Chapter Fourteen

His. There's nothing quite like being his, Spike thought. The younger vampire stood, swayed for a moment, standing freely naked and sweating in the throws of his fever. His sire lay under him, looking at him worriedly, and when he swayed so much that he was threatening to fall, Angel placed steadying hands on his thighs. Angel was his sire. Angel worried.

His father, his lover, his everything, but Angel would never be his. Spike knew that now. He'd known it all along. In his lust-ridden ride to ecstasy, he'd known that. In the passionate kisses that left his tongue feeling spent and swollen, he'd known that.

In the gentle caresses and the worst of the beatings, he'd liked to pretend that he had no idea.

"Will, sit back down," Angel ordered softly. When he didn't, there was a note of desperation in Angel's 'please, little one?' and Spike felt his hope lift and touch the untouchable sun, because no matter how impoverished he was, he could always make his sire beg.

"'M I yours, then?" he asked quietly, sinking onto his sire. "All yours? Because you always say that 'm yours and that means that 'm not mine and you sure as hell aren't bloody mine either, 'cause you wear the belt and beat me with it, too." And then he was on his back on the floor, and Spike was left wondering exactly how his sire always managed to top him - no matter how firm his grip, and how cunning his intent, Angel always managed to best him. There was that disapproving frown then, the frown he always received when he questioned plans as a fledgling and tried to be too self-sufficient because Will was never smart enough to understand exactly where his place was and that his sire knew what was best. Angelus always knew what was best and that's why Angelus was the owner and Spike would always be the loyal puppy who came back, little pink tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail wagging.

However, Angelus always did the licking. It was his specialty, really. Angel's, too, because soul or no soul you're the same bloody person and have the same bloody tongue that like to do the same naughty things and that's why Spike groaned; because that bloody tongue was licking his stomach and those large hands were kneeding their way underneath him. William the Bloody found his own fingers intertwined in his sire's stiff, gelled hair, tugging and groping and wondering how one tongue could be so clever and cause so much pleasure and pain at the same time.

But the tongue stopped, and Spike closed his eyes and felt the weight pin him down, felt a soft paternal kiss on his nose and big thumbs stroking his cheeks.

"I love you."

Love. Love was a burned map , burnt to ash at all of the marked trails and roads and big rocks. Love got you lost in a merciless maze and if you stepped out of line once, just once...

"You love me like you love your expensive satin sheets," Spike whispered back. "'M your boy, your little poet prince. Yours. Always yours." More gentle kisses, kissing away his tears because they weren't really his.

A knock at the door and Cordelia called for Angel and Spike shuddered and shivered and trembled and shook.

"What is it, Cordelia?" Angel's voice was quavering and suspiciously hoarse, and Spike placed a placating hand on his sire's chest, right over the lack of the beat. Hearts were still and black and Spike knew that now. Then again, Spike had known that all along. It was William who had been oblivious.

"If a client comes in while you're having vampire sex on your office floor, what are we supposed to tell them?"

"Just a minute."

Spike's eyes lingered over his sire's naked form, then over his half-naked form, then over his fully clothed form. Because his eyes always lingered on Angel when they had no where else to go.

"Precious, dress."

Always lingering lingering lingering on that exposed skin.

Angel shook his head with a sigh, watching the blue eyes of his boy dazedly fall to a random place on his neck. Difficult as he was, his William was always moreso when he was ill and troubled.

"William," he tried again, snapping his fingers for attention, but the boy was unresponsive. Angel took the initiative and dressed the limp figure himself, quick yet cautious with his movements. He then dragged the smaller vampire to his feet and led him outside.

Cordelia had gone home.

"Spike, are you still feeling ill?" As always, Wesley's inquiry was timid and brimming with concern. Wesley admired and respected Angel, and he felt a great amount of empathy for the vampire. Probably more than any former Watcher ever should. Thus, Angel's concerns were Wesley's concerns and that included the rude and brash, yet strangely endearing Spike.

"Jus' a bit, mate," Spike replied. "'M gonna be better soon, though. Don't you worry."

"Are you?" Angel asked, confused. "I just dressed you because you wouldn't dress yourself."

"Jus' figurin' out my cure, Peaches." He stood on the tip of his toes and planted a soft kiss on his sire's mouth. "Your cure."

"My cure?"

"Everything that should be mine, is yours."


"My blood, my body...all yours."

"Will, what are you-"

"This fever," Spike cut him off. "My head, my mind...all yours. I've deluded meself into thinkin' that somewhere around these parts-" he ran his fingers along his body, "-somethin' here is mine. 'S not. 'S'all yours, sire." Another kiss. "Your blood, your body..."

"Spike, that's not an entirely healthy way to think..." Wesley trailed off.

"You're not mine. We're not equals. You let me have some sometimes to keep me sane. You'll take it like a champ, but you're never gonna whimper, Angel. Never. You'll never be mine because I can never make you mine like you made me yours." Spike flicked his tongue over Angel's neck. "Yours forever. You didn't steal, because I was given to you. You're not much for petty theft, sire. Never were." He nestled his face into the crook of his sire's neck. Home, he thought. This is where home is.

"Will, you're burning up." Angel placed a hand on his childe's back, irked by the behavior.

"Shhh, Da. Don't you worry about me anymore, old man." That adorable little face nuzzling his cheek. "Such a lovely way to burn."

He didn't even see it coming. Didn't see the game face spring up, the rage and hurt and unabated love blazing in his boy's golden eyes. Didn't see any of it. He hardly felt the fangs pierce his neck and drain him into unconsciousness, but he was pretty sure he whimpered. He might have even cried. He never felt the cold death radiating over his childe's skin afterwards, the reassurance that the cure worked.

"Pillage," Spike told a pale-faced Wesley. "Pillage works sometimes. There's no proof of ownership or any such formality involved, but...its his blood and I can make it mine when he's not willing. Worked for it, I did."


"Don't worry. He'll come to in a few hours. Just heat 'im up some pig's blood and he'll be like new."

"But he'll-"

"Miss me?" The blue eyed prince looked sadly at his fallen king. "Yeah, he'll miss me. Empty nest. He's home, after all. Baby left."

" were sick. How..?"

"Fever was in me head, Percy. All in me head. Needed him so bad. All the time. Got myself worked up, s'all. And all this mine and yours and whose business just had me spinnin' round in circles till I was loony as Dru." The blonde paused for a moment, looking to the ceiling. "Wonder how she's doing."

"But, Sp-"

"No." The voice was firm and definite, something Wesley had heard little in the past weeks. "Tell him..." William, Will, Precious, Spike - spared another sorrowful glance at his sire. "Tell him he has my love and my blood, but not my life. Tell him I..." Large, scuffed boots walking to the door. "Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't stay for the after sex smoke."

And he walked out. Just like that, he walked out. Found a road and took it somewhere else, because being lost in love was a surefire way to find yourself without shelter in the coming dawn.