foreskin moved easily, up and down. The swollen head bubbled with an early promise of plentiful release.

'I am offended, I say. "I help the helpless, good sir. I ask no payment in return. Now, bring the boy in and leave us alone." The man hurries out with a flurry of thanks. Within minutes he returns with a small, shy owlish boy wearing large oversized glasses. "Come here, boy." I say. He obeys.'

Angel arched his back on the bed. His body tingled as he knew the next chapter of his story by heart. The fabric covered hand stroked faster, his grip tighter. He licked his lips and wished, not for the first time, that he could wrap his lips around himself.

'Where was I? Oh, yes, "Take off your clothes." I say. The boy is frightened of the big, handsome vampire with the excellent hair, but he complies. He is small, shivering and his cock is limp. My stare burns holes in him as I strip. He oogles, shocked at my huge, hard cock. "Can I touch it?" he says in a tiny, quiet voice. I nod. He steps close and carefully touches it. His own dick twitches.'

Angel felt the warning in his balls and he knew he was close so he stopped. Too soon. Too soon. He opened his eyes and broke the spell. In seconds he felt the urgency retreat. He looked down and swiped his thumb across the sticky pre-cum oozing from his sensitive slit.

Licking it off, he again sniffed the boxers and let his body relax. He wrapped his fist around himself and stroked, easy, gently, just enough to start the motor purring again and he resumed his fantasy.

'The boy steps closer. "Can I taste you?" he asks. "Yes, lick me." I tell him. He does. Tiny, fearful, kitten licks that shoot straight to my balls. "Stop!" I tell him. He is afraid he did something wrong and looks like he might cry so I reassure him. "No, you did good. Do you like to suck cocks?" He smiles and says "Yes, my Daddy's cock sometimes swells up like that and he needs me to suck out the white stuff for him. Do you want me to do that for you?" I tell him "No, I am going to put my cock in your butt and pump the white stuff inside you." I hear him gasp and his hand goes to his own cock that has suddenly turned hard and long.'

Angel groaned. His hips humped up, jamming his cock roughly into his fist. He knew he had to hurry if his story would get to the good part before it was too late. "Wes, Jesus, fuck, Wes."

'I tell him, "Turn around boy and open yourself up. I need to see how tight you are. Get down on your hands and knees." The boy does as he is told. It is clear he is used to following orders. I drop down to kneel behind him and push his head down to the floor. It tips his ass higher and I finger fuck him with just the tip of my finger to get a feel for him. He reaches for himself, ashamed that it feels so good. "Unfortunately I don't have time to prepare you, I have helpless to help." He says he understands. I spit on my hand and coat my cock with it. I line the head up to his tiny, virgin hole, and I ram it in. He screams and his cock erupts in thick strings of sperm.'

Angel tossed the boxers aside and shoved two fingers in his hungry hole as his other hand now jerked and stroked himself with speed and purpose. The full color mural that plastered itself to his brain was one of a hard thick cock slamming in and out of a torn, wrinkled, grateful ass as Wes's voice begged for more.

"AHH! FUCK! WES!" Angels orgasm crashed through him, sharpened by the forced delicious delay and the erotic tale of need. He held tight to his cock as it jerked, twitched and pumped in his hand. After what seemed like forever, he slumped, spent, satisfied and euphoric.

The last of his energy was used to retrieve the boxers and wipe himself off with them. Wet and sticky, they smelled so sweet. Angel smiled.

Part Twenty

An ancient traveler wrote once that all roads lead to Rome. If that statement were to be translated to modern times and the intent of the characters of this story, it's translation would have to be 'all roads lead to Oxnard.'

The convergence began early as the four boarded a private jet in the city of London. Willow fussed with her carry on bag. She always preferred to keep her spell books and ingredients close at all times. She immediately took her seat and pulled out her laptop. She hoped to use this time for research.

Since Googling Alexander Harris, then running his name through zabasearch, she had an address and phone number. She was pleased and chuckled when she uncovered the fact he owned The Fabulous Ladies Club. City building permits told her he must have done extensive renovations. According to his financial records, the club was doing very well. Willow wasn't surprised, she always knew Xander was more than what people could see. His insecurities were the millstones around his neck. She smiled, apparently he had cut them loose and was prospering.

Willow's sense of pride was short lived as she realized that none of the information she had on Xander was personal. These were facts and figures she could have gotten on any stranger.

There were no sites that told her what she really wanted to know. Did he still like the same music? Had he ever learned to dance? Did he still eat Twinkies? Was he happy? Did he have new friends? She hoped, with all her heart that he would be glad to see her.

Wes was next to climb aboard. As the newest resident of the rebuilt Council headquarters, he was still unaccustomed to the luxuries afforded the most important people on earth. The personal drivers, the private jet, the nearly invisible staff that saw to your every need before you realized you needed something.

He had watched Willow and Giles and wondered how long it had taken them to be so accepting of all they had at their fingertips. They appeared to be born to the life. Something he knew wasn't at all true. Wes buckled his seatbelt, unsurprised to find an assortment of his favorite biscuits and magazines next to him.

Finally, Giles and Andrew rushed up the steps, tossing his suit jacket on one of the empty seats, Giles muttered quietly to Andrew, who nodded in response. Immediately Giles pulled one of the portable tables close and slapped his briefcase on top. Andrew hurried to the cockpit to tell the pilot they were all present and accounted for.

Air traffic controllers at Heathrow were given the signal. Commercial planes were held up while the private jet of the unnamed government agency took to the air.

As soon as Andrew returned and seated himself securely beside his favorite watcher, Giles began. "Willow, Wesley, as you know we are all most disturbed by Angel's report that Xander is somehow involved in this demon attack in Oxnard. While we have greatly missed him, as an adult we have respected his wishes to be left alone. We must be prepared for an unwelcome rejection. I do think the more information we have the quicker this can be handled. Willow, I am going to have you do a locator spell. Not only on Xander himself but on the area surrounding him. When you do, transfer to a demonic detection spell. That should let us know if the demon has attempted to make any contact with Xander and more importantly, what type of demon it is."

Willow nodded and immediately went to work. Again, it just proved to her why Rupert Giles was at the helm. No one was more qualified to read a situation and steer the ship than him. It gave her an immense feeling of comfort. Maybe things would be all right after all.

Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out her most prized possession. A necklace. A thin leather strip with a bear tooth hanging on the end. Xander had worn it constantly since the day he found it. They were young, just children and he had said he killed the bear with his bare hands. He was in his Daniel Boone phase. She pretended to believe him.  She was just beginning her Xander Harris phase.

In the last years, he said it was a vampire fang. A trophy of all the demons he had killed. Proof he had survived. She never knew him to take it off. Willow had found it that morning in his motel room. Discarded like his old life. He had left it behind. She couldn't. She had dropped it in her pocket and carried it with her ever since.

Willow had kept it as a reminder of the best man she had ever known. In order to do a successful locator spell, the caster needed a personal item that belonged to the subject they were seeking. The bear claw thong was the most personal thing she had.

The private plane finally reached cruising altitude. Wes settled back, munching one of the pecan sandies and becoming immersed in a gory tale from the trashy True Detective magazine he loved so much. Rupert Giles and Andrew held hands and whispered, chuckling, talking and sharing thoughts and ideas about the upcoming mission.

Giles relaxed in the intimacy of his closest friends. He relished these times. He didn't need to hide. He didn't have to pretend. He leaned over casually and kissed Andrew lightly on the lips. Andrew beamed. The other two neither noticed nor cared.

Willow quietly began her spell.

The second convergence was prepping from the west. A course, well timed to leave at sunset, was mapped for the trek east from the big city of L.A. to the smaller bedroom community of Oxnard, California.

Angel had spent the better part of the day cleaning the apartment and clearing his desk of both clutter and minor cases he had pending. He didn't want anything to interfere with his wooing and winning his Wes. Taking one last look before closing the door, a sadness washed through him at the possible thought of returning home alone.

Quickly, he checked himself. 'Nope! Not happening.' he thought, and headed for the garage.

An hour later, he was well on his way, map spread out beside him and mocha latte in the cup holder. The road trip would have been perfect if that little shit, Spike, hadn't taken the BMW.

It was the only car that truly reflected Angel's status and importance. As it was, he was humiliated. He had argued for a good ten minutes with the garage attendant. Chastising him for handing over the keys of the sleek black machine to his wayward childe.

The garage attendant was unimpressed. He was a man driving a Pinto. Finally, with no other options, Angel had grudgingly snatched the keys to the other car and driven away, mumbling and fuming. "God Damn it! Who the hell ever heard of a super hero arriving at the scene of the crime in a fucking P.T.Cruiser? God damn Spike!"

Still, the night was cool and clear and it became impossible to maintain a bad mood. He rolled down the windows and propped his arm out. He tilted the seat back comfortably and popped a Van Morrison CD into the player, slightly disappointed that no one made cars with 8 tracks anymore, and hummed along.

He chuckled as Moondance played and he knew it was a good sign. This was, indeed a perfect night for romance and dancing in the moonlight with the man you love.

Angel's unibrow crinkled. Love? He thought the word love again, trying it on for size. Is he actually in love with Wes or does he just miss the sex? Angel was startled to realize that it was much more than the blow jobs, the rimming, the grunting, thrusting, moaning, licking, wait....what was the point? Oh, yes.

Angel knew it was much more than that. He missed Wes. The way he looked in Angel's shirt. His rumpled, bed look first thing in the morning. His comforting kisses when things go wrong and even his terse, "Snap the fuck out of it, Angel" when the brooding got too intense.

If Angel was a black silk shirt, Wes was the satin tie. If Angel was the smooth, whittled stake, Wes was the pointy end. If Angel was Laurel, Wes was Hardy. They were a pair. They belonged together.

Angel stomped his foot down on the gas pedal, taking the car to  it's max speed of sixty mph. He was determined. He was resolved. Wes was his and by God, he was collecting what was his!

Andrew had ordered a hot fudge sundae and was pretending to be mad each time Giles would sneak a bite. Both men would then chuckle as Andrew licked the chocolate sauce off Giles bottom lip.

Wes was disgusted at the way the killer in his story had used a rose left inside his victims, as a clue to his identity. He quickly flipped the page, sipping his tea and wondering what new horrors awaited him in the next chapter.

Willow had been staring at her computer screen. The spelled program she had developed allowed her to see the results on her laptop, combining the ancient dark arts with the modern new ones. The confused frown on her face only deepened as she tried again. "This can't be right"

"What? Did you say something?" Willow's muttering caught Giles attention.

Removing her glasses, Willow rubbed her hands over her face. She gave great thought before answering.

"Yes, something isn't right. I did a locator spell and I'm very glad to say that it honed in on him no problem. Xander is very alive, healthy, and still in Oxnard. We shouldn't have any problem finding him there. I then did a demon detection. I found one. It's aura surrounds Xander but doesn't threaten him. The problem is, it's a Nambulist demon."

The last sentence caught Wesley's attention and he looked into Willow's confused face as well as Giles concerned one.
"Did you say a Nambulist demon?"

Willow nodded. Wesley continued. "But isn't a Nambulist demon a self summoner?"

Again Willow nodded. "It is. Apparently Xander called it to himself."

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