SUMMARY: Xander tries to sort out his gay vampire sex issues at the end of a stake. Angelus is unimpressed. Companion piece to
'Wild Again' - there will be one or two others in the sequence too & eventually even a plot.
SPOILERS: Nope. Set late Season 2 BtVS (before "Passion")
CONTENT/WARNINGS: Say it loud, say it proud - SLASH. ("Safety words? Safety words are for wusses·")
RATING: NC-17. But in a good way. Really, it's almost Victorian in its seemliness.
DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Numfar. Not even a little bit. Text inside quotation marks inside brackets is from
episodes & belongs to magnificent Jossverse writers. The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui,
Sandollar, and David Greenwalt Productions, 20th Century Fox, and whoever else may have a hold upon them. The situation is
wholly mine, and I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights
COMMENTS: Big Thanks to the delightful ElenaB for generous acts of Beta-ing. Thanks also to the lovely people who liked 'Wild
Again' and asked for more - hope this doesn't disappoint.
 
 
 
OK, so maybe this wasn't really such a great idea.
 
As he picked his way cautiously through the cemetery Xander was acutely aware of the sound of his own
soft footsteps and the inordinate racket of his pulse. In the distance his ears caught the faint white-noise
of night time in Sunnydale; an occasional car purring between rows of white picket fences, sporadic bursts
of adolescent laugher ringing down brightly lit streets and, from time to time, a trace of music borne upon
the breeze. On other nights in Sunnydale a person might hear screaming, weeping, unearthly snarls, the
clash of metal on metal or the muffled shatter of bones - or something worse again. Or they might hear
nothing more than the gentle susurration of leaves shifting idly in the shadows as death moved toward
them in one of its myriad secret forms.
 
He found himself able to list a whole heap of reasons why this was really, *really* not one of his smarter
moves. In fact, next to what he was doing right now, locking lips with a life-draining Inca Mummy looked
positively like a display of finely honed self preservation instincts; and telling their fifth grade teacher it was
Rodney Munson who put superglue on her chair had been a demonstration of timeless wisdom.
 
Lions and tigers and vamps, oh my, thought Xander wryly, in an effort to cheer himself up - but the
quotation only reminded him of uncheery things. And just this once there wasn't anyone around to
perform for, so he let some of the tension show on his face as he stepped between the tombstones, his
sweaty fingers tightening a little more around the handle of the gun.
 
Short of smearing himself head to toe in garlic (and he had given it some serious consideration, had
actually stood in the market and stared uncertainly down at the papery, moon-white bulbs for a good five
minutes) Xander figured he'd done all a person could do to make themselves vampire-proof. He was
wearing a crucifix prominently displayed - it was, in fact, a set of rosary beads that he'd found in the thrift
shop, which he figured was even better - and he'd splashed holy water around his throat like cheap
aftershave and sprinkled it liberally over his shirt. He was packing not one, not two but *three* stakes
about his person. He had a water pistol (sneakily filled with holy water) in his pocket and in his slightly
trembling hands he was carrying a semi-automatic weapon that he'd requisitioned back when he was
Soldier Guy.
 
(Xander was still *amazed* that that had worked. The things hadn't even arrived until nearly a week after
Halloween - and explaining away the packages to his parents had taken all Xander's powers of creativity.
He had a new-found respect for the Chaos God, Janus·unless this was just the standard level of
administrative competence to be found in the US Army, in which case look out world - Apocalypse might
come along without any demonic intervention·)
 
And OK, so the gun wouldn't be any use against vamps, but it would still be handy against everyday
demons. And besides, it *felt* a lot more reassuring than a little piece of wood.
 
It wasn't like this was the first time he had taken graveyard duty without The Slayer in attendance - while
Buffy had been away, Xander and Will had gamely done their bit to keep an eye on Sunnydale's resident
evil dead population. Thing was, though, that the vampires and their various slimy and scaly buddies had
kept a pretty low profile in the aftermath of Buffy's success against The Master; after a while he and Will
had gotten pretty relaxed about the whole cemetery-after-dark thing.
 
Xander couldn't imagine ever feeling relaxed again. The reality check had finally arrived courtesy of
Angelus and now the world of Alexander Lavelle Harris was slowly, inevitably, unravelling around his ears.
 
And nobody noticed. They thought everything was normal - Hellmouth-normal, admittedly, which wasn't
exactly normal by most places' standards, but comparatively normal just the same. His friends hadn't a
clue that Angelus had swept him off to a secluded house and fucked him to within an inch of his life. That
he had *enjoyed* it. (The slide of cold, unfamiliar fingers on the velvet-soft skin of his cock; the ache in his
splayed thighs as the vampire pounded into him with swift, brutal strokes, withdrawing the full, engorged
length of his uncircumcised penis before ploughing back into Xander's virgin ass; the muffling pressure of
the blankets under his unprotected face as Angelus rode him, his hands pulled back behind his back and
his weight thrown down onto his shoulders; the scrape of the blankets against his agonisingly sensitive
nipples; the helpless bucking of his hips as he came, dry-humping the floral covers with a demon pumping
his ass and biting his shoulders until he screamed·)
 
His friends simply hadn't a clue. Willow was all caught up in her dating-a-werewolf-guitarist excitement
and Buffy was still jonesing for Angel; and pitying herself so damned much for having to kill him that she
just couldn't imagine anybody else being more screwed up and hurt by the vampire than she was.
Anybody being more *screwed* and hurt by the vampire than she was. (The taste of the vampire's
pre-cum on his questing tongue·) And Giles - well, Giles was old. And English. And painfully, furiously,
helplessly mooning over Jenny still, in spite of everything.
 
He was going through the motions - cracking the Xander-jokes, eating the Xander-candy, skipping the
Xander-homework - but at the same time he felt almost as if Angelus *had* killed him in the old lady's
house and all that was left was a sort of animated Xander-suit. Dead man walking - but there was a lot of
that about these days. Sunnydale had a way of taking metaphors a little too literally.
 
Or maybe he was more like Wile E. Coyote, a comically desperate figure with his feet windmilling
furiously in the air in that interminable instant before he realised that he'd left the cliff far behind him and
the only way to go now was down.
 
Cordelia had noticed a change, to be fair - but Cordy being Cordy, she decided that he must just be
coming down with something. Couldn't begin to imagine that her geeky boyfriend wasn't 100% head over
heels besotted with her. Couldn't imagine that he had eyes for anyone else, or that he had any dark
secrets hoarded away behind the goofy grin.
 
I'm dating Cordy, Xander marvelled again, with numb incredulity. I'm dating Cordelia "Country Club"
Chase. Cordelia "Cheerleader" Chase. Queen C. Sorry, Jesse·
 
He was dating Cordelia Chase, but it was Angelus he thought of when he jerked off in the shower. When
he jerked off in bed. When he jerked off in the john. It was always Angelus now. Which was just plain
*wrong* on so very many different levels·(Cold lips closing over his earlobe, mouthing at his Adam's
apple; blunt nails scoring welts down his back, down his chest; other hipbones banging against his own;
the choking sensation of the vampire's cock filling his mouth; the smell of him; the scratch of dark pubic
curls against his face; the strong curve of the vampire's ass under Xander's fingers; the cool silk
pressure of a broad, muscled chest grazing his spine. . .)
 
He knew he had to do *something* - but there was simply no way he was about to go to Buffy with this
one. So here he was in the wee small hours, dripping with weaponry, bristling with fear and anger - and
less palatable emotions - looking for Angelus with a gun and a stake and a burgeoning erection.
 
Xander's muscles, his sinews, even his teeth ached from being permanently on edge, permanently
braced for attack, or for being found out, or whatever it was that happened next. The anticipation was
unbearable, as Angelus had undoubtedly intended it to be. Sometimes Xander even wondered if perhaps
nothing was going to happen next - whether maybe he had just dreamed it all, after one too many
Twinkies or one too many bumps on the head. (But who was he kidding? He knew it wasn't a dream.) Or
if it did happen, maybe there never would be any repercussions - only this constant, crippling tension, this
nerve-jangling waiting game with him forever poised on the brink of death or discovery. (But who was he
kidding? He knew the axe was going to fall.)
 
It was no wonder Drusilla had gone crazy.
 
What to do about it, then? "Buffy, I know you've still got some issues to work through, but do you think
maybe you could hurry up with staking your evil ex-honey? 'Cause the other night he ripped off my boxers
and made me his bitch and I kinda *liked* it. In fact I begged for it on my knees. . . so I really don't feel all
that comfortable about him lurking out there in his black leather pants waiting to pounce, like a big old
psychotic Sex Machine of Doom - 'cause next time he'll probably kill me. So do you think you could
maybe hurry up with the slayage?"
 
Xander was *so* not going to have that conversation any time this side of never. He'd considered talking
to Giles for perhaps half a second, but the prospect of broaching the subject with the old English guy just
made his toes curl in anticipation and his skin burn with pure, 100% Grade A unadulterated
embarrassment. (Lot of that around these days too.) And as for telling *Willow*. . .
 
(What the hell is going on with me? I mean, it's not like I've been sneakily checking out other guys in the
locker room all these years. Not really. It's just. . .it's just. . .)
 
It was just that Angelus knew how to push buttons that Xander never even guessed existed, and now
when he was with Cordelia she felt too warm and too soft and he wanted to. . .he couldn't help thinking
about. . .
 
(Angelus is *so* going to be dust.)
 
Prowling the cemeteries by himself in search of Angelus wasn't exactly top of Xander's list of fun things
to do, but in lieu of any viable Plan A (or indeed Plans B through Z) it was what he found himself doing
anyway. He just wished that he hadn't seen quite so many films in which the
bubble-headed-scream-queen-who-thought-she-could-handle-herself walked down to the spooky old
cemetery all on her own just before meeting a grisly (and sometimes gratuitously naked) death.
 
The note he hit when preternaturally strong fingers closed round his ankle was quite a bit higher than any
sound he'd produced in the past five or six years. Sheer reflex sent him bounding backwards, but the
disembodied hand clutching his ankle stayed right where it was; and as a result Xander abruptly found
himself sitting down hard on the moonlit grass and kicking like a madman. The grip relaxed momentarily
and he scrambled clumsily back out of the way as the hand's owner, a fledgling vamp, scrabbled its way
out of the earth.
 
(Why hello, Adrenaline! Just when I thought it wasn't possible to feel any more petrified, a whole new
shipment of Petrified shows up with my name on it. With a special free gift of limited edition Blind Terror.
Thanks for that.)
 
Xander stumbled to his feet and squared his shoulders as his new friend shook the clotted soil from his
funeral suit. OK, the vamp was big (and hey, didn't he look awfully like the pizza delivery boy who got
replaced last week?) but he was also brand spanking new to the whole Undead scene. Xander left the
semi-automatic where it had fallen and levelled the little water pistol at the vamp's face. His initial surge of
terror was modulating into something else now that he'd had a moment to catch his bearings. He could
do this.
 
"Go ahead punk," quipped Xander gamely, remembering Buffy's customary slay etiquette. "Make my
day. Er. . . night." The vampire looked both hungry and unimpressed, but a moment later it was
screaming and scrabbling at its smoking eyes as the holy water scorched them into blindness. A quick
lunge with the stake and Xander was looking at a person-shaped dust cloud which swiftly dispersed into
nothingness.
 
(Well *all right!*)
 
In the ensuing silence he lifted his stake delightedly to his lips, gunfighter-style, and blew the traces of
dust from its tip. "Eat your heart out, Slay Gal!" he exclaimed jubilantly.
 
The stake and the water pistol both shot out of his surprised hands half a beat later, when Angelus
delivered a sudden flying kick to the small of his back and sent him sprawling. There was an astonished
moment (Oh *SHIT*) of complete breathlessness, then Xander was lying face-down in the soil of the
newly-vacated grave, frantically trying to drag air back into emptied lungs. A cold, dead weight promptly
dropped down onto him, shoving that tiny breath of air back out again. His chest heaved.
 
"Did you miss me, Xander?" asked Angelus conversationally, one huge hand tangled in the boy's dark
hair as the vampire straddled his waist. "Humans not getting you hot anymore? Let me guess - you're
just *dying* for a good, hard fuck, right?" The thighs that wrapped around Xander were marginally less
yielding than iron. Angelus squeezed a little harder and even as his hips started to hurt under the pressure
and he wondered if they could be broken this way, Xander discerned the shape of the vampire's cock
straining through the leather and realised with a sinking feeling that his own dick was hardening
enthusiastically in his pants right on cue. "Well I can help you with that," continued Angelus. ". . .The
dying part, at least."
 
And here was the thing he'd managed (almost managed) to blot out of his mind; Angelus wasn't a
person, he was a predator. Xander had more chance of taking on a Great White Shark successfully than
he had of dusting Angelus. The vampire was faster, stronger and downright scarier than pretty much
anything else Xander had ever encountered in Sunnydale - Angelus was a vampire that *other vampires*
ran away from. You don't get a title like "Scourge of Europe" for sitting around drinking tea all day. How
could he have possibly forgotten this crawling sense of atavistic terror? This was something that wanted to
*eat* him.
 
So if he knew all this - and he *did* know all this - what in the name of all he held dear was Xander doing
out here?
 
Dying, it transpired, for a good, hard fuck. Literally.
 
Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit.
 
OK, it would be *really* helpful if his id and his ego started working together in the future. If he had a
future, that was. No more of this
fooling-himself-into-thinking-he-was-doing-one-thing-when-he-was-really-doing-something-else crap. Xander
had seen 'The Forbidden Planet', dammit - he just hadn't expected his own subconscious to be quite so
damned stupid.
 
(He wants to eat me! How did I manage to gloss over that part?)
 
OK, panicking was definitely not going to help in the keeping-Xander-alive stakes. Calm. Breathe. Think.
 
(He wants to EAT me!) Calm. Calm. Calm.
 
He lay perfectly still and tried *very hard* to ignore the fact that he was, embarrassingly and
inappropriately. . . very hard.
 
Oh, the Incurable Optimism Of The Penis·
 
"You like jokes, don't you? Always clowning around for the girls, making little wisecracks while you get
under old Buff's feet. Well, I have a joke for you. Are you listening?"
 
Xander jerked his head in an angry little nod, scrabbling around frantically for ideas on how to get himself
out of this fine mess and playing for time. Maybe he'd get lucky and Angelus would just bore him to
death with his feeble attempts at humour. Yay.
 
"Why are humans like floor tiles? Shall I tell you? It's because if you lay them right the first time you can
walk all over them."
 
Angelus evidently thought this was simply the funniest joke in the history of jokedom. Xander felt quietly
sick; because it was too damned true. He was here because of the sex and he hadn't even realised it
until too late, when Count Broodula already had him lined up as a late night snack. Jeez, he was stupid.
Stupid and absolutely stark staring terrified of the great big deadly not-human *thing* curled around him
and laughing at its own lousy joke. Time to get with the program.
 
Pinned to the ground, soil smeared on his lips and grass blades tickling his nose, Xander's mind raced.
OK, so the gun was gone - but the gun was never going to be much use against Angelus. The holy water
and the stake were both out of reach, which was of the bad, but he still had two more stakes, if he could
only get to them - one in a pocket of his cargo pants and another in his sleeve. This could still work, if he
could manage not to panic.
 
"Now, *do* I want to eat you, or do I want you to eat me?" asked Angelus, idly coiling Xander's hair
around his pale fingers as he mused and tracing icy little patterns on the boy's neck with one thumb nail.
Xander shivered involuntarily and felt the vampire's thighs clamp more tightly around his waist.
"Decisions, decisions. You suck cock like a little pro, Alexander Harris. I always thought you would, you
know - even when I had that nasty soul keeping me down, I still noticed your mouth. And your sweet little
ass."
 

And what was truly, truly terrible was the ridiculous little surge of blushing pleasure that this announcement sent through Xander's body - a spasm of electricity that shot from his scalp straight down his spine and made his toes curl inside his sneakers and his cock twitch and harden; his poor, stupid, absolutely-no-self-preservation-instincts-at-all cock, crushed as it was down between his thighs and the cold earth.

"You really have *no* idea how frustrating that damned conscience was," Angel continued. "I'd
sometimes jerk off thinking about all the things I'd like to do to you, you know; thinking about how
delicious it would be to bend you over that Library table and just fuck you until you passed out."

He flashed on the way Angel had held him in that shockingly strong grasp and offered him to Spike in the shadowy school corridor. ("She's cute. Not too bright, though. Gave the puppy dog 'I'm all tortured' act. Keeps her off my back when I feed!") Cold hands on his neck and the uncannily still body pressed up behind him as he was caught up in a knot of fear and tentative trust and betrayal and anger and furious helplessness; his back and the curve of his ass brushing against the vampire in an uncomfortable intimacy as his throat was offered around like a bottle of illicit beer. Remembered the unexpected feel of his drowsy cock stirring gently - a reaction he'd put down to the adrenaline at the time.

And maybe there was something deep in Xander that just enjoyed being overpowered, something that actually thrived on humiliation in some strange way - because Xander Junior down in his pants was just *loving* this whole thrust-to-the-ground-by-a-big-bad-masterful-vampire thing. A psychologist would probably look at his attraction to powerful, dominant women like Buffy and Cordelia and Miss French and then make some kind of big deal about his relationship with his dad (Xander's mind shied away from that - *really* not feeling much like going there, thanks - all just too Oprah, too mundane and predictable and sore); start talking about affection and punishment, that kind of thing.

(Psychologists talk a lot of shit. Buffy, Cordelia and Miss French were all hot. Simple as that. At least Miss French *was* hot until she did the whole Bug Lady thing. . .and besides, I'm a teenage boy - I'd be attracted to a wall if it had breasts.)

Which was perfectly true, but still did nothing to explain the delicious melting feeling he was experiencing right now. And he couldn't help remembering the feel of cold hands on his bare skin; couldn't help remembering the gorgeous violation of Angel's wet tongue slipping into the astonished little pucker of flesh between the cheeks of his ass; the amazement at discovering that secretly this least-sexy, most-functional part of The Xander Body was directly wired up to his brain's pleasure centre; the inexplicable, wholly unexpected *rightness* of being completely filled with a rigid cock; the orgasm that had sent him writhing and bucking and screaming under Angelus, naked in every possible way.

"Of course, I also used to jerk off guiltily while thinking about Red sometimes," said Angelus to himself. "And occasionally Giles. Not so much fantasizing about Buff, for some reason. Funny, that - guess she was on too much of a pedestal. But I dare say you did enough fantasizing about her for the both of us. No, mostly it was you. You or Red."

And Xander was paralysed by the thought of Angelus going near Willow. For some reason it had never even occurred to him that Angelus might want to hurt her. And not *just* hurt her. (Flashed on the memory of Willow in the vampire's grasp, Angel's voice saying: "But she's so cute and helpless. Really a turn-on." And as he had left them all trembling in the dark hallway he had promised: "Things are about to get very interesting." )

" Hmm - what to do, what to do," said Angelus to himself, stroking Xander's cheek absent-mindedly as one might pet a cat. With startling speed he was suddenly leaning down over Xander, his chest pressing down against the boy's back and his cold hands enfolding Xander's, pressing them palm-down into the grass. Oddly this unexpected interlacing of fingers felt more intimate even than the pressure of the vampire's cock where it rubbed against the base of his spine. Xander's breath caught in his throat as he froze under Angelus; his mind went perfectly blank, waiting, waiting. . .

Angelus inhaled deeply, his face barely an inch from the nape of Xander's neck. "You know, there is *nothing* quite like this mixture of terror and lust, Alexander Harris. You can forget all about expensive aftershaves and colognes, my boy, because this is simply irresistible." And then the cold remembered lips closed over Xander's throat like a benediction - only to be jerked away a split second later with a snarl.

"Holy water? Why you little. . ." And Xander was wriggling like a fish, an explosion of coiled energy frantic to get out from under the vampire's 'prisoning limbs. An uneven struggle, under normal circumstances, but Angelus was taken by surprise - and was further surprised to find that when he grabbed the boy's shirt the fabric scorched the bare skin of his hands.

They tussled in silence, looking for all the world like a pair of kids horsing around. Xander's blood was thrumming in his veins, adrenaline pulsing through his body as he twisted and kicked, until he finally found himself lying on his back, arms above his head and both wrists clamped together against the ground. Angelus, his left arm stretching taut to pinion Xander's hands, surveyed him with something like amusement. He was still smiling as he delivered a ringing blow to Xander's head with his right hand, releasing his hold on the boy's wrists a moment later. Then he deliberately seized hold of the shirt and dragged Xander's torso up towards him.

Xander, his head aching as he glared furiously up into the deceptively puppydog-brown eyes, could smell the undead flesh burning - but Angelus gave no sign of feeling anything at all as smoke curled up from his hands where they clamped into the fabric. His gaze never faltered.

"Xander, Xander, Xander. . . such a fight you're putting up! You really are trying to play the heterosexual card, aren't you? Isn't it a little *late* for that, Xander? What were your exact words again?·'Please fuck me,' if I recall correctly? C'mon, boy, who exactly are you trying to fool here? We both know that this is what you want. The only question is whether you get it before or after I kill you."

"What I want is you *dead*, you, you, *vampire*," Xander replied, scowling helplessly up at Angelus.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Xander's repartee skills have left the building. Repeat, Xander's repartee skills have left the building. Move along, please - nothing to see. Move along.

"You want me dead, then you're in luck - you've *got* me dead, " Angelus said brightly. "Y'know, personally I prefer to fuck something with a pulse. I'm prepared to make exceptions, you understand, but generally I like my meat served hot. But if you get off on this whole being-fucked-by-the-dead kick, hey, who am I to judge? Some of my best friends are dead. All of them, in fact. Y'know, come to think of it, I killed them myself. Gee, that was fun."

Xander felt sick. (I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.)

But a moment later he felt something else altogether as Angelus rocked forwards, shifting the balance of his weight forwards onto his knees and clamping his leather-encased thighs tightly around Xander's waist. His cock strained against the fabric of his pants and rubbed insistently against Xander Junior as his mouth came down devouringly on Xander's warm, parted lips and his tongue thrust straight down Xander's throat.

And Xander hadn't expected this - anything else, maybe, but not this. Because last time. . . last time Angelus had done everything Xander thought a person could conceivably have done to them, and a number of things he hadn't even suspected were possible, let alone enjoyable, but he hadn't once kissed him. Somehow having the vampire's face pressed breathlessly up against his own, the vampire's tongue invading his warm mouth, claiming it with a ruthless ferocity that Cordelia would never match. . . somehow this felt more real and even, in some ways, more intimate than the sex itself had done. Which was really, really dumb, but still somehow also the unvarnished truth.

When Angelus let go of the shirtfront Xander fell back with an audible thump, his head slamming painfully back onto the ground. A moment later the vampire's hands were on the shirt again, yanking it violently off him and spraying buttons haphazardly. Another stake was gone, rolling away into the shadows as the fabric ripped.

(Just one stake left now, but that's enough. . .)

In a very short time Xander found himself an awful lot more naked in the whole torso area than he had been planning on getting this evening. He also found himself an awful lot more aroused in the whole crotch area than he had been planning on getting. (Had he been planning on getting. . ?) And there was no denying his arousal, because Angelus could certainly both feel the telltale bulge and smell the pre-cum gathering on its tip. And besides, that kiss had been anything but one-sided.

(Busted)

He blinked up at Angelus, wavering angrily between embarrassment, terror and deep-seated, wholly inexpressible *need*. Found that Angelus was beaming like a five-year-old kid; and it was one of the most beautiful sights Xander had seen but it was also quite definitely scaring the living shit out of him. It occurred to Xander belatedly that the vampire might be stark staring insane as well as evil.

(Oh GREAT. Did I break a mirror or something? 'Cause surely this run of bad luck *cannot* be natural?)

He closed his eyes, marvelling at the mess he was in - more than half expecting the feel of fangs in his neck but overwhelmed suddenly at his own idiocy.

(My life is so lousy that Cordelia "Bitch Queen" Chase is the best thing in it. And I'm neglecting her because I've got the hots for a homicidal vampire. A homicidal *male* vampire. I am one screwed up little Boy Wonder)

Moments later his mind skittered back to the appalling image of Angelus with Willow and immediately danced away again. Turned out that there were still some thoughts more terrible than *himself* doing these unbelievably, suicidally inappropriate things with Angelus. He just couldn't go there. (And he had no intention of trying to figure out how the surge of jealousy he'd felt stirring in his gut fitted into the mix. No intention at all.) One way or another he had to keep it from happening - either dust the guy or draw his fire. Do something, though.

He opened his eyes and suddenly he was lost again, because the sight that greeted him swept all the heroic impulses out of the way quite effortlessly and made Xander realise suddenly why Angelus had gotten his name. The guileless smile that curved his mouth was a revelation - irresistible, disarming, delighted, it lit up the vampire's entire face like a promise of joy. Angelus was stunning. Like an Angel. Like *Angel*. But such a deceptive, infectious look of delight on his face - Angel had never worn such an unrestrained expression of happiness. And what undid him was the fact that at this precise moment Angel's whole being was focussed entirely on Xander - not looking through him, not looking around him, but looking right AT him the way nobody he wanted had ever looked at him; and really wanting Xander in a way that nobody else had ever done. The full force of his gaze was overwhelming.

But he was't Angel - or only part of Angel. Or something. Whatever the hell else he was, he was still an evil, blood-sucking, mass-murdering *demon*.

The problem was that knowing this did nothing to stop Xander's belly from lurching at the sheer beauty of the smile, or stop Xander Junior from trying to burrow His way out of Xander's pants. It did nothing to stop him from desperately, crazily craving the vampire's approval, nothing to restrain the sudden, craven urge to please him.

Why didn't Buffy ever look at him like that? Or Giles? Or anybody? Not even Cordy had ever looked at him like that.

Forgot, quite unforgivably, that Willow had always looked at him like that; because he had always taken it for granted - because it was just Will, after all.

"A rosary?" said Angelus softly, circling his hips in an excruciatingly slow rolling motion as he ran the beads through his white fingers and licked his lips without even seeming conscious of either action. Xander found himself in danger of coming in his pants at nothing more than this mild friction and the memory of cool hands and mouth and cock on his skin in a stranger's stolen room. Couldn't tear his eyes away from the vampire's still-fangless mouth.

The tiny fragment of Xander-brain still capable of making such associations was screaming incoherent warnings about the way vultures spiralled over dying men and shark fins circled around floundering swimmers.

 "A *rosary*, Alexander Harris?" Angelus repeated, in a caressing tone that went straight to Xander's groin. "Oh, now that's just adorable. Really, you shouldn't have."

Not quite the effect he'd been going for when he'd made his thrift store purchase, it had to be said - Xander had really been hoping for something more like horrified repulsion, but it seemed that rosaries were one of the vampire's kinks. Who knew?

"Surprise, Xander - I've decided that you'll live through the evening. You amuse me. Now, how *ever* are you going to be able to repay my display of generosity, I wonder?"

And then a long finger that was absolutely *nothing* like Cordelia's traced the outline of Xander's mouth with surprising delicacy and Xander let out an involuntary moan, his buttocks clenching and unclenching urgently against the disturbed earth and his cock grinding needily against the bulging crux of the black leather pants.

The last, disregarded little smidgen of Xander-self-preservation-instinct yelled something about tigers with their claws temporarily sheathed; but it was too damned late now because Angelus wasn't holding him down any longer and yet strangely Xander wasn't trying to struggle one little bit. He was staring helplessly up at the familiar mouth as it moved slowly down towards him and delivered the killing blow - a kiss that was languorous and tender and lying, lying, lying. . . but Xander still felt himself dissolving, felt himself being served up naked and spread-eagled on a silver platter in that wet hot/cold twining of tongues and teeth and coppery saliva. Forgot, just for a moment, about protecting Will, forgot about loving Buffy or Cordelia, forgot about the ongoing battle against the forces of darkness in which he'd somehow gotten involved. Forgot about the last remaining stake tucked away in his pocket. Forgot absolutely everything but this.

And when the vampire shifted his weight again and cool, nimble fingers found their way inside Xander's pants his whole body was liquid; sheer helplessness and yielding softening his limbs and slackening his jaw as all he possessed of strength and firmness rushed with his eager blood to fill Xander's happy cock. It was if his very corpuscles were stretching out to the vampire, blood recognising its master and thriving on the touch of inhuman fingers claiming their property. As if the vampire's tongue had branded him irrevocably that first time and now the parted lips with their squirming wet tangle of intimate flesh were the only truth that mattered. Xander didn't even notice himself surrender, couldn't have pinpointed the moment when his fingers closed around the cold neck and ran urgently up into the gel-stiffened hair.

(Here I am. Take me.)

And over the course of the next hour, with breathtaking thoroughness and an utter disregard for the possibility of discovery by The Slayer, Angelus did exactly that. Angelus took him with a single-minded efficiency, until Xander screamed his gratitude and thrashed uncontrollably and finally lost language altogether, right there on the grave; with moonlight silvering their flesh as the vampire ground him down into the earth, pressing hand-shaped bruises onto his sweet young hipbones and leaving ragged bite marks on his tender young ass.

And then he did it again.
 
 

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