ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Reconfiguration VI
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: Neither Lar nor ethrosdemon own Xander or Angel, their souls or their demons. We do own Cordelia's attitude though, so back off!
Rating: R
Spoilers: Epiphany, The Body
Notes: You may ask yourself, "Is this crap going anywhere, I can't take it anymore." And we answer "Yes, next instalment, Xander and Angel go to the hair dresser's and wackiness ensues."
Dedication: To Aimee who issued the challenge, um, we called the hospitals, but we still can't find you. This time around, we have to really thank Sam, Rabbit, and Donna. They held our hands (well, one of us who had a serious melt down while the other one laughed and pointed) and told us what wasn't working. To Te, whose issues are addressed in a half-assed way.

============================

Angel looks over at Xander singing along with some asinine song on the radio about stealing sunshine, took him out to roust some information, Xander's quips making him laugh as he beat the needed facts out of his target. Hopes Cordelia picked up his favorite jacket from the cleaners, and they were able to get the Mrlw blood out of the lining.

Xander the automatic response of singing with whatever music hits his ear not registering, absorbed in his thoughts, like most of the time in the last couple weeks. Fixated on analyzing himself and his relations with Angel. He's come to see their interaction on two levels: the innate and the conscious. He listens to Angel closely enough that he's aware the other man has different names for these levels: demon and soul. The separation not really there in Xander's mind when he reaches for it. When they spar, the better Xander gets, the more their connection flares. He allows the non-thinking portion of his nature to take over, and his mind goes clear; sees the same clarity in Angel's eye as they move through kata after kata without speaking, communicating with every curved line of arm and extended leg. When there's no fighting, rarely completely alone, he thinks about Angel and his personal glitches: walking into the kitchen at three in the morning to find Angel mumbling about washable silk and being out of Woolite, sharing a long night with Cordelia and Wesley drinking beer and playing canasta, Angel asking him to pick up more ginger body wash when he goes to the mall with Cordelia. Senses these moments are when he's getting a glimpse of what Angel would call his soul, what Xander just sees as the guy beneath the Sire portion of the package. The guy he never really knew before, and hearing the way Cordelia tells the tale about the first year or so of life at Angel Investigations, he considers that maybe that guy wasn't there before recently at all. He's not sullen stalker freak, he's not savior of the world, he's becoming Angel, a person Xander likes.

Angel presses to keep Xander busy, his mind occupied, and his body in motion. The more exhausted he is when he sleeps, the fewer screams startle Angel from his own rest. Still sharing a bed, a habit neither of them felt any desire to kick, but contact's limited to bodies fitted together in repose.

Pictures this as yet another chance to get something right, not for himself as much as for Xander, and he says that every time, like a silent mantra, and know's it's not true. As the repairing develops, their relationship changes, never returning to what was between them before Xander's lies were exposed-shining, new and full of possibilities-instead it's a constant step and counter step of learning one another's ways. Angel at first annoyed at having a roommate again after being solitary for most of the last century, sometimes finds himself amused at Xander's odd behavior: that he refuses to stop eating Chef Boyardee, smothering it in blood before he microwaves it, the way he carpets the bathroom floor in towels before he takes a shower so he doesn't have to step on the cool tiles when he gets out, the fact that he keeps Cordelia distracted enough that he's only been hit up for extra money twice in the past month.

Xander's voice drifts to him again, and he can hear the distance in it, flicks his eyes over to see the glassy, blank features denoting deep thought. The look that frightens him more often than not, concerned that Xander's not meditating on the exact placement of a kill-strike on the demon du jour but on a human. Wants to bring Xander back to him, find the words to broach his pride at his childe's embracing of the struggle to do the right thing and what it means to him. Tell him how proud he is that Xander's found a place amongst his reknitting family structure, but he just can't find words that don't sound hollow in his own ears, a way to draw Xander out of his funk, words for the sake of words, so he lets it go instead and concentrates on the traffic.

++

Cordelia is not happy.

She makes sure that Gunn and Wes are well aware of this state of affairs by complaining at length to them. In detail. Loud and long enough that they realize there is no relief unless they pay attention and provide input and suggestions.

"I'm telling you that something is not right with those two. Don't look at me like that, Wesley, I'm not overreacting. Angel is broodier than usual and you remember what happened the last time that happened. There were dead lawyers and unemployment, and I refuse to find another cruddy little hole to move us into again." She's pacing with her arms crossed, back and forth between Gunn on one sofa and Wesley on the other, and they take turns looking up at her and then at each other.

Gunn finally gives up and answers her. "Cordie, it's just a lover's spat. Damn, stop gettin' yourself all in a lather over it." Sits back and kicks his boots up on the table, looks at the newest slime stains. Feels the weight of two pairs of astonished eyes on him and shrugs. "What?"

Cordelia speechless, there's a picture he'd like to keep on file somewhere, but she finally speaks in a tone that's equal parts shock and dismay. "*What* did you say?"

"You know, boyfriend troubles. They'll kiss and make up." Looks at her standing there with her mouth open like some exotic fish and bursts out laughing. "Y'all're supposed to be the vampire experts and you mean to tell me you never clued in?"

Cordelia stamps her foot. "Xander isn't gay!"

Gunn just grins at her. "How the hell do you know?"

"How do you think I know? The old fashioned way." Toss of her head, and there's an oddly sweet mixture of bragging and shyness in her manner.

He puts his hands up in the air, "I rest my case."

Loud braying laughter from Wesley, completely out of the normal for him, and Cordelia rounds to shoot daggers his way. He ignores her, grabs the glasses off his face and leans way back in to sofa, still snickering.

"You turned Wes gay, too," Gunn continues, gesturing at the other man, whose laughter cuts off abruptly. He stuffs his glasses back on his face, nearly poking his own eye in the process and frowns.

"Your jokes are no longer funny, Charles."

"Gotta stick up his tight ass, too."

"Shut up both of you! Xander is not gay, and wait, neither is Angel." On the verge of tears, and oh, she hates that feeling, being hit with the unknown, the knowledge that someone else possesses which should have been hers first.

Gunn's unaware of the crisis, he sees this as prime teasing opportunity and just keeps on rolling. "Didn't you and Angel have a few dates back in Sunnydale?"

Xander and Angel come in on that last remark, jackets over their arms. Xander's voice is pleasant as he says, "Cordie and Angel? She wishes."

Gunn turns, spots Xander over his shoulder. "Speak of the she-devil."

"Huh? Do I *look* like a female to you?" Spreads his arms, and Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia take in the wardrobe, leather and skin tight shimmer of lycra.

"Check out how GQ they are."

Wesley hides a grin but Cordelia gives a strangled little squeal and hustles out of the room, heels clicking across the wood and fading down the hallway. Xander catches the trailing scent of her anxiety and looks to the rest of them.

"Did I miss the part where this all makes sense?"

"Cordelia just got the low-down on your love that dare not speak its name."

Angel takes a step forward, grabs Xander's arm and squeezes, warning and grounding in one move. Xander feels it but doesn't acknowledge. "Oh fuck. I doubt you mean my love of Sailor Moon."

"Hell no, Junior. I mean you and your pops." Angel drops a look on Gunn, who's having far too much fun with this to let it get to him. Gives Angel a tooth-filled smile and turns back to Xander.

Angel clears his throat, drops Xander's arm now that he's sure there's not going to be anything physical happening, says in an overly exuberant voice, "So, any visions lately?"

Gunn chuckles. "Hell yeah, I think Cordelia's got herself a whole mess of visions right about now."

Xander tosses his jacket to the floor, takes a boxer's stance facing Gunn. "You wanna rumble, Charlie?"

"I'll take your punk ass down." Gunn up and circling him, both of them grinning while Angel and Wesley look on in a mixture of confusion and amusement. Banter flows, but Angel notes that Xander's been paying attention during his sparring lessons and carries himself in a loosely held defensive form. Gunn does the same, testing the new boy while they act like fools.

"So, you pick up on the 'special' vibe because you wanna get a little of this for yourself?" Xander smiles, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. Playing but taking note of the opponent's moves, the way he carries his body.

"You're a little dead for my type, son."

"Come on man, once you go vamp, you'll never go back." Easy laughter, and Angel looks down to see Wesley watching him with a look of concern.

He can practically see the wheels in Wesley's mind clicking over, wants to assure him that there's no need to be spending his energies on worrying about souls and curses. A few moments of camaraderie, careless bonding, won't budge the weight of guilt that either of them carries, and Wesley more than most should be aware of how Angel holds himself apart. He also doubts that Xander's soul can be lost to begin with.

Wesley's eyes flicker over the smile hovering over Angel's features at Gunn and Xander's antics. Doesn't hear denial filling the air or even an attempt at explanation. Takes that for what it is: acknowledgement that Angel's role in Xander's life is not simply teacher and friend. Still not firm on who Angel is now, how much of him is the man he came to love as a friend and champion for what's right, and how much of the wild, obsessive individual is left over from his dealings with Darla. Doubts Angel would put his soul in jeopardy, but at the same times doesn't trust his own judgment in the matter. Decides that now isn't the time, and turns away from the men in the room to find Cordelia.

Angel watches him go, pained, he wants to follow and explain, but knows there's no way he can. The lie Wesley keeps heavy on him, and his request to keep it secret more so. Wesley has his own problems, and Angel knows he's not over the firing or Angel's horning back in on the group dynamic the three of them had developed while he was rampaging after his women. Angel sighs looking down the hall after Wesley and realizes the room is silent, turns his head and sees Gunn and Xander staring at him.

"You OK, man?" Gunn is shoulder to shoulder with Xander and both are eyeing him with concern. Knows that Xander was the one who dropped the horseplay when he picked up on the change. Possibly also aware of Wesley's fears along with Angel's

Tries to lighten the mood, bring back some of the easy repartee that was present only minutes ago. "Yeah. What happened to the fight, I thought I might see some bloodshed."

Gunn makes a dismissive gesture, shoves Xander amiably with his shoulder. "Nah, we get enough of that 'round here."

"Angel." Xander starts to ask questions that Angel doesn't want to discuss. Not now, for sure, and possibly not at all. Denial, it's a way of life, comfortable to fall into and easy enough to remain there until something big and ugly tumbles in and forces you out.

"I think I'm just hungry."

"That's my cue to go after Cordelia and Wes. I'll roust them out, get Cordelia drunk and make sure she doesn't turn anyone else gay tonight. Later, Junior. Bye, Big Guy."

"Bye, Charlie." Slipping of skin on skin that passes for a handshake nowadays, and Gunn trots off to round up the rest of the crew.

"Tomorrow, Gunn." Angel calls after him and waits for the door to click shut.

Xander's concern shows in his voice. "You think you need to go after Wes?" Just getting things with Gunn and Wesley into a pattern that they can all be comfortable with, and it's apparent tonight that Wesley hasn't been as in sync to the efforts as Xander thought he was. He knows that Wes has been polite, and compared to his behavior in Sunnydale he's been positively outgoing, but he also knows that there's always going to be something there that waits for Xander to fall from his tentatively restored perch of grace. Not in a malicious way, but in the way of the wary, the ones who hope to be wrong but know that they won't be when they prepare for the worst case scenario.

"No, Gunn will take care of it. He's a lot more sensitive than he lets on, and he and Wesley are close." Angel drops his jacket onto the chair with a sigh. Triple play of weariness, hunger, tension getting to him at once, and he wishes for a block of absolute nothingness to slip into.

"How about the eating, lie to get rid of the kids?" Xander wanting to hear more than just the answer to the obvious question, wanting to know if Angel is seeking time alone, or time alone with *him,* time not spent teaching and learning or drifting off to sleep.

"No, I really am hungry." Swallows up his disappointment in Angel's answer and follows him out to the kitchen.

He watches Angel pull out a bag for himself before turning to Xander, who holds up two fingers. Three bags pierced and set in the microwave, cups ready for the warmed fluid before the bell rings. Xander takes the fuller cup and brings it to his mouth, disgust popping up before he can mask it. Angel watches him closely over the rim of his own mug. Sips, considers a minute, tells him "It gets easier."

"What does?" Xander gulps his down, concentrates on the heat, the pleasure it brings and ignores the gnawing that isn't even touched by the long dead bovine fluid.

"Forcing yourself to drink from a container." It's a lie, they both know it, but Angel can't tell him the truth, that the longing is never tempered and flares brightly at times, almost to the point of madness.

=======

In bed, like every night, together. Angel on his back, one leg cocked to the side. Xander facing him with his arm wrapped around Angel's stomach, his mouth inches from Angel's ear. Neither of the them sleeping, and both aware of it. Xander stirs slightly, his fingers creeping up in what could be a natural shift of position.

Xander's been on this edge more than once recently, wanting to so badly to just reach fingers out and touch and fondle without reservation. Blanket himself in the need he can draw from Angel and own that, that time when the world stops and all Angel's attention is on him alone. When Cordelia or Gunn or Wesley won't invade Angel's line of sight or thoughts, and Xander can pretend the secret was always just that, a secret. No distance, and the budding thing Xander thought was growing wasn't crushed by his own stupidity. Decides now's the time to seize his chance, the groundwork done by others. Draws breath to speak, words dropping directly into the shell of Angel's ear. "Do you think, since we have the rep, maybe we can earn it?" Hand shooting up to rub the rough heel of his palm on Angel's nipple. Angel's answer silent, in the air around them, causing a rise in the sharpness of Xander's scent as well. His legs spread further apart as Xander wedges one of his own between, thigh brushing along the bottom of up-drawn balls. Angel drops his eyes closed when deft fingers slide along the straining vein on the underside of his shaft.

Flutter open again when air is displaced near his mouth, Xander's face hovering over his own, "Can I?" parts his lips in invitation, and the caresses end, all sensation and thought focused on the meeting of lips and tongues, fingers twined in hair and suppressed moans. Xander's face slips, teeth pricking Angel's tongue, drawing blood from his lips, and his own demon answers. Breaking apart to fall headlong into frenzy, no release or seeking of it for too long for this to be anything but brutal and to the point.

Xander flipped roughly onto his stomach, barely managing to get to his knees before Angel's weight is pressed against him, heavy and molded along every line as he draws him upright. Arm across Xander's chest and his head rolls naturally to the side to bare his neck, the rounded expanse of muscle where it joins his shoulder. Angel's cock insistent, rubbing in the cleft of Xander's ass as he brings his own wrist up, opens a slit and lets the blood flow into his palm. Pulls away only long enough to slick himself with the palmful of crimson as it mixes with the droplets of precome, and he presses forward. One hand on Xander's shoulder, the other gripping the base of his cock, and he watches the blood covered length as it slips into the tight ring of muscle.

Too long apart, too much blood already in the air, and with a groan from them both he presses himself home. Jerks Xander roughly against him, holds him there with fingers splayed across hipbone on one side and thigh on the other. Xander's hands slide down to cover Angel's, and he pushes back into each thrust. His own cock aching, drooling strands of cool threads onto his legs, and he urges Angel's hand over, folds it around himself, keeps his own there to guide the strokes.

Growling vibrations against Xander's back as Angel's tempo increases, and it makes his hips buck, his hand jerk and lose the rhythm. Angel's never falters, but his grip loosens until there's barely any touch beyond a light whispering stroke. Xander whimpers, rolls his head on the other man's shoulder, strains for the friction that Angel denies him. Gasps when the hand on his cock tightens and fangs pierce his skin, feels the blood flow from his neck into Angel's mouth. Angel's already bleeding wrist pressed to his mouth, and Xander groans out loud as he grabs it with both hands and opens wide, bites down hard, tongue working to bring in a mouthful of the rich fluid. Climax rolls through him with the violence of a storm, leaving him writhing and bucking helplessly as Angel strokes him, pumps inside and comes himself with a shout, tearing his teeth from Xander's shoulder and his wrist from his mouth as they fall forward onto the bed.

Laying there together, quivering on the wet sheets, slow line of cooling redness trailing over Xander's shoulder to drip and spread on the cotton sheets. Xander's mouth finds Angel's hand, the one covered in his own blood, and he licks at it, tingle of Sire on his tongue as it works to capture each drop, wet and slippery between the creases, drawing the fingers into his mouth to suckle. Angel slipping his weight off to the slide, rolling easily and pulling Xander over with him so they're spooned and still joined. His tongue lapping at the edges of the jagged tear he made in his boy's skin and muscle, helping to hurry along the healing.

Simple comfort of limb on limb despite the damp sheets and stickiness that covers them, and Xander begins to drift. Body sated, hunger splintered beneath the languor of the afterglow, and he wants to find the blackness and float there. Angel's voice catches him on the edge, tugs him back.

"Xander." Waits for his sleepy grunt of acknowledgment before continuing. "If you want this, all of it, the sex and intimacy, I have to know that you're not going to run out and fuck girls in alleys. There are rules we never went over before, because I thought the sex would end, that it would be temporary."

Xander half turns in the crook of Angel's shoulder, opens his eye just enough to peek out of the lashes. Summons up the energy to fling a little sarcasm. "Temporary. You were using me for sex? I'm hurt. It's not like I have opportunities elsewhere."

"Opportunities or not, I don't share my bed with many, and like this rarely. We're talking about one of the rules I told you about in the beginning."

"You mean it's a Sire/childe thing." Stifles a yawn. Angel resists the urge to smack the boy in his head, make sure he's paying attention. He's not just explaining the rules of the game, he's drawing the guidelines for *their* relationship. Personal choice in some cases, polished here and there with the glossy luster of tradition, but it's much easier to make it part of the old ways than it is to explain his own uncertain emotions about the whole arrangement, about how he never thought it would go this far, or that he would even want it, want this, blood letting and wild sex, and caresses to go after.

"Yes, and in normal families one of the marks of a true childe, time in his Sire's bed, and fed from his body, and my demon can't stand the idea of you with another while you're with me." Someone else touching what belongs to him alone, whispering secret words of longing, stealing Xander away before he's ready to forgo his claim, jealousy always his failing, always sexual, never about love, and he knows this is a spark of the before time, not just the demon, Liam. Shuts that out when it occurs to him, doesn't want this to be about human need and failings.

"Your demon, huh?" He can *feel* Xander's smirk where his mouth is pressed against Angel's bicep, and hides his own.

"Don't press your luck."

Snort of laughter. "Don't worry, I don't want you to get all emotional and make me puke."

"No flowers in the morning then?" Reaches for the telephone. "Let me cancel the order."

"You're scaring me."

Smiles for them both, stretch and realignment of limbs, then sleeps finally ashes over Xander. Angel lies awake a while longer, watches the light grow around the curtains at the window, and wonders if things are ever going to be easy between them. If they are ever going to get to a place where it's not fists or jokes between them, when they can speak freely without hesitation, that place he was grasping for before their relationship shifted. Doesn't think he should really want that, want something beyond slaking the thirst for a body in his bed and someone in his life who won't fade and die with the passing years. Thinks about his promised humanity and what that might mean for Xander. Lets that thought nip at his heels all the way to the blackness of unconsciousness.

=====

Xander comes downstairs the next day, late afternoon shadows laying slanted across the hardwood floors. Cordelia there alone, her back to him as he approaches.

"Cordy."

She startles a little, throws him a look that clearly states he's not to mention that he saw her rattled. Looks back away again, finding something incredibly interesting in the pile of papers that cover her desk. "Don't start."

He hops up on the counter, not going anywhere until they talk this out. "You don't want to hear my side of the story?"

Small noise of disgust and she tells him, "No, I'm not ready for the lurid details. I talked to Gunn and Wes last night, they said there will be no soul lossage, so I will cope."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." Knows that this is the bone of contention here, keeping secrets from her that others were privy to. She's been nothing but open to him, and to find out that he's been less so with her, no matter the subject matter, plucks at the tender places in her. Despite the strength she displays every day, Xander knows better than most that under it all she is human, fragile and utterly breakable.

"I know. I just never thought about it." Turns large, shadowed eyes to him, and he wonders what other things she's keeping to herself. The visions are painful, he knows from seeing them take her out, and when she thinks no one else is watching he sees her cry. Not from the physical pain most times. From the other hurt, the way the world around them is so bent on destroying everything and making it suffer in the process. She catches herself now, drops the mask into place and is all business as she says, "Whatever. Wes says it's normal. Who am I to judge your lifestyle?"

"My friend who I love." That gets a reaction from her, a softening in the lines of her shoulders, and they drop a little as she lets the admission soothe raw nerves and uncertainties. Gives her the strength to turn to him with a half smile.

"Xander, get a grip. Do you want to hear all about my sex life?"

He fakes a dramatic shudder, rolls his head back and stares at the ceiling. Whines, "Do I have to?"

"See? Willow called."

Hops off the counter now, "Yeah? And what did she say?" Stands behind her and snoops over her shoulder until she smacks his arm lightly, pushes her chair back.

"For you to call her, duh."

"Nothing hellmouthy?" Moment of worry there despite Cordelia's lack of concern.

"Oh, you mean like one of her friends becoming a vampire with a soul and having a gay lover who is also her best friend's ex boyfriend?" Looks over her shoulder at him and sticks out her tongue.

"Shut up. I'll call after I have some coffee." Ambles out to the kitchen, looks at the coffeepot and heads to the fridge instead. Heats a bag and drinks it without bothering to mess a cup, gulping it down quickly and tossing it into the trash. Only then pouring the coffee he still doesn't really want and can't taste anyway, warms his hands with it and goes back out to talk with Cordelia, put off the phone call that he's sure brings nothing but more complications.

She leaves him soon enough, and there's no one in the hotel to distract himself with any longer. Picks up the phone and dials Willow's number, listens to the crackle and hollowing ringing before it's picked up and a low hesitant voice says, "Hello?"

"Tara? Hey, it's Xander."

"I know your voice, how are you?"

"Good. Better than you would expect. How're things?"

"You want to speak to Willow?"

"Trying to get off the phone?"

"No, uh I just... stop teasing me. Here's Willow."

"Xander? Hey!"

"Hey Wills."

"You haven't called in more than a week."

"I know, I'm evil, what can I say?"

"Xander."

"Yeah yeah, so, what's up in the Dale?"

"Well, actually, something's happened."

"What kind of something?"

"Something not so good. I don't know how to tell you this. Anya ran away."

"What do you mean?"

"One day she was here, the next she wasn't, her stuff's gone and no one knows where she is. She didn't leave a note or anything."

"I thought you guys did that glamour thing, told them I had a job in Tulsa or some shit."

"We did! It just didn't seem to work on her very well from the beginning. She would say...things."

"What kind of things, Willow? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get facts from you?"

"You don't have to be mean. She would say that you hadn't called, and how weird that was, and then she started crying sometimes. I don't know. Maybe it didn't work on her at all. I'm so sorry. I didn't know this would happen."

"It's not your fault, Wills. I should have come home by now."

"You need to take your time. Do it when you feel comfortable with yourself."

"Tall order...so, what about Buffy and Dawn?"

"They're fine. No more Glory happenings. Trying to cope. I think that might be why they weren't resistant to the spell. Dawn asked if I'd talked to you the other day, but I don't think they suspect."

The conversation turns over to the mundane details of spells and castings, demon slaying and Cordelia's latest snarky remarks. Xander lets her voice fade in and out, makes appropriate noises in the lulls while his mind turns over and over on the Anya situation.

Left. The spell never took, and it was a long shot anyway. Despite his love for Wills, he readily acknowledges that her spells are quirky at best, and it seemed iffy to cast something like that on an ex-demon. Maybe she had some residual resistance to it, or maybe - and he hates to think this but admits that it might be the truth - the pain of him abandoning her was too huge to be smoothed over. Another mark in his guilt column, and when he says goodbye to Willow, promises to keep up on the email more often, lets the phone drop with a loud thunk into the cradle.

He never chose this fate, has absolutely no memory of anything to do with his turning. He only gets to deal with the fall-out, and part of that was walking away from things that were gone to him anyway. Regular life, such as it might have been for him, gone in an instant. Wills understood. Tara, too, possibly better than anyone, something otherworldly, old and wise about her whenever she really lets you *see* her, and Xander kind of grooves on that. It reminds him that there are bigger things happening than he will ever know about, and puts his own fuck-ups in some kind of perspective. Like now, when he's missing things that he has no business even thinking about, because they're gone to him forever, like sunburns, the glittering of noon on waves at the beach, christenings and big church weddings. Not that he couldn't have tried, at least made the effort to go home and explain himself to Anya, maybe leave the details about Angel out, but let her know that it wasn't her, that he loved her. That he still loves her.

Sound of the door interrupts his thoughts, Angel coming in with Wesley and Gunn right behind, and there's other things to think about for the moment. Xander loses himself in the activity, wills his mind to file it away for later.

=====

Three in the morning, Angel on his side and Xander on his stomach beside him, head pillowed on his arms. He's been quiet and distracted all night, and even now when they're in bed his mind somewhere else.

Angel breaks the silence. "You talked to Willow tonight?" Knows he did, Cordelia stuck a note for Angel on one of those eye searing lime-green post it notes to the outside of the front door so he would know before he came in.

"Yeah." Xander switches positions, leans the other side of his face against his arms so he isn't looking away from Angel, although he keeps his eyes down.

"Did something happen?" Puts his hand on the small of Xander's back, knot of tight muscles there evidence of the stress despite his attempts to hide it. Angel's fingers skim up the line of his spine, and back down to lie wide, flat and still in the space where they started.

"Anya left." He tries to relax into the touch but the thoughts of past life and future eternity stretch out too far for him to stop thinking about it and enjoy the rare pre-mating caress.

"Hm." Noncommittal, letting Xander know that he's listening but isn't going to offer any kind of opinion. Doesn't want to let anything he has to say on the matter color the way Xander himself is going to react to the news, despite knowing that he could do it if he was so inclined. Mastery of the tools of manipulation, something you never forget, hundreds years of practicing it, and he knows how a simple look or tone of voice can sway opinion. Determined to leave that out of the way they deal with each other as much as he can on a conscious level.

"It's better this way, maybe she can have a normal life. Find someone who can make her happy, with a boat and a dog, who wants kids and doesn't live on the mouth of Hell." Sounds like he's trying to make this same argument to himself more than Angel, and it's not like there was a choice involved any longer. It's not until Anya is gone that Xander realizes with an odd finality that he will never grow old, never be a father. There's no Little League or dance recitals in his future, no turns at midnight bottles so Anya can rest, no little voices piping shrill calls of 'Daddy' and meaning him. Things he never realized he ever thought about until tonight, things he always just assumed would be there when he was ready for it, sometime in the fuzzy place known as 'then.' Only there is no 'then' for him anymore, and he's not sure of the balance sheet, and what to write down on the other side now, how to even it out with a rationalization.

"You don't want those things?"

"I did a couple months ago." Shrug of his shoulders, and Xander finds himself on the verge of tears.

Angel's hand moves again, rubbing in a soothing pattern , pressure easing the furled muscles in his back as he asks Xander, "Do you miss everyone else?" Keeps his eyes focused on his hand as he rubs, shielding his thoughts in case this is the moment the boy decides to turn and look. He knows that the answer is yes, it's only normal for him to miss the familiar people who love him and make sure he knows it. Unlike here, where Cordelia maintains an almost constant facade of friendly-but-untouchableness, Angel knows that Willow at least has always been open in her affection. Anya was nothing *but* physical, to hear Cordelia tell it, and he knows that it must have been more than that, that the translation comes filtered through two sets of female interpretations regarding a woman outside of their inner core who is intimately involved with the lone, and well-protected, male. The truth of it lies in the stillness that pervades Xander tonight, and his dawning awareness at last of what his life has become.

"I miss more than my friends." Tightening of his back again despite Angel's ministrations, and he knows that Xander has made some of the longer reaching connections, the ones he himself has been forced to confront only recently in his own attempts to take stock of where he is in the world.

"It will only get worse." Part of the reason he kept himself apart from the humans, kept himself from forming ties, their innate frailty and comparatively insignificant lifespan making it nothing more than pain in the waiting to be close or feel affection for them. Until Sunnydale, until Buffy and the people he let infiltrate his existence, Angel never let himself be drawn to anything he thought he might lose. He knows Xander is thinking this as well, thinking of himself remaining twenty forever while Cordelia and Willow age, change, and die. Mortality is still an issue, made so by the ties of love.

Xander grunts. "This nightly dose of cheer and sunshine brought to you courtesy of Angel, harbinger of doom."

"Would you prefer I lied to you?"

"Sometimes."

Lies back down on the bed and lets Angel rub his back, tries to give himself up to the feeling of the fingers that work his muscles, drag over his skin. Soon enough the contact brings him to the place he wants to be, which is away from the headaches of reality and into the niche where it's only about the feeling of skin on skin, Angel's against his. The push and slide of Angel's hands rocking his body gently as the intentions of his touch move from relaxation to more urgent needs. Xander finds himself pressing his hips into the heavy nap of the cotton sheets, rough against his erection. Feeling the press and moisture of Angel's own hardness against his thigh as he leans to tug on Xander's shoulder, roll him off his belly and onto his side. Wants to pretend that Angel's doing this out of something more that regret over his own actions, regret at giving him these complications in his life, which is the only way Xander is able to have anything that could be called life at all now, knows Angel doesn't see it that way. Face to face, Angel's mouth open just enough for him to see the tip of his tongue pressed against his teeth. Xander leans in, flicks his tongue over those moist lips, darts it inside. Slow movements tonight, no need to rush and tear into each other. Angel's hand threads in the tangled black curls and holds him still, sucks Xander's bottom lip into his mouth, then the top. Xander's fingers stroke and creep over the swell of hip and thigh, between the two of them to trace the pattern of the veins and folds before tugging down, feeling the skin slide. Angel's hiss of pleasure as the head of his cock is exposed and pressed against his own belly by hip and hand. Disappointed murmur when Xander rolls away to reach back into the bedside table replaced with a low sigh of pleasure as newly oiled fingers grasp and rub. And in these seconds, Xander can let himself believe that the man with him truly is his lover as much as Anya ever was, not his care-taker and warden.

Sweet friction, aching burn of need taking its time to build past the point of them both just rolling with it, Angel's fingers slick and exploring. Palm across the head of Xander's cock, pushing down, fingers raking through the tangle of hair at the base. Press and rub on the silky skin under his sac then inside, and Xander just shudders against Angel's chest. Lets Angel nudge a knee between his thighs, press another finger inside of him as he licks and sucks at Angel's mouth, his tongue, his neck. Blunt teeth scrape the skin where it's thinnest, right over the spot where a pulse would jump and throb, and he feels the demon slipping its bonds as Angel's fingers fill him, stretch him.

Growling with need, tension as tight as he can bear it, and he comes close to begging for release. Decides there must be a scent for that fine line of *want* because Angel is sliding his fingers out, catching Xander's leg behind his knee, lifting and spreading him open. Pushing him up higher on the bed, getting the angle just right, and he's inside, familiar burning ache and fullness. Angel tugs on Xander's leg, drops it over his hip, lets Xander control the friction between them with the clenching of his calf. Almost face to face this way, and when he tugs on Xander's hair he can pull his mouth down for a slow, deep, slippery kiss that's full of tongues and sighs. Xander finds the motion he wants, rolling hips that move Angel in and out, brush his own cock in the slick channel between their bodies. Smooth oiled skin not offering much friction but the pre-game has been so long that not much is needed to get him to the edge and let him hang there. Tenses as Angel trails wet, open-mouthed kisses across his cheek to his ear, down to his neck, tongue laving the scar there. Xander shudders at the feeling of suddenly-ridged skin on the underside of his jaw, the scrape of canines on the raised rope of twisted tissue.

Angel bites and rolls at the same time, not onto Xander but onto his own back, pulls Xander over with him. Sprawl of long limbs over his own, one hand tight in glossy black locks, the other spanning his waist, holding him still so he can pump his hips up off the bed in a hard, fast rhythm. Angel feels Xander's teeth, sharp against the rounded muscle of his shoulder, the vibrations in his chest as he growls and moans, checking the urge to bite down even as Angel drinks from him, pounds into him, his own weight pressing his cock into the muscle of Angel's stomach, sliding with every stroke. Takes his mouth away from Xander's throat just long enough to whisper one word, 'yes' before he bites down again and feels Xander echo the action. Hits his climax with a roar, arching them both off the bed. Lets him continue to drink and roll his hips to his own conclusion a new minutes later, a violent orgasm that leaves Xander shaking and spent.

Angel reaches for the coverlet tangled around their feet, dislodging Xander only long enough to pull it up and over still quivering flesh, cocooning them in the damp darkness that's as close to oblivion as they can get. Wrapping arms and legs around each other, now familiar with the places things fit best for comfort, security and rest.

Sometime later, still under the cover, Xander stirs. Sees that Angel's awake, possibly never went to sleep at all. Says, "I think I need to go home."

Angel doesn't let himself react to the alarming panic that rises at those words. Leaving was never part of the bargain, not something he'd planned for, adjusted a mindset to work around. "For good?"

"Do you want me to say yes?" He can feel Xander staring at him, makes himself lie back and close his eyes. Shield again, against interpretations he won't readily admit to himself; that there's ties here beyond the Sire/childer bonds. That he's not willing and possibly not able to let go of Xander right now, maybe not ever, one of two now, not partners, one of two of a species, and there is meaning there Angel has only let himself skirt.

"You have to make your own decisions. If you want to be with me, I'll be right here when you come back." And he will be, right here with his transferred obsession, his overcompensated fixation on making Xander a road to redemption for his loss of Darla. Admits at least to himself that he's aware of channeling himself this way, and wholly unable to stop it. So close to the obliteration of self and the peering into the maw of absence that was his night with Darla, Xander stumbled into something far more than undeath, and Angel knows he's wrong in this, like almost everything else he does.

"Are you telling me you're not the boss of me anymore?" Doesn't need to see Xander's face to realize that he's pleased with the answer, that he's given him a reassurance of his place within Angel's life that will not disappear as the rest of his world has.

"No."

"So, it's one of those if you're childe is really attached, set them free and they'll come back things?"

Carefully constructed reply and now Angel does look at him. Doesn't realize that he's wrinkling his brow as he says, "I see how you altered the words."

"It's a cliché you know? I can't be too careful, don't want you to flip if I think you love me." Xander's careful when he says it, retains his relaxed posture, but he's hurt in some way that Angel wouldn't at least object a tad to his leaving. Suddenly wants to cry and feels petty and ridiculous.

He sighs. "Xander. Go to Sunnydale. I want you to come back. I'm not releasing you or sending you away." Pauses, forces himself to make the admission and watches carefully for a response in his face. "I'll...I'll miss you." With Xander leaving, it's not an option any more to hide the affection he's let himself feel, wants to be sure that there's as much in the open between them as he is capable of declaring. Long trip back to Sunnydale in more than just mileage, and so many pitfalls along the way to distract him, take him away for good. Put him back among the people he knows the best, the ones who aren't afraid to tell him he's needed, he's vital to them. Afraid to rely on the pull of the blood alone to call Xander back to him.

"I'd think you'd want some time to yourself. You know, no television on, read poetry or something."

"Listen to Cordelia nag me and act like she doesn't have the hots for Gunn."

"That too."

Angel thinks with all likelihood that he'll spend the greater part of his days wandering around the hotel and waiting to see if he's made another mistake in judgment. Haunting the TV room, constantly seeking tangible reminders of Xander, and how he does have a place here. In Angel's life, in his bed. Realizes this has all the markings of a situation primed for trouble, but again unable to control what drives him to keep what is his. Darla and now Xander, one lost and another offering the hope of amending it. Angel wonders if he will ever be free of the specter of the first, if it will always cast its shadow on the latter.

=end=

Part VII



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